by A. C. Cobble
“Care for a drink?” Jason asked Ben and Amelie.
They met each other’s gaze then shrugged. Jason was right. They were trapped in the middle of his keep. Even if they were able to defeat him, which seemed unlikely given their experience so far, there were scores of guards waiting outside in the hallway and an army stationed below. They couldn’t fight their way out.
Ben shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “What do you have?”
The lord grinned and gestured for them to follow him back into the room where they’d first encountered each other. Furniture was overturned, tables kicked into the wall. Spots of Ben’s blood stained the carpet. Jason didn’t let it bother him. He filled three crystal glasses with sparkling wine while Ben and Amelie took a seat on a thickly stuffed leather couch. Jason handed over their drinks, righted a flipped-over chair, and sat across from them. He propped his longsword to the side and took a sip of his wine.
“You alluded to an increase in demons earlier,” started the lord. “It is true. We have been getting reports about it, and as you say, some small towns have been lost. I am used to dealing with these things personally, but my circumstances have changed. Maybe you heard? I am to wed your mother, Amelie, and become king of the Coalition.”
“Congratulations,” grumbled Amelie.
Jason smiled at her. “Part of my new role requires me to be in Irrefort for various functions, like the wedding and subsequent coronation. I haven’t had time to travel and address this increase in attacks. I am not aware of this artifact you say has been destroyed. Tell me about it.”
Ben did as the lord asked. Their intention was to find a way to battle the demons, and telling the soon-to-be king of the Coalition about the problem couldn’t hurt. Jason listened patiently, sipping his sparkling wine and rarely asking questions. Ben couldn’t tell from his expression what he thought about the story.
At one point, a guard ducked his head in from the hall doorway.
“Sir, the alarms, there’s been an attack on the council’s chambers.” The guard eyed Ben and Amelie suspiciously. It was obvious from the room a fight had taken place, but with his lord sitting so calmly, the guard didn’t mention it. Ben wondered if these things were common around Lord Jason.
“Did you deal with it?” inquired Jason.
“There is a lot of damage, sir. Some of the council was killed,” admitted the guard. “The perpetrators were also killed, we think. It appears the Quiet Men and the Thin Blades battled it out. They had mage-wrought weapons. It’s pretty messy in the council’s chambers.”
Jason stared at the guard captain incredulously. “The Quiet Men and Thin Blades all killed each other within these walls and took several council members down with them?”
The captain nodded cautiously.
“How many of the council died?” asked Jason. He briefly glanced suspiciously at Ben and Amelie but appeared to dismiss the notion they were capable of assassinating members of his council.
“Three of them, sir, including Councilman Rettor.”
Jason rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I want a full report in the morning. I want to know how they got in and what they intended. We cannot have these things happening so close to the coronation, captain. We must display strength to the city. Make sure news of this stays within the keep as best we’re able. I’ll think of a cover story on the dead councilmen tomorrow. Finally, captain, make sure the Quiet Men and Thin Blades really are dead. Count the bodies. Their leaders, Sander and Rettor, I want their heads brought to my chamber tonight.”
“Understood, sir.” The guard captain backed out and shut the door. Thankful he was alive after making a report like that, thought Ben.
“Well, that is rather embarrassing,” admitted Jason. “I have a soft spot for some of those in the council. I fear I may have made a mistake and let them indulge in their little games. The problem seems to have solved itself, but in the spirit of us remaining friends, you will keep this to yourselves?”
It wasn’t really a question, but Ben and Amelie nodded just the same.
“As I said, I am still becoming used to leadership. In the past, I would have tracked down any survivors and slaughtered them all myself. If the council had been unable to defend themselves, then I would take it as a sign they were no longer fit for duty. But now, I need the old fools. Someone has to administer this land, and I don’t intend it to be me.”
Jason stood and strode to a side table where he refilled his wine.
