Rakuin no Monshou - Book 5: Chapter 7: The Chosen

Part 1

Helio’s King Greygun was nervously pacing around a room in a tower overlooking the streets and castle ramparts.

Perhaps it was because the soldiers had so suddenly rushed out in columns but a crowd of people had appeared on the streets. Their faces were worn haggard from fear and exhaustion, and the clothes they wore were threadbare and stained.

Since receiving the report that flames had risen in the Belgana Summits, Greygun had armed himself and his equipment clanked as he walked.

“My dear lord, can I be of help to you?” Marilène had made her way there. She had slipped a woollen mantle over her nightclothes.

“You haven’t gone to sleep?”

“How could I sleep amidst such an uproar? Is there some cause for concern?”

“It has nothing to do with you.”

Greygun thrust her away. Marilène’s figure beneath the thin nightclothes was so bewitching that he averted his eyes.

This woman doesn’t care about anything except protecting herself, the thought flitted across his mind. Regardless of whether there was a rebellion within the country or a terrifying invader from outside it, Marilène’s beauty and enigmatic charm would strangely arouse a man’s lust for conquest and her safety would be guaranteed. She would surely always stand beside a conqueror.

Even if I die, you will be smiling next to the next ruler. Having forced Marilène to become his queen, oddly, Greygun was learning anger and jealousy.

He had however been irritated for a while now and it was naturally not against Marilène. Nor was it because he was alarmed about Taúlia’s army. While he didn’t know how many troops Taúlia had sent their way, they certainly shouldn’t be very numerous since the main force was headed to invade Cherik. It would be easy for Helio to fend them off by limiting themselves to a defensive battle. Therefore Greygun’s irritation was turned neither towards Taúlia nor towards Marilène, but towards Garda’s army.

Look at that filthy populace. Those are my people? This is my kingdom? He thought as one side of his mouth twisted into a distorted smile. He had always been a hard-hearted man towards others but he thought of the people of Helio as belonging to him. Because of that, he and his subordinates didn’t think twice about seizing money and goods from the city, assaulting women and killing the men who defied them. Nevertheless, that was no more than gathering the fruits of their labour and once he became king, Greygun had no intention of letting that situation last for long.

But Garda said that he wants ten hostages every other day, the women and children as well as the elderly are kept shut up as hostages and every man is made to become a soldier. The country can’t last like this.

Practically no trading with the outside had been carried out since Garda had gained control of the northern part of Tauran. He simply exploited the regions he had dominated through warfare. He produced nothing. He only snatched away by force what he found there and left each of the lands barren.

Before Greygun had taken the throne, Helio had been ripped apart by civil war and even within the castle, it couldn’t be said that enough food remained stored. If Taúlia was to lead a military assault or if another power was to extend its grasp towards them, they might not be able to withstand a long siege. Just then,

“Commander Greygun!”

A soldier saluted from the room’s entrance.

Greygun was about to thunder his usual “Call me ‘Your Majesty’,” but had his attention caught by the nervousness and panic in the soldier’s face.

“What is it?”

“F-Fires have broken out all around the city.”

Greygun didn’t ask anything. Instead, his usually somewhat foppishly manicured eyebrows shot up. Not only flames but a riot had broken out in the main street. The ones leading the townspeople were probably the soldiers who had sworn loyalty to Helio’s royal family. Which meant that as they freed the hostages one by one, more and more of the citizens would join the uprising.

“That damn Taúlia has stooped to working with the rats that crept in,” Greygun shouted, laying bare his true nature as a mercenary commander. “Suppress them. And as an example to others, kill every citizen who joined the uprising!”

“Yes Sir!” The soldier shouted. As though she had been waiting for that, Marilène said,

“It seems that this will be a long night.” Even at such a time, her smile was bewitching. “Take care of yourself. I will take my leave.” Lifting the hem of her mantle, Marilène left the tower room.

Greygun viciously watched her back disappear. Even when she heard the order given to kill the people of her own country, her expression didn’t change in the slightest.

Maybe she really is a witch from Cherik. Greygun had colluded with Cherik’s king Yamka II to take Helio, but he now recognised from the bottom of his heart that women were terrifying creatures.

At this moment though, he did not think that the current situation required his urgent attention. His expression changed however as reports came in one after another.

“Your Majesty”

“Commander!”

Riots had broken out not only in the main street but throughout the city. He ordered soldiers to be sent to suppress the situation from the second report.

