Renegade Heart (13 page)

L
eaving the horses in a small copse outside the city, the renegades finished their journey on foot, reaching the city walls shortly before dawn. The journey had been a long one, fraught with tension, suspicion and distrust. The men had ridden in silence, trying to focus their thoughts on the task ahead.

Now they pressed their backs to the base of the castle wall, their breath fogging the chill early morning air, and waited nervously for Wolf to open up the secret tunnel that would take them inside the castle. Wolf stood close to the wall, his hands running over the cold stone. Every few seconds he paused and then pressed against the wall. The men grew restless watching him, thinking the pattern was so random that Wolf had to be making it up. They eyed each other anxiously, wondering if it was possible the young renegade had led them into a trap.

Finally, just as they begun to abandon hope, a hidden doorway swung slowly inward with an unearthly grating noise. While the renegades filed into the passageway, Wolf kept watch in case the noise had attracted attention from the guards up above. Satisfied they had not yet been discovered, he followed the last man into the tunnel and pushed the stone door back into place, sealing them in the dark passageway.

“Wolf, we need torches,” Fairac complained. “None of us can see a step in front of us.”

“You don’t need to,” Wolf said calmly. “All you need to do is put your hand out and feel your way along the wall. The floor is smooth and there are no turns or openings. After roughly five hundred paces, this tunnel will end and we will be in a wider tunnel which runs in three directions.”

“How do you know this?” one of the men called out, although it was impossible to tell who in the darkness.

“I was told.”

“And you trust your source?”

“I have no reason not to,” Wolf answered. “Now start moving.”

Slowly at first, the men began to shuffle forward, their speed gradually increasing as their eyes grew accustomed to the dark. Wolf followed at the rear, thankful for the darkness that hid his doubt from the other renegades. All he had was Trobard’s word that the tunnels were unknown to Ombar. What if the old man had lied? Or forgotten the layout after thirty turns in incarceration? What if Wolf himself had forgotten a vital detail and was leading the renegades into a trap? Unseen in the darkness, he was more relieved than any of them when the narrow passage suddenly came to an end and the men spilled into a much larger tunnel stretching away in three directions just as Trobard had said.

“Where now?” Fairac asked impatiently, resenting the fact he was forced to follow Wolf’s orders for as long as they were in the tunnels beneath the castle.

“You go to the right,” Wolf said. “Follow the tunnel as far as you can go. When you reach the end there should be a door. It will take you into a small antechamber which I’m told is close to the dungeon. The room will be empty, but there will doubtless be guards nearby so I advise you stay silent until the time comes to move.”

“Which is when?” one of the men asked, and Wolf could sense Fairac bristling with indignation that the question had not been directed at him, but at Wolf.

“When they start to bring the prisoners out, that’s when you make your move. You’ll have the element of surprise. Saker and the others will be ready to join the fight.”

“And then?”

“It’s your choice. You can escape the castle through these same tunnels or you can fight your way out above ground.”

The men shuffled uncomfortably knowing what Wolf would expect of them, yet wondering what would be the point of continuing to fight once they had achieved their goal of freeing the renegades.

“Archers?” Wolf continued and Lark answered, so close to him that Wolf realised he had missed another chance in the dark passageway to rid himself of his hated rival. Still, their best archer would soon have been missed, and if the renegades had gone back to look for him and found his body, there would be no question over who had killed him. Fate seemed determined to prolong Lark’s existence, but his luck would not last forever. The time was fast approaching when the archer would get what he deserved. “Take your men to the left. It will bring you to the base of one of the towers in the courtyard wall. “You will need to spread out and be ready. If the prisoners get as far as the gallows, you will need to pick the guards from the walls.”

“We’ll be ready,” Lark promised and despite his hatred Wolf had to grudgingly concede the boy was probably the one renegade who would not be found fleeing the castle until the last of the fighting was done.

“And what of you, Wolf?” Fairac asked abruptly, realising the younger man had not assigned himself to either party.

“I intend to go that way.” Wolf nodded to the third tunnel, steeper and narrower than the passage in which they stood. “It should take me directly to Ombar’s private chamber. When the fighting starts, I believe he will take sanctuary there and I will be waiting.”

“You’re going to kill him?”

“Of course. That is my duty. Saving our brothers is yours.”

With nothing more to be said, the men separated and set off along the tunnel in either direction. Moving forward, Wolf climbed steadily upwards, breaking into a sweat as he ran. The passageway was steep and narrow and it took him longer than he had expected to reach Ombar’s chambers. He began to worry he would not get there until after the fighting broke out.

And, although Trobard assured him Ombar knew nothing of these secret tunnels, Wolf knew it was possible for that to have changed in the many turns since the old man had been locked away. The last thing he needed was to meet Ombar and his guards escaping down the passageway from above.

