Renegade Reborn (52 page)

Warlord Ricard stood at ease, looking out through one of the high towers at the two sides of opposing soldiers, one a sea of Black, the other of Green, with his city’s gates lying between them like a dam, keeping them apart. He turned his attention first to his left, to the sea of Black, animals of men, standing about unorganized, snarling, fighting amongst themselves, more like a glorified pack, or mob, than an army, and yet, they were controlled, moving no further than their leader, a man no older than his son, Thomson, who like a herding dog, paced back and forth across an invisible line, and kept his men in check. This young man, he was an animal too, but different, more evolved, the Alpha Male, and like a wolf, he continued his pacing, waiting, and watching for the perfect opportunity to strike.

Ricard then turned to his right, to the sea of Green, an army he was used to seeing, made up of men straight and rigid, as if barbed sticks were up their backsides, and they were afraid to move less they summon the wrath of their leader, a man of a man with shoulders as wide as a wild Naforian Bull, and a height and weight that would make some forest bears feel inferior, but it wasn’t the way the men were standing, or even the leader’s physical prowess that brought him fear, it was the men’s suits, suits, that looked so familiar, and even as he thought about it, looking for the answer, his right hand rose up, and touched the charred side of his face, and he knew why. The color was wrong, along with some different appendages, but there was no doubt about it.

They were Renegades.

Ricard rubbed again at his charred face, a gift, given to him by the lone Renegade who had embarrassed him in front of his own people, an embarrassment, and a failure, that he was reminded of nearly on a daily basis, whether looking at himself in the mirror, or hearing it out loud in his meetings with the Freeists and Purists. To calm himself, he took in a breath, let it out slowly, then, adjusted his gaze downward to see his warriors, lined up behind the gate, ready to give their lives for, for what? Freedom? Is that what their caged existence was called now?

He gazed longingly at his men, remembered his time in the Great Veil War, how he clenched his asshole to prevent his drawers from filling upon seeing his first Drake Knight, and how, once the fighting started, his lifetime of instinct and training took over, and instilled in him an excitement he had only felt again when the Renegade had come to town. There was a deep longing in his heart now, oh, how he wanted to just leap from the window and join his men, and run from the plump representatives of the Freeist and Purist Parties bickering behind him on the right course of action to deal with the appearances of the Green and Black beasts that growled at their door.

They had appeared so swiftly, so suddenly, there was no way to even escort the people. The battle had to be outside, but to open the doors would be . . .

“Ricard? WARLORD RICARD! If you would be so kind as to join us at this debate?” Miss Blackbox’s high, prissy voice spoke up, silencing the bickering for a moment. Ricard with much effort, left the window and returned to the head of the long table where on his right side, sat the seven representatives of the Purists, and on the left, sat the seven representatives of the Freeists.

“A debate, Miss Blackbox, is respectful. This? This is nothing, but mud slinging. I’ve seen children show each other more respect. ” Ricard said, giving her a hard gaze.

“Children? Is that how you see us? You smug bastard . . . we put you into that seat, Ricard, don’t ever forget that!” Mr. Rotstone started.

“Mr. Rotstone, Miss Blackbox has the floor. Please, if you would, Miss Blackbox, continue.” Ricard said, doing his best to maintain a patient, orderly manner.

“For once I agree. We did put you into that chair, some of us anyway. I didn’t vote for you. Nevertheless, every time you open your mouth you prove my point to me, and everyone here, that warriors, do not make good leaders in a world of civility, and if we are to keep civility alive, we must be the change we want to see in this world! Fighting for peace is like, ahem, raping for virginity! Peaceful ends can only be achieved through peaceful means!” Miss Blackbox said. There was a scoff from the Purist side of the table.

“What color is the sky in your world, Miss Blackbox? There are armies outside our walls, and armies don’t come together for tea and crumpets. They mean to kill us, and you would have us bend over? Let them take our homes? You’re a mad cluckity hen!” Mr. Rotstone said, thrusting a hairy finger at Miss Blackbox.

“Mr. Rotstone, please, let’s keep this civil.” Ricard said.

