The Binding of the Three Roses

By Jason Hubbard

The search for the elusive Three Roses is at an end. After enduing calamity and heartbreak over the past year, Sean and Callie have decided to settle down. Together, they seek a simple life in a lord's service and find solace in each other's company. For a time, it seems they have nothing more to worry about.

However, last autumn Sean had unknowingly disrupted the plans of powerful men. Solomon Fontana, leader of a secretive order of magi, needs Sean's help to reverse what was done so he can achieve a lifelong dream. But after Sean proves unable to meet Solomon's demands, both he and Callie will have to go through torture and torment to put a stop to evil ambitions.

Join our heroes in this final installment of the epic Three Roses saga--where there will be hell to pay.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Feb 21, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098303129

Book preview

© Copyright 2020 by Jason Hubbard

Cover illustration by Jackson Tjota

ISBN (eBook): 978-1-09830-312-9

Contents

Other Works by Jason Hubbard

First, Some Words From U.S. Founding Fathers

Prologue I

Prologue II

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

Author’s Note

Other Works by Jason Hubbard

The Three Roses Trilogy

The Legend of the Three Roses

The Hunt for the Three Roses

The Binding of the Three Roses

The Taming of Adam Trilogy

The Taming of Adam Part 1: The Path to Envale

The Taming of Adam Part 2: The Hunter’s Sign

The Taming of Adam Part 3: The Dark Hour

Also available on Wattpad.com

The Girl in Cedar Falls

First, Some Words From U.S. Founding Fathers

If I could conceive that the general government might ever be so administered as to render the liberty of conscience insecure, I beg you will be persuaded, that no one would be more zealous than myself to establish effectual barriers against the horrors of spiritual tyranny, and every species of religious persecution.

—George Washington, in a letter to the United Baptist Chamber of Virginia, May 1789

Because the Bill [to assess funding for Christian teachers] implies either that the Civil Magistrate is a competent Judge of Religious Truth; or that he may employ Religion as an engine of Civil policy. The first is an arrogant pretension falsified by the contradictory opinions of Rulers in all ages, and throughout the world; the second an unhallowed perversion of the means of salvation.

—James Madison, Memorial and Remonstrance Against Religious Assessments, 1785

Persecution is not an original feature in any religion, but it is always the strongly marked feature of all religions established by law.

—Thomas Paine, The Rights of Man, 1791-1792

Prologue I

The young man went down on his knees, planted his elbows on his cot, and folded his callused, shivering hands in prayer. His words could barely be heard as he whispered the Lord’s Prayer for the fiftieth time that day, followed by a plea for the almighty deity to find him worthy enough to be bestowed his power and blessing. If you grant me holy magic, my Lord God, I promise to use it not for personal gain but for the good of all.

He then recited the Lord’s Prayer yet again and lied down on his cot. It was freezing in the room, and his fingers felt like falling off despite how deeply they dug into the plush fabric of his robe. He hoped someone would bring him another pot of that delicious chamomile tea he got once a week, but he chided himself for thinking that. His purpose for being here was to learn to cut off base desires, to yearn instead for God’s blessing and nothing more. Even a fleeting thought of tea could spoil him and ruin the ritual.

The man’s name was Rudy Clover. Up until a month ago, he was merely an eighteen-year-old in the little village of Ginger’s Creek, where he lived with his parents, his little brother, and two sisters. It was turning into a harsh winter, so the food stores were running low and traders came by infrequently. Rudy and his father sometimes risked hunting in the heavy snowfall, only to end up with numb fingers and toes for their efforts. Ma and Pa assured the family that they would get by, even if they had to go without for a while.

Still, hopelessness and misery crept into Rudy’s bones. He hated feeling as useless as a bump on a log and wished for an opportunity for him to provide for everyone. If only he could happen upon a deer or a bear snoozing in a cave, then his loved ones could have full bellies for at least a week.

Little did he know that opportunity would come in the form of several men from the Order of Ahlström. The order was a group of mages who was said to perform magic experiments in the pursuit of knowledge; other than that, they were a mysterious lot who mostly kept to themselves. Whenever they arrived at the village in their black-and-red robes, they were usually just passing through. But one day, they came with an offer: They needed volunteers to help carry out one of their experiments, and only able-bodied men need apply. In exchange, their families would be provided with gold and food.

