Queen of Rebels

by Karim Soliman

  "She is my queen, mind you. I'm to obey, not to argue with her."

  The guards posted at the hallways and the doors they passed nodded to the blond captain in acknowledgment, a few paying heed to Masolon. When the captain motioned him to go down the spiral stone steps ahead, Masolon hesitated as he noticed no guards were around.

  "So, is that General Gramus's plan?" Masolon asked. "To kill me here away from anybody's sight."

  "If he was to kill you, he would do it himself. You are alive until Her Grace decides something else."

  Masolon missed his swords so badly. Though he did not doubt Rona's intentions for him, he did not like being under anybody's mercy.

  Masolon descended the stairs, the captain following him. The two guards sitting by the dungeon door rose to their feet and straightened their backs. "We are sorry, Captain Edmond."

  Edmond waved carelessly. "I need the keys to one vacant cell."

  "We have none. The cells are crammed with Wilander's bastards, Captain."

  "Then make one empty," Edmond demanded. "By the Queen's orders, this prisoner is not to share a cell with anybody."

  "The Queen?" The guards exchanged a look. "Sure, Captain."

  "I remember we have a cell with only five captives in it. We can surely put them in any other cell." The taller guard unlocked a heavy wooden door leading to the cells, then gave Edmond an inviting gesture.

  "After you." Edmond was persuasive enough. "You as well." He patted Masolon on the back.

  The two guards walked past the cells on both sides, the air of the torchlit corridor packed with the stench of the prisoners. "That looks like taking care of me indeed," Masolon muttered, curious eyes following him as he warily went inside.

  "Wait." Edmond gripped Masolon's hand to stop him until the two guards were done herding the prisoners to another cell.

  One scarred face in particular in the third cell on his left was familiar. Anvil. Sitting on his buttocks, the silver-eyed bald captain squinted at Masolon, obviously wondering why and how they became neighbors so soon.

  "The cell is all yours, Captain Ed...I mean it's ready for your prisoner."

  Edmond nodded toward the vacant open cell as he motioned Masolon onward. For an instant, Masolon fancied himself slamming Edmond with his chained hands then sprinting past him toward the door of the dungeon. But recalling the presence of the two armed guards, Masolon dismissed the idea. For the time being, his best call was stepping into his new "room."

  When he was inside, the shorter guard produced his clinking chain and locked the barred door of the cell. "What about my hands?" Masolon asked Edmond, who was already leaving.

  "I didn't receive an order about them." The captain did not even look over his shoulder while addressing him.

  "Is this taking care of me?"

  Edmond turned to Masolon. "What? You are in your own cell, alive unharmed as Her Grace wants. I have done my part."

  The captain and his two guards left, the heavy door squealed as they locked it behind them.

  For the second time, Masolon was testing a Goranian prison. Truth be told, he was in a ramble now if compared with his brief stay in that frozen tomb of Durberg, but still, he was confined behind these steel bars. Part of him believed he deserved it this time.

  His painted armor irked him, but thanks to the cuffs binding his hands together, he only managed to unclasp his greaves. Sitting on his buttocks, he leaned his back to the stone wall and flexed his toes. That is not fair, Rona. I did not tie you up while wearing a cumbersome armor.

  Shortly after, the dungeon door squealed again, footsteps echoing on the floor. I knew it. Masolon had no doubt Rona would not take too long to realize that imprisoning him was a grave mistake. In anticipation, he eyed the good-looking young visitor coming in.

  The visitor stopped just a few feet on Masolon's right side, the steel bars separating them. His visitor was probably a lord, Masolon surmised, the sleeves of his crimson velvet doublet embroidered with golden stripes. His silky black hair almost touched his shoulders, his eyes round and brown. Silently, he scanned Masolon from hair to toe, his hands on his waist. This silence does not bode well.

  "So, the news is true, and the Demon has fallen, just like another ordinary man." Despite the obvious scorn in his statement, the lord sounded a bit disappointed. Anyway, Masolon did not find himself interested in taking part in this absurd chatter.

