Throne of Ruins

by Karim Soliman

  Among her previous targets, the Murasen king was the most precious ever. Sometimes she wondered if Polapopolos had lied about her prize—it was too big to be true. With all the gold she would earn, she would not need to take lives for coin anymore. She might ride east to Bigad, then cross the Blue Crescent, passing by the castle of Kurdisan until she reached the Mankols' lands. After that, she would head to the eastern coast and look for the Port That Does Not Exist on any Goranian map—according to Wang, the Seer. And from there, she would sail to the Koyan islands, bribe one of their merchants to let her enter their city, and reside there in peace, away from the ugly life of Gorania. Yes, she was done with all this blood and all these blades. Today she was still young and agile, but that would not last forever. Once she lost her gifts, surviving the Goranian madness would be hard. Her salvation was in this mission.

  Killing Rasheed was not a problem on its own, but killing him without being caught was something else. With his guards shadowing him wherever he went, her daggers would not be the best weapon for this assignment.

  But a few drops of poison would do.

  Carrying a full waterskin, Viola reached the front yard occupied by a horde of royal knights. Her eyes scanned the place until she found Basel, the King's squire, pulling an armored warhorse by its reins. During her short stay in this palace, she had found the chance to bandy words with him a few times. She could be a decade older than him, yet the witless lad thought she might be interested in him. Men are all the same. Whether they are old or young, a smile will do.

  She tilted her head as she approached him. "So, the rumors I've heard this morning are true. The King is leaving, taking my brave knight with him."

  Basel grinned foolishly, too muscular for his age. "I wish you could join us, Rily," he said. "But I doubt His Majesty would allow the company of girls in this ride."

  Well, she had lied about her name when she had first met Basel, but she had not lied about her Bermanian mother to explain her looks. Sometimes he called her 'Bermanian girl.'

  "Don't get hurt." Her voice was soft, her lips pressed together as she put the poisoned waterskin in the saddlebag strapped to the King's warhorse.

  Basel reached out to stop her. "What are you doing?"

  "Her Majesty's orders," she replied, pretending to be irked. "It seems she wants to make sure His Majesty doesn't feel thirsty in this sunny day."

  "I brought waterskins already."

  She exhaled. "Listen. I'm not ready to hear harsh words from Her Majesty." She pushed the waterskin into his arms. "You go yourself and tell her you don't want to—"

  "Alright, alright." He hurriedly buried the waterskin into the saddlebag, glancing upward at the palace windows, as if he was afraid that the Queen could be watching him.

  She managed a smile, her fingers barely touching his cheek. "I will be waiting for your return," she whispered. Basel lifted his hand, but she pulled hers playfully before he could touch it. Winking to him, she left the lad behind. That deluded donkeyface. She wanted to spit on his big nose.

  Viola returned to the palace, ascended to the first floor to watch the royal horde exit the palace of Kahora. She wanted to make sure that the King would leave with her waterskin with him.

  "Viola."

  She could not help turning her head toward the cold voice that called her name out. Hired Blade? She had not expected to run into any acquaintances here. What on earth was he doing here?

  "Why does a Bermanian girl dress like a Murasen servant?" he asked, his voice dripping with irony, giving her one more reason to hate the yellow tunic she wore.

  "And what is a Bermanian mercenary doing in the royal Murasen palace?" She glanced at her right, making sure no one curious was following their conversation.

  "I'm a welcome guest here." His studying look was unbearable. "Unlike you, it seems."

  Was it so obvious that she felt uneasy? She was doing her best to keep her composure.

  "I'm leaving soon anyway, in case you need company on the road." She did not know why she had told him so. That could be a stupid act she might regret later.

  "You are not hired here for your archery skills, are you?" The bastard was determined to know why she was here.

  "I have skills other than archery, dear."

  "I can't question your skills, Viola," said Hired Blade. "Yet I can't help wondering about your motives."

  "I can't help wondering, either," another voice startled Viola. Thanks to Hired Blade's surprising appearance, she had not noticed that Murasen guard, who was now standing right behind her.

  "I really apologize for interrupting your conversation so rudely." The guard slowly stepped forward, looking her up and down. "I'm Qasem, Captain of the Royal Palace Guard." He nodded toward Hired Blade. "We met already."

  Smiling, without saying a word, Hired Blade acknowledged.

  "Did he call you Viola?" Qasem put his hands on his waist. "Because I remember my young cousin Basil told me that your name was Rily."

  His cousin? Well, things were getting worse now. She had to choose fast whether she would lie or tell him the truth. "You remember correctly. It's a long story," she said.

  "I have all the time to listen to it after I escort him to Her Majesty. You wait here by this very window. And don't think of running away. You will not find all the soldiers here as foolish as my naive cousin," Qasem warned, wagging his finger.

  Cornered, she did not pretend she did not know what he was talking about. A dagger in the throat of this scum would settle this matter, but not in such a bustling place. Besides, she was unsure about Hired Blade's stance toward her. It seemed he was more than just a welcome guest here. He's meeting with the Queen.

  She must flee from this damnable place. Now.

  The postern gate was the exit she thought of. After the two men had gone upstairs, Viola descended to the ground floor, heading to the wide passage that connected the courtyard with the small backyard. As Donkeyface had told her, this passage led to pages and soldiers and sergeants' chambers. Curious and hungry eyes followed her as she scurried through that passage where maidservants seldom trespassed on. One soldier in particular deserved a cold blade in his heart for his invitation to warm his bed, but she ignored him until she reached the end of the passage. Hiding behind a wide column, she observed the three spearmen guarding the postern gate. And blast! An archer atop the bulwark was patrolling her way out of this place. He was the one she should start with, and afterward, she would handle the other three soldiers from a distance before they could touch her.

  Drawing a dagger hidden in her garments, she weighed the distance from that archer. "Drop your weapon, you whore!" a holler from behind her echoed in the passage, followed by a dozen thudding boots. It was Qasem's voice, she recognized it. The Murasen bastard had been following her since she went downstairs.

  She slowly turned to face her chasers, the dagger still in her hand. Ten swordsmen including Qasem, together with two archers, approached cautiously. "Drop it now, unless you want an arrow in your chest," Qasem continued.

  She was so much outnumbered. She might fell four or five of them, but the rest would beat her in the end. "I did nothing wrong." She dropped the dagger, letting the Murasen soldiers seize her. Well, cell bars were definitely much better than sword blades.

  39. SANIA

  "A spy in the palace?" Sania was alarmed by Qasem's news. That malicious Dehawy had started his war for the throne in such a critical hour. It's no coincidence, she thought. Byzonts amassing their army near the western Murasen frontiers, rumors about a probable Mankol attack from the north, and now a spy in the royal palace of Kahora; all that had been arranged from the beginning. Rasheed must be informed. Taking her brother and her uncle with him, her husband had already set off for the castle of Arkan, but he could not have gone too far. A rider on a swift horse would catch the marching troops in less than an hour.

  "I will send a word to King Rasheed," Qasem announced his decision, not waiting for her opinion though. H
ow dare he? She was the only ruler of this palace in the King's absence. The captain should rather ask, 'Shall I send a word to King Rasheed?'

  "How can you be so sure that she is a spy?" Sania asked firmly, just to challenge Qasem, to make him know who was in charge. "I will not disturb His Majesty with a ridiculous tale of some maidservant, who acted foolishly because she was scared of his guards."

  "Your Majesty, we are sure she's not one of our maidservants," Qasem confirmed. "Nobody knows her except our Bermanian guest. He is waiting outside already if you want to ask him."

  Masolon's messenger? What could be common between a spy and a king's messenger? If he is a messenger in the first place. . .

  "Something doesn't add up." Sania shook her head. "That girl had better be anybody but a spy."

  "Well, we found this with her."

  Sania gaped when Qasem produced a dagger that looked familiar. Bumar's house, two years ago; that was where and when she had seen that cursed blade.

  "Let him in," Sania demanded. "And bring Bumar here as fast as you can. I need to have a word with him." She grabbed the dagger from Qasem's hand. "Bring the girl as well."

