Queen of Rebels

by Karim Soliman

  Jonson was peering at her when she said, "I wonder the same about you, milords."

  "Well," Darrison chewed on his lip, "we just found out that General Gramus has ordered our soldiers to man their posts at the wall."

  "At this late hour," Jonson added. "Without giving reasons."

  I will make our soldiers ready for the attack without letting them know everything, she recalled what Gramus had told her. "A general doesn't owe his soldiers any reasons or justifications for his orders, I believe," she countered. "All they have to do is obey."

  "That is for certain," Darrison hurriedly seconded, probably before Jonson might respond. "But I'm quite certain the general owes you an explanation, Your Grace."

  Rona looked from Darrison to Jonson, whose blue eyes were still fixed on her. "Rest assured, milords. General Gramus never makes any move without my consent."

  The two lords paused, obviously waiting for more elaboration from her. "That is reassuring indeed, Your Grace," Darrison started. "We have no doubt about your judgment."

  "Would you share with us the point behind General Gramus's move, Your Grace?" Jonson asked, his voice cold.

  Revealing her concerns to Darrison was barely a risk, but what about Jonson? The letter had his signature, the envelope his seal, she thought. "Would you excuse us, Lord Jonson? I need a word in private with Lord Darrison."

  The bald lord frowned, his thin lips pressed together. Without saying a word, he gave her a slight bow and left Rona and Darrison on the balcony. She followed Jonson with her eyes until she made sure he exited the chamber itself, and then she turned to Darrison. "Di Galio is attacking us next morning with a titanic army of westerners and Lapondians. He is bringing trebuchets to send his troops through our walls."

  Darrison gave a wondering gesture. "That is not possible. Since we captured Subrel, our men have been scouting the area around us, especially the western woods and fields between us and the city of Ramos. Not a single man-at-arms or a horseman from Di Galio's camp has been seen since then."

  "And that tells me that our scouts are either incompetent," she sighed, "or traitors."

  "Good Lord," Darrison muttered, leaning on the balustrade. "Of course, having one or two traitors among our scouts is not a possibility we should exclude by any means. But all of them? Do you know how many scouts we have in our host, Your Grace?"

  "Not a slight hint. You may enlighten me."

  "I don't know either." He shrugged his shoulders, his arms wide. "You see? They are too many to count. I doubt that General Gramus himself can answer that question."

  "Then who can? Captain Edmond?"

  Darrison paused for a moment. "Edmond is the general's deputy, so he is more likely to be in contact with the lesser captains, sergeants, and soldiers."

  "Then he is the one who can lead us to the mastermind behind that scheme." Yes, the very one Gramus refused to seek help from. If I can't trust the owner, I can't trust his pet. "Among us, in this castle, there is a turncloak coordinating the whole plot. Probably, a lord. Or even more."

  "Anybody you suspect, Your Grace?"

  "I'm here to ask you this question, Lord Darrison. You know those lords better than I do."

  Darrison put a hand on his waist, the other playing with tufts of his grey beard. "Accusing somebody of treachery is not that simple."

  "I'm not asking you to accuse anybody. I just want to know who you might suspect."

  "How is suspecting someone any different from accusing them?"

  Her conversation with Darrison was disappointing so far. "Darrison!" Rona snapped. "Do you understand the tight situation we are facing? That traitor may stab us in the back while we are busy defending our walls. So, if you suspect somebody, then this is not the right time at all for going soft."

  "I'm not being soft, Your Grace. I'm trying to help you do the right thing. Arresting a lord of yours at such a critical time will have consequences that we might not be ready for."

  "Darrison." She gnashed her teeth. "Who do you suspect?"

  Darrison let in a deep breath of air. "Nobody. Maybe this is not the answer you want to hear, Your Grace, but it's what I have at the moment."

  Darrison's uselessness in this situation was unbelievable. How could this be the man she ignored Gramus's warning for?

  "Is that all you have at the moment?" Rona tapped the balustrade with her fingers. "I was expecting more than that from the man who had been serving this realm as a lord since the reign of King Handry." Since my grandfather, who made a lord of you, she almost said.

