by Billy Wong
"You really are the Iron Flower. Let me touch?" He hoped she wouldn't take it for a sexual advance, because he was merely curious how such a massive scar would feel.
She blushed a bit, but said, "All right."
Sean poked at the thick scar tissue and stared. "Wow, it's as tough as leather. I guess you never go unarmored."
She laughed. "The layer of leather in my armor's almost redundant, huh? Well, not really. Yeah, I've been shot, stabbed, and burned in the same places so many times, they've gotten tougher and tougher over the years—but not tough enough to save me. Metal's a lot stronger than flesh no matter how scarred you are. I'm glad there are people like you who accept me for my ugly self, though." Despite her unhappy words, she was still smiling, and Sean knew she didn't really lament the consequences of her lifestyle, but bore them in stride.
"You're not ugly," he told her. He wasn't lying; Rose's face might be horribly scarred, but still its basic features and round shape remained pleasant. Neither did her massive build take away from her femininity, for her abundant curves made her a decidedly voluptuous woman.
"You think so? I bet if I was anybody else, you'd recoil from the sight of my face in disgust let alone my trunk."
"Your face isn't too bad. Besides, no one should judge you for your appearance without knowing what you've done in your life, and almost nobody would if they did, I'm sure. But if you're concerned about it, do you do anything to treat the scars?"
"I do use creams to try and help my facial scars fade faster. I am a girl." She giggled. "I don't know if those creams actually work, though. My husband tells me most of them are scams. But they don't seem to hurt either, so I keep trying them."
Sean nodded. "Whatever you can do to help yourself. By the way thanks for showing me those tricks, I feel a little more confident now."
"Don't thank me until you get home to your fiancee alive. But I'm glad you feel better. Anyway, do you have any idea why Danica is so unsociable?"
"Not really, though I've heard rumors like everyone else. One of my favorites says she's not the king's daughter, but born of the queen's affair with a barbarian from up north. I don't think that would be the reason though, even if it was true. Gregor loves her whether or not she's his, and doesn't deny her a thing he would give his own child."
"She does look very different from her father," Rose said bemusedly. "I mean she is lighter, not to mention taller and bigger! But I've seen that he loves her too. Anyway, let's eat now before we go. So you want your jerky spicy, sweet, or sour?"
"Spicy!" he eagerly replied, and her eyes lit up in delight. Despite her stomach's sensitivity to it, it was her favorite flavor, after all.
#
Danica fumed while she observed the oversized woman arrive with her new friend. Rose seemed as cheerful as if they were only going sightseeing in the mountains, rather than preparing to risk their lives against a much larger force, and Danica hated her for it. How could she be so calm? After all the famous battles she'd fought, she couldn't be a stranger to the tragedy of war. Had she been exposed to death and destruction so much that she'd lost all empathy for those who suffered? Even if that was the case, Danica wondered why the foreign warrior was so eager to help her. What did she have to gain from this?
Danica had considered that Rose might seek to take her place as Terlon's champion. But how could she, when her life was elsewhere? No, she must wish to make a good impression with the king, so as to benefit herself in future negotiations. Danica knew this to be a reasonable course of action on Rose's part, and maybe her dislike of the woman was a bit unwarranted. But why did she have to hide her selfish motives in such pretentious manner, acting all humble and considerate? Besides, Danica couldn't help but worry about being outdone by the so-called "Iron Flower."
Yes, Rose was chubby and had a too nicey-nice, if probably faked, personality ill suited to a serious warrior, but her reputation couldn't have been gained for nothing, and Danica knew she had to respect the dark-haired woman's abilities. Very well, if she had to fight alongside a living legend, she'd just have to prove herself every bit the warrior her ally was. And the best way to achieve that would be to do exactly what she dreamed of doing anyway. She'd slay the dreaded Emperor Regis herself, and show Rose and her father she was still the most valuable weapon in Terlon's arsenal.