Among those gathered in the town square, Ronald, the apothecary keeper’s son, was the first to raise his hand. He was gladly accepted by the mages, and then another man volunteered, quickly followed by a third. Before he could think too much of it, Rudy raised his hand to become the fourth. His parents were shocked, and his father forbade him going, but Rudy stood his ground by saying he was volunteering for the good of the family.

The order mages made good on their word, handing generous bundles of food and coin to the Clovers before their firstborn son was whisked away from the village. It would be a lie to say that Rudy never second-guessed himself as he rode in a cart with the other volunteers, but he could always chase his doubts away with pleasant thoughts of his family eating well that night.

He was brought to the heart of the Anlan Mountains, where the fierce winter winds rocked the cart and made the horses struggle. Rudy and the other passengers might have died from exposure if not for the mages, who erected a magic barrier to keep much of the wind from striking them. But the spell couldn’t keep Rudy’s teeth from chattering, and he buried himself in his new robe lest his blood freeze itself solid.

Fortunately, before night settled in, they reached their destination: A grand fortress-turned-monastery called Bishop’s Keep, nestled in a valley leading to the southern nation of Tarnia. Inside, they were served piping hot chicken soup and given a chance to rest, and in morning’s light, Rudy was brought to a room for evaluation. He was asked questions that tested his knowledge of the Holy Book and the strength of his faith. He was a little uncomfortable with these questions, afraid that his new caretakers were rooting out heretics among the volunteers, but he answered as honestly as he could.

Whatever the mages were testing him for, he must have passed, for he was then met with the leader of the order, Solomon Fontana, who greeted him warmly. Solomon invited him and the other volunteers to a hearty dinner of roasted chicken and lamb, and after a round of introductions and small talk, he told the men of their reason for coming here: Somewhere in the fortress was an exalting chamber, where one could face the Lord God himself and receive holy magic—whether he was already a mage or not.

But I thought exalting chambers weren’t real, Ronald from the apothecary had said. He then slumped in his seat and quickly added, Well, that’s what Pa told me.

Solomon gave a reassuring smile. "I know it’s a little hard to believe, but they are real. If you’ve ever met a paladin with holy magic, he received it directly from God, who found him worthy of wielding it. Now, you are all fine, upstanding young men, are you not? We believe you have what it takes to receive this blessing, this honor. The world needs more people like you, but the only way you can make a difference is to have the right tools to do it."

I’d love to have holy magic, or any magic at all, said Eugene, a miller’s son. But don’t most people go into one of those exalting chambers and never come out?

"Now that is a myth, Solomon replied after wiping his mouth with a napkin. Of course whoever goes in there comes back out; the only question is whether he returns as a paladin or not. But receiving holy magic is no simple matter. To prepare yourselves, you will have to go through a cleansing ritual. You must absolve yourself of all your earthly desires, for the Lord God does not tolerate anyone using holy magic for personal gain. You must learn to set aside yourself before we allow you in the chamber."

Frankly, the concept of a cleansing ritual made Rudy nervous, but the proposition of getting holy magic intrigued him. He had been a follower of Micah, the Son of God, for all his life, so his faith was strong … but sometimes he felt he could do more. He could preach the Good Word across the kingdom or become a priest, and those options were well and good … but becoming a paladin, a wielder of holy magic, would be the highest honor. It was something he had never dreamed of since he was so small and insignificant, yet here was the leader of a prestigious order of mages who believed he could do it. How could he refuse? He’d be mad to do so; it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

And so for the past five weeks, Rudy had been kept in a cell that once held prisoners of war, where he did nothing but pray, eat and rest. Twice a day, someone would enter his cell to leave food and swap out his used chamber pot. The meals were meager and of low quality, a far cry from the dinner he had with Solomon. Other than his plush robe and his weekly chamomile tea (which he was fairly sure a sympathetic soul was sneaking in for him), he was afforded no luxuries.

After the first five days, he lost patience and asked his caretakers to let him out. Just for a few hours so I may stretch my legs, he said. A walk around the fortress would do me well.

One of the mages strongly denied his request, claiming it was for his own good. If we allow this, the ritual will fail, he said. "You wouldn’t want that, would you? And think of your family—what would they say?"

