Ziyad looked at Rona, his mouth shut, a faint smile on his face. She felt he was telling her that if it were not for her, he might show Idgard the barbarian part of him.
"That's enough," Rona firmly said. "I expect much more respect to the Bermanian court, especially from a veteran lord like you."
"Is it still a Bermanian court?" Idgard furrowed his brow.
Rona did not like the sound of it. Ziyad was not the only one Idgard was hinting at.
"That will be an interesting topic to discuss when King Masolon returns," Ziyad struck back.
"You both stop, or I swear I disband this council." This cursed council, Rona wanted to say. She should have insisted on opposing that idea from the beginning. "You may all leave now."
Ziyad was the first member of the council to leave the hall. Idgard looked at her, as if he wanted to tell her something, but she turned her eyes away, ignoring him. When the hall was vacant, Payton stepped toward the door. "Come, Payton."
The Captain of the Royal Guard—also the commander of the city garrison now—complied. "You said nothing about this farce," she said. It was not her first time to consult him.
"I'm not a member of the council, Your Grace."
"Then, I'll give you a seat in the cursed council to make you talk." She was serious about it. "Now speak."
"I share Ziyad's concerns to be frank," he declared. "You don't know how the judge of Paril was killed, right?"
"Killed?" Rona was surprised.
"It was a plain robbery. Nothing precious or cheap was spared in his house. We have also one guard who was wounded while preventing another robbery at the southern neighborhood."
The situation was worse than she had imagined. Attacking her soldiers was not a good omen. Although Parilians had never been that violent along the history of their great city, she could not ignore Ziyad's worries. If they doubted her ability to enforce order in her city, attacking her palace might become a possibility. "Double the city patrols. Our people must see our soldiers around them wherever they go. They must be sure that we can protect their homes and shops."
"The guard at the walls will be thin if I take more soldiers from there," Payton pointed out.
"The threat is coming from inside. Masolon is already taking care of the threat from outside."
Payton nodded, weighing her words. "I'll see what I can do."
Too much mess inside and outside the palace. Rona should be grateful that Masolon had left Payton to aid her. "What should I do with Ziyad and Idgard?" she asked.
"Lord Idgard should be mindful of the possible consequences of his words," said Payton. "Those men from the desert could be our allies one day."
Confused, she wrinkled her nose, waving away. "That's not a subject to discuss today, Payton. And I'm talking about one man from the desert. His whole faction is not of my concern." His whole faction except one bloody girl.
Payton furrowed his brow. "I know His Grace is keeping the matter as a secret, but not from you, I thought." He grinned. "He was serious about not occupying your mind with any of the kingdom matters, wasn't he?"
She looked Payton in the eye. "He did his best, and it didn't work. What is that secret matter?"
"He didn't tell me." Payton shrugged. "But I learned that he was writing to the Murasen King."
For real? Why would he keep that as a secret? Rona was not sure if she could conceal her fury. "I wonder what he was writing. . . to the Murasen King."
45. BEN
The well was now a usual place for their accidental meetings. Ben had learned that Lynett could see him coming to fill his water sack from the window of her house. In their second encounter, she had brought a bucket, as if she had come to fetch water in the first place. But Ben never believed in coincidences. He was quite sure it was not only water that brought her out of her house.
To his surprise, her father, Sergeant Colb, came out to be a kind man, she told him. Ben did not argue with her about the kind man she thought her father was. It would be foolish of him if he repeated the same mistake. Offending her once was enough.
Not in a hurry to fill his water sack, Ben let the elderly and the women fetch water from the well before him. He could not help glancing at her house in anticipation of her arrival, but still the shutters of her window were closed. Usually she came out right after sunrise, but the sun had been rising for a while. Maybe her house was not in need for water today.
"Your turn, kid," a gray-haired man urged him. "The well will run dry if you keep standing like a tree."
Ben realized he might look awkward if he lingered near the well longer than that. Silently, he nodded to the man and moved to fill his water sack. I saw her yesterday and the day before. What's wrong if I miss one day?
