Throne of Ruins

by Karim Soliman

  "I need to hear about the exhausting journey that brought the Queen of Murase to a Bermanian knight."

  Sania exchanged a look with Blade. She had to reveal his secret mission in the Murasen lands. "Sir Blade was sent by King Masolon, bearing a message to King Rasheed."

  "What message?" Odworth asked.

  "Forgive my rudeness, Lord Odworth," Blade replied. "But that only concerns King Masolon and King Rasheed."

  Sania warily watched Odworth's impassive face, but the lord did not protest, gesturing to her to go on. She told him about the Byzont invasion to her kingdom, the march of the Murasen army to fight them near the castle of Arkan, the assassin who had poisoned her husband, and her desperate attempt to save him before encountering Byzont horsemen. Thanks to Sir Blade's help she was still alive until he brought her to this castle to rest here before resuming their journey to Paril.

  "You could be the Queen of Murase as you claim." Odworth seemed to be still weighing what he had heard. "The tale you say is well weaved, but not well enough to let you go, I'm afraid."

  That bastard. "Jailing a queen is not a wise move, Lord Odworth. That might start another war between two kingdoms."

  "I said nothing about jailing you, Your Majesty," said Odworth. "You will stay here as an honorable guest until we inform the Murasen King that his queen is safe."

  Sania was not sure what to say. For the time being, no one could name the ruler of the Murasen realm unless her husband survived by some miracle. Dehawy would probably make use of the turmoil and proclaim himself the new king, and surely, her father, her brother, and her uncle would never bend the knee to a traitor. A Murasen civil war might be coming, but first, Murase had to defeat both Byzonta and Mankola.

  "Your hospitality is something I appreciate, Lord Odworth." She managed a slight smile. "But I'm King Masolon's guest. I don't think he will be happy about my stay here."

  "And I'm not King Masolon's vassal, Your Majesty. Not yet at least," said Odworth.

  Sania stared at Blade. They had fallen in the wrong hands.

  "You've joined the usurper?" She turned to Odworth, shooting him a despising look.

  "No one questions the loyalty of House Mendel," Odworth snapped, wagging his finger. "We've been serving the Bermanian crown before you were born, Your Majesty."

  "And that gives you the right to betray your king now, right?" Sania countered, and perhaps she should watch her tone. There might be consequences, harsh ones.

  "Leave us, everybody," Odworth demanded. His knight and all the guards complied at once. "You too, Sir Blade."

  "I'm not going anywhere without Queen Sania," Blade insisted.

  "I'll be fine, Blade." She patted his arm. He looked her in the eye, as if he was asking her, are you sure?

  The door of the hall was shut after Blade reluctantly left. Odworth let out a deep breath of air before he stepped forward toward Sania, his hands behind his back.

  "The situation in Bermania has become more complicated than you may know." Odworth's voice was not as cold as it had been at the beginning of the conversation. "We didn't break our oath to King Charlwood despite what he had done to the Antrams', our brothers-in-law. Our house, as well as the other houses of the East, chose not to start a bloodbath in the kingdom. We served Foubert and his son, and we were cursed for that. We were cursed for failing the true lords of the East, but there was nothing we could do to change the past until the Antrams were resurrected by their last son. There was no way to let ourselves fail his great house again when he came to us under Daval's banner. Do you understand now? We joined the usurper to fight for the Antrams, not for the King of the South. But after the last Antram's death, we have no reason to continue this war for the southerners. And we cannot succumb to the one who killed him either."

  "So, what are you now?" Sania asked. "The third kingdom in Bermania?"

  "Dividing Bermania is a notion the eastern houses loathe," said Odworth. "All we want is to return the East to its true heirs."

  "And those true heirs are the Mendels, I presume."

  "With the fall of the Antrams, House Mendel is the only house that has claim. If King Masolon listens to reason, we may settle this matter peacefully."

  Another seeker for power, Sania thought. Odworth's empty speech of loyalty and stopping the bloodshed would not fool her. He was not much different from Dehawy, her husband's cousin, who used hollow terms like those to justify his greed.

