by Billy Wong
And the prisoner finished, "We weren't!" That they were in too serious a mood to even realize she was joking only made Rose laugh harder. Then she felt a pain like her belly being torn open with hooks, hugged herself coughing and gasping for breath, and closed her eyes. Darkness embraced her.
Rose opened her eyes. She might have blacked out, but if so only for a fleeting moment, for Isaac had only begun to step forward to aid her. Meeting his eyes, she shook her head. Now that had hurt! It embarrassed her just to think of having nearly fainted as a result of a joke. She tried to talk again, to finish before she did pass out. Her words came out as a whisper no one else heard, which annoyed and scared her.
Clearing her throat, she repeated more loudly, "Did anything strange happen to you just before you became 'better?'" He didn't seem to hear, until she repeated her words a third time. "Priest," she suggested, "I think he needs some water. Actually, I do too." He went to get it, and she was relieved he heard her without requiring her to wave him closer. She didn't know if she could muster the strength to raise her arm, or take the pain it would bring.
The bandit finally answered her question with a tiny shrug. "We did what we always did. We hunted, drank, talked and play-fought with each other. Not much else for men living in the wilderness to do, besides robbing easy pickings anyway."
That last bit brought a frown to Rose's face, but she continued. "Did you have any unusual meetings with... people? Or find anything strange while hunting?"
He sat quietly for a while. Then, without looking up, he started talking. Rose could barely hear him. "How could I have forgotten?! When it happened, we were all very excited. One time, Brad—a buddy of mine—was tracking a boar when he stumbled upon a weird pit in the ground. It seemed as if the pit was a hole in the roof of a cavern beneath the earth, and when he looked in he saw there was all kinds of old stuff in there—statues, parchments, and tons of pots and jars.
"We thought we'd be rich, and maybe even give up banditry. There were tunnels leading to other places down there too, so we took as much as we could and thought to come back for more. When we got back to camp, we stopped to take a better look at the stuff. It was then we began to realize our true worth."
Rose wasn't sure she could trust her voice not to fail her. "It really sounds like you were cursed by something down there, though I have no clue what. Do you remember where this stuff is?" He didn't answer, and she waited for water.
#
He was dying, he knew. Impossibly, for all the power he should have had, he'd been beaten and left helpless twice, by a girl and then an old man. He should have been perfect, failure not even a remote possibility. If he had been better before, he would have conquered them. There was no doubt, but it wasn't his fault. Cruel fate robbed him of his destiny. The world was full of opportunities, and all of them could have been his...
He wondered if these were really his own thoughts, and if they were, how he could be so arrogant even in defeat and death. The girl did not see the blood pooling on his chair and dripping to the floor from his mortal wound. It was just as well. There was one last play to be made, and then he would not have to die, even though he would. He wondered at that last thought, then his fading mind was engulfed by a will as pure, powerful, and right now ephemeral as a raging tornado.
#
The man half-rose somehow, the chair still bound to him, and reached Rose's bedside in a few hops she might have found hilarious if not for his frightful look of abject terror and, at the same time, boundless determination. She wondered what he thought to do with his hands still bound, looking every bit as pale and fragile as she felt. He wasted no time answering her as he tried to flop onto her with a final hop. Her cot stood low, but he couldn't travel very far forward with a hop, and landed with his head directly on her stomach.
Unbelievable pain assailed her, but somehow she knew he wasn't trying to kill her. Not that he wouldn't anyway. He was tearing her apart! He twitched a bit while he exhaled raggedly at her midsection. What the hell was he doing?! His labored movements slowed and stopped. Rose seemed then to hear an utterly piteous scream like that of a dying child, not in her ears but in her mind. Even as she writhed in agony, she couldn't help feeling sadness over the death of... the bandit? Was that it? She couldn't decide before she passed out.
