Saving Fate

by Billy Wong

  "This is your fight, not mine. I am merely your guide."

  "You don't believe that."

  Borden lived through only one more battle. He was found dead in his tent soon after, his throat slit. For her leadership in the past months, Brianna was granted supreme authority over the Widalian campaign against the Vorhen. And Helrish, who she feared responsible for her newfound authority, was ever there to guide her.

  Then the young king Leo, ruler of the highland kingdom of Perfia, led an army out from the east to aid the Widalian cause. Apparently, the Vorhen had long harried the Perfian border too. Not only did the arrival of new allies strengthen the army numerically, but roused their spirits as well. But the Vorhen fought no less fiercely than ever, and soon the newfound vigor and cheer left the men. The campaign dragged on, and it would be many months before it saw an end.

  #

  Brianna could see next to nothing in the clash of steel and men, but hacked at anything that moved in front of her, knowing as long as Helrish was nearby they were at the head of their forces. Blood spurted from the bodies she clove apart, drenching her in hot moisture that soon grew thick and cold in the northern air. The smell of blood and guts bothered her little; it had become as familiar as the mail on her back. Beside her Helrish's giant sword rose and fell again and again, wreaking a slaughter to dwarf her own. They were so close to ultimate victory...

  Two years had passed since she and Helrish begun their crusade, and the Vorhen had been driven from most of the northern cities. Now the Widalians clashed with the last great Vorhen army, led by the barbarian king Gorfang and his sorcerous cabal. Even their powers seemed to be wearing thin; Brianna saw few unearthly beasts left on the field. Though the Vorhen outnumbered her allies, they had lost twice as many men and their line wavered uncertainly. She could not help a smile. Soon, she would see her son again.

  Helrish tapped her on the shoulder and pointed at a towering figure striding through the enemy ranks towards them. "Look who's come to play. It appears Gorfang yearns for a duel of champions. Will you meet him?"

  "Won't you?"

  "Do you want me to?"

  She watched the barbarian king approach. He was middle-aged, tall but surprisingly lean with hardened leather armor and two swords at his waist. "I'll do it. This is my fight."

  "You do me proud."

  Brianna stepped forward to meet Gorfang, who smiled as he stared her down. "You are a fitting champion for your country—a female, small and weak. It must say something about your men that they would let you lead them."

  She sighed. "And you suit the Vorhen as well. Crude and unsubtle, with no appreciation for technique in warmaking. And, old man, like you their time is past."

  He charged, his swords flashing through the air like lightning. He was inhumanly fast, and Brianna wondered that she had called him an old man. Her one axe was unsuited to parrying his two blades, and blow after blow hammered into her chainmail. Links split under the impact, and the swords bit into the vulnerable spots to find her flesh. Cuts covered Brianna's body, and blood soaked her undertunic. She tried to fight back, but Gorfang parried with one blade and continued the assault with the other. Always, the advantage was his...

  "Stop toying with him and kill him!" she heard Helrish shout.

  How? she thought but didn't ask. One sword swept high, cutting away a lock of Brianna's hair as she ducked. The other thrust low at her groin. She smashed her axe straight down, driving the tip of the sword into the ground. Suddenly inspired, she brought the axe back up without turning it around, slamming the bottom of the haft into Gorfang's chin.

  He staggered, vulnerable for a moment. As Helrish had taught her, Brianna shoved the tops of her axe-blades into the barbarian's belly. But without the momentum of a real swing, they would not have penetrated the leather armor deeply—except that Brianna hooked her leg behind Gorfang's and pushed, falling with him to drive the axe home using her weight. The steel tips buried themselves in his gut, and he gasped wetly beneath her.

  "My sons will succeed me," he whispered. "But you will not see it." He raised an arm and plunged his dagger below Brianna's right armpit. She felt blood bubble up her throat, and knew she had not bitten her tongue this time. She rolled off the dying Gorfang, flopping onto her back with her hand pressed tightly to her wound. It was hard to breath, like she was drowning.

  "Get up," Helrish said, "and walk it off." He bent over her, hand extended.