Many people would read this as a veiled threat to take back the food and gold his family was given. But Rudy—a trusting soul—took the statement at face value. He had been so proud to volunteer, and he had wanted his loved ones to see it on his face. If he were to return to them in shame, they would see him as a good-for-nothing. No, worse—a layabout son who took food from their mouths.

He couldn’t let that happen; he couldn’t fail his family. And so with renewed determination, he did what he was supposed to do and never again asked to be let out. When it was time for him to be released, Solomon would let him know. Then and only then would he step out of this cell.

The days dragged on, and he eventually lost all track of time. In this dark cell where he had only torchlight to see by, he couldn’t tell when each day began and ended. When he was tired, he fell asleep, and while awake he ate, prayed or thought of fond memories. He grew used to the monotony of his new existence, though he could have done without the whistle of the winter wind in the distance, which to him sounded like a banshee mocking him for his sudden turn of fate.

Eventually, his mind grew empty. Thoughts of family and good food still came, but they were fleeting. All he had were his faith in God and his son, Micah, plus the lines of the prayers he spoke in every waking hour. His body and spirit were becoming numb, and even though he realized it, it didn’t bother him. He sensed that he was, as Solomon had put it, setting aside himself, letting go of earthly desires. Even thoughts of women, which he began having a few years ago, were all but gone. I’m getting close to my time in the chamber, he thought. I’ll receive holy magic and become a servant of the Lord in the best way. I only have to wait a little longer.

His time came five days later. He jerked awake when his cell door creaked open, and a robed figure approached him and laid a hand on his shoulder. Come with us.

Rudy wearily rose to his feet, wiped the crust from his eyes, and followed the five mages who had come for him. He found it hard to think straight, and his muscles groaned from disuse … but he was happy. He had done it. The ritual was now complete and he felt ready to enter the chamber. He would soon become a paladin.

The mages led him down a series of enclosed hallways, their footsteps eerily echoing off the stone walls. They then entered the banquet hall where Rudy assumed he would be given a sumptuous meal as a well earned reward, but no, they were merely passing through. They entered a bastion and climbed a spiraling set of stairs, which his weary legs did not like one bit.

Finally, upon entering another hallway about five stories from the ground, they came to what looked like a shrine, complete with a large round table, red rugs, golden torches, and two paintings—one of Micah speaking to the masses, and one of him being hung on a cross. But this was no mere shrine, for beyond the table was a door of solid steel, adorned with a golden cross.

The exalting chamber.

Rudy, good morning, so good to see you! said a man to his right. He turned and broadly smiled, for it was Solomon coming to greet him. He had barely remembered the man’s face, but he certainly remembered the warm feeling it gave him the first time he saw it. Solomon had tanned, leathery skin whose numerous wrinkles around his small blue eyes told of a life full of smiles and laughter, and his short silvery hair was perfectly cut and combed. Unlike the others, his robe was mostly white with black stripes, marking him as a man of importance. Solomon grasped Rudy’s shoulders and gave them a reassuring squeeze. Congratulations on completing your trial.

Th-thank you, sir, Rudy stammered. I … I wanted to make you proud.

"And I am proud. Why, we are all proud of you. Very few can go through what you have, so I am sure the Lord God shall see fit to bestow you holy magic. I can’t see why he wouldn’t, for you are a fine young man with a lot of grit."

Rudy beamed for a moment, then asked, What of the others? Did they make it?

Solomon released him. Oh, they haven’t gotten their chances yet. You are the first, so it shall be up to you to show them how it’s done.

The mage leader led Rudy by the shoulder to the chamber door. As they drew near, Rudy felt a lump grow in his throat. He knew he was worthy … but what if God found him lacking in the quality he demanded? Rudy couldn’t think what kind of quality it could be, but …

Having second thoughts? Solomon asked. It’s only natural, but now is not the time to back away. Micah is always with you, son; he’ll see you through this. All you have to do is go in there and pray with an open heart, and you shall have what you seek.

I … I don’t know how to thank you, Rudy said. I never asked for this, but … thank you.

Solomon chuckled. "It is I who should thank you. Open the door!"

