by R A Lewis
Roguelyn and Will spent their free nights in the Twin Axe Tavern, drinking and listening to music. One night they were sitting at the bar, enjoying a pint of ale when Roguelyn was shoved forward, her ale spilling onto the counter before her. She sat for a moment, surprised and annoyed, shaking the spilled beer from her hands. When she turned around, her eyes alighted on a familiar, dark figure. Cole stood behind her, his hands on the collar of some other man, a dangerous look on his face. Roguelyn kept her mouth shut and watched, reaching over to place a hand on Will’s arm, stopping him from confronting the man, outraged. They watched together as Cole shoved the man back, this time pushing him into Will.
“I told you not to come in here again,” Cole’s voice was low and deep, and sent that same thrill of fear up Roguelyn’s spine.
“I’m sorry, Cole. I didn’t think you’d be here tonight.” The man stumbled over his words as he backed towards the door, Cole stalking after him. “She’s not your girl anyways. Sireen’s her own person.” Cole’s eyes blazed with a dark flame, and Roguelyn surveyed the tavern, searching for the woman they spoke about. In the corner stood a pretty barmaid, her eyes wide and fearful, two beers clutched in her hands.
“She’s my girl if I say she’s my girl.” Cole stalked forward until he had the man pinned against the front door. “Now, get, out,” he emphasized each word carefully, as if speaking to someone who wouldn’t understand him. The other man scrambled to open the door and practically fell out into the night. Cole turned, eyeing the crowd. “Anyone else have a problem with me?” Even the barman stayed quiet behind the bar. Roguelyn kept her mouth shut as Cole went back to his table.
“What the hell is his problem?” Will muttered once the tavern talk and music had started up again.
“Not sure.” Roguelyn sipped her remaining ale as the barman mopped up her spill. She thanked him with an extra coin from her dwindling purse and turned to observe the room. She watched Cole out of the corner of her eye as she and Will resumed listening to the music and watching the soldiers dance with the few townswomen in the room.
Cole was alone at a table in the corner, drinking his ale. He tilted it back, draining the cup of its last dregs and then called for another. The pretty barmaid stiffened when he called, and Roguelyn saw her visibly swallow. Then she dutifully went to fill a fresh mug and bring it to him. Roguelyn watched closely as the woman approached Cole’s table. She set it down and took his empty one, turning to leave but he grabbed her wrist, stopping her. Roguelyn made brief eye contact with the woman, a scared doe trapped by a hunter. Cole pulled her down onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist, one hand roving up her leg. It made Roguelyn’s blood boil to watch as he violated her space. He whispered in her ear and she let out a forced laugh, heat rising in her cheeks, eyes still terrified.
Roguelyn knew she had to do something so she drained her own glass, calling for another and making eye contact with the woman. She raised her empty mug to show she was finished and the woman gave her a grateful look as she pulled away from Cole, excusing herself to go serve other customers. Roguelyn wondered if she’d regret her interference as Cole’s eyes followed her as she approached the barmaid.
“I’d like another ale, for me and my friend.” She placed coins in the woman’s hand. “And I’m sorry for the way he’s treating you. Can I help at all?” Sireen blushed and shook her head.
“No sir. I am fine. He’s just a bit rough handed is all,” Roguelyn doubted that was all he was but she smiled and nodded, allowing the woman to serve her two more ales, passing one to Will. Will raised an eyebrow at her quizzically, wondering at her insistence to be served by the barmaid and not the barman. Roguelyn leaned over and whispered to him.
“That guy Cole was being inappropriate with her.” Will nodded. She wasn’t sure he truly understood. Will was fun, and adventurous, and brave, but he was a bit naive to the world. She had learned early on, when she’d first sprouted into womanhood, about the way men treat women. At all her mother’s fancy parties there was at least one creepy old man who complimented her on her blossoming bosom, or a young man who tried to sneak a kiss or a fondle without her permission.
