Queen of Rebels

by Karim Soliman

  "For what? Lying to me? Or marrying me?'

  "Doly, please. I understand your fury. I should have been clear with you from the beginning. But I hope you understand my good intentions as well. We can still overcome this together."

  "We are through, Masolon. I have seen in my own family how such a beginning ends, and I'm not ready to live that life." Doly opened the door. "You should meet with Father to see to the arrangements of undoing our marriage."

  He had nothing to say, and she was not waiting for him to do so anyway. Embracing the first roll of her clothes she went outside, and then returned to take the other roll heaped on the table. Instead of carrying it at once, she stared at it for a moment and snatched a purple dress from the pile. "Keep that." She tossed the dress to the floor and gathered what remained of her clothes in her arms. "I'm taking my father's cart." She strode outside, probably for the last time.

  Masolon picked the purple dress up, recalling how pretty Doly had looked in it on their wedding day. Today the dress was hollow when he held it in his arms.

  8. MASOLON

  Masolon enjoyed the music of striking hammers in Herlog, the sight of the villagers joining him for one common mission lifting his spirits. He knew he could not turn rabbits into lions, but at least he could do his best to help them grow claws and teach them how to scratch with these claws.

  At noon, they were done attaching scaffolds to the sides of the interior wall in most of the village perimeter. What still remained was the gate which needed reinforcement, and that was another matter he needed to explain to those beginners. To them, the gate appeared adequate, but Masolon knew that one mighty strike with a wooden log would force that gate open.

  "Weapons have arrived, Masolon!" announced Edd. The slender, blond lad was enjoying what he was doing—hollering from time to another—atop the watchtower. Let us see how you enjoy it when the men in chainmail come, boy.

  Masolon strode toward Ben and two other lads who were all on horseback. Ben knocked on the box behind him. "Arrows are here." He pointed at his two fellows. "Bows and swords are there."

  "Only one box of arrows?" Masolon wondered.

  "I spent all the gold you gave me. Arrows are very expensive." Ben shrugged.

  "Arrows are not that expensive." Masolon should have gone himself to Ramos to get the job done. It was supposed to be a simple task. "The weapon merchant fooled you." The box was not even full when Masolon examined it.

  "Maybe he did." Ben shrugged casually. "But the impaled bastard did not."

  When Masolon shot him an inquisitive look, Ben went on, "There is a rumor in Ramos that Kalhom has fallen to a titanic army of rebels led by a bloodthirsty lady. Some believe she is the surviving daughter of the late King Charlwood."

  During the year Masolon had spent in Herlog, he did not bother learning that much about Bermanian history. All he knew was that Wilander was the name of the current king, and Di Galio was the duke of the whole region of Ramos, to which Herlog belonged.

  "That soldier was a scout indeed," Masolon concluded as he tried to estimate the arrows count in the box. Since he was severely outnumbered, his plan of defense relied mainly on archery. But not against that titanic army. Even if I have a million arrows, I am short of archers who know how to hit what they are aiming at.

  Masolon checked the two other bigger boxes. Short swords were the majority of their contents in addition to some arming swords. Gritting his teeth, Masolon allowed a scornful chuckle. "I am quite sure you found those short swords much cheaper, right?"

  "The cheapest actually." Ben grinned.

  "Good job, Ben." Masolon had to lie to keep the morale of his army. "Make sure everyone is armed, and take these boxes with the remaining weapons to the mill. Do not forget to lock them well."

  "We have unknown visitors!" Edd yelled from his post atop the watchtower, not so amused this time. "Man your posts!"

  Masolon hurried toward the gate. "Lock it now!" he bawled, climbing up the ladder to reach the scaffold adjacent to the frontal side of the wall. "Stay alert." He glanced at the watchtower, addressing Edd, who held a bow and arrow, ready to take a shot. “Both of you,” he added as Ben ascended the other tower and aimed

  Ten horsemen were slowly approaching until they stopped near the gate. Masolon could recognize the heavy Bermanian armor of the knight who advanced ahead of his companions. This one is no scout, Masolon surmised.

  "We know you hold one of our men in your custody,” the knight barked, his coarse voice might sound intimidating to the lads of Herlog.

