by R A Lewis
The song became clearer the closer she got.
And we whipped them, we whooped them, we beat them all down,
The brave men of Fairburn, we…
The men sang slightly off key as Roguelyn approached the Twin Axe Tavern. She smiled as she stood in the doorway, eyes scanning for Will. When her eyes found him, she frowned. He was seated at a table in the corner, his head down, in earnest conversation with none other than Cole. Cole had a hand on Will’s shoulder, and Will was frowning. He looked unhappy, like he didn’t agree with whatever Cole was saying, but he nodded in response anyways. Roguelyn’s chest turned cold. She didn’t like whatever was going on between those two, and she felt suddenly like she was losing her best friend, like Cole was somehow poisoning Will against her.
She shook her head, running her hand through her short-cropped hair and finding her fingers got stuck. Her hair was coated in mud, blood, and sweat. She looked at her hands and fingernails in disgust. She needed a shower now. She turned to go but glanced up one more time. She caught Will’s eye, and he looked at her, slightly horrified. Roguelyn’s eyes darted between Will and Cole to find Cole grinning at her. Her stomach twisted. She left as quickly as she could, not wanting to be a part of whatever Cole and Will were doing.
She’d confront Will about it later and get the full story, but for now, a bath would go a long way towards making her feel human again and would help her think clearly. Her stomach growled as she entered the camp. Then she’d find some food.
Once back at her barracks she gathered her clean set of clothing and sword belt, intending to clean it, and a bar of soap, and made her way out and across the camp to the deserted showers. She was grateful it was still dark and she had the relative safety of the night to hide herself as she chose a stall. Striping down quickly in the cold air was almost unbearable, and the cold but clean water that splashed down when she pulled the lever made her teeth chatter, but at least she could rinse the stench of the battle off her. Her mind traced a path back to the feeling of her blade sinking home into flesh, of the sounds of that man screaming. She shuddered and tried to focus on the present, on the cold water sluicing away the mud, blood, and sweat as she washed.
She heard the clash of swords in her memory and she flashed back to when she first learned to fight with a sword.
“You have to pretend the sword is a part of your arm Lyn, you have to act as though it’s a part of you,” he said this as he towered above her, holding her small hands around the hilt of a sword that was much too heavy for her to lift, let along swing. Only her father was allowed to call her Lyn, and even though she was a girl, he often taught her skills normally reserved for boys. Her father had even once said “Oh how I wish you were a son Lyn, the adventures we would have!” That had made her sad, that she couldn’t be what her father wanted, but she cherished the times when he taught her things, and she practiced when he was away so she could impress him the next time he came home.
“Hold it steady! Now, this,” he said, moving her forearms into a 90-degree angle to her shoulders, “Is called ready position. This is the position you take whenever an opponent is coming towards you.” His strong hands held hers tightly. “And this,” he said, swiping her arms downwards and to the left, “is the first part of an attack. You either use it to block a sword thrust, or attack your opponent. You have to be strong Lyn, big and strong to fight for what’s right,” she had looked up at him, her brown hair bouncing in curls around her head, and her green eyes shining.
“What’s right papa?” she said, her little girls voice ringing out across the yard of the castle. Her papa frowned, wondering how to teach a little girl what was right and wrong.
“Sticking up for those smaller, weaker, and less fortunate than you is right, Lyn. Taking care of those you love, and fighting for them is what’s right. Fighting for your country and protecting your fellow citizens is what is right, Lyn,” he said, his handsome face serious. “Do you understand?” he asked, looking her in the eyes.
“Yes papa,” she said, her head nodding in determination. “I understand.”
Roguelyn had taken that lesson to heart that day. She had always stuck up for her people, especially those within her own castle when they were treated unfairly, and she had always dealt fairly with them. When Will’s mother was beaten by the Chamberlin for burning a whole breakfast’s worth of bread, it had been Roguelyn who had stood up for her against him and offered to take the lashings. And it had been Roguelyn who had gotten the ferryman a job in the stables when his boat had sunk in a storm because the river was too high. Roguelyn had always been determined to do what was right, and to prove to her papa that she was not only as good as a son, but perhaps better.
