Queen of Rebels

by Karim Soliman

  "That is not going to happen." Payton drew his sword. "We both flee or we both die."

  "Go, I say!" Masolon shoved Payton with his left arm. "I am a dead man anyway."

  Payton squinted, but not at Masolon. He was contemplating the horde of furious swordsmen dashing toward them, their torches lighting the woods an hour earlier than sunrise. Those enraged men were not going to take any prisoners, Masolon was certain. They would strike him and Payton dead the moment they reached them.

  Do not do it for yourself. For him.

  Masolon summoned all the strength he still possessed to keep his feet steady, both hands gripping the pommel of the greatsword that reminded him of Erloss, the only sword he had always wished he could wield one day. Sweet Mother, whether you now reside in the Paradise of the Light or that of the Lord of Sky and Earth, I am afraid I am too cursed to join you. I am probably joining Father, wherever he is.

  44. RONA

  The sun was rising when the castle of Subrel was behind Rona by almost three miles. She had insisted on abandoning the fort with the last man leaving it. But taking all the wounded out of Subrel had taken much more time than she had thought. Anyway, Di Galio had not attacked her yet. Either he really respected their truce or Masolon and Payton were still keeping his troops busy. All this time? Even for those two fine warriors, she found it impressive to survive the enemy's camp all this long. He will come back, she told herself. That bastard from nowhere knew how to stay alive, she hoped.

  Riding next to her was Jonson, the man she had misjudged the most. After ordering Norwell to march with all the members of his house ahead, the bald lord stayed with his queen until she finally decided to leave the castle.

  "Did you send a messenger to Janet?" Rona asked Jonson.

  "He is flying ahead of everybody to Kalhom as we speak." The bald lord sighed. "Let's pray he reaches her before it's too late."

  Surely, he was worried about his daughter, whom he had left with Darrison's son. "Raymond wouldn't dare to harm your daughter." Rona had no convincing reason for that. It was just a feeble yet well-meant attempt to reassure the concerned father.

  Galloping horse hooves came from behind her. Jonson reached for the hilt of his sword, but he kept it in its scabbard when he realized it was the scout she had sent to make sure that Di Galio was not following her. "Your Grace!" the foolish scout called to her, his voice ringing in the forest.

  Rona waited for the novice to come to her. "What do you exactly understand about our secret escape?" She gnashed her teeth.

  "We may not need to escape, Your Grace," he said excitedly. "The Karuni troops have arrived. They are laying waste to Di Galio's host."

  Rona and Jonson exchanged an inquisitive look.

  "Tell me again what you think you saw." Rona peered at the scout.

  "I know what I saw, Your Grace." The scout seemed surprisingly sure of his stammering. "Thousands of knights descending upon Di Galio's camp, their banners having the lion together with the Karuni purple amethyst."

  "They descended upon them?"

  "They vanquished them. Di Galio’s host was in disarray when the Karuni knights charged. He is retreating, Your Grace."

  The scout sounded more coherent than she thought at the beginning. Still his news was too good to be true.

  Rona motioned the scout to keep his distance. "What do you think, milord?" She turned to Jonson. “Can we believe him?”

  "If I am to be perfectly honest, I must say I am not sure." Jonson glanced at the scout. "He has been serving me for four years. But who can say they are enough to trust anybody? We have seen too much treachery from men we have known for decades."

  More than forty years. Rona knew he was referring to Darrison. His cowardly move must have been shocking to Jonson as well.

  "You know Foubert more than I do," she said. "Why would he fight Di Galio on my side? Was he loyal to my father?"

  Jonson allowed a rare smile. "Since your parents' wedding, Foubert had all the reasons in the world to hate your father."

  Even Darrison had never told her about that. "He was in love with Mother?"

  "It was probably only unrequited love. But I knew for sure he was smitten with your mother before your father proposed to her."

  "So, his hatred to Father prevented him from joining me at the beginning, but suddenly, his smoldering love to Mother urged him to rush in to rescue me? This doesn't make any sense."

  "I never said it did." Jonson nodded toward the scout, who was out of earshot. "That is why we should be careful about the tale of that fellow."

