Weight of the Crown

by A. C. Cobble

  Saala lashed an attack at Jason that was barely parried, and then Ben struck again.

  Faster than his eye could follow, Jason’s blade flicked back and forth, parrying both Ben and Saala’s attacks. The man was a blur, and burning yellow patterns were emblazoned on the air in between them.

  Ben, his blood pumping, the battle fury full on him, pounded blow after blow, attempting brute force to break through the maze of defense that Jason was somehow maintaining against both him and Saala.

  He could see the blademaster out of the edge of his eye on the other side of Jason, furiously attacking just as hard as Ben was. Miraculously, neither of them were able to get through. Sparkling silver smoke rose in a haze around the blademaster as he let the blade loose and unleashed its terrible power, but it didn’t seem to help.

  Jason was lost in a cloud of movement, his body moving so fast, it had become indistinct. In front of him, bright, yellow lines hung suspended in the air and burned into Ben’s vision. Then, the tip of Jason’s longsword punched out, and Ben felt the steel stab into his thigh with a sharp spike of pain.

  He lurched away and gasped as the yellow tendrils twisted and writhed. They weren’t just afterimages burning into his vision. The incandescent lights were hanging, suspended in the air. To Ben’s amazement, the lines formed into interlocking squares, diamonds, and other geometric shapes crackling and shimmering in front of him. They burned with light and heat. Ben’s jaw fell open as the patterns replicated those on Jason’s sword. Then, the glowing shapes began to follow him.

  A three-pace by three-pace square of sizzling lines floated in the air, pursuing him as he limped backward. The light floated slowly but inexorably. Behind it, Ben could see a similar pattern moving toward Saala.

  “What is this?” snapped the blademaster.

  Ben heard him gasping for breath. Even his legendary stamina was flagging, or maybe he was in shock. Ben retreated from the burning yellow matrix of light. Behind the configurations, Jason didn’t respond. He merely watched as the patterns drew closer to them.

  “You’re cheating!” accused Saala as he kept backing away, an arm pressed to his side. Even through the yellow glow, Ben could see the spreading stain of blood leaking down the blademaster’s ribcage to his leg.

  Ben’s wound wasn’t much better. The blade hadn’t pierced deep, but he’d torn the cut wide open when he scrambled away. Warm blood was soaking his pant leg down to his boot, and it wouldn’t be long before the leather shoe filled with crimson liquid. Waiting wasn’t going to do him any good.

  Ben struck, his Venmoor steel longsword sweeping out to smash the pattern in front of him. Sparks flew from the blow, and he heard an angry, electric hiss as his weapon bounced off the finger-thick lines of burning light.

  He staggered back and could see a small chip in the edge of the blade. The steel was blackened around where he’d struck. It felt like he’d hit an iron fence instead of a beam of light, and his sword had done just about as much damage as it would to the fence.

  Saala let the silver runes blaze bright on his sword. Then, he swung at the pattern in front of him. A horrible crackle filled the courtyard, and one of lines of light shattered in an acrid blast of smoke and sparks. The mage-wrought weapon had some ability to damage whatever it was Jason had done, Ben saw, but he knew trying to smash through the pattern with his own sword was at best a waste of time, and at worst, it would leave him with a broken stub of a blade.

  Instead of attacking, he darted to the side, moving in a quick, limping shuffle. The pattern turned and followed him, but it moved with the speed of a cloud of dandelion seeds on the breeze. Even injured, Ben could outrun it.

  He faked to one side and watched the pattern adjust to his movement. Then, he skirted around it, hopping fast, trying to ignore the pain in his leg each time his foot landed on the grass. Across from him, Saala was battering his pattern, smashing it to pieces, Rhys’ old longsword crushing the lines and exploding them with the sound and stench of fireworks.

  Jason glanced at Ben as he rounded the defensive matrix then turned to look at Saala. The pattern was holding firm against the attack, until one powerful blow knocked it off whatever invisible tether was anchoring it. The glowing lines whipped to the side from the force of the blow, one of them spinning wildly and sweeping against Saala’s extended forearm.

  Saala let out a cry of pain, and Jason chuckled at his foe’s injury.

