"Yes, bastards!" Edd hooted. "Run like rabbits!" The thrilled peasants of Herlog saw the fleeing soldiers off with chants and curses. The war was not over, Masolon knew, but his men, who had never believed they could repel the invaders, were in bad need of a morale boost.
Masolon grinned when he eyed the kid hurrying to him with more arrows. "You did a great job today, little warrior." Masolon rubbed the boy's head, winking to him.
"Is it over?" the kid asked spontaneously.
"For today, little warrior." Masolon knelt to reduce the height gap between them. "But I am not sure about tomorrow. They may come back, so be ready."
9. RONA
The absence of her senior vassals was a source of relief somehow. Though Rona might be in need for their wisdom, the last thing she needed in her first time to rule was the scrutinizing eyes of a veteran lord judging every word she said or did not say. While they were heading south now to Ramos, she would learn on her own how to be a queen without their interference.
She was meeting with her small council in her temporary throne hall when that messenger arrived. Darrison's elder son, Raynald, who represented half the council, took the sealed letter and dismissed the messenger with a nod. "A message from Lord Jonson," Raynald announced.
Lady Janet, the other half of the council, narrowed her blue eyes upon hearing her father's name, but she did not voice her thoughts. Like Jonson, she was conservative and even more assertive.
"Go ahead, milord. Read it," Rona urged Raynald.
He furrowed his brow after he finished reading the brief message. "He begs you to join the host besieging the castle of Subrel as fast as possible, before General Gramus divides the camp. You are the only one who can handle your general, says Lord Jonson."
What had her ill-tempered general done? He was not a highborn, and yet he was leading a bunch of lords he loathed. She was relying on Darrison to buffer any tensions that might arise between her harsh guardian and the other lords in her quest.
"Any more details?" Rona asked Raynalds.
"No, Your Grace." Raynalds shook his head. "Lord Jonson wrote this letter in haste, it seems."
Still in her seat since the meeting beginning, Janet extended her arm toward Raynalds. "May I?"
Raynalds handed Janet the letter and returned to his seat opposite to hers, his eyes on Rona as if waiting for her to say something. . . anything. . . about this. Marching with her army was what she had wanted from the beginning. Gramus had filled her head with tales about the battles her father had fought with his troops and his glorious victories on the battlefield. Rona still recalled the sight of the great King Charlwood on horseback in front of his knights. She was six when she was on the terrace, weeping. Her elder brother joined her and said, "You should be proud of your father. Not many kings dust their outfits among their men."
"Where is the pride in this?" she had asked. "He is a king! He is not supposed to fight!"
"My father says that soldiers are willing to die for a leader who rides with them to a battle rather than kings who lay their fat buttocks on their thrones, waiting for the return of their victorious men."
Her place was not here in the palace of Kalhom. She should be with the lords fighting her war. Gramus was wrong when he thought he was protecting her by keeping her away from her vassals; he was the one who needed her protection.
"This is not Lord Jonson's handwriting," Janet said.
"The envelope has his seal," Raynalds pointed put. "Maybe he delegated someone else to write it for him. My lord father does that quite often."
"My lord father never does that." Janet glanced at Rona.
"What are you implying, Lady Janet?" The answer was obvious to Rona, yet she did not want to jump quickly to such a conclusion. Having a traitor in her camp would be a shocking blow to her campaign.
"I don't know." Janet scrutinized the letter one more time. "We are at war, Your Grace. We must be cautious before we make a move."
"Caution is important," Raynalds said. "But delayed decisions in a war like this could be fatal."
Rona squinted at Raynalds. There was something hidden behind his words. "I beg your pardon?"
"Your Grace." He reminded her of his father when grinned. "It is no secret, the lords have. . . concerns about choosing General Gramus for that post. Of course, no one will dare to question his queen's decision, but my duty as your advisor compels me to voice those concerns." Raynalds paused for a moment, as if he was gauging his queen's reaction. "How many battles has General Gramus fought, Your Grace? All we know that he was guarding you during your exile in Skandivia."
