by A. C. Cobble
Ben yawned and rolled over, tugging the heavy, silk-lined blanket up in a futile attempt to block the day.
“The world won’t wait on you, Benjamin Ashwood,” declared Amelie.
He peeked out from beneath the sheets and saw her shrugging into a casual dress, one that she could receive close staff and advisors in but not as formal as the one she’d wear to open court later in the day. She would only need a quarter bell of hair and makeup preparation with the casual dress. For the formal one, the world waited.
“There’s kaf,” she said, exiting the bedchamber into her sitting room where the staff would have already laid out silver trays filled with a sumptuous feast. Eggs, rashers of bacon, fresh bread, jams to spread on it, honey, creamy butter, sliced fruit, and kaf.
Grumbling to himself, Ben kicked his way out of the heavy sheets and slid on a plain tunic and britches that he’d thrown over a stuffed lounging chair the night before.
“You can’t wear that outside of these rooms,” said Amelie when he walked barefoot into the sitting room. “You look like you just got back from the tavern.”
“I feel like I just got back from the tavern,” muttered Ben as he joined her at the breakfast table.
He tilted a silver pitcher and poured a stream of rich, black kaf into a white porcelain cup. He frowned when he saw the thing was patterned with pink and purple flowers. He had been sleeping there, but there was no doubt it was still Amelie’s bedchamber. Shrugging, he breathed deep, letting the aroma of the kaf perk his senses. Then he sat down and collected a biscuit. Splitting it open, he started to slather honey on it.
“What time did you get back last night?” wondered Amelie.
Ben shrugged.
“You have to be careful, Ben.”
“You think someone will make an attempt on our lives?” he wondered around a mouthful of flaky bread and honey.
“No,” she said and sipped at her own cup of kaf. “I worry you’ll get drunk and make a fool of yourself, or perhaps speak too freely about something that should not be shared. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“I keep my secrets,” declared Ben.
“Remember what you told Adrick Morgan about his daughter and Rhys?” asked Amelie. “That was just yesterday.”
Ben fell into a coughing fit. He finally recovered and wiped his mouth before croaking, “Dry biscuit.”
Amelie eyed him doubtfully.
“I didn’t say anything or do anything that would embarrass you last night.”
“I’m not worried about me,” said Amelie, shaking her head. “Ben, people look up to you. They watch your every move. They study you. You have a chance to show them the way or a chance to prove that you’re nothing more than a country lout. It’s your time to lead, Ben.”
“I thought that’s what I’ve been doing,” he complained, taking a tentative sip of his kaf and deciding the scalding heat was worth the jolt of wakefulness it would shoot through him. “I led men against the demons and against the Alliance and the Coalition. What else do people expect?”
“That was the easy part,” retorted Amelie.
Ben frowned at her.
“I am serious. Being a leader in the moment is easy,” she continued. “Well, not easy. Easier, I should say. Rising to the challenge, showing bravery in the face of terror, that’s something you felt you had to do. You’re the one who said it every time before a battle. ‘The choice was obvious. There was only one thing to do.’ Fighting a battle when it’s the only thing to do, that is easy. Living every day publicly, setting the example, that is hard.”
Ben sipped at his drink and studied the breakfast tray in front of him.
“You do want to be a leader, right, Ben?”
“I don’t know,” he mumbled.
“There’s a void in the world,” continued Amelie, “a void left by the powerful leaders who we helped topple. If we do not fill that void, who will? Can we say the next Veil, the next leader in Irrefort, Whitehall, or Issen will be any better than the ones we just killed? What was the point of it all if we let fate decide? What was the point if we do not make sure everything we fought for actually happens?”
Staring into the swirling darkness of his mug, Ben replied, “I understand what you’re saying, Amelie, but isn’t there someone else, someone…”
“Ben,” she responded gently, “you’ve seen what the other leaders in this world are capable of. If not you, if not me, then who else can we trust to lead our people? There is no one else, Ben. It is our time to lead, to make things right.”
