Rebels and Fools (The Renegade Chronicles Book 1) (41 page)

Scout
sent up a silent prayer to Aladon and his holy buddies, asking them to see him
through this alive. As he reasoned, bargained, and pleaded with the deities, he
wondered how many more times the gods would honor his desperate requests and when
his luck would run out for the first and last time.

As
he ran, he also wondered why the midge hadn’t charbroiled him on the spot.
Could the spell have somehow misfired? Not about to question his good
fortune—he’d owe Aladon big for this one!—Scout pressed on, ignoring the
dizziness that swirled in his brain, dismissing the disorienting sensation as a
reaction to his near-death experience.

When
his eyes began to droop and his legs slowed without his telling them to, Scout
realized with sudden horror that the midge’s spell hadn’t failed at all. Scout
crashed to the ground. He tried to get up, but his body wouldn’t respond. He
couldn’t even open his eyes. A great yawn escaped his mouth.

Seconds
later, he was fast asleep, sprawled out on his stomach and snoring carelessly.

*
         
*
         
*

They
sat at the end of a long table in the dining hall—a man, woman, and dwarf.
Dinnertime had come and gone hours ago, so they were alone.

Colt
felt Opal’s eyes on him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look up at her. The
initial shock of Prince Eliot’s plans had worn off, leaving the young commander
in a state of bleak acceptance.

He
had failed his men and his country, but what weighed most heavily on his
stooped shoulders was the realization he had failed himself. Despite the many
discomforts of dwelling in an ancient fort in the middle of nowhere, he had
been having the time of his life.

He
thought of the friends he had made since leaving Superius. His men, all
honorable Knights who affectionately referred to him as Commander Colt. Sir
Wessner. Chadwich Vesparis. Zeke Silvercrown. Even surly Gaelor Petton. Would
he ever see them again? Would any of them even want to keep company with him
once he was back in Superius, demoted and dishonored?

And
how would he face his family—his father, his older brothers, and Sir Rollace
White—now that he had soiled the Crystalus name?

Even
with Cholk and Opal there with him, Colt felt more alone than ever for he would
soon have to say goodbye to them as well. Even if the two of them made the trip
back to Superius with him, there was no place for them within the Knighthood.
Would he ever see either of them again?

Despair
filled his soul, and he silently bade the Warriorlord to give him strength.
Though he was on the verge of losing his rank, he must do what he could to
retain his dignity. He was a Knight of Superius, after all.

“You
don’t know the prince will send you away,” Opal said, as though reading his
thoughts. “Maybe His Royal Nosiness will just give you a good scolding and be
on his way…not that you deserve one.”

“Don’t
I?” Colt looked up. “I
did
allow the Renegades to escape.”

Cholk
crossed his arms defensively. “That was the midge’s fault, not yours. We
would’ve had the rebels if not for his silly fog spell.”

“But
don’t you see?” Colt cried. “It was my fault for bringing Noel along to begin
with.”

“No,”
Opal said. “It was my fault for getting caught. And by that rationale, your
only mistake was letting me come to the fort in the first place.”

“Of
course that wasn’t a mistake,” Colt told her, softening his tone. “But I should
have considered the possibility of Renegades in the vicinity. I should have
sent Knights to search for Albert, not you. Anyway, Albert wouldn’t have run
away if I hadn’t let Noel in the fort.”

“So
it
is
the midge’s fault,” Cholk concluded. “The prince can’t expect you
to have any control over a midge. Even if you had turned him away, there’s no
guarantee he’d have left.”

Colt
shrugged his shoulders. It didn’t matter how he and his friends interpreted
recent events. The prince would decide his crimes and the consequences thereof.
In spite of Opal and Cholk’s arguments, Colt knew he was guilty of placing his
personal feelings above his duty as the Commander of Fort Faith. What if Sir
Wessner or Sir Silvercrown had been killed by the rebels? What if he himself
had been slain?

“The
only thing I can do now is tell the prince exactly what has happened and throw
myself at his mercy,” he thought aloud.

“Judging
by the snippy tone in his letter, those are two qualities His Awesomeness
lacks,” Opal said. “I still don’t understand how he has the power to supplant
you or why he’s coming all the way to Fort Faith to do so.”

