The Hunt for the Three Roses

by Jason Hubbard

  She led Vicky’s Last Hope down a side street and asked a thick-browed lady in a bonnet for the road leading to Asturia and the closest inn next to it. Callie expected her to look disapprovingly at a woman with leather armor and a sheathed sword, but the lady gave her directions quite amicably as if nothing was out of sorts. Callie thanked her with a smile that she genuinely felt. I could get used to living in this country.

  She made way to the simply-named St. Clive Inn, a sturdy building of oak and red brick that appeared to have over fifty rooms. The innkeeper and his wife were so gracious for her business that they helped her lodge and feed her horse in their stable and bring her things to her room. With everything squared away, she lied on the bed atop a patched-up quilt and alternated between staring at a still life of a bowl of fruit and the stuffed bust of a six-point buck.

  With her hands cradling the back of her head, she thought of Asturia as a child would the arrival of Santa Claus, imagining all the goodies that would surely come her way. As soon as she arrived at the capital, she would look around and carefully ask about its criminal underworld. Surely, Asturia couldn’t be much different than St. Mannington: It had to have a number of clans running around, helping themselves to whatever valuables they could snatch from purses and wealthy homes. She couldn’t expect a warm welcome at first, but once she proved her worth, an invitation would certainly follow. After doing a few small missions and then some bigger ones, she would firmly place herself in the thieving world’s network and someday be committed to a clan—one she hoped will be as much of a family to her as Clan Reno had.

  Is that really what you want? asked a meddlesome inner voice.

  Yes, of course it is. Being a thief is all I’ve ever known. Why stop now?

  Even after spending so much time mending injuries and befriending keepers of law? Is the criminal lifestyle truly all you can immerse yourself in?

  Shut up! she snapped, and she stamped the voice down with an imaginary steel-toed boot. She had made up her mind about where her future lied, and she wasn’t going to let some foolish conscience redirect her. She didn’t care about doing a helpful part in the war effort, nor about relating to four likeminded women who used their skills to uphold order and protect the weak. All she wanted was for life to be the way it was only a year ago, when she was free to climb over a city with rascals whom she called friends and family, and even if she could no longer follow Giacomo, she was confident she could find a clan leader who was a worthy replacement.

  Her heart was made to run wild, her skills developed for raw survival, and her blood boiled for adventure. Perhaps Sean could settle into conformity and servitude, but she couldn’t. The world was a hard place where you couldn’t allow yourself to be stepped on by those in authority. You had to be either hard yourself or devious enough to avoid the falling sole.

  After her cat nap, she went down to the inn’s common room, leaving her sword and leather cuirass beside her bed. She had intended to go to the nearest tavern but got sidetracked by the sight of several bathing stalls in a hallway. Avery had said everyone in the convoy could use a good bath, and Callie had agreed yet decided to put one off for later. Now was as good a time as any, so she entered a stall, stripped, and washed with only a single pail of water, a soap bar, and a rag. With her skin free of grime and oil, she felt refreshed enough to get hammered by a drink or three.

  The innkeeper directed her to a place just down the street called The Rocking Turtle. Its sign depicted a turtle lying on its backside with beer bubbles hovering near its head. Cute. Inside, the tavern was a fairly big place with around twenty tables and a bar with sixteen stools, with the smell of tobacco, booze, and scrubbed wood lingering in the air. It was nearly sundown, so there were a few patrons who looked to inebriate themselves before the rest of the town came back from the trials.

  The bartender was a stocky gentleman in a lavender shirt and black waistcoat, his face sporting one of those curly mustaches that made Callie wonder if they reached the eyes if they grew too long. “Why, hello, sweetheart,” he said as she sat down. “Never seen you before. Just passing through?”

  “Yeah, got some business in the capital. Are the taverns there as nice as this one?”

  The bartender chuckled. “They’re nice, all right, built for real parties. But with the war, there aren’t too many people to party with. Not much to celebrate, anyway.”