  “Did he tell you or what?” Masolon asked gruffly.

  “No.” The knight smirked. “But the tracks of dragging him here did, you peasant.”

  Peasant? Since Masolon was just wearing his everyday sleeveless tunic and breeches, he excused the knight for his ignorance. “I am afraid he was not in a sound condition to walk.”

  That one aggravated the knight. “You will pay for attacking our men, scum,” he wagged a menacing finger. “All of you will.”

  “Your men’s blood is not more precious than our girls’.” Masolon glared at the knight. “Tell your queen that her army is two rapists and murderers shorter now.” The rumor was true; Masolon saw it in the knight’s wide eyes when he stressed on ‘queen’.

  “This is your last warning.” The knight clenched his fist. “If I wheel my horse without my soldier, I promise you, you will have to deal with a bigger horde than this.”

  "You can have your soldier, for certain.” Masolon gestured with open arms. “If you do not mind digging beneath your horse’s hooves.”

  The knight muttered with indistinct words (it would be a surprise if they were not curses) as he motioned to his men to turn and follow him back to the woods. Masolon gestured to Ben and Edd to hold their arrows until the forest swallowed the horsemen.

  "Weren't you able to talk to them in a nicer way?" Ben looked worried. "They didn't seem in need of provocation."

  "Stop it." Masolon gave him a dismissive gesture. "Listen. We must gather all men and lads of Herlog. Bring all who can shoot with a bow to the walls.” He hurriedly climbed down and urged the lads standing nearby, “We need all hands to get this gate done before nightfall. I do not want to see anybody here without a hammer or a saw.” He looked up at Edd, who was still atop the watchtower. "Keep your eyes open. Do not go anywhere until I come back to you."

  Edd called out to Masolon as he scurried to his horse. "Where are you going?"

  "My house." Masolon swung up into the saddle of his stallion. "I am quite sure I am going to make use of my armor."

  * * *

  By sunset, the yard near the wooden gate was more thronged than it had been earlier this morning.

  Wearing his black armor, Masolon aided the men working on reinforcing the gate. After he felt more satisfied with its condition, he gave a hand to those attaching the remaining scaffolds. Fortunately, his Murasen armor was light and flexible enough not to hinder his movement.

  "Masolon! Enemy at the gates!"

  Masolon was at the eastern side of the wall when he heard Edd's alarmed voice. "All archers to the front!" Masolon urged as he picked his weapons from the ground. Sprinting toward the gate, his armor did not stop rattling until he ascended Ben's watchtower. From the woods more and more soldiers emerged until they thronged the field between the woods and the gate of the village. They kept swarming forward and Masolon was counting, not less than three hundred men he estimated, one hundred of them cavalry.

  "I guess I need a nice armor like yours," Ben muttered, but at least he tried to fake a pale smile. The rest of the Herlogans manning their posts did not even try, the Brave Lads included. Those peasants had never encountered fully armored soldiers before.

  "Hold yourselves together. Just make sure you keep those bastards outside our walls." Masolon meant every word of it. His whole army was only sixty-seven men and lads. All those claiming to be familiar with handling arrows and bows were eighteen, yet Masolon was not quite
sure of their proficiency. Most probably, he was going to see their skills for himself soon. On the ground behind the locked gate stood the main strength of Masolon’s army. “The gate is your territory. Never abandon your territory for any reason until we tell you it is over."

  They nodded, some of them waving their swords in acknowledgment. Masolon doubted they actually grasped what they were supposed to do, and he could not blame them for that. Except for the Brave Lads, most of Herlog peasants had never touched real swords.

  The brawny knight leading the queen’s horde advanced toward the gate, a huge war axe strapped to his back. His armored warhorse was the biggest Masolon had ever seen. "Hold your fire," Masolon commanded his nervous men.

  "Well, well, well." The brawny knight looked right and left. "What do we have here? A garrison?"

  "Let me shoot him, Masolon," Ben whispered, tightening his grip on his bow.

  "Not before we hear what he has to say." Masolon kept his eyes fixed on the brawny knight, who was still gazing at the palisade walls of Herlog in amusement.

  "You, the fellow in the fancy armor." The brawny leader pointed his forefinger at Masolon. "I assume if I want to speak to someone from this garrison, it will be you, right?"

