The Hunt for the Three Roses

  © Copyright 2018 by Jason Hubbard

  Cover illustration by Jackson Tjota

  ISBN: 978-1-54394-766-3

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Epilogue

  Author's Note

  Prologue

  On a rocky path amid the Tarnlan Mountains, a horse struggled to carry its rider. The poor animal had been forced to run for nearly three days straight, eating very little and resting only when its rider did. Its rear was now blemished with scars from the rider striking too hard with his crop whenever the horse stubbornly refused to move, and its ribs formed a ghastly shape along its skin.

  In the kingdom of Lonsaran, most men revered their steeds and took good care of them. Some even treated their steeds better than they did their own families.

  But this rider was not like most men. Rainer was an assassin who held very little regard for the sanctity of life—except for his own, that is. If someone paid him to slay another person, he didn’t ask why. It didn’t matter in most cases who or what the target was, be it a merchant, a street beggar, a local lord, a priest, or an ordinary man living on a modest wage. As long as the coin was good and plentiful, then the target was as good as dead already.

  Rainer had gotten the animal shortly after he happened upon two horsemen in a forest. One of them had dismounted to take a piss off the dirt path and was talking loudly as he did. Rainer had snuck up close amid the dense undergrowth then ran across the path with his sword raised. He slashed the rear leg of the occupied horse and mounted the other. The animal resisted as its fellow cried out and frantically limped away, but Rainer persevered and managed to climb atop the saddle. The horse then bucked, forcing Rainer to drop his sword and clutch the saddle’s horn. After a terrifying moment when he believed he’d get thrown off, the horse stopped bucking and got to running after Rainer smacked it. He looked back once to witness the other horse throw its rider off and nearly collapse from the pain in its leg. The other man merely shook his fist at Rainer while holding up his trousers with the other hand. The suffering and dismay in his wake made Rainer grin with delight.

  He rode his new steed hard that first day, for he desperately wanted to get as far from Fort Lauer as he could. The Consarian army was seeking to liberate it from the invading Lonsarans, and since he had posed as a Consarian soldier over the past two weeks, his fellows would surely be looking for him to join the raid. Well, either that or they wanted him for killing two women and two men in their camp. There was also the fact that the men whose horse he stole were soldiers. Murder, theft and desertion—three excellent reasons why his neck would get stretched should he get caught.

  On the afternoon of the second day, he crossed the border into Lonsaran and grew comfortable enough to take it easier on the horse. He still made it run, though, giving it next to nothing to eat even after he murdered a young couple for their food near a small village. The animal rested only when Rainer grew tired from the ache in his thighs, plus it needed to drink to stay hydrated in the sweltering August heat.

  And now he was finally in the mountains near the border, closing in on his hideout. It had taken a while to make the horse realize that disobeying him was not an option, but it had pulled through and got him here in good time. He had let it slow down to a trot, using his crop only to urge it up steep inclines. Once he arrived at a familiar group of boulders, he pulled on the reins and dismounted. As he started up the southern slope, the horse gave a nasally whicker and hunkered down to rest. Rainer turned to consider its condition. While on the road it had lost a lot of weight, its face had grown gaunt, and its hooves had splintered. It was no good for travel anymore, so once he got some things done he’ll return and slay it for its meat. One quick thrust through its heart and the animal would gladly depart for whatever afterlife horses went to. It didn’t appear willing to venture away, so there was no need to tie it up at the moment.

  He climbed alongside the boulders till he found the narrow entrance to a cavern that was nearly invisible from the trail. He shimmied inside and put up the hood of his leather tunic, then cautiously made his way through the dark, jumped nimbly over a small stream, and found himself in a sizable room filled with the constant echoes of dripping water. There were a few pieces of furniture he had brought in through a larger opening, such as a living room table, a coat hanger, a mattress, and five lanterns. He refueled two of the lanterns and lit them, then examined the place. Nothing seemed missing, so he nodded in approval. Shortly after he had moved in, local bandits ransacked the place, believing that what was his was also theirs. After the second looting, he retaliated by killing three of their number and putting their heads on pikes beside cavern entrances. It looked like the bandit gangs had taken the hint.

  On the opposite side of the table were two oaken chests. He unlocked one with a key and steeled himself before opening it. Inside were various body parts of people he had killed throughout his career. There were eyes, noses, tongues, hands, and feet, all taken from victims he had been paid good money to bump off. And by God, did they stink! He knew it was a risk keeping them here, for the stench invited scavengers to this clammy abode. Still, he couldn’t help but admire his collection as he hung a lantern over them, fondly remembering all the places he had broken into and the faces he had stilled.

  He then produced a small sack from an inner pocket and took out a blood-encrusted nose. It had belonged to an old business partner named Kap, whom he had killed accidentally months ago. It was the only body part he had any regret possessing, yet now it was in his collection to join the ranks of finer mementos. He placed the nose within a small row of others, then closed the chest, turned around, and took a deep breath while fighting the urge to vomit. After several years of committing murder, he’d think he was past getting offended by sickly pungent odors, but his senses thought otherwise.

