Weight of the Crown

by A. C. Cobble

  “I—”

  “Yes,” interjected Amelie. “We would like to see him. Do you think you could help get us an audience?”

  Shaking his head, Seth answered, “No, he left five or six days ago for Fabrizo. We’re staging there, you heard?”

  “We did,” answered Ben. “We, ah, we need to speak to him. Six days ago, you said?”

  “About that,” answered Seth, steering the party through the crowded streets to a bend in the road. He took them up and headed toward the Citadel. “I’ll be honest, Ben. You might have some difficulty catching him. Every ship that drops anchor down in the harbor is commandeered for either supply or troop transport. We’ve got forty thousand men still to move across the Blood Bay, and any scrap of timber that floats is going to be needed to get it done. In fact, my company has been waiting two weeks to get transport. We were scheduled to depart before Saala was, but of course, the king left when he was ready.”

  “The king,” murmured Ben under his breath.

  “You knew, right?” asked Seth.

  “We knew,” answered Ben. “It, well, we didn’t hear the details of how it happened. We didn’t know Brinn was promoted as well, and I suppose you too, Seth. Congratulations.”

  Seth nodded acknowledgement and then offered, “I’ll take you to General Brinn. He knows more of the politics than I do, and I’m sure he’ll fill you in on everything that’s occurred. Saala is your friend, after all. You can ask the general for a ride to Fabrizo while you are speaking to him, but don’t get your hopes up. Highborn, captains, everyone’s swinging elbows trying to get a boat. Everyone wants to be there when the fighting starts.”

  “Of course,” said Ben. “Of course they do.”

  “Finally decided to take me up on my offer to join the guard, have you?” boomed the voice of General Brinn. It was a voice more suited to issuing commands on the practice grounds than the marble walls of the throne room.

  “Ah, n-not exactly,” stammered Ben.

  “Seth tells me you want to see King Saala,” continued Brinn. “You looking to pledge loyalty directly to him and get yourself a prime appointment? Let me tell you, you won’t be the only one. There are plenty of bootlickers and backstabbers in this place, all trying to integrate themselves with him. He doesn’t fall for it, mind you, but if you want to speak to him, you might have to wait in line. You’re better off with me, serving in my command. I’ll take care of you, son.”

  Ben scratched at the scar on his arm. “We’re not looking to join the army.”

  Brinn harrumphed and crossed his arms.

  “We do need to speak with Saala, though,” said Ben. “It’s important.”

  “Well, I like you, but there’s only so far I can bend the rules, even for a friend of Saala’s. The waiting list for a vessel to cross the Blood Bay is two weeks long, and that’s only if you’ve got an in with the military or can pay coin on a supply vessel. Every highborn man in this city is trying to catch a ride for themselves or their sons. When they can’t find space in the berths, they’re buying the entire ship! I’m supposed to cross in a week, and I’m worried even I will have to tussle some highborn for a private cabin. It’s insanity.”

  Ben frowned.

  “Look,” said Brinn. “How about this, I’ll find you some rooms in the Citadel and you can stay here while you wait on a ship. Best offer you’re going to get. Every inn that isn’t a flea-infested wreck is full to the rafters. All full of seekers, looking to find fortune in Issen.”

  Ben glanced at his companions, and they all shrugged. Saala wasn’t there, and there wasn’t much they could do until they found a ship willing to take them to him. Brinn was right, the Citadel was the most comfortable lodging they would find, and it was also the best place to integrate themselves with someone who could get them passage.

  “Okay,” agreed Ben. “We’ll stay here.”

  “Good,” said Brinn. “I’ll ask the seneschal to find you rooms. Dine with me tonight. I want to hear what you’ve been up to, and I’m sure you’re curious to hear more about your friend Saala.”

  “Saala and you,” claimed Ben.

  Brinn snorted and said, “Bootlicker.”

  Ben grinned.

  “Off with you,” muttered the general, waving for a man in the corner to lead them away.

  Ben and his friends dutifully followed the servant to the seneschal and then to their rooms. Ben found they were ensconced in a similar suite as the last time they’d stayed in Whitehall.

