by A. C. Cobble
Which is why Ben’s first action once he stepped outside was to sprint across the open space that surrounded the gate. He had to get into the streets before any patrols came to investigate. Only then would he have a chance to duck out of sight or lose them in the twists and turns of Issen’s alleys and boulevards. With the city under siege and the moon obscured by smoke, it’d be easy to stay hidden as long as he made it to cover.
His heart pounding from the run and from fear, he held his longsword against his side with one hand and pumped with the other. Feet fueled by fright, he crossed the space in no time, but the moment he made it into the mouth of one of the streets, his foot caught on something.
Ben went hurtling forward and sprawled out on the cobblestones. His hand, his elbow, his knee, and then his face impacted the cold stone of the street. A jolt of agony shot through him as he skidded to a stop. He lay on the cobbles, feeling sharp twinges of pain pulsing in time with his heartbeat.
Groaning, he barely heard the thump of running feet on stone.
He looked around but could see nothing in the dark except the shadowy silhouette of nearby buildings. Hoping that whoever was coming was approaching from a different street, Ben dragged himself to the building then levered himself up.
His elbow and knee throbbed, and he had to touch his forehead to convince himself it wasn’t bleeding, but nothing felt broken. He glanced up at the castle walls, hoping that no one had seen him trip. It wasn’t befitting a general to fall on his face like that.
Limping slightly, Ben walked down the street, still eager to distance himself from the castle gates. The sounds of footfalls spurred him on, but he forced himself to move slow, to not give himself away like the approaching patrols were.
Lights atop the castle wall and dozens of still-smoldering fires were the only sources of illumination as Ben scampered through the alleys and avenues of Issen. They were empty at night except for when he stumbled across the site of a battle. Then, discarded arms, armor, and bodies fouled the path. Neither side had enough control of the area to remove the corpses, so they lay there, rotting.
The fires from the day before had damaged the city, but with the help of the mages, they had extinguished the worst of the blazes. They’d saved the bulk of the structures and, Ben hoped, the people inside of them. For the moment, at least. If no one was able to come clear the dead, then pestilence would do what fire could not.
Block after block, Ben scurried along quietly. There were a number of things that could go wrong with their plan, from Rhys or Lloyd not making it, to Jason or Saala cutting Ben down before the other one had time to arrive. In fact, Ben admitted ruefully to himself, getting killed was the most likely outcome. He couldn’t stand against either man one to one, and if the timing was off, if either man acted quickly, if either one decided Ben was a big enough threat to attack him instead of each other…
Ben put his odds of success at one in ten. He’d told Amelie differently, but alone in the night, he had to be honest. The other bitter part of the truth was that while his plan wasn’t a good one, it was the best he could come up with. If he died, the war would continue. If he didn’t do anything, the war would continue. The meeting was a desperate gamble, but it was the only one they had to prevent large-scale, catastrophic damage and loss of life that would be felt for a hundred years.
In that context, his life was a small wager.
He was determined he wasn’t going to lose the wager by doing something stupid, though, like getting caught in the city by a random patrol. Pausing at every intersection, he looked down the silent streets. He watched for motion, listened for the tell-tale sound of marching feet.
Periodically, he could hear movement in the distance, but after half a bell, he hadn’t seen anyone. The citizens of Issen were barricaded in their homes, terrified of any sound outside. The patrols from the Alliance and Coalition were out there, but neither side had enough men in town to properly cover the city. They were planning to defeat each other, but they knew after the sneak attacks had failed, it wasn’t going to be settled until the full armies arrived.
The men on patrol were merely looking for opportunities and showing force so as not to concede the city. They were defensive patrols, and therefore, Ben had a chance to avoid them.
He stopped, peering down a broad avenue. Flickering flames from a ravaged building cast an orange glow across the street. He wouldn’t be able to pass without stepping through the light. The street had the look of a prosperous one, or at least it had been, before it had been looted and burned. Half the structures he could see in the dim glow were destroyed. The others were empty faces with broken windows and doors like shattered teeth in a ruined mouth.
