Queen of Rebels

by Karim Soliman

  "Why not? We are done here, right?"

  "Well." Ben mused for a moment. "I thought you might need to meet with the Brave Lads to consider the new circumstances."

  "You know what I need? Breakfast." Masolon smirked. "I should fetch some fresh bread and potatoes and. . ." He paused as he glimpsed the slender girl in black approaching him. Ben looked from Masolon to her before he cleared his throat and turned around to join Smit. The whole village knows about Masolon's clash with his wife.

  Doly’s arms were crossed when she stood before him, her eyes fixed on the grass. Masolon decided to break the awkward silence and started, "Hey."

  "Father told me about your suggestion about the timing of undoing our marriage." Doly barely looked at Masolon when she swept her arm at the throng behind her. "I see no reason to postpone it now. We have a cleric and enough audience for the ritual."

  He would not deny that ending his marriage would be a source of relief to him. But surprisingly, her hurry to get it over with hurt him. "To that extent? You cannot wait?"

  "Let's not lie to each other." Doly allowed a brief bitter smile on her lips. "You have no desire to make this marriage work."

  "Why do you think I asked your father to postpone any action to undo it? I was hoping you might change your mind after you spent some time to collect your thoughts." Masolon had no idea why he told her that. Perhaps he just did not want to take the blame of the failure of his marriage.

  "Couldn't you do better than that?"

  "Do better? Do what? Would sending flowers help?"

  "What about coming to my parents' house to ask me to come back? But of course, such a thought never crossed your mind."

  "You wanted to be on your own. I did not want to push you."

  "You would have pushed me if you had really wanted me back. A man does whatever it takes to keep his girl."

  "This talk comes from bards' tales, Doly." Masolon tightened his jaw. "You do not know what a man does for real to keep his girl."

  "Yes, I know." She glared at him, her eyes welling up with tears. "I said no to him when he revealed his feelings to me, but he clutched a faint hope that I might say yes to him one day. I said yes, but not to him; to the man I wanted to be with. And now I realize how wrong I was. If there is something I have learned from our miserable marriage, it is that I should pick the one who loves me over the one I love."

  I did not work with me this way, Masolon would have told her, but he had hurt her enough already. "Is that it now, Doly? You want to say yes to the one who loves you."

  "I can't." Doly's tears poured down her cheeks. "He is dead now."

  Maat? No wonder he hated me. "I am sorry for your loss." Masolon could not hide the scorn in his tone.

  "Enough of this," Doly snapped. "We will undo our marriage here right now."

  The timing and the place were ridiculous. Masolon wondered how Doly could not get the sense of it. She has lost her mind, he reflected, gazing at Smit and Ben who were still handling the furious mob. The whole village has lost its mind.

  Help came in the form of a sprinting man calling out his name. Masolon's first reaction was reaching for the pommel of his greatsword before he noticed that the newcomer was not one of the furious burial attendants. "Hunter? What is it?" He was not the only hunter in Herlog, but he was the only hunter who called himself Hunter. He claimed he had sniped a dozen of Gramus's soldiers during the fight, and Masolon never bothered to question his tale. Since all the Brave Lads were here to bury their brother, Hunter must have been assigned to take a watch duty over the wall.

  "Thirty mailed knights!" Hunter gasped, his hands over his hips when he stopped before Masolon. The announcement did a better job in quelling the mob than Smit and Ben. And more importantly, in silencing Doly for a while.

  "How many rams?" Masolon asked.

  "None." Hunter panted, Ben and a few lads coming, shielding Doly from Masolon without noticing. "They are asking about a blonde girl whom they believe hides here in our village. They say there is a huge reward from Lord Di Galio to whoever helps in finding her."

  Di Galio? Blast! Those were not her men. "And what did you tell them?"

  Hesitant, Hunter rubbed the back of his head. "Well..."

