by A. C. Cobble
“I guess not,” he admitted before falling into a coughing fit.
“Your voice will come back as you use it,” advised the Veil, settling in her chair. “Drink some water. That will help too.”
Ben shifted again, pushing himself higher on the bed until he was half-sitting, and reached for the cup on the table. It was already filled with water, and he saw he barely had slack in the chain to reach it. For a brief moment, he worried the water could be laced with some potion or poison, but the woman sitting next to him would have already killed him if that was her intention. He sipped the water and watched her over the rim of the cup.
“I will not execute you, even though your crimes have earned you a swift death,” assured the woman, meeting his eyes. “Personally, I would enjoy watching you die after a long period of torture.”
Ben sat his cup down and didn’t respond. He kept his eyes on the blankets which covered his body, knowing there was nothing he could say.
“I will not execute you because I believe you will be of use to me,” continued the Veil.
“I will not help you,” muttered Ben, risking a glance at the woman’s face.
“Why not?” asked the Veil calmly.
“Whatever you seek to have me do…”
“You think I will trick you? That somehow you will betray whatever your mission is?” asked the Veil, a laugh on her voice. “No, it’s not so complicated as that. Let me explain what I plan for you, and then you can decide if there is a betrayal lurking behind it. To be honest, though, it doesn’t matter what you think. You’ll do as I want, regardless.”
“Why should I trust anything you say?” snapped Ben, raising his arm and shaking the chain attached to it.
“Do you remember what condition you were in right before you collapsed? You were moments away from death, heartbeats away from expelling the last of your lifeblood onto the Citadel’s veranda. You had deep, terrible cuts on your back. That woman had stabbed this knife into your stomach, piercing your entrails.” The Veil’s hand drifted to a jeweled dagger at her belt. The repository, realized Ben. “Thank you for recovering it, by the way. It had been missing for over a century. Believe it or not, this is one of the most powerful devices the Sanctuary has ever obtained. It is not the Staff of Wyvern, but certainly something I was glad to recover. You have a talent for stealing our powerful artifacts, and I’m glad you did not destroy this one.”
Ben grunted.
“You would have died,” continued the Veil. “Your friend Karina was too exhausted to heal you, and the initiate was in no better shape. If it wasn’t for my mages, we wouldn’t be speaking now. So, while I do not expect your trust, I ask you to hear me out. Maybe you will find our goals align for a time. You see, I’m going to let you go, Benjamin. After that, if we meet again, I will enjoy putting my hands around your neck and strangling the life out of you. You can believe that is true, can’t you?”
Ben glared at her and his mind swirled. Someone had certainly healed him, and he didn’t doubt she wanted to kill him. If she was lying about letting him go, he’d find out soon enough. He decided she was telling the truth, particularly the part about using him. Somehow, his freedom would help her. Somehow, she expected that yet again, his actions would inadvertently support her goals.
“Where are they?” he demanded.
The Veil tsked. “We will get to that. First, I will ask you to be released shortly after I’ve left Whitehall. You will be stuck here for a time while General Brinn searches for any assassins who escaped the fight. The mountain pass is barred due to that search, and the ships in the harbor are all commandeered by King Saala. I know you have some loyalty to General Brinn, but he will not help you. I’ve made sure he understands his own health is dependent on keeping you here. You are a resourceful boy, though, aren’t you? Eventually, you will find a way to sneak out of Whitehall. That is, if Avril does not kill you first.”
Ben blinked. “She-She is alive?”
“Confounding, isn’t it?” responded Lady Coatney, not bothering to hide her clenching fists and the frustration in her voice. “We searched for her, but there is no sign of a body. We found a trail of corpses, though, that could have only been her doing. If it wasn’t for her, I would kill you now, but, as much as I hate you, Benjamin, I hate her more. I will do anything to oppose that woman, including letting you go.”
Ben scratched at the scar on his arm, the rustle of the chains filling the room and sending a shiver down his spine.
