by Billy Wong
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Immediately, she saw that her allies had suffered devastating losses. Nearly a fifth of the men were dead, and many more wounded. But there were more dead Coblan soldiers, and Rose couldn't help but feel proud of her largely inexperienced comrades. Derrick ran to her, and she saw he had suffered several superficial wounds, including a cut on the face which might leave a small scar. That hardly seemed to worry him now, as he threw himself into her aching arms. She noticed General Lipner standing nearby, arms crossed as he watched in silence.
"Rose!" Derrick cried. "You were magnificent!"
"You were watching me?" she asked, cocking her head.
He quickly assured her his attention hadn't drifted away from his own situation, as she always warned against. "Of course not, I was too busy keeping myself alive. But I heard what happened. You killed so many of their best, and kept Prince Wilner busy at the end. It would've been much worse without you. We might not have made it."
Rose shrugged casually, but anger tinted her voice. "Did I do that much? I lost count of my kills pretty early. I just wish that coward would've stayed, and met his fate at the end of my blade."
"You don't usually sound so angry when you fight. What's wrong?"
She patted his shoulder. "Don't worry about me, I'm always like this in big battles. You've just never seen me in this kind of fight before. The sight of allies being killed makes my blood boil, and I find myself fighting furiously to stop as much of it as I can, by removing as many of the enemy as I can."
He looked admiringly at her. "You certainly did enough of that. A lot of them scurried like mice at the sight of you!"
"I'm glad to see they know fear after all." She paused. "I wouldn't want to kill any more than I have to—that's why I go straight for their leaders. Their deaths usually put a good dent in their men's will to fight."
Tom joined them, smiling too happily. How could he still look so enthusiastic? "Even in her anger, still compassionate towards her enemy. Truly a warrior worthy of legend."
She stared at him, pure ice in her eyes. "How can you still think of pride in such a grim hour? How many of your friends lie dead, while you ponder your useless glory?"
"I don't want your glory. I could never fight that well. But your story could truly become a great legend, to inspire the hearts of future generations."
Rose sighed. "If others want to make me a legend, so be it. I only want to save as many of these soldiers, sent to fight a foe they were woefully underprepared for, as I can."
Derrick took her forearm and tried gently to pull her along. Momentarily confused, she resisted. "Come on, Rose, right now you should think of saving yourself. You're hurt, and there's no reason to stand around bleeding any longer than you have to. Let's get those wounds looked at, okay?"
Reluctantly, she followed him. She felt too agitated to sit still, and had a strange urge to say something to the circle of men watching them—well, her. She finally gave in and said under her breath, but loud enough to be heard, "Next time I meet Prince Wilner, I'll end that monster's violence forever." She was quite surprised and disturbed then, to realize how good the words made her feel.
Chapter 7
Rose lay exhausted in her tent, the effects of her wounds and endless physical exertion finally registering now that the fight was over. She closed her eyes and wished for sleep, but despite her weariness remained wakeful and brooded over the day's events. Though she did not enjoy killing, she couldn't help but be impressed at herself.
She thought, at least, that she had saved more of her allies than she had killed of her enemies. Many of the ones she'd killed would have wreaked great havoc among Kayland's soldiers if given the chance. She annoyed herself by thinking of Tom's notion of her legend; what she had done would sound good in a poem. The bards wouldn't even have to embellish much to make it fit in with their usual tall tales. Then she grew guilty, to be proud of deeds which brought such sorrow.
She realized for many of the champions she had killed today—who were no brazen brigands or heartless monsters but rather, great warriors and often leaders of their people—she also wounded their families, their communities, even their nations. Now, the way her heart had swelled with pride at her allies' cheers made her feel wretched.
Rose banished her guilt with a shake of her head. Whatever they were to those who knew them, they must be enemies first to her. If they would only let her at the tyrant who led them, she would have no more need to slay them, but only to tear that evil man apart and shatter his hateful ambitions.
