Queen of Rebels

by Karim Soliman

  The news of the fake scout reports was more shocking than that of Di Galio's march. A treacherous page might have written Jonson's letter, but fake scout reports? That was definitely the work of one, if not more, of her vassals. Who could she trust now?

  "What are we going to do?" Rona's mind was in turmoil. "Sally forth and meet Di Galio's forces in an open field?"

  "Not the best way to defeat an army almost twice your army's strength. The Lapondians have arrived already with thousands of their cavalry, so going outside the walls will be suicide. Holding our ground here is our best chance."

  "We will not be holding it for long with a traitor among us."

  "I will find him tonight. I will not sleep until I kill the bastard." Gramus gnashed his teeth. "Until then, say no word of what I just told you. I know you like that old Darrison, but you can never be sure if you can trust him or not."

  The lack of affection between the veteran lord and her general was not a secret to her. "If Darrison had wanted to betray me, he would have done it at Neldon already."

  "Oh, please, Rona." He grimaced. "We don't know what happened to him between Neldon and Subrel. He might have changed his mind for any bloody reason we know nothing about. He might not be the traitor though, yet he might be talking to the traitor without even knowing. Everything is possible, Rona, and in such a dark hour, we have to be extremely cautious."

  On another day, she would have called her general obsessively distrustful, but how could she blame him now? "What about our soldiers? Won't you warn them of the impending attack?"

  There were cautious knocks on the doors, probably the healer, but both Rona and Gramus ignored those knocks as if they did not hear them. "I will see to it that our soldiers are ready for the attack without letting them know everything," Gramus offered. "Don't worry."

  "You will take care of the soldiers, you will take care of the traitor, and still, you have a wound in your shoulder to take care of. Can you tell me how you are going to do all those tasks on your own tonight?" Rona peered at him, putting her hands on her waist.

  "I can do it. Don't worry."

  Again he was asking her not to worry, and she was sick of his hollow request. "There must be a way better than this, Gramus. Give me one task to do while you handle the other. After all, it's my damned quest. I must bear my share of the burden."

  Gramus leaned toward her, his hands on his thighs. "Believe me, Rona. Keeping yourself safe is a really crucial task. You will be giving me a great help if you relieve me from that burden."

  "Will you stop taking me for some naive girl?" she snapped. "We are running out of time, and you still act like a guardian of some child, not a general of a queen."

  "It's you who insists on playing any other role but the queen's," he countered. "Once you act like an executioner, later you act like a general and lead your soldiers on the field. And what happened to you then? We almost lost you. How is it possible that your enemy values your life more than you do?"

  Her enemy valued her death, she would rather say. But anyway, she knew that Gramus was not concerned about her war for the throne as much as he was concerned about his oath to his late father to protect King Charlwood's bloodline until death.

  "Very well, General." She sighed. "I will assume my role as a queen. And as a queen, you have my order to find someone at least to aid you in your duties. Edmond is your deputy, isn't he? Let him see to the castle defense while you find that traitor."

  Gramus shook his head in disapproval. "Edmond is but Darrison's dog. If I can't trust the owner, I can't trust his pet."

  Her conversation with her bleeding general was a waste of time. Yes, it was now a thin thread of blood seeping through that hole in his armor, yet he urgently needed to be healed and replenished. "Listen. I will get you help whether you like it or not." Rona strode toward the door.

  "Rona?" Gramus sounded worried more than disapproving. "Where are you going?"

  She let the healer in as she stood by the doorstep. "The dungeons."

  29. MASOLON

  The visit Masolon had been paid had shattered his mind. How could he simply sleep well as that lord had asked him?

  Anyone might mock that young lord's tales, but not Masolon, the Outsider who had listened and even talked to his demon more than once. I read, and not only the Tales of Gorania, Masolon recalled his visitor's words. Maybe that explained why a knowledgeable man like his Bermanian friend Bumar never mentioned the demon possession though Masolon had told him about his homeland and his dreadful passage through the Great Desert. Was it possible that Bumar had known the truth, but had chosen not to divulge anything to Masolon?