  Ben could see black smoke curling off the blademaster’s forearm where the bar of crackling energy had scalded him, and a dark line of scorched flesh trailed from elbow to wrist.

  The glowing pattern had been knocked a dozen paces to the side, though, where it tilted drunkenly and floated down to the grass. Dew boiled up, and the green blades shriveled black from the contact.

  Gulping, Ben edged further from the pattern near him.

  A smile tugged at the corner of Jason’s lips, and he turned to face Ben.

  Saala let out a soft whimper, and Ben spared him a look. The blademaster was pressing his forearms together, his blade still clutched in one hand, the other spasming in agony.

  Like a streaking shadow and just as silent, Jason charged at Ben.

  Ben ducked and spun, his longsword flashing up to meet Jason’s attack. He felt the blow like a giant’s hammer on his arm, and he nearly lost his sword, but he held it, and Jason passed by him as quickly as he’d struck.

  Saala, grimacing in pain, attempted to take advantage of the distraction and lurched at Jason. He stabbed at the Black Knife’s side, his longsword extended in one hand, his injured arm held close.

  Jason easily batted the attack away, whipped his longsword around, and sliced at Saala’s head, catching the blademaster as he leaned away from the blow.

  The tip of the longsword gouged a thin cut into Saala’s bald head above his ear. A curtain of blood immediately leaked down the side of the blademaster’s face as he stumbled away. Jason moved to pursue him, but Ben attacked recklessly, knowing that if Saala were to fall, he’d be dead in a heartbeat. There was no way he could stand alone against an uninjured Lord Jason.

  Jason casually knocked Ben’s blow aside, but Ben kept coming, using his weight and the side of his arm to shove Jason’s sword away. He felt the steel bite him, but it was a shallow wound as Jason didn’t have leverage to do more.

  Ben closed quickly, not giving Jason a chance to react. His longsword was out of position, gripped in his right hand. Ben balled his left hand into a fist and pounded it into the side of Jason’s head. The Black Knife was stunned at the unexpected attack, and Ben bashed him again and again, three solid punches square to the side of the man’s head, the last one crashing just outside of his eye socket.

  Jason spun, dragging his blade across Ben’s arm and body, the sharp edge cutting through flesh on Ben’s arm and chest. When the blade cleared, the Black Knife danced away, and Ben swung an ineffective strike to follow him, catching nothing but air.

  Jason kicked back as he ducked away from Ben’s blow, and the heel of his boot caught the side of Ben’s knee, nearly knocking him sprawling on the grass. Ben stumbled, one leg injured from the earlier stab, the other almost broken from Jason’s kick.

  A fresh torrent of blood poured down Ben’s arm, and he felt his grip on his longsword weakening. Helpless to stop it, he felt the heavy blade begin to slip from his numb fingers. Ben grabbed it with both hands. He tried to raise it, but his severed muscles screamed in protest.

  Jason was blinking and touching his swelling left eye with his fingers. His other hand still held the mage-wrought blade, and his focus was on Ben.

  Until Saala lumbered closer.

  Jason heard him and tried to spin, but Saala had already thrust, and his longsword caught Jason on the hip, the blade tearing through the meat on the Black Knife’s side, bouncing off the bone. Saala smacked into the back of Jason. His wounded arm wrapped around Lord Jason’s neck, but he didn’t have the strength to tighten it.

  Jason twiste
d, throwing an elbow behind him and catching Saala directly on the nose, shattering it with a crunch.

  Saala grunting in pain, shifted, and ducked another elbow. He dropped his longsword and pulled himself tighter against the Black Knife, reaching up, gripping his bad wrist with his good hand, and yanking it hard, his arm pressed against Jason’s throat.

  Jason, ignoring the wound on his hip, gripped Saala’s arm with one hand and reversed his grip on his longsword with the other. With that grip, he could stab it back to kill Saala, if he wasn’t throttled first.

  Blood pouring from his flattened nose, Saala tugged on his wounded arm, locking it under Jason’s chin and crushing the man’s throat. In moments, the loss of air and blood to his head would render the Black Knife unconscious, but he still held his longsword.

  Ben, wobbling like a newborn colt on his two injured legs, shambled toward the two men, struggling to raise his blade.

