by Billy Wong
Their sergeant Peter Brant walked over and sat on a rock. A tall, lean man with graying hair, his sharp blue eyes focused instantly on Rose as she turned her head towards him. He flashed her a welcoming smile, and she introduced herself.
"Rose Agen, Derrick's friend. Pleased to meet you."
The sergeant reached down to shake her hand, and got a big surprise. "Holy hell, girl, you are strong! Wait, you're the Rose Agen, the Iron Flower? I thought you would be much older than this!"
Rose laughed. "I get that reaction a lot. Yes, the one and only... though, I don't know how I got such a name already." It wasn't like she went around bragging to everyone about her accomplishments, even if Finn once had.
"Your deeds speak for themselves. There are many places you have saved from chaos or utter destruction, perhaps even all of Kayland when you defeated the wraiths at Bifford. Truly, it's an honor to have you with us."
She recalled then the fight against the Clarities, and Jacob's falling body, dead by her hand. He had been something of a role model for her, and yet she'd had to kill him. And it was all her fault, too. She blinked back tears at the memories, and forced herself back to the present.
The awed looks directed at her told her many of the men hadn't known who she was, and she wished Peter hadn't said so much. She had little desire for the bother of celebrity. Still, there was nothing to be done for it now. She shrugged at the sergeant's compliment. "I just do whatever I can, that's all. I'm not one to let anything bad happen, if I can help it."
Pausing as her heart again tightened with the hurt of the past year and of her life, she added, "Sure, I'm young, but... years are only one way to age."
The older soldier smiled. "I used to be like that. I'd pick fights I couldn't win, just to make myself feel better at having tried. Now, you were talking about Prince Wilner's motivations for invading the Brushknoll? I think there must be something here he wants, which he can't get through the stealth of his spies. I'm not sure what, though, but he is too smart to waste his men in pointless border disputes."
"Maybe he wants the Tower of Verveem?" Tom suggested. Laughter answered him. The Tower was an ancient ruin, centuries empty from looting. Nobody would fight a war for it, impressive though it still looked. For a farm boy living nearby, though, the marvel of human construction that was the Tower might seem a prime candidate to covet. Tom seemed hurt, and Rose patted his back as he gazed miserably downward.
She cast a disapproving look around and attempted to move the discussion along. "I think there must be something here he wants, though not what exactly. Maybe control of the Lucin River?"
"He is already trading well with the peoples to his north and east," Peter replied, "and has no desire to do so with us. It would avail him a new venue of transport, but not one close to the heart of his domain. I don't think it would be worthwhile to him."
#
They shared their theories for a while longer, but did not settle on a conclusion, and Rose left the fireside. She walked around the encampment, thinking to get a better idea of the army's condition. She spotted a young man on the ground, taking in the night sky, and after a moment recognized him as Adam. While he lived fairly close to the Brushknoll, she had not been prepared to find him here. She tried to disappear before he saw her, but just then he fixed his eyes on her. Meekly, she greeted him.
His voice carried a harsh edge as he replied, "Rose. Isn't it fortunate I'd see you here."
She was dismayed to hear him still angry, but couldn't fault him; she had slain his mentor, in a conflict resulting from her own ignorance. "Again, I'm sorry about what happened. How are you doing, you and your wife? I know it had to be hard to wed a former servant, especially with all that happened before with your uncle. Are you well?"
Adam scowled. "Don't concern yourself with my personal problems, Rose. They're not some enemy you can hew apart with your great broadsword or tear asunder with your iron hands, and as thoroughly competent as you are against such foes, you are equally incompetent against troubles of the heart."
Anger rose in her heart, and she leveled a fearsome stare at him. "How can you judge me so? You hardly even know me!"
He returned her gaze boldly. "I am not so blind that I cannot see the man you were so blissfully in love with, your best friend of years, is not with you today. Where is that great hulk who would once stand by you against death itself?"