  "Good luck with him, then." Sania shrugged. "What am I to do with that?"

  "I'm pestering you with all of that because I believe your presence will endorse our position in any upcoming negotiations with King Masolon." Odworth leaned forward toward her, his voice firm when he continued, "If you're really the Queen of Murase."

  Sania wished she could see what crossed his mind. Was it possible he knew anything about her story with Masolon? Anyway, he was using her, and she would not let the likes of this bastard think she was vulnerable.

  "Believe me, Lord Odworth." She did her best to look confident. "Keeping me here will ruin any little chance for you to sit with King Masolon at a negotiation table. If you want to show him your good intention, you must send me to him. Then, and only then, he may consider your terms."

  Odworth's eyes narrowed. Obviously, that was not the reply he had expected from someone supposed to be cornered. But the one who was cornered in this hall was him, she reflected. That desperate lord would not preach peace if he had the men and horses to claim his rights as the true heir of these lands.

  "At least you need to get some rest after your exhausting journey," suggested Odworth, a slight smile on his face. The lord of Festburg insisted on playing his games.

  "I'm thankful for your hospitality, Lord Odworth." Sania's voice lacked any warmth. "But let me state this clearly: I'm not staying a single night in this castle."

  53. VIOLA

  A few miles remained for Viola to end her journey, which had taken a longer time than usual. To make sure she was far from the skirmishes between the Byzonts and the Murasens, she had avoided the straight route to Byzonta, almost reaching the southern Mankol borders to make a wide circle around the captured castle of Arkan. After she ventured into the Byzont lands, there was not much to worry about until she reached Inabol. Polapopolos, the High Counselor of Byzonta, must be enjoying a chalice of red grape juice right now in the mansion perched atop the quiet, rocky hill of Inabol, away from the noisy heart of the city.

  The mission was done. The Murasen King was dead. The Byzonts had their war. Now it was time to claim her gold. If Polapopolos was truthful about her reward, she could abandon her bloody job for good. One pouch of gold would be enough to bribe a Koyan merchant to let her enter Oyoto, the greatest city in the Koyan islands, and from there she would find a quiet small town to spend the rest of her life like a queen with the rest of her gold pouches.

  Her horse neighed, shaking his head, as if he was complaining about the uneven terrain, which must have exhausted his limbs. Only Byzonts were proud of their rocky lands and their mountains; their shields against Bermanians and Murasens. But the Byzonts were not the only people who found something to brag about even it had a little meaning on its own. The Bermanians boasted about being descendants of Goran the Great, the Skandivians about their raging sea, the Rusakians about their snow, the Mankols about their horses, and the Murasens about their deserts. It was only the Koyans who she did not know what they were proud of. Hopefully, she would get the chance to learn more about them from a close range.

  Viola's stomach growled. Stopping at the small tavern ahead at the foot of the hill to grab something to eat would not harm at all. Her horse needed rest, and Polapopolos would not go anywhere.

  She dismounted and tied her horse next to the only courser she saw outside the tavern. When she stepped inside, she was not surprised to find only two men, the tavern keeper one of them. The other man was the real surprise.

  "Wang?" She had left him near Kahora while he had been on his
way heading east. What was he doing here?

  "Not surprised you're surprised." He grinned, motioning her to join him at his table.

  Viola was still gaping at him when she took a seat on the opposite side of the table. "How did you. . ?"

  "Find you? I thought you would never ask."

  The scent of flavored rice and roasted mutton resting on his platter made her swallow. "There's enough for both of us." He nodded toward his lunch.

  She had questions to ask, but hunger overwhelmed all her senses. Using her hands, she snatched a greasy piece and took a bite, her teeth chewing the juicy flesh.

  "You should try the Byzont rice." He offered her a clean spoon. "There's no match for Inabol spices."

  If wars were fought by cooks, the Byzonts would conquer the whole world, Viola thought. Their rocky lands were not too generous with crops, but when it came to spices, the Byzont soil provided its people with the rarest in Gorania.

  "Are you going to tell me why you're here?" She pulled more pieces of mutton with her hands and started devouring them.