  She tried to speak, gagged on blood, spat it out, and finally did. "I can't, dammit! I'm dying!"

  "It will pass. Now get up."

  Brianna struggled into a seated position, her chin tickled by the liquid flowing over her lip. She reached up, took Helrish's hand. He pulled her to her feet and supported her with an arm around her shoulders. "First, face your troops and raise your axe in victory." She did it, leaning a bit on Helrish. The cheers hurt her ears. "Now walk with me. Tomorrow your people will tell the story of the woman who took a mortal wound, got up, and dined with her troops that night."

  "Truly? My lung's pierced."

  "Men have survived pierced lungs before. So will you. There, it is your friend Lindy, who talked with you about dresses and jewelry. Smile for her."

  She did, trying to focus her eyes on the brunette female Perfian soldier she saw through a stubborn haze. She realized Lindy was kneeling or sitting down, and wondered at the red-gray mass before her. Helrish led her to his tent, where he started to root about in his pack.

  "Are you all right?" he asked.

  Sitting down, Brianna coughed a spray of blood. "Of course not, you fool. You ever have a lung pierced?"

  "Yes. I fought through it. But I do not expect the same of you."

  "Damn you!"

  Helrish sat next to her and tipped a small flask to her lips, taking hold of her free hand with his. "Drink this. It will make you feel better."

  The thin, clear liquid burned as it slid down her throat, but the pain in her chest diminished considerably. What magic was this? It hardly mattered; she was glad for the relief. She leaned on Helrish, resting her head against his chest. His huge arm hugged her neck, and he kissed her on the forehead.

  A giggle escaped her mouth. "I can't believe it's over. We finally won..." Then she noticed that while her lung felt better, the gash beneath her armpit still bled sluggishly. "The healing isn't complete."

  "It's only a surface wound now. You'll be better off without it completely sealed—its presence will disguise the fact you were magically healed, and all will think you stronger for it." She understood; the myth of her invulnerability needed to be maintained. He stood, watching her like to make sure she was all right. "Stay here and rest. I'll be back soon."

  Helrish left, and as she sat there alone she began to truly comprehend the enormity of today's victory. The war was all but over, and she could go home. She didn't think it would be too late to take Mark back, though she expected to feel guilty prying him from his adoptive family. Still, it pleased her to imagine her future with her son. Her life would know joy again.

  When Helrish returned, she greeted him with a bright smile. "So when do we celebrate?"

  He did not return her smile, and upon looking into his eyes she realized something was wrong. "Gorfang's sons rallied the Vorhen," he said evenly, "and our line broke on the right. We held, but because of the cowards among us the enemy was able to retreat in fighting order. Now you must make sure such a disaster never happens again."

  #

  Brianna stood miserably facing the Bronze Wolves, the unit assigned to reinforce the Widalians' right only to break even as their side seemed to be closing in on overall victory. They had been rounded up and stripped of their gear at Helrish's insistence, and now awaited judgment shivering in their undergarments. Brianna would have thought their humiliation punishment enough, but Helrish had other ideas.

  "Slit one throat for every ten," he suggested calmly, "and hang every officer who did not try to rally his men. Then all will see that no c
owardice will be tolerated here."

  At his side, Brianna looked at him and touched his hand. Her chest still hurt somewhat, and she could only speak in a whisper for difficulty of breath. "You don't sound angry, but you must be mad with rage. They are an untried troop, and it's natural for men to feel fear. I think that just hearing you talk now, they won't be inclined to repeat their mistake."

  "Words mean nothing. They will think I was bluffing."

  "Did they practice what you suggest where you fought in the past?"

  "Yes, and worse. Once I saw a whole company executed for treason, over nothing more than this."

  "But Widalia is a civilized land. Such cruelties are unnecessary."

  Helrish frowned. "Brianna, has my advice ever once led you astray?"

  "No," she admitted.

  "Then for once, after all I have taught you and all the times I have saved your life, do what I ask. Trust me in this."

