The Gypsy Queen

by Samuel Solomon

  “Stay back,” Draiman told his men. “I will kill him myself.” He drew his sword.

  “You are a fool,” Draiman said. He swung his sword at Bastion. Bastion had baited him just enough to get him to lunge, and then turned, smashed Draiman in the face with a fist, and knocked him to the ground. He backed up, letting Draiman get back up.

  “I will kill you!” Draiman blustered, his face turning red. He charged again, swinging his sword expertly. Again, Bastion dodged his swing, parried back around, and struck him in the face. He followed by grabbing Draiman’s hand that held the sword, and thrust it so that the sword stuck into the side of a wagon, lodging there. He shoved Draiman to the ground again, and allowed him to scramble back to his feet.

  Yana was amazed to see Bastion fight. He moved like lightning. She ran to get her bow. Draiman got back up, and pulled a short blade from the backside of his belt. Bastion circled with him, trying to get a feel for his opponent. Draiman’s moves were typical gypsy fare. He had good enough skill, but Bastion’s training was extensive. He baited Draiman into another lunge. Draiman was fighting like he was drunk, Bastion thought. Perhaps he was. Bastion grabbed his arm that held the blade, and punched him in the face a third time. Draiman reeled from the hard punches.

  Bastion held his wrist, as Draiman was still standing. He smashed him in the face again, as they stood there. And again. He punched him hard in the gut. Another blow, as hard as Bastion could swing, and Draiman’s face exploded with blood.

  Bastion let him drop to the ground. He was not moving. He looked up, to see Yana with an arrow knocked... pointing directly at him. His chest heaved, as he tried to catch his breath.

  The other Ursari men moved forward, to finish Bastion, stopping almost immediately. A group of gypsies crested the hill behind Bastion, as he turned to look. Luba, Dimmie, Jaelle, Kizzy, Nadya, and some others that Nathaniel had trained. They came to stand with the King. All eyes turned back to Bastion and Yana.

  Bastion had no armor on, as he stared down Yana. He took off his shirt, revealing the scar on his chest. He spread his arms wide, baring his heart to her.

  Yana’s hand was shaking badly. He looked so powerful, so terrible, so beautiful. She loved him. She hated him. Either way, she was not going to release her arrow. It filled Yana with pain and guilt, to see him this way. She was mortified that she had even drawn an arrow against him.

  “I think your aim is off,” Bastion said. He could see her shaking, as he pointed down to the unconscious Draiman. She pointed the arrow at him, instead of Bastion, and looked at Bastion. Then, she lowered her bow.

  “You should not have come,” Yana said. Bastion raised his voice, to the decree of a King.

  “Ursari gypsies!” he boomed. “Every one of you will leave Jedikai by tomorrow! You will leave in peace, or you will leave in death, but you will leave!” Draiman’s men looked at each other.

  “As for you,” he said, lowering his voice, “you can go wherever the hell you want.” He looked at Yana, her face a mess of dust and tears.

  “Damn right I will,” Yana said. Bastion loved her, even in her cruelties and confusion. She was right. Love was never their problem.

  “Ya tebya lublu, Yana,” he said, and walked away.

  Yana watched him go, as her friends withdrew from there as well. She was left with the Ursari, and a mountain of misery. She looked down at Draiman, still unconscious. He looked pathetic. She picked up the knife that Bastion had flung to the ground, and tucked it into her belt. The other men went back to the fire, acting secretive, making sure she did not hear their discussions. Yana was grateful they were leaving tomorrow.

  She took a big drink, trying to feel numb again. It seemed to be working against her this time, making her feel worse. Her thoughts and emotions for her beloved Bastion were more powerful than ever. She hoped they might fade on the road, but this night, they pulsed like a bleeding wound. She felt her wrist burning, from the scar she had gotten the night she met Bastion. She felt like she was burning all over. She remembered the dream she had, when their ship was caught in a Black Sea storm. She could feel that feeling, plunging down into the cold sea, burning all the way down, just like in the dream. She sat against a log, looking into the fire in a daze.