Rose denied the implications of his words, but questioned her own as she spoke. "I'm sure he still loves me. We just have some issues between us, as couples do."
"Then why is it you are here, instead of working things out with him at home?" She heard no contempt in his voice, this time.
Though she would not have considered discussing the matter with him before, now she said, "Believe me, I've tried! He's as stubborn as an old mule—he wants me to give up all I know, all I excel at, to rot at home doing the tedious work of a good housewife. Could you ever see me in that role?"
Laughter rose from the young lord's throat, and Rose felt somehow gladdened at the sound. "Rose, I could sooner picture myself as a wretched beggar living on the change of generous citizens than you as a pure housewife. I cannot envision how Finn could imagine forcing such a change on you, except that many men inevitably must seek to assert themselves over their women. The world itself dictates they do."
Rose swallowed. She had long suspected such ideas in Finn, but to hear them spoken out loud... She reflected on their friendship, and how it changed her. Before she met Finn, she had been a shy, awkward young woman; though already a strong warrior, quiet and lacking in social confidence. Watching him had taught her to be less reserved, and some of his bravado rubbed off on her. She'd always had a sense of humor; but with him she really learned to use it. They had been like brother and sister...
"Before we revealed our attraction, everything seemed almost perfect, but it took so little time for things to fall apart afterwards. Why must such misery follow such joy?" Too, she thought she was becoming the old Rose again; the natural cheer she felt at Finn's side was gone, replaced by worry and doubt.
Adam nodded with understanding. "In gaining Elaine I lost many I thought dear friends, who shunned me for the love I choose. But ever she stands by me, and nothing will make me forsake that. You, too, must decide what is most valuable to you."
"I love the man he was, but it seems that is not the man he is. I never would've expected him to demand I change the very person I am, to become something I know he could never be. It's not as if we could compromise; this leaves little room for that."
"Perhaps, then, it is not meant for you to remain lovers, but best to sever those ties and salvage the friendship so dear to you. I do not believe it is any animosity against you which drives him, but a need of him in his manhood, which many men share, to protect and provide for a weaker woman."
The words upset her, but she knew he spoke honestly. Of course, she wouldn't give Finn up that easily! "Talking to you has really helped me, I think." She smiled. "You don't really hate me, do you Adam?"
He gifted her with the slightest hint of a smile. "I never truly hated you. You did everything in your power to save us, and had it been anyone else, I would likely be dead now. If not for my heart's stubborn anger, we would be kindred spirits still."
She started away, her heart eased. Then she turned back, and said, "Then let's start mending our friendship. Tomorrow night, I'll come back here and we'll celebrate Jacob's extraordinary life. We'll share stories of him and drink to his great deeds. How's that sound?"
He hesitated for a few long seconds and looked awkwardly at her. "Sorry, but I can't. It just wouldn't feel right—it would hurt too much to speak of him with you."
"Alright, I won't push it if you're not ready. I do hope we can be friends again, someday. Goodbye, Adam." Rose left, her steps heavy. Returning to her tent, she slept uneasily.
#
Rose awoke to the blasts of horns filling her ears. Another attack already? It'd been too s
oon since the last fight. She was hurting! Damn war. She threw her armor on, grabbed up her sword and shield, and walked outside to see much of the same preparatory activity all around her. Striding swiftly to the edge of the encampment, she looked to the north from where the enemy would come.
A tide of dark forms flowed down the plain, and though she knew the myriad steel points glinting in the sun struck fear into many of her comrades' hearts, guilt for her coming deeds was what dominated her mind. To her each of those distant lights represented a man she might kill, something she never enjoyed—though she had done it innumerable times, because she'd had to.
She sighed, knowing things were about to get bad in a hurry. Kayland was just not prepared for war—one of the few downsides of peace, she supposed. She again scanned the encampment, and clenched her jaw in anger at its meager size. King Benedict really hadn't sent enough troops to meet an invasion. Too, they had come on overly short notice, and barely had a chance to fortify their position. Their makeshift barricades might be little help against a committed attack. She remembered that Prince Wilner always personally led his main force into battle, and a crazy thought formed in her head.
