Lanark lied to Masolon? What could be the common interest between those two men? And why had Masolon not told her? Was he Lanark's man from the beginning?
"I may have lied to her indeed." Lanark's grin grew wider. "But nothing I said to you was a lie."
"Prove it."
"There is nothing I can do for you while the battle is going on. For the time being, it's you who can end it, Commander. . . by surrendering Her Grace to us."
To her surprise, Masolon stopped retreating. No, he wouldn't do that, Rona had no doubt. He had denied that request before in Herlog.
"Use some reason while you think about it, Commander," continued the viper. "Her Grace’s defeat is just a matter of time. So, whatever she has promised you, she will not be able to deliver it, even if she means to."
"Still not giving me a slight reason to trust you." Masolon did not put his bow down though he seemed for a moment to be considering Lanark's proposal.
"You don't have to trust me if you don't want to." Lanark shrugged. "Just bear in mind that, at least, with me you might have a slight chance to win."
Masolon grimaced as he bit his lower lip. He shook his head, indistinctly mumbling in a low voice. She thought he was talking to her, but alarmingly, he was not, his chest heaving as he took in a deep breath. . .
And then he lowered his bow.
"Masolon?" She looked from him to Lanark and then back to him, a victorious grin on the traitor's face.
For the first time in a while, Masolon did not keep his eyes on Lanark and his soldiers. "Forgive me." He gave her an apologetic smile.
35. MASOLON
Unleash me.
The voice echoed in Masolon's head. He knew whose voice that was. And what a perfect timing for him to show up!
I know you are not going to surrender her to him. Unleash me if you want to defeat his soldiers.
Unleash his demon? Masolon had no idea that his demon was leashed in the first place. That demon cannot survive in my world on his own, Masolon reminded himself. He is weak. He needs me. But even if Masolon wanted to release his demon for any reason, he would not know how.
Just stop refusing me.
"Why should I accept you?" Masolon barely moved his lips, hoping Rona did not hear him.
Because you need me if you do not want to die in this passage.
His demon was taking him for a fool, like that turncloak called Lanark, who pretended he could relieve Masolon's pain. The likes of that bastard would never do any favors unless they served their interests. Masolon had been gullible when he had tied himself to Ramel, but that had been two years ago. Today, in this passage, Masolon was a different man. "I do not need you."
You resist the inevitable. Some day you and I will be one, so why the wait?
"Masolon?" Rona interrupted this disturbing conversation, her wide emerald eyes studying him. Was she worried he might be considering Lanark's offer? Or the fact that he was talking to someone or something invisible?
He slowly turned to her. "Forgive me."
Rona tightened her grip on her sword. "Why?"
With his eyes, Masolon had been following Lanark's crossbowmen at the front. They had lowered their weapons indeed as ordered by their master, but Masolon did not miss that one to the left who had his crossbow loaded already. "For acting like a fool again." Masolon held his bow upright and sent an arrow right into the chest of that particular crossbowman. While the other two soldiers at the front were nocking their bolts into their crossbows, Masolon stepped back as he drew two more arrows from his quiver and loosed them, hitting the two soldiers in their chests as well.
Lanark had fallen back behind his men already before the three crossbowmen at the front fell. "Back," Masolon ordered Rona, shooting one of the swordsmen who started to sprint toward them. In the next five seconds, Masolon struck three more soldiers with his arrows. The rest of Lanark's swordsmen seemed to be hesitant to advance toward Masolon in that narrow passageway.
"Who is next?" Masolon smirked, addressing the frozen soldiers. He could see the anticipation in their wide eyes.
"You let one man make fool of you!" yelled Lanark from behind his men. "Go and kill that bastard!"
Masolon was not worried about the number of his opponents. In a corridor of such a width, the swordsmen's chances of escaping an arrow from him were none. Incensed by their master's scolding, they rushed toward the man making fool of them. The passage floor, packed with dead bodies, made it even worse for those soldiers as they tripped over their mates' corpses. When facing an archer who rarely missed a shot, like Masolon for instance, Lanark should have known that the corridor would be a death trap for his men.
