by A. C. Cobble
“Sensible of the emperor,” murmured Amelie. “Stay on the sidelines until the dust settles.”
“We heard there are other diplomats here from the South Continent,” said Ben. “They’re staying in the Citadel.”
“No,” responded O’ecca slowly. “There are none I’m aware of. None the emperor is aware of…”
“We also heard there are assassins from the South Continent in town,” said Amelie. “Both Saala and General Brinn have been attacked.”
“Saala still has enemies in the south,” responded O’ecca. “The emperor is prepared to extend an offer of peace, but perhaps not everyone is so happy to forget. It would not surprise me that there are men and women willing to pay for Saala’s death. It could also be younger sons looking to avenge some wrong Saala’s Red Hand perpetrated long ago.”
“Avril made use of that emotion,” said Rhys. “Lucinda was right. No assassin is stupid enough to attack Saala in Whitehall for coin, but for honor? Family honor is above everything in Ooswam. I am certain Avril is the one who brought the assassins here, but why? How does Saala or Brinn’s death foil the Veil’s plans?”
“You could ask her,” suggested O’ecca, “I had hoped to avoid the Veil or anyone from the Sanctuary, but I’m afraid I’ll have no choice now.”
“No choice?” asked Amelie, a frown on her face.
O’ecca blinked, looking around the group. “She is here in Whitehall. It’s why I am not with General Brinn right now. He’s meeting with the Veil. As emissary to the emperor, I assume she’ll want to meet with me as well.”
“What!” exclaimed Ben at the same time his friends all started shouting.
When the initial confusion died down, Amelie stepped forward to grip O’ecca’s arm. “You are telling us that Lady Coatney is here in the Citadel right now?”
O’ecca nodded. “You are concerned she will know you and that she knows what you’ve been up to? I am sorry. I assumed you knew she was here. She arrived today, and it seemed the news was all over the place.”
“We haven’t left the room until coming to see you,” said Ben, fighting a groan.
“The assassins struck one by one, and they all failed,” muttered Rhys, standing and pacing around the room. “Lady Avril brought them here, but she doesn’t need a man with a dagger to kill Saala or Brinn. Why didn’t she just assassinate them herself?”
“She wasn’t trying to actually kill them,” responded Towaal, a growing look of concern on her face. “She was just trying to scare them.”
“Scare them to the point they requested assistance from the Sanctuary,” said Amelie, completing the thought. “With her plans in jeopardy, the Veil left the protection of the Sanctuary and came here, just like Avril knew she would. It was a trap.”
O’ecca bit back a curse. “That is not good. Should we—Should we alert the Veil that Avril is here?”
“We need to go,” said Rhys, suddenly pivoting toward the door. “I know where Lady Avril was headed now. The rooms Ben mentioned where the alleged diplomats are staying. There is a stairwell that would take her directly down to them.”
Cursing, Towaal smacked a fist into her palm. “This may be our only chance to surprise her.”
“Come on,” said Rhys, and he darted to the door. They all followed behind until Rhys paused and looked back at O’ecca. He instructed her, “You stay here. If anyone asks, you sent us away after a brief word. Ideally, no one knows we’re acquainted.”
O’ecca drew herself up and nodded. “I spoke the truth months ago when I said you had an ally in the south. I believed in your cause. Your battle with the demons showed my faith was well-deserved. If you need me, I am here.”
“Bring whatever soldiers you have in the city up to your rooms. Be ready for anything,” advised the rogue before turning to go.
He led them to the nearest staircase and started down, his movement cautious, his poise lethal. He was every bit the deadly assassin Ben remembered from when they first met, before he had aged. Rhys gestured for quiet, and they moved down the stairs to the second level of the Citadel, heading north, and then twisting through the stone hallways, nervously peering around each turn.
Rhys peeked around one corner then drew back, holding a hand to stop the party. They huddled close, and he whispered, “The door to the north wing is twenty paces down the corridor. From our scouting yesterday, I do not believe there is an easy way in. There is only this entrance or a window. I, for one, am not interested in climbing the wall of the Citadel in this weather.”
