Rebels and Fools (The Renegade Chronicles Book 1)

by David Michael Williams

  It was like a locked door in his brain had swung open, flooding his mind with the many scenes he had seen while in the coma. He remembered the dream in full detail now, and he knew it had been more than a dream. The midge’s existence was proof of that.

  Noel’s astonished expression softened into one of unadulterated joy. “What are you doing here, Klye? Are you one of the bad guys?”

  Passage VIII

  He didn’t remember pulling Chrysaal-rûn from its scabbard. He no longer felt the bulk of his armor or the aches beneath. He heard neither his own footsteps nor those of the comrades who accompanied him in the charge.

  Only the sound of his pounding heart filled his ears as the Renegades came into view.

  If anything happened to Opal because of Noel’s impulsiveness, Colt would never forgive the midge. And he would never forgive himself for putting her fate, as well as the lives of the others, in Noel’s child-sized hands.

  There was no time to consider tactics. Noel was already among the Renegades. At best, Noel’s spell would serve as a diversion, giving the Knights time to reach their enemy. But Colt feared the rebels would take out Noel’s trespass on poor Opal.

  Sweat dripping down the side of his face, Colt prayed the Warriorlord would keep her safe during the battle.

  The first thing Colt saw clearly was an arrow coming right for them. He altered his course to avoid the missile, not slowing in the least. He heard the arrow strike something solid and, still running, glanced back at Cholk. A long, green-fletched shaft protruded from the dwarf’s chest, but the impact had cost the dwarf naught but a few steps. Beneath his horned helm, Cholk wore an expression of grim determination. If he noticed the arrow sticking out of his breastplate, he didn’t bother to remove it.

  Then Colt saw three Renegades emerging from the darkness, and he forgot about everything except cutting a path to Opal. He let out a cry and swung his blade at the first man. The Renegade wore no armor and wielded a single short sword, which the man brought up to deflect Colt’s attack.

  Rather than alter his momentum, Colt put all of his strength—all of his concern for Opal and all of his hatred for the warmongering Renegades—into his swing. He braced for the impact, hoping the force would knock the short sword from his adversary’s grip and almost lost his balance for his trouble.

  The anticipated collision never came: Chrysaal-rûn cut through the short sword like a scythe through wheat.

  Colt shared his opponent’s look of amazement. The rebel’s weapon must have been flawed. But what of the utter lack of resistance? Colt glanced at his sword, checking for damage, but the crystalline blade bore no imperfections, not even a scratch.

  Chrysaal-rûn had been in the Crystalus family for centuries, and there were more than a few myths about the exotic weapon. Colt recalled a tale his grandfather had once told about one of their ancestors, allegedly the first “Sir Crystalus” in the Knighthood. According to the story, when this brave Knight and his company were ambushed and hopelessly outnumbered, the Knight, Chrysaal-rûn in hand, had turned the tide of the would-be massacre. The crystal sword had cut through lances, shields, flesh, and bone.

  The moral of that story, his grandfather had explained, was that Pintor the Warriorlord gave the Knight incredible strength because his cause was righteous and just. While Colt had always enjoyed legends of his ancestors and the heirloom sword, he had found it difficult to believe some of the more spectacular aspects.

  Until now.

  Distracted by those memories, Colt didn’t have enough time to lift his shield when his opponent threw his broken weapon at him. The shattered blade of the short sword clipped the side of his face, cutting his cheek, and Colt cursed himself for not pulling his visor down before engaging the Renegades.

  He used the edge of his buckler to lower the visor and adopted a defensive stance, waiting for the unarmed man to make his next move, but he was already gone.

  * * *

  Lilac ran beside Plake and Scout, heading straight for the oncoming Knights. All of the questions and concerns swimming in her head were banished as she focused on the battle to come.

  She was a capable fighter and familiar with the combat style of the Knights of Superius. She had been her brother’s sparring partner before and during his time in the Knighthood, after all.

