The Branded Rose Prophecy

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  As the power of the vision waned, Unnur became aware of the sharp edges of the cards under her hands, pressing into the sides of her fingers and with almost the same degree of urgency, she thought of the Queen of Wands.

  Warn her.

  The thought barely formed in her mind. It was more like an instinct, and without consideration Unnur hurled the essence of the vision out toward the Queen, wherever she may be. Unnur felt the warning leave her, tugging at her mind and her chest like a spirit leaving the body.

  Then it was gone.

  She looked down at the scattered cards, blinking, as she considered what had happened. Would she ever know if the message had been received? Probably not, for this was a new aspect of her talent. It would require a lot of thought.

  Was the Queen one of the Valkyrie? Was that why she had immediately thought of her when she had seen the Alfar advancing?

  Unnur moved the cards until the Queen of Wands was revealed. “Be safe,” she whispered. “Whoever you are.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  On day five of the Battle of the Plains, the human military machinery reached the Rift Valley and caught up with the human and Herleifr armies that had been attempting to dam back the Alfar offensive spreading across the plains since their incursion, but by then, it was too late.

  The Amboseli hall, which had remained empty for the last one hundred and seventeen years, had two portals—as did all the minor halls, including New York. The first portal connected Amboseli with the hall in St. Albans, just outside the shield that protected the London tower. St. Albans had been seized quietly and quickly by the Alfar, who then poured their masses through the portal to Amboseli. They had raised no alarm in St. Albans, as their intention had been purely to gain access to the portal. They had killed no humans. Their approach to the hall in the quiet suburb had been completely covert, so no alarms had been raised. It was only after they had captured the hall that their presence became known and by then, the Alfar had built a shield protecting the corridor between St. Albans and the tower.

  Thousands of Alfar and their Nare cohorts were streamed through the St. Albans portal to spread out upon the Serengeti plains, heading for the capital. Sheer numbers made them an overwhelming force that every able-bodied Herleifr and the handful of human forces able to mobilize quickly enough to join them tried desperately to hold back. The Alfar drove them steadily backwards along the Rift Valley, almost herding them back to Nairobi.

  On day four, Nairobi fell.

  For the entire day, fighting around the edges of the city raged as the Herleifr held the line, to give the humans in the city time to escape to the north, and to protect the portals in the Kine hall there, for they were the main portals the allies were using. Many Nairobi citizens used the portals for their escape, too.

  The Alfar progress was slowed by the buildings and city structures they encountered, for the allies could use the protection the buildings provided to set up blocks and barriers.

  Finally, on this last day of the Plains Battle, the human forces’ traditional method of fighting became useful. Their guns were able to hold back and pin down the Alfar. On the plains, where the fighting had been one-on-one, the human forces had found themselves ill equipped, especially without the computers and armored vehicles, helicopters, and tactical long-range weaponry that usually supported them, for that was still en route. They had been forced to fight using hand-to-hand combat and personal weapons only.

  But once they were among the buildings on the edge of the city, the human cadre could call upon their rifles and snipers, hand-held rocket launchers and grenades to dig themselves in and make a stand.

  Asher found himself at the south end of the city, watching a dozen Israeli and Arab soldiers who were part of the third Arab Israeli Federal Army battalion as they launched grenades, systematically bombing the street two hundred yards away. In the space of thirty minutes, they dug a cratered trench with their bombs. The trench ran for dozens of yards and was an effective barrier halting the Alfar.

  Then the AIFA settled in with snipers and lookouts, to pick off any courageous Alfar who tried to cross the divide.

  Asher sat with his back against a mud-brick house, just behind the AIFA lines, and let himself feel the exhaustion that was turning all his muscles into concrete. He was far beyond tired and right now, he had nothing to do except clean his sword.

  Then he heard a series of low whoomping sounds to the north-east, and sat up. The Israeli captain sitting against the wall beside him lifted his head. “That’s minigun fire,” he said. “The transports have arrived.”

