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

by David Michael Williams

  Her Renegades wouldn’t t risk blowing their cover or her own, no matter how badly they might have wanted to aid her.

  One man did come to her—the “half-man” Scout had mentioned. Veldross was Pintor’s Cup’s only barkeep as well as the owner of the establishment. Leslie didn’t know how long he had run the place or even if he had been its first owner. Despite the fact she had known Veldross for years, she knew precious little about him. He was more of a listener than a talker, guiding their conversations to her troubles and never his own.

  Veldross was one of a handful of half-elves that called Port Town home. Leslie didn’t know whether Veldross was religious or not, but she thought his calling the bar Pintor’s Cup was characteristic of the half-elf’s wry sense of humor. Most elves and their half-human offspring worshipped Almighty Aladon, not Pintor, who served as the patron god of Superius and its Knighthood.

  Veldross reached her before she could make it to the bar. “Now hold on, miss. You can’t bring this man into my bar. By the looks of him, he’s had enough to drink.”

  As he forcefully led her back the way they had come, a guiding hand on her hip, Leslie felt him drop something into her pocket. She protested and cursed at him as he all but pushed them out the door.

  When she and Klye were outside once more, Veldross whispered, “Use the back door. I’ll be up shortly.”

  With a wink, he shouted, “And don’t come back, you little hussy!”

  * * *

  Horcalus led the way into the boat, ordering Othello and Plake to follow him. What happened next almost sent them all into the sea.

  When Horcalus saw a shapeless thing leap up at him, he fell back a step or two, hand reaching for his longsword. Plake was right behind him, though, and Horcalus stepped hard on the rancher’s foot, which sent Plake jerking back, nearly knocking Othello off the end of the boat.

  Rather than draw his weapon, Horcalus stretched out his hands to protect his body from the strange menace. Plake shoved into his back, perhaps trying to dislodge Horcalus from his foot. This sent Horcalus crashing into his unexpected assailant, and the two of them fell.

  His face inches from the creature’s rough, brown hide, he suddenly realized that it was not an animal at all, but a man covered in a tarp.

  “Please don’t kill me,” begged the voice beneath the tarp.

  “What the hell is it?” Plake asked, peering over the knight’s shoulder. “Where’s my sword, Othello?”

  Horcalus straightened up, glaring back at Plake as he did so. “It’s a man, Plake. Would you have me skewer him without cause?” Back on his feet, he used the tip of his longsword to uncover the man in question.

  The terrified expression of a red-haired youth met his gaze, and never had Horcalus felt like such a knave. He quickly sheathed his blade.

  “We did not mean to startle you,” he said, extending his hand down to boy. “I am Dominic Horcalus, Knight—” The words caught in his throat. He had been denounced as a Knight of Superius, labeled a traitor. Now he was just another man with a sword.

  “We’re Renegades,” Plake added, causing the young man’s eyes to grow even wider. “You shouldn’t have told him your real name, Horcalus.”

  “He’s not our enemy, Plake.”

  The awe and fear in the boy’s eyes made Horcalus feel sick. He wanted to explain everything, to ease the boy’s mind and clear his own conscience. But then Othello grabbed an arrow from his quiver.

  “They found us.”

  “What?” Plake and Horcalus asked at the same time.

  Horcalus craned his neck and saw a group of guards cutting a swath through the fog, heading right for them. He thought he heard the twangs of crossbows.

  “Untie the boat,” he told Othello. To the boy, he said, “You’ll have to come with us for now.”

  He couldn’t risk sending the boy into the crossfire, though on top of all his other crimes, Horcalus could now add stealing a boat and kidnapping to the list. Gods above, what am I doing? he wondered. If not for the fact that Ragellan was counting on him to get the others to safety, he might have dropped his sword and surrendered right then and there, confessing all his sins to gods and men alike.

  After cutting the rope that bound them to the docks, Othello nocked an arrow and was aiming at the oncoming soldiers. The forester’s movements spurred Horcalus into action. He grabbed an oar and told Plake to take the other one.