Her guilt faded somewhat, as she had sufficiently justified her actions to herself. But when she tried to go to sleep, she became aware of the voices outside. Most people could not have made out the words from here, but Rose heard them clearly.
"If only she had stayed with us and helped, instead of running off to seek her own glory, George and Ian wouldn't be dead!" The voice belonged to Arthur, another soldier from Derrick's squad who had appeared to like her until now.
Her heart sank as she realized just how poorly some perceived her. It angered her that her attempts to do the best for everyone would be taken as a selfish agenda, and she thought to argue the matter. But then, doubt crossed her mind. She had done more good attacking aggressively than she would have with the squad. But she'd also gained more glory. Was that part of what she really wanted? She sat up; even if she wasn't sure of her own motivations, she wasn't going to let herself be somebody's verbal punching bag within earshot. Yet she was unsure she might not end up agreeing with them.
Before she could quite rise, Peter stepped into her tent. He might have intended to discuss something else with her, but easily read the uneasiness in her eyes and asked, "What's wrong?" She wasn't sure how he would react, or if he might sympathize with her critics. But neither was she much of a liar, and she told him of their words.
He frowned as he listened, and when she finished, put his hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry about such trivial things. Most of the men applaud your deeds, which have aided us greatly on the whole. Though some of my men may blame you for not protecting them, their anger is misguided. We are not babies or you our mother. We took care of ourselves before you came, and can still do so. A person must believe in their own judgment, and not allow every doubter to strike deep with wounding words."
She shook her head. "I know I shouldn't let myself be hurt by every complaint, but I don't want to be hated for what I think are decent intentions. I'm a guest in your camp, and I feel like I've let down my hosts by not watching over them."
"You are a guest of the entire army, not just my squad. You have done far more for us than you would have playing bodyguard. You cannot be everywhere at once; if you had stayed with us, would you beat yourself up over the soldiers killed elsewhere? It's only a selfish thought of those men, this notion that you should remain with their squad simply because you reside with us. You need not worry over their failings of logic."
The sergeant then produced a canteen from his belt and handed to her. "For whatever ails you."
Rose smiled, and took a sip immediately after thanking him. Inside was some admirably strong whiskey. "You sure know what a girl needs!"
He waved dismissively. "What you need is sleep. We need to be prepared for tomorrow, should there be another attack."
She stared anxiously at him, her hand automatically brushing her sword hilt. "You think Wilner will try again so soon, after today?"
"I wouldn't put it past him. It would catch many an army off guard, and his force still outnumbers ours, especially if he rounds up those of his allies who fled."
A dejected look crossed Rose's face. "I'm afraid I'll give more reason for the men to be disappointed with me, if that happens. I'm hurt, and my leg's not up to tearing about the field as I did today."
He held her eyes firmly with his gaze, and admonished her, "It would be downright foolish of you to feel bad about being weakened by your wounds. Most men would be laid up from less than what you have suffere
d. You've received many blows these two days, and no one reasonable would blame you for taking a day or week off the field." She started to argue, but he stopped her. "I know there's no way you'd take a break when you're still able to stand and swing your sword. How about if you stay with us tomorrow, then? You and the men can share the security of having each other to guard your backs, and you can get a breather from being alone in the thick of the enemy. How about it?" Rose still thought she could do better charging ahead of her allies, but she was tired, and did want those who slept closest to her to like her more. So she agreed, and Peter left her with a salute. She drank a bit from her bottle and finally slept.
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Rose woke slowly to blasting horns and put a hand to her throbbing skull. She didn't think she'd had that much alcohol. But then, she had gotten way too little sleep, her wounds weakened her, and as she tucked the canteen back into her belt, she realized it was nearly empty. With a groan, she dragged herself to her feet, tossed on her gear, and stumbled out of her tent. As she joined Peter's men in meeting the attack, she caught sight of an alarming thing.