"Too young to die," the same old man muttered. Thanks to the armor decorated with the Bermanian lion on Ben's breastplate, it was not hard for anyone to guess what he was. "You shouldn't fight for them, kid. Those worthless bastards don't deserve wasting your youth for them."
Ben was done with his sack. "If I don't waste my youth for my country, who will?"
"This is not a war for your country, kid." The man stood by the edge of the well, letting down the empty bucket. "Forty years ago I donned the armor when we fought the Rusakians to defend the Bermanian soil in Karun. Don't give me that look. I wasn't the same frail bag of bones you see today. My back was straightened, my shoulders broad, my arms as thick as your legs. I slew like fifty Rusakians at the stone walls of the castle of Karun. It was only after the battle when I realized I was wounded in my shoulders and torso. The fever forced me to stay abed for two weeks and I thought it was the end, but I never regretted what I did for my country because I knew I didn't waste my youth in vain."
"It's an honor to die for your country, sir." Ben glanced at the closed shutters of Lynett's window. Listening to the gray-haired man's gibberish was a good excuse to stay longer until her arrival.
"That's what the Rusakian prisoner told me." The old man wagged a finger. "I must say that the Rusakians fought bravely on that day despite their inevitable defeat at the walls of our stronghold. I couldn't help asking one of the soldiers I captured why they kept trying scaling our walls. I couldn't understand why the likes of him would waste their lives for some land that didn't belong to them until I learned they also believed that Karun was theirs. I realized that we were not heroes and they were not rascals. We were just fooled by our rulers to protect and expand their lands."
"So, what do you want me to do? Abandon my post and run away like a coward?" Ben shrugged, knowing he was provoking the old man to keep talking.
"You are not fooling me with your armor, kid. You look and talk like a villager." The old man narrowed his eyes. "Probably, Herlog is where you come from. I can imagine how miserable the conditions have become there, forcing the likes of you to flee from famine to the clash of steel. So, stop talking like a hero because you know you're not. You hope you're fortunate enough to prevail after the end of this war to be able to earn your coin."
Folding his arms, Ben did not argue. The old man looked him up and down before he took his full bucket. "And you know what?" he continued. "You're not likely to receive more than a few pieces of copper. They save the gold and silver for knights, seasoned soldiers, and mercenaries." With studied steps, the old man started leaving him. "Go back to your village, kid. Don't waste your youth."
Ben gave the closed shutters of Lynett's window one last look as he walked away from the well. I wasted my youth listening to you, old man. Well, the day was still in its beginning. He might try his chances at noon. Or before noon; he was too impatient to wait.
The clamor coming from his camp was too loud in such an early hour of the day. Commanders were cursing, blunt blades clashing. Had they started today's sparring? Usually they sparred a bit later.
"Too much time to fetch some water."
Masolon's voice surprised him when it came from behind him. The King of Bermania was standing without a retinue followi
ng him, clad in a plain blue tunic and black breeches. Neither a crown nor a sigil decorated his simple outfit. Only a sheathed sword hung from his belt did.
"I wonder why His Grace is looking for me," said Ben, his hands behind his back.
"You are getting better in the formalities folly." Masolon smiled crookedly. "You are not carrying a practice sword, I presume." He nodded toward his sheath.
"It's real, ready to slit throats." Ben patted his hilt.
"Good. Come." Masolon motioned Ben to follow him.
"Should Captain Tarling be informed?" Ben asked when he caught up with Masolon, walking next to him.
"He is not in need for your services anymore. Starting from now, you are my squire."
The King's squire? He had never seen that coming. "Why, Your Grace? I mean thanks."
"Do not thank me now," Masolon grimly said. Ben wondered what the Demon was up to as they reached a rickety building overlooking an unpaved, deserted yard. His eyebrows rose in awe when Masolon took off his tunic and threw it away, revealing two muscular arms and a toned chest. His Grace was still in good shape, like he had always been in Herlog.