  "I know you are not a demon," the visitor went on. "Well, I wasn't completely certain until I saw you now in your chains. Because, what sort of demon would allow himself to be chained?"

  That lord, or whoever he was, must be so bored, enough for him to come downstairs here to the dungeon and blabber with some prisoner.

  "But only a demon could survive the Great Desert." The lord knelt so that his face leveled with Masolon's. "So, if you are not a demon, you are probably possessed by one now."

  Alright, his visitor got his attention now. He was not just hinting at Masolon's origins beyond the Great Desert. "You know me?"

  "I do. We met before, Champion. You never saw my face though."

  Champion? Masolon stared at his visitor's fair-skinned face which was not familiar at all. The voice though. He might have heard it before. He had heard it before. They had met, but Masolon had never seen his face. Because his face was hidden by a black mask. "You are the lord from the Paril Contest."

  "Gorania is but a small town." A smile played over the corner of the lord's mouth. "But nothing happens in this world by chance. The games of destiny have brought you to us for a reason, Masolon. Maybe you have seen a few signs to give you a slight idea. No?"

  Masolon was here because there was nowhere else to go. Because he could not stay in his homeland and face his shame—Masolon, the man who slew his own blood and failed in protecting his mother and sisters.

  Wait.

  That lord said that no one could pass the Great Desert unless he was possessed by demon. Did that explain his grandfather's gifts? Masolon had been a child at that time, but he remembered how all clans of Ogono, not only his own, had highly regarded the old man. Honorable One and Messenger of the Light were among the names they had used to call the man who had warned them from the Doom and guided them to their paradise in the Moon Mountains. Deep in Masolon's old memories lay something about his mother's dream where her wise father had visited her shortly before the disaster, urging her to flee their homeland.

  Blast! His grandfather should rather be called the Possessed One.

  "How do you know what you know about demons while you have not seen one?" Masolon presumed that, but if truth be told, he hoped he was wrong about his assumption.

  "I read, Outsider, and not only the Tales of Gorania. That is why I know more than most of the grey-haired men who claim wisdom. Our ancestors' scrolls tell us that magic was allowed for a very long time before the Reign of Goran the Great. They used magic to summon demons from their invisible world, hoping they could tame those cursed creatures and make use of their powers. But demons proved to be creatures hard to tame, and our mages were not able to find a way to send them back to their world. So, the mages decided to wield all the magic they could handle to confine those dangerous creatures with an unbreakable curse in the abandoned land that afterward became the Great Desert—those demons had turned it to something similar to their cursed home, where they had been summoned from.

  "Since then, all types of magic were prohibited in Gorania. Breaking that confining curse was a possibility that could not even be considered, so all rulers of Gorania agreed on burning every scroll and every page with a single word about magic. Not all mages complied of course, and those who did not were hunted to death. It is written in the Tales, however, that one day the demons will be back and turn all our lands to their hellish homeland. The Last Day, it is called. The only way to survive that day is to be possessed, and I doubt those demons will need to possess anybody after Gorana becomes a greater Great Desert."

  Need to possess? The words
stuck in Masolon's mind. "So, they cannot survive in our world on their own."

  "Only for a short time, yes," the lord seconded. "Like you cannot survive their desert for long on your own."

  His demon was too weak here to overpower him then, Masolon deduced. Still, that cursed creature was able to muddle his mind with his lousy tricks. It is you who makes the move. I just open the door.

  There was a lot to ponder after this conversation, yet Masolon had not heard the answer to this crucial question. "Is there a way to dismiss a demon possessing you?"

  "What is this question for?" The lord jerked his head backward, his eyebrows raised. "You don't want to get rid of such a gift, do you?"

  "A gift?" Masolon could not suppress his chuckle. That lord had no idea. "It is not written in your books what that gift does to men's minds and lives, I presume."

  The lord rubbed his chin. "I don't know what kind of damage might have happened to your life, but you are alive, to say the least. From what I see and hear about you, you are almost invincible. . . thanks to him."

  "I did not learn anything new about fighting from him." The last word sounded funny to Masolon. "You would know what I am talking about if you had the slightest idea about the way we were raised in my homeland."