  "Don't do it," King Leo said from off to the side, the soft-spoken young monarch biting his lip nervously.

  Every shred of conscience in Brianna's being told her to defy Helrish, to prevent this atrocity from taking place and to grant these poor, frightened men mercy. But she owed him so very much, and he had always been right. And she had precious little heart for moral conviction, after all the fighting and killing and pain. After all she had gone through, she could not risk failure now, so close to her goal.

  "I give you permission to order it, then."

  Helrish nodded. "Do it."

  The screams began, and after that no one looked at them the same.

  #

  King Leo turned away before the first throat was slit, shaking his head at the savagery of the female general's demonlike accomplice. But though he disapproved of the killing, he hoped it would serve the purpose Helrish claimed. He had been looking forward to an end to the war today, only to see it lost for cowardice. He wondered if he had made the right choice in coming to the Widalians' aid. Already, he had lost too many of his countrymen.

  As he stalked back towards his tent, Leo passed by the squire Kyle. The youth cradled the warrioress Lindy, blood on her full lips. An exceedingly tough woman. Leo remembered seeing her kicked off a blade and slide down against a wall, then get up fighting only to be stabbed again and drop to her knees. She saw her king and smiled; he walked close to her, and she reached up with a closed fist. He touched it with his own.

  "One people, one spirit," she said.

  He repeated the slogan and watched her close her eyes for the last time. Before he had taken two steps, he heard Alvin call out softly to him. The old soldier was white as a sheet, his left leg having been severed below the knee. He had lost a great deal of blood, and though the wound was stanched would probably die. Yet he pulled himself erect, using his spear for a crutch.

  "One people, one spirit," he said.

  Leo's eyes were misty when he touched the old man's sinewy fist. But he felt a great sense of pride. His people would never have needed to be disciplined in Helrish's manner! They were warriors born, with valor in spades. Then he saw his captain Gus, who had taken two arrows in the belly. He knelt, and the dying man hugged him and clapped him on the back.

  "They fought well, didn't they, Sir King?"

  "Yes. You should be resting."

  "That's bullshit."

  "Yes. Farewell, Gus."

  "Tell your wife Gus always loved her."

  "I will." And Gus died.

  The king walked on, pulling aside the flap of his tent and slumping down exhausted on his bedroll. It must have been some hours later that he was awakened by the arrival of his wife Gladys. Her face was drawn with fatigue, and great bags hung beneath her eyes. Though still in her twenties, she currently looked closer to forty.

  "You shouldn't have worked so late," Leo said.

  "I would have stayed later, but Colin made me go. I'm so weak, Leo. I was treating Lindy, and I collapsed. Her intestine... it was-"

  That she had fallen faint made him reel with alarm. "I saw. I should never have brought you here."

  "I had to come. I may not be a warrior, but I am a skilled healer. They needed me, and so do you."

  He did. Leo did not know what to say. "It should have ended today."

  They laid there in silence for a while, and Leo thought Gladys had fallen asleep. Then she whispered, "I'm pregnant."

  How? He had barely made love to her since joining with the Widalian army. But they could have gotten lucky. He knew he should have been shocked, excited, happy, but it seemed he had used up his supply of emotion for the day. "You found out today?"

  "Yes. I suspected for some time, but Colin confirmed it."

  "You mustn't work anymore. The stress is bad for your babe."

  "Yes, I know. Are you happy?"

  "I am glad Saul will have a little sibling. Now let us get some sleep."

  #

  The war ended without another battle. Gorfang's two sons killed each other in a drunken dispute, and the Vorhen army scattered. Though many small barbarian bands still roamed northern Widalia, the real war was over. It devastated Brianna that she had allowed so many of the Bronze Wolves to be killed, for a purpose that no longer existed. The army split up, most returning to their homes while a small portion remained to safeguard the retaken lands. Brianna joined one group of soldiers headed south, only to leave suddenly in the night.

  Helrish caught up to her on a road heading west the next morning. "Where are you going? The Vorhen are broken. Aren't you going to take your son back?"