General Lipner and a small group of followers stood at the northern edge of camp, screaming challenges to the enemy and urging his soldiers to rally around him. "To me!" he cried, his voice not quite steady. "Let us beat back the enemy so he will never find the courage to show his face on our soil again!"
Rose found the general's forced bravado disturbing. Trying to elevate himself in the soldiers' eyes was going to get him shot down if he didn't get to cover soon. Luckily, his pride did not rob him of all sense, and as the first arrow missed him, he threw himself down and raised a wide shield overhead. Then he began to creep, crouching, back towards the center of the encampment. Noticing her among the ranks, he gazed suspiciously at Rose. He must have wondered why she no longer attacked as aggressively, the merit of which she questioned herself.
It did seem easier fighting alongside the squad, since she rarely had to deal with more than two foes at once, and often got to help out with the other soldiers' opponents after finishing her own. She was happy to see growing admiration on her allies' faces and impressed with how well Derrick handled himself, more than a match for most. But she also felt the sorrow of war even more acutely, as when she watched the painful death of a comrade with an arrow in his lung.
Looking around, it seemed many of the Coblan troops shared her distaste for the battle and had little heart to continue fighting. The conquest of the Brushknoll was probably not the most inspiring of motives. Then there were those who drove forward in a wild rage as to avenge lost kin; though fearless, these fought recklessly, and fell easily once their initial onslaught slowed. Rose noted Peter's skill as well, for though his style did not stand out, his ability showed in the efficient way he dispatched his foes.
For a while, they steadily beat all who came against them, and it seemed no enemy could stand in their way. Rose neither met nor killed any legends now, and wondered how much she'd thinned their ranks the last time. Or maybe they were avoiding her. Then she saw the deadly prince, this time bearing down at them on a great stallion among gigantic retainers, and warned all to brace themselves.
Wilner's mounted guard crashed into them as a tidal wave scatters the dunes of an idyllic beach, and the soldiers, though more numerous, could hardly resist the force of their rush. The thick-armored hulks with their huge weapons, nearly identical in build and garb to the giant she'd slain the day before, terrified many of the men, and those who turned to flee were cut down in seconds. Rose and Peter threw themselves at those killers, and Derrick and Tom followed shortly, the latter beginning to hum as he fought. An encouraging number of the other soldiers rallied for their example, and joined in their resistance.
The prince only laughed, and continued to slash away their defense and lives with his great axes. Rose hissed at his unbridled savagery and redoubled her efforts, chopping through massive men and horses alike as she advanced on Wilner heedless of the wounds she took. Yet, she couldn't help thinking how much they were alike. Peter slew two of the monstrous guard with expertly placed blows, and Derrick managed to fell one busy fighting another soldier with a stab to the groin. Another foe harried him as he tried to wrench free his stuck blade and he was forced momentarily to retreat, but Tom defended him until he could procure a dropped sword and rejoin the fight.
Prince Wilner frowned at his assault weakening as Peter's men fought back, and he turned his attention from Rose to attack the sergeant. The veteran did not back down, but could not stand up to his strength and speed, and after a couple seconds fell unconscious or dead beneath the torrent of blades.
Now the prince's confidence swelled and he turned back to Rose, throwing a heavy axe that would have split her skull had she not deflected it with her shield. She charged him, but he drew a large sword to replace his axe and she could barely ward off his furious blows from atop his horse, let alone strike back. Wilner smiled as rents began to emerge on her armor and flesh.
"You are daring, great warrior," he told her, "but you dare in vain!"
Focused on her human opponent's strikes, Rose was unable to avoid the huge stallion's iron-shod hoof as it kicked out into her chest. She fell hard on her back, the powerful blow tearing apart the stitches holding her split bosom together after Wilner's earlier chop had ripped her open.
The horse reared to trample her, but she sat up with a scream and rammed her sword through its lower belly, then rolled aside as it fell. Undaunted, Prince Wilner leapt agilely from his dying steed and hammered Rose's shield with both weapons, knocking her back down before she could stand. He stepped on her midsection, and with a triumphant yell aimed a blow at her head.
