by A. C. Cobble
Amelie hugged him tight but did not respond.
Watching Whitehall disappear into the horizon, Ben kept speaking. “There is no reason for wars like the one we’re rushing to stop. Back in Farview, there was the occasional scuffle at the tavern, but nothing ever got any worse than a busted nose and a missing tooth. People worked it out. They worked together, and if things were getting out of control, everyone would jump in and stop it. Fights were just brawls, and it never escalated to where the entire town thought they had to get involved. No one was ever killed. It’s appalling to even think about it. Farview is just a small town, though, and I’m just a small-town brewer. What do I know about continent-spanning war and politics?”
“More than you think,” responded Amelie. “More than any of us, maybe.”
“Lady Coatney wasn’t the monster I pictured her to be,” said Ben. “In fact, she seemed quite reasonable. I mean it, Amelie. What if she is right and we are wrong?”
Amelie snorted. “She earned her position as the Veil by trying to assassinate her predecessor, and you think she’s reasonable? Ben, she painted a picture for you, but it was a false one. Don’t listen to what she said. Look at what she’s done. That’s the true test of a leader. War doesn’t bring peace. It only brings more war. Trust me, I spent years studying the histories. I think you’d be surprised at how reasonable your hometown wisdom sounds after the stories I’ve read.”
“Really?” asked Ben.
“People are capable of terrible things,” replied Amelie. “They’re capable of great things, too. I think that’s what we need to do. We need to prove that there can be peace without war, that there can be cooperation without fealty, that mankind doesn’t have to live like we did over the last several millennia. I believe it’s possible, Ben, but someone has to show everyone how to do it.”
“You can do it, Amelie. If anyone can, you can.”
Amelie stepped back, slipping from under his arm. She punched him in the shoulder. “I’m not doing anything, Ben, you are!”
“Me?”
“When this is over, people will believe in you, not in me. Not in Towaal, and not in O’ecca either. We’re the old guard, Ben, products of the political system we want to overturn. You are the change. You’re the one we follow, the one everyone will follow.”
Ben frowned at her, uncertain how to respond to such a charge.
“If not you, then who else?” she asked.
“Rhys?” asked Ben, earning himself another punch. Rubbing his arm where her small fist had struck him, he said, “I’ll do what I can, but I don’t know if it will be enough.”
“That’s all any of us can do,” responded Amelie. “It has to be enough.”
7
Fabrizo
“Tomorrow, just after dawn,” declared Ben.
“It’s too bad we can’t arrive at night,” responded Rhys.
“You think we need to sneak in under the cover of dark?” wondered Ben.
“No,” answered the rogue. “Fabrizo’s taverns don’t really get started until evening. In the morning, we might find a few open, but the only people there will be locals and drunks.”
“You’ll fit right in,” muttered Ben under his breath. He shook his head. In a normal tone, he insisted, “We will not time our arrival for when the bars open.” Trying to ignore the rogue, he turned to the rest of the party. “We know the Veil has a several day head start on us, and Saala was weeks in front of her. According to what Brinn told us just before we left, they’ve moved forces to near Murdoch’s Waystation because there’s more room there, and the army was starting to irritate the Merchant’s Guild in Fabrizo. Logistically, the bottleneck is still moving through the port. Brinn and Seth were unable to say whether the king would stay to deal with that or if he’d move ahead to the staging grounds. It’s possible that both Saala and the Veil could still be in the city. If they are, we should expect a great deal of difficulty meeting with Saala without catching her notice.”
“You still think Saala will listen to you?” asked Prem. “From what we saw in Whitehall, no one seems eager to lay down their swords.”
Ben shrugged. “We have to try.”
“I don’t think Saala will stop this war, Ben,” advised O’ecca. “Perhaps he is different now, but when he left the South Continent, it wasn’t because he loved peace so much. He was plotting a coup against the emperor, remember?”
“He was accused of plotting a coup,” challenged Ben. “It’s not clear he was really planning to overthrow the man, was it?”
O’ecca shrugged. “The emperor believed it. He still does.”
“You know him best, Amelie,” said Ben. “What do you think?”
“If he proceeds to fight the war, he risks losing to the Coalition and of course dying in battle. If the Alliance lost and he survived, he’ll have to go into hiding to avoid execution. I’m not sure where he’d go, but I suppose there are always places like Free State he could hide for a few years. It’s not the first time he’s been on the run, and I don’t think the prospect would frighten him. Death might, but he’s danced on the edge for a long time. How many fights has he been in? Hundreds? If he wins the war, he’ll be the king of nearly all of Alcott. It’s hard to turn down a chance to become king.”
“I would,” claimed Ben.
“Maybe you would, maybe you wouldn’t,” retorted Amelie. “You were talking about bringing peace to the lands a few weeks ago. Wouldn’t it be a lot easier to do that as king instead of as a brewer? If someone offered you a crown, would you really turn it down? Saala may be pursuing the war to increase his personal power, but he could also do it for altruistic reasons. He might honestly believe the Coalition is a scourge on the land and that by opposing them he is doing the right thing. I know my father thought that when he decided to ally with Argren. Lord Jason made similar claims about his own motivation, and you already told me what the Veil said. Ben, all of them believe what they are doing is right.”