If they could get rid of him today, the threat of Coblan would likely be ended for a long while, as Wilner had no heirs and his closest advisors would kill each other without his steadying hand. No, not such a crazy thought. He was the greatest warrior of the day, all the bards said, but she had never tested her blade against him. She wasn't eager to die, but then, nor was she one to back down from a challenge either.
The mass of Coblan soldiers rushed headlong into the lines of the Kaylanders, their sheer weight pushing the defenders back from their planned positions. Quickly the fighting broke down into chaotic pockets of melee, each man fighting for himself or with a partner or two if fortunate enough to find them. Rose, as always, threw herself directly into the rush of foemen, seeking first the strongest adversaries she could find.
As a huge dark-skinned spearman wearing necklace and bracelets of ivory and bone tore the life from a Kayland soldier with contemptuous ease, Rose darted before him and yelled a challenge. He laughed and swung his great spear like a club, but her sword came up and cut through shaft and neck together, felling the behemoth.
A wail of grief rose behind her and she ducked, a sword flashing over her head as she turned and stabbed at the new threat. The exquisite plume of a swarthy lord settled amidst the dirt as her opponent collapsed. Sevrians, she realized the black men were, from the great island nation far south of Kayland. She saw many warriors break and run, and knew these two had been leaders of some kind. She was doing well, she decided; those soldiers would survive and not take the lives of any others, at least for today.
#
Derrick raised his bloody sword again, having wrenched it from the body of a masked spearman. He wondered just how many of these there were as three more bore down on him. Three? He might be able to take two, just. He backed away, calling for aid. Kevin and another young soldier came to his rescue. Together they slew the attackers, but Kevin fell with a deep cut to the leg and could not rise.
As he was helped away, Derrick saw what he took to be relief in Kevin's eyes. At least he wouldn't die today, Derrick thought with a bit of envy as he met the next spearman. He parried a jab by his foe, who was then stabbed in the side by Derrick's remaining partner. Then they had to duck behind their shields under a hail of arrows, and he wondered what Rose was doing.
#
Rose knew some of the men she killed. Having heard much of famous warriors from wide and far, she recognized many a legend from minstrels' tales. She killed Roger the Wide, Ivan the Tall, and Taylor the Small; the Greedy Wolf and the Rotten Ram; the Dukes of Urrel, Ricert, and Lislete; Mallon the Mad Minister and the Knight of Brass; a dozen more heroes whose names she did not know; and hundreds of lesser soldiers who stood in her way. Every man who fell in the dust before her brought a pang of remorse to her heart, but never even a second's delay to the next stroke of her sword.
Many strong fighters, officers and champions of the Coblan army, had fallen at her hand, but there seemed no end in sight. She wondered again how Prince Wilner had gotten all these powerful troops, but figured he must have called upon his foreign allies for whatever help they could spare in this great effort to conquer... the Brushknoll? She still didn't quite get it, but now was not the time for questions.
Before her, a hulking seven-foot figure encased in black steel lashed about himself with an axe nearly the size of a man's torso, often killing two men at a stroke. In his other hand he held an enormous shield, seemingly impenetrable as the blows of his enemies only jarred their hands but did naught to halt their demise. One of Wilner's elite, men bred and raised for war.
Rose jumped into the fray, the giant instantly recognizing a true opponent as their weapons clashed thunderously over and over. They were well matched in strength, and though he was forced to shift his feet more often than her, she did not think she would overpower him anytime soon. She switched tactics. As her enemy swung again, she dodged, and gripping her sword with both hands swung full-tilt at his shield.
Caught off guard and unable to angle his shield properly in time, he drew his arm back in pain. Stepping to his side, she struck that same spot again and again. Only dented, the iron wall still did not give—but his arm did, and the shield hung useless at his side. Desperately he flailed his axe to keep her away, but she ducked beneath a wild swing and ran him through.