The odds were that whichever side had done the looting was long gone. No one would have any reason to be nearby as any valuables would have been taken during daylight. It should be safe. Or, Ben could turn around and circle several blocks to avoid the light. His plan had been to stick to the dark streets and shadows. Under the cloud of soot that hung over Issen, he’d be invisible away from the light of the fires.
He couldn’t see the moon, and he didn’t know how long he’d been stalking through the darkness. He didn’t know how long he had left to travel across the countryside to Amelie’s summer palace. If he wasn’t there by dawn, the plan was almost certain to fail.
There was no motion Ben could detect, and the only sound was the occasional pop and wheeze from the dying fire. It was almost out of fuel. Only a few stubborn beams, large enough they could have supported the roof of a giant warehouse, remained clinging to life. Within a few bells, Ben guessed they’d sputter out and the ash would go cold.
He would pass through the light, he decided. The risk appeared minimal, and it would add a quarter bell to find a darker path, if he even could. This area of the city had been hit hard with fire, so there was no guarantee the next street would be any better.
Ben drew his longsword and stepped cautiously forward, his eyes darting from side to side, prepared to leap at any motion or to run. All remained quiet, and his breath was the only accompaniment to the soft crackle of burning wood. He hovered on the edge of the light and then stepped in, walking quickly but not rushing, not allowing his feet to slap on the stone, to give himself away.
Halfway through the light, he heard a low scrape like fingernails across parchment. His heart jumped into his throat. He spun, his longsword raised in front of him, but no one was there. He was looking into the ruins of a mansion, he thought. The low flames illuminated the charred wreckage of a broad staircase, and he saw a twisted pile of metal which could have been a grand chandelier, the type he’d seen in lord’s keeps.
He saw something else and frowned.
A yellow sparkle, shimmering in the firelight, sat in the middle of what must have been an impressive entryway. Involuntarily, he drew closer, moving around a fallen jumble of stone and stepping over a smoking, charred roof beam.
There, in the open and unmolested, was a large trunk. It was filled to overflowing with shimmering yellow discs. Gold coins. Hundreds of them. Just sitting there.
“What the—”
Click.
Ben spun.
A man was standing a dozen paces behind him, holding a crossbow in trembling hands. At his feet, Ben saw a pickaxe and a shovel. Even in the darkness, he could see the man’s pudgy face was streaked with soot and sweat. The man’s body shook with fear, but his expression contained only deadly certainty.
“I don’t want your gold,” hissed Ben.
The man raised his crossbow and settled it on his shoulder, aiming at Ben.
“I’ll walk away,” said Ben, his voice rising in pitch and tone. “If you shoot me, I’ll scream as I die. Every patrol within five blocks of here will come running.”
The man paused.
Ben risked a step back, his hands raised, though he had no intention of dropping his longsword.
“Look, I’m leaving,” said Ben, frantically trying to think how he
could assure the man of his intentions. “Watch me walk away, and then you can continue recovering your gold.”
“How do I know you won’t come back?” asked the man, his voice quaking.
“You’ll have to risk it. Unless you’re a good enough shot with that crossbow to be certain of a kill,” snapped Ben, still backing up, gaining valuable distance between himself and the man.
It was clear the man was a merchant or a highborn and had no experience with the weapon in his hands. At a close enough distance, it may not matter. The man had managed to load and cock the thing. Pulling the trigger would be easy. Even a terrible shot would have no difficulty hitting Ben at such a close distance.
They were at an impasse.
“Look,” said Ben. “I’m a scout with Issen’s forces. I’m trying to make it out of the city before dawn. I have no interest in what you’re doing here. I was just walking by and heard you.”
“You had no interest,” whispered the man. “I could believe that. Doesn’t mean you aren’t interested now. You could come back, slit my throat, and have more wealth than any soldier ever dreamed of.”