When Isaac returned with the water, he saw what had happened and pushed the corpse off Rose to check on her. As he touched her neck, she half opened her eyes. Her voice was a whisper as she said, "It was something like possession, I think. Maybe not exactly in the traditional sense—by a spirit, that is. It could have been a curse that addled his mind. I doubt we'll ever know. But he never knew it, he always thought he was in complete control—in more control than he had ever been. At the end, he tried to do something—not him exactly, more the curse or whatever it was—pass it onto me, somehow? He—it—failed, though. In my mind, I thought I heard its death."
Isaac gave her forehead a comforting kiss, though alarm was clear in his eyes. "Rest now, Rose. You've done well."
She smiled bashfully. "I didn't do anything. He couldn't reach... whatever he needed to. Come to think it of it, you never told me your name."
He replied with a smile of his own. "If you want to know it, survive! Now get some rest!"
Rose gave a light nod and with a little laugh said, "Yes, sir!" And she slept.
Chapter 2
"So what happened then?" asked one of the dozen young men gathered around the campfire listening to the giant warrior tell the tale. They were the first Archivists, explorers who would get everything of value they could out of ruins and then seal them to protect curious souls from their often magical dangers. Though it was still winter, the cool air should be ideal for potential heavy work. "Did Rose die?"
"No, of course she didn't die," the huge man who was one of the organization's co-founders replied. Finn kept his wide, beefy face serious as he continued, "She's the one who did all the work that got us here, about to investigate the first Old World ruin found near Bifford to date. You know, our boss."
Rose, sitting beside him, chuckled throatily. She had filled out even more in the years since meeting Isaac and become a veritable ox of a woman, stocky though voluptuous in build despite her six feet of height. Even so, she looked tiny next to Finn, a stubbly block of muscle and fat over half a foot taller and topped by thick, messy red-brown hair.
"You surprise me, Finn. You did more than enough work to take some credit. Besides, when was I ever your boss?"
He replied in a faux whisper, softer but still easily heard by all present. "I might have done a little, but you're the one who actually cares about this stuff. Me, all I want is old junk to prove to everyone I'm a great adventurer. Besides, you became my boss when you beat me in wrestling. Been your slave for two years since." He nudged her with an elbow. "Come on Rose, tell them the story. You've got to start with the proper impression this time."
Many of the men laughed, probably assuming it all jest. That changed as Rose and Finn took turns recounting their first meeting, when they'd both taken employment as trainers at a young nobles' training camp. He had given her no respect as a warrior and eventually challenged her to a wrestling match to put her in her place, only to shockingly be defeated. It embarrassed Finn to admit losing to anyone, much less a woman, but he wanted the men to regard her as highly as he did. He did, however, sneak in a mention that he had beaten her in a rematch later.
Of course, he'd also found out she was the Rose, famed for her freakish strength, skill, and most of all resilience. The Iron Flower, who had killed over a hundred men alone at the age of fifteen and survived wounds no one ever should have. Finn counted himself the strongest man in Kayland, but she was the most amazing person he'd ever met. He should've learned more about her before dismissing her the way he had at the camp, but then he'd never been known for treading carefully.
Rose took over, putting an arm around Finn's shoulders as she talked in that deep but feminine voice.
"We've had many travels together since then, and our partnership's made it possible for us to be here today, ready to undertake a task which will honor us all. By clearing out these newly discovered ruins, we will be able to protect future explorers from falling victim to whatever curses and traps were set up by their past inhabitants. They will not be the death of foolhardy adventurers as so many others have been. In the pursuit of lost knowledge, we'll also protect the ignorant from its dangers."
She winced noticeably as the burly Archivist named Jack rolled his eyes, and Finn gave him a withering stare. She and Finn had agreed on a clunky, long-winded orientation, but she seemed uncomfortable with the lines, and now cut it off before more snickering and eye-rolling could ensue. "Now if you don't mind, it's time for me to get some sleep. We want to be at our best tomorrow, don't we?" She stood and walked away, heading for her tent.
"Sleep is for the weak!" Finn yelled after her.