  You cannot survive their desert for long on your own.

  Realizing that his grandfather had been possessed like him was the real shock for him that day. Though Masolon might not have spent enough time during his childhood with him—because of his father's restrictions—he liked the old man. Possessed or not, his grandfather, Obeira, the Honorable One, had utilized his gifts for the good of his clan as well as the other neighboring clans of Ogono.

  Among all of the clan’s children, the Honorable One had chosen little Masolon to teach him that foreign tongue used by the people existing beyond Si'oli. When Masolon had grown into a teenager, he thought he had been meant to use that with the mysterious mages of Cawa when the right time came to beg them for their help. The wrath of the Light had reduced his home to scorched lands, starting a horrendous war between his clan and all the others combined. Young Masolon had hoped that one day the mages' wisdom would guide him to settle that war with its endless bloodshed, but nobody had given him a chance. The enemy clans had taken the war to a disgraceful level, and his father had been determined to spare nobody; man or woman, old or young. Even their cattle. His great father had lost his sanity when his wife and daughters were brutally murdered.

  Old Obeira had seen my journey before he left us, Masolon reflected. But the Honorable One had warned his clan from the Doom. Why had he not warned his grandchild about what was waiting for him? A shiver ran down Masolon's spine when he imagined his late grandfather answering in his demon's voice: too soon for you to understand.

  The wooden door of the dungeon creaked open. Hearing Her Grace talking to the guards did not surprise him, but the timing itself did. Was it not a bit too soon? He was just embarking on his first night in his cell.

  Rona ignored the prisoners' snide remarks as she stalked past their cells and reached Masolon's at the end of the corridor. "Why are you still in your chains?" She furrowed her brow.

  "You ask me?" Masolon leaned on his elbow, contemplating her red coat over her long dress.

  "Get up."

  Masolon leaned his back to the wall as he sat on his buttocks. "Why do you not have a seat, Your Grace? Sorry if this dungeon does not befit you."

  "Stop acting like a rascal." She frowned, her voice low. "You know very well why I brought you here."

  "I do know, yes." Masolon showed her his chained hands. "Thank you for your hospitality."

  "I will tell the guards to take care of these chains when I leave."

  "Really? Why do you not tell them now?"

  Rona inhaled deeply. "Because I still don't know if I can order them to get you out of this cell as well."

  Another visitor getting Masolon's attention today. "If you can? You are the Queen." He chuckled. "You can do whatever you want."

  She frowned. "Would you stop this nonsense and talk seriously for a moment?"

  With all the lords and soldiers under her command upstairs, that queen must be so desperate to seek help from a prisoner of hers. Maybe I should stop being a rascal as she said, he thought to himself as he rose to his feet, his eyes meeting her two emeralds. "I am listening."

  Her scowl faded as she evaded his gaze. "I was told you were a commander for the Murasens. That explains your armor then."

  "There were so generous they let me keep it."

  "Why did you leave them?"

  "I did
not."

  Rona tilted her head, staring at him. "Why did they relieve you of your command?"

  Masolon chuckled. "Long story. You really should sit down if you want to listen."

  A brief smile played over her lips. "Let me get this straight." Rona lowered her voice even more. "An army twice as strong as ours is marching to this castle to take it from me and eventually, end my campaign for good. I was thinking, instead of leaving you to rot in a cell, it would be better if we. . . if I. . . let you out to do what you do better than anybody else."

  Did Masolon get her right? "You want me to fight for you? I thought you were serious."

  Rona's emerald eyes widened. "I am serious. But I never imagined you wanted to stay here."

  "And what did I do to deserve another favor of yours? No, Your Grace. You are here because you need my help."

  Rona sighed. "You are right, Masolon. The reason I'm here is that I need your help. I'm currently short of men I can trust, so I thought of asking you to lead the men when the battle starts."

