No one seemed to be favoring Masolon's perspective. Even Payton and Norwell, whom Masolon hoped they had more guts than the rest, did not show any hint of approval of his reckless plan.
"I must disagree with you, Masolon," said Payton. "Our wall is not intact, but we still have one. We can still defend the fort at the gaps and place our archers atop the ramparts to have advantageous shooting positions. So, you see, the castle is not as worthless as you may think. Not yet."
"Some sense at last," Jonson mumbled, Edmond nodding his head in approval.
"I disagree with Masolon too," Rona declared.
"What do you disagree about to be exact, Your Grace?" Darrison asked her. "Commander Masolon's plan of attack or the notion of attack itself?"
"Both," said Rona without hesitation. "We shall not let Di Galio dictate how we should act. If he wants us to attack his camp, then we mustn't give him what he wants." She tilted her head as she stared at Masolon. "If the Fox is making good use of truce time, then so we shall. We need to spend every single minute in preparing our defenses and raising our soldiers' morale. But we cannot do that if our men do not have someone in charge of them after the fall of their general." She paused, her lips clamped to a firm line. She is really grieving for him, Masolon realized. Was it surprising he was slightly jealous?
"I know that some of you, if not all, had concerns about Gramus as a general," Rona went on. "But whatever you think of him or his tactics, he earned his soldiers' respect. Don't be offended, milords, but tell me: how many lords did we lose in this war so far? I'm not questioning your bravery; you all led your men on the battlefield. But Gramus, General Gramus, always fought on the frontline. That's why he was worthy of leading the Skandivians. Trust me: those men are warriors before they became mercenaries. It's not easy for them to accept a Bermanian to lead them in a battle."
A bitter silence reigned over the hall. Masolon wondered how Rona's Bermanian lords wouldn't be offended after her brief speech about the Great General Gramus.
"Maybe I got carried away a little. I just thought of giving that man the credit he deserved," said Rona. "I have chosen a man all our soldiers would trust and would accept his leadership. Until Gramus’s health is restored, Darrison is our new general in this war."
The grey-bearded lord jerked his head backward, his eyebrows raised. Is he really astonished or just pretending? Masolon thought as he watched the other men in the hall. Norwell nodded silently. His bald uncle curled his lip, yet he curtly said, "A wise choice, Your Grace."
The one Masolon was curious about was Edmond. The blond deputy had an enviable ability to hide his emotions behind that ice-cold face. Looking from the corner of his eye, Masolon glimpsed a slight smile on Payton's face. Who was that mocking smile directed at? Rona? Darrison? Or Edmond?
"Everybody else is going to resume their duties as they are," said Rona. "Edmond as the General's Deputy, Norwell as the Cavalry Commander, and Payton as the Commander of Archers. I will be glad if Commander Masolon accepts the task of leading the Skandivian mercenaries. In the absence of Gramus, I know no other man who can convince those fierce warriors that he is worthy of undertaking this mission."
"Congratulations to us, Commander Masolon." Payton grinned, patting Masolon on the shoulder. Now Payton was mocking him too, wasn't he?
Not everybody shared Payton's enthusiasm though. Norwell exchanged a look with his bald uncle who furrowed his brow. Edmond kept the same stone face he wore always like a mask. "None of us would question your decision nor Commander's Masolon prowess in battle, Your Grace." Darrison harrumphed, glancing at Jonson. "Yet the rest of the lords and commanders might need an explanation. Right, milord?"
Jonson sounded like a boiling cooking pan when he slowly heaved a sigh. "Our soldiers will need an explanation as well." He gestured toward Masolon without looking at him. "He saved your life, Your Grace, but so many soldiers of ours were not that lucky. Those soldiers have brothers and friends in our camp who still want to avenge their dead."
Rona leaned back in her seat, looking from Darrison to Jonson. "So, you two tell me that lords, commanders, and soldiers—everybody—will be appalled by my decision."
Darrison leaned toward Rona and said something in a low voice. Rona answered him with a smirk before she asked everybody except Darrison to wait for her outside the hall.
