Rebels and Fools (The Renegade Chronicles Book 1) (37 page)

As
they rushed forward, following the invisible tether that connected the crossbow
to its owner, Colt feared for Opal all the more. The woman had spent most of her
life—at least what she could remember of it—in the wilds of Ristidae and, after
that, roaming the Continaen countryside. Opal knew better than to travel
through unfamiliar territory at night. If Noel was right, it meant that Opal
was being chased.

Or,
worse, she had already been caught and was being led somewhere sinister in the
middle of the night.

Colt
didn’t wallow in his fears for long. After a few minutes, Cholk stopped the
company. The dwarf’s eyes seemed to flash with a white gleam as he peered out
into the night. Before Colt could ask him what he saw, the dwarf pointed a
finger and said, “There’s a group of people out there, moving north. I’d wager
there’s at least half a dozen of them. Maybe more.”

“Is
one of them Opal?” Sir Wessner asked.

“Don’t
know.”

Colt
turned to Noel. “Is that where the…um…pull is coming from?”

Noel
gave the crossbow a good shake, looked in the direction Cholk had indicated,
and shrugged. “I think so, but it’s hard to tell.”

Colt
chewed his lower lip. Other than a few shallow mounds of earth, there was no
cover whatsoever between them and the Renegades. And Colt was somehow sure this
was the Renegade band Commander Calhoun had warned him about. He was equally
certain they had Opal.

“If
we cannot take them unawares, we might consider parleying,” Zeke Silvercrown
suggested.

Colt
didn’t want to talk with the Renegades. He recalled his cousin, dear Byron,
pinned to the ground by a Renegade’s spear. No, he thought, talking with the
monsters was not likely to get them anywhere but dead.

And
yet he couldn’t risk Opal’s life by ordering an overt attack.

“If
only there was some way to make sure Opal was out of harm’s way,” Colt
muttered.

“Leave
it to me!”

Colt
glanced over at Noel in time to see the midge splash some powder over Opal’s
crossbow. The nonsensical syllables of magic wafted to his ears as he dove for
the midge. There was a flash of light. He hit the ground hard, his hands
closing around nothing but air.

Noel
was gone.

*
         
*
         
*

Klye
knelt atop a small hill with Othello. The archer had informed him there was
someone out there—five someones, to be exact—but squinting out at the plain,
Klye couldn’t distinguish one shadow from another.

“They
wear armor,” Othello told him, and those three words quashed Klye’s wishful
thinking about wandering wolves.

“Knights,”
Klye spat. It had to be them. He had no way of knowing how the Knights had
tracked them down so efficiently—so miraculously—and that unsettled him. “At
least, we outnumber the enemy for once. Can you see what they are doing?”

Othello,
an arrow nocked in his longbow, stared out into the night. “They are
still…probably watching us.”

Klye
turned to the rest of his band, motioning Pistol and Crooker to bring the
prisoner forward. For once, Red didn’t put up a fight.

“It
seems your friends from the fort are nearby,” he told her. “How did they find
us?”

Red’s
glare expressed her opinion of him with as much vehemence as her sharp tongue
had earlier. Well, the feeling was mutual.

A
grunt from Othello stole Klye’s attention. “There was a flash of white
lightning in the midst of the Knights. Now I see only four of them.”

Magic,
Klye fumed. A second flash of light erupted nearby, and Klye spun around to
find the Renegades were not alone. Off to his left, a short man in a blue robe
and a pointy hat was rubbing his eyes. He was only a couple of yards from Red.

Crooker
and Pistol reacted first, holding the blades before them as they charged. Klye
stood transfixed, as the midge traced an arcane symbol in the air. An overgrown
spider web sailed through the air, striking the pirates head on. Pistol and
Crooker struggled against the sticky strands, but their blades could not cut
the magical net. The more they struggled, the tighter the web wound around
them.

Klye
heard the swish of Othello’s arrow, but the shaft missed its target by less
than an inch.

Klye
still couldn’t move.

When
Red began to run toward the small spell-caster, her hands still tied behind her
back, Klye finally snapped out his paralysis and ran to intercept her. If the
midge got close enough to the woman, he’d surely whisk her away as effortlessly
as he had arrived. And without Red, the Renegades would lose the upper hand in
dealing with the Knights.

The
tip of the midge’s staff belched forth a ball of orange flame. Klye squinted
against the brightness, dove to the ground, and rolled under its grasping
tendrils. He regained his footing at once and continued forward.

The
wizard reared back to fire another spell from his staff, but Klye was quicker.
Rather than go for Red, Klye pounced on the midge. The staff flew out of his
grasp. The wind rushed from Klye’s lungs—and likely the midge’s lungs too—as
they crashed to the earth.

Klye
drew in a big breath as he lay atop the midge, pinning to him to the ground,
but the air caught in his throat now that he had a better look at his
adversary.

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 as 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.