  “Hey,” Draiman said, coming over to her. “Aren’t you going to help me?” He was blotting the blood on his face, trying to clean up. Evening was coming, and it would be dark soon. Yana looked at him with disgust.

  “You don’t need my help,” she said. Draiman scowled at her, and went to tend to himself. After he killed the King, he thought, he would kill her next. The thought of killing Yana, and Bastion, cheered him up nicely. He took his men aside, and told them to prepare for the night.

  “Light two fires,” he told them, “right next to each other. We need to signal Otta. Tonight is the night.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Bastion walked back to the west meadows with the gypsies that had come to support him. He was amazed that they did. He wished his citizens could see what good people most of them were.

  “How is Lyubov?” He asked Luba, arriving at their wagon.

  “I think she is getting better!” Luba said. “I think I have found the right medicine.”

  “Good, good,” Bastion said.

  “I am sorry about everything,” Luba said. “You are a good man. I don’t know what has become of Yana.”

  “She is hurting,” Bastion said. “I hope you can all convince her to stay with you. The Ursari will be her undoing,” Bastion said, unaware of how right he was.

  “Bastion,” Lyubov called in a crusty voice from inside her wagon. She came out, stepping slowly down the few steps onto the ground.

  “Bastion,” she said again. Luba helped her over to the fire.

  “You, King Bastion,” the old gypsy said, clearing her raspy throat.

  “Yes, Lyubov. How are you?” Bastion said. She waved him off dismissively.

  “Where Yana’s heart?”

  “I do not know,” Bastion said, his face dropping. It was a hard question. Lyubov was not known for pleasantries.

  “You know,” she said. “Where is her heart?” Bastion looked at her, confused.

  “The heart of a gypsy,” Luba explained. “The Alexandrite stone.”

  “It is in the center of my crown,” he said, looking at Lyubov. He looked back at Luba. “What did you say?”

  “The stone she gave you is known as the heart of a gypsy,” Luba said. “Yana gave you the most precious, valuable thing she had. Her heart.”

  Bastion thought back to the look on her face, as she had given it to him. She had tried to tell him what it meant.

  “Why did she leave me then?” he said.

  “Where your heart?” Lyubov asked Bastion, ignoring his question.

  “Broken,” he said.

  “No, no,” Lyubov said. “Your heart?”

  “The alexandrite in the other crown,” Luba said.

  “Da,” Lyubov said. “Where?”

  “In the center of the crown next to mine,” Bastion said, unsure where she was going. “But I do not have the heart of a gypsy,” he said.

  “Wrong,” she said. “You gypsy.”

  “I am King of Jedikai, Lyubov. I am no gypsy.”

  “Wrong.” Lyubov rolled her eyes at him. “You gypsy. Your mother. I know your mother.”

  “You knew my mother?” Bastion said. “How can that be?”

  “Your mother, Kesali,” she said. “Your mother gypsy. I travel with her.”

  “My mother, a gypsy?” Bastion said, incredulous.

  “Kesali, gypsy name,” she said. “The heart in her crown was yours.”

  “What?”

  “Foolish boy,” she frowned at Bastion. “King gave Kesali the stone when they marry. When you born, she gave it to you. When she die, King put it in her crown.”

  “Why... he never told me...” Bastion was in shock.

  “You gave Yana your heart, in that crown. Heart of g
ypsy.” Bastion could not bear the words, indictments upon his soul.

  His mother was a gypsy.

  Just like Yana.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Yana sat drinking at the Ursari campfire. If the drink could not ease the pain, perhaps it would at least knock her out cold. She planned to take her last bottle with her back to her own camp, her own wagon, and her old friends. Her bow and arrows lay next to her, splayed in the dirt.

