Or maybe those tales about the Demon of Herlog were true.
Rona was not sure if it was midnight yet, but she felt she had spent a few hours in absolute darkness. Thinking of demons in such a place at this late hour of the night scared her. Demons only existed in the absurd Tales of Gorania, she reminded herself. The Skandivians she had lived with always mocked the Bermanians' superstitious beliefs about the Last Day and the demons' return from the Great Desert.
Hoping that might invite some sleep, she lay on her right side and closed her eyes—the view was not much different from what she saw with her eyes open anyway. She turned right and left, twisted and changed positions, yet sleep eluded her and did not seem to be coming soon. Not even a blanket, the bastards! The hard floor was a bit colder tonight, so she kept rolling on both sides in desperate attempts to warm her body and her stone "mattress." Perhaps she should consider sleeping standing as an option to. . .
The bucket clanked when her foot hit it, cold water flooding the floor and her legs. "Blast!" she blustered, pushing to her feet. "This is beyond tolerance! Let me out of here!" She felt her way in the dark until she found the door and banged on it. "Get me out of here! Bring me Masolon! I must talk to him right now! GET ME OUT!"
Rona kept slamming the door with her palms and drumming at it with her fist until she heard footsteps approaching her chamber. "Back off!" Probably, the lad yelling from outside was Maat. For a moment before she heard the keys clinking there was a hushed silence. "I'm entering! Step aside!" The broad-shouldered lad cautiously pushed the door with one hand, gripping his sword with the other; she could see him in the faint torchlight coming from the corridor.
"I can't stay here. The floor is flooded with water." Showing her empty hands, Rona stepped back when he pointed his sword at her.
"Not my problem," he said gruffly. "Next time you yell for help, you had better have a serious reason."
"It's you who locked me here in this darkness! I wouldn't stumble over that bucket if you left more than one damned torch in the corridor all night!"
"You put yourself here." He stepped forward, the smell of wine stronger tonight. "Keeping you alive is a mercy you don't deserve in the first place. You are not better than your impaled soldier."
Impaled! The surprises had not stopped since she came to that cursed village. "Listen. I need to talk to Masolon or whoever in charge here. This situation, my situation, is a huge mistake that should have never happened."
"No one can help you here. Not after your men murdered and raped. I swear if Masolon decides to spare your life, I will kill you myself. And I will kill anybody who stands in my way."
And she was thinking things could not get any worse. Seriously? They put this disgruntled lad to stand by my door? "I know nothing of this. Rape is a heinous act that I would never allow to happen."
"You allowed it already when you brought your pigs to our land."
"I would punish those soldiers if you gave me the chance." Rona did not say that out of fear, but would he believe her? "But if I get what you said right, you already punished those men."
"What about you? What about your punishment?"
Spending a couple of days in this dark room was not enough for him, but Rona dared to say, "I'm already being punished for a crime I didn't even commit."
As her eyes were becoming accustomed to the faint light creeping into the chamber, she could clearly see his furious face. "You call this punishment?" Dropping his sword, he shoved her against the wall. With all her might she pushed back, but the rampant lad pinned her to the wall with steel arms. "Even impaling you is not enough. You must go through her suffering first."
16. MASOLON
He jumped off his bed and grabbed his greatsword as he sprinted through his small hall toward the door, his bandaged shoulder still itching. What might bring anybody to his doors at such a late hour? The return of General Gramus and his troops?
Edd was startled when Masolon hurriedly yanked the door open, the blond lad's eyes fixed on the greatsword for a while. "We need you at the mill now, Masolon. Quickly! The prisoner stabbed Maat."
Not the bad news that Masolon was expecting, but this was worse. "Say that again. I am just waking up."
"Maat has been stabbed, Masolon! That whore stabbed him with his own sword! We need your help in this mess!"
So, Masolon had heard it right at the first time. "How could she get hold of his weapon?" Not by force, he believed. The only possible way was luring the sturdy lad to hand her his sword. He is enough of a fool to fall for her tricks.
"I was asleep when the whole thing happened, Masolon. Ted woke me up and urged me to fly to you with the news."
"And Maat? Is he alive?"
"I don't know." Edd shrugged his little shoulders. "I told you—"
"You were asleep. Forgive me." Masolon patted him on the shoulder and slammed the door shut behind him. Holding his greatsword with one hand, he scurried to his horse and mounted it. "You may go home and resume your sleep."
"I don't think it will be. . ." Masolon did not listen to the rest of Edd's stammered gibberish as he nudged his horse to a canter then to a gallop. Neighing, the stallion did not seem in the mood of a night ride. I am sorry, my friend, Masolon would tell him if he could. This is what happens when those lads pay me a late visit. Seriously, when would any of those lads knock on his door without the urgent news of someone dead or near death?
