The Hunt for the Three Roses

by Jason Hubbard

  She could not be allowed to live, not when so much was on the line.

  Kane issued a challenge to her from the base of the hill. The Lonsarans laughed at him, but Calista silenced them with a word and started on her way down. Kane readied his staff, the citrine giving off a rhythmic glow. He was confident in his abilities, having studied and practiced his whole life … but he had never seen Calista in action, and if the eviscerated bodies in the valley were of any indication, she was a nigh unstoppable force.

  She brought out her daggers as she grew close, their blades designed almost like sickles. Her armor creaked and squealed like a nest of mice in suspended agony, and her smirking face was dotted with flecks of fresh blood.

  The two warriors faced each other without a word, for there was nothing they could say that could shake the other’s resolve. They were both proud citizens of their respective nations, and they would do anything to protect their people in this hellish conflict.

  Kane dealt the first blow, sending a powerful hex that would melt her armor away and slice her skin into ribbons. But Calista met it with her blades, which absorbed it like water to a sponge. He was taken aback because that hex should have been able to overcome even the strongest of magic-resilient weapons. Clearly, he needed to rethink what he was capable of.

  Kane continued to hurl hexes even as Calista grew closer, catching each spell with her blades. She moved her limbs like a dancer, her frightful armor not hindering her in the least, her black lips peeled back in a snarl. In no time, she got so close that a staff alone would prove insufficient, so Kane reluctantly drew his sword. He was not as good with a blade as he’d like to be, though he did put in long hours of training. Hopefully they would be enough to help him survive this day.

  He swung at her head, not expecting to hit but to test her limits. His blade was longer than either of hers, so he prayed his advantage in distance would secure an easy win. His prayer was in vain as Calista proved strong enough to parry his blows and keep him on the defensive. As he continually stepped back, he knew he was losing, so he looked around for anything he could use to his advantage. An old tree for example could be turned into a living weapon if he had a little time to perform the spell for it.

  But before he could do anything, Calista parried his sword with both daggers strongly enough to make him lose his grip, and she delivered a roundhouse kick to his belly, sending him to the ground.

  Even as his head hit the dirt, he refused to believe it was over. No, it simply couldn’t end like this, not now, not when he was so close! But the kick had knocked the wind out of him, making him feel sluggish and weak. He needed to keep moving, but it was a struggle just to breathe.

  Calista stared at him only a few paces away, flipping one blade into the air as she sheathed the other. For a moment she appeared smug and victorious, but she then bared her teeth like an angry dog and leapt into the air, holding her one bare dagger downward so it could sink into his heart and end his short life.

  Kane jerked awake and instinctively clutched his sleeping bag. He then sighed in relief as he realized it had just been a dream.

  It seemed so real, though, making him almost believe he really was some incredible sorcerer who could fill his enemies with dread. For a long, surreal moment within dreamland, he was fearless and full of swagger. But in reality, he was just a mage who, at nineteen years old, could only scratch the surface of magic’s potential. A more experienced mage or swordsman could probably best him easily.

  And Lady Calista (or “Callie,” as most people called her) was not his enemy, nor even a Lonsaran. She was a … well, “friend” was too strong a word for her, and “ally” also didn’t sound right. She was a “close acquaintance” because he knew plenty of things about her, yet they kept a standoffish relationship.

  He wasn’t surprised that she was his enemy in the dream, though, for in reality she had once kidnapped him and held him for ransom, then kidnapped him again in a plot to gain information. As close as they were, he had never quite forgiven her for that, and he believed there would always be a level of distrust between them.

  The only thing the dream got right was that he was a soldier in the middle of a war. His homeland of Consaria was in a bitter conflict with its neighbor, Lonsaran, ending an amicable relationship that lasted over a hundred years, pulling hundreds of thousands of citizens into a fight that few actually wanted. Kane and Callie had been conscripted into the army while trying to flee Consaria’s capital, and Kane had ended up in a fierce battle to liberate a fort where he had almost perished.

  He supposed his dream had initially meant to assuage his fears, starting out as a power fantasy where he was an untouchable warrior. Lord knew he desired any measure of comfort after he had nearly been skewered by an enemy swordsman. But then his fears took over the dream, painting Callie as a worthy foe who could overcome him and succeed where the real swordsman could not.

  It’s been over a week since that terrible day, and the army was on the move again after leaving a few hundred men at Fort Lauer. Kane hadn’t fully recovered, for he got tired quickly and he felt as if ants were crawling over his skin (a side effect of drinking too many potions at once). He often had to summon every gram of willpower he had just to keep up with the others, and when it came time to rest he would do so like the dead.

  Lately he was afraid that every chance to sleep would be his last, that he would close his eyes and never be able to open them again. He had completely spent himself on the day before the fort’s liberation, and he suspected it had damaged him in unseen ways.