  Callie nodded while mentally chiding herself for asking that question. “I’m in the mood for something sweet, but in a lager or ale. Got anything?”

  “Apple ale should do, but we also have a honey lager from the end of the season. Dare to try?”

  It sounded risky since it could be stale, so she asked for a sample. It ended up tasting fresher than the bartender gave it credit for, so she ordered a full mug and wiped the foam from her upper lip after a good sip. The honey made her tongue waggle in delight, and the booze settled comfortably in her stomach. If the beer was as tasty in Asturia as it was here, then she’ll wonder why she hadn’t made the trek much sooner.

  I wish I had said more to him.

  And there it was, the thought that had nagged her from the back of her mind since her departure. She had kept it at bay like a lion tamer with a snapping whip, but it had now gotten within range and pounced. Yes, she could have said more to Sean—should have said more. But while she had been loading the horse, she mostly thought of Asturia and what she should do there first. She was also annoyed by Sean’s eagerness to see her off, to which he gave her a well deserved shutdown. So when it came time to say goodbye, a jumble of thoughts rushed in like a stampede, and she could hardly sort them out. Most of them seemed inappropriate, and the others she was too cowardly to say. In the end she gave him a bit of advice that he would probably follow regardless and said nothing more.

  He also told me to forget about the Three Roses. I wonder why. If it was good of us to find Jonas, why not rescue the others if they need to be?

  She absently shook her head and looked into her honey lager, seeing her distorted reflection amid a frame of white bubbles. Well, that was enough dwelling on the past. She took a hearty sip, pretending it was washing down her regrets so she could later piss them out with the rest of her refuse. She had no more use for them. What’s done was done. Sean would live his life, and she would live hers. He might even say that things were as the Lord God intended, to which she could offer no argument.

  A patron sat two stools away from her on the right and set a mug on the counter. “Top you off?” the bartender asked. Callie heard the mug being filled as she gazed at the vast selection of liquors on the back wall. “Thank you,” the bartender then said as he took the patron’s coin and headed away.

  “Huh,” the patron simply uttered in acknowledgement.

  Whether it was the effects of the lager or how deeply she was wading in thoughts and memories, it took Callie a few seconds to realize there was something familiar about that patron’s voice. He had only said one syllable, yet it was enough to make her furrow her brow and grow tense. She cautiously looked over … and her lungs sharply inhaled and froze in her chest.

  It was him.

  He should be dead now, his body put two meters deep in the ground.

  Or, if no one bothered to bury him, then his guts should be scattered all over Eaves Barony after being processed by crows.

  Yet here he was, almost close enough for her to reach over and touch.

  And with his padded gray tunic, steel shoulder guards and vambraces, he looked to be on an assassination job.

  She tried not to stare, but she couldn’t help but hold her eyes wide open and clutch the rim of the counter to keep her hands from shaking. She turned a little to her left, ready to bolt from her stool should the bastard make any sudden moves. Once she remembered to breathe, she did so slowly and quietly, trying not to reveal that her heart was pumping as hard as a blacksmith’s bellows.

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nbsp; She dared to look again as Rainer gripped the steel handle of his mug and suddenly turned his head to her. Her eyes locked onto his, and her body was ready to take action. If he came after her, she would tear this place apart if she had to, but she would not allow him to run her through with that blade of his.

  But instead, with a small smile and eyes full of mirth, he raised his mug as if making a toast and said, “To your health.” He took a deep sip of his drink and slammed it back on the counter.

  So he already knew she was here. In fact, he could have stabbed her in the back a moment ago if he wanted to kill her. That didn’t mean he was drained of murderous intent, though. After what she had done to him, how could he be?

  Although she remained skeptical, she resettled herself in her stool and held her mug. After a few seconds, she took a sip then looked dubiously at the contents. Part of her still wanted to get tipsy, but Rainer had ruined the mood.