  "To meet you." He took a big spoon of flavored rice.

  "We were supposed to meet in the Port that does not exist."

  "And we will." He looked at her. "That's what brought me here. I want to assure you that I'll be waiting for you in that port, no matter how late you arrive."

  Viola stopped eating. What was he hinting at? "You saw a vision of me, didn't you?" She had seen enough of his vision so far. The Ghosts did rise. The wolf did ambush the leopard. The silver horse did descend from the north. Still there was no news about the white bear though.

  "Listen." He leaned forward toward her. "You'll accept the silver's gold. Slay the wolf. And after the birth of tomorrow's moon, you shall never set foot in Byzonta, or Murase, or the Mankol realm."

  Instead of getting an answer to a simple question, he puzzled her with his riddles. "The silver's gold?" she echoed in disapproval. "Is this a new puzzle of yours?"

  "I'm not playing games with you, Viola." His smile faded away. "I'm telling you what I saw. And I'm telling you because we'll make this journey together."

  "What journey? How am I supposed to reach the farthest eastern coast in Gorania without passing through Murase or the Mankol realm?"

  "Your journey to the east starts from the north." He pushed his chair backward and rose to his feet. "I must go now."

  "What sort of madness is this?" she snapped, pushing to her feet. "You told me nothing I could understand, and now you simply leave without explaining your gibberish or where I can even find you."

  "Your path might be different from mine, but I know we'll meet in the end." He smiled again before he went to the tavern door. "Remember what I told you," he said when he reached the doorstep.

  Viola gaped at the door, wondering how she had let him go without making him give her the answers she sought. A dagger blade on his throat should have persuaded him to tell her what she wanted to hear.

  If it were not for the part of hers that liked that fellow.

  More attendants were coming to the tavern. She knew it when she heard those clopping horse hooves outside. Shortly after, ten soldiers entered making way for a man clad in a blue cotton cloak, his cheeks hollow, his chin pointed, a sword hanging from his belt. A smile crossed his face when he saw her. "I see you haven't finished your lunch yet, despite all the time we've given to you."

  They had been following her, she realized. But why? They did not seem like robbers.

  "I'm full." She walked away from her table, heading to the door.

  "In a hurry to meet your friend uphill?" He stood in her way, his voice trickling with mockery. He knew about her job with Polapopolos.

  "What do you want?"

  "To give you what Polapopolos is intending to steal." He took out a clinking pouch from his cloak and tossed it toward the nearest table. Warily, Viola stepped toward the table and held the pouch, feeling the coins inside. "See for yourself." He nodded toward the pouch.

  What is inside is not going to bite me, right? She opened the pouch, and yes, it was full of golden Byzont coins. So, what was the trap?

  "I was promised more than this." Viola returned the pouch to the table.

  "And you believed you would live long enough to enjoy your golden prize?" His eyebrows rose. "I thought you knew the High Counselor better than that."

  A shiver ran down her spine when she contemplated his face. The man, whose pouch on the table was full of his gold, had silver eyes.

  You'll accept the silver's gold.

  The Seer's voice echoed in her mind, as if he was still here in this tavern with her. She even looked around to make sure he had left.

  "Does gold make you nervous?" The silver-eyed man smiled crookedly.

  "You won't let me go with this gold, will you?" she asked.

  "I'm a man of his word." He laid his palm on his chest. "You kill the High Counselor, you receive another pouch like this one."

  "What if one pouch suffices for my needs?"

  "Then, there will be no need to spare your life." He shrugged. "He's going to kill you anyway."

  You'll accept the silver's gold.

  The silver-eyed man would kill her. Polapopolos would kill her. She had to run away from these cursed rocky lands. And after the birth of tomorrow's moon, you shall never set foot in Byzonta. Wang the Seer was not playing games. He was telling her what to do to survive.

  "Ready my gold, then." She snatched the pouch and headed again to the door. This time he let her pass, nodding to his guards to make way for her.

  "I will be waiting for you downhill," he announced as she reached the doorstep. It was a promise and a menace, she knew. Now she had better take her horse and get one last bloody job done.

