Captain Thorne rode alongside Lord Emberlily at the head of their force. The armor of three hundred men clinked behind them. Thorne's horse kept pace easily, but his eyes were on the man beside him, the man with a fire in his eyes.
"You don't need to be out front," Thorne said, low enough that only Emberlily would hear. "You're a lord, not a foot soldier. Safer to lead from behind. Or better yet, not at all."
Emberlily snorted. "I'm not Ryswald, hiding behind stone walls and coin. I lead by example. Let them see their lord bleed if need be. A true man stands with his soldiers."
Thorne said nothing. Emberlily's pride burned hot today, almost hot enough to pull them all into war if not tempered.
"I must be the one to take retribution," Emberlily added. He turned, eyes sharp as flint. "You know something about that, don't you, Thorne?"
Thorne's jaw tightened. He did.
"Are you still hunting them?" Emberlily asked. "Those two men from your past?"
Thorne didn't answer at first. The truth was heavy. He'd buried it a thousand times, but it always clawed its way back up.
"I still pay spies to look," he said quietly. "Most of my extra coin goes to it."
Emberlily gave a quiet grunt of approval. "And what if they're dead?"
Thorne stared ahead, the banners of Greenreach barely visible on the horizon. They weren't dead, they couldn't be dead. He didn't even want to consider that possibility.
They crested a ridge, and there they were, Greenreach's vanguard. They were lined up outside the town's low walls. No more than a hundred men. They'd been expected.
"They know we're coming," Emberlily muttered.
A man stepped forward from the vanguard and shouted, "Turn back now! This is Greenreach land!"
Emberlily raised his hand, signaling for his troops to ready arms. He wasn't going to wait for a parley.
"Prepare to fight!"
Thorne scanned the lines. He didn't see Lord Ryswald. Of course he didn't. That man was all gold rings and soft words. No spine beneath his silk.
The vanguard bristled, lifting shields and tapping spears to make noise. An intimidation play.
It didn't work.
Emberlily drew his sword and charged.
Thorne followed, blade in hand.
The clash was swift and brutal.
Emberlily's soldiers surged forward with numbers and momentum, crashing into the vanguard like a tidal wave. Men screamed. Steel rang. The earth trembled beneath the chaos.
Captain Thorne was a whirlwind at the heart of it, a storm of steel and death. He moved through the enemy ranks with terrifying precision, blade flashing, cloak billowing behind him like the grim's whisper. He struck low, then high, his sword carving through flesh and armor like a baker slicing through fresh bread. He didn't roar or bark commands. He didn't need to. His silence was more unnerving than any battle cry.
One man lunged at him with a spear, Thorne stepped aside and drove his sword through the man's ribs, then turned before the body hit the dirt. Another came from behind. He pivoted and parried, then slammed his pommel into the attacker's nose before slicing clean through the man's thigh.
He fought like a butcher, like an artist, like death.
Emberlily, not far behind, cut his way through a cluster of footmen, blood splashing across his breastplate. "Gods," he muttered, half to himself, half in awe. "It's been too long since I've seen the Rose of Death in bloom."
Thorne didn't respond. He never did when the name was spoken. But there was a slight shift in his stance, a tension, like a memory held too long in the mind. The name had followed him through all of his endeavors. He hated it. But he had earned the title.
The battle raged on, but it was clear who held the upper hand. Emberlily's forces outnumbered the vanguard nearly three to one. Some of the defenders broke ranks. Others stood, desperate and outmatched, only to be cut down.
Thorne dropped another man with a clean stab to the throat and turned, breathing hard but steady. Around him, the vanguard was collapsing.
Then the horns sounded, shrill and high, a surrender call.
The fighting slowed. Emberlily raised a hand and shouted for the men to let the retreating soldiers flee. His voice cut through the noise like a blade, and his troops obeyed.
The ground was soaked in blood. Bodies lay strewn like discarded dolls.
And Thorne, the Rose of Death, stood at the edge of it all. Breathing quietly, he was unreadable behind the rose-red blood that stained his blade. He gave his sword a sharp swing, sending a fan of blood arcing through the air, the so-called petals that had earned him his name.
Then the horns sounded. Greenreach's men began to break and retreat. Emberlily didn't pursue. He let them go.
Thorne exhaled, blood cooling on his armor. A parley flag was raised from Greenreach's gate.
Finally, Ryswald emerged.
The man rode a white mare that looked ready to collapse like a banquet table beneath a feast for kings, Ryswald could probably finish that meal alone too. His cheeks were round, lips wet, and eyes darting. He looked less like a lord and more like a well-fed fox forced into daylight.
"What is the meaning of this!" Ryswald barked, puffing his chest. "The Count will not stand for this outrage, there will be-"
"You caused a riot. You poisoned my men. You cut off our trade." Emberlily's voice was calm, but every word rang like a war drum.
"You have no proof."
Emberlily's eyes narrowed. His voice deepened into something cold and commanding. "You take me for a fool?"
The wind stilled.
"I have the two women you paid to poison our ale. They've confessed. I could take her to the Count if you prefer, but I figured I'd handle this myself. The Count has enough problems on his plate anyways with the civil unrest with the neighboring county's right now."
Behind him, Thorne exchanged a glance with a fellow officer and smirked. The serving girl had confessed, sure, but she knew nothing of real value. The second woman was more tight-lipped. Emberlily was bluffing and doing it well.
Ryswald paled. His brow dampened. "That whore must've lied-"
Emberlily cut him off with a glare that could stop a charge.
"You wanted to play games," he said. "And you got what was coming. But I've had my revenge so just do one thing for me, and we'll forget this ever happened. Then you can go back to counting coins."
Ryswald paused with a scowl. "Get on with it then, what do you want?" he asked.
"The wheat trade. Favorable terms. And your seal on it this very moment."
"You're overstepping."
"Then raise your banner, and we'll continue this the old way," Emberlily said, his voice gone cold.
Ryswald looked at the field again, at the bodies, at the blood, and at the soldiers still waiting for his word. Then he exhaled sharply and extended a shaking hand. "Give me the damn paper."
Thorne watched in silence as Ryswald scrambled for his seal and couldn't help the faint smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth.