Weight of the Crown

by A. C. Cobble

  He sighed as they dodged through the crowded streets, nodding offhandedly at the salutes and well-wishes of his army. He cringed. His army. What was he going to do with an army?

  Despite Elle’s assurance that the solution was obvious, no answers were forthcoming. None had been obvious in a long time. Only when he was in the thick of battle did the choice seem clear. Only when he was on the move, when the action was hottest. Then, the choices were always clear because there was only one way. In battle, you attacked. Sitting and letting the fight happen around you was a surefire way to get yourself killed.

  He paused, and Amelie stopped beside him, raising an eyebrow in question.

  “Let’s order everyone to prepare to march.”

  “March where, Ben?”

  “North,” he replied.

  Amelie frowned at him.

  “The longer we stay here, the worse our problems will get,” explained Ben. “Sitting still doesn’t get us any closer to Saala and stopping the war between the Alliance and the Coalition. It doesn’t clear the remaining demon swarms around Northport. It doesn’t address Lady Avril or Lady Coatney. Amelie, there’s no reason we should still be here.”

  “The army needs coin to move, Ben,” argued Amelie. “They need weapons, gear for winter, and provisions. We can’t just send them up there with nothing. I understand we’re not accomplishing anything here in Kirksbane, but if we want these men to follow us, we can’t allow them to starve.”

  Ben clenched his fists in frustration.

  Around them, the streets were crowded with people going about their daily errands. Kirksbane was busting at the seams. It was a small place compared to the City or Whitehall, and it was filled beyond capacity with Ben’s army staying there. The din of activity was driving Ben to distraction. He needed a quiet place to think, to discuss options with Amelie.

  “I need an ale,” he told her.

  “You could come to the Curve Inn, Lord Ben,” breathed a timid voice.

  Both Ben and Amelie turned. Standing in the street, eyes on the ground, one foot coyly tucked behind the other, top barely clinging to pale, milk-white shoulders, was a beautiful woman. Honey-blond hair framed rosy cheeks, and a welcoming smile curled her lips.

  Ben’s heart sank.

  “I’ll speak to Master Taber,” continued the beauty. “I’m sure the ale would be free for a powerful and handsome lord like you, Lord Ben.”

  Ben’s throat went dry, and his eyes darted wildly toward Amelie.

  The woman looked up. “Do you remember me, Lord Ben? I told Master Taber about… about us. He didn’t believe me. After I heard what you did up north, with the demons, I even told the mayor.”

  “You told—"

  “I believe Ben does remember you,” interjected Amelie, her voice flat.

  “I’m not a lord,” Ben declared to the air, halfway between Amelie and the barmaid Ilyena. He’d hoped to avoid the woman, and now that she was standing in front of him, he wasn’t sure what to say. It didn’t help that Amelie was beside him, looking as if she was deciding between assaulting Ben or the barmaid.

  “You said that before,” claimed Ilyena, her gaze defiantly meeting Amelie’s glare.

  Ben looked anywhere but at her.

  “The mayor tried to bed me, you know?”

  Ben closed his eyes and swallowed.

  “I told him I’d been with a real lord. You, Lord Ben,” continued Ilyena. “He’s no lord, you know. He’s barely any better than a village councilman in some farm town. Lord Vonn down in Venmoor rarely even acknowledges him. I told him to be a real lord he had to do something like you did up north with the demons. He had to—”

  “I’ve got an idea,” said Ben, opening his eyes and turning to Amelie. “Let’s go get an ale at… somewhere else.”

  Amelie, stone-faced, started down the street.

  2

  The Road

  Ben tugged the straps of his pack, hitching it high where it was comfortably distributed to provide the least amount of wear on his body. He checked his longsword and hunting knife, ensuring the blades were firmly in their sheaths but accessible if he needed to draw them quickly. The night before, he’d run the whetstone over them, smoothing the steel of nicks and honing them to razor-sharp.

  Beside him, Amelie, Rhys, Lady Towaal, and the former guardian Prem all settled their gear and then looked to him expectantly.

  “Let’s get on the road, then,” he said, feeling silly giving the order.

