“Tomorrow morning, I shall speak with her again. We will know more about this Lily of Pillars. In the meantime, we must discuss our course of action pertaining to the band of Renegades in our vicinity. Wake Sir Magmund. We will meet in the northwest council room.”
McRae saluted, turned on his heels, and briskly left the drawing room. Exhaling a yawn that reminded Calhoun how late it was, the commander nevertheless hurried out of the room.
Rather than go straight to the council room, however, Fredmont Calhoun chose a destination few other Knights ever approached.
* * *
As the silent attendant led her through the maze of hallways and staircases, Dark Lily gave up on keeping track of each twist and turn. She wondered how much gold and silver such a massive fortress kept in its treasury, but she quickly abandoned the thought.
Once she had Braiseph Harrow’s spells, she could pillage any castle she wished.
The many guards aside, a thief who burgled Fort Miloásterôn would have her work cut out for her. The labyrinthine layout was as much a hazard as the Knights’ blades. Dark Lily mused that if someone had ever stolen from Fort Miloásterôn, he was probably still wandering the halls, trying to find his way out.
Keeping in step with the retainer, Dark Lily replayed the scene with Fredmont Calhoun over in her mind and decided she had played her role well. Although the Commander of Fort Miloásterôn was a larger and more imposing figure than the current Commander of Fort Splendor, Calhoun nevertheless reminded her of Gerard Ralz.
Then again, all Knights looked alike to her—covered in facial hair, muscular and broad-shouldered, and always so damn serious.
When her guide finally stopped and unlocked one of the many doors lining the silent corridor, Dark Lily entered a surprisingly spacious room. The well-dressed man asked if there was anything she required, and although the wizardess’s grumbling stomach said otherwise, she told him she was fine. With a final word of thanks, she closed the door.
The thought of spending the remainder of the night sleeping on the cold, hard earth made her think twice about leaving the accommodations—and its alluring feather bed. Were she to stay, the Knights would undoubtedly pester her with questions in the morning. Anyway, she couldn’t afford to lose track of the Renegades.
She opened the door a crack and peered into the hallway outside her room. It was empty. Closing the door once more, Dark Lily pictured the Renegade’s camp, a small clearing surrounded by tall pines. She had done all she could to bring the Knights to the Renegades and could only hope that the keepers of Fort Miloásterôn wouldn’t let her disappearance sway them from dealing with the band of rebels.
She spoke the words of her spell, concentrating on the image of the clearing and doing her best to ignore the dizzying fatigue that threatened to steal her consciousness. A moment later, the guestroom was empty, leaving no trace of Lily of Pillars.
* * *
When Klye finally awoke, the first rays of morning light streaked the murky sky with swaths of orange and red. He was the last of his men to wake, except for Horcalus, who had continued to fade in and out of a troubled sleep throughout the night.
As Ragellan told Klye about the sai-morí’s attack, Othello extinguished the fire, and the others began packing up the camp.
“Why didn’t you wake me sooner?” Klye asked Ragellan, hastily folding his bedroll.
The knight looked up from his task of checking Horcalus’s wound. “We tried, at first, but you didn’t respond. Scout recovered the quickest, but you and Crooker would not wake. Besides, you needed rest.”
With his dearest friend sick and possibly dying, Ragellan must have been tempted to abandon the Renegades and find Horcalus much-needed help. Klye thanked the gods for knightly honor.
“Is he doing any better?” Klye asked, wiping the strands of wet hair from Horcalus’s brow.
“The wound has stopped bleeding, and Othello’s tea has brought the fever down a little, but he continues to wrestle with the poison. He needs the attention of the healers. If you will allow me to take him to the temple myself—”
“No.”
“I swear we will meet up with you farther down the road once Horcalus is fit to travel,” Ragellan promised.
“No.” Ragellan looked alarmed, until Klye added. “We would all benefit from the healers’ ministrations…and their food. As much as I had hoped to avoid the Temple of Mystel, we don’t have a choice anymore.”