  "That is a very bad idea, Your Grace. Lead the men? Your men? I killed their brothers-in-arms a few days ago. I burned them alive when they tried to storm my village."

  "You are right." She nodded. Surprisingly, referring to her defeat at the walls of Herlog did not make her flinch. "That's why I'm asking you to lead my Skandivian mercenaries, who are fine warriors, you know. Gramus will take care of my Bermanian troops."

  For certain, she had not waged a war with one commander, had she? "What makes you think you could trust me? We barely spent a few days together."

  "We spent nothing together." She almost poked Masolon in the eye with her firm finger if it were not for the iron bars between them. "I was your captive; that's how it was. Don't ever forget that." She looked away, sucking in another deep breath. After a moment of silence, she muttered, "I thought I could trust you nonetheless."

  Was she messing with him? Because her soft voice sounded so genuine he almost believed her. It is my demon that wants me to buy her nonsense.

  Even this last thought; he was not sure if it was his.

  Masolon held to the cold iron bars. "I cannot be part of your war, Rona." He was the one evading her gaze this time. "I do not fight for the interests of kings and lords."

  "Says the commander who fought for the lords of Murase."

  "I fought for the helpless." He looked her in the eye, his jaw clenched. "The Murasens hired me to cleanse their lands from the outlaws infesting it." Such a hypocrite! You gladly accepted to undertake your duties to be near your Murasen girl.

  The dungeons grew so hushed Masolon suspected the other prisoners were eavesdropping on their conversation. Folding her arms, Rona chewed on her lip as her hollow eyes were fixed on the stone floor. "You were right. Asking your help was a very bad idea indeed. I will order the guards to unchain you." She strode toward the dungeon door, her exit much quieter than her entrance.

  As she promised, the two guards posted at the door of the dungeon came to Masolon's cell. "Your face to the wall, hands behind your back." The taller soldier pointed his sword at Masolon while his shorter mate was opening the cell door. The thought of stunning those two novices—obviously, they were—and running away from the dungeon crossed his mind, but Masolon, to his own surprise, complied with every instruction until they were done with their job and left his cell. I thought I could trust you nonetheless. Was that the reason for which he had just missed his probably only chance to flee from this dungeon?

  "You," a voice carried over from one of the cells when the guards were back to their posts outside. "Herlogan soldier, I'm talking to you."

  Rona, her men, her prisoners; nobody was leaving him in peace. And his first night was not even over yet.

  "What is your matter with their queen?" the same voice asked again. Masolon quickly looked through the bars of his cell and realized it was the scarred-faced knight called Anvil. "The other day, you refused to surrender her to me. And today she locks you up behind bars. Do you have an explanation for that?"

  "Do I owe you one?" Masolon asked dryly.

  "You may do. Depends on what you have been chattering about with her."

  Masolon decided to ignore that scar-faced captain and to let him bark in the corridor with his voice running through the dungeon. I heard enough today, Masolon thought. Still to come was his turbulent mind to deprive him of sleep or ruin it with nightmares.

  "You dare to ignore me? Very well," Anvil went on. "We will have all the time we need to chatter. Sooner than you think."

  30. RONA

  Rona must have been tossing and turning on her bed for over an hour without any success. She could not fall asleep. Even chamomile did not help her, and how could it? This night, which was her first in this castle, could also be her last.

  Surprisingly enough, Masolon's cold rejection of her offer was bothering her. We barely spent a few days together. She could not believe that bastard from nowhere had dared to say that, even think of it. It was the truth though, yet she found no reason to be preoccupied with a foreigner she barely knew. Still, she was mad at her own foolishness to come up with such an idea. Gramus was right when he firmly objected to her stupid suggestion. "That doesn't make any sense, Rona. What is the matter with your reasoning?" had been his response after hearing her brilliant idea. "He is the only man in this castle we both can agree is not one of Wilander's dogs," she had justified. "Sod him and Wilander! That bastard is imprisoned for killing your soldiers, your men, Rona. Our war with Wilander keeps them busy for the time being, but after our victory, your men will ask for justice to be served. And nothing will satisfy them other than seeing Masolon’s head on a pike. Now tell me: how will you convince them to accept your prisoner as their new commander? Because that matter in particular will not be something I can help you with."