  The sun was falling while she was ascending the hill on her horse. She kept looking right, left, and back, but no one was on her tail until she reached Polapopolos's mansion. The two guards at the front door reached for the hilts of their swords although she was a familiar visitor to the High Counselor's luxurious house. "Seriously?" She dismounted. "As if you see me for the first time."

  "We are told of no guests today," one of the guards said, his hand still gripping his weapon.

  "Then, go and tell your master he has a guest," she said curtly. The two guards exchanged a look before one of them went inside.

  She did not wait for long until the guard returned with Polapopolos's page. "Lady Viola." The lad's eyebrows rose in plain astonishment. "It has been a while. Please." He ushered her inside. Lady Viola; that was how he was used to calling her, and she never thought of correcting him. "Lord Polapopolos will be coming shortly. Please, wait here."

  Despite the page's politeness, she still felt uneasy while waiting for Polapopolos to show up. You'll accept the silver's gold. But the Seer had mentioned nothing about obeying the silver's orders. What if she took her gold from both Byzonts and fled?

  Wait, Viola. He said 'slay the wolf.' The wolf was the Byzont sigil. A Byzont lord, she guessed. But how could she be sure it was Polapopolos? Why could it not be the silver-eyed man himself?

  "Lady Viola." The High Counselor's page came again, sweeping an inviting arm. She followed him to the terrace, where his master usually met his visitors. The breeze was always refreshing there. And no surprise, the red grapes juice pitcher was ready.

  Leaning back in his seat, Polapopolos gave his page a dismissive nod. "You took too much time to come back." He motioned her to have a seat, pouring red juice into the chalice in front of her.

  "Thanks to your soldiers, the way from Kahora to Inabol is crammed with corpses." She sat and took the full chalice.

  "They say the Murasen King was poisoned by some Bermanian assassin." He filled his chalice and started drinking.

  "So, you know I did my part. It's your turn to do yours."

  "They say the Bermanian assassin managed to escape from the Murasen guards."

  "Do you find that surprising?" she scoffed.

  His eye
s were fixed on her while he was drinking. "Did they capture you?"

  Viola felt stupid that she did not get what he was hinting at from the beginning. "I said nothing to them," she firmly said.

  "I'm sure of it, darling. Now calm your nerves with the sweetest grapes in Gorania." He gave her a lopsided smile. "Boy!" he called out. "Bring the pouches I told you about!" He turned to her. "Tell me, which poison did you use?"

  "The herbs you gave me; Green Silence."

  "You, Bermanians, have a funny way to name poisons." He shook his head, laughing. "Do you know what we call it in Byzonta now?"

  A crazy idea crossed her mind before the chalice touched her lips. Still holding the chalice with one hand, she drew a dagger with the other, Polapopolos's eyes widening. "Not for you." She gave him a mocking smile as she enjoyed the sight of him scared like a rat. Tilting her chalice, she let the red juice fall on the blade.

  "What are you doing?" Polapopolos rose from his seat, his eyes betraying his nervousness. Viola ignored him, keeping a careful eye on the red liquid slowly dripping from steel.

  "I don't know if you know this fact about your poison." She showed him the blade stained with his slightly thick, red juice. "But it makes the grapes juice a bit sticky."

  "Viola, what are you talking about?" He stepped backward, a nervous smile on his face. "I drank from the same juice."

  "But not from the same chalice." She lunged at him, falling over him before he could run away. With one hand over his mouth she kept him quiet. With the other she sliced his throat.

  "MASTER!" Polapopolos's page was watching everything from the reception hall. He made a dash for the door and she followed him, but he reached the two guards first. "She killed the Master!" The two guards drew their swords to face her, but she received them with two thrown draggers struck at their necks. Grunting like slaughtered sheep, they fell to the floor.

  The lad, terrified by the sight, ran outside the house. Viola leaped over the two corpses, chasing the fleeing page, who was fast despite his short shanks. Before he went out of range, she hunted him with one third thrown dagger in the back. The lad bellowed in agony.