  "I must see for myself." Rona wheeled her horse. "Stay with our troops and make sure they keep marching north while I go with him."

  Jonson turned his horse as well. "No way would I let you go on your own, Your Grace."

  Rona did not protest since she might need his advice. "You," she called to her scout. "Lead the way back to Subrel. But I warn you: you make noise one more time and I will stick my sword into your spine. Understood?"

  The scout silently nodded and spurred his horse onward through the woods back to the abandoned fort. If his tale was true, Foubert's knights would not leave that fort abandoned for long. He will only join the winning side, was all she had been told about her mother's secret lover. "Damn!" she muttered. "How come nobody told me about Foubert and Mother before?" She peered at Jonson. "Did Darrison know about it?"

  Jonson shrugged. "I can't tell. Maybe he did, maybe he didn't."

  "But you knew for sure. How could you?"

  A hint of a smile slipped over the bald lord's face. "The Feast of the Five Kings. When was that? Forty years ago? Thirty-nine? I am not so sure, but I remember I was standing next to Foubert when we saw your mother coming with her parents to greet us and the rest of our family in the Great Hall. His jaw literally dropped, and for a while he was completely speechless, unable to utter a single word until he laid a kiss on the back of her hand. For the rest of the feast, he didn't look at or talk to anybody but her.

  "I wasn't surprised when he missed your parents' wedding. I met him a few months later and asked him straightforwardly if he still thought of her. He didn't answer me, but his silence was more than enough, it spoke volumes. You could see his grief through that look on his face. He could have simply denied my claim, but he was too hurt to even bother."

  Was he too hurt to bother joining me? Rona was still unable to sympathize with the heart-broken lord. Maybe she could, if she made sure that he had joined her in this war for real.

  "What about you, Lord Jonson? Didn't you hate my father like your friend?"

  "No, Your Grace." Jonson allowed a chuckle. "I loved my wife, and I love her still."

  "Really? Is this your justification?” Rona curled her lip in disdain. “Mother must have been fifteen years younger than you."

  "Only thirteen."

  Rona would say he was japing if it were not for the serious look on his face. She found herself laughing though. A weird timing for an awkward conversation.

  Rona could hear a distant clamor as she approached the edge of the woods facing the northern wall, the air she inhaled was filled with smoke. She was near Di Galio's camp, she deduced. "Halt," she ordered the scout before she nudged her horse to go ahead of him. "Jonson," she whispered, motioning to the blue-eyed lord to follow her. "You," she wagged a firm finger at the scout, "no smart moves until one of us comes back to you."

  Rona and Jonson warily advanced toward the burned tents to find a hundred soldiers' corpses or more sprawled all over the ground. "He wasn't lying after all," she muttered, the sight of Di Galio's devastated camp putting a smile on her face. Finding Darrison among the dead would make her smile grow even wider.

  She eyed almost every dead body on the ground, seeking not only Darrison, but also Masolon and Payton. Surely, those two had managed to flee the camp before Foubert's men stormed it, and surely they were on their way to Kalhom by now. If only she knew how she could reach them. . .

  "Your Grace," Jonson
warned her, but he was too late. A squadron of heavily armored knights had already spotted them. After a moment of eerie silence, one of them wheeled his horse and hurried away, calling out to his lord. Shortly, the knight returned, escorting his square-faced master, black tufts struggling to survive in his long grey hair. The dark-silver armor he donned was decorated with a green-eyed Bermanian lion on the breastplate, a purple amethyst adorning the hilt of the greatsword strapped to his back. "It's Foubert indeed." Jonson leaned toward Rona, his voice low. It was not a hard guess though.

  "Queen Rona and good old Jonson?" Foubert's fine eyebrows rose, a faint smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "My men say the castle is deserted."

  Rona tilted her head. "It wouldn't have been if you had made up your mind a bit earlier."

  Foubert jerked his head backward as he chuckled. "It is never an easy decision to join a rebellion, my queen. Besides, mustering a force sizable enough to ensure victory takes time. I also had to make sure that my eastern borders are well protected before I march west. Those Rusakians would never hesitate to attack Karun if they felt it was vulnerable."