  She waited for him to speak first, but it seemed he was waiting for her to do so. She opened her mouth but found it difficult to force any words out. Fear was gripping her more strongly than she realized, like a steel glove around a chicken’s neck. She cracked her knuckles within clenched fists, tilted her head from side to side, and said, “H-how … how are you here?”

  Rainer smacked his lips, still holding the kind of smile that signified either intoxication or inner scheming. Callie was willing to bet it was the latter. “You mean, how am I still alive? You wouldn’t believe me if I told you … but I’ll tell you anyway. So there I was, bleeding from two different places, waiting for someone to shove into my hand a ticket to the Pearly Gates … when she found me: a big, beautiful brown bear with eyes and jowls as black as a baby’s bellybutton. I thought she was going to dine on my intestines like thick spaghetti; instead, she lifted me onto her back and carried me away. I still thought I was done for as she brought me into her cave, but she gently put me down and covered my wounds with bandages made of tree leaves. For two weeks then on, she looked after me until I was fully healed. She fed me fish and nuts, and I played with her cubs when I was strong enough to walk. She taught me valuable lessons I could never get in the world of man, such as how all life is connected. Everything from worms and maggots in the soil to eagles in the sky—they are all connected in a wonderful cycle that ensures that life will go on in this Earth. She showed me star constellations that no human astronomer had seen before, like the Great Rabbit of Xi and the Northern Horned Fish. When it was time for me to go, I didn’t want to, for that good, gracious bear had given my life new meaning. I said as much, but she sadly said I couldn’t stay. She was of nature and I was of man, two unique beings that were worlds apart and were never meant to be together for long. I will never forget her, Callie, for she did more than just heal my broken body … she healed my soul.”

  Callie fingered her mug handle with a slight frown. Her fear had lessened but her body remained on edge. “So, in other words, I can go fuck myself.”

  Rainer took a drink and leaned towards her with an ugly sneer. “Go fuck yourself, you bloody bitch.”

  To Callie’s left near a backroom entrance, the bartender spoke with a sharply dressed man with a red waistcoat and a bowler hat—probably the bar manager. From the way they glanced at the two patrons, they were likely relating their concern over the tension between her and Rainer. After a double-take, Callie realized the two men were twins, with the same droopy eyes and mousy hair. What’s with Lonsaran and twins, anyway? Is there something in the water?

  “How did you find me?” she asked after another awkward silence. Apparently, Rainer wanted her to ask questions, which was preferable over him making threats out of the blue.

  “Oh, I just happened to be here. They make this lager right there in the mountains, so it’s incredibly fresh, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. You might not think it, but I do appreciate some of the finer things in life, my dear.”

  Callie raised an eyebrow. His subtle sarcastic tone and the fact that he began with “Oh” were easy tells of a lie. He was somehow keeping track of her, and it gave her chills to think that someone from the convoy had tipped him off.

  The next thing she wanted to ask would be tricky. There was perhaps no “best” way to word it, but she had to be cautious with potential eavesdroppers about. “So … are we good? I mean, what I did to you would normally be unforgivable, but I was only defending myself. And after what you did to Dan …” She wrapped her fingers together and fought back a sudden pang of hatred and resentment. “Well, I’d say we should be square. Don’t you agree?”

  Rainer wrinkled his brow and gnashed his teeth together. “So you’re saying, two wrongs make a right? You know, this reminds me of something. I once met a lawyer—well, I did more than just ‘meet’ him—who said to me … oh, what was it? It was … ah, he mentioned something called the ‘zero equation.’ He said my client had good reason to be furious with him, but since the client had done something awful to him earlier, the conditions for a ‘zero sum’ had been met: two wrongs made a right. Guy thought he sounded pretty damn smart, but what he didn’t realize was, when the hammer falls, it doesn’t matter who’s to blame or how you justify your actions … everyone is fucked. You catch my drift?”