Ben looked up to meet her eyes. “You said ‘our people’.”
Amelie blinked at him.
He drew a deep breath then asked, “What did you mean ‘our’?”
“Of everything I said, that’s the one thing you paid attention to?” asked Amelie.
Ben held her gaze.
“They can be our people if you want them to be,” mumbled Amelie, her eyes falling down. “We could rule side by side.”
“I-I, ah…”
“There’s the betrothal period and the ceremony, of course. I believe even in Farview that’s how these things are conducted?”
Ben worked his mouth, struggling to figure out what to say.
“Traditionally, the man would start the process by asking the question.”
“Amelie—”
“On one knee,” she reminded him.
Three days later, seven days after the duel in the courtyard of the summer palace, Ben and Amelie stood side by side in front of the gates of Issen. Behind them, Serrot, Adrick Morgan, Earnest John, Elle, and rank after rank of Issen’s soldiers stood ready to march.
“Are you sure about this?” asked Ben, adjusting the two sheaths strapped to his back. “There could be treachery.”
Amelie snorted.
“What?”
“Isn’t that the kind of thing I’m supposed to ask you?”
He shrugged.
“We have an entire army behind us, Ben.”
“They have bigger armies,” he reminded her.
“For now,” challenged Amelie. “You’ve seen the reports just like I have. Every day, thousands are leaving and going home. Those armies are bigger today, but in a week, or if they march to fight, they’ll hemorrhage men. They’ll have more men walking home than to war, if those men don’t swing by Issen first in an attempt to join us. The armies of the Alliance and the Coalition have lost the will to continue, thanks to you.”
Ben grunted. “They still have a lot of men, and they’re not all leaving.”
“Not yet.”
Ben glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Very well then, let’s go.”
They started walking, and behind them, scores then hundreds then thousands of booted feet began to march down the road, headed north to where they would parley with the leaders of the Alliance and the Coalition. They weren’t entirely sure who that would be.
Ben and Amelie had access to far-seeing, so they had a clear view of the respective camps of their opponents, but they couldn’t see what was happening within the tents. They couldn’t hear what was being discussed by the remaining command structures. In a typical campaign, they would have attempted to work spies into the other camps, but theirs had not been a typical campaign, and there had been no time to establish the connections necessary for espionage.
They walked for a bell, heading toward the unknown, the crisp autumn breeze blowing into their faces. Finally, they came to a large, flat area beside the road. Two small armies already sat on opposite sides of the field. As their group arrived, they formed the third point in a triangle. The image sent a shiver down Ben’s spine.
“Adrick, Earnest John, Elle, Captain Whan, with us,” ordered Amelie.
She started walking again, approaching the center of the field. Ben was beside her, and the four others followed them. In the distance, Ben could see small groups splitting off from the other armies, walking out to meet.
“Anything?” Amelie ask
ed the strange girl, Elle.
“There are torrents of emotions,” squeaked the tiny mage in the high-pitched voice of a girl who’d seen no more than twelve summers. “I do not sense any betrayal.”
“How can you sense them?” asked Ben.
Elle did not answer, and when he looked over his shoulder, the huge mage Earnest John gave a slight shake of his head.
Ben turned and flexed his sword hand, trying to remain calm. He was still stiff after the ordeal with Saala and Jason. The Coalition’s councilman, a mage of slight talent, had been scared and confused about the outcome of the duel and Ben’s relationship to the Coalition’s potential new leadership. Talking quick, Ben had convinced the man to heal him. It hadn’t been much, but it had been enough to keep him alive. Elle had done a more thorough job after they’d found him unconscious, halfway back to Issen. Healing could only go so far, though. His body had to recover strength on its own after a near-death experience.
Ben was functional, and he had no problems moving about throughout the day, but he knew he’d be severely disadvantaged in a fight. In his weakened state, he wouldn’t survive facing the likes of Saala and Jason again. He hoped there wasn’t the likes of Saala and Jason still around.
“Here,” said Amelie.
