Queen of Rebels

by Karim Soliman

  Kissing up to me and avoiding Gramus's wrath. Rona could not help but admire Norwell's wits.

  So, a new party started. After the lords were done acknowledging Norwell's gallantry, they started a contest of kissing up to the Queen. It soon became nauseating when a few praised her unparalleled vision on the battlefield.

  "What is the matter with you?" Her voice came out harsher than intended. "You all know it was neither me nor Norwell. I can swear you all do. Did none of you catch a glimpse of a rider wearing a Murasen armor among our cavalry? Didn't you even hear about him from one of your curious soldiers?" All were silent now, leaving her to continue, "Yes, it was him." She turned to Gramus. "It was him, General, believe it or not. The man we had kept here in the dungeon for a couple of days did save your queen from an assassination attempt. And he did sally forth from the postern gate with our knights, under Norwell's leadership of course, to take our enemy unawares." She shifted her gaze at her hushed lords. "I didn't have the vision you try to persuade me I had, and Norwell didn't have the courage to improvise and take such a risk. It was Commander Masolon who saw no sense in standing helpless while our men were slaughtered by Di Galio's forces."

  Nobody dared to speak for a while, as if they were not sure if the storm was over. Pondering her ranting, she found it a bit strange that she had just praised the bastard she was mad at in the first place.

  "So, to get this right, if I may ask," Darrison broke the silence, "that commander we have captured from Herlog is now fighting for us?"

  You knew how to push me into your battle. Rona's chest heaved as she recalled Masolon's words. "He owes us nothing now," she curtly said. "He has earned his freedom, so he may go wherever he wishes to go."

  She did not know why she had not told them about her last command to Masolon. She was serious about it, was she not? She hoped he left because if he did not, she would have to react to his defiance. But did she really want him to leave?

  She would worry about him later. Her lords were whispering and mumbling, some of them pretending to be looking elsewhere when her eyes fell on them. "We have wasted enough time already." She pressed he lips together, realizing that the meeting was halted because of her. "General Gramus, would you please brief us on our current situation and whatever the measures we should undertake?"

  Gramus inhaled deeply. "If you allow me, Your Grace, I must bring to our lords' attention that Lord Lanark was killed today while fighting us. I presume most of you know already."

  Darrison nodded. "He was supposed to back me up at my front, but suddenly I didn't find him nor his company behind me. If it hadn't been for General Gramus and his Skandivian warriors, we would have been vanquished."

  Gramus barely showed any reaction to Darrison's flattery. "Half his company surrendered to us. But when we took them to the dungeon, we found all the cells vacant. All the prisoners, including Captain Anvil, have fled somehow or had been released by someone."

  "All of them?" More news to shock Rona. "Don't you know if they might be still in this building?"

  "My soldiers are still searching the castle as we speak. But since we are talking about treachery here, I'm not excluding the possibility that someone helped them sneak out of the castle through the postern gate."

  Realizing that she still might not be safe in her castle infuriated her even more. "I need one of them alive," she gnashed her teeth, "if you capture them here of course."

  "I will see to that, Your Grace." Gramus nodded. "Now regarding today's battle; we cannot call it a certain—"

  An ominous thud interrupted him, all eyes wide in alarm.

  Rona pushed to her feet and rushed to the window. "Blast!" Only when she reached the window did she remember that it did not face the courtyard.

  The thuds did not stop as she hurried to the door of the meeting hall, Gramus and a group of lords following her. "I thought we were done fighting today," she muttered, heading to a nearby balcony from which she could watch what was going on at the frontal side of the wall.

  "We all thought so." Darrison must be doing his best to catch up with her pace. "Their losses today were as heavy as ours."

  She was stepping out onto the balcony when she said, "Then why on earth are they striking our walls with their. . ." The sight of the man wearing the Murasen armor took her off guard ". . . trebuchets?"

  "To thin your defensive troops by spreading them out." Masolon glanced over his shoulder, leaning on the balustrade. "You see? Your enemy is hammering your wall at five different points. With nine gaps, your wall will be useless."

