"Swords, brothers!" Masolon motioned to his men to follow him as he hurriedly descended a wooden ladder and drew his greatsword. Before his very eyes, part of the palisade wall turned into flying splinters, the thumping-cracking clamor much louder now. Through the gap made in the wall, Gramus's soldiers rushed inside two by two. Without calculating the odds, Masolon charged at the two men, slashing them with swift two-handed swings. Forcing the intruders outside the village was all that mattered now before it was too late to contain them.
Thanks to the long reach of his blade, Masolon managed to slay two more soldiers before they even swung their swords. Roaring, Antram joined him in front of the gap and lunged at a third swordsman trying to set foot in the village. As more soldiers rushed in, both Masolon and Antram were forced to step back, swinging right and left at anybody coming close. "Ring them!" Frankil's voice came from behind Masolon. In a heartbeat, Masolon found Danis fighting next to him shoulder to shoulder. Gramus's soldiers now separated between Masolon and Antram, but Masolon could still hear the roar of his bald brother. Ziyad was there on the other side of Frankil's ring. "Drive them back!" Frankil's command came from Masolon's right this time. The veteran Bermanian captain must be at the apex of his half-ring right now.
Masolon did not stop his frenzied slashing, and gradually he was gaining ground. Danis advanced with him, and the roars of Antram and Ziyad on the other flank of the ring came closer. "Forward!" Masolon hollered to reveal his spot to his brothers on the other side, making them know that they were tightening their grip on those soldiers. Amid this heated clash of swords, you would be lucky if you blinked without receiving a stab in the belly.
Hacking his way to the gap in the wall, Masolon glimpsed Antram coming closer, but that quick look almost cost him his head. At the last moment, Masolon bent his neck, evading a deadly blow, before he countered with a swing that gutted his opponent. He swiftly turned with his greatsword when he heard that grunt behind him, but his arms froze when he realized it was another dead swordsman slain by Danis who was watching his back. "Behind you!" the red-haired knight warned, Masolon turning again, his greatsword slaying one last soldier.
Masolon panted, his eyes on the gap that no one passed through for about half a minute. The moment he looked up to ask the men on the scaffold about what was going on outside, the warning came, "Archers! Take cover!"
Masolon held the greatsword with one hand, pulling his shield with the other, but the arrow that struck him in his left shoulder was faster than him. Through the cursed gap in the wall, more arrows pierced the darkness. Most of them landed on his brothers' wooden shields, save for a few which must have landed somewhere in the village.
"Masolon!" Danis sounded alarmed.
Biting his lower lip, Masolon broke the wooden shaft of the arrow, leaving the arrowhead stuck in his flesh. "I will live. Just stand away from the gap."
"We are trapped here." Frankil moved sideways, holding his shield. "We can do nothing until they run out of arrows."
"Or send their swordsmen again." Masolon leaned his back against the wall, waiting for any unwelcome guest to try to sneak through the gap. "They are slackening your ring to allow their footmen in."
"We still have archers up there, don't we?" Antram nodded toward the vacant scaffold. While Masolon was looking for Ben or Maat or any of the Herlogan hunters, he saw Ben hurrying atop the creaking scaffold with a bucket in his hand, his bow slung to his shoulder. Edd and a few Brave Lads followed, bringing more buckets to him. When one of the "polemen" came with the flamed wooden pole, Masolon understood what Ben was trying to do.
Gramus's footmen were back through the gap. "Ring them!" Masolon commanded this time, slaying the soldiers nearest to him. He dropped his shield and gripped his greatsword with both hands one more time, jaws digging deep into his shoulder with every swing he made. More soldiers passed through the gap, Masolon receiving them with high blows of his huge blade.
Masolon recognized that hissing sound of fire coming from the other side of the wall, shrieks of agony following them in a heartbeat. He could even feel the heat seeping through the wooden logs of the wall. Shortly, the flames blocked the gap itself, preventing more soldiers from coming in. The wall was catching fire as well, the scent of charcoaled wood thick in the air, but Masolon would sacrifice a couple of logs for a victory tonight.
