"They have lost their long-ranged siege weapons, soldier. So, let them rally." Tarling simpered. "We will be waiting for them at our walls."
Still Ben was not convinced. He believed that King Masolon should lead his thrilled men to chase Daval's broken army until the southerners returned to Augarin, and who knew? Daval might surrender and end this cursed war which had brought nothing but misery to the entire kingdom. Quite an opportunity to waste.
The huge gate of the city was opened for the returning champions. Some of them hurried inside carrying or dragging bleeding soldiers. Even victory had a price, and only the unfortunate paid for it. In half an hour, the yard behind the walls became a camp for the wounded.
"I beg for your permission to abandon my post, Captain." Ben pointed to the camp of the wounded. "Perchance I can help these men in their suffering."
Tarling gave him a dismissive wave without saying a word. Edd and Ted shot him an inquiring look, as if they were asking him 'Are you going to leave us alone?' Anyway, they were supposed to be mature enough to handle their own business, were not they?
Ben went down the stone steps to the camp and scanned the wounds of the whimpering men with his eyes. Most of them were hit by arrows during Daval's retreat, and he knew how bothersome attending to these wounds was. Blast! Many were in need of his help. With whom should he start?
"Over here, soldier!"
The last thing Ben had expected in such a time and place was hearing a girl's voice. Here in this camp, a slim, brown-haired girl was sitting on her knees beside a groaning soldier. "Yes, you! Quickly! I need your help!" she yelled.
Colb! Ben hurried to her as he realized he had not noticed the sergeant's face nor the arrow stuck in his thigh. Well, he was busy contemplating the girl's pretty brown eyes.
"You . . ?" Colb grimaced the moment he saw Ben examining his wound. His mocking grin was gone, at least for a while.
"I can't pull this thing from his thigh." She held Colb's leg with both hands. "You pull it while I fix him for you."
"No." Ben recalled what Smit had taught him about handling an arrow wound. There was a slight problem though; Ben had never done it himself.
"No?" The girl frowned. "The pain is killing him!"
"You will make it worse when you pull it," Ben pointed out. "The arrow could be barbed. We must push it through his thigh."
"No!" Colb howled. "Nobody is going to push this thing into my flesh. Especially you!"
"Do you know him?" the girl asked Ben, still holding Colb's leg with both hands.
"Barely." Ben glanced at Colb carelessly before he addressed her, "Now ignore his folly and listen to me. Find me something to wrap around his thigh after we push this arrow."
"I said no!" Colb barked. "Just pull the arrow like a man! Most of it is stuck in the chainmail!"
"The arrowhead is almost in your thigh," said Ben.
"Do it," Colb insisted.
"Alright." Ben pressed his lips together, looking right and left. "There." He pointed at a soldier treating another one. "Bring me some cloth and wine," he ordered the girl, and at once, she scurried and fetched what Ben requested.
"Yes, yes. Wine. It will help." Colb grabbed the wine sack from the girl and brought it to his lips.
"That's enough." Ben snatched the sack from Colb's hands. "You are wasting it."
"Why you—?" Colb protested.
"Unless you want red hot blades," Ben put in, warning him.
"No, no, no. No red hot blades. Now pull the blasted arrow."
Ben nodded to the girl who held Colb's legs tight. "You will be fine." She gave the sergeant a faint smile. I don't think so.
Gripping the arrow shaft, Ben looked Colb in the eye. "Ready?" he asked the sergeant. Without waiting for his reply, Ben wrenched the arrow from his thigh, the sergeant howling in agony.
Petrified by the sergeant's dreadful cry, the girl stood still, the cloth in her hand. "Now press," Ben demanded, waking her up from her shock. The cloth was soaked in Colb's blood as the girl pressed hard on the wound.
"Let me do this for you." Ben's fingers touched the soft back of her hand when he took hold of the soaked bandage. Silently, the girl stared at him, but Ben ignored her look. "Make another bandage, but wet it with wine this time," he instructed, not sure whether the girl's lips were making a smile or she was about to spit on him. Anyway, she placed a dry piece of cloth over the mouth of the wine sack before she tilted it to pour the liquid on the bandage. Ben took the new bandage from her and pressed it against Colb's wound.
