Weight of the Crown

by A. C. Cobble

  “Are you going to put yours on?” asked Seth when he saw Ben watching him.

  “I don’t think so,” said Ben. “I’m used to fighting without armor.”

  “You might take a few knocks then,” claimed Seth. “From what I remember, you’re no slouch, so don’t think I’m going to take it easy on you!”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to,” said Ben, walking out onto the dirt field. It was packed hard from countless boots of Whitehall’s trainees over the years.

  Seth faced him, settled his footing, saw Ben was ready, and then leapt forward, a broad grin on his face.

  Ben swept the newly minted captain’s practice blade away and whipped his sword back, smacking his old friend in the chest and sending him reeling.

  “Oof,” Seth grunted. “Nice counterattack. You surprised me there.”

  “Sorry,” said Ben, cursing himself for not holding back.

  There was no sense showing Seth and the rest of Whitehall’s soldiers what he could do. So far, the rumor around the Citadel was that he and his party were old companions of the king. There were plenty of others claiming some relationship to Saala, hoping to gain advantage in court, so they didn’t stand out. Ben and Amelie were content to let everyone assume they were just another group of sycophants. They didn’t need to add additional intrigue by showing what they were capable of.

  Seth attacked again, and Ben parried, circling the soldier and then launching a tentative attack that Seth was able to counter. For a moment, they sparred back and forth, Ben pressing and then relenting.

  Seth moved cautiously after taking the hard strike on the first flurry. Then suddenly, the captain waded in aggressively, planting his leg and drawing back for a powerful blow.

  Ben slashed down, catching Seth on the side of his knee, nearly knocking his leg from under him. Then, he reversed his swing and brought the practice blade back, thumping into Seth’s sword arm and jarring the weapon from the captain’s hand. A third movement and Ben’s sword jabbed into his friend’s chest armor, knocking the air out of Seth’s lungs with an explosive wheeze.

  The captain flopped straight back, landing heavily, his practice sword lying forgotten next to him. A pained groan rose from the prone guardsman.

  Ben scrambled forward to check on him.

  “You were holding back, weren’t you?” accused Seth through gritted teeth.

  “Let’s get you up,” said Ben.

  A trio of soldiers appeared from nearby where they’d been watching the contest.

  “A little rusty, are you, captain?” said their leader with a laugh. “You’ve been spending too much time behind the desk. Or maybe your skills don’t match your new position?” The soldier turned to his friends. “What you do think, boys?”

  Seth clambered up on one knee and stuck a hand under the armor to rub his chest. He said, “Ben was trained by the king. I don’t mind admitting he’s a better blade than I.”

  “What?” responded the leader, disbelief heavy in his voice.

  “Would you care to spar?” Ben asked the newcomer.

  The man blinked.

  “It looks like there are plenty of practice weapons and armor here,” continued Ben. “We could give it a go, and you can see how you fare.”

  “We’ve got work to do, lad,” responded the man quickly. “There’s a war on, and I don’t have time for play fighting.”

  “Oh,” said Ben. “I thought your friends would like to see what you’re capable of. Unless you’re scared, that is.”

  The man snorted.

  “How about this,” offered Ben. “You can use that steel sword on your hip, and I’ll keep this wooden one.”

  Ben looked to the man’s friends, meeting their eyes and holding each soldier’s gaze for a moment.

  The leader of the group stepped back. “I told you. I don’t have time for silly games, and the paperwork I’d have to do after killing you would take me all day.”

  “You’re threatening to kill me?” asked Ben, an eyebrow raised. “If that’s the case, I believe I’m in my rights to defend myself. I think King Saala told me something about Whitehall’s dueling laws when we were traveling together.”

  “N-No, ah, no…” stammered the soldier, taking another two steps back.

  “I think it’s best you run along,” growled Ben. “But before you do, I have a friendly suggestion. You should be more worried about the upcoming battle than agitating internal strife. You should support your fellow leaders instead of taunting them. If you ever want to captain more than a bunch of barracks rats, it’s a lesson you need to learn. Now, unless you’re prepared to duel, go find somewhere else to be.”

  The man and his friends needed no other encouragement. They spun and walked quickly across the practice field, struggling not to break into a run.

  “Thanks,” said Seth, taking a deep breath and wincing. “Everyone thinks I made captain because of my connection with Brinn, and they’re not wrong. Without Brinn, I know I wouldn’t be a captain. I don’t have the family connections, and most days, I don’t think I’m ready. Before the last year, I’d never led more than a few soldiers tasked with keeping the arms room straightened up. Some of these men have been in combat.”

  “No one is ready to lead men into battle,” assured Ben. “Good leaders aren’t born, Seth. They’re made. They’re made when they gain command and prove they deserved it. You will do well. I know you will.”

  Seth eyed Ben, still rubbing his chest. “You’ve changed, Ben. For the good, I mean. You’re not the same man you were when I saw you last. You’re… you’re a leader now, aren’t you? A real one.”

  “You should have seen him north of Kirksbane,” said Rhys, stepping up to join them.

  “Rhys…” warned Ben.

  Seth opened his mouth to ask a question, but Rhys cut him off. “You should go get that looked at, captain. Pretty hard strike. Even with the armor, it could crack a rib. It probably didn’t, but better to get a physic’s opinion before you set sail for war.”

  Seth murmured a goodbye and promised to meet up with them later before vanishing into the Citadel.

  “What’s why I never spar,” said Rhys as soon as Seth was out of earshot. “When you draw steel, you have to be ready to use it.”

  “You think I’ll go soft from sparring?” questioned Ben, putting his practice sword back on the rack.

  “I think you might hurt someone,” clarified Rhys. “I saw that last sequence. You were acting on instinct, like you should. If you’d aimed for the head instead of the chest…”

  Ben frowned.

  “Don’t worry,” said Rhys. “You didn’t, and he’ll be fine. That blow wasn’t hard enough to crack bone. I just wanted to get rid of him. In the future, though, you have to be careful. You’re not a soldier, Ben, not like them. You’ve faced demons, and those creatures are not interested in sparring. In the future, you might face worse. If you find yourself on the opposite end of a blade from Jason or Saala, there can be no hesitation.”

  “Jason or Saala?” muttered Ben. “I don’t plan to ever have to fight one of those two.”

  “You never know,” responded Rhys. “What I do know is that you have to be ready.”

  Grimacing, Ben replied, “Point made, but Rhys, remember we’re trying to keep a low profile. Let’s keep the discussion of what happened at Kirksbane to ourselves.”

  The rogue snorted. “I’m not the one who was embarrassing Whitehall’s captains on the practice field and then giving orders to their peers, or did you forget about that?”

  “Let’s go see if there is word of the emissary,” suggested Amelie, changing the subject.

  “I don’t care if you were Saala’s own brother,” remarked Brinn later that evening. “I can’t allow you into the meeting with the emissary. Can you imagine how that would look to the highborn clustered around here? They’re like jackals, waiting for a chance to slink in and tear off a hunk of meat. No, I’m sorry. I just can’t do it.”

  Ben no
dded. “That’s fair. I understand we can’t be in the meeting, but can you tell her that Ben is in the Citadel?”

  Brinn blinked uncertainly. “You think the emissary will know your name?”

  “I do,” replied Ben, unconsciously scratching at the scar on his arm.

  Brinn glanced at Amelie and then Towaal before asking, “How do you know the emperor’s emissary?”

  Ben shrugged. “You get around… you meet people.”

  “Ben, were you ever that farm boy I remember?”

  “I was, once,” admitted Ben.

  “He’s not anymore,” added Towaal.

  Ben looked at her, and she raised an eyebrow, challenging him to argue.

  “No,” agreed Ben slowly. “I suppose I’m something else now.”

  “Well, farm boy, or whatever you’ve become, you can’t be in the meeting. I will tell her you’re here, and if she wants to find you, she can.”

  “I appreciate that,” said Ben.

