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  QUEEN OF REBELS

  BOOK TWO OF

  TALES OF GORANIA

  KARIM SOLIMAN

  QUEEN OF REBELS

  Copyright © 2018 by Karim Soliman.

  Edited by Yasmin Amin

  Cover art by Stefanie Saw

  Cover design by Stefanie Saw

  https://authorkarimsoliman.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental

  For my little princess Saja, you may read this book when you are older. This version is much different from the bedtime story I used to tell you.

  Map of Gorania

  Map of Gorania

  PROLOGUE

  1. BEN

  2. RONA

  3. THE CARAVAN GUARD

  4. MASOLON

  5. RONA

  6. MASOLON

  7. MASOLON

  8. MASOLON

  9. RONA

  10. MASOLON

  11. GRAMUS

  12. MASOLON

  13. RONA

  14. MASOLON

  15. RONA

  16. MASOLON

  17. RONA

  18. MASOLON

  19. RONA

  20. GRAMUS

  21. MASOLON

  22. MASOLON

  23. GRAMUS

  24. MASOLON

  25. RONA

  26. GRAMUS

  27. MASOLON

  28. RONA

  29. MASOLON

  30. RONA

  31. GRAMUS

  32. MASOLON

  33. GRAMUS

  34. RONA

  35. MASOLON

  36. RONA

  37. MASOLON

  38. FRANKIL

  39. RONA

  40. MASOLON

  41. FRANKIL

  42. RONA

  43. MASOLON

  44. RONA

  EPILOGUE

  Kingdoms and People of Gorania

  Bermania

  Murase

  Rusakia

  Byzonta

  Skandivia

  Mankola

  Koya

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  THRONE OF RUINS

  SANIA

  PROLOGUE

  The snowy ground of the Frozen Forest was the whitest Petrilius or any living creature might ever see. In this urgent visit he discovered something even whiter: the snowy ground of the Frozen Forest . . . in autumn. I wonder how it looks like in winter, he thought to himself as the tamed white bear pulling his sleigh trudged through the deep layers of snow. Sometimes Petrilius pitied the poor beast that only had its fur to protect itself from the deadly frost, while on the other hand, he and his junior mate steering the huge tamed bear wore fur coats, hats, masks, gloves, socks, boots, and several layers of garments quilted with dragonskin. Unless you were covered from head to toe with such material, you should consider yourself dead the moment you trespassed on that deadly forest.

  With his woolen mask, the only way Petrilius could breathe was through its several fine pores, which still allowed cold air to reach his nostrils. But thanks to that layer of dragonskin lining those relatively deep pores as well as the entire mask itself, the air entering his lungs was steamy, especially when compared with the hard frost blowing against his masked face.

  Only two slits in his masks exposed the world to his eyes, and he could not ask for more in this forsaken forest. Otherwise, his eyelids might freeze and stick to his forehead. Ahead loomed the White Chain, a dozen snowy hills which you might barely distinguish from the sky and the ground. Everything is painted by the same white brush on this white horizon, Petrilius thought as he gazed at his destination. "There!" He had to yell and wave, otherwise his mate wouldn't notice that he was talking. The padded masks covering their mouths and ears made their hollers sound faint as if they were coming from a mile away.

  His young companion slowly turned to him, and in the same pace he looked ahead again. Though Petrilius could not see his face, he could imagine his mate's astonishment. The White Chain existed in no Goranian map, simply because no man had ever ventured that far north to know these frozen hills. Only the High Clerics of each realm and their escorts, who accompanied them in their once-in-a-decade journey, knew about that secret place.

  Petrilius motioned to his mate to steer the bear toward the fourth hill to the right. They were less than a mile far from their destination, he estimated as the tireless beast resumed its march in the deep snow. Bears were faster in summer. Petrilius was sure he had made that passage before through the Frozen Forest in one day, not in two.

  “Turn around.” Petrilius had to curve his arm and repeat his command four more times, each time in louder tones to make sure his mate grasped what he was supposed to do. The bear knows better though. Most probably, the tamed beast was the one taking the lead, not any of the men riding the sleigh it dragged. After half an hour of passing by the western side of the fourth hill, Petrilius could at last see the cave.

  Petrilius ordered his escort to stop and help him clamber down the sleigh. As a man nearing his seventies, he could not trust his knees to do any tricky moves. While his young escort was bringing the bags from the sleigh, Petrilius approached the bear and gently caressed it above its nose, the beast lowering its head in submission. When his young mate took the bags out, Petrilius opened his and found the bear's lunch enclosed in a thick piece of cloth. After unwrapping the bear's lunch and letting the fish fall on the ground, Petrilius took his escort by his arm to enter the cave. The young cleric seemed a bit reluctant to move, but at the end he walked away from the bear, leaving it to devour its weekly meal.

  The cavernous entrance led to a door of steel, whose keys had always been passed to the high clerics of each realm. The heavy door squealed as Petrilius pushed it open and again as he slammed it shut behind him and his young escort. Once he took off his mask, his young escort did the same, as if he had been waiting for this moment for long. "Gracious Lord." The young cleric took a deep breath of the cold air filling the torchlit corridor.

