Renegade Rising (The Renegade Series)

www.JCFiske.com

ISBN eBook: 978-0-0000000-0-0

Cover Art: Eugenio Perez Jr.

Cover Design: J.C. Fiske

Head Editor: Cassie Robertson

Co-editor: Tori Kerman Lebrun

Copyright © 2011 by J. C. Fiske

Smashwords Edition
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Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24

Prologue:
The Outcast

Warlord Karm lay restless in his castle. He had the dream again; the one where warriors clad in blue trounced his soldiers and stole away his castle. The face of a certain blue clad warrior, one that he knew personally, flashed through his mind and, like a cold, steel vice, panic squeezed around the heart of the warlord.

The storm raging outside did nothing to help his insomnia; neither did the howling of his prized shih-tzu, Prince. Clad in his purple silken robe, Karm wiped cold sweat from his brow and held a hand to his face. It shook uncontrollably. The warlord, if one could truly call the pathetic man such, grabbed a bottle of wine from his nightstand drawer, uncorked it and raised the bottom up, chugging the liquid as if he were parched. Once satisfied, he wiped his lips clean and shuffled across the polished, stone floor and made his way to the tower balcony.

A sudden lightning burst exploded through the night sky. The blast was so powerful it gave the illusion of daylight. Prince ran for shelter in his purple cushioned bed, knocking over his diamond encrusted water bowl along the way. Karm smiled to himself, savoring the briefness of light. For one moment, he was allowed to gaze over the town of Oak County that lay just beyond the castle walls.

My town, the very cornerstone of my kingdom,
Karm thought.

This thought alone brought a temporary calm to his shakes. The light then dissipated and with it, his sense of peace. Karm raised his bottle for another swig when a fierce rat-a-tat came from his bedroom door. After a few quivering steps, the warlord made his way to the thick, oaken doorway. He slid aside the peephole and peered into the dark hallway to be met by a set of battle-hardened eyes. The warriors in blue, they had come! Karm leapt back in fear.

“General Ricard to see you,” Ricard said in an orderly voice. Karm regained his composure and faced the peephole once again, breathing hard, but relieved at the sound of his general’s voice. So much so, he found his acting voice.

“I shall see none who would show me such disrespect,” Karm sneered. He took another chug from his bottle, as if searching for courage at the bottom.

“My apologies . . . General Ricard to see you, my
Lord
,” Ricard corrected, managing to keep his sarcasm at bay.

“You may enter,” Karm said as he unbolted several locks upon locks and gave the door a mighty heave, followed by a grunt of displeasure. Still, the door wouldn’t budge.

“My good general, I am not here to serve you. You may let yourself in,” Karm said, hoping Ricard did not hear his weak arms popping. Ricard pushed the door open with ease and stepped into the room. The warlord took another quick swig from his bottle and coughed hoarsely.

“Now, what could be so important on such a dreadful night?” Karm asked, folding his arms. Ricard made a short bow and then rose.

“My Lord, my men were patrolling the castle walls when they discovered something unusual,” Ricard answered.

“Unusual? Since when do I get awakened for the unusual? Well, what it is it? Come now, get to it,” Karm said, fluttering his hand forward impatiently.

“Bring him in,” Ricard yelled in the direction of the open door.

A soaked soldier walked through the doorway, cradling a small, unconscious boy of no more than four. The boy shivered from head to toe and a beautiful blanket of scarlet red was wrapped about him. The patrolman’s eyes were solemn as he held the poor boy.

“I found him wandering out by my post, my Lord. Poor little tike passed out in my arms,” the patrolman said.

“Did he say anything?” Ricard asked.

“I asked him if he knew where his mummy and daddy were. He seemed very confused by the question and then started to cry. I think the poor thing’s got amnesia or something, but I checked him all over. He’s got no bumps on his little head as far as I can tell. He did remember his name though,” the patrolman said.

“And?” Ricard asked.

