Soldiers of the Crown

by Stephen L. Nowland

  “It has come to my attention over the past few hours that you are untrained in either magic or fighting,” Kinsey remarked, tossing his cane over to Kara. “Yet accounts from people I’ve spoken with suggest you have attempted to do both on more than one occasion. How you managed to survive this long is beyond my comprehension, save that you are surrounded by talented people, and appear to have a healthy dose of luck on your side.”

  Aiden remained silent, unwilling to add he’d technically been killed and brought back to life from another plane of existence too. It probably wouldn’t help his case.

  “Princess Criosa vouched for you, deferring to your judgement and saying you were ‘really smart’,” Kinsey continued. “I’m getting cynical in my advancing years so I need a little more than her word to go on. Beat me in a practice match and you’ll have my support. Back down and I’ll revoke your authority to operate on behalf of the Crown.”

  “I never asked for her to vouch for me,” Aiden responded, hefting the wooden sword and shifting his position. “I am prepared to back up her words with a demonstration, but I’m a little concerned about fighting a man with a crippled leg.”

  “If I’m as impaired as you suggest, that should only make it easier for you to win,” Kinsey surmised. “Don’t worry, my pride won’t be injured if you get the better of me.” Aiden glanced at him warily, expecting the master spy to have a few tricks up his sleeve. Gripping the fake sword tightly, he closed the gap between them and brough the weapon around in a quick strike.

  Kinsey hardly seemed to move, yet Aiden’s sword was suddenly wrenched from his grasp and tossed to the floor. A heartbeat later, the edge of the spymaster’s sword was at Aiden’s throat, leaving no doubt how this would have ended had his weapon been real.

  “A poor showing,” Kinsey admonished him, shoving him backwards and pointing his sword at the one on the floor. “You underestimated me, Mister Wainwright. Don’t do that again.” Aiden retrieved the weapon and steadied himself once more, and this time approached his opponent with more respect.

  Their weapons clacked off each other as Kinsey parried Aiden’s attack, and before he could regain his balance, Kinsey elbowed him in the back and sent Aiden sprawling onto the polished wooden floor.

  “You over extended yourself, sir, an amateur mistake,” Kinsey remarked easily, leaning on his sword as if it were a cane. “Always maintain balance. You leave yourself open to attack when you go on the offensive like that. We are fragile creatures, Mister Wainwright, it doesn’t take much effort to cut someone down.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” Aiden muttered, slowing getting back on his feet and picking up his sword. This time, when he turned to face the spymaster, Aiden was completely focused on the task before him. He had been holding back for fear of injuring the man, but it was clear now that in spite of his injury, Mister Kinsey was an adept swordsman.

  “In case you’re wondering,” Kara said, “we all have to go through this during training. Don’t go easy on him or he’ll just make it worse for you, mate.”

  “Again!’ Kinsey demanded, reading his weapon before him. Aiden whispered the magical word he used to summon the shield of force and when it appeared, Kinsey actually raised an eyebrow. But this time, Aiden didn’t give him a chance to get settled.

  The two men came together in a furious clash of weapons, with Aiden fairing much better now that he had a shield to fend of Kinsey’s cunning attacks. He lasted nearly half a minute before the old spymaster finally got the better of him and sent Aiden’s sword clattering to the floor again.

  “You have to think of my reaction to your attacks ahead of time,” Kinsey advised in a sharp voice. “Anticipate. Get one step ahead of your opponent, because they’ll be trying to do the same to you.”

  Again and again Aiden and Kinsey fought, spending the next hour battling away in the old abandoned storehouse, with Aiden losing each time but learning a little along the way. The test may have been to beat Kinsey in the long run, but clearly the spy wanted to teach Aiden a few things along the way. Kara watched from a distance, winching a little every time Aiden went down.

  Aiden hadn’t tried maintaining his shield for such a prolonged period of time and found it sapping his concentration. Eventually, he had to let it fade away as he simply couldn’t maintain it any longer. With its advantages gone, the fights became shorter and more brutal, with Kinsey evidently losing patience with him.