Two mages produced keys from inner pockets, put them in different keyholes, and turned them both at once. Old gears sounded from within, and the door was pulled open on squealing hinges. A faint white light emitted from the chamber, and Rudy’s heart skipped a beat.

You can do it, son, Solomon said. Just have faith. Go.

Rudy glanced at him, wanting to ask if Solomon had ever entered himself. But the moment for that question had passed; it was time to make good on the promise he made to himself and his family. He entered the chamber with his filthy sandals still under his soles, and the door creaked to a close behind him, its locks fastened back into place.

He gazed in amazement at the chamber’s interior. Every square centimeter of it was covered with mirror paneling, so he could see dozens of copies of himself in every direction. He drew near one of his copies on a wall and gazed at the mess he had become. His skin was pale, his muscles diminished, his blue eyes sunken and surrounded by dark rings. His clothes were ragged and stained, especially his trousers around the knees which he had spent countless hours kneeling on. If such an unsettling appearance was necessary to get holy magic, he hoped it was worth it.

He slowly and reverently approached the center of the room, where the source of the chamber’s white light stood atop a reflective pedestal. It was a crystal cluster over double the size of the handbasket his mother used to collect fruits and berries. It was frankly the most beautiful thing Rudy had ever seen, its lovely rays outclassing the gentle sunlight that streamed through forest foliage.

But something was wrong. As he neared the two steps leading to the pedestal, his nostrils flared from a foul odor. It smelled like an old campfire, its blackened logs tainting the air. It was hard to make anything out on the floor’s reflective surface, but as Rudy looked more closely, he could make out dark marks and tiny specks of some material. He couldn’t tell what the material was, only that it was pitch black.

He grew worried, but that would not stop him from his purpose. He climbed the steps and dropped to his knees before the crystal cluster, clasping his hands as tears rolled down his face. His emotions ran so high it was hard for him to think, because through this crystal cluster, he was going to witness firsthand the face of God. For all his life, he had been told of God’s power and love, and he was repeatedly warned against incurring the almighty deity’s wrath. To actually see him … well, it was a moment very few could ever truly prepare for.

He prayed with an open heart, as Solomon had suggested. He claimed he was an ordinary soul, no one of noble birth, and he had never done anything to stand out among the other villagers of Ginger’s Creek … but if he received holy magic, which was said to be a mighty power which could both heal and destroy, he would use it wisely and selflessly. I am but a humble man, my Lord, ready to do your bidding.

For about a minute of praying, nothing happened. He said everything he thought to say, and the longer the crystal did nothing, the more nervous he grew. Did God deny his request? Would he have to exit the chamber with nothing to show for it?

But then the crystal’s light grew brighter, and Rudy squinted as he broke into a relieved smile. His prayer had been answered! And it wasn’t the vague, indirect kind of response his prayers usually led to, but a direct interaction. He held a hand over his eyes, determined not to let the blinding light prevent him from seeing God’s features.

But as the light grew brighter, it also grew warmer. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and his plush robe felt uncomfortable in the rising heat. It was merely something he would have to tolerate, or so he thought. As the temperature kept rising and the light began to sear his skin, only then did he realize, too late, why many who entered an exalting chamber never came back out.

* * *

Solomon Fontana stepped to the side and clasped his hands in front of him. Besides footsteps and the rustle of clothing, the shrine was dead silent as its six occupants awaited what was to come. But unlike the others, Solomon was smiling, anticipating positive results.

He looked to his right where his righthand man, Ben Ossani, stood. Ben didn’t look like much, with his simple dark hair, gray eyes, and pudgy frame, but he was a man who knew how to get things done. It was he who visited Ginger’s Creek and returned with four promising volunteers who were all well versed in the Holy Book and had unshakeable faith. He was knowledgeable and dependable, and he normally had a positive outlook. But at the moment, a small frown marred his face, and his eyes were downcast. Ben glanced up at Solomon, who gave a reassuring smile and nod. Ben returned the smile briefly, then went back to brooding.

Solomon sighed. He had told the young man that he was the first to enter the chamber, but in truth he was the last. The others had failed him, so Rudy had to be successful in order for this endeavor to not be a complete waste of time and resources. But Solomon had a good feeling about this one. Rudy was humble and naïve, qualities that the Lord God greatly valued. Surely he would be the one to receive holy magic.