  Both men knew it was the last moments alive for one of them, and they were locked into their death struggle. Ben teetered closer, and then Jason looked up, sensing his approach. The Black Knife shoved back against Saala, then dropped and twisted. The blademaster hung on, but his body pivoted toward Ben.

  Ben smiled. He recognized the move, and it was obvious what he should do. He flung his sword in front of him at an angle, barely maintaining his grip on it, and then he shifted his hands to the pommel, pushing the blade as he threw it. With all of his weight behind it, he collapsed against the two combatants, blade first, and the longsword punched into flesh, sliding through Jason’s torso and then into Saala, skewering the two men and nailing them together with steel.

  “Bloody hell,” muttered Saala, sticky crimson pouring from his mouth. His eyes blinked and filled with tears. He clutched Jason’s neck with the last of his fading strength.

  Jason, groaning in pain, fighting back the darkness, swept back with his longsword, stabbing directly behind him and putting another pace of steel into Saala’s body.

  Ben watched over Jason’s shoulder as the life faded from the blademaster’s eyes. His grip loosened, and his last words were lost in a wet gurgle of blood.

  Staggering away, Jason yanked his sword from Saala and cried in agony as the blademaster fell, his body sliding off Ben’s sword which was still impaled through Jason. Blood poured down the Black Knife’s front, and a pink froth bubbled out of his mouth.

  He grinned, showing crimson-stained teeth.

  Ben backed up a step, wincing at the pain in his legs. His sword was stuck in the Black Knife, and the man was still somehow holding onto life. Ben pulled his hunting knife from the sheath, but he knew the short blade was no match against even a mortally wounded Lord Jason. He took another step and felt a terrific pain on the back of his calf. Screaming, he jumped away from the blazing matrix of light that was closing behind him.

  “Nowhere to go,” said Jason, a fresh dribble of blood leaking down his chin.

  In moments, Jason would be dead.

  That was too long.

  The Black Knife stepped forward, his longsword still in his hand, the other hand holding onto the hilt of Ben’s sword. If he drew it out of himself, he’d bleed to death in heartbeats, but he didn’t. He kept advancing, the hilt of the weapon sticking out from his stomach and bobbing as he moved.

  Behind Ben, he could feel the heat of the pattern drawing closer, and the scorching burn on his calf signaled just how much pain he’d be in if the thing caught up to him.

  Jason’s eyes blazed with murderous intent.

  Ben drew a deep breath, and knew what he had to do.

  “Try it,” coughed Jason, spitting a sticky glob of blood onto the grass. “I want you to.”

  Ben raised his knife above his head and charged.

  He meant to charge, at least, but his injured legs kept him to a pained shuffle.

  Bloody lips smiling, Jason watched Ben slowly draw closer. He stroked a small, rune-covered token on his belt. “I would guess I’ve got less than a quarter a bell to live, but my men are only a couple of hundred paces outside of these walls. I brought a mage.” He coughed, and a cloud of pink mist expelled from his lungs. “I just called him to come heal me.”

  Jason held up his longsword, the point aimed directly at Ben. It trembled in the dying man’s grasp, but at close range, as slow as Ben was moving, it was steady enough. Ben would have to skewer himself to reach the man. He grimaced and kept shuffling forward, the knife raised high, his other hand in front of his chest.

  Jason blinked uncertainly, and Ben took another step closer.

  The King of the Alliance was dead. As long as Ben could keep Jason’s longsword from immediately killing him, he could bring down his knife, and the King of the Coalition would be dead, too.

  Ben would have to sacrifice himself to make it happen, but so be it. The path was obvious. There was no choice. He had to stop the war. It was something worthwhile, he thought, dying for a cause.

  Jason fell back, his longsword wavering. The man didn’t have the strength to make an effective blow, but he could skewer Ben on the longer blade long before Ben’s dagger could reach him.

  Ben didn’t care.

  Jason stepped back again, and Ben increased his limping pace, ignoring the grind of bones in his injured knee and the squish of blood pumping from his other leg. A flicker of concern filled Jason’s eyes as Ben closed within half a dozen paces. A sword sticking through his body, Jason didn’t have the strength to run.