"Seems we are done for tonight, brothers," Ziyad remarked, nodding toward Masolon. "Your lads are not that bad after all."
Masolon glanced at the lads celebrating atop the scaffold. "They are not bad at all," he concurred.
13. RONA
Rona was relieved when she woke up and found her horse still tied to the tree she had spent the night beneath.
For two days she had been looking for the peripheral road Rikaard had told her about without any success, despite her attempts to keep an eye on the sun to avoid moving in circles in the woods. Luckily she had found that river yesterday. She was not sure about the taste of its water, but she quenched her thirst no matter what. Her horse did not share her concerns anyway.
That river could be the start. She had been so young during her travels with her royal family, so most of her knowledge about the lands of her kingdom came from maps. She had been paying attention to all major cities, mountains, hills, and rivers. The main rivers she knew were Lionsmouth that ran from the northeast to Taluda in the south, and the Neck in the north separating Bermania from Skandivia. Maybe the river she drank from was some minor branch running through the heart of the kingdom. Most probably, she would find at least some village if she followed the path of this unknown river. Though Rikaard had told her he would find her on the peripheral road, she could not continue her futile search for it; otherwise she might starve to death, unlike her horse that had all the grass in the world.
Rona mounted her horse and rode by the river on her right. With the sun on her left, she presumed she was heading south unless that tricky river was twisting again and again. The terrain was slightly inclining upward, and by noon, she was above the riverbank on her right by ten feet.
"Thank the Lord of Sky and Earth," she muttered upon spying some houses ahead. She nudged her horse, who was in a much better condition than herself, to a canter, and then to a gallop. Surely, she would find water and food there, but she had nothing to trade for them. She had not even worn her shoes before Rikaard put her on that horse to flee the ambushed camp. If she did not manage to arouse the pity of the peasants of this village, she would have to wield her sword and dagger to get what she needed. Turning from a queen to a brigand, even for one day, was not a development she wished for.
I am Lydia. I was traveling with my father when bandits attacked us, she thought about what she was going to tell those peasants. My father is a merchant, and the bandits attacked our caravan. . . which was heading to the city of Ramos. That would sound more convincing to justify the fine gown she was wearing. We were attacked at night, and I ran away without knowing where I was and where I was going. I'm afraid I'm lost. And that was when she would ask where this village was, and how she could travel to Ramos. That part should not be hard since it was the truth after all.
Rona slowed her horse when she noticed a few children running away from her. "A horse!" they screamed, heading back to the village. Attention was the last thing she was seeking at this critical moment.
As she approached the wooden houses of the village, she heard the creaks of a dozen doors slamming shut. Nobody was in her reception except mooing cows and cackling hens from the barns she was passing by. A dog barked at her horse when she came to a pen of sheep. From the adjacent house emerged a gray-haired woman clad in a blue woolen tunic. "It's just a girl, Zaak." The peasant was addressing someone inside the house. A few moments later, a bald man slowly opened the door, holding a pitchfork in his hand. Judging by his age, Rona presumed he was the woman's husband.
"What brought you here?" Zaak pointed his pitchfork at Rona as if he was holding a spear.
"I
'm lost...My father and I were attacked, and I just. . ." Rona observed the men and women warily opening their shutters and doors. Some of them stepped out of their houses, a few armed with scythes and wooden clubs.
The gray-haired woman approached Rona and stroked her horse's neck. "Come here, child." She gave the other peasants a hard look. "Don't you have eyes? It's just a young lady who obviously needs our help. Do her a favor and find her a pair of boots."
The armed peasants looked at the woman and Rona before they lowered their "weapons." Reassured that she was under the woman's protection, Rona dismounted, her sword hanging to her belt. Holding her horse by the bridle, she tied it to the fence of the barn. When Rona looked back to make sure no one was going to stun her from behind her, the woman warmly said, "Don't worry, my dear. They are as scared as you are, if not even more."