But a few minutes later, Solomon’s quiet hope died when a howling born of intense pain sounded from the chamber. The door was around seven centimeters thick, yet it couldn’t keep Rudy’s cry of agony from reaching the shrine. Solomon drooped his head and shook it while clenching his hands more tightly. It wasn’t long before the howling ended as abruptly as it began, and Solomon left the room with Ben behind him. It was up to the others to remove the remains and clean the place up, but they didn’t need to be told. By now, they already knew what to do.

Solomon and Ben went deep into the fortress’ keep till they entered Solomon’s office, with its two stuffed bookcases, an alchemy table, and a tapestry depicting Micah’s crucifixion. Ben sat by the work desk, and Solomon poured a finger of whiskey into two glasses each. He offered one to his companion then sat across from him. You were right, I’m not too proud to admit, Solomon said. Holy magic isn’t something that can be forced.

No, Ben murmured, then downed half of his whiskey.

"Not even the cleansing ritual can guarantee it. Mad King Doriff … how long ago was it, three hundred years? He sent thousands of people to their doom trying to get one—just one—to become a paladin. And how many did?"

None.

None … Solomon sipped his whiskey. He didn’t like the taste, for it felt like sin dripping over his tongue and down his throat … but at times like this, he couldn’t resist the appeal of intoxication.

I think God knows what we’re about, Ben said. He has his eye on us, and that might be more dangerous than we realize.

Solomon frowned and waved a hand in dismissal. He’ll do nothing. The worse he can do is not give us a paladin. So if we can’t have a paladin of our own, we’ll have to go to the source. Now, what was his name again?

He goes by ‘Sean’ these days, but his birth name is Kane Bailey.

Ah, yes, Callahan’s boy. He must have come very far to be a paladin.

Ben shook his head. He is still only a house mage apprentice. We only know he’s a paladin because he was the last one to see Omega before he became an invalid.

So no one knows of him but us?

And the heads of the Church of St. Henrick’s.

Kane hasn’t told his patron lord of his holy magic?

Unknown.

Solomon held up his glass and sloshed the whiskey around inside. An extraction will be difficult, and we can’t raze the property.

Darin Province is important for the hops it grows.

Solomon looked at Ben square in the eyes and asked, Can you lure him out, then?

Yes, I have a few ideas on that. I’ll send a letter of invite, and if that doesn’t work, we can use the girl as leverage.

Of course, the girl … there’s always a girl. Do what you must, but be sure you do it with utmost care. We do not want a paladin turning against us.

Ben drank the rest of his whiskey and rapped his fingers on his chair. At this point, sir, I don’t think he is a paladin anymore.

Solomon stared stoically at him at first, then grinned as if he’d been told a joke. Whatever do you mean?

As I said, he is still training to be a house mage, and there are no reports of him performing holy magic since October.

So? Just because he has holy magic doesn’t mean he must become a full servant of the Church.

That’s correct, but I don’t think a man like him would let his powers go to waste as a mere house mage. He may be all spent.

Ridiculous.

Holy magic is not infinite, just like any other. The only difference is that it can’t be replenished by a potion. Once it’s used up, it’s gone for good.

Solomon sipped his drink with a sour look. I don’t believe that, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, get to work on it.

Yes, sir.

Ben rose and made to leave, but Solomon stopped him with a word. "Don’t you worry about God’s eye being on you. It is always on us, but that hasn’t stopped us before, has it?"

Ben was still frowning, but he nodded and said, That’s right, it hasn’t … and it won’t now.

Solomon nodded back and watched him leave. He had no doubts about Ben’s loyalty to him and the Order of Ahlström, so if he said he would bring Sean to them, it would be done without question. Ben was simply shaken by the four volunteers who had failed one after another. Hearing the screams of their death throes would unnerve anyone. Well, except the Mad King. An exception to every rule.

He took another sip, feeling the whiskey enter his belly like liquid fire. It pained him to have to be delayed so long to reach his ultimate goal, but soon his struggling would be over. He just needed the cooperation of this Sean, and one more loose end would get tied up.

Speaking of loose ends, there was another that nearly slipped his mind. He finished his drink and arose to have it dealt with.

