Throne of Ruins

by Karim Soliman

  "Now I understand why no house is lit in this town," Masolon muttered.

  "Those are not Rusakians, brother. Look well." Ziyad's voice was unusually low when he glanced at the narrow-eyed attendants of this tavern.

  "Let me guess." Masolon had heard of one faction the features of its people matched the faces he was looking at right now. "Mankols."

  "We shouldn't be standing like statues." Ziyad nudged Masolon to move onward. Only now did Masolon realize that their entrance had piqued everybody's attention. As they confidently walked to the counter of the tavern keeper, Masolon could feel the weight of the narrow-eyed stares on them. Did the Mankols invade Vakiv without us knowing?

  The tavern keeper did not seem to belong to any of tonight's visitors; not narrow-eyed like Mankols, not dark-skinned like Murasens, and surely, he did not come from Ogono. "I thought this was a Rusakian town." Masolon kept his voice low as he addressed the blue-eyed, golden-haired tavern keeper.

  "The blessings of peace," said the Rusakian keeper, not so warmly. "How can I help you?"

  "Two chambers," Masolon replied.

  "A dinner for two," Ziyad answered at the same time.

  The gloomy tavern keeper leaned on the counter, peering at them for a moment. "I am afraid I cannot fulfill your wishes tonight. You see, my chambers and tables barely suffice the customers I currently have."

  Masolon was not ready to sleep in a cold windy field. "How much do they pay you for the chamber?"

  "You have no idea," the tavern keeper sneered. "Gold means nothing to these Mankols."

  "He is right. No way might you match a Mankol's bidding."

  The familiar voice made Masolon look at the man on his right leaning on the counter. "Blanich!"

  The handsome brown-haired Rusakian grinned. "Surprised? Well, your surprise is not as big as mine." He nodded to the Murasen fellow standing on Masolon's left. "Good to see you again, Ziyad."

  "Same." Ziyad's smile was pale though.

  "You know those folks, Blanich?" the tavern keeper asked.

  "They are like brothers to me, Yuri," Blanich replied, his eyes still on Masolon and Ziyad.

  "I wish I could help your friends, Blanich, but seriously, I don't have a single vacant chamber to offer."

  "I'm quite sure you wouldn't hesitate to help my friends." Blanich shot Yuri what seemed to Masolon like a blaming look. "But no worries, I can take care of them." The Rusakian motioned for Masolon and Ziyad to follow him as he walked away from the counter. "Let's go, brothers."

  Ziyad seemed hesitant, but Masolon urged him to move. "I'm really sorry." Yuri's apologetic tone from behind them confirmed Masolon's doubts. He was not telling us the truth.

  "Where are you taking us?" Masolon asked Blanich when they were about to exit the warm tavern.

  "My house. I'm quite sure I can host two brothers for one night at least."

  That would be a much-appreciated offer on one important condition. "Your house," Masolon harrumphed. "It is in Vakiv, right?"

  "Of course, it is." Blanich laughed as he went outside. "You thought I would take you for a ride to Durberg now?"

  A hundred-mile ride. "Hopefully, you would not." Masolon chuckled as he ambled behind Blanich, the cold wind slapping his face. "Right, Ziyad?"

  But the Murasen barely smiled as he followed them to the yard where their horses were tied.

  "Ziyad does not seem glad to see me." Blanich looked over his shoulder before he mounted his horse.

  "I believe he is still stunned like me." Masolon tried to lighten up the tension he sensed from Ziyad's side.

  "I'm neither glad nor sad." Ziyad feigned a smile as he swung up into his saddle. "I just can't help thinking of the moment we sought you in the hill until we found out that you had already run away without even bidding farewell to us, to the men you just called brothers."

  "Do you blame me for not being sentimental the day we were surrounded by five hundred horsemen?" Blanich's tone did not lack mockery.

  "It was a matter of respect, a small gesture of it to those who had aided you when you were helpless."

  "I am certain he did not mean any disrespect. Right, Lord Blanich?" Masolon was on his horse when he interfered before Blanich might answer back and things went worse. "You owe us a warm dinner and two beds though."