Ben’s eyes fell to the open chest, and he had to admit, the man was right. There was more gold in the chest than he’d ever dreamed of before he left Farview. He guessed it was more than even existed in his old village. He was sure it was more than he could carry.
“The ecstasy of gold,” murmured the man, watching’s Ben’s gaze. “You won’t be able to let it go, will you?”
“No, I—”
The man’s finger closed over the trigger of the crossbow.
Ben flung himself to the right, hoping the man’s trembling grip would throw off his aim.
He heard the tell-tale thump of the release and felt a whish of motion above him. His foot caught on a fallen beam and he pitched over it, tucking his shoulder and rolling across the ash-coated marble floor of the ruined mansion. He slid into a tumbled wall and shook his head, letting his body fill with battle strength. He gritted his teeth and prepared to spring to his feet and charge the man. He had to incapacitate him before the man could reload, but to his surprise, he saw the man stumble into view. The man’s crossbow slipped from his grip and clattered on the floor. His eyes bulged wide, and he wheezed a wet cough.
The quarrel slipped off the man’s crossbow onto the floor and the man fell on top of it. Ben frowned. Then, he saw a wood shaft and crimson tip sticking through the highborn’s throat.
“Did you hit him?” asked a voice from the shadows. “I hit mine.”
“Didn’t you see him go down?”
“I think he jumped.”
“Why would he jump? He fell when my bolt hit him,” snapped the second voice. “It was a good shot.”
“Go find the body, then,” instructed the first man.
Ben looked over his shoulder and saw he was lying behind the heavy beam that had tripped him. It blocked the men’s view of him and his view of the two of them. He hoped there were just two of them.
“Let’s reload first,” responded the second man. “Might be more of them lurking in the wreckage.”
Ben jumped to his feet and saw two men standing at the edge of the shadow cast by the flickering fires. Two. He breathed a sigh of relief. Had there been more, he might have been done.
“He’s not dead!” screeched the first man.
Ben charged, leaping over the beam, raising his longsword. The two crossbowmen, holding empty weapons, were stunned.
Ben didn’t give them time to decide whether to drop their crossbows and draw the swords hanging on their hips or to try and use the wooden weapons to defend themselves. Two quick, horizontal slashes and both men were stumbling back, crimson blood pouring over their white tabards.
Whitehall’s men.
He didn’t know if they were on patrol, just the two of them, or if they’d split off from a larger group and were looking for loot. Either way, Ben wasn’t going to hang around and find out. He spared a glance back at the open chest full of gold, and then trotted off into the dark night.
Outside of the city, Ben made good time and jogged unimpeded across the black landscape. He avoided the road, figuring the Alliance and Coalition were likely to have checkpoints there. It didn’t matter. The terrain around Issen was easy to move across for an unencumbered individual.
He rolled his shoulder as he moved, working out the painful tweak he’d gotten when he’d dove away from the crossbowman. It’d be sore the next day, but he’d been banged up enough by now that he knew he could still fight with it.
The next day… It was a generous assessment that he’d be alive the next day to worry about his shoulder. He’d be lucky to make it past breakfast.
A bell away from the city of Issen, the thick clouds of soot dissipated, and by the light of the stars and the moon, he could see the tall hill Amelie had described. North of Issen, her family’s summer manse looked over the river and the countryside around it. They’d built it there for the expansive views and the steady breeze on the water. It was prime farmland, but Amelie’s family kept the surrounding area wild and used it primarily for riding and security. The summer palace had none of the high walls and siege defenses that the castle had, but no force could move close to it during the day and remain unseen. Rolling hills and open grass surrounded it for a league in every direction. When Amelie’s family was in residence, regular patrols, watchtowers, and dogs formed a net of observation.
