Chapter 19 - Blue Roses

Gazef Stronoff.

Warrior-Captain of the Royal Select. Personal bodyguard to the King.

The greatest swordsman of the Re-Estize Kingdom, bar none, he'd earned his position through merit alone. He'd emerged triumphant in the Grand Tournament, besting the equally-skilled Brain Unglaus in a duel that was still talked-about today. He was the King's champion, his most loyal right hand...And, the most daring would claim, his friend.

It was said that - when armed and armored with the Kingdom's Five Treasures - there was no-one who could hope to take him on with drawn steel.

Consider all that, and you'll appreciate the stir our match had caused amongst the great and good of the Kingdom.

In truth, I hadn't expected to see him again. After his decidedly shabby treatment by the Crown Prince, I'd thought that the King would want to keep him by his side, if only to avoid another incident.

But what he'd said-

"Captain - I wasn't expecting to see you here," Climb said. His formal facade had relaxed, just a hair; I could see that they knew each other, but from the momentary puzzlement in Climb's voice, this clearly wasn't the usual course of things. "Is there anything I could-"

Gazef shrugged. "I was relaxing. I find myself at liberty, and I was in a gentle mood." He chuckled, a low sound. "Besides, I was curious. A guest, asking to inspect the castle's watchtowers? An unusual request, for sure."

He gave me a thoughtful look, and I hurried to explain myself.

"I was looking for...A change of pace, really," I admitted. "The Palace is splendid, but I find myself - Well, it's very different from what I'm used to."

That was putting it mildly. It'd been a whole month, and I still wasn't quite used to air that didn't taste faintly of tin and pollutants. Water that lacked the chemical tang of chlorine.

On some level, the Holy Kingdom's spartan simplicity had lessened my sense of disorientation. But here, amid the towers of Ro Lente, I felt disjointed - A man out of space and time. It was hard to believe that there was a war on; Here, and back in the Holy Kingdom. The impossible opulence of the palace made it feel like - whatever happened - the shining, splendid lives of the royals and those close to them would go on undisturbed.

Same as it ever was.

Gazef raised an eyebrow at that. "I feel much the same, at times," he said. "Still...An impressive sight, is it not?" He half-turned, casting his gaze over the proud spires and white walls of the castle compound with a quiet pride.

I had to admit: It was oddly humbling to witness that depth of emotion. Where I was from, the concept of the State - much like everything else - had decayed to a shadow of its former meaning. It was the corporations, the zaibatsus and the massive continent-spanning conglomerates, that controlled our lives in their entirety.

There's little pride in being a mere cog in the corporate machine.

When the Warrior-Captain turned back, it was Climb he directed his next words at.

"You should ask him, you know," Gazef said, not unkindly. "It's written all over your face."

Climb blinked, checked a step. Surprise, then consternation, flitted across those intense features.

"Captain Stronoff-" he began, uncertainly. "I don't unde-"

Gazef sighed. "Sir Samuel," he said, talking over him. "This may be sudden, but - Would you care to spar with Climb?" A smile spread across those craggy features. "He's been burning to ask you, since our bout. It'd be a shame for him to miss out."

Now that shook me. I glanced over at him, with a questioning look. "Is that true?" I couldn't help but ask, and Climb came stiffly to attention.

"I - Nngh." The spasm of some internal struggle passed across his face; For a moment, he looked earnest, almost painfully eager. Young, too - But then again, that was a given. "It'd be an honor to train with you, Gran - Sir Samuel!" he said, bowing his head. "If it's alright with you, please grant me this opportunity!"

I'll be honest: I was a little hesitant. I was acutely aware of the uproar my first match had caused. If I'd been ever-so-slightly less fortunate, that would definitely have caused some kind of diplomatic incident. And yet, between Climb's earnest words and Gazef's steady - almost knowing - gaze…

"All right," I said, wondering if I was going to regret this.

I forced a smile, doing my best to fight down the sudden, queasy sensation in my gut.