  "I don't mean to be ungrateful, but you could have just sent me your answer while you took your time to complete your preparations, milord." Rona could not help clenching her jaw despite her joy with this narrow victory. "One letter from you might have spared me so much trouble."

  "Di Galio has eyes and ears everywhere. I was afraid he might take countermeasures if he learned about my intentions. While he was waiting for my troops to join his host, I wanted to stun him unawares, and it worked. Most of Di Galio's men started to race the wind upon seeing us coming. Those who realized they could not escape dropped their weapons. Only a few were foolish enough to stand in our way."

  She had seen more than a few dead bodies, that was certain. "What about Di Galio and Darrison? Did you capture them?"

  "Darrison?" Foubert was taken back. "I thought he was on your side already."

  "What can I say?" Rona sighed, glancing at Jonson. "Only a few keep their oaths these days."

  "No one can question Lord Jonson's loyalty." Foubert gave an acknowledging nod to the bald lord. "But no, my queen, we didn't find them. Probably, they fled with their troops retreating to Ramos. We found his brother, Aberto, though. He and his son were shot dead already when we arrived."

  "The Fox has lost his eyes," Jonson muttered.

  "I can't wait until he loses his head as well." Rona pressed her lips together as she peered at Foubert. "So, you will be marching with me to Paril, right?"

  "My troops are under your disposal." Foubert gave her a slight bow.

  Rona resisted the temptation of asking him why he had decided to fight with her. She knew the answer already, but she was eager to hear the tale from him, from her mother's lover. Not now, Rona, she told herself. First things first.

  "You should go to our troops to bring them back," Rona told Jonson. "They may not believe our scout if he goes to them on his own."

  The bald lord turned his horse and headed back to the scout they had left near the burnt tents.

  "With your permission, my queen," said Foubert. "May we get some rest at your castle? Sitting on the backs of these horses for so long hurts, you know."

  Her permission? Why not? If he wanted to capture the fort, she would not be able to stop him. "Of course, milord. I need to get some rest as well." She might sleep the whole day if she must. For the first time since she started her march to Paril, she could imagine herself as Queen sitting on the real throne of Bermania. The one adorned with the gems of the six regions, not that dull seat in the great hall of Subrel.

  Now she could sleep enjoying peace of mind. . . unless her new vassal changed his mind like so many others.

  Foubert ordered his captains to lead their soldiers to the castle. "Make sure all the prisoners are chained before you herd them!" He then turned to Rona. "I almost forgot, my queen. Someone we caught in Di Galio's camp claims he is a commander of yours."

  A commander? Only one? "Where is he?"

  Foubert seemed a bit surprised that she was interested. He beckoned to one of his footmen and ordered him to bring that "prisoner" to him. Her heart skipped a beat when the footman returned with one of his mates, both dragging Payton by the arm. One commander captured! Did the other flee?

  "You recognize him, my queen?" Foubert's voice made her realize what she should do right now.

  "Release him. That's Payton, Commander of Archers." Rona swung down off her saddle and hurried to him.

  The footmen shot their master an inquisitive look. "Do what the Queen says," Foubert commanded.

  She waited until they uncuffed Payton's hands. "Thank the Lord of Sky and Earth you are alive." She briefly held his arm. "Were you hurt?"

  "Only by our new allies." He smiled tiredly. "But nothing serious."

  "Good." Rona patted him by the shoulder. "Any chance you know where Masolon is?"

  The look on Payton's face terrified her. "He is there." He hesitantly gestured toward the throng behind him, but she saw nobody she could recognize.

  "Take me to him." Pulling Payton by the wrist, Rona strode toward the crowd. "He is not wounded, is he?"

  "I wish I could tell, Your Grace. You will see for yourself," said Payton impassively. Why was he acting so awkwardly?

  Rona impatiently hurried past Foubert's soldiers, ignoring their curious stares and indistinct mutters. "Where on earth is he?"

  Payton pointed at a tree trunk, next to which lay three men on their backs, eyes closed and heads on the ground. No! Rona scurried toward them when she recognized the black-haired man in the middle, his armor torn as if it had received a thousand blows. Was she staring at his. . . corpse?