Amelie’s family wasn’t there, though. No one was. All of the staff had been pulled back into Issen’s keep, and far-seeing showed neither the Alliance nor the Coalition had set up camp at the palace. It was too far away from the city to be of any strategic value, and neither army was interested yet in the wealth that was stored there.
At night, alone, Ben was able to approach quietly.
On the outskirts of the palace was an extensive stable complex for equestrian sports, and formal gardens where the family could throw summer parties or take a stroll. The building itself was a sprawling, two-story affair that covered the top of a hill and boxed in a large courtyard.
The courtyard was where Ben had asked Saala and Jason to meet him.
Neither man was told the other was coming, and both had been instructed to come alone. They were to meet at dawn. If either of them brought backup, if either one of them attempted a betrayal, then the plan would fail before it started.
The objections had been frequent and furious, but Ben believed it might work. It wasn’t certain, but there was a chance, and any chance was worth taking if it meant avoiding full-scale war. The tipping point was Rhys and Lloyd’s faith they could convince Saala and Jason to come alone. The two men had put their lives at risk to make the meeting happen. They were willing to gamble, so Ben was as well.
Either it would work or it wouldn’t.
If it did, it was now up to Ben. He’d be face to face with the Kings of the Alliance and the Coalition. Somehow, he had to be the one who walked away, but even if he wasn’t, even if one of those men was the sole survivor, it could still prevent the war. It may grant easy victory to the survivor, but that outcome was better than wholesale death.
Ben cursed himself and forced his thoughts back to the task at hand. The outcome wouldn’t matter if he managed to give himself away before he made it to the courtyard.
He slipped through the bushes and into one of the formal gardens. It was formed of head-high hedges that were grown into a labyrinth. He didn’t have time to stalk the maze and find his way to the palace, so he dropped to his stomach and crawled under the thick branches and leaves.
He benefited from Amelie’s advice, and she’d told him she’d done the same as a little girl when she and Meredith would play in the maze. Of course, she and Meredith had been little girls, and Ben was a grown man. He silently cursed as the tough branches of the hedges snagged his cloak. He wormed forward, ignoring the damage that the foliage was doing to his clothing.
The sound of his approach was too loud. He cou
ld only hope that no one was waiting near the garden, listening. If they were, they might catch him even if he was walking.
Half a bell later, sweating in the chill, pre-dawn air, Ben finally broke through the final hedge wall and wriggled on his belly into the open. Above him, the sky was still dark, but it wasn’t the pitch black of deep night. He guessed he had another half bell until dawn broke on the horizon. He moved into a crouch and shuffled across the fifty paces of space that separated the hedges from the palace.
The grand doorways that the highborn would use and the utilitarian entries that the staff would use would all be easy to watch if one of the other men had planned an ambush. The palace was designed for security, not for folks to sneak into unseen.
Amelie’s knowledge of the building came in handy again, though, and she’d directed him to a corner of the palace between the kitchen and the servant’s living quarters. There, the windows weren’t covered in expensive glass, just wooden shutters that he could pry open. One window in particular led to a narrow chamber that housed a night scullion. Amelie claimed to have snuck in and out of it dozens of times without alerting the guards, though the scullion certainly knew someone was passing through their room. A few copper bits left behind each time ensured they would never speak of it.
Frowning, Ben realized he hadn’t asked Amelie where she was going when she snuck out. He pinched himself and wrestled his thoughts into order again.
Quietly, he approached the shutters that blocked the window and pulled on them gently. A simple catch was all that held it shut, and he slipped the blade of his hunting knife in between the shutters and lifted it. Gripping the windowsill, he hauled himself inside and scurried across the small room to the door.
He cracked it open and peeked out into the hallway. It was dark and quiet, just like it should be when the family and staff had been evacuated. Slipping out the door, Ben tiptoed down the hall to a plain stairwell at the other end. This was the most dangerous part of his journey, the easiest place to ambush him if someone had planned one. Any sounds within the building could also give him away even if no one had set up a betrayal.