"...all right."

We'd shed our armor for this match. I personally didn't mind, but Climb's gleaming plate - a gift from the Princess - was far too expensive to have dents bashed into it. I couldn't help but notice the exacting, almost reverent care he took with each piece, as he hung them on the stand; I'd been far more careless with Samuel's armor, after I realized it could repair itself.

The padded jackets we wore smelled, faintly, of rust and old sweat. The quilted material was substantial enough to stop a blade, though it left the feet, hands and head bare - I couldn't help but be surprised at how cumbersome it felt, never mind that I'd been fighting in enchanted platemail for almost a full week.

Careless, again. There was so much I still didn't know - Not for the first time, I wondered how Wolfgunblood had blended in so easily. Confidence, I supposed: He acted like he belonged, and those around him had come to accept that.

Power is the key that opens all doors.

I was mulling over this, as Climb lifted a practice shield from the rack. He'd armed himself with a broadsword to match, the double-edged blade whistling through the air as he gave it a practice swing.

I hadn't bothered with a shield. Instead, I'd picked a bastard sword, roughly the length of the Interfector. Despite the armorer's best efforts, the blunt blade had faint splotches of rust near the hilt, but it was more than solid enough. It was weighty, in my hands - Solid, in a way that the Interfector and even Gnosis hadn't been.

A tendril of doubt crept through my mind, and I forced it down with an effort of will.

Gazef had been nothing but helpful, the entire time. He'd seen me fumbling with the clasps of my padded jacket - while Climb waited, polite but brimming with energy - and helped me pull it down.

"It'll be a meaningful exercise for you too, you know," he'd said, and I'd given him a quizzical look.

"You'll see. It's never too late to learn something new, Sir Samuel."

A clap to the back sent me into the painted ring, the straw-stuffed mats bowing slightly beneath our weight. We faced each other across the center of the mat, slightly side on, weapons held low - Climb tensed, hunching ever-so-slightly, the left side of his body concealed by his shield. He looked like he was fighting for his life, positively radiating intensity.

"Begin!"

I'd expected Climb to lunge, to charge, but he merely held his position. Long seconds ticked by, as I firmed my one-handed grip on the bastard sword, waiting-

He didn't move.

All right, I thought. All right-

I took two long strides forward, and swept round with my blade. It caught the rim of the shield, and sent splinters flying; Climb let out a little grunt, his sword lunging for my ribs. Instantly, I could tell he was slower than the Warrior-Captain, a little clumsier - I struck it aside, and I saw his eyes widen as he staggered a step, momentarily overbalanced.

My practice blade hammered his shield again, harder this time. The impact wrenched him to the side, nearly flinging Climb from his feet. It took me a moment to realize that he had to roll with each strike; Taking one head-on meant a broken arm, or a dislocated shoulder.

It wasn't remotely fair. Climb flung a sideways sweep aimed at my head, and I caught it on my weapon's edge - the guards of both swords scraped, then locked together. He was pushing with every grain of strength, each hard-trained muscle flexing: His legs straining against the ground, arms straining to push his hands, his face slowly going red as he strove to knock me off-balance-

And then I dipped my shoulder. Shoved back.

Climb tumbled back, his mouth and eyes wide open with surprise. A lesser fighter would've gone sprawling, but he caught himself, somehow. He dropped to one knee, bracing himself, his flanks heaving as he made to rise-

"Out of bounds," Gazef said. He pointed to where Climb's foot was planted, beyond the red border of the ring. "Bout, Sir Samuel."

"...Are you all right?" I couldn't help but ask, offering a hand to help Climb to his feet. He refused it with a polite shake of his head as he struggled upright; Despite his best efforts to conceal it, I could see the bruises that stippled his left arm, the way he winced as he flexed it.

"I'm...fine, Sir Samuel!" he forced out, taking up his stance from before. "I'm good to continue!"