Masolon emptied his quiver after hunting nine of Lanark's swordsmen. He dropped the bow and drew his two swords to face the remaining fighters. "Take the stairs down!" he demanded, glancing at Rona. "I will thwart them!"
"I told you," Rona pulled the shield strapped to her back, "you are not alone in this."
There was no time to argue with her. Masolon charged at the attackers, swinging and stabbing with both swords. Rona roared by his side and slew a swordsman with a skillful strike. Her swordplay was neat, Masolon had to admit, but he was not going to count on that. He should double his pace to handle his foes and protect. . .
"Behind you!" Rona cried as she lunged toward him, her stab missing the right side of his abdomen by a hair. Hearing a grunt behind him, Masolon realized that Rona's blade had cleaved a swordsman's belly at the last moment. The dead soldier had been so close from crushing Masolon's skull with a high charge.
"Even Masolon the Invincible needs help." Rona curled her lips.
"Not bad for a queen." He panted, turning his eyes toward the end of the corridor which was suddenly abandoned by all living beings except for the two of them. That coward of a lord had fled.
"That rat," Rona spat.
"I bet he is afraid of you more than me," Masolon scoffed, strapping a sword to his back.
"He can't have gone far. Let's find him." She moved forward.
"Easy, Your Grace." He held her by the arm. "We are not sure if he still has more men in this cursed castle."
"Let go of me, Masolon." She shoved his hand away as she strode to the end of the passage. "I hear his footsteps. We can still catch him before he runs away."
She did not give him a chance to persuade her to go to the other end of the passage, to go as far as possible from that tower also known as the death trap. How had she forgotten so quickly?
He followed her in her sprint through the passage. "This is not right, Rona," he warned her, but she ignored him as she descended the stairs in hurry. "We have no idea what is lurking for us at the foot of this tower."
"We have no idea what is lurking for us in the main building either." Nothing was stopping her from pursuing the fleeing lord down the stairs. Masolon must admit her agility was impressive for a girl who was supposed to be a queen. But that is what happens when a royal girl is raised far away from her palace.
"His haste downstairs may not bode well for us," Masolon was still behind her in her chase, "just saying."
"If I hadn't just watched you slay a dozen men," she panted as she kept descending the stairs, "I would say you were a coward."
Masolon had to credit Lanark as well for his agility. He was probably a ghost, who would not need limbs to hover over the steps. Any ordinary human moving down the stairs at such a pace should have stumbled, at least once.
Through the door at the foot of the tower, Masolon and Rona followed the sprinting lord to the backyard. "Here he is! He is going behind that corner!"
Masolon outran Rona as he chased Lanark, who turned left at the corner. The rat was going to fall into his hands soon.
Except that the rat was not alone. . .
"Go back!" Masolon halted, waving Rona off upon seeing the company of soldiers waiting for their treacherous lord.
"No! No more pointless chases!" Lanark was catching his breath when he motioned to his me
n to advance. Swordsmen, spearmen, archers; all spread themselves quickly around the backyard, making a wide ring around Masolon and Rona. Now the way back to the tower was blocked. In a relatively wider battlefield like this one, his chances of surviving a fight against all those men were almost none.
"Why did you not go back as I said?" Masolon chided her, his eyes scanning the ring of soldiers surrounding them.
"What are you even thinking of? Surrender! Both of you!" The witty Lord Lanark lost his calm.
"You should have listened to me and gone to the main building," Masolon spoke to Rona through his clenched teeth.
"Shut up and tell me," Rona held her sword firmly as she eyed the soldiers ringing her and Masolon, "should we attack, or wait for them to come?"
That mad girl was not serious about engaging Lanark's soldiers in this yard. "I believe we should put his suggestion into consideration," said Masolon.
"You are not cowering now, huh?"
Masolon turned to Rona, glowering at her. "I would have stood my ground and fought to hinder them if you had listened to me and ran away. But now my death is futile. I will not let you kill yourself so cheaply."