"Draw your sword." Masolon unsheathed his weapon.
Ben could not help suspecting Masolon's intentions. The sullen king was not alright after he had witnessed his friend's death. Did he bring me here to avenge Antram? The thought alarmed Ben as he watched Masolon brandish his weapon. The lad knew there was a war other than the one between the kings of Paril and Augarin; a war inside the Demon's mind between the warrior he had been and the king he had become; a war that could ruin any reason in the minds of the wisest men. "To do what?"
"To see how pathetic you still fight with a blade."
Ben nervously chuckled. The last time they had sparred in Herlog was almost a year ago. "But these are not blunt blades, Masolon."
"We never had blunt blades to play with when we were children." Masolon's grin grew wide.
Taking a deep breath, Ben slowly unsheathed his sword, recalling his first training days with Masolon back in the village. None of the Brave Lads had ever managed to touch the Demon. "Come on, boy. Try to hurt me if you can," Masolon kept teasing him. That was always his way to unleash the best of his apprentices.
Knowing he needed all the strength he got, Ben gripped the hilt with both hands. He had seen more than once what the Demon of Herlog could do with a blade. Trying to match his power and agility would be as hard as chasing a panther on your feet.
Ben roared, lunging forward, his sword hissing before it clashed with Masolon's blade. Double-handedly, Ben swung his sword three more times, but Masolon blocked all the blows with one-handed maneuvers. "Slow. Weak. Predictable." Masolon curled his nose before he charged. Ben managed to block the first blow, almost losing his sword if it were not for his double-handed grip. In a heartbeat, Ben found Masolon at his right, hitting his right leg with the flat of his sword. "Here is when you lose your leg. You are dead, no doubt," Masolon said and Ben agreed. If that was a duel in a battle, Ben would be falling to the ground on his knees. A second later, his foe would decapitate him.
"You had better fight more seriously." Holding his sword, Masolon assumed a ready stance. "This time, I will hit you with the right end of my sword."
The Demon meant what he promised, Ben saw it in his eyes. "You'll eventually hurt me," said Ben.
"Not if you stop me rather than trying to do so. Come on. Attack me, coward!" Masolon urged him.
A bit aggravated, Ben charged at Masolon, his swings faster, the clash of blades lasting longer than the previous one. But when Masolon assumed an offensive stance, Ben knew it would be impossible to fend his blows off forever. After blocking three mighty strikes, Masolon stunned him with a low stab aiming at his leg, the sharp edge of steel cutting his skin. Ben yelled.
"You are dead now," Masolon growled. "Find something to tie your leg with. We still have a long day ahead."
"Do you want me to continue sparring like this?" Ben grimaced, pointing at his wounded leg.
"My sword barely scratched your skin. The armor took the most of the strike." Masolon nodded toward him. "So, stop wailing and fight like a man."
Is this what being a king's squire feels like? Ben would refuse the honor if he knew about it. Filling his lungs with a deep breath of air, he tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword. "I'm ready," Ben announced, but in less than a couple of minutes he realized he was not ready at all. Not today. Not in ten years.
The swords kept clashing, and by dusk, Ben had another cut in his arm and a bruise in his nose. Yet he should be grateful. For the last hour of sparring, Masolon had been merciful enough to decide their duels with his fists, kicks, and a headbutt. "Enough for today." It was dusk when Masolon ended this torture. "We shall continue at dawn."
Sitting on his haunches, Ben found himself nervously laughing. "Now I understand why you told me not to thank you."
Masolon sheathed his sword and put his hands on his waist. "You will thank me for your wounds. Survive them, and you will be invincible."
"I don't think I'm ready for more wounds." Ben waved.
"Then you die tomorrow." Masolon picked up his tunic from the ground. "I will see you in the dining hall in two hours."
"The dining hall?" Ben echoed.
"You are my squire, remember? You go where I go or where I command you to go." Masolon gave him a studying look before he smiled slyly. "You have one last chance to pay that well a visit."
Ben shot him an inquiring look, swallowing. "You. . . know about the well?"
