The Warrior's Path

by Karim Soliman

  “The scrolls?” Masolon echoed. “What about you?”

  “I hid with the scrolls. I was too worried to keep them out of my sight.” Bumar ushered him to a seat, but Masolon didn't sit. “You must be hungry. How about having lunch together, and then we have another session of writing?”

  “I am in a hurry now, my friend.” Masolon patted Bumar on the shoulder. “I just wanted to make sure you are fine.”

  “I can imagine how busy you have become. Send my condolences to Lord Feras when you see him.”

  “I will.” Masolon went to the door.

  “And to Lady Sania as well.”

  Masolon didn't know why he stopped at the doorstep. Somehow Bumar knew.

  “You see her, don't you?” Bumar asked.

  “Why should I?” Masolon shrugged casually.

  Bumar laughed. “Did you fall in love before, Masolon?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because you're badly smitten, young man. You may fool yourself, but you can't fool me.”

  Masolon chuckled. “Trust me. I did not do that on purpose.”

  “No one does. Our hearts never listen to our minds.”

  “Where do you think this is taking me to? I say nowhere.”

  “How would you know your destination if you never traveled to it?”

  Masolon weighed Bumar's words. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you can never assume, Masolon.” Bumar's grin got wider. “You must see for yourself before you judge.”

  What was Bumar hinting at? Going to Sania and simply telling her 'I love you?’ “That is a dangerous road, my friend.”

  “And what are the risks?”

  “I may lose her. Forever.”

  “Lose her? She was never yours in the first place.”

  Despite the harsh sound of it, Masolon couldn't disagree.

  “Young man,” Bumar said, “either you take that dangerous road, or you forget the whole thing until you find another girl.”

  ***

  The autumn sun was much gentler than that of the summer. The real problem was the dust. Masolon would prefer a hot day to a windy one.

  Finding the desired house wasn't that difficult in such a small town. A one-story brick house stood alone at the end of Burdi away from other houses, away from the market, away from any building in this town. A perfect place for someone who sought solitude.

  The wooden fence of the house enclosed many date palms that shaded most of the vast area surrounding the building. As Feras had told him, the place looked unguarded, yet Masolon was still surprised. Sania didn't wish to draw attention, but that would never fool him. His eyes caught a horseman patrolling at a distance from the house as if he didn't want to be noticed. Turning the reins of his black horse toward the anonymous watcher, Masolon spurred his stallion onward. As he approached, he could tell from the leopard sigil on the horseman's breastplate he was a Murasen memluk.

  “Commander Masolon,” the memluk said respectfully. “It's an honor meeting you. We all heard of your heroic victory in Kahora.”

  “The honor is ours, soldier,” said Masolon. “Now what are you doing here?”

  “I am here to guard the princess, as you may know, Commander.”

  Masolon gazed at the area surrounding the house perimeter until he spotted the other two memluks. “Do you not think that your distance may not be the most appropriate for such a task?”

  “You want me to stand farther, Commander?”

  “For certain,” Masolon stated. Because I do not wish for too much audience.

  He wheeled his horse toward the house, leaving the memluk to his duty. Stopping outside the unlocked wooden gate, Masolon dismounted and pulled his stallion gently by his bridle into the sandy yard and tied it to a palm trunk. “I will not be long, my friend.” Masolon patted his black horse's neck.

  He approached the oak door of the house cautiously, his heart pounding hard. Even before a battle, he had never been that nervous. Taking a deep breath, he gently knocked the oak door of the house, but he got no answer. He knocked again, harder this time. Now he could hear approaching footsteps from inside. Shortly afterward, the door was slightly opened.

  “Yes, sir?” The cautious face of a maidservant peeked from behind the barely opened door.

  Masolon cleared his throat. “I am here to meet Lady Sania.”

  “Lady Sania doesn't meet anybody here.”

  “Really? Would you tell her that Commander Mas…I mean Masolon is here?”

  “I'm so sorry, Commander. She doesn't want to see anybody. And she didn't tell me of any exceptions.”

  Masolon took a deep breath, hoping that would help him keep his composure before he did something foolish. Inwardly, he cursed that maidservant who stood between him and his girl.

  “Just tell her,” Masolon insisted, not so nicely this time.

  “Wait,” the maidservant said curtly. She closed the door, leaving him outside. What was he going to say when Sania appeared? Though he was eager for that moment, he wasn't prepared for it. You can just tell her how sorry you feel for her loss. Nothing more for today.

  Light footsteps came from behind the closed door at last. But again it was not her. The disappointment was unbearable.

  “I'm sorry, Commander,” the maidservant said dryly. “You won't be able to see her.”

  “Why not?”

  “I didn't ask her why, Commander. She said so, and I simply have to obey.”

  “Are you sure you told her my name?”

  “I am sure, Commander.” The maid exhaled, looking irked. “Now if you don't mind?” She slammed the door shut, an end he hadn't expected at all. He should have known better though. The princess had chosen that lonely place for a reason.

  Maybe he should try his luck another day.

  CHAPTER

  FORTY-SIX

  GERVINY

  A letter from Halin to him? Gerviny thought his squire Sergi was mistaken when he announced the news. Since his betrothal to his gorgeous future bride, she had never shown him a single gesture of affection. All he had on three previous occasions was that fake smile, which should give the image of the happy lordly couple, but never a smile from the heart to relieve his restless soul. The moment his eyes fell on her, he knew he wanted nothing but Halin. Perhaps the girl was too shy to express her feelings to him in person. The possibility made sense to him when he saw her name scribed on the sealed envelope.

  Gerviny snatched the envelope from Sergi's hands. “Fetch me a flagon. A full flagon, Sergi,” he demanded and went to the terrace to enjoy the autumn breeze while reading Halin's letter. For the first time since summer it hadn’t snowed on Durberg. He should have known it was a good omen.

  He reclined in a cushioned seat, his feet on the table in front of him. “Hurry up, Sergi!” he cried, although he doubted his squire would hear him through the wall. Too impatient to wait for his slow squire, Gerviny broke the seal on the letter, immediately catching the scent of purple rose, the flower she loved the most. “Curse you, Sergi. You're ruining the moment. SERGI!”

  With care he had never shown to anything, he held the scented paper and unfolded it, the sight of his name at the beginning of the letter exciting him.

  To Gerviny, my dear dignified lord.

  Dignified? Coming from a lover, the word sounded ridiculous. Later he would have all the time he needed to teach that courteous girl other words.

  To Gerviny, my dear dignified lord,

  I want to come to your palace to speak to you in person, but I can't. I don't feel I will be able to deal with this situation, which I never faced before and I never wanted to happen. I hope you are not offended by that.

  Your father and mine have a plan for us, and of course, they think it's for our good. However, I believe it's us who should decide. It's you who will find himself bound to a woman he is forced to be loyal to for the rest of his life just to fulfill his father's wish. I know for sure that if I wasn't the daughter of Lord Sanislav, I wo
uldn't have the honor of being betrothed to the future honorable lord of Durberg. You deserve to choose a lady that befits the name of Lord Gerviny son of Lord Larovic, and I know I can't undertake that role.

  I hope we can settle this on our own without involving our fathers. We don't want a matter between a man and a girl to turn into a conflict between two lords. Please, inform Lord Larovic my sincere apologies. Let him know…

  “Milord?” Sergi's voice startled him.

  He looked up sharply and found the squire standing next to his seat. “What?” Gerviny snapped.

  “The wine, milord.” Sergi held out a flagon. Only now did Gerviny notice it.

  “Leave it and get out of here.” Gerviny waved him away.

  “The table,” the squire harrumphed, “if you don't mind, milord.” He was politely asking Gerviny to put down his feet. But Gerviny had enough of politeness today.

