Iron Clash (Legend of the Iron Flower Book 7)

by Billy Wong

  She laughed. "I got hurt again, that's all. Happens to me all the time, remember—it's fine. Finn sealed up my outer wounds, and the rest I'll survive. And I was talking about you with a ghost in a dream, no big deal."

  "Where is Finn, anyway?"

  With her wounds, she would have expected him to be at her side if there wasn't a battle going on at the moment. But he wasn't here. "I don't know. He's probably out talking to somebody."

  "You want me to go look for him?"

  "You're volunteering to do that for me?"

  Alicia's pudgy face split into a grin. "Of course, you'll owe me a favor for it."

  Of course. "What kind of favor?"

  "When I go after Victor, you come with me and keep everyone else off my back."

  That didn't sound too bad. "We'll go together, you, me, Finn and Brandon maybe. We'd make a nice team."

  "The four best fighters among the good guys?"

  Rose rarely thought of such pride-driven rankings, but it was probably true. "I just hope it'll be enough, though. The enemy's quite a nasty gang themselves."

  "You can take Wilner as always. I'll get Victor, and we can leave the lesser enemies to the guys."

  If she had to pick, Rose would have chosen Finn or Brandon to go against Victor over Alicia. She was good, but not the best in the game, and the prince's abilities would likely benefit from the influence of Clearsky. Against him, Rose feared the duchess' confidence could prove her undoing. "Honestly, I don't think you're the one to take out Victor. I'm not even sure any of us could do it alone. He wasn't as good as us, but he might be better now. The Clarities which were similar to Clearsky improved their hosts' fighting prowess, and I suspect it does the same for its wielder."

  The proud duchess grunted. "We'll see if that's the case. But you're still hurt. I don't know when you'll even be up to execute this plan. Maybe we'll have to go without you."

  Rose frowned, considering. "Yeah, maybe. Say, why do you think Victor hasn't shown his face on the battlefield lately? Whatever else you'd say about him, he's no coward. He's always been eager to take part in his own fights."

  "Maybe he's scared of me."

  "You just got here!"

  Alicia smirked. "Yes, yes. Well, I don't know then. Maybe he's dying of some illness, like our old friend Pierce."

  She remembered the plague-stricken leader of the Vlin tribe from Volston, who had led his people on a holy war into Kayland and provided Rose with her first experience battling an army. "But he recovered, and we had to kill him ourselves anyway."

  "I wouldn't want Victor to die anyway. You know, except by my hand."

  #

  Thraga sat on the dusty ground, feeling the weight of suspicious gazes from the other Ulir in camp. Despite the immense power radiating from the man called Victor, she had become convinced he was not truly the heroine resurrected. For one thing, Kayla had been proud of her femininity, and Thraga doubted she would have chosen a male body. Sure, few females had the frames to match her strength, but surely she could have found one close enough somewhere.

  She'd actually asked Victor about this, to which he replied that this was the only suitable body "she" could find. When she asked why, he evaded her by claiming it was magic she could not understand. What that told her was either he himself didn't understand, or he was making it up. And if Kayla didn't know something, she would have been more open about it.

  As well, Victor did not take part in the fighting, and Thraga remembered how Kayla always did, at least after she found her strength. A possibility existed that she had lost her strength again in the process of coming back to life. But in that case, a weak leader was hardly appropriate to command the Ulir, though it appeared more likely Victor was a fraud anyway.

  Believing thus, she now tried to convince the other Ulir. But apparently she was the only one here able to resist Victor's charm, perhaps because she'd arrived with doubt already in her mind. Nrar, one of the male Ulir, said in a hostile tone, "You deny the truth of our great ally? Look at the forces she has already gathered—a worthy army to fight in her name, no? We all feel her power embracing our minds. Don't you, princess?"

  Thraga wondered if any of them thought she had come at her father's behest, maybe to pull the other Ulir away from Kayla so that Thonng could be king of their whole race. But she wasn't here for that; she'd gone against his will, even begged! Just the possibility they might misjudge her so irritated her. "I feel something, but that doesn't mean he's Kayla. All it means is he wields magic of the same kind."

