"None of your concern." Maat jabbed his finger at Masolon.
"Of course it is. Not able to tell friend from foe, you almost shot me the last time."
"You can never know if I missed you on purpose." Maat glared at him.
"Maat! Please, no need for this." Ben stood between Masolon and Maat, pulling his friend away by the arm. "Come on. Let's go for a walk."
Maat harshly pushed Ben's hand and walked away.
Masolon turned to the weeping girl. "You are alright now." He gently patted her shoulders. "Please, tell me anything that can help me find those bastards."
"They shouldn't have killed her," the poor girl said, tears racing down her cheeks. We did nothing wrong, not to them nor to anybody else."
"I swear I will slaughter those dogs when I find them," Masolon promised. "Do you have any clue where they went? How they looked like?"
The girl was still in shock. Persuading her to talk would require more patience from Masolon.
"Listen." Masolon gently raised her chin to face him. "I know the last few hours were probably the harshest and most difficult ones of your life, but I need your help to avenge your murdered sister. Can you pull yourself together for a moment and answer a few questions for me."
When she silently nodded, he went on, "Good. Tell me: is this where they attacked you?"
She looked around before she replied, "I don't think so. We could see our village in the west when those two men intercepted our way."
"So, they attacked you in the morning?"
"It was around sunset. We wanted to hurry back before nightfall."
So, the attack had occurred a few hours ago. Those bastards could be out of reach now. "Do you remember if they were riding horses?"
"They were not. They were on foot when they chased us. I mean her. I don't know how it all happened, but I suddenly realized that I was running on my own." She bit her lower lip. "I was so scared. I didn't call out to my sister because I was afraid they might. . ." Her tears choked her voice.
"Find you," Masolon completed her sentence for her.
"I shouldn't have left her when they. . ." She started to cry again.
"No one can ever blame you for that." He patted her shoulders to soothe her. "I have one last question, and then I will let you be. Do you remember anything about their looks? Their outfits?"
"They wore chainmail." She sniffed. "One of them had a thick mustache. That is all I noticed."
"We will find them," Masolon promised. "Come now."
Taking her by the hand, Masolon helped the shocked girl get up on her feet and then walked her toward Ben. "Make sure she returns to her home safely," he ordered the tall lad. "I will ride ahead of you with the body to take it to the village."
Ben took the girl’s hand and called out to the rest of the lads to follow him. "What about the bandits?" he asked Masolon.
"Leave them to me," said Masolon. "Obviously, we are not facing bandits this time."
5. RONA
Rona's stomach was in knots the first time she rode with her procession in the streets of Kalhom, a crowd standing on both sides to watch their new queen. Nobody celebrated her entrance; she had done nothing yet to earn anybody's love here, but there was no reason for the good people of Kalhom to hate her either. The cooperation of those who remained from Jerek's troops guaranteed a peaceful fall of the most important city in the north.
Her subjects in her reception; a sight she had been dreaming of, but it was scarier than she ever thought. A long war was waiting for her until the day she would sit on the real throne in the royal palace of Paril, but suddenly she found herself ruling today. Yes, it was only one region for now, but that meant hundreds of thousands of mouths to feed and souls to protect. One region shouldn't be a problem if you want to rule a kingdom, Rona, she reminded herself.
The big hall of Kalhom’s palace was her temporary throne hall. Her first order in the first meeting of her reign was to place many more candles in this dimly lit hall, the second order to flood the floor with water to wipe off the dust. “How did Jerek stay here?” she muttered, surprised by the lack of standards of the late lord.
After the hall was cleaned, she summoned all her vassals to meet in it. When she had ascertained they had all arrived first, she entered the hall and sat on her throne without giving anyone her permission to be seated; a reminder to all these veteran lords that the young pretty girl in the golden dress was the one in charge here and now. The tiara on her head was nothing like the six-gemmed royal crown, but another simple reminder would not harm. She needed those reminders herself to silence the fluttering butterflies in her stomach. None of her subalterns must have the slightest doubt about her capacity to lead them in this war.
"You all have shown your true mettle, milords." She kept her voice loud and clear. "What we have achieved today is no small victory. Today we are sending a firm message to Wilander and his men that their defeat is not just possible, but inevitable; that it is merely a matter of time until they feel our cold blades on their necks."
The lords voiced their approval, their reaction making her hair stand on end.
"I knew it; King Charlwood is still alive." The good-looking Lord Lanark pointed his finger at her, the lords' clamor growing louder. Hearing her father's name at such a moment almost overwhelmed her, but she sharply inhaled to hold her composure. Father would be proud of me if he could see me now, she thought.
"Your Grace." Though Gramus was close to her, he raised his voice to make sure everybody in the hall heard him. "We are not done with Kalhom yet. We still need to send our troops to the peripherals to make sure that the entire region has fallen and is now secure."
The humming voices of all lords hushed when Lord Darrison, their senior, spoke in his calm clear voice, "With all my respect, General. The peripherals don't matter as long as we control the region’s main city and its castle. If we want to make the most of our early victory, we must take the shortest way to Paril while our enemy is still trying to understand what is happening." The beefy lord turned to Rona. "Your Grace, we must march to Ramos before Wilander unleashes Di Galio upon us. I prefer besieging the Fox to defending against his attack."