  He had felt as much tonight as he tucked himself into his sleeping bag, but in an odd way, the dream had assured him that his time was not up yet. If he had the power to dream, then he had the energy to keep going, even if he had to rub the soles of his feet raw. And so he tightened the bag around himself to keep out the slight chill of the night, and not even the hammering of the smithies could keep him awake for long.

  That morning, a fair distance from the sounds of weapons-training and horse patrol, the Mage Corps ate a simple breakfast of nuts and berries while studying by a rocky slope. Each mage was to read with a partner then discuss what they had read and practice spells if it was safe to do so. At least, that was what they were supposed to do, but most mages took this time to gossip, play memory games, and cast cruel magic tricks on ants and beetles.

  Kane was partnered with a man named Arnold. He was a few years older than Kane, but he too was very shy and showed a streak of bitterness over being conscripted. Before Arnold, Kane had a partner named Patrick, whom he missed dearly. Patrick had been so mischievous and full of life; just talking with him took Kane’s depression away for a time, and he had hoped to continue their friendship after the war.

  As for Arnold, Kane had thought at first that he was a good man, but after hearing Arnold talk about the best ways to kill their enemies, he was no longer sure. They had just read how ice and fire spells could work together to efficiently obliterate entire squadrons, and Arnold sounded as if he couldn’t wait to try them out. The man seemed to have little reserve in killing others as long as they were enemies, and while Kane supposed one must be like that in times of war, it still made him uneasy to be around his new partner.

  They had hit a lull in their conversation when Arnold asked, “Have you heard about the Church?”

  Kane blinked at him and shook his head.

  “I heard the Pope is working on an armistice. He might even go to St. Mannington to meet the King.”

  Kane managed to work up a smile. “That’s great. Maybe he can get King Hugo to call us off.”

  “But why would he do that? It was the Lonsarans who invaded, not us. You wouldn’t mind if they claimed the lands they took from us?”

  “Yes, I would mind, but it was King Hugo who rallied his army and began conscription before the Lonsarans invaded. That might be why the Pope wants to talk to him bef
ore King Paulson. Who did you hear this from?”

  “Some guys from training yesterday. You know, I was a trader before the war, but maybe I’ll be a fulltime mage after this. Maybe join a militia.”

  Kane merely nodded while secretly hoping it wasn’t just a false rumor born from a need for hope. It sounded plausible, though, for the Church had a long history of working to stop wars before they got out of hand. Of course, some wars the Church had actually encouraged, but …

  He snapped out of his reverie when he noticed something. He had been glancing at the group of tents reserved for the Mage Corps when a man rode in on a painted stallion. There was something instantly familiar about the man, from how his hair was almost completely white and how he wore suspenders under his traveling coat. The beard was much shorter than he remembered, but even from a distance there was no doubt … the newcomer was Master Cypher.

  Kane had once been his apprentice, and he had been proud to take lessons from the former king’s advisor. But Cypher had proven to be a stern man who wished his days of teaching apprentices were over. Worse yet, he had been there along with Kane when Callie tried to assassinate King Hugo, and he had nearly slain Kane with the same spell he used to attack Callie.

  After Cypher disappeared into a commander’s tent, Kane wondered if he was here for the war effort. He may not be as powerful as he was within the walls of his tower, but Master Cypher was a highly skilled and experienced sorcerer nonetheless. If the army had a few more men like him, the kingdom’s victory might be assured.

  But then Kane remembered the secret mission King Hugo had tasked Cypher with: The sorcerer was to find and confiscate something called the “Three Roses,” and it was a mission so important and confidential that the King had left his castle to tell him about it in person rather than send a carrier pigeon.

  He must be here for one of the Three Roses. Which means …

  Kane stood up from his patch of grass and put up the hood of his robe despite the rising August heat. “Say, Arnold, why don’t we study somewhere else?”

  “What’s wrong with this place? It’s shady.”

  “Looks like there’s some shade further up the slope. Let’s go there.”

  Arnold gave him a suspicious eye but obediently stood up to follow his partner. “You don’t like the look of someone’s face around here?”

  Kane shook his head despite the suggestion not being far from the truth. He had to stay as far from Master Cypher as he could, because if his former tutor knew he was here, then whatever good name he had made for himself in the army would be quickly upended.

  After all, he was not only a soldier … he was a fugitive from the King’s justice.

  Two

  There was a time when Callie could hold her own against most any man in a swordfight.

  But these days, her battles involved removing tough stains from linen tunics.

  There was a time when she could while the hours away with friends jumping from one building to the next and running across their rooftops.

  But now she usually whiled the hours away scrubbing other people’s clothes against a washboard.

  There was a time when she could break into dwellings and coffers by using some simple tools to pick locks.

  But now her deft fingers were usually good only for sewing torn garments.

  She had been the proud member of a clan of thieves who had raised her from a young age. She could pick pockets and hold a blade with the best of them, and her youth in St. Mannington had been filled with so many fun and exhilarating adventures.