“When you put it like that…” mumbled Ben, running a hand through his hair. “We have to try, though. Regardless of how little chance of success we have, it’s worth trying, isn’t it?”
He glanced around his friends, and none of them offered an objection. What could they say? If the war started, the best case was hundreds of thousands dying. At worst, it could be millions. No matter how small the odds, they couldn’t sit and let that happen.
The next morning, the sun sparkled on the water, and the low-slung buildings of Fabrizo rose from it like timid turtles barely poking their noses above the surface. From a distance, Fabrizo appeared humble compared to the soaring edifices of Whitehall, but as they sailed closer, the canals between the islands that made up the city shone with sparkling light, like brilliant veins pulsing through the structures, carrying life between the colorfully painted buildings. Ben knew that throughout the day, the water would shimmer brightly, reflecting the sun’s light, and then when the sun went down, the buildings would blaze with their own scintillating aura. It was beautiful when you took the time to look at it.
“There,” said Prem, pointing to the south end of the city.
A high-castled vessel floated half a league from the islands of Fabrizo. No flags hung from the back, but it didn’t need them. Wide windows dotted the wooden sides, where a merchant cog would have room for storage. It had none of the weapons of warfare on deck which would be expected for a man-o-war or even on a highborn lord’s personal craft. The women who sailed on that ship had no need of transporting merchandise, and their will was a stronger deterrent than any number of artillery weapons.
“Do you think she’s still here?” wondered Amelie.
“There’s no way of knowing until we land,” responded Rhys. “She could be, or she could have traveled inland.”
“We sneak in,” declared Ben.
“It’s broad daylight,” reminded Amelie, “and this vessel is going to be closely watched. An emissary from the South Continent will draw the interest of th
e Merchant’s Guild, the Veil if she’s here, and Saala.”
Ben scratched at his scar, frowning. They didn’t have a choice of vessels, so there was no use second-guessing the ride with O’ecca, but Amelie had a point. Their arrival would be almost as public as the Veil’s.
“What if we stay in hiding and then see who comes calling?” she suggested. “Whatever representatives arrive with messages for O’ecca will let us know which powerful players are in the city.”
Ben shrugged. “That’s a better plan than I have.”
“Well,” said Rhys, “enjoy the sunlight for another bell, then we need to get below deck. They won’t wait long when they see the Emperor’s flag.”
As Amelie expected, a torrent of messages from well-wishers, favor-seekers, and the simply curious began to arrive as soon as they dropped anchor. At first, it was representatives from the Merchant’s Guild offering their hospitality and invitations to dinners to discuss expanded relationships with the South Continent. Then, exiles and South Continent citizens began to arrive. Small vendors came after that, offering their wares, but when O’ecca refused to let any of them board, their presence tapered off. Finally, a vessel showed up with a lord from one of Whitehall’s noble houses and a mage of the Sanctuary.
Ben and his friends peered out of curtained windows as the smaller craft pulled beside O’ecca’s cog. She would meet them on deck and then bring them to her study where Ben and his friends could eavesdrop from her bedroom.
At first glance, it appeared the Alliance and the Sanctuary were uneasy allies at best. The lord and the mage stood on opposite sides of their boat, and neither one made eye contact as ropes were thrown between the two ships and a platform lowered so the dignitaries didn’t have to climb the hemp net.
“Lady Elin,” said Rhys. “She is the Veil’s closest confidante. For Coatney to send her, she wants something important.”
“But, what?” wondered Ben. “She didn’t reach out to O’ecca when they were both in Whitehall.”
“She was recovering from the battle with Avril and then looking for her body,” reminded Amelie. “Maybe she didn’t have time to address O’ecca then, or maybe someone realized Avril was hiding in Ooswam…”
They moved away from the window as the delegation was lifted out of sight. Everyone pressed their ears against the door, waiting for O’ecca to greet her guests. In moments, they heard the door open and a rustling sound as everyone entered.
“Take a seat, please,” offered O’ecca.
“Thank you,” murmured two low voices.
“Lord Heinlin and Lady Elin, yes?” continued O’ecca. “Can I get you any refreshments?”
“No,” said a woman, her stern voice slicing through any pleasantries. “I think it’s best we move immediately to business.”
“Very well,” demurred O’ecca. “What is it you wish to discuss?”
“What are the Emperor’s intentions with Alcott?” demanded Lady Elin.
There was a pause. Then, O’ecca answered, “He is seeking allies, trading lanes—”
“Ooswam has rarely ventured outside of its own borders,” interrupted Lady Elin. “Why now? Is your emperor looking to insert himself into the conflict between the Alliance and the Coalition?”
“No, he is not,” declared O’ecca, “though surely you know Saala Ishaam is from Ooswam? Are you familiar with his history and why he fled to Alcott? As you can imagine, the emperor has an interest in the man. When he was raised to king in Whitehall and was declared the leader of this Alliance, the Emperor thought it was an appropriate time to establish lines of communication. The disruption this looming war is causing, the other ills that have beset Alcott, they are also of interest. The Emperor wants to ensure nothing untoward spills across the South Sea.”