  Amelie, slicing through a thick cut of beef with a silver knife and fork, asked, “General Brinn, ever since we’ve gotten here, we keep hearing about tension amongst the troops and the highborn. Seth told us there’s been a particular problem with divisive rumors. Is the situation really so dire? Typically, war would unite both highborn and the people rather than tear them apart. A common enemy and all of that.”

  Brinn pushed at a pile of roasted potatoes on his plate. “No longer the heir to Issen but you’ve got the training for it, don’t you? Well, because you know Saala, I suppose there’s no harm in being honest with you. Yes, the situation really is that dire. The blademaster has defended against a dozen assassination attempts, half of which we’ve managed to keep quiet. We hoped that by him leaving to lead the army, it would bring everyone together like you suggest. We hoped it would be obvious that with the Alliance marching to war, we needed a war-leader in charge. We thought the highborn would go with him and it would give them a chance to work off some of their aggression on Lord Jason’s men instead of our own. We thought the rumors and backstabbing would die down.”

  “That didn’t happen?” asked Amelie.

  “No,” replied Brinn, “Not like we planned. The sons of the noble houses did indeed leave, but their fathers and mothers stayed behind. The younger generations will try to carve out more territory and power on the battlefield, and the older generations will use their knives to take more here. In some ways, it’s worse than it was before Saala left. I was meant to leave with the king, but instead, I’ve been busy tamping down quiet revolts in the Citadel.”

  Amelie frowned.

  “It’s the rumors and secrets!” growled Brinn. “Every day, there’s something different. Word of some family enacting a betrayal, word of some action we’re going to take to punish them. It’s not all true, but enough of it is that it makes people wonder! More lies, more dissent… Everyone is watching everyone else. The army is loyal to Saala, but his hold on the men gets weaker every day.”

  “Who else is loyal to him?” asked Amelie.

  “Most of the weaker houses are loyal, I think,” said Brinn. “They don’t have the strength to jostle with the stronger families. The war is a chance for them to gain stature. But the strongest houses have decided there’s no reason to travel halfway across the continent with the king on such an unstable throne. If Saala were to fall, there’s only four or five serious contenders who could sit in his place. Rule Whitehall, rule the Alliance? You can see the appeal.”

  “I can,” murmured Amelie after swallowing a bite of roast. “Why did these houses allow Saala to rise in the first place, then, if they were strong enough to take the throne themselves?”

  “Timing,” answered Brinn. “Argren had been king for so long it was assumed the man may be long-lived. He ruled this city with an iron first. When he died suddenly, none of the houses were prepared to bid for the throne. They needed time to work in the shadows. Time to assemble political alliances. Time to bring out their knives in the dark.”

  “And now they’re getting organized.”

  “Now they’re getting organized,” agreed Brinn. “I’m disrupting them as best I can without antagonizing them, but in three more months, we could have open rebellion. Depends on how the war goes. That’s why Saala’s ordered us to march. He needs it to end quickly, and he needs to get back here before these tussling factions have time to gain allies and become serious threats to his power. For now, the military controls Whitehall, but I can’t tell you how much longer that will last.”

  Ben shifted in his seat and then asked, “If these strong families gained the throne, would they continue the war?”

  Brinn snorted. “Of course they would. As king, they’d stand to benefit more than anyone.”

  Ben frowned and sat back. Amelie squeezed his hand under the table.

  Ben woke to the sonorous boom of a gong.

  He sat bolt right up in bed, and beside him, Amelie mumbled, “What is it?”

  After sliding his legs out and landing on the cold stone floor, Ben dashed to the side of the room where he kept his longsword and drew it before entering the common room.

  Rhys and Prem joined him. A moment later, Lady Towaal ducked out of her room, a small fist covering a yawn.

  “Alarm gong,” said Rhys, peering out their lone window. “The city below looks quiet.”

  Ben padded to the door and opened it, glancing out. A few faces were looking curiously out of their own doors, but the hallway was quiet.

  “What is it?” asked Amelie, appearing from within their room.

  Ben glanced back at his friends and shrugged.

  “Should we go see what’s happening?” wondered Amelie.

