Throne of Ruins

by Karim Soliman

  "They invited him to stay in the castle until Daval's return from Taloda," replied Ziyad. "They insisted that your messenger would get his answer from nobody except from Daval himself."

  Invited? That sounds promising. "And what is the answer we received from the South?"

  "Daval told him, 'Kings do not swear fealty to kings'," said Ziyad.

  "Told him?" Rona furrowed her brow. "Isn't there a letter to answer ours?"

  "No, Your Grace." Ziyad shook his head. "He didn't even bother himself to write one."

  "What shall we consider that?" Rona turned to Masolon. "A declaration of war?"

  "Not yet." Masolon rubbed his chin. "At least, he acknowledges me as King."

  "So, we have two kingdoms in Bermania." Rona scowled. "Are we supposed to accept this situation?"

  "No, we are not," Masolon mused. "But this may mean we still have time to raise our army."

  "Maybe Daval wants us to believe so," Ziyad pointed out. "If he has more than ten thousand soldiers under his command as they say, why doesn't he march to fight us?"

  "He will march to us," said Rona. "The question is: what are we going to do? Defend our city from behind the walls?"

  Unfortunately, that was the best strategy that suited the size of his troops, Masolon reflected. Marching toward Augarin with six thousand men would be suicide.

  "Write now to Gramus, lord of Kalhom." Masolon gestured to Ziyad. "Tell him he must hire three thousand mercenaries. And I do not care whether they are Bermanians or Skandivians."

  "Let me do that," Rona suggested.

  "Fine." Masolon did not argue with her. He knew Gramus would do his best if the order came from Rona. I am his king. He must answer to me as well. But that was an issue he would later deal with.

  "Bring me Darov now," Masolon continued, addressing Ziyad this time.

  His Murasen fellow left at once. "What do you want from him now?" Rona leaned toward Masolon. "We have more pressing matters."

  "The Rusakian could be our only hope to balance the two sides of the coming battle."

  She shook her head. "You need hundreds of his cannons to make that balance."

  "Hundreds?" The idea was insane, but Masolon liked the sound of it. "Why not?"

  "You cannot be serious, Masolon. We have neither the time nor the coin to make this happen."

  "One day, love. Until then, let us see how he can help us."

  "You have a plan already, don't you?" She wished so, he could tell from that anticipating look on her face.

  "I am not sure yet."

  "I am sure you will devise one." She rose up from her seat, holding his hand. "I will go and write that letter to Kalhom."

  Now alone in the throne hall after Rona left, Masolon waited for Ziyad's return with the Rusakian chemist. Where are you going to strike me, Daval? Paril was the logical answer. Capturing the capital would make the fall of the already exhausted cities much easier. And Daval could march directly to Paril from Taloda through the southwest coast without passing by Ramos or the Green Hills. The Green Hills would make a sweet spot for my cannons, if only I can force the southerner to pass by them.

  Ramos was also a possible target for Daval's army. From there, the southerner would be able to cut Masolon off and prevent reinforcements from Kalhom or the East from reaching him. In that case, Gramus and Foubert will join forces and besiege Ramos, and the city will easily fall without Subrel. But Daval would not be in need for all that trouble while he could decide this war with one massive attack on Paril.

  That southerner is a conservative fellow. Masolon recalled what Rona had told him about her meeting with Daval at the Four Wells. The Duke of the South had amassed his troops and had been a few miles away from Paril. But he had not picked anyone's side in the war between Rona and Wilander, and strangely enough, he had returned with his troops to Augarin without unsheathing a sword or nocking a single arrow on a battlefield against Rona's army. He would avoid a loss rather than seek a win. The last thought made Masolon ponder a possibility that could be the least likely to happen, yet it suited Daval's conservative way of thinking; the southerner marching to Lapond. Losing Lapond would weaken the East, and if the East fell, Masolon would lose his strongest vassal; Foubert.

  "Your Grace." Ziyad returned with Darov, interrupting Masolon's thoughts.

  Opening his arms, Masolon pushed to his feet. "You are getting younger, old man. I see my cooks are doing their job."

  "As well as your guards, Your Grace." Darov's response to Masolon's banter was Rusakian cold.