Colt
sighed. “As to why he’s coming, your guess is as good as mine, but I told you
before, the King of Superius and his heirs stand at the top of the hierarchy.
It’s always been that way…ever since King Eldrake Superior formed the
Knighthood and the nation of Superius centuries ago.”

“Even
if the royals have less military experience and are less qualified?”

“Even
so.”

Opal
scoffed. “Then I still say it’s a stupid rule.”

“It
may be outdated,” Colt allowed. “In the early days of Superius, the king was
the commander-in-chief of the army, the true head of the Knighthood. King
Edward III isn’t even a Knight himself, and neither is his son. Because the
king can get so tied up with affairs of state, a leadership position was
created within the Knighthood, making the king’s role as commander-in-chief
obsolete. But for posterity’s sake, the royal family retains its hold over
Superian armies.”

“It’s
stupid,” Opal insisted.

They
were silent for a few minutes longer, each lost in his or her private thoughts.
Colt appreciated the attempts to cheer him up, but theirs was a hopeless quest.
He had failed and had none to blame but himself.

Passage XII

The
next night, the three companions assembled again in the dining hall. Whereas
Colt had been depressed the evening before, he was now too physically exhausted
to pay any mind to the cloud of melancholy that had settled upon him since
first reading the prince’s letter.

He
took another drink from his stein, grimacing as he swallowed the tart red wine
that heated his insides like a forge. Colt didn’t care much for wine. He had
never been able to stomach large quantities of the stuff, ever since the time
he and his cousin had stolen a bottle from his father’s stock. They both had
been violently ill the morning after, and the taste of any wine still brought
back the unpleasant memory. But it did relax him.

He
watched Opal take a sip from her mug, noting how the wine painted her lips the
color of rose petals. It had been her idea to uncork a bottle, and he had not
objected since this could well be the last time the three of them sat together.

One
way or another, tomorrow would change everything.

“How
about a toast?” he suggested on a whim, raising his cup.

Opal
lifting hers. “All right…what shall we toast to?”

Colt
scratched his chin, considering the question. “To good times…while they last.”

“Bah,”
Cholk said, “that’s too dismal for a toast. I’ll not drink to such an ominous
sentiment.”

“To
friendship then,” Opal declared, clanking her mug against the dwarf’s.

Colt
brought his cup to meet theirs and took a long draught of the bittersweet
liquid. Though this was his first cup, he already felt the wine’s effect. He
decided this would be his only drink. He didn’t want to have to compound the
stress of Prince Eliot’s visit with a skull-splitting headache.

As
it were, he’d be lucky if he could bend low enough to perform a proper bow,
considering all he had accomplished that day. Upon first settling in Fort
Faith, Colt and his men had spent weeks transforming it into a bastion worthy
of their occupation, a keep both hospitable and formidable. However, they had
left quite a few minor tasks undone, focusing on functionality and ignoring
aesthetics in the meantime.

But
with a prince on the way, Colt had set his mind to finishing the job. So he and
all the Knights that could be spared had spent the day putting the finishing
touches on Fort Faith’s rebirth. Colt had no official training in stonemasonry,
carpentry, or tailoring, yet he had done a little of it all while supervising
the hasty project.

With
the muscles in his arms sore and a knot in his back the size of a fist, Colt
wondered if he had ever done so much work in so little time before. He recalled
his days of training for the Knighthood and decided that if Knights really
wanted to teach new squires discipline, they ought to force them to renovate an
old castle.

“I
want to thank you both for your help today,” Colt said suddenly, staring into
his nearly empty cup. “You were in no way bound to help me, but you did so
without a single complaint…which is more than can be said for some of the
Knights.”

“Hard
work never killed anybody,” Cholk said.

“It
was the least we could do, Colt. You’ve never asked for payment of any kind for
our staying here,” Opal said, looking away when Colt’s eyes met hers. She took
another drink, licked her lips, and added, “This is beginning to feel like one
big goodbye. Maybe we should change the subject before I get all misty-eyed.”

Colt
smiled, though he wondered if Opal every truly got misty-eyed. Would her final
words to him be ones of cunning wit or genuine sentiment?

“What
else is there to talk about?” Colt asked. “Prince Eliot’s visit is the biggest
thing to happen to Fort Faith since the Thanatan Conflict.”

