Throne of Ruins

by Karim Soliman

  There was only one way to turn the table on Wilander; a way Masolon had wished he would never be obliged to use again. Unfortunately, he was running out of time. If he was going to make his move, he should make up his mind quickly.

  In an attempt to summon two-year-old memories of his first and last visit to Paril, Masolon turned his horse and rode through a side street, all buildings of which blue. A blue quarter, followed by a green one, and a finally a red one, he remembered. If he could make it to the red quarter, he might sneak from it to the main street behind Wilander's troops to stun their rearguard. A demon on foot defeated a hundred men. Let us see what a mounted demon can do.

  Masolon nudged his horse to a gallop as he rode through the blue quarter. Looking back every now and then, he made sure he was not followed. "You!" he called to the young lady, who pulled her two children back from the street before he slowed down anyway. "What are you doing here? Soldiers could be here at any moment." He gave her a dismissive wave, glancing at the open house behind her. "Get your children inside and lock that door behind you until the battle ends."

  The scared lady pulled her children closer to her. "My husband is in that battle." Pressing her lips together, she did her best not to shed tears in front of her children. "He promised them he would be back. They just can't wait for him inside."

  For a second, the two children reminded him of young Masolon and his late elder sister. When he had been that little boy's age, he would wait for his father's return with her, listening to all she had overheard from the adults' talks. She was the sound of wisdom when she was only nine. My friend and trustworthy advisor.

  "Force them to go inside then." Masolon's tone was less firm now. "I may help you if you want."

  "That is kind of you, good sir, but thank you." She shielded her children with her arms. "I will see to that."

  Masolon did not press on her as he resumed his ride, leaving the mother with her anxious children. Their father could be one of the men I have just slain. The bitter thought clouded his mind as he traversed the green quarter. Their father could be a good-hearted man who just happened to fight on the wrong side because he was born here.

  But was Masolon sure he was on the right side? There is no good or bad path, Masolon reminded himself. It is all about fate, the games of destiny. We are all meant to serve a purpose, even if we cannot see it right now.

  Masolon might have never been to all these streets before, but the sight of the first red building in the distance was the sign he was looking for. Spurring his horse to a trot, he headed to the main street or he tried to. After taking a few rights and lefts, he found his way at last.

  Like he had judged, he was now behind a few thousand soldiers, mounted and afoot. A harder test to you, my cursed friend. Masolon knew his demon was listening to his thoughts. To summon that creature from the Great Desert, all Masolon needed was one lethal strike from any of Wilander's knights or footmen. Just one, to spare him unnecessary agony.

  "Let us do it." Masolon nudged his horse to a gallop, hauling his greatsword with one hand as if holding a lance. The clopping of his galloping horse on the paved road must have got his opponents' attention. Footmen turned to face him with their swords and spikes, the knights already wheeling their destriers to deal with the lone attacker. If those novices were too incompetent, they would need ten seconds to finish him off.

  "You have been quiet for a while, do you not think?" Masolon voiced his concern as he approached the opposing charging knights. Seriously, his demon's silence was worrying, especially with a thousand blades waiting for him to reap his soul. "You have not brought me here to let me die in vain," he snapped, but the only reply he could hear was the thundering hooves hurrying toward him, so loud he could not hear the clopping hooves of his own beast.

  "Curse you if have deluded me!" Masolon roared. A few seconds, and he was going to collide with a battalion of Wilander's knights on his own.

  "Charge!" Masolon recognized Yavier's voice. One moment later, columns of heavily armored knights emerged from the narrow streets on both sides, trapping Wilander's horsemen in the middle. In the clash happening right in front of Masolon, steel cut through skin and flesh more than it clanged against steel. It was supposed to be an ambush by Foubert's firstborn, but thanks to Masolon's timely distraction, the ambush became a slaughter, to Wilander's knights of course.

  Still doubt me, Masolon?