  A nervous smile slipped over Darrison face. "Has General Gramus told you about the Antrams, Your Grace?"

  "The traitors who dared to defy my father." Rona had heard their brief story once. Why was he bringing them up now? "What about them?"

  "You see, your father had no exceptions when it came to reward and punishment. After Lord Aurel, Duke Antram's elder son, had recaptured Lapond under the King's banner from the Mankols, he thought he deserved to be exempted from the taxes imposed on his new fiefs, you know, as a simple reward for his efforts. The foolish lord kicked the King's officers out of his lands and declared the sovereignty of the whole region of Lapond. But the garrison captain of the Castle of Lapond gave Aurel a heavy blow by his refusal to defy the legitimate king of Bermania. Aggravated by the captain's disobedience, Aurel and his brothers punished him by burning his house with his family inside.

  "I was there in the throne hall of the Parilian royal house when King Charlwood, your father, ordered me to march with fifteen thousand soldiers to Lapond, to give Aurel a fair retribution. And the Lord knows how fair we were! We gave the Antrams a taste of their torch, making sure that the Antrams bloodline ended that day, like they did to that brave captain once.

  "So, you see now, Your Grace. I'm not the soft lord you think I am. I'm giving you the best advice my poor mind can fathom in this grave situation."

  Rona had to admit the veteran lord had made his point with his shocking tale—the tale Gramus had missed out on some details while narrating it to her. "Very well. What would you advice King Charlwood to do in this grave situation?"

  "Like you just did." Darrison jerked his chin toward the walls of Subrel. "See to your defenses, make sure your men are. . ." He squinted, his jaw dropped for a moment. "Gracious Lord!"

  Rona was not sure what she was looking at, but she saw fire at the horizon beyond the wall. Two fire dots. A few moments later, those two fire dots soared into the air, turning into bigger balls by the second. They are heading to the wall, she realized, and right after she did, the fireballs struck the stone walls with heart-wrenching booms, the cries of her soldiers atop the ramparts echoing in the fort.

  "They are here sooner than I was told," Rona muttered. The new fire dots on the horizon enabled her to catch a glimpse of the monstrous frame of one of Di Galio's trebuchets.

  31. GRAMUS

  The trebuchets attack must have shaken the morale of the soldiers atop and down the wall.

  Gramus stayed atop the rampart until the bombardment stopped right before sunrise. When he heard the soldiers near him mumble about what they should do now, he bellowed, "No one abandons his post! Keep your eyes open and your hearts solid as steel!"

  Since Payton was there at the eastern side of the bulwark, and Edmond was encouraging the troops standing in formation in the courtyard away from the wall by some distance, Gramus decided to stride toward the western flank to lift what remained of spirit among its defenders.

  "General Gramus! Over here!"

  He was not surprised to hear her voice here, though he had hoped she might disappoint him for once and stick to his instructions for the sake of her safety.

  "Your Grace?" Gramus turned to Rona, her favorite old lord struggling to catch up with her strides. "It is not safe for you to come out here. You should have told her, Lord Darrison!" But of course he wouldn't, that old rotten bastard.

  "Nobody should tell me where I should or shouldn't be," Rona snapped. "No
w, come here. We must talk."

  They really must talk. And not too loudly so as not to make a scene in front of their men.

  Gramus descended the stone steps, Rona meeting him right at the foot of the wall. "You told me they would be here this morning, not sooner than that." Her tone was heavy with rebuke.

  "These cannot be them. No one can move trebuchets this fast. The troops attacking us right now are not the same ones I saw on the road to Subrel."

  Darrison was just joining them when Rona asked, "You say those troops are additional to Di Galio's main army?"

  "I'm afraid, yes. They must have been lurking somewhere in the eastern lands of the Ramosi regions." Gramus peered at Darrison. "Of course, your scouts wouldn't have informed us if they saw them anyway."

  Darrison squinted at Gramus, his head tilted. "What are you talking about?"

  "You know exactly what I'm talking about," Gramus bristled, and then addressed Rona. "I managed to interrogate seven scouts before the attack. All of them admitted they reported to Lord Darrison."

