by A. C. Cobble
“You don’t want to keep our presence secret from Alliance and Coalition spies?” queried Rhys.
“I think it’s more important to secure the throne,” replied Amelie.
“Amelie, it will be dangerous for you here. I can help—” started Ben.
“I am in danger,” interjected Amelie, “but Prem and Rhys are here to watch my back. Ben, there are those opposed to me in this city, but there are others who would die for my father. I believe I can count on them. Lord Flinn, for example, the one who made the motion to vote, was like a brother to my father, and I was like his niece.”
Ben scratched at the scar on his arm.
“We need to show Flinn and the others we can do this. Before you go, you’ll spend the night with me and then leave at first light.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him.
“Hey!” objected Rhys. “Now you’re the one—”
“She’s promising, not flirting,” interjected Prem, folding her arms under her breasts and raising an eyebrow at the rogue.
“It looks like flirting to me,” complained Rhys.
“Perhaps before my father gets here, I can explain the difference to you.”
“Your father—"
“If you think it’s best, Amelie,” agreed Ben, interrupting the rogue. “I’ll be worried about you the entire time I’m gone.”
“You’ll have to hurry back then,” said Amelie with a smile, “and take Serrot with you. As huntsman or a scout, he would not be expected to be loitering in my rooms. He should fit right in with the army, though.”
“Yes, I’ll go with Ben,” volunteered Serrot.
“First,” said Rhys, shaking his head and looking away from Prem, “we need to go address some guard captains. Ben, come with me. I could use another sword by my side, and as general, it’s proper for you to oversee the dispensation of the men.”
“You want me to stand around and look tough?” asked Ben.
Rhys shrugged. “If you can manage that. Plus, I need someone to help carry the ale when we come back.”
“I don’t know if we should leave Amelie alone,” said Ben. “Everyone keeps saying there will be assassins.”
“Word of her using magic to smash in the council doors is all over the castle by now,” assured Rhys. “Don’t worry. They won’t strike until they think she’s asleep. Besides, there are guards outside, Prem is here, and so is Serrot.”
The woodsman stood and puffed up his chest. “She’ll be in good hands until you get back, Ben.”
Amelie smiled at Serrot then nodded at Ben.
Out of excuses, Ben gestured for Rhys to led the way.
Later that evening, Ben set down a heavy silver fork and sat back with a contented sigh. “Best meal I’ve had since, well, I don’t know when.”
“It was good, wasn’t it?” responded Amelie, dabbing at her lips with a linen cloth. “One of the perks of being highborn, I suppose. We have an entire kitchen and staff at our disposal.”
“Our?” said Ben, reaching for a sparkling crystal glass half-full of a fruity red wine.
“You know what I mean,” replied Amelie, reaching for her glass as well.
Ben raised his then set it back down without drinking. “Amelie, Lord Avery was attempting to be your suitor. I’m sure he’s not going to be the last to come sniffing around.”
Amelie’s eyes flicked down before rising to meet Ben’s. “I’m with you, Ben.”
“They’re highborn,” replied Ben. “A betrothal to the right man could make things much easier on you. You could secure powerful allies, eliminate potential enemies. I’m sure they’d all like to see that.”
“Ben,” asked Amelie quietly, “is that what you want, for me to marry someone else?”
“No, I…” Ben sighed. “No, of course that’s not what I want. I want you to be with me, but, Amelie, you rule Issen. I’m just a brewer from Farview. Like you said, things will change now that we’re here.”
“You’re the man who gathered an army and faced down three thousand demons,” replied Amelie. “Are you going to let a few fussy, over-dressed men stand in the way of what you want?”
Ben looked at her, shifting in his seat nervously. “We’ve never really talked about what would happen when this was over, when we were safe. We’re not safe now, but Amelie, you don’t need to run anymore. You’re not going to be out chasing the horizon, looking for the next threat.”
“Are you?” she asked.
Ben raised his glass again and drank a mouthful of wine.
