Dark Territory

by A. C. Cobble

“You sure you’re up for this?” asked Amelie.

  “No,” replied Ben.

  Refusing to think about it, he scrambled down the roof tiles. He meant to do a controlled slide and then stop himself when he reached the edge. There, he could set his feet and figure out the safest way to make the jump.

  When the first roof tile slid out from under his foot, he realized he was at a run, trying to keep the slippery rectangles underfoot. In heartbeats, he was at the edge. Arms wind-milling, he was off balance and traveling at a high rate of speed. He didn’t have time to think about what to do next. He placed one foot, toes hanging over the edge of the roof, and pushed with all of his strength. His body launched into the air. The world slowed. He looked down between the roof and the veranda. He saw the tops of pine trees sticking up below him. From above, they looked like meat skewers.

  Then in a flash, he passed the gap, went over the rail, and slammed down on the stone tiles of the veranda. Stunned, he lay face down on the tile, waiting for the pain of the impact to subside.

  Then Amelie landed on him. The weight of her body smashed him again into the tile. She was lying sprawled on top of him, her face hovering above his.

  “Ouch,” she gasped.

  Ben coughed weakly. “You should try it from this end.”

  “Sorry about that,” she said, grinning down at him.

  “The hilt of your dagger is digging into my back,” he groaned.

  She bent down and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before scrambling up. “Payback for all of the poking you did to me in Morwith.”

  Grumbling under his breath, Ben clambered to his feet. She hadn’t been complaining about that back in Morwith. He stretched to his full height, looked around, then immediately dropped back to one knee, pulling Amelie with him.

  They’d chosen the wrong veranda to jump on to.

  Behind wide, glass doors, a candlelit dining table was laid out with a sumptuous feast. Silver platters were heaped with steaming beef, honey-crusted hams, a colorful array of vegetables, and crusty bread. Butter, gravy, and sauces stood in between the mains. Crystal decanters of red, white, and sparkling wines stood sentinel on a side table. It was all ready and waiting for someone.

  “This isn’t good,” muttered Amelie.

  A liveried maid strolled in between two swinging doors and sat a plate of whole roasted fish down in the middle. She looked over the feast, satisfied everything was in place. Then she glanced outside. On the bare veranda, there was nowhere to hide. Ben and Amelie knelt in the center, caught like startled rabbits, perfectly illuminated by the light pouring out the wall of glass doors and windows.

  The woman screamed and bolted back through the double doors.

  In a panic, Ben’s gaze darted around the veranda. They were three floors above the gardens below and there were no other doors except through the dining room.

  “Quick,” he shouted, “get inside before someone comes. We can find somewhere to hide in there.”

  They flung open the doors, which thankfully were not locked, and bolted inside. Again, they were faced with two options. The double doors the maid ran through must lead to the kitchens. There were certain to be people there. The other door was their only chance. Ben grabbed Amelie’s hand and dragged her to it. They threw it open and ran inside, quickly realizing they choose poorly.

  Eight people stared at them. They were finely dressed like for a ball and had crystal glasses of wine in hand. They must have been waiting for the food to be laid out.

  A blond, pony-tailed man spoke up calmly. “Are you the ones who caused this alarm?”

  A woman interjected before they could answer, exclaiming, “Amelie!”

  Amelie, bitterness lacing her reply, simply responded, “Hello, Mother.”

  Ben groaned.

  The Nemesis

  Everyone stared at each other.

  Behind them was the veranda, three floors above the gardens. Ahead of them were eight well-dressed highborn. They’d have to go through them to reach another door, which hopefully led to the hallway. Ben’s hand dropped to his longsword.

  The door burst open and guards streamed in. They were heavily armored with swords drawn. These men had been listening to the alarm for a quarter bell. Now that they’d finally found the guilty parties. They were ready to fight.

  The blond man held up a hand and the guards froze.

  “Leave us,” he commanded.

  One guard, a talisman of rank hanging around his neck, spoke up. “Sir, the alarms…”

  The blond man looked at him and the guard swallowed uncomfortably.

  The guard gestured to his men then offered a quick bow to the blond man. “We’ll be outside if you need us.”

  Ben watched uneasily as the guards disappeared back into the hallway.