Ben looked around. They were almost to the center of the field. “Amelie, another three hundred paces and…”
“And we’d be in the middle,” acknowledged the Lady of Issen. “We arrived late on purpose, Ben, and we will make them come to us, on purpose. It is one of the subtle games of power that the lords and ladies play.”
“What if they don’t come to us?” wondered Ben.
“Then we already know how this meeting will go, and we’d best hurry back to our men.”
“They’re coming,” stated Earnest John.
Ben held a hand above his eyes and studied the approaching parties, five people in each one. His eyes widened when the Alliance group came close enough that he could see their faces. “General Brinn. That’s a good thing, right?”
“I think you’re right,” said Amelie, excitement building in her voice. “If he’s the representative they’re sending, I think he’ll treat with us fairly.”
“Who’s coming from the Coalition?” asked Ben, frowning. “I believe that’s Councilman Graff, the mage who healed me.”
“He’s not the leader, though,” said Amelie, turning to look at John and Elle. “What can you sense?”
Elle simply shook her head.
The figure in the lead of the Coalition’s forces was wearing a heavy cowl in Coalition grey, and their face was lost in the shadows underneath of it. They appeared slight, like a woman, but Ben couldn’t be sure. One thing he was certain of, though, was that Lloyd was not in the party, and Rhys was not amongst the Alliance representatives.
There had been no word of either man since they’d left on their respective missions, and Ben feared the worst. In anger after the slaying of the kings, there was no telling what loyalists might have done.
“Lady Amelie, Ben,” called the gruff voice of General Brinn. The man was red-faced, as if he’d been swinging his sword, drinking, or biting back terrible anger. Perhaps all three, if not in that order, speculated Ben.
“Brinn,” acknowledged Amelie. “Are you in command?”
“For the moment,” said the general. “You killed our king, remember? The highborn spent the last week arguing over who should take command of the army. I suggested whoever took the mantle of commander needed to challenge you to a one-on-one duel, Ben. None of the highborn volunteered after that, and they sent me.”
“You’re here to challenge me!” exclaimed Ben, his hand going to his sword.
“Nah.” Brinn laughed. “But they don’t know that. Besides, if I did challenge you, you have an advantage. Each delegation was supposed to bring only five representatives. There are six in your party. You’ve got us outnumbered.”
“We brought four!” protested Ben, turning and counting Adrick Morgan, Elle, Earnest John, and Captain Whan. He saw Amelie looking at him with one eyebrow raised.
“Don’t worry,” rumbled Brinn. “I’m here to make friends, not to fight.”
“Good,” said Ben, counting their party again. Frowning, he turned to the Coalition’s delegation. “Councilman Graff, good to see you again.”
The councilman eyed Amelie. “It seems you were not lying to me.”
Ben nodded. “I was not. Do you speak for the Coalition?”
The councilman shook his head and stepped away. The hooded figure swept back her cowl, and Amelie gasped.
“Mother!”
Lady Selene, Amelie’s mother, offered a slight bow. “It’s been a long time, daughter.”
Amelie stared at her mother, speechless.
General Brinn cleared his throat and suggested, “What say we get started?”
Ben shook himself and demanded, “First, where are our friends?”
“Rhys, you mean?” asked Brinn sardonically.
Ben nodded.
“He’s with the army back there, clamped in irons and a little scuffed up. I’m sure he’s had worse after a night in the tavern, though,” said Brinn. “After he heard about Saala, he got a little wild, and some of the boys were upset. He got kicked around some. Sorry about that.”
“Scuffed up? Is he injured?”
Brinn shook his head. “Cuts and bruises. That man can take a pounding and keep going, as I’m sure you know.”
Ben nodded a thanks and turned to Lady Selene. “Lloyd?”
“He is with us,” said the lady, her eyes still fixed on Amelie. “He’s uninjured and in good spirits.”
Amelie glanced between Brinn and her mother. “We’d like our friends back.”
“We assumed you would ask for Lord Lloyd’s release,” murmured Lady Selene.
