Weight of the Crown

by A. C. Cobble

  “But, the cost…”

  “The cost will be high,” agreed the Veil, crossing her legs and watching him. “The cost of anything valuable is always high.”

  Ben closed his eyes, understanding creeping over him, connections bridging within his mind.

  “Once the battle is fully engaged,” said Lady Coatney, “I will turn all of my efforts to finding Avril, and I will put an end to our little conflict. I am ready for my own peace.”

  “If we don’t face her first,” said Ben quietly, his eyes still closed.

  “Face her if you wish,” replied the Veil, “but my advice is to run. Run far and run fast. If you get a head start, perhaps you could hide from her. Run and hide like a scared rabbit, and it’s possible you might last long enough that I will find you instead of her. I would enjoy that.”

  Three days later, Ben was unchained and let out of his room. Despite the comfortable, feather-stuffed mattress, his body was sore from the confinement, the room stank of the chamber pot, and he knew he didn’t smell much better. His only thought, though, was about Amelie.

  “Where is she?” he demanded of the guard.

  “Next door,” answered the man. “She’s sleeping. I was told to bring you to General Brinn the moment you were free.”

  “I need to see her first,” insisted Ben.

  “I have my orders,” responded the man.

  “They locked me up because they thought I posed a threat to the Veil,” warned Ben. “If you want to prevent me from seeing Amelie, you had better go get some more help.”

  The guard frowned and eyed Ben up and down before allowing, “A moment only. She’s asleep. The general can explain.”

  Ben followed the man, and true to his word, he stopped at the room next door. The guard unlocked and opened the door, allowing Ben inside a room that was a twin to his own. The only difference was that the chains were piled on the floor, and Amelie was resting unencumbered. She made no response to him whispering her name. He moved to her side and touched her. She was warm and, at a glance, appeared to have suffered no injuries from the fight with the Veil and Lady Avril. Or, more likely, she had also been healed.

  “You’ve seen her,” called the guard from the doorway. “Let’s go. Like I said, the general can explain.”

  Ben glared at the man, but he didn’t want to disturb Amelie by punching a guard in her room. Besides, the man was right. Getting the answers from Brinn was going to be the quickest way to find out what really had happened. Ben gestured for the man to lead, and they strode through the halls of the Citadel, the guard refusing to answer any more of Ben’s questions about Towaal, Rhys, Prem, or where the Veil had gone.

  As they approached the throne room, the sounds of construction intruded on Ben’s unsuccessful attempts at prodding the man for information. He quieted down, and they passed between flanks of armed men to enter the huge room.

  General Brinn sat at a table with a cluster of his soldiers, pouring over plans, maps, and other documents necessary for marshalling a large army. All around them, workers scrubbed at soot-stained walls, pushed soapy mops over blood-soaked floors, fit and hammered new doors leading to the veranda, and replaced tiles and stone carvings that had been wrecked in the battle. It was exhausting just looking at all of the work was required to repair the place. When they drew close, Brinn glanced up from his plans.

  “Ashwood,” he grunted. Turning to the men around him, he requested, “Let’s take a break for two bells. Come find me here this afternoon.”

  “Want me to call some more men to watch him?” offered the guard who had escorted Ben.

  Brinn raised an eyebrow.

  “He was chained up,” explained the guard. After shooting Ben a menacing look, the man added, “He made some threats, sir.”

  Shaking his head, the general stood. “He’s no threat to me. Come on, Ben. I’ve been meeting in this mess because it’s a reminder of what we’re fighting for, but the noise is giving me a terrible headache. Let’s get an ale. I need one, and I bet you do too.”

  “More than one,” muttered Ben under his breath. He made a rude gesture to the guard then turned to follow the general.

  Brinn led him behind the throne and down a lushly appointed hallway to a comfortable study. Over-stuffed chairs, a fireplace, book-lined shelves, and exquisite paintings decorated the room. A table sat against the wall, covered in decanters of brown-colored liquors, glass bottles of wine, and a sturdy oak keg of what Ben hoped was a nice, crisp ale.

