Payton said nothing as they entered the clamoring hall. The cursed ruby everywhere, Masolon thought as he walked through the aisle over a long red carpet that extended from the red doors of the hall to the dais at the opposite end. The covers of the seats were dark-red fabric, the shade of which matching with that of the huge banners dangling from the high ceiling.
Masolon could feel the weight of the curious eyes on him, murmurs following him as he crossed the hall to the first row, where the blue-eyed uncle and nephew were seated. Behind them sat Edmond, the blond captain who had surprisingly stayed after his master Darrison had betrayed Rona. Save for a few more familiar captains and lordlings from Jonson's house, Masolon could not recognize the faces he glimpsed in the hall. That Lord Foubert has brought a huge horde indeed, Masolon reflected, gazing at the grey-haired lord sitting at the right flank of the first row, his black doublet embroidered with golden stripes over the shoulders and the sleeves, the sheath hanging to his belt adorned with purple gemstones. A purple amethyst for Karun, he recalled Payton's words. That must be Foubert himself.
All rose to their feet when Rona entered from a door at the corner behind the dais. She gestured to her audience to be seated after she sank in the big chair decorated with rubies. "Lords and Commanders and Sirs," Rona started, her voice firm and clear. "Before we conclude our meeting, I have a few decisions to announce tonight. I wish I could postpone those decisions until the war ends so that we all can celebrate our heroes, but since we are marching to a battlefield tomorrow, those decisions are urgent to set our camp in order."
She briefly paused, and Masolon could only hear silence.
"I don't need to introduce Lord Foubert; he has already introduced himself on the battlefield with his brave men to all of us," Rona continued. "While General Gramus the Unbreakable recovers from his grievous wounds—and he will do sooner than you think, mark my words—Lord Foubert will be the general commander of our troops. And since we need an easterner to lead the Lapondians in battle, I declare Lord Foubert the Queen's Savior the Duke of Karun and Lapond."
When the men sitting behind Duke Foubert cheered for him, Rona quickly gestured with her palm to stop them. "This is not an honoring ceremony, sirs." She glared at them. "You may celebrate Duke Foubert's new assignment after we win this war."
Foubert nodded in acknowledgment, a slight smile on his face. It is an honoring ceremony, Rona, Masolon wanted to tell her. How would you distribute the spoils before you win the war? And what was she rewarding that duke for in the first place? Where had he been while she was losing the battle and the castle? Foubert the Savior? Foubert the Late sounded more befitting.
"You all know the miserable condition in which Di Galio left the wealthiest region in Bermania to us." Rona was back to her audience. "While we resume our march to Paril, we need a leader of wisdom and vision to make Ramos the region it used to be. By order of Queen Rona Charlwood, I announce Lord Jonson the Bold the new Duke of Ramos."
The frown on Jonson's face faded into a wide grin. Jonson the Bold? Maybe she meant the Bald. It was true Masolon had only met Jonson a few times, but he never pictured the wise lord the man who would swim against the tide. What if it was Darrison who refused to take Jonson the Bold with him?
"With the cowardly desertion of all noble houses of Kalhom, I have to choose an outsider to rule that region. An outsider I do trust he can deal with our neighboring Skandivian allies." Masolon thought Rona glanced at him for less than a second before she went on, "I am raising General Gramus the Unbreakable to the rank of lord, and I declare him the new lord of Kalhom."
Masolon wondered how an honoring ceremony would be like if that was not one. General Gramus Himself? That towering creature was fearless and deadly in battle, Masolon would give him that. But a lord? He lacked the vision to lead a battalion, let alone a region.
"Finally," Rona cleared her throat, "if we want to revive the trade in Ramos, Subrel must restore its condition as soon as possible. I have no doubt our fort will even become more impregnable than before if we make good use of the military brilliance of Lord Masolon."