  Overhead, a helicopter streaked past them, low and loud, confirming his guess. They watched it bank toward the east, then straighten up and head north. Hanging from the open doors of the helicopter were two soldiers, each of them behind mounted miniguns. The soldier on the east side of the helicopter fired steadily, picking his targets, as the helicopter headed north.

  The thwock-thwock of the blades faded as it floated north.

  “American,” the Israeli captain decided with a sniff.

  The arrival of armored back-up only held the Alfar temporarily. Nightfall provided the Alfar with the cover they could not manufacture for themselves. Asher was woken from an uneasy doze against the wall by a barrage of artillery fire and the light pop of handguns and rifles. It sounded like a New Year’s firework display going off.

  He got to his feet as shadowy figures streamed over the debris walls lining the trench and rushed past him in the dark. Dozens of the Alfar fell as they were picked off one by one, but there were so many of them, the small arms fire couldn’t hold them back. It was the equivalent of holding up a hand to halt the tide.

  The Alfar did not engage. They dodged and ran at full speed, which was faster than humans could manage with their shorter legs and heavier bodies. A few were brought down as they passed, but not all of them. Not nearly all of them.

  “Fall back!” Asher shouted, already knowing it was too late. “Back to your transports.”

  The Israeli captain was somewhere nearby because Asher heard his shout picked up and re-shouted, this time in Hebrew.

  By the time the moon rose, around ten that night, Nairobi had been taken by the Alfar, along with the prize they had sought all along: the hall with its bank of portals, for Nairobi was a busy junction point.

  Asher made his way northeast, along the same general line the helicopters had been taking. He moved slowly, checking for Alfar, and scrambling through the bombed and battered homes. After midnight he finally reached the American outpost. It only took five minutes to be allowed through, although one of the sentries escorted him to the command post.

  The harried lieutenant wrinkled his brow as he studied Asher. “I know you. You’re the lieutenant from New York,” he said.

  “And my route home was just swamped by Alfar,” Asher told him. “I was hoping I could beg a ride with your men, when you head back.”

  “There’s a Hercules going through pre-flight right now, on the military strip. I put my walking wounded on it.” The lieutenant dug in the big pocket on his thigh and pulled out a cellphone. “I’ll phone ahead and let them know you’re coming.” He started dialing. “Washanski!” he yelled.

  “Sir!” came the reply smartly. Then a corporal appeared from outside the tent and saluted.

  “Take this officer to the troop transport McLean is on, ASAP!”

  “Sir, yessir.” The Corporal saluted again, and glanced at Asher. “This way, sir.”

  Asher made the transport with bare seconds to spare. The stairs were folded up behind him and the door dogged down, even as the engines revved and the big plane began to slowly trundle down the hard dirtpan that was the surface of the airstrip. Asher watched thorn trees whip by as the plane built speed.

  The transport was full of injured soldiers and medical aides working on the worst of them. It landed at the Ramstein airbase in Germany ten hours later. Asher had slept for nine of them and stepped off the plane fe
eling more alert. He desperately wanted a shower.

  His cellphone, which had been out of range of a tower for five days, suddenly vibrated against his hip and he fished it out. It was Roar.

  “I’m alive,” Asher assured him.

  “I’m in New York, holding the portal closed. How fast can you get here?” Roar sounded stressed.

  “Not that fast. The closest portal is Munich, and that’s an hour’s flight from where I am and I don’t think the US Airforce will give me another ride.” He frowned, thinking it through. “I can’t use a commercial flight. I’m geared up.” They would never let him on with the full body armor and all his weapons, and he needed to keep them with him. Besides, he didn’t have a passport. “I’ll figure it out,” he added.

  “Keep me posted.” Roar disconnected.

  Asher looked around. Everyone at the base had something to do. Everyone looked busy.

