Rise of the Retics Read online

  “Oh, leave’r be Geoffrey, she ain’t nut’in but a little one. Probably scared out o’er gourd, she is.”

  The retort came from the soldier on her right arm, a plump man, clean shaven with full round cheeks that made him look as much like a chipmunk as he did a man.

  “Ya know s’well as I do what this thing is, Darius. We’re doing good work here today!” The last words dripped with pride, as if capturing a seventy pound thirteen-year-old was the greatest accomplishment he had ever achieved.

  “Shut your mouths, both of you!” said the third man, as he stopped and raised his left hand. Reginald noticed this human was dressed very differently than the other two. His garb was far more ornate, and his white leather armor made him quite noticeable in the moonlight. From his belt hung a gold-handled thin blade, a weapon Reginald was always happy to see. A thin blade was designed to pierce through the links of mail, but would have little effect against the inches of tough bark covering his body. It would be like fighting a baby armed with a small, pointy stick.

  “Listen you idiots, I think I hear something!” the man in the fancy clothes whispered with a sense of urgency. He slowly twisted his head from left to right, peering as deep into the forest as he could see in the dim light.

  Sir Reginald had no trouble placing his accent—definitely Spanish, the southern region to be precise. After his years spying on the Spanish king it was an accent he could recognize anywhere.

  “It’s probably just the weather, Jefe, I don’t hear nothing out o’ the ordinary. Maybe we should just keep going. If we hurry we might be able to make the rendezvous point before the storm gets too bad. I really don’t wanna be out in the rain. I might get a cold.” The plump soldier waited for an answer from the man in the white and gold, clearly the leader of the three.

  His reply was short and to the point, as he placed a finger to his closed lips and commanded his men to “SHHHHHH!”

  He took a few steps forward, his head slowly swiveling as he continued to scan back and forth, searching the woods for any sign of movement. Despite his best effort, he saw nothing. It was a terrible mistake on his part.

  While the three humans had been walking and discussing their prisoner, Sir Reginald had been getting into position behind them. He moved swiftly and silently through the terrain he had mastered hundreds of years before, careful not to rustle even a single dried leaf.

  Suddenly, without the slightest warning, a loud swoosh erupted from behind the two soldiers holding the girl, as two thick twisted branches came flying out of the darkness of the forest. With a simultaneous thud the soldiers collapsed into a pair of unconscious lumps of flesh sprawled out on the muddy road.

  Hearing his men drop to the ground, the third man drew his rapier and pivoted around to face Sir Reginald.

  Standing proudly before him was a ten-foot-tall plant creature, with large intertwined branches protruding from his massively thick trunk to form both upper and lower appendages. Just above his branch arms in the center of his body were two large illuminated, red eye sockets, their glow centered squarely on the Spaniard. They floated above a small opening filled with pointy thorn teeth, each as sharp and deadly as an iron arrowhead. At the top of his body several small branches blossomed into a colorful array of red and orange leaves. They created myriad of colors that perfectly matched the surrounding autumn foliage and formed a luxurious head of “hair”.

  Quickly gaining his wits, the Spaniard reached out with his off hand, grabbed Tyranna by the back of her wolf cloak, and yanked her toward him. She screamed in panic, though Reginald could not tell if she was more afraid of her captor or at the sight of him. Holding the terrified young girl to his chest, the Spaniard put the edge of his blade to her throat. Reginald could see how badly Tyranna shook and worried that she might cut herself with her uncontrolled vibration.

  “Back, Monster, or I slit her throat! The Bishop warned me one of you might interfere. It’s no use! If you try to harm me, the girl will die right here in front of you.” A trickle of blood seeped from Tyranna’s neck as the Spaniard held the blade even tighter to her body.

  She sobbed whispered pleas for mercy, begging her kidnapper not to hurt her, but her requests were lost to the night as thunder clapped viscously above them. Neither man nor ent flinched at the sound, each too busy sizing up his opponent to notice the weather.