Was killing those men in the battle what was right? He had taught her that fighting to protect her country was right, but many of those soldiers had not been much older than her, and she had seen genuine fear in their eyes as they’d laid dying. How could killing them have been right? Her heart felt heavy as she finished washing. She needed to save her father, to ask him if what she’d done was right, if what she might do before it was all over was right.
When she was clean, she dried off as best she could with her fresh tunic and pulled on her pants, tying on her now clean sword belt that she had scrubbed in a bucket, removing the caked blood and mud. She had wiped down her sword as well and was feeling decidedly more human as she pulled on her boots and began rewrapping her breast band. At that moment, the flimsy fabric that covered the stall she was in flew open, and a large, dark figure stood in the doorway, dark hair obscuring his face. Her stomach leapt into her throat, and her heart began to pound.
“I knew it. I knew I felt breasts.” He pushed his hair out of his face, and Roguelyn saw it was Cole, standing in the barest light coming from the moon. Roguelyn didn’t bother to try to cover herself, instead, she stood, trying to remain calm, staring at him.
“What are you going to do about it, Cole?” she asked, trying to keep her voice even. He laughed a short, derisive laugh.
“Well, I haven’t decided yet, but first, you’re going to do something for me.” He began advancing into the bathing stall, pulling the curtain closed behind him. Fear gnawed at her belly, as her mind ran wild with what he was going to do to her. Panic began to overwhelm her senses, and it was hard to make her limbs move as he stepped closer into the confined space. Cole’s grin was malicious and cold as he pushed her back against the wall of the shower stall. He had control here, he could take whatever he wanted and she couldn’t do anything to stop him if she wanted her secret kept. She pushed her fingers into the rough wood behind her, digging her fingernails into the grain, feeling it splinter, shooting pain up her hands. He began unbuckling his belt with his left hand as his right grabbed Roguelyn’s left wrist and pinned it, grinding the small bones in her wrist. Roguelyn finally felt like she could move again as she realized the gravity of the situation. She was a fighter at heart, and despite her almost overwhelming fear, she knew she had to act. She reached in her belt with her right hand and drew her knife slowly.
“You’re going to do anything I ask,” Cole was whispering in her ear, his hot breath on her neck as his sword belt clattered to the floor and he began unbuttoning his pants. “Then, we’ll see if I’ll be gracious enough to keep your secret.” He paused menacingly, “for now.” With that last pronouncement, as his hand slid into his pants, Roguelyn slid her blade forward, cutting deep into the flesh of his belly, up to the hilt. Roguelyn barely knew what she was doing, and her mouth fell open as warm blood drenched her hand. Cole frowned, not immediately registering what had happened. Roguelyn withdrew the knife. He looked down, his hand releasing her wrist and going to the wound in his belly, clutching at it. She stabbed again, inflicting even more damage, slicing sideways. Cole pulled his hand from his pants, both hands going to his belly to catch the now cascading blood, his intestines slipping out from the gash, stepping back and looking up at Roguelyn in disbelief.
Rog
uelyn, shook as she watched him die, the blood draining out of him faster than she ever thought possible. Terror raced through her mind. She couldn’t stay here. Her hands were stained red, and there was blood everywhere around her, mingling with the water that still pooled on the floor. Cole sank to his knees, and then to his side, his hand grasping, trying to staunch the flow of blood, his mouth opening and closing in shock and disbelief. She watched as his eye glazed over, his mouth stopped moving, his chest sank, and she knew he was gone.
Panic took over. She knew she would be found out, that somehow it would trace back to her. She couldn’t stay here, but where could she go? Roguelyn rinsed her hands quickly in the bucket of water she’d used to wash her sword, rinsing the blood off her knife, her hands shaking slightly. She grabbed her shirt which was hanging on a hook by the door and threw it on over her head. Luckily, the whole situation had taken only a few quiet minutes, there was still time to get away before being discovered. She stepped over his prone body and ducked through the curtain, and bumped straight into someone. She gasped, stepping back, her boot splashing into the puddle of blood.
