Throne of Ruins

by Karim Soliman

  "What does Tarling want?" asked Masolon.

  "It's not Tarling."

  Masolon was surprised to hear his squire's voice coming from behind Jonson. The lad nudged his horse onward and dismounted right before his king. I was wrong. He did not flee north. Seeing Ben here gave Masolon a faint hope of the lad's innocence. I did not raise a murderer.

  "We have a lot to discuss, Ben," Masolon said firmly. "But first, I have one last fort to—"

  "The Rusakians have come, Your Grace," Ben cut him off. "Our fortress in Karun must have fallen by now."

  EPILOGUE

  That's a big mistake, Lorenzo thought as he fidgeted in his seat, the scent of lily heavy in the candlelit chamber. He had not smelt anything else since he stepped into the Great Temple in Paril.

  Sooner or later, Queen Rona would learn about his visit to Paril, and most probably, she would not be happy about it. In the beginning, he had not understood why she might lie about her possessed commander. But now, after she made him king, everything became clear to Lorenzo. The question was: how would she respond? Would she just summon him to the royal palace, ask him a few questions, and that was it? She is the butcher's daughter, Lorenzo. He had heard about the men she had slain with her own hands. But she would not dare to stain her hands with a cleric's blood, would she?

  He pushed to his feet when Master Petrilius entered the room at last, his hairless head as clean as his white spotless cloak. Lorenzo had met him a few times, yet he doubted the High Cleric of Bermania might remember an occasional student of his.

  Master Petrilius gestured to Lorenzo to be seated. "I apologize for keeping you waiting." The humble High Cleric of Bermania sat behind his desk.

  "It's me who owes you an apology, Master Petrilius," Lorenzo hurriedly said. "You must be preoccupied with more pressing matters than meeting my humble person."

  The High Cleric peered at him. "I believe you insist on meeting me in person because you have a pressing matter to discuss, Lorenzo."

  "You remember me, Master?" Lorenzo could not hide his delight. "I had the honor of being your student only on two occasions."

  "I remember every student of mine." A light smile slipped over the High Cleric's face. "I'm old, but not demented."

  "May the Lord of Sky and Earth bless you with health and long life, Master." It was about time to start the topic he came here for; Lorenzo knew from the Master's impassive face. "So, I'm here because there is something I believe I should tell you about. I could have sent a message, and I know you won't deny your knowledge to any of your students, but I need your guidance as well as your protection."

  Master Petrilius wrinkled his forehead. "Protection against whom?"

  "Her Grace." Lorenzo found himself whispering though there was nobody else in the closed chamber.

  "Speak," demanded the High Cleric, his voice a bit firm. What if he is loyal to her? Lorenzo thought, too late to walk away now.

  "Two months ago, right after Queen Rona's victory over Lord Di Galio at Ramos, she summoned me to examine what was supposed to be the dead body of a commander of hers, to see if there was anything wrong about it. In the beginning, I didn't get the point of her queer request, especially after I did examine the unscathed body of that commander. But when she showed me a ruined armor and asked, 'What can survive this?' I understood why she wanted a cleric's help. She was afraid of what her commander might have become.

  "I advised her to chain the body and bury it, but somehow she believed he was still alive, and indeed he woke up after three days. She summoned me again to thank me for my services and to assert that her commander was fine. She told me there was nothing to worry about, so I had better keep the matter discreet to avoid any unnecessary rumors that might shake the morale of her soldiers. I found her last request a bit funny. It was no secret that her commander was an Outsider, a man touched by the demons of the Great Desert, so what rumors was she exactly worried about?"

  Master Petrilius leaned forward. "King Masolon you are talking about?"

  Lorenzo nodded. "It's him, Master. It's him who has cursed our great country. Have you heard about the Rusakian army?"

  "I can only blame the Rusakians for what the Rusakians do."