"I would rather die than be captured by Wilander's dogs." She grimaced.
"This is not just about you, Your Grace." Lanark dared to advance as long as his soldiers shielded him from Masolon and Rona. "Think of the thousands of Bermanians whose lives you can spare if you surrender and end this bloodshed."
"Really?" Rona smirked. "Why doesn't your king surrender and save those thousands of Bermanians you are worried about?"
"You can't lead this kingdom, Rona." Lanark spared himself the formalities at last. "None of your men believe you can, let me tell you. They just let their greed blind them from the fact that no one can argue about: this war is taking you nowhere. Your defeat is inevitable. And even if you win by some miracle, your loyal vassals will not let a green girl rule them."
The bastard was doing an incredible job poisoning her mind. His words must have hurt her because they were most probably the truth.
"You blabber too much, just like women." Rona simpered, apparently not affected by Lanark's poisons. "Why don't you stop hiding behind your soldiers and face me like a man, huh?"
Lanark's face did not show any reaction to her provocation. "Surrender now or my men will slaughter you. I will not keep asking you forever."
Masolon did not think that Lanark was bluffing. Unleash me. Do not resist the inevitable, the voice whispered again in his head. But Masolon would rather drop his weapons than submit to his demon.
"So, we wait?" Rona asked Masolon one more time. Why is she so eager to die? he wondered, losing any slight hope of convincing her to come to reason. Maybe he should prepare himself to die as well.
Unless those coming horsemen belonged to her. . .
"Attack the traitors!" Masolon had never imagined he would be glad one day to hear the voice of General Gramus himself. That very voice was able to carve a reaction on Lord Lanark's face. A reaction that befitted a turncloak.
"To the tower!" Lanark raced the wind upon seeing Gramus ahead of a company of fifty knights. Mounting a heavily armored destrier, Rona's towering general hauled his great war axe, its ominous blade ready to crush ribs and skulls of those who would happen to exist in the range of its swing.
Only a couple of Lanark's footmen were foolish enough to stand their ground against the charge of Gramus's company—Masolon was sure it was their perplexity, not their bravery, that froze them on the ground until they fell under the horses’ hooves. As for those who were slightly smarter yet not fast enough to go back to the tower; well, their fate was not much brighter. All they did was make the job easier for Gramus’s knights.
Gripping his huge war axe, Gramus urged his destrier to gallop past Lanark's footmen. He is after their master, Masolon realized. Before the young lord disappeared behind the corner, Gramus swung his monstrous weapon, severing Lanark's head from his body with a single strike. I will never know if he lied to me about relieving me of my pain.
The knights were slaying Lanark’s men when Gramus wheeled his horse and nudged it toward Rona and Masolon, his eyes fixed on the man who had carved a scar on his face. Masolon tightened his grasp on his sword, assuming a ready stance. “Easy now.” Rona held Masolon’s wrist.
“You should say that to him first.” Masolon eyed Gramus until he surprisingly stopped his horse without attacking him.
“What is he doing here?” Gramus peered at Masolon, but obviously, the question was addressed to Rona.
“Saving me.” Rona glanced at Masolon. “I saved him as well.”
That did not please Gramus at all. “Is that so?” He chewed on his lips, his eyes darting from Rona to Masolon. “Though I’m curious to know how you and this prisoner ended up here together, I first need to hear what you want us to do with him.”
“Nothing, General. Because, as you can see, he is no longer a prisoner.”
Gramus eyed the broken cuffs on Masolon's wrists before he glowered at him. "He broke free."
"I broke his cuffs myself. Trust me, Gramus. He is not a threat." She looked at Masolon from the corner of her eye. "To us, to say the least."
Gramus sighed heavily. "So, you are a free man now." He grimaced as he addressed Masolon for the first time. "I will find someone to escort you to the postern gate."
"You are not sending him anywhere unless I command so," Rona said hurriedly.
Gramus furrowed his brow. "You just said he was not a prisoner anymore. Doesn't that mean he is free to go wherever he wants?"