  Qasem left the hall. Shortly after, he returned with five more guards, escorting Rona's brawny messenger. Are you a witness or a suspect? Sania glanced at the sealed scroll placed on the small round table on her right, wondering if it was a good idea to hand this man the letter she had written to the King of Bermania. . . on behalf of King Rasheed of course.

  "Captain Qasem says you know the spy we have caught," Sania firmly addressed the Bermanian messenger.

  "I never knew she was a spy, Your Majesty. I just met her on my journey to Kahora, and the only thing she said about herself was her name; Viola."

  Sania beckoned him over. He could have harmed me before if he wanted to, she reminded herself. "As a veteran knight, what can you tell me about this?" She showed him the dagger.

  The messenger narrowed his eyes for a moment. "It's Viola's dagger. I watched her strike a snake with it from a distance."

  Striking from a distance, the Bermanian's words echoed in her mind. "Can anyone else get a similar dagger?"

  "Why not?" He shrugged. "It's a cheap, plain dagger that has nothing special about its craft, not a single stone decorating its handle for instance. It's true the weapon itself is light, and the blade is extremely sharp, making it a deadly weapon when darted by a trained thrower. But still it can be forged by any blacksmith anywhere in Gorania."

  Nervously, she tapped the table with her fingers before she finally made up her mind and snatched the scroll. "You know who you should give this letter to." She lowered her voice, handing him the rolled parchment. "Tell him that Queen Sania has received his message."

  Pressing his lips together, the Bermanian knight nodded and took the scroll. Sania dismissed him, part of her scolding her for her last statement. That was unnecessary, Sania. Too reckless. Too childish. That messenger had seen and heard too much, she believed.

  "See if Bumar has arrived," she ordered Qasem after the Bermanian knight had left. A few moments later, the Captain of the Royal Guard entered with Bumar.

  "Your Majesty." The healer grinned when he approached. "How can I serve you?"

  Sania put the dagger on the small round table, the steel blade rattling against the wooden surface. The calm man furrowed his brow as he studied the weapon with his eyes.

  "Reminds you of anything?" she asked, staring at him.

  Bumar gripped the dagger handle with one hand, carefully touching the flat of the blade with the other. "Too much blood and tears," Bumar muttered, his eyes fixed on the weapon.

  Sania could not help glancing right and left before she whispered, "So, you say it's the same dagger that struck me. . . when I was with Masolon." There was nothing to hide from Bumar. He knew the whole story already.

  "I say what it reminds me of, but I don't know if it's the same one." Bumar returned the dagger to the table. Obviously, he noticed the frustrated look on her face when their eyes met. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty, but I'm a healer, not a weapon expert."

  "I was the one who was half-awake at that cursed night." Sania gnashed her teeth. "You should remember better than that, Bumar."

  "I'm really sorry if I've disappointed you, Your Majesty. But even if it's the same dagger, it doesn't mean it belongs to the same person."

  Blast you, Bumar. You are really disappointing. He was the one who could confirm her doubts, yet he made her confusion grew worse. That cursed dagger was still chasing her; she could not simply ignore this possibility.

  "Bring in that Viola," she ordered Qasem. Noticing the inquiring look on Bumar's face, she turned to him. "You stay."

  The guards pushed the door open, dragging the tied spy. Or assassin, who knows? Sania was quite sure she had never seen that woman before. Yes, Viola was not the girl she had expected. Perchance her slim figure had deceived Qasem and his men, but Sania could tell she was older than she looked like.

  With slow steps, Sania approached the tied spy. The thought that Sania might be staring at the one who had almost killed her made her feel furious—and a bit scared, she had to admit. Minutes ago, Sania had been eager to see that intruder, but now her mind was muddled while trying to figure out how she would get answers from her. Sania could not just ask Viola, 'You, what are you doing here?' Because Viola would not simply answer, 'Me? Just spying on you by Dehawy's orders.' Viola would never tell the truth because the truth meant her death.

  Unless Sania gave her a motive; a hope of saving her head.

  "Do you know what is the sanction of spying in these lands, foreigner?" Sania curtly asked.

  Viola gave her a hollow look.

  "Silence will cost you your life," Sania snapped.