  Amelie’s mother, Lady Selene, spoke again. “Amelie, what are you doing here?”

  She was beautiful, a mature version of Amelie. High cheekbones, dark hair, painted red lips, and a dress that was cinched tight around her slender waist. Jewels sparkled in her hair, around her neck, on her wrists, and on her fingers, more jewels than Ben had ever seen, more jewels than he thought it would be practical to eat dinner in.

  Amelie curtsied. “I came to wish you congratulations on your betrothal,” she murmured. Ben could hear the tightness in her voice.

  The woman made no move to approach Amelie, and Amelie made no move toward her.

  The blond man raised his glass. “Wonderful,” he said with a smirk. “Shall we open another bottle of sparkling wine?”

  Amelie flushed and offered another curtsy. “Yes, that would be wonderful.”

  The man grinned, showing his straight white teeth. “Come now, girl. I was joking. You aren’t that stupid, and this isn’t that easy.”

  Ben didn’t wait to hear anymore. He swept his sword out and lunged at the man. The blond man casually stepped back out of the way of the strike. The crowd in the room gasped, several ladies raising hands to cover their mouths, but none made a move to alert the guards outside. None moved to help the blond man.

  Ben attacked again, slashing at the man’s face. The man stepped out of reach a second time and seemed to appear at a weapons rack by the door. Hanging there was a longsword. It had a worn leather grip and rested in a simple scabbard. The man set his drink down and drew the sword, spinning gracefully to face Ben. The sword had an interlocking geometric pattern etched along the blade. To Ben’s eye, the etching glowed with a faint, sparkling yellow light. Mage-wrought, there was no doubt.

  Now the people in the room were scrambling out of the way, bumping into low couches, nearly knocking over small tables. They moved to the fringes of the room, watching the man as he slowly walked toward Ben.

  Ben swallowed. The man’s footsteps were unnaturally light and he had a disturbing grace. The way he held his blade, the way he’d avoided Ben’s swings, all spoke of unassailable confidence. Who acted like that when an attacker burst into their dinner party?

  Amelie came to stand beside Ben, rapier and dagger held ready.

  “Two against one?” jested the man. “That hardly seems fair.”

  “Amelie,” shouted her mother. “What are you doing with a sword? Step away. You could hurt yourself.”

  Amelie ignored her mother.

  “Jason,” pleaded Lady Selene, “please do not hurt her. She doesn’t know the first thing about handling a sword. She’s my daughter. All she knows is sewing and history.”

  A shiver ran down Ben’s spine. Jason, Lord Jason, a man even Jasper was afraid of.

  Jason circled Ben and Amelie. They pivoted to follow him but didn’t attack again. Ben was in shock at how easily the man avoided his first strikes. He didn’t want to have to engage until he had to.

  “She’s made it rather far for a seamstress,” remarked Jason coolly.

  “She—” began Amelie’s mother.

  Jason held up a hand to her. “I’ve heard enough.”

  Lady Selene fell silent, her
lips pressed tightly together. Ben didn’t spare her more than a momentary glance. His eyes were on Jason, Lord Jason, the Coalition’s blade in the night, the Coalition’s future king.

  “What are you doing here, Amelie?” asked the lord curiously. “Surely, you weren’t so upset about that unpleasantness back in the City. I can’t believe that you came all the way to Irrefort to, what, assassinate me?”

  “What happened in the City?” demanded Lady Selene.

  “I said enough, woman,” growled Jason.

  Amelie’s mother blanched and didn’t ask again.

  “We are not here for you,” said Ben. “We’d be happy to leave right now. We can forget this happened.”

  Jason grinned. “Not yet, I don’t think.”

  Like a striking snake, his sword whipped toward Ben’s face. Ben barely got his own blade up in time to parry the strike. Jason’s sword bounced off Ben’s and the lord flicked a strike at Amelie. She scrambled back, but Ben could tell that one hadn’t been intended to inflict damage. Jason was playing with them.

  Ben charged.

  He tried an attack he’d seen Rhys use, aiming high for a fatal strike to Jason’s neck but at the last instant bringing his blade down and trying to catch the man’s extended leg. It was an effective attack because the defender almost always overcommitted to protecting against the fatal blow, leaving themselves vulnerable elsewhere.