“Damn it!” Greygun roared like a wild beast. “Those bastards deliberately staggered the uprisings,” he realised that their aim was to scatter the soldiers. “Shut the castle gate tight! Concentrate the soldiers in front of it. Right, gather only the soldiers from my unit and have them strengthen the defence.”

“But Commander, that’s…” He started to say that would mean not moving at a time when Taúlia’s army was advancing towards them but,

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me ‘Commander’!” Greygun angrily interrupted him. He too realised it all too well. “If Garda’s army and Cherik catch Taúlia’s main forces in a pincer attack, reinforcements will soon arrive. Hurry up and do as I say.”

After the cowering soldier had left practically fleeing, Greygun breathed noisily, his shoulders heaving.

“This is my kingdom,” he muttered as if to convince himself in that empty room. “I obtained it, it’s my kingdom. I won’t hand them over to anybody. Not the people, not the treasures, not Marilène…”

From outside the window, he heard the roar of the crowd’s angry voice. Were they frightened or did they raise their voice in encouragement at taking Helio back, or was it that they were already tussling with the soldiers? The city that had been as quiet as a tomb ever since it fell to Garda’s army was once again filled with a wild energy from fighting and killing whose heat seemed fan the flames that were rising up.

“Commander.”

Another soldier had rushed in. Clicking his tongue, Greygun shifted nothing but his gaze towards him. “What is it this time? It doesn’t matter if another riot broke out. Strengthen the defence here and…”

“No,” the soldier wore his helmet low over his eyes as he answered courteously. In his hand, he carried a short spear. “I’m paying you this visit to take your life, Commander.”

“What!”

Before the echo of Greygun’s shout had time to die out, pale sparks scattered before his eyes. He had hastily unsheathed his sword to parry the spear that the soldier had thrust forward.

“B-Bastard,” Greygun glared at his opponent as, to the sound of metal-on-metal, he used his strength to push back. “Who are you? You stole that Red Hawks armour, didn’t you?”

“You don’t know my face?”

Greygun’s physical strength was far from being average but his opponent’s didn’t fall short either. Their faces came close together.

“A cur who doesn’t know my face isn’t fit to be Helio’s king. It was fated that things would end up like this. I’ll take Helio’s throne back from you so carve the name of the man who is about to kill you into your memory. I’m the commander of Helio’s dragoons, Lasvius!”

“Lasvius. So you were still alive, you bastard?”

Greygun pushed at his blade with all his might then suddenly kicked Lasvius in the knee. As his opponent’s stance collapsed, he brought his sword down to his neck but was repelled by a swift movement from the spear. During that time, Orba and the others, still dressed in the Red Hawks’ equipment, were securing the entrance to the tower. In that way, they would able to get the better of any other soldiers who came along.

“His Majesty has stated that no one is to go through. On his orders, you’re to go and help strengthen the castle’s defence.”

“B-But,” a broken arrow was piercing the shoulder of a soldier who sought an audience to give his report, “the people have begun to surround the castle!”

“Of course, since it’s a siege war. Stall for time. Don’t do anything rash, got it? If you provoke them, they might even attack with fire.”

Each time, the soldiers who came up to them were turned away.

“Ah!” A platoon leader who had been arguing with Orba in front of the gate let out a strange cry when he saw his face. He had held suspicions and had gone to check. “You again. Let me pass. I’ll take the blame so you’ve no reason to mind, right?”

He was planning to break through forcibly. Orba thought that if it came to a fight, he could always brandish the spear he was carrying under his arm and use the pole end to hit the platoon leader hard across the head to knock him out.

“I do mind. I’ve been told not to let anyone through.”

“Th-That man…”

“He isn’t a Red Hawk. The commander is in danger. Get them!”

As the mercenaries surged towards the centre, Orba’s group threw their spears. Their pursuants steps faltered, allowing them to race into the tower. Each drew the sword at his waist and, choosing the narrowest opssible parts of the staircase, they ambushed their enemies from above. The sound of sword striking sword rang out on either side of the enclosed space.

On the floor above, Greygun and Lasvius were locked in fierce combat. When Lasvius attacked with his spear and brought it down, Greygun pushed him back with a stroke of his blade. The clash of steel rang out once more and the sparks glowed red then burned blue.

The struggle for supremacy continued. At first glance, Lasvius with his long-handled spear had the advantage but because the room was not so very wide, it caused a lag in his switching from attack to defence. At which point Greygun attacked with enough energy to slice through wind.

