"We must march by first light." All faces turned to Rona when she spoke. "What we do here is giving Di Galio a chance to lick his wounds."
"Ramos is still short of food, Your Grace," said Jonson, who was surely worried about the prize he had been waiting for decades. "We cannot leave its folks on their own unless we settle the provisions issue at least."
"Our villages will eventually replenish the food stockpiles of this city, but that will not happen overnight, Lord Jonson. It will take time, much more than I can tolerate. I didn't wage this war to end up the Queen in Ramos." Her fingernails dug into the armrests. "I say we go those last sixty miles separating us from Paril to put an end to this war."
Foubert nodded his agreement, Jonson's lips forming one firm line. "If you mean to march this soon, Your Grace, then I insist that we leave a strong force to hold this city until we are done with Paril."
"Will five hundred men be strong enough?" She had been left in the company of even a smaller garrison in Kalhom.
"I need two thousand."
Foubert chuckled, Yavier's eyebrows meeting together, Flebe lightly smiling.
"I left half that number behind me in my fortress at the borders with the cursed Icemen." Foubert looked from Rona to Jonson and back.
"The Fox's pups could be closer to us in this city than the Icemen to your fortress, Lord Foubert," Jonson coldly said. "Besides, you don't have one-tenth of the population we have here in this much vaster city."
Foubert was always proud of holding Karun, the greatest fortress in Bermania. He would not easily accept any hint of understating his valuable asset. "We need the most of our army strength to decide our final battle with Wilander and his Fox." Foubert addressed Rona this time. "Approving Lord Jonson's request leaves us with eight thousand soldiers to besiege and capture a city held by a force slightly less strong. Are we sure we want to do that?"
"Ten thousand, Your Grace," Norwell corrected, his bald uncle peering at him. "If we count the surrendered soldiers."
Foubert sighed, shaking his head in disapproval. "The Lapondians will need to see their appointed lords ahead of them on the battlefield. I thought I made myself clear about that point."
"You did, milord." Rona gave Foubert a lopsided smile. He wants the entire East for himself. "However, you must know that for the time being I don't have the luxury to worry about turncloaks. All lords, earls, officers, captains, and commanders shall stay in their cells until I decide about them after the war. As for their soldiers; you may offer them to earn their freedom in return for their arms and blades. If they ought to say no to Charlwood's daughter, then fine: show them the way to the dungeons."
"What if they all say no?" Jonson warily asked.
"Then you will have five hundred men for your city, milord." One second later Rona realized the tongue slip she had just made. He is not the lord of Ramos yet. I should be more careful.
"There is one matter we need to settle, milords." Rona wanted to conclude the meeting to let Foubert and his sons see to the Lapondians' issue. "General Gramus is recovering, but he will need some time until he is sound enough to undertake his duties. Until then, Lord Foubert will be the general commander of our troops in the upcoming battle." Hope he doesn't follow Darrison's path.
Jonson did not protest; he would be her counselor rather than her general. But the obvious lack of warmth between him and Foubert was enough to put that frown on his face upon hearing the news. She wondered how wide his grin would be if she granted him his city.
By her permission, her lords were leaving the hall of the ruby red doors when Payton entered, striding toward the dais. "You were not lingering outside the hall, were you?" Rona had assigned the Commander of Archers to be in charge of the palace guard; a post that was not so different from the plans she had for him after the war.
"I didn't wish to interrupt the meeting with news that could wait."
"What?" Rona chuckled as she rose to her feet and descended the dais. "Another attempt to break into the palace?"
"Masolon is awake, Your Grace."
Was that the news that could wait? "You sure of that?" She did her best to keep her composure. Payton is not that fool though. He must have noticed how she cared about that bastard.
"When his terrified guard hurried to me after hearing the rattle of the chains, I went there and saw for myself. I even talked to him."
Terrified after hearing the rattle? "That guard surely had his reasons not to enter Masolon's room. "What did you tell that guard about Masolon?" She looked Payton in the eye. "We agreed that nobody shall know what happened to him except you and I. And that cleric of course." She regretted telling that useless cleric anyway. His rituals and prayers were as helpful as Jonson's military advice.
