Legend of the Iron Flower Box Set (Books 1-4)

by Billy Wong

  "I don't know. Maybe I'll go home and hide."

  "That's not you."

  "And what is 'me?' I don't even know anymore. What will you do, once you're healed?"

  "Get back with my company, of course. You want to come?"

  "Thanks, but I don't think so. I'd rather not fight again for a while, now."

  Alicia nodded. "I understand. If you ever want to, you're welcome to come back. Here or to the Blood Vines."

  Rose started to thank her again, but burst into a fit of coughing, spitting blood onto her friend's face. "Th-thanks."

  Wiping at her eyes, Alicia said in a flustered voice, "You really need to go and get some rest."

  Her head spinning, Rose nodded. "A-all right. Where?"

  "There's an couch in the lobby I'm not too fond of."

  "Alicia!"

  "Just go back to where you and Ethan were staying. I'll make sure you're taken care of."

  Rose stood and limped away. Tucking herself beneath the blankets which she had shared with her love such a short time ago, she wept.

  #

  "Are you sure you're going to be alright?" Alicia asked as Rose came to say her goodbyes.

  Two weeks had passed since the final battle. "I'm not the one still in bed, am I?"

  Reaching up to grasp her hand with a giant's strength, Alicia growled, "Don't make me kick your ass." Then she shook it and said, "Farewell."

  "Bye, duchess. Be well. You were a fine friend."

  Alicia nodded, and so Rose left her and Weith behind. She hoped she could forget her pain enough to come back someday.

  She took a boat from the harbor and rowed away, and as the waters surrounded her Rose began to think of suicide. She could end it all, and join Ethan in the death she'd wrought. It would be so easy, to just sink to the depths in the armor she wore. Even she, the girl who just would not die, still needed to breathe. Would it hurt? She stood, and took a step forward.

  Rose stopped, and laughed at the old cliche which came to mind. Her parents, Ed, Alicia... if any of them were here, she was sure they would tell her that Ethan wouldn't want her to die. He'd want her to live on, they'd say. Would he really? If he was in hell, he wouldn't want her to join him in his pain. But he was surely in heaven, and in Rose's mind, the only thing that could have made paradise a happier place was the presence of one's love. Wouldn't he want her by his side?

  But even if he would have been happier with her there, she realized that he would still want her to stay alive. He was so good, he would want her to remain here and continue to help those she could in life. And she would, she supposed. She sat back down, denying death's watery embrace. Someday, she'd join him in the light. Not right now, though. It wasn't yet her time.

  Reaching Kayland's mainland, Rose stepped onto the dock of the fishing town from which she'd departed with Ethan less than a month ago. She took deep, steadying breaths. Everything was so different now. What future lay ahead for her? How could she survive such sorrow as that which now pervaded her life? It hurt so much worse than any wound she'd ever received, and she'd already come so close to taking her own life. The torture felt as though it would never end.

  She wasn't going to fight anymore, she thought. She'd done some good despite her doubts in her warrior life, but it was all over. The battles had caused her too much pain, and while they might have been worthwhile to the people she'd saved, they weren't to her. Were they? She didn't feel too proud of anything she'd done right now. Only tired, and all but bereft of life.

  Then she thought back through her journey, and saw with a shiver of cosmic horror that all along, the universe had conspired against her. Always, the world had turned her triumphs around on her, never allowing her to enjoy her victories or even recover from sorrow before serving her another bitter dose of pain.

  She recalled how she had seemingly saved her patrol, only to lose them to the bandits she had freed doing so; how her plan to hide from the world at home had been crushed by her father's illness; how her defeat of an evil lord had brought his subjects yet greater troubles; how she had mended her bonds with the Whitestones just to see them die shortly after; and how she had caused in the same day the deaths of her greatest enemy and her one true love. Fate itself, it seemed, strove against her. Or maybe she was the true chosen of Anram, as it seemed death followed her wherever she went. She wondered if her uncanny resilience was in fact an accident of fate, a mistake for which she was now being punished.

