Lastborn of Forsaken Roses

by Thomas Green

  Is her voice getting… weaker? He frowned. He focused his gaze on his surroundings. Why do I see with a tilt of green?

  He removed a gauntlet, tore off the sleeve of his shirt, wet it in the snow and wrapped the drenched cloth around his face, covering his mouth and nose. He took a deep breath and dove back into the arena complex.

  The stairs to the upper level were a few turnings away. He scaled them and headed toward the balcony. Her voice had gone silent, but an army of steps echoed from the hallway ahead. He reached her to see Yvonne lay unconscious on the ground, snow gathering on her pale face.

  He knelt over her. She is breathing. Good. Yet still, the poison in the air must have worked on her much stronger than it did on him. The army of steps got closer. He straightened his back, forced his aether to cover his face with the visage of divine beauty and put his palm onto the hilt of his sword. With his second hand, he gently picked up Nibbles to place him onto the ground. “Hide.” The rat squeaked and vanished from sight.

  Soldiers in the uniforms bearing the mark of the Slaver Union soon appeared within the hallway. Raven couldn’t see their end, for they filled the stone corridor in its entirety.

  The tallest of the men stepped forward. “Hand her over, and we will leave you unharmed.”

  Raven kept his face impassive. “Why?”

  “Boss’ orders. I am to bring her in.”

  “Won’t let you take her.”

  “I am afraid I do not have the liberty of not doing it. Look, I’m here doing my job, so how about you stay out of the way and let me? I don’t want to be here any more than you do, trust me.”

  Raven’s voice turned into a cold whisper. “Leave, or you will all die here.”

  “That’s not how it works, slave. There are over thirty of us, you are badly wounded and, frankly, you might be a famous slave, but that doesn’t make you any less of a slave. So move the fuck out of our way before you get hurt.” He motioned his men to advance. Two soldiers walked past Raven by his sides.

  He smiled and reached for his aether. Power erupted through his body, giving him the most intoxicating feeling he had ever known. The strength was the greatest toxin he had ever tasted, the best drink he ever drank, the tastiest food to ever fill his stomach. Endless strength flowed into muscles, took away the pain, let him forget his shackles, and calmed his soul, drowning away the anger rising up his throat. He made the aether seep into every inch of his body, his armor, his shield, and his sword.

  As the slavers passed him, he stretched his aether outward, filling the air with it, forming an invisible globe. Through this detection field, he could feel every move of everyone inside, every twitch of a muscle, every breath. His aether passes through them with almost no resistance. They were weak, and since there was no audience, he had no reason to hold back.

  Raven drew his sword into a diagonal cut, severing the man in front of him in two, releasing a fountain of blood. He spun and slashed apart the napes of the necks of the men who passed him. The soldiers shouted and drew their weapons. Raven stepped in to run his sword through the belly of the nearest soldier. He withdrew the sword and sliced the throat of the next man.

  The hallway turned into a scene of slaughter. A moment ago, three dozen soldiers stood between the stone walls. Three dozen soldiers now lay dead upon the ground. He gazed over the carnage, wondering how loud would be the booing of his fans were he to fight like this in the arena. Extremely loud. Who would pay to watch thirty seconds of butchery?

  Raven heard steps and screams from the bowels of the arena complex. He checked on Yvonne, who was still asleep and unharmed. Good. He walked toward the sound.

  He reached the top of the spiraled stairs and descended. Below lay a hallway with over a dozen men rushing away from him.

  Suddenly, an arm-thick thorny vine burst from between them, growing at the speed of lightning. The wine weaved on the ground and the sides of the walls as it wrapped around the legs of the Union’s soldiers and reached for the rest of their bodies. Their screams muffled when the vine enveloped them. Then the plant clenched as if having a sudden spasm. The voices died.

  For a second, all movement stopped. Only blood dripped from the tangled vine. It withered within an instant, turning into dust, revealing the bloody paste, which used to be the Union’s soldiers. At the other end of the hallway stood Count Salazar.

