The Last Rose Knight

[DragonHeart]

Yes I know, it's a few months late, but I thought I'd post it anyways. This is my entry for The TFF Writers of Tomorrow Contest.

Any comments or questions are welcome, of course.

Although I am fond of this particular work, I will probably not be submitting it to any publishing markets because it's more of a character study than a commercially viable work. Just the same, I hope you all enjoy reading it.

The Last Rose Knight

An old brown horse wandered into the village on that clear late autumn afternoon. Lean and battle-scarred, he plodded along, snorting as curious townsfolk crowded the edge of the unpaved road to watch him pass. His ears twitched at their whispers but he paid them no mind.

On his back he bore a rider unlike any person from the entire region. Clearly a warrior, a woman neither young nor aged sat easily in the saddle. She had wild dark hair to her shoulder and a cloth band about her head that slipped down to cover her right eye. The other was cat’s eye gold with a hard, unyielding gaze. On her right hip rested a sheathed broadsword, the worn leather hilt clearly visible. She didn’t speak, nor did the frightened villagers. They simply made way as horse and rider passed, disappearing into a maze of thatch-roofed houses and twisting narrow lanes.

“C’mon Gene, let us see!”

“You’ve been up there for half an hour already!”

“Shh, keep it down, she’ll hear you.” Gene motioned his two best friends to silence and turned back, ignoring their sullen faces. From his precarious perch on the woodpile he could peer in the inn’s small side window and see the entire bar.

The warrior-woman sat alone in the far corner, the building empty but for the innkeeper and his cook. She was on her third mug of the strongest local ale already. Her good eye focused on the single candle burning at her table. She drank again and sighed, her expression somber.

Fascinated, Gene leaned forward. His weight shifted and a single log broke free, clattering against the side of the inn as it tumbled to the earth. She looked up immediately, the eye fixing on him with uncanny precision. Frightened, the boy fell back and landed hard on the ground. His friends scattered as heavy boot steps approached. The door creaked open. Helpless, Gene waited alone. Fear held his young body in an icy grip.

She was both beautiful and terrible as she stood over him, her face unreadable. All he could do was stare at the vicious sword at her side. A sword no doubt stained with the blood of many men. He trembled. She leaned down, grabbed the front of his tunic, and pulled him to his feet with effortless strength.

“Are you ok?”

She didn’t sound anything like he imagined. Her voice was soft and filled with a sorrow he couldn’t begin to comprehend. Overwhelmed, he remained silent, shaken by her very presence. She bowed her head, lightly resting a hand on his shoulder for but a moment.

“Sorry. Be more careful, kid.” She walked away, ignoring the other two boys as they ran to Gene’s aid. They babbled questions and comforts at him, but he never heard a word of it. He watched the slight imprints of her boots in the dust, erased by the brisk wind that brought the chill of night upon them. Who was she?

It took a long time for Gene to rebuild his courage. A week after the first encounter, he returned to the inn just before dawn. He checked the stable first, just in case. Empty.

“Lookin’ for her, are you Gene?” The innkeeper stood behind him with an armload of firewood. “She ain’t here, always leaves before the moon sets. Try the far pasture with the old apple on the hill.”

“Thanks Jack!”

“Careful there Gene, she’s an odd one. Your momma will kill me if anythin’ happens.”

Blood racing, he ran all the way across town, past the abandoned farms on the edge of town. The field Jack spoke of lay so far out it was nearly forgotten. No one had been there in years. The grass grew wild up to his shoulders where it wasn’t choked with weeds. Luckily he didn’t have to push through it all; he simply walked along the trail her horse made. It led straight to the top of the hill.

He paused at the bottom. Silence. He didn’t see anything, either. In anger he kicked at a stone, watching it fly at the trunk of the massive tree on the crest. The sharp crack of the impact made him feel better. He turned to leave, figuring he’d missed her entirely.