  "What do you want me to say, then?" Viola grimaced.

  A lot, Sania thought to herself. As a start, are you the one who intercepted my escape with Masolon in the Murasen desert? But no, it would not work that way. Not quite the question Sania should ask.

  "Why did you try to kill me two years ago?" Sania looked Viola in the eye when she asked. Viola jerked her head backward, her eyebrows raised, as if the question had taken her off guard. A couple of seconds later, a slight smile played at the corners of her mouth. It's her, for real! Sania fidgeted, waiting for any word from that damnable Viola, whose silence and teasing grin were killing her.

  "You were never the target, darling." Viola smirked. "Not before. Not today either."

  "You despicable creature," Sania muttered, balling her fists. Why did you do that? Why do mean creatures like you exist in the first place? Why? She wanted to slam Viola's head against the stone wall until that crooked smile vanished for good. Sania knew who was the real target two years ago, but what about today? Guessing who was supposed to be stabbed by that dagger was not that difficult, yet Sania still wished she was wrong about it.

  "Killing you is a mercy you don't deserve." Sania glared at her. "You'll rot in the dungeons until your bones frail and your skin stinks."

  "Not a good idea." Viola gave her a mocking grin. "You need me to save his life."

  Sania shook her head in disbelief. Rasheed was good and sound when his horde had left the palace. What was that wench blathering about?

  "This gibberish is futile," said Sania. "I thought you were smarter than that."

  "When the messenger comes, you will know." Viola's smile got wider. What will I know, you pile of dirt? Sania could not take any more of Viola's riddles.

  "Don't test my patience." Sania tried to sound menacing.

  "Or else, you will do what?"

  "Who sent you and why?"

  "Will you set me free if I answer?"

  Set a spy free? Sania would not dare to do that, no matter what Viola said. What should the Queen of Murase do to get out of this predicament? Qasem was watching, and she had to act to save her face. Perhaps she should seek Bumar's. . .

  Suddenly, a soldier flung the door open. "I'm terribly sorry, Your Majest
y." He panted. "We need Bumar to ride with us at once to the King's marching horde. His Majesty is so sick that he has fallen off his horse."

  "Merciful Lord! What happened to him?" Sania was both scared and astonished. "What have you done to him?" she bellowed at Viola.

  "What is done is done." Viola shrugged. "In this critical hour, you should think of what can be done. And I assure you, no one can do your king any good except me."

  Sania grabbed her by the collar. "Did you poison him? Where is the antidote?"

  "Your dying husband doesn't have much time, Your Majesty," Viola gloated. "If you really want to save his life, you must let me hurry to him. I know how to bring him back from the dead." She leaned forward, whispering. "Unless you want to keep him dead so that you can return to your sweetheart."

  Sania wanted to slap her for that, but she did not. Blast! Do I really want this to happen to Rasheed? To my husband? In a second, she brushed the thought aside, feeling ashamed it had even crossed her mind.

  "How can I trust a scum like you?" She shot Viola a despising look.

  "You can't," Viola carelessly replied. "But I might be your only hope. I mean his."

  40. BEN

  It was Ben's turn to patrol the city. Good thing it was in daylight.

  The streets were quiet as it had been since the start of the clash of steel. Despite the victory, most of the shops were shut. No caravans entered or exited the city where thousands of soldiers were still camping. The only noise he could hear was that of the blacksmith's banging hammer. Even the tavern was empty, and the only thing you could get there was ale. It was no surprise that the people of Ramos were doing their best to shield their food from the attention of others with hungry stomachs. King Masolon's soldiers were no exception.

  Ben and Edd lagged behind the column of fourteen patrolling soldiers, staring at the smashed window of a one-story house. Night madness will grow worse if this war doesn't end soon, Ben thought to himself, exchanging a look with Edd. Silence had been the language they used the most since they buried their friend's headless corpse with their own hands. It was hard for Ben to forget that gruesome moment when Ted shoved him to the ground to protect him from Antram's deadly strike. One moment later, Ben was bathing in Ted's blood, the head of his friend rolling on the grass before his shocked eyes. Such a horrifying sight might need decades to be removed from his mind.