The Warrior's Path

by Karim Soliman

  “Hopefully we will reach Maksow before sunset,” Jubi muttered. She turned to him. “There you can find a ride to Kahora.”

  The snow was getting thinner as they went south. Anna told Masolon about Blanich's stepmother, who married his greedy uncle after his father's death. Anna even believed that Blanich's father's death was arranged by the evil couple to take over his lands. After finishing Blanich's story, Anna told Masolon about herself and her life with her late husband. The journey to Maksow was a long one, and Anna was a good storyteller. Masolon had no problem listening to her all the way. Jubi barely talked, and when she did, she asked about Blanich.

  The cart reached Maksow late at night. Shops were shut already, and there was no way for Anna to sell her honey today. “Blast! Where am I going to leave these barrels?” She frowned.

  Masolon felt guilty since he was the one who had delayed the two ladies. “You go and find a chamber in the tavern. I will stay up and guard the cart,” he offered.

  “You will freeze,” Anna warned.

  He grinned. “Do not worry about me.”

  The night in Maksow wasn't as freezing as in Durberg, yet it was still much colder than any night he had spent anywhere outside Rusakia. Colder and longer. With only him and the cart horses, Masolon was spending one of his longest nights ever.

  With the first light of next day, Jubi came to him, her blue eyes so sleepy, still pretty though.

  “It seems that you are awake a bit earlier than what you are used to,” Masolon remarked.

  “Is it that obvious?” She rubbed her eyes. “Waking up early is the daily topic of Mom's quarrels with me.”

  The wool coat she wore wasn't a match for his fur coat. “Are you not cold?”

  “We are Rusakians.” She stood tall. “Snow runs in our veins instead of blood.”

  For a moment, he remembered Sania. The cheerful Sania who used to make fun of him as he couldn't tolerate the Murasen sun. Curse you, Blanich! How dare you leave such an angel!

  “Don't you want to have some sleep before you start your long journey to Kahora?” Jubi asked. “Mom is going to wake up soon.”

  “Thank you, Jubi. I am grateful for everything you and Anna have done for me.”

  “You seem like a good man of a pure heart, Masolon. I'm sure one day you'll find your soulmate who will deserve you.”

  A pure heart? A restless one, he would say.

  “Would you do something for me?” asked Jubi. “Tell Blanich that I am still waiting for his return.”

  “I will tell him.”

  “Also tell him this; ya tebya lyublu.”

  “Ya tebya lyu…blu,” he echoed.

  “Your accent is so funny.” Her cheeks reddened when she giggled, making her even prettier.

  He laughed. “What is this?”

  “A message in the old Rusakian tongue,” she explained. “Can you say it one more time?”

  “Ya tebya lyublu.”

  “You learn fast.”

  “I will keep practicing while traveling back to Murase. Now I must go. Send my greetings to Anna.” He gave Jubi one last smile and left, eager to leave Rusakia as soon as possible, and determined not to return to the snow lands whatever happened.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  MASOLON

  The hill. The Den of the Warrior’s Gang. That was the first place Masolon passed by when he reached Kahora.

  “And here he comes back!” Ziyad received him with his rumble.

  “You look pale, Masolon.” Antram studied his face. “I hope you didn’t have a rough time with the Rusakians.”

  “Beyond what you think.” Masolon gave him a tired smile. “What battles did I miss?”

  “Nothing big.” Ziyad shrugged. “Only a few raids from our side on some scattered bands of brigands around Kahora. Their activity has dwindled.”

  “Good news.” Masolon nodded, his hands on his waist. “Anything else?”

  “Feras is back,” said Frankil. “He has asked for an audience with you.”

  No doubt the Murasen lord would have a few questions about his commander’s sudden disappearance.

  “We rode to the castle of Arkan to answer his call,” said Antram, “and I have to tell you, he was upset when he knew that you traveled outside the whole kingdom without his permission.”

  Antram only confirmed Masolon’s worries. How could he explain his journey to Rusakia?

  “What did you tell him about my journey?” Masolon asked his companions.

  “We told him we didn’t know,” Ziyad answered.