4. RONA
Refusing to ride in a coach, Rona insisted on mounting her armored destrier through the mud-caked fields sprawling over the southwest of Ramos, cold rain washing her tousled blonde hair and silver armor. Flanking her were Payton and Foubert on their warhorses, Edmond leading the vanguard ahead of her by a mile or less. One hour later the faint sunlight struggled to push its way through the curtain of clouds, but after a few minutes the sky was grey again. "Where are the woods when you need them?" Payton muttered. That's summer rain in Kalensi, she thought. Those Bermanians would whimper whenever little spray fell from the sky.
Nobody bothered her with meaningless arguments about her last night's decisions. Jonson was elated after he had won his long-awaited prize. Foubert got what he implicitly asked for, and now, he and his sons ruled the entire East. Payton waited to be named Captain of the Royal Guard, a job he was already undertaking even before bearing the title itself. Norwell was less likely to voice his opinion unless he was invited to do so. Edmond, well, he was just Edmond. Obedient subordinates like him would make a queen's life much easier.
She had briefly informed Gramus of what he missed last night, and he had seemed to be more astonished than grateful. It had taken him a while until he finally said, "Everything I did was for my father. . . but now it is for you." His wounds made any sort of movement strenuous to him, even if it was his jaws he only moved. While she pitied her devoted guardian, she could see a slight bright side in his current condition: it spared her an exhausting quarrel with him.
Masolon was the one who had surprised her last night. Instead of chasing her after the end of the meeting, he had received her decision too reservedly for his standards, as if he totally understood what the lord of Subrel should do. Of course, no commoner of a sound mind would complain about being granted lordship, but that was Masolon, who literally did not belong to this world and was totally unpredictable. She should be grateful he did not do anything stupid to ruin her plans for him. . . and her.
A knight from the vanguard was returning to the main strength of her army marching onward. "Edmond must have found them," Rona said, impatient to hear the news that knight was bearing.
Her royal guards made way for the knight to approach her. "Lord Daval is camping at the Four Wells. He has sent a messenger humbly seeking an audience with Her Grace Queen Rona," the knight from the vanguard informed her.
“He said Her Grace Queen Rona?” She arched an eyebrow.
“He did, Your Grace.”
“Impressive,” she scoffed, looking at Foubert. “What do you think, Duke?”
“I trust Daval less than Di Galio. He and his southerners are more treacherous than the wicked Byzonts they fight.” Foubert rubbed his shaved chin. “Let me talk to him if it pleases you, Your Grace.”
The leader of the South wishes to talk to the one in charge. And I am the one in charge, not you, she would tell Foubert. “Your concern is much appreciated, Duke.” She feigned a smile. “Yet I prefer to keep my general commander among the troops to oversee their formations before we deploy them when the right time comes.”
“As you will.” Foubert nodded, his face impassive. “May I send Flebe with you as your escort?”
My future betrothed, you mean. “That will be my pleasure,” she lied, only not to irk the Duke of the East too soon. At this moment, she realized how she missed Gramus and Masolon’s presence by her side. “Captain Payton, would you join us, please?”
Foubert’s jaw tightened when Payton complied at once, Rona noticed, her doubts about the plans weaved for Flebe and her confirmed now. "Go to Daval’s messenger,” she ordered the knight from the vanguard, “and tell him that Her Grace will listen to his master. He had better not leave me waiting when I arrive.”
The knight wheeled his horse and galloped ahead of her and her men. With no rush at all, Rona resumed her march through the muddy
fields, the strands of rain faltering as she neared the Four Wells. If she did not insist on leaving Foubert's cumbersome trebuchets back in Ramos, Daval would make it to the Green Hills before she did.
"Why would the Shield of the South talk to me before the battle?" she asked Foubert. "Does he have terms to offer?" She might slay Daval as she did Jerek, if the southerner proposed her a humiliating offer like Di Galio's.
"The only thing he can offer is his army," Foubert mused. "I wonder why he didn't send his troops directly to Paril to join forces with its garrison if he was meant to aid Wilander."
"You think he would betray Wilander?"
"Daval doesn't owe Wilander anything. On the contrary, he might be loathing the king in Paril for the prestige he granted Di Galio, the Fox who stole Ramos from him."