  14. MASOLON

  Yavier's soldiers were not done tying all the prisoners when the queen showed up at the destroyed gate, ten knights surrounding her and her towering guardian. In his current condition, he needs more protection than her, Masolon thought as he sat on the steps of some abandoned shop on the main street. But wait, not all those knights were for Her Grace. They were for the thundermaker, and of course the maker of the thundermaker.

  "Lord Masolon." Yavier was still on the back of his horse when he came to the lord of Subrel.

  "Milord," Masolon flatly acknowledged.

  The sturdy lord rubbed the nape of his neck. "I must admit I underestimated you, Lord Masolon. I believe I owe you an apology after your bold display today."

  "That is too kind of you, milord." Should I tell him that I owe him an apology for taking him for a coward?

  "Still, I can't help thinking: what if I didn't order my men to charge at the right time? Hadn't that possibility crossed your mind before you went on your own?"

  The true answer would be hard to explain. "Then I would have no choice but to charge them on my own." Masolon feigned a smile.

  But Yavier did not a smile in return. Obviously, he was expecting a serious answer to his serious question.

  Foubert's son left Masolon to greet his approaching queen. She must have praised the commander of the heavy cavalry for this victory before she went past him and stopped her horse right in front of Masolon.

  "When would you learn some manners? On your feet," Gramus grumbled, riding next to her.

  "Gramus." Rona gestured to him to stop. "You," she turned to Masolon, "Who am I speaking to right now?"

  "Do not you worry," Masolon scoffed. "Lord Yavier did not give me a chance to summon him."

  Gramus furrowed his burrow when he asked Rona, "Summon who?"

  But Rona ignored her former general. "That is good to hear." A brief smile slipped over her pretty face. He had not seen her that relieved in a while.

  "What are you bringing that for?" Masolon gazed at the soldiers pushing the cannon onward, Ziyad and Darov overseeing them.

  "Well," she glanced at Gramus, "Lord Gramus suggests I send Wilander my terms of surrender," she followed the cannon with her eyes, "so I have chosen a messenger to deliver those terms."

  "You will bombard the royal palace?" Masolon doubted Rona would dare to do that. "You have not gone a long way to sit on a throne of ruins."

  "I'm sick of waiting, sick of Wilander and Di Galio's games. My troops are storming this palace before nightfall. End of the story." Rona leaned toward him. "You still need more time to rest?"

  Masolon knew better it was a rhetorical question. "I am ready to fight again for you, Your Grace." He pushed to his feet.

  "Good. Gramus will be in charge of the Skandivians in this short march while you lead the assault on the royal palace. Make sure you capture Wilander and Di Galio alive."

  Gramus in charge of the Skandivians? Of course, it should not be too hard for him to yell at his men while laying his arse on the back of a horse. "But you would not mind if they die fighting back, would you?" Masolon asked her.

  "Alive, Masolon." Rona clenched her jaw. "I must hear them confess to their crime against me and my family."

  Twelve years were not enough to quell her rage, they just made it worse. Masolon could only wonder what plans Rona had for those two men after all those years.

  Masolon joined the army of knights and swordsmen escorting the cannon to the royal palace, Gramus and the Skandivians in the rearguard. "Having a good time, brother?" he asked Ziyad as he cau
ght up with him.

  "Not as good as yours." Ziyad gave him a lopsided smile.

  "Come on. You have just won a battle without drawing your sword, and yet you complain."

  The Murasen tittered as he looked over his shoulder. "Why are you here, where most of the lords are not?"

  Masolon also noticed that they all lingered at the rearguard with the queen. "Perhaps I am the only man she trusts to lead the attack on the palace."

  "An attack on a royal palace shouldn't be that hard, brother." Unconvinced, Ziyad shook his head. "And I was thinking you were the only one who didn't make much sense here."

  I must hear them confess to their crime against me and my family, Masolon recalled Rona's words. "It is about Wilander and Di Galio," he concluded. "She wants to hear the truth from them before someone else kills them."

  "Someone else? Who would do that? And why?"

  "Who knows, brother? The murderer of Rona's family could be someone we never thought of." He is probably among us, Masolon thought, looking back again at Rona and her retinue. Around her.

