Through the nearest gap in the wall, Masolon plodded up the debris and broken stones until he made it to the outer side. Ahead of his knights, Gramus waited for the rest of them to come out through the gate. "GRAMUS! STOP!" Masolon darted across the field, the general not looking at him. "You cannot just ignore me!"
"You had better return to your post," Gramus curtly said when Masolon stood in front of his horse.
"Where are you taking these men?"
"To finish what you didn't."
"What are you talking about? You do not know what is happening there, but I do." Masolon gestured toward the blazing woods, fire arrows still falling on it as they spoke. "We are laying waste to them."
"You think I would lag behind in the courtyard, waiting for you to tell me what was going on?" The general grimaced. "I was watching too, so I do know what is happening. I know you have failed in destroying four trebuchets. And in case you haven't noticed yet, they are still hurling firestones at our walls."
"What walls?" Masolon blustered, but Gramus ignored him completely as he urged the knights to follow him. The entire battalion moved onward, leaving Masolon on his own behind them. "What wall, you idiot?" The horsemen at the rearguard must have heard him, but they did not show any reaction.
The archers were still shooting when he headed back to his post at the leftmost side of the wall. Seriously, what is his problem? Masolon tried to find one reason behind Gramus's sudden decision to launch a full cavalry attack, right into the heart of Di Galio's camp. Whatever the point the general wanted to prove, Masolon should be grateful it did not involve those footmen standing in the courtyard.
Masolon noticed the silence that reigned over the whole fort as he neared the steps. No flying stones sent by trebuchets. No fire arrows loosed by Payton's archers. This is not promising. Masolon doubled his pace to get himself up the wall as fast as possible.
"Make room," Masolon demanded when he was back to the rampart at last. One archer stepped back, letting him lean to the parapets to have a better view of the chaos happening over there at Di Galio's camp.
"You saw that?" Payton hurried to Masolon, the idle archers making way for their commander. "Di Galio had reserve cavalry in his camp!"
"For certain, he did," Masolon muttered, squinting at the countless shadows of horses and men mingled together. A fair clash it seemed from afar; surely, not quite what Gramus had expected. The clash did not stay fair for long as Di Galio's infantry joined in.
"What should we do now?" Payton asked nervously, gesturing toward the burning woods. "Our men there are still engaged with Di Galio's cavalry." He turned to the courtyard, where the reserve soldiers stood. "What about them?"
"What do you suggest? Me leading them into the battlefield? I have no authority here." And it is not a good idea anyway. Until our infantry reaches Di Galio's camp, our cavalry will be vanquished already. They will be outnumbered.
"Damn!" Payton bit his lower lip. "We cannot just stand here, helpless."
"Maybe it is better this way." Masolon studied the troops in the courtyard. "Those soldiers could be our last hope to survive this war."
38. FRANKIL
"Isn't it about time to get some rest, Frank? We have been traveling in the dark for a couple of hours already," Ziyad complained as he rode beside Frankil.
"Are you tired of the journey or scared of the dark?" Antram sneered from behind both of them.
"Scared of the dark, of course. Because you fart too much," Ziyad countered.
"Damn you, Murasen bard. My horse’s arse smells better than your mouth."
While Frankil never stood their boyish ranting, Bergum and Danis usually found them a bit entertaining, especially on those long journeys. "Don't get too harsh, Frank," Danis had told him once. "We are not in the army anymore."
Holding the torch with one hand and the reins with the other, Frankil squinted at the way ahead. They were half a mile away from the crossroads where the road they were on, the Lapond-Kalhom road, intersected with the Karun-Ramos road. That would be a good place for the caravan to halt for a while.
"We rest here until dawn," Frankil announced. He peered at Ziyad, adding, "This has nothing to do with your bitching about your exhaustion, by the way."
Antram laughed, but even Ziyad himself sounded amused as he hooted, "That's my captain! I know that deep beneath this robe of virtue you shroud your previous renegade core. Look at the faces of Bergum and Danis. They know it. They witnessed it before."