  Blanich smiled at Masolon. "You are not staying for long, I hope." He nudged his horse onward.

  Masolon laughed as he caught up with Blanich. Behind them was Ziyad, silent. "So, what do you do here?" Masolon asked the Rusakian.

  "I am a merchant now. My trade is not that big, mind you, but the coin I earn is enough for us to have a decent life."

  "Us?"

  "Me and Jubi. You remember her, don't you? We are married now."

  Of course, he remembered the blue-eyed Jubi. Probably, she was the prettiest girl he had ever seen. "That is great news indeed. What about her mother Anna?" The woman who risked her life and her daughter's to save mine.

  "Anna is our supplier in Durberg. Sometimes she passes by to see her daughter."

  Masolon was astonished that Blanich and Jubi had left the old lady alone. "Is it not dangerous for Anna to stay in Durberg? You know, after all she involved herself in with me."

  "On the contrary, she believes it is safer that way. No one would suspect the woman who didn't flee. Besides, Anna is not that kind of women who would settle down. She puts all her energy and grief in her honey business. And I tell you, business is flourishing these days. Our king is making peace with the Mankols, something that never happened in ages. And as you just saw, Mankol merchants are flocking into our towns to buy our goods with their endless gold. We have also opened a trade route with your Skandivian friend."

  Masolon had only one Skandivian friend who happened to be a merchant. "Galardi?"

  "Yes. He is our biggest buyer so far. A young fellow he is, but a really clever one. He knows how to sell our honey in places we can never reach."

  Peace is good. For everybody. For everything. Masolon wondered if he could ever have a taste of the blessings of peace.

  "I am really glad that, at last, life is treating you well, my friend," said Masolon. "But I cannot help wondering: What happened to your mission? You fled your homeland to find a way to reclaim your noble rights. Did you give up on all that should be yours?"

  Blanich sighed, his smile fading. "My life has never been better, Masolon. I live in a decent house. My wife is the girl I love the most. My trade is going well. Why should I ask for more than that?"

  "Just admit you lost the nerve to fight for your own rights," Ziyad's teasing voice came from behind them. He really hates him, Masolon thought idly.

  The Murasen's remark did not provoke Blanich though. "What's the point of an endless fight?" Blanich looked over his shoulder, his voice calm.

  "Every fight has an end," Ziyad challenged.

  "Not if it's against your family. There are no decisive victories in those battles. The loser reaps pain, the winner lives in fear. I don't want my children to pay for something they didn't do."

  They stopped and dismounted when they reached Blanich's house. A decent one indeed. Masolon contemplated the ironwood two-floored house, which did not seem vast, but it was more than enough for a couple living on their own.

  Masolon held Ziyad by the wrist, letting Blanich enter first to inform his wife of the two guests he brought with him. "No messing around," Masolon whispered to his Murasen friend. "I know you have a weakness toward Rusakian girls."

  "You preach me, the one who has a weakness to princesses?" Ziyad wrenched himself free, a wicked smile on his face.

  Which princess does he mean? Masolon felt curious to know.

  "Are you going to spend the night there? Come in." Standing by the door, Blanich beckoned to them.

  Masolon gave Ziyad one last warning look before they both stepped into the house.

  Thanks to the fireplace at the corner, the reception hall was way warmer than the bustling tavern. "Masolon! Wh
at a pleasant surprise!" Clad in a sleeveless black tunic matching her ebony silky hair, Jubi hugged him briefly. "You look good."

  She is surprised I am still alive in the first place, Masolon presumed. "You look good too." More than good, may the Lord be merciful.

  Masolon concealed a laugh when Blanich introduced Ziyad to his pretty wife, who greeted him with a smile and a nod. The frustrated look on Ziyad's face was killing Masolon. He is dying to get that hug.

  "They are starving, love." Blanich wrapped his arm around Jubi's waist, bringing her closer to him. He pecked her on the cheek. "Would you make something for those two poor men?"

  "Let me see what I can do." Her lips fused with Blanich's before she disappeared into the house, leaving the men alone.

  And he was complaining to me how unlucky he was, Masolon recalled his past conversations with Blanich.