  “King Argren’s personal study,” explained Brinn. “This is where he’d come to relax after holding court. Only his closest confidants were let in here. It was a mark of distinction, when he was alive, to even have seen this place. Nothing special about it, mind you, except for the difficulty getting an invitation inside and having a chance to see him when he wasn’t wearing his public face.”

  “I’m honored,” said Ben.

  General Brinn grinned. “Saala never used it, so I’ve taken it as my own private retreat.”

  Ben smiled. “Even more so, then.”

  The general snorted and pulled two pewter mugs from a cupboard. He expertly poured two ales, letting the foam bubble up as he tilted the containers beneath the amber stream of liquid.

  “The one change I’ve made is having ale in here,” said Brinn, handing Ben one of the mugs. “The old king never drank it. It was always rare, high-priced spirits or wine from the hills outside of the City. Ale is a working man’s drink, if you ask me. He thought the same.”

  “What is going on with Amelie?” queried Ben, accepting the mug but unable to hold his questions any longer.

  Brinn smirked and sat down in one of the deep leather chairs. “Can’t give an old war dog a break, can you?”

  “She’s important to me,” admitted Ben. “It’s hard to think of anything else when I know she’s lying downstairs, unconscious for an unknown reason.”

  “To be young and in love,” said Brinn. He waited until Ben sat across from him then explained, “Those mages from the Sanctuary gave her something to make her sleep. Instructed us to keep slipping it into her broth until the Veil was one day gone. They said to let you loose when she was two days gone. I suspect Amelie will wake soon, and she’ll be well rested but hungry when she does.”

  Ben’s stomach rumbled, and he suddenly was aware how famished he was.

  “The staff will be by with my midday meal in a moment,” said Brinn. “Cold meats and cheeses. Nothing fancy, but it will do.”

  “Thank you,” murmured Ben.

  “Your girl will be fine. At least, that’s what they told me. Said you’d be whole too. Looks like that was accurate?”

  Ben sipped his ale. “I’ve been worse.”

  “I can’t tell you where Rhys or that strange girl who follows him around disappeared to,” continued Brinn. “The Veil searched for the rogue nearly as hard as she did Lady Avril. Neither one of them turned up, dead or alive.”

  Ben nodded. “Rhys isn’t one to get caught in anybody’s net. What about Lady Towaal?”

  Brinn grimaced. “She’s alive.”

  Ben raised an eyebrow.

  “The Veil took Lady Towaal with her to Fabrizo.”

  “Willingly?” questioned Ben.

  Brinn frowned at Ben. “What do you think? I objected gently, but you have to understand my position. Lady Towaal is a mage of the Sanctuary, and Lady Coatney is the ruler of the Sanctuary. I’m only a general of King Saala, and she’s the Veil. When she puts her foot down, I can’t argue even if it’s in the Citadel. She’s on her way to catch Saala, though. I believe he knows Lady Towaal, doesn’t he? Maybe he can do something to get her released.”

  “I understand. There’s nothing you could have done,” said Ben. “Was she… healthy?”

  “She spent a few days under the weather, like all of the mages, but she was spry and walking under her own power when they left.”

  “Did she say anything?” asked Ben.

  “She didn�
�t get the chance,” admitted Brinn. “Look, I wasn’t happy with how things went after… after that battle, but what could I do? The old Veil resurfaces and attempts to destroy Whitehall. The current Veil, along with you and your friends, stop her. As you can imagine, Lady Coatney publicly took all of the credit for saving the day, and everyone believed her. They’d seen the storm, experienced the wind, hail, and lightning. Between the attack in the Citadel and the storm wreaking havoc in town, we lost over two hundred people. When the Veil said she was the one who headed off further destruction, the lords and ladies of Whitehall nearly threw her a gala. If it makes you feel better, she did acknowledge Amelie helped, though she said it was at her direction.”