“I
don’t know about that.” Opal emptied her cup and grabbed the bottle to refill
it. “What about the prisoner. Did you learn anything useful from him?”

Colt
shook his head. “Scout won’t talk. Actually, he has quite a mouth on him, but
he doesn’t say anything important. He wouldn’t betray his cohorts, even after I
promised him leniency.”

“That
surprises you?” Cholk asked softly.

Colt
shrugged, dismissing the question as rhetorical, but something in Cholk’s dark
eyes told him that the dwarf was waiting for an answer.

“Actually,
it does surprise me,” he admitted. “Why wouldn’t he trade their lives for his?”

“Would
you have told the Renegades anything if they’d captured you?”

“Of
course not,” Colt replied.

“The
Knights and the Renegades aren’t so unalike,” Opal said evenly.

Colt
straightened in his seat, feeling a bit insulted. “What do you mean by that?”

She
blinked twice, making eye contact with him once more, and then merely shrugged.
“I’m just saying the men in Klye’s band are likely as loyal to each other as we
are to you, Colt.”

“I
suppose that’s possible.”

In
truth, he had expected Scout to be more like Osric Curraal, the Renegade Leader
who had killed his cousin and who would’ve killed Colt too, if not for Cholk.

“Maybe
you should talk to him, Cholk,” Colt said. “Get Scout to see the error of his
ways. Maybe he’d quit the Renegades like you did.”

“Everyone’s
different,” Cholk said. “I became a Renegade out of a sense of obligation to
someone I thought was my friend. But I was being used…another pawn to move
wherever he saw fit. I never cared one way or another about the rebellion, but
Scout obviously believes in what he’s fighting for.”

Colt
sighed. “I’ve always thought of the Renegades as a bunch of self-righteous
bandits, motivated by greed and intolerance toward non-humans.”

He
paused, his thoughts jumping from the hated Osric Curraal to Cholk to the man
called Scout. Maybe Opal was right about the Renegades and Knights. Colt would
sooner die than betray his friends, and hadn’t he risked so much—too much?—in
going after Opal himself? Wouldn’t he have given his life if it meant Opal’s
safety?

An
unwelcome thought blossomed in his mind. “You don’t think that Scout’s friends
might attempt to break him out of the dungeon, do you?” he asked Cholk.

But
it was Opal, wearing a faraway look, who answered. “I think we can bet on it.”

*
         
*
         
*

Scout
sat on a moldy plank that served as a bench, his chin resting in his hands. The
air was so musty and damp he could taste it. He had lost count of his sneezes,
but aside from the odor and motes of dust that the wafted throughout the
dungeon like ghosts haunting a graveyard, Scout had to admit he had little to
complain about.

The
Knights had treated him as well as could be expected, better perhaps. He had
been questioned twice—first by Fort Faith’s commander and a second time by the
dour-looking Knight who had given Colt the news about Prince Eliot. Colt’s
second-in-command was far more insistent in his questioning than Colt had been,
but the worst that that Knight had done was add some colorful threats to the
predictable series of questions.

From
what he had heard of Ragellan and Horcalus’s experiences and from his own
encounter with the Knights at the Temple of Mystel, Scout had expected far
rougher treatment. Of course, torture could still come down the road,
especially if he continued to refuse to cooperate. At the moment, however, the
Knights were content to let him rot in the bowels of the fort.

The
notion he had finally been caught after so many years of taunting Capricon’s
authorities depressed him more than anything else.

Staring
at the thick bars of the door to his small cell, Scout cursed the midge who had
brought about his downfall. So intent was he on thinking up cruel fates for
Noel that he didn’t immediately believe his eyes when an unmistakable
silhouette appeared on the other side of the bars.

“What
do
you
want?” Scout demanded. “Do the Knights think I’ll tell you what I
haven’t told them?”

The
shadow did not immediately reply. Scout saw the outline of the conical hat
swivel, as though his visitor were looking right and left. Then came the
whisper, “Come closer to the door.”

Scout
hesitated, but figuring he didn’t have much to lose, he approached the bars,
crossed his arms, looked down at the midge, and said, “What.”