  19. RONA

  She carefully immersed the bowl in the full pot boiling over the hearth, the scent of chamomile already soothing her nerves. While the herb extract in the bowl was still hot, she poured some honey to improve the taste. Leaving the bowl on the table to cool down, she seated herself on one wooden chair and leaned her exhausted legs over another.

  The last couple of hours had been interesting. She had dared to step outside the house, picked the chamomile she had glimpsed the other night—the night Masolon brought her to his house—and rummaged through his luxurious place. Though she did not find her dagger, she was satisfied with the items she had retrieved: two full pouches of golden coins, one pouch of silver, and an untouched corked bottle of Skandivian wine.

  Rona sipped her honeyed chamomile after it had cooled down to warm. Endless thoughts wrestled inside her mind as she contemplated the treasure she spread over the table. Should she just wait for that Masolon until he made that peaceful arrangement he was planning to? Gramus would grow mad if he learned about her imprisonment in this village, and surely, he would raze Herlog to the ground, and behead Masolon and anybody else involved in her kidnapping. While she could not deny she had been treated well since that assault in the mill, she should not forget she was still a hostage.

  There must be some good use of this Murasen gold—she could tell where it came from the leopard imprinted over the coins. Murasen gold and armor. Since she did not want to ruin her moment of relaxation, she studied from her seat the armor parts thrown clumsily at the corner of the hall. The same leopard adorned the breastplate. He is not a southerner for sure. What was he exactly? And what on earth was he doing in a Bermanian village?

  Back to the Murasen gold, which she could definitely use for her own pressing matter—the matter she should worry about rather than the past of that Masolon. What if he took forever to contact her general? Surely, she was not going to spend the rest of her life under the same roof with her. . . well, muscular captor. She should rely on herself, and that meant one word: escape.

  Running away from the house would not be that hard—Masolon had left the door unbarred anyway. Running away from Herlog was the real issue. The entire village perimeter was surrounded by a palisade wall, which was manned by archers taking turns. Something was odd about this village, and only one odd man was to blame for it.

  The river. She had not been that far from the village the last time she saw it. There must be a way to access the river from here. But would she find the riverbank blocked by the same bloody wall?

  Her bowl was half full when she heard Masolon's footsteps outside the house. Hiding the items she had found was too late now. Why would I bother? That could be the start of an interesting conversation.

  Rona did not stop sipping her soothing drink when he entered, slowly stalking on her left. She had no doubt the sight of his pouches of gold on the table must have drawn his attention. The moment she realized he was staring at her legs—again—she put them down and straightened her back as she sat. At last he brings something to eat. She eyed the potatoes and the onions in the sack he was carrying.

  "I guess you have an explanation for all of this?" he prompted, placing the sack on the ground.

  "I guess it's you who should offer this explanation. What is Murasen gold doing here? Are you a spy?"

  "A spy?" He laughed in amusement. "Why? Murase and Bermania have never been at war, if I remember right." He gestured toward the hearth and jerked his chin toward the bowl in her hands. "I am asking about this."

  "The chamomile?" Rona was surprised that he was concerned about something other than his gold. "I always drink it to calm down. Want to try some?"

  "I do not need to calm down." He took off his black cloak, then his sleeveless tuni
c, revealing his extremely well-toned frame.

  "What was that for, may I ask?" Rona did her best to keep her gaze on his face, away from his broad chest.

  "Do not mind me." He rubbed the bandage over his shoulder. "This thing is becoming so itchy."

  Rona gulped down the remaining chamomile before it cooled down more than that. "How did you get wounded?"

  "An arrow, courtesy of one of your men."

  "He should have aimed better." She beckoned to him. "Let me see it."

  Masolon jerked his head backward, the look on his face betraying his disbelief. "You know how to heal wounds, Your Grace?"

  "Come before I change my mind," she said dully. "If the wound is still open, you may need to cleanse it after this rain." Why am I doing this? I should let his shoulder rot until it kills him.

  Masolon seated himself on the opposite chair, hesitantly surrendering his shoulder to her. The bandage was already wet when she untied it. Since she was not unfamiliar with blades and arrows wounds, she could tell Masolon's shoulder had been treated with a red-hot blade to cleanse it. "It is still open. It will foul if you don't cleanse it again."