  He led them east from Kirksbane, heading toward the Sineook Valley. From there, they’d cross Snowmar Pass down into Whitehall. If they were unable to catch Saala there, they’d find a vessel to sail across the Blood Bay to Fabrizo, where the Alliance was staging its army. Ben didn’t think about what would happen if they couldn’t catch their old friend there. Issen was the next stop, and where everyone expected the Alliance to meet the Coalition. If the two sides came together before Ben and his friends were able to convince Saala to stop, it was certain to be war.

  Ben didn’t know who would win the conflict, but he knew plenty of people who would lose. The city of Issen would be demolished in the fighting. Tens of thousands, no, hundreds of thousands of soldiers would be killed. Their families would be left without husbands, fathers, and sons. Commerce would grind to a halt as tradesmen, conscripted as soldiers, didn’t return to their shops. Farms would go fallow. Nets wouldn’t be cast. The size of the armies promised a titanic conflict that would devastate Alcott for decades.

  Ben grimaced and kept walking. They’d reach Saala, reason with him, and put a stop to it. They had to.

  “Lord Vonn’s troops haven’t stopped and questioned us yet,” said Amelie. “That’s a good sign.”

  “He’s probably just happy to see us go,” remarked Rhys. “The longer we stayed in Kirksbane, the weaker he looked. An army just a few days north of his city, no lord wants that. We gave him a way out, and while he’s not happy about it, it’s better than it could have been. Besides, what’s he going to do, go to war with his former men? Half our strength is his rangers and blademasters, not to mention all these new arrivals from his lands. It’d be brother against brother. He’s experienced enough to know that sometimes not losing is winning.”

  “I do not understand your lords,” murmured Prem. “The rangers chose to follow us. How can this Lord Vonn complain about it? It’s not our fault he did not earn their loyalty. Maybe if he’d marched to face the demons, he would be the one gaining followers, not us. Besides, we had no intention of going back to Venmoor and threatening him.”

  “It’s not us he’d feel threatened by,” explained Amelie. “As Rhys said, with an army sitting on his doorstep mostly made up of his former soldiers, he looks weak. While we had no intention of pressing it, what about the other lords? If Venmoor looks weak, if Lord Vonn looks weak, it’s only a matter of time before another lord tried to step in. Then, he really would have a fight on his hands.”

  “So by sending Kirksbane’s mayor and its remaining men north with our army, Lord Vonn will gain what?” questioned Prem.

  “Lord Vonn gets Northport, or what’s left of it,” explained Ben. “The mayor gets a chance to prove himself and earn a title. They need our men and mages to do it, though, so in exchange for that, we get the coin we need to arm and feed them. We all have incentive to make it work, and I’m as happy with Vonn ruling up north as anyone else. He seems a fair sort, for a highborn.”

  Amelie snorted.

  “It was well done, Ben,” complimented Towaal. “You thought out every angle and found a solution that kept everyone happy with no bloodshed. I’m impressed.”

  “Still glad you decided to support me so many months ago?” asked Ben.

  “I liked you better when you brewed ale,” interjected Rhys. “This world has enough lords. What we need is more brewers.”

  Ben rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Rhys. Seriously, though, I was a much better brewer than I am a lord.”

  “You are a lord, thoug
h, Ben, at least in the ways that matter,” said Towaal. “You may not have land, and you may not have been raised to the nobility by a powerful highborn, but you have an army and followers. You have people counting on you, and you count on them. That’s what it means to be a leader, not some official decree.”

  Ben scratched at the scar on his arm and didn’t respond. He was no lord. He knew that, but it seemed fewer and fewer others did.

  That evening, they sat around a small campfire and Ben stirred a pot. Chunks of potato, carrot, onion, and beef swam in the boiling water. It was more fresh meat and vegetables than they would usually travel with, but passing through Sineook Valley, food would be plentiful and they would have no trouble resupplying. The valley was the agricultural source for most of Whitehall’s needs, and farmers were always happy to make a sale locally instead of having to cart their goods days away.