"We need another bandage to wrap it tight around his thigh," Ben told her.
She handed him a third one. "Would this be enough?"
The groaning sergeant might need cauterization, Ben thought. "Let's hope so."
"What do you mean?" She looked alarmed. "Won't he be able to walk on his leg again?"
"Don't worry about him." Ben glanced at Colb who lay on his back, biting his lower lip. "Rascals like that one are used to these injuries." He grinned, his voice low.
"That one is my father." She frowned, snatching the bandage from him. "Anyway, thanks for your help." She turned her face away, leaning over her father's leg. The conversation ended before Ben even knew her name.
"Ben!" Suddenly, Edd's voice came just from behind him. "Captain Tarling is summoning all of us." What a moment for Edd to arrive at! Why now?
"I am sorry." Ben tried his luck, but she did not show any response, as if he did not exist in the first place.
"Hurry up, Ben!" Edd insisted.
Keeping herself busy with Colb's wound, the girl was determined to ignore Ben. Now he should walk away to see to his duties as a soldier. "Coming," he impassively answered Edd, rising up from his place. He gave the girl one final glance, but she never looked over her shoulder.
"Did it go well?" Edd gave him a wicked smile as they walked toward the wall.
"The scum will be fine." Ben shrugged. "I still can't believe I've helped him."
"I'm not talking about him for sure." Edd wrinkled his nose. "May he rot in hell!"
Ben stole one more glance at the slim girl who was still attending to her father. "No, it didn't. I ruined it with a tongue slip."
"You fool." Edd turned his head. "Her face is pretty, Ben. Even prettier than Doly's."
"You were never interested in faces, bastard."
Edd urged him to hurry with a slap on the back. A hundred green soldiers had already been lined up in front of Tarling, and they were the last two soldiers to join their battalion. The balding captain glared at the two laggards before he announced, "By order of King Masolon, we will be watching over the city at night. Until we receive further orders to do the opposite, the gates will never be opened for any reason. I will be patrolling the city to make sure no one is asleep. If you see the enemy, make enough noise to wake the entire camp. Ben, you lead the right wing."
Tarling started distributing the soldiers of the night watch. After he had given his last order, Ben led his group up the stone steps to take their positions at the right wing. It should not be a tough task, especially after the victory they had not taken part in. Their enemy was broken, and surely had more wounded soldiers than theirs. If there was one party to stay vigilant tonight, it should be Daval's army. That was why Tarling had only chosen green soldiers for the night watch; because they were just more than useless. The Skandivians, for instance, were too precious to exhaust in such a task. Sparing them for tomorrow's battle must have been regarded as a sound decision.
"What was her name, Ben?" Standing atop the bulwark at his right, Edd asked.
"Why do you want to know?" And why is his question bothering me?
"You had your chance and you wasted it. Perhaps I should try my luck."
"Don't think about it. She is Colb's daughter."
Edd wrinkled his nose again. "That's a silly joke."
"I'm not joking."
Edd was silent for a while before he said, "Whatever. She is so pretty anyway. Now tell
me her name."
"I won't."
Edd approached him, studying his face in the faint light of torches. "She didn't tell you her name, did she?"
"Edd, back to your spot." Ben gestured with his palm.
"She didn't tell you," Edd taunted.
"Stop it, Edd."
"Or what? Do you think you are my commander now?"
"That's enough," Ben snapped. "Now back to your post before Tarling returns."
"Ben! Edd!" It was Ted who called out. "To your bows!"
All guards of the right wing nocked their arrows onto their bowstrings. It's me who should have given this order. But there was no one to blame except Ben himself. As the leader of the right wing was busy quarreling with one of his subordinates, he had not spotted the knight approaching the walls.
"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" Ben raised his hand. "He is holding a white flag."
"Tarling must know about this," said Ted. "I will go to find him."
