Williams, D M - Renegade Chronicles [Collection 1-3]

by David Michael Williams

  DeGrange also thanked them that his daughter, unlike Leslie Beryl, was content to busy herself with knitting needles instead of swords and daggers.

  * * *

  Othello blinked rapidly, and his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The hallway was almost pitch black, but a small amount of light from ahead provided some illumination, enough for him to see that while grandiose on the outside, the Cathedral was not as well kept on the inside, at least not down there.

  Spider webs clung to the low beams of the ceiling, under which he was forced to duck. He saw rat droppings scattered here and there on the floor. The plaster on the walls was peeling. Breathing mostly through his mouth so the dust wouldn’t irritate his nose, he nevertheless could smell the stale air around him.

  Othello glanced behind him every now and again to be sure they were not being followed. He had no faith in the priest’s promise that they were safe, here or anywhere. He had survived, living alone in the wilderness, by keeping his wits about him and never allowing his five senses a moment’s reprieve—even when he slept.

  If someone were to ambush them from behind, Othello would see their assailant as soon as he reached the bottom of the stairs. He would probably hear someone coming long before that. This did not assuage his unease in the least, cramped in the tight corridor and bereft of his longbow to boot.

  Othello doubted he and his companions would be able to fight off even a single well-armed adversary in their current position.

  There were doors that presumably led to small rooms on either side of the hallway. Most of them looked as though they hadn’t been opened in centuries, but the doorknobs on a couple of them were free of dust. Since no light shone from under these doors, he presumed the rooms were empty.

  The corridor did not twist or turn. Up ahead, past Plake, Klye, and the priest, he saw it ended with a set of double doors that were outlined by a light from the other side. He felt the pace of the others quicken in anticipation of leaving the darkness behind, heard Plake cursing under his breath.

  Once they reached the double doors, the priest knocked twice, and though he had not used much force, the sound echoed down the tunnel-like corridor. He saw that Klye’s hand rested on his hip, as though he might draw his dagger through the very fabric of his robe if danger presented itself. Plake shifted his weight from one leg to the other.

  He heard a woman’s voice, muffled, say something from the other side of the doors.

  “You have visitors,” the priest called to her, heedless the thick, wooden barrier between them.

  The woman said something in reply. A full minute passed before Othello heard movement from the room and saw two shadows—made by somebody’s feet—blocking the light beneath the door.

  As the doors opened, he closed his eyes so as not to be blinded. Looking back where they had come, Othello squinted and blinked repeatedly to acquaint his eyes with the new level of light, which, while not terribly bright, now seemed to be as radiant as the sun by comparison.

  While Klye and Plake rubbed their eyes, Othello noted it was a man, not a woman, who had opened the door. As surely as the light had handicapped his companions, the darkness of the hallway hindered the man’s vision. Squinting and blinking, the man brushed past them, hardly sparing them a glance.

  Othello did more than glance, taking in the stranger’s blue eyes, thin lips, and a clef chin that was covered in bluish-black stubble. Turning to watch him stagger down the hall, Othello saw that the man wore loose-fitting trousers and a faded striped shirt. When the man finally found the steps by tripping up the bottommost stair, he swore and quickly vanished from sight.

  Now Othello turned his attention to what was going on in front of him. The priest introduced them to whoever remained inside the room, which appeared smaller than he had imagined, and gestured for them to enter. Klye led the way, and Plake followed, all but dragging his feet.

  Giving the priest a final, appraising look, Othello walked past him and into the room.

  “Gentlemen,” the priest said, “I present to you Leslie Beryl.”

  Then the priest shut the door, and they were alone with the Renegade Leader of Port Town.

  Passage V

  Leslie Beryl sat up straighter when the three men entered her office.

  She had never seen them before or heard the names Elezar gave. She watched the first man who entered, watched his face as he noticed her sitting behind the large desk. She could tell by the way his eyes widened slightly that not only he had never seen her before either, but also that she was not quite what he had expected.