“You’re welcome to have Rhys back,” grumbled Brinn. “That man causes trouble just by waking up in the morning.”
Ben grinned and removed his hand from the hilt of his longsword.
“If there are no objections, let us do it now,” said Amelie. “Please send a man back to your camps and bring our friends to us.”
“You can ask for their return,” chided Amelie’s mother, “but in negotiation, it is expected that there is a give and take, a back and forth. What are you offering?”
Meeting her mother’s eye, Amelie stated, “In negotiation, yes. I am not negotiating the return of our friends. Bring them to us. Now.”
Lady Selene drew herself up to argue, but Brinn interrupted her. “Leave off it, lady. What are you going to do, tell that council of yours to hold Lord Jason’s brother indefinitely? His claim to the throne is almost as strong as yours, and he’s a true blademaster. Your people will love him. You bring that man back to Irrefort, and you could have a rebellion on your hands.”
Rolling his eyes at the Coalition delegation, Brinn instructed one of his men to go back to the camp and return with Rhys. Scowling at the general, Lady Selene nodded, and the Coalition representatives followed suit.
Lady Selene turned back to Amelie. “If you are not negotiating, daughter, what is it you are demanding? With your small force, do you aim to take Irrefort and Whitehall? Slaying Jason was impressive, but do not think it will earn you our city.”
“Your city?” scoffed Amelie. “Issen was your city, and you betrayed it.”
Lady Selene offered a short bow. “Daughter, Issen is your city now, as I always wished it would be, but Irrefort is mine.”
Ben tensed. Amelie held up a hand to silence him.
“Do you mean to end the war in this meeting or merely reframe the terms?” pressed Lady Selene.
“When our friends have joined us, I will tell you.”
“Tell me?” said Selene, coldly. “What do you mean tell me?”
Amelie turned from her mother and ignored her as they waited.
Ben met Brinn’s eyes and offered the general a sheepish smile. The barrel-chested warrior snorte
d and rubbed his hand across his lips, struggling to keep a smile off his face as well.
In short time, two more groups appeared from the Alliance and the Coalition forces. In the first group, Lloyd was being escorted by four men in Coalition grey. He walked in the midst of them, a lion surrounded by cubs. When they arrived at the moot, he stepped easily to Adrick Morgan’s side and offered the former guardian a nod.
“Good to see you again.”
Adrick winked at him.
One of the Coalition soldiers tossed a sword at Lloyd, and the blademaster caught it easily.
The other group drew closer, and Ben saw Rhys in the center of a dozen guards. Thick, iron links bound his hands to his feet, and the men eyed him as warily as they would a rabid beast.
“About time,” grumbled the rogue when they arrived.
His face was smeared with dabs of blood and dirt, his hair looked like he’d been sleeping under a bush the last week, and from a distance, Ben could tell he hadn’t bathed since they’d last been together. He decided the man’s clothes were unsalvageable and would have to be burned. All in all, though, it wasn’t so far from the rogue’s normal appearance.
After a nod from Brinn, one of the guards knelt and unfasted the rogue’s chains.
Rhys flexed his hands and feet then raised his arms in a stretch. Everyone watched as he let out a long, low moan of pleasure. When he was done stretching, he rubbed at his wrists. “I’ve been thrown in darker prisons and locked in tighter manacles, but being held captive is never very pleasant.”
“We’ll take your word for it,” said Ben with a snort.
Rhys nodded and then turned to survey the men around him. He singled out one and pointed at the man. “You!”
The soldier glared at the rogue and was caught off-guard when Rhys sprang at him and snatched a silver flask off the man’s belt.
“This is mine,” snapped Rhys.
The soldier’s jaw dropped open. Then, the rogue’s fist closed it.
Rhys smashed his knuckles into the man’s chin, and the soldier flopped back limply, knocked out cold.
All around Rhys, the other soldiers scrambled away, drawing broadswords and yelling to each other. Rhys calmly unscrewed his flask and took a long drink.