Rescue Read online

  © 2018 Ramon Mejia

  All Rights Reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  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

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30 - Interlude

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Epilogue

  From the Author

  Dedication

  For my beautiful, patient wife. Not only has she continued to be on the frontlines correcting my spelling mistakes but she’s been my greatest supporter on this crazy journey.

  Chapter 1

  You ever see those old-timey movies about jail? Guys in striped suits with big heavy iron balls and chains shackling their ankles? Yeah, me neither. But I’ve seen the clips posted online. This place was sort of like that. Only, what those movies don’t tell you about being in jail is how boring it is: the sheer tedium that’s involved with sitting in a jail cell with no one to talk to. My cell is exactly 52.2 inches long and 29.7 inches wide. If I walk over my straw bed, that’s 12 paces to walk the perimeter. I can walk that perimeter five times in a minute. You know how I figured that out? I am so unbelievably bored waiting in this cell that I actually counted my steps and timed it.

  It’s been three weeks since the guards found me standing over the prone figure of a goblin. He was missing a couple fingers at the time, so I totally understand why the guards put me in jail. But that doesn’t make time pass any faster.

  I was told by my barrister, which is a fancy word for lawyer in the city of Trinitarian, that my trial would start any day. That was two weeks ago. Since then, I’ve been waiting in this cell trying to keep from going stir crazy. I don’t have any other prisoners around to talk to, and the guards only come to feed me. So, I exercise, practice my spellwriting forms, and think.

  I think about my friends, who were also arrested by the city guards. I haven’t had a chance to see or talk to them since I was put in here, so I can only hope they’re doing better than I am.

  I also think about how this all started. It seems like only yesterday that I woke up in the middle of a forest and was greeted by my fairy guide, Mary. She told me that I’d died on Earth and been reborn on Terra, a world that is governed by laws that are a lot like the rules in the RPG video games I used to play. I was rather skeptical at first, but when a blue screen pops up telling you your stats, it’s hard to stay an unbeliever.

  Name:Armon EllingtonAge:19

  Level:5 Class: none

  Exp to next lvl.: 886Titles:none

  Unspent Stat points: 5

  Health:65Mana:91

  Stamina:87Mana Regen/Min1

  Stamina Regen/Min3.25Health Regen/Min0.525

  Str: 18Int:22

  Dex:19Wis:12

  Con:21Cha:13

  One handed Damage: 4 - 5 (Unarmed)

  Two Handed damage: 6 - 7 (Unarmed)

  Defense: 3

  Skills

  Alchemy: Novice 5

  Animal Care: Novice 8

  Aura Projection: Novice 9

  Blacksmithing: Novice 5

  Carpentry: Novice 4

  Climbing: Novice 3

  Construction: Novice 4

  Cooking: Novice 9

  Craftsmanship: Novice 5

  Crystal Programming: Novice 2

  Firestarter: Novice 2

  Haggle: Novice 2

  Herbalism: Novice 8

  Knife Mastery: Novice 3

  Listening: Novice 4

  Lock Picking: Novice 3

  Logging: Novice 5

  Magical Aura: Novice 9

  Magical Engraving: Novice 5

  Mana Control: Novice 9

  Mining: Novice 3

  Observe: Novice 4

  Repair: Novice 3

  Search: Novice 7

  Shield Mastery: Novice 8

  Sleight of Hand: Novice 4

  Sneak: Novice 7

  Spear Mastery: Novice 7

  Unarmed Combat: Novice 7

  Workhorse: Novice 4

  Abilities: Darkvision, Thrust, Shield Bash, Aspect of the Kobold 1

  Spells: None

  Arcane Symbols Known: light, dark, water, fire, earth, air, force, self, life, death, remove, and directional symbols.

  Looking at my character sheet, I can’t help but laugh. I spent weeks in this little town, Restrain, training my butt off and learning about how this world works. Together with Mary and my best buddy Vrax, a kobold, we killed monsters, explored a dungeon, leveled up, and raised our skills. Heck, I even went on a date with a pretty hot redhead warrior lady, Sonya. I met some really kind people that trained me and took me under their wing. I made lots of friends and even helped out a tribe of kobolds. They made me part of their family, and Vrax officially became my brood brother. It was a good time in my life that I really didn’t appreciate at the time.

  Then the Imperare Empire came and took over the dungeon town. They killed or imprisoned just about everyone who wasn’t human. Sure, my little group was able to save some people, but we couldn’t save the kobolds. The Empire believes in a humans-first philosophy and either kills or enslave anyone who isn’t. Vrax, and I ran as fast as we could to help the tribe, but we were too late. By the time we got there, everyone was gone. The soldiers killed most of the kobolds, even the unborn eggs in the tribe’s hatchery, and the few who weren’t dead were taken as slaves by the Empire. Vrax’s wails of sorrow still haunt my dreams, and I remember crying my eyes out over body of the kind kobold elder whose last breath was spent begging me to save the kobolds that were kidnapped.