If you're sure, I almost said, but held back. He was doing his very best - I wasn't about to begrudge him that. Instead, I worked both hands around my sword's grip, angling the blade to guard. If I'd guessed right…

"Begin!"

This time, Climb came at me fast. He surged forward with a vigor that surprised me, his broadsword slashing left and right in flickering cuts. I parried once, then again, the quick scrape and clatter of our blades echoing from the stone walls. He didn't have Gazef's measured skill, but he made up for it with youthful strength: He cut again and again, and I let the fury of his assault play itself out-

Until I saw the opening, and volleyed with a two-handed swing.

To his credit, Climb didn't try to block it. He dodged desperately, reeling back - Panting, breathing hard, he nearly fell. He tried for a desperate slash, but he'd misjudged the range; I simply leaned back from the arc of his swing, and poked Climb - not ungently - in the ribs with the blunt point of my blade.

He made a sound like "Ooooofff-" as he drew up short. Winded, a little grunt escaped Climb's heaving chest, his arms falling to his sides.

"Too-" he managed, sweat glistening on his brow, breath smoking in the air from the exertion. "Too fast-"

Gazef had been standing with his back to the wall, his dark eyes watching every moment of the match. I caught his gaze, and he nodded - just once - before turning his attention back to Climb.

"That's right," the Warrior-Captain said. "He's faster and stronger than you."

Climb's head was down. I could hear his teeth grinding, even as he fought for breath. This time, he'd held nothing back; he'd pushed himself as hard as he could have, and it hadn't been enough.

There's nothing worse than reaching the end of yourself.

That's enough, I nearly said. There was no point to this; the strength and speed I'd been endowed with - that this body came with - was an unbridgeable gap. He'd have had better luck trying to batter down a brick wall with his bare hands.

But I held my tongue.

"-So, how do you win?"

My breath caught, at the Warrior-Captain's words. Win?

Climb looked up. A flicker of some unknowable emotion passed across his features, his expression hardening with determination.

With a grunt, Climb heaved himself upright, his fingers clutching the hilt of his sword in a deathgrip.

"One more round," he said, and I nodded. I don't think anyone could have said no to that.

I took my place on the mat, resetting my stance. Third time counts for all, I thought, even as I wondered exactly what he was planning. I'd glimpsed the ghost of some plan, some strategy, through the crack in his formal facade - Climb might've been outmatched, but he didn't look like someone who'd given up.

That, I think, was something you had to respect.

"Begin!"

I lead with my sword. Climb slid away from the first whistling stroke, then the next - He was cannier now, favoring his shield, his blade lagging behind as if forgotten. Encouraging me to overstep, or make a badly-timed swing. In all ways, I had the advantage, but that didn't mean he couldn't surprise me.

I drove him back across the mat, keeping up the pressure. He gave ground, then gave ground again; I sensed that he'd chambered up a kick, and I was ready for it when his foot drove at my gut. I dodged to the side, and he hit only air-

But then Climb let out a battle-cry, and sprang at me. He lashed in with his sword, driving me back as I rotated my blade in a series of parries - He struck again and again, an abrupt surge of motion, hacking in butcher's-cuts. Steel rang on steel; It was as if he'd forgotten everything he'd ever known about swordsmanship, and was trying to overwhelm me with fury alone.

I saw my moment. I brought my weapon up in a swift arc, and the blade tore Climb's sword from his hand, hard enough to sting his fingers.

Just as he'd intended.

My eyes were on his sword, distracted as it was flung aside. Before I could react, he grabbed my arm above the elbow and wrenched me into a stumble.

Light and pain exploded behind my eyes, as the flat of his shield slammed into my face. There was a crunch, a coppery taste in my mouth-

"Sir! Sir Samuel, I'm sorry!" Climb yelped, something like panic in his voice. "I thought you'd block, I thought you'd-"

My head swam, as I forced myself to my knees. He'd hit me harder than he'd intended; My vision was fogged, and blood was pouring from my cracked nose. I put my hands to my face, my eyes tearing up - the pain was all-encompassing, extraordinary.

