by Billy Wong
"What?!" His mouth went dry; he couldn't believe it. She'd survived many horrible wounds before, and couldn't... couldn't...
"I feel real weak, Finn. Too weak."
He looked fiercely into her eyes and ordered her, "Stay with me, Rose. You can't die. You're the invincible Iron Flower, and besides, our kids need their mother."
She smiled. "I'll try, okay? I'll try." Saying so, she closed her eyes, her breathing far too shallow as she grew still in his arms.
"Please don't die, Rose. Please don't die." Finn looked up and at Brandon for a moment, desperate for any encouragement he could give—any assurance, even false, that his love would make it through. But the count only stared back dumbly at him, still in shock at having seen his friend and one-time lover so gruesomely injured.
Brandon left soon after and Finn sat there, watching over what was left of his wife with tears in his eyes. How could even she survive such wounds? Now that she'd expressed her doubts, he too didn't really believe she could. She was ghastly pale, and her features frozen in a grimace of pain though she appeared to be asleep.
A while later, Rose opened her eyes and asked in a barely audible croak of a voice, "What happened to Alicia, anyway? Is she..?"
To Finn's horror, he saw almost no life in her dull orbs. "She's alive, Rose. Rest." Then, he began to cry.
He wished she would tell him not to worry, that she would offer her usual hope, but she closed her eyes again and drifted into a deep slumber. For a long time, Finn did not sleep or leave her side, not even to help in the ongoing fight. He told himself he was waiting for her to heal, to wake. But in his heart, he knew he really waited for her to die.
Chapter 9
Derrick heard a groan upon bringing the horses to a stop, and looked back into the cart. He bowed his head as he realized Mick hadn't awakened, but must have felt something in his fevered sleep. Walking over, he put a hand to the bard's head to find its temperature akin to a furnace. Good thing he'd gotten here quickly, though it might not be enough.
He stepped before the tall oak doors and banged the door ring against them. After some waiting, a stocky man of middle years wearing an embroidered jacket opened the door. "How may I be of service to you?"
"I have to see Lady Ashleigh. Is she here?"
The butler led him through the tidy manor to her room, and Derrick couldn't help staring at the budge of the reclining woman's belly. He wondered if he would be a father now, if his love Julie hadn't died.
"Derrick? What's the matter?" Ashleigh asked from her armchair.
"Do you have more of the medicine you gave Julie before?" When the girl had been wounded fighting the children of the Earth Mother, Ashleigh had given her a potent drug to help fight off infection. It had seemed to work well, until they discovered her initial injury to be worse than first thought... Now, Derrick hoped the countess still had some left with which to aid Mick's survival.
"Why? Is it for Rose?"
A chill ran through his body at her sad, resigned tone. "No—why would you think so? Did something happen to her?"
She hesitated. "Brandon just sent me a message... she's hurt real bad, Derrick. Dying."
What?! Rose, dying? It couldn't be... "Are you sure? She's really tough. If she wasn't killed outright..."
"I haven't seen her, so I can't say for sure. But Brandon's words seemed so hopeless."
No! Rose was one of his best friends, and Finn, who he also counted among them, would be destroyed as well by her loss. He couldn't imagine. "Well, could the medicine help her if she got it?"
"No, I'm afraid not. It's good for many illnesses, but does nothing for a physically devastated body. Rose—she got hit full in the abdomen with one of Wilner's axes, and it split her open..."
He swallowed, blinking back tears. "But she... but she still lives?"
Ashleigh gave a slow nod. "You know she's the toughest person alive. But this, I don't think even she can recover from it."
Derrick imagined his friend lying in bed slowly dying, unwilling to release her hold on life even when there was no hope. How would she finally pass? Would she succumb to her wounds themselves, or starve from being unable to eat anything with her innards destroyed? He began to weep, and Ashleigh said, "Don't, Derrick. If you cry, it means you've given up hope for her. She would never do that, and you shouldn't either."
"But you just said there was no hope."
