“For one thing, I didn’t know they were assassins. I assumed the Knights wanted Ragellan and Horcalus alive,” she said, “and when I realized their peril, I tried to talk to Ragellan, but I could never get him alone. You were always watching me. How could I be sure that you weren’t hired on the sly by the Knights to take them to Fort Faith?
“I thought it would be better to wait until I knew more about you and your band, but between the goblins, the sai-morí, and then the Knights at the temple, there wasn’t a good opportunity.”
Klye wore an impassive expression, so Lilac had no idea whether he believed her or not. Finally, he asked, “What about your sword? Everything you’ve said so far makes sense, but how does an ordinary woman come to possess such an extraordinary weapon?”
Ordinary woman? Lilac thought.
“For your information, the vorpal sword is an heirloom that has been passed down from father to oldest son for as long as anyone in the Zephyr family can remember. It belonged to my brother, but when he joined the Knighthood, he thought better of taking the enchanted weapon with him to Fort Splendor, as Knights tend to mistrust such things. I figured the sword would do more good in my hands than hanging on the wall above the fireplace, so I took it.
“If you don’t believe me, you can always return to Superius and ask my father about it. I’m sure he misses it, though he knows nothing of why I left home with it. I didn’t want to leave any clues behind. My father is a baron. I didn’t want to incriminate him in any way.”
Klye sighed and started unraveling a knot by her right arm. “I don’t think I’ll be back in Superius any time soon,” he said, “but you are free to return if you wish.”
“So you believe me?”
“I told Horcalus and the others about the conversation we had earlier, when you told me your full name. Horcalus recalled a Knight by the name of Gabriel Zephyr who had been stationed with him at Fort Splendor. I thought it might be a coincidence at the time, but it supports your story.”
When Klye finished untying her, Lilac stood and stretched her stiff muscles. She noticed she was wearing a different shirt and could feel the constriction of bandages beneath the garment, covering the wound made by Dark Lily’s wand.
“We’re back at the Temple,” she concluded. “But what about the Knights?”
“The Knights have returned to their fort. According to Jalil Shenn, we have McRae’s unsanctioned attack to thank for their abrupt retreat. ”
“Where is everybody else?”
“They’re asleep. It’s rather late, actually. I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d wait for you to wake up.” He sighed again and looked away from her. “I’m sorry for accusing you, Lilac. If anything, I should be thanking you for risking your life for them. Why, if not for you, Horcalus…he might not…”
The awkward silence was ended by the appearance of a heavyset healer. Klye took his leave when the healer told Lilac it was time to check her bandages.
Sister Gloria had a gentle touch, and it took her only a few minutes to remove the reddened strips of cloth and replace them with a fresh poultice. When the healer asked Lilac if she wanted anything to eat or drink, Lilac declined.
The priestess left, taking her candle with her. Alone in the dark, Lilac sat at the edge of the bed. Staring out the window at the emptiness of night, she knew that the aching in her chest had nothing to do with her recent injuries.
Passage XIII
At dawn, Chester Ragellan was laid to rest in the temple’s small graveyard. Two priests bearing Ragellan’s body on a litter led the procession down the hill. They were followed by Jalil Shenn and the Renegades. As the healers placed the knight in a hole that had been dug the night before, Klye and the others gathered around the grave.
In lieu of a tombstone , Horcalus planted Ragellan’s sword in the ground at the head of the grave. It was the tradition of the Knighthood to use a warrior’s sword as a gravestone during times of war, he told them, which was the only thing he had said all morning.
Telling Horcalus of Ragellan’s death was the hardest thing Klye had ever had to do. The younger knight had taken the news stoically, though Klye could see past the brave front. Horcalus had spent the night alone, mourning, praying, or doing whatever it was knights did when comrades were slain.
Jalil Shenn gave the eulogy, though Klye found little comfort in his theological rhetoric. He had always thought dead was dead. Once the spark of life was quenched, the body rotted, and that was the end.