“What do you suggest, then?” asked Ben. “Just barge in?”
Rhys nodded.
“Lady Avril may be in there,” reminded Towaal. “We have surprise, but we have not prepared. There are thousands of people in this building, Rhys. A full-scale mage battle will be incredibly dangerous.”
“She might be in there, she might be gone. With any luck, I think we can stop this before it starts,” claimed the rogue. “She’ll be in the midst of planning to attack the Veil. She won’t be ready for us. If you draw her interest, I’ll circle in for the kill.”
Ben swallowed. “This is reckless. What if you miss, and it turns into a real fight?”
Rhys grimaced. “You think this will end some other way? I know we’re not ready, Ben, but with the Veil and Avril both in the Citadel, there is no time.”
“Damn,” muttered Ben. He paused. “You’re right. Let’s go.”
“Watch for wards,” Towaal advised as they stepped around the corner and rushed the door that led into the north wing.
There were no guards in the plain stone hallway leading up to the closed, heavy wooden door. Amelie placed a hand on it and shut her eyes. With a soft scrape, the bolt slid out, and Amelie shoved the door open.
“That’s handy,” muttered Prem.
The hallway beyond the door was plain stone, like the one they were standing in. It was dead quiet. Ben gestured for Towaal to lead them inside.
“Based on what we found out when I interviewed the maid, there are a number of rooms for staff and offices along this hall,” whispered Rhys. “At the end there are sitting areas, dining rooms, and other public spaces. The bedrooms are past those. Remember, draw her interest, and I’ll come in from the side.”
Without further discussion, the mage stalked down the hall, tension evident in her every movement. They passed several doors and saw an open room at the end. Towaal scurried forward until Amelie called, “Wait.”
The mage glanced back, and Amelie moved to her side. She closed her eyes and then drew a deep breath. Ben gasped as glowing red runes appeared on the lintel over the opening to the sitting room. As he watched, the glow cascaded down the wall, forming a shimmering, ominous red arch.
“How did you…” wondered Towaal.
“It has the same feel as Eldred’s ward, the one in Akew Woods,” murmured Amelie, still concentrating.
“The secrets these women keep,” muttered the mage. “Is it safe to tamper with?”
“I believe we can drain its power with minimal risk,” replied Amelie. “With this active, I don’t think we’ll find anyone inside of here.”
Towaal grunted and then knelt and scratched at the runes that made up the ward. Ben breathed a sigh of relief as the glow faded, the power leaking out through the ruined symbols.
“Amelie,” he suggested, “move about and see if you can find any more of those. We’ll search this room. Perhaps we can find out where they went.”
“We may not have much time,” advised Rhys as he strode toward a long wooden table in the center of the space.
Ben followed the rogue and frowned. Atop the table were tiny models, like a dollhouse. He looked closer and then groaned.
“The Citadel,” said Rhys, confirming Ben’s guess. He bent over the miniature. “This appears to be the throne room, here are the clerks quarters...”
“What is this thing?” wondered Ben, circling the table, looking at the models. “Why would someone have a tiny replic
a of the Citadel?”
“Plans,” said Rhys. “They’re doing detailed planning for an attack. This level of preparation is only necessary to coordinate multiple prongs or to strike multiple targets. This is serious.”
Ben continued to study the miniatures while the rest of the group moved around the large room. At the corner of the table, Ben found a wooden mug. He glanced inside and wrinkled his nose. The thing was one third full of a lumpy green liquid.
“Rhys, come look at this,” he said. “I think it might be poison.”
The rogue glanced into the mug and bent to sniff it. Standing, he met Ben’s gaze and declared, “It’s worse.”
“Worse than poison?” wondered Ben.
“It’s vegetable juice,” replied Rhys.