  “You must go to him at once,” Antram urged.

  “I will.” A journey to Arkan would be a ramble in the desert compared to his journey to Durberg. “I have a message for you,” he said to Blanich, taking him aside.

  “You haven’t met Anna, have you?” Blanich grinned.

  “I do not know how I could have survived if it had not been for her.” Masolon told Blanich everything had happened, starting from his crawl on ice to reach Anna's house until their journey to Maksow.

  “It’s ya tebya lyublu.” Blanich guffawed, correcting Masolon’s accent. “Do you know what it means?”

  Masolon shrugged. “Something in the old Rusakian tongue?”

  “That’s right.” Blanich nodded. “It means ‘I love you.’”

  Lucky you, Masolon wanted to say. He wondered how he would feel if a sweet girl like Jubi said those three words to him.

  ***

  Masolon had not seen his master for a long time, but there was not much emotion in their reunion. Feras was stone-faced when he received Masolon in the big hall and allowed him to sit down.

  “When I returned, it was easy for me to notice the impact of your efforts in cleansing the western regions from banditry,” said Feras. “Your name has become a nightmare for those brigands, and now they are not playing hunter anymore. I believe every bandit is afraid of being the next prey.”

  Something harsh was coming after this nice introduction, Masolon knew.

  “We won our war against the traitors, and you vanquished those brigands. A perfect time for celebration,” Feras said. “But what happened when I summoned my valorous commander? He wasn’t there. He decided to go to an unknown destination on his own.”

  Masolon remained silent since he could not argue about that.

  “You’re a soldier, Masolon.” Feras glowered at him. “A soldier never abandons his post until his master tells him so.”

  “It was just an old debt, milord.” Masolon’s voice was impassive.

  “Tell me, Masolon, what will you do if a soldier leaves your gang without informing you?”

  Was Feras testing him? Or just teaching him a lesson? Or both? Masolon should weigh his next words carefully.

  “I got your point, milord,” said Masolon.

  “Answer me!” Feras howled.

  Masolon clenched his fist. No one was to yell at him. No one. Even if it was the king himself. “Then he would never have a place in the gang,” Masolon finally answered.

  “Good,” said Feras coldly. “Now I can rest assured that you really understand the difference between your previous position as a leader of a gang of mercenaries, and your current responsibility as a commander of a troop of Murasen soldiers.”

  A gang of mercenaries? Maybe it was part of the truth, but it sounded rather like an insult from Feras when said that way. Gritting his teeth, Masolon chose not to reply now. Otherwise he might say something he would regret. Until this moment, he still bore some respect to Feras. The young prince was what a lord in Gorania should be. He had inherited the title from his father and earned it with his deeds. A Goranian champion who led his men himself to defend the lands he belonged to.

  “Surely, milord,” Masolon said. “You can rest assured.”

  A moment of silence followed Masolon’s statement.

  “I didn’t want to dig deep in this,” Feras rubbed his chin, “but I heard some tales that provoked my worries. When you hear that one of y
our finest men has run after some foreign princess, I believe you should be concerned.”

  “It is not like what you have heard, mil—”

  “I am not interested to know whether it was a princess or a debt, Masolon,” Feras cut in, “but I do need to hear from you one thing—that this will never happen again.”

  “It will never happen again, milord,” Masolon said resolutely. “It has ended for good.”

  “I hope so. Now you can go and resume your duties in the western region. I will be expecting you at Arkan every two weeks to report to me.” Feras gave him a dismissive gesture.

  Masolon strode across the hall, heading to the yard outside. He waved to the stable boy to bring him his stallion. After he was done with that tense meeting with Feras, he wanted to leave the castle as fast as possible. The lad returned with his stallion in a couple of minutes that had felt like a couple of hours.

  “I see you’re still fond of black horses.”

  Masolon stood frozen when he heard her voice. Her sweet voice. Yes, he heard that right. She was standing behind him. The girl with the auburn hair.

  “Sania.”

  “Excuse me? How dare you address a princess like that?”