  So, of course, we went to the Imperare Empire to find and rescue them. We were thankfully able to rescue the citizens of the dungeon town that were taken, but the kobolds were already gone. The only clue we had to where the kobolds had been sent were some accounting books. Unfortunately, they were written in code, and we went east to Monstrum to get help from a connection.

  Only, that connection was also a friend of the Empire, and he sold us out. He laid a trap for us that my team survived--unlike our attackers--but just as we finally got the location of where the kobolds were being kept, the guards showed up.

  So, here I am. Pacing. Stripped of everything in my inventory and wearing prison rags. Thinking. Pacing. The kobolds a
re in Attilius, a city smack-dab in the middle of the Imperare Empire, while my friends and I are still here in Monstrum. We’ll find them. That’s my mantra. Save the kobolds . . . Save the kobolds . . . Save the kobolds. And then kill the bastards who took them.

  ___________

  The next day, I’m sitting on the stone floor of my cell, my eyes closed, mentally drawing the spellwriting symbols I know when I hear the sounds of boots approaching. As the boots stop in front of my door, I get to my feet. Several times, the guards have thought they’d have a little fun by playing ‘beat the half-breed.’ While I’m actually human, I currently look like I’m the offspring of some human lizard mating. I gained an ability from the magical ceremony that bonded me to the kobold tribe called [Aspect of the Kobold] that grows scales over my skin, giving me added natural armor. It’s an ability I used to get across the border and blend in with the monster races in Monstrum, but it still makes me a target for people who hate anything to do with humans.

  Instead of a guard, however, my lawyer is standing there when the thick wooden door opens. My lawyer is a thin bird creature of some kind. He has large, bulging, yellow eyes and speaks through a hooked beak. His patchy white feathers show purple skin beneath, and his long, taloned fingers poke out through his official black barrister robes.

  He squints at me and clucks his tongue before saying, “Well, aren’t you a mess? Here, I’ve been working tirelessly trying to gather evidence for your trial today, and you can’t even be bothered to get cleaned up? Tsk, tsk.”

  “My trial is today? The last I heard, it was supposed to be weeks ago. Where have you been?”

  The bird man waves his thin, long fingers in the air, dismissing my questions. “Oh, I’ve been busy. Didn’t I just tell you? Besides, what does it matter to you when your trial is? You’ve had a nice quiet vacation here in this cell, while I worked my poor feathered body to the bones.” Then seeing me standing there, fists still raised for a fight with the guards, he points to me and states, “Violence will get you nowhere in Monstrum, Arman. Now, let's get going, or we’ll be late.”

  I quickly lower my fists, walk toward the door of the cell, and tell my lawyer, “My name’s Armon, not Arman.”

  The barrister just shrugs as if it doesn’t really matter one way or another. Three guards in pressed dark-blue uniforms are waiting outside the door of the cell with thick chains in their hands. I look at them for a moment and wonder if I can take them all before someone raises the alarm. Unfortunately, the silver collar around my neck prevents me from accessing my mana or using any abilities, so I reckon any fight would be short. Deciding against it, I hold my arms out, and the guards attach ankle and wrist manacles with chains running between them. When they’re done, I try to walk, and I find that I can only take small half-steps. I guess that’s to make it difficult for prisoners to run away.

  One of the guards pokes me with an end of a nightstick and motions for me to follow the other guards. I shake my head at the clanging, scraping noise I make while we walk. All I need now is a nightcap, and I can play the part of Jacob Marley in this year’s Christmas Carol. I can’t help but squint to adjust my vision to the light from the barred windows built high up into the hallway walls. We walk down a passageway and turn a few corners before passing a large chamber where they keep the rest of the prisoners. The sudden increase in noise deafens me for a moment as I hear a grating cacophony of shouts coming from the groups of inmates to my right and guards on the left grumbling to each other about the unruly prisoners as they fill out reports. I was never told why I was taken to a private cell and isolated from everyone, and I sort of miss the quiet now.

  As we pass through the center of the building, the other prisoners start to chant. It’s so low that I don’t notice it at first. Then, as the rest of the prisoners get in the spirit, I can make out what they’re saying: “Dead lizard walking. Dead lizard walking.” The noise fades away as we exit the building, and I’m led to the back of a horse-drawn wagon. The guards toss me up onto the wagon and then secure my manacles to the floor before letting me sit on the bolted-down benches. The three guards all remain in the back of the wagon with me while we travel through the city.