  Ben drew back his hunting knife, keeping it raised well above his head, and came closer. In two steps, he’d be to the tip of Jason’s sword. He steeled himself for the pain of the blade entering his body.

  Snorting, Jason raised his longsword to defend against Ben’s attack.

  Ben pitched forward and felt Jason’s longsword parry the hunting knife. With weak hands, Jason had managed to raise his longer weapon to meet Ben’s blow. The steel of the longsword bit him deep, cutting the flesh of his hand down to the bone. The hunting knife went spinning out of Ben’s hand.

  With his other hand, Ben shoved against Jason’s chest, putting everything into it as he stumbled forward. Jason fell back, surprise on his voice as he twisted to avoid landing on the point of the longsword stuck through him.

  The world slowed, and each beat of Ben’s heart seemed to take a hundred. He watched Jason spin, the man twisting like a cat to avoid tearing himself in two by landing on the sword. A pace above it, the Black Knife saw the glowing matrix of yellow lines below him. The pattern Saala had damaged earlier, lying on the grass, was directly under Jason’s falling body.

  Ben fell to his knees then onto his face. Dew damp grass pressed against his cheek. He heard a high-pitched scream, and he looked up.

  Lord Jason, the Black Knife, was writhing frantically on the glowing lines of the broken geometric pattern, oily black smoke twisting up from under him as the incandescent lights burned through his flesh like hot metal pressing against cold butter.

  Behind him, Ben knew the other matrix was approaching, but he didn’t have the strength to run. Pushing himself to his knees, he watched Jason burn. He shuddered at the thought of his own approaching, excruciating death.

  Finally, Jason’s hoarse voice fell silent, and the glowing lights flickered out. With Lord Jason dead, they lost their power. Ben blinked in amazement, and took two long, ragged breaths before he risked looking behind him to see that the second matrix had vanished as well.

  On the ground in front of Ben, Black Knife’s flesh popped and hissed from where it had been burned, but the sounds quickly faded as the heat from the burning lines was gone. The tinkling water of the fountain and Ben’s pained wheezes were the only sounds left in the courtyard.

  Ben struggled to his feet, tears coming to his eyes as he put weight on his damaged legs. Staggering, he almost fell as he bent to collect Lord Jason’s longsword. Gripping it, he felt a surge of energy and heat flow through his body. It wasn’t healing him, but it was lending him a warmth that his body
was quickly losing from blood dripping out of his torn flesh.

  Grim-faced, Ben looked around and saw Saala’s weapon as well. He shuffled to it and stooped to collect it, just in time to hear running feet and shouts as men poured into the palace.

  Ben straightened, a mage-wrought blade in each hand, the tips resting on the lush, green turf. Blood trickling down his body, Ben felt tremors of pain coursing through him, but he had the strength to stand. For a while, at least.

  Men, clad in Coalition grey, burst through the same double doors Jason had kicked open when he’d entered the courtyard. A score of them. Two score. Ben stopped counting when he realized there were enough. He couldn’t fight these men.

  “Lord Jason,” gasped one of the soldiers, eying the body of their lord.

  They spread out as they streamed into in the courtyard, steel broadswords held by steely-eyed men. They didn’t attack, though. They waited.

  Ben heard another sound, and slower-moving feet approached. An elderly man, one he didn’t recognize, stepped through the broken doors.

  “Councilman Graff,” said the soldier who’d spoken earlier. “King Jason is dead.”

  Both men’s gaze flicked between the fallen lord and his longsword, held in Ben’s hand.

  “Who are you?” asked the councilman, a dark glare on his face, a shimmer of building energy swirling around his hands.

  “I’m the man who killed your lord,” growled Ben. “I killed the King of the Alliance as well. I’m betrothed to your Lady Selene’s daughter. I’m the liege of your dead lord’s brother, Lloyd. I require your healing or your head.”

  The councilman’s jaw fell open. His eyes darted between Jason, Saala, and Ben.

  “I’m not a patient man, Graff,” snapped Ben, using the last of his strength to raise the two, mage-wrought swords, crossing them in front of his face, his eyes fixed on Councilman Graff between the glowing weapons. “Heal me now, or these men will tell your widow that you were executed by Lord Benjamin Ashwood.”

  16

  Weight of the Crown