Lilacs & Violets II: Ripper of Linnaeus

By James Milne

Still recovering from being stabbed in the heart, a soldier turned gladiator is caught up in the destruction of a nation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Milne
• Release date: Mar 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215894064

Book preview

Ripper of Linnaeus

James Milne

Ripper of Linnaeus

Still recovering from being stabbed in the heart, a soldier turned gladiator is caught up in the destruction of a nation.

Still recovering from being stabbed in the heart, a soldier turned gladiator is caught up in the destruction of a nation.

Copyright © 2020 James Milne

All Rights Reserved.

The Fall of Asphodel

chapter, TheFallofAsphodel

Born from death, comes the one who walks a path.

A god of war, in mortal born, it walks this earth.

By blood and sweat it toils the ashes,

to bring us home, beyond the veil.

The Ripper of Linnaeus.

Ripper Of Linnaeus.

, song, Ripper of Linnaeus — — —

Cities burn, people bleed.

The smell of ash and blood filled her nostrils as she gasped for air, trying desperately to keep control of the failing flesh sack that she called a body. Her heart hadn’t had a chance at all to recover from First Fleet stabbing it.

The ground shook as another explosion shook the city. Asphodel was doomed, and so were they if they didn’t get out of here soon. She looked up just in time to see the great citadel of the palace falling towards the ground.

Fuck me. Reticulata swore, staring, It’s really done. Someone has taken Asphodel.

Cristata shook her head, and looked out to the burning streets and the bloodied bodies lying in it. They only had a short time to get out of here. The attacker wasn’t trying to conquer the capital of Asphodel. They were here to completely wipe it off the map.

She pushed herself upright with a wince, and shuffled into the street again. Reticulata walked beside her, flicking her half-blind gaze around them urgently. So far they had only encountered a handful of warriors, but neither of them had recognised the uniforms.

Halt, Narcissian!

The two of them paused, and Cristata ground her teeth in frustration as she heard a dozen drawstrings pull back. A soldier on a roof beside them held his hand in the air, ready to give the order to loose. Surrender.

Reticulata looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

Cristata shrugged.

The soldier dropped his arm and the air became alive with weapons designed to injure and kill. The arrows tore across the space between them, the small metallic heads cutting scratches across her skin as she danced.

She stopped for breath as the barrage ended, and fell to her knees, clutching at her heart as it threatened to give out. Forget all the other injuries she had received. Being buried alive hadn’t done this to her.

Reticulata stepped forward, Boy, I don’t know who you are, or who you’re with, but... Walk. Away.

Fire!

Cristata felt the same awe she had when they were children and Reticulata had proved she was the better warrior. The arrows moved towards them, and her blades moved through them. Not a single fragment struck the armour of the woman standing over her, glaring out of her half-blinded gaze.

The soldier hesitated, and the woman planted her feet, I am Reticulata the Tenth, of Narcissus. Stand and fall, or run and live.

Charge! The soldier switched tactics, causing his men to drop their bows and draw their swords, leaping from the rooftop towards them like a river of rage, crashing against the rocks.

Cristata staggered upright, a small curved bone of knife appearing in her unsteady hand. She didn’t have her balance yet, and the strikes she blocked knocked her backwards, threatening to bowl her over.

Yet, with each blow she turned the momentum against her attacker, spinning out of the way, only to drive the knife into someone’s back, separating their spine before drawing it free.

Even in her condition none of these were her equal. She danced with death, as everyone always did in battle, but she felt more alive than she had since waking up from First Fleet’s attack.

Meliorchis was dead now, killed by Reticulata. He had been their friend once, and a warrior of skill. His arrogance and hatred had lead him down the wrong path, and by the time he had died, Cristata hated everything about him. He had become nothing but a traitor.

Her blade slit the wrists and throats of her enemies as they moved in to attack her. Her feet pinned theirs, so that the blade could push between helmet and breastplate, and into their throats. It took longer than it should have, but these children were not a match for her.

Cristata collapsed, her entire body going limp and ignoring her commands. A soldier stepped over her, pointing his sword downwards as he thrust it to end her. The blade was barely deflected to the side with a kick as Reticulata came in as a whirlwind.

The woman was sweating, droplets flying from her shoulder-length brilliant red hair. Her green eye shone with a hatred and determination that made those that fell under it hesitate. She didn’t bother with the same attacks as Cristata.

Her knuckles broke as she punched steel plate, denting it inwards into the chest of the wearer. Her hands crushed the helmet on the head of the soldiers, causing them to scream and wail, before falling to the ground. Her hand broke necks as she reached around and yanked them by the chin.

Reticulata paused, leaning on her knees as the last one collapsed to the ground, Please... Don’t be... Dead...