  Jason didn’t even bother to parry. He simply moved his leg and Ben’s sword swished harmlessly through open air.

  “I am even more curious now,” said Jason, acting unperturbed that Ben attacked him. “If not me, then please tell, why are you here? Entering Irrefort was risky, not to mention the keep and my veranda.”

  Ben whirled into another complicated sequence. He replicated an aggressive set of forms Saala taught him back in the City. This time, Jason was forced to defend with his blade. He let Ben get far enough into the series that Ben was committed. Then he launched a blazingly fast counterattack.

  Ben parried twice then sprung away, ducking to roll across the floor, smashing into a small table as he did. He spun to slash behind him, protecting against a follow-up attack. There was none. Jason was standing back, watching him.

  Ben winced. He hadn’t ducked fast enough. He could feel the burning sting of a cut on his back. He couldn’t tell how bad it was, but for now, he could still move, and that was good enough.

  Amelie charged the lord next. He lazily batted away her rapier.

  She attacked again, and this time, Jason blocked her sword and unleashed a vicious punch to her chest. She stumbled back and crashed hard onto her backside, grimacing in pain.

  Seeing an opening, Ben surged forward and thrust a jab at Jason’s side. The lord twisted away. The blade didn’t come within three hands of him. Jason raised his own blade to counterattack but Ben had something else in mind. His weak thrust was just a cover to get close. He gestured with his off hand and released the crashing wind that built inside his head during a fight.

  It didn’t have the intensity of the blast before. He’d hadn’t had time to rebuild the energy, but that close, he was able to direct it into a nearly solid burst of wind that hit Jason like a fist. The lord was surprised, rocked by the impact. He flew back, flailing into his companions who scattered like leaves in a fall storm.

  Ben ran after the tumbled lord, trying to take advantage of the surprise. He wasn’t quick enough. Jason shot back up to his feet, grinning gleefully.

  Ben swung a furious attack which Jason parried. The lord retreated, circling away from Ben. He was slower than he’d been earlier, maybe stunned by the wind or maybe injured. Ben kept pressing, knowing he couldn’t let the man recover.

  Jason darted away, flowing like smoke away from Ben’s razor sharp steel. Ben pursued relentlessly, slashing high, low, and then thrusting directly at Jason’s chest. Ben’s steel came within fingers of catching flesh. Jason stepped back and bumped into a low couch. He stumbled off balance then lurched through the dining room door.

  Hounding him, Ben came in close, realizing too late he’d been reckless. Jason was off balance and couldn’t get his sword around to parry, but the man himself was a weapon. He brushed aside Ben’s blade with his arm and stepped into Ben’s guard, wrapping around Ben’s body and crushing him close.

  Ben stomped hard, trying to bring the heel of his boot onto Jason’s foot. The lord slid his foot out of the way then curled his leg around, catching Ben’s. He shifted his weight and Ben went flying, crashing through the wood and glass door to the veranda. The wood snapped and the glass shattered. Ben landed painfully in the debris of the broken door, shards of glass raining down on top of him.

  He rolled across it, feeling the sharp pieces dig into his exposed flesh and cut through his tunic. Jason’s blade struck the stone tile where Ben had been lying. Sparks flew out from the impact.

  Instead of rising to his feet, Ben gambled. He rolled back at Jason, catching the lord’s feet with his body and stabbing up with his sword. Ben’s spirits surged when he saw the shocked look on Jason’s face, but the lord reacted faster than Ben though possible. He dodged to the side and stepped back. He grinned down at Ben and gestured for him to rise.

  “Well done,” murmured the lord, nodding appreciatively.

  Amelie flew out of the dining room with her rapier raised, aiming to skewer the lord from behind. He heard her feet crunch on the glass and ducked. Her rapier stabbed over him and he reached up, catching her arm. He slammed into her midsection with his shoulder. He lifted her off the ground and tossed her into the air.

  Ben winced as Amelie crashed down onto the stone tiles. He didn’t think she was badly hurt, but she was clearly stunned.

  “You two are persistent,” complimented Jason.

