by AC Cobble
Voices echoed around the room, bouncing off the hard rock walls. The three courtiers moved to join more like them and Ben’s group paused to observe the room. It was near three hundred paces across and was teeming with courtiers, soldiers, and others moving about.
“Is there a party?” wondered Ben.
“No.” Amelie shook her head. “This looks just like the foyer in Issen. These people are all waiting to see Lord Rhymer or are doing business with those who are waiting. Places like this in the lord’s keep are always busy.”
Rhys nodded. “We found the right area.”
People were in constant motion. Groups would form for discussions then break apart minutes later. Young boys darted across the floor, delivering messages or fetching items and documents. On one side, there was a desk set up with a harried-looking clerk frantically jotting down names. A long line of disgruntled people stretched out in front of him. Many of them were dressed plainly compared to the rest of the room.
“Petitioners to Lord Rhymer,” explained Amelie. “He may see one or two of them each day to seem a benevolent lord, but most of them won’t get in. If they’re lucky, some minor functionary will deal with them. Otherwise, they’ll be left in another room to wait all day before getting kicked out in the evening.”
“How do you know all of that?” asked Ben.
“I grew up in a place just like this,” answered Amelie with a smile. “What I described is exactly what my father did.”
Ben frowned. “If these people have a complaint, shouldn’t the lord try to see them?”
“Look at all of these people.” Amelie gestured to include the entire room. “There is not enough time in the day to see all of them. My father’s theory was that the serious folk would come back again and again. He would have his clerk note how often they came back and those are the ones he would see. My father thought that most of the petitioners knew the solution to their own problems and just wanted validation, so he turned them away and hoped they would figure it out themselves.”
Ben shifted his feet and looked around again. That made some sense. There were hundreds of people, and Amelie was right—no lord had time to see all of them.
“That leaves us with a problem though. If he doesn’t see everyone, how do we get Rhymer to see us?” queried Amelie.
“Working on it,” said Rhys to his companions. He moved to stand next to Lady Towaal, looped his arm around hers, and walked her several paces forward. “You may not like this,” he apologized.
She knit her brows and was about to respond. Rhys acted before she could.
He snuck out a foot and hooked it under a passing woman’s ankle, sweeping her legs out from under her.
The woman, a young girl Ben saw, went crashing to the stone floor in a pile of embroidered silk and sparkling jewels.
Rhys jumped back from Lady Towaal, pointing at her.
“Why did you do that?” he demanded.
Towaal glared back at him. “I didn’t do anything!”
Courtiers appeared as if out of thin air to help the bejeweled woman back to her feet. Red-faced, her eyes darted between Rhys and Lady Towaal. Rhys was quicker than Towaal. He rushed to bend one knee in front of the woman.
“I am so sorry, my lady. My sister is a jealous bitch! I told her to just ignore you, but, oh my, I am just so sorry! Please forgive her,” pleaded Rhys.
Towaal scowled down at him in vexation.
“Jealous?” the girl asked.
“She just can’t stand seeing another woman with the lord,” claimed Rhys. “It’s been years, but she still yearns for his bed.”
“The lord? His bed?” choked the girl. Her tone was accentuated by her bright red lips, which were painted into a sulky pout. Her eyebrows were elegantly arched to perfection. Young men were speeding across the floor, all clambering to assist her.
“Oh, yes. For many years my sister shared Lord Rhymer’s bed,” claimed Rhys. “When he called her to the keep today, when he begged to see her, she thought the old spark had been rekindled. She just isn’t ready to move on.”
The girl’s face went from a red flush to a deep crimson, fringing on purple. In a heartbeat, she went from pouty to icy. Ben realized she wasn’t much older than him, maybe younger.
“He begged to see her, did he? We shall see about this. Come with me,” she demanded.
Courtiers scattered as she spun around and stormed toward a set of tall doors at the far side of the room.