  Well, she was used to that. Many newcomers were taken aback at her appearance, thinking that because she was the daughter of a mayor, she would wear finely tailored garments, and not the loose-fitting garb preferred by mariners. Also, since she was only twenty-two, Leslie had dealt with more than a few people who thought her too young to be a capable Renegade Leader.

  Leslie wasn’t terribly disappointed by the black-haired man’s reaction, though she was impressed with how quickly he hid his surprise. She said nothing as he and a younger man with brown hair helped themselves to the chairs on the other side of her desk, leaving the tall one to stand by the door.

  “What can I do for you, boys?” She was much too busy to be bothering with unexpected visitors, though she was curious in spite of herself. Who were these men in brown robes?

  It was the black-haired man, apparently the group’s spokesman, who answered her. “We were told that you are the Renegade Leader of Port Town.”

  “I am,” she replied, meeting his hard, blue-eyed stare. There was something about the man, an implied arrogance or the way he had quickly buried his first impression of her, that now rubbed Leslie the wrong way. It had been a long day, and she was eager to be rid of them all. “Look, if you three are interested in joining Port Town’s Renegades, I can give you the name of someone who will decide where your individual talents would be best put to use. I don’t typically get involved with the initiation of new—”

  “No offense, lady,” interrupted the same man who had spoken before, “but we have better things to do than sit around Port Town. We’re not desperate street thugs out for a quick coin. I, too, am a Renegade Leader.”

  Leslie leaned back in her chair, wishing she had paid more attention when they had been introduced. She couldn’t remember what Elezar had called this self-pronounced Renegade Leader.

  She had never come face to face with a peer. Typically, a Renegade Leader was too busy to leave his city and, therefore, sent a letter by messenger. She felt that his breech in this etiquette could not be a good thing. Even if this man wasn’t here to try to usurp her authority—as Renegade Leaders were known to do—his business here was sure to complicate her already busy life.

  At the very least, this visit would keep her up later than planned, and she had been up since before the sun had risen.

  “Well met, Renegade Leader,” she said coolly.

  Her first instinct was to try to impress him, to show him that she was not to be taken advantage of, and to prove that she was every bit as good as he was at being a Renegade Leader—probably better.

  Or she could try to intimidate him by giving him the clear message that as long as they were in Port Town, she was the one in charge.

  “What do you want?” she asked, crossing her arms.

  If the man was taken aback by her bluntness, he didn’t show it. “My band and I are bound for Fort Faith, but we are new to Capricon. Port Alexis’ Renegade Leader told us you are our best hope for getting some help.”

  Her unease lessened somewhat. This Renegade Leader needed something from her, which put her at an advantage. “And what kind of help do you need?”

  “As I said, we’re new here. I know Fort Faith lies to the east, near the center of Capricon, but I have no map or anyone in my party who is familiar with the island.”

  “To tell you the truth, Mister…?”

  “Tristan,” he provided, “but please, call m
e Klye.”

  “All right. To tell you the truth, Klye, you’re about as far as you can get from Fort Faith. You would have been better off finding a ship that docked in Port Gust or even North Port. As it is, you have a long walk in front of you.”

  “We didn’t exactly have the time to wait for a ship to take us to those places,” he snapped. “We boarded the first vessel we found that was headed to this island.”

  Leslie knew she had struck a nerve. He was getting defensive. She hadn’t meant to anger him, not really. Rather than press the point, she said, “I’d be happy to provide you with a map, but now I’m curious, Klye Tristan. Why are you interested in an abandoned fortress in what is essentially the middle of nowhere?”

  At first, she thought he wasn’t going to tell her. Klye kept his eyes locked on hers. He didn’t entirely trust her, she knew, which was fine by her. She didn’t trust him either.

  Finally, he spoke. “A company of Superian Knights has been ordered to reoccupy Fort Faith. The Renegades in Port Alexis fear that Continae and its territories are preparing to fight the Renegades in earnest and that they plan to deal with the Renegades in Capricon first, using the island as an example for the Renegades on the continent.”

