Throne of Ruins

by Karim Soliman

  "I wonder if Herlog is less peaceful than here," Edd muttered, giving one final glance at the broken window as they went past the house. Ben shared the same concern about their village, which was now lacking the strong arms that protected it from the raids of thugs. Ironically, there was barely anything to steal from their miserable village.

  "Curse this war," Edd muttered, kicking a small stone. "Curse the two kings."

  "Watch your tongue, brother," Ben warned Edd when the rest of the band turned their eyes toward him. Ben had a little doubt they would say the same about the two contenders for the throne, yet his friend should be more cautious.

  "Look what this damnable war has made to this country, and to us." Edd scowled, gazing at the abandoned market. "I hope they are enjoying their bloody contest."

  No, they were not, Ben could tell. For the time being Daval was so close from losing this war, and Masolon. . . Masolon had lost himself. Ben would not forget the stunned look on his face while contemplating Antram's dead body. His Grace had insisted that no one would give him a hand in burying Antram's corpse. Holding a shovel, the King of Bermania had dug a grave in the dirt, dragged his sleeping brother, and seen him off for one last time. Ben swore he had spotted frozen tears in Masolon's eyes. Even Demons might cry sometimes. Was it the regret of losing a friend? Or was it the shame for clashing swords with a brother in the first place?

  After the burial, Masolon had taken Ben aside. "Nobody shall know you killed him." No folly, it was a strict order from the King.

  "Are you protecting me from Daval? I'm not afraid to tell all Bermanians that I have avenged my brother."

  "Trust me, Ben. There is nothing heroic in revenge."

  "You defied an entire army to avenge an innocent girl. Have you forgotten that?"

  "No, I have not. But I still remember the innocent people who could have lost their lives in a battle that was not theirs. One day Antram's son will grow and look for the man who killed his father. He may come alone to serve justice, or with an army behind him to raze your homeland to the ground."

  "You're going too far, Masolon."

  "Too far? This is not a damnable bard's tale. I knew a man who wanted to burn a whole clan to avenge his killed wife and daughters."

  "Wanted. But eventually he didn't do it, right? Because no one with little reason would—"

  "Because I killed him," Masolon had put in. "I had no choice but to desert my people, throwing myself into the hell of the Great Desert."

  "Very well. You want to save me and endanger your wife and children instead. Do you see this fair?"

  "Blood is my curse, Ben. I have to live with it, but you do not. A good lad like you deserves a better life than mine."

  "A better life than that of a king?" Ben had scoffed.

  Masolon had held his shoulders, looking him in the eye. "Do not be the man I have become. You are better than that."

  Since that conversation, Ben had not seen Masolon around his troops anymore. His Grace had locked himself up in the palace of Ramos, leaving the whole matter to his general and his lords to handle.

  "I need to fill my water sack." Ben spotted a well at the end of the street at his left.

  "Take mine with you." Edd pushed his sack into Ben's hand.

  Leaving Edd behind, Ben walked toward the well surrounded by women filling their buckets. They were not so many, but they were taking much time in letting their buckets down and pulling them up. Little waiting won't harm. Ben exhaled, looking for a gap to go through.

  "It seems you need help."

  Ben did not protest when she snatched the sacks from his hand. Yes, it was her; Colb's nameless daughter, the slim girl with brown eyes. She came from nowhere and picked her way through the wall of women, the water sacks in her hands. In the middle of his grimness, his dark heart was lit by her sight. He must be smiling like a fool at this moment.

  "Here you are, Soldier." The girl handed him the sacks, full of water now. Her voice lacked any sort of warmth, yet Ben could tell from the look on her face that she was not upset with him.

  "Ben is my name."

  "I knew. My father told me."

  She asked about my name. Ben could not stop his grin from getting wider. "And you?"

  "Lynett." She was preventing her lips from making a smile. He enjoyed the moment though, his eyes fixed on hers.

  "You look well." She lowered her eyes for a couple of seconds to have a little truce. "Many were gashed in our last attack at the southerners' camp."

