The Rose Mark: Black Rose Sorceress, Book 1

by Connie Suttle

"What have they been telling you?" I asked, pretending sternness.

  "About Garkus."

  "Ah." I unfolded my napkin and dropped it on my lap.

  "Garkus?" Sherra turned toward me.

  "Drill instructor at Secondary Camp," Armon said with a straight face, while Misten struggled not to giggle.

  "Garkus is big enough, and strong enough, to throw a boulder at the enemy and kill half of them," I said. Sherra's eyes widened at my explanation.

  "He scares everybody," Levi said. "Including those who outrank him. If you don't do what he says, he's likely to react badly."

  "Once, a rattlesnake threatened a cohort he was drilling," Armon said. "Now, I didn't see this myself, but those who were there swear it's true. He leapt onto the snake, crushed its head, jumped up and did a flip in midair, came upright with the dead snake in his hand and flung it over the far wall of the compound."

  "That's creative," Sherra said. "I'd like to see that. Maybe I could duplicate it using shields as a cushion."

  "That's an interesting observation," I said as a plate was set in front of me first. "If you determine how to do it, let me know."

  "I'd form a shield around the snake and toss it away, like we do with the power blasts," Caral said.

  "Much better idea," Sherra nodded at Caral. "Saves time, too."

  "How about we practice that maneuver with large stones?" I asked. "Instead of snakes? Stones are easier to come by, and they don't bite," I added.

  "You'll need a clear flinging space," Sherra pointed her fork at Caral. "So the rock won't land on anybody."

  "That goes without saying."

  "A rock could land on a snake. Accidentally," Misten snickered.

  "We don't want unnecessary snake deaths," Levi teased.

  Sherra laughed. I think it was the first time I'd heard her laugh, too. Something in me relaxed, I think. It was possible to see more than an occasional smile from her. Things were beginning to look up.

  CHAPTER 14

  Sherra

  Secondary Camp was farther to the north, and much closer—by half, at least—to the battlefields that lay to the northeast.

  High, wooden walls surrounded it, and it was quite large, so it had taken some time to build.

  At the southern end, amid evergreens, lay small cabins. Each of those cabins would house a warrior and his escort. Half a mile away lay the mess hall, and on the farthest end lay the gate and the training fields close to it.

  Rain had fallen before our arrival, and it was evident that rain was a more regular occurrence here than it was farther south.

  On the east end lay the rainwater tanks, and between those and the other buildings was the purification and pumping shed.

  Kerok's cabin was four times the size of anyone else's, and I blinked as we entered the dim interior. It would be much cooler here than the northern camp, because there were thicker blankets on the beds.

  At least we each had a bedroom to ourselves—Kerok wouldn't be sleeping on the floor or a chair in a sitting room.

  The room next to his bedroom held a long table and chairs—for meetings with other officers, I supposed.

  That includes me, I recalled—unless the roses were excluded.

  Are the black rose officers excluded from the warrior meetings? I sent mindspeak to Kerok.

  Not often, he replied. I could hear him making himself at home inside his bedroom, so I didn't disturb him further. Instead, I walked across the hall to my own bedroom, which had a window with shutters and dark curtains drawn.

  I opened them, discovering that trees and a few shrubs grew outside. Those served to provide a barrier of sorts between this cabin and the nearest one on my side.

  I left the shutters and curtains open to let in light; I'd shut them again when night fell.

  There'll be a meeting in the officer's mess in half an hour, Kerok informed me. After that, you'll meet with the tailors for your new uniforms. Tonight, the vows will be exchanged.

  The vows. I was beginning to look forward to secondary training, when that ugly reminder was offered.

  No, I couldn't be mad at him.

  Well, I could. He had to know I found it upsetting, but then he was a Prince and his father was the King.

  The King that didn't care.

  On the surface, he'd appeared to be reasonable. I only had to consider any black rose's fate to recall that appearance was often as thin and fragile as an eggshell. Anything could break it and show what lay beneath. In this case, it was darkness and death for any black rose, officer or not.