Gene barely walked three steps when the stone sailed back and struck him on the shoulder. He whirled around, rubbing at the injury. Wouldn‘t even leave a bruise. Then he forgot to breathe. She leaned casually against the tree, sword in hand but clearly not a threat. Watching. Waiting.

She didn’t seem annoyed by his presence. Gene took it as a good sign and slowly walked up to join her, a dozen emotions tumbling over each other as he drew close.

“You’re the kid from yesterday.”

“Yeah…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so…”

“It’s ok, kid. You aren’t the only one.”

“My name’s Gene.”

“Good name. Strong.”

“What about you?” Gene took a chance and sat down next to her. With every passing moment more and more questions danced on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to know everything.

“What about me?” She sat as well, laying her sword to the side. Well clear of Gene.

“Your name.”

“Don’t worry about it. I won’t be around much longer.” Her tone had a certain finality to it.

“Why? Are you leaving? You just got here.”

“You might say that. Not everyone is as nice as you, Gene. People hate what they fear. A lot of people in this world are afraid of me.”

“But…you’re not evil.”

“Some people think I am.”

“They’re wrong, then. People aren’t evil!”

She smiled at him, but to Gene it looked like she was trying not to cry. Absently she touched the patch over her eye. Remembering. She stood, sheathed her sword, and whistled. The old horse came trotting up from the nearby woods. Mounting with easy grace, she turned back to him just once.

“Hilda.”

Then they were gone, disappearing like phantoms in the shadow of the trees. Gene remained with more questions than answers. He considered following her, but the chill wind had picked up again, reminding him that he forgot his coat again. Shivering, he headed for home, but not without a final look at the place they’d sat together. He smiled.

Autumn soon gave way to winter’s icy grip. Their world plunged into a washed out combination of white and gray. All work stopped after the first snow, the harsh wind and biting cold driving the men to the inn, which doubled as a pub, and the children to their mother’s kitchens. Gene was the exception, trudging through the wet white world every day. The fire always seemed warmer in Hilda’s private room.

The hours were long and lonely for the few without friends or family. His presence seemed to give her something from the past. Hilda grew quite fond of him and they spent hours talking, though she would not speak of herself. His curiosity ate at him until he couldn’t stand it. He had to know.

That day was one of the coldest out of the entire season. Even the fire couldn’t completely erase the cold, so they sat together with thick wool blankets. As always, Hilda had a tankard close at hand. He’d begged many times but she refused to let him try the bitter alcohol. Instead he held a steaming mug of her own herbal tea, a much sweeter variety than the local favorite. He was glad for the extra warmth even as it threatened to burn his hands.

“Hilda?”

“Yes?”

“How come you haven’t told me about yourself yet? You already know everything about me. I only know your name.”

“It’s not something kids should hear.”

“I’m not a kid anymore! You said so yourself last month! I’m thirteen now.”

She sighed, clearly conflicted over what to say to him. She’d learned from experience that he never gave up. Didn’t stop her from trying to change his mind, though.

“Are you sure about this? It’s a hard story, and long. I don’t want to explain to your folks why you’re suddenly having nightmares.”

“I won’t! Come on, I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

“Never make a promise you can’t keep, Gene. All right, let’s see…I guess the whole thing started about two years ago. I lived in a city far away from here called Fox’s Minaret. The king’s health started to fail and he had no heir. The kingdom grew restless, for without a successor named the throne would be a free-for-all. It fell to the Rose Knights, the king’s personal guard, to keep order.

I’d been commanding them for ten years and that was the first time I saw fear from any of them. We knew, of course. When the king died we’d be in big trouble. Several of the wealthy nobles were assembling armies, you see. They would try and take the castle by force. We couldn’t let them do that. We’d sworn loyalty to our king, every one of us. We would guard his realm until a successor could be found or until we died, whichever came first.

Eight months ago, he died. All hell broke loose after that, with five different factions fighting over the castle we still watched over. Figured they would kill each other and spare us the trouble, but they smartened up and allied their armies until it was one huge force. The king hadn’t even had his funeral when they stormed us.