  Many were gashed indeed, and a few lost their heads. It was not necessary to describe Ted's head to her though. "I've survived because a dear brother was so brave he sacrificed his life for mine."

  "Oh dear! I'm sorry for your loss." Suddenly, her voice was warm. . . at last. Not knowing how he should answer her sympathy, he paused for a while.

  Lynett looked right and left before she lowered her voice. "My father told me that King Masolon had offered the southerners one last chance to surrender and end the war, but still they didn't answer."

  "I hope they're sane enough to seize such a splendid opportunity."

  "Hurry up, Ben! We have to go!"

  It was Edd bellowing from a distance. For the second time. Ben would not be surprised if his jealous fellow did that on purpose to end their chatter.

  "Don't tell anybody," she warned him. "Or I will never tell you anything afterwards."

  Afterwards? Ben liked the sound of it. "I will see you again, then." He grinned, walking backward, his face toward hers.

  "If by chance like today, why not?" She shrugged, giving him a slight smile.

  "Thanks for the water." Ben waved with the full sacks before he turned, leaving her behind. He did not believe that today was by chance.

  41. FRANKIL

  Frankil doubted if there would be any travelers or even bandits passing near the Northern Gulf in such a mighty storm. The coast was miles away, yet Frankil could hear the roar of the raging sea. The wind bent the towering trees, almost uprooting the smaller ones.

  "Better return to Horstad before this storm gets uglier," Bergum suggested.

  It was too early to end today's patrol, but Frankil found little sense in continuing it. "Alright then." He nodded, wheeling his horse. "Back to the village, men," he ordered the knights behind him. It had been a few days since he returned to Horstad to do what he had been doing before meeting Masolon and Antram, yet he had not sliced one brigand's throat. They will come, Frankil thought. And he was ready for them, eager to slay those savage beasts.

  "Travelers have learned, it seems." Frankil contemplated the abandoned, rainy forest. Every foothold had been stained by the blood of brigands he had slain with his own blade. The more evil souls he reaped, the more innocent ones he saved—that was the point of joining Masolon's gang in the beginning. But today he started to wonder if travelers were avoiding this infamous area.

  "Travelers, brigands; both have learned." Bergum sighed. "All have learned except us."

  So, Bergum was back to his endless whimpering. "Something, wrong?" Frankil asked.

  Bergum let out another breath of air. "Why did you send for us? Why did you want to return to these cursed lands?"

  The question astonished Frankil. "Because these cursed lands need the likes of us. This is what we are destined to do."

  "We are knights, Frankil. We are not destined to beg some peasants for food and shelter."

  "Beg?" Frankil was aggravated by the word. "We only take what they can offer. And even if they don't, we will live on what we hunt." They had done that already a few years ago, but obviously, Bergum had forgotten those days after tasting Galardi's gold and silver. Like the Bermanian saying, the sweetest fruits taste bitter after the honey.

  "And what prey do we pursue?" Bergum smirked. "We hunt deer while others hunt thrones and fiefdoms. And queens. This is what I call hunting, brother."

  Everybody was done with the path. Everybody, including his brothers-in-arms, wanted to join the hunt. Shoul
d he regret not joining King Masolon? His old friend would have granted him fiefs and gold to start a new life. In that case, his brothers-in-arms would never need to beg for food.

  No! Frankil had promised he would never involve himself in the dirty games of kings and lords. He was not short of sins to live with. Killing his own brother was enough.

  "I'm not going to force anyone to stay with me," Frankil announced. "If you want to go to Kalensi—"

  "Do you hear that?" Danis interrupted their conversation.

  Yes, Frankil heard it. "A woman's scream." He pulled the reins, turning his horse toward the feminine voice. A few moments later, he recognized a Skandivian growl. "Hurry! They are not far from here!" Kicking his horse's flanks, he spurred it into a gallop, following the commotion that had come from the heart of the forest. Not the best terrain for fast horses, but quite fitting the Skandivians who preferred to hunt on foot. "No please!" That man's cry was so close.