She blocked with her sword, but the impact knocked it from her hand. Towering over her, the prince laughed, but only until she smashed her shield into the side of his knee. He stumbled off her with a pained cry. As she stood, he limp-charged her, weapons raised, but she surprised him by meeting his charge with a short one of her own. Her wide shield, held in front of her, bowled him over; and she fell to the ground atop him, pinning him beneath herself.
Rose landed a crushing punch to his face. With a desperate heave, he pitched her off. He stood and again swung overhead with both weapons, burying the axe deep in the ground as she rolled away. Before he could pull it out, Rose kicked him hard in the belly, knocking him back, and stood.
She patted her shield and smiled. Teeth bared, Wilner gripped his sword two-handed and forced her back, battering her with blow after powerful blow. Rose seemed to weaken under the storm, and he raised his sword high. Then she swiped at his elbow with the edge of her shield, and thought she heard an almost inaudible crack accompanying the clash of metal.
Cursing, Wilner dropped his sword and grabbed his injured arm. Rose tried to press her advantage, but the armored gauntlet he blasted into her temple knocked her down and made her eyes water. For a moment it looked as if Wilner would follow up on the attack, but then he hesitated, and turned to mount a riderless horse left by one of his dead men. He stared at Rose and spat, then fled.
Rose sprang to her feet, fighting off a rush of dizziness as she did so. Rubbing her head, she looked around, and saw that Peter's squad had held their own relatively well. Though they had gotten the worst of the battle, they'd done more damage than she would have expected, and still been fighting fiercely when she drove off the prince and his remaining men with him.
Peter lived. His helmet had saved him from a glancing blow by one of Wilner's huge axes, though it still knocked him senseless. Now he stirred, and as he woke smiled at his survival and that of his men. He reached towards Rose, and she yanked him lightly to his feet. "What happened?" he asked, forced to lean against her to steady himself.
Tom bounded next to him, and still cheerfully said, "We beat them, sir! Not even the strongest of Coblan could break our wills!"
Rose thought many of the men did look broken, or close to it. They were battered and exhausted and grief-stricken o
ver lost friends, and she doubted their spirits could endure another battle. Peter seemed to realize she must have fought the prince and beaten him back, else Wilner would have killed them and continued on to devastate the rest of their army. He slapped her wide back appreciatively and began to walk again towards the dying battle. But then he stumbled and fell, the knock on his head taking its toll anew. Two men rushed to his aid, and bore his semiconscious form away.
Rose thought she should say something to give the cheerless soldiers heart, but her inability to finish off the prince flustered her too much for her to think of anything. Even if that hadn't been the case, she didn't think there was much to say anyway. She knew the broken arm she had given Wilner would not deter him for long. He must have some means of accelerated healing, as he had shown no sign of the wounds she inflicted on him the last time. She heard Tom say something utterly useless about the glory they had won, and barely checked her urge to punch him.
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Peter's squad engaged Coblanders a few more times before the battle fully ended, and these they fought with weary disinterest, numbed by seeing so many friends die so quickly. Derrick and Tom tried to maintain some minimum of morale and discipline in Peter's absence, and the scholar wondered how his partner could remain so hopeful. Still he seemed full of cheer, and though he must have been exhausted as the rest of them, threw himself with enthusiasm into each encounter. He even sprouted such lines as "Your name shall be a welcome addition to my story!" to his enemies.
At last, Derrick asked what he had long been curious about. "Tom, aren't you ever afraid?"
He shook his head, smiling. "I'm just as scared to die as you. But I sure won't show it in front of everyone. After all, if I do survive, I want my story to be flawless."
Derrick looked doubtfully at him. "Your story? What, you think you'll achieve some great glory here?"
"No, not great glory. Just to be remembered by a few, it'll be enough. You know, I never wanted to be here."