  "Move on," Petrilius urged him. "We have a long way down."

  "Down?" The young cleric's astonishment reminded Petrilius of his first visit to this very cave thirty-seven years ago. As an escort of the High Bermanian Cleric at that time, he also had had hundreds of questions. A few of them remained unanswered still. "Whoever built this haven; what were they thinking when they chose this place?"

  With wary steps, Petrilius descended the winding stone steps, his young escort following him with the two bags on his shoulders. Serving the High Cleric was a great honor, yet it might not be the only reason why the young fellow did not complain. His mind is so preoccupied with questions he is not sure which one to ask first. Petrilius had gone through that feeling before.

  "Shouldn't we have tied the bear, Master?" The young cleric kept the same pace as he followed him.

  "Don't worry about our return. Those bears always come back."

  "Bears?" the young cleric echoed in astonishment, but said nothing more about it. "Master, please, are you going to tell me what we are doing here?"

  "Honestly, I don't know. Not yet, I mean."

  "Umm. . . but I thought you might have come here before."

  "To compile a decade of the Tales, yes. But this decade i
s not over yet, so I presume I'm summoned for something urgent." Shocking news, I fear.

  "The Tales of Gorania?" The young cleric's astonished tone did not lack that hint of disapproval. "But why here? Isn't there any place in the six realms where you, Master, and the other high clerics can meet away from curious eyes, other than this deadly frozen place?"

  Petrilius stopped, looking the young cleric in the eye. "I know what you are thinking of, but the Tales is more than a huge book to chronicle our history. One day, you or your descendants may realize that. Until then, we must safeguard the Tales and make sure that no single line is erased or altered."

  The young cleric's eyes were hollow when he nodded. He doesn't understand, but he has to obey anyway, Petrilius reflected as they resumed their way down, their footsteps echoing on the seemingly endless stone steps.

  "The second and the last emperor who ever ruled Gorania, Karun the Pious, ordered his clerics to choose a safe place for compiling the history of his empire." Petrilius wanted to let the young man know how ancient this place was. "A place that if even spotted by the Seers in their visions, would always stay out of anybody's reach."

  "You mean the Seers who abandoned his father, Goran the Great."

  Petrilius did not miss the scorn in his companion's voice. "Goran is dead. Only the Lord of Sky and Earth can judge him."

  For a short while, Petrilius heard nothing but their echoing footsteps until the young cleric said, "He killed more than any man ever existed."

  "So?"

  "His crimes are too obvious to be overlooked, Master."

  Petrilius chuckled. "The Rusakians won't disagree with you." It was no secret; only Bermanians glorified the founder of the Goranian Empire that barely lasted fifty years.

  "At least, we should be fair, no matter the realm we belong to."

  "There are no realms in this place, young man. We are all Goranians here."

  "Then who are we protecting the Tales from?"

  Silence was the only answer Petrilius could offer his apprentice for the time being. Not everybody is ready to know the truth, Petrilius thought. The young cleric respected his master's silence and did not pose more questions until they ended their climb and reached the last stone step. A short corridor took them to another steel door resembling the one at the cavernous entrance. Behind that door was a round hall with three doors, three High Clerics standing in the center.

  "Master Petrilius." Yesen, the High Cleric of Murase, advanced to greet him. "We have been waiting for you to start our meeting."

  The other two men were the High Clerics of both Rusakia and Byzonta. They greeted Petrilius briefly and left him with Yesen as they headed to the door on the left.

  "Am I not going to get some rest after my long journey?" Petrilius asked Yesen.

  "Of course, you are. You should." Master Yesen showed him a book he was holding. "Yet I will understand if you are too impatient to wait to discuss this."

  Curiosity replaced exhaustion the moment Petrilius read the title, which was not written in any contemporary or ancient Goranian tongue. Before posing any questions, he remembered that his escort was still waiting behind him.

  "You see that door?" Petrilius turned to the young cleric, pointing to the first door to the right. "There you will get food, water, a bed, and a warm bath. The moment you step inside, the door will be locked from outside. No escort goes out of that door until the High Clerics decide they are done. Are you fine with that?"

  "Do I have a choice?" The escort gave him a tired smile.

  "You did a good job." Petrilius patted the young cleric's shoulder. When the escort was out of earshot, the High Cleric of Bermania gestured to Master Yesen to hand him the book. "How did you get this?" He lowered his voice, though there were only high clerics in the hall now.

  Master Yesen glanced at the two fellows waiting for him by the doorstep. "Get some rest for now, Master Petrilius. You will have all the time you—"

  "How did you get it?" Petrilius impatiently cut him off.

  Yesen sighed, a faint smile on his face. "Remember the tale of Lady Nelly?"

  "That demon summoner? She has been gone for long, right?"

  "She is still dead, don't worry. Anyway, it happens that the granddaughter of her sister has now become the Queen of Murase. And for some reason, that queen feels interested in the books her grandmother's sister left in her abandoned, cursed house. After failed attempts of different tongue tutors to translate those books, Her Majesty seeks my help."