  Underestimation and overconfidence; Masolon would expect that from an enemy that outnumbered him five to one. He had even expected a more titanic army to attack the village.

  "Who do you represent, soldier?" Masolon pointed his bastard sword at his opponent, who seemed to be a bit infuriated by the gesture.

  "You had better learn some manners before you bring doom to your people, peasant." The enemy leader glared at Masolon. "You're talking to General Gramus himself. I speak on behalf of all of Queen Rona's troops."

  "It is a pleasure meeting you, General Gramus himself." Masolon cynically saluted the general. "But I am afraid to tell you there are no peasants here if you are looking for one."

  "Who are you trying to fool with these innocent faces?" Gramus nodded toward the lads standing beside Masolon. "Listen up, I didn't come here to slaughter some farmers. You all still have a chance to survive if Herlog submits to the queen's governance. And needless to say, you have to surrender those who killed the queen's soldiers."

  "Slaughter some farmers?” Masolon echoed. “What if I give you a chance to be slaughtered by a real warrior?"

  "You dare to challenge me?" Gramus snarled. "You know what, my troops will retreat if you defeat me, but I swear I'll raze Herlog to the ground after crushing your skull under my foot."

  Masolon would not waste such a chance to spare those terrified peasants a deathly fight. "I am coming to you." Masolon pointed his sword again. "Do not run away."

  He sheathed his sword, and while he was descending, Ben said, "They won't retreat."

  "Just be ready," Masolon nodded toward him. "Fire at will if one soldier takes a step forward."

  When Masolon was back on the ground, he strode toward the locked gate. "I have a conversation to make, fellows." He motioned to his men to open the gate. "Do not follow me whatever happens."

  Masolon stepped outside, raising his palm for his archers to hold their fire. When Gramus dismounted, Masolon realized how tall his opponent was. Taller and bigger than my father, Masolon thought. His clansmen were the tallest in Ogono, and his father was the tallest among his clansmen. That Gramus was the most towering man Masolon had ever seen.

  "That's a real armor you wear." Gramus put his hands on his waist. "I wonder how it fell into the hands of a peasant like you."

  "Unlike you, I have not introduced myself yet," said Masolon coldly. "I am Masolon, a former commander in the Murasen army."

  Gramus furrowed his brow, giving Masolon a long studying look. "A Murasen? You don't look or sound like one. What on earth are you doing here?"

  "Well." Masolon shrugged, his hands on his waist. "Deterring the likes of your bastards from harassing my people."

  "You as well as those men you executed are the subjects of Her Grace Queen Rona Charlwood. She is the only one who has the right to decide about them, not you."

  "I never heard of your queen before." With one hand, Masolon slowly drew his greatsword. This bastard needs more than a bastard sword. "But if she protects rapists and murderers, then she has no right to decide about anything in my land."

  Gramus arched his eyebrow, his eyes fixed on Masolon's greatsword. For a moment, Masolon felt that his opponent was about to say something, but suddenly, the towering knight charged, swinging his massive war axe. Swiftly, Masolon drew his steel shield and blocked the two-handed blow. With the other hand, Masolon stabbed, but Gramus evaded his strike with an agility that did not befit such a gigantic opponent. As Masolon became vulnerable after his stab had missed its target, he raised his shield to prevent another massive blow from smashing his head. The shock his shield-arm received from Gramus's mighty strikes could have broken his elbow if it hadn't been for Masolon's toned muscles. The daily exercise Masolon had kept up with for a whole year was paying off so far.

  "Your shield won't protect you for long," Gramus snarled, still holding his axe with both hands.