  "Have you ever known anyone else to wield that magic?" another Ulir asked. Bela, an older female regarded as one of the most knowledgeable in the arcane ways.

  "No, but that's because she invented it. We don't know if others have adopted it in later times."

  "No one else we've met has used this power, or any even similar. In scope and nature, their magic is the same."

  She frowned. "Maybe he stole her power, then."

  "It is possible," Bela admitted. "But I doubt it. She was strong, and would not have allowed her power to be stolen."

  "She was dead. I doubt she would have had much to say if someone tried to steal it."

  Bela grew silent for a moment, then a younger Ulir cried, "It is her! I can feel it—we can feel it—in our hearts!"

  Unfortunately his enthusiasm was contagious, and others around him voiced their assent. "We believe," another said. "Why can't you have faith?"

  "Blind faith gains you nothing," Thraga replied.

  "Don't you want us to have happiness?"

  She scowled. "Getting killed in battle gives you happiness?" Already over a fourth of the grown Ulir had been killed, and though the deaths had stopped for now, she didn't doubt the enemy would find a way to combat their defensive strategy.

  "We fight for a friend, the person who gave us hope in dark times. The days may not be joyous, but it's comfort enough to fight in her name."

  This was getting nowhere. As long as the others continued to believe in Kayla's presence, Thraga could not persuade them to leave. "Look at how Victor hides behind his ranks. Is that the behavior of your beloved warrior queen?"

  Doubt seemed to begin invading their minds. They began muttering amongst themselves, and she heard one say "Kayla would never cower behind the lines" with zeal similar to that found in earlier arguments against her. Good.

  "And what exactly do you have to gain by convincing us not to fight on her side?" a young female Ulir demanded. "Do you wish for us to join your tribe, accept your father's rule? What right does he have to call himself king? We never had a monarch before Kayla died—Thonng only seized power when our people stood divided."

  Thraga remembered how her father had led those loyal to Kayla to avenge her killers, and then declared himself permanent ruler based on that brief period of command. Some said it was unfair, and she couldn't be sure they were wrong, though one could point out none had dared challenge him. She stood and looked over the rest of the camp. Like her father, she was taller than them all, with an imposing frame besides. "Your suspicions aren't without merit, but I have no intention of forcing you to join us. If you leave here, you will have the choice of where to go. But if you stay, all you will likely find is death at some time. Think about it." She turned and walked away.

  She thought it a compelling point to leave them with, but someone shouted after her, "If you're so concerned about us, why do you sleep so far away? Are you scared to join us?"

  Thraga was scared, though not of what he might think. She may not have trusted every one of them, but she could handle herself. No, she feared the human warriors might attack their camp, knowing the damage they could do with the advantage of surprise. Rose and Finn alone were dangerous enough, and considering she heard other little creatures of similar skill fought on the enemy side... Good thing Rose at least had been wounded badly, but that didn't end the threat.

  "Like I said," she replied, "death may come in the night."

  "You fear t
he humans? They cannot beat us when we are together. We left the female murderer dying just yesterday!"

  "It will take more than that to kill her," Thraga warned with narrowed eyes. In her talks with the humans—which these Ulir didn't do enough of in her view—she'd learned of that woman's incredible constitution. She might have wanted to test herself against Rose if she didn't have more important things in mind, like preserving her race.

  "If she lives and comes again, we will beat her back just the same."

  Thraga shook her head. The Ulir were strong, yes, but ought not to be overconfident in their own strength. "Just remember what I said about Victor's refusal to fight. Is that the Kayla you remember from old times?"

  #

  Victor hated the thought of joining this battle. Of course Clearsky insisted on it all the time, but to participate in civil war would cause him great unease. He didn't mind killing a few or even few dozen people to secure his reign, but death for thousands of fellow Kaylanders held no appeal. To kill many of those by his own hand should he enter the fight would make it worse. Of course, this was another sign of the weakness that hampered him in his eyes. But though he didn't want to care what happened to other people, even the magic trident couldn't fully silence his conscience. A painful flaw for the ruthless new self he tried to be.