  Shaking his head, Brinn sipped at his ale and continued, “I was there. I saw the Veil protecting Amelie, and then the girl walking outside, but even I don’t know what actually happened. I’m smart enough to know the Veil’s version probably isn’t completely accurate, but I’m also smart enough to not challenge her publicly on it. Both you and the girl are alive and will be freed. It could be a lot worse.”

  “It’s true enough. The Veil did oppose Avril and her storm, and so did we.” Ben tilted up his ale and finished it. “It doesn’t much matter about the details.”

  Brinn nodded to the barrel and held up his mug. “Fill mine too, would you?”

  Ben opened the tap and watched the amber ale splash into the pewter mugs. The Veil had told the truth, it seemed. She would let him go free.

  “What does she want with you?” asked Brinn, interrupting Ben’s thoughts.

  Ben turned. “She didn’t tell you?”

  “She told me nothing, just that we could let you out of the room once she was gone. And..” Brinn paused, an uncomfortable grimace on his face. “Not to let you leave the city.”

  “Do you plan to follow those instructions?” wondered Ben, handing the general a full mug of ale.

  “I-I don’t know what to do,” admitted Brinn. “What you and your companions have done… You’re heroes, Ben. The demon army, here… I’d be shaming myself if I pretended it wasn’t true. You’re like heroes in the stories, but, Ben, the Veil is the Veil. I cannot defy her.”

  Ben held up a hand. “Don’t defy her. Issue instructions to the men at the gates and the soldiers down at the docks. Tell them we cannot leave. You’ve commandeered most of the ships in the harbor, right? Tell those captains not to set sail with us on board.”

  General Brinn sat back, eyeing Ben speculatively. “You’re right. I have commandeered most of the ships in the harbor. Highborn, merchants, even a few pirates. There are a few others, though, that we cannot touch. The Sanctuary’s vessel, for example. There are some other powerful foreign delegates which we would not risk angering, but you know that, don’t you?”

  Ben nodded, a slight smile on his face.

  “I don’t know how you do it…” said Brinn, shaking his head. “I’ll announce my orders publicly. You can have the run of the Citadel while you’re here. Anything you need, I’ll make sure you get it. If you lack for anything, I’ll let the men know you can come to me personally. Ben, I mean it. You are a hero. You and your friends saved us. I hate that it has to be like this. You deserve more, but this is what I can do. All I ask is that you don’t get caught walking out the gate.”

  “I won’t,” assured Ben. “Give us the free run of the Citadel, and let your soldiers know to keep us here. Lady Coatney is the Veil, like you say, and disobeying her would be crazy.”

  Brinn snorted and then raised his mug.

  With a satisfied smile, Ben clinked his mug against it and sat back to share an ale with the senior general of the Alliance’s army.

  Ben was slumped over in a chair, his head resting against one side when a slight shifting woke him up. He sat upright, wincing as a crick in his neck sent a jolt of pain down his side. He watched as Amelie yawned, letting her wake slowly. He smiled when a balled fist poked from under her covers and burrowed into her eye, trying to rub the sleep from it. After several long moments, her eyes finally blinked open.

  “What-What happened?” she asked, her voice a reminder of how dry and painful his had been when he awoke.

  He slid a cup of lukewarm water to her and answered, “You’ve been asleep nearly a week. Coatney has left. Avril is missing but presumed to be alive. Towaal is in Coatney’s custody, and no one has seen Rhys or Prem. On the Veil’s orders, Brinn has more or less confined us to Whitehall for the moment.”

  “That’s a lot to take in,” mumbled Amelie after sipping the water and working the moisture in her mouth. “The city… was it bad?”

  “There was some damage,” admitted Ben. “Several buildings collapsed or were blasted by lightning. Between the storm and the attack in the Citadel, several hundred lost their lives. The worst of it was prevented, thanks to you. You saved a lot of people, Amelie.”

  She groaned softly. “It doesn’t feel like it. If it wasn’t for us…”

  Ben shook his head. “The Veil and Avril have been plotting against each other for ages. We stumbled into the middle of it, but it would have happened whether or not we were there. Remember, Humboldt said she’d been planning this for decades. You prevented the storm from being worse than it was.”