  Sir Reginald calmly assessed the situation, maintaining composure in a way that only a thousand-year-old tree possibly could. He had been on hundreds of rescue missions in his lifetime and not once had he lost his target. He certainly didn’t plan on starting now, not while he was halfway to his one-thousand-and-forty-third ring! He figured he would leave failure to the younger generations—they always seemed to be better at it anyway.

  The human had obviously seen what he looked like and seemed to know to expect him. Glancing down at the man’s chest Sir Reginald could see the insignia of the burning heart. This was one of those times where he knew that subtlety was definitely not needed. They knew who and what he was long before he arrived.

  Looking back to Tyranna’s terrified face, Sir Reginald realized that he had been a moment too slow on his ambush. It was a mistake brought on by a few too many seasons of experience. The mighty tree-ent swore to himself that he was not going to let his age-related inadequacies cause harm to this child. It was obviously time for a new approach.

  “My Lord,” he began in a calm, respectful tone, “my name is Sir Reginald Branchworth the Third, first Roune-Knight of Rosehaven and assigned guardian for Tyranna Wolfskin, the child in your possession. If you would be so kind as to release the young lady to me, I shall allow you and your companions to leave this place unharmed. There does not need to be any more violence this evening.”

  Despite his carefully chosen words Reginald could see clearly that his adversary had no intention of giving up his terrified hostage.

  “Do you think me ignorant, Ent?” snapped the Spaniard. “Your kind cannot be trusted. Now, go back from which you came or there will be one less of your sort roaming the world tonight.”

  The Spaniard clenched even tighter to Tyranna, taking two steps directly away from Reginald and the two unconscious soldiers lying on the road between them. The old knight stood his ground, careful not to even flinch a twig and scare her captor. He knew that the tiniest motion could mean the end of the child’s life.

  Tyranna, however, did not have nearly the same self-discipline as the tree-ent. Suddenly, she seemed to lose complete control of her body and began to shake far more violently than before. To the naked eye, she looked like a giant hummingbird hovering in midair. To Sir Reginald, she looked like she had picked a perfect time to show her captor a surprise.

  Confused as to what was happening to his young prisoner, the Spaniard decided to try a new tactic. In a single motion he flicked his wrist back, instantly sliding his fine blade across her throat, while simultaneously swinging his own body around to flee. The Spaniard immediately noticed that his plan contained a single major flaw— Tyranna’s neck was no longer there. It was replaced with nothing but the empty night air.

  The Spaniard, reeling from the lack of resistance to his sword stroke, tumbled over his feet as he turned. He braced himself with his off hand as he hit the muddy dirt path- his armor soiled and his sword sent reeling a few feet away into the dark nothingness of the forest. There were two final images the Spaniard would see that evening. The first being a tiny white bunny hopping on the ground where his captive had just been standing. The second was the branchy bough of a very patient, but very annoyed, tree-ent crashing into his face.

  Sir Reginald thought for a second about the three unconscious humans lying around him. He could easily kill them and rid Rosehaven of three more enemies, but then he would be no better than they were. There was no need to protect his identity, as these were Coalition men. They all wore the symbol of the burning heart. They were retic hunters.

  No, I won’t do them harm. I will simply allow t
hem to return to their superiors and report their failure. They can be punished by humans, like we have been for so long. With that thought, Sir Reginald picked up the scared little bunny, stroked its tiny, white, furry head and quickly melded back into the dark safety of the forest.

  Chapter 4

  From hell to a cell

  Jaxon

  Rosehaven: The Sheriff’s Office

  October 16, 1503

  The cell seemed smaller than the last time he was here. Perhaps, Jaxon pondered, I’ve grown a bit since Thursday.

  His accommodations were little more than a box with bars, and Jaxon hated how he couldn’t really stretch out and get comfortable while he napped there. He figured the space was so small because it was just the holding room in the sheriff’s office, and he would have to really crank up the crime if he was ever going to have a chance to enjoy the more spacious cells over in the prison area.

  Today was not going to be that day, however, as Jaxon had already heard Sheriff Kirgo Quicktrigger send one of his worthless deputies, the same burly centaur with the lame leg that had broken up his discussion with Bull earlier that morning, out to get his foster parents. He felt some slight guilt at the inconvenience he caused them, but was able to quickly push the feeling away before it did any irreparable damage.