Both of their armours were damaged and dented, and they were covered in superficial wounds. Both were breathing raggedly. Lasvius had thought that he would be able to settle the likes of Greygun with a single jab of his spear but he had to recognise that he had underestimated him.

Petty tricks won’t cut it.

The tip of his spearhead swooshed forward, tearing the wall hangings. Narrowly avoiding it, Greygun deflected the spear and returned a blow in the same breath. Seeing a chance to win, Lasvius boldly stepped forward. He sacrificed his armoured left arm to catch the sword and in one short stroke gave a jab with his spear.

“Argh!”

“Ugh!”

Both cried out in pain and staggered back. The bone in Lasvius’ left arm had broken while the spearhead had penetrated Greygun’s right eye. As Lasvius suddenly, forcefully yanked back his right arm, the tip of the spear pulled with it a white lump that was trailings threads of blood.

“B-Bastard.”

Each felt an implacable resentment towards the other.

Greygun was a man whose life had been even more contemptible than his birth. And so, as though pursuing a mirage, he had sought to obtain a kingdom that would be his alone. Even if he died and became a ghost, he would probably keep clinging to it.

Lasvius on the other hand was a man who had endured in the name of upholding righteousness.

Greygun wordlessly swung his sword. His spear under his arm, Lasvius charged bodily at his enemy with all his strength.

Fresh blood splattered across the wall.

Of the two bodies that fell in a heap, one slumped to his knees then fell backwards, after which it didn’t move a single eyelash.

Part 2

From the parlour of the women’s quarters, even if Marilène hadn’t been gazing towards the outside she would still have seen it. Several areas within the city were wrapped in the colour of flames but as they had been lit for the calculated purpose of luring Greygun’s soldiers away, it was unlikely that there would be too much damage. “Your Majesty,” from the shadow of a pillar, a lady’s maid had turned around. A group of several people had formed and they were looking enquiringly at the queen, their faces pale. Marilène smiled as ever.

“Please go,” she said. “The frenzied soldiers might harm you too. Wait until the excitement dies down. Do not come near here for the time being, is that clear?”

“But…”

“Even if I flee, I will stand out wherever I am. Come now, we don’t have time to discuss it. This is the last order you will receive from me. Go.”

In a corner of the women’s quarters, there was a secret passage that led out from the castle. Instead of using it herself, the queen gave priority to having her attendant ladies’ maids leave.

They could already hear the rough voices of soldiers.

“Capture Marilène!”

“We’ll hang that woman who sold her country time and time again.”

Even upon hearing such horrifying shouts, Marilène’s expression didn’t change. She looked exactly as though she were about to face the new day as she did every morning, leisurely passing her time with a cup of the black tea she loved in her hand.

The strength of the released soldiers and people of Helio far exceeded the unity of the Red Hawks mercenaries. The few dozens who had first lit the fires and raised the riots had almost all been killed by the mercenaries who had quickly been dispatched to suppress them. After that however, the mostly uninjured mercenaries protecting the castle’s surroundings had faltered.

His Highness Prince Rogier Helio is alive.

When the Helian soldiers who had invaded the city spread that information, it was as though they had tossed firewood onto the fire smouldering within the people. If Helio’s royal family was restored, then they could once more return to the peaceful days they had known before. And if in order for that to happen some things had to be removed, they were prepared to do so with all their might and at the risk of their own lives.

Before long, the figure of a person appeared at the top of a tower within the castle.

The crowd murmured.

When that figure raised high the spear he held in his right hand, it marked the end of the long night as the light of dawn dimly appeared.

Lasvius.

Pierced at the tip of the spear held up by Helio’s commander of the dragoons was Greygun’s head.

In an instant, the road was filled with noise and cheers after which the mercenaries, who had lost their will to fight and who were scrambling to be the first to escape, were chased down and pelted with stones, those who lost their balance were straddled and beaten – it was a murderous one-sided retribution. The crowd’s joy swelled but far from being appeased, the fire that smouldered within them burned even fiercer.

“Drag out that treacherous queen!”

“We’ll cut her head off right here!”

Looking for a fresh victim, the crowd led the way into the women’s quarters.

Meanwhile, Orba had descended the tower and was about to exit its hall. It went without saying that he had removed the Red Hawks helmet and replaced it with his usual mask. Those found by that seething, murderous crowd would probably be tortured to death without being able to utter a single excuse.

