by Billy Wong
"Hmm?"
Rose dropped her gaze as she admitted her intentions. "I'm going back to Nienne. The new ruler there is even worse than Lennox, and I've got to stop him."
"Again?" Alicia asked in an exasperated tone. "Didn't you get in enough trouble the first time? I hope you don't expect me to save you again."
"Well, Drayton isn't the legitimate authority there anyway. He's just a man in Lennox's employ, who took over when he had the opportunity. Hopefully, I won't be judged as harshly for taking on a self-made tyrant."
"I'd hope not. But you're planning to take him on alone?"
"Yeah, unless you want to help me."
"Sorry, can't do that. Good luck, Rose."
"Thanks, Alicia. You're not bad."
"I knew that," the mercenary said with a wink. "I'm the best."
Chapter 6
Rose said goodbye to Alicia and returned to Jaid, only to find herself swallowing back bile as she saw the flayed bodies hanging from the gate. She could not even look at them long enough to distinguish their sex, before tears blurred her eyes and she lowered her gaze. Why had these villagers been condemned to this awful fate? For helping her, maybe? Whether or not this was the case, guilt burned at her sorrowful heart. She knew that if she had not slain Lennox, things might not be as bad as they now were. Slowly, she managed to will her guilt into rage. Whatever blame she held for this tragedy, the actual murderers held that much more, and she would make them pay.
She found a score of mercenaries patrolling the town for any sign of her presence and killed them stealthily one to three at a time, though she was forced to fight five when an incursion into their headquarters in the town hall went less than smoothly. Ignoring the scratch of a gash she received over her ribs, she revealed herself to the people. This time many of them seemed happy to see her, if only for getting rid of their harassers.
"I told you I'd come back."
"Where's our help?" asked a younger doubter from before.
"Me. It's me."
"You were here last time, and you said you couldn't beat them."
"Well, I'll have to." She paused. "I just killed twenty of them. How many more do I have to go?"
After a moment's arguing among the villagers, a lovely, filthy freckled girl said, "There must be one hundred sellswords holed up in Fort Nienne, and a hundred more in the towns around. And then there's the soldiers still left from Lennox's regime."
There were about eighty in the towns now, then. But she wouldn't have to kill all the mercs. They'd probably leave once they weren't getting paid. So "all" she had to do was go to Lennox's old home, kill Drayton with his one hundred forty or so allies nearby, survive, and make sure the next person to take command wouldn't be another aspiring tyrant. And hope the mercs didn't decide to take their payment by force. Ugh. And to top it all off, the wound from Lennox's spear in her side still flared with pain whenever she moved fast.
"Here's a rabbit's foot for good luck," a young boy said with a smile as he jogged up to her and handed her the shriveled limb. She looked at it, tucked it into her pouch, and thanked the kid. She was going to need every bit of luck she could get!
#
The guard ran to check his comrade who had slumped over the edge of the roof, felled by Rose's arrow to the gut. She peeked out from behind the thick maple tree and shot, taking the second man through his open mouth. Replacing on her back the bow she had taken from a mercenary in town, she walked below the nearest window and threw her grappling hook.
She began to climb, only for a man to step into the room the very moment she entered. His eyes widened, and he turned to run. Rose's thrown dagger parted his spine, and he fell. Good thing he hadn't screamed. Footsteps approached as she retrieved her weapon, so she dragged the body behind the tall dresser nearby and pressed herself against the wall by the door. The man who entered saw the trail of blood and walked in to investigate. As he passed, Rose stepped behind him and drew her dagger across his throat. Two down, one hundred thirty something to go.
Rose walked into the hall, wishing she knew where she was going, and decided to try the door across the hall. She stepped onto a balcony overlooking an enclosed garden, and carefully backed out closing the door behind her. There had been two men watering the plants below, and she didn't want to risk attacking them at range. Too much of a chance for them to get away.
She went down the hallway on her right, and soon saw a staircase leading downstairs. Did Drayton reside on the second floor or the first? Rose touched her head in frustration. There had to be a better way of doing this! The sound of footfalls rang out from somewhere down the stairs, each louder than the last. An open door stood nearby; she dashed inside. Thankfully, a glance around told her the bedroom was empty. She pulled the door closed and leaned against it, waiting.
The sounds passed close by, and she stepped out behind a grizzled man, hooking her powerful arm around his throat and yanking him momentarily into the air. The point made, she set him down, still maintaining the hold. "Stay silent?" she asked. Choking, he nodded. "Take me to Drayton."
Rose put a fair deal of trust in her hostage's integrity, if only because he knew she could easily kill him if she thought herself betrayed. She doubted he was so loyal as to be a martyr. He led her to a set of double doors on the second floor. "What's in here?"
"It's the library. Drayton spends a lot of time here, and I'm pretty sure he's here now."
"Pretty sure?" she asked edgily, but opened a door and peeked into a room full of bookcases and bright with sunlight from windows which nearly covered its far wall.
Sitting in a cushy red armchair with a bronze-tinted frame was a slight, prettily groomed man of about thirty. He leafed quickly through a thick book with long, graceful fingers, his face intent and excited. Rose clubbed her prisoner into sleep, then asked uncertainly, "Drayton?"