She looked back and laughed. "Twice the size of me and we can never decide who's stronger, though we know who can keep it up longer. Who is weak, Finn?"
Finn loved Rose like a brother—sister, he amended, even if they played, talked, and fought like men. Even so, he couldn't help feeling a bit ashamed at his inability to overpower her, when his unmatched strength had always been his pride.
The night after their last day teaching, after they split a full keg of Volcano, Finn had challenged the tipsy Rose to a rematch right there on the tavern floor. While wrestling her intoxicated might seem like an unfair advantage, he rationalized this by telling himself that since he had drank the same amount of spirits, it was an even contest—ignoring his great advantage in size and drinking experience.
Despite her alcohol-induced clumsiness, she had still proven nigh impossible to defeat—that is until Finn, again on the verge of exhaustion, tried a variant of the trick which had failed him before, this time attempting to roll her beneath him even as they fell together. He had been surprised to see his ploy succeed, and at the time felt a strong sense of accomplishment.
It was one of the few times he managed to overcome her in a contest of physical prowess, when most every other inevitably resulted in a prolonged stalemate which ended when Finn tired first and lost. But since then, he had begun to doubt the legitimacy of even this victory, for Rose had not even tried to counter his winning move. She was never one to give up, and had even laughed as he lay on top of her afterwards. He often considered asking her about this, but never could get around to doing so for fear of the answer.
Derrick Gale, a clean-shaven explorer and student of the prestigious College of Dunwal on assignment, piped up. He was the youngest of the men, not even twenty years of age, and bursting with energy. "Are you two… together? I see how much you like being with each other."
They weren’t "together," in the sense Derrick meant, but he wondered if he might be well on his way to falling for her. He loved being around her, but never thought of it in a romantic sense. He had always regarded her the way he would a favorite male drinking buddy—fun and exciting to be around, and always ready to cheer him up if he was feeling down. However, he had felt less pleasure at being with other women, ever since they'd met and become better and better friends.
As for the question, Finn took the easy way out. Getting louder with each word, he proclaimed, "Rose is the best friend and greatest warrior I've ever met. I'd fight an archmage of the Old World for her, hell, she would fight one again for me! I'd have her watching my back over any army you could find! She is the shield which protects me, the wall which shelters me, and I am her sword, that strikes down any who would threaten her!”
He had risen from his seat, and felt somehow uplifted by his overblown tirade. As he sat back down, he said in a dramatic tone, "So in answer to your question, yes. Of course we’re together." Laughter surrounded him then, but Derrick did not laugh. He looked closely at Finn, as if trying to find a hint of his true feelings. Finn hoped he didn't have his sights on Rose. What if he really was falling in love?
Another question interrupted his introspection, again from Derrick's crisp voice. "What happened to Jerome, anyway?"
Finn relaxed a bit, realizing the scholar was probably just a naturally inquisitive person. He tried to recall Jerome's fate, but didn't remember Rose ever telling him. "Rose," he yelled, sure she wasn't asleep yet, "what happened to Jerome?"
"He came back that night!" the weary reply came. "Apparently, he got chased into a cave by a bear and fell asleep while hiding inside. Now let me go to sleep!"
Noticing yet another question begin to form on Derrick's lips, Finn decided this was a good note on which to conclude. "See? That story has a moral to sleep on. And that's... um... always be careful." He strode away to his and Rose's faded tent, escaping the deluge of questions he didn't quite want to face.
#
The first week of exploring went well, as the Archivists searched the buried ruins from the top down. Granite-walled and angular, the structure seemed utilitarian in design. They gathered not only a variety of artifacts undoubtedly worth small fortunes, but a large pile of actual coins and jewelry in a room which must have served as a vault. They had not seen through their magic aura-seeing lens, which they called a "magesight," any magical energies in the things they found. So the first delivery to Lord Heron was painstakingly prepared by Derrick, who seemed the most knowledgeable of them all with regard to the arts.