  "Come with me, Darov." Masolon gripped the chemist's wrist, walking him outside the palace. "Let us have a stroll in the gardens. It is slightly sunny today."

  "What if I want to enjoy the sunlight beyond these walls?" Darov pointed to the walls of the royal palace as they stepped into the courtyard.

  "The city is not a safe place, my friend. Not yet."

  "I can take care of myself."

  "No, you cannot, old man." Masolon patted him on the shoulder. "I will not let you hurt yourself."

  Darov stopped, a rare stern look on his face. "What do you want from me, Masolon?"

  "Your help in this war."

  "And I helped you already, didn't I?"

  "You did, but the war is not over yet, my friend. We are facing a rebel with a huge army behind him."

  Darov paused for a moment before he asked, "How huge is his army?"

  "Twice as ours."

  "Too bad." Darov curled his nose. "You will have to wait for him behind your walls, then."

  "Unless you find me another way."

  Darov shot him an inquiring look. "I'm a chemist, not a sorcerer."

  "Your chemistry will do. I need faster cannons."

  "I'm not sure about faster cannons," Darov mused. "Maybe I can train your men to be faster cannoneers."

  "Good. I need faster cannoneers for twenty cannons before the end of this month."

  "That is not possible, Masolon." Darov did not hesitate when he protested. "I need an army to do what you request from me."

  "Name the number of men you want and they will be yours."

  "It is not only about the number of men." Darov let out a breath of air. "Chemistry is about knowledge and skill. Whatever the men you provide me, I will have to do my part with my own hands."

  "Then, you will never leave this palace before you raise at least ten chemists who have all your knowledge and secrets."

  "You ask for too much, Your Grace."

  "And I am afraid I cannot ask for less," Masolon countered.

  "Is that it? Did you want to set me free from Durberg to imprison me here?"

  "Imprison you?" Masolon echoed in disapproval. "Do you compare a palace in Paril to a rotten cell in the frozen dungeon of Durberg?"

  "Still a prison. More beautiful though."

  "No, it is not," Masolon insisted. "You are free to walk through these gates once you finish your work here. And trust me, you will regret leaving this palace. Curse you! What do you want to do on your own, old man?"

  "Nothing in particular. I am just done with walls and gates." Darov shrugged. "Perhaps I will try to find my family."

  "You never told me about your family."

  "I have heard nothing about them since I was captured. They must have left our house in Pyotsberg, fearing that Lord Larovic might chase them to avenge his burnt son."

  "Anyway, it is up to you. The faster you finish, the sooner you get yourself out of your horrible prison," Masolon promised.

  Darov nodded silently, his hands on his waist. "Twenty cannons." He rubbed his chin absentmindedly. "What are you going to do with twenty cannons? They won't make you beat an army twice yours."

  "I am afraid I have many posts to defend." If only I could know where Daval is going to strike. . .

  "You can't defend all posts if you are outnumbered. You will lose them all that way."

  The cannon maker's note piqued Masolon's interest. Three of his cities occupied his mind as he st
ared silently at the Rusakian.

  "I wager that you have your veteran military advisors, but this is my humble opinion," Darov continued.

  "What do you suggest? Gather all my forces at one post and leave the others undefended?"

  "That's what I would I do if I were in charge."

  "Then, thank the Lord you are not," Masolon scoffed. It could be the dumbest or the most brilliant plan to win this war.

  "Your Grace." Ziyad came from behind them, striding through the garden. "There is another messenger who has just arrived."

  Masolon turned to his advisor. "Too many messengers for one day," he said.

  "But I believe you should meet this one yourself." Ziyad glanced at Darov. "He comes from Lizabona."

  A message from Caetano. What did that viper want to inform him? "Alright, old man." Masolon patted Darov on the shoulder. "You can go and start your chemistry work now. I will assign someone to see to your needs."

  "Twenty cannons," Darov muttered. "Not a huge task at all."

  "And ten chemists," Masolon added. "Do not forget."

  "I won't." Darov bowed and took his leave. The Rusakian was not content with his current situation, Masolon knew, but his happiness did not matter as much as his cannons. Who is content anyway? The king himself is not content. We all have jobs to do.