"I said I doubt she can survive. But before I met her, I wouldn't have thought someone could survive being run through the chest and gut at the same time, either."
He supposed Rose did have a tendency to do the impossible. "I'm going to her. I know it might not do much, but she deserves any support she can get."
"So who did you come to get the medicine for, anyway?"
"Mick, a bard who asked Rose and Finn to help his town. A man they encountered and fought earlier found him when he was alone, and cut off his hands."
"Cut off his hands? That's horrible!" She paused. "Wait—Mick? Isn't that the boy who was supposed to bring the giant children down here? Did you find them too?"
"No. But do you have the medicine? I don't know how much longer he can last. The fever's bad."
"I don't have any right now. Brandon took what we had with him to the front."
"He didn't leave you any?" Derrick asked, surprised. "You're pregnant."
"I told him not to. It seems more likely to be needed in the war, don't you think?"
"I suppose. But he still could have left a bit in case his pregnant wife got sick."
Ashleigh frowned. "And would you expect me to give it to you in that case?"
"No, I guess not." She laughed, making him blush. "So Brandon's on the battlefield, then?"
"Yes, with Rose and Finn."
Derrick thought it oddly convenient they would be together right now, but dreaded the thought he might arrive just to see Rose die. But of course he had to go, both to help Mick and hopefully give Rose some encouragement. "Thanks. Congrats on the baby, and good luck."
"Good luck to you too. Tell Brandon I love him, and wish I could be there."
He nodded and returned to his cart. It might have been his worry, but Mick looked paler than before, if now awake. "D-did you get the drug?"
"No, she was out. Don't sweat it, I'll get you help."
"I'm going to die, aren't I?"
Derrick didn't know, but even if the bard lived, he would be crippled forever. The Dream Killer had destroyed one more life. At a loss for words, he patted Mick's shoulder in a token gesture that felt insincere. He got back in the driver's seat and continued the joyless journey.
#
Walking into the great black tent where her wounded prince lay in bed, Loreen felt a surge of guilt. She didn't feel guilty for his injury, however, but for the friend she'd betrayed and gotten killed in his name. Rose had always treated her so well, and should be considered a great person if anybody was. Wilner, on the other hand, adhered only to the barest of moral standards in pursuit of his selfish ambitions. Why had Loreen chosen him when it came down to it? Was the well-being of her country really worth that of Kayland and her friend's life? And did the prince even have that much to offer Coblan's future? His yearning for conquest had cost so many of his people their lives.
"We have won a great victory," Wilner said, speech distorted as Rose's sword had torn through the flesh under his nose and smashed several teeth. "Finally I've killed that foolish woman, and there is little left to stand in the way of our ultimate victory."
"Yes," Loreen replied flatly. Would he at least recognize how she had sacrificed her friendship to save his life?
But when he did, it turned out only to make her feel worse. Wilner smiled painfully, the long stitched wound over his mouth curving in grotesque mimicry of it. "You really proved your loyalty. I hadn't been so sure of it until today. You have my thanks."
"You're welcome, Your Highness. Is there anything else, or should I leave you to your rest?"
"You f
eel bad about it, don't you?"
"I-"
He cut her off. "Of course you do. I won't fault you. But maybe my reward will give you a measure of relief." She didn't think anything could, and barely paid attention as he continued. "You'll be the captain of my guard from now on. You deserve it for saving me from Rose just as Egbert did, though he sadly gave his life in the process."
Once he'd demoted her from the guard for losing an arm, and that played a large part in her decision to help Rose fight against him. Now she was a traitor again, but to the woman she'd betrayed him for before, and captain of his guard because of it. What would Rose think of this if she knew? She wondered if the big woman might even forgive her this betrayal. Rose was that good.
Wilner must have seen the tears in her eyes, and asked, "What, are you not satisfied with my reward?"
"Thank you for the consideration. But I don't wish to be rewarded for this. I'd rather not be reminded..."
"I understand the sacrifice you made. Don't you want to gain something from it, perhaps make life better for your brothers?"