Robert Heron was the careful lord who ruled the quaint country town of Bifford a few miles from the site, and had shown an interest in purchasing some of their findings. Selling a few non-magical relics wouldn't hurt, and they could always use some extra money, so they had come to an arrangement to deliver him a sample of what they uncovered each week.
They--well, Finn—had dubbed these ruins the "Archmage's Studio" as something of a joke stemming from the many artistic creations within the apparently peaceful place, which contrasted with the fears some entertained of it being full of deadly traps and hostile magics. But they had only ventured into a small portion of the ruins so far, and knew they would need to stay cautious and ready for anything. Right now, though, packing the wagon provided a good break from the tension of exploration, and Rose and Finn made the most of it.
Rose grunted as the crate she carried bumped against the top of the doorway she was trying to get through. A cumbersome load, but she wasn't about to ask for help now when she was almost outside. She bent her knees a bit, waddled uncomfortably through the portal, and straightened back up.
Finn whistled at her. "What are you doing? Nobody else is moving those boxes by themselves!"
She saw her easy rebuttal in his arms. "You are!"
The giant laughed loudly. "I'm different. Just look at me!"
Putting the crate in the wagon, Rose said, "Well, I'm different, too." Spotting one of the slimmer men seated looking completely exhausted, she asked, "Ron, where's that statue you and Frank were going to bring up?"
For a few seconds, Ron didn't answer. "We couldn't get it up the stairs, we're really tired from working all day. We didn't want to damage it by dragging it."
She let out an exasperated sigh. "Rest and drink some water. I'll take care of it."
As she walked back down the stairs, Finn shook his head, smiling. "Rose, you've got to learn to let people figure things out themselves. They'll never learn if you baby them all the time." But she recalled the fatigue on Ron's face, and went on her way.
Derrick stared incredulously as she put the life-sized stone statue, which must have weighed hundreds of pounds, on her sturdy shoulder and began upstairs. It seemed he could barely remember the question he was going to ask Finn. "Why are you working here, anyway? I wouldn't think you were an art lover," he finally managed to sputter.
Rose answered before the big man could say a word. "He's here to work together with me and for the money. But he isn't a bad guy, and doesn't mind helping people if there's something in it for him. I guess looking at pretty things is an added perk."<
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"Almost right, but the money comes first and you're second!" Finn bellowed in response. Derrick cringed as Rose, laughing, bumped the statue's head into a wall and a flake of stone hair fell to the ground. "I'd fire you for that, if you weren't the boss!" Finn joked as he dropped a vase into a thankfully padded crate.
As she set the statue down with a crash, Rose yelled back, "Nobody cares about a little bit of hair. If you were in charge, most of us would be drunk by now!"
Rose and Finn continued to play, and Derrick ran to help them any chance he could get, trying to mitigate whatever damage they might cause. "Can't you guys be more careful?" he finally asked. "Some of these things aren't hard to break."
Finn brushed his concerns aside. "Don't worry so much. We know what we're doing." But Rose began to take greater care with her work, and he soon did the same.
Once the wagon grew full, everyone waved goodbye to the three men leaving for the Heron estate: Ron, a skilled driver and used to dealing with wagon attacks; Jack, the best fighter in the group behind Rose and Finn themselves; and Derrick, designated spokesman by virtue of his artistic knowledge and higher-class upbringing. The weather was good, and the roads peaceful in recent months, and everyone expected the three to be back working hard by tomorrow morning. After all, it wasn't more than an hour trip—what could go wrong?
#
Adam awakened early, the sun having just begun to rise. He groaned and swung himself out of bed with a loud yawn. His uncle Lord Robert Heron, who had inherited his father's estate upon his death, expected him to accompany him on another boring parade through town.
Supposedly, the purpose of these parades was to inspire the peasants by demonstrating the power and prestige of their rulers. Adam thought all they did was give people another reason to mock the "pompous posturing" of his family, a term he had overheard more than once. Still, he didn't want to have his fencing instruction put on hold (a favorite punishment of his uncle's) so he began to dress with a sigh.