#
Rose felt the princess' eyes on her and pretended not to notice as they headed out. All around them the soldiers marched largely in grim silence, but her banter with Sean kept his spirits high for now. She noticed that he scratched his neck quite often, and hoped he didn't have some contagious disease. She wasn't one to get sick, but a foreign illness might be different, and she certainly didn't need any more skin problems considering the scars she already bore.
"She's glaring at you again," Sean said. "Like a big cat eyeing a rival... or something."
She smiled. "Then as long as we stay out of each other's way, there shouldn't be a problem. Is something wrong with your neck? You're scratching like a cat yourself."
"It's nothing, just a stupid itch that's been bugging me for months. I doubt it's going to kill me, and it doesn't seem like it's contagious. No one else has caught it, and it hasn't spread anywhere besides my neck either. It's really annoying, though."
"Oh, okay. I was a little scared. My bicep touched that part of your neck yesterday when I had you in the headlock, remember?"
"I remember. That was scary. I was afraid you'd forget yourself, and pop my head like a grape!"
She laughed, then asked, "Can I see your neck? I do know people who know about skin diseases—maybe I could get you some medicine, eventually."
"Sure, why not. You showed me your stuff."
Rose got a surprise when she lifted the hair covering the back of Sean's neck to look at what bothered him. "Your itch is a birthmark? That's odd. It looks nice, though—the mark, not the itch. A perfect little axe on your neck!" It was also a livid, inflamed-looking red, but she didn't mention it. He was probably well aware of that.
"Axe? My mom always called it a hammer. But I guess you know these things better."
"You know if I was a pervert, there's something else I could take it to be. So why do you think you're itching all of a sudden? Could it have gotten sunburned, maybe?"
He shrugged. "I have no idea, though I don't think it's had too much exposure to the sun. My hair is covering that spot after all. But it's weird that my birthmark would suddenly start itching as the Fanteian invasion began. It's like an omen."
"Huh. I don't believe in omens, except perhaps ones that contribute to whatever event they foretell."
"If it causes it, it's not really an omen, is it?"
She nodded. "I guess not. Anyway, I don't really believe in fate, or destiny, or whatever. Broke too many prophecies to buy into them anymore, even if I used to."
Sean gazed curiously at her. "Broke prophecies?"
"Yeah, junk about terrible evils and conquering empires, thing like that. Killed the first, shattered the second. You know Coblan, right? The little kingdom ruled by the so-called 'greatest warrior in the world' Prince Wilner, that's in utter shambles now? He believed a prophecy that he'd turn his nation into a great empire. My friends and I stopped it from ever getting there."
"Who told him the prophecy?"
Rose had to think a bit to remember what Derrick told her. Her memory wasn't perfect now, perhaps due in part to the many blows her thick skull had endured. "His dying father. He'd been shot in the throat, but managed to tell the future he saw before passing on. It didn't come true."
Sean frowned. "That's not a real prophecy. Actual prophets make prophecies, and they're accompanied by observable signs like raining fish or, uh, my itch. I mean, birthmarks don't usually start itching like crazy when they've been fine all your life."
"And do you have any idea what your itch could be an omen of? You haven't named a prophecy it might be connected with."
"I don't know... I suppose I don't reall
y think for sure that there's a significance to my itch. Just indulging my fantasies, I guess."
Despite their efforts to lessen it, she assumed the strain of the coming battle must be getting to him as it did her, and maybe his notions of destiny helped reassure him it wasn't his time to die. "It's no sin to imagine a better life. I fantasize about a world of peace all the time. So what do you dream of? Being predestined for greatness?"
"You're dead on," he said wistfully. "I wish I was chosen to lead my people into freedom from war, and overthrow those who would oppress them." He paused and added, "Maybe even defeat a dark god. Can't get more epic than that, right?"
"You mean like killing the god of war? Hey, that's my department!" They shared a laugh, and continued chatting happily while they marched towards bloody battle.
#
"Lord Deathend," Julian said to the empty helmet inside his tent, "please give me some clue how to find the one destined to be your enemy. We have searched tirelessly for young men with axe-shaped marks on their necks, but to little avail. Unless the prophecy speaks of someone carrying an actual axe hanging from his neck?"