  Go on, take the field! Clearsky whined in his mind. With me in hand, you'll be slaughtering them left and right in no time!

  "Staying here will keep me safe," he argued pointlessly, knowing Clearsky could read his mind.

  You're being silly. I'd protect you, if only you would fight. Your distaste for killing your countrymen is foolish. They're your enemies, and not children or defenseless women anyway.

  Having commanded many a new recruit, Victor knew young soldiers often really were little more than children. But that wasn't the main problem. He had a moral inclination against killing his countrymen, but there was also a practical reason to refrain from it. "Clearsky, if I go out and start slaughtering my citizens, won't people remember and distrust me after I cement my rule?" He did want a peaceful kingdom once this was all done with.

  They'll remember the war you made whether you fight personally or not. You think allying with Wilner will do you any favors in their minds?

  He supposed not. "But won't it help even a little if I don't have the same reputation for killing Kayland's youth as he?"

  It would do you more good to establish your power by killing your greatest foes.

  "What do you mean? Are you suggesting I personally defeat the champions of my opposition?"

  Exactly. Destroy, destroy!

  This idea didn't seem so bad. He'd have to kill his share of lesser soldiers along the way, yes, but Victor had no qualms about fighting his peers to the death. It would be interesting, actually, to see how much Clearsky did for his fighting abilities. If it did as much as it claimed—and felt like—then all the great warriors would fall. If not, well, he hoped he could get away. But if he died, though he certainly didn't wish to, he would at least be free of Clearsky's annoying voice.

  #

  Clearsky felt relief that he'd finally managed to convince his wielder to fight. The man's will was strong, if nothing else. Victor should have been his easy puppet for a long time, and yet still resisted. Why did he? It seemed on the surface Victor wanted to be the kind of pragmatic conquerer suited to hold Clearsky, yet he continued to struggle against the full abandonment of his useless morals. There was no room for such ambivalence in the hand that carried the ultimate weapon. Victor needed to change. And if he didn't, Clearsky would have to find a new wielder—something he did not look forward to very much, for it was always hard to find the perfect man.

  #

  As the two walked into Dunwal, Finn asked Brandon, "So how does this flying machine work?"

  "I'm not sure. Think it uses hot air or something."

  "Not sure." Finn took in the tall towers and sprawling facilities of the scholary city and sighed. "Do you even know where it is?"

  "No, but it should be easy enough to ask."

  "Brandon... do I even have to ask if you know how to fly this thing?"

  "No."

  He was starting to regret his decision to come with the count, as it seemed unlikely their trip would do any good. Indeed, they would probably have been more useful back on the battlefield, fighting as they could against Victor's army. But they'd come too far to go back without at least a token effort. "We'll deal with that when the time comes. Let's get disguised."

  They headed down cobbled streets to the nearest clothing store, where they bought items to conceal their identities. Of course, Finn thought it likely that they had already been recognized; both were not small men, and among the most famous warriors in Kayland. As they dressed for thievery in a stinking tavern restroom, Brandon said, "So clothes and dirt are all we're going to use?"

  Finn smeared dirt he'd collected in a pouch outside the city on his cheeks. "You want to wear makeup and make us stand out even more?"

  "I suppose makeup might not be the best idea. How do I look?" he asked a bit later.

  "Like a big guy with a lot of clothing and a filthy face. What about me?"

  "Same. Hell, you look like a giant monster!"

  He laughed. While he was larger than Brandon, it was only by about two inches and a lot of meat, especially in the middle. "We're not the likeliest of thieves, true. Who's going to ask around about where the flying machine is hidden?"

  "We should have done that before disguising, shouldn't we?" Brandon mused exasperatedly.

  "Nah, this is better. Instead of specifically being us, the suspicious party will just be 'two big guys in tons of clothes.'"