"I told him nothing, and I didn't need to. The sight of a chained, unconscious man is enough to trigger anybody's imagination."
Rona was not convinced. Either Payton or that pathetic cleric had opened his mouth. "You sure it was him you talked to?" She remembered every word Payton had told her about the thing that looked exactly like Masolon.
"I think it was him, not something else."
"You think? Doesn't he look well to you?"
"How can I ever be sure after I saw what I saw?" Payton grimaced. "Yes, he sounds like Masolon now, and he complains of the chains he is tied to."
Who would not complain about those chains? "Did anybody else see him?"
"Not until I left him. You want me to summon the cleric to have a look at him?"
"The cleric? No, no, no. Not before I talk to Masolon myself. Is he sound enough to come here on his feet?" She should not always be seen going to him. I am the Queen. If I wish to see someone, he must hurry to me.
"He is almost sound enough to break free off his chains."
She tried to hold her smile. "Bring him here then. Make sure he has a decent outfit to wear before his queen."
Waiting for Masolon's arrival, Rona paced through the hall, long red banners decorated with the Bermanian lion hanging from the ceiling down the walls. That cleric should be silenced for good. It scared her that the thought itself crossed her mind. There is more than one way to keep him silent, she reminded herself. She might talk to that cleric, who had already failed in proving that Masolon was possessed. But first, she had to make sure that Masolon was completely normal, and later she might let the cleric meet him to make him forget all his doubts about the demon-possessed commander of hers.
The guards posted at the doors opened them, but the one they let in was neither Masolon nor Payton. "Sir Edmond." Despite his bold stance on his master's betrayal, there was something about him she could not like—not his loyalty; it was out of the question after the battle of Subrel. He is obedient, yet dull. Unlike Gramus, Norwell, Payton, and Masolon, Edmond rarely had an opinion of value to share. That was why she kept him with the soldiers. He has nothing to counsel me with.
"Your Grace." From the long breath of air he sucked in, she could tell he had come in a hurry. "Our scouts at our western borders have spotted some dubious moves."
Wilander was not in rush to make an offensive move. "Is Di Galio marching to us?"
"It is Daval, Your Grace," the blond captain told her. "The Shield of the South has brought ten thousand men from Augarin."
3. MASOLON
He looked ridiculous in that teal embroidered doublet and the brown woolen breeches. "What is that for?" Masolon could see Payton's grin in his reflection in the long looking glass. "Is that what I get in return for removing the chains?"
"Why the grumbling? Are a warm bath and a new outfit not satisfactory enough?"
Masolon turned to Payton, the same mocking smile on his face. "Will there be an audience other than you?" Masolon was not ready to absorb any snide remarks or looks from Rona's vassals.
"I don't think so. She has already dismissed the lords she was meeting with." Payton jerked his chin toward the brown leather boots placed by the wardrobe. "Would you hurry and put on those? We a
re already too late."
"We would not be if it were not for the bath and the new outfit you insisted on—"
"Alright, alright," Payton cut him off impatiently. "Would you please put on the bloody boots?"
The boots were a bit tight, but eventually Masolon managed to thrust his feet into them. Payton strode outside the chamber and led the way through a maze of hallways and stairs, two guards tailing them wherever they went. The common feature Masolon noticed all over the palace was the domination of all shades of red over the walls, the curtains, and the carpets. Even the floor was red marble. I should be grateful for the not-red doublet Payton brought me though. "Does the Commander of Archers have nothing else of more import than escorting me to Her Grace? Like overseeing his men at the walls of the city, for instance?"
Payton chuckled, obviously more comfortable now than he was when Masolon woke up. "Now the Commander of Archers is practically the Captain of the Palace Guard as well. And since you matter to Her Grace, for some reason I don't fully grasp," Liar, Masolon would interrupt him, "I have my orders to escort you myself."