  “The accommodations aren’t as nice as they were before,” complained Amelie.

  “It looks just like I remember it,” said Ben before recalling that Amelie had stayed separately from him. “I guess you were famous back then, Lady Amelie.”

  “The Alliance is marching to war,” said Lady Towaal. “There will be highborn clinging to this place like barnacles on a ship, all waiting for their opportunity to pounce on some plunder. The city’s resources will be devoted to feeding the dogs of war, and there will be highborn and merchants from hundreds of leagues away trying to figure out how they can capitalize on the opportunities.”

  “I still think they could have found us some better rooms,” grumbled Amelie.

  “Ben is right,” said Towaal. “You were highborn then. You may still have the blood in your veins, but you don’t have a city to rule. Issen is in Coalition hands, remember? In other circumstances, or if we didn’t know Brinn, you might be headed back to the gaol.”

  Amelie frowned.

  Towaal leaned close. “Your mother is married to Lord Jason.”

  “Oh,” murmured Amelie, stunned.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t think of that,” chided the mage. “I thought we could slip through unnoticed, but once Captain Seth recognized us, there was nothing we could do. I was nervous up until the moment the general directed us to his seneschal.”

  “The rooms seem fine to me,” said Rhys, rummaging through a cabinet set against the wall. He turned, hefting two unopened bottles of wine.

  At dinner, General Brinn and Captain Seth met them in an ornate but intimate dining room. Both men had come far since Ben last saw them, and they carried with them a new weight of responsibility. Outside of the public eye, though, they relaxed and fell into comfortable conversation with Ben and his companions. Whether or not they could help with stopping the war, Ben was glad to see the friendly faces.

  “It’s nothing, really,” demurred the new captain when Ben complimented him on his rank. “The army has tripled in size since you passed through, and with all of those new recruits, we needed new leaders.” He lowered his voice, shooting a glance at Brinn, who was in close conversation with Towaal. “Brinn is one of the few senior leaders with actual combat experience. Both Argren and Saala knew they would need his council. As he rose, he took me with him. The city is restless these days, and it’s hard to know who to trust. Loyalty is worth more than gold in Whitehall right now. You saw what happened at Snowmar Station. Every night, we’re breaking up tavern brawls, putting our own soldiers into gaol until they can cool off. There are too many different groups from too many different places all stuffed together in this city. There’s not enough room, not enough ale, and certainly not enough women to go around. The place is a kettle poised to boil. If we weren’t marching to war, I’d be worried it’d break out within our own walls! The men are eager to get started, which I think is why Saala chose to sail. He has to get the army moving before it falls apart.”

  “Why?” wondered Ben. “Why is there so much tension?”

  Seth took a sip of his ale before responding. Ben and Amelie leaned close.

  “Recruits from all over the western half of Alcott is part of it. Different backgrounds, different lifestyles, but that’s the kind of thing we’ve always dealt with. Every greenhorn class we brought into the guard would have a few bad apples. Whitehall’s captains know how to deal with that, and after making a few examples, the new group falls into line. Now, there’s something else going on.
Unknown influences are driving wedges between the different regiments.”

  “Spies from the Coalition?” wondered Amelie.

  “Worse,” admitted Seth. “Brinn believes it’s coming from within. Not everyone was pleased to see Saala ascend to the throne. In the few months since he was crowned, there have already been half a dozen assassination attempts. You know Saala, and you know he can handle himself, so none of them were successful, but already, the rumors are flying that he ran in fear across the Blood Bay. He didn’t, I know, but once the seeds of those rumors are planted, they grow like weeds. If it was just baseless rumors, we could handle that, but these rumors come with secrets that give them the air of truth. Secrets that shouldn’t be known outside of our closest council.”

  “Someone inside is fomenting dissent,” murmured Amelie, a speculative look on her face.

  “That’s what it seems like,” confirmed Seth. “If we could figure out who…”

  “Does it seem like there is any direction, any purpose to the rumors?” wondered Ben.