Rona did not remember if she had met this Di Galio in her childhood, but of course she had heard of him. The Fox was Wilander's right-hand man, his vassal in Ramos, and his Lord Marshal. She had nagging doubts that he had masterminded her family's murder. "How strong are Di Galio's forces, Lord Darrison?" she asked.
"The moment the news of Kalhom’s fall reaches the royal palace, the forces of Paril will join those of Ramos under Di Galio's command. That means ten to fifteen thousand men, Your Grace, in addition to five or six trebuchets. And trust me, no one likes to defend against those monstrous siege engines."
"There are still the eastern and southern regions," said the bald, blue-eyed Lord Jonson, his slim frame making him appear a bit younger than Darrison. "If Wilander calls them to send their forces—and he will—we will be trapped and also outnumbered."
"You know the easterners and the southerners, old man," Darrison grinned at Jonson, "the closer you get to the royal palace in Paril the less likely they will answer Wilander's call."
"That's a big risk, Your Grace," Gramus said firmly. "I say we wait here in Kalhom until we hire more mercenaries from Skandivia."
"If you allow me, Your Grace." Darrison's smile faded when he addressed her. "What General Gramus suggests is the big risk. Di Galio will need one week at least to muster his fifteen thousand men. During this week, we will be forcing Di Galio to surrender Ramos by capturing his most valuable fort in Subrel."
"That is how we win this war, Your Grace," Lanark seconded, a few more lords nodding in approval. Generally, the audience seemed to agree with Darrison except for the conservative Lord Jonson, and of course, her always concerned guardian, General Gramus.
They were all silent now, all eyes fixed on her. Her decision was what they were waiting to hear.
"Lord Darrison's p
lan involves too much risk," Rona said, studying her vassal's faces. She knew they were studying hers too. "But had I wanted to stay away from risk, I would have stayed in Skandivia until I died of old age there."
They liked what she said; she could tell from their eyes and approving clamor. Even the bald Jonson gave her a faint smile. Amid the fuss, Gramus came close to her dais, his scowl even worse now. "We need to talk before you make any announcements." His voice was so low that no one else could hear him. But nobody was to interrupt her like that, even if it was Gramus.
"We march south at first light," she announced, ignoring her towering guardian. "General Gramus shall brief you of the formation."
* * *
When the meeting was over, Rona asked Gramus to accompany her for a walk in the garden. He was right; they needed to talk.
"Since when have you been acting without consulting me?" His tone betrayed his disapproval. "You have arranged with that old Darrison to set Jerek up in Neldon without telling me. And now you approve his plan to march south despite my opposition. Please tell me: what are you doing?"
What she had done in Neldon in particular was to prove to him that she was no longer the helpless scared little girl he used to look after. It was quite disappointing that among all her vassals, he was the only one who still did not believe she could be a real queen.
"Do you question my ability to manage this war, Gramus?" she asked, not so warmly. "Because you almost did in front of my vassals."
"It's your vassals' loyalty that I question, Rona. If there is one thing I have learned about lords, it's that you cannot give them your full trust."
"I cannot win my war without those lords you loathe and doubt their integrity and loyalty."
“You need them, yes. But that doesn’t mean you take every word they say for granted. Most of these men follow you, not because they believe in your right to the throne; but because they hope they can achieve with you what they could not achieve with Wilander. Darrison was desperate to become a duke after Jerek was granted the seat of Kalhom. Jonson knows that neither he nor any of his bloodline will ever come close to the seat of Ramos while Di Galio's house exists. But you appeared and gave them hope, and they are trying their luck and taking their chances with you.”
“I appreciate your concern, Gramus. But I know how to handle these men. I’m a grown-up woman now.”
"You must understand this, Rona. I have sworn an oath to my late father to protect the Charlwood bloodline until death, and I have no intention of breaking this oath. I will never let anybody, even you, harm the girl I have sworn to protect.”
"What will you do?” She chuckled. “Lock me in a chamber while you and the brave men fight my war for me? That is not going to happen.”
"You are the queen, and they are your vassals." Gramus leaned forward toward her. "Let everyone do his role."
"What about your tales about my father who inspired his men by leading them into the battlefield?"
"Your father fought alongside the men he trusted. You chose your men because they were less bad than the rest."
"I cannot disagree." Rona waited until they went past a couple of guards. "Let me tell you how this will play out. I will wait here until you capture the castle of Subrel. But I must be among the troops heading to Paril, and that is not up for discussion."
Gramus seemed to be weighing the matter inside his head. "The ugliest part of the war will end in Ramos, so we have no problem then."
Gramus took his leave, but Rona felt like staying in the garden to enjoy the sight of a clear Bermanian sunset sky; a luxury she missed enjoying during her long exile. In the twelve years she had spent in Skandivia, she could count the rainless days, usually in summer. Anyway, Kalhom was not too far away from the Skandivian borders. If she wanted to remind herself of the fine Bermanian air, she had to return to her home, to Paril.