For Ragellan’s sake, Klye wanted to believe Jalil when he said that the knight’s spirit would live on in a better place among the gods, where pain and strife were but a memory. If there were gods, Klye believed faithful and courageous Chester Ragellan should be among them.
After Jalil finished his speech, the two priests who had brought Ragellan’s body to the cemetery took up spades and began covering the cloth coffin with soil. Klye had supposed Horcalus would add a personal testimony to Jalil’s homily, but the knight’s lips remained firmly pressed together, his cloudy gray eyes fixed on the hole.
Klye glanced over at Othello and Plake. They had known Ragellan for nearly as long as Klye had. Both men were watching the grave slowly fill with dirt. Othello’s expression was as impassive as ever, but there was something about the archer that betrayed sadness, and it seemed to Klye that this was not the first time those strange green eyes had seen tragedy.
Plake, on the other hand, wore a great frown. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking uncomfortable and eager to be gone from the funeral.
Arthur stood between Horcalus and Lilac. The boy looked up from the grave to glance occasionally at Horcalus, as though he wanted to console the man. Lilac had her eyes closed, her shoulders trembling as she tried to keep her sobbing in check. Klye thought she was probably mourning both Ragellan and her brother.
On Klye’s other side, Scout stood bareheaded, his fidgety hands crumpling the formless piece of material that was his hood. Scout’s freshly shaven face was shiny and wet where tears had fallen. Scout had met Ragellan only days ago, which made Klye wonder how Solomon Aegis could care so much for someone he hardly knew.
Scout’s and the others’ open display of emotions sent a stab of guilt through Klye’s stomach. He wasn’t crying. No, he had spent the past couple of minutes studying his men, thinking of the late Chester Ragellan in a most abstract manner.
Klye had lost people before, but he had never shed a tear for them. They had been acquaintances of convenience. Once they were gone, there was no use thinking about them anymore.
But Ragellan had been more than a mere traveling companion or a strategic partner in crime. Klye had bonded with the knight in a way he never had with anyone else. He had trusted Ragellan implicitly. Ragellan hadn’t laughed—as others surely would have—when he had told him about the bizarre dream he had had while in that coma. And Ragellan had respected his views on politics, religion, and life, even though their opinions had differed greatly.
Chester Ragellan had been his first true friend.
The anger that had filled him yesterday had burned out, leaving only hollowness behind. It suddenly occurred to him that he, their Renegade Leader, ought to say a few words about the late knight, but he no longer trusted his composure. The scene before him started to waver as tears welled in the corners of his eyes, and an irritating sensation made his nose itch.
Gods, he thought, when was the last time I cried?
But Klye fought his grief. He had to be strong—for the sake of his men.
When Pistol stepped up to the head of the grave, everyone looked surprised. The healers who had been burying the dead knight stayed their shovels and respectfully waited for the man to speak.
“It’s true I knew Ragellan only a short time,” the pirate began, “but I considered him a friend. He probably saved my life back in Port Town. Even if Leslie and her Renegades did plan on rescuin’ me, it was a damn brave thing for him to do…and he didn’t even know me
. I don’t really know how he ended up on the wrong side of the law, and I don’t care. Chester Ragellan was a great man, and I count myself lucky to’ve known him.”
Pistol edged away from the grave-marker.
“Here, here!” said Crooker, a wistful smile on his face. Lifting his cutlass skyward, he added, “To Chester Ragellan. If anyone speaks ill of our fallen friend, let his tongue rot in his mouth and choke him!”
Klye wondered if that was a typical toast at buccaneer funerals. It hardly seemed the proper thing to say of a Knight of Superius, but to his surprise, the pirates’ words had made him feel a little better.
Ragellan was dead, but his memory would live on. Less than a year ago, Klye might have dismissed such an idea as sentimental tripe, but now he found comfort in it. He would always be able to look back and remember the adventures he and Ragellan had shared. And it felt good to be surrounded by people who had known him and cared about him too.
“To Ragellan!” Klye repeated, raising his sword in a salute.