"You! You're her, aren't you?"
"Her? I'm the woman who killed your master, if that's what you mean. Just like I'm going to kill you."
His eyes bulged as he met her fierce gaze. "Why would you do that? What have I done to you?"
"Not me. Your people."
"I haven't done anything to my people, unless you mean to say order is a bad thing."
Rose lowered her sword, confused. Drayton's voice and demeanor did not hint at any knowledge of wrongdoing. "Did you hire all those mercenaries?"
"Yes... they're the same kind of men as we've always hired. I didn't think it was a bad idea, when it was suggested to me."
"Don't you know they rape and kidnap women, kill children, torture people for fun, all that crap?"
"They do that?! Surely, you don't mean here. They are under the employ of the law, and would not dare defy it."
He looked about ready to piss his pants. Oh, gods. He was being honest! "What exactly did you do here before taking Lennox's place?"
"I was the head housekeeper, after the last one—my mother—died. But I've always been interested in politics, so during my off time I read all about it in this amazing library, and also watched the Count to see what I could pick up from him. So of course, I was thrilled to get my chance to run the county when they offered it to me."
"They? Who?"
"The soldiers. They said I should take over here and deal with any outside visitors, while they handled everything local for me."
Wow. He was a pawn for the soldiers, and when King Benedict's men came to question him, he would answer with convincing honesty that, as he actually believed, things were all right. "You're being used, Drayton."
"Used? By who?"
"Your men."
He seemed almost to believe her, then demanded in a quivering voice, "Why should I believe you? You just admitted to killing Count Lennox!"
"He deserved it."
"So you say! He talked about you; said you were a menace to the order he'd built, that you inspired his subjects to revolt and useless strife."
"Yeah, I did. Because he was treating them like dirt."
"You're not one of the peasants, you're an employee!"
He continued to argue, and Rose realized she was unlikely to get through to him anytime soon. Suddenly, he began to stand as if to run away, and she knew if she tried to restrain him, screaming would commence. Her sword lashed out, but instead of killing him she rapped him about the head with the flat of her blade and knocked him out. He slumped back into his chair, and she sighed. What to do now?
It proved the case she would not have to answer that herself, because the sound of men rushing down the hall filled her ears. Even as she turned, she realized it was too late to escape. Half a dozen warriors filed into the library, blocking the exit, and Rose knew more were on the way. They must have found the bodies.
"Looks like we've cornered the rat," the lead man said with a smirk. "Now you die."
She looked at the huge windows behind her, considered the fall, and turned back towards her enemies. "Let's not be so hasty, shall we? By the time your friends get here, there'll only one hundred and thirty or so of you for me to deal with."
Charging the pack without another word, Rose slashed wide. Two men clutched spraying throats as one. A man came at her from the side and she offered his face the rim of her shield, felling him. Her sword cleft through a skull, and brains flew. The two men remaining hesitated, and she chopped through one's thigh. Blood jetted as he thrashed and died. The last one ran, but almost as soon as he exited into the hall returned with a new crowd of comrades. At least ten, this time.
But Rose would not allow them to bring their numbers to bear. She stood her ground just before the doors fighting like a whirlwind of steel, her sword flashing back and forth amid spraying blood, and men died when they tried to enter. Not only did the narrow portal keep them from coming in all at once, but the self-closing action of the doors hampered their advance, as did the pile of bodies which quickly grew to block the way. The men hesitated, seeing that whoever braved Rose's blade died.
She ignored what wounds she took, glad none bit deep enough to impair her significantly. In the hall, a handful of foes leveled crossbows at her in an attempt to make her move aside. Instead she charged them, ignoring the sting of a bolt that grazed her arm. A few bloody instants later, three crossbowmen lay dead or dying.
While the tactic had not given her enemies their desired result, neither was it completely fruitless. Rose struggled to ward off an attack from two sides in the hallway, taking a heavy axe blow to her back and a spear in her side. Laying wildly about herself, she struck down a handful of warriors and staggered back into the library. There couldn't be much more than a hundred left now... Pushing past the bodies of their comrades, more men rushed in. They'd seemed to be losing their will to fight by the time the crossbows were brought to bear, but the sight of her blood looked to have revived their morale to seek her death anew.
They weren't going to get it easy, as Rose still quickly killed the first few men slowed by the wall of dead flesh. Even so, she could not prevent the sheer mass of her foes from carrying a clump of fresh warriors inside. But Rose kept moving, taking advantage of the maze of bookcases, and they were unable to do as they wanted, to surround the wounded beast and hack her to bits. She killed and killed, and though she took several more wounds she willed herself to fight full tilt, ignoring the pain. How could she do this? She was at once amazed and frightened by herself—was there no limit to her strength?
But she was getting tired, as much as she forced her body to deny that fact. The pain too grew worse and worse as her continued fighting tore the rents in her flesh wider. Blood dripped off her frame, and she saw hope in her enemies' eyes as they forced her into the center of the room and fanned out around her. Without waiting for them to close in, she chose one side and attacked. Men died.
