by T J Lantz
The dwarf, seeing the ferocious animal in front of him, was barely able to get his bloody, shredded arm up in time to deflect the attack. He screamed in pain, as Rigby was able to quickly change her target and bite down again on the damaged appendage.
Good girl, Rigby! We’re gonna get away. It was the last thought that went through Jaxon’s mind before Mirabella’s blade was against his neck. He froze.
“Call off the mutt! Now, you filthy byproduct of a human wincit,[25] before I kill you both right here in the street. Get her to stop and she can live.”
The tone in her voice left no room for questions.
“Rigby, heel,” Jaxon managed to squeak out the words, trembling with the blade at his throat. Completely entranced by the moment, Rigby refused to give up the hold. Jaxon watched her clench down even harder on the arm, and the night air was soon filled with the sound of snapping bone and screaming dwarf.
Recovered enough from the pounding of his privates, the uglier attacker jumped back into the fray.
“Miniheart, get her to stop or you’re both dead. Final chance!” Mirabella began to lightly cut into Jaxon’s skin. He could feel the sharp pain followed by a trickle of warm blood running down his neck.
“RIGBY, HEEL!” Jaxon screamed as loud as he could, not because he thought that would work better, but because he was hoping that someone was close enough to hear him and come help. This section of town didn’t have many homes, and those that did live there knew enough to mind their own business and not get involved in late night street affairs. Besides, no one in Rosehaven was going to risk their own life for him. For all he knew any Good Samaritans might just join Mirabella’s side for a few minutes. She might have been psychotic, but at least she wasn’t mixed-blooded.
Hearing the urgency in Jaxon’s voice, Rigby reluctantly obeyed and dropped the limp, shredded piece of meat that used to be the dwarf’s arm. She slowly began to back away. As she did, the second attacker reached her, sending his heavy leather boot right into the side of her head, just below her eye. She dropped to the floor, blood pouring from the side of her mouth.
“NOOOOO! You said she could live!” Jaxon begged for mercy, but no one listened as the dwarf repeatedly kicked Rigby’s lifeless body, pounding her ribs and head repeatedly. The night silence shattered over and over again with Rigby’s whelps of pain, each ringed by an equally anguished sobbing plead of “stop” from Jaxon.
He tried desperately to concentrate—to fight back with fire, just like he did in the arena. But once again there was nothing. He was nothing. Too weak to defend himself or his best friend as she was being murdered right in front of his face.
Too worthless.
Too human.
Why hadn’t he paid better attention to Malverne’s teachings?
After a few seconds, blood soaked her muzzle and formed a large pool on the ground underneath her. Though he tried hard to wriggle around, to somehow get free, Jaxon couldn’t break loose from Mirabella’s hold, nor could he tell if Rigby was still breathing.
Mirra laughed as Rigby’s body completely stopped moving. “I guess I lied about letting her live. What a terrible little faerie I am. Oh well. It might have taken three years, but at least I finally got rid of that damn dog. Did you know she tried to bite me when she was a puppy? Sure, I was trying to cut her ears off, but that’s no way for a beast to treat their master.”
“You’re a horrible creature Mirabella,” Jaxon cried. “I swear you will pay for this, if it’s the last thing I do.”
“Hey, is everything alright out there?” said a loud, but timid voice. Finally someone had come out to see what the ruckus was all about. It was the last thing Jaxon heard as the hilt of Mirabella’s knife smashed into the back of his head, sending him off to an unwanted, restless sleep.
“Leave the mutt’s body. We need to go.” The dwarves responded to Mirra’s commands without question. The one with two good arms grabbed Jaxon and threw him over his shoulder like a sack of red skinned potatoes. As they walked past Rigby’s dying body, the now one-armed dwarf looked down for a moment at her bloody, broken body and spat on it.
chapter 20
courage within
Tyranna
Rosehaven: Near the Alabaster Tower
NOvember 10, 1503
It took every ounce of bravery she could muster not to turn around and run back to Thales. She had no idea how badly Rigby was hurt and not even a guess as to where they were taking Jaxon. She had been following him the whole time, darting through the shadows as a mouse, figuring she would find a place to stop and talk to him about his decision, but she never expected anything like this to happen. It was so sudden, so scary. She had no idea what to do.
