Queen of Rebels

by Karim Soliman

  Masolon arrived in the area where the girl's body had been found. The grassy ground was full of random footprints of all those who had stomped over the grass last night to help Maat's relatives. He dismounted and tied his horse to a tree trunk, and on foot he scrutinized the ground, hoping he could find tracks of sabatons or any distinguished footprints. Perhaps he should have brought all the lads with him to see what their boots looked like.

  Wait, I do not need their footprints. The murdered girl will lead me to the culprits.

  Spotting the smaller footprints was not that hard for his honed eyes. There were tracks of two girls, but only one of them was followed by footprints of mailed sabatons. A whole year in Herlog, and Masolon had never encountered a single Bermanian patrol soldier. What brought those bastards here?

  The bastards' tracks ended by a tree, and then there were hoof prints of two horses moving side by side. They could not have gotten far away though. Those culprits must have rested somewhere last night, and most probably, they would not seek shelter in any of the nearby villages. They are not from here, Masolon presumed as he followed the hoof prints which were clearly heading south. Those culprits must have passed by Herlog already.

  Masolon's horse whinnied. "Ben? Maat?" he called out, but when he did not receive an answer, he unsheathed his bastard sword and sprinted back where he had tied his horse. Nobody was here, but he could hear that soft crunching on grass. Someone was moving warily behind the trees. A nice try to hide, but not good enough. As Masolon approached the trees behind which those culprits were hiding, the crunching footsteps stopped.

  "Masolon," Ben's whispering voice came from behind the trees. Blast! I could have killed you, you fool. Masolon gritted his teeth as he cautiously advanced to Ben's spot. When he found Ben and Maat crouching behind the tree, Ben pointed to south of the woods. "One horseman."

  Masolon hurried to his horse and cut the rope tying it to the tree trunk. In a few seconds, he was on horseback, urging the stallion to catch up with that lightly-armored horseman. Obviously stunned by Masolon's charge, the horseman took some time before wheeling his horse to face the attacker, a thick black mustache below his big nose. It is him. Now sure about the culprit's identity, Masolon hauled his greatsword and plunged it through the trunk of his opponent's horse. The poor animal neighed in agony and fell on its left, taking its rider with it. I am sorry. I know it is not your fault.

  The fallen soldier groaned as he held his left shoulder. "Now you have nothing to steal," he spat. "That horse was all I had."

  "This is for the girls you attacked last night." Masolon wheeled his horse, pointing his huge blade at the trapped soldier. "Where is your partner?"

  The soldier looked from the blade to Masolon. "A greatsword? A Murasen armor? Who on earth are you?"

  "Tell me where your partner is, and I will let you die swiftly." Masolon's blade touched the soldier's neck.

  "Slow down, slow down." The nervous soldier raised both hands. "There is a whole army waiting for my return. Thousands of knights will burn these villages to ashes if you don't let me return to them."

  "So, you are some scout, eh?" Masolon noticed the regret on the soldier's face. He had divulged too much already. "Whose scout are you?"

  "You must let me go." The soldier gnashed his teeth. "And let's all forget what happened today."

  His partner was coming back; Masolon heard the thudding hooves. The moment he turned to the surging opponent, the mustached soldier rolled away and pushed to his feet to flee. He will not go anywhere, Masolon thought as he kicked the flanks of his stallion, urging it to gallop toward the charging horseman. Before Masolon even swung his greatsword, an arrow struck the horseman's neck, his charger resuming its way into the woods, riderless.

  Without seeing who the shooter was, Masolon turned his horse to chase the soldier running away. The mustached scout dropped to his knees and raised his bare hands when Masolon approached from behind him. "I yield!"

  Masolon pulled the reins of his horse, and slowly he came closer to the soldier surrendering for the second time. "You did not tell me where your partner was." Masolon glared at him.

  "You seem like a man with reason," said the mustached soldier. "There is no good that will come out of killing me."

  "There was no good to come out of hurting the poor girl," Masolon spat.