He had no choice but to ignore the populace’s actions. He still had things he needed to do. Naturally Garda’s forces were not in Taúlia and he had heard that they had gone to Cherik. Therefore, they had to organise the released soldiers as well as the main body of Lasvius’ unit that would soon be arriving into reinforcements for Taùlia.

Garda’s army moved exactly as though they had predicted all of Taúlia’s movements. He shelved that mystery for now. As he was leaving the hall,

“You there,” a deep voice hailed him. When he turned to look, Hardross Helio stood before him.

There was a soldier accompanying him on either side. Bodyguards directly attached to the royal family, no doubt. Lasvius’ men must have secretly informed Hardross about the time of the uprising as they were fully armed and had their visors down.

“I came across you before in the audience hall. I thought you looked strange but you were one of Lasvius’ subordinates disguised as a mercenary?”

“…”

Hardross had apparently mistaken Orba for one of the spies Lasvius had sent to Helio. As explaining things over would be bothersome, Orba just lowered his head and muttered “Yes”.

“The plan for a series of fights was splendid. Is Rogier safe?”

“He is in good health.”

“I see.” The old man closed his eyes as though overcome by a flood of emotions but the next moment said something surprising:

“The merit for that goes to the queen.”

“To… Lady Marilène?”

“It was Marilène who allowed that child to escape,” the old man spoke in a subdued voice. When King Elargon had been slain in battle and Helio was in the midst of a civil war, Jallah had discovered Rogier hiding with his mother in an underground storehouse. Jallah was on the side of the rebellion but it was not in his character to take the initiative in the fighting. He had been half coerced by his comrades and, as a result of weighting his personal safety against his loyalty to Helio’s royal family, he had joined them with his feet dragging.

And so, Marilène had approached Jallah. Earnestly begging him for protection, she had indirectly shared her wisdom with him.

“She is a clever woman,” Hardross, the former king, smiled. “She probably used Jallah to inveigle herself near each of the rebels and lure them into destroying themselves over the crown.”

It was Marilène who had allowed Rogier to escape. She had asked her ladies’ maids to entrust him into the care of Lasvius, who still resisted and fought the rebels within the city.

“Afterwards, Jallah reaped the benefits of a war he didn’t fight. Marilène planned to revive Helio by becoming his queen since he was easy to control.”

Why was it that at a time like this, Hardross told the truth about the queen to someone like Orba? Orba couldn’t understand it. Maybe anyone would have done. The old man had too much locked up inside him.

“My lord,” Orba suddenly spoke after having listened in silence to the end of the story. He had been considering Marilène’s situation.

“What?”

“Then Lady Marilène was protecting the country?”

“That is right.”

“And she became Greygun’s queen because having someone near him to temper his tyranny would prevent the people from suffering even more.”

“Yes. Yes, that is also correct,” the old man’s voice had gradually become tinged with sadness. “We feigned to hate each other in order to encourage the rumour that the last direct member of the Helio royal bloodline still had considerable influence. Even when she wished me good health, it appeared like the wicked Marilène was being insincere. So that the people would welcome Rogier when he someday returned as a legitimate heir to Helio.”

There probably hadn’t been any time for Hardross and Marilène to agree to cooperate. Both had silently decided to stage their play. Because of that, Hardross had spent his days feeling vexed. It wasn’t Marilène, Jallah or Greygun that he hated. What he hated was his own powerlessness which left him unable to protect the country except by pushing his son’s wife into becoming a criminal.

“With the threat from the west drawing ever closer, she thought that we couldn’t afford any more internal divisions and so set Jallah up as king. She thought that we couldn’t give Garda’s army the power to make every decision concerning Helio and so she made Greygun king. She is a clever woman. Too clever. If she had just been a little more foolish, if she had merely been beautiful, she would have been remembered as a queen who had tragically been toyed with by those in power.”

The rumour that she had allied herself with Cherik to take over the country was untrue. Marilène had probably had doubts when Jallah happily hired Greygun, but suspecting that her older brother Yamka II was tied to Garda was surely something that she would never have imagined.

Outside, the noise was at its height. The soldiers and populace were headed towards the women’s quarters. Watching the situation from the corner of his eye, Orba felt an urgent sense of restlessness.

“The queen is…”

“I know,” Hardross interrupted him, “she will have predicted this. That once Rogier returned to Helio she would be executed as the queen who had betrayed her country. In that way, she will have protected the power of Helio’s royal family. Such is the woman she is.”

