by A. C. Cobble
“Who’s coming from the Coalition?” asked Ben, frowning. “I believe that’s Councilman Graff, the mage who healed me.”
“He’s not the leader, though,” said Amelie, turning to look at John and Elle. “What can you sense?”
Elle simply shook her head.
The figure in the lead of the Coalition’s forces was wearing a heavy cowl in Coalition grey, and their face was lost in the shadows underneath of it. They appeared slight, like a woman, but Ben couldn’t be sure. One thing he was certain of, though, was that Lloyd was not in the party, and Rhys was not amongst the Alliance representatives.
There had been no word of either man since they’d left on their respective missions, and Ben feared the worst. In anger after the slaying of the kings, there was no telling what loyalists might have done.
“Lady Amelie, Ben,” called the gruff voice of General Brinn. The man was red-faced, as if he’d been swinging his sword, drinking, or biting back terrible anger. Perhaps all three, if not in that order, speculated Ben.
“Brinn,” acknowledged Amelie. “Are you in command?”
“For the moment,” said the general. “You killed our king, remember? The highborn spent the last week arguing over who should take command of the army. I suggested whoever took the mantle of commander needed to challenge you to a one-on-one duel, Ben. None of the highborn volunteered after that, and they sent me.”
“You’re here to challenge me!” exclaimed Ben, his hand going to his sword.
“Nah.” Brinn laughed. “But they don’t know that. Besides, if I did challenge you, you have an advantage. Each delegation was supposed to bring only five representatives. There are six in your party. You’ve got us outnumbered.”
“We brought four!” protested Ben, turning and counting Adrick Morgan, Elle, Earnest John, and Captain Whan. He saw Amelie looking at him with one eyebrow raised.
“Don’t worry,” rumbled Brinn. “I’m here to make friends, not to fight.”
“Good,” said Ben, counting their party again. Frowning, he turned to the Coalition’s delegation. “Councilman Graff, good to see you again.”
The councilman eyed Amelie. “It seems you were not lying to me.”
Ben nodded. “I was not. Do you speak for the Coalition?”
The councilman shook his head and stepped away. The hooded figure swept back her cowl, and Amelie gasped.
“Mother!”
Lady Selene, Amelie’s mother, offered a slight bow. “It’s been a long time, daughter.”
Amelie stared at her mother, speechless.
General Brinn cleared his throat and suggested, “What say we get started?”
Ben shook himself and demanded, “First, where are our friends?”
“Rhys, you mean?” asked Brinn sardonically.
Ben nodded.
“He’s with the army back there, clamped in irons and a little scuffed up. I’m sure he’s had worse after a night in the tavern, though,” said Brinn. “After he heard about Saala, he got a little wild, and some of the boys were upset. He got kicked around some. Sorry about that.”
“Scuffed up? Is he injured?”
Brinn shook his head. “Cuts and bruises. That man can take a pounding and keep going, as I’m sure you know.”
Ben nodded a thanks and turned to Lady Selene. “Lloyd?”
“He is with us,” said the lady, her eyes still fixed on Amelie. “He’s uninjured and in good spirits.”
Amelie glanced between Brinn and her mother. “We’d like our friends back.”
“We assumed you would ask for Lord Lloyd’s release,” murmured Lady Selene.
“You’re welcome to have Rhys back,” grumbled Brinn. “That man causes trouble just by waking up in the morning.”
Ben grinned and removed his hand from the hilt of his longsword.
“If there are no objections, let us do it now,” said Amelie. “Please send a man back to your camps and bring our friends to us.”
“You can ask for their return,” chided Amelie’s mother, “but in negotiation, it is expected that there is a give and take, a back and forth. What are you offering?”
Meeting her mother’s eye, Amelie stated, “In negotiation, yes. I am not negotiating the return of our friends. Bring them to us. Now.”
Lady Selene drew herself up to argue, but Brinn interrupted her. “Leave off it, lady. What are you going to do, tell that council of yours to hold Lord Jason’s brother indefinitely? His claim to the throne is almost as strong as yours, and he’s a true blademaster. Your people will love him. You bring that man back to Irrefort, and you could have a rebellion on your hands.”