The others echoed the call, except for Dominic Horcalus, who brandished his blade in silence. There seemed nothing more to say or do, so Klye cast a final glance back at the grave and returned to the temple. Jalil and the other priests followed, returning to whatever duties required their attention. As the man walked past him, Klye thanked Jalil for everything he had done for them.
On top of tending to the Renegades’ wounds, standing up to the Knights of Superius, and providing them with a place to bury Ragellan, Jalil Shenn had promised he would give the band whatever supplies he could provide.
Klye stopped short of entering the Temple of Mystel and turned to address his men, who regarded him expectantly. Chester Ragellan may have been his first friend, but Klye realized he had begun to think of his other companions as friends too. They had all depended on one another for their survival, had worked as a team even when there had been little hope of victory.
“We are a little more than halfway to Fort Faith,” Klye said. “Losing Ragellan is no small setback. His wisdom, his skill in battle, and most of all, his friendship will be sorely missed. However, I intend to complete the mission. I think he would want us to. But I’ll understand if any of you wish to go your separate way.”
Klye found himself looking at Horcalus as he spoke. If anyone were to turn back, it would be Horcalus. The knight had recovered from the goblins’ poison, but no one would fault him if he chose to remain at the Temple of Mystel a while longer.
“If we are to have any chance of reaching Fort Faith before the Knights arrive, we cannot linger here. If any of you wish to leave the band, say so now. The rest of us will be on our way within the hour.”
Not a single man—or woman—took the offer.
* * *
Fredmont Calhoun had stayed up well past midnight, interviewing Shek Irenistan, Selwyn McRae, and the other Knights separately. Many of the latter had tried to protect their subcommander, using a fair number of euphemisms and vague language recounting what had happened at the temple, but they were all honorable Knights of Superius, and their good intentions could not gloss over the truth of the matter.
As angry as Calhoun had been with McRae for his infractions with the healers, he became even more livid when he learned McRae had raised his sword against Shek Irenistan.
“He is a guest at Fort Miloásterôn, a friend of the Knighthood, and he was your commanding officer at the time of the offense!” Calhoun roared, losing all patience with McRae. “Shek neither provoked you nor threatened you. Why did you attack him?”
Selwyn McRae had answered all of Calhoun’s questions in a mild voice, speaking matter-of-factly, but at this, his tone had become defensive, almost challenging. “I did what I did because I could not be certain the wizard wasn’t working for the Renegades. You say I was unprovoked, but I see it differently. His words were confusing the men, and I did not want the Knights of Superius to fail on account of his subversion. Besides, whoever heard of a wizard commanding Knights, even temporarily? Now you see what happens when you depend on magic. Only chaos can ever come of it.”
Not trusting himself to suppress his temper any longer, Calhoun ordered McRae to leave the council room. He wanted to give McRae the benefit of the doubt but could not excuse the unrepentant man for his follies. McRae had subjugated wisdom for the promise of victory. Magic or no magic, Selwyn McRae had acted like a damned fool.
And so, as the moon drifted across the night sky, Calhoun tried to determine what punishment suited McRae’s crimes. Admittedly, Calhoun had confounded the issue by placing someone from outside the Knighthood in command of the mission. Could McRae accurately be charged with attempting to murder his commanding officer? Could it even be considered insubordination if McRae had not believed Shek acted in Calhoun’s name?
In the end, Calhoun decided that it was beyond his ability to judge the matter.
He arose early the next morning, which had come only a few short hours later. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he started to pen a letter to the King of Superius, the ultimate authority in matters of justice within the ranks of the Knighthood. It was by Edward Borrom’s wish that Shek had come to Fort Miloásterôn. Let the king decide the fate of the wizard’s would-be killer.
Calhoun was not even halfway through the first page of the carefully worded missive when there came a knock at the door of his private office. Reluctant to answer out of fear of losing his train of thought, he nevertheless bade his guest to enter.