  “I hope you fight better than this when your life really is at stake,” he growled, his limp becoming more pronounced as the effects of the test wore him down in spite of his obvious fitness.

  “You expect me to beat a master of the sword in a matter of hours?” Aiden retorted after the latest defeat.

  “Though you may not believe it, you’re actually making some progress,” Kinsey remarked. “You clearly have a sharp mind, though it would take months of training to make you a genuine expert on the blade.”

  Aiden’s chest heaved as he struggled for breath and he laid on the the floor with his sword just out of reach. He glared at it, feeling resentment build at the old spymaster. “If I didn’t have more pressing business to deal with, I’d suggest that you give me a week to beat you.”

  “You won’t have any work today, or tomorrow if you don’t defeat me,” Kinsey warned. “You may hate me for it, but this is for your own good, and for that of the Kingdom. If you are killed in the course of battling our enemies, how does that help anyone? I assure you, the people you seek are fitter and more dangerous than I.” Kinsey eased back from his battle stance and seemed to take pity on Aiden.

  “But perhaps I am asking too much of you,” he muttered. “We are done here.” Aiden was feeling bruised and battered from the “lessons” Kinsey had taught, and it hurt to try and reach for his sword. As he was doing so, he noticed the magical ring on his finger.

  “Once more,” Aiden insisted, finally grasping the sword and getting back up. Kinsey regarded him dispassionately, then shrugged and readied himself for another bout.

  Aiden raised his sword, but instead of lunging forward again, he spoke the command word to the ring and felt its energy coursing through his arm. With a gesture he swept Kinsey’s sword from from his hand. Aiden made a grabbing gesture with his ring hand and Kinsey was lifted from his feet and rapidly pulled across the room, where his bare throat met the edge of Aiden’s training sword.

  “How’s that?” he asked of Kinsey, who seemed both surprised and pleased at the result. The spymaster looked to Kara, who had a wry grin on her face.

  “Technically, that would be cheating,” she remarked, though Kinsey seemed to take a different perspective.

  “What counts in a fight is victory,” he breathed as he was held several inches off the floor. “You've learned to use all of the weapons at your disposal, Mister Wainwright. You shouldn’t hold back, because our enemies certainly won’t.” Aiden smiled and eased the spymaster back onto his feet, then dropped the sword and held his ring hand up to show of the relic.

  “Its use is limited, like most artifacts,” Aiden explained between breaths. “I wasn’t sure if it was worth wasting here, but I think the results speak for themselves. Can I go now?”

  “It’s an unorthodox approach, but it seems to work for you,” Kinsey responded as he smoothed his dark coat. “You could really use a few more weeks training with the blade, but we simply don’t have time. Nevertheless, you’ve managed to impress me, Mister Wainwright. I hope you’ve gleaned enough from today’s lessons to keep you alive. Go about your mission, and know that you have my support.”

  Satisfied but worn out from the effort, Aiden gave him a nod of thanks and lumbered back towards the inn for some rest.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next morning brought a heavy fall of snow that piled up in the streets, all but confining the citizens in their homes. Only brave or foolish souls risked heading out into the elements, leaving Aiden and the others effectively stranded at the Fair Maiden all morning. There
was still no word from Perry as to the location of the assassins.

  Aiden took advantage of the quiet time to practice his swordsmanship with Pacian, using the wooden legs he removed from a chair as makeshift practice weapons. Their sparring was a little one-sided, as Pacian used every distraction he could think of to win each bout, but Aiden liked to think they both learned a little for their efforts.

  Mid-morning, Sir William, once again displaying his courage, entered through the storm and quickly closed the door behind him to keep out the cold.

  Aiden waved him over to the table where he and Pacian sat, and he strode across the room dusting snow from his heavy cloak before unstrapping his sword belt and leaning the hilt against the table.

  “You must be feeling better to risk this weather, in spite of appearances” Aiden remarked, noticing the look of discomfort evident on the elderly knight’s expression.