“I suspect that if there is anyone who the woman wants dead more than me,” continued the Veil, “it is you and the initiate. When she sees you are free, she will assume you were working with me this entire time, and then she will come after you. It’s the way she’s been for hundreds of years, striking at those close to me. You’ll be a tempting target, especially when I spread rumors about how you and the initiate were my agents and that I’ve rewarded Amelie with a repository to thank her for her services.”
“You plan to use us as bait!” accused Ben.
Lady Coatney chuckled. “That is not a bad idea, but no. I do not have time for that, and Avril is not stupid enough to walk into some simple trap.”
Ben frowned at her.
Smiling, the Veil continued, “I merely intend for you to be a distraction, to draw her attention while I finish what I have been working on. For decades, I have been preparing, and I cannot brook any further interference from you or her. All I ask is that you do not die quickly. Draw her interest long enough for me to finish.”
“She hasn’t managed to kill me yet,” growled Ben.
The Veil shrugged. “If you kill her instead, that will suit me even better. If you desire to fight her, then I recommend you set a trap. Find some situation you can turn to your advantage. I do not think you will be successful, but you are welcome to try. All I need is time.”
“Time?” asked Ben. “For what?”
“Time for my plans to come to fruition.”
“The Alliance and the Coalition,” guessed Ben. “You need time for the war to begin.”
“Yes,” responded the Veil, clapping softly. “You see, Benjamin, mankind is naturally inclined toward conflict. It is part of who we are, and it has always been. Since we first learned the use of tools, we have been making sticks into spears and using them to make war on each other. Conflict, fighting, war, it is a natural part of our existence. It is like fire in a forest. There is nothing we can do to prevent it from starting. It is just a matter of time and circumstance. Any effort we make to stop it will only make the next fire, or war, worse.”
Open-mouthed, Ben stared at the woman.
“Did you know that about fires?” she asked. “Long ago, mages would stop forest fires. Practitioners skilled in manipulation would suck the heat from the flames and direct it elsewhere or pull moisture from the clouds and cause a torrential rain. It was thought that stopping the fires would save nearby settlements. The mages thought they were saving lives. It only made it worse, though. By stalling the fires, fuel built on the forest floor. Fallen branches, leaves, logs... You are from the mountains, yes, in a forest? You know that if the debris of branches and trees is not allowed to burn, then one hot, dry summer, it will ignite into a blaze that consumes all. It will burn fast, and no one will be able to stop it or escape. By trying to prevent forest fires and limiting them, you only make them worse. War is the same. It is our fire.”
“You’re letting the world burn.”
The Veil shrugged. “Yes, I suppose I am. Only a little, and only to prevent something worse. The Alliance and the Coalition will clash, and one of them will win. I predict it won’t be a satisfying victory once they tally what they’ve lost in the conquest, but their aggression will be expelled, their resources depleted, and the horror of war made evident. Some of the survivors will rule new foreign lands, but most will return to where they came from. They’ll have stories to tell about the terrible things they witnessed, stories that will be passed down from generation t
o generation, convincing those yet to be born that there is nothing to be gained from war. It will be a century or longer before the nations recover and anyone considers war on this scale again. During that time, Alcott will be at peace. Peace for a hundred years, Benjamin. Can you imagine it? I care nothing for who wins or who loses. I only care that Alcott learns its lesson.”
“But, the cost…”
“The cost will be high,” agreed the Veil, crossing her legs and watching him. “The cost of anything valuable is always high.”
Ben closed his eyes, understanding creeping over him, connections bridging within his mind.
“Once the battle is fully engaged,” said Lady Coatney, “I will turn all of my efforts to finding Avril, and I will put an end to our little conflict. I am ready for my own peace.”
“If we don’t face her first,” said Ben quietly, his eyes still closed.
“Face her if you wish,” replied the Veil, “but my advice is to run. Run far and run fast. If you get a head start, perhaps you could hide from her. Run and hide like a scared rabbit, and it’s possible you might last long enough that I will find you instead of her. I would enjoy that.”