  After resting his legs awhile on a rickety chair, he opened the other chest which held more … cleaner items. He took out what appeared to be a jewelry box but was actually so much more. It was made of steel with gold paint, its top surface decorated with a delicate pattern of crisscrossing wavy lines. A small ruby was placed in the center, its faint glow indicating that the box’s enchantment was still in effect.

  He set the box on the table, gave it a healthy shake, and then pulled out a drawer from the right side. “Wake up, I need you,” he snapped in annoyance.

  A pair of gossamer dragonfly wings sprouted from the drawer, followed by a yawn that could have come from a newborn babe. The wings then fluttered and brought up the figure of a young woman only slightly taller than the length of Rainer’s hand. She rubbed her miniscule blue eyes with tiny fists as she stretched her legs, and she circled in the air a few times to get herself used to flying after her months-long slumber.

  She was a fairy named Nyx, and while she may appear harmless with her slender form and tiny strips of green fabric for clothing, Rain
er knew better. Fairies were willful beings capable of incredibly powerful magic. The only thing keeping Nyx from blasting him away into oblivion was the enchantment on the box, which was called a “fairy binder.” A strong and competent mage had attached her life to the box, so whoever possessed the box essentially possessed her as well. Plus, if Nyx ever killed someone whether on her own or through her master’s order, the box’s enchantment would instantly kill her. It was a hell of a way to keep a fairy obedient—and in the eyes of many, it was the only way.

  “Hello, master,” Nyx said in her tiny, innocent voice, her body bathed in a soft white light. “I’m so glad to be of service to you again! What may I do for you? Draw you a bath? Clean your clothes? Fetch you something to eat?”

  Instead of answering right away, Rainer leaned back in his chair and sighed. He fingered the front of his tunic which bore a narrow hole amid a large blood stain. “I died, Nyx,” he said, sounding as if he didn’t believe his own words. “Just a few days ago, I died. A girl ran her sword clear through me, then stuck my own dagger into my throat. I should be dead now.”

  “But … but master,” Nyx cheerily said, “you don’t look dead to me. You look as hale and hearty as ever!”

  Rainer looked at her with a pair of dead, intimidating eyes. “Nyx, you fairies have many … admirable qualities. Your tendency to state the obvious … is not one of them.”

  Nyx hung her head and lowered herself in the air, her soft glow diminishing a little. “I’m sorry, master. It won’t happen again.”

  Rainer took to staring into space again. “This girl … her name is Callie. I asked her clan leader to carry out a job for me, and he had her do it. She failed and barely got away with her precious life. In doing so, she cost me a lot of coin. And Nyx, when I say ‘a lot,’ I mean ‘a shitload.’ More coin than I know what to do with. I may have been able to afford you new clothes.”

  Nyx ran her fingers nervously through her short auburn hair. “Oh, um … that’s fine, master. I’m happy with what I have on, really …”

  He nodded as if he believed her. “It’s too late now to get paid, so I wanted to make her suffer for her failure. I would have brought her here and poked her eyes out, or any other thing I felt like. But no, she ran her sword through me and left me to die.”

  “Oh, that wasn’t very nice of her—not at all, master!”

  “No, it wasn’t … but she is to be respected for it. She bested me in combat even though I should have seen it coming. It is the code among warriors.”

  “Oh … I’m sorry I did not show her any respect, master.”

  “Whatever. I’ve not taken her off my hit list, but she has won a reprieve from me. I shall not raise a hand against her until I feel the time is right to go after her again. She’s earned that, which is more than I can say about any others on my list.”

  “That’s quite good of you, master. So … is there anything I may do for you about this girl?”

  He looked at her again, giving her cherubic face a long, unnerving stare. He then leaned forward and said, “I want you to go to the Royal Palace and whisper in King Paulson’s ear as he sleeps that his kitchen staff is planning to poison him, and the only way to keep that from happening is for him to kill them first.”

  Nyx swallowed hard as she held her hands in front of her navel and crossed her forelegs. “Um … shall I do this right away?”

  Rainer slowly drew a smile on his face then suddenly cried, “No, you idiot!” He rammed his back into his chair, nearly teetering it over to the floor, and laughed so hard his voice echoed loudly throughout the cavern.

  “I’m sorry, master,” Nyx sadly said, though she hardly knew what she was apologizing for.

  “Oh, Nyx, you truly are sorry in more ways than one.” He took out a small felt bag usually used to store buttons and pulled out a few strands of long dark hair he had found in an inn. “Use these to find Callie and keep an eye on her. I want to know where she is and how she’s doing. Give me an update every day. And whatever you do, don’t be seen, dammit!”

  Nyx took the hairs and sniffed them. “Oh, I won’t, master, I promise! You can count on me!”

  Rainer frowned and rubbed his heavy eyelids. “Before you go, I suppose you can build a campfire in here. And make sure the horse outside hasn’t run away, and clear the mattress of any bugs or snakes.”

  “Yes, master, happy to do it! But if you’ll allow … m-may I ask a question?”

  “No, but do it anyway.”