Her guardian was not standing by her door all day and night as her lords might have thought. What do they know? After Gramus had made sure she was in safe hands living sheltered within a noble Skandivian house, he had not wasted an opportunity to make new friends from his father's people. And there was one guaranteed way to make true friends in Skandivia. "General Gramus has fought the fiercest battles you all might imagine," Rona recalled the battles Gramus had told her about. "Not only did he skirmish with the Rusakians on the borders, he also joined the Skandivian army fighting the rebels of Ralgens. He fought with and against Skandivians. Do any of you know how Skandivians fight?" No one with any reason would deny the Skandivians' prowess in battle. The Sons of Giants, they called themselves, and actually they believed it. A giant does not need a horse to fight; a reason for which they would never appreciate the Bermanian pride of their cavalry.
"They are the most ferocious warriors in Gorania, I know," said Raynalds. "General Gramus must have been hardened by fighting them. But half the lords he leads are still more seasoned than him. They fought Rusakians, Mankols, and Byzonts, Your Grace. Byzonts and Mankols are not enemies to be underestimated."
Byzonts; Rona had seen many of them the first day she set foot in Kalensi. The merchants sailing all the way from Themus through the Mild Waters and the Endless Sea had been cramming the greatest port in Skandivia. "Witty traders and good cooks," her Skandivian host had described them to her once. She knew about their endless skirmishes at the southern Bermanian borders, but they were never a real threat. Gramus had claimed once that they were the best archers in Gorania, but what about the Mankols whose archers could shoot their targets while riding firmly on horseback? A band or two of those swift warriors, in addition to the finest cavalry and infantry in the world, would make her army invincible. “Mankols cannot be hired,” Gramus had told her when she asked him to recruit Mankol mercenaries. “Gold means nothing in Mankola. A horse is a much more valuable asset there.” They only fought to win more land. . . and women.
Raynalds was peering at his queen, Janet’s eyes alternating between him and her.
"General Gramus is not to be underestimated either, milord." Rona managed a smile.
"Lord Jonson has sent this urgent message for a reason." Raynalds tilted his head.
Rona turned to Janet. “What is your opinion about your lord father’s concerns?”
“While I’m not sure whether Lord Jonson is voicing his opinion or he was pushed by somebody else to speak on their behalf,” she gave Raynalds a cold glance, “I see nothing in this letter implying the need to relieve General Gramus of his post."
"So, you don't recommend me joining my troops?" Rona prompted.
"Your presence in the war camp will ensure your vassals' unity, but what about Kalhom?" said Janet. "The departure of the main strength of our army has left us vulnerable with only a few hundred men to hold the city. I wonder how holding the city could be possible without your presence here, Your Grace."
"The people of Kalhom didn't show any intention of resistance when we entered the city," Raynalds said. "I don't think that holding Kalhom will be a problem at all if you leave, Your Grace."
Raynalds would not mind at all if Rona left. In his father's absence, he would be able to feel the cushions of the lord's seat beneath him. "I'm quite sure Kalhom is in safe hands, as long as you and Lady Janet are taking care of y
our father's city. My city." Rona did not miss that fleeting smile on Janet's face. "Upon my return, I expect to see more than just a city under control; I want to see a flourishing, bustling one. Do you understand what I mean?"
Both of them nodded. "Don't worry, Your Grace," said Raynalds. "As for your escort, I'm sending one hundred soldiers with you. They will be ready whenever it pleases you."
One hundred men are too many. Rona's army must have cleared the way already along its march. "Fifty men will be more than enough. The city has priority, even over me."
* * *
The next morning, Rona found her mounted heavily armored escorts in the courtyard surrounding an oaken coach readied for her. "This coach will hinder us," Rona told Sir Rikaard, the captain of her escorts. "We can save one day of traveling without it."
"We thought you would. . ." The mustached, broad-shouldered captain stared at the leather coat she wore over her white dress. "As you wish, Your Grace." He urged the stable boys to bring the queen's brown warhorse in addition to another destrier to carry her clothes and armor.