She knew as the captain of Wilner's guard, she'd gain social power to help protect her less than sharp-witted brothers from those who would taunt and belittle them. It would hurt to know she'd gotten where she was by causing a friend's terrible death, but she did want things to be better for her family—and herself as well. Maybe with the respect of a high position, a desirable man might be able to overlook her terrible scars and missing arm enough to consider her as a lover. Loreen was still enough of a woman that she missed romance.
"I'll accept the post then, Your Highness. But I hope this war will end soon."
"It will, I'm sure," he replied confidently despite his strained voice. "After all, you've already helped me kill their greatest champion. Victory cannot be far off."
Loreen nodded and walked away, unable to help hating herself as she grieved for the friend whose murder she had aided in.
#
Victor smiled as he heard the magical trident whimper and whine painfully in his mind. He could hardly believe how well things had worked out for him in the battle against Rose and her allies. Everyone who posed the greatest threats to his control had been laid low, and his power felt all but absolute. Then again luck, or the favor of fate itself, had always given him leeway.
Aside from the obvious disappearance of Rose and Alicia from the battlefield, most likely dying, Clearsky too had been damaged, which he counted as a blessing. No longer did he have to waste mental energy in matching wills with the trident. Yes, the weapon could still make suggestions between whines of pain, but that was all they were now—suggestions. Victor was back in control of himself, and indeed even glad for the power his conscience would likely regain. Sure, the thing could be a bother at times. But it was part of him, and he'd rather bear its influence than that of his magical "ally." He knew Clearsky would be weakened as an asset too, but wasn't so worried. Success already lay within his grasp.
Prince Wilner too had been badly injured, and for now lay in a position of weakness both physically and in terms of inspiring his followers. Victor considered having someone kill the man while he was vulnerable, but two things stopped him. For one, he admired Wilner's prowess in battle, and didn't think it fitting for him to go out in such ignominious manner. He also didn't want to risk a battle with Wilner's disgruntled subordinates, especially if said assassination attempt failed.
Instead, he headed to the tent where the wounded monarch rested and entered with a smile. Wilner gazed up at him. "You look happy."
"And aren't you? We've beaten our strongest enemy, and you finally killed the only person who ever defeated you in single combat. You're the greatest warrior in the world once again."
"Yes, I am. But since I know you want something, get to the point."
"Very well. I came to tell you I'm going to call for a truce. Then, I'll give them a chance to surrender."
"Why? We have them on the verge of defeat. A crushing victory that forces them to surrender on their own would be far emphatic."
He shrugged. He really didn't want to kill more of his countrymen, but that wouldn't be a suitable explanation to give Wilner. "Yes, but we could lose many more loyal allies before their final defeat. So I'd like to let them see we have a merciful side. The option of surrender will be more attractive if they don't think we thirst for their blood."
"Which we don't," Wilner said. "I just want my land and my heir, and you your throne. Perhaps you're right."
"And now that everyone knows our true might, I suspect more of my potential allies will come to join us." No doubt his sympathizers would see the downfall of Rose as evidence that supporting his cause was not so foolish.
"You say your allies, and not ours?"
The princes' eyes met, and Victor saw the suspicion in Wilner's that he'd known existed between them. "They'll help both of us. Do you think I mean to betray you and conquer your country? If I wanted to do that... you're pretty vulnerable now, as I see it."
Wilner frowned. "You have other reasons not to attack me. But we'll deal with things when they come. Fine, make your offer." He paused, then changed the subject. "I wonder where the hell Sierra is? I'm surprised she still hasn't arrived, with her kingdom on the line."
"Her main force has arrived, but not the good regent herself. Last I hear, our friend Max still has her occupied."
"He's lasted a decently long time. Why would Sierra keep chasing him?"
"I'm not sure, though there are rumors." Victor smiled as he remembered the silliest of them. "But it hardly matters. Let's hope Max somehow kills her and makes things easier yet for us."
"That would be pleasing." Wilner snickered, though it made him wince. "It might even warrant actually recognizing the Tri-Principality."