“I took power after I returned from Issen for two reasons. The first, to stand against Argren and his overreach with the Alliance. The second, to enact revenge against the Veil. I want to set fire to Whitehall and the City. I want to watch their leaders burn inside the tall towers. Once that is done, I will relinquish the crown.” Jason returned to his seat and sat down with a sigh. “But none of that is interesting to you, is it? You are interested in this Purple and the demons.”
“We believe they are a threat to all of Alcott,” stated Ben. His mind was swirling with the implications of everything Jason just said. He couldn’t process it quickly enough.
Jason knit his brows. His eyes darted between Ben and Amelie. “What do you expect the Purple to do? Help you fight hundreds of demons? Kill them all one by one?”
“We hope they can help us find a permanent solution,” stated Ben. “We could kill individual demons by the score, by the hundreds, but they will just keep coming. Ages ago, the Purple were working on a solution, a way to end the demon threat once and for all. If we find them, maybe we can find out what they know. At the least, we can gain their assistance and create another, safer rift. We have access to a tool that can do that. Maybe there is an answer other than constant war with the creatures.”
Jason stood abruptly and strode to the hallway door. He swept it open and called to a guard outside, “Send Briggens to my chambers. On my desk, there is a scroll tied with a purple ribbon. Have him bring it to me.”
Ben looked to Amelie and saw her eyes widen.
Turning back to them, Jason asked politely, “Care for more wine?”
Minutes later, a neatly dressed man, presumably Briggens, appeared at the door. “Sir,” he said, offering a tightly wrapped scroll. Purple cord hung from each end.
Jason took it and waved the man off. He slapped the scroll against his palm, looking at Ben and Amelie.
“I will give you this,” he finally said. “I saw it some years ago and thought nothing of it at the time. It was addressed to the council and there were other members who had an interest in this type of thing. They were eager to handle it so I let them. Due to the recent demon troubles, I retrieved it from the archives and read it again. I believe the sender made a grave error sending this to us. He should have been more circumspect, but alas, he wasn’t. It makes little sense to me even now, but after your hearing your story, maybe it will make sense to you. I will give it to you on the condition that I do not see you again. If you return to Irrefort, I will kill you. No questions asked. No mercy.”
“Why?” asked Ben. “Why are you giving it to us?”
“I believe you,” answered the lord. “I think you really do mean to combat the demons. If you are successful, I will take credit for helping. If you are unsuccessful, well, that is no loss. I also believe you have just as much reason as I do to hate Argren and the Sanctuary. If, in your travels, you find a way to harm them, I would appreciate it. And finally, I control Issen already. I will marry its ruling lady. I have no reason to hold you, Amelie. I cannot marry both you and your mother, and it would be frowned upon by your people if I were to set her aside now. Besides, they think you are dead. It will be awkward if they learn differently. As far as I’m concerned, your death will remain the story. If you abide by my simple requests, it can be just a story.”
Amelie frowned but didn’t respond. What was there to say to that?
“Why don’t you help us?” inquired Ben. “With your resources, you could make a difference.”
Ja
son held up a hand. “Releasing you does not harm my cause, and it may help it. Helping you though requires me to devote time and attention. I have the Alliance and the Sanctuary to worry about. I will not help you.”
“The demons are a threat to all of us!” exclaimed Ben.
“Maybe,” responded Jason with a shrug. “Maybe not.”
Amelie elbowed Ben. He nodded and stood, wincing as the cut on his back tugged.
Jason handed him the scroll and called for one of the guards.
“Escort these two to the city gates,” he instructed. “See that they leave.”
“Wait!” called Amelie’s mother from the door of the dining room, “I must speak with my daughter.”
Jason looked at the guard in the room and sighed. “Very well, Selene. Speak with your daughter. Understand though, Lady Amelie is dead. This Amelie can only live if everyone knows that. I will not allow a rallying point for rebellious factions in Issen.”
Lady Selene bowed to Lord Jason. “I understand.”