They had shared something, once. So much so that Cristata had become her Last Consort. It wasn’t quite the equivalent to marriage, but it was as close as two Narcissian women could get.

Then, Reticulata had betrayed her. Her death faked on the orders of the king, whilst Cristata suffered. She had been defeated in battle and sold into slavery. She had been a tortured slave, raped over and over, whilst Reticulata was in the same city. And did nothing.

She couldn’t bring herself to hate her. So, the warrior stayed. Reticulata promised to protect her, and to honour the vow that they had once sworn, even if Cristata never intended to ever do the same.

The warrior hoisted her over a shoulder, Sorry, but we’ve run out of time. Those bastards are better than Asphodellians. I can’t afford to fight a fucking army for you.

She couldn’t complain. As far as she could tell, she wasn’t even breathing. Her hearing was little more than a loud buzz, growing in cadence. Her vision was fading, a bright light stretching over it and obscuring her world into mist.

In short, she was dying.

— — —

The Narcissian titled as Second Cub wiped frightened tears from his eyes as he continued to scamper down the wall. Porcelain containers shattered and exploded as the powder ignited, propelled into the wall by the trebuchets of the invaders.

He didn’t know who they were, and right now he simply didn’t care.

The Tenth had barely spared his life when she had killed the Asphodellian prince he had been ordered to protect. A scar stretched from his groin to his neck, still bleeding in places as he popped his stitches, trying just to stay alive.

He wasn’t like the Tenth, and he certainly wasn’t like Cristata, the true Narcissian. He was just a cub. He hadn’t even spent his time in the wastes yet. It was all he could do just to stay ahead of all of this, and try and survive.

He didn’t know what he was supposed to do. The others were dead. Meliorchis had been a traitor, not the leader that the cub had expected. He had wanted to help Cristata kill him, but she had done it in her own way.

She let Meliorchis be the one stupid enough to pick a fight.

Arethusa hissed through his teeth as he slipped, ripping the skin off his palms. Climbing a sheer wall was supposed to be difficult at the best of times, let alone when it was shaking and threatening to give way.

He hated that he was alone. There had been others with him, underneath First Fleet. A couple other Cubs, two Wolfbloods and a Torn. They were all dead, now. Killed for standing in the way of the Tenth.

Reticulata and Cristata. As long as those two survived, there would always be hope for Narcissus. No matter how strong the opposition was, or how unexpected the attack. As long as they lived, so would Narcissus.

He, on the other hand, was just a stupid cub, and right now he was feeling exceptionally stupid. This had to be the least safe way out of the city he could have come up with.

He dropped, skidding off the wall for at least triple his own height, rolling as he hit the ground and still managing to twist his ankle in the process. He forced himself upright, wishing he knew how the others disappeared even when in the centre of someone’s sight.

The cub flinched as an arrow cut across his shoulder, before he could strike it down. He had been spotted, and the invaders weren’t about to allow anybody to escape the destruction they were bringing.

Move it, boy! A shout ran across the field, and he saw a giant running from the cover of the wall, wielding a warhammer. He wasn’t alone, either. So there was going to be a counter attack then.

Perfect opportunity to disappear and not get dead.

— — —

The fist hit her chest, and she grabbed the wrist, coughing. Reticulata looked at her in surprise, Ow.

Same. Cristata replied, and dragged herself upright, glaring at the battlefield. This wasn’t that. It was something she was familiar with, but it wasn’t a battlefield. This was a slaughter.

A killing field.

As the people tried to flee their burning home, the soldiers cut them down. Celebrating the deaths of people who couldn’t be considered a fighter by any standard. They were not all innocent, but it wasn’t right.

No. Reticulata stated angrily, No goddamn fucking way, Cristata.

She smiled at the woman who had once been her consort, and she shook her head. She wasn’t going to change her mind. If she wanted to walk this path of insanity, then she was doing it on her own.

Which was fine by her.

Cristata walked forward from the shade of the tree outside the walls. One leg dragged slightly behind the other, her shoulders were stiff. Her teeth were visible through the hole torn in her cheek.

Cristata! Reticulata yelled angrily after her.

She grabbed the face of a soldier as they ran towards her, crushing the helmet closed on his face with one hand as she took his spear with the other. She tossed him backwards, and into the line of soldiers just now seeing her.

She spun the spear, and launched it.

The wood cracked as it shot through the air, before the blade entered the silver throne of the one watching his army destroy a city, and ripped it to pieces. The man didn’t fall, standing easily as his throne exploded beneath him.

He saw her, rapidly being surrounded by his shoulders, and ordered a halt, descending from his platform to walk towards her. His clothing was familiar, and yet it bore no symbol that she recognised.

He pulled a scarf away from his mouth as he approached her, walking through his soldiers confidently. He paused in front of her, and smiled slowly, Single combat?