In the end, however, he reached the end of the tunnel unchallenged. A quick check showed Ombar’s lavish chamber on the other side of a hidden panel to be silent and empty, giving Wolf a brief respite to catch his breath after his long climb.

He sank to the floor of the tunnel, leaned his head back against the rough stone wall and closed his eyes. Instantly, his mind filled with the image of Hawk’s tiny body as it tumbled into the deep crevasse in the forest. He eyes snapped open and he sat upright. He could not allow himself to think of the boy now. If he could choose, he would never think of him again. When he got back, he would take Enola and they would move far away. They would start anew, but there would be no more babies. He would make sure of it. He had heard the renegades talk of herbs a man could take to prevent such things. He would–

Wolf leapt to his feet as the outer door to Ombar’s chamber crashed open and Ombar strode into the room, his face a mask of fury. Hurriedly, Wolf pulled the wooden panel shut before he was spotted and listened as Ombar raged his way around the room.

“How did they get in?” he bellowed. “Why didn’t anyone see them coming?”

“Nobody knows,” a second voice answered. “They came from beneath the castle.”

“Beneath? You mean Trobard’s secret tunnels? I thought they were all found and sealed turns ago.”

Trobard? The name captured Wolf’s interest. What did Ombar know of the old man? The renegade had always known Trobard and his followers were men of distinction, but he had not guessed they were directly connected to the King. It seemed obvious now; Trobard’s knowledge of the castle, his superior treatment in the dungeon, his mysterious source of information.

“Apparently, we did not find them all, Sire.” The other man hesitated. “I’m afraid, Sire, it would seem your brother lied to you.”

“Then get out there and find him!” Ombar roared, so close to where Wolf was hiding behind the secret panel the young renegade flinched. If the king had not been shouting so loudly Wolf was sure Ombar would have heard him breathing. “Make sure my brother is an unfortunate casualty of this uprising. And find me the traitor Wolf. I will have his head on a plate before this day is out.”

Wolf held his breath and listened intently to the receding footsteps. He heard the heavy door of the chamber close and sturdy bolts slide into place. Once he was sure the only sounds coming from the chamber were those of Ombar pacing the floor and muttering to himself, Wolf silently eased open the hidden panel.

Ombar stood by a large window with his back to the room as he watched the melee in the courtyard. Edging slowly forward, Wolf eased his dagger from his belt with the merest whisper of steel against leather. Ombar spun around, his eyes widening as he realised who stood behind him.

“How did you…” He stopped and nodded before answering his own unfinished question. “Trobard’s tunnels. I assume you and my brother became well acquainted during your time here as my guest.”

“We talked,” Wolf acknowledged. “Although I did not know him to be your brother until this moment.” He saw Ombar’s eyes flicker towards the heavily secured door and a cold smile flashed across his handsome face. “Bolted from the inside,” he said. “I’ll cut you down before you can take two steps across the floor.”

Ombar switched his attention to the blade in Wolf’s hand and the sword hanging from his hip. His eyes narrowed. “I let you go,” he hissed furiously. “I gave you the chance to leave and start your life over. Why risk coming back?”

“I have battles to fight.” Wolf shrugged. “And people to kill.”

“I’ll give you money,” Ombar offered, a note of desperation creeping into his voice. “And land. Just name your price, Renegade.”

“You have nothing I want.”

“You’ll never leave here alive. You know that, don’t you?”

“Oh, I think I will.”

“This is not a fair fight,” Ombar said. “It’s cold blooded murder. What of your son? Do you think he will want a murderer for a father?”

“My son is dead,” Wolf answered flatly. “So are you.”

Before Ombar could utter another word Wolf took two steps and calmly thrust the dagger into the older man’s heart. Ombar’s mouth rounded in surprise and then he slumped forward. Wolf sidestepped and let the body fall to the floor. Then he turned and disappeared back into the tunnel just as the pounding began on the chamber door.

Not caring whether the commotion at the door came from friend or foe, Wolf ran back the way he had come. The descent was far easier than the climb and he made good time, barely out of breath as he reached the bottom of the narrow passage. He had expected to encounter at least a few renegades escaping the castle underground, but the wide tunnel was empty. Seemingly, the renegades had enough pride left to fight their way to freedom above ground. Part of him wished he could be fighting alongside them, but he had his own agenda and was not to be swayed by the glory of a battle.

Wolf hastened along the tunnel emerging, just as he had told Lark a short while earlier, in a small chamber at the base of one of the courtyard towers. If he knew anything of Lark at all, he was certain the archer would have chosen this particular tower as his vantage point.

Cautiously, he opened the door and crept into the stairwell. Through an open doorway he could see the heaving battle in the courtyard. Renegades, troopers and city folk clashed in noisy combat. From his position in the stairwell it was hard to determine just whose side the city dwellers were on. They had long feared the renegades because of the many raids on their tradespeople, but there was an equal chance they had taken up arms in a bid to free themselves of Ombar’s tyranny.