  "No, I cannot. Mark would be four years old now—old enough to have a clear sense of his life. I won't subject him to the pain of being torn from the world he knows."

  "What a foolish, contradictory woman you are. He would recover; there is no reason for you to give up raising him."

  Brianna shook her head, tears running from her eyes. "I don't deserve him. I've hurt enough people needlessly already, and I do not need to hurt him. Besides, I would likely make a poor mother anyway."

  Helrish sighed. "This is about the men you executed, isn't it?"

  "In part, yes. That, and I have seen and caused too much bloodshed. This axe is my life now. I was too good a student of yours, Helrish."

  "No, you were a poor student, because you regret what you have become. Brianna, you are a superb warrior—what is the shame in that?"

  "I have lost my humanity."

  "You have lost nothing."

  "I am leaving. Do you intend to continue following me?"

  "No, we are done. Tell me, though—will you ever seek your son again?"

  Brianna considered the question for a good minute. "Someday, when he is a young man, I may come back and tell him of Brianna the Brave." She smiled wanly.

  "He will know of you before then."

  "Will you tell him?"

  "No. But he will hear your name in legends."

  "Well, he won't know that I am his mother. Besides, only fools believe in legends."

  Helrish's laughter boomed across the sky as he turned and walked away.

  #

  Helrish washed his sword in the stream, watching the blood briefly stain the waters pink. He could barely believe a group of bandits had tried to rob him. They had all died screaming. He heard a boot crunching into the grass now as someone tried to sneak up on him. Pathetic. His stalker was almost upon him when he flicked his sword up out of the water and over his shoulder, its tip coming to rest against their belly.

  He craned his neck to regard the visitor, and realized bemusedly that the sword was instead pointed at his chest. The person behind him was a young boy, perhaps ten or eleven years of age. "Run away, child, and I won't kill you."

  No fear showed in the boy's eyes, nor his calm voice. "I don't want to die, but neither will I run. I am your son, and I want you to teach me. Teach me how to fight, to gain fame, to lead—everything. I want to be a king, to rule an empire and command armies."

  "Interesting. But just how exactly do you
know I am your father?"

  "My mother told me. She said she was seeing no man but you when she got me."

  "And where is your mother now?"

  "Dead. She was killed by a fat nobleman while trying to steal his purse. I slit his throat while he slept that night."

  Helrish grinned. "Very well then, boy. I suspect you will make a better student than my last project."

  Chapter 4

  "Come on, doesn't that twig arm have any strength?" Clint taunted with a smile. His sword smashed down with all the power in his muscular arm, and nearly tore Ashley's blade away.

  Ashley fought back with a series of quick cuts at Clint's chest and sides, none of which found their way past the constable's parrying blade. Slick with sweat, his hilt felt dangerously close to sailing out of his grasp at each impact. "How do you make this look so easy?"

  Clint backed away across the dirt, allowing his sparring partner to push him to the edge of the training yard. But it was obvious he only feinted vulnerability. Suddenly Clint struck back furiously, and Ashley's blade went flying.

  "You're fast enough, but there's no power behind your swings. I mean, strength isn't everything, but you can't disregard its value just because you have a girlish name."

  Ashley looked down at his red hand and sighed. He was not a large man, and doubted he would ever be a match for Clint in close combat. But he thought he tried hard enough to live up to the Kanwick family's good name. "Damn, Clint. Why can't I ever seem to get better at this?"

  "Because you don't try hard enough. Do you think your half-hearted swordsmanship would save you against a real enemy? Don't be afraid of hurting me or me hurting you! The swords are blunt. If you get banged up a little, so what? Man up."

  Ashley's shoulders slumped at that. "I try the best I can. What are you talking about, half-hearted? I haven't noticed it. I mean, I'm exhausted after all our duels. I don't know how I'm supposed to try harder than that."

  His older brother shook his head, his voice softening. Like their father, Clint was built like a brick. "Not everybody's meant to be a swordsman. You're passable enough; I'm sure you'd beat an untrained man. Besides, you have strengths elsewhere, like in your studies."