  With what she had learned from Gabriel—and with the vorpal sword in hand—she was confident she could defend herself. And although Scout wielded only a knife, she knew he was no stranger to battle. Plake, on the other hand, possessed far more enthusiasm than skill. As much as she wanted to be rid of the rancher’s affection, she didn’t want him to die.

  But there was no reasoning with Plake, who had initiated their charge against the Knights, leaving Arthur behind to guard the supplies and Lilac and Scout to scramble to catch up.

  Lilac’s adversary underestimated her from the start. The largish Knight swung his two-handed sword at her head. She easily ducked the arc of steel, wondering why the Knight was using the flat of the blade.

  The Knight quickly recovered his balance but did not strike again. He stood there watching her, waiting for her to make the next move. Lilac might have toyed with him a little longer, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw Plake throw his only weapon at another Knight before making a hasty retreat.

  She would have rolled her eyes were she not so focused on her own scrimmage. The big Knight made a feint, but Lilac saw through it. The man was trying to force her to make a move so he could counter. Possibly, he wanted to disarm her and give her the chance to surrender. The man obviously didn’t want to kill her.

  Lilac pretended to take the bait, but instead of lunging forward to run him through, she swung her sword out wide, giving the Knight plenty of time to position his own sword for the parry, which he did. She couldn’t resist a grin when the vorpal sword cleaved cleanly through his broadsword. So stunned was the Knight by this unexpected development, Lilac could have easily slid the vorpal sword through his breastplate.

  But she had no intention of killing anyone if she didn’t have to. The flat of her blade struck the Knight’s helm with a clang, and the man fell to his knees. Sparing a glance over at Scout, who was nimbly dodging the third Knight’s longsword, Lilac left her opponent where he knelt and came up on Plake’s opponent in time to hear him utter the word “coward.”

  “It’s easy to be brave when you have the upper hand,” Lilac said, giving the Knight enough time to raise his sword against her swing.

  The two weapons met with a rain of sparks. To Lilac’s disbelief, the Knight’s sword remained in one piece. That was when she took note of the blade, which was not made of metal, but a gigantic gem of some sort. She had never encountered anything that could withstand the keen edge of the vorpal sword.

  Surely the Knight’s weapon had magic of its own.

  The two of them maintained their position for a few seconds longer, each of them pushing forward in an attempt to overpower the other. It wasn’t long before Lilac realized he was the stronger. She pulled away suddenly, sidestepping the falling diamond-like blade. Off-balance, the Knight pitched forward.

  He regained his footing in time to lift his shield, for Lilac was already on the offensive. The Knight dropped his sword arm and lifted the other. The vorpal sword glanced off the buckler, but the damage had been done. A deep fissure streaked across the shield’s surface. A second later, the top half of it fell to the ground.

  The Knight discarded the damaged buckler, gripping the glassy-bladed sword with two hands. While the Knight’s armor was no match for her vorpal sword, Lilac was similarly vulnerable. Whoever made the first mistake would lose the match and, likely, his or her life.

  As they circled each other, their enchanted weapons clashing together again and again, Lilac wondered how long she could last against a full-fledged Knight of Superius.

  * * *

  Opal couldn’t guess what spell Noel had cast on Klye Tristan, but he seemed to be in a powerless state a
s he stared at the midge pinned beneath him. The man did not reach for his sword or wrap his hands around the midge’s neck or make any threatening moves whatsoever.

  Coming to stop beside the pair, Opal reared back and kicked the Renegade Leader in the side of the head.

  The impact sent Klye rolling off the midge. He groaned and made no move to get up. Noel jumped to his feet then, but rather than thank her, the little wizard just shook his head.

  “Poor Klye,” he said. “Without me around to keep an eye on him, he’s gotten himself into trouble.”

  Opal had no idea what Noel was blabbering about, and she didn’t have time to worry about it. A small knife hung beside the many pouches on the midge’s belt.

  “Noel, look at me. I need you to cut me free.”