  She had heard nothing of Knights bound for Fort Faith or of a full offensive against Capricon’s Renegades. Either Klye knew something she didn’t, or he was trying to scare her into helping him.

  Knights at Fort Faith would be yet another problem for the Renegades of Capricon. Leslie had sent numerous messengers to the Renegades in Rydah, and while the capital city was on the opposite coast as Port Town, those who traveled from one end of the island to the other had little to fear once they made it past Fort Miloásterôn. After that, the trek was more tedious than anything else, and Leslie preferred tedious to dangerous.

  Or was something else truly afoot?

  Leslie shook her head. “The Knights are probably just tired of us Renegades coming and going as we please when we need to cross the island.”

  “Perhaps,” Klye allowed, as though he couldn’t care less.

  Before she could ask Klye what he planned to do once he got to the fortress, the man sitting next to him said, “We’re going to get there first and ambush the Knights.”

  Klye gave the man a withering look.

  Leslie smirked, perversely reveling in the other Renegade Leader’s discomfort. All throughout their talk, Klye had acted like he was in complete control, not intimidated in the least. But his control had clearly slipped. He had not wanted the other Renegade to say anything at all, least of all give any hints to her, a rival.

  But that was not the only reason Leslie found herself grinning. Before the other man had spoken, Leslie had caught Klye’s eyes exploring the low neckline of her tunic. When their eyes met again, she knew that he knew he had been caught.

  “How many men are in your band, Klye?” she asked before he could regain his composure.

  She hit the mark with that question. Klye narrowed his eyes just slightly before answering. “Five.”

  Now it was Leslie’s turn to be caught by surprise. “Five? You are going to confront a company of Knights with only five men at your command?”

  The brown-haired Renegade spoke again. “It’s five, including Klye. But we do have two—”

  “Shut up, Plake.” Klye interrupted, never taking his eyes off of hers. “We are only five, but we have been underestimated before, Miss Beryl.”

  Unless Klye had two spell-casters in his band, she couldn’t guess how he planned to hold out against even a small squadron of Knights of Superius. In all likelihood, he and his men would be killed to a man.

  Looking into his eyes, however, Leslie could not bring herself to believe that Klye Tristan was a fool.

  “Please, call me Leslie,” she told him after a moment. She knew that it was not her place to mock him…though what had he said about sitting around Port Town?

  “Your plans are no business of mine,” she continued. “I can give you a map, but I think you would benefit more from a guide. If you’re interested, I know just the man for the job. As it so happens, he’ll be here at noon tomorrow. You may come and meet him then, if you’d like.”

  Klye studied her for a few seconds, leaving her to wonder what was going on behind those eyes of his, which had not strayed from hers since she had caught them wandering earlier.

  Finally, he said, “All right. I’ll come back tomorrow. Thank you for your time, Miss…Leslie. Good night.”

  She said nothing as she watched them leave her office. The tall man by the door was the last to go, and suddenly Leslie realized that she had forgotten all about him during the meeting. After the door closed, she replayed the conversation over in her mind. She had learned very little about Klye, his men, and their mission, but she could find out more tomorrow.

  And if she had someone go with them to Fort Faith, she’d learn a whole lot more…

  Remembering how Klye’s eyes had lingered on her breasts, she smirked again. Then she shook her head, cursed herself for a moony maiden, and decided she had better get some sleep.

  She had enough trouble in her life without Klye Tristan and his fool’s errand occupying her thoughts.

  * * *

  Ragellan was starting to worry about Klye and the others. A mostly full moon was peeking through the room’s sole window, and he found himself staring out at it as his thoughts wandered.

  He and Horcalus had spent much of the night reminiscing about their days at Fort Splendor in Superius, where Chester Ragellan had served as the fort’s commander. Now Horcalus was asleep, which was just as well. Horcalus hadn’t slept much the past few weeks. Surely, he was exhausted.