  They snuck out of this tavern and hurried to another. There, under many staring eyes, they learned the "Hummingbird" to be located inside the Academy of Biology. Strange place for a flying machine to be built, but Finn supposed it might be meant for observing birds in flight.

  Before going there, Finn and Brandon bought as much explosive powder as they could. The count mixed it with sharp pieces of metal gotten from a blacksmith inside small kegs, and Finn asked, "Those are your devastating weapons?"

  "When it blows, the shards are blasted out with tremendous force. Trust me, it'll do a lot of damage."

  The two waited until almost night to visit the academy, hoping to reach the enemy camp while they sought to rest. As they tried to enter the front door, the gaunt, aging doorman asked, "What do you two ruffians want inside our institution of learning?"

  "Ruffians?" Brandon snapped. "I am not a ruffian, but a no-"

  Finn cut him off with a glare. Luckily, he had a plan. "We are not ruffians, but researchers back from field study. Forgive our appearance, but we must hurry inside. This rare bird we captured is in dire need of expert attention, as it has fallen sick and will not awake." He showed the old pigeon he had captured in an alley and costumed with bits of cloth he hoped the doorman wouldn't recognize. Indeed it did not move, because Finn had made it drink wine.

  "That does look like a strange specimen, but why is it I do not recognize either of you? You are very large, and I am sure I would remember you."

  "We were called here by one of your instructors."

  "And his name?"

  Crap. Finn was stumped, not knowing anybody here. But Brandon said, "Professor Stork, sir. Please let us in, this could be a matter of life and death!"

  The doorman exhaled and seemed to relax. "All right, go on. Best get yourselves cleaned up once you've completed your delivery." Before they could get far, he added, "What about those sacks you're carrying?"

  The ones which held the powder kegs, he meant. "They're, um, for storage."

  It wasn't the clearest answer, but the doorman asked no more questions. Once out of earshot, Finn asked curiously, "How did you know that professor's name?"

  "I read the sign outside. I just had to hope Professor Stork wasn't dead or retired."

  "What did the sign say?"
/>   "Professor Adrien Stork, founder of the Academy."

  Finn stared. "How old is the academy again?"

  "Forty years."

  "Forty! We lucked out on him being alive, then."

  Fortunately for them, today was a school day, and their presence at least slightly less noticed among the many students roaming the halls. Few were as large or dirty as they, though. Brandon asked one where the Hummingbird was using the excuse of being a visitor, and they made their way to the central courtyard. A vast cloth bag lay on its side almost filling the yard, attached to a basket big enough to hold several men. In the center of that was what appeared to be a giant unlit oil lamp. To Finn's chagrin, a slender young woman with short brown hair also stood within said basket.

  "Should we wait for her to leave?" Brandon asked.

  She looked up. "What are you doing in here?!"

  Before Finn could answer, Brandon said, "Don't worry, lady. I will not harm a hair on your body."

  Instead of calming down like the count surely hoped, the woman screamed and jumped out of the basket. The fall to the grass wasn't long, but for a second she lay still and Finn feared she might have hurt herself anyway. She stumbled up, tried to run away. By then Finn had reached her side and grabbed her by the arms.

  "Don't rape me, please don't rape me," she begged, tears in her eyes.

  He spoke to her in a gentle voice. "We're not going to rape you, we're both married. Where did you get that idea? We don't plan to hurt you." He paused, waiting for some of the terror to leave her. "We're here for my wife's sake, actually. How do you fly this thing?"

  She blinked. "Why do you need it? Is your wife hurt or something?"

  "Yes, she's hurt." That at least was true. "This Hummingbird can help us keep her from having to endure more pain, or so we hope."

  While she probably wouldn't approve as much if she knew what his exact intentions were, she regarded him now with compassion. "You can't learn to fly this just by my telling you. It took me a while just to get used to it. But I'll help your wife—where do you need to go?"

  "The plain south of here, where the battle's being waged."

  "Your wife... she's a wounded warrior?"