  And yet, so what if it was? Even if fate was against her, had she not won her share of battles against its will? Beyond making her suffer, many of the obstacles placed against her had threatened her very life—but she was still here, she had survived. And even if she had failed many of the people she cared about the most, she knew her actions had made the world a safer place.

  Even if she was a freak, a mistake, that did not change the power she had to make a difference for the better. To strive against evil might often hurt, but to stop and give up would mean squandering her extraordinary potential. However her abilities had come to be, it would be a waste not to use them. She decided now that she would continue fighting for good, no matter how life treated her in return. After all she had already suffered, she should hardly fear more. She was the girl fate hated, but that did not mean she could not still be a hero.

  As she walked down the dock, resolute again though still miserable, she heard a young man's voice say in a frantic tone, "There were five barrels of spices in my load! Where's the fifth?!"

  "We only saw four," a gruff voice answered.

  Rose looked to see a slender, brown-haired boy arguing with a burly seaman. She kept walking. "Can't I go below deck and look for it myself?" the boy asked.

  "Are you calling me a liar?" the seaman replied threateningly.

  She could tell then that something was wrong, and turned back to face the arguing pair. "Why don't you let him down? If you're honest, you've got nothing to hide."

  "And who are you to be butting in to men's business, little lady?"

  He was bigger than her, but not by much at all. She met his eyes and scowled. "I know a crook when I hear one. Step aside." She looked at the boy. "Come on, let's go inside."

  As she pushed past the seaman, she heard his knife slide from its sheath, and only smiled as she grabbed his stabbing arm and dumped him into the water with a twist. Luckily for him, it seemed he knew how to swim. A few minutes later, Rose came back from her trip into the hold, carrying the heavy barrel on a sturdy shoulder.

  She loaded it onto the wagon which belonged to the boy and said, "Next time, check if your stock's complete before you leave the ship."

  "Wouldn't they just have beaten me up if they meant to steal?"

  "Probably not. Con men prefer trying for targets they think they can fool, anyway."

  "But he pulled a knife on you."

  Obviously, nothing was certain in life. Besides, he'd probably felt disrespected by her actions. "Well, you just have to learn to take care of yourself in doing whatever you do in life. What were you doing, picking up a shipment for your father?"

  He nodded. "Sort of. I'm learning to be a merchant, as he is."

  "Where is your father?"

  "He thinks it'd be a good idea for me to learn through experience. And that it'll make him a bunch of extra gold."

  "What?! He's going to get you killed!"

  The boy shook his head. "He did teach me what to do before he sent me out."

  "What he should be doing is coming with you until you feel comfortable by yourself. So are you going home now, or what?"

  He frowned. "No. I've still got to go to the Norh plains, and make a few pickups and deliveries along the way."

  The Norh plains? She'd heard it was a dangerous, and cold, place. This kid wouldn't last long there. Rose had an idea. "What's your name?"

  "Alexander Gult."

  She smiled. "Okay, Alex. I'm Rose. You think your father would mind if you got yourself a bodyguard?"

  "I c
an't afford a bodyguard. Dad will kill me if I come up short."

  "I meant me. I'll do it for free."

  He looked at her. "You, bodyguard? But you're a girl!"

  "Sure I am. But it didn't make much of a difference for him." She indicated the irate man staring at her from the dock as he wrung the water out of his soaked clothes.

  "You'd really do it for free?"

  "I've got nothing better to do right now. Besides, I'd like to see the Norh plains."

  Alex nodded happily. "I'll be a lot less scared with you around. Thank you so much... Rose, right? Haven't I heard your name?"

  She shrugged. "Maybe so. Come on, let's talk over a drink. I'm needing a friendly ear." Hopefully, he was good at comforting tormented warriors, or at least listening to their tales of woe. He was going to be in for a rough time.

  Many drinks later, Alex was looking at her with tears in his eyes. "Poor girl, I can't believe somebody as good and strong as you could be made to suffer such pain. I guess the world really isn't fair, like they say."