Masolon was the first one to push open the door, Payton following him to the corridor. When Jonson, his nephew, and Edmond exited the meeting hall, Payton walked Masolon away toward a small balcony nearby. "Saw that coming?" Payton asked him.
"What are you talking about? My new role?" Masolon peered at Payton. "Or you opposing my idea?"
"Come on, Masolon." Payton patted him on the shoulder. "You know I like you, but your plan? It is just insane."
"It is." Masolon leaned to the balustrade, gazing at the western side of the wall facing the woods. "That is why it is going to work. Di Galio will not see it coming."
"Like Queen Rona's decision about you?"
Masolon turned to him. "You think I asked for it? For certain, no."
"Alright, I believe you." Payton looked over his shoulder. "Yet I find myself compelled to warn you; the game you play is a dangerous one, my friend."
"What game?"
"You tell me you don't know? Really?" Payton looked him in the eye, his smile slowly fading. "Because I will be offended if I find out that you are taking me for a fool."
First it was Di Galio and his games, then Rona and her surprising decisions, and now Payton and his stupid riddles. "Maybe I am the fool here."
"Many would wish to be the lucky fool you are. Now seriously, aren't you aware of the Queen's special interest in you? Because you might be the only one who doesn't notice."
Of course, Masolon noticed. But was it that obvious? "Is this farce about my new title? As far as I remember I am not the new general."
One more time, Payton made sure that nobody was listening from the corridor. "This farce has started at Herlog, not today. I was there when Her Grace hurried to General Gramus to stop him from assaulting the village—the very village she had just run away from in her soiled gown. But we know she did that for the sake of one particular Herlogan."
Masolon chuckled. "You mean the Herlogan she put into chains and threw into the dungeons."
"She saved your life, and you know that. Gramus and his soldiers wanted you dead so badly—they still do—and they were so close from realizing their wish if it were not for her. I was quite sure she would set you free sooner or later, probably after the end of the war. But only two days later? Obviously, she was not that enthusiastic about throwing you in the dungeons."
No, she was not. "Listen, Payton. Whatever you are hinting at, I have nothing to do with it. I am quite certain I play no games."
"I will try to believe that," Payton scoffed. "Anyway, whether it was your intention or not, you are in the game already. We are not talking about some girl, my friend. We are talking about the coming Queen of Bermania. The day she wins this war, noble suitors will do whatever it takes to earn her heart. But look at that contender from nowhere? Yesterday a prisoner, today a commander, and tomorrow who knows? You will be a threat to all those suitors, if you are not already. I cannot imagine that at least one of her vassals has not fancied himself sitting on the throne by her side."
And tomorrow who knows?
Payton's imagination had gone wild, Masolon reflected. If there was one lesson he had learned from his history with noble ladies, it would be this: rein in your wild imagination.
"So," Masolon peered at Payton, "am I a threat to you?"
"No!" Payton laughed. "For your own peace of mind, I have promised a girl already." He paused for a moment, as if he was still considering the notion. "Unless, Her Grace orders me to wed her, of course. Who am I to disobey such an order?"
Payton left him and joined the lords chattering in the corridor. Shortly, Rona came out of the meeting hall and motioned to them to return to the
room. Masolon could not hear her, but from Payton's gesture toward the balcony, Masolon guessed she was asking where he was.
Her vassals were back to the meeting hall when she joined Masolon on the balcony. "You, too, have concerns about my recent decisions?"
"Would my concerns matter, Your Grace?" Masolon teased her.
"Surely, they wouldn't. I was just curious," she countered as she leaned onto the balustrade next to him. While he was thinking she was contemplating the woods surrounding the castle, she said, "You never told me how your service had ended in Murase." She turned to him. "Does your history with noble ladies have anything to do about that?"
Masolon had not seen that coming. "A host is camping right at your door, and yet you are worried about my history?"
"I am worried about nothing." She pouted, looking away from him. "I'm just wondering why a Murasen lord would banish you."
Please, I do not want to recall that moment, Masolon would have begged her. "We just had a disagreement that evolved into something bigger. Nothing else worth mentioning."