  Lorenzo did not like the High Cleric's conservativeness. "Twenty thousand soldiers, Master. With the civil war tearing our nation apart, we are doomed. We are cursed because of that usurper who allowed a possessed king to sit on the throne of Bermania."

  "I would be more careful if I were you, young man."

  I knew it was a big mistake. This High Cleric did not mind to crown a usurper a few days after executing the previous king. "You are not going to do anything about it, Master?"

  "What do you expect me to do, Lorenzo?"

  "I. . ." To his surprise, Lorenzo was not able to answer this question. "I don't exactly know how you will do it, Master, but I know that a powerful man like you can do something about this."

  "Powerful?" Petrilius allowed a light mocking smile. "Listen, Lorenzo. I don't underestimate what you have done. Coming here on your own to share what you have shared with me requires courage, and I appreciate courage. However, I will allow myself to ask you one more thing to do."

  "What is it, Master?"

  "Trust in me, Lorenzo. That is all I want." Petrilius looked him straight in the eye. "Can you do that?"

  Trust in you? My journey to Paril was a waste of effort and time. "How can I trust in you if you can't do me the same, Master?"

  The High Cleric jerked his head back, his eyebrows raised. Had Lorenzo crossed the line? Surely, he did, but he had nothing to lose now. If that High Cleric was the righteous man Lorenzo hoped he was, then he would understand a young man's passion. If Petrilius was just a man who earned a living from his job, then Lorenzo was ruined anyway.

  "You tell me what you are going to do, Master," Lorenzo went on. "Perhaps there is something I can help you with."

  Leaning back in his seat, the old man heaved a sigh. "You think I'm just another hypocrite who would rather kiss a king's arse than risk his post for a cause, don't you?"

  For the most honorably regarded man in the realm, the High Cleric's choice of words was shocking.

  "You want to help, son? Then bear this in mind," Petrilius continued, his jaw clenched, "we are about to face the greatest threat we have ever faced, and by we I'm not talking about Bermanians; I'm talking about mankind. It could be the end of the world we know, young man, so we need not only courage but also wits. We need men who know how and when to utilize their knowledge, men who cannot afford to make mistakes that might jeopardize our mission. If you are ready to take part in this, then you will exactly do what I tell you. If you are not, then I suggest you ride your horse back to Ramos, and keep your lips sealed until we finish our mission or die trying."

  Lorenzo had to admit that the High Cleric's brief speech moved him for a moment. He is not fooling me, right? The arrival of demons was one of the Signs mentioned in the Tales of Gorania.

  "Are we talking about the Last Day?" Lorenzo warily asked.

  "The Last Day is not exactly what we all used to believe. It's not just an end; it could be a new beginning as well."

  "A new beginning for the cursed beings of the Great Desert, you mean," Lorenzo added. "For the likes of His Cursed Grace."

  Petrilius heaved another sigh. "I understand how you feel about our king. But trust me, if you know what I know, you will have no choice but to pray that he is sent by the Lord of Sky and Earth to save us. Because if he is not, then I really have no clue how we will survive the demons when the Last Day comes."

  Don't miss

  KINGDOMS OF ASH

  BOOK FOUR OF

  TALES OF GORANIA

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  Kingdoms and People of Gorania

  Bermania

  There are many reasons for the Bermanian Pride. They are the descendants of Goran the Great, which makes them—as
they claim—the rightful heirs of the Goranian throne. The greatest city in Gorania is their capital; Paril or the Jewel of Bermania. The finest knights and strongest horses are raised in their lands. Their weather is neither Murasen-hot nor Rusakian-cold.

  Along thousands of years, the Bermanians' stance toward other realms has varied, but their long-standing enmity with Byzonta has been an exception. The mountainous realm used to be part of Augarin, Bermania's southernmost region.

  It is always a debate whose cavalry is the best; Bermanians or Murasens. There is nothing in the ancient Tales of Gorania about a battle between the two mighty kingdoms.