“You don’t have to worry about the healers, Klye,” Scout said, easing his way into the conversation. “I’ve talked to other Renegades who were treated there, and they said the healers helped them even though they knew they were rebels. They treated them as if they were full-fledged Knights of Superius…er…no offense, Ragellan.”
“None taken.” After Klye’s announcement that they were all to make the trip to the temple, Ragellan’s care-worn face had relaxed somewhat, and he almost smiled as he said, “I pray your prediction proves true, Scout.”
Although he was rested, Klye knew his empty belly was taking its toll on his strength. When he and Ragellan lifted Horcalus off the ground, the knight felt about ten times heavier than yesterday.
Of course, they were all hungrier and worse for the wear. While Plake was able to walk on his own, Pistol limped noticeably as he trudged near the back of the group. Predictably, Crooker, who had received more than a few cuts from the goblins’ wicked blades, was right beside him.
Klye was tempted to berate Pistol for running off after the sai-morí, blatantly disobeying his orders, but the assassin had probably done more to punish the pirate than anything Klye could think of. Besides, he didn’t have the energy to confront Pistol—and he still hadn’t gotten around to scolding Plake for getting Ragellan captured back at Oars and Omens.
Lilac and Arthur carried their meager supplies, while Othello brought up the rear. Although he was thankful Lilac had arrived just in time to kill the sai-morí and save Ragellan, there was something about the woman he didn’t trust. She always seemed to be watching them but avoided his eyes when he caught her looking at him.
Perhaps Ragellan had noticed Klye watching Lilac just then, for he quietly told him, “There is more to her than meets the eye, methinks.”
“What makes you say that?”
“When I told her and Pistol the assassin had come for me, Lilac made a face that betrayed her. She knows something she has not told us. She also said she needed to talk to me in private.”
“Did you talk to her?”
“No,” Ragellan admitted. “Scout woke up shortly after that, and I thought it best for everyone else to get as much rest as possible before we started off for today. Scout and Lilac took first watch while I slept. At the changing of the guard, I attempted to approach her, but she put me off and quickly went to sleep herself.”
Klye glanced behind them under the pretext of seeing if everyone was keeping up. When his eyes reached Lilac, the woman was staring back at him.
To Ragellan he said, “Why do you think the assassin…that sigh-whatever…was after you?”
Ragellan sighed. “There seems but one explanation. The Knights of Superius have hired outside help to recapture Horcalus and me.”
Klye realized how difficult it must have been for Ragellan to admit that the Knights of Superius had stooped to hiring mercenaries. But what else could be concluded? Klye couldn’t help but wonder why Ragellan and Horcalus were so important. Did Ragellan perhaps also know something he was not sharing?
The Renegade Leader pushed the thought from his mind, feeling guilty for it. Chester Ragellan had been nothing but honest and forthright with him from the start.
Yet Klye didn’t trust Lilac of Superius and swore he would keep an eye on her until he determined what she was about.
Passage VIII
When Fredmont Calhoun entered the council room, Sir McRae and Sir Magmund were already waiting at the small table. The two Knights rose and saluted Calhoun, who returned the gesture wear
ily and motioned for the men to sit down.
As he made his way to the head of the table, he saw McRae’s sour reaction to the man following Calhoun. Sir Magmund smiled politely but shifted his gaze away from the newcomer.
When the wizard took an empty seat across from McRae, the Knight demanded, “What is he doing here?”
“Master Irenistan is here because I want him to be here, Subcommander.” Calhoun’s tone left no room for debate.
Selwyn McRae gave the spell-caster another scowl and crossed his arms. Calhoun could not blame the man for his reaction. Almost all of his men regarded Shek Irenistan with suspicion and derision to varying degrees.
The Knights—along with most of Continae’s populace—had a long history of distrusting magi, stemming all the way back to the Wars of Sundering, when great war wizards had leveled cities and ravaged the land. Calhoun himself had objected to the idea of a magus residing at Fort Milo, but who was he to argue with the King of Superius, who kept a wizard among his own advisors?