  "Of course." He gave her a crooked smile. "I bet you will enjoy branding me with a red-hot blade on my flesh."

  "While that is true, I must admit there is no need to do that. I know other ways."

  Masolon tilted his head, his brown eyes meeting hers. "Is poisoning me one of those ways?"

  "Chamomile is not poisonous." Rona pointed at the bottle on the table. "Mixed with wine, it becomes extremely powerful for cleansing and sedation."

  Masolon's strange smile grew wider. "You went outside to pick the chamomile." He was rebuking her, not asking of course.

  "Well, I don't see flowers growing in the hall."

  "Do you know what might happen if anybody saw you on your own?"

  "I can handle myself."

  "I have no doubt." He gave her a wry smile. "But you cannot handle a hundred angry men. If you still cannot imagine how grave your situation is, they are asking for your head."

  Rona peered at him to see if it was another ridiculous jape, but the bastard did not flinch. "You told me I would be safe here," she reminded him. "I thought you could influence your men."

  "I am not so popular here these days, but yes, I still have some influence, I guess." He leaned back in his seat, rubbing the nape of his neck. "The Herlogans should be the least of your worries. It is Di Galio's men whom you should be worried about. They are lurking in the woods, waiting for you to emerge to capture you."

  That was not a jape for sure. "How do you know this?"

  "We had a little conversation today." He was strangely calm, his hands clasped behind his head. "They came by our wall, asking if you were here. Their captain Sir Anvil promised a big reward for those who would help in capturing you."

  Informing her of such news in this carelessness irked her. "What did you tell them? Do they know I am here?"

  "I did my best to hide your presence. I doubt they believed my lie, though."

  "Great." Rona smirked. "What should I do now?"

  "Nothing. I thought you should know in case you were considering your chances of running away."

  "Very well. Am I going to be your prisoner forever?"

  A smile played about the corner of his mouth as he scanned her. "Though that might be torturing to me, I would not mind at all."

  Rona wanted to slap him for real just to wipe that annoying smile off his face. "When am I going to hear anything that makes sense instead of your useless humor?"

  "Trust me." He unclasped his hands and leaned on the table, his smile fading at last. "Nothing will make me happier than seeing you off while you head back to your army. But your general took longer than I expected to come back."

  "Why would he bother? The war he has is so much bigger and more important than this worthless village. I wonder why he stopped here in the first place."

  "Your general is an easy man to provoke, I can tell."

  "It was all your fault," she rebuked him. "All this mess wouldn't—"

  "Your men's lack of discipline started this mess," Masolon sharply cut her off. "I shall never be blamed for chastising the cowards who assaulted two helpless girls."

  From his nervousness, she could tell she was not the first one to blame him for the dilemma this village had fallen into. Did he inwardly feel guilty about it?

  "Let's end this," she said. "Set me free, and you have my word that nobody in Herlog will be harmed."

  "I am happy to do that." Before she celebrated his announcement, the bastard added, "After I surrender you to your general."

  "What is your bloody business with Gramus?" Rona snapped. "I'm the one who gives the orders."

  A slight smiled slipped over his handsome face. "I do not question your authority, Your Grace. It is about ensuring a safe return to your host. Setting you free will be pointless if we lose you on the road, which might be infested with Di Galio's hunters."

  "Then send your men with me to guard me on the road."

  "I do not have enough men for such a task."

  "Your men were enough to defeat an army."

  "While fighting from behind a wall. And I guess it was a battalion, not an army."

  The conversation was heading toward a dead end. He is leaving me no choice. I must rely on myself to get out of here. She pushed to her feet and left him alone by the table.

  "The wound!" Masolon called out to her. "If you are not going to cleanse it, at least tie the bandage as it was."

  Rona could not believe that she stopped indeed to honor his request. "Have you heard of the word 'please'?" She pouted. "Where can I find a clean piece of cloth in this cursed house?"