“Maybe he was just being friendly!” Will said, eyeing Cole in the corner, that same look of admiration on his face. Roguelyn rolled her eyes and turned back to her ale. There was no point explaining it to him. Will had spent every spare minute at the practice yards watching Cole spar, and most evenings he wouldn’t shut up about the man. Cole could do no wrong in Will’s book and Roguelyn had no hope of swaying him.
“Yea. Maybe.” Roguelyn finished off her second ale in a few big gulps, suddenly tired of the bar and the noise. “I’m going to bed.” As she left, she turned to see Will making his way across the room to Cole.
Roguelyn made her way back into camp, aiming for the privy before bed, the last gulps of ale getting to her head. She felt dizzy and exhausted and all she wanted to do was go to sleep. As she finished up in the outhouse, she left, pushing the door wide and looking forward towards the barracks across the yard, thinking only about falling into her bed and sleeping. She didn’t see the blow coming.
It hit the side of her head, making her ears ring. Roguelyn staggered, confusion and nausea rolling through her. She looked around and caught sight of multiple people coming towards her. She tried to run away but stumbled, the blow having made her off kilter and stunned. Two people grabbed her arms, pulling them back behind her and pinning her. She looked up dazedly to see Connoll before her. He grinned at her.
“Looks like you aren’t such a good fighter without a sword in your hands.” Roguelyn smiled lazily back.
“Looks like you aren’t such a good fighter either way. You need thugs to help you do your dirty work.” Connoll’s face twisted at her comment and Roguelyn immediately wished she hadn’t said it, the ale making her tongue looser than usual. He balled up his fist and came towards her, and she tried to relax, to let the impending punch bounce off her.
“Let’s see how snarky you are once you’ve hurled up your guts.” Connoll punched her hard in the stomach, and Roguelyn fell back on years of training, letting herself crumple to the ground, pulling free of her captors. She rolled over on her side and vomited onto the muddy earth, the ale and her partly digested dinner mixing with the dirt and water. Connoll stepped forward, lifting his leg back to kick her but Roguelyn took that moment to get her feet under her. She sprung as he kicked, knocking him off balance and tackling him to the ground. She punched him in the nose, hearing a crack as she hit before his two friends hauled her off him. Connoll struggled to his feet, wiping the blood that was pouring from his nose away on his sleeve. He eyed her as she struggled. “You’ll pay for that cheap shot.”
He left her bruised and bleeding in the mud. He had beaten her with the help of his friends, breaking her nose and knocking lose some teeth. Roguelyn lay there, staring up into the night sky, letting the pain of her injuries infuse her. She was mad, yes, but tracking Connoll down and hurting him would only make matters worse. She pulled herself up and dragged herself into her barracks, collapsing on her bed just inside the door and falling asleep instantly.
The next day on the practice field Rennick took one look at her face and pulled her aside. He instructed the others to begin sparring and then he came to stand next to her. Roguelyn’s face was black and blue, her nose broken but straight as she’d had Will straighten it out for her that morning. Her stomach ached and she had bruises on parts of her body she’d not even glimpsed yet. Rennick eyed her, a mixture of admiration and pity on his face. He scratched his two-day old stubble while watching the others spar.
“So, I see you got one of Connoll’s famous beatings.” Roguelyn stayed quiet. “How many did it take to hold you down? Two? Three?” He chuckled. “Looks like you got at least one good shot off before he beat you down.” Rennick nodded to where Connoll sparred, his eyes black as could be and his nose swollen. Connoll looked angry and the poor guy he fought with looked scared. �
�Don’t worry Rogue. He’s just a bully. I admire the way you handled him. Just keep in mind, not all bullies are that obvious, that violent. Others will gaslight you, undermine you, make you feel less than.” Roguelyn nodded. She’d experienced that kind as a child. They taunted and teased, making her feel worthless. “Some bullies are harder to fight, but know that there is always a way, and it is always worth fighting.” He looked sideways at her then. Then he nodded to the training field. “Go join Will and his partner.” She saluted him and ran to join Will.
Her injuries took over a week to heal but when they had faded to just slightly yellow bruises, she had managed to avoid all further confrontation with Connoll. Cole was another matter, and she continued to watch him harass and abuse the barmaid at the Twin Axe Tavern. She tried her best to save the woman when she could, but Cole was beginning to catch on.