  When Darov announced they were close enough to strike the gate of the palace, Masolon ordered his troops to halt. Two soldiers carried the black powder sack and laid it next to the Rusakian chemist, who used a ladle to scoop some. "One day, we must know how he makes that black thing," Masolon whispered in Ziyad's ear.

  "We had a little chatter. Didn't I tell you?" Ziyad kept his voice low, Darov dumping the black powder in the bore of the cannon.

  "Good. So you made use of the time you spent with him?"

  Ziyad tilted his head. "Don't put high expectations. All I know that he uses charcoal, brimstone, and some sort of salt that he mentioned once."

  Darov instructed the two men loading the cannon with its missile. "Then let us hope he survives this battle so that you can learn from him what that salt is," Masolon said, watching the Rusakian adjust the aim.

  "The cannon is ready, Lord Masolon," Darov announced.

  "You have my permission to fire, my friend," said Masolon.

  The Rusakian lit the short rope coming out of the cannon. The moment the flames ate the whole rope, the thundermaker boomed and all horses went mad. The magnificent gates of the royal palace of Paril were history now.

  "Wait for my order!" Masolon lifted his fist, his eyes scanning the deserted walls of the palace. If Wilander had intentions to continue fighting, then now was a good time to put his archers on the wall. Unless he and his Fox still have a game or two to play with me, Masolon thought.

  "What are we waiting for?" Ziyad asked him.

  "We sent a message." Masolon patted his horse's neck to calm him down. "Now we wait for the reply."

  "I still have one last cannonball," said Darov. "Where do you want me to shoot it?"

  A single helm showed up atop the bulwark at last. Masolon surveyed the wall one more time, looking for more movements, but all he found so far was a lone soldier. "Later, my friend." Masolon grinned when he saw that soldier erecting a white banner atop the wall. "Save that cannonball for another battle."

  * * *

  Masolon trotted his horse forward, hooves clopping on the cobblestone yard. The few hundred soldiers defending the royal palace would have caused a little trouble to his army, but Darov's cannon had carved its impression in the hearts of his opponents. The sight of the shattered gate was enough to dismiss any reckless thoughts of bold moves. Resistance was futile.

  The high towers of King Wilander's royal palace. They were part of the memories of Masolon's first visit to Paril two years ago. Today he was closer to them than any time before. "Her Grace wants Wilander and Di Galio alive, so make sure she gets what she wants," he demanded as he passed by his soldiers who were chaining their prisoners, knees to the ground. He wondered if there was room in all Paril dungeons to accommodate those surrendered men.

  Twenty swordsmen and seven archers followed him as he dismounted and ascended the great marble steps that led to the fifteen feet-high door. "Everybody, beware," he warned his men as he unsheathed his greatsword. "So, where do we start?"

  An archer in Masolon's band suggested searching a particular chamber upstairs. Masolon let him take the lead as they all ascended the staircase and strode through a corridor lit by the sunlight streaming through twenty windows. The archer pointed to a room with an open door, through which Masolon spied someone standing in the balcony. Someone wearing a crown.

  Masolon gestured to his men to wait as he sneaked into the chamber. The fallen king was alone, Masolon was now certain after he briefly inspected the place. He warily stepped into the balcony, tightening his grip on his greatsword as he beheld the king's silver armor embroidered with golden stripes. Does he not wish to die without a fight? Masolon wondered in anticipation of a desperate move, but the king stood still as he leaned to the balustrade, beard and hair golden like his gemmed crown. A purple amethyst, a white diamond, a green emerald, a red ruby, a blue sapphire, and a golden pearl; just as Payton had told Masolon.

  "Do you know what I have done to this kingdom, young man?" Wilander asked without looking at him. Did he think he could distract Masolon with this idle chatter?

  "There is no way out of this, Wilander." Masolon glanced at the king's sheathed sword. "Make it easy on yourself and drop all your weapons." He prodded Wilander in the ribs with the greatsword. "Trust me; I will stab you before you even know it."

  Wilander slowly turned to him, his forehead wrinkled. "It is you. So, Rona has decided to let her demon execute me."

