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

by David Michael Williams

  Both Ragellan and Horcalus were sentenced to fifty years in the Citadel Dungeon, traitors to their country and to the Knighthood. After about a month of rotting in that prison, they learned they were to be executed. Horcalus was insistent that it was a mistake, but Ragellan knew there was more to it than an innocent error. Even after he told Horcalus of the strange letter, Horcalus refused to believe that the king was in any way involved, proposing that Renegade agents had forged the letter.

  Ragellan did not know what to believe, but he was confident that his refusal to arrange the assassination and his arrest were related. He had gotten in somebody’s way—but whose?

  The door to the room opened suddenly, tearing Ragellan from his memories. Grabbing his dagger, he leaped to his feet. But it was only Klye.

  “Sorry,” Ragellan said. “I suppose I’m a bit jumpy. Where are the others?”

  Klye collapsed onto the bed, his eyes finding Horcalus, asleep on his cot. “They are in the other room. I told them to get some sleep, though Plake was eager to enjoy Port Town’s nightlife.”

  “He may try to sneak out,” Ragellan pointed out.

  “I know. That’s why I jammed the lock on the door. It’s a useful trick to be sure. Keeps witnesses to a robbery as well as idiot ranchers from getting you into trouble.”

  “You locked them in the other room?” Ragellan couldn’t suppress a chuckle at the man’s creativity.

  Then Ragellan listened as Klye told him about their walk to the Cathedral, the close call with the Captain of the Three Guards, and the meeting with Leslie Beryl. When Klye got to the part where Plake had interrupted the conversation, Ragellan no longer smiled.

  “There is no doubt in my mind that he was going to tell her about the two Knights of Superius in our little band,” Klye spat. “I don’t think Leslie would have necessarily used that information against us, but it would have given her something to hold over our heads.”

  “And the fewer people who know Horcalus and I are in Capricon, the better,” Ragellan finished.

  Klye nodded. “Sometimes, I wonder why I ever let Plake tag along. We would’ve been better off just tying him up by the side of the road and continuing on our way.”

  “He might have identified us to local authorities.” Klye rolled his eyes, and Ragellan pressed on. “Oh, he probably wouldn’t have been able to tell them anything pertinent, I’ll grant you, but we were still too near the Superian boarder to take chances. You did what you had to do. Besides, maybe you were feeling a little guilty. We had just stolen four horses from his uncle’s ranch.”

  Klye’s scoff told him that guilt had nothing to do with it. “To tell you the truth, Ragellan, I thought he would get bored with us and leave eventually. It was a long ride from Param to West Cape. And the longer Plake was with us, the longer his uncle and the constables would believe he took the horses.”

  “Our unwitting scapegoat,” Ragellan concluded. “That is clever. The poor man probably still believes his reckless nephew stole the horses, sold them for coin, and is living it up in some city in Param.” He silently added a prayer for the gods to bless the ranch owner for his unwilling sacrifice.

  “Plake won’t be doing any celebrating as long as he’s with us, though gods know he’ll try. I feel like I’m babysitting him.”

  Ragellan could empathize with Klye. He had been a trainer for the Knights before being promoted to the rank of commander, and he had met his fair share of undisciplined young men. “Well, we’ll be out of Port Town soon, and there is little enough trouble for him to get into on the road. Do we leave tomorrow morning as you had hoped?”

  “Actually…”

  Klye told Ragellan the rest of the story, about Leslie’s suggestion that he come back tomorrow afternoon to meet with a guide who would take them all the way to Fort Faith. “We should be on our way out of Port Town well before sunset.”

  “Do you trust Leslie Beryl?” Ragellan asked.

  “Not necessarily,” Klye replied. “But I think I understand her, and that’s more important than trust.”

  Ragellan did not argue, though he secretly pitied Klye. He doubted the former thief had ever put much faith in the people around him. Klye only depended on people whose interests coincided with his own at the moment. He knew nothing of genuine respect or love, only grudging fear and convenient tolerance.