An attendant opened the door tentatively, perhaps detecting the irritation in Calhoun’s booming voice. The man snaked his body around the half-opened door and succinctly reported that a Knight from North Port had ridden all night in order to reach the fort and was now demanding a conference with the commander.
Few Knights were stationed in North Port. Mostly, these men were there to provide accommodations for Knights traveling between Capricon and Continae Proper, for North Port had its own city guards. He couldn’t imagine what emergency had sent this rider to his gates. Calhoun told the attendant to fetch the Knight. He would meet with the man here in his private office.
The Knight from North Port brought ill tidings: Domacles Herronin and his Renegades were trying to take over the city and had already made one attempt to infiltrate the mayor’s manor. He requested for the commander to send whatever men he could spare in order to repel the assault on North Port.
For the next hour or so, Calhoun, Vincent Magmund, Shek, and the Knight from North Port discussed a strategy for defeating Domacles’ Renegades. In the end, it was decided that fifty mounted warriors would ride forth and split into two groups, attacking the Renegade camp in a pincer formation.
Shek recommended using magic to enhance the horses’ speed, but Calhoun decided against it, uncertain how the animals would react. But Calhoun was not ready to dismiss the wizard’s skills altogether, and so he gave the wizard permission to join Sir Magmund on the mission.
Once the party had left Fort Milo, Calhoun tried to get back to his letter to the king, but he was greatly distracted by the news from North Port. Domacles Herronin had always been careful not to push the Knights too far, and so neither the Commander of Fort Miloásterôn nor the Commander of Fort Honor had ever had enough provocation to hunt down his band.
Why would Domacles, who had been a thorn in their sides ever since the Renegades made themselves known in Capricon, change his tactics at this point?
Trying to push all these disconcerting thoughts from his mind, Calhoun focused on the letter, but before long, he was interrupted again. The same retainer poked his head in the room and told Calhoun a messenger had come from Port Town. As the attendant went to retrieve the visitor, Calhoun muttered, “What does Crofton Beryl want this time?”
Minutes later, Calhoun was reading a note from that mayor, who demanded a cavalcade of Knights immediately be sent to Port Town, certain that his daughter, the local Renegade Leader, was planning to wage open war on the city. After informing the rider f
rom Port Town he would have a reply in a short while, Calhoun told the attendant to take the messenger to one of the fort’s vacant rooms where he could rest, wash, and dine.
Alone once more, Calhoun set aside Crofton Beryl’s letter with a sigh. He would not send a single warrior to Port Town, of that he was certain. Port Town had the largest standing army than any city this side of the Rocky Crags, employing more soldiers than North Port and the Port of Balancia combined. If and when Leslie Beryl made a play for the city, Calhoun would take the request seriously, but in the meantime, Port Town would have to fend for itself.
Fredmont Calhoun closed his eyes and rubbed his temples in an attempt to ward off the powerful headache that had come upon him all at once. Was it merely a coincidence that Port Town’s Renegade Leader grew bolder even as Domacles’ band was trying to take North Port? And what of the Renegade Leader who had taken refuge at Mystel’s Temple? Where in the hells had he come from?
And where was he going?
Less than a week ago, Calhoun had learned Fort Faith was to be occupied by a unit of Knights led by a young commander from Superius. He didn’t know who had given the order to repopulate the old fortress, but he hoped it had come from the king himself. Maybe, just maybe, King Edward was finally ready to admit the Renegades were more than a nuisance and that war had broken out across the land regardless of his best efforts to quell the rebellion.
As he began drafting a curt response to Mayor Beryl’s request, Fredmont Calhoun could not help but think the worst was yet to come.
* * *
The sun was still low in the sky when the Renegades left the Temple of Mystel.
With Scout leading the way, they walked until noon, taking a short break for lunch out on the plains. Once they left the forest, they could see the Rocky Crags stretching from one end of the horizon to the other. They crossed the prairie as quickly as possible, not wanting to be caught out in the open, but there was no sign of Knights—from Fort Miloásterôn or elsewhere.
Rebels and Fools (The Renegade Chronicles Book 1) Page 28