“Civil would be bouncing this portly cluck right out that window!” Mr. Rotstone said, pointing to the window Ricard was standing by.

“HOW DARE YOU!” Miss Blackbox yelled, standing to her feet.

“Siddown, cluck! Before ya get yer panties stuck.” Mr. Rotstone said.

“Enough, both of you, I claim the floor. The way I see it, we cannot act, until they act and they, really, have only have two actions they can take. One, they fight each other, and if they do that, it will allow us to wait and attack the weakened winner, or, they join one another for a temporary alliance. Should that happen, we, will . . .” Ricard started.

“What is this? Did you just not hear my statements? Do you ignore me because I’m a woman in a man’s world? You war mongers are all the same! A Warlord must stay neutral! How dare you show favor to these blood hungry Purists! You forgot a third option! Showing them peace! A Warlord must . . .” Miss Blackbox started.

“I’m well aware of what my duties are, Miss Blackbox, and I need not hear them from you. Are we clear?” Ricard asked.

“May I have the floor?” Miss Blackbox asked.

“If it pleases you.” Ricard said.

“As I was saying, before I was RUDELY interrupted we, the Freeist party, are all in agreement on how to handle these people beyond our doors. Calling them an army is to take away their faces! They’re humans just like us, and I will not allow our Warlords‘, theories, to speak for all of us. They are not fighting yet, are they? Why? It’s a dangerous, dark world out there, and now with the moon and stars strangely returning, they are scared, looking for answers from us! The civilized! The best representations of Thera! I vote we send out a force, in the name of peace, without weapons, to speak with them, and hear their intent.” Miss Blackbox said. Mr. Rotstone’s head dropped to the table with a loud thud.

“Permission to speak?” Mr. Rotstone asked, raising his head.

“Granted.” Ricard said. Mr. Rotstone stood to his feet.

“You woman, are insane! Listen to our Warlord! Listen to common sense! They want what we have! Our resources! Our shelter and I say, us cowering in here like bees in a hive, is showing weakness! I say we send out strike forces to back around behind them, and attack their flanks! We must show strength here! You want peace? Peace comes from action!” Mr. Rotstone said, smacking the table.

“Are you implying that bloodshed, leads to peace? NO! Peace is only accomplished through peaceful means!” Miss Blackbox said. “We show them peace, and they will show us peace in return!”

“That is utter and complete bullshit from a woman who spends her days downing bon bons and achieving exercise only by rubbing her sore kankles!” Mr. Rotstone said.

“So says the gigantic beer keg of a stomach staring back at me! Hello, pot, I’m kettle! You and your knuckle-dragging Purists are literally too stuck in the past, and to beneath our schooling and intelligence to even have words with! What university did you attend, Mr. Rotstone?” Miss Blackbox asked.

“The school of hard knocks sister, and don’t you forget it! The time is now! My smithy provides our military with armor and weapons, and I won’t see it not put to good use! Far as I’m concerned, I own the military, and I vote we send them out there, right now, and end this! Like men!” Mr. Rotstone said.

“No,” Ricard said.

“No?” Mr. Rotstone asked, his neck reddening, and jaw dropping.

“It would be suicide. We have not the numbers for such a maneuver, especially with two different targets to focus upon.” Ricard said.

“Well, it’s sure as hell better than sitting in here across from this sow, doing nothing! It’s my equipment, it’s my call! I can take it all back!” Mr. Rotstone said.

“Fine, if you wish to send our soldiers out there to die, I will, but under one condition. You lead the charge.” Ricard said. To this, Mr. Rotstone opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came, and instead sat back down in a huff, folding his arms.

“Does it hurt Ricard? Does it hurt yer little bunghole sittin’ on the fence between us? Catering to the cow?” Mr. Rotstone asked, motioning to Miss Blackbox.

“You are a perfect, human embodiment on what’s wrong with this world, Mr. Rotstone,” Miss Blackbox said. “You, and people like you.”

“The only reason you’re allowed to form words from your jowls into things you call opinions is because of me, and people like me, who fought in the Great Veil War! You . . .” Mr. Rotstone started.