  It had never crossed her mind that she might shed tears for Masolon one day, but here she was: kneeling by his side, doing her best to prevent her eyes from betraying her in front of Payton who was watching her closely. Why now? Why after I won already? Why should there be something to lose to get what you wanted?

  Rona could feel the blades tearing up her body as she scanned Masolon's bloody armor with her eyes. All over his chest, abdomen, thighs, arms—simply every inch of his body—iron, leather, and chainmail were broken. How had he ended up like this while Payton had emerged from their raid almost untouched? There was something about Payton she did not like. Was the sight of Masolon's corpse shocking to him as well?

  Or was it guilt?

  "When they slew him," Rona caressed Masolon's forehead, "you were watching, weren't you?"

  Payton took a moment before he summoned his courage to admit, "I was watching, yes. But. . ."

  Rona turned to Payton, her jaw tightened. "Could you have saved him?"

  Payton shrugged, his arms open. "You will think I have lost my mind. I thought I had lost my mind myself when I saw what I thought I saw."

  "What is this nonsense about? Speak up!"

  Payton took in a deep breath of air. "Look at his face."

  Rona did what he asked, but saw nothing peculiar in Masolon’s face. It was still handsome, like the day she had first met him. . . "It is so clean?"

  "Not a single scratch on it." He held his head with both hands, a nervous smile on his face. "The blood you see on his armor belongs to the men he slew."

  The men he slew? Rona pulled the torn chainmail to examine the skin beneath it, but she did not find the gash she was looking for. "Give me a hand," she urged Payton. "I want to reach those clasps."

  "I'm not sure it is—"

  "Do it!"

  Payton hesitantly joined her. Surrounding Masolon's shoulders with his arm, Payton grunted as he strained to raise the heavy body up. Rona started with the clasps of the breastplate, then the vambraces on his arms. "A bit higher. I want him sitting." Payton grunted again as he held Masolon's back straight with both arms. Rona struggled for a while until she managed to pull off the chainmail. The countless cuts and holes made the sleeveless tunic Masolon wore underneath his armor now revealing mo
re than it was covering. "He is not wounded," she muttered as she took off the ragged tunic and stared at the unscathed body of the man whose armor was ripped apart. "He is not wounded!" Yet his chest was neither rising nor falling. She listened over his mouth and nose, but she heard no breathing sounds. "What is wrong with him?" She turned to Payton, who did not seem alarmed at all. "Speak up if you have any damned explanation for this!"

  Payton gently laid Masolon's body on the grass, gazing at him for a while. "I watched dozens of men fell him with their strikes and stabs, but he never stayed on the ground. I watched them kill him a hundred times, but he simply refused to die. I swear I saw a sword thrust through his back until the blade emerged from his chest— the unscathed chest you are looking at right now! What damned explanation would you have for this?"

  The hundred corpses she and Jonson had come by at Di Galio's camp; that was not Foubert's work. Only a few were foolish enough to stand in our way, the lord of Karun had told her and he had literally meant it. The blood on Masolon's armor came from those corpses.

  Now she understood what was wrong with Payton. It was neither the grief over Masolon's death nor the guilt of not rescuing him. It was absolute horror. Perhaps she would be as horrified if she had seen what he had seen.

  "Who else knows about this?" Rona asked.

  "Nobody would believe me, so I talked to nobody."

  "Good. Keep it like this." Rona gripped Payton's shoulders, looking him in the eye. "We shall go back to the castle and get some rest. I need you to clear your thoughts and gather yourself together before you tell me in detail what it is exactly that you saw." She rose to her feet and looked around to make sure she had no audience. "I will get you a horse to carry him with you. Wait here and don't let Foubert's healers examine him."

  "They already did, and they were about to bury him. Can't you see?" Payton gestured toward the two motionless men flanking Masolon on the ground.

  "No one shall bury him!" Rona glared at Payton. "My healers will wake him up like they did Gramus. Be sure of that."

  "I'm not afraid they might not find a way to wake him up." Payton simpered. "I'm afraid they actually might."