Fuck, I thought. How did he-

"It's...all right," I slurred. "My fault - not concentrating…"

All I could smell - All I could taste - was blood, the iron stench potent, stifling. I staggered, but Gazef steadied my arm as he helped me to my feet; "I have a potion-"

I spat blood, but I couldn't get the taste out of my mouth. "I'm-" I began, fighting for calm, reaching for the core of power I knew was there. A warmth coursed through me, blue light welling up from between my fingers; the pain dwindled, an immense sense of relief coursing through me.

There was a sound like a painless crunch, as my nose and cheek pushed back into alignment - I could see better now my eyes were no longer watering, but the blood remained.

"...I'm all right." I managed, my voice hoarse. "No harm done-"

Jesus. He'd hurt me worse than all the beastmen of Loyts had ever managed. It was a humbling thought, as I wiped at my face - Now, at least, I knew where all the stains on the padded jerkin had come from.

"-Here. Drink this."

A canteen sloshed, and I fumbled for it. I splashed the cold, clear water on my face, then gulped about half of it. Rust-colored water streamed down my chest, as I rinsed the rest of the blood away.

As vision returned, I handed the canteen back to Gazef. Climb looked stricken, almost a little pale; For a moment, I wondered what the penalty for punching a foreign dignitary in the face was.

"See? No harm done," I managed, wiping my mouth. "You saw your chance, and you took it. If you'd pulled the blow, I'd have been p - More offended."

It's amazing how magnanimous you can be, when your nose isn't broken. The absence of pain was - without a doubt - rapidly becoming my favorite sensation. I couldn't help but probe, gingerly, at the soft tissue of my face. It was whole, unmarred, but a moment ago…

I was never going to get used to this.

"A good bout," Gazef said. He helped Climb unfasten the dented shield - Climb's arm was already swelling up, and the younger man winced when he moved it. From the way he held himself, that last, wrenching effort must have been agonizing; In his place, I don't think I'd have been able to do that.

He was someone to watch, that was for sure.

Now that the first flush of panic had faded, Climb positively glowed with a quiet pride. He must've been really suffering, because he swallowed the healing draught without complaint. As the livid swelling eased, he worked his arm, testing the range of motion. Gazef looked on, like a teacher with an especially bright pupil.

"It's not about who's stronger," the Warrior-Captain said, in his calm, measured voice. "Even an expert swordsman can be caught off-guard. Sometimes, it's about how far you're willing to go to win."

His brow furrowed, as if he was staring - just for a moment - at something only he could see. Then Gazef shook his head, and went on: "If your opponent doesn't - can't - see it coming...That's your edge. That can be enough, about half of the time."

"And...The other half?" Climb asked, wide-eyed.

I shrugged. "Luck," I said, and Captain Stronoff offered a grave nod. It was something to think about; If Climb hadn't blindsided me, if the shield-bash had been a hair less effective, I'd have had him. If my swing had been a few inches lower, I'd have mangled his fingers, quite possibly broken his hand.

All things considered, he'd done pretty well.

Gazef gave me an expectant glance, and I felt compelled to go on. "No one's invincible," I said. Any illusions of that were long-gone, right about the time I'd been left scorched and charred by a Magelos fireball. But a reminder didn't hurt. "When you start thinking you are - When you tell yourself that there's nothing more you need to learn...That's how you end up dead."

"Good advice," the Warrior-Captain said. "You've left out one caveat on your assessment, though."

I blinked. "Have I?" I said, honestly surprised. My eyes narrowed, as I went over everything that had transpired, so far. Try as I might, I couldn't quite think of-

Climb raised his hand. "Restraint," he said, tentatively.

"For Sir Samuel's benefit, Climb?" Gazef prompted. The younger man nodded, squaring his shoulders; there was a new confidence in his voice, now, an earnestness to his words.