  I'd seen aging warriors. I'd never seen an aging black rose, and therein lay the greatest distance—and difference—between the two. It made me want to hurl accusations against them. Demand to know how many women had died protecting them and emptying themselves of power to do it.

  "You look angry."

  I discovered that my arms were crossed tightly over my chest as I gazed out the window of my bedroom.

  "I am. Not at you in particular," I let my hands drop and worked to keep from snapping at him. "Just at everything in general."

  "Armon would tell you that you're thinking too much," Kerok offered. "Come with me; we'll walk to the officer's mess. Exercise helps clear my mind and releases my anger."

  "It may take a really long walk for this," I mumbled and turned to follow him out the door.

  K erok

  My reminder about the vows must have upset her—Sherra hadn't sounded angry when she asked the question about meetings.

  She walked silently beside me; the officer's mess was in the northwestern corner of the compound, and perhaps a mile away from our cabin. Our boots crushed damp, fallen fir needles as we strode along; evergreens made up most of the trees in this part of Az-ca. An occasional seed-cone lay in our path; Sherra took care not to step on those.

  I'd never gone out of my way to avoid them, and wondered why it was important to her. "Why do you avoid the cones?" I asked.

  "Most of them are whole, or nearly so," she shrugged as she kept pace with me. "Who am I to destroy that? It feels like a disservice to them and to me, too."

  "An allegory, perhaps?"

  "If you'd like."

  "Many trainees have no idea what an allegory is, or skipped over that part in their lessons," I pointed out.

  "Hmmph. You never had to explain those things to Pottles and make sense while you did it. She was a better teacher than those in my village could ever be."

  "Was she always blind?" I asked.

  "No. She said she became blind late in her life. She could see perfectly well when she was younger, and described many things to me from her memories."

  "That happens, sometimes," I agreed. Sherra was beginning to lose the stiffness of anger in her body; I'd watched carefully as she and I spoke while we walked.

  "Pottles said the same thing," Sherra admitted. "She was never angry about it, though; at least not while I was with her."

  "Do you think of her like a grandmother, perhaps?"

  "I do, I suppose. A good friend who always had time for me. If that's how grandmothers are, then that's what she was."

  "That's how my grandmother was," I said. "She was always feeding Drenn and me, until Drenn couldn't fit his clothes. Food was scaled back afterward."

  "You didn't gain weight because of your power," Sherra said, hunching her shoulders. "It takes a lot out of you."

  "It's a proven fact," I agreed. "It's vital to keep warriors and escorts well-fed to maintain their energy."

  "Were you ever envious of Drenn—that he wasn't put through the training like you were?" she asked.

  "When I was younger," I confessed. "He was allowed to sleep late and drink with his friends. I always had lessons of one sort or another, and couldn't choose my activities as he did."

  "I think I was envious of every other girl in my village," she sighed. "They could flirt and kiss and marry if they wanted. I wore a black rose and was outcast."

  "I can't change any of that for you," I s
aid. "And now that I know you a little, I would refuse even if it were possible. You're bringing a new method of fighting with you, and I wouldn't keep that from the army for anything. I can only say I'm sorry for your past suffering, and I hope things are better for you in the coming days."

  She didn't reply; I didn't miss the tightening of her shoulders, however. We'd come full circle, she and I. If I were more adept, perhaps I'd have seen this coming and avoided it.

  "What do they look like?" she asked after several moments of silence.

  "Who?"

  "The enemy."

  "Much like us," I said. "Very much like us. They don't have power—none of them do. Our power is what they find repugnant, and fills them with hatred and a desire to eradicate us."

  "I still don't understand that. We don't attack them; they come to us."

  "Our existence offends them and what they believe."

  "Pottles said they think their afterlife will be more comfortable if they kill us."

  "I've heard that," I agreed. "I have no idea where these beliefs came from. I wonder if they know themselves."