The houses near his place seemed quiet despite the grave event. Good! Maybe the news has not traveled that far yet. At least for the time being. Masolon was unable to guess the Herlogans' reaction when the word reached every ear right after sunrise. After their glorious victory over the invaders the other night, and after Masolon had made them believe they could be soldiers; the peasants might now have the courage to avenge their loved ones. But those gullible peasants had no idea. Without Masolon's brothers, the Herlogans had no chance to survive another attack, which would certainly be greater and more decisive. Using Rona, the rebels' queen, to reach an agreement with their general was the only way to end this unfair imbalanced clash. That was the point of holding her in the first place. But she would be worth nothing if she returned to her troops as a corpse.
The shutters and the doors were open near the street leading to the Brave Lad's training yard. Masolon was forced to slow down so as not to hit the peasants standing in his way. "Masolon! What is going on?" one of them asked. "They were crying near the gate," stated another one. "Are we under attack again?" a young woman yelled from her window.
"I am on my way to find out what is happening." Masolon turned to the alarmed wench. "And no, we are not under attack. Not according to what I heard. Stay in your houses and lock your doors." He spurred his horse past the confused chaotic peasants then urged it to gallop after the way was clear. Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed there was no response to his last order. Those curious peasants would not mind staying awake the whole night to the next morning until they learned the truth, or even heard an amusing tale. Probably, an amusing tale was what they sought; all they heard for now were merely fragments of a story. Masolon might see to that and give them the story they wanted to hear, but first he had to learn the complete truth himself.
Masolon found more men in the yard and by the mill door, which was barricaded by the Brave Lads. "Masolon!" Ted waved to him as he approached on horseback. "You! Make way!" He urged the men cramming the door to step aside.
"What is going on, Masolon? Did the wench escape?" one man asked.
"No one escaped. Now step aside," Ted snapped.
"I'm thrice your age, boy! I'm not taking orders from you!" the furious man jabbed a finger at Ted, the other men and lads growling and grunting at each other.
"Stop this farce!" Masolon bellowed at them. "You all! If you are not of use here, then go home! There is nothing amusing here to watch! The last thing we need here is idle hands and blabbering mouths!"
"Who put you or those kids in charge?" one of the men
dared to ask Masolon. "You are not that much older than them!"
"I wielded a sword more times than you pissed," Masolon spat. "And those kids are in charge because I said so. If you feel yourself capable of leading us in this war, then be my guest."
The man's lip twitched in fury as he looked Masolon in the eye. That peasant had better leave before Masolon ran out of patience. "You brought that war to us," another peasant rebuked Masolon, his mates seconding him with their indistinctive blabber and their accusing fingers.
"My apologies." Masolon sneered. "I thought you would avenge your girls' honor."
The men were now mad at Masolon, the lads shielding his horse from them.
"ENOUGH!" Masolon barked, pointing his huge blade at the foolish peasants. "Get out of here or you will get a taste of this!"
"You wouldn't dare!"
Glowering at the peasant who said that, Masolon leaned forward. "Try me."
The furious peasants came to their senses at last and walked away, mumbling with curses and hollow threats. Avenging their hurt pride would not be a wise move. Masolon would slice all their throats without. . .
Blast! What is the matter with me today? Masolon realized he was about to lose control like rabid dog. That was not him. That was his demon. Masolon had not heard his voice for a long while, yet he could sense him in his own actions.
Masolon dismounted at the mill door, leaving his horse for the lads to take care of. The dusty corridor inside was dark, yet he saw the rebels' queen sitting on the floor with her hands tied behind her back, Ben and two lads surrounding her with their swords at the ready. In the flickering torchlight Masolon examined her blood-stained gown, which had lost its white color after those few days of imprisonment. "At last you arrive." Rona smiled crookedly.
Masolon did not need to ask as Ben started, "We were on our night watch when we saw her coming toward the gate, a sword in her hand. We forced her to surrender her weapon and took her back to her cell. But when we arrived, we found Maat on the floor stabbed in the belly."
"Your pig tried to rape me," Rona snarled, her glowing emerald eyes fixed on Masolon as if she was blaming him. "I had to defend myself."
Ignoring her, Masolon asked Ben, "Is he alive?"
Ben shook his head in disapproval. "We sent for Smit anyway. Usually he knows what we don't."
"You said I wouldn't be harmed in your custody, eh?" Rona snapped, but again Masolon did not pay heed to her as he stalked past her and warily stepped into the dark chamber. He demanded a torch, and soon Ted came and handed him one. Maat lay in a pool of his own blood, the gash in his belly a bit small for a sword blade. She did not stab Maat with his blade, Masolon concluded. He knelt and held Maat's wrist but found no pulse, checked his chest but heard no breath. There was nothing for Smit to do here unless he knew some sorcery to bring the dead back.
Masolon had to take Rona out of here. Now. Before Smit's arrival and the announcement of Maat's murder by the rebels' queen reached every house in Herlog.
Masolon strode back to the corridor and helped Rona up to her feet. "With me. Now."
"Get your hands off me, bastards!" The stubborn girl pulled herself away from him.
"Now, I say. I have no time for your nonsense." Masolon glared at her. "Unless you like your stay here in this mill." When she rolled her eyes he said, "That is what I thought." He pulled her by one arm.
"Where are you taking her, Masolon?" Ben followed him.
