Rebels and Fools (The Renegade Chronicles Book 1) (4 page)

On
any other day, DeGrange might have recalled the brown-clad figure he had seen
aboard
Stalwart Mariner
during his encounter with the monks at Aladon’s
Cathedral. But his thoughts were far from the tardy ocean voyager.

Two
things—and two things only—occupied his mind that night.

Through
a spyglass he had scrutinized the two pirate ships. He had no way of knowing
what the buccaneers were planning. Did they intend to raid the town? That was
far from likely, as pirates preferred easier prey, such as poorly defended
cargo ships.

In
all likelihood, the buccaneers had come to the city to spend stolen coin on
supplies and entertainment.

What
bothered DeGrange more than the pirates was Mayor Beryl’s reaction to learning
of their presence. The Captain of the Three Guards had personally informed the
mayor of the two vessels lurking just outside the city. He had expected Crofton
Beryl to give the order to sink them at once. In DeGrange’s opinion, that was
the most prudent course of action.

The
mayor, however, had dismissed his captain’s recommendation. To DeGrange’s
surprise, the mayor hadn’t seemed at all alarmed at the prospect of enemies
hiding so near the city. He had even made a lighthearted joke about unexpected
visitors. When Crofton Beryl had finally given DeGrange his orders, no amount
of arguing would change the mayor’s mind.

For
the time being, DeGrange and his men were to do nothing at all.

“We
will meet tomorrow morning as we always do, Captain,” Mayor Beryl had said,
“and decide at that time what shall be done about these pirates.”

And
the conversation hadn’t improved after that. When DeGrange had told the mayor
about
Stalwart Mariner
’s arrival and the unexpected cargo, Crofton Beryl
had smiled patiently and confessed, “There never were any Huiyan spices. It was
a ruse of my own devising.”

“A
ruse? But why?” DeGrange had demanded. “Even if the weapons were to be kept a
secret from the general populace, why keep me in the dark?”

The
mayor had paused before answering. “I tell you what I see fit to tell you. It
is not that I don’t trust you, Captain, but that I hold the security of Port
Town over all else, including one man’s pride.”

Before
DeGrange could think of a suitable response to the insult, the mayor had
dismissed him.

Now,
as he walked from the mayor’s mansion—past Aladon’s Cathedral and the monks—he
replayed the meeting with Crofton Beryl over and over in his mind. If the mayor
was so concerned about the security of Port Town, then why was he so
unconcerned
with the pirate situation?

If
he, DeGrange, was to keep the city safe, shouldn’t he know all of its secrets?
And why was this shipment of arms a secret to begin with?

Those
were the questions that kept echoing through DeGrange’s head until, at last, he
found that he had walked all the way back to the ocean. He could see
Stalwart
Mariner
, anchored in the same spot as before, but the ship no longer
interested him. His every instinct told him that the pirates should be dealt
with quickly and severely. Waiting until morning made no sense whatsoever.

Saluting
a pier guard, who, upon recognizing his commanding officer, stood a little
straighter while stiffly returning the salute, DeGrange continued to walk
toward the sea. He needed to sort it all out. A part of him wondered if the
mayor wasn’t going mad. Certainly, the mayor’s way of governing the city, not
to mention his very personality, had changed much in the past year, and none of
the changes had been for the good.

Once
a hero in the eyes of Port Town’s citizens, Crofton Beryl had maintained order
with a fair and just hand, giving men the benefit of the doubt whenever
possible. Now, he ruled with impunity, doling out extreme punishments for minor
trespasses. His newest ordinances treated the people as though they were all
criminals in hiding. DeGrange found a citywide curfew that began at sundown
downright ridiculous.

And
why did the mayor need more weapons? he wondered. Probably, he wanted to hire
even more city guards, pier guards, and coastal guards. If the mayor had his
way, the Three Guards would soon outnumber Port Town’s other citizens two to
one.

DeGrange
nearly jumped out of his skin when a person materialized out of the shadows
directly in front of him. Fortunately, the young man was not facing him and,
therefore, hadn’t seen DeGrange start. He smiled in spite of himself.

“You’re
out rather late, aren’t you, boy?” he asked.

The
boy’s whole body gave a great twitch. DeGrange rested a hand on the pommel of
his poniard, just in case.