The city was waking up when her train went through the main street leading to the gates. Rona could not help glancing at every passer-by to see the impression on their faces, but all she saw were hollow looks. I'm the daughter of the great King Charlwood, she wanted to yell at them, but who would care? Those commoners who did not grieve for Jerek had probably not grieved for her late father. They won't hate me, as long as they feel safe in their homes and find bread to feed their children.
It rained briefly after her horde left the city. Rikaard gave her that 'I-told-you' look, but she did not react. Compared with the showers she had seen in Skandivia, this was just a drizzle, though it was enough to mud the fields flanking the well-paved road. "Jerek has been taking good care of the roads in his region, I must admit," she scoffed, riding her horse next to Rikaard's.
"Merchants and travelers barely use them these days." The captain rubbed his graying sideburns. "They have their alternative roads, Your Grace."
Rona tried to figure that out. "Shortcuts, you mean?"
"The outlaws rule the realm roads, Your Grace." Rikaard turned to her. "Is Skandivia void of bandits?"
She laughed at his joke. "You can say it is not void of normal people." Truth be told, Kalensi, the city she had resided in during most of her exile, was the safest place in Skandivia. The farther you went from its walls the more dangerous your journey became. Rona had had quite a journey herself across the Skandivian realm. The day Gramus had heard of the Bermanian ambassador's arrival, he had insisted that she must leave the city. "His ship must have anchored as we speak. You mustn't be seen here," her guardian had told her. Rona had been staying with old friends of Gramus's grandfather, away from the Skandivian palace, and probably, if she was seen, nobody would have recognized her anyway. But her guardian had always been extremely dutiful about his oath to protect her. Guarded by a band of twenty fearless warriors, he had taken her to Gatengard on the eastern coast of Skandivia, where she had spent the last two years of her exile.
“Lord Darrison speaks highly of you, Captain,” Rona said to Rikaard. “He told me you rode a couple of times with King Charlwood.”
A smile slipped over the captain’s face as he sighed. “I was a lad when I donned the chainmail for the first time. The Rusakians were still harboring hopes of capturing our stronghold in the east after their crushing defeat ten years earlier. His Grace led our cavalry himself and charged the Icemen in the open fields of Karun. I was with the infantry when we engaged the wavering Rusakian ranks and ran them out of our lands.
"The second time was five years later during the southerners' rebellion. It was rumored that the lord of Augarin had found a mage who could destroy our army with her powers. His Grace sent an army seven thousand men strong to besiege the southerners' fortress, but half the army was crushed by rocks falling from the Limetop Mountains. Some of our surviving men swore that the rocks falling from the mountains were on fire. Enraged by this gibberish, His Grace called his troops from Kalhom, Ramos, and Lapond to gather at the northern borders of Augarin. By that time I had joined the Parilian cavalry marching south, led by His Grace himself, to join forces with the rest of the awaiting troops. This time, we didn't lay siege; we stormed the fortress of Augarin by orders of His Grace. The southerner lord yielded to spare the lives of his men, and since then his house was removed from the seat of Augarin."
"And the mage? You didn't find one for sure."
"If there was one, she would have seen us coming anyway. The Seers were the only ones who could find mages."
Seers and mages; they were night tales for children. The Skandivians she had lived with were not as superstitious as her Bermanian people. The Sons of the Giants had more belief in what they could see and slay with their own arms and blades.
They rested briefly twice before sunset. Whenever Rikaard was not talking to her, her mind was preoccupied with Jonson's letter. She knew that Gramus was ill-tempered, but he was no fool. Some lords might irk him with their arrogance or their bitterness, but he would not endanger her campaign because of a tone of voice he did not like. And why was it Jonson who sent it, not Darrison? Her two most senior vassals were more rivals than old friends. Jonson might be a bit jealous of Darrison's status with Rona, but he was the type of a man who would answer truthfully when asked. For someone who had lived and aged in the shadow of Wilander's fox, Lord Di Galio, taking the lead was something alien.