  When Klye left to go to his own bed, which he decided should be within earshot of Plake Nelway, Ragellan continued to ponder the self-appointed Renegade Leader. Clearly, Horcalus did not trust him, but that was understandable and perhaps forgivable.

  Ragellan knew things about Klye that Horcalus did not. The Renegade Leader had opened up to him at various points along the trip from Superius to Capricon. From these private conversations, Ragellan had learned about Klye’s early days as a pickpocket and, later, a burglar. He hadn’t talked much about his days as a thief and had been elusive about many things in the beginning. Recently, though, Klye had told him about waking up from what must have been a coma, though Klye couldn’t remember what had caused it.

  “Maybe you were struck from behind during one of your robberies,” Ragellan had suggested.

  “Maybe,” Klye allowed, “but the dream I had seemed so real. I never dream, but this one was so vivid, so long…”

  “Well, you were in a coma. You were probably overdue for a good dream.”

  And it had been a good, if bizarre, dream, according to Klye, though he wouldn’t go into much detail, and Ragellan hadn’t pressed him.

  But the first thing Klye had told Ragellan about himself was how he had ended up at the Citadel Dungeon to begin with. Klye had been hired by Superian Renegades to free one of their leaders from the prison. It was in their company that he had learned of Ragellan and Horcalus’s imminent execution—which those Renegades hadn’t understood any better than Ragellan himself, for they knew the imprisoned Knights had not given money to their cause.

  Once Klye had used his talents to break into the prison, he left the rebels and found his way to where Ragellan and Horcalus were being held. Freeing the two knights was a truly unselfish act—maybe Klye’s first. Ragellan eventually told Klye about the letter he had received from King Edward and how he thought it to be linked to the erroneous charges.

  Oddly, it was this information that convinced Klye to join the Renegade cause in earnest.

  A month or so later, in Port Alexis, Klye learned of the Knights plan to reoccupy Fort Faith. The Renegade Leaders of Continae had enough problems of their own without worrying about the island province, and so Klye volunteered to venture across the Strait of Liliae and personally prevent the Knights from strengthening their hold on Capricon.

  Ragellan had to admit that Klye was doing an admirable job at playing the role of leader. He knew when to ask for advice or help, and the new Renegade Leader’s determination was infectious. Had things worked out differently, Ragellan imagined that Klye might have made an excellent Knight, but Ragellan could hardly blame him for choosing the Renegades as his vehicle to self-improvement.

  And that, perhaps, was Ragellan’s own problem. He could not blame the Renegades for being suspicious of the Superian monarchy and the Alliance of Nations, which King Edward Borrom was instrumental in creating.

  Ragellan, rogue Knight of Superius, was himself suspicious.

  Passage VI

  Klye left Oars and Omens a full hour before noon, though he knew it wouldn’t take that long to get back to the Cathedral. Arriving early would give him an advantage, especially if Leslie was setting a trap for him.

  He didn’t think that was likely, but one never knew. He no longer wore the monk disguise, deciding their close call with the Captain DeGrange the night before had been a little too close.

  He lingered a while in the marketplace again, eavesdropping. To better blend in with the crowd, he decided to buy something and stopped at a jeweler’s cart. What he really wanted was a sword, but Othello would take care of that when he used the rest of their f
unds to buy supplies for the journey.

  As he pretended to examine a copper bangle, he listened. No one was gossiping about the Renegades today, though he did hear bits and pieces about pirates, who were allegedly gathering en masse all along the coast. Some said that the pirates were going to plunder Port Town. Others predicted that the mayor had secretly hired them to find and capture his daughter.

  “You are looking for a token to give to your lover?” a hook-nosed jeweler asked him.

  “Ah, yes,” Klye said, setting the bracelet down. Leslie’s face flashed in his mind, but he banished it immediately

  “You seek to dazzle her with shiny baubles?” said the jeweler. In other words, thought Klye, do I want to pay a king’s ransom to impress her?