Rolling his eyes at the Coalition delegation, Brinn instructed one of his men to go back to the camp and return with Rhys. Scowling at the general, Lady Selene nodded, and the Coalition representatives followed suit.
Lady Selene turned back to Amelie. “If you are not negotiating, daughter, what is it you are demanding? With your small force, do you aim to take Irrefort and Whitehall? Slaying Jason was impressive, but do not think it will earn you our city.”
“Your city?” scoffed Amelie. “Issen was your city, and you betrayed it.”
Lady Selene offered a short bow. “Daughter, Issen is your city now, as I always wished it would be, but Irrefort is mine.”
Ben tensed. Amelie held up a hand to silence him.
“Do you mean to end the war in this meeting or merely reframe the terms?” pressed Lady Selene.
“When our friends have joined us, I will tell you.”
“Tell me?” said Selene, coldly. “What do you mean tell me?”
Amelie turned from her mother and ignored her as they waited.
Ben met Brinn’s eyes and offered the general a sheepish smile. The barrel-chested warrior snorted and rubbed his hand across his lips, struggling to keep a smile off his face as well.
In short time, two more groups appeared from the Alliance and the Coalition forces. In the first group, Lloyd was being escorted by four men in Coalition grey. He walked in the midst of them, a lion surrounded by cubs. When they arrived at the moot, he stepped easily to Adrick Morgan’s side and offered the former guardian a nod.
“Good to see you again.”
Adrick winked at him.
One of the Coalition soldiers tossed a sword at Lloyd, and the blademaster caught it easily.
The other group drew closer, and Ben saw Rhys in the center of a dozen guards. Thick, iron links bound his hands to his feet, and the men eyed him as warily as they would a rabid beast.
“About time,” grumbled the rogue when they arrived.
His face was smeared with dabs of blood and dirt, his hair looked like he’d been sleeping under a bush the last week, and from a distance, Ben could tell he hadn’t bathed since they’d last been together. He decided the man’s clothes were unsalvageable and would have to be burned. All in all, though, it wasn’t so far from the rogue’s normal appearance.
After a nod from Brinn, one of the guards knelt and unfasted the rogue’s chains.
Rhys flexed his hands and feet then raised his arms in a stretch. Everyone watched as he let out a long, low moan of pleasure. When he was done stretching, he rubbed at his wrists. “I’ve been thrown in darker prisons and locked in tighter manacles, but being held captive is never very pleasant.”
“We’ll take your word for it,” said Ben with a snort.
Rhys nodded and then turned to survey the men around him. He singled out one and pointed at the man. “You!”
The soldier glared at the rogue and was caught off-guard when Rhys sprang at him and snatched a silver flask off the man’s belt.
“This is mine,” snapped Rhys.
The soldier’s jaw dropped open. Then, the rogue’s fist closed it.
Rhys smashed his knuckles into the man’s chin, and the soldier flopped back limply, knocked out cold.
All around Rhys, the other soldiers scrambled away, drawing broadswords and yelling to each other. Rhys cal
mly unscrewed his flask and took a long drink.
“That’s what I was missing,” he said with a contented sigh. Surveying the men and bared blades, he asked, “Now, which one of you took my sword and knives?”
“Return his weapons,” instructed General Brinn to his men. Turning to Ben, he added, “See? I told you he was trouble. You can have him.”
A guard frantically unslung a pair of long knives and tossed them at the rogue’s feet. Contemptuously, Rhys stooped and collected them. He took another drink before slipping the harness over his shoulders.
“I’ve got your sword,” said Ben quickly, unsheathing the blade and handing it to Rhys.
“Is that Jason’s?” asked Lloyd quietly, eyeing the second longsword on Ben’s back.
“It’s yours if you want it,” offered Ben.
Lloyd frowned.
Amelie added, “That sword belongs to the ruler of Irrefort, Lloyd.”
Lloyd stared at them, speechless.
“I am the ruler of Irrefort,” interjected Lady Selene icily.