  She would get her faithful horse, Kuta, and her wagon… and lead her family away from Jedikai, and never return. She was ruined, everything was ruined, and she wanted nothing more than to flee.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  “King Bastion!” Nico came running up. “I must see you at once!” Bastion had been sitting at the gypsy fire as evening set in, ignoring his duties in the city.

  “Speak,” Bastion said.

  “No Sire,” he said, “please, come with me.” Bastion came without hesitation. Something was clearly wrong. They got by themselves, outside the meadow camps.

  “There is an army moving on the city,” Nico said.

  “An army? Where?” Bastion said, feeling his pulse quicken.

  “Five or six miles south. Moldavians from Kaffa.”

  “How did they get so close without our knowing?” Bastion said.

  “They must have moved fast,” Nico said. “Sire, there are gypsies in their army.”

  “Gypsies?” Bastion said.

  “They are slaves. They have many slaves in the army. They probably promised them freedom if they fight against Jedikai.”

  “How many?” Bastion demanded.

  “Hundreds,” Nico said. “Maybe thousands.”

  Emilee and her friends came running up.

  “What is it, Captain?” she asked. Nico, the Captain, and Bastion, the former Captain, answered her together.

  “A fight.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Draiman sat with Yana. He was restless, and was encouraging her to drink, pretending to drink with her. Tonight was the night, and Otta would be here soon. If he did not get any more information, he would have to go with Otta to join their army. Draiman did not want to fight in the army, however. He wanted Bastion’s head.

  Yana was rambling, complaining about Bastion, gypsies, gaje, leaving the kingdom, and anything else that popped into her drunken mind. Draiman found her to be a tedious and annoying drunk. He was losing patience, and running out of time.

  “They close those city gates now,” Draiman said, leading the subject. “Bastion does that to keep you out.”

  “Some King, afraid of a gypsy girl like me!” Yana laughed sloppily.

  “I don’t know how he even gets out at night,” Draiman said. “He must climb over a wall like an idiot,” he mocked the King.

  “Oh no he doesn’t,” Yana said. “There’s a passage in the mountain.”

  “No there isn’t, that is ridiculous. You are drunk,” Draiman said.

  “I might be drunk, but there sure as hell is a passage.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “It’s right over there, you horse’s ass! It’s not even very far from here!” she said.

  “I don’t see it,” he said, looking out towards the mountainside.

  “Stupid. It’s down there,” she pointed. “There are two huge rocks in front of a pixie tree. You just follow the little valley inward.”

  “That is weak,” Draiman said. “I always knew they were a bunch of cowards.”

  “Maybe,” Yana said, “but he sure beat your ass today!” Draiman was enraged, and almost struck her right there... but thought better of it.

  “Yeah, he sure did, didn’t he?” Draiman said, staying friendly. “Listen, you better lie down,” he said. He helped her up, as she stumbled about. She grabbed up her old bow, and the fresh arrows from the city.

  “No!” she said. “I want to go to my camp.”

  “Your camp? Don’t you want to ride out with us tomorrow?”

  “Noooo,” she slurred. “I want to go home.”

  “Come on then, I’ll take you to your camp,” Draiman said, leading her towards his wagon.

  “Thanks Draiman,” she slurred again. He got her to the entrance of his wagon, and punched her in the face, knocking her out. That felt good. When this was over, he would make sure to do it as often as he pleased.

  He tossed her limp form into his wagon, and climbed in after her. He locked shackles around both of her wrists, the other side of the chain bolted to the wagon.

  “Now you just sit tight,” Draiman said. “Don’t worry. I will teach you suffering that will make you forget all about ol’ Bastion.” He laughed.

  “In fact, after I kill him, you’ll never have to think of him again.”

  ______________________

  The Gypsy Queen- CHAPTER 28- “Treason”

  “Otta!” Draiman said, greeting him with haste. “It’s time to move!”

  “I gave the order for the gates to open,” he said. “They will open at four bells.”

  “Well done, King Otta!”

  “Enough with that,” Otta chided him. “There’s a battle to be fought tonight, and you better be ready.”