  They weren't pleasing words but she was grateful for the compassion in his eyes. "Yeah, I was a fool, but hopefully I'll be smarter next time."

  "You didn't do anything wrong. There are just some things that don't turn out right."

  "I know. I just wish they could."

  "My father says that all you can do is try."

  Rose chuckled. "I guess he's good for something after all. Let's go deliver some spices."

  Chapter 13

  They completed their first delivery, and prepared in the Elkhorn inn for the celebration for beginning merchants being held just outside town. Rose smiled as she play-punched Alex, making him grab his arm with a grimace of pain. "Sorry. I just forgot how hard I hit."

  "Yeah. Try to remember you're a woman at the feast, okay?" He looked more amused than angry.

  "I always remember." Rose lifted her foot, indicating her high heels. Today, unlike most any other day, she was dressed to suit her gender, in long, flowing gown and torturously uncomfortable shoes. Of course, Alex wouldn't let her get away with forgetting who had gotten her to give up her usual outfit of chain mail and ancient cloak.

  "I made you dress up," he proudly reminded her. "You like it?"

  She had to admit she felt light and free in the gown, but moaned, "I hate the shoes. Can barely run in them."

  Alex grinned and shook his head. "You won't to need to run tonight, Rose. Just relax, enjoy yourself. It's not like you get to be a girl more than once in, well, ever..."

  "I don't feel unfeminine in my day-to-day life. I just feel weird now."

  "You'll have fun. I'm sure the boys there will make you feel good about yourself."

  Rose wasn't sure she agreed with that, as she was worried they'd look at her as a freak with all her bulk and scars. But she nodded half-heartedly and said, "As long as you're happy. It's your night." She wasn't exactly ready to meet another man yet, anyway.

  #

  The boring merchants' party was interrupted by blood-chilling screams which ripped through the night, and Rose's heart pounded hard in her chest as she saw the carnage begin. Men in fearsome spiked armor poured out of the woods around the clearing which held the feast, and surprising the participants were taking a steep toll on those few who tried to fight back. Most of the panicked merchants were trying to flee, and easily felled from behind by pursuing attackers.

  Rose noticed that the attackers were mostly trying not to kill the merchants among their victims, but instead knocking them unconscious with clubs or incapacitating them with limb wounds before dragging them away. Kidnapping... crap! She cursed herself for having been convinced to forego her armor, and even her sword. Alex had insisted this was a good opportunity to meet men, and thus convinced her not to wear her weapon in order to avoid scaring potential suitors away, though she didn't even want to meet anyone so soon after Ethan's death. What she wouldn't have given for her trusty blade!

  Instead, she was forced to pick up a dropped dirk from the ground, use it to kill the largest raider she could see, and take his huge axe for herself. The heavy weapon felt good in her hands, but looking down at her heels and dress she felt more than a little silly. Rose surveyed the scene, dozens of warriors nearly unopposed while they snatched captive after captive, and sighed. Well, this was her life. She walked forward, ready to fight.

  Iron Flower

  Act 1

  Chapter 1

  Slowly, Rose released her grip on the cold, stiff hand of her captain, allowing his corpse to be swept away on the churning current. His spirit would have to settle for this, the closest thing she could give him to a sea burial in the tradition of his fisherman ancestors, because she couldn't imagine carrying his heavy body with her injuries.

  Of all her dead comrades, he was the one who would have wanted a burial closest to that which they all got. Yet his was the last body she consigned to the river water, for he had been their leader not only officially, but spiritually. Now he was dead, and as she watched him sink and disappear into the violent current, she felt as if the peace and order symbolized by the watchmen also passed away.

  With a bloody hand, Rose wiped away tears, the movement tugging at the deep gash in her shoulder. She hardly cared; she had been wounded so many times, it felt like her whole body was a mass of torn flesh. She had buried many friends today, for she was the only survivor from her patrol of road watchmen. Though she marveled that she still lived, she could hardly bring herself to feel grateful at the moment.