Jason instructed the guard, “Follow me. I have something special for you. Someone else can escort our guests outside when they are done with Lady Selene.”
The guard tensed and his eyes darted around the room. Ben felt for the man, suspecting that his time in Lord Jason’s service was coming to a violent end. Jason wasn’t the type of leave loose ends hanging unless he had good reason. A single soldier’s loyalty didn’t seem to be enough.
Jason smiled and the guard followed him slowly out of the room.
“Amelie,” began Lady Selene.
Amelie stared back at her mother, stone faced.
“What are you going? This is foolish,” stated her mother. “Stay with me in Irrefort. Jason is right, you cannot assume your true identity, but I will speak with him. We can find somewhere for you in the keep where you can be safe. Maybe you can pose as a foreign lady and still enjoy the privilege your birth earned you.”
“No mother, I cannot do that,” growled Amelie.
“I saw the fight, I overheard what you said. Opposing the Coalition is a mistake, Amelie. Do not think the Sanctuary or Argren will protect you when the war begins.”
Amelie shook her head.
“I had two choices,” continued Lady Selene. “Stay by your father’s side in the Alliance or take the difficult action to join the Coalition. I am not happy about what happened, but the city of Issen is safe now. I am sorry about your father, but it was the only way.”
“You don’t think Argren will assault Issen?” demanded Amelie. “It will be the first thing he does, and where will you be when that happens?”
Lady Selene stiffened. “I only had two choices, and neither one was perfect. The same two choices you have.”
Amelie shook her head. “You are wrong mother. You didn’t have to choose the Alliance or the Coalition, and neither do I. The Alliance and the Coalition are merely systems of channeling power into the hands of a few, and I won’t be a part of it. There is real evil in the world, mother. Ben and I will stand against it, even if those powerful lords you hang your fate on are too cowardly to do so.”
“You are not a hero in a story,” snapped Lady Selene. “It’s not too late to stop this foolishness. Let me take care of you.”
“Just like you cared for father?” snapped Amelie.
Lady Selene’s chin rose and she met her daughter’s glare.
Amelie turned to Ben. “I think it’s time we left.”
He strode to the door and called for an escort out of the city.
To Sea
The sun broke over the horizon as Ben and Amelie staggered to the door of the Hangman’s Noose. The adrenaline spike that kept them going through the night was crashing down now like a brick wall. Ben’s legs felt like he was uprooting tree stumps with each step.
The light of a low fire flickered through the dirty windows of the inn, and in the pre-dawn glow, they could see smoke puffing up from the chimneys. The door creaked in protest when Ben shoved it open. Inside the room, a cat scrambled out of the way and the lone occupant looked up.
“You’re just in time for breakfast,” remarked Lady Towaal.
“I’m not sure I can stay awake for it,” complained Ben.
Towaal pursed her lips. “Unfortunately, I don’t think you have time to rest. Irrefort was kicked awake last night. They will come hunting for us, soldiers, hunters, maybe even Lord Jason. We cannot face him and survive. We must run.”
Ben and Amelie sat heavily in chairs across from Towaal.
“We don’t need to worry about Lord Jason,” replied Ben. He dug out the scroll the lord had given them and placed it on the table in front of Towaal. “He gave us this.”
Towaal raised an eyebrow and peered at the scroll. “Lord Jason spoke to you and gave you a scroll? What does it say?”
Ben shrugged. “He didn’t say, and we didn’t want to hang around any longer than we had to.”
Towaal frowned at Ben. “He just handed you a scroll?”
Ben sighed and shifted to get comfortable. Even sitting, his legs ached from the flight the night before. “We fought first, and then he gave it to us. He’s not such a bad guy once you get to know him.”
Towaal blinked in surprise. “You fought Lord Jason and you’re still alive? Maybe you should start from the beginning. What happened after we lost you chasing the librarian’s apprentice?”