  "Do they speak our language?"

  "The language is similar, but with many differences, too."

  "Have you ever spoken to one of them?"

  "We have seen prisoners from time to time. Occasionally, a few will infiltrate our camps in an attempt to kill us with small, hand-held weapons or explosives. Much of the time, a shield is placed around them until they decide to kill themselves with their weapon. Other times, they've tossed the explosive away before they're shielded. In either case, when the explosive is activated, everybody runs. Depending upon the escort who placed the shield, it may not hold. Many aren't practiced in providing a shield and then walking away from it while it continues to hold."

  "What did they say to you—those that didn't die?"

  "They call us names and try to spit on us. There is no useful information to be gotten from any of them, and it's a waste of time for the Diviners to look, because all they see is the hate. None of the prisoners are allowed to live, as you may imagine. They are executed quickly, as is dictated by our rules of combat."

  "Do you think they have been conditioned for this?" Sherra asked. "Pottles called it being brainwashed once, but that term was strange to me."

  "That is an interesting term—I wonder how she came by it," I mused. "And yes, I do believe it is conditioning—from a very early age. I doubt they have few independent thoughts that aren't dictated by their conditioning."

  "What do they call us?"

  "Demons. Witches. Fire-devils. No matter which term is used, they consider us evil creatures."

  "Those things are in children's tales," she scoffed.

  "As we all believe. They think they're real and accuse us of being those things."

  "Have we ever attempted to take the battle to them?"

  "It hasn't been suggested, and would require stepping to a place we've never been. That alone could kill us; we have to know where to set our feet. Here we are." We'd arrived at the officer's mess. The meeting would take place, and the midday meal would be served when it was time, whether the meeting was over or not.

  I led Sherra into the building; it was a far cry from the mess hall at the training camp. Here, walls were smoothed and plastered, with windows lining both long sides of the building.

  A kitchen lay at one end; a separate corps of drudge-cooks prepared meals for the officers. The scent of cooking roast made my mouth water—perhaps a snack wouldn't go amiss.

  "Let's ask for a snack." I grinned and took Sherra's arm to lead her toward the kitchen.

  Sherra

  I'd never dreamed of asking for food outside a meal. Kerok pulled me toward the kitchen, determined to do just that.

  "Prince Commander," three drudges dipped their heads to Kerok the moment we arrived inside the kitchen.

  "Have anything ready to eat?" he smiled at them.

  "Of course. Cheese. Crispy wafers and grapes."

  "We'll take it."

  A plate was put together quickly; it was handed to me rather than Kerok. I may have lifted an eyebrow at him, but thanked the drudges for what they'd done and followed Kerok into the mess hall.

  Seconds later, two cups of tea were set on our table. I pulled a grape off its stem and popped it into my mouth. The burst of sweetness on my tongue was delicious and welcome.

  "Good?" Kerok asked, pulling a slice of cheese off the tray, laying it atop a crispy wafer and biting off half of it.

  "The grapes are wonderful."

  "Good." He pulled his own off a stem and ate it, followed by the rest of his cheese-wafer combination.

  "Is there any left for us?" Armon and Levi arrived, with Misten and Caral close behind them.

  "Get your own," Kerok laughed and ate more cheese and wafers.

  I watched as Armon led his small group toward the kitchen, and then returned to our table, with Levi and Misten carrying plates of snacks.

  "The grapes are really good," I said, pulling off another grape and eating it.

  "Prince Commander, good to see you, sir." A man had stepped into the mess hall and walked swiftly in our direction. His fatigues were various shades of green—to fit with the forests of conifers surrounding the compound.

  By the size of him—height and girth, I imagined this was the legendary Garkus. His skin was the color of dark tea—not as dark as Levi's, but his smile was much wider by proportion. With a voice as deep as a well, he greeted Levi and Armon, too.

  "Good to see you, Garkus," Armon smiled back.