  “We are ready,” Draiman said. “You have to get down to Degonyat’s army right away.”

  “What? No. I have to go back into the city,” Otta replied.

  “No way. Degonyat has demanded that you go there directly. Now. He has not met you, and does not trust you. If he decides to work with you, he will help you get into the city and set up the agreement for you to be King.”

  “I can’t go,” Otta insisted.

  “You will go,” Draiman said, “or else my men and I have orders to kill you where you stand.” Otta looked back at the city, and the things that were about to go horribly wrong. He realized that he himself would probably die on this night. Or, he would get everything he wanted. He was glad he had come out to this campsite prepared.

  “I will go,” Otta said, “but there’s going to be a real mess to clean up tomorrow.”

  “You’ll be King,” Draiman said. “You can do whatever you want. The army is about five miles, right between those two peaks,” Draiman said, pointing. “We will follow, and be there an hour behind you.”

  Otta turned to go, and then stopped. “Hey, what’s going to happen to all the gypsies out here in the west meadows, after the fight is over?” he asked. Draiman smiled.

  “We’ll take a few girls as slaves,” Draiman said, “and kill or sell the rest.” Otta walked away with a sick feeling in his stomach. He saw Yana’s arrows scattered in the dirt, as he departed. He hoped she had left- he liked Yana.

  And he had not ordered for the city gates to be opened at all.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  “Assemble all the black riders immediately, and meet me down by that grove of trees down there,” Bastion said, pointing. “Alert Otta to close the city gates and keep them closed. No horses.”

  “Yes, Sire,” Nico said, and sprinted back toward the city.

  “Emilee, gather any gypsy who wishes to fight for the kingdom, and bring them all to that grove, as fast as you can. I have an idea.”

  “Yes, Captain,” she said.

  “Fast, Emilee. How fast can you go?” Bastion challenged her. Emilee tore off at a speed he thought only great cats were capable of.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Draiman watched Otta hurry towards the awaiting army. He was excited about the night, but he did not trust Otta any more than Otta trusted him. If Degonyat didn’t like him, he would kill him on the spot, and there would be no King at all. He had no intention, however, of going to join the army from Kaffa. Nor would he storm the open gates at four bells. He had his own plan, and it involved the only two things he wanted right now.

  Killing Bastion, and stealing Yana.

  He wanted to kill Yana, but he thought he might enjoy hearing her beg for her life a while. He touched his face, badly bruised from the day’s fight, feeding his fury.


  “Gunari, come with me,” Draiman ordered.

  “Where are we going?” Gunari replied.

  “We are going to the King’s passage,” Draiman said. “The King is going to come out of that passage, and we are going to give him a sharp welcome.” He brandished his sword.

  “The rest of you, make ready. When the army moves in, I want you to clear these meadows. Take whatever slave girls or children you want, and kill every other gypsy in the meadow, as fast as you can. Then go north of the Dneister river to the spot where we camp. If I am not with you, take my wagon and I will meet you there.”

  Draiman and Gunari followed the direction that Yana had foolishly offered. They found the boulders, and the pixie tree, and followed the valley as the walls steepened and narrowed, revealing the entrance, behind some kind of door of bushes. He was about to light a torch and enter, to get a feel for where he could best ambush Bastion, when he heard some noise coming towards them. He grabbed his friend and jerked them out of the way, leaping over some foliage, and laid quiet.

  Black riders emerged from the entrance. Draiman couldn’t see well, in the light, but there seemed to be more than he would have guessed. Twenty? Forty? No way to tell. He sneered, as he watched them go straight to their certain doom. A small group of assassins was no match for an army.

  Draiman waited a while, before daring to explore the King’s passage.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Bastion awaited in the grove he had chosen, in the dark, and it was not a long wait. The black riders were upon him so swiftly and silently that Bastion was amazed.

  “I can see you have trained well,” he told them all, as they emerged from the shadows. Nico pulled his hood back.