  He wore his usual robes and appeared as if he was merely taking a stroll. Yet blue leaves covered his mouth and nose while his dark-green eyes shone with an inner light.

  Salazar stepped forward. “I am searching for a member of my team, would you happen to have seen her?”

  Their aether clashed as Salazar’s field intersected with Raven’s. At the same instant, they both stretched out their strength to touch the other one.

  His aether couldn’t pass through the count. Raven’s heart sped up, and excitement filled his veins to the point where he had to bite his tongue not to scream. They were equals. Raven smiled, withdrew his aether into himself and sheathed his blade. “She’s upstairs. Killed the rest of the soldiers.”

  Salazar passed him to scale the stairs. Raven followed. His strength wavered. All the wounds he had reopened during the fight burst out in pain, forcing him to hold himself by the wall as he ascended.

  Salazar paid him no heed until he reached Yvonne. “This seems to be a thing I need to thank you for.”

  Raven forced himself not to smile as Salazar rushed forward to see how he killed the soldiers. Yet he wouldn’t find anything, because Raven stuck to slashing and stabbing, making it appear as if he merely used the strengthening manifestation. He sagged down by the wall, exhausted, but happy, for he saved Yvonne and had seen Salazar’s aether manifestation, something which he would never reveal unless forced.

  Steps of heavy boots echoed from the stairs. A black-haired, heavily armored woman soon appeared from them with half-a-dozen men behind her, all bearing the insignia of Xona while blue leaves covered their mouths and noses.

  Salazar nodded in acknowledgment. “I see you have found your way, Katherine.”

  Her eyes were wide, but Raven could not judge why. “What happened?”

  “Nothing much.” Salazar smiled. “I reached Yvonne, yet arrived too late to be of any use since Raven killed all in sight. Nevertheless, I believe we need to bring her and Raven to our chambers to help them recover.”

  He planned to bring them to study him over the night, so Raven focused his strength into his body, forming a wall out of his skin. “Don’t think I am in a position to refuse.” Mostly because he was not sure that he could stand up on his own.

  Salazar raised an eyebrow. “Would you have desired to?”

  Yes. Raven shook his head.

  Katherine sighed. “I am obliged to mention that this is a security risk that borders with insanity.”

  “Noted.”

  Katherine’s voice became poisonous. “Like the Union’s soldiers? Were they also noted before your highness turned them into a paste?”

  Salazar’s expression hardened. “This is no place for such discussion.”

  Her face twisted into a cruel smile. “Oh, it is, because my men deserve to know and you would talk your way out of it or shut me up by a raise if I were to bring this up in private.” She stretched her neck before continuing. “So, why do you have the royal guard at all? You don’t seem to have the slightest use for us, and I left my successful career as a private investigator for this position.”

  Raven and the soldiers standing behind her all lowered their gaze to the ground, pretending not to be on the scene. The positions were clear to him. Katherine was challenging Salazar to use his power or authority to shut her up. To Raven’s surprise, he didn’t.

  “I suppose this conversation has had to happen at some point.” Salazar walked to her, calm and controlled. “Yes, I do have a need for my royal guard, for you. Yet it is not the fact that you are one of the top swordsmen in Xona, but rather that you possess impeccable organization sk
ills and superb attention to detail.”

  “Am I… an assistant to you?” Katherine stuttered. “Am I a mere decoration that accompanies you around?”

  Raven and the guardsmen turned red, wishing they could disappear. Yet a strange feeling settled within Raven’s chest when looking at the count. Respect. The grace with which the count stood against the challenge was one Raven had never seen in anyone other than Stallington.

  Salazar shook his head. “No, you are what would be called the chief of staff. I mask it behind you being the captain of the royal guard to have a good reason for you to be always at my disposal.”

  Katherine’s eyes narrowed. “And to pay me less. Soldier wages aren't even close to the ones of politicians.”

  He smiled. “You would be surprised by how little my other subordinates earn. Now, if we are done discussing the matters of your employment, I believe we have a cell to return to.”

  Katherine shook her head and turned to her soldiers. “Stop loitering around! Tobyn and Alan, pick up Raven. Beth and Molly, take Yvonne. We are returning to our cell!”