“I was being serious—”
Rhys held up a hand to stop Ben. “There is an assassin named Humboldt who only consumes raw vegetables and fruits. He drinks foul stuff like this. We never got along, as you can imagine.”
“Humboldt?” asked Towaal from the far side of the room. “I thought he was dead.”
Rhys nodded grimly. “I thought so as well. He hasn’t been seen in fifty years. In our business, that usually means you’re out of the business, permanently. It was a boon for me, as there are only a few blades willing to take the types of contracts we do. If Humboldt has been here a month, he easily could have killed Brinn in that time.”
“There’s no one back there,” said Amelie, returning from the hallway that led to the bedrooms, “but I counted two dozen beds that have been slept in.”
“Two dozen!” exclaimed Ben. “Do you think they are all assassins?”
Amelie could only shrug.
Rhys had a worried look on his face.
“Humboldt and two dozen others,” he murmured. “Only one at a time was attempting Saala and Brinn. We were right. Avril was feinting a threat against the Alliance to draw out the Veil.”
“And now she’s here,” said Amelie, her face sour like she’d tasted a rotten egg.
“Lady Coatney came to stabilize things,” said Ben. “She’s here to protect the Alliance and ensure war breaks out between them and the Coalition. A stream of assassins, political instability, plans she’s spent decades building all on the verge of collapse...”
“Coatney played right into Avril’s hands.”
“Avril and her assassins are not in the room,” said Prem. “Where are they?”
“If they’re not here, it’s because they’re already getting into position,” responded Amelie.
“Should we—Should we let it happen?” asked Ben. “I cannot believe I am saying that, but if we want to take down the Veil, Avril may do it for us. Instead of being pawns in their plans…”
The friends clustered together, looking over the models. For a moment, no one answered.
“This is what the Veil was talking about when she came to us outside of Kirksbane,” said Amelie. “She knew we were coming here and that Avril was already in Whitehall. She knew a situation like this might happen. She posed the question of stability or chaos.”
“What would happen if the Veil was murdered here?” asked Prem.
“Nothing like that has ever occurred,” answered Towaal. “The transition between Veils has always been bloody but quiet. Outside of the Sanctuary grounds, it has always appeared as a peaceful turnover of power. With such a public attack by a former Veil who everyone thought was dead, there is no telling how the lords of the powerful cities might react.”
“Months after King Argren was also assassinated in these halls, maybe in the very same room,” added Rhys.
“Chaos,” concluded Amelie. “I do not know how many more moves Avril has thought ahead, but there would be chaos. We can assume the Alliance would collapse, and the Sanctuary would be off balance. The Coalition may rise, finding easy targets with Whitehall, Northport, and the City all weakened. Avril will have other plans...”
“The Veil’s death would not mean an end to the fighting, would it?” surmised Ben. “The wars would continue, and if anything, they would become worse. I know Avril would not be a gentle ruler if she is able to retake the Sanctuary.”
“With hundreds of years of bitterness under her belt?” replied Rhys. “She’d be a terror. Trust me. I know the dark places she went even before she was deposed.”
“We have to stop this,” declared Amelie.
The friends all turned to Ben.
“I think we know where they are,” said Ben, stabbing his finger down into the small model of the throne room. “Brinn wouldn’t meet the Veil anywhere other than here.”
Ben and his friends raced through the hallways and up the stairs of the Citadel. As they moved closer to the throne room, Ben drew his sword, and his friends followed suit.
“Hold!” cried a voice from down a richly carpeted hall.
They ignored the man, and Ben heard the clatter of armored guards starting to run. He knew there’d be more of them as they approached the throne room, but there was nothing they could do about it. There wasn’t time to come up with a plan or figure out a way to sneak unnoticed into the most secure room in Whitehall.
The throne room was still several hundred paces away when they skidded to a halt. In front of them, a squad of twenty armed men were loitering in an intersection. At the sound of Ben and his friends running approach, they looked up. At the sight of five armed individuals, they drew steel.