“Will!” Her voice sounded choked and she tried her best to block the view of Cole’s body with her own. Will’s face was filled with fear, anger, and regret.
“Oh Roguelyn! I’m so sorry! He approached me, threatened me, I couldn’t say no!” Roguelyn frowned as Will pushed her aside. She stepped aside easily, allowing him to move the curtain enough to see Cole. “What did you do to him?” Roguelyn felt numb inside. All the panic and fear from a few moments before were replaced with a cold, dead feeling.
“You told him?” Her voice sounded dead even to her own ears.
“I didn’t have a choice! He threatened to get us both killed for betraying our country!” Will’s voice was raising to a panic now, his own fear and anger getting the better of him. “Maybe if you hadn’t antagonized him he would have left us alone!”
“He tried to rape me, Will.” Roguelyn continued to stand there, one hand clutching her knife, her eyes seeing nothing.
“But did you have to kill him? They’ll hang you for sure now.” Roguelyn’s eyes snapped to Will.
“No, they’ll hang you. I’ll just go to prison for the rest of my life.”
Will’s face drained of color. He ran his hands through his red hair, making it stand up on end.
“What can we do?”
“You’re going to do nothing.” Roguelyn’s voice was cold, anger now suffusing every atom of her being. “I’m leaving.” She turned on her heels, walking towards the edge of camp, towards the border with Gadel and her father. She could hear Will behind her, calling her name, but ignored it. She passed through the cook tent, finding it deserted. It was not quite early enough for breakfast. When she passed through the rows of wooden benches and tables into the back of the tent she stopped short. A large man in a white apron was fast asleep at a table, a pile of chopped vegetables in front of him and a forgotten knife next to a cutting board. He was slumped over, his head resting on his arms. Roguelyn tiptoed around him and grabbed an empty potato sack, stuffing it full of food for traveling: some potatoes, rice, a few loaves of bread, a bag of cooking spices, a few slabs of dried meat, and a few measly apples from the dwindling stores. She threw them all into her traveling bag.
Then she quietly left the tent, guilt gnawing at her belly, not just for killing a man in cold blood, and not just for stealing food from an innocent man, but for leaving Will. He had been with her through so much, had supported her no matter what. And despite knowing his betrayal was forced, she still felt as if he’d torn out her heart and stomped all over it. She made her way to the western edge of camp where the forest was thick and dense, and the sentries would have a tough time spotting her. She ducked under the low hanging branches and made her way out of camp, up into the surrounding mountains and away from everything she had ever known.
Chapter 5
A week later found Roguelyn on the far side of the mountains, tired, sore, muddy, and grateful that the winter had not set in yet, otherwise she wouldn’t have made it across the mountains and down into Gadel’s foothills. She had eaten her food too quickly and run out a few days ago but the streams were running full with rain, and water was plentiful. She was covered in dirt and mud, her hair stringy, her white shirt now a dirty brown. But despite being miserable, the rain had helped to mask her passage and she was able to sneak across the border, past Rayaven and Gadel’s patrols, and into enemy territory fairly easily. She had spent her time traveling wrestling with terror and guilt. The questions didn’t matter at this point, but Roguelyn still found herself filled with them, as if they’d magically give up the answer. She wondered for the millionth time if she’d done the right thing.
She came down the mountainside through the trees, and suddenly came upon a small cottage in a clearing. She paused just inside the tree line and waited, watching. It occurred to her that she had no real plan beyond making her way into Gadel, and she should probably make one. The cottage seemed harmless enough, no enemy soldiers around, and it seemed like a farmer’s cottage as a field beyond was recently harvested. Fall was advancing fast, and Roguelyn knew she needed a plan before getting caught out in the snow and ice that would soon descend upon the mountains.