  Raven motioned with his hand and Nibbles left the shadows, crawling onto him to hide among his hair. “I’ll manage.” He gritted his teeth and forced himself to stand up. His knees wobbled. The firm grip of Tobyn and Allan stopped him from collapsing onto the ground. Raven didn’t resist anymore as they carried him to their cell.

  25

  Lucas

  Lucas walked between the tents of the Order’s army camp. The stench of blood followed his every step while the painful grunts of wounded soldiers echoed through the air. He stopped by a torch, pulled a cigar from out of his soul chamber and lit it by the fire. The smoke of the rolled tobacco leaves didn’t taste well, but it did sooth his mind. He leaned onto the tent, getting lost in the moment.

  How many times did I promise I would stop doing this? Too many. As the memories of all the moments he had vowed to quit smoking flashed through his mind, the smoke turned foul. Lucas threw the remaining half of the cigar away and headed toward the main tent.

  A massive table covered by maps dominated the place. On a stretcher by the side lay Merewen, wrapped in bandages. Over her towered Archbishop Nashimaeal, his robes glistening in the lights of the nearby brazier. In the air, his fingers traced one symbol after another as he was healing Merewen with his aether. Miranda leaned onto the wall, covering the pair of crutches hidden behind her.

  Nashimaeal greeted Lucas with a sharp glare. “I wish the postponement of my journey to Xona wouldn’t have ended being the correct choice.”

  Lucas stepped to his side. “How is she doing?”

  Merewen threw him a defiant look. “I’m fine.”

  Nashimaeal shook his head. “After a month of rest and recovery, this statement shall turn true.”

  Lucas nodded and walked to the map-laden table at the center of the tent. “I will start with a summary. We have lost twelve hundred men and have no further prospects of entering the city. The Cinderwell is gone for us and will stay so until the end of this campaign.”

  Miranda scoffed. “I hope you’ve got a better plan for Xona,”

  “You sound ready for your insubordination trial.”

  She grinned. “You know I love those.”

  “I do, and I will get to it later.” Lucas’ smile froze the blood in Miranda’s veins. “Merewen, when you can walk, send the entire army toward Redwall and head to Heaven’s Rest. Somewhere in the basement, you will find a forked bow made of steel. It’s probably in a display case with Weeping Sun written somewhere around it. Take the weapon and try shooting with it. No matter how it goes, move to Xona afterward. Once there, organize the local garrison, with which you must manage.”

  “Yes, sir.” Merewen smiled. “Do you know who the man who defeated me is?”

  If the reports are at least half-true, I do. Lucas shook his head. “No, and we will need to prepare a strategy for the next time we fight him.”

  Merewen nodded.

  Lucas turned to Nashimaeal. “Nash, I am sure Salazar will hold a party the moment he returns to Xona. I would like to ask you to attend the event and calm down the lords since we have ruffled some feathers both here and in Grimdawn.”

  Nashimaeal’s eyes narrowed. “What does ruffled some feathers disguise in this context?”

  Lucas frowned. “I told the lord of Grimdawn to let us do what we want in the city else I would label him a demon conspirator and have him and his family burned alive. To the lord Cinderwell, I told nothing about our planned operation so he might be startled by us setting a district ablaze with no warning.”

  Nashimaeal sighed. “Surely a high representative of the Order’s military shall accompany me to deliver our apologies and attest to our effort to prevent such incidents in the future.”

  “Yes. General Darkscream will be happy to keep you company.”

  Nashimaeal’s face hardened. “I meant you, Lucas.”

  “I know, but it’s that time of the year again, so I am sending Miranda as my substitute.”

  They both turned to her.

  She formed an innocent smile. “I would have loved to attend such an event, yet unfortunately, I am due for an insubordination trial.”

  Lucas laughed. “Not unless I decide otherwise. You are going to the party.”

  She glowered at him. “Come the fuck on! I haven’t screwed up nearly bad enough to deserve this hard of a punishment! Do you have any idea how insufferable Salazar’s parties are?”