"Just stay here with the lads, Ben." Masolon gestured to him to stop. "Wait for Smit, and do not let anyone else enter this mill. If by some miracle he manages to heal Maat, send for me. Otherwise, well, send for his parents to take the body."
"That's it?" Ben kept following Masolon as he dragged Rona along the corridor until he found his horse outside. "You are just leaving us in this mess?"
Masolon stopped by his horse, lifted Rona up holding her waist, and seated her in the saddle. Her face betrayed her disapproval, but she did not say a word. "I am helping you clean this mess the best I can." He swung up into the saddle behind Rona and urged his horse to move away from the mill. He could feel the confused lads following him with their eyes.
"Would you mind keeping your distance?" Rona pushed with her back, her hands still tied.
"Would you mind keeping your mouth shut?" Masolon countered, nudging his horse into a gallop. "My distance is the least of any problems that might worry you for the time being."
"Where are you taking me?" She glanced over her shoulder.
"Somewhere safe."
"Where?"
"You know what?" Masolon was holding the reins, not because he needed them, he was just doing his best to keep his arms away from her. But there was nothing he could do to keep his chest away from her back. "You had better sit straight and make sure you do not fall off the horse."
"It would be easier if my hands were not tied."
"I would untie you, if it were not for the dagger."
She took a moment before she said, "What dagger?"
Her brief silence before her answer was enough for him to confirm his earlier suspicions. But her relatively longer silence afterward was more relieving on this bumpy ride. To return to his place without encountering more curious peasants, Masolon chose a longer way that took him closer to the village perimeter before he made a long turnaround and reached his house, using a less crowded path.
"What is that?" she warily asked when Masolon slowed down until his horse halted where it was usually tied. He dismounted and then helped Rona down, his hands on her hips.
"Stay quiet." Masolon grabbed her by the arm as he walked her to the door. "We do not need to wake all the curious folks around us."
"You are not taking me to your house, are you?" Rona asked in disapproval, not resisting though.
"This is the safest place for you at the moment," he said when they entered the house.
"The safest place for me is among my troops, that's for sure." She curled her lips in disdain as she ambled into his humble place. For a queen, there wasn't much furniture up to her taste; only a small dining table, three chairs, and a cupboard. What grabbed her attention was the gear crammed at the corner opposite to the hearth; his painted Murasen armor, his steel Rusakian shield, and his bastard sword.
"You may use my bedchamber to rest for what remains of this bloody night." Masolon gestured toward the open door of his own chamber.
From the suspicious look on her face, she was not enthusiastic about accepting his generous offer at all. "I need nothing of your filthy chamber. I will be fine here."
"For certain?" Masolon smiled in amusement. "Because here is where I am intending to sleep."
"I swear you will pay for that, bastard." She gnashed her teeth.
"Come on. I am sacrificing my bed for you to make up for your trouble the last two days. I deserve a 'thank you' at least."
Her scowl faded a bit. "You are not messing with me, right?"
Masolon left Rona in her puzzlement as he brought Doly's wedding dress—the only item she left—from the wardrobe in his chamber. When he returned to the queen of rebels, her fine eyebrows rose above her wide emerald eyes.
"Doly was shorter and a bit slimmer than you, but it will fit you, I believe." Masolon spread the purple dress in front of her.
"I'm certainly not wearing this."
"Your gown is soiled and needs to be washed. You cannot sleep like that."
Still doubtful, she peered at him. "What is your ploy here?"
"Nothing. I just like to keep the sheet I sleep on clean." He shrugged. "And you, queen or not, are in a terrible condition." He pointed at the other closed room. "I suggest you take a quick bath before you ruin this dress with your. . ." He let her guess the word, allowing her to keep what remained of her injured pride.
"Alright," she muttered. "What about my hands? I need them, you know, to do what you ask."
Come on. I am offering, not asking. He picked his bastard sword, and carefully with the tip of its bl
ade he cut the rope apart. Rona sighed in relief, gazing at her hands, as if she could not believe they were free at last. She was only tied for an hour or two, why the exaggeration?
She snatched the dress from him. When she wanted to stalk past him to the bathing room, he stood in her way, her nervous breath kissing his neck. "What?" she snapped.
"The dagger." He opened his palm. "Please."
Rona hesitated for a moment. "What are you talking about?"
"The dagger you used to stab Maat. Maybe you fooled those gullible peasants and told them that you snatched his sword and struck him with it, but you cannot fool me. I know the difference between a sword stab and a dagger stab from the gash it leaves." Masolon let his eyes scan her lithe frame. "Unless you want me to search you."
"No," she blurted out, producing the dagger she hid in the back of her gown. "No searching." She studied the dagger in her hand, as if she was considering whether she could stab him with it. Her dagger would be faster than his bastard sword, but finally, she decided not to take her chances and handed him her weapon.
"Thank you." Masolon grinned as he stepped aside, making way for Rona.
"If you think I'm harmless without that dagger, then you're wrong." She stood by the doorstep of the bathing chamber. "Just think of opening that door and you are dead."
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