  “Actually, she prefers jewelry of subtle beauty,” Klye replied. Translation: I’m looking for something cheaper than a gem-encrusted crown.

  “Hmm,” said the jeweler, looking Klye up and down, deciding how much the man was likely to spend. “Is your lady one of Aladon’s faithful?”

  Well, she does spend an awful lot of time in his church, Klye thought. Apparently, Klye’s answer was of no consequence because before he could say anything, the jeweler drew his attention to a necklace made from a mirror-like mineral Klye knew to be hematite.

  It wasn’t worth much, but some believed hematite possessed the power to ward off evil spirits. Klye was not superstitious, but he thought that the simple charm would look nice resting between Leslie’s well-defined collarbones—not that he was going to give it to her.

  “It is in the shape of Aladon’s holy symbol, the ankh,” the merchant provided.

  “How much?” Klye asked.

  They haggled, for Klye was not about to be cheated, and finally the jeweler threw up his hands and cried something in a language Klye did not know. The Renegade Leader gave him three copper coins and left the merchant to moan about how he and his large family would end up living on the streets if he continued to practically give away his wares.

  Rolling his eyes, Klye thrust the necklace in his pocket, glanced up at the sun, and decided it was time to get on to the Cathedral.

  When he got to the church, he entered through the garden because he hadn’t been told to do otherwise. Elezar did not appear to be out and about, so Klye followed the way they had taken the night before, choosing an incorrect path only once. Cautiously, he entered the Cathedral and stepped down into the dark passageway.

  A little light had found its way down there, and for the first time, Klye noticed that there were doors off to either side of the corridor. He thought it possible that valuable relics—made of gold or silver—had been stored in those rooms and forgotten, but Klye denied his desire to explore.

  He didn’t have time to root around the basement of the Cathedral, and what would he say if Elezar or Leslie caught him? Quickening his pace, Klye reminded himself that he was no longer a petty thief. He was a Renegade Leader on important business.

  When he reached the double doors, he knocked twice, just as the High Priest had done.

  “Come in.” Because of the thick, wooden doors, he did not so much hear the individual words as interpret the inflection.

  He entered, closed the doors tightly behind him, and took a seat in the same chair he had used yesterday. The Renegade Leader alone. No ambush. As it was, Leslie didn’t even look up from what she was doing, which was writing a letter, by the looks of it.

  She wore the same outfit as last night—a thin white tunic covered by an unbuttoned leather vest—and her shoulder-length brown hair was again tied back in a ponytail. Klye wondered if she spent the night in the cramped room. When she finished the paragraph she had been working on, she pushed the quill and parchment aside and met his eyes.

  Her eyebrows rose, but only for a second. “Well, Klye Tristan, you’re early. I thought you were Scout.”

  “I found myself in the neighborhood, so I thought I would drop by,” Klye said dryly. “Come to think of it, what is to prevent just anyone from wandering down here? You could find yourself face to face with an enemy as easily as an ally.”

  “Lucky for me you aren’t here to cause trouble,” she replied with an unconcerned smile. “But I wouldn’t worry about unwelcome visitors, if I were you. I’ve been using this room as my office for more than a year now, and only those whom Elezar approves may enter the Cathedral’s lower levels.”

  Levels? thought Klye. Just how far below ground does this place go?

  “So the High Priest has nothing better to do than keep a lookout all day and night? I didn’t see him at all today. Was he peeking out one of the stained-glass windows? And what could he have done to stop me if I were, say, the Captain of the Three Guards?”

  “Elezar believes that Aladon protects us from harm and helps hide the Renegades’ secrets.”

  “You don’t honestly believe that, do you?”

  “I have no reason to doubt it,” she said evenly. “Elezar would not be helping the Renegades if he didn’t believe his god supported our cause. You surely believe our cause is just. Isn’t it conceivable that the gods, too, find it just?”

  “I don’t know what causes gods believe in…or what causes people to believe in the gods, for that matter,” said Klye, a little disappointed in Leslie.

  “You don’t believe in the gods?” The way she asked the question made Klye feel as though he were the one being foolish.