  Then he heard his name being called and turned toward the big hangar where the hail was coming from. Lucas Montgomery was standing at the doors of the hangar, in full battle gear, his helmet swinging from his fingertips. He beckoned.

  Asher hurried over to him and they shook hands the way Asher had taught him. He ran his gaze over Lucas, looking for injuries.

  “My unit is heading back to the States for a debrief and R&R,” Lucas told him. “We’ve been sneaking around London for weeks, keeping tabs on what happens behind the shield.” Lucas cocked his head, looking Asher over. “I heard Nairobi has been taken.”

  “You heard right,” Asher said heavily. Behind Lucas, his men were sitting on anonymous crates or sprawling on the concrete floor. A couple of them looked like they were sleeping, curled up on their sides, their heads on their arms. Snatching sleep whenever the opportunity presented itself had become Asher’s life, too. “I’m trying to get home without using human international borders. One of the portals in New York is directly connected to Nairobi.”

  Lucas blew out his breath. “Isn’t the other one directly connected with your HQ?”

  Asher grimaced. “That’s why I’m hurrying. The Alfar are one degree away from home base. I just need to get to Munich.”

  Lucas grinned. “I can get you there, for a price.”

  Asher just looked at him.

  Lucas’ grin broadened. “I wouldn’t mind an instant trip back home. Neither would my unit.”

  “If you can get me to the hall in Munich any faster than a donkey cart would manage it, you’re welcome to use the portals, too,” Asher told him.

  Lucas laughed. Then he whistled a two-note sound that made his men sit up immediately and look at him. Lucas turned to them. “Wanna get home pronto?” he asked.

  A smile streaked around the group, lighting up the unshaved and grubby faces like sunshine.

  “Meet Asher Strand, Einherjar and Stallari of the New York hall,” Lucas said. “He’s going to get us home faster than you can imagine. Remmy, figure you could scare up seats for us on a chopper to Munich?”

  One of the men who had been resting on his back on the concrete got to his feet with the lithe flexibility of a cat. “Prob’ly,” he replied laconically, and strode out of the hangar.

  Lucas turned back to Asher. “Park your butt,” he suggested. “Let’s see what Remmy digs up.”

  * * * * *

  It took three more hours to reach the base in Munich and another hour to find cabs to take them all to the hall in the heart of Munich’s old town. Lucas’ group and Asher were the only ones on the helicopter that flew them to Munich and when Asher asked about the purpose of the flight, Remmy had winked. “Better to take the favor and not ask,” he said.

  Lucas grinned. “You’re pretty well known, you know.”

  “They’re doing it for me?” Asher was astonished.

  “Not too often we get a real live Einherjar to talk to,” one of the others chimed in, his voice tinny over the headsets they were all wearing.

  It seemed that the military—or at the very least, Lucas’ unit of SEALs—were rabidly curious about the Einherjar, their weapons, tactics and more. For the last year since the Herleifr had revealed themselves, they had been a fast-moving target. Every Einherjar fought in nearly every significant battle, then dashed on to the next one, so time to chat with anyone, let alone curious military personnel, was limited.

  Lucas’ team made the most of the two hours, asking Asher question after question about the Einherjar life and way of fighting. As a stallari, Asher had the experience to answer most of their questions. With only a small qualm he handed over his sword for them to examine, one after another, passing it on to the next like the bottle of tequila that was making the rounds. The SEALs, unlike other military units, used blades a lot in their own work and they seemed to appreciate the subtle advantages of a sword.

  Lucas patted the Luger strapped to his hip. “Better to use a pistol when silence isn’t an issue. Then you don’t have to get within reaching distance of them.”

  The man next to Asher was just handing him his sword back. Asher took it and without shifting his position, threw the sword. It flashed across the cargo area and thudded into the insulated wall just over Lucas’ head, and hung there, quivering. “You mean, like that?” Asher asked.

  The men laughed loudly, as Lucas pulled the sword out with some effort and handed it back. “A parlor trick,” he added.