  She turned her back to Noel, bent forward to present her hands to him, and prayed she wouldn’t lose any fingers. As she waited for Noel to sever her bonds, she took in the scene around her. Patch-Eye and Crooker were still struggling against the sticky spell Noel had thrown at them. Othello had his back to her, aiming his bow out at the plain where she could hear the sounds of weapons clanging against each other. Clearly, Noel had not come alone.

  Seconds later, she was freed from all confinement.

  “Thanks,” she said, rubbing her wrists. The Knights had come to save her, but Opal had no intention of letting them have all the fun. “I need a weapon. Can I borrow your knife?”

  “I brought your weapon,” Noel told her, and before she could stop him, the midge hurried to the spot where he had first appeared. “Here you go!”

  Opal took the crossbow without question. She was ready—no, eager—to get revenge against the Renegades, but she had no ammunition. If they had bothered to take her quiver with them, it would be among their bags—and Arthur was the sole person between her and the Renegades’ supplies.

  “Noel, can you cast your web spell on that guy over there?” she asked, pointing at the young rebel.

  “Sure,” Noel replied, rolling up his voluptuous sleeves and looking eager to show off.

  The midge started to chant but stopped abruptly.

  “You will say not another word.”

  Opal spun around. A man Opal had never seen before held the edge of his sword against the midge’s throat. Noel’s eyes were so wide she thought they would might bulge out of their sockets. Wisely, the little wizard held his tongue.

  With a sigh, Opal let her useless crossbow drop to the ground and held her hands up to show the newcomer that she was unarmed. Looking into the man’s melancholy gray eyes, Opal wondered where in the hells he had come from.

  Then it came to her.

  “Horcalus, right? Pleased to make your acquaintance,” she muttered.

  * * *

  By the time Cholk crested the hill, a second arrow had lodged itself in the plate covering his shoulder. A third shaft glanced off his kneepiece, causing the dwarf to stagger back a step. The tall Renegade archer was gaining ground between shots, backing down the other side of the hill, but Cholk kept on coming.

  He would be on the man in a matter of seconds.

  But then he saw Opal and Noel at the mercy of Renegade with a longsword pressed to the midge’s throat. Cholk allowed himself a single swipe at the archer, which fell short but forced the man back even farther, before altering his course. Without slowing, Cholk headed for Opal, leaving the tall Renegade behind—for now.

  He came at the swordsman with a howl, axe raised above his head. The Renegade would have plenty of time to slit the midge’s throat, but Cholk was more concerned about Opal than the scatterbrained wizard who was responsible for the entire mess.

  Rather than kill the midge, the swordsman gave Noel a rough shove to the ground. The man then sidestepped Cholk’s first chop and parried the second with his longsword. Cholk tested the swordsman with another bold swing, followed by an awkward parry of his own when the man counterattacked.

  Cholk grunted in approval. His opponent was a warrior of no small talent. The man moved with the measured grace of an experienced duelist, the style of his swordplay all too similar to that of the Knights of Superius.

  He pressed the swordsman with a series of powerful blows. The Renegade took several steps back but never lost his composure, his steady gaze fixed on Cholk. Brute force was not the answer against this one. He stayed his axe and came up on the swordsman’s left, putting himself between the rebel and Opal.

  Since he couldn’t defeat his foe with a few mighty swings of the battle-axe, he would content himself with keeping him busy while Opal made her escape.

  * * *

  Gingerly rubbing the side of his head, Klye tried to make sense of what was happening around him. Dominic Horcalus was fighting a short Knight covered in strange-looking armor. The mystery of Horcalus’s reappearance was eclipsed, however, by the presence of Noel.

  Klye watched as Red helped the midge to his feet and wondered if he was dreaming again.

  Then Arthur was at his side, saying something Klye couldn’t quite comprehend, but his eyes lingered on Red and Noel. Idly, as though watching players on a stage, he wondered what would happen next.

  A sudden force stung his cheek, jerking his head violently to the right. He turned to find Arthur recoiling, his eyes wide in fright.