  "You tell me." He shrugged. "You are the one who searched the whole place."

  Rona thought she might have glimpsed a rag in the wardrobe earlier this morning. I cannot believe I am doing this. She went to the bedchamber and found the rag where she remembered it was. I should let his wound rot and kill him. But she was not listening to the voices of her own mind as she picked up her empty bowl and immersed it in the warm chamomile pot placed over the hearth. After she returned the half-full bowl to the table, she flicked the cork of the wine bottle with her thumb and poured the liquor on the chamomile. For half a minute she soaked the rag in the mixture, then squeezed it and gently placed it over Masolon's wound. He grimaced, and a groan barely escaped his lips. "That hurts more than the arrow itself," he said.

  "Your wound is still inflamed." Rona pressed on the soaked rag, enjoying the sight of this cocky bastard in pain.

  "You are sure about this way? I mean: did you try it before?"

  "More than I can remember," she lied. In fact, she had done it once when one of Gramus's fellow-warriors was wounded during an encounter with the coastal raiders. After a few days, the fever was gone and the wounded fellow lived. "May I know what is a Skandivian wine bottle doing in your house?" A closed one, she thought. Why would anybody keep such a bottle closed?

  "It was a wedding gift." Masolon chuckled, not so cheerfully though. "Unfortunately, Doly and I never had the chance to give it a try."

  Rona grabbed a rusty cup and filled it with another mix of chamomile and wine. "Now you have your chance."

  Masolon studied the offered cup without touching it. "No, thank you. I am not in a festive mood at the moment."

  "This has nothing to do with your mood, festive or not. This is for your wound."

  Masolon took the cup from her, the doubt obvious in his eyes. "Would it help me sleep?"

  "One full cup might knock you down if you are a beginner," she scoffed as she tied the bandage over the soaked rag. She fetched another cup and filled it with the same mixture to entertain herself. When Masolon cleared his throat too loudly she could not help laughing. "With chamomile on it, I doubt you might even survive the first one."

  Masolon stared at her as she stood by the table, gulping down her drink. It had been a while since Kalensian w
ine stung her throat. The numbness across her head was starting already.

  "You are overestimating it." Masolon carelessly waved his empty cup. "It is just a sour fruit juice."

  Just another bragging brute. Why was it too humiliating for a man to admit it when a woman outdid him in something? "You do not have to push yourself to the limit if you cannot." She filled another cup for herself, giving him a crooked smile before she gulped down the stinging mixture.

  Masolon tilted his head in amusement. "You think so?" Taking his cup, he rose and filled it with wine from the bottle and chamomile from the pot. "Last man standing?" he suggested, gesturing with the hand holding the full cup.

  The numbness in her head was growing stronger. She felt as if her brain was grasped by a big gentle hand. "I suggest you sit down. You may break a jaw if you fall."

  "You may walk away if you want. It is a drink for men anyway." He finished his cup in one gulp, and in anticipation Rona watched him. Somehow he managed to keep his back straightened and his feet steady on the floor. But the awkward smile on his face made it easy for her to know that potent mixture was overwhelming his senses. "Your turn, Your Grace."

  "I'm not in a contest with you. I just want a dreamless sleep." Rona filled her cup for a third round and drank, the sting in her throat so weak this time she could barely feel it. "If I am lucky enough, I will wake up and realize that all this farce was a nightmare. That you never existed in the first place." She laughed.

  "Are you listening to yourself?" he taunted. "I suggest you sit down before you break your jaw."

  "How humorous!" She curled her lips, or at least she tried to. For some reason, she couldn't stop that smile from slipping over her face. I drank enough. I must go to bed before I. . .

  The floor was shaking beneath her feet when she made one single step, and strangely enough, the walls of the house slowly revolved around her. "Watch out," Masolon's warning echoed in her mind. A few moments later Rona's bare feet could not feel the cold floor, muscular arms wrapped around her back and thighs.