  “I regret to say that the years are catching up with me,” he sighed. “Granted, my wounds were severe, yet in years past I was always back on my feet in no time. But now?” He shook his head ruefully.

  “Well, if it’s any consolation,” Aiden offered to him, “I’m sure Val will never let you forget your weakness.”

  “That woman,” Sir William grumbled, glancing over to the bar where she was having a drink with the diminutive raelani druid. “If you weren’t so short on aid, I would strongly suggest you dispense with her, Mister Wainwright.”

  “Oh, she’s not so bad,” Aiden corrected the knight. “You just need to be a little more understanding of where she’s from.”

  “Perhaps, but if it’s all the same to you, I would sooner be rid of such an uncouth influence. If your quest was bereft of divine aid in the past — which as you know isn’t true — then things have changed of late.” He looked down to the hilt of the magnificent weapon that lay there, appearing almost alien in its construction compared to his own simple blade. On a hunch, Aiden examined it closely and noticed it seemed to be made of a metal other that iron.

  He was no expert on smithing, but had once read about ancient artificers who had discovered how to make an unbreakable metal. The name as well as the method of its production had been lost in time, but it was referred to in more recent works as auldsteel. If true, its value was beyond estimation.

  “So… that sword,” Pacian said, also staring at the hilt of Solas Aingeal. “Are you sure you want to leave it leaning against the table where anyone could take it?”

  “Nobody can steal that which has been given by providence,” Sir William replied. “For example, I forbid you to take this weapon.” Pacian gave him a confused look for a long moment, before it dawned on him that it was a test. Licking his lips, he leaned across the table and grasped the hilt of the weapon. A few seconds later he let it go and recoiled, slumping into his seat and raising his arms over his face.

  “Pace?” Aiden asked, genuinely concerned. He glanced at Sir William, who looked at did not appear surprised by the result.

  “Tell me, Mister Savidge,” the knight asked calmly, “do you have trouble sleeping at night as the demons of your past slowly erode your soul?”

  “What did that thing do to him?” Aiden asked with a concerned look at Pacian.

  “It did nothing other than illuminate the emptiness in his own heart,” Sir William replied sadly. Pacian immediately stood up, throwing his chair to the floor and stalking off to the other side of the bar. Aiden ran a hand through his hair, recognising the mood Pacian was now in — the sooner they had something to fight, the better he’d feel.

  Maggie and Valennia came over to join them shortly afterward, and the four of them idly bantered about recent events while they awaited word from Perry. True to Aiden’s observation, Valennia made sport of Sir William’s perceived frailty during their battle in the mausoleum, and the knight was clearly struggling to remain civil during the conversation.

  Aiden spent some time leafing through the collection of arcane scrolls Sayana had acquired for him, and even spent some time practicing the strange words, obviously with great caution lest he set one of them off.

  It was late in the afternoon when the foul weather finally eased, and soon after Nellise walked through the inn doors, appearing tired from her time helping the homeless under the city. Sparky accompanied her, dressed in adult clothing but still easily confused for a human child if one didn’t look too closely.

  “Welcome back,” Aiden greeted the cleric, who had taken evidently the time to bathe before returning to the inn. “Are you okay?”

  “Well enough,” she quietly replied, running a hand through her pale locks. “Though being amongst so many downtrodden people has affected me rather deeply. It’s a difficult thing to feel abandoned by society.” Ronan appeared from across the room, still putting on his armour as he approached.

  “Is there news?” he asked.

  “We’re just about to find out,” Maggie told him, looking pointedly at Sparky.

  “I bring word from Perry,” Sparky said after looking around to make sure someone wasn’t listening in on their conversation. “He is not prepared to divulge the location of the assassins, lest he become a target himself.”

  “Shit,” Aiden muttered, bitterly disappointed by the news.

  “Language, sir,” Sir William admonished him.

  “Sorry, ladies,” Aiden replied absently, far more potent curses circling around in his mind. “This puts us right back to square one, though. I would have thought the head of the thieves’ guild would have been in possession of a little more courage.”