“Well, that’s why we bothered you, my Lord. He said his name was . . . Gisbo,” the patrolmen said. Ricard and Karm eyed each other at the name.

“Ain’t it the strangest thing you ever heard? Now, who in the blue hell would name their kid after the ancient Flarian term for dog? Why, the boy would be better off bein’ named Fido or Rover ‘round these parts,” the patrolman said, drying the boy’s wet face with a handkerchief.

“Hm,” Ricard muttered.

“ENOUGH!” Karm suddenly snapped, a dangerous edge to his voice.

“Uh, my Lord?” the patrolman questioned, looking up with surprise.

“HOW COULD YOU DO IT!” Karm shouted. Prince began to yap at his feet.

“Sir, I . . .” the patrolman sputtered.

“I AM NOT YOUR SIR! I AM YOUR LORD! You know the color red is outlawed! Banned! Forbidden! Do you not understand the meaning of such simple terms? And yet here you are, unable to simply wrap the boy in a more decent color before presenting him before me. THE NERVE! I demote you. I DEMOTE YOU! You will scrub the waste shoots of the castle for the rest of your days under my service, am I clear?” Karm bellowed. The patrolman scrambled for words, but none came. He looked to his general for support, but Ricard only stood stoically, looking the other way.

“I asked you, AM I CLEAR?” Karm shouted again. The patrolman nodded and lowered his head like a child caught in an act of disobedience.

“You will start immediately. Leave my presence at once!” Karm continued, pointing to the doorway. The patrolman handed the boy carefully to Ricard, then left, his head sunken.

“Such nerve,” Karm muttered to himself. Ricard looked down at the boy with curious interest.

“So he’s a Flarian,” Ricard said aloud. Karm’s eyes widened.

“That . . . is not yet proven. Only one way to be sure.” Karm walked to his bookshelf and retrieved three carved figurines. They were covered in dust. The warlord quickly blew on them and held out the first figurine, made of a translucent blue stone and carved into the shape of a dolphin. Karm raised the blue sculpture and pressed it against the boy’s forehead. Nothing happened.

“Not an Aquarian it seems. Here, you will need to try the next for I am Naforian,” Karm said. Ricard nodded as he took a translucent green figurine, carved in the shape of a bear. He pressed it to the boy’s forehead. Nothing. Both of the men locked eyes in interest.

“One more. Better be a Soarian or we are going to have quite a dilemma on our hands,” Karm said as he grabbed a translucent yellow figurine in the shape of a hawk and pressed it against the boy’s forehead. Again, nothing happened. Both men’s eyes widened in surprise, unable to believe the possibility of a Flarian in their midst.

“He just might not have enough essence in his body to ignite the stones. I’ve seen it before. He’s also quite young, but, my lord, is there not a fourth piece in that set?” Ricard questioned.

“Red is outlawed, Ricard. Why do you and your men have such trouble understanding? I had that silly bird destroyed ages ago,” Karm stated. Ricard struggled to mute his annoyance with the Warlord.

“But, my Lord, your own father carved that phoenix! Vadid the Valiant!” Ricard started.

“OF COURSE I KNOW THAT YOU FOOL! What? You don’t think that I know my own father carved that accursed thing? It was because of him and all the other damned Flarians that this world has pain and suffering! Don’t ever, and I repeat, EVER, mention my father’s name in my presence again,” Karm said in a fresh surge of anger. He quickly took a sip of his wine and another lightning bolt crashed through the sky. Prince squeaked in his purple bed and Ricard muttered something under his breath.

“Did you say something?” Karm asked.

“No, my Lord. Now, what do you suppose we do with him? He’s so very young. I believe there are several openings on the foster list. The Stanson family would certainly take him in,” Ricard said. Karm paced around the room, rubbing at his small beard.

“No,” Karm said aloud.

“No?” Ricard questioned.

“Certainly not! I will not endanger the lives of my people. No, this one’s a special case,” Karm replied.

“But, my Lord, he is just a boy. Truly he can’t be . . .” Ricard started. Karm spun on him.