Rona could not help glancing over her shoulder. "Scared of what?" She followed the woman into her house, Zaak standing by the door peering at her.
“The rebels’ army.” The woman gestured to her to sit at the only table in the house. “Hungry?”
“Starving.” Rona stood still, keeping an eye on Zaak. “What is the word about that rebels’ army?”
“Merciful Lord.” From the counter, which was probably the kitchen of this humble house, the woman brought a wooden platter with a half-wheel of yellow cheese and grabbed two eggs from a straw basket on the floor. “Those rebels have been attacking Herlog for two days with thousands of soldiers. Last night we could smell the smoke coming from the miserable village, so obviously, our turn is coming soon. Harsh days are waiting for us.”
“And still, you are a generous to a complete stranger,” Zaak rebuked his wife, shooting daggers at Rona, whose hand remained close to the pommel of her sword.
“For the sake of mercy.” His wife frowned. “What if it was you on the road instead of her and the bandits interrupted your journey? Wouldn't you want to be treated like she is now?” She turned to Rona, placing the wooden platter and the eggs on the table. “Sit and eat, my child.”
Rona could feel Zaak’s eyes on her, but she totally ignored him the moment the platter landed on the table. She sat still, but ten fingers moved swiftly, breaking a handful of cheese off the wheel. Against the table she crushed the two eggs and devoured each one of them in just about three bites.
“Oh dear!” Lady Zaak exclaimed. “How long have you been on the road?”
Rona gestured with two fingers, taking her time to chew the cheese filling her mouth. “Two days after the bandits’ attack. Can I have some water, please?”
“Oh, you must be thirsty as well. How did that slip my mind?" Zaak’s wife uncovered a barrel, buried a copper cup in it, and when it was filled, she hurried with it to Rona at the table. “Here you are, my child."
Her throat was still dry even after drinking from that river on the road. I needed the whole river. She finished her cup in one gulp, but she needed more. Holding the wheel of cheese in one hand, she took the empty cup and went to the barrel herself to fill it three more times.
“I wonder how they stole your shoes, but not your sword.” Zaak stared at Rona’s bare feet as she resumed devouring her cheese next to the barrel. Every few bites, she immersed the copper cup into the water barrel to replenish its content.
“I sleep bare-footed with my sword next to me.” Rona turned to his wife. “I cannot thank you enough for your generosity. But could you perhaps spare a pair of loaves of bread for me for the road?"
“What road?" Zaak’s wife asked with disapproval. “It’s not safe to travel anywhere now.”
“Let her go. Maybe she is in a hurry,” Zaak interjected curtly.
“I am indeed.” Rona took a big bite from what used to be half a wheel of cheese. “That rebel’s army is still in Herlog, you said?”
"You mustn't go anywhere near that village, my child," said Zaak's wife. "Where were you heading to in the first place?"
"Ramos."
"Oh dear. It is much too dangerous to go there now, I'm afraid." Zaak's wife sounded really concerned.
"She will be safe if she takes the main road." Zaak glared at his wife. He couldn't wait to see Rona leave.
"The main road is infested with outlaws," his wife snapped at him. "Forgot what happened to her and her father?"
"Her father? How did I forget?" Zaak jerked his head backward, and then he turned to Rona, his eyes narrowed. "What did you say happened to him?"
"Probably dead." Rona knew she had to leave soon. That Zaak was making her feel uneasy. "I'm really grateful to you for your hospitability and kindness. I shall never forget that." She drowned her cup one last time into the barrel and made sure she drank every drop of water in it before she went to the door, Zaak making way for her.
"Wait. Where are you going? It is not safe out there," exclaimed Zaak's wife.
"You said yourself that the rebels' army might come here." Rona was at the doorstep already. "I guess it is not safe anywhere."
"And the bread? Won't you take some?" Rona heard the good woman ask, but she did not stop as she scurried to her horse outside and untied it. She had better hurry and catch up with the rebels' army before they left Herlog.