  "King Masolon, shall I bring the man to you? Or will you meet him in the hall?" Ziyad asked.

  "No, bring him here." Masolon hoped that fresh air would lift his spirits. Castles, palaces, halls; he was not born for this. The prisoner was him, not Darov. Were it not for Rona, he would mount his horse and gallop until he reached the end of the horizon.

  What if he brought the throne seat here? The gardens were more cheerful than the dull hall. The nobles will not like it. Yes, he had to please the Bermanians. He had to make them feel that he was really one of them.

  Ziyad returned with a round-faced, black-haired young man who resembled Caetano, but a bit taller and slimmer. "This is Letano, Your Grace," Ziyad introduced him.

  "Let me guess." Even the names were too similar, Masolon noticed. "You are his younger brother."

  "You are absolutely right, Your Grace." Letano bowed. "Caetano would come to you if he must, but you know, Your Grace, he should look after the realm business in Lizabona himself."

  The realm business. He is Caetano's brother, no doubt. "You did not come to pay for the realm duties, did you?" Masolon asked.

  "You know we have just paid this month's taxes, Your Grace." Letano grinned, his hands behind his back. Yes, I know. But scum like you are not to set foot in this palace unless I get something from them. "Actually, Caetano has sent me with high hopes on your generosity."

  I am so generous already that I did not imprison you or your brother. "What did you bring to earn my generosity?"

  "News that could be valuable to the King." Letano glanced at Ziyad.

  "I hide no secrets from my advisor," said Masolon. "Now speak up."

  "The Byzonts, Your Grace," said Letano. "Twenty thousand soldiers are mustered at the castle of Sergrad."

  Byzonts; they had just picked the right time to make their long-awaited strike. "Where are they marching to?" Masolon asked. "Augarin? Or Taloda?"

  "They are not invading Bermania, Your Grace." Letano shook his head. "Kahora is their destination."

  Kahora? Masolon peered at Letano, and the young man from Lizabona did not blink or evade Masolon's eyes.

  "What makes you sure of that?" Masolon asked.

  "You know we have many Byzont friends who stop by our tavern every day, Your Grace." Letano kept his confident smile.

  Your spy friends, you mean. What did Caetano give them in return for their news? Blast! There was a more important question to ask. "Why did you think this news could be of value to me?"

  "We thought you might want to warn your friends in Murase." Letano looked down this time.

  Masolon made one step forward, bringing his face closer to Letano's. "Does your brother believe he can threaten me with what he thinks he knows?" Masolon hissed.

  "I swear no, Your Grace." Letano was alarmed. "We only thought this news mattered to you, I swear with the Lord of Sky and Earth. All we hoped for was a little reward from the royal court of Paril."

  The bastards. They think they can mess with me. Were it not for the news they could bring, Masolon would ruin Letano's face with his fists, and then he would ride to Caetano and burn his bloody tavern.

  "You shall not pay next month," Masolon announced Letano's reward.

  "We are grateful, Your Grace." Letano sighed in relief. "We also heard rumors of a Mankol lord visiting someone powerful in the Byzont court." He swallowed, and then he continued, "We know nothing yet about the Mankols' intentions, but such a visit may imply more trouble for the Murasens."

  Masolon pondered what Letano had just told him. It was the same plot happening again. Almost the same. There would be no Ghosts this time.

  "You shall pay half in the month after." Masolon leaned forward toward Letano, holding his shoulder. "Are you saving any more news for me?"

  "I swear I told you all I knew, Your Grace," said Letano hurriedly.

  "Send my greetings to your brother. The more news he brings, the more generous he finds me." Masolon motioned his guards to approach. "The guards will show you the way to the gate."

  "We are the servants of Bermania, Your Grace." Letano bowed before the guards escorted him away.

  "You gave that bastard too much," Ziyad disapproved

  "Dealing with that bastard was your idea, remember?"

  "To make use of him. Now he is using you."

  "No, he is not. I am giving him a motive to share his news with me."

  "You have just waived some gold for his gibberish," Ziyad chided.

  "That was not gibberish, Ziyad," Masolon insisted.

  Ziyad stared at Masolon for a moment before he asked, "What's in your mind? Sending King Rasheed a letter to warn him?"

