Weight of the Crown

by A. C. Cobble

  Avery scrambled to escape instead of using his legs to kick at Ben. Too late, he realized he couldn’t get away fast enough, and Ben stabbed down, plunging his blade into Avery’s chest, and pinning the man to the turf. With a pathetic gurgle, Lord Avery died.

  “You bastard!” cried a pained voice.

  It was the man Ben had cut the legs out from under. Dronson, he realized, Avery’s father. The older man was teetering closer, wobbling on wounded legs, using his sword as a crutch. The tip of his blade slid into the soft earth, and Dronson stumbled closer, off balance.

  Casually, Ben put a boot on Avery’s body, drew his longsword out, and spun it to take Dronson in the neck, neatly severing the older man’s head. The body flopped over, and the head rolled down the hill they were standing on. Ben turned to the remaining men.

  One was lying on his side, an arrow sticking from his shoulder, but he was moving and appeared to be alive. The other was healthy, standing with his sword in his hand, but he wasn’t moving. Serrot had an arrow trained on him, and he’d already seen the woodsman was a good shot.

  “What do we do, Ben?” asked Serrot.

  “He drops that sword before you have to put a shaft into him, I get a light, and we see who these two are.”

  The man dropped his sword as instructed, but he didn’t speak until Ben drew a long cotton wick from his bag and struck it alight. Holding the burning length of rope up high, he brought the light toward the man’s face.

  “You look familiar,” said Ben.

  The man blinked at him, hatred in his eyes.

  “Ah, yes, I know that look. You are related to Lord Tand, Inslie’s father.”

  “It’s Lady Inslie,” snarled the man.

  “Right, lady, at least for a few more days. After this, I can’t imagine House Tand will continue to exist.” Ben paused. “Are you Lady Inslie’s uncle? You are, aren’t you. I knew it…”

  The man spit, narrowly missing Ben, and narrowly avoiding Ben’s fist punching him in the face.

  “None of that,” barked Ben. “I’d like to deliver you to Amelie alive, but I don’t have to. You were right about one thing. I’m no highborn. I don’t follow your rules, and if you make this any more difficult than it needs to be, you’ll be dead and unburied out here just like your friends.”

  The man stayed silent. While he wasn’t cowed, Ben was convinced the threat of Serrot’s arrow was enough to keep him quiet for the moment. He moved to the other man and saw the same look of hatred in his eyes.

  “Lord Tand,” remarked Ben. “Not surprising.” He stood and turned to Serrot. “We’ll need to tend to the man’s wound, tie them both up, and set a watch tonight. It’s going to be a long night and a longer day tomorrow.”

  The next day, they met up with the army.

  The former guardian Adrick Morgan, the blademaster Lloyd, the commander of Venmoor’s rangers, Rish, and the warrior-mage Earnest John were leading a long column of men and women while Ben and Serrot sat resting on the side of a hill.

  “That’s an actual army,” murmured Serrot appreciatively.

  “I told you we weren’t lying.”

  When the long snake of marching men drew close enough, Adrick Morgan called out, “Prem said you would come to us.”

  “We ran into some friends.” Ben pointed at his feet where Lord Tand and his brother were lying bound in the torn clothing of their dead companions. “One of them is injured, and I didn’t want to put up with his whining while we forced him to march, so we decided to wait.”

  “Elle can see to him,” rumbled the giant mage.

  “I’d appreciate that,” said Ben.

  “So,” asked Lloyd, “how are things?”

  Ben snorted then stood. “I’ll catch you up as we walk, but first, tell me about the men.”

  The captains gave report as the army marched toward Issen, and by the time they entered the gates, Ben knew the disposition of his men, and his leaders knew the situation in the city. They passed through the sprawl that surrounded Issen’s keep, and men and women began to poke their heads out, curious, as the motley assortment of armed men was marching by.

  Children began to run along beside them, calling questions to Venmoor’s rangers. The guards they ran into offered quick bows, knuckles on their foreheads when they saw Ben. Shopkeepers and passersby stared in shock at blademaster sigil’s on the scabbards of Lloyd’s men, and they whispered excitedly behind their hands as they watched the towering Earnest John stalk by with his man-sized crossbow strapped to his back and the contingent of mages walking around him.