  Ben and Maat appeared from behind the trees, coming toward the cornered soldier. "Your turn, bastard." Maat drew his sword, pointing it at the mustached scout.

  "No, not here." Masolon swung down off his saddle and hit the soldier on the head with the pommel of his greatsword. "I want everyone in the village to witness the punishment of this scum. Bring me a rope and let us tie him to my horse." He gestured to Maat. "You hurry back to the village and gather everybody in our training yard. I do not want anybody to miss the sight of this dirt bag sweeping the ground with his face."

  "You will all pay for this!" the captured soldier dared to utter menacingly. Maat repeatedly kicked him in the face, blood flooding his nose and jaw. The bastard deserved more than that, but Masolon had to stop Maat before he broke the culprit's neck; a too quick and merciful death for this criminal.

  "Go now," Masolon urged Maat, who reluctantly walked away. "More haste!"

  Ben held the reins of Masolon's horse. "Can you ride your horse without these?" he asked Masolon."We can use them to tie the bastard."

  "Certainly." Masolon nodded in approval, watching Ben carefully remove the horse's bridle and reins. "Good shot by the way."

  "A lucky shot to be honest. I was aiming at his chest." Ben grinned. "But how did you know it was me, not Maat?"

  Masolon took the reins from Ben. "Maat wouldn't miss such a chance to hit me by mistake."

  * * *

  Since his wedding, Masolon had not witnessed such a gathering in Herlog. Men, women, and children thronged the Brave Lad's training yard to watch the culprit's punishment.

  Masolon dismounted and stood at the head of the soldier roped to his horse. After wiping every pace of ground with his face, the culprit was not showing any sign of consciousness. "Wake him up and take him to the tree," Masolon addressed Ben and two other lads, nodding toward the soldier. The youths tied their prisoner to the tree in the center of the yard and roused him with their slaps.

  "As you may have heard, the village has lost a girl last night because of this filthy bastard we caught this morning." Masolon pointed backward with his thumb, raising his voice to silence the humming throng. "The unfortunate fact is that retribution will never bring back the dead, but on the other hand it might spare a few innocent souls. If crime goes unpunished, nothing will deter the likes of this bastard from hurting more people."

  "Spare one innocent soul and let me go," the soldier spoke in a weak voice. "Or face the wrath of—"

  Maat interrupted the soldier's menace with a punch in his belly, much to the crowd’s approval.

  "This scum claims he has an army that will descend upon us if anything happens to him." Masolon gestured toward the tied soldier. "Would his hollow threats stop us from avenging our girl?"

  The reaction of his audience was a bit disappointing. Some of them seemed slightly worried about the "army" he had mentioned. But what else should he expect from those peaceful peasants, who had no concerns other than securing their food and water?

  "What if his threats are not hollow and he has an army indeed?" a Herlogan villager warily asked Masolon.

  "You tell me." Masolon glared at the villager. "If an army comes for that bastard, will you be ready to give them your wife or your daughter to save your arse?"

  His answer was offending to some, especially to that villager who grumbled with inarticulate words. Before the tension grew worse, the wise Smit came forward. "Masolon, we consider you one of us, and we all owe you for what you have done for the village since you came. But this time you might be dragging us into a fight much bigger than we can handle." He grinned, gesturing toward the people around him. "You won't
find soldiers for your war here, son."

  "My war?" Masolon disapproved. "That girl belonged to your village, old man."

  Smit advanced until he stood between Masolon and the crowd. "It mustn't necessarily be anybody's war." The old man lowered his voice. "If that army comes for any reason, we may have terms to discuss other than blood and fire. But we won't have such a chance unless we keep him alive."

  Masolon jabbed his finger at the soldier tied to the tree. "Letting this heap of filth go without retribution will only invite more of his ilk to hunt more of our girls."

  "Retribution will bring war. And war will bring nothing but ruin and blood to this peaceful village. We are not fearless warriors like you, Masolon. Growing our crops and breeding our cattle is what we know best."

  "Then listen to what I know best, old man." Masolon leaned forward. "If there is an army of thousands of soldiers nearby for real, then rest assured, sooner or later they will visit our village to quench their hunger and lust."