  Jaxon looked down at Rigby and gave her a sinister grin. The dog’s eyes showed a much deeper remorse than Jaxon felt, but he was sure that was simply because they had been caught. Rigby’s face always displayed that guilty look when they got in trouble. If Elmira hadn’t noticed them take her darn fruit, they would both be off sitting under a tree and enjoying a free breakfast right now.

  But that ridiculous green skinned idiot did catch us, How could I have been so stupid? The young half-demon’s demeanor swiftly turned from whimsical nonchalance to raging anger. He spun away from the cell bars he had been standing next to and delivered a powerful kick to the feather bed lying next to him on the stone floor. Jaxon tore through the cloth covering as the contents of his meager furnishings flew wildly into the air around him.

  A beautiful orange-winged faerie sitting in the next cell laughed.

  “Calm down there, Half-Blood,” she said. “You’re gonna get feathers in my hair. The last guy that messed with my hair ended up going for a swim in a place even a merfolk couldn’t find.”

  “Sor . . . Sorry, Mirabella,” Jaxon stammered in a small voice.

  Rigby growled at the faerie, her teeth slightly bared and her hair raised.

  Mirabella DiBasso might have been the only retic on the entire island that spent more time at the sheriff’s office than Jaxon did. Not a day went by that she wasn’t suspected in some type of late night illegal activity, but no charges ever stuck. Her grandfather, Giuseppe DiBasso, was a member of the ruling council and wielded considerable political power—enough to make sure his granddaughter could get away with just about anything she wanted. Giuseppe was Rosehaven’s premier “businessman”. His main export, from what rumors told, was protection. In others words, he didn’t kill you if you paid your protection fee every month. He also owned the Scarlett Day Inn, a very popular tavern and casino on the eastern side of Rosehaven, where Jaxon had first found Rigby.

  “You better be sorry, or I’d have to cut your mongrel tongue right out of your mouth when I get out of here . . . which seems to be right about now.”

  A dryad deputy entered the room, flanked by a very elderly faerie.

  “Good morning, Giuseppe,” said the sheriff without looking up from his desk. “You know where she is.”

  “Of course I do. It’s a travesty that you just can’t stop picking on this sweet, innocent young lady.”

  Quicktrigger didn’t respond or even acknowledge the comment. The dryad unlocked the door and allowed Mirabella out of her cell.

  “Nice seeing you again, human,” she said to Jaxon as she walked out. “And nice to see your mutt too.”

  Mirabella gave him a sly smile as she spoke that made Jaxon tingle. He hated to be called half-blood, but it paled in comparison to being called human. Had it been anyone else he might have spoken up, but he knew enough about Mirabella to know that she always made good on her threats.

  He waited till she was long gone before he spoke, “She’s a lovely young lady, wouldn’t you say, Sheriff? A fine pillar of the community.”

  The sheriff just shook his head slowly and laughed. He didn’t bother to look up from the paperwork he had been completing at his desk.

  This was the third time since the last full moon that Jaxon had been in this same cell waiting for William to come pick him up. Lucky for him, the sheriff and his foster father had been very good friends for quite a long time. Their relationship went back years to their time serving together in the Roune-Knights. Quicktrigger apparently had been something of a mentor to William when he first started as a knight, and they had remained close for over twenty years since.

  While their relationship was advantageous at times, helping to keep Jaxon from spending too long behind a set of iron bars, it also meant another rigorous punishment from William, as he heard about absolutely everything Jaxon did around town. The last time he had been picked up from here, his foster father had made him spend three days cleaning floors at the library as punishment.[9] While it had given him plenty of time to read when the librarian wasn’t looking, it had still been a waste of three days.

  Even worse, they had made Rigby wait for him outside. Jaxon gave the dog a quick glance of apology as he thought about how she had waited so patiently on the front steps, even on the second day when it had rained heavily throughout the afternoon. Despite the fact that she had gotten soaked in the storm, Rigby never once abandoned her post by the library doors.