  But those days felt like years ago, as she’s been doing little else but wash laundry and mend fabric. The more menial chores she did, the more she felt her rogue skills erode away within her, and she died a little upon realizing that she might not be her old self again for a long time—not as long as she was stuck in this blasted army camp.

  If her old clan leader could see her now, he might think it was poetic justice. She was turning into something he had taught her to never be: an obedient little maid who let the men around her do all the fighting. A fitting end, he’d say, for someone who had failed him and gotten kicked out of the clan.

  At present, she was washing a large pile of trousers that were littered with dirt and shit stains. The sight of some of these stains made her gag, and she wondered if the soldiers out there were intentionally rolling around in mud and letting their sphincters loose just to give her a hard time.

  She sighed and threw her millionth pair of trousers on the “clean” pile which another maid will pick up and hang on laundry lines. Of course, “clean” was a relative term since Callie put in limited effort in scrubbing out stains. It was something Headmistress Shawna had nagged her about, but Callie hardly gave a damn anymore. The new headmistress could take away food rations from her all she wanted; Callie was not going to act as if she was washing children’s Sunday school clothing.

  The water in the tub had gotten too filthy for her liking, so she asked a soldier to escort her from the maids’ camp to the Bonsar River, where they would fill two pails each for fresh water. She was thankful for the river, for it provided plenty of water for drinking and washing—a commodity she and the army often had to go without while on the march. Unfortunately, the river also spelled troubled times ahead since the army meant to travel upstream to an enemy host which was trying to build a dam. It seemed that every convenience the army gained came with a setback.

  Shortly after she returned and refilled the tub, Jonas came over with a willow basket. He was obviously not a woman, yet he served in the maids’ camp because he was too incompetent to be a soldier. “Hello, Callie,” he said with a wave of his hand.

  She put on a strained smile just to be polite while hoping it didn’t appear too inviting. “Hi, Jonas. Hot day, isn’t it?”

  Jonas laughed in that nearly hysterical way of his. “Every day is hot, but I think fall will come soon.”

  She nodded, surprised that such a relatively intelligent observation came from the likes of him. “August should be almost over. I’m pulling for the fighting to be over by winter, or else we might die in the freezing cold.” At Jonas’ slackjawed expression, she added, “Sorry, forget I said anything.”

  She was afraid he might break down crying, because the poor man couldn’t handle thinking about such heavy topics as death and taxes. But he instead covered his ears and frowned. “Why are they so loud over there?”

  Callie shrugged and glanced at the blacksmith’s station several dozen meters away. “Remember the fort we were at? The smithies got their mitts on a lot of raw iron there, so now they’re making new weapons and armor.”

  “But why are they behind curtains?”

  “Hmm … that is strange. They didn’t need those curtains before, now did they? Why don’t you go ask them?”

  “I tried, but I got yelled at by some mean people. They said I shouldn’t ask questions.”

  “Well, that’s bullshit. You should ask as many questions as you damn well want. But if no one wants to tell you what the curtains are for, then there’s nothing for it.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.” Jonas filled his basket with wet clothes in silence then gave her a heartfelt, childlike farewell as he left. Callie shook her head and couldn’t help but smile. He could annoy her at times, but she couldn’t really fault him for his awkward demeanor. He was simpleminded and needed nearly constant supervision, but he couldn’t help being that way.

  And because he was simple, he was the only one in the maids’ camp who would now talk to her. Over a week ago, on the day before Fort Lauer was liberated, Rainer had come to get revenge on her for failing to assassinate King Hugo. The rotten bastard had ended up killing four people, including their old headmistress, Hana. Callie had cornered him, and despite her lessened sword skills she had killed him (at least, she was fairly sure he was dead). But the fact that she was the re
ason Rainer came in the first place caused everyone to distrust her. Clearly she had a troubled history, and her fellow maids wondered when another ruthless killer would come for her. She tried to assure them there was no one else who wanted her, but they weren’t convinced.

  As Callie glanced at Jonas’ back, she was reminded of the tattoo on his upper arm. It was a beautiful rendition of a rose, complete with a thorny stem and an impressive amount of shading. She thought little of it, but Kane was positive that it indicated Jonas was one of the Three Roses King Hugo was looking for. She thought him mad, for she couldn’t see why the King would want a simpleminded man like Jonas. What use would Hugo have for him? And if Jonas was actually one of the Roses, did that mean the other two were just like him?

  Hell, she didn’t want to think about the Three Roses anymore; doing so made her feel ashamed. When she first learned about them, she attempted to find out what they were exactly so she could get them before Hugo did. That would teach him for starting a war under false pretenses! But her search had implicated Kane whom she had held captive, and Hugo had been so angry that he sentenced Kane to death for leaking confidential information. Now thanks to her, Kane undeservedly had a price on his head. If only she hadn’t been so overzealous, then perhaps Kane would be back home on his father’s estate and she would continue to run free and wild in the streets of St. Mannington. They would both be safe and happy, all things considered.