  "Over there!" Bergum pointed his sword at their left and turned his horse. At first glance, Frankil saw nothing but thick wooden trunks, the heavy rain making the vision a bit worse. As he followed Bergum, he spotted two armed men dashing toward the east. "On your left! Three thugs on foot!" Frankil looked where Bergum was telling them. Three men with axes stood by what was probably a corpse. Behind them by a little distance was a fallen horse tied to a smashed cart with one missing wheel, a bleeding woman trapped below the ruined cart. They must have hit the trees while running away. The forest needed a skillful rider to make maneuvers with a galloping horse, let alone a cart dragged behind him.

  "Danis, with me! Bergum, save that woman if she is still alive! The rest of you, finish off those bastards!" Frankil turned his horse, looking for the two sprinting men he had spotted. Those thugs were chasing something or somebody. "Blast! Where on earth did they go?" The couple of seconds he looked away from them were enough to lose them in the woods. After pushing forward for quarter a mile, he gestured to Danis to stop. "We're not taking the right direction. They shouldn't have gone that far." Frankil looked around and tried to listen amid the clamor of blowing wind, pattering rain, and now thunder.

  "Those dogs have vanished. We won't find them unless we go on foot," Danis pointed out. Frankil knew that dismounting would deprive them of their advantage against those fierce Skandivians, but it seemed that it was the only possible way to find those beasts before they caught their prey.

  Frankil and Danis swung down off their saddles and tied their horses to a tree trunk. With cautious steps, the two dismounted knights made their way through the heavily forested area, their swords in their hands. Frankil thought he had just heard rustling grass not far away ahead. "Footsteps." He held Danis's arm.

  "I hear footsteps there, too." Danis nodded his chin toward his left.

  "They have split." Frankil looked right and behind. "We must keep our eyes open so that they don't surround us." Slowly he trod over the muddy ground. One wrong step and he would slip. And speaking of steps, he could hear the approaching cautious footsteps. "Get ready, Danis," he whispered, glancing left.

  But there was no Danis. Blast! His fellow had vanished in the woods, and Frankil would not have enough time to look for him. Straight ahead, he could see his two opponents approaching, their axes shining with thunderbolt reflections. "It has been a while, rascals," Frankil muttered.

  Stepping aside, Frankil evaded a smashing axe before he slashed the attacker's chest. He turned swiftly to block with his sword a mighty swing of the other bandit, but the Skandivian axe beat the Bermanian blade, toppling it away. Frankil, now barehanded against a quite brawny opponent, rolled on the muddy grass, sparing his head from another massive blow, and picked the fallen bandit's axe. The moment Frankil pushed up to his feet, the colossal Skandivian lunged forward. Frankil managed to block the bandit's strike with his axe, but the force of the Skandivian's charge gave him a hefty shove. As it was hard to keep his balance on the muddy terrain, Frankil fell on his back, his axe still in his hands. Roaring, the brawny assailant struck, but his axe hit the ground instead of Frankil's torso as the former Bermanian Captain rolled again at the right moment, and smashed the bandit's leg with his axe. The Skandivian bandit howled in agony, but to Frankil's amazement, the stubborn Skandivian was still standing.

  "No, you're not!" Frankil hollered and broke the brigand's chest bones with one final blow. At last, the man of stone fell to the ground.

  "Frankil?" Danis called out from behind him.

  "Over here." Frankil looked around for more thugs. No creatures were alive in this forest except him and Danis.

  "Am I late?" Danis approached, no hurry in his steps.

  "Not at all." Frankil filled his lungs with air. "Where were you?"

  "I told you I heard footsteps. It was a girl hiding in the woods from those dogs."

  I knew they were chasing somebody. "Where's she?"

  "I told her to wait for my return."

  "You left her? In this cursed forest?"

  "To see if you needed help."

  "Thanks." For real? Then, why the rush? "Now we will never find her."