Masolon fixed him with a gaze. "I believe you had a good reason to bother walking to a well in the heart of the city rather than the barrels next to your tent."
"But the well is not in the heart of the city. It's just a few streets. . ." Ben did not finish, realizing how silly he sounded.
"Do you love her?" Masolon took him off guard.
"I. . . don't know yet. I only talked to her a few times."
"Do not repeat my mistakes, boy," Masolon warned. "You must know. And you must tell her when you know. Do not wait until it is too late."
Ben chuckled. "I wonder what secrets of love you can teach me."
"None." Masolon gave him a lopsided smile. "Yet I know one thousand things you should never do." He turned, leaving the yard. Ben wondered if the King of Bermania would walk the whole distance to the royal palace with a bare chest. It would be quite a sight.
Meeting Lynett in such a condition? That would not be a good idea. But his water sack was almost empty. And at this moment, at this very yard, the well was nearer to him than the water barrels of his camp. I have no choice then, he lied to himself.
As Ben made his way through the streets of Ramos, he spotted an approaching patrol. "Ben!" Edd called out before he scurried toward him. "Blast! What happened to your face? Did a house fall on you?"
Ben wished Edd's voice was even louder. Looking around, his eyes sought Lynett's face among the people in the market. "Worse. I was sparring with the Demon himself."
"Just sparring? For real? Now I can imagine what his opponents go through when he fights," Edd scoffed.
"He is not in a good mood these days." Ben spotted her at last. There, by the tomatoes stand, she was watching. "I should hurry now, brother."
Edd looked over his shoulder before he gave Ben a wicked smile. "I see now. But I never thought that fetching tomatoes was one of the duties of the King's squire."
"You know?"
"Tarling told us the good news this morning." Edd patted him on the shoulder. "Now go, lucky bastard. You know tomatoes rot too fast." He left him, returning to the patrol.
Her eyes were fixed on him when he approached her. "O Lord! You're badly wounded!" Alarmed, she looked him up and down. Well, Ben liked the notion that she was worried about him. Meeting her in such a condition comes out to be a good idea after all.
"None of them are deep wounds, don't you worry," Ben said carelessly. Yes, show her how strong and brave you are.
"And not even a single bandage? What is this folly?"
"I will take care of them when I return to the palace."
"The palace? Soldiers do not belong to palaces."
"But the King's squires do."
"No folly." She always looked prettier when she grinned. As she ambled down the street, he joined her. "So, the soldier may become a knight one day."
"A knight?" He guffawed. "No, thanks. The honor is too much to handle."
"Why not? My father wished he could be a knight." She lowered her voice. "But that's a secret, huh?"
Ben chuckled. "What about your wish? To marry a knight?"
"Marry?" Startled, her eyes widened for a moment before she shrugged, staring at him. "Why not? Any girl would dream of her guardian knight."
Seriously? At first glance, Lynett did not seem to be one of those girls who could be deluded by the glorious tales of knighthood and chivalry. She reminded him of himself when he had been impressed by Masolon, the gallant hero who had defied an army for the sake of two poor girls. But there were no heroes in this world, Ben realized. And even if they existed, they would eventually fall to lust and power. Does she see me as a hero, too? Maybe he should tell her why he took part in this war in the first place.
"How is your father's leg?" Ben changed the topic.
"Better. Still not good enough to walk on. That's why he sends me whenever he needs anything."
Ben would thank the archer who had hit Colb's leg. "Let the wound takes its time to heal."
They were passing by the well when she nodded toward it. "I thought you wanted to fill your water sack."
The water what? She was not serious, was she? "I'll be in the palace. I have all the water I need there, I guess," said Ben.
"Really? What brought you to the market then?"
"To see you." Recalling Masolon's advice, Ben did not hesitate to admit. Pretending was pointless. "I only come here because I love chattering with you."
She kept staring at him for a moment, as if she was waiting for him to continue. "You love chattering with me?" She narrowed her eyes. "Is that it?"
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