  Not the first one to recognize me from my accent. "If she wanted you dead, you would be already."

  Wilander shook his head. "Why did the Lord of Sky and Earth release you from the Hell of the Great Desert?"

  "You know what you did to deserve the Lord's wrath."

  Wilander narrowed his eyes. "You are not a demon then. Because if you were, you would know I had nothing to do with the death of Charlwood and his family."

  Wilander's steady tone made Masolon believe him for a second. "I thought you were man enough to admit it, King Wilander."

  A nervous smile slipped over Wilander's face. "You know nothing, just like your foolish queen, who ruined a prosperous kingdom with her meaningless war."

  "You are the most one who benefited from Charlwood's death." The blade tip of Masolon's greatsword almost pierced Wilander's armor. "Give me one reason to believe your pathetic claim."

  Wilander made one step back lest the huge blade penetrated his skin next time. "No one knows who murdered Charlwood except the one who murdered Charlwood. You see, the man had an unmatched gift in making enemies. Yes, I was glad when he died, but that doesn't make me his murderer. Many people wanted him dead; lords, knights, wretches, widows, orphans, but only one of them had his revenge. Only one waited for the right day to uproot Charlwood's bloodline and his big family. A feast to which the king had invited his two brothers and four sisters and their sons and daughters. Only his family. It was something we had never heard of. Even his marshal wasn't allowed to enter the palace on that very day. Only the Lord knows why."

  "What about Rona?" Masolon should have added 'Queen' before her name, but now was a convenient time to ignore all sorts of formalities.

  "For some reason we don't know, Charlwood's little girl didn't attend the doomed feast. When the guards found their king and all his guests dead next to their plates, there was no sign of Rona. Probably, her loyal guardian had convinced her it wasn't safe to stay in Bermania after that cursed night."

  "Was it?" Masolon still could not buy Wilander's gibberish. "I presume you would have fostered her until she grew up to claim what was hers."

  "And who told you I wouldn't have done that if I had had the chance?" Wilander snapped. "I didn't ask for her father's death, but it happened. I didn't proclaim myself a king, but the council chose me."

  Wilander would blabber the whole day without admitting to his crime. This conversation was more disappointing than useless.

  Why are yo
u disappointed in the first place? Rona did not ask you to interrogate him. She wanted you to arrest this man alive, and that is all.

  That was right. Since Masolon joined Rona's bloody quest, serving justice had not become his concern anymore. Why would he bother whether Wilander was guilty or innocent?

  Exactly. That would be nothing but a mere distraction. Remember, you are meant to serve a great mission. Never forget that.

  "Here!" Masolon called to the soldiers standing outside the balcony. "Chain this prisoner alone and take him to the dungeon. I swear you will regret the day you were born if he flees from you."

  "You shouldn't let anyone else do what you can do yourself," said Wilander while Masolon was leaving him in the balcony.

  "I have more pressing matters." Masolon looked over his shoulder.

  "What will you do after you finish this? Return to your demonic folks in the Great Desert?"

  Masolon had to ignore the fallen king's folly, for the time being at least. Whatever Wilander had said, Masolon would never stop now to question who was right and who was wrong. Not because of his greater mission, mind you. Because it was simply too late for that. May they all rot in hell. Wilander, Di Galio, Darrison, and even Charlwood. All had claim. All were right. And I am the only one wrong here!

  From his band, Masolon excepted the knowledgeable archer from the task of escorting Wilander to his cell. "You did well with Wilander." Masolon patted the archer on the shoulder. "Where do you think we can find the Fox?"

  15. RONA

  "All hail Queen Rona!"

  The soldiers' cheers followed Rona as she entered her royal palace. She knew the chanting was not totally for her though. It was for the end of war, for the missed beloved ones, for the return to home at last.

  She could not ask for more today. The throne of Bermania was all hers after five months of the clash of swords. Wilander and Di Galio were captured alive and now they were chained in the dungeon. And last but not least; Masolon was safe and sound, grim-faced though.