Nobody commented on Ziyad's remark as they were all busy dragging their horses and carts toward the oak trees lining the road. Frankil was the last one to get off his horse, his eyes scanning the road and the woods around him. The only threat he found so far was an owl watching over them atop a high branch.
"That is a bad omen." Ziyad put his hands on his waist, lifting his gaze toward that owl. "Let Danis shoot her down."
"What is your problem with owls?" Antram taunted.
"It is a Murasen thing," the know-it-all Danis pointed out. "Like their problem with black cats."
"Really?" Antram sniggered. "I didn't know you fear little kitties, Ziyad!"
Ziyad laughed. "Whoa! The most superstitious people in Gorania mock me now! What sin did I commit to deserve such a fate?"
"Come on, brothers." Frankil clapped to put an end to this blabber. "Knock it off and make the most of this night. We need to get enough rest before tomorrow's ride to Herlog."
Ziyad was done tying his horse when Frankil stalked by him. "I will be surprised if I find our brother has reached a peaceful accord with the rebels' army."
Lying on his back below a tree, Antram stared at Ziyad. "Speaking of bad omens, that one is real. You shouldn't have said what you said."
"I hope I'm wrong. I really do." Ziyad lifted his arms, like a thief claiming his innocence. "But we know Masolon, don't we?"
"This chatter takes us nowhere, Ziyad." Running out of patience, Frankil gripped Ziyad's shoulder. "Listen. If you feel too alert to sleep tonight, you may entertain the brothers." He pointed at the two youths whose turn to watch over the sleeping company was tonight.
"A night watch? No, thank you! I took my turn the other night."
Frankil waited until he saw for himself that Ziyad went to sleep. Now I can rest at last, he thought as he walked through the trees, looking for a vacant spot away from the horses and the carts cramming the space around him.
"Frankil," a whisper coming from behind startled him.
"What is it, Bergum?" Frankil turned to his brother-in-arms since the good old days of Ramos. "Shouldn't you be sleeping now?"
"I'm really dying to get some rest, Frank." Bergum sighed. "This long journey could have been shorter if it hadn't been for that army of rebels and your friend Masolon."
"My friend?" Frankil didn't like the sound of it.
"Yes, your friend." Bergum tightened his jaw. "Your friend who abandoned us more than once after he made us travel with him hundreds of miles south to those hellish Murasen lands. And when we thought we were done with him, he involved us in a desperate fight that he could easily have avoided. And now you want us to take a longer route for our already long journey to pick him up to come with us. And only the Lord of Sky and Earth knows if he is coming with us or not after all."
"Wouldn't you want me to do the same for you?" Frankil gave him a light smile, hoping he could absorb Bergum's discontent.
"You still believe in him, Frank. I wonder how many times he should abandon us before you give up on him." Bergum shook his head in disapproval. "Can't you see? He is not right in the mind. He doesn't know what he wants in this life. You know, even if he comes with us, he will soon leave us again, pursuing whatever it is that he is pursuing."
Frankil had little doubt about that. "Masolon is lost, yes, but there is good in his heart, Bergum. Wasn't I lost one day, and yet you all decided to join me in my journey that had no destination?"
Putting his hands on his waist, Bergum's chest heaved. "Dani
s and the others bear you so much respect. They admire you even." He looked Frankil in the eye. "But you know my reasons to join you in your journey were different, don't you?"
Frankil stared at him quizzically.
“Everybody knew that I would have become the Captain if I had stayed,” Bergum went on. “But I couldn’t live with the feeling that I might have let you leave to take your place. I told myself: ‘Either I persuade him to change his mind and stay, or I go with him wherever he goes.’ And since you were determined to quit, I had no other option.”
Frankil’s brother-in-arms was making his guilt more painful. I didn’t force anybody to go with me, he reminded himself. “Perhaps you didn’t make the right decision, brother.”