Prologue II

One week after Solomon had a change of plans, another man was having his own glass of whiskey. He sipped it slowly, not because he didn’t like the taste or its intoxicating effects, but because he had an appointment he shouldn’t be too drunk for.

King Hugo was in his study alongside his son, Prince Gerald. When Hugo poured the drink, Gerald glanced in disapproval. You’re not going in that state, are you? the Prince asked.

Hugo let out a breath as the drink hit his belly. I hate waiting. Besides, you’re the one interrogating, not I.

Gerald made to speak but decided to remain silent. He was a good boy … perhaps too idealistic for his own good, but at least he was nearly as headstrong as his father. If only Hugo could hammer into that fifteen-year-old head a little more grit, then he could leave this world satisfied, knowing the kingdom of Consaria was in good hands.

Before long, before Hugo could down half of his drink, the castle servant arrived. He bowed with a fist over his heart and said, Your Majesties, I bring word from His Holiness, Pope Alvizo. He regrets he shall not be joining you.

Very well, Hugo said, and he and the Prince arose to be escorted by the servant and six of the royal guard.

The castle had two dungeons: The newer one built aboveground within the innermost bailey, and the old one deep underground beneath the mighty keep. The latter was bigger, capable of holding nearly two hundred souls if every cell held three, and as dark as any coal mine. In winter the dungeon got so cold that prisoners regularly got frostbite, which Hugo was content to let them suffer from.

With three lit torches and plush clothing to shield them from their cold armor, the guardsmen led the royals to an interrogation room. Seated at the table was a man who’d seen better days, judging from his black eye, swollen lower lip, and broken arm and rib. He was covered in two blankets, yet those weren’t enough to keep him from quivering like a limb in a storm.

As two of the torchbearers went to either side of the room, the Prince slowly approached the table. His eyes reflected regret and confusion, for he was hardly able to process the face he beheld. Normally, this man would be the interrogator, not the prisoner. Royal Inspector, Gerald said with a sad smile. "I am afraid we are not as acquainted as we ought to be. It is your duty—well, was your duty—to investigate and contain threats to the royal family. And in that, you have performed admirably … yet it seems you’ve had a hidden agenda."

Former Royal Inspector Kenneth Remsfeld returned the Prince’s smile. I thank you, sire, for your praise.

Indeed, in spite of current circumstances, good work and loyalty should be accredited. You have been relieved of your honorable position, but perhaps you may be of service to me and my father awhile longer. So please, tell us: Why did you want His Holiness dead?

Hugo didn’t think Kenneth would talk—not if he had people to protect. Buttering him up with praise would surely do nothing. But to his surprise, Kenneth said, Because I was ordered to.

Gerald leaned forward. So you admit you were not acting of your own accord? Who gave the order?

Kenneth shook his head. Oh, my prince, even if you were to know, there’s nothing you can do about him.

"Then at least tell us why he gave the order. Why does he want His Holiness dead?"

After a moment of thought, Kenneth said, I was going to write this in a letter, so I suppose there’s no harm in me saying. Soon there shall be a new world order, and the Pope would only get in the way. Better to be rid of him now than have to deal with him later.

A new world order? Gerald said with an annoyed smirk. What rubbish is this? Does your patron have delusions of grandeur?

Hugo stepped forward. An important question was on his lips ever since the failed assassination attempt, and with Kenneth having said so much, Hugo was emboldened to finally speak it: Are you with the Order of Ahlström?

Kenneth didn’t say, but the initial look in his eyes gave confirmation.

The chef you gave the poison to—is he also an agent? Hugo demanded.

The prisoner chuckled and rolled his head around. No, he is not. If he was, I wouldn’t have needed to threaten his family and I wouldn’t have gotten caught.

That’s debatable, Gerald said. How many other agents are there in the castle, or the city?

A few. If you want names, you’ll have to get them elsewhere.

Where is this Order of Ahlström located?

Your father can tell you they have several headquarters. Their principal one is currently not in Consaria.

Then how did they contact you?

Kenneth seemed to have an inner debate with himself, then shrugged and said, The orb in my quarters. It’s in a teak case.

"Very good. Now tell us of this ‘new world order’ you mentioned. How shall