  Lucas grinned. “I do, and all right, I will send Luna with you to keep you entertained. You can use the opportunity to ensure she wants to join the Order once we are done with the tournament.”

  Miranda’s eyes narrowed. “Is she into girls?”

  “I thought that was inconsequential when you were involved.”

  Her expression twisted into a satisfied smirk. “True.”

  Archbishop Nashimaeal slapped his face with his palm. “The people I work with…”

  “What?” Lucas turned to the old archbishop. “We might as well accomplish multiple objectives at once.”

  “That is not what I meant, Lucas.” Nashimaeal pierced him with a cold glare. “I know repentance isn’t in your vocabulary, yet I was hoping for at least a bit of humility, considering we lost a city and must give up on the next one.”

  Lucas raised an eyebrow. “And here I thought you would be happy I didn't level Cinderwell while hunting Collward.”

  Archbishop Nashimaeal straightened his back, peering down at Lucas. “Despite your opinion, this Order represents principles you shall live up to. Or have you forgotten your promise?”

  Right, that… Lucas’ muscles unclenched, his posture visibly relaxing. “No, I remember. But I also couldn’t help but notice the good men of the Order had not killed a single demon prince in over one hundred and fifty years. Thus came my turn. I will keep doing what I can to uphold my promise, but I will succeed.”

  Nashimaeal smiled. “That is all I wanted to hear.” He turned to Merewen to continue healing her.

  “Good.” Lucas pivoted on his heel and approached Miranda, towering above her. “Now, to the insubordination part. Since you would manipulate any proper trial, I hereby cancel it and instead use my authority to grant an exemplary punishment. You are to receive five hundred lashes of a whip to your back and the same amount to your feet. Fifty a day each for ten days straight, so you have time to reconsider your choices.”

  She gulped, wide-eyed while turning pale.

  The archbishop cleared his throat. “That is a little excessive.”

  Lucas threw him. “Do you want your own sentence for coming back even though you were supposed to go to Xona?”

  Nashimaeal put on an amiable smile. “I am fine as is, thank you.”

  Lucas walked to him, peering down at Merewen. “You will ensure her punishment is delivered with proper harshness. Do it yourself if you have to. Should I find out Miranda avoided, lightened or tricked my judgment in any way, I will
hold you responsible and give you both a double of what she is to undertake. Understand?”

  She nodded, speechless.

  Lucas spun on his heel, heading out of the tent. He glanced over his shoulder. “I will be back for Redwall. Till then, Merewen and Miranda are in charge.” He didn’t need to see the archbishop’s face to know it was now twisted into a painful frown.

  Before Lucas left the camp, Archbishop Nashimaeal intercepted him, wearing a sharp expression.

  Lucas smiled at his old friend. “Why do I feel like I won’t enjoy this conversation?”

  Nashimaeal smiled back. “The man Merewen fought was James, was it not?”

  Lucas sighed, wondering if he shouldn’t lie about this. He chose not to. “Yes.”

  “To think he had resurfaced after so long… anyway, I want to ask you to be included in the future military operations.”

  Lucas’ expression hardened as he reached into his soul chamber for a jug of wine. “You are a hundred years too old for that.”

  “Yet I insist. I shall accompany Merewen to Heaven’s Rest and recover my armor and chains.”

  “This is a bad idea, Nash. Being my champion may have lengthened your lifespan to unnatural amounts, but it doesn’t mean you don’t wither to age.”

  “We all have our grudges, and this is mine, so I care about my years less than you would like me to.”

  Great. Now Lucas had to plan the missions so James and Nash wouldn’t meet. He had to tell this to Miranda to stop them from fighting in Xona since the archbishop would need a few months to get into shape. “I can promise you participation, but I won’t change the course of this campaign for your hunt.”

  Nashimaeal laughed. “That is more than I hoped for. Well then, I will be content to sit around and hope my prey finds me instead of the usual procedure.”

  Lucas shook his head. “What did he do, kill your family?”

  “No, he merely manipulated me, but it isn’t something that would bother me these days.”