  Plake did as he was told but muttered, “Why not make the kid row?”

  They heard the splash of bolts missing their mark and hitting into the sea around them. Othello fired arrows of his own, and Horcalus prayed for the souls of any guardsmen who found death that night by the forester’s bow.

  “Are they following us?” Plake asked breathlessly a few minutes later.

  “No,” Othello replied.

  “They don’t have to,” Horcalus said. “We cannot cross the ocean in a fishing boat. They know we must return to shore sometime.”

  Horcalus was out of ideas. He knew nothing of Port Town’s layout.

  “There’s a glen not far to the north of the city,” the boys said. “It’s surrounded by shallow water, so the coastal guards can’t get close to it. If you want, I’ll show you where it is.”

  “We would appreciate that.” Horcalus hadn’t thought the young man was paying them much attention, aside from staring at their weapons. “From there, you can go where you will. Tell the authorities that we took you by force if they trouble you.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be coming back to Port Town,” said the boy so quietly that Horcalus almost didn’t hear him. Louder, he added, “My name is Arthur Bis—just Arthur.”

  “Well met, Arthur,” Horcalus replied.

  Behind him, Plake snickered. “That’s rich. You, a rogue knight, tell him your full name, but the kid conceals his surname. What have you got to hide, kid?”

  Arthur didn’t reply.

  “Less talk and more rowing, Plake.” Horcalus wiped the sweat from his brow. “The sooner we get to safety, the sooner we can begin our search for Ragellan.”

  Although he was exhausted, having eaten nothing since the meager breakfast early that morning, Horcalus pushed his oar through the water with as much force as he could muster. Tired though he was, he doubted he would be able to sleep until he learned what happened to Ragellan.

  * * *

  Leslie had never been inside Veldross’s apartment before. She knew the half-elf lived above Pintor’s Cup, but all the time she had spent in his company had been in the bar, usually after the tavern closed.

  The upstairs apartment consisted of a small kitchen, a sitting room, and a bedroom, which was where she took Klye. She hoped Veldross wouldn’t object to her putting the Renegade Leader in his bed.

  She’d owe Veldross big after all of this was over. Though Leslie was the city’s Renegade Leader, Veldross was under no obligation to put his establishment and his home at risk to help her. Truly, she could count him as a friend.

  It turned out Klye was, in fact, delirious. As she covered him with blankets and ran a cool washrag over his forehead, the man muttered scattered phrases. At one point, he spoke of a dream that wasn’t a dream, using names of people and places Leslie didn’t recognize. He then said something about the Renegades in Port Alexis, but she could make no sense of it.

  Leslie took the opportunity to really look at Klye Tristan. She had to admit that he was handsome—in an ordinary sort of way.

  She gasped when his eyes opened to stare directly at her.

  “I bought something for you, Les,” he said, his mouth turned up in a slight grin.

  He opened his fingers, and she saw a necklace resting atop his palm. She took it gingerly, examining the hematite ankh. Had he really bought this for her, or was it the fever talking? She looked back down at Klye, hoping to gain a better understanding from his expression, but the man was unconscious.

  “Well, aren’t you just full of surprises?”

  “Who is he
?”

  Leslie had not heard Veldross enter the apartment, and she jumped at the sound of his voice.

  “You’re as bad as Scout, sneaking up on people like that. This is Klye Tristan. He’s a Renegade Leader from Continae. He and his band are going to Fort Faith, though I have no idea why. He’s been shot by an arrow, and I think it was poisoned.”

  Veldross didn’t ask any more questions. He left the bedroom and fetched some things from the kitchen. “I’m no apothecary, and not every elf knows as much about plants as humans assume, but I do happen to know of a salve that might help.”

  “Thank you, Veldross, for everything. I don’t know where else I could have brought him.”

  Veldross grunted an acknowledgement and then went to work in silence. Leslie held Klye as still as she could while Veldross removed the arrow from his arm. He cried out in agony before passing out again. After dipping a homemade bandage into the concoction and wrapped it around Klye’s arm, he told her he must return to the bar. He had left his one and only barmaid in charge.