She hated feeling so helpless. She had always believed herself to be stronger than she appeared, more able to handle these types of situations, yet, here she was granted the perfect opportunity to rise to the occasion and all she could muster was hiding behind an old wooden cart in a dark alley disguised as a tiny field mouse. Meanwhile, Rigby lay less than one hundred yards away, her own blood pooled around her. Seeing the battered dog lying there immediately filled Tyranna’s thoughts with images of Brother Tychus—the blood all around him, the sticky warmth as she was forced to step through it, the look of surprise and anguish on his face as he died.
It was all too much for her. She screamed as loud as her body would allow, which when you are a field mouse is barely more than a slight peep. Small a sound as it was, it worked. Her fear and disappointment in herself began to fade, being pushed from her body by a budding sense of determination. Vibrating quickly she returned to her true form, her nearly white hair a mussed tangle just as it was every time she shifted.
Taking a deep breath, Tyranna looked around to make sure that the faerie and the two dwarfs were gone before she ran toward Rigby’s body. As she approached, she could clearly see that she was very badly hurt. Lying on her side, her tongue hung out of her mouth as she slowly panted, her eyes displaying the immense pain that each strained breath cost her. Blood seeped from her muzzle and left eye where the dwarves had kicked her repeatedly.
“Don’t worry, girl. You’ll be fine.” She was lying again.
Gently scooping her arms under Rigby, Tyranna tried to lift the dog off the ground. Despite urging every muscle of her body to lift, she was unable to budge her. Rigby’s weight was just too much for her small body to bear.
She was going to have to try something different. Closing her eyes she tried to remember back to her last training session with Coach Yogee. Tyranna had mastered some of the smaller animals within the first week. She had been unbelievably proud of herself, but Coach Yogee just seemed ready for a new challenge. He reminded her of Brother Tychus always pushing her, making sure she didn’t get lazy. Kneeling there now in front of the dying canine, she was sure glad he had.
The first rule of their training had always been to study every detail of the animal. To learn its nuances, curves, and features. To understand everything there was about it physically. Without proper familiarity she risked becoming trapped in her animal form and never being able to shift back.
Rule number two was to remain calm. Without control of her emotions she could not maintain her mind in animal form. For what she was about to do, she needed to be able to think clearly.
Unfortunately, she was going to have to ignore rule number one. There was just no time to prepare. She needed to go with something from the stories she heard. She closed her eyes and remembered all the conversations she had eavesdropped on from her window when the brothers thought her fast asleep.
There had been a fur trader from the far north once that had described his greatest kill in intricate detail. She remembered the story like it was yesterday, as it had given her nightmares for a month. Now those nightmares were hers to control. It was time to be more than just Tyranna Wolfskin, a little orphan girl from Lipkos Monastery. It was time to be a hero. A big furry hero.
Concentrating on the image s
he was able to conjure in her head, Tyranna began to feel the powerful vibration throughout her entire body. Over the past few weeks the feeling that had been so weird and alien in the beginning now seemed natural and normal. The panic and lack of consciousness that had been there at first were now replaced by an acuteness of senses that she was only starting to understand. It was like waking up from a dream and seeing everything clearer that you ever had before.
The young girl opened her eyes, enjoying the fact that her vision could now pierce further through the surrounding darkness. Her sensitive nose and keen ears assured her that no one was around. It made her feel secure and strong. The extra four hundred pounds she added during her shift certainly didn’t hurt that feeling.
She reached down and grabbed Rigby in her strong jaw, lifting her into the air like she was little more than a half-full sack of vegetables.