  “Soooo, Sheriff,” hollered Jaxon when he had calmed down a bit. “You’re looking quite well today, I must say,” Jaxon paused for a response, but the sheriff didn’t even look up. “I’m sure you have far more important things to do this fine morning than worry about me and this tiny little misunderstanding. You are an extremely important dwarf after all. Perhaps you could just let me out and we can forget any of this ever happened? I can even stop over and say sorry to Applebottom if it makes you happy.”

  After a few minutes, Quicktrigger finally decided to look up from his large mound of paperwork and stared straight at Jaxon. He had a stern look on his face, though Jaxon couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or just constipated.

  “Your father ain’t gonna like this one bit, boy.” His tone was strict, yet familiar and caring. Jaxon often thought that the sheriff sounded just like the grandfather he never had . . . or ever wanted. It wasn’t that he thought the dwarf would make a bad grandfather, but there was just something about the elderly that made Jaxon uncomfortable. Perhaps it was the strange way they creaked when they moved. They sounded like furniture that was just about to break.

  “Sir William is not my father,” replied Jaxon calmly, preparing to delve into a speech he had repeated hundreds of times. “My father is off —”

  “Fighting for dominance of the Underworld, yes, I’m aware, Jaxon,” interrupted the sheriff. “You tell me every single time you’re in here, which is too many times, if I do say so myself!” Quicktrigger grabbed the walking cane that had been leaning on his desk, and took a few steps toward Jaxon’s cell.

  It was a very ornate cane whittled from the light wood of a pine and carved with the marks of twenty-seven of his Roune-Knight brothers. The cane had been a present for Quicktrigger when he retired from the knights, just before he accepted his post as sheriff. Outside of Betsy, the flintlock pistol that never left his side, it was easily his most prized possession. Jaxon had dreamed of stealing it and hiding it on him for years, but the opportunity had yet to come up.

  Jaxon scowled at the wobbly old dwarf as he approached, annoyed that he had cut off his speech. He appeared so dumb, with his thick protruding brow and his huge fat nose. That thing could kill small children with a single sneeze, thought Jaxon as he st
udied the dwarf’s features. Jaxon was taller than the sheriff by almost two inches, yet Quicktrigger must have had eighty extra pounds of pure muscle on him, twenty of fat, and at least ten of dirty beard. Looking at the long gray facial hair the dwarf kept braided and centered on his large, barreled chest, Jaxon cringed. He hated beards.

  Jaxon’s thought was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and closing.

  He could feel his heart drop as he watched as a familiar face walk into view. Without a word a small, fur-covered creature handed the sheriff a note. He snatched it from the creature’s paw without as much as a thank you.

  “Good Morning, Captain!” Jaxon called to the new visitor, mustering as much forced excitement as he could. The captain ignored him completely, as he stood stoically waiting for the sheriff’s response. It amazed Jaxon at how still Captain Bushytail could stand; the only movement on his body came when the wind blew his long white tabard or his soft gray tail fur.

  “So, how are you doing today, Captain?” Jaxon tried again to start a conversation, but the captain still did not acknowledge his presence. If it was one thing Jaxon hated in other people it was rudeness.

  Captain Alastar Bushytail was a bit of a legend in Rosehaven. He had been the leader of the Lord Protector’s personal guard for almost ten years, and had a reputation for being a swordsman of unmatched skill. Like the rest of the Acorn Guard, Bushytail was a Florensian[10], a species with a rather storied and unique past. Unlike most other tales from retic history, it was a story Jaxon rather enjoyed because it was one of the few tales taught in Rosehaven in which one of his ancestors was the hero.

  Jaxon remembered the story of the Florensian’s history very clearly, as he had often asked Saan to tell the tale before he would go to bed. She would sit down next to him and speak in such a soothing and pleasant voice that it almost made up for her offensive body odor. Almost, but not quite. Though it had been a few months since Jaxon had let Saan tuck him in and tell him a story, he could remember her tale like it was yesterday as the memories of her voice seeped into his head: