Fallen Queen (Mariposa Book 1)

by Y. R. Shin

  How could the soldiers risk their lives in battle with that kind of commander? Those commanders were the reason Rarke still had not passed Olzore.

  “My dear sister…my most respected queen. No one can laugh at you. For I will not let anyone laugh at you.”

  Peijak moved his lips around her abdomen and waist, blowing his warm breath to pacify her fury. Then his rough, calloused hand caressed the back of her other hand, hanging lifelessly over the edge of the bed. He locked his fingers with hers. He tightened his grip, as if saying, Have faith.

  Her fury could not persist any longer. At the sincere effort of her half-brother, who seemed to have been born knowing the way to have all her love to himself, to make her feel better, Swan slowly came back to her composed self.

  Someone opened the drape of the tent and came running in. Swan didn’t look back.

  “Your Highness, a moment of your time, please.”

  Peijak straightened his back and answered instead. “Sir Volted, Her Highness is resting, so bring all nonurgent matters to my tent.”

  A rustling noise came from where the man was standing. Peijak suddenly stopped caressing her lower back with the hand that was not locked with hers. The queen slowly lowered her arm and sat up at the sudden pressure on her hand.

  “A letter came from the commander of Fort Olzore, Your Highness.”

  “Guitella Oren Diblis,” she spat.

  Swan’s face slowly became overcome with fury as she took the tattered letter from the knight’s hand.

  I commend you for your obtuse assiduity, Rarkalia.

  I send my humble condolences on the vain deaths of the savages knocking at our walls. Our father of Morgana, Dernajuke IV, expresses his grievance at your selfish foolishness in repeating your defeats. The fort is too high for an immoral woman and her cowardly followers to climb. If you submit your arrogant stubbornness and step back with proper subservience, we will allow it with mercy.

  It was an extremely insolent letter without an introduction or the signature of the sender. It lacked even the very minimal amount of decorum a letter to the queen of a country ought to have.

  The queen mulled over it.

  “Obtuse. Immoral woman. Cowardly followers.”

  Her fury, which had barely subsided, erupted to the sky. Reading the contents of the letter the queen had crumpled and thrown aside, Peijak scowled at the knight without any trace of the kindness he’d shown before.

  “Who brought this letter?”

  “A soldier from the second squad who has been held prisoner.”

  A roaring laughter burst from the queen’s lips. She glared at the letter in Peijak’s hand.

  She sprang up and sat at the table. Then she cleared away the broken pen, spread her finest parchment, and raised a seal submerged in a pool of blue ink on one corner of the table. It was the queen’s seal, with the shape of a butterfly engraved on it. She stamped the pale butterfly seal in the middle of the parchment with a loud bang.

  “I am the queen of Rarke.” The royal blue butterfly displayed its arrogance as it spread its clear wings on the parchment. “Sir Dollehan, tell Sir Baganteo that I will grant him an opportunity to atone for his crime this instant.”

  The queen threw the parchment at Peijak before the blue ink could even dry. Peijak looked at the blue butterfly in awe.

  As she had ordered, Sir Baganteo was sent as an emissary to Fort Olzore that morning, completely unarmed.

  A week later, he returned with his head intact, but not in the fine state fit for an emissary.

  Two weeks later, the queen mounted her horse once more and charged to Fort Olzore.

  “Has that annoying woman come back again?” Guitella, the king of the Fort, played music and sang while the queen’s army stood before the fort.

  After three days, the queen turned back.

  Again, the queen pent up her frustration.

  In the heavy darkness of the campsite, Reuyen woke up from her light sleep and sat up, brushing back her flowing hair. She was no longer able to sleep because of the anxiety that made even her fatigue run away. She weakly blinked her eyes. Her heart trembled.

  Olzore. The familiar scent surrounded and restrained her.

  She slowly raised her body and lowered her anxious eyes away from the tired soldiers lying side by side. A quiet curse escaped her dry lips like a self-deprecation.

  “What colossal fuckery this is.”

  Remember who you are. The wind blowing from the valley seemed to whisper in her ears.

  Her zealous eyes looked at the shadows dancing somewhere in the darkness, across the campsite.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The next day, once they reached the entrance to the valley, Paseid gave an order.

  “The moment we enter the valley, we will be exposed to the enemy’s eyes, and they will enhance their defense and guard. In case of a counterattack, we will reinforce the rear and push out at maximum speed.”

  The tension prickled everyone’s skin.

  Jacalrin’s green eyes glistened. He took the initiative and moved to the rear with Paseid, with whom he took turns at the front. The front was now left in the hands of Evinbur and the other knights. The soldiers increased their speed and departed to the rock-covered lands with firm determination.

  The streams that flowed along the valley had long since dried up into roads of rock and dirt where weeds thrived. Some of them were trails swallowed by the valley to the point that no one could tell where they led.

  The soldiers who entered the winding, dreary path increased their speed, following the bannerman’s flag guiding them.

  Reuyen endeavored to quiet her hands and feet that had started to shake, and tightly held on to Den’s reins. When the familiar landscape drew her into her memories and she wanted to hesitate, defying her orders, she scolded herself again and again.

  Fort Olzore. The fort atop a valley surrounded by hard stone.

  Just taking it in with her eyes seemed to hurt her insides, like someone was scratching them with sandpaper.

  Olzore remained solid. No, it was looking down at the Rarkian army with an even more ominous presence than it had in her past memory.

  Looking up at the legacy that had survived the passing of time, she sank uncontrollably into the other side of time.

  Three months. Had Belbarote given her merely three months more, she would not have had to feel all the hair on her body spike up at this deep remorse.

  It was truly a foolish act.

  Booooo—

  There was no way to hide from the eyes of the towering fort except in the trees, their roots planted in the crevices of the cliff. As expected, the enemy’s beacon lit up in red not long after the Rarkians entered the valley. With that, the booming sound of drums and bugles announcing the start of a battle echoed all over the valley. The thundering roar mixed into the Rarkians’ signals.

  “To defense formation!”

  Reuyen held up her shield to cover the sky, like she had been told. Not long after, arrows started to pour down. They sounded like rain hitting a window as they fell upon on the countless Rarkian soldiers’ heads, hitting the shields and bouncing off to the ground.

  The volley was not too intense, for its purpose was to show the enemy who had suddenly appeared at the valley that they were not asleep. Reuyen unhesitatingly marched on with the army, crossing over the dreary trails, fallen trees, and rough rocks. The deeper they went into the valley, the stronger they could feel the murderous intent of Olzore filling the atmosphere.

  And not long after, arrows with fire on their oiled tips started to fall down one by one. The hurrying soldiers blindly marching across the dry, rough land startled at the sudden bursts of fire and tripped over, but soon got back on their feet and persistently walked, protecting each other’s heads.

  As soon as the fire arrows started falling, Evinbur shouted, “We can’t speed up any more than this! Protect the gunpowder carriages! Keep your formation and do not panic!”

 
Then he hastily looked at the rear, where Paseid was. The front wasn’t under any intense attack, but the rear would have to stand firm until the whole army completely evacuated from the valley. Evinbur took the very slightly worried look off his face and turned his horse back around to face the front. It would still take half a day to get past the irregularly wide and narrow pathways and the endless rocks and stones.

  “Walk together with your comrades and watch over their heads! If my comrade’s head catches on fire, I burn too! Remember that!”

  Following Evinbur’s thundering commands, Reuyen tightened her grip on the shield. The sound of footsteps before her and behind her hastened as time passed. The screams and shouts did not cease. The weight of the fire arrows and rocks falling from the sky on her shield felt like it could crush her arm. Shields burst into flames, which then subsided.

  “Come on, move! Move! Even if they follow us now, if we keep up this speed and get out of the valley and enter Tolf, we can shake them off. You, there! Keep up with your comrades! This isn’t a time for a nap!” Evinbur roared at Reuyen.

  In the advance, Reuyen closed her watery eyes as hard as she could and opened them. Then she looked ahead.

  “The road in the middle is narrowing, sir,” someone called. “We need to slow down for a moment, sir!”

  “Don’t tell me that! Run along and tell Sir Calandok in the rear that! You good-for-nothing, you’re more useless than an old man! Sir Eden, watch out so the formation doesn’t get disheveled!” Evinbur nimbly blocked a fire arrow with his shield.

  It was obvious that Olzore would send a message to the main force of Morgana on Plain Ishas. So, the most important matter was the time it would take for Rovantis of Morgana to hear their report and finish his preparation. Now, everything was dependent on the tick of the time.

  “The front will evacuate at maximum speed.”

  “But the threat to the rear…”

  “We still have time. Our commander-in-chief is there as well, so no need to worry,” Evinbur assured them.

  The reason was quite clear: Olzore was the symbol of Morgana, a fort specifically designed for defense where even the emperor of Morgana himself overlooked the neglect of duty. It would take at least an hour or two for them to find the Rarkian army, start preparing, and send out their soldiers. Meanwhile, the Rarkian army would evacuate to the other side of the valley, and once they were out of the valley, the soldiers of Olzore surely could not catch up to them.

  Even Olzore’s miniscule attacks were not unexpected, so the fierce soldiers of Rarke controlled their speed and marched on instead of fearing the arrows they had already calculated.

  The only reason the overall formation in the front could stay together while Paseid was guarding the rear was because Evinbur was fiercely ordering the soldiers.

  Marching forward like someone was pushing her from behind, Reuyen said to Evinbur, “There is a side path safe from falling objects that way, sir.”

  Olzore Valley was where the queen had stayed for nearly three years. She’d learned all the geography of the area. In truth, she even had the arrogance to think that she probably knew more about this area than the lord of the fort. But Evinbur scowled at her.

  “We cannot risk the danger of going onto an unverified road. Increase your speed and evacuate on the planned path, Dame Detua.”

  It was a natural answer for someone who was deemed suspicious and was under supervision. And yet, her innards ached at it. After looking like she was half out of her mind for a moment, she whipped Den as ordered at last.

  When the wind crashed into her face, the sudden gush of anger subsided like kitchen fire being splashed with water.

  I’m Reuyen.

  She repeated in her head.

  I’m Reuyen.