  PEOPLE OF BERMANIA

  From the noble houses warring for the throne

  RONA, daughter of the late King Charlwood

  GRAMUS, General of Queen Rona

  DARRISON, lord of Neldon

  JEREK, duke of Kalhom

  EDMOND, Captain of the garrison of Neldon

  JONSON, senior lord from the Ramosi region

  NORWELL, Jonson's nephew

  LANARK, lord from the region of Kalhom

  DI GALIO, the Fox, Duke of Ramos, the Lord Marshal of Bermania

  ABERTO, Di Galio's brother, lord of Subrel

  WILANDER, King of Bermania

  FOUBERT, Duke of Karun

  DAVAL, Duke of Augarin

  ANVIL, Captain from Ramos

  From Herlog

  DOLY, Masolon's wife, Nell's daughter

  SMIT, village's elder

  BEN, one of the Brave Lads

  MAAT, one of the Brave Lads

  EDD, one of the Brave Lads

  TED, one of the Brave Lads

  Murase

  Murase is blessed with warm winters and cursed with hot summers. Some attribute its weather to its proximity to the sun that rises from the east. Others believe that the hot air in Murase comes from the gate of hell that lies at their southern borders; the Great Desert. According to the Tales of Gorania, the Great Desert is ten times hotter than Murasen desert, making the Murasen desert a paradise if compared with it.

  Most of the Murasen terrain is sandy, except the Green Crescent that surrounds the Blue Crescent River. The castle of Kurdisan was built to defend the arable land against the endless raids of the Mankols who claim their ownership to the Green Crescent.

  The nomadic tribes are actually the rulers of the Murasen desert, making travelling from a city to another without strong guard a suicide. One great clan among them is the fearful Ghosts, who resemble night beasts in their ability to see in the dark.

  Rusakia

  Rusakians have a special bond with snow. Snow is part of their blood (literally, they believe so), and it is their protective shield that has always defended them against their enemies. A city like Durberg was built a long time ago far north to be always the Rusakians' last shelter in case an enemy invaded them. According to the Tales of Gorania, it happened thousands of years ago that the Mankols once pushed the Rusakians north beyond Pyotsberg. But when winter came, Rusakians marched from Durberg and the castle Sabirev, and vanquished their frozen invaders for good.

  The tension seldom settles down between Rusakia and its neighbors, especially with Bermania, because of the eternal dispute over the great fortress of Karun that was named after the first-born son of King Goran the Great. It never happened that the great fortress had remained more than two decades in a row in the same kingdom. Rusakians claim that the fortress had always been a Rusakian land before the age of the Goranian Empire.

  Byzonta

  Byzonta is named after Baizent, who declared himself the first King of Byzonta, ending decades of the Bermanian sovereignty over this southwestern mountainous pocket. For centuries, the Bermanians had tried to reconquest this realm, but they were never able to make use of their powerful cavalry on the Byzont bumpy lands. The Byzonts, on the other hand, have proven themselves the masters of defense. They used to have their own cavalry force until their crushing defeat, hundreds of years ago, in one of the rare occasions they fought away from their homeland. Since then, infantry and sharpshooters have been forming the majority of the Byzont army.

  Byzonts are also masters of spices and herbs, which makes them the most skillful chefs and the deadliest assassins in Gorania. Their merchants rule the naval trade business alongside the Skandivians, but their smugglers are unrivaled.

  Skandivia

  Skandivians call themselves the Sons of Giants. Although their tales about their ten-feet-tall ancestors seem to be exaggerated, Skandivians remain the tallest men in Gorania.

  Skandivian armies do not rely so much on cavalry; a sort of honoring the legacy of their ancient grandfathers who never used horses in their wars. A giant never needs a horse, they say. Which makes them the deadliest foot warriors in the lands of Gorania.

  An entire map of Gorania was drawn one thousand years ago, thanks to the bravery of Skandivian adventurous explorers. However, they never knew what lay beyond the Great Desert—which is believed to be the end of the Goranian world.