“That’s enough!” Ricard snapped, silencing everyone. “I’ve heard your sides. I, Richard Ricard, Warlord of Oak County, have decided that we wait, we watch, we listen, with the army on standby, ready to go at a moment’s notice. Nobody, and I mean, nobody leaves this city, opens the gates, or goes over that wall without my say. Understood?”

They were silent.

“Now, I suggest you all take a recess. We are in for a long night. Freshen up, hug husbands, hug your wives, hug your sons, hug your daughters. This meeting is adjourned,” Ricard said, as he turned his back on the table, and returned to the window, favoring the view of the armies over the politicians as Mr. Rotstone, took the right staircase, and Miss Blackbox took the left, where below them, each had someone waiting.

“We proceed as planned,” Mr. Rotstone said. “When the leader of our city sits and does nothing, it’s up to the people to act. He challenges me to lead a charge? When I’m finished, the people will crave my leadership! Spread the word to those involved. Code word, coup d'état, is in full effect!”

“Yes, sir,” A soldier said, bowing, as he scuttled down the right staircase as Miss Blackbox spoke with her fellow Freeist.

“Rabid dogs, ready to kill humans, humans just like you and I, in the name of peace! It is deplorable. Luckily for us, for our people, for our world, we are here to show them the proper way! Get everyone together. We will go out the front, and meet with our fellow planet dwellers, and show them, the power of peace, love, and tolerance!” Miss Blackbox said.

“Yes, Ma’am,” The man said, bowing, as she shuffled down the stairs.

Outside, Malik Strife had stopped his pacing, and stood a fist throw away from the man who had taken his place at birth, Ranto Narroway. They stared into one another’s eyes now, neither one of them blinking, as Malik’s normally rowdy army, said not a word, and uttered not a grunt. Finally, Ranto made his move, and extended a big hand. Malik stared at the hand, then back up at Ranto’s face.

“Malik Strife,” Ranto said.

“Ranto Narroway,” Malik said, as he reached forward, pumped Ranto’s outstretched hand, then released. They both tried for a long time to open with something, anything, but their minds raced as they looked not into the eyes of one another, but the life they could have had. Hundreds of what if scenarios raced through the young men’s minds, until, finally, they accepted their destiny, and remembered the man who had brought them both, right here, to this moment.

“The Goat Man, you . . .” Malik started.

“Yes,” Ranto answered.

Malik nodded. No words needed to be said on this topic.

“Way I see it, we have two choices, and I don’t like either of them. I knew you would come, but I wasn’t expecting on arriving at the exact same time,” Ranto said.

“He was, The Goat Man, no doubt about it,” Malik said.

“And even as we speak of him, he doesn’t show himself,” Ranto said. “Answer me this. Do you feel as if you’re just a puppet? In the grand scheme of things, that’s what I feel, that’s what I know I am, and yet, all the decisions that got me here, were made by me, in clear conscience. How can that be?”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be here.” Malik said, as slowly, his rowdy army was begging to stir impatiently. “My men, they will not wait for long,”

“I can see that.” Ranto said.

“They only look chaotic, because they are. That’s exactly what we are fighting for. Chaos. Evolution is chaotic, and only through evolution, can we reach our true potential. Society, morals, values, they stand in our way, halt our growth. We aim to fix that, we aim to break everything down, and what better way, then infecting the symbol of democracy with absolute chaos?” Malik said. Ranto nodded.

“Believe it or not, I believe we have the same goal, just, different methods, and, for behind me, is the evolution you so crave, but through order.” Ranto said, lifting his arm, hovering it over his army. “Chaos lasts for only so long. Eventually, everything must come to order, and it is only strength, it is only the peak of evolution, myself, that will sustain it. Your goal? The result you want? It’s already here, Malik. It lies behind me.”

“But, at a cost . . . by giving up our will . . . for yours,” Malik said. “I can appreciate you trying to bind our causes together, but we couldn’t be more different. Chaos and Order, can never be one,” Malik said.