  “I’ll be sure to not let Perry know you said that,” Sparky replied blandly. “I know you wanted to hear differently, but this is the message I was told to deliver. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

  “What do we do now?” Nellise asked. “Without a direct lead, there’s no way we’re going to track down this organisation.”

  “While you think on that,” Sparky offered casually, “I think you might enjoy a little tour of the city. In particular, I think you’d find the Royal Art Gallery in the Senate District to your liking. There’re all sorts of things to be found there at the moment. Be seeing you,” she finished with a wink before heading for the door.

  “Perry’s trying to be clever,” Ronan remarked with a wry grin, “but if that’s the information he wanted us to hear, then I’d bet our target is somewhere nearby, possibly even in the gallery itself.”

  “He’s just trying to cover his tracks,” Aiden remarked, realising it was finally time to act. “Are you all prepared to head out right now?” he asked.

  “Do we have a plan of action?” Sir William inquired.

  “We don’t know the layout of the place we’re going, nor how many we face,” Aiden answered after a moment’s thought. “We want to capture Holister alive if possible, and eliminate or capture as many other assassins as we can. I think we might have to improvise and adapt to whatever we find.”

  “Hardly an ideal situation but one must remain flexible I suppose. How are the streets?” Sir William asked of Nellise.

  “Passable, with some effort,” she answered.

  “Good enough,” Aiden grunted, then called to Pacian to get his attention.

  “What?” he asked, still not in the best mood, but Aiden had some news that would cheer him up.

  “It’s on,” Aiden informed him. “Go grab Sayana and let’s go.” An evil grin appeared on Pacian’s lips as he set his drink down, flipped a coin to the bartender, and then went upstairs to fetch the sorceress.

  * * *

  “So, do you think we were meant to come here just as they closed up for the day?” Maggie wondered. Aiden and the others stood in the deepening shadows just down the street from the gallery, watching as the curator locked the front door and walked into the evening gloom. The chill in the air was especially sharp this evening.

  “That shouldn’t present a problem,” Ronan dismissed, “and it’s probably for the best, anyway. If we run into the assassins, th
e last thing we need is a bunch of art lovers getting massacred.”

  “Pace, can you get us in there?” Aiden asked. The streets were practically deserted, with only the occasional passer-by moving quickly to get out of the cold.

  “Just give me a minute,” Pacian answered quietly, then sauntered to the front door of the gallery. The sun had already set, and the only light was coming from the lanterns dotted along the street at regular intervals. From what little Aiden could see, Pacian was pretending to be fumbling with his keys as he attempted to unlock the door.

  “I think he’s got it,” Sayana remarked in a hushed voice, her eagle eyes clearly able to discern exactly what was going on.

  “Let’s go,” Aiden whispered, leading the group down the street and in through the front door of the gallery, which Pacian held open as if inviting them into his own home.

  It was pitch black within the walls, so Aiden invoked a light on his belt buckle, with Sayana and Nellise also enacting their own sources of illumination. The halls before them were lavishly carpeted, with expertly carved woodwork around the walls adding to the overall opulence of the gallery. Large paintings hung from the walls at regular intervals, displaying the talent of Aielund’s artists for all to see, for a modest admission fee of course.

  “Do you have any idea what we’re looking for?” Nellise asked of Ronan.

  “Not a clue, really,” Ronan shrugged. “This place isn’t huge so I don’t think there’s anywhere to hide within the gallery itself. There could be a secret passage somewhere, I guess. We should spread out and look around carefully for anything that resembles the outline of a door, handle or something similar.”

  “These pictures are beautiful,” Sayana whispered in awe, looking at a painting that depicted a serene lake in a forest. She peered at the picture very closely and raised a hand up to touch the canvas with an extended finger. The finger began to glow softly, the same colour as the sky she was looking at, as if she was trying to duplicate it. Aiden was reminded of the simple image she had created back in the Calespur ranges, using nothing but coloured lights created by her own sorcery.