An elderly gentleman, who was decked out in Northport’s colors and had a silver badge pinned to his doublet, caught up to her side, trying to calm her down. “Issabelle, he is in a meeting now. This must wait.”
“This slut says he called for her, Franklin. Called for her today!” snarled the girl. “He told me he was done with this kind of foolishness. I will not wait. If you try to stop me, I will have you flogged.”
The elderly man wrung his hands and gave Ben’s party an angry look. He did nothing further to slow the enraged Issabelle.
“Who is that?” Ben whispered to Amelie.
“She looks like a strumpet.” His friend sniffed. Her eyes widened and she glanced at Rhys appreciatively. “She is a strumpet! Lord Rhymer’s little play thing.”
The group rushed across the stone floor toward the doors, the small girl leading the way. A pair of guards at the door looked to the elderly man then quickly pushed the doors open when he waved frantically at them.
Towaal shot Rhys a bemused look as they breezed into Rhymer’s reception hall.
The lord was sitting at the far end of the hall behind a massive mahogany table. He had ink, paper, and a half empty decanter of bright red wine on the table. A delegation of what looked like merchants stood in front of him. All of them turned at the interruption.
Rhymer stood and Ben saw the man was a good three or four stone lighter than he remembered from Whitehall. Rhymer had gained a sallow, sickly visage as well. His eyes had the look of a man whose troubles outweighed any joy in his life.
“Seneschal Franklin,” he called. “What is the meaning of this? As you can see, I am entertaining the diamond miner’s guild.”
The elderly man, who must be the seneschal, raised his hands apologetically.
Issabelle strode forward. “Do not ignore me!” she shouted.
Rhymer looked at the small girl and sighed. “What is it, Issabelle?”
“This slut attacked me!” she screamed, pointing at Towaal. “Worse, she says you called for her today and that you begged for her to come. Hoping to give one of your old flames another roll in the bed, were you? Am I not satisfying you, my lord? Do you need someone with more, ah, experience?”
The girl was nearly to Rhymer’s desk now. The contingent from the diamond miner’s guild backed away, giving her room. They looked amused as the petite Issabelle cowed the powerful Lord Rhymer.
Rhymer tried to pacify her. “Now, now, Issabelle. I don’t even know who this…”
He met Towaal’s eyes and paused. Towaal smiled back at him.
Witnessing the exchange, Issabelle shrieked, “I thought she might be lying, but you do know her!” She turned from Rhymer and set her hands on her hips, glaring at Towaal. “I’d have you flogged just for showing up here. You should know better than that, but you tripped me, bitch. For that, I’ll have your head.”
“I don’t think so,” replied Towaal in a patronizing tone. “Why don’t you go run and play so the adults can talk?”
Pretty Issabelle’s mouth dropped open and her eyes flared. She demanded to Franklin, “Call the headsman. Now!”
Towaal ignored Issabelle and looked at Rhymer. “Some privacy might be best,” she suggested.
Rhymer nodded contritely and asked the diamond miner’s guild if they could wait. The guild leaders agreed and exited the room. They were delighted to have witnessed such juicy gossip.
As soon as the doors boomed shut, Rhymer groaned. “You are causing me quite a bit of grief, Lady...”
Towaal held
up a hand to stop him. “No names. I wasn’t sure you would recognize me. You were rather, ah, intoxicated last time we spoke at Whitehall.”
“Drunk at Whitehall? I knew you had a reason for keeping me here,” screamed Issabelle. She snagged a sharp letter opener off of Rhymer’s desk. “I won’t wait for the headsman. I can do this myself.”
Issabelle stalked toward Towaal. The mage just raised an eyebrow and said to Rhymer, “This one is feisty. I like her. She has a lot more spunk than your wife.”
“Issabelle!” shouted the lord, stopping his mistress in her tracks. “This isn’t what you think. This woman is not some former lover of mine. Wait for me in my chambers.”
Issabelle scowled at Towaal and fingered the point of the letter opener.
“Now, Issabelle, or I will be upset with you,” he added ominously.