  Smit shook his head, a faint smile on his face. "You need more than a palisade wall and two watchtowers to stop an army."

  "You are right. We need to attach scaffolds on the interior side along the whole perimeter of the wall to allow more archers to defend the village from all directions." Masolon patted Smit's shoulder, whispering, "Now if you do not mind, old man. I have a bastard to execute."

  Smit gave Masolon a long look before he stepped back, the yard growing hushed, as if the crowd was anticipating the outcome of this quiet conversation.

  "Herlogans! Shall we serve justice?" Masolon addressed his audience. "Or will you allow harassing your girls go so cheaply?"

  Provoking those peaceful peasants was the point, and it worked. The crowd's angry response showed less hesitance than at the beginning. "Hang the scum!" a yell came from the throng.

  "Hang?" Masolon echoed. "No. Too swift, too merciful." Nodding to Ben, he continued, "I have something befitting a murderer. . . and a rapist."

  The lads knew what to do—it was Ben's task to brief them. While Ben was bringing their pointed training pole, Edd and Ted climbed the tree and each one let down a long rope. "I need a hand." Masolon motioned Maat toward the tree as he went to the left side of the trunk and tied the soldier's left arm to the dangling rope, the sturdy lad doing the same to the soldier's right arm. When Ben was back, Masolon said to Maat, "Now." Each of Masolon and Maat pulled the other loose end of the rope hanging at his side, lifting the soldier up the tree.

  "What are you doing?" The exhausted soldier stared in alarm at Ben, who vertically fixed a five-foot pole, its pointy edge just between the hung man's legs.

  Masolon gave the crowd one last glance. They were stunned, their palms on their mouths. Some looked uncomfortable anticipating what was going to happen and turned their faces away.

  "Wait, wait," the soldier said hurriedly. "If I tell you whose army I belong to, you will let me go?"

  "Too late." Masolon smirked and then nodded to Maat, both letting go of the rope. The falling culprit screeched in agony as the pointy edge pierced through him. Though the bastard deserved his fate, most of the crowd seemed unable to stand this cruel sight. Even Ben could not look. Is it too much? Masolon thought. I have not even avenged one scream of that poor girl.

  "Let us finish this," Masolon curtly said to Maat. Both forced the barking soldier downward against the wooden pole until he stopped screaming. The impaled culprit emitted one last grunt, blood flowing from his mouth.

  7. MASOLON

  The house was quiet in the evening when Masolon pushed the door open. His wife could not be sleeping now; she must have gone to her parents to visit them. Usually she told him where she was going, but today he had a full day, and she must be still mad at him. Since their quarrel last night they had done nothing except quarreling more and again this morning.

  Masolon's fist clenched when he heard some movement coming from their bedchamber. "Doly?" he warily called out, his hand reaching for the hilt of his sword. But his worries faded when his wife came out of the room, a pile of clothes on her arms.

  "Is it not a bit late to dry them now?" he asked and Doly did not even deign him with a look. She put the clothes on the table and returned to the bedchamber again. After a while, she came back with another pile of her outfits.

  "Doly, what is going on?"

  She placed the second pile on the same table. "Am leaving," she replied blankly on her way back one more time to their bedchamber.

  "What is this folly for, Doly?" He stood in her way. Without saying a word, she tried to go past him, but he stopped her gently with his hands.

  "Please, leave me be." She avoided his eyes.

  "What happened, Doly?"

  "Nothing." She kept her eyes away from his. "I just feel I don't want to live with you."

  "That simple? Are you still upset from last night's conversation?"

  "It's not just about last night, Masolon. I. . .I don't know how to say this. But I feel our marriage was a wrong decision."

  He would not disagree. "What makes you feel so?"

  She let out a deep breath. "Look at you, Masolon. You are a complete mystery to me. There is something dubious about you. . . about your past. Something that made you abandon the Murasen kingdom with your body, yet your mind and heart are still there. First I thought you were longing for your previous life, but then I realized that wasn't the issue. It was the feeling of guilt."