"So, Di Galio did lie about you, didn't he?" asked the girl who was worried about nothing. Seriously, she was besieging him.
"He exaggerated, I would rather say."
"Which part did he exaggerate about? Your banishment? Or your glorious history in bedchambers?"
Masolon tsked, shaking his head in annoyance. "Now you are the one who exaggerates. Who said anything about bedchambers?"
"No bedchambers then. Still, the noble ladies stand as important elements in your Murasen tale."
Only one noble lady. And she was the entire tale, not just an element. "How about we focus on our Bermanian tale for now?" Masolon managed a smile.
"Our?" She smirked, her hands nervously tapping on the balustrade. "Alright. For one last time, I am asking you to stop messing with me and tell me: why didn't you leave Subrel when I asked you to? Why are you fighting by my side now? Is it your ambition as Di Galio claims?"
My ambition? Masolon could not suppress his laugh, having no doubt that Rona did not believe Di Galio's nonsense. He knew she was pushing him to say the answer she wanted to hear, the answer he wanted to say as well. If it were not for those guards in the corridor, he would surround her lithe frame with his arms, sweep her off her feet and tell her. . .
The game you play is a dangerous one, my friend.
Payton's warning clouded Masolon's mind, making his tongue heavy right before he could utter a single word. It was not the future suitors who made him stand back. It was the fear of falling into the same trap again. Because if he fell this time, he would never be able to live with his foolishness any longer.
Too soon for you to understand.
Wait a minute. That raucous night in Herlog. The cavalry raid from the postern gate. The ambush Masolon had devised in the woods for Di Galio's troops. Could it be possible that all of that was designed by a demon, not Masolon himself?
Without me, you are nothing but a dull mass of muscles.
"Seriously, you have nothing to say?" Rona frowned. "Out of respect at least?"
"I do not know what to say, Rona." Masolon inhaled deeply. "I am afraid Di Galio might be right. It could be my ambition after all."
41. FRANKIL
The ride through the woods was a bumpy one, but the trees curtained the three horsemen from the horde marching west on the road to the city of Ramos. "I'm starving," complained Ziyad for the tenth time this morning.
"For a slender fellow, you whimper too much about food," Antram commented.
"That is because of the muscle in my head. My brain is more active than your thick legs."
Antram glanced at Frankil, his eyes narrow. "How does this make any sense?"
Ziyad sniggered. "You just proved my point."
"You may knock it off, you two." Frankil gazed at the palisade wall ahead. "We have made it to our destination."
His two companions abandoned their argument for a minute, obviously relieved they reached their destination at last. "Behold," said Ziyad. "The great fort of Herlog."
"Still impresses me what our troublesome brother has made of those peasants," said Antram.
He was born to lead, Frankil thought. The day he had encountered Masolon in the Skandivian valley, he sensed his warrior's instinct. The night Masolon had come to Horstad to persuade Frankil and his brothers-in-arms to join him in Murase, the captain saw something most of the lords these days lacked: vision. Unlike what Bergum believed, Masolon's weakness was not his feeble mind; it was his restless heart. The same weakness that ruined my life. But Frankil had learned how to control his feelings, to appear so cold that a fool like Ziyad might think he was heartless. If Frankil could do it, he could show Masolon how.
"Hold it right there!" The young archer atop the watchtower looked familiar, but Frankil did not recall his name.
"Easy, brave man." Frankil pulled the reins of his horse. "We are Masolon's friends. Don't you remember us?"
"What if they don't like him anymore?" Ziyad muttered in a low voice.
The young watchman looked over his shoulder, crying out Ben's name. Yes, I remember that one, Frankil thought. Hope his memory is sharper than his fellow-peasants.
Shortly, the broad-shouldered lad showed up, gesturing to his mate to not attack. "Captain Frankil, Antram, Ziyad." A promising start from Ben. "Anything I can help you with?"
"That doesn't sound good," Ziyad muttered again.
Though Frankil would not disagree, he had to ignore his Murasen fellow. "We are here for Masolon," he addressed Ben. "Would you open the gate for us?"