  “That sounds like something I would tell you,” responded Amelie.

  Ben grinned. “You’re a hero, Amelie. Without question.”

  “But we’re confined here, you said?

  “The Veil ordered it, and while Brinn is our friend, he’s not bold enough to defy her. Not openly, at least.”

  “We’re stuck then.”

  “No, we’re not,” responded Ben, a smile on his face. “The gates of the city are barred and guarded, and most of the ships in the harbor are commandeered for military use, but there’s one vessel that not even Brinn or the Veil are willing to command.”

  Amelie blinked at him, still waking up.

  “O’ecca is here, waiting for us,” explained Ben. “Somehow, in the confusion, no one seems to have realized how well we know each other. She’s already announced that after Whitehall, she’ll sail to Fabrizo to treat with King Saala. The only thing she’s waiting on is us.”

  “When do we leave?” asked Amelie.

  “As soon as I can find Rhys and Prem,” replied Ben.

  “Help me get up, then,” requested Amelie.

  He put a hand under her elbow and peeled back her sheets. “Amelie, there’s something else I’ve been thinking about.”

  “What?” she asked, putting her weight on Ben’s arm as she stood. She’d been unconscious for nearly a week, and was moving hesitantly on uncertain legs.

  “Are you strong enough to contact the guardians through a thought meld?”

  “Maybe,” she answered. “I’m strong enough to try, at least. Why?”

  “I want to get in touch with them before they get too far east of Northport. The guardians and Hadra.”

  “The Sanctuary’s mage?”

  “Our mage now,” reminded Ben. “I think I have something more valuable she could be doing than hunting down stray demons. Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up and fed, and I’ll tell you what I have in mind.”

  The ancient-looking barman eyed Ben up and down before drawling, “You’re back.”

  “I am,” agreed Ben.

  “Heard about what you did,” said the man. “Seems you saved an awful lot of us.”

  “My friends did a lot of the work,” said Ben, leaning against the bar, his elbows on the counter. “Without them, it’s impossible to estimate how many people in Whitehall would have died.”

  The old man poured Ben a draught, his eyes fixed on a group of soldiers in the corner or the room. “I suppose we owe you – and your friends. Owe you more than just a few ales, I reckon. Course, some of your friends can drink a lot more than a few ales. They’re the kind of drinkers that might empty out my storeroom if they stayed in it too long.”

  Ben sipped at the frothy mug. “Aye, I think they would. If
I was in your boots, I’d be ready to get rid of them.”

  “The sooner, the better. I should warn you, though, not everyone feels the same sense of gratefulness as I do,” rasped the barman. “Might be a bit tricky to get out of town from what I’ve heard. Not just guards on the wall, I mean. Plenty of men from the City are still lurking around here. Can’t imagine they’ve got any reason to stay unless it’s you.”

  “Could be,” agreed Ben. “Do you happen to know what time high tide is tonight?”

  The barman scratched at his chin. “Seems like it’s always a bit before dawn, but I ain’t sure.”

  “Sounds like it would be best to meet the tide around midnight then,” said Ben. “Down at the harbor, away from your precious barrels.”

  “If I have any left by midnight,” muttered the man. He cut his eyes over Ben’s shoulder in warning then asked, “Care for another?”

  Ben shrugged. “Why not? I’m not going anywhere.”

  Heartbeats later, another pair of elbows settled near Ben on the bar.

  Ben glanced at the man and saw a bulky, cleanly shaven blond whose loose tunic did little to hide the thick-ringed chainmail underneath of it. A broadsword hung at his hip, and Ben recognized it immediately. Venmoor steel. It was a simple, practical design, and he’d seen hundreds of them during his time in the City.

  “How’s the ale?” asked the newcomer.

  “Best I’ve had in Whitehall,” responded Ben.

  “You’re the man who knows. Finest ale I’ve ever had? The stuff you were brewing back in the City. I think you made a mistake by going on this little adventure. You’ve got a real talent for brewing, and I mean that. Honest.”