The eyes of the huge antlered helm, half again the size of a normal man's, glowed with a stark crimson light. A deep, awe-inspiring voice rumbled from the mouth area of the full-face mask. Julian's knees trembled as the war god's powerful words filled his mind. "You must expand your search. Just because a person was born in our land, does not mean they still reside here—foolish servant."
Julian frowned. "How are we to search outside our country with any effectiveness? Any nation would be hard pressed to field the manpower needed to carefully comb foreign lands for a single man with a mark, let alone one currently involved in a war."
Deathend said in a condescending tone which held little worry, "Then you will start by making the lands you seek to search part of your own. Finish conquering Terlon, and resume your search there. Perhaps you'll find satisfaction sooner than you fear."
Did the god know something he didn't? Julian understood it was the way of divinity to be mysterious and have knowledge above that of mortals, but why would Deathend hold information back when his very survival might depend on it? Or was the deity too arrogant in his power to recognize any danger to himself, especially that posed by one young man? Whatever his doubts, he knew he should push them aside with faith in the god, whose wisdom surely surpassed his own.
"Yes, Lord Deathend. We'll search Terlon first, once we take it." He hoped the god couldn't read his mind, because he wasn't quite able to dispel all of his reservations.
Deathend sounded pleased. "Good. We must never allow fear to take control of us, and delay the progress we Fanteians embody. Your brother Regis is on the verge of bringing Fanteia back into the glory she held in my day. There can be nothing more important than the empire!"
"Yes, lord." Dammit! Even though Julian held the position of being Deathend's High Cleric, it often seemed the war god favored his brother the hero. It seemed apparent why; Regis was a man of action, the greatest of warriors, and Julian, while no mean fighter, did his best work in peace. The god of battle, once a human warrior himself in ancient times, would certainly appreciate Regis' talents more than his. But then, why had Deathend chosen Julian to be his earthly mouthpiece?
"You seem distressed," the helmet said, startling Julian. "What is wrong? Do you still worry for my well being? No puny mortal youth can pose a real threat to my divine power. Would you argue with the beliefs of your god?"
No mere mortal should be able to threaten a god. But then, how many stories spoke of a similar thing? Not that many, actually... but enough to consider. "Nonetheless, it's my duty as your servant to eliminate even the slightest threat to you, great lord."
"Then do it." The glow disappeared from the great helm's eyes and Julian felt Deathend's overwhelming presence vanish, though the helmet still lay on his portable bed. Only then did Julian notice his heavyset manservant Alvin standing at the tent flap.
"Prince Julian, are you ready for your ritual bath before we march on?"
It wasn't an unusual question, but the way he'd asked it disturbed Julian. Why did the lesser man appear so perfectly calm, when he must have been standing right there while the god talked to Julian? Was a person like him incapable of sensing that awesome presence? "Yes, I'm ready. But Alvin, how do you feel about your faith?"
His voice held little feeling as he recited the mantra, "Deathend is our lord, the sword which cuts our fate into threads of glory."
The lack of emotion told Julian that Alvin indeed had not known the god's presence, and he frowned. It was truly a great blessing to be Deathend's chosen, but enlightenment did not come without a price. He was... different. Alone.
#
Regis watched his army reorder itself, leaving him at its head as it stretched out into a long, thin line capable of moving through the mountains into northern Terlon. They'd abandoned their favored cavalry tactics, instead going on foot in preparation for battle in cramped quarters and uneven ground. Stupid narrow pass.
Would the Terlonian army make a stand there, in hopes of fighting Regis' forces on more favorable terms? He would if he was in their position. He considered heading east to use a different pass, or better yet, sending part of his army down that path to flank the enemy and attack from both sides. Either way, he could engage the enemy on undesirable terms for the Terlonians, and avoid putting himself at a disadvantage.