  Ben heard cheers from the crowd, most of them lost in the din of the city, but he couldn’t help wincing every time a ‘Lord Ben’ drifted to his ears. By the time they made it to the towering, pale stone walls of the castle, the cross-streets were filled with observers, musicians had appeared from within the taverns, and the mood had gained the festive air of a Newday parade.

  “Looks like you’re a popular chap in these parts,” remarked Lloyd.

  “It helps when you have an army,” replied Ben.

  Then, he led his men into Issen’s castle, ready to start the work of defending it against the approaching armies of the Alliance and the Coalition.

  13

  Eleven Thousand Men

  “We have eleven thousand men,” reported Ben.

  “That seems like a lot,” said Serrot hopefully.

  “The Alliance and the Coalition have one hundred and fifty thousand, each,” mentioned Rhys.

  “Oh.”

  “The Coalition took many of Issen’s troops to Irrefort along with Lady Selene as an honor guard for the wedding,” said Ben. “They only left what was necessary to maintain civil order within the city, evidently trusting they could get a force here before the Alliance to protect Issen. We have mages, we have blademasters, but against those odds, we have no chance of winning an outright battle. Even if we did, it would cause the kind of catastrophic loss of life that we’re trying to avoid.”

  “So, we have to head off the war,” said Amelie, “which was why we came here in the first place.”

  “Agreed,” replied Ben. “The problem is, the plan was simply to make our way into the presence of Saala and Jason and plead with them to go home. I’m not sure that’s feasible now. If we’d caught Saala at Fabrizo or Murdoch’s Waystation, we might have convinced him to turn around. If we’d caught Jason in Irrefort, he may not have marched. Now that both armies are in the field, they cannot turn around without it feeling like a loss. That’s assuming we could even slip through one hundred and fifty thousand men to find them. They’ll be watching for assassins now that they are so close to each other, and they could catch us in the same net.”

  “They need a reason to listen to us,” advised Rhys. “We need to make it known we’re a legitimate player in the game. We need to make it so they cannot ignore us.”

  “We only have eleven thousand men,” argued Ben, shaking his head. “That’s not enough to pose a threat to either side.”

  “We have the walls of Issen,” retorted Rhys. “On top of these walls, our men are worth ten times a man on the ground. We have bladesmasters and mages.”

  “Mages who are reluctant to indiscriminately kill our foes,” reminded Ben. “They’re with us to stop killing, not to cause it. We’re not going to convince them to rain fire on our opponents unless someone shows up with a bunch of demons.”

  “Saala and Jason don’t know that,” said Rhys with a shrug. “We could make an example. Show them we are willing to use magic.”

  Ben scratched at the scar on his arm, looking down at the map spread out on the table in front of him. They had little pewter pieces to represent their forces and their opponents. With Elle’s far-seeing, they had more knowledge of the field than any commander would normally have, but there was no way to exploit it. All over the map, small bands of men were moving about. They were trying to track them, but it was difficult with several dozen groups all moving in different direct
ions. Periodically, they would join up or split apart. At least once a day, bands of opposing forces would meet in the field in a constant series of running, miniature battles across the landscape. The fields around Issen were filled with a confusing array of armed companies, and they had a bird’s eye view of it all. There had to be some way to exploit their knowledge.

  “What is this group?” asked Ben, pointing to one band that had seemed to wander away from the others.

  Rhys glanced at it. It was a piece they’d taken from a gameboard, a pawn. Small hatches had been made on the top of it to differentiate it from the others. The rogue looked at a scrap of paper in front of him that noted which pieces equated to which units.

  “There’s over a dozen of these pawns,” he muttered, “and it’s almost impossible to read Elle’s writing. It looks like she learned her letters a thousand… Well, I guess she did. Ah, I think that’s a force of two hundred Alliance men on foot.”

  “They’re half a day ahead of the main force, maybe half a day from here,” mused Ben.