One night he approached her after she’d successfully pulled the barmaid away, pressing her back into the bar, his chest touching hers as he stared down into her eyes. His were dark and full of menace.
“What did I say about leaving Sireen alone?” His voice was low and rough. She breathed in sharply at his closeness and saw his eyes widen a fraction. She firmly but gently pushed him back, making him step away from her.
“I will leave her alone when you do, Cole.” Then she turned on her heel and left, not giving him the chance to intimidate or bully her into submission.
Chapter 3
Two days later Roguelyn was awoken by the pounding of drums and the shouts of men around the camp. As she sat up in bed, her heart already pounding with adrenaline, a corporal ran into the barrack and yelled.
“Get up! Get up! The enemy has crossed the border two miles from here. To arms!” Roguelyn leapt from her bed and pulled on her boots, lacing them quickly and tightly. She grabbed her thick, blue leather tunic, the most protection they got from enemy swords, and ran outside with the others, lacing it across her chest as she went. They all lined up, waiting to receive their assigned weapon. Roguelyn was handed a short sword, a dagger on a leather belt, and a small wooden shield. She was part of the forward guard, the group sent in first, and she knew that she was as good as a bag of meat for enemy swords. She looked down at her weapons, doubt and fear beginning to worm into her mind. Somehow, she would have to survive this fight. She strapped on her weapons and began to walk through the rain that had begun to fall.
“Rogue!” Will’s voice rang out, and she paused, her feet sinking in the mud, rain pouring down around her, looking for him. There he was, his red hair plastered to his forehead. He motioned for her to follow him and together then ran with their company up the mountain path into the woods.
It was dark, and confusing, Roguelyn felt overwhelmed almost immediately, but she bit her lip until she tasted blood, and focused on not slipping in the mud and the dark. Will reached out and put a hand under her arm. Despite her athletic build, she was struggling to push her way up the hill. Around her, cadets were stumbling and falling, slogging through the ankle-deep mud, the heavy rain creating small streams of water pouring down the hill.
As they reached the top of the hill, the woods opened up below them, revealing a company of enemy soldiers ranged along the opposite hill. Their torches could be seen in the dark, their numbers unknown. Roguelyn and her company slipped and slid their way down, lining up in slightly uneven ranks along the small valley floor. She took a moment to look around her, noting the scared looks on the men’s faces on either side of her. They were all just as green as she, and just as terrified that they might die. Will looked over at her, their eyes meeting, and she saw the mixture of excitement and fear there, where she only felt terror.
Her commander shouted a call to charge, and Roguelyn and her fellow fighters began marching forward, swords raised before them. Roguelyn wasn’t the first to hit the advancing wall of warriors, but she was close, a few men before her breaking, falling, or splitting off to fight opponents. She gripped her sword tightly in her hands, sweat and rain mingling on her brow, and looked around for the enemy, her heart racing.
A man came out of the near darkness, his tunic yellow while hers was blue. She swung her sword, hoping to surprise him, and succeeded, her blade cutting into his flesh just below his ribs. He screamed, and her stomach churned as he fell to one knee. She jerked back, freeing her sword and stepping back. The man clutched his side, but swung out with his blade aiming for her head. She brought her sword up and blocked it, pushing it away, her hand slipping on the handle, she shoved it aside, and almost fell over in the slippery mud. The man fell over, still clutching his side, his sword thrown from his reach. Roguelyn stared down at him, wondering if she had to kill him; the wound she’d given him was fatal if left untreated, but he might still pose a threat and could attack her from behind if she left him. He lay in the mud, tears streaming down his face, and as he looked up at her she saw that he was not much older than she was, maybe 19 or 20. Her stomach flipped again, and she was thankful her last meal had been hours and hours ago. She left him lying in the mud, unable to finish the job.