They attacked the castle in the middle of the night. The Rose Knights were slaughtered one by one until only I remained. They hated me, hated the idea of a woman with power over men, so they left me alive until the end. A sword came down upon me, and I met Death, looked him square in the face, but it wasn’t my time.

One of my knights was still alive, but only barely. His last act in life was to pull me backward so the sword missed. I lost my eye, but I kept my life that day because of him. They thought I was dead and threw me out with their bodies. No burial, no rites. Just the good green earth to bear witness to their noble end.

That was the end of the Rose Knights. I had nothing left so I started traveling when I was strong enough to sit my horse again.”

Hilda fell silent, staring disconsolately into the fire. For her it felt like yesterday. Gene tried to imagine the horror she’d been through, watching her friends dying all around her while she alone lived. He shuddered.

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. Forgive me.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say. There was nothing else he could say, really.

“It’s all right. I’m glad someone will know the truth before I‘m gone.”

“You’re leaving?”

“When they found out I was still alive they started sending assassins after me. I don’t expect to see the next spring. I’m tired, Gene. I can’t run forever.”

“But you can’t die! Not after all that! Why not start the knights over, retake the castle? It was your home too!” He stood, his eyes bright with fervor. He knew in his heart but he refused to believe it.

“It takes years to train a single knight. Years I don’t have. It’s inevitable, really. I knew the risk when I took the job.”

“Train me, then! I’ll be your knight. I’ll protect you, I promise!”

“Gene…no child should stain their hands with the blood of men. I think it’s time you went home.” She refused to hear another word and kicked him out. He tried and tried, coming up with one plan after another, but Hilda withdrew and refused to talk to him. He wouldn’t see her again until a few days before the spring.

The morning was cold but the sun was strong and the ground started thawing. Everyone was in high spirits except Gene. He wandered the town disconsolately, ignoring all his friends and family. He went to the abandoned field again, hoping for a glimpse of Hilda’s horse or maybe the knight herself. He thought he saw someone up on the hill, beneath the single apple tree. It had bloomed early; pink blossoms hovered in a cloud in the otherwise bare grey branches. Hilda would see the spring after all. Overjoyed, he ran up, calling her name.

When he drew close enough to see her clearly, he stopped in shock. Surrounded by many deep hoof prints in the mud, Hilda sat with her back against the tree. Blood covered her shirt. A deep wound pierced the center of her chest. She looked up as he approached and collapsed beside her.

“Fate isn‘t a kind master.” She said, coughing. More blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.

“Hang on, I’ll get the doctor! Don’t die!” Tears streamed down his face. He started to take off his coat to cover her, but she waved him off.

“It’s too late for that, don’t ruin a good coat. Just hand me...my sword…” With supreme effort, she raised her hand, palm up. She was fading quickly. Gene rushed to get it. The blade was shattered almost to the hilt, the shards coated with crimson. Fighting back nausea, he lifted the heavy hilt and placed it in her grip, closing her fingers over the worn black leather. She sighed and held the broken sword against her chest, closing her eye.

“Do me a favor,” She whispered after a few moments. “Find Horus…release him.”

“I will” Gene promised her, forcing his voice not to break.

“The last rose falls…”

Hilda never spoke again. Gene stayed by her side until it was over. Something in him told the boy not to move her. She would be buried as her knights were, left to the good green earth. He stood and bowed his head, his tears mixing with her blood as he cried.

“Good bye, Hilda.”

Gene didn’t look back. He went to the stable where Horus waited. Somehow the old brown horse understood as he was led back to the open land. Even after his halter was removed, he stayed for a moment, nudging Gene gently with his warm nose, an oddly comforting gesture. Then he turned, cantered away, and was gone.

As the legend goes, every year afterwards, a single blood-red rose grew beneath the old apple tree in the frost of receding winter, only to fade and die just before the first breath of spring.

~DragonHeart~