  “The main force is pausing, though,” said Rhys. “Both the Alliance and the Coalition look to be holding their ground a day away. I am guessing they are unwilling to rush in when they don’t know the lay of the field. They’re sending scouting forces before committing the entire armies. It’s just like sparring. You try a tentative thrust before you swing with all of your might. You don’t want to leave yourself exposed.”

  Ben stood, leaning over the map, his eyes picking out other pawns that had moved away from the bulk of the armies. “The Coalition may have mages capable of far-seeing, right?”

  “They had some mages in the council, but we don’t know who they brought. They’re also council members, so I’m not sure how they’d take being pressed into service as scouts,” replied Amelie. “Many of their most talented mages were killed when we, uh, when we killed them.”

  “And we don’t believe Whitehall has mages either?”

  “Any mages either army had from the Sanctuary lost them with the death of the Veil. Just like Towaal, the mages would return to the City to help select Lady Coatney’s successor. A change of control in the Sanctuary is more important to them than this battle.”

  “What about far-seeing devices?” asked Ben.

  “They’re difficult to use and erratic,” answered Rhys. “Over long distances, I think they’d be worthless unless used by a mage. Within a league or two, they’re helpful.”

  “Both armies will be reliant on their scouts then,” said Ben, pinching his chin between two fingers. “Those will be their only reliable eyes in the field.”

  Rhys grinned. “If we poke out those eyes, we can slow both sides down, make them take time to think about what they’re doing. The longer they take to fully engage, the more chance we have to confront Saala and Jason individually.”

  “They’ll have plans we’re unaware of,” warned Amelie.

  “Probably,” conceded Ben, “but they’ll have plans regardless of what we do. Right now, we have two advantages. The walls of Issen and the additional knowledge and visibility our mages can provide. We need to press those advantages if we want to prevent this war.”

  “Fast attack parties to confront the scouts,” said Rhys, his gaze flicking between Elle’s notes and the map. “We strike. Then we disappear. Leave them confused and reeling.”

  “We can take Adrick with us and leave Prem here with the mages,” said Ben, excitement climbing into his voice. “Through their thought meld, we’ll have the most up-to-date information of anyone out there. We can use that and be where they are going then gone from where they expect us to be.”

  “Leave Adrick here and take Prem with you,” suggested Amelie.

  Ben raised an eyebrow.

  “The highborn are restless, and Adrick Morgan is just the kind of man to keep them in line,” explained Amelie. “That lightblade of his is enough to intimidate anyone, and it’s clear he knows how to use it. The highborn have never experienced anything like that man, and they won’t know how to react to him. With him on our side, helping to organize our defenses, it will go a long way toward convincing any highborn who are still undecided.”

  “Makes sense,” agreed Ben, his eyes still on the map.

  “Now,” said Amelie, “I believe it’s time to deal with Lord Tand and his brother Vikram.”

  Ben winced.

  “Were there any objections to the gallows?” asked Rhys.

  Amelie shook her head. “Not that anyone has voiced.”

  “I don’t understand?” questioned Serrot. “Why would anyone care how those two are executed?”

  “Hanging is a messy, pathetic way to die,” answered Amelie. “It’s common to lose your bowels in the process, and it’s unattractive. If the neck isn’t snapped on the initial drop, the victim may struggle for some time before they finally suffocate. For highborn traitors, it’s typical to behead them. Beheading is quick, and the victim feels nothing when it’s done properly. There is a great deal of blood, of course, but the victim does not soil themselves where the crowd can see it. Image is important to highborn.”

  “But you’re not going to do that,” said Serrot.

  “No, I am not,” agreed Amelie. “We’re making a statement about how we deal with traitors.”

  “How do you know so much about executions?” wondered Ben.

  Amelie smiled grimly at him. “Don’t worry. I haven’t been performing these things while you’re sleeping. I asked my new seneschal about it.”

  “Lord Flinn,” said Ben.

  Amelie nodded. “He’s been around long enough that he’s seen a few capital crimes punished, and he’s close enough to the other highborn families that he understands their objections.”

  “Is it worth risking the wrath of the families?” questioned Rhys.