“Y-yes,
sir,” the boy stammered.

The
Captain of the Guards relaxed when he recognized the redheaded youth as one of
the northern harbor’s many dockworkers. The boy was no villain.

He
was, however, paralyzed with fear. DeGrange felt something prick at his gut.
This kid was terrified of him, even though he hadn’t done anything wrong—aside
from violating curfew. DeGrange felt like a monster, and he wondered how many
others in Port Town feared him simply because he enforced Mayor Beryl’s laws.

“Relax,
son,” DeGrange said, offering a warm smile. “I’m not going to arrest you or
charge you five hundred silver crowns or whatever it is that rumor dictates.”

The
boy returned his smile with an uneasy one of his own, though his body remained
tense.

When
the boy, stuttering and stammering, admitted he had simply lost track of time,
DeGrange said, “Well, there’s no crime in that. But both of us ought to be
getting home. Do you live with the other dockhands near the barracks?”

The
boy nodded slowly.

“Well…um…what
is your name?”

“Arthur,
sir.”

“Well,
Arthur, I’m going that way myself. Why don’t I accompany you so you don’t get
stopped by twenty guards along the way?”

To
DeGrange’s dismay, Arthur looked more frightened than ever.

Passage IV

The
white shape drew nearer. Plake looked like he was going to bolt. Klye didn’t
think he was about to see his first ghost, but the rancher’s fear was
contagious. Feeling goosebumps prickle down his arms, Klye could only watch in
rapt fascination and trepidation as the thing, which appeared to be floating, zigzagged
through the maze of hedges.

“It’s
not a ghost or a squirrel,” he told Plake—told himself.

At
that moment, the haunting figure cleared the foliage and appeared on the path
before them. As it came closer, Klye saw it was not some lost soul, but a man
of flesh and blood, an older man, judging by his gray hair and wrinkled face.

The
man’s pristine white garb, reflecting the light of the gibbous moon, was what
gave him an otherworldly appearance. When he saw Klye and Plake, the man
stopped his humming but continued forward at the same leisurely pace.

It
was as if the old man had been expecting to find them there, and that thought
unnerved Klye more than the prospect of meeting a specter had.

The
old man stopped several paces from them, placed his hands behind his back,
bowed, and said, “Welcome to my garden and to Aladon’s Cathedral. I, Father
Elezar, am at your service.”

At
first Klye was speechless, but not wanting to stand there as though deaf and
dumb, he replied, “Thank you, Father.”

In
Port Alexis, Klye had learned that the priest in charge of the Cathedral was a
Renegade sympathizer. He was told that priest allowed the Renegades of Port
Town to operate out of the basement of the Cathedral, unbeknown to the other
clergymen.

Was
Elezar the head of the church? Was he a Renegade sympathizer? That was what
Klye needed to find out…

“We
are followers of Gnuren the Wise and have come—”

Elezar
raised a hand to silence Klye. Plake flinched, as though he expected the priest
to strike them dead with a wave of his liver-spotted hand.

“You
may dispense with the deception, false monks,” said Elezar. “There is no need
for lies here.”

The
High Priest had seen right through their disguises, and somehow Klye knew he would
not be able to convince the priest otherwise. Yet Elezar didn’t seem angry. The
priest, his hands now folded before him, regarded the two intruders with what
Klye thought was amusement.

“I
did not mean to offend you.” Not knowing what else to say, Klye added, “We are
looking for the priest in charge of the Cathedral.”

“The
High Priest is the chief authority of the Cathedral, and I am the High Priest.”

They
had stumbled upon the High Priest, but Klye still had to gamble that what he
had learned of Elezar was true. “We need to get to the Cathedral’s lower
levels.”

“You
seek an audience with Miss Beryl,” said Elezar, not asking, but clarifying.

“Uh,
yeah.” The High Priest had him completely off balance, a new and unpleasant
sensation for Klye.

Elezar’s
smile grew. “Be at ease, my friends. You are safe here. If the third member of
your party would like to join us, he is welcome, though I’ll understand if he
would rather stay out here in the garden. Truly, this is my favorite place to
be, day or night.”