  The lord paused for a moment, his eyes fixed on Masolon. "Listen. I know it has been a long day for you today. Get some rest for now, and we will talk about that matter later when you are in a better state of mind."

  When the lord turned, heading back to the dungeon door, Masolon remembered he had not gotten an answer for his question yet. "There is a way to dismiss it, right?"

  The lord stopped and glanced over his shoulder, his smile wider. "There is a way for everything, Commander Masolon."

  28. RONA

  Wearing a crimson velvet coat over a clean embroidered white dress, Rona gestured to her lords to be seated, a large map of Bermania spread over the oaken table of the meeting hall. Just before she nodded to the Skandivian guards to close the doors, Lanark came in hurriedly. "My apologies, Your Grace," he said in a low voice. Rona fixed him with a cold stare for a moment before she gave her guards her permission to let the late lord in.

  "We are glad to have you back and safe, Queen Rona," Darrison started, a warm smile on his round face. More lords followed their senior's lead and expressed their sincere feelings about her return.

  Rona kept her face impregnable and tight as an answer, the hall growing hushed. "Would you update me with our status, Lord Darrison?"

  "Certainly, Your Grace." Darrison gave the attendants a quick look. "Are we starting without General Gramus?"

  Rona did not miss those wicked smiles at the end of the table. Did they hope she would be mad at her unpopular general for being late? "I sent General Gramus on a mission," she announced, giving those gloating lords a cold look. "So, yes, milord. We are starting without him."

  "Alright." Darrison adjusted his chair, the wooden legs scraping against the floor. "Di Galio is showing no signs of offensive intentions; our scouts are covering the woods and the perimeter of the castle and they found nothing. We believe he is waiting for reinforcements from Daval from the South or the Lapondians from the East, so we see no point of waiting. If you give us the order, Your Grace, we shall deploy fifteen hundred knights and eight thousand footmen to besiege Ramos at first light. The rest of our troops will stay here to defend the fort, just in case the Fox uses his eastern minions to stun us from behind."

  "Fifteen hundred knights, eight thousand footmen," Rona muttered. "And three catapults."

  The grey-bearded lord allowed a wide fleeting smile. "Destroying the walls of the second greatest city in Bermania may not be the best way to win the people's favor."

  "Perhaps." Rona shrugged carelessly. "However, our priority is defeating Di Galio's army. We shall worry about the people's favor later."

  Darrison nodded. "As you will, Your Grace. Tomorrow we march to Ramos with our catapults."

  "I need you to arrange the plan of storming the city with General Gramus." Leaning on the table with both hands, Rona addressed all of her audience. "No soldier or horse is to be mobilized without his consent. General Gramus has all my trust. Is that clear to everyone?"

  Some of them exchanged looks before they hesitantly agreed. "Of course, Your Grace." As usual, Darrison spoke out loudly on their behalf. "All our military forces are under his disposal in this war. However, I hope we can still offer our counsel whenever possible."

  "You are always welcome, milords." Rona feigned a smile. "Now, any word from Karun?"

  "Nothing yet, Your Grace," Lanark replied.

  "Foubert's stance is not much different from Daval's," said Jonson. "Neither of those two lords will interfere until they determine the winning side."

  "Which makes our victory at Ramos crucial," Rona concluded. Foubert led the finest cavalry in Bermania, and Daval commanded the strongest force, in terms of numbers, among all Bermanian lords. If either lord joined her conquest with his troops, the war would already be decided.

  Rona then let Darrison, Jonson, and few other lords tell her how they had captured this castle. It surprised her how swiftly Subrel had fallen to her men. "Their supplies were extremely mediocre," Jonson explained, referring to Di Galio's garrison defending Subrel.

  "Don't you find this a bit strange?" Rona asked her lords. "How could this be the status of the most important fort in the Ramosi region?"

  "We had the same concern when we entered the castle, Your Grace." Darrison exchanged a smile with Jonson. "Di Galio is a smart opponent indeed. He must have realized there is no way to keep the castle, so he withdrew all its supplies before our arrival."