  What is he doing here? Taking into consideration the audience she brought with her, she kept her question to herself for the time being. The words escaped her mind as she stood beside him, watching the dark figures of Di Galio's monstrous trebuchets hurling fireballs at her broken wall.

  "It is useless already with four gaps." She figured out something to say at last, her voice impassive though.

  "You are still able to put your archers on it." He swept a long arm toward Di Galio's host. "But if those men right there do not run out of stones soon, your archers will have to retreat, and probably, they will be as useless as your wall."

  "I must go now, Your Grace." Gramus was right behind her when he took his leave.

  "How are we going to stop those trebuchets, General?" Masolon asked before Gramus left the balcony.

  "We?" Gramus echoed, curling his lip in disdain.

  "As if 'stop those trebuchets' does not sound strange enough."

  Gramus exhaled sharply, exchanging a quick look with Rona. "You should have left this castle on your feet when you had the chance." Her general pointed his finger at Masolon.

  "Your plan, General?" Masolon asked, ignoring Gramus's implicit menace.

  "My plan is none of your damned concern," Gramus tightened his jaw, "Commander."

  "You are absolutely right." Folding his arms, Masolon nodded toward Rona. "But it is of her damned concern for certain."

  "Watch your tongue, young man," Darrison warned Masolon.

  "It is of my damned concern indeed," Rona intervened before the conversation grew uglier. "Now somebody tell me we have a damned plan."

  She looked between the three men she was expecting an answer from. Darrison played with his grey beard. Masolon gazed again at the trebuchets that kept sending those flying fireballs. "First things first," Gramus started. "We put our battalions into formations to be ready for Di Galio's next raid."

  Rona waited for her general to add what came after the first things. "And the trebuchets?"

  Gramus shot Masolon despising looks, as if he was blaming him for this interrogation by the Queen. "I'm not sure what Commander Masolon means by stopping them. Sallying forth with our cavalry is not a wise idea at this time. Our forces will have to ride into the heart of Di Galio's host to reach his siege engines."

  "What about your catapults, General? I remember I saw three at Herlog." Masolon smiled crookedly. "Did you bring them here?"

  Gramus shrugged. "So what? Their trebuchets outrange our catapults."

  "Not if we hide the catapults in the woods and strike the trebuchets from beyond the walls."

  "The catapults will not remain hidden once they start striking. Di Galio will send his cavalry to slaughter our men and destroy our engines."

  Rona could not agree more with her general. Strangely enough, Masolon grinned when he said, "If we are lucky enough, he will send his entire cavalry to those catapults."

  37. MASOLON

  The wind blew hard against Masolon's face as he stood by Payton's side atop the rampart. The cold did not bother him, but the clouds did. The last thing he needed tonight was heavy rain that might ruin his plan.

  Di Galio's trebuchets had not stopped hurling their monstrous firestones for hours, most of the huge projectiles aimed at the five new breach points. Every now and then a firestone missed its target and flew past the wall, plummeting into the courtyard over which two-thirds of Rona's host was sprawled. Almo
st thirty soldiers fell dead or wounded, and still the next round of the clash of steel had not started.

  "We are taking too much time." Payton exhaled, gazing at the western part of the woods. From their spot, both Masolon and Payton could glimpse the moving frames of their soldiers—well, Masolon was part of this host now—but they could not tell if the catapults were in their designated place yet. Anyhow, if Masolon could not see his quiet soldiers clearly, then definitely Di Galio would not.

  "For a good reason, I daresay," Masolon muttered. "Will this wind be a problem to you or your men?"

  Payton shrugged carelessly. "We are trained to accommodate with both headwind and tailwind, so it shouldn't be a problem."

  "Good." Masolon nodded, glancing at the Commander of Archers who did not look any older than him. "I heard you were the best archer in the entire kingdom."

  "Well, if they say so." Payton did not seem impressed, as if he was used to hearing such praise. "I heard you were the best horseman, too. A few soldiers swear they saw you not holding the reins in that cavalry raid with Lord Norwell." He tilted his head, peering at Masolon. "They said you rode your horse like a Mankol."