Klye
swallowed his astonishment. He knew where Othello had entered the brush but saw
no evidence that the archer was out there. Anxious to get on with things,
however, Klye motioned for Othello to join them. To his surprise, the archer
had silently positioned himself farther down the path, so when he left the
cover of the hedges, he was actually behind Elezar.

Though
his expression was as unreadable as ever, Klye thought there was a grudging
respect in Othello’s bright green eyes as he joined his fellow false monks.

“Now,
if you will follow me, I will take you to Leslie Beryl.” Turning his back to
them, Elezar started walking back the way he had come. Over his shoulder, he
said, “I have given you my name and would be honored to have yours.”

Before
Klye could reply, the High Priest added, “You need not worry about your
anonymity. No foes of yours or mine are nigh, and no one outside the garden
will hear anything but the wind through the trees.”

The
priest was so sure of himself, so confident that his guests wouldn’t stab him
in the back, Klye couldn’t help but wonder what the High Priest had hidden up
his
sleeve. In Klye’s experience, a man was only this calm in the company of
criminals if he had accepted his doom or was confident in the doom of the
others.

But
what choice did they have but to follow him?

“Why
do you need our names?” Plake demanded. “I’ve heard that a name holds a lot of
power. With it, enchanters can take control over the person’s mind, body, and
soul.”

Klye
winced, hoping that the suspicious rancher hadn’t angered their guide. While
there did seem to be something uncanny about Elezar, Klye was prepared to
dismiss the High Priest’s supposed omniscience as a combination of correct
guesses and sheer confidence.

For
all they knew, a small company of Renegade archers was scattered throughout the
garden, keeping their arrows trained on Klye and his men as they were led to
the church…

But
Elezar merely chuckled. “I am no enchanter, my young friend. I wanted to know
your names so that I could pass them on to Leslie. If you prefer it, though,
I’ll introduce you as Monk One, Monk Two, and Monk Three. She would find that
quite humorous.”

With
a sharp glare in Plake’s direction, Klye said, “I am Klye Tristan.”

Elezar
paused, regarding his visitors patiently.

Klye
continued: “This is Othello, and this is Plake. I am afraid Leslie won’t
recognize our names any more than you do, Father. We are not expected.”

The
High Priest’s warm smile was renewed as he said, “Well met, gentlemen.” Walking
once more, he added, “I did not think she was expecting anyone else tonight.
And, of course, Leslie’s guests typically use a different entrance.”

Klye
felt his face warm. “The Renegades of Port Alexis could tell us very little
about the Renegades of Port Town. I apologize for inconveniencing you, Father.”

“No
apologies are necessary, Klye. Everything worked out all right in the end,
didn’t it?”

Klye
had to admit that, so far, everything had gone very smoothly. If he believed in
luck, Klye would have wondered when his was going to run out.

He
did wonder, however, what had caused Elezar to side with the Renegades to begin
with. Each rebel tended to have his own motivation and goals, which went a long
way in explaining why the various Renegade factions—from Continae to
Capricon—were not better coordinated. They were all revolutionaries, but there
were many different brands of rebels.

Not
wanting to test whether the High Priest’s patience had an end, Klye kept his
question to himself. Elezar’s reasons for helping the Renegades were his own
business.

The
priest led Klye, Plake, and Othello through the labyrinth of plants and trees
until they reached a small door in one of the Cathedral’s stone walls. The door
was unlocked, and the priest preceded them into a narrow hallway, which they followed
rather than ascend the stairway to the left.

At
the end of the hall was another door. Klye was surprised to find that this one
wasn’t locked either. Elezar opened it, warned them all to watch their step,
and began his descent into the bowels of the church. Whatever lay at the bottom
of the stairway was completely cloaked in the darkness.

Klye
hesitated and watched as the black abyss swallowed up the priest, bright gown
and all.

“I
don’t like this,” Plake complained.

Klye
didn’t either. Tempted to unsheathe his dagger, Klye sighed and let his feet
take him down into the darkness. There was no turning back now.

*
         
*
         
*

DeGrange
studied Arthur as they left the sounds and smells of the harbor behind. The boy
kept his eyes cast downward, as though he found his shoes incredibly
captivating. When DeGrange, in an effort to dispel the awkward silence, asked
him friendly questions, Arthur replied with one-word answers.