The gardeners of this palace had been doing a good job during Jerek's reign, she acknowledged. All trees and bushes were trimmed, not a single dry leave in sight. Let everyone do his role, she thought as she saw Darrison coming toward her. The beefy lord greeted her with his usual warm smile, and she returned the same. Among all her father's lords, he was the one she remembered the most. Before Wilander assigned the castle of Neldon to him, the beefy lord was one of her father's close advisors in court. That was why she used to see him in the royal palace more often than all the other lords.
"Time is round like they say in Kalhom." He sighed, gazing at the palace behind her. "You don't know that the first time I met your father was here, in this very palace. He was a handsome lad of thirteen when he came with your late grandfather King Handry to meet with the Skandivian King." He smiled at her. "You may have the looks of your mother, but you talk and act like him. Same firmness, same fearlessness. As if you have spent all your life with him."
Rona's response was nothing more than a silent nod. She was determined not to get emotional with any of her vassals, even if it was her father's trustworthy advisor, who had brought her all the lords of the north.
"There is something I want to ask about, Your Grace."
"Say it, milord."
"Jerek got what he deserved, but what about his family? They were all jailed the day we captured the city." He leaned toward her. "Men, women, children; nobody was spared."
Rona was more familiar with feelings like fear and hatred. Sympathy was a word she had surely heard before. Should she feel a little ashamed of her impassiveness toward the poor children? They spared nobody from my family either.
"You tell me, milord." She looked Darrison in the eye. "What do you think of my decision?"
"I believe you want to show the Bermanians that you are a better ruler for them than the usurper." Darrison kept his smile.
"To earn their love?" She clenched her fist. "Like Mother?"
"I would say their respect, Your Grace."
"Respect!" A mocking laugh escaped Rona. "They respect me now because I have arms and steel."
"That's fear, Your Grace." Darrison filled his chest with cold air. "A king who rules by fear will always fear his people."
The discussion was clouding her mood. "Your suggestion, milord?"
"There is a plenty of room in this palace." He did not take a moment to consider his answer. Obviously, he had thought it through already. "The women and children can be confined in the western wing instead of leaving them in the dark dungeons. As for the men, they may stay in their cells until you decide otherwise."
"Will you be happy if I do that?"
"You will be happy, Your Grace." He grinned. "Trust me; sometimes it's better to keep your enemies close."
She could find some sense in his point after he put it that way. Later they will grow and seek vengeance, like me, she thought.
"Make sure everybody in this city hears of my mercy." Rona hoped not to regret her decision. "The people here must know that I'm not just another tyrant."
6. MASOLON
The armor he had painted black would not be the best camouflage after sunrise. But if he was going to face real soldiers, he might need more than camouflage.
Masolon tried not to make much noise so as not to wake his sleeping wife. He took the parts of his armor outside the bedchamber and started slowly and carefully with his clinking mail hauberk. Though clasping the cuisses and greaves to his thighs and legs went smoothly, he heard Doly’s light footsteps. She woke up after all.
“Still awake, Masolon?” She rubbed her eyes as she stood by the bedchamber door. “And why wearing your armor?”
“I slept for a couple of hours.” Masolon put the vambraces on his arms. “One of Maat’s cousins was murdered last night outside Herlog. I have to find the culprits who did that.”
“Merciful Lord!” She hit her chest. “Who was murdered?”
“I do not remember her name.” Masolon struggled with the straps of his breastplate on his back until he managed to clasp them. “She might be two or three years younger than you.” He sheathed
his bastard sword, strapped both his steel shield and greatsword to his back, and headed to the door.
“You didn’t sleep beside me, did you?” Doly surprised him with the question.
“I did not want to wake you, so I slept in the hall.” Masolon waited for a moment to see if she had anything else to say. Without uttering a word, she turned back to the bedchamber and slammed the door shut. For real? A girl from her village was murdered, and he was going out to face a bunch of outlaws, and all his dear wife was concerned about was him not spending the night next to her?
Mounting his black stallion, Masolon reached the palisade wall he had built with the Brave Lads to barricade the sides not facing the river. Atop each of the two wooden watchtowers at the closed gate stood a couple of the Brave lads. "We are coming with you." Ben descended from the left tower, Maat from the right, both armed with swords, bows, and arrows.
"Fighting well-trained soldiers might be different from facing bandits and outlaws," Masolon warned the two lads.
"What makes you so sure they are soldiers?" Maat asked dryly, holding his sword over his shoulder.
"I am not sure of anything." Masolon shrugged while Ben was opening the wooden gate. "They might have stolen the chainmail of other real soldiers. That is an even better reason for you to be wary of them."
"Soldiers or not, those dogs have killed one of my own blood." Maat went past the open gate. "I'm going after them for sure."
"And I can't leave him on his own pursuing them." Ben left the gate open and followed his friend.
Masolon spurred his horse onward past the two lads. "Watch your backs when you enter the woods. Do not let them ambush you."
"Aren't you going to wait for us?" Ben asked as Masolon left them behind. Of course not, boy, Masolon thought. Those two green lads would hinder him every step of the way if they interfered. They were his finest "warriors" in Herlog, though. But they were not ready yet to encounter real soldiers.
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