  Revealing his true homeland to deny being a Mankol was not a good idea, Masolon knew. Those who belonged to either origin were not welcome, especially in Bermania. The Bermanians loathed the Mankols for their endless barbaric raids on the eastern frontier villages, and would fear whatever had come to them from the Great Desert, the haven of demons.

  "I'm not a judgmental person, don't you worry," Payton went on. "If I were you, I would weave a tale like yours about my origins."

  "You sure I am a Mankol?" Masolon teased him. It was a going to be a long night ahead. "I heard their eyes were narrower than mine."

  "Your eyes will not fool me. Your father might have taken a Byzont wife or even a Murasen one—Mankols take care of their captives, if you know what I mean."

  Masolon got the hint. "My mother was not a captive."

  "But you have the accent that doesn't belong to any realm but one."

  It was always Masolon's accent that would arouse anybody's suspicions about his origins. I come from a remote, desolate village on the farthest eastern Murasen-Mankol borders, Masolon would usually run away with this answer from those who were too curious to leave their query unanswered. It always worked, at least for Masolon himself—it was the best he could come up with to explain his looks, his accent, the dire reason for which he had abandoned his remote desolate home, and most importantly, why nobody had ever heard about such a village. Only Murasen nomads might travel that far. And Masolon was lucky enough not to run into some lost Murasen nomad here.

  "You talk too much about Mankols and their accents though you have not met one, it seems," Masolon scoffed.

  Payton guffawed. "I see you are serious about keeping your cover. I like that by the way. I know some who think you might be a demon from the Great Desert."

  That rang a bell. "Who could blame them?" Masolon feigned a smile. "Unless you do not believe in demons."

  The Commander of Archers chuckled. "We must believe in them, you know. Our parents have promised that whoever dares to question the demons' presence shall be haunted by them."

  Masolon peered at him. "Nice way to hide your disbelief."

  Payton grinned. "What about you, Commander? Which side of the Mankols are you from? The believers or the nonbelievers?"

  "Of course, I am a believer, Commander. I am a demon myself."

  Payton stared at him for a moment before he suppressed a laugh with his fist. "I must see to my men." He cleared his throat, wearing a scowl on his face. "We should talk again if we survive this war."

  Masolon watched him go to his archers, and then he turned his gaze toward the west, waiting for one flying fireball to come out of the woods. He unsheathed his new sword and held it upward to feel its weight. It will do, he told himself, but he still missed his greatsword, his steel shield, and his Mankol bow. "I was coming to collect my gear," he had answered Rona when she had asked him what he had been doing on the balcony.

  "I have no idea where they are," Rona had said. "It shouldn't be an issue. I will make sure you get new weapons instead of those you lost."

  "That is kind of you, Your Grace. I will gratefully accept your new weapons, yet I hope you do not mind if I stay here in the castle until I find my gear. They mean a lot to me."

  Rona had looked around, the balcony vacant already. "Seriously, what are you doing here?"

  "I told you: looking for my gear." It was half a lie, and he wished he had told her the truth. That he felt unable to leave her while she was in danger. That he kind of cared about her. Why was it too hard to say that out loud?

  Disappointment had been plain in her eyes; only now did he realize that. She was expecting another answer, but I did not say it because, like she said before, I am a fool. No, he was not only a fool. He was also a coward. He was scared that he was deluded by Rona's current attention toward him. Had he not been fooled once by Halin's smile? Princesses are for princes. Commoners are for commoners. This is the norm of life. He never forgot those facts. He knew that even if Rona's affection was not a delusion, it would eventually lead to nothing. It was a dead-end road; however, he found himself compelled to pursue this ludicrous journey.

  The creaking arms of the catapults roused him from his gloomy thoughts, three firestones flying toward Di Galio's trebuchets. Only one projectile hit its target, the other two crashing into enemy troops. So it begins, Masolon thought as he grabbed the horn he had requested from Rona and Darrison. Di Galio would have to react soon if he wanted to save his monstrous siege engines.