  Rona's eyes widened, the shock leaving her at a loss for words.

  "Are you implying my treason, General?" Darrison frowned.

  "Implying? I'm definitely—"

  "No, Gramus. Stop!" Rona gripped Gramus by the arm as she walked him away from Darrison. "This is not how we handle such a matter."

  "You are right," Gramus curtly said. "Had we discovered his treason a bit sooner, out of our soldiers' sight, we might have—"

  "What is the matter with you, Gramus?" She gritted her teeth. "Insult my most powerful vassal in the middle of the battle? And now you want to do what? Send him to the dungeon perhaps?"

  "Why not? Your father would have done that." Yet Gramus knew she would never question Darrison's loyalty for any reason. Even if he brought her clear evidence for the veteran lord's betrayal.

  "We will not speak of this matter until the battle is over." Rona wagged a firm finger. "Now tell me: how long will our walls stand before Di Galio sends his troops in?"

  "Will you let him get away with this?"

  "You are wrong about him, Gramus," she hissed. "And we have no time to investigate your claims. Now, the bloody wall; tell me about it."

  The stubborn girl was determined to ignore his warnings as usual. Should he prevent her from harming herself by force? "To my latest observations, we have four possible breach points," was what he said though. "I will need to check if there are more."

  "Would you join us?" Rona glanced over her shoulder at Darrison. When he came forward and stood by her side, she went on, "What should be our next move?"

  Gramus let Darrison talk first. "Shouldn't we involve the other lords with us in this discussion?"

  Gramus chuckled mockingly as Rona peered at her most powerful lord. "We have no time for that, milord. I already have my general and my most senior lord, so I believe we must decide now before or our enemy strikes again. Shouldn't we sally forth and vanquish this small force before the main strength of Di Galio's army joins them?"

  Darrison's face was impassive when he stared at Gramus. "Maybe we should listen to our general first."

  Gramus curled his lip. "They are attacking us with this small force to lure us outside the castle." He addressed Rona, as if Darrison did not exist. "While we are busy with that relatively smaller force, Di Galio will charge at our rearguard with his heavy cavalry and tear us apart. We wait for them behind our walls, Your Grace. Di Galio's forces will eventually surge in, and that's where our men will stop them. That's where we make best use of our Skandivian warriors."

  Rona chewed on her lip, her hands on her waist. "What do you think, Lord Darrison?"

  Darrison tilted his head. "I second General Gramus's strategy. Our only way to win this is to absorb Di Galio's strikes until he grows weary in time." He gazed at the wall for a moment. "Shouldn't we pull back our archers? It's a pity to lose them while they are helpless here against those trebuchets."

  "Our archers should be ready whenever Di Galio sends his troops to our walls," Gramus justified.

  "I must disagree with you here," said Rona firmly. "I'm quite sure there is a better way to keep our archers ready without leaving them in such a vulnerable position."

  "We should consult Captain Payton," Darrison suggested. "General, you explain your point to him, and he will surely take care of its execution. Your Grace, the time you have already spent here is more than enough. Those cursed trebuchets may resume hurling their firestones at any minute, so I beg you, your safety is something we need more than you think. May I escort you to the castle now?"

  Gramus waited for a harsh reply, like the one he had heard from Rona when he had dared to bring to her attention that the courtyard was not safe for her. But that was her favored lord, the good old Darrison. "Alright then," was all she said, with a hint of a smile even. Why was that hypocrite more convincing than Gramus?

  "Would you give us another moment, milord?" Gramus gave Darrison a cold look.

  "Certainly." The veteran lord shrugged as he stepped away from them. "If it pleases Her Grace."

  Rona nodded to Darrison, her lips pressed together, before she turned to Gramus. "I thought we were done talking about my treacherous lord."

  "If you are really certain that he is not the traitor, then we must find the real one. With a turncloak on the loose, you are not safe anywhere in this castle. I'm afraid he is waiting for the battle to start to strike us unawares." Gramus glanced at Darrison to make sure he was out of earshot. "There is a prisoner in the dungeon, Captain Anvil. Were you told of him?"