  “I don’t think anyone from House Tand will stand up and complain,” remarked Amelie coldly. “I’d love it if they did. We still haven’t found Lady Inslie and the rest of that traitorous bunch. I’d bet my throne she’s out there somewhere, plotting against us.” Amelie stood and began to pace. “All of these lords and ladies remember me as a young woman, sheltered by my father and mother, sent away from the impending danger. The most dangerous activity I was ever involved in was jumping my horse when I wasn’t supposed to. They think I’m soft.”

  Rhys acknowledged, “A show of strength is sometimes necessary. A demonstration that you’re willing to challenge convention, that you’re willing to risk inciting their anger. It may send a powerful message to the other families. Then, after you’ve shown defiance, I recommend you slay them with kindness. Offer lands, generous trading terms, arrange beneficial marriages, and the like. Show them both sides of the coin, and they’ll understand it is incumbent on them to pick the more pleasant one.”

  “Kindness,” declared Amelie, “I like that, but only after the conflict with the Alliance and the Coalition is resolved.”

  “I’ll send word to assemble a company of men,” said Ben. “After the execution, we’ll go find some scouting parties.”

  Ben shifted uncomfortably in the high-backed seat. In front of him, a hastily constructed wooden scaffolding dominated the courtyard. Behind it, Ben could see rank upon rank of highborn men and women. More of them than Amelie had expected. Her Seneschal, Lord Flinn, believed so many had come to show support for her and distance themselves from House Tand.

  Amelie sat in another similarly uncomfortable chair beside Ben. Flanking them, Rhys and Adrick Morgan both stood with their mage-wrought longswords held in front of them. They’d placed the points on the stone tiles of the courtyard and were resting their hands on the pommels. It was a deliberate display meant to intimidate.

  Behind them, a company of Issen’s guards stood in ranks. They were there to assure the watching highborn that while Amelie had brought in powerful new friends, she was still of Issen and had no intention of displacing the structure that was already in place.

  Ben sitting besid
e her had been an accident. He was meant to stand at her shoulder, but one of the staff brought out the chair in which Lord Gregor had sat when attending executions. Lady Selene’s chair was occupied by Amelie. Their choice had been to leave the chair empty or have Ben sit in it. They’d opted to offend want-to-be suitors over the visual of an empty chair.

  Grimacing, Ben tried not to squirm on the iron-hard wood. He supposed it wasn’t necessary to be comfortable while watching an execution, but sitting up straight, trying to keep his eyes ahead and not fidget, was an unpleasant experience. Worse was the rushing torrent of thoughts going through his mind, assessing the politics of each and every action. Amelie was a natural at these things, and her comments and reactions were poignant and appropriate. Ben felt like he was bumbling along, stubbing his toes, and crashing into walls.

  He hadn’t felt so awkward since the first day he’d picked up a stick and had it slapped out of his hand by Saala. Thinking about Saala easily besting him with a practice sword and the potential of facing the man on the battlefield didn’t brighten his mood much.

  Amelie nodded to Lord Flinn, and he opened a door at the side of the courtyard. The low hum of conversation stopped as a squad of guards led Lord Tand and his brother Lord Vikram Tand out of a dark corridor.

  The same Captain Whan who had confronted Amelie outside of the council chamber now led the men escorting the doomed lords. The captain had volunteered for the duty, claiming he wanted to prove his loyalty. Amelie had allowed it, but they hadn’t settled the debate on whether the guard captain was sincere or was positioning himself close to set up a betrayal. Either way, no one else wanted to run a hanging, so the captain was doing it.

  With minimal fanfare, the lords were marched onto the scaffolding, and the captain fitted nooses around their necks. Only two ropes hung down from a heavy wooden beam. There was plenty of room on the scaffold for more of them, but Amelie had decided to wait on executing House Tand’s senior military leaders and close servants. All of them were likely guilty of treason, but she thought leniency may win her friends among the castle’s denizens. The message was clear, though. They’d built capacity for more rope if it was needed. After the conflict was settled with the Alliance and Coalition, some of House Tand’s officers would get trials. They might still be executed, but Issen’s dungeons had room, so there was no reason to rush it.