  At that moment, they heard the tell-tale jingle of armored men jogging. Ben looked into the hallway again.

  “Everyone stay in your rooms!” shouted a voice, echoing down the stone corridor. “In a moment, a guard will stop by for a quick search of each chamber and a count of the occupants. It will be a short disruption. Then you can all return to your beds.”

  “Protocol for an assassination attempt,” remarked Rhys. “They’ll check each room to make sure no one is missing, and no one is harboring extra people. He’s right, this shouldn’t take long. No assassin with half a brain would hide out in the chambers with the foreigners. Obviously, that’s the first place the guards will check.”

  “Are you sur—” Ben sighed. “Never mind.”

  Rhys winked at him.

  Ben plopped down in a chair by their table and tried to decide if anyone in the kitchens would bring him a snack if he asked for it.

  Half a bell later, a pair of guards banged on their door and did an efficient search of each room, checking under the beds, in the wardrobes.

  “Assassination attempt?” asked Ben.

  One of the guards grunted but did not answer. In short time, they determined the room housed only the people it was supposed to, and they moved on, banging on the door across the hallway.

  “Should we… do something?” wondered Ben.

  “Brinn, or whoever they were after, still lives. Otherwise, those guards would have been a lot more excited. My guess is they already have the perpetrator,” said Rhys. “Look down at the city. There’s no disruption there. They’re not scrambling to defend against an attack or frantically looking for someone. For tonight, it’s over.”

  Ben glanced out the window and saw his friend was correct. The buildings of Whitehall were lit by torches and lanterns, making little spots of red on the white of the walls. A few buildings appeared to still be busy, the taverns guessed Ben, but all else was peaceful.

  “Back to bed then.”

  The next morning, they found guards at either end of the hallway.

  “No one leaves the Citadel,” stated one of them when Ben’s party approached. “No one goes above the fifth floor unless invited. We’re sorry for the inconvenience. There will be clerks sent down to relay messages to anyone you need to reach in the city.”

&
nbsp; “We’d like to talk to General Brinn,” said Amelie. “We dined with him just last night.”

  The guard shrugged uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, my lady. I cannot let you go up. My orders were strict, you understand? The clerks should be able to pass a message.”

  “Who was attacked last night?” asked Ben.

  The guards lips twisted in consideration. He finally answered, “The general.”

  Ben’s heart began to pound. “Is he… okay?”

  The guard nodded, but then his eyes snapped ahead at the sound of booted feet. Ben glanced down the hall and saw another troop of guardsmen approaching.

  “Thanks for telling us about the curfew and the rest of it,” said Ben.

  He led his friends to one of the mess halls he recalled from their previous stay. He hoped they were serving breakfast.

  Two days later, they were still locked down in the lower floors of the Citadel, unable to go up to see Brinn and unable to go out into the city. There were plenty of other dignitaries and visitors locked down with them, but not one ventured outside of their circles. It was clear something was going on, and no one wanted to associate with anyone they weren’t sure of.

  Whispered behind hands and passed through surreptitious notes by servants in the hallways, Ben could see that rumors were making the rounds. Bell by bell, day by day, the tension in the lower hallways grew suffocating.

  “If they don’t figure it out soon,” remarked Amelie, “this place will descend into open war.”

  Seth had come down to visit them the day before, but the news he relayed didn’t assuage any concerns.

  “An inside job,” explained the captain. “It had to be. They knew the general’s schedule. Someone close to him fed the assassin that information.”

  “Do you know who?” questioned Amelie.

  “No, the guards wounded him,” answered Seth. “He bled out before he could talk. He could have been hired by someone here or maybe by an enemy and was merely working with a spy in the Citadel. The Coalition, the powerful families in Whitehall, there are plenty of enemies who may want Brinn dead. We’re not even supposed to talk about it. If we mention a name that is guilty, they might take steps to hide their tracks. If we mention a name that is not guilty, that could be just as bad. Imagine being accused of trying to assassinate the general, the acting head of Whitehall, when you didn’t do it! Of course the family would be livid, and we would lose the little bit of loyalty we have. It’s an impossible situation.”