  Her present self was only a daughter of a horse dealer.

  “Reuyen.”

  Her dry lips repeated her name as she rode through the valley.

  Her present self was Reuyen. The ordinary woman from Gyujen, daughter of Jess and Senila, Eivan’s younger sister, and Sidan’s older sister. A woman who only had a set of memories she could not tell anyone, and a nimble body. Reuyen Detua.

  The shapeless shadow of the past seemed to be clawing at the back of her neck. Her heart beat like she was being chased.

  “Reuyen,” she repeated.

  “I am Reuyen.”

  Again.

  She needed to get out of here. Or else the begrudging monster inside her would devour Reuyen. She had to bury it. Deep in her heart, she buried the memories of the fort that would never open.

  Then.

  The rain of arrows suddenly stopped.

  “What’s going on?”

  Reuyen stopped Den, drooling and panting, and instinctively looked up at the sky. Evinbur also realized that the attack had stopped and looked around.

  There was silence.

  Anxiety, fear, and tension she didn’t know the roots of rushed her heart like they were trying to tear it apart.

  Creaaaaak.

  A scream as chilling as the devil’s scratched down the valley and settled eerily.

  The thundering sound of a massive pulley turning its wheel resounded from the heavens and washed over the sounds of bugles and drums. Without any orders, all the Rarkian soldiers and knights froze in their steps. A moment of silence began as the valley swallowed all the screams and moans.

  Creaaaaaak.

  It can’t be.

  Reuyen’s eyes shook. She knew the origin of that sound.

  It can’t be.

  The cries of Guitella as he greeted the queen’s army resonated in her ears like a hallucination. Her heart beat like it had gone back in time to the past.

  Creaaaaaaak.

  The soldiers lowered their shields and raised their heads to the clear sky and the valley high above.

  Shards of rock rolled down the valley’s cliffs.

  Boom.

  The inviolable gates of Olzore that boasted seven hundred and fifty years of history opened their jaws with a fierce screech. And from there, fully armed knights and soldiers of the enemy started pouring out.

  Even if it were not wartime, horseback riding was a culture of the nobles that was quite useful in revealing elegance and strength at the same time. On top of that, it was the only noble practice Jacalrin, who only ever started things without finishing, had actually taken interest in and learned.

  But recently, Jacalrin wanted to throw up when he thought even of the first ho of horseback riding. He had run from the capital for nearly a month before he joined the main force of Rarke, and then had to get back on the horse straightaway without any time to rest, so he thought his complaint quite well justified.

  Behind him was an endless line of soldiers stretched out like a borderline across the forests and fields. He was sympathetic for them, as they were following the same boring march as him.

  It would have been nice if he at least had a talkative friend he could chat with while they marched on, tied to their horses! But Seisen, who was watching his back, was way too polite, and Paseid, who was walking in front of him, was way too proper. Way too polite and way too proper were not that different in the sense that they were both boring. Jacalrin thought it especially a shame that the way Paseid acted in the capital varied greatly from the way he acted on a battlefield. In the capital, he at least pretended to listen to Jacalrin’s gossip and stories.

  Jacalrin swallowed a yawn and tried to strike up a conversation. “Sir Calandok, it would take more than ten days to get to Ishas, circumventing Tolf, at this speed, right?”

  “It will be a flat plain once we get out of the valley, so we’ll arrive earlier than that.”

  Paseid, who was walking in the front, never even looked back. His horse, Rotsa, made sounds as elegant and calm as his master.

  A soldier rode up alongside them. “Sir, the scouts have returned. There are no enemies hiding for ambush, sir.”

  Reports followed at a constant interval from th
e others.

  Not paying that much attention to them, Jacalrin unconsciously turned his head to look at Evinbur, then narrowed his eyes at Reuyen, who followed with a pale face.

  He had thought that she was pale, but how did her face just keep getting paler during this arduous march where they couldn’t even wash for days? Regardless of Jacalrin’s eyes on her, Reuyen’s eyes were fixed on the valley beyond his head.

  When Jacalrin’s head did not come back to face forward for a long time, Seisen coughed at last. “Ahem, hem, Sir Chesa?”

  Constantly looking at her was more of an instinctual move; not the masculine instinct of a robust man interested in the opposite sex, but an instinct directly related to survival. It was a keen intuition of discord. Jacalrin grinned mischievously when he locked eyes with Evinbur, and unconsciously tightened and loosened his grip around the hilt of his sword hanging at his side.

  There was a trail on a steep hill that led to the fort not far from the entrance to the valley, connecting Rarkian land and Olzore. The known size of the military force in Olzore was about four to five thousand. Even if it were five thousand, it wasn’t that much of a threat, since not all five thousand would be able to fight outside.

  But Paseid took that into his calculations as well and moved to the rear, leaving the front to Evinbur once they reached the entrance to the valley. Jacalrin, who was assisting Paseid in his command, moved to the rear as well.

  “Advance! Keep up the speed!”

  While the army advanced into the deep valley where the damp, cold air flowed from, Jacalrin stood aside and looked up at the flag flapping on top of the fort, his hand over his eyes to block out the sun.

  “Maniacs, all of them. Building a nest all the way up there.”