"You'd better find King Masolon himself." Ben gaped at the familiar horseman. "Tell him a friend of his is coming to our gates."
33. MASOLON
Escorted by Edmond and five guards, Masolon dismounted at the gates of Ramos. "How would they be sure it was him?" Masolon asked his general. "They do not know how he looks like."
"A few Herlogan recruits know, Your Grace," Edmond pointed out.
The Brave Lads? As they passed by the soldiers' tents near the walls, Masolon's eyes scanned the camp, looking for familiar faces. He felt a slight smile touching the corners of his mouth when he spotted Ben among the throng, clad in the Bermanian armor. The lad, whom Masolon had trained to be his right-hand man in Herlog, looked like a real soldier now. A strong peasant he was, and more importantly, he had that pure heart. The same cursed heart. Sometimes Ben reminded Masolon of himself when he was his age; the rebellious lad in his homeland behind the Great Desert.
"Good to see you again, Ben." Masolon approached the lad who stood next to his captain.
"Mas...I mean Your Grace." Ben nodded, grinning.
"You have one fine soldier in your squad, Captain," Masolon told Tarling, who seemed to be astonished that his subordinate was familiar with the King of Bermania himself.
Masolon turned to Ben. "I was told you saw Antram at our gates."
"He is waiting outside the city." Ben put his hands on his waist. "We had firm orders to keep the gates closed."
Masolon still could not believe what he had heard, but the Herlogan lad was sure it was Antram. The tales of the Antram monk were true then.
"Do you want us to let him in, Your Grace?" Tarling asked, his hands behind his back.
"No." Masolon could not predict Antram's motives behind this visit. Nothing can be predicted in this havoc. And the last thing he wanted was letting someone from the enemy's party to spy o his camp. "Stay here," Masolon ordered Edmond and his guards.
The huge gate was opened. For the hundredth time, Masolon hoped Ben was wrong, and the lad had mistaken Antram for some bald fellow who resembled him. But as Masolon stepped outside the city to get closer from the lone visitor, he recognized the frame of his bald friend in the faint moonlight. The reunion between the two brethren should be merrier than that, but Masolon had never seen this scene coming. How had they reached the point of standing on the two opposite ends of a war? Should he blame himself for starting the downfall of the path they had forged together?
Silence reigned over the land as the two men kept gazing at each other. It seemed that Antram did not want to start this.
"Please, tell me you are not here on behalf of Daval," said Masolon.
"I'm on behalf of myself, brother."
"Not according to what I have heard, Lord Antram."
"Please. You've chosen your path, and I've chosen mine."
"Your path? You mean the one you abandoned for a usurper? "
"I mean the one you abandoned for a murderer's daughter," Antram countered.
"Are you listening to yourself? That girl had nothing to do with her father's deeds. She is not your enemy, Antram, unlike the man you have joined."
"Your enemy has helped me reclaim my family's fiefs."
"By waging war against me." Masolon forced through clenched teeth.
"Like Rona did against Wilander. What makes her right and Daval wrong?"
"Right and wrong are just hollow words." Masolon looked Antram in the eye. "In war, there are only allies and enemies."
Antram let out a deep breath of air, his hands on his waist, his eyes fixed on the ground. "So, is this what we've become after all? Enemies?"
Unfortunately, yes. Yet the words were heavy on Masolon's tongue. He could not dare to voice the new ugly truth.
"You should have come to me before you join the southerner bastard," Masolon chided.
"To do what? To take Lapond from Foubert? That would never work, Masolon, and you know that. Her Grace might sentence me to death if I came near the royal palace in Paril."
"So, instead, you join a usurper to fight her? To fight me?"
"I'm here to stop the bloodshed, brother, but you didn't give me a chance to do that when your archers started it."
"Please send Lord Daval my apologies." Masolon grinned mockingly. "I should have waited for his trebuchets to raze my walls to the ground."
"Let's not fool each other," Antram suggested. "You've destroyed our trebuchets, yet you are still much outnumbered."
"Your scouts are not doing a good job, brother," Masolon scoffed. "Did they not tell you about the four thousand Skandivians who joined me?"