Ridiculous. The muscles in Orba’s arms and shoulders stiffened as he tightly clenched his fists without realising he was doing it. Why would she go so far to protect Helio, to protect the royal family? Although she had worried for the country more than anyone else, she would be executed by the people and would forevermore be remembered in infamy.

Words came floating up from the depths of Orba’s memories.

We were –

Born into royalty. It is our duty to devote ourselves to the country’s affairs.

In Seirin Valley, that girl, Garbera’s third princess Vileena Owell, had spoken those words to Orba who was pretending to be Gil Mephius.

It is our duty to quell personal joy or personal will. It’s only to be expected from people who are praised for their noble blood.

At that time, Orba had heard it only as the self-aggrandising of a person in power. Nothing but a way to justify the special privileges and luxurious existence of those who freely manipulated the lives and fates of the people.

And yet – there was one who was about to accomplish that duty. Even as she was being spat on by the people, even as the nobles reviled her as a temptress who sold out her own country, even as the soldiers drove her to the scaffold with their spears, Marilène would proudly embrace death.

And she would do so with her eyes wide open and a smile on her lips.

Why was it that for Orba, that image overlapped with that of a girl whose platinum hair flowed down her back? He was sure that had she have been in the same situation, that girl would have chosen that same path.

Orba remained standing as though at a complete loss. Staring at his own shadow as it stretched out from between the gap in the door, dyed in the colours of the morning light.

Part 3

When Marilène’s figure appeared in the street, the crowd suddenly went wild.

The smiles that stretched across their faces were the exact opposite of normal smiles as they were filled with hatred. Soldiers armed with spears stood on either side of Marilène and as was made to walk with a rope tied around her hands. The soldiers had done that of their own volition, spurred on by the crowd. Although the queen’s native country of Cherik had reached out to Garda, the king had not officially declared that the alliance was broken as there no longer was a king.

But nobody stopped it. There were some people there with discernment but they judged that before the people went out to meet the new king, they should discharge all the pus that had stagnated within them.

Yes, this is fine, Marilène inwardly acquiesced.

The pain and anguish from King Elargon’s death had given rise to anger and hatred. The royal family was supposed to protect the people. When they failed to achieve that, they fell. According to the natural way of things, Helio’s royal family should have disappeared from the pages of history.

Marilène however had deliberately gone against that. Since she had married into it from another country, she believed that she had to defend Helio’s royal family. She believed it was fine if the brunt of the soldiers’ feelings, they who protected the people and the royalty, was turned against her.

Something came flying and hit Marilène’s head.

It smelled nasty. Rotten fruit. After one person had hurled it, a large number of others followed suit. Marilène had always been conscious of appearances and liked to dress up. Her expensive clothes became filthy and a foul stench rose from her beautifully arranged hair.

“Stop it!” She cried as her hair grew dishevelled. “What did I do? Spare me. I’ll give you anything, just spare my life!”

It was unsightly, how she pleaded for her life.

The people laughed, jeering at her. The soldiers had a hard time holding them back as they seemed about to leap forward at any moment. The stones and fruit that were thrown bounced off the soldiers’ armour and the soldiers’ faces showed their concern. Fanned by mass hysteria, the crowds’ feelings showed no signs of abating. The battle with Garda’s army in which their family members were killed, the loss of their lovers, the pillaging of their homes under Greygun’s oppression, they were convinced that all of it was Marilène’s doing. Realising that even they were about to be swallowed up by it, the soldiers lost their composure.

“Move, move!”

The surging crowd parted in two from the back. Upon looking to see, they saw the garb of the mounted Royal Guards who rode on horseback fully armed, wearing a sleeveless blue outergarment over their armour. The Guards in this case consisted of a singlehorseman who scattered the people left and right with his spear as he drew up.

“I have a message from Lord Hardross,” the guardsman spoke loudly. He had his visor down so that the area below his eyes and nose could barely be seen. “He says that he will be responsible for the punishment meted out to Marilène, the witch who tricked Helio into falling into chaos. Get up.”

When the authority of Helio’s royal family was put forward, the people seemed to be in a mood to accept it and the huge wave of murderous intent receded somewhat. However it was in the expectation that the royal family would have Marilène’s head cut off.

In and of itself, Marilène’s fate had not changed.