“I
need you to tell me where Klye is,” Noel replied in a loud whisper.

“Well,
that’s the questions of the day, isn’t it? ‘Where is your hideout?’ ‘Where can
we find the Renegade Leader?’ ‘Is it true that there are rogue Knights of
Superius in your band?’” Scout said, mimicking the stern voice of Lieutenant
Petton.

Noel
shook his head violently, causing his hat to tip precariously to one side. “No,
no, no. I just wanna to talk to Klye, not kill him. ’Cause that’s the problem.
The Knights want to fight him, so I have to warn him so he can get away before
they find him. He’s an old friend of mine, you know.”

Scout
snorted.

“I’m
not lying! My name is Noel…didn’t he ever mention me?” The midge was no longer
whispering, and his voice rose in pitch at the end of his question, expressing
incredulity.

“No
offense, but Klye Tristan isn’t the type of guy who’d befriend a midge.” He was
surprised to see the brim of Noel’s oversized hat tip forward as the midge’s
head and shoulders slumped. “What kind of a trick is this, anyway? I’m amused,
sure, but hardly convinced.”

“Klye
and I
are
friends,” Noel insisted. “Or at least, I thought we were. Now
he’s a bad guy, and I’m friends with the good guys who want to put a stop to
his shenanigans. You have to believe me, Scout. No one ever believes.” He said
the last part under his breath.

“Look,
even if I
did
believe you, I wouldn’t tell you where Klye and the others
are. You said yourself that you’re in with the Knights. What would stop you
from sharing what you’ve learned with them?”

Now
Noel looked up, and even in the dim illumination of the dungeon, Scout saw the
midge was staring right into his eyes. “Haven’t you been listening? I don’t
want Klye to get hurt. And I don’t want Klye to hurt Colt or Opal or even
Cholk, even though he never calls me by my name and thinks I’m crazy. I promise
I won’t tell anyone if you tell me where Klye is. I’ll go by myself.
Honest
.”

Scout
was about to express his estimate on the worth of a midge’s promise but thought
better of it. He had initially dismissed Noel’s story as a use concocted by the
Knights, but the more he thought about it, the less sense it made. It was all
too ludicrous for a rational being to think up. And for all their faults, the
Knights were logical creatures.

A
peculiar sound wafted down the subterranean corridor, causing Scout to perk up
and instinctively reach for his knife, which, of course, he didn’t have it.

“What’s
that noise?” Scout asked.

“Snoring,”
Noel said matter-of-factly. “I had to make the guards fall asleep so I could
talk to you.”

Scout
regarded the midge curiously. It did sound like snoring, so either the Knights were
committed to playing their roles in this bizarre charade, or Noel really had
put them to sleep. No Knight—or any man, for that matter—would willingly let a
midge cast a spell on him, and Scout couldn’t believe his captors were faking
signs of sleep to further the ridiculous plot.

Which
meant Noel was telling the truth.

Scout
remembered Klye’s interest in seeing Noel for himself when he had spotted the
midge heading for Fort Faith as well as how silent Klye had been on their
return to Port Stone. Hadn’t Klye had the opportunity to kill Noel during their
battle with the Knights of Fort Faith? And hadn’t Noel had the chance to kill
Klye, yet both of them survived the melee?

Scout
chewed his lip, trying to figure out how he might exploit the situation to his
advantage. If he were wrong—if Noel was lying—then his telling him the location
of the Renegade camp would result in disaster. But if the midge were genuinely
concerned for Klye’s wellbeing, he might inadvertently provide the Renegades
with valuable information.

Could
he really wager his friends’ lives on the possibility that Noel was being
truthful?

*
         
*
         
*

Klye
awoke to someone gently shaking him. He was considerably startled because he
didn’t remember falling asleep in the first place. He had sat through more than
three hours of the night watch, waiting for a tardy Solomon Aegis to return to
camp, but there had been no sign of the missing Renegade during his shift or a
full hour later, when Lilac and Horcalus had finally shooed him out of their
way.

Reluctantly,
he had crept back into the cave and lay in the cool darkness, regretting
sending Scout to spy on Fort Faith. Scout had volunteered for the mission,
eager to learn what he could about the enemy and assuring Klye that he had been
spying on people for as long as he could remember.