  It’s a short fifteen-minute ride before the wagon stops and the process of unchaining me from the floor of the wagon is completed. The guards laugh heartily as they also toss me out of the wagon, and I land painfully face-first on the hard stone of the paved road. My chains get tangled up, making the manacles on my wrists and ankles cut into my flesh as I yank on the chains to try and straighten them. It takes me a few minutes to get back on my feet, and the moment I do, the guards prod me to start walking.

  I only get a quick glance at the buildings around me, but I recognize that we’re in front of the courthouse in Trinitarian, a multilevel stone structure with large pillars in front that support a slanted roof. There’s also a statue of a tall orc woman wearing flowing robes. She’s looking straight forward while she holds a thick book titled ‘Law’ to her chest and raising a sword vertically in front of her. The imagery makes me wonder if she is supposed to be defending the law or getting ready to execute judgment on its behalf. One of the guards prods me with his nightstick again, and I get the hint that I should keep moving up the stairs to the courthouse.

  It’s not easy walking up the stairs with the chains around my ankles only allowing me room to make little half steps. I have to hop up some of the steps, and the entire group has to wait for me as I make my way up the broad stairway. I see my lawyer perched at the top of the stairs, an impatient look on his beaked face. I don’t feel any pity for him, though. He’s made me wait weeks, so he can wait a few extra seconds. The feathers along my lawyer’s neck stand on end, and he clucks his tongue once before turning away, and the five of us walk inside.

  As we pass through the wide-open double doors, I notice the dark oak wood paneling on the walls and the hardwood floor. The decor tries to give the impression of great age and majesty. People in dark barrister robes are everywhere. Some talk in groups; others are walking quickly towards some important appointment. There’s a quiet yet frantic energy everywhere. To me, it seems like my chains rattle too loudly, like I’m making a ruckus at church during mass. I feel like every lawyer turns my way as I pass, accusing me, judging me.

  We turn right at a set of doors, and the guards double-check my restraints before we walk through them. My lawyer leads the way into a courtroom with me shuffling in behind. A wooden railing separates the half of the room with chairs for the audience and the official courtroom. Beyond the railing are two large desks, one on the right side with another birdman lawyer and one on the left side. As we walk past the railing, my lawyer and the other birdman, whom I can only assume is the prosecution, greet each other.

  “Hello, Sam.”

  “Hello, Ralph.”

  Wait, my lawyer’s name is Sam? I don’t think it bodes well that my lawyer never cared enough to even bother telling me his name the few times we’ve met.

  As soon as my lawyer and I are sitting at the desk on the left, the guards lock my restraints to the floor beneath the table. The rest of the room looks just like you’d expect if you’ve ever watched a lawyer show. There’s a four-foot empty space between the lawyers’ desks and the raised desk where the judge sits. Next to the judge’s bench, there’s a slightly-overweight troll bailiff that’s watching the room.

  My lawyer still hasn’t told me anything about what to expect in the courtroom, so I ask him anxiously, “What’s going to happen now? I’ve never been arrested before, much less been in court.”

  Sam looks down his beak at me and replies with an annoyed tone, “I don’t have time to describe the legal system to you. Just do what I tell you, and everything will be just fine.”

  I hear someone yell, “All rise for the honorable Judge Jody.”

  I look around the room, and everyone is getting up from their seats, and I quickly do the same. Then a door behind the bench that I mistook for normal wood
paneling opens, and a short figure wearing dark-black robes walks through. I recognize the judge as a goblin, though it looks rather funny with the powdered wig on its head. The goblin has short ears that barely poke through the white wig, so I think that the judge is a male. Judge Jody climbs a short ladder behind the bench and into the seat behind it. When he’s done, we’re looking up at him behind his elevated desk.

  Once the judge is seated, the troll bailiff yells out, “You may be seated,” and everyone sits down.

  Judge Jody looks through a stack of papers and then down at both lawyers. In a surprisingly deep voice for a goblin, he says formally, “Will the accused stand?”

  My lawyer stands up and pulls on my arm, indicating I should do the same. I was just standing, then they told me to sit, and now they want me to stand again. Come on, make up your mind. Still, I get to my feet.

  The judge continues: “In the case of Jaxson Miltonha versus Armon Ellington, Armon Ellington is accused of kidnapping, assault, and torture. How do you plead?”

  Sam replies just as formally, “We plead guilty, your honor. The prosecution and defense have come to a plea agreement in which my client assumes full responsibility for his actions and has agreed to two years’ hard labor.”

  Not able to believe what I’m hearing, I blurt out, “What?!?! I do not plead guilty! I was only defending myself after being attacked!”

  My lawyer pulls on my arm and hisses in my ear, “Shut up, you idiot. If the case goes to trial, you face up to ten years in jail. Take the plea deal!”