  Ben stalked forward, searching for any sign of weakness in Jason’s guard. Jason sighed and strode to Amelie before Ben could react. He kicked away her rapier and dagger. She glared up at him, still moving slowly from the hard landing.

  Jason turned his gaze toward Ben and raised his longsword, hovering it a pace over Amelie’s head. “Tell me why you are here.”

  Ben stared at the man in anguish. Jason was too fast. There was no way Ben could get there in time to prevent him from bringing that sword down.

  “We’re here to find an organization called the Purple,” admitted Amelie.

  Jason glanced down at her.

  “You must have reports of increased demon sightings,” she continued. “Entire towns are getting overrun. It’s because of something that happened in Northport. An ancient artifact was destroyed, a mechanism that controlled the flow of demons into our world. With it gone, no one knows what will happen, no one except for, maybe, the Purple.”

  “If you are here for this Purple,” asked the lord, “why are you fighting me? Are you responsible for the alarm upstairs?”

  Ben realized Jason wasn’t aware of the exact nature of the chaos they and the Quiet Men had caused.

  “That wasn’t us,” declared Ben. He hoped no one in the keep could prove him wrong. “And I think you know why we are fighting you.”

  Jason raised an eyebrow. “Remind me.”

  “You murdered my business partner Lord Reinhold’s troops outside of Arrath. You tried to kidnap Amelie from the Sanctuary,” accused Ben.

  Lord Jason smiled and relaxed, his sword lowering slightly. “Ah, yes. That is true. I did those things. It seems ages ago, doesn’t it?”

  “What is he talking about?” called Lady Selene from within the dining room.

  “Silence,” barked Jason. “Stay inside.”

  The woman retreated away from the broken doorway. They may be betrothed, but it clearly wasn’t a love match.

  Amelie tried to take advantage of the distraction. She kicked at Jason then scrambled across the tiles to her weapons.

  “Let’s stop this,” said Jason, easily batting her kick aside, “at least until we’ve had a chance to talk.”

  Ben met Amelie’s gaz
e. Neither one of them lowered their swords.

  “I understand your concern,” continued Jason. “It was rather shabby of me to try and take you from the Sanctuary, but I am no longer interested in you, girl. Lord Gregor is dead. Everyone thinks you are dead. I have your mother, and I already control Issen. What could I possibly want with you?”

  Ben blinked, confused.

  Amelie’s jaw dropped open.

  “Maybe you think I could turn you over to the Sanctuary?” asked Jason rhetorically. “Well, I’m no longer associated with them.” Abruptly, he looked to Ben. “I recall someone witnessed what happened at Arrath. Was it you?”

  Ben stared at him and didn’t respond.

  Jason pursed his lips. “It was you, wasn’t it? That makes sense. You saw what happened and warned your friend. Well, those men who were with me, none of them made it to Issen. On our way there from the City, the Veil decided my men and I knew too much. She set an ambush, and only I survived. Three hundred of my men were murdered by that evil witch. The Sanctuary betrayed us both. I have no more love of the Veil than you do. It’s not clear to me that we should oppose each other.”

  “I hope you don’t expect us to trust you,” snarled Ben.

  “Boy, I have scores of guards waiting outside in the hallway,” reminded Jason. “Assuming you somehow managed to defeat me, which I don’t think either of us believe you can do, they’d cut you down in heartbeats. If I want you dead, it is easy to achieve. You are playing a losing hand. Look around you. There is no way you can fight your way out of here. I admit though, I am intrigued about the demons. If you are being honest, I want you to tell me more. Let us be civil about this.” Jason turned to Amelie’s mother and the people around her. “Go on to dinner. Eat while it is hot. I will be along shortly.”

  Lady Selene eyed Amelie. “I must speak to my daughter.”

  “Your daughter is dead, don’t you remember?” growled Jason. “A queen with such a short memory is certain to not last long in Irrefort. I hope this isn’t a sign of things to come. Now go. Eat.”

  Amelie’s mother and the courtiers began to sit around the table, ignoring the shattered wood and glass. Amelie’s mother kept her eyes on her daughter, but Amelie didn’t return the look. The courtiers were focused on Selene. They looked predatory. Ben cringed. After everything that happened that night, that was what the highborn of the city were interested in, a potentially weakened rival.