  Ben inhaled the rich scent of the stew and smiled. Something felt good about being out on the road again, away from the pressure of command, and crafting a simple meal for his friends. He sat back contentedly.

  “Don’t burn it,” muttered Rhys, eyeing him across the fire, “Lord Ben.”

  Ben rolled his eyes and leaned back to the fire, scraping the wooden spoon along the bottom of the iron pot. They sat silently for a moment, enjoying each other’s company and not finding a need to fill the space.

  Giving the stew another stir, Ben asked Prem, “Have you contacted your father?”

  “No,” answered the girl. “Not since I told him we were leaving.”

  “Is it easy?” asked Amelie. “We used a thought meld with Jasper, but we had a device for it that he attuned to himself. It didn’t take any thought at all, really, just enough energy to activate it.”

  “It’s easy for me,” said Prem. “My father and I have always been close, and we’ve been communicating that way for seven or eight decades now. As you say, it barely takes a thought.”

  “Interesting,” murmured Amelie.

  “Why don’t you try it?” asked Prem. “You could begin working with me to reach my father, and after you’ve done that successfully, you could link to other guardians. All of them are experienced in establishing thought melds, and it would be beneficial to have more connections and not rely only on my father and I.”

  Smiling, Amelie agreed, “I would like that.”

  “I’ll tell my father, then.”

  “Do you have to direct the thought to him?” wondered Rhys. “Or can he… read your thoughts?”

  Frowning, the girl replied, “Usually I direct my thoughts to him. Sometimes, when I’m distracted and my thoughts are vivid, he’s able to receive them without me sending them. There was a time when I was younger, I fell and broke my arm. It was a stupid thing, and with our healers, not a serious injury, but my father knew my pain. He came running immediately to find me. He said it was like I was shouting in his head. So, you could say, the more intense the emotion, the louder the thoughts.”

  The rogue shifted uncomfortably. “And he hasn’t said anything, ah, in the last few days?”

  “Not since…” Prem trailed off and then cleared her throat. “Not since the other night.”

  Ben looked between the two of them, wondering at the sudden tension.

  “It must be nice to get some privacy after so long,” remarked Amelie. “Back in Issen, I used to sneak away sometimes, just to get away from everyone.”

  “There’s not much privacy here,” said Ben with a nod at their bedrolls all lying within a few paces of each other.

  Prem smiled. “You’re right, but it’s different than living in the middle of the same village for one hundred years. Everyone knows everything about everyone. There were no secrets. I believe these last few days is the longest I’ve ever been away from my father’s thoughts. He’s giving me space which I appreciate, but I hope he is not worried.”

  Rhys tilted up a wineskin and then wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “What would he be worried about?”

  Prem smirked at the rogue but did not answer.

  Ben assured her, “We’ll be just fine through Sineook Valley. It’s all agriculture and flat terrain. The scariest thing in the valley is a potato. Adrick is the one who will be facing danger. The demon swarms the mages are tracking look nothing like what the demon-king mustered against us, but anytime you face a demon, it’s risky.”

  “My father can deal with demons, but I’m not so sure how he’ll fare with those Sanctuary mages of yours,” responded Prem. “They’re a handful, and he’s not used to dissent.”

  “The Sanctuary mages are a handful, and that’s why we sent them away,” said Ben with a wink.

  Towaal harrumphed beside him and he grinned.

  “Not even once have you been away from your father’s thoughts this long?” asked Rhys after taking another swallow of wine. “How… how did you handle, ah, courtship?”

  Prem glanced at him. “No one was brave enough to court me underneath my father’s nose.”

  “No one?”

  “Not once,” answered the girl.

  Rhys dug in his cloak and produced his pipe. With trembling fingers, he stuffed the bowl full of fragrant leaves, sparked it alight, and drew on the pipe before blowing out a thick cloud of blue smoke.

  “Do you have something to say?” wondered Prem.

  “No,” mumbled the rogue, “I do not.”

  Ben looked between the two of them. “Is there—”

  “How’s that soup coming, Ben?” interjected Rhys.