And soon enough,

“Doing it here will do well enough,” said the royal guardsman and he got Marilène to kneel in the middle of intersecting streets. “I will now proceed with the execution of the treacherous Queen Marilène.”

Marilène heard the guardsman’s voice as though it were coming from very far away. In reality, it was her own heart which was in place far from there. Was it already twelve years ago? When Helio and Cherik fought over the rights to Lake Soma. As proof that the two countries were sheathing their blades and joining in a peace agreement, Cherik’s Princess Marilène was going to marry into Helio. She was fourteen years old at the time.

As the carriage jolted its way along the road, Marilène had been filled with unease. The princess was by nature shy and deeply devout, and often secluded herself in the Dragon Gods temple. Would it really be possible to get along well with Helio, which had been an enemy country? What would marriage to a man whose face she had never even seen be like…

The carriage came to a hill which commanded an unbroken view of Lake Soma to its left. That day, it had been cloudy all morning but the clouds had suddenly parted and light had shone through.

Even now, Marilène had not forgotten the sight of the light scattered over the surface of the lake.

“Whoa,” the coachman had raised his voice in surprise. The attendants and escorting guards had been equally taken aback.

Accompanied by only a handful of attendants, Hardross Helio was coming towards them from the opposite slope. Marilène’s father, who had gone in order to attend the wedding ceremony and who had been jolting along in a different carriage, had gone out to meet him.

“Well now, King Hardross. I certainly didn’t expect you to come this far out.”

“Ah well, my impatience got the better of me. May I meet the bride?”

Marilène had been brought out of the carriage to meet the person who would become her father-in-law for the first time on that hill. Almost dizzy from nervousness, she had been prompted to make her greetings. King Hardross had simply smiled with his eyes.

“Ah, what a lovely princess. I would like to welcome the princess on behalf of the people of Helio.” He had been in high spirits and had added,

“That’s right, your marriage to my son Elargon will mean peace for the area around Lake Soma. Then when you bear a child, let us call it Soma as a prayer for eternal peace between our two countries.”

He had spoken a little too hastily and the bride’s face had turned bright red.

I, even though she had sunk to her knees on the cold paving stones, something like a faint smile appeared on Marilène’s lips, I knew nothing of my bridegroom’s face or his voice or his character. But still, when back then I saw King Hardross look so happy, I thought that I would surely be able to love that father’s child. I thought that I too would surely be able to love the country that that king loved.

A sword glittered at the nape of her neck. Marilène held her breath and stole a glance at the rows of faces watching intently.

My beloved people.

My beloved King Elargon.

The guardsman lifted his sword overhead in a rush of air. Marilène closed her eyes.

My beloved… Helio.

May you prosper forever along with father-in-law, along with Helio’s royal family…

Then,

Just as she felt the back of her neck grow cold, something fell with a thud on to the street.

The raised sword itself.

There was not a single drop of blood. Clasped in the guardsman’s hand was something that could have been mistaken for fine cloth as it glittered in the early morning light. Marilène’s hair. He had cut it off with a single stroke of his sword.

“With this, the wicked Marilène’s relationship with Helio’s royal family is utterly severed,” the guard announced. “From here on, she may go to Cherik or to Garda’s side or wherever she pleases to live out the remainder of her wretched life – so says Lord Hardross.”

“That’s…”

Marilène looked up in amazement while the people started an uproar that seemed to give voice to their innermost feelings.

“His lordship is too lenient!”

“Is he going to pretend not to see our anguish?”

“Please cut off her head!”

When they saw the colour of madness once more creep into the people’s eyes, the soldiers escorting Marilène reflexively stood with their spears at the ready.

“Indeed, Queen Marilène has died.”

A booming voice reverberated over the people’s heads. The guardsman raised his hand and Marilène’s lustrous hair fell from his open palm and was carried away by the wind.

“As she is no longer queen and has lost the pride and the ability to call herself royalty, she will henceforth live a miserable life. There is no one in all of Tauran who does not already know of her crimes. She will live while being cursed and reviled. There can be no worse punishment for Marilène. For the people of Helio who endured without losing our pride even when we were crushed under heel by a vile tyrant, a woman such as this is less than a speck of dust in the pages of our history. Jallah and Greygun are both dead! Twice have we shown all of Tauran that Helio’s justice will slam down the hammer of judgement when it needs to. Helio needs no further deaths, no further bloodshed.”

He continued to cry out exactly as though it were Hardross himself speaking. The people felt an indescribable sense of desolation and of the changing of the times and, as Marilène’s hair drifted away into a sky bathed in the morning’s glow, they remained silent.