  “I’m sorry, Klye. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  It took him another second to realize Arthur had slapped him. A great dizziness overcame him when he tried to get to his feet, but Arthur was there to steady him. He fought through the wooziness, resisting the urge to surrender to unconsciousness.

  The Renegade Leader had many questions, but he needed to regain control of the situation before answering any of them.

  * * *

  Opal said a silent thank-you to Cholk for getting Horcalus off their back. She glanced back at the Renegades’ supplies and found Arthur was gone. She looked around frantically, trying to locate the boy and found him tending to Klye, who was trying to stand up. The Knights who had accompanied Cholk and Noel remained on the other side of the hill. She could only assume that the other Renegades were keeping them busy.

  She and her allies were outnumbered. With Klye and Arthur on the verge of rejoining the fray, it was only a matter of time before the enemy overpowered her friends.

  “Noel, you have to use your magic to get us out of here.”

  The midge brushed the soil from his robes, glaring indignantly at Horcalus. If he was at all concerned with the battle raging around them, he didn’t show it. At Opal’s words, he looked up at her, his face creased with worry.

  “I’d love to take us back to the fort, but it doesn’t work that way,” Noel said. “Everyone is really far away from each other. Mass transport spells are tricky enough with the group all together…not to mention all these other people are in the way.”

  Klye retrieved his sword, which had landed not far from where he himself had landed. Arthur had his hatchet in hand.

  Meanwhile, Noel continued to ramble on about the different spells in his arsenal.

  She grabbed the midge by his collar, pulling his face up to hers. Noel’s eyes went wide in astonishment, the tips of his toes barely touching the ground.

  “Just do something!”

  Opal let Noel fall back on his heels. She was about to run over to the Renegades’ unguarded supplies, where she hoped to find her quiver, but froze when her eyes met Othello’s.

  The archer didn’t move. He didn’t have to. While his gaze was locked on her, the tip of his arrow pointed lower—at Noel.

  Without taking the time to think, Opal stepped in front of Noel. “You have time for one spell…make it quick!”

  She heard the drone of Noel’s chanting but never took her eyes off of Othello. The Renegade’s arrow pointed at her heart. She waited for the telling twang of the bowstring, the flash of starlight reflecting off an arrowhead in flight. She imagined she could see the archer’s bright green eyes despite the darkness.

  Then the air
began to stir around her, and she saw nothing at all.

  Passage IX

  Horcalus had managed to land a few hits, but each blow was deflected by the curious armor his adversary wore. The short, stocky warrior was possessed of an impressive strength and fought in the manner not at all like the Knights of Superius.

  If he didn’t know better, he would have sworn he was trading blows with a dwarf.

  The keen edge of the axe grazed his arm, bringing Horcalus’s full attention back to the battle. Had he been any slower, he might have lost the limb altogether.

  Grimacing against the pain, Horcalus capitalized on the opening in his opponent’s defense, thrusting his longsword into the crease between his opponent’s helm and breastplate. The two pieces of armor apparently overlapped, however, for again his sword was stopped short of striking flesh.

  Horcalus pulled back, ready to dodge. He dared not parry that great axe, not trusting his strength against that of his enemy. He might deflect the blow, but in the end, the repeated collision of battle-axe and longsword would wear him out. As he again avoided the fall of the crescent blade, he looked for a weakness in his opponent’s equipment.

  He saw no straps or buckles, no unprotected areas whatsoever to exploit. The suit of armor appeared almost seamless in places, as though it were the warrior’s second skin. Just what kind of Crypt-spawn am I fighting, Horcalus wondered.

  If he didn’t disarm his opponent soon, he wouldn’t survive the battle. He gave ground, putting space between them and silently urging the creature to gain momentum. He wanted his adversary to become bolder, needed him to take wider, wilder swings. Timing was everything, and if he failed in this, he wouldn’t live long enough to regret it.

  His body tense, Horcalus awaited the right moment.