Three days later, Ben was unchained and let out of his room. Despite the comfortable, feather-stuffed mattress, his body was sore from the confinement, the room stank of the chamber pot, and he knew he didn’t smell much better. His only thought, though, was about Amelie.
“Where is she?” he demanded of the guard.
“Next door,” answered the man. “She’s sleeping. I was told to bring you to General Brinn the moment you were free.”
“I need to see her first,” insisted Ben.
“I have my orders,” responded the man.
“They locked me up because they thought I posed a threat to the Veil,” warned Ben. “If you want to prevent me from seeing Amelie, you had better go get some more help.”
The guard frowned and eyed Ben up and down before allowing, “A moment only. She’s asleep. The general can explain.”
Ben followed the man, and true to his word, he stopped at the room next door. The guard unlocked and opened the door, allowing Ben inside a room that was a twin to his own. The only difference was that the chains were piled on the floor, and Amelie was resting unencumbered. She made no response to him whispering her name. He moved to her side and touched her. She was warm and, at a glance, appeared to have suffered no injuries from the fight with the Veil and Lady Avril. Or, more likely, she had also been healed.
“You’ve seen her,” called the guard from the doorway. “Let’s go. Like I said, the general can explain.”
Ben glared at the man, but he didn’t want to disturb Amelie by punching a guard in her room. Besides, the man was right. Getting the answers from Brinn was going to be the quickest way to find out what really had happened. Ben gestured for the man to lead, and they strode through the halls of the Citadel, the guard refusing to answer any more of Ben’s questions about Towaal, Rhys, Prem, or where the Veil had gone.
As they approached the throne room, the sounds of construction intruded on Ben’s unsuccessful attempts at prodding the man for information. He quieted down, and they passed between flanks of armed men to enter the huge room.
General Brinn sat at a table with a cluster of his soldiers, poring over plans, maps, and other documents necessary for marshalling a large army. All around them, workers scrubbed at soot-stained walls, pushed soapy mops over blood-soaked floors, fit and hammered new doors leading to the veranda, and replaced tiles and stone carvings that had been wrecked in the battle. It was exhausting just looking at all of the work required to repair the place. When they drew close, Brinn glanced up from his plans.
“Ashwood,” he grunted. Turning to the men around him, he requested, “Let’s take a break for two bells. Come find me here this afternoon.”
“Want me to call some more men to watch him?” offered the guard who had escorted Ben.
Brinn raised an eyebrow.
“He was chained up,” explained the guard. After shooting Ben a menacing look, the man added, “He made some threats, sir.”
Shaking his head, the general stood. “He’s no threat to me. Come on, Ben. I’ve been meeting in this mess because it’s a reminder of what we’re fighting for, but the noise is giving me a terrible headache. Let’s get an ale. I need one, and I bet you do too.”
“More than one,” muttered Ben under his breath. He made a rude gesture to the guard then turned to follow the general.
Brinn led him behind the throne and down a lushly appointed hallway to a comfortable study. Over-stuffed chairs, a fireplace, book-lined shelves, and exquisite paintings decorated the room. A table sat against the wall, covered in decanters of brown-colored liquors, glass bottles of wine, and a sturdy oak keg of what Ben hoped was a nice, crisp ale.
“King Argren’s personal study,” explained Brinn. “This is where he’d come to relax after holding court. Only his closest confidants were let in here. It was a mark of distinction, when he was alive, to even have seen this place. Nothing special about it, mind you, except for the difficulty getting an invitation inside and having a chance to see him when he wasn’t wearing his public face.”
“I’m honored,” said Ben.
General Brinn grinned. “Saala never used it, so I’ve taken it as my own private retreat.”
Ben smiled. “Even more so, then.”
The general snorted and pulled two pewter mugs from a cupboard. He expertly poured two ales, letting the foam bubble up as he tilted the containers beneath the amber stream of liquid.