  The feeling of guilt? Masolon never thought it was that obvious, at least for a naive girl like Doly. You are the naive one here, Masolon. You never judged a woman right.

  "I see it in your eyes, every day," she continued. "I doubted that perhaps you might have done something horrifying in your soldier's life, something you still regret. But they are doubts no more after what I have seen and heard you doing today."

  "You watched the execution?"

  "That was barbarism, not an execution." She winced.

  "Really? Do you have any idea what that bastard did to the poor girl?"

  "I heard and saw enough." She gestured to him, as if stopping him from going into details. "Previously, I was unhappy that you didn't love me as I did you. But today I'm very. . .scared."

  He softly held her shoulders, his guilt outweighing his astonishment. "You should not fear me, Doly."

  "I can't help it." She pushed his hands away. "Imagining what you might have been before coming to Herlog horrifies me." She went past him to bring more of her belongings from the bedchamber, leaving him alone, clueless. Think, Masolon. Think. How can you fix this?

  "Doly." He stood by the doorstep of the bedchamber, not sure if what he was going to do was a good idea. I must do the right thing regardless. Even if his wife did not like it, he might be relieved if he revealed the truth.

  "Yes?" Frozen in front of the simple wardrobe, she stared at him in anticipation.

  "I am not the monster you think I am." He cleared his throat as he found himself at a loss for words to go on. Telling the truth was a task harder than he thought.

  "For the time being perhaps. But back in Murase you were. . ." Doly prompted.

  "A commander. I was a commander for a Murasen lord."

  Furrowing her brow, she tilted her head. "You said you were a mercenary."

  "Because that was how it started." No. It had started back in his homeland when he slew his father. But surely, Masolon wouldn't tell his already terrified wife about that. "Murasen merchants used to hire me to protect their caravans. Afterward, I was requested to join a Murasen lord to defend his territory."

  Doly was studying his face. "A commander for a Murasen lord." She slowly nodded, still dubious about his little tale. "That's an honorable post that no one should be secretive about, I presume."

  "It is."

  "But?"

  Masolon sighed. He should be careful with his next words. "I had to leave. I was forced to."

  "You mean you didn't leave of your own choice." Doly folded her arms, her eyes still fixed on
his face. "Your lord dismissed you because of something you did."

  "I swear I did nothing dishonorable, Doly."

  "If it is so, then tell me what it was."

  "I do not want to hurt you."

  "Hiding secrets from me does hurt me, Masolon. Why would a man hide a secret from the woman he loves?"

  Seriously, should he answer this question?

  "Of course." She pressed her lips together. "Unless he doesn't truly love her." Doly gathered what remained of her stuff and went to the door he was blocking.

  "I was banished because of a Murasen princess." There was no turning back now, he knew. "I tried to. . .well, we were. . . "

  "You were what, Masolon?" she snapped. "Say it."

  His Murasen nightmare was resurrected now; Sania screaming when the dagger struck her, his wounded sweetheart sobbing on her bed and him standing right there, utterly helpless. "In love, Doly. But when her brother found out, he. . ." The moment Feras's memluks had stood between him and his Sania reminded him how weak and worthless he was. "He was not to allow a commoner to even think of his highborn sister."

  Doly paused for a moment to digest the shocking news. "You still think of her?" she asked, her throat parched.

  "Doly, please. I never meant to hurt you. I thought it was better to—"

  "Lie to me?" Her tears poured down her cheeks as she pushed her way leaving chamber, Masolon not trying to stop her. Carrying the clothes she had gathered, she headed to the door. "You heartless monster! Why did you ask me to marry you?" She turned to him, blustering, but he was done telling the truth for today. It would not do him any good if he told her that he was exactly doing what the apple merchant of Ramos had told him one year earlier: belong somewhere and get married. Masolon should not have listened to that foolish merchant. Settling down in a house with a wife was not something befitting the man coming from beyond the Great Desert. Restlessness was all he existed for.

  She was still staring at him, waiting for an answer. "I am sorry." Masolon found nothing else to say.