Now she saw the foe she sought above all others, the tall prince with his two axes wading through men with no more resistance than brush hacked away by a machete. So many were those he slew, it seemed a river of blood flowed around him as he walked. He was a handsome man in his late thirties, with jet-black hair combed back to reveal his high forehead and a face sharp and harsh as a glacier. Cold, piercing gray eyes stared out from that countenance, under which black armored plates covered him one overlapping another like the carapace of a pill bug. To Rose, he appeared the very embodiment of merciless slaughter, death incarnate.
He was so fast, she could barely follow the path of his axes; and saw that many of his victims could not at all, falling before they could even raise their weapons. For a moment, fear froze even Rose's heart. This was a man no other had ever stood against, a warrior without peer. But she shook terror's grasp away, and rage at his rampant bloodshed replaced it. She bellowed his name, and as he turned to look, raised her impaled, still-squirming enemy above her head and drove him down headfirst with brutal force.
Wilner seemed to hear the snapping like kindling of the giant's bones, and cringe a bit. Then he sprinted straight at her, the sea of men between them parting before him. She walked steadily towards him, and the two met with furious blows which appeared as a flashing blur to all who watched.
Rose could barely keep up with the prince, and marveled at his speed. Prepared, she had little trouble parrying a crossbow bolt, but his blows were far more difficult to track. She thought to surprise him with a kick or shield blow, but he was a step ahead of her and kicked her squarely in the midriff. She staggered and his axe swept down, cutting a deep gash in her shoulder.
"How dare you slaughter my men in the hopes of goading me?" he snarled. Then he smirked. "Best Kayland fighter I've faced yet. Just not nearly good enough." Her shield came up to protect her, but he stabbed with the spike atop his other axe under and to the side of the steel, piercing her side. Rose crumpled to the ground, sharp pain lancing through her torso, and Wilner raised his axe.
She wrapped her legs around his ankles and yanked him off his feet. She raised her heavy armored boot and dropped it down on his chest, and even through his armor he felt the impact and grunted. Again she slammed her heel onto his breast, then shifted her aim to his face. He raised an arm to block, and cried out as the steel boot crashed onto his forearm. Finally he rolled away and gained his feet only to be knocked down again by Rose's wide shield, as she'd stood a split-second before him and
caught him on the way up. Lying on the ground, he held her off with a clumsy axe swing and scrambled up.
Now he gained the advantage as he forced her back with a flurry of slashing axes, and cut her badly on the thigh and chest when she was a hair too slow. His axes came down in a simultaneous blow which would have surely finished her, but she caught both on the massive sword she held in one hand. Though the impact drove her to her knees, Rose smiled triumphantly. She shoved him off balance as she stood and struck back hard, her shield-rim shattering several teeth and dropping him once more.
Though hurt, Wilner had the sense to roll away and come shakily to his feet. Then he was the one backpedaling before Rose's swings, taking wound after wound. The prince seemed to rally as he saw his troops staring in shock at his flight and came on stronger than ever, axes once more becoming a blur of steel. But Rose was ready this time, and stood her ground steadily deflecting his blows. Blood dripped from both their frames, and she wondered who would make the first mistake.
An arrow struck Wilner's shoulder, snapping against his armor. He glanced past Rose and scowled, then turned and ran into the mass of his troops. She tried to chase him, but her wounded thigh slowed her, and she almost immediately lost sight of him. Looking back, she saw General Lipter lower the bow in hand. A trumpet blared, and the great black human swarm seemed to flow away and back where it had came. Kayland's army had won, somehow; or, at least, survived for now.
The thought didn't do much to put her mind at ease, for Wilner's escape flustered her. She saw a well-adorned Coblan warrior run past, the heads of several Kayland soldiers in his hand. Disgusted and angered by the sight, she lashed out with her sword, and the trophy collector's own head tumbled with those of his victims. Having gained little satisfaction, Rose turned and stalked back to camp.