  Her general's logic almost persuaded her. The Skandivian mercenaries' solution had crossed her mind. When she had revealed her intention, Gramus had wondered, "Why do you seem so determined to set him free?" Of course, she had dismissed her general's thoughts as nothing but silly, but inwardly, she had asked herself the same question. Because her general was not completely wrong.

  Rona went to the balcony of her chamber, the cold midnight wind blowing in her face and playing with her nightgown. For someone used to Skandivian rainy winters, that night would be a lovely one to spend in the green plains of Ramos on the back of her trotting horse. Perhaps she could do that one day when the war ended, but not tonight. Tonight the castle was bustling with activity at such a late hour because of her general Gramus. The torches lit were more than any other time she remembered seeing at any castle or palace, whether in Bermania or in her previous life in Skandivia.

  From her wardrobe, she picked a rose, linen tunic and a brown, woolen coat to wear instead of her nightgown. The four Skandivian guards posted outside her chamber knocked the butts of their axes on the ground when she opened the door. Leaving one of them to guard her room in her absence, she took the other three as she headed to the stairs, which were guarded as well by two more Skandivians—she was sticking to Gramus's recommended distribution. In addition to those six Skandivian guards, there was one on the terrace right above hers, two at the other end of the corridor leading to the stairs, two on the lower floor, two standing by the door of the main building, and five patrolling the entire building. Were those burly guards enough to deter an assassin from killing her if he wanted? The murder of her family in the royal palace itself should give anybody the answer. But since complying with her general's instruction would make him feel better, she listened to him.

  At the floor below hers she headed to Darrison's chamber, hoping the veteran lord's wisdom would help her find some peace of mind. Gramus would be furious if he heard about that, she knew, but there was no reason for her to mistrust her father's former advisor. He could have betrayed her if he had wanted; she had told Gramus, but her dubious general never listened. He loathed all the lords in general, and she
could not blame him for that. Among the residents of this very castle, she was the one who had been hurt the most by lordly treachery.

  The guards standing at the entrance of the corridor leading into Darrison's quarters bowed upon seeing their queen coming. "How can we help you, Your Grace?" their senior asked.

  "I want to have a word with Lord Darrison. Make sure you don't startle him when you wake him up." Rona chuckled, nodding toward her Skandivians. "I'm not here to arrest him."

  "He is awake already, Your Grace. Lord Jonson and he are meeting at the northern hall." Darrison's guard swept a long arm at the corridor behind him. "It will be an honor to escort you there."

  Don't let any Bermanian come closer to you than them, Gramus had told her. But he also warned from trusting anybody including Darrison, and here she was, ignoring her general's warning. "That's so kind of you." Rona grinned at Darrison's guard. "Stay here," she ordered her Skandivian warriors before she let Darrison's guard usher her to the northern hall.

  The seats were vacant when Darrison's guard opened the door for Rona. "Here they are." She spied them standing on the balcony. Neither of the two lords noticed her coming since they were both gazing at something outside. "I can make it on my own. Thank you," she told the guard escorting her.

  Rona cleared her throat as she slowly walked onto the balcony, the two senior lords turning at once, probably startled by her entrance. "My apologies, milords. I didn't mean to intrude on your meeting." She grinned to alleviate the tension she caused by her sudden appearance.

  "Your Grace." Darrison gaped at her, his eyebrows raised. "It is always a pleasure to be in your company." He exchanged a look with Jonson, allowing a nervous chuckle. "I just wonder what might have awakened you at such an hour."