  Ben cursed and grabbed the spoon, stirring hard and scrapping the bottom of the pot where it had already begun to stick.

  Rhys said, “I swear. Once a farm boy, always a farm boy.”

  Muttering under his breath, Ben complained, “I was never a farmer.”

  “It’s okay if it’s a little well done,” said Amelie unconvincingly.

  “Okay with you—” Rhys dropped his pipe, his eyes wide in shock. Towaal turned and gasped, her jaw hanging open. Amelie fell back, scrambling on her elbows and heels to get away.

  Ben, still stirring the stew, slowly turned and frowned. Behind him, a young woman stood at the edge of the firelight. She had shoulder-length red hair tied loosely behind her head. A long green dress hugged her body. Her stout leather boots appeared well-made and suitable for travel. She had no pack and no provisions, but did not appear to be in need. She stood, unthreatening, smiling at the group’s panic.

  “Can we help you?” asked Ben, unsure why his companions were so stunned.

  “Yes,” responded the girl, her voice unhurried and smooth, like honey on a cold day. “I believe you can help me. May I sit?”

  Ben nodded wordlessly.

  The girl sat, flipping her skirts out to cover her legs and shoes.

  “That’s really unnecessary, Karina,” she murmured, shaking her head at the mage. She turned to Rhys. “May I have some of your wine, Rhys? I am parched. I tried to catch you in Kirksbane, but you had already left. It’s been a scramble to chase you down. Not to mention a few, ah, distractions along the way. I’m told you found the remnants of one south of the city?”

  Ben saw the rogue had his hand clasped tightly on a long knife, but the man made no move to draw it. Towaal sat still as stone, her eyes fixed on the newcomer. Ben looked to Amelie, and she mouthed one word to him. He frowned at her, not understanding.

  “The V-Veil,” stammered Amelie in a frightened whisper.

  Ben blinked, then uttered a curse and leapt to his feet, scrambling for his longword and flinging the sheath away as he drew the blade.

  “Really, young man, you’re the one who thinks to pull a weapon on me?” asked the girl, her voice light and airy. “You’re the only one in this group without any talent. What do you think you could do against me? I could swat you like a fly, boy.”

  “We’ll do what we have to, Coatney,” growled Rhys, rising to his feet.

  Ben stood, breathing heavy, his sword gripped in his hands. Prem joined him,
but neither she nor Rhys had drawn their weapons. Towaal and Amelie sat silently, building energy, Ben hoped.

  Lady Coatney bent forward and gracefully plucked the rogue’s wineskin from where he’d dropped it. Ignoring the companions, she tilted up the skin and took a long swallow. When she lowered the wine, she sighed. “That’s not a great vintage, Rhys. Next time you’re in the City, please let me direct you to a more reputable wine seller. You can afford much better than this.”

  The rogue didn’t respond.

  Looking around the group, Coatney smiled. “You can relax. The trap you found south of the city was for me, not by me. If I wanted to harm you, I already would have.”

  The group watched her warily.

  “You are wondering why I am here?” asked the Veil.

  Unable to find his voice, Ben nodded.

  “I was upset that you stole the wyvern fire staff from me,” started Lady Coatney, “but I am at an age where I have no interest in acquiring vendettas. I already have plenty of those, as you know, and that is why I am here. Are you aware that my predecessor is not as dead as rumor had it?”

  Again, Ben couldn’t find the words and merely nodded.

  “I knew that, along with a few select members of the Sanctuary,” continued Coatney. “We’ve been hunting that woman since I obtained the Veil. Every couple of decades, we would encounter her or some trace of her. Usually, it meant the death of one of my friends. From time to time, she’d attempt to strike at me. Sometimes, I was able to thwart her plots. Other times, she did significant damage to my reputation and the Sanctuary. It is a game of cat and mouse that has played out for four hundred years. In the last three weeks, I’ve become convinced that she finally means to end it.”

  “How do you know?” whispered Amelie.

  “She’s drawn me out of the Sanctuary,” said Lady Coatney. “In all of her machinations, in all of her maneuvers, she’s never managed that. Now that I am in the open, I believe she will strike.”