  "Now I understand why you gave up on your noble rights." Ziyad nodded, his hands on his waist.

  Blanich shot an inquiring look. "Meaning?"

  "Why do we not sit at the dining table while waiting for dinner?" Masolon hurriedly suggested, preventing an awkward conversation from happening. "You have something for us to drink, Blanich, right?"

  The Rusakian ushered them to the oaken table and shortly he brought them a pitcher and three cups.

  "We have a lot to chatter about the whole night." Blanich joined them, assuming his seat at the head of the table. "Like what were you running away from the last time you bid us all farewell? Where did you go, and what did you do there? How did you end up with Ziyad again? Did you reassemble the Gang?"

  Masolon and Ziyad exchanged a look.

  "Long story, my friend." Masolon allowed a smile, his lips making a firm line. "But I have eventually ended up fighting for the Bermanians."

  "Really?" Blanich furrowed his brow. His silence afterward was a bit worrying. "Which lord do you serve?"

  "The lord of Ramos." Masolon hated the sound of his lie.

  "Good." Blanich seemed less tense now. "Anywhere away from Karun is good."

  "Why so?" Masolon warily asked.

  "You are new with the Bermanians, it seems. Karun is the reason Rusakia and Bermania will be warring until the end of times."

  Masolon was aware of that already, but now was not the best time to brag about his knowledge. "Is there a rumor of an upcoming war between the two realms?"

  "No. But mark my words, my friend: the alliance between us and the Mankols paves the way for Bechov to wage war on Bermania and claim that precious fortress of Karun, especially with the civil war tearing the Bermanians apart. Bechov will not find better circumstances to even invade your kingdom, whether on his own or with the help of his new allies. We will be more than happy to keep our barbarian friends busy."

  Everybody loathes the Mankols, Masolon thought, even someone like Blanich, who earns a lot from those barbarians.

  "You didn't come to Vakiv to spy on us, eh?" Blanich went on.

  "I am looking for a friend of mine. That is why I am here."

  "Who is that friend of yours?"

  "Not anybody you might know."

  "If he is here, I may help you find him."

  "He is in Durberg," Masolon stated, Ziyad peering at him. "Imprisoned."

  Blanich's brown eyebrows rose. "How do you plan to take him out? Ransom him?"

  "I doubt Lord Larovic would let me enter the city alive in the first place." Actually, Masolon wished that Larovic's soldiers would receive him with enough hostility to provoke his demon. "That is why I brought Ziyad, to give me a hand when things get rough.

  For a second, Blanich seemed confused before he laughed, his two guests laughing as well.

  "Larovic has been transferred to Maksow to become part of the royal court as the King's military advisor. Durberg has a new ruler now."

  That was relieving to hear. "I may not need Ziyad's help then." Masolon chuckled. Though he had no doubt his demon would easily hack his way through the entire garrison of Durberg, he wished he would not be obliged to unleash that cursed creature again. He has become stronger since Ramos. Masolon could tell from his recent intense nightmares.

  "You may change your mind when you know that the new ruler is Lord Sanislav." Blanich leaned forward toward Masolon, his smile vanishing. "You must pray he didn't hear of that song about you and his daughter Lady Halin."

  10. RONA

  Eight thousand soldiers sealed their lips when they saw their armored queen.

  From the leftmost flank of the first row, she spurred her brown destrier to a canter. She felt the weight of her men's eyes as she traversed the field, reaching the other end of her host. Eight thousand men, and they were silent in anticipation of an order from their queen. For four days, Rona had resisted the urge to give that order, impatiently waiting for the siege equipment to be built. I have been waiting for twelve years. A few more days won't harm, she had consoled herself. But today the wait was over. With fifteen siege towers and six battering rams, she was ready to lead her horde to capture the Jewel of Bermania.

  Or maybe they are waiting for a speech, she thought, and indeed she had a brief one in mind.

  "Time to take this city!"