  "He was looking for me at Herlog." Rona looked him in the eye when she continued, "Fortunately, Masolon turned down the prize Di Galio has put on surrendering me."

  There was something Gramus did not like about the way she said Masolon's name, but he had to ignore that for the time being. "That Anvil lied to me, and I would deal with him myself if it were not for this sudden attack." Gramus pointed his finger at her. "You must know what he knows, Rona. I'm sure he can lead us to that traitor. Interrogate him. Torture him. Do whatever you see fit until he divulges the name."

  Rona seemed to be giving it a thought as she folded her arms. "The last man I interrogated ended up gutted before saying a word."

  Gramus remembered how impatient she was with the late Duke Jerek. "I don't care if you gut Anvil as well. . . after he gives you a name, or any other information of use."

  "General! Another army approaches!"

  The call Gramus had been waiting for. "Go now, Rona. Find that traitor before he makes his move."

  "What should I do with that traitor if I find him? Arrest him and interrogate him as well?"

  "Kill him, Rona." Gramus could not help looking at Darrison. "Don't give him a chance to reach out to his friends. Because I will be surprised if he doesn't have any in this castle."

  32. MASOLON

  There was something suspicious about what the guard claimed to be the Queen's invitation to a meeting in her chamber. Would you be surrounded by ten swordsmen, your hands chained by cold steel, and still you would consider yourself invited anywhere?

  Outnumbered, unarmed, and more importantly, handcuffed, Masolon's options were not many as the guards took him from the dungeon and walked him upstairs through hallways. If they were to kill me, why would they bother taking me out of my cell? Masolon wondered. And if it was really Rona who requested an audience with him, what was she up to this time? After their fruitless discussion last night, he never thought he might hear from Rona ever. Or at least, this soon.

  Something was happening outside; Masolon guessed from the sight of captains urging their soldiers to move—it would not make sense if the captains were urging their men to protect the kitchens—and from the faint ominous thud he heard as the guards prodded him to ascend the stairs. "Your friends need help, it seems. Will you not give them a hand?" He smirked.

  "Say one more word!" The guard nudged him onward. "Move."

  They herded him th
rough a long corridor that led to nothing but another set of stairs, this time a winding one. Every five or six cycles upstairs, a small window allowed sunlight and fresh air to stream through, along with the clamor and the faint boom that reminded him of the day Kahora had been besieged by the nomads. The castle is under attack, yet Her Grace has the luxury of time to meet me, Masolon thought, finding the notion hard to swallow. Unable to resist his curiosity, he dared to stop by the fourth window he passed to catch a glimpse of what was going on outside, but unsurprisingly, his friendly escorts did not give him a chance.

  Masolon's legs grew heavy as he kept scaling the endless winding stairs. His only consolation was knowing that his friendly escorts must be feeling the same. Away from the fact that her castle was under attack right now, had Rona really bothered going up that high to invite him? Again, dark thoughts crossed his suspicious mind. Calm down, Masolon. There are easier ways to kill you than to throw you off a tower.

  The guards motioned him toward a small hallway, at last, though there were more stairs to ascend, but Masolon did not complain for sure. Four burly men blocked the way, war axes strapped to their backs. Skandivians? Masolon had encountered them before, and he wondered why he saw them here in a Bermanian castle. His Bermanian escorts did not seem to have any problem with their presence though as they handed him over to the burly axmen. Two Skandivians stood their ground in the hallway, eyeing the Bermanian guards as if they were not allowed to come closer. The other two Skandivians ushered Masolon into a sunlit chamber, a long stone table occupying its center. Rona, clad in a brown coat, stood by the barred window, her tousled golden hair falling over her shoulders. The two seconds in which she silently stared at him were enough to evoke a twitch in his chest. Two long seconds. And then she waved his escorts away. "Leave us," she ordered them. After they left, she beckoned Masolon over. "Come."

  Masolon approached her, his Murasen armor rattling. "What is this?" He raised his chained wrists. "Exaggerated security measures?"