  She swallowed back a lump in her throat and slowly nodded. Damn, this guy is a monster. How in the hell can I get rid of him?

  His leaned towards her again, his gaze intense and his nostrils flaring. “You’ve won a reprieve from me, and I hoped you enjoyed it, but it now comes to an end. I have plans for you, and I won’t tell you what they are, but you’ll know them when you see them. I might not start tonight … or maybe I will, you never know.”

  “Gee, thanks for the warning. I’ll keep an eye out for you, genius.”

  He smiled in amusement. “Oh, you won’t have to. In time, you’ll come to me, not the other way around.”

  She stifled a laugh and made ready to flee her seat. He was likely yanking her chain, trying to get her to drop her guard so he could kill her in one swift strike. “What makes you think I’ll do that? Just what are you drinking, anyway?”

  “You’ll see,” he replied with a touch of delight. “You’ll see. Of course, when you come to me shall be up to you; I recommend you do it before too much harm is done. But for now, please … have a good evening, my dear girl.”

  Slowly so he wouldn’t alarm her, he slid off his stool, ambled across the room, and headed out the door. Callie kept her eyes on him, and once he went from sight, she chanced a look outside, where she spotted him continuing down the street. She kept looking until he turned around a corner, then returned to her seat, her psyche drenched in misery.

  The bartender came over, nervously rubbing his hands together. “Are you okay, sweetie?” She nodded, though her look said otherwise. “Want me to call for the guard? Most of them should be at the trials, but one shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

  “Thank you, but no.”

  “Are you sure?” Callie again nodded, now a little irritated. The bartender hesitantly added, “Can you recall Proverbs 16:18?”

  She shook her head immediately. She recognized “Proverbs” as a part of the Holy Book though she never opened a copy herself. Her old tutors in Clan Reno had assured her there was nothing in the Holy Book that was worth knowing, and the more she learned of it through hearsay, the more she suspected they were right.

  “It says, ‘Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall.’ It means you shouldn’t think you know everything or that you can handle every problem by yourself, or something bad might happen. Not that I’m accusing you or anything, but … just think about it, okay?”

  She tried on a weak smile and promised to do as asked. She couldn’t be mad at the guy; he was only trying to help. It also seemed like solid advice.

  Still, she wasn’t sure anyone could help her. Rainer still lived. She had run a sword right through his belly th
en stuck a blade in his throat, yet he still lived. It shouldn’t be possible, so she must have been speaking with a dead man a moment ago. Maybe if she looked closer, she would have seen the flecks of dirt that still clung to him after he clawed his way out of the rich earth.

  Her plan to go to Asturia was suddenly put on hold. With Rainer out there, she wouldn’t feel safe alone on the road. She’ll have to stay here awhile, keep a lookout, perhaps break down and inform the town guard that an assassin was stalking her.

  Dammit! she thought as she pounded a fist on the counter. She was afraid her outburst would make the friendly bartender talk to her again and be more insistent, so she left the bar with mug in hand and strayed to a table in a dark corner. The other patrons in the room seemed to be having a good time, so perhaps their drunken antics would help brighten her mood. When she finished her drink, she could order a decent meal of pork or venison, along with another honey brew that would counteract the meat’s rich taste—anything to get her mind off of the homicidal maniac whom she wished she had never agreed to fill in for on an important job.

  Little did she know she would happen upon a conversation that would change the course of her life forever.

  Twelve

  The second day of the trials also happened to be the last day of the month, which somewhat dampened the festive mood. The people of Darin Province were a superstitious lot, and they were afraid the war would rage well into October. If the dead rose from their slumber on All Hallows Eve while there was still slaughter in the fields, would they grow angry and bold enough to inhabit fresh corpses and permanently walk the earth?

  While the farmers and townspeople were getting ready for the day’s competitions, Sean was actually given his first practical lessons from Master Harris. He had expected the master to relieve him of duties again, but after breakfast Harris ordered for them to meet in the alchemy room.