She petulantly threw the letter opener down on the thick rug and hissed at Towaal, “I will be seeing you later. No matter what he says, you will pay for tripping me!”
She darted out a small door in the back of the reception hall and slammed it shut with more strength than Ben thought she had in that little body.
“This better be worth it,” moaned Rhymer. “Did you really trip her? I will pay for that.”
“I’ve come to ask for your help,” replied Towaal. “But first,” She looked to Franklin. “I need to know we have absolute trust. No one can know who I am or why I am here.”
“Franklin hears what I hear,” grumbled Rhymer. “He has been with me for years. I trust him as much as I would my own blood. After the mess you caused with Issabelle, don’t push me any further.”
Towaal nodded curtly.
Amelie stepped forward.
“You may recognize me as well, from when we signed the Alliance agreement in Whitehall. Or maybe earlier when I was just a girl, at my father’s keep in Issen.”
Lord Rhymer’s eyes opened wide and Franklin scurried around to look at Amelie’s face.
“You are not dead…” murmured Rhymer.
“Not yet,” replied Amelie tartly.
“The Sanctuary,” Franklin said, sparing a quick glance at Towaal. “They said you were dead. A mage was here in person. She left just a week ago. She told us you were killed, in training I believe it was.”
“I see we have a lot to discuss.” Rhymer grimaced. “Franklin, call for food, some glasses, and a lot more wine.”
Ben was unsure how much they should trust Lord Rhymer, given the last time he saw the man, he was assaulting a young girl at Argren’s Fireworks Spectacular. Lady Towaal and Amelie seemed to trust him completely though. Over the course of the next two bells, they unfolded their story for him.
The news weighed heavily on the lord. As they spoke, he shared concerned looks with his seneschal Franklin. He also emptied several decanters of high-quality wine, rivalling even Rhys on the rogue’s best nights.
Rhymer kept a clear head though and he asked pointed questions throughout the tale. By the end of it, his head was bobbing with the new information. Ben could tell the wheels of thought were turning.
At the end of the story, Amelie made her impassioned pitch to the northern lord.
“I do not know how things are going in Issen right now, but I do know how they will go in Issen if my father does not get help. You have known him for years, even decades. You have always been allies. Now, you are officially committed with the signing of the Alliance. Please, honor your commitments and send help for Issen.”
Rhymer drank deep of his wine and remained silent. Frustration and concern was evident in his every movement.
Amelie waited then asked, “Do you know something more of what is happening in Issen?”
Rhymer shook his head then gestured to his seneschal.
Franklin said, “We do not know much more than you do. Issen has been surrounded by a force that is both larger and better prepared than any of us expected. We thought it would be at least another year before the Coalition could raise such an army, maybe two. If we in the Alliance were prepared, it would be a small threat. Combined, we possess far more able bodies and swords than the Coalition, but we were not prepared. As far as the situation on the ground, there have been skirmishes reported, but that is it. So far, they appear content to cut off Issen and wait it out. Our concern is that the Coalition forces are merely waiting for their leader. They have built siege equipment and reports say they have a sufficient force. What else do they need? The missing piece, Lord Jason, has not been there to lead the army. With what you told us, my concern is that he is on his way to Issen now, and when he arrives, they will attack. I believe your father will be able to hold out for months. Issen is well fortified and he knew this was coming eventually, so they are well provisioned, but once the attack begins, entry and exit from Issen will be impossible.”
Amelie shifted in her seat.
Rhys cleared his throat and stated, “That sounds right to me as well. If the initial plan was to capture Amelie and cutoff the weapons supply, they could barter with Gregor from a position of strength. Everyone knows he would do anything for his daughter.”
Amelie’s face tightened but she remained silent.
Rhys continued, “Without Amelie, the next option would be an all-out assault. That fits the narrative the Sanctuary is spreading—that Amelie was killed. If he thought she was alive, Lord Gregor would continue fighting until the end.”