  “Disruption,” said Seth with a shrug. “That’s what it seems like. Like someone is trying to throw our army into disarray, to get it to turn on itself. Is that true? Your guess is as good as mine. They could be trying to stop the war, take the throne, or maybe they just want to sow confusion so they can latch onto a bigger share of the spoils.”

  Amelie sat back, absentmindedly twirling her wine glass in front of her. Ben could see the wheels of political machination turning behind her eyes. He looked back to Seth, but before he could speak, Seth did.

  “Sorry to bring such a dark cloud into the room. It’s all anyone can talk about here. Let’s talk about something happier. Tell me what you’ve been doing this last year. Did you ever start that brewery in the City like you spoke about?”

  Ben blinked, trying to decide how to explain everything that had happened.

  “You still like to spar, Seth?” asked Rhys, calling from across the room.

  “Ah,” murmured the former guardsman as he turned to the rogue. “Yes, I suppose I do. I don’t get much time for it these days. I swear, there aren’t enough bells of daylight to cover my administrative responsibilities. When I became a soldier, I pictured defending the walls of Whitehall, hunting down bandits, things like that. I never thought there’d be so much paperwork.”

  Rhys laughed and loudly scooted his chair across the stone floor, sliding a pitcher of ale along the polished table. “Bureaucracy. It’s the same everywhere, I guess.”

  “Did you serve in the military?” asked Seth.

  “Once or twice,” confirmed Rhys. “Let me tell you, you’ll learn to appreciate the paperwork after a few hard campaigns. Sleeping in the mud, bad food, no ale, definitely no women. Well, not the type who will warm your bedroll for free, at least.”

  “What other types of women are there?” asked Prem, settling down across the table from Rhys and leaning forward on her elbows, locking the rogue with her gaze.

  “Ah, wash women…”

  Owing Rhys for saving him, Ben broke in, “Well, Seth, maybe we can do a little sparring while we wait for a ship. I can help you knock some of that rust off.”

  “It’d be good for the lad,” boomed General Brinn from the far end of the table. “Lady Towaal tells me you’ve become quite skilled, Ben. Says you’ve even got men following you now. Lots of them, according to her.”

  “I—”

  “You’ve got men?” interjected Seth. “How many, Ben? That’s exciting!”

  “Well, it’s just the five of us here,” muttered Ben.

  “I’m told there are hundreds,” prodded Brinn.

  Ben scratched at his scar and shot Towaal a glare. She was sitting back, her arms crossed beneath her breasts, looking pleased with herself.

  “Hundreds, yes, something like that.”

  “Where are they?” asked Brinn.

  “North,” responded Ben, seeing no reason to hide the knowledge. “I’m sure you heard about Northport? We faced the swarm that overran the city. We killed the bulk, but plenty of the creatures broke free. They’ve been plaguing the north lands, and our men are working to hunt them down.”

  “We did hear about Northport,” responded Brinn. “Terrible news about Rhymer and his people. We were counting on their strength when it comes to facing the Coalition. That fox Jason will leverage this. He’s cunning and dangerous. We could have used Rhymer’s tactical mind and his men’s sharp steel. We’ll need every advantage we can get when we finally meet the Black Knife in the field. Losing Northport is going to drag this war out, believe me.”

  “It’s too bad Rhymer and his men won’t be able to fight with you against the Coalition,” said Ben softly, thinking about the hundreds of thousands of civilians who had lost their lives when the demons rampaged through the city.

  “You know it was the Black Knife that did King Argren in?” continued Brinn, not picking up on Ben’s somber tone. “Cut him down right in these corridors. It scared the highborn something fierce, knowing that even the king was vulnerable. After Northport and with the threat of the Coalition, even the stupidest of them realized we needed a military leader. Their middle-of-the-night maneuvering wouldn’t do a bit of good if they got stabbed, or we lost the war. If we lose the war, they know the Coalition won’t give a damn about their titles. When Saala’s name came up, they couldn’t throw their weight behind him fast enough. The army is happy with the change, too. Saala got us moving and seems to have a fair hand at leadership.”

  “He’s led men into battle before,” acknowledged Ben. His mind flashing to the stories O’ecca had told them of the Red Hand, Saala’s bloodthirsty group of men who’d been accused of plotting against the emperor of the Ooswam. That was the reason Saala had fled the South Continent.