“I have no regrets, and I blame you for nothing.” Bergum wagged his finger. “But I will blame you for Masolon if he deserts us one more time.”
"The next time he deserts us will be the last one," Frankil promised. "Is that fine with you?"
Of course, Bergum was not fine with that. He loathed the idea of going to Masolon in the first place, but Frankil was unable to figure out something more convincing to say. Maybe I had too much faith in him indeed, he kept his thoughts for himself as he watched his disgruntled brother walk away.
It should not be hard for Frankil to fall asleep on such a cumbersome ride. Because of the unfortunate events in Kalhom and Herlog, he had to force himself and his brothers to move their arses as well as their horses’ more than they usually did in their travels. And still I’m taking them west to Herlog. He could understand Bergum’s frustration. Was the other one disgruntled too, even if they did not complain? The thought did not trouble him for long though as his exhaustion overwhelmed his restless mind, and the voices of his protesting brothers in his head faded away.
"Frankil." Bergum's voice echoed in his mind, louder and clearer this time. A firm grip on his shoulder shook his body, the sky painted in the colors of early sunrise. He was not dreaming right now. "We must move from this place swiftly and quietly. A huge horde is coming from the east."
"Wake everybody up then." Frankil's brothers-in-arms were already awake when he commanded. "How far is this horde?"
"Less than a mile."
"We can still make it." Frankil grabbed his sword from the ground and sheathed it, urging his men to hurry up with the lowest audible voice he could order them with. Ziyad was unusually silent as he helped Antram and Danis untie a few horses. Bergum made a quick tour all over their camp to make sure they did not leave anything or anyone behind asleep.
In a couple of minutes, most of the company was on horseback. Frankil waited at the tail of the train until he made sure everybody was mounted. "Bergum, lead us south away from here."
"We had better get rid of those carts if we want to flee unnoticed," Ziyad suggested in an unusual low voice.
"We will flee unnoticed." Frankil could only hope. "If they even hear us, they will never be able to distinguish their clamor from ours. Now go."
Ignoring Frankil's order, Ziyad gazed at the horde passing by the crossroads right now. "Aren't they a bit too slow?"
They were indeed, Frankil noticed, and he should be grateful for that. Those heavily armored horsemen far outnumbered his small company. Looking over his shoulder, he felt relieved to find the woods had swallowed his caravan already. He could barely see the frames of a couple of horsemen at the tail of the train. "Maybe they are not in hurry."
"Or the goods they drag encumber them."
Frankil could not help chuckling. "Is this your best guess for a horde of knights coming from the Karun-Ramos road? Those are Karuni troops, the elite of Bermanian chivalry."
"You, Bermanians, overrate your cavalry. You brag of your long history of victories against Rusakians, Byzonts, and Skandivians while you have never faced real horsemen like us. Even the Mankols, you never had a significant encounter with them in an open field. A small force of Mankol cavalry archers would lay waste to your slow knights who are clad in too much steel."
It was not the first time for Ziyad to belittle the effectiveness of Bermanian armors. "This too much steel makes the Karuni knights harder to kill. Their armor is heavier than mine, mind you." Even their horses were armored. Murasen and Mankol horses were faster and more agile, Frankil knew, but the sturdy Karuni warhorses were devastating in heavy cavalry charges. The debate would not take Frankil anywhere, so he stopped arguing with his Murasen brother.
"I told you they were encumbered by their goods." Ziyad grinned, pointing at the huge wooden frames of two trebuchets. "I hope those things are not heading to Herlog."
"To destroy its wooden wall? Come on." Frankil hoped that Masolon had not started a much bigger fight after they left him in his village. There is nothing we can do for him against this army. "That force is definitely joining the war between Wilander and Rona."
Both Frankil and Ziyad stayed hidden in the woods until the entire Karuni horde passed. "They are marching on the road we are supposed to take to go west," Ziyad noted. "Is there another way to reach Herlog?"