"If I may - I only caught you off-guard because I held nothing back," Climb said. "If you'd broken my hand, I'd have still been able to trap your sword-arm. But if you cut it off, I don't think I'd have been able to sustain my grip."

That clinical, matter-of-fact assessment chilled me. My mouth went dry - All I could do was nod, solemnly, as if I was taking every word to heart.

What the hell do you say to that?

"That style suits you, Climb," Gazef was saying, every bit the proud mentor. "Swordsmen tend to focus on bladework, once they have a sword in their hands...But I've always thought that was very limiting. In a real fight, anything goes: If you can reach your enemy with them, you'll find that your fists and feet are just as effective."

His smile turned wry. "Well, it's never going to be popular, but it works for adventurers. When all's said and done, you use whatever works. You do what you have to do."

"The end justifies the means?"

Gazef's weighty eyebrows rose. "Now, that's different. That kind of thinking gets a man into trouble. There are some means that no end will ever justify. Fighting dirty, occasionally, is no bad thing - Neither's breaking the rules. As long as you remember one thing."

"Which is?"

"You have to understand the rules in the first place, if you're going to break them."

Climb nodded, clearly thinking this over. For a rare moment, his expression lightened - But then he went solemn again, as his blue eyes settled on me. "If you'll forgive my presumption, Si - Samuel...I hope to spar with you again, someday. This was a valuable experience."

"Of course," I said, keeping my voice level. "I'd say I've learnt a thing or two, myself."

He beamed.

As it turned out, Gazef couldn't stay long. He had other matters to attend to, he said, and I had the sense he'd already lingered longer that he should have.

"Keep at it," he said, with a hearty clap to Climb's shoulder. "Master your style - make it your own - and then you'll be truly formidable." He eyed me, and (for a moment) I couldn't help but think he meant me, too. Not for the first time, I sensed that Gazef had a way of seeing the truth of things.

The Warrior-Captain reached into his jerkin, and produced a letter. Just a square of white paper, marked with a familiar seal. "For you, Sir Samuel. I've got to get going - But perhaps we'll meet again, soon."

"Thank you for today, Captain Stronoff!" Climb said. He was moving a little stiffly, still not fully recovered; I'd have offered to heal him, but he carried himself like it was a point of pride.

"Don't mention it. I had fun, too."

A wave, and he was gone. I listened with half a ear as I tore the letter open. My eyes narrowed as I scanned the neat lines of Kelart's handwriting, my mind working; She must have handed it to Gazef at some point, which meant…

It said, simply: The Gilded Arms, then a time.

"Good news?" Climb asked.

"Maybe," I said, and handed the note to him. His expression changed, as he reached for the pocket watch that he carried with him; "That's...two hours away," Climb said, with something like relief. Then, a little cautiously-

"...Should we inform Ser Wolfgunblood?"

I hesitated. Thought about it, for a moment.

"I'll tell him," I said, at last. "He's waited long enough."

The Gilded Arms was an inn for adventurers, which meant that it combined the opulence of a five-star hotel with the atmosphere of a gambling hall. Carved cherubs rose above the gilded molding, tall windows revealing tempting glimpses of the mirrored luxury within. Even the inn's sign - an axe and a sword, against a kite shield - was real gold, gleaming with an unmistakable luster.

Adventurers lived fast and died young. The inn was the place for the rare few outliers who hadn't just survived, but thrived.

The entire first floor was an expansive, well-stocked bar and dining hall, the dark wood finishings polished to a mirror sheen. A fire roared in the hearth, but that was just for show, really: According to Climb, it was magic that kept the place cool in the summer heat, and warm during the heart of winter.

For how large it was, the place was less than half-full. No surprise - This was a place for elite adventurers, and there just weren't that many, even in the capital.

As soon as we pushed through the batwings, curious eyes turned towards us. Even without his armor, Climb couldn't have been mistaken for anything but a soldier. He carried himself with the same stiff reserve, never mind that he was wearing a simple shirt and vest rather than plate mail.

