Rola Noro

This little bit is part of a character sketch I did for one of the main characters is the book I work on most. It's one of the first things I wrote for that book, and I still love the feel of it. When I'm writing, I try to get my words and tone to match this little bit as much as possible. That's how much I love it.

A lot has changed since I wrote it, but, as this isn't technically part of the book, I'm not touching this one. Eventually this story might make it into a prequel, because it would be an exciting one, but I'm not there just yet. Right now, here is an introduction to Commander General Rola Noro.

No one would ever believe her.

She wasn’t sure she believed it herself. How had life brought her to this juncture?

Years ago she wouldn’t have expected to be alive even this long. Months ago she was across the world, living like a scavenger in Duran. Weeks ago she’d been on the run and hiding from the En Sedien in the imperial city. Days ago she’d been captured. Hours ago she'd been brought before the Koninesa. Mere minutes ago she has been sure she was looking her executioner in the face.

And yet here she stood, alive and barely injured. Her left forearm stung where she had been cut, and her breath came heavy and quick. Her back and legs and arms ached with exhaustion. But she was still alive.

Her executioner’s body—no, not an executioner, just a guard, a servant, and no threat now at any rate—lay before her. She’d only managed to give the woman a single wound (damn, but she was quick!), but Rola had taken the only opportunity presented to her and made it count.

But no one would believe it had been a fair fight. The Witnesses had run when the En Sedien fell, presumably to fetch more of the same. Rola Noro was no fool. She knew the En Sedien would feel this loss sharply. She knew they would see her dead for her offense even though all of the niceties had been observed and she had committed no crime. She knew the sword would not be enough. She knew the sword would make everything worse.

She let it lie there next to its previous owner. When the Blademaster fell—for that’s what she was, and the sword a legendary Blade of Rehdrim—the glistening white weapon had leapt from her hands to lie at Rola’s feet. She didn’t dare pick it up.

She had won and by rights the sword was hers now. But the Konin had always had a Blademaster in their service, and the En Sedien among their ranks, and she had just killed their last. She was wanted anyway, a criminal, though through no fault of her own. They would not go easy on her. Perhaps if she did not claim the sword, if she left it for them to find a new Blademaster, she would be allowed to keep her life.

Rola sighed. It didn’t work that way. The Blade was hers, and only hers. No one else would be able to wield it until they bested her in combat. If anyone was to find a new Blademaster, it would be her. And it would be her end.

Shouts and the pounding of booted feet filled the corridor. “Here! Here! She’s in here!” She could have run, they had certainly been gone long enough. She could have grabbed the sword and run. She could have been out of the palace by now and halfway to the harbor. But there was nowhere she could go that they could not find her. And for this offense, find her they would. So she waited.

            Dropping her own sword to the floor, she stood there unarmed while En Sedien filled the room around her.

Shock had registered on more than a few faces as they entered, but they were schooled well enough to let it pass, and their surprised expressions were quickly replaced with anger. Every one of them had their swords drawn and ready. Every one of them could end her life on a single word from the Koninesa.

And now the Koninesa was here, her presence rolling into the room as a single-bodied stampede. Rola closed her eyes and prayed that her death would be quick.

“Pick up your sword.”

Rola blinked. So she would have to fight again before she was killed. Her limbs were already weary and about to give—the Blademaster had been no easy match, and they had fought a long while—and the En Sedien were many. She had no chance.

“I command you to pick up your sword,” the Koninesa said sharply. “I’ll not repeat myself again.”

Slowly, unsteadily, Rola bent and clasped her hand around the hilt of the sword she had dropped, the sword covered in the Blademaster’s blood.

“Not that one.”