Yes, there was: travel forty miles northwest to Kalhom, then another forty-five miles south. Surely, his brothers would be happy to do that. Especially, Bergum. "We may go through the woods," Frankil mused. "But it will be a long, tedious ride with the carts we have."
"Indeed." Ziyad nodded. "Anyway, taking the whole caravan to Herlog to pick up one man was a ridiculous idea."
Frankil would believe what he heard if it was Bergum who said it. But the captain knew his Murasen friend better. "Only two men are enough for such a task."
Ziyad tilted his head, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "How about three?"
39. RONA
The sight of the two healers cauterizing and suturing Gramus's wounds haunted Rona in her restless sleep.
The first thing she did upon sunrise was head to his chamber without her guards' company. She needed a moment to get hold of herself before pushing the closed door, nothing in her mind but the hissing hot blades and the sharp needles piercing through his skin.
The healers were still working on Gramus, which made her wonder if they had got some rest last night. They greeted her with a slight bow, their hands busy with threads and bandages over the body of her loyal guardian. Since she was not curious at all to know what exactly they were doing to him, she kept her distance from the bed he lay on. It surprised her how frail she was right now. Wounded men was a sight she was familiar with. Gramus himself had been wounded before, but he had never been in such a miserable condition, broken and unconscious. Yes, they had their recent conflicts, but she knew he was still her shield. That shield was shattered now.
"How is he?" Rona's voice barely came out, her tears frozen in her eyes.
"He will live, Your Grace," one of the healers replied without looking at her. "But he will not be fit to fight any time soon."
Fight? She was worried when he would be able to use his legs to stand up. "Let me know when he opens his eyes."
Unable to stay in this room any longer, she hurried outside to the nearest vacant chamber. She locked the door behind her, leaned her back against it, and let her tears pour down her cheeks. She had not cried that much since she was twelve.
Wipe off your tears and stand tall. You are the heiress of King Charlwood.
What would her father do if he was in her place? Definitely, he would not cry over losing his general. He would not lock himself up in a chamber. This was not the time to hide. This was the time her demoralized men must see her among them.
Rona returned to her room and commanded Sacura to help her don her armor. The stout maidservant smiled as she bowed and went to see to her queen's order. Shortly, Sacura was back with the silver armor made for the rightful Queen of Bermania.
Sacura was quieter than she usually was; Rona noticed after she was almost done putting on her armor. "Why the silence?"
"I thought I had better not disturb you today, Your Grace."
"What is so particular
about today, may I ask?"
"I beg your pardon, Your Grace," said Sacura, her voice steady. "I just heard we lost last night. That's it."
"You should be glad. Your return to your former, kind masters might be sooner than you think."
"Glad?" Sacura fastened the breastplate and stood before Rona. "The likes of me do not take sides in a war, Your Grace. We are born to serve whoever rules us because this is what we are fated to do. This is the role the Lord of Sky and Earth has chosen for me to play in this world."
Her maidservant's straightforwardness impressed her again. "We shall see how you feel after this war ends." Rona gave the mirror one long look before she added, "We didn't lose yesterday by the way."
Two guards followed her as she went downstairs, pondering the half-lie she just said. Surprisingly enough, it made her feel better. My men should believe that too. It was true her army, especially her cavalry, had suffered last night because of Gramus's failed raid, but what about Di Galio? He had lost most of his knights in the blazing woods and his trebuchets, as one of the few survivors of Gramus's reckless raid confirmed. If that survivor was right, and she really hoped he was, then the battle was far from over.
The soldiers were on their feet when they saw her stepping into the courtyard. Even the wounded struggled to stand upright, or at least sit with a straightened back. No smirking faces or snarky comments about the naive pretty girl who led an army to claim her father's throne; they must have started vanishing after everyone heard about what she had done to Jerek with her own hands. But the day she had emerged at the walls of Herlog in that blood-stained gown, she had seen in her men's eyes something different. Something she liked more than fear itself: acknowledgment. Respect.
But for the first time, she saw hope. No one said a word, but she sensed it. Those men fighting for her had faith in their queen.
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