  “It’s not that I don’t trust her,” the half-elf said, “I simply know how easily overwhelmed she gets. I’m sorry there isn’t more I can do.”

  Leslie dabbed at Klye’s brow with cool water and spoke reassuring words she prayed were true. About an hour later, Scout arrived. She awoke with a start, embarrassed to find she had fallen asleep with her head resting on Klye’s chest.

  Scout leaned against doorframe of the room. “You’re awfully jumpy.”

  Trying not to blush but failing, Leslie asked, “Just tell me what you’ve learned.”

  “You’re not going to like it,” he warned her, the smile vanishing from his lips. “By the time I reached Oars and Omens, the inn was already ablaze. I don’t know how many escaped. There were a lot of corpses outside the place, guardsmen and pirates alike. I heard someone say that the pirates who surrendered at the end were immediately run through by the guards. The pirate king was the only one they didn’t kill.”

  “Probably saving him for a public execution,” Leslie said with a sigh.

  When Maeve Semper had been discovered as a Renegade agent, she was arrested by her former pier guard comrades. The mayor had planned to hang Maeve in the City Square as an example, but she had escaped on her own before daylight.

  “There was one other prisoner,” Scout said. “He isn’t a pirate, though. His name is Chester Ragellan, a Knight of Superius who is wanted for conspiring with the Renegades.”

  “A rogue knight…I’d bet my best bustle he’s a member of Klye’s band.”

  “Do you even own a bustle?” Scout asked.

  “It’s an expression.”

  “Well, I’ve never heard it before.”

  While bickering with Solomon Aegis, her friend since childhood, had become second nature, Leslie was in no mood to argue tonight. She felt like Veldross’s barmaid, beleaguered by all the many things that demanded her attention.

  The Pirates of the Fractured Skull were either dead or gone, according to Scout’s report. The pirate king was imprisoned, along with one of Klye’s men. Klye himself was ill, and the city guards were watching Elezar. Then there was that letter to Domacles that had seemed so important earlier…

  Well, Domacles and his Renegades would have to wait. As much as she wanted to unite the Renegades of the island into a cohesive force, she had to get her own affairs in order first. Her fingers tracing the smooth curve of the ankh, Leslie began to construct a plan.

  * * *

  The smell of sweat, urine, and worse hung thick in the air. Ragellan’s cell was pitch black, but walking the perimeter revealed it to be larger than the cell he and Horcalus had shared in the Citadel Dungeon. Neither had Port Town’s guards restricted his arms or legs.

  Thank the gods for small favors, he thought.

  He imagined Horcalus would be pacing were he there too, but the younger knight had escaped—or so he hoped. He needed to believe Horcalus and the others had gotten away safely, for the alternative was too terrible to entertain.

  Ragellan had watched in horror as one of the finer-dressed city guards ordered his men to kill the remaining Pirates of the Fractured Skull. Only one other prisoner had been taken, Ragellan’s cellmate. The pirate king.

  As a former commander, Ragellan empathized with the man. The guards had had no right to execute the unarmed pirates, criminals though they were. They should have stood trial before punishment was meted out.

  “So…who are you, anyway?”

  Ragellan turned in the direction of the pirate king. The man had done nothing but cuss and promise to do vile things to the families of the guards for the first ten minutes of their incarceration. After that, he had gone completely silent.

  “I am Chester Ragellan, a former Knight of Superius and a Renegade by association.”

  A pause.

  “You work for Leslie?”

  “Leslie Beryl?” Ragellan asked. “No, but the leader of my troupe was holding a meeting with her when Oars and Omens was attacked by the guards. How do you know Leslie?”

  Another pause.

  “I s’pose there’s no use keepin’ it a secret…not anymore. Leslie wanted to form an alliance with my clan. This is what I get for goin’ against my better judgement…for gettin’ involved in politics.”