  “Give me the flagon,” Gerviny urged his squire, who complied at once. “Here is your bloody flagon!” he flung the full flagon away. The metal vessel hit the balustrade and fell on the floor of the balcony, unbroken, but it made a glorious clatter against the marble floor. The sight of the spilled wine aggravated Gerviny even more than the letter itself. “Don't ever be late when I demand something from you! You hear me? Now get out!”

  The squire scurried away from him. Gerviny knew the lad had done nothing wrong, but his fury was too massive to contain. A perfumed letter of rejection? Was she mocking him? How dare she!

  There was no reason to continue reading, but he was curious to finish the letter before tearing it apart.

  Let him know that I am not acting on behalf of my father; that is my own decision. And I as well as my father will always bear utter respect to him and you.

  Humbly,

  Halin

  That whore! All she was concerned about was his father's wrath. All those courteous words were for the sake of the fearful Lord Larovic, not for the harmless Gerviny. If it were not for the Lord Marshal, she wouldn't even bother writing to him. The betrothal wouldn't occur in the first place.

  She must pay for her insolence. Sanislav must pay for his daughter's insolence too. His father should see that letter for himself and decide the appropriate sanction for such an insult to the heir of the Lord Marshal.

  Gerviny hurried back inside, looking for his father. A guard escorted Gerviny to the hall where his lord father was meeting with two lesser lords of the North. The Lord Marshal looked annoyed when Gerviny pushed the door open. His father didn't like to be interrupted, but Gerviny couldn't wait.

  “My apologies, Lord Marshal.” Gerviny nodded. “I'm coming to you with an urgent matter.”

  “I'm sure it is.” His father looked at him impassively. With the slightest of nods, he motioned the two lesser lords to the door. For a moment, Gerviny regretted interrupting his father's meeting, but there was no turning back now.

  In an attempt to imitate his father's dreadful coldness, Gerviny produced the letter without saying a word.

  “What is this?” asked his father.

  “Sabirev is sending its regards.”

  His father took the letter and scanned it. A snowstorm was coming; Gerviny could see it in his father’s blue eyes. Yes, Lord Larovic. Get mad. Those rascals have dared to insult you.

  “That's an urgent matter indeed.” His father put the letter aside on the table. “But do you know what the matter is, son?”

  “Isn't it obvious?” Gerviny cleared his throat. “That girl would respect your son if her father respected you.”

  The Lord Marshal squinted. “Did you read the letter before bringing it to me?”

  “Of course, I did!”

  His father picked up the letter and held it out to Gerviny. “Show me the part from which you sense her disrespect.”

  “Father, don't let her fake politeness fool you, she—”

  “Fool me?” his father blustered. “The only one who can be fooled in this room is you! Disrespect? Is that the matter you stormed the hall for?”

  “You just acknowledged the matter was urgent.”

  “You mean the matter beyond your meager understanding. The matter that we might have wasted a chance to make our house the most powerful in the North.”

  All his father was concerned about was Sanislav's stupid castle. “What about me? What about you, Lord Marshal? What after the Rusakian court learns that the lord of some rural castle has dared to say no to you?”

  “The 'no' was to you, not me. And who can blame her with your honorable past?” Larovic smirked. “Maybe the song is true after all.”

  When would his father stop rebuking him for an old act of foolishness? Was Gerviny the only one who had ever made a mistake?

  “Go and call those two back.” His father didn't even look at him when he gave him a dismissive gesture. Disappointed and infuriated, Gerviny didn't move.

  “You heard me.” His father glared at him.

  “You are not going to respond to that insult, are you?”

  “What do you expect me to do? Send my troops, storm the castle, and bring Sanislav and his daughter here on their knees?”

  “Though merciful it sounds, I might accept that.”

  His father shook his head. “You know what? The whole matter was a huge mistake. You are not worthy of the heritage I wanted to leave you.”

  His father's insult was much more painful than Halin's. More frustrating. More aggravating. No matter what Gerviny did, his father would never regard him the way he deserved. The demented old man would always live in the memory of Gerviny's long gone brother Elov.