Although Vincent Magmund was newly assigned a fortress, he had adjusted to Shek’s presence more quickly than the others. Unlike McRae, Lieutenant Magmund treated Shek Irenistan with civility.
Calhoun started the meeting by telling Vincent Magmund and Shek Irenistan of his and McRae’s conversation with the woman from Pillars. The two men listened intently—Sir Magmund playing with the ends of his mustache—until the commander concluded his story.
“For once I am in agreement with Sir McRae,” Shek said. The wizard spoke with a rich accent that revealed his homeland as the Desert Ahuli-Okx, a vast wasteland bordering Superius to the north. “If you will permit me, Commander, I can cast a spell that will reveal whether the woman is who she says she is.”
“We don’t need your foul sorcery,” McRae sneered.
Shek spared the subcommander a wry smile. “I am a wizard, not a sorcerer. There is a difference, you unlearned yaamek.”
McRae rose to his feet, his hand on the hilt of the broadsword hanging at his side. “What did you call me?”
Shek did not rise to meet the Knight’s challenge. He merely gave McRae a bored look.
“Be seated, Subcommander,” Calhoun ordered, and McRae begrudgingly obeyed. “It is late, and our true enemies may well be nigh, so let us keep focused on our common goal.”
“I cannot allow the wizard to violate Lily with his magic,” McRae insisted. “There are other ways to determine if she is lying.”
Fredmont Calhoun rolled his eyes. Only minutes ago, McRae had been convinced Lily was a liar, and now he was defending her. The subcommander’s distrust of Shek clearly outweighed his suspicion of Lily of Pillars.
When Shek Irenistan had first arrived at Fort Milo, Calhoun too had been reluctant to allow Shek to perform even minor incantations. However, he had spent a lot of time with Shek since then and was beginning to realize that magic was not evil in and of itself—something he had been told time and time again throughout his forty-five years of life.
He was even beginning to like the morose magus.
Vincent Magmund said, “I agree with Sir McRae. We cannot interrogate this woman…through magical means or otherwise…until she has given us cause. In the meantime, we must presume she has spoken the truth.”
“Agreed,” Calhoun said. “I propose we send forth a patrol at first light to search for these Renegades. The question is where to send it?”
Magmund stroked his mustache as he thought. “Are there any paths that cut through the forest to the south, aside from the road that leads directly to the Temple of Mystel, I mean?”
“There are many,” McRae answered. “Too many, in fact. Between game trails and overgrown paths that have existed since before the dwarves left the island. There are more than a dozen routes dissecting the forest. The Renegades could be anywhere in there.
“But if Lily is to be believed, the band is less than a day’s march from the temple. The wisest course would be send fast riders down the road to the temple and ambush the Renegades before they reach the healers.”
Calhoun nodded. “Intercepting the rebels before they reach the temple is paramount,” he said. “We must do whatever we can to keep them from the sanctuary of the healers.”
“Who will lead the patrol?” Shek asked.
Magmund rose to his feet. “I ask permission to lead the mission.”
“Commander!” McRae exclaimed, also rising from his chair. “I was on duty when the woman first arrived. It is my responsibility to see this through.”
Calhoun regarded the two eager Knights, each in turn. While stationed at Fort Honor, Vincent Magmund had led several sorties against Domacles Herronin, the boldest Renegade Leader in Capricon. Everything Calhoun had learned of his new lieutenant implied Magmund was a capable commanding officer. And yet…
“Subcommander McRae will lead the mission,” Calhoun announced. To Magmund, he said, “You will be in charge of assembling a series of small search parties to penetrate the forest on foot. There are maps in the bureau in the war room.”
“Yes, sir,” the two men replied in unison. If Vincent Magmund was disappointed at being passed over by a lower-ranking Knight, he gave no visible indication.
Calhoun was lost in thought as he made his way back to his room. He was confident that Vincent Magmund and McRae could handle their duties, and he hoped to catch a few hours of sleep before the sun came up and a new day presented him with a slew of new worries.