  Allowing the water to wash away the blood on her shaking hands, Rose tried to stand up using her broadsword for support. Moving caused a sharp pain in her abdomen, and she stumbled and fell back to her knees, moaning. The taste of blood filled her mouth, and she could feel her guts pushing against the deep wound in her belly as if trying to escape. Not good signs.

  Part of her wanted to lie down and rest now, but she knew what would happen if she did that, and they—she and all her comrades—had fought much too hard for her to throw away the only life they had managed to save. Besides, there were still things she wanted to do someday, even they seemed farther away than the safe hometown of her childhood. Gritting her teeth, she tried again to rise, and this time succeeded with a gasp of agony to begin her stumbling search for help.

  #

  Father Isaac sat with closed eyes in his study, looking sound asleep in his favorite armchair for all his movement. In reality, his mind felt nearly as active as his young assistant Jerome, working the small garden out back. The thoughts troubling him concerned the recent string of bold robberies and murders by bandits on the nearby busy road. It had long been mostly devoid of such crimes thanks to the watch which had been commissioned in Isaac's childhood. A shrewd marshal had convinced the local merchants to subsidize the group to keep the peace on major roads around the city of Seil, though Isaac could no longer recall his name.

  Then, he had thought of the watchmen—officially the Royal Interprovincial Enforcers of Law, though everyone either called them "RIEL" (pronounced "reel") or "the watchmen"—as a nuisance, for that was how his father, being a drunk and a bully, had referred to any and all members of law enforcement. Nowadays, in his sixties and still fairly strong and healthy despite having acquired a well-rounded belly, he was glad for their presence, because his roadside church of Odin would otherwise be easy prey for bandits. Besides, once in a while a couple of the watchmen would stop by, bringing news of the outside world and welcome company.

  The thought of guests calmed him, for he always enjoyed meeting new or old friends, and he began to drift off. However, a weak tapping sound brought some of his consciousness back, to his annoyance. Dismissing it as his assistant or the wind, he tried to continue dozing off.

  A few seconds later, the irritating little burst of tapping repeated itself. It could have been knocking, but he wasn't sure, and really didn't want to get up and walk all the way to the door to find out. "If somebody's there, knock louder! And if it's the stup
id wind, bugger you, wind! Shut up and let me sleep!"

  In response, the tapping might have gotten a shade louder, but again, he couldn't really tell. Couldn't that useless Jerome hear it better from outside, and couldn't he open the door? Maybe Jerome was in the shed. Isaac supposed that he would have to check himself. He rose, walked towards the door, realized he wore only a bathrobe, and decided he didn't care. Besides, whoever it was would probably be more upset at waiting any longer than seeing him in a robe, since he was still fully covered. If there even was anyone...

  As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he was answered by a loud bang on the door. Okay, that had sounded like an earnest knock, but wasn't it customary to rap multiple times? Exasperated at his visitor's lack of etiquette, he opened the door.

  Isaac's first thought was to run away as fast and far as his feet would take him. His second was to put his faith in the All-Father to the test and brandish his raven medallion while screaming, "Begone, foul creature of undeath! The power which shapes the heavens and earth demands you disperse!" Apparently, a walking corpse had picked today—as good as any day, he supposed—to come knocking on his front door. The person—well, former person—was tall, strongly built, filthy, pale-skinned, and covered, of course, with blood and ugly wounds. And had a big sword. And, on closer look, was female.

  Isaac weighed his options. He was hearty for his age, but still pretty old, and besides, the church had no other door to exit through—how damn stupid was that? He wasn't about to fall out a window, break a leg, and lie helpless while the zombie ate him alive. So he opted for the second choice, grabbing a stool in case his priestly powers weren't up to defeating the incarnation of darkness.

  He let fly the aforementioned battlecry, and before he even finished it, let go of his medallion—which was fortunately part of a necklace—to grasp his holy weapon with both hands. Wasting no time to see whether the creature would disperse or attack, he swung his stool fiercely and faster than most would have expected, something he credited to his youth as a bar-brawling ruffian following in his father's footsteps.