  Nyx paused, confused as to whether she had permission or not. “Master, if this ‘Callie’ girl ran a sword through you and made you lose so much blood, then how are you still alive?” He raised his eyebrows, and she couldn’t tell if it was from annoyance or something else. “Oh, I’m sorry, master, I’m sorry, I’m sorry …”

  “Shut up. I’m not angry, it’s just something I’d like to know myself. I have no idea why I’m not worm chow right now when I should be; all I know is that my wounds healed faster than I anticipated. They closed as quickly as a draining bedpan, and if they hadn’t, you’d still be in the binder. It must have been some kind of magic, but I don’t know what—”

  “Oh, yes, master!” Nyx exclaimed, doing a flip in midair. “It was your magic that did it! It must have!”

  Rainer scowled, suspecting that Nyx was sassing him. “My magic? What magic? I don’t have any magic.”

  “Oh, but you do, master! I sense it in you, even if you don’t!”

  “Wait, have you always sensed it? Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “I thought you already knew of it, but I guess you didn’t after all. It’s a kind of magic I’ve never sensed before. I know not where it came from, but if it pulled you from death, it can only be a good thing. Right, master?”

  Rainer mulled over this new information. “I never drank a potion in my life, so I shouldn’t have any magic in me. Either you’re lying or someone has been messing with me.”

  “I swear, master, I’m not fibbing. All I can say is that it’s not magic from a potion nor from a fairy like me.”

  “Well, aren’t you so damned helpful?”

  “I’m … I’m sorry, master.”

  “Get out of here and do what I said!”

  Nyx darted out of the room, leaving Rainer to ponder her words. He wished she had mentioned his magic soon after he had bought her from the slave master, but it was just as well that she hadn’t. He didn’t feel as if it was magic he could actively use like a mage; instead it was a passive ability that could miraculously heal a wound no matter how deep it was. But if it wasn’t magic that came from a potion’s natural ingredients nor from a fairy’s essence, then where the hell did it come from?

  He grumbled and placed his feet on the table next to the box. His magic could be a concern for another day; right now, all he wanted was to get revenge on that sniveling bitch as soon as was convenient. She had thought herself a master assassin and proved herself wrong, and Rainer had paid the price for it. He could hardly wait to turn the tables on her.

  Problem was, she was in the middle of the Consarian army. Even if she didn’t get herself killed, he might have to wait for the whole damned war to be over before he can get another stab at her. It had been risky enough to pose as a soldier for two weeks, and he didn’t want to try it again.

  But who knows, maybe he’ll get lucky. Callie clearly hadn’t wanted to be there, so if she was as resourceful as Rainer thought she was, she might get her chance to escape soon.

  And once she did, Rainer would have something special in store for her.

  One

  Under a starless black sky, the land ran red with blood as the drums of war beat with insatiable fury. Hundreds of horsemen plowed into foot soldiers, lobbing off heads and hands with masterful strokes. Some soldiers got lucky hits in, sinking lances into horses’ breasts and parrying the horsemen’s weapons. But
more often than not, the horsemen left bleeding, twitching bodies in their wake—more food for the hungry earth to consume.

  There were also mercenaries: hired warriors who fought for neither king or country but merely for coin. Their thirst for battle was matched only by their desire for women, so they wildly threw themselves into terrible frays to gain impressive stories to tell and coin to buy drinks with. They leapt at horses and armored knights with little more than dented blades and flimsy chain mail, and through sheer strength of will, they found ways to defeat their foes and leave them gasping for a few more breaths.

  There were so many souls who sought for nothing but the glory of battle, but few could outdo the skill of a man who was alone in his mastery of the magical arts. Kane Bailey, a former heir of Ester Barony, stood amid the chaos with little more than a black leather robe with red patterns, a chain-mail tunic, and a staff of petrified oak adorned with a citrine bigger than his fist. Dozens have charged at him with sharpened blades and spears, and all fell before the impossible might of his spells. Upon observing his boyish face, they had assumed he was a child with scabbed knees pretending to be a hardened man, only to have the meat peeled from their bones upon rushing at him.

  He was perhaps the most powerful weapon Consaria had in its arsenal, but there was one other fighter who could probably defeat him—if the stories about her were true. He sent tremors across the land and tore apart forests in search of her, for it was his mission to put an end to her this very night.

  He hurried across scorched farmlands and ruined meadows, casually burning his enemies with a wave of his staff. His journey eventually took him to a valley filled with the bodies of fallen Consarians, their armor bearing deep slashes and their features frozen in horror. It looked to be her work, so Kane stepped over his dead comrades with little regard for respect before she could get away.

  He finally arrived at a grassy hill where Lonsaran soldiers made a temporary camp—and his quarry was among them. Lady Calista was quite a sight to behold, for she appeared as a figure straight out of a nightmare, with her black armor that moved as fluidly as a snake and sported deadly spikes like a dragon’s backbone. And yet there was beauty to her as well, her proud blue eyes as peaceful as a calm ocean yet as cold as a mountain breeze. Many men would die happy if they could see love in those eyes, but Kane was not one of them. Calista had brought her nation one victory after another, crippling dozens of Consarian squadrons and confiscating precious provisions.