He made me feel self-conscious, and I was dressed much the same way - A short navy-blue jacket over a shirt of grey wool, with black boots and gloves. Absolutely no lace or gold embroidery, never mind the entire guest wardrobe that seemed to consist of nothing but just that. The Interfector rode high on my hip; Given all I'd heard, I wanted it close at hand.

Wolfgunblood was...Well, he looked the way he always did. An effortless embodiment of cool, his spurs clinking with each measured stride. That black coat of his always seemed on the verge of billowing dramatically in his wake, as his mismatched eyes scanned the room.

He'd been chatting up one of the maids, when we'd found him. From her starry-eyed look, I was fairly certain he'd have got her out of that dress in less than a hour; Still, he'd been surprisingly happy to see us. "Back already?" he'd said, arching an eyebrow as if we'd just stepped out for a smoke.

All the carefully cultivated insouciance in the world, however, couldn't hide that Wolfgunblood was ill at ease here. Maybe the novelty of meeting royalty had worn off - More likely, he'd realized that Re-Estize was a complete pit of vipers, and he wanted nothing more to do with it. Whatever the reason, the maid had excused herself with a low curtsy and a meltingly-soft smile (for Wolfgunblood) and a hard, almost scornful look (for Climb), and we had the room to ourselves at last.

He'd visibly brightened when he heard we were heading out. "Who are we meeting?" he'd asked, feigning casual disinterest. The corners of his mouth had turned upward, when Climb had told him - My guess was, only the presence of Princess Renner's bodyguard had kept him from grinning like a pumpkin.

"Them?" he'd mused aloud, those pale, almost fey features thoughtful.

"-Interesting."

Climb, for his part, hadn't seemed quite so keen. In fact, he'd looked faintly apprehensive, the entire way over. Why, I didn't know; I'd have asked him, if the timing had been less awkward. As it was, I just hoped it wasn't anything too serious.

And then we found out.

"Hey, virgin!"

The voice came from a round table, all the way at the back of the hall. A hand waved, familiarly, and I felt Climb tense ever-so-slightly. Just like that, there was a subtle shift in the atmosphere. Gazes were averted, as those at the surrounding tables suddenly found something else to be interested in.

Anything else.

For the life of me, I couldn't understand why. The figure waving to us had the heroic proportions of a barbarian hero, with a broad - almost square - jaw and arms as thick as logs. There was a sense of barely-contained strength, of vitality, a kindly glint to those eyes…Nothing out of the ordinary, except for his size and prowess.

Nothing out of the or-

Wait.

"Holy shit," Wolfgunblood muttered, just this side of audible.

"-That's a woman."

"It has been too long, Lady Gag-"

A weighty brow lifted, as Gagaran gave Climb a faintly reproachful look.

"Er, I mean - Miss Gagaran," he corrected, some of that earnestness showing through. Her sudden booming chuckle echoed in my ears, as Climb turned to her companion. "And you too, Lady Aindra."

"I told you before: You can call me Lakyus," Lady Aindra said. Quiet amusement flickered in her deep green eyes, a waterfall of blonde hair tumbling all the way down her back at the slight motion.

"-Yes, Lady Aindra." I had the sense this was familiar ground, well-trodden. Lakyus turned to take us in, then inclined her head in grave acknowledgement.

"Welcome," she said, even as Gagaran looked us discerningly up and down. I stiffened, instinctively, doing my best to project strength. To look calm and controlled, effortlessly confident.

To look - and I'm embarrassed to admit it - a little more like Wolfgunblood.

Gagaran's expression sharpened ever-so-slightly; A moment later, she grinned. What she'd seen, I had no idea, but it went a long way towards putting me at ease.

"Friend of yours, Climb?"

He paused at that. Just for a moment, as he glanced back over his shoulder at me.

"I suppose he is," Climb said, almost to himself, with just the faintest hint of a smile.

"...I suppose he is."

Next: The Demon Blade