By nightfall, Rona's small horde stopped near the borders of the region of Ramos. If they resumed riding south with the same pace at first light, they would join the main strength of her army before next day's sunset. Enough time to rest my numbing thighs, she thought as she watched her men erect her pavilion. Postponing wearing her armor to the morrow proved to be a good call.
Her bedroll was spread when she entered the pavilion to sleep. It was not her first time to spend the night on the road. The roads of Skandivia know me so well. But she had never traveled without her fearsome guardian. Disregarding Rikaard's silly tale about the mage of Augarin, he seemed to be a sword she could rely on. Gramus was capable and trustworthy, but alone he was not enough to win this war. She needed to trust others to get her closer to that throne in Paril. A risk she had to take.
Guessing what Gramus might have done kept her mind busy for a while until she felt her eyelids becoming heavy. She lost her train of thoughts and suddenly she found herself in the throne hall of the royal palace. Wilander and Di Galio lay on their knees before her, their necks, hands, and feet bound by chains. Though Rona had never seen them before, she recognized each the moment her eyes fell on their ugly faces. Gramus stood on her right and handed her his massive axe, which strangely did not feel heavy to her. "Murderers!" she yelled at them. With both hands she hauled the axe, but suddenly a cry pierced the air, coming from the guards outside the hall. "To arms!" one of them repeated twice, the clamor outside growing louder. "Protect the Queen!" another guard hollered. Much to her surprise, Wilander was up on his feet after breaking free of his shackles, a long sword in his hand. I'm dreaming, she realized. "Protect the Queen!" the same guard kept yelling. I'm dreaming. I can't be in Paril this fast.
She was in her pavilion when she opened her eyes. "Shields!" Rikaard bellowed outside. Those cries were not part of my nightmare. She pushed to her feet, grabbed her sword, and scurried toward the pavilion door, which was barricaded by five of her knights. "Stay inside, Your Grace!" She could not see Rikaard in this darkness, but she heard his voice mingling with other men's hollers and horses' whinnies and whizzing arrows. The faint light of the distant torches behind the trees revealed the dark frames of approaching horsemen. We are ambushed.
She shoved the knight standing on her left as she hurried barefooted to a bucket of water and poured it on the campfire to extinguish it. "Keep her inside!" The knights were not in need of Rikaard's order to surround her, one of them grabbing her by the hand.
"Get off me!' She
yanked her hand free. "I am not going to wait until they slaughter us."
"This is for your own safety, Your Grace." The knight looked around as the cries of pain ringing in the woods were carried over to them by the wind. Amid this mess she could not tell if those cries belonged to her men or the attackers. The torches of the moving horsemen did not reveal that much, and the knights surrounding her were not helping. The knight standing right in front of her grunted, and when he fell to his knees, Rona realized that an arrow had pierced his chest. Staying here is pointless. The knights gathering around her were drawing the archers to her. “Don’t stand like this! Find someone to kill!” She pushed her way through her knights as she spotted a shadow of a swordsman creeping toward her. Without waiting to see whether he was a friend or a foe, she charged and he blocked her first strike, but not the second. Why would a friend creep like that anyway?
Horsemen and swordsmen from both sides hurried to her, the torches of the attackers making it easier for her to distinguish who belonged where. She gripped her sword with both hands, waiting for the right moment to strike that horseman charging at her. One second late and I would be a crushed pile of bones.
"NO!" In a blink of an eye, Rikaard emerged swinging his sword at the horse's legs. The poor beast neighed as it fell with its rider, who found Rikaard's blade waiting for him to tear his belly apart.
The broad-shouldered captain dragged Rona by the arm, his grip so firm she could not break free from it. "We must get you away from here."
"I cannot leave my men while they are dying for me." Rona had to run to keep up with Rikaard's pace lest she fell.
"You must leave, Your Grace." She did not resist him as he swiftly helped her mount a horse. "Or you make your men die in vain." He was untying her horse when he said, "Find the peripheral road that passes by the villages behind the woods. You will be safe from any outlaws there. I will catch up with you after I'm done with those bastards." He slapped her horse's flank, urging it to move forward. Rona looked over her shoulder, but Rikaard was gone already.
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