“The one change I’ve made is having ale in here,” said Brinn, handing Ben one of the mugs. “The old king never drank it. It was always rare, high-priced spirits or wine from the hills outside of the City. Ale is a working man’s drink, if you ask me. He thought the same.”
“What is going on with Amelie?” queried Ben, accepting the mug but unable to hold his questions any longer.
Brinn smirked and sat down in one of the deep leather chairs. “Can’t give an old war dog a break, can you?”
“She’s important to me,” admitted Ben. “It’s hard to think of anything else when I know she’s lying downstairs, unconscious for an unknown reason.”
“To be young and in love,” said Brinn. He waited until Ben sat across from him then explained, “Those mages from the Sanctuary gave her something to make her sleep. Instructed us to keep slipping it into her broth until the Veil was one day gone. They said to let you loose when she was two days gone. I suspect Amelie will wake soon, and she’ll be well rested but hungry when she does.”
Ben’s stomach rumbled, and he suddenly was aware how famished he was.
“The staff will be by with my midday meal in a moment,” said Brinn. “Cold meats and cheeses. Nothing fancy, but it will do.”
“Thank you,” murmured Ben.
“Your girl will be fine. At least, that’s what they told me. Said you’d be whole too. Looks like that was accurate?”
Ben sipped his ale. “I’ve been worse.”
“I can’t tell you where Rhys or that strange girl who follows him around disappeared to,” continued Brinn. “The Veil searched for the rogue nearly as hard as she did Lady Avril. Neither one of them turned up, dead or alive.”
Ben nodded. “Rhys isn’t one to get caught in anybody’s net. What about Lady Towaal?”
Brinn grimaced. “She’s alive.”
Ben raised an eyebrow.
“The Veil took Lady Towaal with her to Fabrizo.”
“Willingly?” questioned Ben.
Brinn frowned at Ben. “What do you think? I objected gently, but you have to understand my position. Lady Towaal is a mage of the Sanctuary, and Lady Coatney is the ruler of the Sanctuary. I’m only a general of King Saala, and she’s the Veil. When she puts her foot down, I can’t argue even if it’s in the Citadel. She’s on her way to catch Saala, though. I believe he knows Lady Towaal, doesn’t he? Maybe he can do something to g
et her released.”
“I understand. There’s nothing you could have done,” said Ben. “Was she… healthy?”
“She spent a few days under the weather, like all of the mages, but she was spry and walking under her own power when they left.”
“Did she say anything?” asked Ben.
“She didn’t get the chance,” admitted Brinn. “Look, I wasn’t happy with how things went after… after that battle, but what could I do? The old Veil resurfaces and attempts to destroy Whitehall. The current Veil, along with you and your friends, stop her. As you can imagine, Lady Coatney publicly took all of the credit for saving the day, and everyone believed her. They’d seen the storm, experienced the wind, hail, and lightning. Between the attack in the Citadel and the storm wreaking havoc in town, we lost over two hundred people. When the Veil said she was the one who headed off further destruction, the lords and ladies of Whitehall nearly threw her a gala. If it makes you feel better, she did acknowledge Amelie helped, though she said it was at her direction.”
Shaking his head, Brinn sipped at his ale and continued, “I was there. I saw the Veil protecting Amelie, and then the girl walking outside, but even I don’t know what actually happened. I’m smart enough to know the Veil’s version probably isn’t completely accurate, but I’m also smart enough to not challenge her publicly on it. Both you and the girl are alive and will be freed. It could be a lot worse.”
“It’s true enough. The Veil did oppose Avril and her storm, and so did we.” Ben tilted up his ale and finished it. “It doesn’t much matter about the details.”
Brinn nodded to the barrel and held up his mug. “Fill mine too, would you?”
Ben opened the tap and watched the amber ale splash into the pewter mugs. The Veil had told the truth, it seemed. She would let him go free.
“What does she want with you?” asked Brinn, interrupting Ben’s thoughts.
Ben turned. “She didn’t tell you?”