  The war between Rusakia and Skandivia at their borders occasionally stops, but the case is a bit different with Bermania, where their history together is full of ups and downs.

  Characters from Skandivia

  GALARDI, merchant from Kalensi

  Mankola

  Mankols are warriors by instinct thanks to their bloody tribal conflicts that tore their lands apart. But that reign ended one hundred years ago when Sanjar united the clans and called himself the Kaan of all Mankols—which means 'king' in the old Mankol tongue. Since then, the Mankol realm has become a threat to its neighbors with its huge army and endless gold.

  The Mankols stand out from all other Goranian factions with their own beliefs and values. First, the majority of them do not worship the Lord of Sky and Earth—a fact that makes them loathed by other factions. Second, horses are essential components of their lives since their early childhood. It's said that: "You may find a Mankol without a house; but not without a horse." A Mankol who can't ride a horse is not a Mankol. It's not strange, then, that the Mankol army has no infantry. Even archers are mounted. According to the Tales of Gorania, Mankols can speak the tongue of horses.

  Third, unlike other Goranians, Mankols don't trade internally with gold—which is of little value to them. They only use it in their trades with other realms.

  Strangely enough, Mankols don't rely on castles to defend their lands. However, any foreign commander, who may think of invading the Mankols, must put into consideration that he's going to face the masters of open field battles. He has to survive endless hordes of the fastest cavalry in Gorania.

  Koya

  Most of Goranians do not consider the islands of Koya part of Gorania. The fact that it's the only kingdom that was never conquered by Goran the Great could be the reason for that.

  As they were never involved in big wars with other factions, Koyans are believed to be peaceful people. Still they have the biggest fleet in Gorania to watch over their shores.

  The only bond between Koyans and other realms is naval trading. Generally, they don't live outside their islands, and in return, no outsider is allowed to live in Koya. Another reason for Goranians to ignore the existence of Koyans, and also to weave a lot of myths around the Koyan's mysterious life in their isolated islands. To name a few of those myths: Koyans teach sorcery to their kids; dragons, rocs, and mammoths do exist in their islands; Koyans' boats can sail unharmed through the Boiled Eyes and they know secret gates in the water that take them to the Endless Sea.

  Acknowledgments

  Huge thanks go to my Wattpad readers who made me believe in Masolon and Rona's tale. Your relentless support was the fuel that kept me going in my writing journey until Masolon's serialized tale became a 'real' book.

  Thanks to my wizard Stefanie Saw for her brilliant artwork. Again, she did it.

  Thanks to my mentor and editor Yasmin Amin. Working with you was a real pleasure.

  My tireless support team and advisors: Katrin H
ollister, Gaby Cabezut, Debbie Joelz, Jessica Fry, Rosa Aimee, and Sandra Grayson. Writing is a long journey that needs friends like you.

  Thanks to my dearest friend from the good old school days Ahmed Khaled who was taking Masolon's business in Gorania as seriously as I was. I enjoyed our debates over the phone about my plot twists.

  Last but not least, a million thanks to my family; my wife and cheerleader May whose faith in our dream keeps me going forward, my sweet angel Soojy for tolerating my mental absence while writing this series, my baby Groot Mostafa for allowing me to work on my own laptop without breaking it, my mother for nurturing my love of books and writing, and my father for providing a five-year-old child with his blank yearly planner to write his first story.

  About the Author

  Karim Soliman earned his first writing commission through his contribution in the first and last issue of his classroom magazine. Twenty years later, he earned his next commission from Sony Pictures.

  Born in Egypt, where he lives with his wonderful wife and two children, Karim works as a brand manager of neuropsychiatric drugs. He holds a Master's degree in Business Administration, just in case he decides to pursue the CEO pathway.

  Through Wattpad, Karim has built his fan base since he started serializing his fantasy and sci-fi novels online. When he is away from writing, he struggles with his insomnia and continues his search for his next favorite dessert.