  “No. Why should I? What have the gods ever done for me?”

  “What have you ever done for the gods?” she was quick to counter. “But you didn’t come here to discuss religion. What should we talk about instead, while we wait for your guide? Your plans for Fort Faith maybe?”

  All throughout the conversation, Leslie had kept her tone light and friendly, and he was glad he hadn’t offended her. Leslie seemed to be in a better mood today, as though she now saw him more as a friend than a rival. Or perhaps she was just trying to lull him into a false sense of security…

  “I’d rather talk about you,” Klye said.

  “All right,” she replied slowly, drawing out the words.

  She continued to smile, but he could tell she was trying to measure him up. Klye had always preferred subtlety, regardless of his profession, but he thought that Leslie Beryl wouldn’t be so easily manipulated.

  Better to be blunt and see how she reacts, he thought.

  “I’m told you are the daughter of Port Town’s mayor. What provoked you to become the Renegade Leader of his city?”

  Leslie leaned back, crossed her arms, and gave him an indecipherable look. At first, Klye thought he had overstepped, that she wasn’t going to answer him, and that she might even ask him to leave. But then she spoke.

  There have been many men sitting where you are sitting, Klye, and I’ve seen that very question on many of their faces. I think you may be the first to come right out and ask it.” She shook her head and smiled. “Most people assume that I became a Renegade Leader because I hate my father, and I’m content to let people believe what they want. It’s easier that way. The truth is a bit more complicated. The truth is…I still love him…or at least I love the man he once was.”

  She spoke quietly and no longer looked at him but at something far away. “Even before the Alliance of Nations came into being, my mother and I started seeing less and less of my father. With King Edward’s plan to open Capricon up to the peoples of all nations in the Alliance, my father had a lot of work to do to make sure Port Town was ready for an influx of foreigners.

  “Slowly, Crofton Beryl began to change. Once a kind man, he became short-tempered and rude. The mayor had made a lot of friends in Port Town, but he no longer visited them. He became suspicious of everyone and stopped attending Elezar’s weekly sermons.

  “He spent a lot of time with a Superian official whose name he told neither my mother nor me. In fact, he told us very little about what kept him at work so late, dismissing our innocent questions with silence, as though everything he did as May
or of Port Town had to be a secret.

  “It got worse when my mother died of a strange sickness. Not even the best healers from Mystel’s Temple could do anything for her. After she passed away, my father’s moods grew darker still. He withdrew himself altogether, shutting me out of his life. After a while, I grew fed up with his aloofness and followed him to work. I wanted to see just what it was that monopolized all of his time.

  “I swear he must have had eyes in the back of his head because he was waiting for me around a blind corner not three blocks from our house. He scolded me severely and sent me home. But I was not to be put off so easily.”

  Klye’s leg began to cramp up, but he dared not move.

  “It wasn’t long before a band of Renegades formed in the city,” Leslie continued. “Most citizens ignored them, content with my father’s governing, though perhaps they were somewhat apprehensive about what changes the Alliance would bring. The Renegades, however, spoke out against my father, claiming the mayor no longer had the people’s best interest in mind. Among their grievances was his evicting the poor from their homes for no good reason.

  “I couldn’t believe my father had become so heartless, so I investigated, hoping to prove the Renegades wrong. I went to one of the buildings that had once housed several families. It was completely empty. My sources tell me that it remains empty to this day. There were other emptied apartments nearby, but they stood heavily guarded, so it wasn’t until I joined the Renegades that I learned they were the mayor’s private warehouses.

  “Foolishly, I confronted my father that very night. I guess I had hoped there was a logical explanation, but rather than explain himself, my father confined me to my room and ordered two city guards to make sure I stayed there.”

  Leslie smirked. “It wasn’t the first time I had occasion to sneak out of my room, so I did so without much trouble. I was outside the house when I heard my father’s voice through an open window. He was telling someone that I had been caught spying on him and that I was to be ‘dealt with.’”