“We are aware of Saala Ishaam’s history with the emperor. He is no longer a subject of Ooswam, though, and the Sanctuary will brook no interference in his reign or in this conflict,” warned Lady Elin.
“Why?” asked O’ecca. “Are there already too many hands on the puppet strings?”
“That is offensive,” barked Lord Heinlin at the same time Lady Elin snapped, “The business of Alcott will remain the business of Alcott. The Sanctuary has matters in hand.”
“Much like you did the demon swarm north of Kirksbane?” inquired O’ecca smoothly. “I believe there were a few of your mages there, correct? But they’d already renounced their association with the Sanctuary from what I understood. The Sanctuary wasn’t actually doing anything at all to meet the largest demon swarm in written history, was it?”
“How did you—”
“Was the Veil too busy dealing with discord in the City, under her own nose?” continued O’ecca, talking over the other woman. “I heard something about a burning tower, missing artifacts, the Veil’s own blood falling in the conflict… I was intending to ask her myself in Whitehall, but we all know what happened there, don’t we? Was Whitehall another situation that the Sanctuary had in hand?”
Silence filled the room until Lord Heinlin asked, “What is she talking about, Lady Elin? A burning tower, the Veil’s own blood?”
“The Emperor is better informed about matters in Alcott than we expected,” admitted Lady Elin, ignoring Lord Heinlin.
“The Emperor is well aware of what has been happening here, and while normally he is content to allow Alcott’s leaders to manage Alcott – three thousand demons!” exclaimed O’ecca. “They had already overrun Northport, and the Sanctuary did nothing. Surely you can understand the Emperor’s concern. A swarm of demons that size is unprecedented, and if it was not stopped, it would have posed a clear threat to all of this continent. The South Sea is a strong barrier against demons, but the information we have about this demon-king is highly troubling. While I am here to treat with King Saala and gain commitment that there is no bad blood remaining between him and the Emperor, I am also here to find out if a risk remains from that demon swarm or other dark forces.”
“The swarm was stopped,” responded Lady Elin crisply. “There is no further threat.”
“Three-Three thousand?” stammered Lord Heinlin. “We’d heard rumors…”
“Lady Elin, Lord Heinlin, the Emperor has legitimate concerns about whether the leadership in Alcott is competent to handle threats that may impact us all. We all share a—”
“You’re here to assess our competence?” snapped Lady Elin.
“I’m here to determine if we should be concerned.”
“What do you want from us, then?” questioned the mage. “Some sort of assurance that the demons are gone?”
“I’d like to meet the Veil, since we missed each other in Whitehall, and I would like to meet King Saala. I want to discuss their plans. You ask us not to interfere, which I understand. For me to promise that, we have to be confident the leadership is capable of handling matters within their own realms. We have to be confident they’re capable of surviving the next few months.”
“Surviving!” cried Lady Elin. “If you think—"
“I know Lady Avril battled the Veil on the Citadel’s veranda,” cracked O’ecca.
“Who is Lady Avril?” demanded Lord Heinlin. “What battle is she talking about?”
“You don’t know the Veil and her predecessor fought in King Saala’s throne room just four weeks past?” asked O’ecca innocently. “I’m surprised Lady Elin didn’t think that worth mentioning to you. It seems the old Veil, Lady Avril, wasn’t as dead as the Sanctuary told us.”
They heard a crash, and Ben grinned, guessing it was Lord Heinlin’s chair falling to the floor as he sprang to his feet. Ben nearly giggled, imagining the conversation Lord Heinlin would have with Lady Elin on the boat back to Fabrizo. It seemed the allies had much to discuss.
“That is Sanctuary business, girl,” snapped Lady Elin. “Do not think to threaten us with—”
“I am not threatening you,” barked O’ecca. “I am asking for a meeting with the Veil. I would be happy to listen to her opi
nions on these matters, and if she wants to advise me to stay quiet about it, I want to hear that from her. Until I do, I can only speculate on what happened and what it means for the security of her rule.”
There was a moment of silence, then Lady Elin allowed, “I will pass on your concerns to Lady Coatney and I will inform her you would like an audience. In good faith, we would appreciate these discussions waiting until the Veil can see you in person.”
“Thank you,” replied O’ecca. “Lord Heinlin, is King Saala available?”
“He’s not here,” mumbled the man. “I have been given authority to speak on his behalf.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s at our advance site, a place called Murdoch’s Waystation. We are staging troops for the coming war with the Coalition.” Perhaps recalling the accusations O’ecca had lobbed toward the Sanctuary, he scrambled to add, “All is in order there. As you know, King Saala is a military man, and he prefers to be hands-on.”
“Of course,” replied O’ecca, her tone softening. “I do not plan to travel inland, so I would be pleased if you could join me for dinner one evening, Lord Heinlin. We can discuss improving relations between the Alliance and the Emperor.”
“Wonderful,” agreed the lord, his voice regaining the practiced formality of highborn negotiations. “There are many well-respected establishments onshore, if you care to come into town one evening. I will admit, the seafood here is even better than our finest restaurants in Whitehall. I would consider it a favor if you’d accompany me to one of the best.”