"Of course, he is. But he can't leave now. Not while the castle is under attack."
"Listen, Rona. I still have a castle to clear of Lanark's dogs before I go back to the frontline to make sure that our enemy doesn't set foot in this fort. I can't do all of this with a clear mind while this man wanders around freely."
"Weren't you listening to me? I would be dead if it were not for this man."
"Still you can't easily trust him like that. His hands are stained with the blood of our men."
"Which men do you mean?" Masolon could not keep his mouth shut any longer. "Those who raped a poor girl? Or those who died in their attempt to conquer a small village?"
"Masolon!" Rona glared at him.
"You see?" Gramus turned to her, pointing his finger at Masolon. "Sparing the life of this criminal is an insult to your soldiers."
"You insulted your soldiers when you led them into a disgraceful battle against a bunch of peasants."
"It was you who brought that battle to your village with your insolence."
"We had an agreement: I win the duel, your army walks away. Remember?" Masolon smirked, staring in amusement at the scar adorning Gramus's thick eyebrow. "But I understand what the bitterness of loss might compel men to do."
"That duel was not over." Gramus swung down off his saddle, his war axe in his hand. "Want to resume it now?"
"STOP THIS NONSENSE!" Rona stood between Gramus and Masolon. She had been trying to silence them; Masolon had heard her calls, but neither he nor Gramus had paid heed to her until she bellowed.
"Bring me my weapons!" Masolon taunted, giving Gramus an inviting gesture. "The weapons your soldiers took from me, General!"
"Shut up!" Rona pushed Masolon in his chest. "You are not helping! Neither of you is!" She gestured commandingly to Gramus. "Step back and sheath your axe now!"
Masolon had no doubt that if it were not for Rona, her towering general would have attacked him without hesitation. The scar on his face will hurt him until the day he dies. Unless he kills me first.
"Just keep him out of our men's sight if you don't want to get him killed." Gramus acquiesced and returned to his destrier. When he mounted, he gave Masolon one long loathsome look. "Especially my sight."
* * *
If Masolon thought he had seen enough of Rona's stubbornness, he was utterly wrong.
The first thing Rona did after her grumbling gen
eral had left them was call for two horses to be brought for her and Commander Masolon. "Come on," she urged Masolon to follow her when the knights brought the horses she demanded. "I must see for myself how my troops are faring at the walls."
She dismissed the knights who came to escort her, commanding them to stay around their general to be at his disposal. Gramus will be pleased when he sees me again that soon. Mounting his horse, Masolon chuckled when the thought crossed his mind. He should not take the general's concern about his presence in the castle lightly though. The only deterrent for Rona's soldiers to kill him was Rona herself. Ridiculous, but it was the truth; Masolon was under Rona's protection now.
Masolon nudged his horse onward, bringing it closer to Rona's. "Why did you not let me leave the castle?" he asked, curious to hear her answer.
"You wanted to leave?" she curtly asked.
"It did not matter anyway. You took the decision without conferring with me."
"You didn't object to my decision."
"I did not wish to argue with you in front of your subordinates."
"Then I'm grateful for your unusual submission. I will always be in your debt," she sneered.
Though he did not get an answer to his first question, he dropped the issue for now as they made it to the courtyard. Except for the idle cavalry battalion at the rearguard, all of Rona's soldiers were engaging their opponents at the broken wall. Four gaps, Masolon counted as he approached the center of the courtyard. From his spot, he could watch the fierce clash of swords and spears at each gap.
While Masolon was observing the battle, a blue-eyed knight from the idle battalion advanced to Rona. "Lord Norwell," she greeted the knight before they started a conversation Masolon did not bother following. All he listened to was the clamor of clanging swords and the cries of commanders and soldiers. The right flank of the wall was a bit quieter than the left one, Masolon noted. Even the man, who seemed to be in charge of the archers atop the broken rampart, was waving to his soldier to direct their arrows toward the left flank. The enemy ranks must be so thick there that they could be shot without hurting Rona's soldiers.
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