  “A trick perhaps, but not just for the parlor,” Asher replied. “The Einherjar did most of the fighting on the plains, the last few days. Guns and rifles don’t work that well in running battles, and the Alfar specialize in running.”

  “I bet you I could have made a dent,” Lucas replied.

  “Me, too,” Remmy murmured.

  “Then it’s a pity you weren’t there,” Asher told them gravely. “If we had had every useful soldier with us, it might have made a difference.”

  The Munich hall was well guarded, especially the portals. Asher vouched for Lucas and his team and walked them through the hall proper to the portals, while Lucas coached his men on how to use the portals.

  “This is going to take longer than usual,” Asher warned Lucas as Lucas gripped his shoulder from behind. Lucas’ men were lined up behind him, each gripping the shoulder in front of them. “There’s no direct route to New York from here and we can’t take the shortest route, because the portal it uses has been taken by the Alfar.”

  “Anything is better than sitting on a cargo plane for twenty freaking hours,” Lucas replied.

  It took five jumps to make it back to New York, and Asher was pleased to see that every single hall they passed through was closely guarded, the guards alert and watching everyone who stepped through. New York was no exception. As he stepped through, using the heavy towing stride he needed to haul all the humans behind him through the portal, the guards greeted him with raised swords and shields, only relaxing when Asher spoke their names.

  “Seven humans, Stallari?” one of them questioned as the line of men behind Asher pushed through the portal and straightened up.

  “He always was as strong as an ox,” the other said with a grin.

  Lucas and his men were spreading out across the hall, looking up and around curiously. There were more guards and more Einherjar sitting around the hall, their weapons at the ready, than Asher had ever seen except on feast days. Roar had whistled up just about every Einherjar who was attached to the New York hall. There wasn’t a single woman in sight.

  “Welcome home, gentlemen,” Asher told Lucas’ men.

  It was perhaps the stir of interest surrounding their arrival that distracted the guards from the other portal and it was sheer bad luck, for the Alfar tested the other portal at that very moment.

  Three Blakar leapt through the portal, their long knives raised over their heads, and fell on the two closest guards. Asher reached for his sword as the third leapt at the guard nearest him. He took out the Alfar’s throat, then used the power of his swing to rotate him around in a full circle, which put his sword within rea
ch of the other two, and gave him the impetus to strike again.

  The two revolver shots were loud in the enclosed hall, smothering the startled cries of alarm from the Einherjar as they leapt to their feet. The remaining two Blakar were yanked back by the impact of the bullets that hit them. They landed heavily on the floor and lay motionless.

  Stillness gripped the rest of the hall. Shock, Asher figured. It had ended even more quickly than it had begun.

  Asher lowered his sword and looked at Lucas, who was holstering his pistol once more. Lucas grinned at him. “And sometimes a gun is better than a sword.”

  “Sometimes, yes,” Asher agreed.

  * * * * *

  Lucas sent his men home, and he and Asher settled at the kitchen counter in Roar’s apartment. There was a new piece of furniture in Roar’s place: a big-screen TV was tuned in to CNN, where the war seemed to be the only topic anyone was talking about. The battle on the Serengeti was the major focus. Already they were calling it the Battle for the Plains. The loss of Nairobi was being reported in sad tones, accompanied by footage of thousands of Kenyans fleeing the city.

  Asher introduced Roar to Lucas, and Roar silently poured them each a large helping of scotch from the bottle sitting on the counter. Roar had dark circles under his eyes, and he moved with the slow deliberation of the very tired.

  “Can we hold the portal?” Asher asked.

  “With constant vigilance, yes, I think we can.” Roar held up his glass. “To victory.”

  “Hell yeah,” Lucas muttered and took a big mouthful. “Do you have enough people to guard the portal twenty-four-seven?”

  “We’ll manage,” Roar said. “Now that Asher is back, I’m happy.” He grimaced. “Well, as happy as you can be with the Alfar kicking your ass.”