The doors of the hall they were heading to were, not so surprisingly, painted in blood red. One of the guards posted outside the hall advanced to Payton. "Her Grace will meet Commander Masolon in the antechamber." He swept a long arm toward another hall of a smaller red door.
"Her Grace is expecting us, soldier," Payton firmed informed the guard, who was supposedly his subordinate.
"That is the last order I received from her, Captain. She doesn't wish to be interrupted for the time being."
"Who is she with?"
"All the lords I can remember. Lord Jonson and Lord Foubert to name a few."
Payton turned to Masolon. "See what happens when you show up late. She has started another bigger meeting." The former Commander of Archers ushered him to the antechamber. "After you."
The Queen is too busy to meet me. Masolon could not easily swallow all this waiting. He had to wait for Rona's permission to unchain him, and now he had to wait for her permission to let him enter the hall to meet her, though she was the one who asked for his presence in the first place.
The golden chandelier and the candlesticks lighting the antechamber stood out against the red background of the walls, even the wooden table at the center reddish brown. "What is your problem with the color here?" Masolon contemplated the portraits and the paintings depicting glorious battles. "Is this palace constructed after some bloodthirsty lord?"
"Blood? This is ruby, Masolon." Payton dragged a seat and laid his buttocks on it. "You see, back at the Age of the Five Kings, the first Bermanian king chose five gemstones to decorate his crown, each gem representing a region of his realm: a purple amethyst for Karun, a white diamond for Kalhom, a green emerald for Lapond, a red ruby for Ramos, and a blue sapphire for Augarin. For Paril, his precious capital, he demanded a golden pearl to sit on his crown together with the other five gemstones."
"Age of the Five Kings; they are the same kings after whom the feast is named, are they not?" Masolon remembered Ben and his Herlogan lads talking about going to the "city"—Ramos in other words—to witness the celebrations of the Feast of the Five Kings.
Payton leaned back in his seat, his hands clasped behind the nape of his neck. "The Age of the Five Kings is the first time recorded in the ancient scrolls. It is said that long before Goran the Great, all factions were united once, but we know nothing about that era except that it existed. At some point, the united realms were split into five, each one having its own king. Hence, the Five Kings.
"Those five met in Karun—some claim they met in Eahor, now a Mankol city, which I found hard to believe. Anyway, the five kings drew the borders of the five realms and together they pledged that all of them, as well as their successors until the Last Day, shall commit to the agreed borders of their realms."
"They had no idea how their successors would respect that pledge," Masolon scoffed.
"It was the damned Byzonts who started it. If you notice, the First Kings were five, not six. There was nothing called Byzonta; it was just the southern part of Augarin and the least populated area in Bermania. It was hard to grow crops there because of its rocky, mountainous soil. The waters of most of its southern coast were, and still, impossible to sail through—they say those waters have been haunted by demons since those early days when magic was allowed. So, that desolate part, that Byzonta made an ideal exile for outlaws and culprits. It was named after Baizent, the warlord who gathered a decent army, formed mainly of archers and pikemen, and declared himself King of Byzonta.
"Since then, the Feast has become the only remaining aspect of respect to the old pledge of the Five Kings. Until not so long ago, wars ceased the day of the Feast. It was believed that defeat was inevitable to whoever dishonors that day."
To pass the slow waiting time, Masolon asked Payton about each battle depicted in the painting. Before they were done with the third one, Queen Rona finally honored the chamber with her presence, her blonde hair tousled, a dark-red dress outlining her slender waist and gorgeous chest. The golden diadem she wore was nothing like the six-gemmed crown Payton was telling him about.
Payton pushed to his feet and greeted his queen, but she said nothing, her emerald eyes fixed on Masolon in disbelief. "How is he?"
Payton glanced at Masolon, his hands behind his back. "If I choose to ignore what happened back in the woods, he absolutely looks fine to me, Your Grace."
"Very well." With a chin nod, Rona motioned Payton to leave. The Captain of the Palace Guard gently closed the door behind him. "You look good in your new outfit," she said to Masolon, still warily looking at him. Curse you, Payton. She is afraid of me.