  “I am sorry, milady, I did not…”

  He didn’t finish. He wanted to entertain his ears with her sweet laugh that reminded him of some previous dreamy moments.

  “Look at you, as if you have just seen a demon,” she teased him.

  Her cheerful spirit delighted and confused him at the same time. She was not the same pale, gloomy girl he had met ten weeks ago in Burdi. She was back, sweet and frisky.

  “I would love to see demons if they were that pretty.” He couldn’t help grinning.

  She blushed. “What was that? A flirtation?”

  “I guess it is.”

  “You’ve changed, Masolon.” She folded her arms, still smiling. “It seems that you’ve learned a lot from your last journey to Rusakia. I bet you had some good times there.”

  Masolon wondered what she had exactly heard. “Why do you think I had a good time there?”

  “Why not?” She shrugged. “Didn’t you enjoy the company of your Rusakian princess?”

  “My Rusakian princess!” He guffawed. “It is not like what you think.”

  “Really?” The way she arched one of her slender eyebrows betrayed her concern. She was concerned, and her concern excited him.

  “There are many things to explain, Sania.” A crazy idea popped up in his mind. “And indeed I have learned a few but useful things from this journey.”

  “Really? Like what?”

  “Ya tebya lyublu.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I love you.” Masolon paused, amused by the stunned look on her face. “I mean this is what it means in the old Rusakian tongue.”

  “Why you—” She looked like a rose with her reddened cheeks. “You did that on purpose!” Sania chided him, yet he didn’t feel she was really annoyed. When she rolled her eyes, he caught a smile that slid over her face.

  “Did what?” he asked with feigned innocence.

  “Nothing. Where has your stallion gone?”

  “I lost him in my journey.” Masolon smiled at her attempt to change the topic.

  “It seems that many things happened to you on that journey. I am eager to listen, especially to that part of the Rusakian princess and how she taught you a new language.”

  “Trust me, it is not what it seems.”

  “We shall see about that. It’s hard for me to trust men anymore.”

  “Not all men are the same. I told you that the day you dismissed me. Remember?”

  “Please, don’t remind me.” She chuckled. “I acted like a fool that day.”

  “Never mind, never mind.” Now Masolon was the one acting like a fool by bringing that memory back. “What has passed has passed. You are back and that is what matters.”

  “I am not really back. I am spending three more days with Feras, and then I will return to Burdi.”

  “Burdi again? Away from your brother?”

  “He was always away, and he will always be. The only thing that kept me here was my mother, and now she’s gone.”

  “What about you? I mean, being alone?”

  “I can take care of myself, Masolon. Besides, I feel better alone in Burdi. I wear what I want to wear, read what I want to read, ride a horse whenever I want to.” She gave a sigh of relief. “That air of freedom is invaluable.”

  He missed that song, hearing his name uttered by her voice. It was the only word he recalled in all she said.

  “I wonder if my brother has encumbered you with some of the great kingdom issues,” she went on, “because I’m thinking of using your services.”

  “A quest for you?” He smiled. “I will never refuse that for sure.”

  “I’m looking for a veteran warrior who can train me how to wield swords and bows. Do you know anyone skillful?”

  “Let me think.” Enjoying the game, Masolon rubbed his chin. “I think I know one.”

  “Is he trustworthy?”

  “He is more than trustworthy.”

  “What can be more than trustworthy?”

  “He cares. And he has no problem with traveling to Burdi.”

  “This is just fine. When can we start? I mean me and him?”

  “He can start with you whenever you arrive in Burdi. Fortunately, it is his duty to protect the whole western region of the realm, including Burdi.”

  “Oh! I’m so lucky for sure. Then I will see him there.”

  “He cannot wait.”

  She saw him off with an alluring look, leaving him elated. He was not dreaming. It was not his hallucinating mind. That conversation was real.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  MASOLON

  Locating any possible threats was the reason Masolon had ordered his men to patrol the eastern towns of Kahora for four days. Surely, he wouldn't tell them he was anticipating the arrival of a howdah carrying a princess from Arkan.