She had heard bits of this story from Darrison before. "I thought it was King Charlwood's doing. . ."
Foubert allowed a chuckle. "His seal was on the royal order, if that is what you mean. But we all know it was Di Galio's design. After your father's glorious victory over the southern rebels in Augarin, the Fox didn't stop praising Daval's unparalleled prowess in battle until he convinced King Charlwood that Daval was the man he should put in the South to thwart the Byzonts' endless skirmishes. Even when Wilander seized control of the throne, Di Galio convinced the new king that no one was better for the South than Daval, and nothing was better for the king than keeping Daval away from the royal palace. It is not that hard to scare kings of ambitious men, and indeed, Daval was too ambitious to be satisfied with the harshest region in Bermania."
Ramos would satisfy him. Rona grasped Foubert's implicit suggestion. Removing Jonson from the seat he had been dreaming of for decades would be a cruel answer to his valiant stand alongside her in her darkest hours. Yet a decisive blow to Wilander, she thought, part of her chiding her for just pondering the callous idea though. Callous? You are not a clown who is supposed to please everybody. You are a queen who might make harsh decisions for the greater good. She mulled over the last thought in particular. To her, it sounded like a harbinger of a new reign of tyranny. Nobody was born a tyrant, but a throne would make one. And still I haven't sat on it yet.
The struggle in her mind continued until she joined forces with her vanguard near the Four Wells. A plain field of short wet grass separated her army from Daval's host. The southerners were out of her archers' range, but she could wreak havoc to Daval's camp if her trebuchets were ready behind her at the moment.
A dozen southern horsemen advanced until they stopped midway between their camp and her host. "For someone coming to talk, the Shield of the South is shielding himself with so many men," Foubert sneered. "You should take double his men with you, Your Grace."
"If we doubt his intentions, why should we let Her Grace meet him in the first place?" Payton asked firmly, doing his duty as the Captain of the Queen's Guard.
"He could be showing off." Foubert gazed at the company of southern horsemen waiting for her to join them. "You know, the bigger your retinue the higher your status."
"Is that so?" Rona tilted her head. "Captain Payton, I need fifty knights to escort me to that southerner."
While Payton was gathering the knights escorting her, Foubert summoned Flebe. "Stay close to Her Grace until you are all back here," the duke instructed his pretty son. Exactly. He will be safer that way, she thought.
Four columns of knights were the vanguard of her procession, two ranks its rearguard. Flanking her were eight knights on each side. Payton, the future Captain of the Royal Guard, rode right in front of her, the handsome Flebe strictly following his father's order. Rona enjoyed listening to his silence. Was he shy with pretty girls? The notion sounded a bit funny for a good-looking youth like him. Perhaps he was still not used to the majesty of being around Her Grace.
"What will you do if they try to kill me?" She surprised Flebe.
"No one shall come close to you while I still can breathe." Flebe grinned sweetly. Seriously, how cannot you fall for that gorgeous boy? She had better keep her gaze fixed at the southerners she was approaching lest she might lose focus.
The southern knights made way for a bronze-skinned horseman, his beard and hair dyed in brown. His heavy armor was decorated with blue sapphires around the lion on his breastplate. When he advanced ahead of his men, Rona ordered her guards to halt. "Don't you want me to go with you, Your Grace?" Payton asked her as she nudged her horse onward, leaving him behind.
"Just mind your distance, Captain." She looked over her shoulder.
"Mind my distance?" Payton chuckled, tapping the quiver strapped to his back. "This is what I always do."
Rona pulled the reins of her horse when she reached the Shield of the South. He scanned her with his eyes, a hungry smile slipping over his face. Another lord to tell me I look prettier than he thought.
"It has been a while, Lady Rona." Daval's start was somehow fresh. Not addressing her as Your Grace was not the part that piqued her interest though. "Have we ever met, Lord Daval?"
"You were in your cradle when we first met." Daval gave her a wry smile. "Now you look so much like your lovely mother."