"That's a lie." Antram wrinkled his nose. "You ambushed our men in the woods because you didn't have enough soldiers to face us head to head in a plain field."
His friend knew him more than anyone else, Masolon thought. "Then, I guess I will be waiting behind my walls for your siege towers and rams. All I need is one day before Foubert shatters your arses."
Antram looked doubtful. "With our troops crouching in Lapond? Foubert would not dare to leave the great fortress of Karun unguarded."
"Your troops would never expect that. That is why I sent a messenger to Karun before the battle."
"Even Foubert's cavalry is not enough to grant you victory," Antram insisted.
"You know what is enough for me, brother." Masolon gave him a wry smile.
Antram sighed. "Masolon, we don't want more men to die in this war. We can find a way out of this together to stop the bloodshed."
"For sure." Masolon shrugged. "You surrender Lapond, Daval surrenders Augarin, and I will spare your lives."
"You know Daval will not accept that."
"Then, how am I supposed to satisfy him? Cede the Bermanian throne to him?"
"For either of you, Bermania is too large to rule. Let him rule his own kingdom while you keep yours."
Was that even a serious suggestion? "Then, every lord in Bermania will proclaim himself a king of his damnable town."
"This war could last for hundreds of years without a victor, Masolon. Don't you want to, at least, end the bloodshed?"
"I will end it," Masolon hissed. "By crushing the usurpers for good."
"Your pride blinds you from seeing the plain truth; all of us are losers in this turmoil."
"Perhaps. But I will not be the one who dies."
Antram's eyes were fixed on Masolon's face, as if he was making sure that was his final say. "You disappoint me, brother," muttered Antram before he turned and walked away.
"Antram," Masolon called out. "For the sake of our good days, abandon Daval's camp now. The last thing I would like to see is your corpse, brother."
Still walking away, Antram ignored him.
"You are not obliged to serve that bastard," Masolon cried.
Antram mounted his horse. "Daval and I are family now. I cannot abandon my family."
"Blast you and your cursed family, you fool!" Masolon spat. "My cannons and soldiers will not recognize you among the men they crush in their way!"
A
ntram ignored the warning and nudged his horse to canter away from the walls of Ramos. The imbecile will kill himself. Masolon thought of following his old friend and dragging him back to the city by force. When the darkness of night swallowed Antram and his horse, Masolon hoped he would not regret the moment he stood still and let his foolish brother throw himself into his own doom.
What brother, Masolon? You mean the one who ran like a dog after the bone his new master had thrown? Why do you think Daval has sent him to you?
A distraction, Masolon realized; the last thing he needed at this critical hour. This war could end before sunrise if he carefully made his next decision. His soldiers would abandon their swords and armors, and return to their wives and children. And he would hurry back to his gorgeous Rona, the mother of his coming child. He missed her, even more than he had thought.
Edmond and the guards were waiting for their king at the gate of Ramos. "Wake all men and ready the cannons," Masolon demanded the moment he reached his general. "In the coming hour, we will be launching a full attack."
Edmond's raised eyebrows betrayed his astonishment. "If I am allowed to advise His Grace, our enemy is still outnumbering us, and he has already lost his siege weapons. I see no urgency to fight him in the open."
"Daval's soldiers must be sleeping now," Masolon pointed out. "If we stun them with one well-organized strike, their numbers will mean nothing."
Edmond nodded. "I'll send the scouts to their camp at once."
Masolon strode past Edmond toward the camp of wounded soldiers. Seventy or eighty, Masolon estimated. Many of them might not survive their wounds. Others were much luckier, but most of them would not be able to join the fight soon. For the decisive battle, he was in need of all his soldiers. Yet it would be merciless of him if he forced those broken men to sally forth with him.
"Captain Tarling," Masolon called out.
The captain scurried toward him. "How can I serve you, Your Grace?"
"I need your finest men to march with me."
Tarling simpered. "Most of my men are uninitiated, Your Grace."
"Then I need your finest uninitiated men, whether they are swordsmen or archers. And I need them now."
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