“Betrayal!” cried Ben. “There’s an attack on the Veil and the general!”
Ben and his friends paused, waiting. The guards eyed them suspiciously. Behind the men, all was quiet. A moment passed.
“I don’t hear nothin’,” barked one of the guards, a sergeant, by the knots of rank on his shoulder.
“Sergeant, any time now, the Veil will be attacked,” insisted Ben.
The sergeant glanced at his fellows and then looked to the stream of guards that were coming up behind Ben’s party. The armored men were finally catching up, gasping and wheezing from running in heavy steel.
“It looks like you are the one who is causing trouble,” remarked the sergeant.
Behind them, a breathless voice shouted, “We’ve been following them for three floors. They’re running through the Citadel with blades drawn!”
“We’re trying to stop an assassination attempt,” growled Ben. “We’re on your side.”
“I’ll give you a moment,” said Prem, spinning her knives slowly in her hands and stepping forward.
“What do you—”
The girl darted ahead, long knives held menacingly.
She was rushing straight at the assembled men in front of them. Then, to Ben and the guard’s amazement, she lunged to the side and leapt into the air. One booted foot hit the wall then another. Ben’s eyes opened wide as she sprinted along the wall, her momentum holding her high above the floor. Her steps led her a pace over the squadron’s heads. As she passed them, gravity reasserted control, and she shoved off the wall, flipping, and landed lightly a dozen paces past the score of guards that were blocking the route to the throne room.
She winked at the leader of the soldiers then sprinted toward the throne room. Cursing, all twenty of the men spun and chased after her, yelling to protect the general. She darted down a hallway that led to the right, the guards clanging and shouting after her.
“Damn!” exclaimed Rhys.
Ben didn’t speak. Instead, he charged, running down the open lane Prem had cleared for them. Another chorus of startled shouts rose up behind as the soldiers who had been following realized the way to the throne room was now unguarded, and the chase began again.
Ben and his friends were unencumbered by armor, and they were in shape from constant travel and sword practice. The guards drilled a bell a day and spent the rest of their time patrolling or drinking. It was no real race.
They passed two more turns then saw the entrance to the throne room. Directly in front of the giant double doors, there were another dozen men holdin
g tall halberds.
“Keep running!” barked Towaal.
Ben grinned fiercely as he saw the mage raise her hands.
The guards lowered their polearms and then were thrown back, crashing against the stone wall and wooden door with the clatter of overturned kitchenware. The force of the blow rocked the door to the throne room, and another targeted blast from Towaal burst it open.
Ben ran through the entrance in the aftermath of the wind, ignoring the ranks of Whitehall’s soldiers within the throne room that rushed into protective positions around the general. A few even moved hesitantly toward the Veil.
Standing on the dais beside the throne, General Brinn shouted, “Ben, what is the meaning of this!”
In front of him, half a dozen mages parted ranks, and a red-haired woman turned. Ben slid to a stop, halfway to her, knowing any closer and he wouldn’t be given time to call his warning.
“Benjamin Ashwood,” said Lady Coatney. “So good to see you again. Oh, look, you brought your friends.”
“What are you doing, Ben?” growled Brinn. “Lady, ah, Lady Veil, I assure you—"
“Avril,” gasped Ben, interrupting the general. “Lady Avril is here along with two dozen assassins.”
Lady Coatney’s lips pressed together in a thin line and her eyes flashed with anger. She turned to her associates. “Defensive positions! Form a wall, swordsmen in front, mages behind.”
Three men, draped in the white tabards of the Sanctuary, stepped smoothly to form a triangle around the Sanctuary’s mages. Flashing silver longswords, emblazoned with the blademaster’s sigil, were held steadily in their hands.
The mages and swordsmen didn’t blink at their leader’s instructions. Ben’s heart soared and then sank. They’d been right. The woman had anticipated this outcome. She’d steered them toward it, and without them realizing it, she had recruited Ben and his friends to protect her.