Smoke drifted from the chimney, and Roguelyn could smell something cooking, her stomach growling in protest at being so empty. She glanced down at herself, clutching her stomach, and was grateful she had on a plain shirt and not the blue tunic of Rayaven’s armies. Her brown pants were unremarkable as well, but her sword belt would have to go, at least for now, so she unbuckled it and hid it under a bush. She wanted to pose no threat, just get her bearings, a bath, maybe some food and a warm place to rest before moving on. Give herself a break from just surviving so she could make a plan.
The door to the cottage opened and an old woman stepped out onto the stoop. She was wiping her hands on her apron and staring out into the forest. Roguelyn could swear the woman was looking right at her and she froze, but still jumped when the woman spoke.
“I know you’re out there. You might as well come on in. I’ve got fresh bread baking and stew enough to share.” Roguelyn froze for a moment, running her dirty hands through her hair. Was the woman talking to her? Of course she was, there was no one else around. Roguelyn shrugged and stepped from the trees and into the bare bit of sun that was poking through the clouds. She walked slowly forward as the old woman nodded satisfactorily and turned to go inside, leaving the door open. Roguelyn hesitated for the barest moment on the threshold, nerves screaming out a warning before she crossed inside, hoping and praying it was safe.
“Well, sit yourself down by the fire, dearie, and get warm.” The woman’s voice was gruff, like her appearance. The years had not been kind to this woman, her face was lined and haggard, like she had spent too many days outside in the sun and weather, giving her skin a leathery appearance. Her hair was all grey and short cropped but despite her age, her forearms and hands were well muscled, and while her body was tending towards softness around the middle, she didn’t stoop and bend over like most old women. Instead, she stood up tall and proud. Roguelyn immediately liked this woman, and she smiled at her tentatively.
“Well? Are you going to sit or not?” the woman urged, turning away from Roguelyn and continuing to slice the still slightly steaming bread on the board by the hearth. Roguelyn sat on a stool by the fire, relishing in the heat for the first time in what felt like weeks, as it seeped into her body and down into her bones. She sighed as her weary muscles began to relax.
“What’s your name son?” the woman asked, and Roguelyn stiffened, remembering that she was still dressed as a boy. Despite weeks in the army being called a boy, she still felt like a girl, and often forgot. But why ruin the ruse now? If she admitted to being a girl, if her people ever questioned this woman then they would know it was her. But if she remained a boy, at least for now, then they might overlook a traveling boy. She wanted to prote
ct this woman, who did nothing but help a cold stranger get warm.
“Rawlin, ma’am,” she said, using the name of her old training master. She couldn’t go by Rogue, as that’s what she had been known by in the military.
“Well young Rawlin, my name is Anna. Are you hungry?” Roguelyn nodded, and Anna reached for a bowl on a shelf. She filled it with a wonderful smelling stew from a pot over the fire and handed it to Roguelyn with a spoon. As Roguelyn began to eat, spooning the hot food into her mouth a bit too greedily, Anna took a thick slab of bread and buttered it, handing it over when Roguelyn put down her spoon to breath. Roguelyn accepted the bread gratefully and took a huge bite, reveling in the warmth of the soft bread and the thickness of the butter. Anna watched her out of the corner of her eye, a small smile on her lips. Roguelyn paused to breathe again, noticed the look, and felt rather sheepish at the ferocity with which she ate. She swallowed and wiped her hand across her lips.
“I’m sorry ma’am but I haven’t eaten much in the last few days.” Anna nodded.
“I figured that from the way you’re gobbling my food.” She turned back around, fixing a second slice of bread, but this time spreading what seemed to be a homemade jam on it. Roguelyn’s stomach growled and she placed her food in her lap.
“Is there anything I can do to repay you? Help you harvest maybe? Or chop wood?” She didn’t have much money, and what she had she wanted to save to help her save her father, but she felt bad taking a poor woman’s food when, with one look around the sparse cottage, it was clear this woman did not have much.
“Yes, you can fill up my wood stack outside. And if you chop down a few trees and limb them, I’ll offer you a bath and a place to sleep for the night. Does that seem fair?” Anna asked as she turned back around and handed Roguelyn a second slice of bread with jam.