  No way to keep the castle? Where were the troops under Di Galio's command in the West? Ah, he must be waiting for the reinforcements coming from the East and the South, she inwardly mocked the idea, and felt a bit scared that her vassals were satisfied with this flimsy explanation. And they dare tell me they have concerns about Gramus as a general. Why was he late by the way? She started to worry about him.

  Rona ended the meeting, her vassals taking their leave. "Lord Darrison. Lord Jonson." Uttering their names was enough for the two senior lords to know that their queen wanted them to stay. When the other lords left and the guards posted at the hall doors closed them, she produced the letter she had received in Kalhom. The letter that had urged her to leave the city to save her conquest. "Would you please read this letter to us, Lord Jonson?"

  The bald lord took the letter from her and started, "From Lord Jonson. . ." His blue eyes widened when he saw his name. ". . . to Queen Rona Charlwood." He turned to her. "Where did you find this, Your Grace? I don't remember having written a letter to you."

  "Please continue, milord."

  Silently, Jonson skimmed through the brief letter. "I didn't write this. This is not even my handwriting."

  Rona studied the lord's face. He was telling the truth, she judged. "The envelope had your seal, milord. Who do you delegate to write your messages?"

  "Nobody. I write them myself."

  Darrison was not following the exchange between them. "May I have a look?" He extended his arm, Jonson passing the letter to him.

  "The sender of this letter and the mastermind of the ambush on the road are the same person," said Rona. "Or on the same side at least."

  "This is treachery," Jonson snapped, pointing his finger at the letter in Darrison's hand. "I would never do this, and I cannot believe I am even being accused of it."

  "I'm not accusing you, Lord Jonson," Rona explained. "I'm showing you this letter so you can tell me who might do something like that?"

  The nervous lord took a deep breath. He should calm himself after realizing he was not going to become another Jerek. "I have no idea. Treachery is a grave accusation that I cannot simply throw at anybody, Your Grace."

  "Think, Lord Jonson. Think," Rona urged him. "Ask your servants, your guards—whomever you know—if they have seen anybody using your seal or ev
en seen anyone close enough to where you keep it. Finding that rat will lead us to the serpent's head. I'm quite sure this is not one man's work."

  Darrison seemed lost as he laid the paper on the table. "We are in danger," was all he said after a brief moment of silence.

  "That traitor now knows that his plan has failed. What do you both think his next move will be?" Rona asked her two veteran vassals. If truth be told, she was afraid of the answer. They must be afraid of telling her as well.

  "I see you have doubled your guards already, which is a good call, no doubt," Darrison remarked. "Yet we should worry about the fact that among us, we have an eye that exposes all our moves to the enemy. That traitor was sitting with us a few minutes ago, in his very hall. Now he must be figuring out a way to reveal our plans to his master in Ramos."

  Their plans, their numbers; everything that would help Di Galio be ahead of her by one step at least. What was he waiting for then?

  She was startled when the door was flung open, her general towering over her burly Skandivian guards. Blood seeped from his shoulder as he entered the hall. "We need to talk. Alone."

  "What are you doing here in such a condition?" Rona rose from her seat and hurried to him. "Find a healer quickly!" she urged her guards.

  "I will live, Rona." He held her by the shoulders. "We must talk now, you and me and nobody else."

  Darrison was already motioning Jonson to go outside with him. When Rona and Gramus were alone in the hall, she started, "What happened to you?"

  "A few archers of Di Galio's were trying to stop me from coming back after I saw what I saw. The fools thought that an arrow in the shoulder was enough to stop me from slaying them."

  Rona never knew a man stronger than Gramus. Still, an arrow in the shoulder should hurt him, right? "Sit." She took him by the arm to the nearest chair. "The healer will take care of you."

  "Listen. We have been betrayed, and that's not a matter of doubt; it's a plain fact. Remember the scouts who always told us there were no offensive movements from Di Galio's side? They were fooling us, Rona. Di Galio is marching to us with a titanic horde of cavalry and infantry and trebuchets. Three monstrous trebuchets, Rona; I saw them with my own eyes. They will be striking our walls tomorrow morning at the latest."