Another secret admirer of her mother? Or was that farce a lousy attempt to flirt with her? That southerner, who could only be a few years younger than Jonson, was too old to even dream of her mother, let alone her. If Daval had daughters, they would probably be older than Rona.
"You asked for an audience with me," she coldly reminded him. "How can I help you?"
"It is you who needs my help." The lord of Augarin swept a long arm toward the camp behind him. "That army you see can serve you Paril on a silver platter."
"The army behind me is stronger than yours." Not in terms of numbers, mind you.
"Your stronger army on its own will suffer to capture the Pearl. If we join forces, Wilander will not stand a chance."
As expected, Daval was ready to abandon his king. "It took you long enough to show up." She smiled crookedly.
"Then I'm not much different from your newest vassal, according to what I'm told." Daval shrugged.
She had to admit he was right. "What are you after, Lord Daval?" She peered at him. Not avenging my father for sure.
"Peace."
"You marched with ten thousand soldiers from Augarin to Ramos to get peace?"
"Peace is forced by the strong when they win and is granted to the weak when they surrender."
"So, you show up after you become sure which side is the stronger one in this war."
"The stronger side is the one I am joining, Lady Rona," he answered confidently. "Otherwise, the war between you and Wilander will last forever. And if it ends, there will be no victors. Both sides will be shattered."
A touch of arrogance she felt in his tone. Plainly, Daval was not here today to swear fealty. He was here to offer his terms.
"Should I believe that you haven't made up your mind yet?" Rona cautiously asked.
"It depends on you, milady." He kept his awkward grin. "We can join forces the moment we finish this meeting, and march to Paril at once."
"If. . ." Rona tilted her head.
"If you accept my humble proposal to marry you, Lady Rona." He bowed. "The moment you say yes, I assure you; we'll rule Bermania together. Wilander won't stop us."
The top of rewards she thought he would ask for was Ramos. But a marriage proposal? Like becoming his wife? The idea was out of the question. Yet she should choose her words carefully.
"You surprised me, milord." She chuckled, looking downward.
"As if I'm the first one to do this." Daval's eyebrows rose. "It's me who's really surprised."
"I'm not thinking about marriage for the time being." For sure, especially, if it was about sharing the same roof with a wrinkled man like him.
"You're soon to be Queen, milady. Haven't you thought you will need an heir one day?"
"Not before I win this war, Lord Daval."
"What if it is this marriage that will make y
ou win this war?"
Rona could not help chuckling. "Are you forcing me to marry you?"
"No one can force you to do anything, Lady Rona," he said impassively. "I'm quite sure you will make the right decision to reclaim your father's throne."
"As I'm quite sure you will do the right thing to keep your chances standing."
Daval rubbed his dyed beard. "You are not going to give me an answer now, are you?" he mused.
"I told you: not before the end of the war."
He nodded with a nervous smile. "You expect me to bring your throne to you without receiving anything in return?"
"I didn't ask you to bring me anything." She shrugged. "Having that said, I'm not expecting you to stand in my way either."
"Why should I let you pass through the Green Hills then?"
"Because I believe you won't risk your chances, milord." Your impossible chances, old bastard. "I assure you, your chances are none once I catch a glimpse of a southern soldier around the hills."
She was the one in command of this conversation now, and the southern lord was not happy with that. "I wish you good luck with Wilander."
Rona nodded her acknowledgment. "And I wish you a safe journey back to Augarin."
While the southern lord was riding back to his camp, she pictured him dragged by her guards outside her hall. His turn will come. But one at a time.
Waiting for her were Payton and Flebe. The handsome lord received her with a sweet smile of his. "Seems you fared well with the Shield of Augarin."
Was I expected to do worse? A hollow look was the best she could give the sweet lord.
"So, you spared us a fight with the southerners, right, Your Grace?" Payton caught up with her as she nudged her horse past them on her way back to her host.
"Not really." Rona would be lucky if one day Daval bent the knee to her in the royal palace, peacefully. "I have just postponed it."
Throne of Ruins Page 3