Deciding to worry about the citizens’ loyalties later, Wolf inched his way up the spiral staircase his dagger drawn. In a small room at the top of the tower was Lark, his back turned. Even as Wolf silently crossed the floor, Lark raised his bow to the arrow-loop, oblivious to the enemy at his rear.

Suddenly the battle in the courtyard fell silent, clashing metal and raised voices ceasing abruptly. Wolf froze, his eyes on Lark as the young archer lowered his weapon and leaned forward to see what was happening.

“The King is dead,” a voice rang out, clear and strong across the hushed courtyard. “Long live King Trobard.”

So, they had discovered Ombar’s body and Trobard had been quick to assume his rightful place on the throne. At least it meant the old man had survived the escape from the dungeon. Indeed, the next voice to be heard belonged to Trobard himself, the tone strong and filled with authority.

“Soldiers, lay down your arms,” Trobard ordered. “There will be no more killing this day.” There was a long pause, followed by the sound of metal hitting the ground. Trobard continued. “Renegades, I have no right to command you, but I ask that you do the same. I beg of you, put aside your weapons and let us have peace.”

The second pause was even longer than the first before a faint rustling arose from the courtyard. Wolf guessed the renegades had chosen to sheath their swords rather than relinquish them altogether.

Trobard continued to speak, but Wolf had ceased to pay attention. He took another cautious step towards his prey, certain Lark would turn at any moment, but the young renegade was too preoccupied with Trobard’s speech to realise he was no longer alone in the tower.

Seizing his chance, Wolf closed the gap between them and, without hesitation, plunged his dagger into Lark’s back. Tregaar had taught him long ago, the best points to aim for on a foe’s body depending on whether the intention was to kill or merely cripple a man. The blade struck home and Lark stiffened only slightly before slumping back against Wolf’s chest.

“I told you not to cross me,” Wolf whispered softly in his ear, although he knew his fellow renegade could no longer hear him.

He pulled his blade free, turning away as Lark’s body crumpled to the ground in a lifeless heap. He stopped suddenly, realising he had company. Trobard’s companion Graydor stood at the top of the stairs and one look at his face told Wolf the man had seen everything. What was he doing there? He should be at Trobard’s side, basking in his new found freedom, not skulking around the tower where he had no business being.

“You killed him!”

“It was an accident.”

“No,” Graydor insisted. “I saw you. I saw what you did.”

“You’re mistaken, old man.”

“I make no mistake, boy. You murdered him in cold blood. And to think Trobard trusted you.” Graydor shook his head as he backed away from Wolf. “He should know about this. I have to tell him.”

“Then I have to stop you.”

Wolf actually cared little about what Trobard thought of him, but if the newly ascended King knew the truth, then the renegades too, would learn of his treachery. They would not forgive him for taking the life of one of their own. Worse still, if word of what he had done reached Enola before he did, she would hate him. Magnosa would whisk her back to the Walled City without giving him a chance to explain and he would be alone again. Alone and a fugitive, hunted down by both the renegades and the law.

The king’s companion was old and slow, having spent too many turns locked away beneath the castle. He barely had time to react before Wolf fell upon him, the dagger slicing open his soft belly, his guts spilling from the jagged wound. His eyes met with those of the young renegade, filled with surprise and incomprehension. Briefly, Wolf felt a pang of sympathy for the old man. Such a waste of life to be imprisoned for so long, only to be slain on the very day he won his freedom. For the first time, Wolf felt regret as he let the body fall away from him. Of all the people he had killed, Graydor was the only one for whom he felt any remorse. The man had been honourable and harmless, who had not deserved to die.

But he had no time to waste on pity now. His clothes were drenched in the blood of the three men he had killed. He had to leave this place, escape back through the tunnels to emerge at a point far from the tower. That way he could claim the blood belonged to troopers he had killed in battle and when the bodies of Lark and Graydor were discovered, he would express his shock and outrage along with everyone else.

He made it halfway down the tower before a trooper stepped through the open doorway at the bottom of the staircase, unwittingly blocking his escape route. Without thinking, Wolf vaulted down the last steps and launched himself at the trooper. The trooper was taken by surprise, but his reactions were quick. He managed to swing his sword upwards just as Wolf collided with him. The young renegade hissed in pain as the bite of sharp steel pierced his hip.

Wolf thrust blindly upwards with his own blade, struggling for any real momentum in the confined space of the stairwell. He was lucky. The dagger sank deep into the soldier’s chest and the man twisted as he fell, his body sprawled across the bottom of the stone stairs. It was to his advantage, Wolf thought, as the trooper’s position made it appear as though he had been the one coming descending the staircase when he was killed. Collapsing wearily against the wall, Wolf pressed his palm to his heavily bleeding wound and waited to be found.