  "It will. You strike like a whore," Masolon lied. In fact he doubted his left arm would stand those heavy strikes for long. His enraged opponent roared as he lunged forward, his axe clanging against Masolon's steel shield three times. Masolon kept his firm grip on the shield, taking one step back with every strike he blocked. Right after blocking a forth blow, Masolon hit Gramus's blade with an upward shield swing, trying to open his opponent's defenses, but Gramus's arm was barely impacted by Masolon's strike. At once, Masolon swung his sword, but Gramus met it with a huge two-handed counter strike that almost toppled Masolon's sword from his hand. Gramus followed his blow with another one that missed Masolon's neck by a hair when the latter tilted his body sideways. The towering knight did not give Masolon a chance to restore his balance and struck with a backhanded swing that would have cleaved Masolon's chest if he had not let himself fall on his back, his arms open, still gripping his sword and shield. Rolling his body on the ground, Masolon lifted his steel shield to meet the cursed blade of the axe and swung at Gramus's leg. Again, the towering general displayed his agility as he made half a turnaround that spared his leg the most of Masolon's strike, the tip of the greatsword barely scrapping the metallic greaves protecting Gramus's legs. Gramus countered with a strike aiming at Masolon's sword-arm, but Masolon evaded the axe when he rolled again and pushed to his feet. Unlike the previous times, Gramus held his weapon and waited. He wants me to attack, hoping he finds an opening.

  Or maybe he was just catching his breath before making another charge.

  The second possibility urged Masolon to lunge forward. He tossed his shield toward Gramus, who stopped it from hitting his knee using his axe; a moment of distraction enough for Masolon to make his move. While rushing toward his opponent, Masolon gripped his greatsword with both hands this time and jumped toward Gramus, summoning all the power he got in his muscles. Gramus's axe met Masolon's blade at the last moment, yet Masolon two-handed strike earned additional momentum from his jump. Despite Gramus's strength, his arm flexed backward, allowing his forehead to be scratched down to his left eyebrow with the blade of his own axe.

  Silence descended over the whole place when Gramus growled like a wounded bear as he stepped backward, blood flooding his eye. Everybody was stunned, Masolon no exception.

  "Stop it, soldier!" Ben's cry came from behind Masolon, from his garrison. Two seconds later, an arrow was shot from the walls of Herlog, plummeting right into the chest of one armored soldier.

  "I said: do not shoot!" Masolon hollered at his fellows behind him, but it was too late. Three hundred soldiers shook the ground with their angry roars as they raced toward Masolon or toward the gate of Herlog—he did not wait to determine which.

  "Come back, Masolon!" Strapping the greatsword and the shield to his back, Masolon was sprinting toward the gate already when he heard Ben's cry. Curse you, Ben!
Though Masolon was not sure how much more time the duel would last, he had no doubt he was winning it. Hot-headed opponents like Gramus would easily lose their composure when wounded, making themselves vulnerable to more hits.

  The Herlogan arrows hissed over him, mingling with cries of soldiers hit behind him. "Lock it now!" Masolon urged his fellows when he passed the gate. He fluidly climbed the ladder to reach the scaffold, drew his bow, and started shooting at the attacking soldiers. "Shoot at the masses, lads! Make your arrows count!"

  With Masolon's return, Herlog had now nineteen archers defending its walls, but the nineteenth archer in particular was more familiar with bows and arrows than the rest. Nock, aim, loose; these actions were merely reflexes. "No enemy will wait for you until you stand still to shoot him," his father had taught him. "You should not think of it. Just let your eyes and arms do the aiming and shooting." Masolon had needed years to wield a bow the way his father wished. He was ten when he hit his first target. . . while sitting on the back of a galloping horse.

  Masolon kept losing arrows, and the queen's soldiers made his job easy by cramming in front of the gate. Instead of bringing a ram or even a wooden log, they were trying to force the gate open by pushing it, all together in unison. It is not a barn gate, you fools, Masolon wanted to tell them, his hands not stopping for a second. He did not count the dead, but he knew he had shot a little more than thirty soldiers when his quiver was empty.

  "More arrows here!" Masolon bawled, turning his head right and left, looking for someone to replenish his empty quiver. A ten-year-old boy standing at the side of the scaffold hurried to Masolon with a bunch of arrows piled high in his little arms.

  "Thank you." Masolon nodded to the kid with a brief smile and took the arrows from him. "Get more arrows and stay close to me."

  The boy left and Masolon resumed hunting Gramus's soldiers down with his arrows, adding twenty more soldiers to his tally.

  "Retreat!" a cry came out from the attacking troops outside the wall. Masolon scanned the field, looking for Gramus, but he was nowhere to be seen. He did not know whether Gramus had abandoned the battlefield or whether he had been killed.