"I'm coming to you." Ben disappeared without giving Frankil a chance to ask him what was going on.
"This is not good at all," Ziyad insisted.
"Something is not right here." Frankil gazed at the palisade wall to make sure there were no dubious moves. It was only that nervous archer so far.
"I sense an ambush." Antram gripped the hilt of his sword. "We must retreat to the woods now."
Yes, Frankil felt something was wrong. But an ambush? "We fought an impossible battle for the Herlogans. Why would they betray us?"
"It's not them I'm worried about; it's that queen of rebels and her army. We have no idea if Masolon's peace agreement with them has worked. Where is he, by the way? Why is that lad rushing to meet us instead of him?"
"For once, I agree with this fellow," said Ziyad.
Frankil had their concerns, but he kept them for himself as Ben emerged from the gate of Herlog. The lad was coming alone, on foot, and unarmed; a gesture that Frankil took as a sign of good intention.
"Not quite the reception you were expecting, I guess." Ben gave an apologetic smile.
"Not quite the reception we deserve," Frankil countered.
"Not out of ungratefulness, Captain. I'm just a simple peasant who wants to keep peace in his village." He exchanged a look with Antram and Ziyad. "So many things have happened since you left."
"Where is Masolon?" Antram gruffly asked.
"He surrendered to the rebels to spare us their wrath. According to some travelers, they are camping at Subrel, where the King's army is besieging them as we speak."
"Damn it!" Antram spat out. "What sort of a deal was that?"
"What about the precious blonde you were holding captive?" Ziyad asked. "You should have gotten yourselves a better deal than that."
"True. But she escaped from Masolon's custody. Right after that, a larger force of hers came to us, and they brought catapults that time. It took us three days afterward without sleep to repair the damage they did to our wall."
"Is that why you are mad at Masolon and his friends?” Frankil peered at Ben. “Because she escaped from his custody?”
Ben sighed. "The matter was not that simple, Captain. While half of our people believe that Masolon is a hero for his noble sacrifice, the other half blames him for allowing that queen of rebels to escape before they got their revenge. After she killed one of us in her first attempt to escape
from the mill, Masolon took her to his house. He did not tell anybody where he was keeping her, but those who were determined to avenge their dead did not find any difficulty in guessing where she was. They lured Masolon outside the village, but she was gone already when they stormed his place to capture her."
"Same old Masolon," Ziyad scoffed. "I bet he was glad that we left so that he could keep that beauty for himself.”
“That bastard!” Antram was much less amused than Ziyad. “We rode all this way for many days away from the road for his sake, and at the end, he forgets everything we had agreed upon because of his restless member, again!”
“Easy on him, brother. We have just heard fragments of the story,” said Frankil to his furious mate. “We cannot blame Masolon until we hear from him what exactly he did about that queen.”
"Hear from him? Were you listening, Frank? He is in Subrel, locked up in some cell there. We cannot even come close to him by a mile."
"And I cannot just leave a man behind without exhausting all the chances on hand."
"What chances? Do you think of breaking into the castle to sneak him out?"
It was a possibility Frankil would not discount, though he had no plan for it right now. Actually, he was afraid to admit that Antram was right. Setting Masolon free would be a really hard mission, but simply deciding to abandon him was so much harder.
"We may not have to," Ziyad spoke after a while of silence too long for his standards. "What if we offer her a ransom?"
"Is this another joke of yours?" Antram grimaced.
"It is not. We shall listen to her demands, and if it is more than we have, we will ask her to give us some time to collect her ransom. I don't think Galardi would mind paying it. He owes Masolon his life."
"Galardi owes Masolon nothing. He paid his debt when he joined forces with us in Kahora."
"You are right, Antram," said Frankil. "However, Ziyad's idea is worth a try."
"You worry about Galardi?" Antram curled his forehead. "What about the King's army besieging the castle? They will rob us of our gold and leave us on the road naked, if they don't kill us first. And if by some miracle we manage to go past them, I don't think those rebels will be less hostile."
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