The taste of the dog’s blood seeping from her wounds poured into Tyranna’s mouth. Though mentally repulsed by the thought, her taste buds roared with delight. She had never ingested anything that was as delicious. No flavor nor scent had ever made her hungrier. She had to fight with all her will to control her instinct to bite down and tear Rigby into dinner’s first course.
It took a few moments of internal struggle, but soon the desire to eat the dog had passed and Tyranna was still in charge of her body.
With that thought, the polar bear darted into the night like a streak of pure white lightning.
Chapter 21
A Hairy Confession
Stella
The Wild ROver: Atlantic Ocean
November 10, 1503
“You, stupid elf-home, have had almost two weeks since I single-handedly defeated the Coalition ships for you! And what have you accomplished in that time you worthless piece of dragon droppings? Nothing, that’s what! Just like your entire life—failure, failure, failure. It’s Empress Stella’s turn now. Once again I will teach you how to do your job.” The tiny brownie’s voice dripped with annoyance toward the admiral. There was nothing she hated more than complete and utter incompetence and he had more of it than a goblin had dead siblings.[26]
“But Empress Stella,” the admiral responded as calmly as he could, “as I’m sure you already know interrogation is an intricate art form, much like ceramics or origami. It takes time to do it the right way. You need to coax the information out of him and the—”
SLAP! The sharp pain of Stella’s hand slamming into the side of his face stopped the admiral mid-sentence.
“I’ll show you how to coax,” snapped Stella as she decided whether or not to give the same treatment to his other cheek. “Uggh, I can’t believe they let you be in charge of this whole ship. You shouldn’t even be allowed to be in charge of picking your own nose. That is how stupid you are. You’re nothing more than a pointy eared pea-brain. From now on you wait here, and I will do the rest. Cletus and I will have the pathetic human talking in no time. I guarantee it.”
Stella put two fingers just past her lips and loudly whistled for her brother. It was a two-tone whistle, with a long first note, followed by a higher pitched short second note. She had been calling him that way for years. It was faster and louder than using his actual name. Besides, the whistle had a much better success rate. Some days he might forget what his name was, but he never forgot what the whistle meant. She made sure of that.
He answered her call with a bellowing, “I’ll be right there,” as his head popped up from his Moustache home. “What do ya need, my dear sister? I was just writing a new song.”
“Writing? Who taught you to write?” she asked quizzically.
“Well not exactly writin’ like on paper or nothin’, more like making stuff up and hopin’ I remember it later. That kinda writin’. What did ya’ need me to do for ya’, anyways?”
“Torture, my slow-witted brother. My first question for you is do you wish to join me? Secondly, and far more importantly, do you have a song for the occasion?”
“Of course. I gots me a song for every occasion. But do we really need to torture anyone? That sounds like it wouldn’t be much fun or too nice.” Cletus smiled. He hated to hurt anyone. Stella firmly believed it was his biggest weakness. It was also the main reason why she thought invading his half of Moustache was going to be so easy.
“It’s a hu-man,” Stella answered in a sing-song voice.
“Oh, then count me in. Sorry about questionin’ ya’, I thought you wanted me to do somethin’ wrong.”
Stella smiled. At least he didn’t have that weakness toward humans. “Excellent. Join me in the interrogation room then in seventeen seconds.”
“Do you mean Gnemo’s bedroom?” asked Cletus, unsure what an interrogation room actually was.
“Yes, of course that’s what I mean. That was a dumb question. Where else would it be?” Stella hated when her brother asked such questions with such obvious answers. He gave brownies everywhere a bad name.
Content that Cletus had clear enough instructions to proceed, Stella began shimmying down the loose cloth pants covering Brownstache’s long, slender leg. As she descended, he spouted off repeated requests not to get involved. She ignored him. She would have to teach him later to only speak when spoken to. Her grandmother always used to tell her that elves should be seen and not heard. Actually, as she thought about it, Grandma Eva used to say that about a lot of different species. Stella smiled. It amazed her how intolerant some brownies used to be.