“You are a traitor to Issen,” declared Amelie, “and right now, you are on Issen’s soil.”
“A trap!” cried Councilman Graff. He raised his hands, letting energy build in his palms.
“That is a bad idea, mage,” rumbled Earnest John from behind Ben and Amelie.
The councilman shot the giant warrior-mage an angry glare. Then, he paused, a worried frown creasing his face. His eyes darted to Elle and then back to the shock-haired Earnest John. After a moment, Graff stepped back and dropped his hands, a frightened look in his eyes.
Lady Selene stared at her mage before turning to her daughter. “There is an army behind us who will object to my capture. They will not allow you to rule them, daughter.”
“I do not plan to,” responded Amelie calmly.
A long moment passed. Then, Lady Selene finally broke eye contact with Amelie and looked to Lloyd. The blademaster met her gaze but did not speak. Finally, Lady Selene instructed Graff, “Alert our men to prepare for battle.”
The Councilman did not respond to her, though. Instead, he looked to Amelie and Lloyd. “What are your intentions?”
“The Coalition may maintain the territory it held prior to marching on Issen,” said Amelie. “If you declare Lloyd your king, you will have no contest from us. If he accepts the charge, Lloyd will rule as an independent monarch, not as a vassal of Issen. What he does with the existing council and Irrefort’s highborn will be up to him.”
Graff pursed his lips, studied the impassive Lloyd, then allowed, “Fair enough.”
“Are you sure you’re strong enough for this?” snarled Selene to Amelie.
Amelie stared back at her mother. “I was strong enough to stop the demon-king. I was strong enough to face the Veil. I was strong enough to retake Issen, stop the war, and save the people. I’m stronger than you, Mother.”
Blank-faced, Lady Selene responded, “I believe you are right, daughter. You are strong, strong like I knew you could be. You’ve grown into the woman I dreamed you would be.”
“Do not think to flatter me and save yourself,” growled Amelie.
“You are my daughter,” said Lady Selene, “and I am a proud mother. Everything I did, I did for you.”
Amelie shook her head angrily.
Selene turned to Lloyd. “Your brother was a powerful man, strong and bold. The strongest I have ever met. Will you be strong as well? I care not how you rule Irrefort after I am gone, but will you watch my daughter’s flank and be loyal to her?”
“I pledged my allegiance to Amelie a long time ago,” said Lloyd.
Lady Selene turned to Ben and studied him. “I do not understand you, Benjamin Ashwood. If you bedded my daughter to find wealth and power, you have been successful, but you certainly took a strange path to get there.”
“I-I—” stammered Ben.
“It’s okay, Ben,” murmured Amelie. She turned to General Brinn. “May I beg the use of your irons?”
The general gestured to his men, and moving nervously, they walked to the Coalition party and knelt, clapping the manacles that had secured Rhys around Lady Selene’s wrists and ankles. The lady remained stoic, and her eyes never left Amelie’s face.
“Please tell me you do not mean for the rogue to rule in Whitehall,” begged General Brinn.
“No,” said Amelie. “I had someone else in mind.”
The general blinked at her, uncomprehending.
“You, General Brinn.”
“I, ah, I’m no highborn lord,” mumbled Brinn.
“And that’s why you may make a good king,” responded Amelie.
“The highborn will complain,” protested the general.
“They can talk, but you have the army,” reminded Ben.
“Ah, am I to pledge loyalty to you?” wondered Brinn. “I, well, I don’t know how this kind of thing works.”
Amelie shook her head. “I have no desire to rule the world, General. Instead of a pledge to me, I ask that you make a pledge to peace. I ask that you pledge to enact fair and just laws in your lands. I ask that you refrain from the petty, divisive squabbles that have torn this continent apart. I ask that instead of marching to war, when our nations have a conflict, we meet and settle it with words instead of steel and fire. I ask that you listen to your people. And I ask that you rule the way you would like to be ruled.”
Brinn paused then stated, “Lady Amelie, I will do the best I can. It will not be easy.”