  “May end up doing us good, him being from down south,” said Brinn. “I’m told that the emperor is mighty interested in forming a relationship with the Alliance. Any day now, we’re expecting the arrival of his emissary. Some little girl, I’m told, though she’s supposed to be a wonder with a spear. The emperor’s son was killed in a coup attempt some months back. Lots of upheaval, these days.”

  “We heard about the coup,” remarked Ben, shooting a glance at his friends.

  “Well,” continued Brinn, “I guess it got the old man thinking. They say he’s worried about his legacy now and wants to secure the empire. I get it. We’ve got an ongoing example of what can happen when you don’t have clear succession.”

  “The emperor’s emissary, this girl,” inquired Amelie, “you said she’s coming here?”

  “Aye, sounds a bit strange, a lady warrior, but the rumor is she helped to foil the coup and earned a place at the right side of the emperor. She replaced his son and truly does have some talent with her weapon, I’m told. I’m looking forward to seeing this spear of hers and what she can do with it. It’s a bit of a passion of mine, collecting foreign weapons. None of ‘em are ever as good as a simple broadsword or my two-hander, but it’s worth knowing what is out there, don’t you think? You never know what you’ll face in battle.”

  “There are surprises around every corner,” agreed Rhys.

  The companions all shared a look. It was clear they were thinking the same thing.

  “Do you suppose this emissary will want to deal directly with Saala?” asked Amelie.

  Brinn shrugged. “She’s coming here, we were told. Saala left me the authority to open discussions but not to agree on anything formal. If that’s all we’re doing, then I don’t suppose she’ll need to see Saala. He’s too busy for that. If she wants to go chasing across the Blood Bay to try and find him in Fabrzio, though, that’s fine with me. It would give me more time to get this city in order and get more troops mobilized. I don’t have time for diplomacy.”

  “Maybe she’ll do that,” agreed Amelie, sitting back with a smile on her face.

  Dawn was barely peeking above the horizon. The first shards of light were sparkling on the water
of the Blood Bay and illuminating Whitehall like a lantern set ablaze in a dark room.

  Seth yawned, his jaw cracking, a fist failing to cover his gaping mouth.

  “Too much to drink last night?” speculated Rhys.

  “Can’t do it like I used to,” muttered Seth. “You sure you want to spar? We could tell Brinn we did it and go find some kaf and breakfast instead.”

  Ben grinned, perusing the rack of practice weapons.

  “Or an ale,” added Seth grimly. “Sometimes that’s the only cure.”

  “We’ll sweat it out,” encouraged Ben. “A little exercise is good for you, and it’s the best way to fight through a hangover.”

  “If you say so,” grumbled Seth dubiously.

  “You wouldn’t have to deal with hangovers if you just drank less,” suggested Amelie.

  “Where’s the fun in that?” asked Rhys, his voice chipper in the crisp morning air. “Besides, if you do it enough, then you don’t get hungover.”

  “Really?” asked Seth, finally shuffling over to find a practice blade of his own.

  Rhys shrugged and tipped up a water skin.

  Ben frowned. A water skin, Rhys had said.

  The rogue winked at him and asked, “You two going to spar, or what? I didn’t come down here just to watch your foreplay.”

  “Speaking of sparring,” said Prem to the rogue, “how about we see what you can do with those long knives?”

  Rhys glanced at her.

  She met his gaze, her body standing straight, her hands on her hips.

  “I don’t spar,” replied Rhys.

  Prem frowned. “You’ve sparred with Ben, haven’t you?”

  “That was different,” claimed the rogue.

  “You’ll engage in a little foreplay with Ben but not with me?” asked Prem, her frown turning to a glare.

  Rhys coughed uncomfortably.

  “Sounds like you’ve got a date,” said Ben with a wink. He left Rhys to talk his way out of crossing knives with Prem and turned to see Seth shrugging into a thick set of practice armor. Cloth pads covered his shoulders, chest, and thighs. The former assistant to the arms master wiggled and squirmed, letting the armor settle.