Regis decided on the later tactic, knowing that once the Terlonians were surrounded, it wouldn't be much of a challenge to finish them off. He wanted to conquer Terlon as soon as possible, not waste time playing games with his foes while a grim prophecy troubled his land. He knew his plan could prove less successful than anticipated, if the Terlonian army was able to find out about it before he could box them in and thus respond to it. But even if he had to rely on a pure frontal assault, it would only delay the inevitable. After all, the mere sight of him had the tendency to cow enemies and weaken their will to fight. Not only were his forces superior, but no Terlonian could stand against him personally. Regis was the greatest warrior on the entire continent, and the closest thing Terlon had to his equal, the warrior woman Danica, still would be no match for him. How could he lose? That was right—he wouldn't.
#
"What are you thinking about?" Sean asked Rose as she sat quietly on her bedroll, apparently lost in contemplation.
She took a sip from her waterskin before answering. "Just picturing my kids. I hope they won't hate me for not being there for them now, when they're older. I love them, but can never seem to stay by their side—I'm not a very good mother."
Sean looked at her with surprise. "You have children? How old are they?"
"Yeah, twins. A boy and girl, named Jacob and Amber. They turn two this summer."
He smiled. "They probably won't remember. You're doing a good thing here."
"I know, but I wonder what'll happen when my kids are older? Maybe I'll finally have to change my traveling ways... but I love travel."
"Maybe you can take them with you when they're older."
"Certainly not!" She considered it. "Well, maybe. Of course, that's only if I start going to less dangerous places. But I really didn't expect to wind up getting involved in the war here. My luck is cursed."
"And you say you don't believe in fate."
She shrugged. "I don't believe in predestination, no. Luck's another matter. Mine's too consistently bad for it to be a fluke."
"Always bad?"
"I suppose not, considering I'm still alive, but even good intentions often end up badly when I'm involved. Maybe it's just that bad luck sticks in the mind more than good, but I can't help feeling like I get the short end of the stick with regard to chance."
"But you've still lived quite the life in spite of all that."
Her eyes grew misty as she recalled all the close calls she'd had, some of which had gone her way, others... not. "I can't say my misfortune hasn't actually broug
ht me some moments I look back on with pride, like those times I took grave wounds due to poor luck and still managed to suck it up and win. But my bad fortune has also cost me real bad. Often, it's been the difference between keeping and losing a friend. Now those memories, I hate reliving. I've had more than my fill of tragic irony, that's for sure."
She remembered Jacob, a knight who'd been her friend and somewhat role model, who she'd been forced to kill while not himself. Peter, another friend and ally who'd fought her to the death in the pursuit of freedom for his captured men. Howard, yet another friend who died trying to finish off an enemy Rose failed to kill. Justin, Howard's brother who hated her still for her failures to save his brother and uncle. And worst of all Julie, her innocent student and Derrick's beloved, who could have been saved if any of a whole bunch of things had gone differently, but lost her life anyway in spite of all her and her friends' efforts to save it. And many more allies who she might've saved but for a different choice, but hadn't.
It wasn't that Rose faulted bad luck entirely for these losses; she'd made choices which cost others, and often blamed herself and wallowed in guilt over those ill-fated decisions. But she acknowledged luck's role as well; she'd made the wrong choices, yes, but not wildly unreasonable ones, and knew that had fortune been on her side, many of these things could have turned out all right. It hadn't worked out that way, and her rational decisions had so often led to such dreadful outcomes—why?
Rose knew failure was part of life, and no one could have everything their way especially in war and deadly battle. But she nonetheless hated that so many good people had to die around her, especially when they only fought for all the right reasons. Rose had sometimes been told, and considered, that she wasn't cut out to be a career warrior, that she was too soft-hearted for it to be her life. But she had to continue fighting the good fight. If not for her aid, far more innocents would have died undeserved violent deaths. It just saddened her greatly, to see and make so many people on any side lose their lives...
They sat in silence, but only for a short while as they soon began talking cheerfully again. The enemy did not appear for much longer than expected, and when they finally got the signal the Fanteian army approached, Rose hoped strongly that Regis did not have some devious plan which might ruin their defensive advantage. But hearing Danica report her scouts saw nothing amiss, she felt relief to know as sensible a leader as the princess was on her side.