Amelie smiled at him. “No, General Brinn, it will not be easy. It will be the most difficult thing you have ever done. It will be the most difficult thing that any of us has ever done. Rebellion is easy. Breaking the system of old is easy. Wearing the crown and doing something new is difficult. But it will be worth it.”
Brinn dropped to one knee and drew his sword, placing it cross-wise in front of him. “Lady Amelie, if you ever have need, I am at your service.”
Lloyd moved between the ranks and knelt beside Brinn. He went to draw his sword, but Ben unsheathed the one on his back and handed it to the blademaster. Nodding thanks, the man set the sword in front of him like Brinn’s and offered the same pledge.
“You do not need to kneel before me. I am not your liege,” declared Amelie, “but I hope I am your friend. Rise. Rise and go to your people, to your homes. You have much to do.”
17
Hero
Ben scratched at the thick wool britches and, for the hundredth time, wished he could have found something more comfortable.
“You look like you fell into a patch of itchy brambles,” accused Lady Towaal.
“These pants…”
“You’re nervous?” asked the mage.
Ben frowned.
“It’s okay,” she assured him. “Everyone gets nervous speaking in front of people. It takes years of practice before it becomes a comfortable thing. Of course, you’ve had almost forty years of practice, so I don’t know why you are being such a baby about it.”
He grunted. “I’ve never spoken in front of a group like this. Do you have anything to drink in this place?”
“Tea,” replied Lady Towaal.
“I’m told your predecessor loved tea,” said Ben, glancing behind Towaal’s shoulder at the verdant foliage visible through the open doors behind her. “Didn’t she grow tea back there in the garden?”
Towaal snorted. “Tea is not made for this climate. It thrives in high altitude regions that are cooler than the City. It needs ample rain and good drainage. She grew tea here, it’s true, but she forced it. Her tea flourished unnaturally. The plants became sickly and died the moment she stopped sustaining them with her will. You cannot force something to do what it is not, and tea is not meant to grow in the City.”
“I’d like an ale, then,” responded Ben.
Sighing, the mage picked up a small bell off her desk and rang it.
In moments, a slim girl in a white dress ducked her head through the doorway. “Yes, m’lady?”
“A chilled ale for my friend,” requested Towaal. Then, she glanced at Ben. “Make it a pitcher.”
“Your wish, m’lady.” The girl ducked out of sight and quietly shut the door.
“Being the Veil has its perks,” acknowledged Ben.
“Not nearly as many perks as it does headaches,” responded Towaal. “How is being Lord of Issen?”
Ben shrugged. “Amelie does most of the work. She is made for that kind of leadership. I am not. She trained her entire life to rule that city, and now, she does it well.”
“So do you,” chided Towaal. “At least, when you try. We get reports, you know. Even amongst our allies, the Sanctuary has its spies. You’re a man of the people, I’m told, always in public, mixing with the common folk and listening to their challenges. Teaching them when it’s possible, supporting them when it’s required. You’re showing them how to live by your example. You’re establishing a system of governance that allows your people to succeed. Issen and the lands around it are thriving, Ben, thanks in part to Amelie, but also in large part to you. The pair of you is showing the world how to rule.”
Ben grunted but did not respond.
A knock on the door interrupted them, and the girl returned with the pitcher of ale and an empty pewter mug. Ben grabbed the mug and found it was chilled.
“We should get these in Issen,” he remarked appreciatively.
“I’m surprised there’s an innovation in ale drinking you are not aware of,” said Towaal with a laugh.
“I’m not Rhys, and I don’t drink as much as I used to,” complained Ben. “Today, with the speech…”
“I’m glad you agreed to deliver it here,” said Towaal. “Many have heard of your exploits, but they do not understand.”
Ben sipped his ale. “People have forgotten already. They’ve forgotten what we fought for and what so many men and women died for. Lloyd’s done passing well in Irrefort, and you’ve kept the Sanctuary quiet, but after Brinn died in Whitehall, they’ve fallen back into the same old bickering and back-stabbing that existed in Argren’s time. In Narmid, Fabrizo, and Hamruhg, change is happening, but it’s slow there.”