Stella and Cletus entered Gnemo’s room using the gap between the door and the floor. It was large enough for them to get through without much of a problem, but Cletus managed to hit his head anyway . . . twice.
Stella noticed that since Gnemo had left with Melvin and the stupid mongrel child his room had been used mostly for storing some of the loot that they had salvaged from the two human shipwrecks. Lately it had also become a holding center and interrogation chamber for one of the prisoners they had managed to capture during the battle.
In the center of the room a tall, thin human male was tied to Gnemo’s comically small chair. He was gaunt and a little jaundice, a typical affliction for the average malnourished sailor. His hair was shaggy, and his beard was a patchy mess, having lost areas of growth to scars long ago. His clothing, though tattered and soiled from top to bottom was ornate and lavish, a mixture of white linen and blue silk.
Over his heart he bore a sewn in patch showing the emblem of the burning heart. He was a Coalition man, of that there was no doubt. They had all been Coalition men. Stella hated men of the Coalition more than anyone else in the world. They were the lowest form of creature the Great Goddess in the Ground[27] had ever created.
Stella would have loved a chance to interrogate every man that had been aboard those ships, but they were only able to capture twelve alive. Five of those twelve still maintained that status. The other seven were cowards who had died without permission.
Climbing up the man’s body with a quick and determined stride, Stella stopped atop his chest, thick with course, curly, black hair. Cletus followed behind her, dressed in his usual outfit of tanned skin, straw hat, and nothingness.
“What are you, little creature?”
The human spat out his question through gritted teeth, a look of disdain plastered on his sweat drenched face. His lips were severely cracked from dehydration. His voice was tired and strained but showed that he still had his spirit. The human had been bent, but he was not yet broken.
Stella aimed to change that.
“I am Empress Stella of the Moustache estates. I have many other titles, but I would not waste my time showering them upon the ears of a being that is so close to meeting the Great Goddess in the Ground.”
“Ha! Are you trying to threaten me, little one? You’re the size of my thumb, not exactly very intimidating! Besides, if you were going to kill me you would have done it already. I have information you need, and as long as I keep my pretty little lips sealed, I’ll be absolutely fine. The prisoner pressed his cha
pped lips hard against each other to emphasize his point.
“Hmmmm . . . It seems to me that we are going to need to set some ground rules here, you puny brained pile of dung. First, as I have already introduced myself and informed you that you are in the presence of high royalty, you will address me as such. Each time your stupid, tiny brain forgets this rule there will be a very unpleasant reminder.”
“Oh, little one, and what kind of reminder would that be?” The prisoner asked his question with a smile.
SLAP!
The prisoner no longer had a smile.
The large tied-up human recoiled from the shock of Stella’s backhand. Even a blind man could have easily seen how surprised he was.
“You hit me!” exclaimed the startled prisoner.
“That is the type of reminder I have warned you about. Now that I have introduced myself properly and informed you of the first rule, let’s talk about you. You are Captain James Claritt, of the formerly unsunk galleon known as the Righteous Hand. You are clearly an idiot and a coward.”
“Now you listen there Empress…”
SLAP!
“Now that brings us to rule number two. When I am speaking, you are not. Failure to obey rule number two will result in a very similar reminder as rule number one. I hope you understand. I am aware that humans tend to be stupid, so I may have to give you reminders randomly.”
Captain Claritt swished his jaw around in an attempt to dull the sting. He did not continue to interrupt.
“Good, I’ll take your silence as proof that you are not too stupid to be able to learn. Now, as I was saying before you rudely interrupted me, you are both an idiot and a coward. You are a coward because you chose to abandon your sinking ship instead of doing your duty and dropping to the bottom of the ocean floor with her. You are an idiot, however, for a totally different reason. You are an idiot because you have not yet told us what we want to know. Now you will have to deal with Empress Stella, and that is not good for you. Cletus, if you wouldn’t mind, now would be an appropriate time for some interrogation music.”