He heard the swish of robes against the stony floor of the wide hallway and turned to find Shek following him. Calhoun paused, waiting until the wizard caught up.
“No disrespect intended, Commander, but do you think it wise to let McRae lead the Knights bound for the temple? Lieutenant Magmund is better qualified to command the patrol, not to mention McRae knows the woods better than Sir Magmund.” After a moment, Shek added, “And if I understand the hierarchy of the Knighthood, Sir Magmund outranks Sir McRae. You could have passed McRae up without having to defend your decision.”
“Instead I find I must defend my decision to you!” Calhoun said with a chuckle. “Selwyn McRae is an exemplary Knight when his pugnacious nature does not cloud his thinking. But there was more to my decision than the subcommander’s flimsy claim.
“The messengers from Port Town and Lily of Pillars both spoke of two rogue knights who were liberated from the Citadel Dungeon in Superius. The older of the two, Chester Ragellan, has twice now escaped the hands of the law. I believe him to be a wily and dangerous man.”
Calhoun rubbed his eyes and sighed. “You must realize, my friend, that it is not an easy thing for a Knight to face a former brother-in-arms in battle. Although every Knight claims to hate a traitor, pity can be equally powerful. I do not doubt Sir Magmund’s integrity, but I know for certain that nothing Ragellan or his fellow Renegades might say will sway McRae in his purpose.”
“If ever there was a man without pity, it is Selwyn McRae,” Shek concluded.
“That is not what I said,” Calhoun countered, but when he looked at his companion, he saw that Shek’s thin lips—practically hidden by his thick, dark goatee—were curved upward in a sly smile.
“And they say wizards do not have a sense of humor,” Calhoun laughed.
Shek’s smile broadened. “They say the same about Knights.”
* * *
By the time they reached the temple, Klye felt as though he might collapse at any moment. After telling Scout and the others to hang back, Klye and Ragellan continued forward until they reached the last of the tall evergreens. From there, the Renegade Leader studied the isolated shrine.
Compared to Aladon’s Cathedral, the Temple of Mystel was a modest structure, but what it lacked in stained-glass windows, vaulted ceilings, and towering steeples, it made up for in the beauty of simplicity. Looking more like an oversized cottage than the house of a deity, the square-shaped building crested a great mound of earth that rose majestically from the flat land around it.
It w
as truly a welcoming sight.
“Finally,” Plake groaned, walking right up behind Klye and Ragellan. He craned his neck to look over Klye’s shoulder. “What now?”
“We should send someone to tell the healers about our situation.”
“Who’re you going to send?” Plake asked.
Without taking his eyes off the temple, Klye said, “You.”
Plake looked as though he were going to object, but to Klye’s astonishment, the rancher bit his lip, nodded, and tried to cover his scabbard with his shirt.
“Leave your weapon,” Klye told him. “We don’t want to alarm the good healers any more than is necessary.”
With a belligerent look in his eyes, Plake opened his mouth to argue, but again he complied. After exhaling a deep breath, he handed his sword over to the Renegade Leader. Wordlessly, the rancher turned and walked toward the hill.
“What just happened?” Ragellan asked. “He must have hit his head harder than I thought.”
A smile crept across Klye’s face. “I think we have Tristana to thank for taming Plake’s tongue, not the goblins. I may have my reservations about Lilac, but her presence seems to be doing wonders for Plake’s attitude.”
Ragellan gave the Renegade Leader a dubious look. “You believe he is trying to impress the woman? Flirtation is his motivation?”
Klye shrugged. “All I know is I’m not the only one who’s been keeping an eye on her.”
“You are a far shrewder man than I have given you credit for.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
The two were silent, then, as they watched Plake approach the temple and knock on the door. Klye heard someone coming up from behind them and turned to find Pistol there.
“You sent Plake?” he whispered, appraising Klye with an incredulous stare.
“I figured if these healers are going to have a problem with our kind, we’re better off finding out sooner than later.”
Rebels and Fools (The Renegade Chronicles Book 1) Page 23