She gave a small nod.

If you win?

Let the city burn. Let the people live.

He chuckled softly, And if I win?

Know you are blessed by the gods.

The man laughed louder, as did the soldiers around him. Who are you, woman? Unarmed, unarmoured? You step towards a king, and suggest that his execution of you would be worthy of the gods’ attention?

I am the Ripper of Linnaeus. She stated carefully, The Immortal of Asphodel. An exile of Narcissus. I am the daughter of Asterid, and of Lepanthes. Sister of Barleria, Third Fleet of Narcissus. Last Consort of Reticulata the Tenth. And I honour you with my name, and the names of my family, before I strike you down. I am the one called Cristata.

The man paused, his face growing thoughtful. He bowed, and then removed his helmet, passing it to a nearby soldier. I am honoured by your name, Cristata of Narcissus. I am King Umbel of Tazetta, called the Deathless of the Wastes.

Tazetta.

The name rolled through Cristata like an avalanche. It was the name of a tribe of Narcissus, long lost. Their cities had disappeared overnight, buried in sandstorms, the people had fled into the wastes, and had never been seen again. Not a single sign that any of them had survived.

If I win, I will have your hand in marriage. Umbel stated, taking a spear from a soldier, and tossing one at her feet.

If you win, I will be dead. Cristata laughed, Don’t tell me that you grew in the wastes.

It would be a crime to destroy something as beautiful as the one who once earned the title of the Narcissian. Umbel replied, I have heard of you, Cristata. I mean it, when I say it will be an honour to strike you down.

She shook her head, No, you’re not understanding. If you show mercy, I will kill you. The only way you survive, is if you kill me. That is what a battlefield means. Not this waste of life.

They were hardly living their lives. Umbel chuckled, Pick up the spear.

If I needed a weapon, I would have brought one. Cristata sneered, Strike me down king, or say your prayer for mercy to our god.

The spear cut her cheek, slice through threads of her hair, as she stood still. His attack missed, expecting her to dodge or flinch, as she reached up and took the spear from his hand.

She tossed the weapon aside, blocking his fist as he recovered fluently. Her knee was knocked aside as he stomped his foot down, only to stagger backwards as her forehead struck his.

He never got a chance to recover from that mistake. Her fist struck his breastplate, mangling the metal, knocking him back again. Her foot crushed his as her elbow came up, hitting him in the ribs before he could punch back and cracking them.

Her other elbow came around, striking and crushing his throat. She grabbed his head and hauled him into the air and down into the ground. A knee came crashing down on the head of the king, shattering the skull instantly.

Cristata didn’t stand. To some it looked like she was assessing whether the soldiers would honour the word of their king. The fact of the matter was she could feel her heart fluttering, causing sweat to pour down her back, and robbing her completely of all of her strength.

She wouldn’t be able to defend herself. In fact, she might well have killed herself in the effort to defend these worthless people. Yet, she knew it was still the right thing to do.

You bitch! A voice shouted, and a well armoured figure shoved through the crowd, You killed my father!

Single combat. Cristata managed, Honour his word.

The boy fumbled, drawing a sword with a movement that showed he had never used it in battle. He was still an incredible threat to her, considering she couldn’t even stand.

It would be embarrassing to die against such a cub, after defeating someone who had earned her respect before she killed him. His confidence in his abilities had not been misplaced, even if she used that arrogance to end him.

He said you were of Tazetta. Reticulata growled, tossing aside a soldier who tried to stand in her way, Well, are you? Were you raised as a warrior, a soldier?

The armoured figure clenched his fists, He was my father.

Single combat! Reticulata shouted, You know the law. Even a king must abide by his laws. Or have you become the lawless of the wastes?

The figure removed his helmet, Insult me again.

I grant you this honour. She replied, I am Reticulata the Tenth.

The boy’s face fell, staring at her in horror, She’s dead.

Cristata laughed softly, I was her Last Consort, boy. Do you think I would permit a lie like that?

He trembled, looking from one to the other, Fine. The city burns. The people live. You are now our prisoners.

Reticulata sighed, Boy, what the fuck makes you think I will let you put chains on me?

Kill her.

Spears flashed above Cristata’s head, each one breaking and falling to the ground long before it could come close to damaging the warrior. This was the beautiful terror of Reticulata.

Whilst Cristata often found herself above the soldiers that she fought, she also found herself being injured. The same was not true of the woman she had once loved. That woman only had a single injury, a mark of the poison dart that had struck her in the face and nearly killed her.

Cristata didn’t know if that was the only injury, she hadn’t exactly seen her naked since before that day. However, Reticulata had not spent her time in hibernation. She hadn’t had the life of neglect and peace that Cristata had mostly enjoyed as a slave.