Victor left the tent with his spirit soaring above him. He felt so powerful right now, and like nothing could go wrong for his future. Most likely Kayland would surrender and that would be that. Fortune did love him. But why exactly did Sierra keep chasing that fool Max?
#
Sierra spurred her one hundred heavy cavalry after the fleeing Volstonian prince and his handful of allies, shrieking in rage. Max had killed her father, and she wasn't about to rest until the young ass was dead. It did strike her as strange that Max could only have been in his early teens ten years ago when her father was murdered on a hunting trip, but she decided not to dwell on it. After all, people like Rose and Prince Wilner had fought since their mid teens—a little younger wasn't unfathomable, especially for a warrior from a barbarian land.
When her great stallion drew close to the fleeing Max, the cruel prince turned and laughed in her face. "Come and get me, old hag! Your father died crying, begging for my mercy as I cut off his balls, and I know you have nightmares of me doing the same to your tits!"
Outraged, she spurred her steed on harder, then a bolt sprouted in its neck. As it fell to its knees, she saw Max's mounted—general? sidekick? slave?—race out from behind a copse of trees and to the prince's side, crossbow in hand. The dying horse toppled sideways, forcing Sierra to jump clear. "Damn you, you cowards! I'll never let you get away!"
The shooter said something to Max, seeming perhaps to be admonishing him from his flustered look, but the prince ignored him and taunted, "I killed your father, I killed your father! Come on, chase me down if you can! I bet you can't, old woman, face like old pants!"
Max spread his arms high and raised his chin, smirking. As he turned and rode away, the roaring of blood in Sierra's ears drowned out the thunder of her mounted knights arriving at her side. She was going to kill, kill, kill that fiend if it took her the next decade!
#
"You really shouldn't keep taunting her," Conrad said exasperatedly to the grinning prince. "She almost got you that time."
"The old prune? She could never catch me. She's going to croak of a heart attack knowing her father died unavenged!"
He frowned. What gave Max so much glee in tormenti
ng his fellow human? Conrad would have happily ended Sierra's life, if her number of companions didn't make engaging her too risky, but if you wanted to kill someone just go ahead and fight them. "Old prune? She isn't yet forty. And, you didn't even kill him."
"Ha, she doesn't know that. Have you seen how red she turns whenever I tell her how his father died?"
"He didn't even die that way—not to you, at least? Was the rest true?"
"I don't know. Probably not. But it's great fun seeing her squirm."
"It won't be fun if she catches us. You know, we probably would have gotten away clean by now if you hadn't brought up her father this way. She probably wouldn't have committed much to hunting us, seeing as we're not much of a threat." That thanks to Max's own stupidity, no less. If he hadn't ordered that charge, maybe he wouldn't have lost the bulk of his army.
"So? What fun would it be to reach my fellow princes unopposed? Now this is a challenge! But once we meet up and form the Tri-Principality, we'll turn the tables and give Sierra her unhappy ending."
Conrad didn't know if Victor and Wilner would even take him at this point. Max had been supposed to deliver his army, not himself and a few survivors from it. Still, Conrad would stay with the foolhardy prince until the end. He'd never been able to choose a path for himself after his sister died unintentionally at his hand, and while Max might not be a worthy leader to guide his strength, the more respectable Victor's last request had been to take care of him.
#
A light breeze tickled the back of his neck as someone lifted the tent flap, and Finn glanced behind himself to see Count Brandon come inside. "How is she?" the nobleman asked while Finn's bloodshot eyes returned to staring at his pale wife.
"The same. She keeps saying she'll be alright now when she's awake, but we all know it can't be true. She drinks juice and cold soup, but where does it go? I don't even want to think about that."
Brandon walked closer to sit at his side and put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't give up on her, Finn. She wouldn't."
He met the count's eyes. "I'm not giving up. But I just feel so helpless. She's so weak, and all I can do is sit here and watch her live or die by her own strength—I've done that too many times, and I hate it. I wish I could help her."