The good people of that village saw her off with cold stares. The doubt and worry on their faces made her wonder what news had reached them about her army. And what took Gramus so long to reach Subrel? Or did he capture the fort, and then he decided to pillage the neighboring villages? Raiding the fiefs of her own people was not a wise strategy to win their hearts.
Half a mile away from the village she found what she thought was the peripheral road. It was poorly paved, obviously made for cattle and carts to move between neighboring villages. The woods of Ramos flanked the left side of the road as she rode south, that small river running on its right at some distance now. Her nose caught that faint smell of smoke in the air as she urged her horse onward. Obviously, she was getting closer to her destination.
Two hours or less remained until dusk when Rona saw the wooden wall ahead, two watchtowers rising from it. Nobody said anything about a garrison here. She pulled the reins to stop her horse, looking around to make sure that the dirt road did not branch anywhere near, but the road was straight all the way. Recalling every meeting with her lords and every discussion with Gramus about Bermanian towns and castles, she was sure the only military post of import in this region was the castle of Subrel. Did Gramus forget or had he just overlooked this wooden fort?
Rona gripped the pommel of her sword upon seeing that shadow coming out of the woods. "Your Grace." She recognized his voice when he whimpered.
"Rikaard!" she cried when the mustached, broad-shouldered captain dropped to his knees. She dismounted, hurriedly tied her horse to the nearest tree, and sprinted to her fallen captain. His cheeks and lips were so pale, dry blood all over his armor. "Merciful Lord!" She felt his fever when she held his face in her hands, trying to lift his head up. "What did those bastards do to you? What happened to the others?"
"You found the peripheral road." He smiled tiredly. "I was afraid I was late."
"It is me who took too long." Foolish me! "I'm really sorry!"
"Don't, Your Grace." He coughed, spattering the ground with blood. "I just arrived this morning." His labored breath was heavy as he pointed at the horse tied behind him in some distance in the woods. "Fortunately, I was too tired to go on. Otherwise, I would have missed you."
"Are there any other. . . survivors?"
"I watched two of them die of their wounds." The memory discomforted him. "We were completely outnumbered that night."
The guilt was tearing her apart. Taking only fifty knights to escort her during her ride was her suggestion. "You need a healer, Rikaard." She held his hand, trying to help him up. "Can you ride a horse to Herlog? Our troops are there, I was told."
"For real? That is a journey I can survive, I guess." He struggled to get up and back on his feet with her help. "Herlog is just a few steps ahead."
He was not talking about that wooden fort, was he? "I thought Herlog was a village."
"It was until we started to hear those tales about its guardian Demon." He grimaced as he walked to his horse, leaning on her. "Even bandits fear him." He coughed. "That is why I asked you to go there."
Now was not the time to argue about these foolish tales. "No more talking. Save your strength for this short journey."
The hardest part was helping this heavy man mount his horse. After two failed attempts, his right foot found the stirrup. While he was embracing the back of his horse, Rona pushed his left thigh upward with all the strength she could muster until he somehow managed to seat himself on the saddle. She untied both horses and mounted hers, riding next to him on the dirt road.
The sentries atop the watchtowers and the palisade wall gazed at her and Rikaard as they approached, a few of them having bows and quivers strapped to their shoulders and backs. "Nobody shoots!" one of them commanded, waving to his comrades on the other flank of the wall. "Nobody shoots!"
Rona sighed in relief. It felt much better to be surrounded by her soldiers one more time. And what is this accent? Do we have southerners among our troops? Actually, she did not know how southerners sounded like; she had never talked to one before.
The gate was still locked when she approached, two charcoaled rams standing on both flanks of it. "What are you waiting for? Open the damned gate! And summon a healer for the wounded captain!"
The same man who commanded the archers took a moment before he urged the men inside the "fort" to open the wooden gate. "Something is not right." Rikaard grimaced, struggling to keep his head up. "Go to the woods, Your Grace. I will stall them."
"What? What are you talking about?"
The wooden gate creaked while the men inside were pushing it open. "Go now," Rikaard urged her, his voice low.
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