"I can plainly see you like the magnificent doublet. At least, you are not laughing."
Rona took a moment before she allowed a nervous chuckle. "It is really you." She sprang to him, burying her head into his chest. She embraced him so hard he felt her soft breasts pressed on him. "I thought I lost you." After all the absurd formalities of summoning and waiting, he could not say he expected her reaction.
"Could you not pick a room worse than this one?" He wanted her, but all he could do right now was stroke her hair and rub her back. Quite a sight if Payton or any of his blasted guards barge in.
She lifted her chin, staring at him. "Is that how you say: 'I miss you'?"
He missed her so bad indeed, but kissing her would be easier than uttering the words. Her lips looked so inviting, yet her move was faster than his intention. You hesitant fool, he rebuked himself. The Queen let go of him and ambled toward the nearest seat. "You have any explanation for your condition?" She stood, leaning to the back of the seat.
He should beat Payton for telling her. "Not more than you have. The last thing I remember was gripping my greatsword." And it was lighter than ever. Only now he remembered that. The feeling of the weapon weight on his arm had lasted for a heartbeat, if not less, before he found himself in the Great Desert.
"You don't remember killing a hundred soldiers," she was back to her cautious tone, "because it was not you who did it."
"What did the cleric tell you?"
"You know about the cleric then." She allowed a brief smile. "He said you might be possessed by some cursed creature that didn't belong to our world." She peered at him. "You know, right?"
"I would say protected rather than possessed." Masolon hoped that would reassure her. "Honestly, I do not fully grasp what has happened, but I know I am still breathing. Did I disappoint you by staying alive?"
"You have no idea how scared I was when I thought you were dead." Rona restored her warm face. Seriously, she was confused, and she was confusing him.
"There is nothing to worry about, Rona." He approached her, and she let him hold her slim shoulders.
"What about that thing?" She looked him in the eye. "Tell me the truth, Masolon. How do you exactly feel since you wake up?"
"Exhausted." He chuckled. "Killing all those men was an ard
uous job, you know." He realized how bad his jape was when she pushed his arms away and returned to the seat she was leaning on. Fool. He should pay more heed to his choice of words.
"Will you fight for me, still?" Rona folded her arms.
She was the only reason for which he unsheathed his sword in this cursed war. "I am fit for battle, Your Grace."
"Good." She did not seem flattered by the courtesy. "Because we have a massive obstacle standing between us and Paril. Daval, the lord of Augarin, is marching with ten thousand soldiers toward the Green Hills. While some of my lords say we wait for him to come to us, the majority are sure he will camp at the Green Hills to place his archers up there."
The Green Hills? He had spent one night there right before his final Contest fight with Ramel. "So, we march to the Green Hills tomorrow?"
"Why let Daval reach an advantaged position in the first place? We march straight toward his army. Fielding more cavalry than those southerners, our odds in winning an open field battle should be better than theirs."
"Music to my ears." Whether that approach originated from her own mind or it belonged to any of her lords, Masolon liked her boldness nonetheless. A young girl like her was more likely to listen to her veteran wise counselors, like the bald old Jonson, who would surely advise her to stay safe behind the walls. "Would you like me to lead your cavalry in that battle?"
She simpered, putting her hands on her waist. "You are staying here, Masolon. I have another task for you."
"Here?" That was a jest worse than his. "How can I be of help while I am away from the clash of steel?"
"You cannot, which is something I need to change." Her smile was becoming strange now. "Come on. My lords are waiting for me to resume their meeting. Payton shall usher you to your seat."
Confused, Masolon did not follow her outside when she left the chamber. A few moments later, Payton showed up at the doorstep. "Move on," he urged Masolon. "Her Grace shall not wait for long."
Masolon dragged his feet as Payton escorted him to the doors of the bigger hall. "You know what is going on, do you not?" he asked Payton, whose grin grew wider. "Is keeping me here your idea?"
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