  By the fifth day, Masolon was running out of patience and thought of riding back to Arkan. But the two weeks hadn't passed yet. What would he tell Feras? What would he tell his men?

  At last, the camel came.

  “You lead the men, Blanich,” Masolon told his fellow when he spotted Sania's escort approaching the town. “Scout the southern wells. Sometimes those nomads wander there.”

  “Are you not coming with us?” Blanich asked.

  “I have a special task to do.”

  “A special task inside the Murasen kingdom?”

  “Do not worry.” Masolon chuckled. “I will not be far from here.”

  “Will I see you soon?”

  “Tonight in the camp.”

  “Fine.” Blanich pulled the reins of his horse, wheeling it to the other side. “No trouble this time,” he warned.

  “No trouble this time, my friend.”

  Blanich led the horde away. After Masolon made sure they all disappeared in the horizon, he dug his heels into the flanks of his stallion, spurring it onward. Sania's house wasn't far from here, yet he didn't want to be late for his training.

  The sight of the towering palms of the house made him feel nervous. He wasn't ready for a third shock. The first time he had been deluded, and the second time he had been deceived. But no, not this one. He wasn't a fool. He was sure he had understood her suggestion right. She was the one who had asked him to come.

  His fears vanished the moment he saw Sania in the yard; ready with her bow, her quiver strapped to her back. He dismounted, tied his horse, and approached her. “I thought you might need some rest.”

  “Really? Then why did you come so quickly?” She arched one eyebrow, a reaction from her he always loved. “I’ll have some sleep later. Shall we start?”

  “So, archery is what you want to start with?”

  “It suits me more. I don't dare to stab anything alive with a blade.” She winced.

  “You d
o not have to. Let somebody else do that for you.”

  “I really want to learn how to use swords, but maybe later.”

  “From what I’ve seen, you have some good archery skills.”

  “Stop fooling me, Masolon! Hitting a palm trunk from ten feet is nothing!”

  “That is just a start.” He shrugged, folding his arms.

  “How far were you when you hit that barbarian in Kahora?” she asked.

  “I really do not remember, Sania.” He noticed that smile that lasted for a second when he uttered her name without 'milady'. “I do not even think when I shoot. It is something that has been growing with me since I was a child. Give me that.”

  She handed him her light bow, and he weighed it in his hands, testing its string.

  “You must have suffered a lot in your village,” she said.

  “I was molded by that suffering.”

  “You told me before that all your people suffered like you. Why was it only you who thought of deserting his homeland?”

  Was it about time to tell her how his journey to Gorania had started? The truth could be painful to her. “You still have doubts about me, do you not?”

  “All I know about you is that you came to us from the Great Desert.” She shrugged. “Unless you believe this is enough for me to know.”

  For you? Nothing is enough. “Not exactly.” He snickered. “Alright then. As a start, I am not a demon.”

  “Impressive.” She looked anything but impressed. “Any more amazing facts?”

  Masolon rubbed his head. “Well, I rode my first horse while you might have been still learning how to walk. I learned how to wield a sword while you were learning how to hold a spoon. I…killed for the first time when I was six.”

  “That's not amazing. That's horrible! What kind of people teach their children how to kill?”

  “My people. Because if we do not know how to kill, we will be killed. I still remember the moment when my father took me by the hand and walked me to the Salvation Tree. They told me that the thief tied to the trunk was caught stealing from our bushes, and a man from our clan must execute him with his own hands. My father was supposed to do it, but he told me that he would pass that task to me because I had become man enough to do it. I was the happiest child in the village when he told me so. He gave me a short sword and pointed at the thief's chest. 'You must look him in the eye when you drive the blade into his heart, Masolon,' he told me. I gripped the hilt with both hands and I did what my father told me to do. I kept looking the thief in the eye after all that remained of his soul had left him already. The thief's eyes visited me that night and the night after. My father told me that the eyes would always visit me until I killed someone else. They let me execute the next man they caught—I do not even remember what he had done—and more eyes visited me. My father told me I must kill someone else. I asked him when those eyes would stop. He said, 'when they become too many to remember any of them.' And you know what? He was right.”