  “I am sorry for your loss,” Ragellan began, hardly believing he was trying to console a pirate king. “You and your men fought bravely. If it is any consolation to you, I believe that I saw at least one of your men escape before you were forced to surrender.”

  “Oh yeah? What’d he look like?”

  Ragellan thought back to the fight. He had been dragged from the inn after getting kicked in the head. Pirates and guardsmen alike were vacating Oars and Omens due to all the smoke and fire.

  “The man had bluish-black hair and the beginnings of a beard. He had been sitting next to Plake at the bar before the guards arrived.”

  “Crooker,” the pirate king muttered. “Well, at least Crook’ got away. If he has any sense, he’ll get the hell out of town and keep runnin’. Wait a minute. You mentioned Plake. You know him?”

  “Yes,” Ragellan said with a sighed. “He is member of my Renegade band.”

  The pirate king laughed dryly. “Did ya know Plake was the one who made the inn blow up? Dropped a firebomb behind the bar…near all the flammable stuff. Nearly got us all killed.”

  “I apologize on his behalf—”

  “Forget it,” the other man interrupted. “It was an accident, and he was only tryin’ to help. ’Sides, we were cornered anyway. Only a matter of time before the guards took us. Neither you nor Plake had any reason to stay an’ fight. I appreciate that, even though it did no good.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  After another long pause, the pirate king said, “My name is Charles Atlins, but everyone calls me Pistol.”

  “Well met…Pistol.” The word felt strange on Ragellan’s tongue.

  Then the two men returned to their respective thoughts, surrounded by darkness and the silence of regret.

  Passage XI

  Through bleary eyes, Klye took in the sparsely decorated bedroom around him. Judging by the sunlight streaming through the partly drawn curtains, it was morning. The last thing he recalled was escaping the sewers. He sat up, wincing when he put weight on his injured arm.

  He found Leslie sleeping in a more-or-less upright position in the corner of the room. Her head was lolled to the side, and Klye imagined she would have quite the cramp in her neck when she awoke.

  Though he was still a little groggy, Klye felt considerably better than he had yesterday. He remembered the wooziness and wondered what sort of drug the arrowhead had carried. Not a fatal toxin, obviously. More likely, the creatures in the sewers had used a poison that would dull their enemies’ senses and render them unconscious.

  He was suddenly aware that he was staring at Leslie Beryl. Her hair was disheveled, and she wore different clothing, including a
shirt that was quite a bit tighter than the loose tunic he was accustomed to. She had changed out of her wet clothes, but was this her home?

  Or her boyfriend’s maybe?

  His face burned when he saw the ankh around her neck. A memory scratched at the back of his brain, but he couldn’t bring it forward. How did she get the necklace? Had he given it to her at some point? Oh gods…

  When Klye tried to get to his feet, he realized that he was wearing only his underclothes. While he was certain nothing had happened between him and Leslie last night, he would have given his right arm—or his left, at least—to remember the events of the evening. He retrieved pants, which were still damp, and began looking for his shirt.

  “It’s under the bed,” Leslie said.

  Klye pretended she hadn’t succeeded in startling him and bent down to recover his shirt.

  “How’s your arm?” she asked.

  “A little stiff…and it still throbs a bit…but not too bad considering. Did you put this bandage on me?”

  Leslie shook her head. “Veldross did. He’s a Renegade sympathizer. This is his house.”

  A thousand questions bubbled in Klye’s mind, but he merely nodded. Pulling his shirt over his head—slowly, awkwardly—he waited for her to fill him in on what he had missed.

  As Leslie spoke, rubbing her neck occasionally, Klye did his best not to interrupt—even when she shared the bad news about Ragellan. He was thankful that she omitted the episode during which she had received the ankh necklace and hoped he hadn’t made too much of a fool out of himself.

  He didn’t know why he felt so off-balance around Leslie Beryl. It wasn’t as though she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever met.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked. “We could raid Veldross’s larder.”

  He hadn’t eaten in nearly a day and thought that he should be hungry, but he wasn’t.