The
Captain of the Three Guards decided the boy was simply a timid creature.

DeGrange
led them down a circuitous path in order to avoid the main street that shot
straight from the wharves to the center of the city. He chose the smaller,
quieter streets to spare Arthur the sight of the seedy tavern-goers that
wandered that larger road on any given night. It was the ugly side of Port
Town, a side that DeGrange was not proud of.

Avoiding
the night crowd was for his own benefit as well. The men and women who found
need to celebrate with excessive drink and immoral forms of entertainment every
night were in clear violation of the mayor’s curfew. Hell, they would have been
in violation of any curfew, since the taverns were wont to keep their doors
open until the last patron stumbled out onto the streets after dawn.

Oh,
DeGrange and his guards could give them all fines, including the barkeeps, who
were supposed to close their doors at sundown, but no one would pay the fees.
Most of them probably couldn’t afford to. So DeGrange’s only other option was
to arrest them, and he knew all too well that Port Town’s jail—oversized as it
was—was almost always full.

Clearing
his throat, DeGrange said to Arthur, “You know, the curfew is for your own
good. There’s no telling who you might find skulking about the streets at this
time of night. The city guards can’t be everywhere at once.”

Arthur
looked up. “Do you mean the Renegades?”

“Aye,”
said DeGrange with a sigh, “but the rebels aren’t the only problem Port Town
faces. Rumor has it that a band of burglars and pickpockets from the capital
are responsible for a string of recent robberies, though it all gets blamed on
the Renegades. And now there are pirates…” DeGrange trailed off, his thoughts
outpacing his words.

“Pirates?”
asked Arthur. “
Real
pirates?”

DeGrange
hid a smile. Arthur had mentioned he was from Hylan, the large farming
community near the island’s eastern coast. DeGrange doubted the boy had ever
seen a man who earns his livelihood through thievery—either on land or on the
water. The lad probably thought that bands of bloodthirsty buccaneers existed
only in exciting tales of adventure on the high seas.

“Yes,
real pirates,” DeGrange said, and when he saw Arthur’s eyes had grown as big
platters, he added, “But it’s nothing to panic about. In fact, maybe we had
better keep this between you and me.”

Arthur
nodded solemnly.

“Besides,
the Three Guards will make short work of them.” If the mayor is kind enough to
give me permission, he amended silently. “The problem with pirates is that they
are unpredictable. Some of them are just plain mad. Generally, they live short,
tragic lives, spending their money as fast as they steal it, wasting it on the
drink and whor—er—gambling.

“It’s
all so bloody pointless,” he continued, talking more to himself than Arthur.
“They try to get ahead by circumventing the law, but their shortcuts inevitably
lead to shortened lives as well. The promise of quickly gained riches lures
them in, though some of them simply like to fight.

“At
least the Renegades’ motives tend to be less selfish…or less hedonistic, I
suppose. Their battles are fought for political power, not for plunder alone.
Maybe that makes the Renegades more dangerous than pirates, but I respect them
a hell of a lot more than sea-robbers.”

Only
a small part of him was still aware of the boy walking beside him. DeGrange
couldn’t believe how complicated his job was getting lately. Being Captain of
the Three Guards used to be an honorable and gratifying experience. Now he felt
torn between the city he was sworn to protect and the man who gave him orders.

Now
it was Arthur who broke the silence. “Is it true that the leader of the
Renegades is the mayor’s own daughter?” His voice was meek, but his curiosity
must have overpowered his reservations.

DeGrange
didn’t say anything for a moment, striving for the most succinct way to answer
the boy’s delicate question. While he had his troubles with Crofton Beryl, he
didn’t want to air the mayor’s dirty laundry in front of Arthur either.

“Rumor
has it that Leslie, the mayor’s daughter, has indeed fallen in with the city’s
Renegades. But there are many bands of Renegades throughout Continae, even
several different groups here in Capricon. Each has its own leader, as I
understand it, but I doubt Leslie, young as she is, truly leads Port Town’s
Renegades. Frankly, I’m not convinced she actually is a Renegade. The Renegades
might have started that rumor to insult the mayor.

“But
since no one has seen Leslie in many months, it’s hard to say what she may or
may not be doing with her time…if she’s even alive. The Renegades could have
killed her long ago out of spite.”