The rest closed in and Rose spun, her sword whipping through the air like a steel hurricane. Her first stroke killed one man and disarmed two more, ripping weapons from their hands. She turned quickly in a semicircle, blocking blows and slashing down each challenger as they came. An axe flashed at her head; she ducked and gutted that man. Almost as an afterthought, she took the opportunity to smash a knee with her shield. As she came up, her sword ripped open a groin, while her shield pulverised another's jawbone. And so on. Eventually, all was silent, though she knew she had not slain everyone. Maybe they had finally given up on killing her this way.
A huge, lightly bearded man charged right through the pile of bodies at the door to launch himself at her like a human javelin. He tackled her hard, driving his steel-helmed head right into her midsection. The vicious impact sent pain shooting through her damaged body, and as he bore her to the ground she gasped in agony.
Blinking away tears, Rose prepared to dodge whatever weapon he would try to finish her with. But instead of getting off her and trying to kill her that way, he wrapped a massive arm tight around the back of her neck. He stood, dragging her to her feet. Before she realized what was going on, he grabbed her pants with his other hand, pulled her high into the air, and twisted around in midair to drive her with a loud crunch into the floor. The impact jarred her spine like a warhammer strike, and she marveled at his strength. Then, to her shock, the floor gave way.
She fell over fifteen feet to the bottom of the first floor, and for a moment lay stunned by the hard landing. Looking up at the hole where she'd been crushed through the floor, Rose remembered Drayton's complaint. The wooden beams she saw had been largely destroyed by termites. The large man disappeared, probably running for the stairs to meet her down here. Looking around, she realized it would be quite easy now to run away. The front door lay in sight, and she smiled at the irony that her enemy had inadvertently brought her right to the edge of escape.
It would be easy to leave, but hadn't she already killed almost half of the household defenders? They had to be close to breaking, and she was surprised they hadn't already. Maybe it was the fact she was just one woman that enabled them to keep coming in the hopes they would get lucky and kill her off. More importantly, they must have had good leadership rallying them to pit themselves against the same death that had found so many of their comrades. Was it the big man? Rose wanted to beat them today, but was weakening from her numerous wounds. She walked out the door, trying to plan. Thinking proved difficult, each step bringing fresh pain as her flesh seemed to tear anew.
She met half a dozen warriors waiting for her outside, undoubtedly stationed there to keep her from escaping through the window, but rushed upon them immediately and cut them all down in little less than half a minute. Owing the ease of that victory just a little bit to the fact she had surprised them by coming out the wrong way, she hurried on.
#
As the rush of battle left her body, though, Rose was nearly overcome by hurt and weariness, and hugged herself trying to squeeze out the excruciating pain as she limped away. She'd already lost count of how many times she'd been hit today. But she had to hold on. Everything was going to be over, soon.
Though she hadn't gotten the chance to study the interior layout of the fortress before going inside, she had at least gotten a good idea of the surrounding lands, and made her way to a nearby stream. If the enemy tried to send someone after her, which she thought might still happen despite the casualties she'd already inflicted on them, she didn't intend for them to find her. She walked into and across the shallow stream, briefly turning the waters around her pink with blood.
On the other side of the streambank, Rose walked to a nearby tree, sat down, and hastily bound her wounds. But she didn't forego precision in her painful work, tightening the bandages with gritted teeth to keep the blood inside. Then, she carefully retraced her steps to the stream, waded back inside, and followed the current down a ways.
She came back onto land on the side from which she'd come, a few hundred yards further downstream. That ought to do some g
ood. She'd purposefully waited to get to that tree to bind herself, so as to throw any pursuers off with the blood trail there. Hopefully, they would look for her on the wrong side.
Rose slunk back to the fortress grounds, and found to her surprise that at the moment, two men were arguing over her fate. One was the big man who had driven her through the floor, the other a short but thick and large-bellied warrior with long, thinning dark hair.
"But look at us!" the big man said. "She's already killed half our men, and you think to split us up to chase her? Madness! I was lucky to have felled her as I did. But she lives, and we cannot know how much strength she has left. She was still able to kill the men outside. Let's stay together and assure our survival in defense as best we can."
The other man replied with a smug grin. "She is badly wounded; look at this trail of blood, and remember how many times blades have already tasted her flesh today. She must have run because she can no longer fight—hell, she might be dying as we speak! Go find her, and finish her off. It won't be hard, when her body's already in shreds."
Though she hated hearing his words which rang too true—she was hurting!—she hoped the shorter man would win the argument. It would be good not to have to fight so many at once again. "This is folly," the big man said. "She was still very strong when I came, and I doubt she's been rendered helpless."
"No one person can beat us all, not even a warrior goddess like her."
Warrior goddess, huh? She almost felt flattered. The big man grunted. "She's already killed half of us. I'd think you would want me around to protect you, in case she comes back."
"Go on and fight. It's what you live to do, after all, and do to live. I'm your new master, remember?"
"Ah, fine." He started away, and though many men followed him, he continued to complain. His companions looked even more scared. The group tracking her must have been about thirty strong—thirty less for her to fight, for now.