  "I see you came away with suitable roses," Garkus said. "Must be the promotions I heard you received."

  "They'll need new uniforms to denote their rank," Kerok agreed. "Do you have something interesting planned for our first day of training tomorrow?"

  "Why would I give my secrets away?" he chuckled.

  "Will we be in trouble?" Misten turned to Levi.

  Garkus' booming laughter filled the officer's mess.

  K erok

  Garkus and Post Commander Alden spoke first, before I rose from my seat and went forward to address everyone. The first two talked of the training period and what was expected of the officers regarding new escorts—explaining that the beginning of the training was to get to know new escorts and determine how to work with them best. As officers, they were required to follow that protocol and ensure that the regular troops did, too.

  "You may have gotten used to pulling power quickly from your escort," I reminded all present when it was my turn to speak. "I warn you now that these women have never had that experience. It is up to you to draw carefully at first, until they become accustomed to it and expect it. You know it can be painful to draw power if they are frightened and attempt to prevent it. Your previous escorts are gone. You are forging a new relationship. Start it properly. Reset your expectations. If any woman is harmed, I'll have a conversation directly with those responsible. Is that understood?"

  "Yes, Commander."

  I watched Sherra's face as I spoke those words, and saw that she'd gone pale. Levi rubbed Misten's back—Caral's hands were twisted in her lap.

  For now, they were the only women in the officers' mess—the rest were warrior officers and it was a small group.

  There's nothing to be afraid of, I told Sherra in mindspeak.

  Says the physician before he removes the limb.

  We'll talk later, I said. She turned her head away. I finished my speech and sat down; the kitchen drudges began serving the midday meal.

  I sent Sherra with Armon and the others—they were going to the tailors to be fitted for new uniforms. Sherra needed those, too, and it was a way to speak privately with Garkus and the other resident instructors.

  "I'm sorry about Grae," Garkus said when I joined him and three others at Garkus' table. I'd gotten a cup of tea from the kitchen so I'd stay awake after a heavy meal.

  "As am I," I sighed. "I thought, well, you know."

  "What ab
out your new one?"

  "If you have any doubts, I challenge you to take her on," I shrugged. "I opposed her on the first day of shield training. Her shield didn't break then and hasn't since."

  "This is the one who protected a convoy," Garkus breathed. "Well done, Commander."

  "I figured that would get out," I admitted. "We have a new method to teach you, too. You can have the morning to do your worst, but tomorrow afternoon, we'll provide a demonstration."

  "You've been busy during your absence, then."

  "Hmmph. It wasn't me."

  "I'm waiting to see it, then. I take it your father approved?"

  "If he hadn't, I wouldn't have said anything about it."

  Sherra

  "What ranking for this one?" The tailor was male, but there were others who were women.

  "Captain, and the Prince Commander's escort," Armon said.

  "What does that mean?" I asked. "For the uniform?"

  "It means you'll have the Prince Commander’s insignia between your ranking stripes," the tailor explained. "You'll see. It'll go on your fatigues, too."

  "It'll tell anyone else not to ride their high horse around you," Levi teased.

  "You mean I can't just enclose them in a shield and toss them into a lake?" I teased back.

  "Now there's a thought," Armon grinned. "Probably not a good idea with those who outrank you, though. I like clean bathwater, thank you."

  "There's only one reason I'd toss you in a lake," I told him.

  "What's that?"

  "If you were on fire."

  "Then I fully support that effort."

  "Who would you have picked—if the Commander hadn't, you know," Misten asked. She and Caral had already been measured and stood nearby while my size was recorded.

  "I had three names on my mental list," I said.

  "Who?"

  "Armon, Levi and the Commander, in that order."

  "I'm at a loss for words," Levi laughed. "You were ranked first, before the Commander pulled rank, you understand. That would have been a coup for either of us." He clapped Armon on the back.

  "It's good how it turned out. I couldn't have chosen better for Caral and Misten."