  "I thought you would be concerned about your people more than I would."

  "You are not concerned about my people, Masolon." Ziyad stared at him. "It is her who you want to warn."

  Curse you, Ziyad! Yes, it was Sania, not the Murasen people. But what could be wrong in that? That did not mean anything. At all. Sania was gone, and now he had Rona who occupied his heart and mind, right?

  "It is her, Masolon, isn't she?" Ziyad asked.

  "What do you want me to do?" Masolon put one hand on his waist. "Ignore what I have just heard from that bastard, and let the Byzonts and the Mankols slaughter your people?"

  "What if Letano's news is wrong? Rasheed won't be happy about that."

  "We will not tell Rasheed what is right and what is wrong. We will just tell him what we heard to be ready for any hostile action."

  "What about Queen Rona?

  Masolon was not sure he understood what Ziyad was hinting at. "What about her?"

  "Does she know about, you know, your past?"

  Unfortunately, yes. Masolon still remembered that moment; he and his bride enjoying their third breakfast together in the garden, and all of a sudden, Rona asked him, "What was her name?"

  Caught off guard, he asked in return, "Who?"

  "Your Murasen princess, the one you were banished for."

  "Oh, please, Rona. Why now?"

  Rona shrugged. "Why not now?" She picked up one green apple and took a bite. "We are husband and wife now, Masolon. We cannot keep secrets from each other."

  "You did not tell me all your secrets," he teased her, trying to steer the conversation away from his Murasen princess.

  "One secret for another." She playfully arched an eyebrow.

  "Alright then. Only one for today." And that was when he thought he could outsmart her.

  "You go first." She took another bite.

  "I was not banished for a Murasen princess."

  She stopped chewing. "What is this nonsense?"

  "One secret for another. Your turn now."


  "A lie doesn't count. You ruin the game."

  "I do not lie."

  "Ah right, you don't." She leaned back in her seat as she resumed chewing. "Because she is a queen now."

  Masolon was at loss for words at this moment.

  "Seriously, Masolon, why do you do that?" Rona went on. "Do you still miss her?"

  "You knew?" Masolon recalled the few times they talked about his past. Sania's name was never mentioned, he was quite certain. "How?"

  His perplexity amused her, it seemed. "You should be ashamed of yourself. You denied me what Di Galio gave."

  Masolon could not believe what he heard. "Is that why you wanted me to capture him alive?"

  "One secret for another." She tilted her head, the green apple resting on her palm. "Suddenly, I don't feel like playing anymore."

  "Wait a minute. What was all that for?"

  Rona took the apple with her as she rose to her feet. "A test you terribly failed."

  Masolon spent the rest of the morning in attempts of reconciling with Rona, and she was enjoying it. He doubted she was that mad at. . .

  "Masolon?" Ziyad's firm voice interrupted his memories. "She knows about Sania, doesn't she?"

  Masolon nodded, collecting his thoughts. "That is why she should not know about my envoy to the Murasen court."

  "She will know, brother. And women get mad when they discover that you hide something from them."

  "She will get mad if I tell her, too."

  "Your choice." Ziyad shrugged. "But I must warn you, you are putting yourself in big trouble with Her Grace, Your Grace."

  25. LADY

  The wind whistle was getting louder every hour.

  The sand would have scrapped her skin if it had not been for the turban she wrapped around her face. She wondered how long her horse would stand these sandy winds. "A storm is coming," she warned her two companions, and they should take that warning seriously. The sandstorms of the Murasen desert were as frightening as the nomads who raided caravans and travelers. "Shouldn't we rest here? The sun is falling anyway." No light would do them or their horses any good when the storm reached its height.

  "The girl has a point," the one she called Hired Blade seconded her. The tall black-haired Bermanian with broad shoulders and a square jaw had introduced himself to her as a former mercenary. His company in such a journey should not be a bad idea at all, yet she wished there would be no need for his skills in their peaceful ride. The odds were not likely to be in their favor if they encountered desert bandits, especially, with the doubts she had about the other fellow's competency in swordplay. Like her and Hired Blade, he did not give them a real name, but she had a good reason to call him Narrow Eyes.