  At first, Ragellan had thought the man’s restlessness was due to the perpetual swaying motion of the ship or a crisis of conscience, but now he wasn’t so sure. He feared their time in the Citadel Dungeon had infected Horcalus with a fear of closed-in spaces. Whatever ailed him, Dominic Horcalus suffered in silence.

  Once Horcalus had dozed off, Ragellan had little else to do but think. Mostly, his mind was drawn to the past.

  Ragellan had not thought much of the Renegades in the beginning. The rebels began sprouting up all over Continae in the days following the Signing of the Scroll of Alliance. At first, they held public rallies mostly, protesting the Alliance of Nations and trying to convince their neighbors and townsfolk that the Alliance would inevitably diminish the glory of Superius and the rest of Continae.

  None of the Kings of Continae gave them much thought until some of the factions became violent.

  Over the past two years, the Renegades, realizing that their words were having no effect on the powers that be, had grown more dependent upon the use of force to get their point across. They sent death threats to officials who openly supported or promoted the Alliance, looted city funds to finance their operations, and began fighting with local militiamen and constables.

  The more radical factions attacked and sometimes even killed the occasional dwarf or half-elf, hoping to keep more foreigners from settling in Continae.

  Finally, the Kings of Continae were forced to take the rebels seriously. The Knights of Superius were ordered to get involved. However, not wanting the people to panic, King Edward Borrom III commanded the Knights to bolster the defenses of cities all across Superius. They were not to take the offensive, for there was still a chance that the Renegades’ fire would burn itself out. The Superian king hoped that the mere presence of Superian Knights would intimidate the rebels into abandoning their misguided cause altogether.

  But Ragellan learned firsthand that the Renegades were not the half-hearted rabble-rousers many mistook them for. A band of Renegades near Fort Splendor had gone so far as to attack a supply caravan bound for his fortress. The presence of the Superian Knights among local authorities seemed only to push the Renegades harder, making them bolder than ever.

  Even as the rebels grew more militant, the Knights’ orders remained noncommittal an
d were, at times, downright complacent in Ragellan’s opinion. Ragellan and the other commanders from all across Superius—and Capricon, too, he supposed—were told not to seek out the Renegades’ hideouts. They were to defend, but never attack.

  King Edward was a peace-loving man. He knew that if the Knights of Superius marched against the Renegades, whispers of a war would soon follow. A civil war in Continae would poison the very spirit of the Alliance of Nations, which remained in the delicate stage of infancy. But Ragellan had felt as though he were being kept on a leash. He grew more frustrated with every encounter with the rebels, incidents that invariably resulted in the Renegade’s safe retreat.

  Then one day he received an order that allowed him to strike a blow against the Renegades. Strangely, it came in the form of a missive that had no signature but bore the seal of the King of Superius himself. Any elation Ragellan might have felt at receiving orders directly from King Edward quickly turned to gut-wrenching disappointment.

  The letter suggested that Ragellan arrange for a certain outspoken Renegade sympathizer to be silenced forever. In essence, the king was sanctioning the assassination of a man who was known to collaborate with the Renegades and whose voice was getting too loud. There was but one stipulation: Ragellan was to make it look like an accident so that the Knighthood would have no connection to the act.

  Knowing in his heart that following the king’s “suggestion” would compromise his honor, as well as the Knighthood’s honor, he had sent a reply, explaining that he could not complete the mission as stated. While he was not violating a direct order, Ragellan was nonetheless heartbroken to have to go against the wishes of his king—no matter how immoral those wishes seemed.

  He told no one of that letter, not even his lieutenants.

  A week later, Ragellan was arrested, accused of embezzling money from Fort Splendor’s vault and secretly funding the Renegade cause. Sacks of coins were discovered in his room, and paperwork was found to prove that he was misrepresenting the amount of silver he was receiving from the Knighthood. Dominic Horcalus was the only man to speak on his behalf at the trial and was arrested as an accomplice.