  Rona did not believe she needed more than that cry to announce the start of the glorious march to the walls of Paril, and indeed her troops did not disappoint her. Actually, they sent a shiver down her spine with their roars and the clamor they started with their swords, shields, and axes. Wilander's archers posted atop the walls of Paril must have heard her zealous, bloodthirsty soldiers. Go scream to your master, cowards. Let him know that Charlwood's daughter is coming for him.

  "Onward!" Giving the loudest cry she could muster, she swept an armored arm toward the stone walls ahead.

  Like she had envisioned in her last meeting with her advisors, no siege tower or even a ladder was left behind with the reserves. Ten towers and twenty ladders should be enough to abate the expected barrage of arrows and bolts, she had justified her suggestion, and surprisingly, they had all agreed, Gramus included. Rona could not remember the last time she had the same opinion with her brawny guardian about any subject.

  Not being among his men at the front line was another exception for Gramus today. "Given all the circumstances you have encountered, there is nothing that could have been done better." His horse was next to hers when he told her in a low voice. Seriously, Gramus found an action of hers to praise.

  A couple of seconds later, worry crept into her heart when she grasped the truth behind his words. "Something bugs you still, it seems," she prompted.

  "You know me, Rona: I'd voice my concerns if I had one. A decisive battle had its awe though."

  Rona gave his tired face a studying look, and to her surprise, he seemed to mean what he said. Nothing could have been done better? What happened to my fearless general? Did his wounds break him? "I disagree, milord," she said through clenched teeth. "I could have done better than that for sure."

  Gramus looked at her quizzically.

  "I should have waited for Foubert to summon his engineers from the East," she went on. "But I must admit, I was too impatient to wait for his messenger to go to Karun, and then wait for his engineers to come all the way from there." Recalling the fate of the previous "engineers" from Ramos, she allowed a self-mocking chuckle. "And who knows what might happen to them on the road."

  A brief smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Just bear in mind, capturing a well-guarded city like this one will be uglier than defending Ramos. You may eventually win Paril and the throne, but the cost will be heavy."

  "I will eventually win." She gazed at her advancing troops, who kept the same pace as they marched. Taking into consideration they had the impetuous Skandivians among them, they were showing great discipline so far.

  Until the Parilian catapults started hurling their fireballs.

  With the field packed with her men, it was hard for the flaming missiles to land harmlessly. One crashed into a ladder-squad on the right
flank, the other wrecking havoc in a siege-tower-squad without touching the towering wooden frame itself.

  "Two catapults won't stop me," Rona muttered. "Keep moving, men. Keep moving."

  Her soldiers in the distance could not hear her, but they kept moving anyway. Even the two hit squads; the "disturbance" delayed them a bit, but it did not deter them from resuming their march.

  Not far away from her stood Payton where she needed him the most; among his archers, waiting for the right moment to intervene and thin the barrage of incoming arrows. She did not need a Royal Guard Captain to watch over her today.

  Next to Payton's battalion were the cavalry and the reserve footmen, Foubert and his sons Yavier and Flebe ahead of them. The Duke of the East was assuming his responsibility as the general commander of her army in this battle, observing his troops at all fronts so that he could decide when and where he should send reinforcements. His firstborn would lead the cavalry when the gates were open to crush the city garrison with his fine knights. The secondborn, well, he was here with his father and his elder brother. She should be grateful he was keeping his distance. So far.

  "Don't you think that, in a crucial day like this, you should be around your general?" Gramus asked as he noticed her staring at Foubert.

  Rona heaved a deep breath. "Usually I know how nervous I become. But today, I cannot even imagine how far I can go."

  Gramus tilted his head, confused.

  "I will be a great source of distraction, Gramus." Rona pressed her lips together. "Let him focus on what he is doing. May the Lord of Sky and Earth be on our side today."

  The next two fireballs struck two of her siege towers, shattering the wooden structures into splinters, setting the remaining bases aflame. The footmen abandoned their destroyed towers and joined the nearest squads to them. "And the havoc starts," she stated.

  Gramus shook his head. "The havoc is yet to start."

  Shortly after, she knew what he was talking about. When her advancing troops fell in the ballistae range, the ranks started to lose their discipline. "Stay in formation. Stay in formation." But could she really blame a man for evading a bolt?