  Gerviny exited the hall. The lords waiting by the door outside shot him an inquisitive look, as if they were asking for his permission to return to the hall, but he ignored them and stalked through the corridor.

  The song is true after all, his father's scornful tone echoed in his head. A song!

  Gerviny couldn't stand the notion that his humiliation was known to everybody. Everybody. Even Sergi knew. Blast! Gerviny was the last one to hear about it. What a humiliation for the coming Lord of Durberg! No reaction from the great Lord Marshal, who even insulted him more. But so be it. From now on, Gerviny would act on his own. Whether his father liked this fact or not, Gerviny was his heir.

  On his way back to his favorite balcony, Gerviny found his squire sitting by its door. “What are you doing here?” Gerviny snapped at him. “You are supposed to follow me where I go!”

  “Milord, you asked me to go away. I wasn't sure if—”

  “Alright, alright,” Gerviny cut him off. “Come now.” He went to the balcony, the squire following him. No trace of spilled wine on the floor, and of course the flagon was taken away. “You need to acquire the pace of the maidservants of this palace,” he muttered as he leaned to the balustrade.

  “I beg your pardon, milord?”

  Gerviny turned to his squire. “What do they say in the song?”

  “What song, milord?”

  “The song, Sergi. The song about me…and Lady Halin.”

  The lad looked down. “You may not like it, milord, and I really don't want to aggravate you.”

  “Just be honest with me, and I won't get mad at you,” Gerviny promised. “Now what do they say about us?”

  “The song is not about you, milord.” Sergi swallowed. “It's about Lady Halin and the Champion of Durberg.”

  CHAPTER

  FORTY-SEVEN

  MASOLON

  It had been two weeks, and Masolon contemplated whether to try once again to see Sania.

  A long time had passed since Masolon had listened to his mind. Today he couldn't resist. Besides, there was nothing wrong in passing by the town of Burdi to oversee his troops. That sounded like a good reason to convince himself.

  By his orders, fifty soldiers split into ten groups of five made a wide ring around Sania's house. She must not notice their presence, Feras had warned him, and Masolon hadn't forgotten. To ensure that everything was going according to
the plan, Masolon made a tour around this ring of protection, passing by a few of his groups. He was always asking them if there were any incidents worth mentioning.

  “We even search fruit carts,” a soldier told Masolon. “We make sure that no one armed goes in there.” While Masolon was turning his horse to go to the next guarding group, the soldier continued, “It happened once that we found a bow and a quiver with an errand boy from Arkan, as he claimed. He swore they belonged to Lady Sania, but we did not let him go inside.”

  Masolon stopped his horse, looking over his shoulder at the soldier. “A bow and a quiver?”

  “Full of arrows, Commander. The bow did seem to belong to the princess, however, we dismissed that errand boy, and I went myself to deliver those things to the princess's servant.”

  Masolon didn't conceal his smile when the sweet memories of Arkan flashed in his mind.

  “Is there something wrong, Commander Masolon?”

  “Lady Sania did not see you, did she?”

  “She didn't. Even if she did, she would never know why I was here. I could be guarding the errand boy for instance.”

  “Well done, soldier.”

  The bow and the quiver! Masolon couldn't wait to see that with his own eyes. He kicked the flanks of his stallion, urging him to gallop until he reached the wooden fence. He dismounted and hurriedly tied his horse, carefully examining the palm trunks of the shady yard, looking for a particular trunk. It wasn't an easy search in such a vast yard full of palm trees.

  There it was at last; a trunk struck with arrows. Masolon pulled out one arrow, held it with both hands, and smiled. It was hers, no doubt. Sania might show up at any moment, and he couldn't afford to miss that. Under the shade of palms, he waited. Ignoring his thirst for an hour, he waited. The weather was getting hotter by noon, but he waited.

  And then he heard the creaking of the door. Somebody had come out of the house.

  With eyes full of hope, Masolon turned his head. It was Sania, holding her bow. While he was petrified beside the palm trunk staring at her, she came forward without noticing him, her bow and quiver in her hands. His heart pounded hard like a hammer.