  "What if you were wrong and the Fox just turns his trebuchets toward our catapults?" Payton suddenly asked him from some distance.

  "Turning these huge engines requires time. He will not risk leaving them vulnerable to the fireballs of our catapults." Masolon hoped that Di Galio was the Fox they claimed he was. It was easier to predict the actions of an opponent who used logic in his moves. If he is as smart as Rona's general, we are doomed.

  Masolon was really relieved to see Di Galio's horsemen surging forward. That swift, huge force was ready for all the threats that might be lurking in the woods, but was it ready for what would be falling from the sky?

  It was time to blow the horn. A sign for the soldiers in the woods to retreat and Payton's archers atop the ramparts to get ready. The commander of the archers did not count on the horn and used his own voice to bark out his orders to his men. The archers started igniting their arrowheads, Masolon waiting for the right moment to sound the horn one more time. Di Galio must have seen the lights atop the wall, but it was too late to call his knights back now; they were just entering the wooded area.

  Wait for it, Masolon. The more patient he was, the more damage he would inflict on Di Galio's cavalry. A few dozens were in the woods already, but still there were hundreds rushing toward them.

  The vanguard of Di Galio's horsemen must have found the abandoned catapults already. Either they would be bold enough to search that wooded area at night, or they would be wise somehow and hurry back to their host before they got trapped there.

  "Masolon?" Payton called out nervously.

  "Not yet!" Masolon kept his eyes on the knights heading to the woods. They are still entering.

  "We will lose our catapults for nothing, Masolon!"

  "Not for nothing, my friend." Masolon noticed that a few knights were trotting out of the woods. He blew the horn for the second time, two hundred archers loosing their flaming arrows at once. It was raining fire upon the woods tonight.

  "Tar and, if possible, red flax oil," was what Masolon had said when Darrison had asked him to explain his plan. Grasping the idea, Gramus's face had reddened, though Masolon had no wicked intention of referring to the general's defeat at the walls of the village called Herlog.

  "Little chance it works here," Gramus had curtly pointed out. "We are facing a larger attacking force on a
wider battlefield."

  "And we have a larger number of archers and hopefully, a bigger amount of tar and oil," Masolon had countered.

  The general had not argued too much as Rona and the lords had approved the idea. Right after that meeting, a hundred soldiers had sneaked into the western woods with buckets of oiled tar to cover the largest area they could with the flammable mixture.

  The tarred ground caught fire from the fallen arrows, turning the western woods into a living hell. The hooves of the poor horses must have become stained with the oiled tar they had stepped on since they entered the wooded ambush. Masolon could picture knights struggling with their horrified chargers; knights whose legs were set aflame screaming in pain; agonized horses throwing their riders off their backs. The trees barely revealed the scene there, but Masolon had seen before how fire loved that oiled tar.

  Right after the first volley, Payton ordered his bowmen to flame their arrows one more time. Another barrage of fire rain showered the trapped knights, scorching more ground of the western woods. The tree trunks might have blocked some arrows, but they never worried Masolon. Wood will just make things get prettier.

  Masolon heard the roars of the Skandivian warriors, the thick tree trunks barely revealing their rushing figures. They must be charging at the horsemen who managed to get out of the great fire trap. "Do not stop!" Masolon turned to Payton and his archers, and no, they did not stop. They were just flaming their arrows before another wave of hell rain.

  "Cavalry! Advance!"

  Alarmed upon hearing Gramus's cry, Masolon turned to Payton. "What on earth is going on?"

  The Commander of Archers gave a shrug, jerking his chin toward the gate. Mounting his warhorse, General Gramus himself waved to the horsemen in the courtyard to move forward.

  "What is he doing?" Masolon abandoned his post in a hurry, doing his best to avoid colliding with the archers cramming the rampart. Since this side of the wall was already broken twice yesterday, Masolon had to take the nearest stone steps to resume his sprint from the leftmost part of the wall to the gate. "STOP!" he bellowed, but he was too late. Gramus and the horsemen were emerging right now from the castle.