Ten had continued to fight as a Narcissian. Continued to live a life that was beyond any torture that could be thrown around by the threats of the other nations. She had always been the best that Narcissus had to offer.

The woman grabbed the boy by his armour, cutting off the hand that tried to fumble and stab her with his sword. Reticulata lifted him into the air, Shall Tazetta lose their entire royal family, on this day?

Leave my brother. He isn’t worth it. One of the soldiers said, drawing off her helmet.

Reticulata dropped him, Damn girl. I thought he was familiar. So you’re the daughter of Umbel then, Alliaceae.

Cristata struggled upright, trying to ignore the pounding of her heart in her ears, remembering the girl from her childhood. It wasn’t exactly a fond memory, but it was one that was clear.

When she had been banished to the wastes for an entire year, forbidden any help and expected to die, she had seen her playing in the desert. Racing wolves down on foot.

Witnessing that had been one of the keys to her survival in the winter. Outsiders always believed the wastes were just a desert. It wasn’t true. On the other side of the mountains, where the north winds blew, was ice and snow. Nothing but ice, snow, and wolves looking to tear you apart.

The girl shrugged, shouldering her lance, My brother is right. We can’t let you go. Tazetta is at war with Asphodel. But, there’s no need for chains if you come quietly. I wouldn’t mind showing you the city. It’s changed since the last time you were there, Reticulata.

Cristata’s palm hit her face as she realised she’d been manipulated again. People were willing to sacrifice their lives, and the lives of innocent people, just to wrap bindings around her.

To force her to become their weapon.

Condition.

Alliaceae shrugged, You know I probably won’t grant it.

I get to kill Ludisia.

The woman raised an eyebrow, Oh wow. She seems to be following. I had you pegged for a dumb warrior. Seems you actually notice politics then, if it involves you personally.

Reticulata sighed heavily, I’m guessing this wasn’t actually Umbel.

A decent body double, and a decent warrior. The princess shrugged, and then glared, But the idiot holding a bloody stump is my brother. And you hurt him.

His failure is his own. The woman replied coldly.

Says the dead girl.

Reticulata shrugged, I didn’t say I didn’t want to kill Ludisia as well. But, I know better than to get between Cristata and her target.

Alliaceae looked over her, This thing? She’s half dead already. Didn’t you get shanked by one of your own?

It allowed Ten to complete the mission.

So, suicidal. The woman shook her head, You still in love with this freak, Ten?

Duh.

Cristata glanced between them, Are you kidding me, Ten? The stuck up wolf brat?

Like you can talk. Reticulata replied, A princess.

Alliaceae glared at her, Oh, crap. So you really are a thing with Princess Syringa? I thought those were rumours. We confirmed that the Narcissian with her is Barleria.

Cristata shot a worse glare right back at her.

Well, that makes things complicated. Come back with us. Father will consider your request to kill your own king. That, or we can fight until most of us are dead or too tired to move. Alliaceae raised an eyebrow.

Cristata rolled her eyes, You should sleep with her, Ten. It might calm you down.

Shut up. Just because everything always comes back to your freaking girl. Reticulata growled angrily.

— — —

He dropped from the tree into the light of the fire. The large man waved at him, Suppose you must be Narcissian, then.

Arethusa nodded, and sat down beside the flames, You know of us.

Name’s Brassia. The man replied, I’m from Catasetum, originally. I was a gladiator with a Narcissian warrior, with a vow of silence. Cristata.

Arethusa burst out laughing, Bloody hellfire. The Narcissian herself. Did you come here with her?

No, actually. He shook his head, I rode a horse to death. I came from Catasetum, looking for Cristata. With a warning that everything was about to go to hell. Seems I got here too late.

Arethusa blinked slowly, Do you... Care for the Narcissian?

In a way. Brassia shrugged, rotating a rat on a skewer by the flames, I thought of her as a rival at first, and then as a sister. I serve Princess Syringa of Linnaeus, who adored your Narcissian. They... Fought. I don’t fully know what happened, but they parted ways. Yet, Syringa sent me here to see her safe.

She... Was badly hurt. Arethusa sighed, A traitor in our ranks. Meliorchis. He stabbed her in the heart, ruptured it. That she survived at all was nothing short of a miracle.

Survived. Brassia said with disbelief, Is there anything in this world that can actually kill that bloody woman? She survived a building being dropped on her head. She dropped it, to protect me and the other gladiators. Still crawled out of the rubble, into a city under occupation, and made it through the forest to kill an assassin a moment before they killed me.

I would not hope that she survived again. Arethusa looked towards the smoke on the horizon, drifting in front of the moon.

I was a gladiator. Brassia said, his voice rumbling tiredly, I know the pain of loss. I know that nobody is truly immortal, and have seen my better cut down by fools who never should have had a chance.

The cub pulled a small