“From here on, all of our military units will be sent the sweep our true enemy, Garda’s army. We will win and return in triumph. I want you to pave the way for that. I want you to prepare liquor to quench the soldiers thirst and to arrange food to satisfy their hunger. And I want you to prepare songs and dances to give thanks for victory, I want us to rejoice together. People of Helio, at this time, that is by far more important. The likes of Marilène is not worth putting to the sword!”

When the man from the royal guards finished his speech, a shout of joy rose from all around him and, as though carried on a wave, was transmitted throughout Helio. Upon hearing that joyful clamour, even a person on the outside who was ignorant of the situation within would understand at once that Helio had been liberated and would raise their fist in glee.

Once the guardsman had made sure of what was happening, he ducked down on to one knee and peered into Marilène’s face.

Why?

Disregarding the question in her eyes, he whispered in a voice that only Marilène could hear,

“You will find a carriage prepared for you before the gates. With it are several ladies’ maids who requested to go with you. Cherik will be unsafe for a while so it would be best for you to conceal your lineage and hide in one of the surrounding villages for now. You will also have funds to take with you.”

“You are…,” Marilène was startled to see the eyes peeping out from behind the visor. Without breaking eye contact, the guardsman took a dagger out from his breast and cut the ropes around her hands with it.

“Now, be gone,” he bid her in a loud, harsh tone.

The former queen gazed at that nearby face for a moment then something like a smile appeared on her lips.

“As I thought, you are a man with interesting eyes.”

Rising unsteadily to her feet, she started to walk towards the gate. There were no more than a few dozen metres. But for Marilène, it was an enormously long distance. The people hurled invectives at her while parting to make way. One small child, probably to show his courage, trotted towards her and kicked her foot. With no more than that, the former queen faltered and almost stumbled, causing a torrent of laughter.

Only Orba, disguised as a Royal Guard and still on one knee, bowed his head in the direction of Marilène’s back in the posture of a vassal seeing her off.

Those in power had robbed Orba of all he possessed and he therefore hated all those in power. Right now however, he praised her name from the bottom of his heart.

You are a very great queen, Queen Marilène.

Even if her clothes were filthy, even if stones were thrown at her, as she shouldered her duty as one of the elect, she appeared so radiant as to be dazzling to Orba’s eyes.

Marilène’s honour, which had sunk to the ground, would one day be restored. The day would come when Hardross would reveal the truth. But when would that day be? How many years would it take before Hardross’ tale became the truth and Marilène was universally praised? However it was, the former queen would surely once more pass through Helio’s gates.

It had been a few minutes since Marilène’s figure had disappeared from sight and Orba had stood up again when,

“Ah, it’s Lord Lasvius!”

“Lord Lasvius”

Lasvius rode up to cheers from the crowd. He jumped off his horse and spoke to Orba.

“How did it go?”

Orba gave a nod.

“It all went according to Lord Hardross’ wishes.”

“Oh, is that so? Yet I heard that rather than his lordship, the idea came from you.” Lasvius gave a faint smile as he surveyed Orba, dressed up as a Royal Guard. “That appearance suits you,” he said. “My men have gathered together Helio’s soldiers. We don’t have time to fine tune a reorganisation but… Are you going too?”

“Yeah,” Orba nodded once more as if to say that it was obvious. He then looked at Lasvius. “Your arm seems out of commission, will you be all right?”

“You talk like an aristocrat,” Lasvius grinned and showed his left arm which was held fixed by a splint. “I’d beat up any of my men who asked me that. It’s not a question of being all right or not. As long as I’m on a dragon or a horse I’ll be able to send enemy heads flying.”

The sun was now so high that the outline of the castle ramparts blazed white.

“While we’re at it, your face doesn’t seem particularly infected.”

“Oh, I’m a spy for Garda.”

While they exchanged banter, Orba’s heart was flying towards the battlefield.

What should I do?

Since achieving revenge against Oubary, he still didn’t know the answer to that. But at least he could now see what his next step should be.

I’ll bring Garda down.

Killing a single sorcerer might not be enough to halt the disturbances throughout the Tauran region. Indeed, once the common enemy was removed, it would probably return to its previous state of inter-city strife. And the ones who would suffer and lament would be the people.

Tauran has no king.

A king…

Orba’s eyes shone in the morning light and seemed to glitter white.