Looking around herself she saw knots of fighters everywhere, and her heart raced at the thought of encountering a second enemy soldier. But as she stood, debating what to do, another yellow tunic came out of the dark towards her, swinging a spiked ball at the end of a chain. She had never fought a morning star before, but she had seen them used in training a few times. She dodged to the right as he came on, diving into the mud, splashing it up around herself and covering her tunic. He had lunged at the last second, and his star clipped the edge of her tunic, tearing a hole. Roguelyn looked down, her hair now plastered to her scalp with mud, and watched as if in slow motion as the man swung the star down at her. At the last second, almost too late, she rolled to her left, out of the path of the star as it slammed into the mud with such force that it shook the ground around her. Up she leapt, her sword slippery in her grasp. She took advantage of his momentary distraction and swung at his legs, catching him behind the knees with her sword. Down he went, screaming as she sliced through his hamstrings. He lay on the ground writhing in pain, his morning star all but forgotten beside him. Roguelyn stood in shock over him, his screams echoing in her ears, her mouth hanging open in horror. She might be tough, but something about injuring a man this terribly caused her whole body to shake.
She bent over and wretched, nothing but bile and water coming up and splashing into the mud beside her. The rain was coming down heavier than ever now, and as she straightened up, wiping her hand across her mouth and smearing her face with mud, she suddenly noticed the noise of battle around her had dampened. All she heard was the rain as another man in yellow came at her, and then another. Roguelyn fought them until she’d lost count. She didn’t feel anything, she didn’t know how long she fought but finally, no more enemy soldiers ran at her and she stopped moving, letting her sword tip fall.
The rain was loud in her ears, but as she glanced around, she realized that there were plenty of yellow clad men on the ground, some in blue, and the men of her own army were standing around her, a few still locked in battle, but the majority standing over dead or crippled opponents. Roguelyn stood there, her knees beginning to shake, and surveyed the scene around her as the sun began to rise, the darkness around her turning from a deep purple to a light grey. She stayed like that, even as the men around her cheered at their victory, even as the man next to her begged for mercy, even as the others around her bled out. She stood, her sword hanging limply in her hand, the horror rising in her mind until all she saw was red.
It wasn’t until someone grabbed her shoulders and she heard her name being shouted that she finally came back to herself. Will’s face swam out of the red haze. He clutched at her shoulders, shaking her, yelling “Rogue? Rogue?”
Her eyes finally focused and she coughed, moving her limbs for the first time in what felt like hours. She was sore all over, every inch of her in fiery pain.
“Are you okay?” Will asked, his long fa
ce smeared with brown mud, his hair dull under it’s coating of dirt and grime. She looked around her, seeing the carnage, and again felt her stomach roil.
“I’ll be okay,” she whispered, forcing her legs to move. Will put his arm around her, and walked her off the battlefield. She didn’t remember the walk back to the camp, but she would forever remember the blood mixed with mud that sloshed around her legs, staining her pants a reddish brown. She collapsed on her bed in the barracks, Will removing her boots and socks, tucking her in despite being covered in mud. She instantly fell asleep, and had a dreamless sleep of pure exhaustion.
Chapter 4
Roguelyn awoke late in the night, her entire body in pain, her muscles and bones stiff and sore; she desperately needed a drink of water. Her clothing was caked with unwashed blood and mud and as she began to move it cracked. She swung her legs over the side of her cot; around her there were sleeping bodies, but Will’s bed was empty. Her heart jumped, had he been injured in the fight and she hadn’t noticed? Or was he simply out late celebrating? She decided she’d go find him after filling her canteen. She pulled on her boots and found they were also caked in mud. She’d need a bath soon, and tonight might be the perfect time, with everyone distracted and exhausted, but first, water.
The camp was quiet. It had stopped raining, but the sounds of celebration from the town could be heard in camp. Roguelyn filled her canteen at the water station and took a long swallow, her parched mouth grateful for the hydration. She felt better; her body seeming to fill up with the water, making her feel less fragile, more solid. She wandered towards town, taking occasional sips of water, following the sounds of singing, expecting that Will would be there celebrating. As she approached the town she could hear the sounds of merry making, the soldiers who had the energy to celebrate dancing and drinking with the townsfolk.