  "Come with me." Danis motioned his former captain to follow him, Frankil wondering how his fellow was able to find his way through this maze of trees. And indeed they reached Danis's girl. Sitting on her knees, she shivered in the woolen cloak she was clad in. She could not be older than twenty, Frankil estimated.

  "It's alright now. They are gone." Frankil helped her up. Now her face so close to his, he could see how pale it was. Pale and pretty.

  "My parents. Are they alive?" she eagerly asked.

  "Your parents," Frankil echoed, exchanging a look with Danis. How should he tell her the shocking news?

  "Our friends are looking for them." Danis came for the rescue. "Until then, we're taking you out of here. Our horses are not far."

  "I hope they're not far indeed. I can hardly walk," she said, waddling next to them. Merciful Lord! She's pregnant! How had Frankil not noticed that from the beginning? Her big cloak had fooled him.

  "What are you? King's soldiers?" she warily asked when Frankil held her hand to help her wobble. "You both don't look like Skandivians."

  "Neither do you." Frankil glanced at her. "I will even be surprised if you tell me you're not from Ramos."

  "Not from the city itself; from a nearby village," she replied.

  "Not Herlog, I hope," Danis scoffed.

  "Wh...why not, sir?" she nervously asked.

  She comes from that cursed village indeed, Frankil thought, wondering why she looked anxious about her homeland. "None of us are from there, so don't be worry," Frankil reassured her.

  "Worry? I'm not worried." She was getting more defensive. "I mean I'm worried about my mother and father of course. By the way, where are your friends whom you told me about?"

  "We will get to them soon," Frankil promised. The dreadful loss might kill her. And consequently, her babe.

  "They've found us." Danis pointed at their mounted fellows, who stopped next to their tied horses.

  "Are these all your friends? I don't see my parents with them." She fretted as they approached his band of knights. Frankil had no clue what to say. He was not ready for such a confrontation.

  "You must be Doly." Bergum's voice was low when he addressed the girl. "The old lady uttered your name before she let out her last breath."

  42. SANIA

  Despite Qasem's protests, Sania had insisted on riding with the soldiers taking Bumar and Viola to her poisoned husband. Her faith in Viola's intentions was fragile, but she would not live with the notion that she might waste the only hope to bring Rasheed back from death. Qasem was not supporting the idea at all, but the time they had to save the King was too tight to test Viola's honesty. For the same reason, she had refused to get in a wagon, and instead she mounted a horse like the rest of the men; an unusual sight for a Murasen highborn lady.

  "Do you think he can survive until we reach him?" Sania asked Bumar, whose horse was o
n her left.

  "It depends on the poison she used." Bumar glanced at Viola. With tied hands, she shared the same horse with a royal guard.

  Sania kept her glowing eyes fixed on Viola, who returned her glare with a hollow look. "I swear, if you're fooling us, I'll let them slaughter you at once," Sania menaced her.

  "I understand. You told me already," Viola gruffly said.

  "Watch your manners when you speak to Her Majesty, wench," Viola's guard scolded his captive, giving her a shove in the back.

  "You wouldn't dare if my hands were free." Viola curled her lip in disdain, still keeping her composure though. What kind of a woman is she? Sania pondered Viola's steadiness in her situation, which was—apparently—desperate. The captured assassin was calm, as if she was going for a ramble in the desert.

  "Qasem," Sania called out to the Captain of the Royal Guard, who was in the lead of the escort. "Can't we go faster than this?"

  But Qasem did not reply. His mind was somewhere else when she asked.

  "Horses can't gallop forever, Your Majesty," said Bumar.

  "I know, but actually we are slowing down," Sania snapped before she turned to the Captain of the Royal Guard. "Qasem!"

  Without saying a word, Qasem turned to her. He hears me. But astonishingly, he turned his eyes away from her, gazing at the east. It was not the first instance he did not show enough respect. He would pay for that, but not today. After she was done with her captive, his turn would come. This man's days as Captain of the Royal Guard were coming soon to an end.