Ben looked around the empty common room and stood. “It’s a long story. Let me get some kaf first.”
***
The pounding rhythm of a drum reverberated through the inn, bouncing down the halls of the quarters and punching through the doors of the room.
Ben’s eyes flicked open.
The beat was steady, martial. A flute joined the drum, a harp danced around the notes, and a woman’s sweet voice laid a melody on top of it. It was a marching tune, promising victory and glory, but one shadowed by a sense of loss and regret. Upstairs, in the warmth of his bed, Ben couldn’t hear the words the woman was singing, but he understood the tone. She was singing about what it was like when her man marched to war, what it was like to stay behind.
Beside him, Amelie stirred in the bed. She grinned at him. “We haven’t been in a bed together since Morwith.”
“There was no space for privacy in that little peddler’s cart. Next time, we’ll have to steal a bigger one.” Ben sighed dramatically. “The others will be expecting us at dinner soon.”
“Did that music just start?”
“It did,” responded Ben. A smile split his face.
“Then it may be a bell before they start serving. I think we have a little time,” suggested Amelie.
Ben bent down and his lips met hers. They stayed in bed for longer than a bell, much longer, but it was worth it. Elated and exhausted, he was a little unsteady on his feet by the time they made their way downstairs.
In the common room, they spotted Rhys and the others at a table in the far corner. When they got close, Rhys pushed out two chairs and gestured to two empty mugs. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
“Sorry,” mumbled Ben. “I guess we were worn out from last night.”
“Getting worn out is more like it,” muttered Rhys under his breath.
Corinne slapped him on the arm. “We’re not in a rush. Besides, sometimes it’s worth celebrating just being alive. We assaulted Irrefort’s keep last night. We lived through a battle of the city’s thieves and assassin’s guilds. We fought a couple of mages, and our friends here survived the most dangerous swordsman in Alcott. I think we can wait while they have a celebration.”
“We celebrated twice,” mumbled Amelie, hiding a grin behind her hand.
Rhys guffawed. “Twice, huh? That is something to celebrate.” The rogue filled up the empty mugs and stood, raising his. “I propose a toast,” he called loudly to the room.
Corinne’s elbow dug into his hip and the rogue sat back down grinning.
Amelie raised her mug, “How about this one? To good friends
.”
Everyone raised their mug, even Lady Towaal.
“To good friends.”
***
Half a bell later, the librarian’s assistant sheepishly arrived at their table. He was a young man, approximately Ben’s age and about the same size. He walked with his shoulders hunched over though, and had a timid demeanor that made him seem smaller than he was. His hair was shaggy curls and unkempt, falling over his eyes and hiding much of his expression. He was dressed plainly in a simple tunic, pants, and cloak. His boots were dirty but looked new. Ben suspected he had never worn them before he fled Northport.
“Milo,” he mumbled, sticking out a hand to Ben. “Sorry about running away. When I heard my master had been killed, I panicked.”
“I understand,” responded Ben, gripping Milo’s outstretched hand. “You didn’t know who we were.”
Milo sat down at the table and curled his hands around a full ale mug Rhys had sloshed in front of him. He didn’t take a drink.
“Milo,” Lady Towaal started, “has told us part of his story but not all. If it is okay with him, I will summarize for you so we can move on.”
Milo nodded.
“Milo is the son of a soldier in Rhymer’s guard. He had half a dozen older brothers. They took up an assortment of apprenticeships around Northport. When it came Milo’s turn, his father didn’t have coin to pay a craftsman to take him on so the boy joined the guard like his father. The guard,” Towaal said, glancing apologetically at the young man, “was not kind to Milo. He fared poorly amongst his rougher peers. Just over two years ago, his captain came to him and directed him to the library. There, the Librarian offered him an apprenticeship. He would serve as an assistant, and in time, if he showed himself capable, he would be trained as a librarian.”
“Did you prove capable?” asked Corinne.