  "Did you tell her what this book was?"

  "I told her it could be written in some ancient tongue, so I asked for some time to work on it."

  Studying Koyan was not something unusual for a cleric. But Petrilius had never seen a full, original book written in that tongue. "A whole book about The Last Day?" It was just a topic mentioned in some parts of the Tales of Gorania. "How many Signs do the Koyans have for that day?"

  Yesen gestured to his two fellows to go and wait for him in their meeting chamber. "The Last Day is not a prophecy for the Koyans. It's a sort of a plan."

  "A plan for what?"

  "For destroying the six realms of Gorania, Master Petrilius."

  Though that would sound grave, Petrilius was not impressed. "Not any different from our inevitable fate anyway."

  "That's what they made us believe about our inevitable fate," Yesen pointed out. "But I tell you, Master; it's a plan. A great plan, I daresay. Yet since it's a plan, it could be achieved and it could be foiled as well. But if we are to move, we must start today. The Koyans' plan is ongoing already."

  "Ongoing?" Petrilius echoed, confused.

  "Yes, Master," replied The High Cleric of Murase. "If you haven't heard the news yet, a demon has come to us from the Great Desert."

  1. BEN

  "Nobody can kill him because he is already dead."

  "Dead men cannot fight."

  "No, they cannot. But demons can."

  Ben did not need to eavesdrop on the heated blether behind him. Despite the children's attempts to keep their voices low, they were still louder than the cleric's prayers to bless the two newlyweds. The howling autumn wind was not helping either. The poor old man was struggling to make himself heard to his audience in this open field.

  Ben was not the only one following the children's chatter. Standing next to him was Ted, who could not help smiling at the kids' wild imagination. "Where is your gift?" Ted glanced at Ben's empty hands.

  "You see the bride's purple dress? Ma has made it for her." Ben nodded toward the brown bottle Ted was holding. "What is this?"

  "Kalensian wine, my man." Ted winked. "Nobody knows how to get drunk better than the Skandivians."

  Shy Doly getting drunk? That would be a sight worth watching, Ben believed.

  "Where is Maat?" Ben looked around, but there was no sign of their friend. "He can't miss that."

  Ted stared at Ben for a moment. "Are you serious? I will be surprised if he attends the wedding of his girl."

  "His what?" Ben astonished himself, his voice so loud that the two women standing in front of him gave him a chiding look for interrupting the prayers. "Doly was never his," he whispered to Ted.

  "You surprise me every day with your cluelessness, mate. We all knew that Maat felt something for her, but he never dared to reveal his feelings."

  "Because she was too good for him?"

  Ted tilted his head. "So you are not that clueless as you seem. You know what? I always thought it would be you who would propose to Shy Doly."

  "Doly? No way. I have always regarded her as a sister of mine. Besides, she is one year older than me, mate."

  "For a bride as pretty as her, I wouldn't mind if she was ten years older." Ted chewed on his lip. "Maybe she is too good for you as well."

  The cleric was still reciting his prayers in the ancient Bermanian tongue, standing between the bride and her well-built groom. The purple dress Ben's mother had sewn for Dolly perfectly fit her slender frame, the wind playing w
ith her braided brown hair. The groom's outfit, however, was nothing fancy, just a plain white shirt, black woolen breeches, and brown leather boots. But considering his standards, he was well-dressed today. For an entire year, Ben had seen this man only wearing his sleeveless tunic while chopping down trees, or donning his armor while hacking down bandits.

  When the cleric was done with the prayers, he motioned to the couple to come closer to each other to say their vows, Doly barely reaching her groom's shoulder.

  "I wonder what this village will do after Smit dies." Ted gazed at the cleric. "The sick won't find anybody to heal them. The pregnant will have to give birth to their babes on their own." He chuckled before he added, "Lovers will have to sin because they would not find a cleric to officiate their marriage."

  Except for the last part that Ted might be exaggerating about, Ben would not disagree. Old Smit was the only one in this village who seemed to know anything about everything.

  After the new couple finished reciting their vows, Smit, the cleric today, announced them husband and wife as he let them hold each other’s hands. The crowd cheered and clapped for them as the groom scooped his little bride up into his arms.

  "Whoahoho!" Ted hooted. "We had better hurry with the gifts before that savage tears that purple dress to shreds."

  "You go." Ben patted Ted on the back. "I'm already done with that part, you know."

  The crowd surrounded the new couple happily to present their gifts. Ben did not give up on Maat, hoping he might still show up at any moment. Maybe I'm clueless as Ted says. But was Ben wrong about not proposing to Doly?

  A little hand pulling him by the sleeve dismissed the disturbing thought. "You are one of the Brave Lads, right?" asked a little girl, a bunch of children behind her staring at him in anticipation for his answer.

  "I am indeed." Ben grinned, flattered by the admiration on their innocent faces. "Is there anything I can you help with?"

  "Is it true you meet the Demon in person every night?" A little boy came forward.