“Once the fighting starts,” said Franklin. “It will be a matter of time. Gregor will hold out as long as he can, maybe a very long time, but he does not have the resources to break the siege.”
“Are you saying you will not send troops to support my father?” asked Amelie bluntly, turning to Rhymer.
Lord Rhymer shook his head. “It’s not whether I want to or not. Regardless of anything you say to me, I simply do not have the men to send.”
“Sir,” retorted Amelie, “it’s readily apparent that you have raised an army within this city. Even the maids are armed! With the Coalition engaged at Issen, there is no threat to Northport. I respectfully disagree that you cannot send help. I ask again, please honor your commitment to my father and Issen. Send your men!”
Rhymer stared down at his near empty wineglass. “I am not worried about threats from the Coalition, or even the Sanctuary for that matter. We have bigger problems to deal with.”
Amelie blinked and looked to her companions in confusion.
“Demons,” muttered Franklin.
“Demons are always a problem in Northport!” interjected Rhys. “What is different now that your help is needed elsewhere?”
Rhymer held up a hand and replied to Rhys. “You are traveling in high company and you speak like you know Northport, so I will give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you do have some experience with my city, but things have changed. The threat has changed.”
Rhys sat back and frowned.
“What was once an annoyance,” Rhymer continued, “is now a serious risk to both Northport and I believe all of Alcott.”
Ben drank the rest of the wine in his glass.
“In the Wilds, the demons are massing like we have never seen before. There is nothing like it in the records. Swarms of them are ranging freely and have completely overrun several of the small towns north of here. I am arming every able-bodied man, woman, and child. The few reliable reports we’ve gotten have described packs with four dozen demons. One man, likely crazy, said he counted near two hundred of them together. That he survived to tell about it gives the lie to his story, but, the fact remains, there are too many reliable reports to ignore. The butchery we’ve found at overrun towns is self-evident. The threat is like nothing we have faced before, even in the histories. Hunters no longer risk the Wilds. The population of demons is now growing unchecked.”
Lady Towaal’s face had gone completely white. The rest of the table sat stunned.
“Hundreds of demons in one swarm!” exclaimed the lord, slapping his hand on the table. “That is why I canno
t risk even a single armed man leaving the defense of this city. If I send troops away, the people will panic, and they will flee. A mass exodus could draw the attention of the swarms. I may not have the forces to stop them. On the road and away from my protection, the people would be butchered.”
“There must be something that can be done!” protested Amelie.
“Just three weeks ago,” Rhymer replied, “two companies of one hundred veterans each was lost completely. Not a single man made it back. We only discovered their fate through use of a far-seeing device. The bodies…” Rhymer slumped back in his chair.
The man’s pallid look made perfect sense now. He wasn’t suffering from alcohol-induced illness, a sickness of the body, or even stress caused by his young and energetic concubine. Lord Rhymer was contemplating the destruction of his city, the loss of everything.
Ben’s companions all looked at each other across the table. If what Rhymer said was true, it was clear Northport could offer no help to Issen.
Lady Towaal leaned forward, both elbows on the table. She looked hard at Lord Rhymer.
“Has anyone determined the cause of this influx of demons?” she asked.
It was Franklin who answered. “No, we haven’t been able to get reliable information back from the Wilds. Without the hunters venturing deep enough to learn anything, we are blind and guessing. We sent the two companies thinking it would be sufficient but,” he shrugged. “They are gone now. We’re talking about sending ten companies. One thousand men. Maybe that is enough to face down the swarms.”
Rhys coughed politely. When Franklin looked at him, he suggested, “Too large a force will just draw the demons to them. The creatures are attracted to life forces. A large group like that is impossible for a demon to ignore. Individually, they have enough survival instinct to avoid that confrontation, which is why they don’t attack towns, but with a swarm of hundreds, it will be like setting out a fresh roast on a buffet table. They are going to come and feast.”
Franklin grimaced. “We have no other choice.”