“Ben, you’re right,” she said. “I do have responsibilities to Issen. When this is over with the Alliance and the Coalition, I’ll stay here. Do you want to stay with me?”
“What do you want me to do?” asked Ben, his voice trembling.
“What do you want, Ben?” responded Amelie, leaning forward and holding his gaze.
“I-I’d like to stay, if that’s okay with you. I could get a job in the city,” he mumbled. “They have ale here, right? There must be room for another brewer. I could come by the castle as often as you want to see me. Amelie… however we need to work it out, I’d like to be near you.”
“Ben, you’re not going to get a job in the city,” said Amelie with a snort, sitting back, a smile curling her lips.
“What do you mean?”
“You want to stay here with me, right?” she asked. “I want you to stay here with me.” She gestured around the dining room they were seated in. “Do you think someone who eats here every night needs a job in the city? This wine probably costs more than what you would earn in a month.”
“I have to do something,” protested Ben.
Amelie twirled her glass and studied him, the smile still gracing her face. He couldn’t help but smile as well. She was beautiful. The light from the candles on their table made her eyes sparkle like emeralds. Her hair was piled up on her head, showing off the smooth skin of her neck. Staying with her in Issen was a dream he hadn’t let himself imagine.
“If you’re done eating,” said Amelie, a knowing look in her eyes, “there is one thing I have in mind that I’d like you to do.”
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Come. Let me show you the bedroom.”
A sound like a cat being dunked into an icy trough woke Ben from blissful slumber. He sat bolt upright, the silk sheets sliding off his naked torso. For a heartbeat, he thought it’d been a dream. Then, he heard a heavy thump. He slipped out of bed to investigate, picking up his longsword from a chair beside the bed and padding across the room on bare feet. Amelie was still in bed, breathing evenly, asleep. He pressed an ear against the door, not wanting to wake her until he knew something was amiss.
“Rhys,” hissed a whispered voice.
Ben lifted the latch and opened the door.
Prem was squatting on her haunches, hovering over a motionless body. A pool of blood was spreading from it. It was dressed in the livery of Amelie’s serving staff.
“Oh no,” murmured Ben.
Prem looked up, an eyebrow raised.
“I don’t think that was an assassin,” worried Ben.
The girl put a hand under the body and with a grunt, rolled it over. Underneath of it lay a short blade, the tip blackened with a shining liquid.
“Oh good,” said Ben. Then he paused and added, “I guess.”
“That’s one down,” said Rhys from a doorway. The rogue was shirtless, wearing only a pair of loose trousers and the leather harness which held his long knives.
“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” wondered Ben.
“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt… or pants?” retorted Rhys.
Ben flushed. The chill in the room suddenly washed over him, and he felt tiny goosebumps rising on his bare torso and legs. Fortunately, he’d thought to pull on a pair of underclothes before falling asleep, but that was all he was wearing.
“You look good,” said Prem, admiring Ben.
“What about me?” jested the rogue.
“
You’re old,” replied Prem, not looking at him.
“That’s not fair,” argued Rhys.
“It is true, though,” said Ben.
“What are you doing?” hissed Amelie from the doorway.
“Oh, sorry,” said Ben. “We didn’t mean to wake you. Prem killed this man. Don’t worry, though, I don’t think he works for you. He was carrying what looks like a poisoned dagger and was headed toward your… our room.”
“You didn’t think to wake me when an assassin was killed within steps of the door?” inquired Amelie.
Ben set the tip of his longsword door on the floor and shrugged. Amelie let out an exasperated sigh.
“Normally,” said Rhys, “about this time I’d be fleeing the castle before the guards found the dead body. I suppose since the guards work for you, Amelie, we should let them know we killed an assassin. We might also want to do an inquiry on how this assassin got here.”
“Yes, we should,” agreed Amelie, “but I want your opinion first. Do you recognize him or anything about him?”
Rhys moved to squat next to the body, opposite of Prem. He looked at the man, his blade, and then the rogue shuffled through the would-be assassin’s clothing, searching for clues. He paused as he touched the man’s belt pouch and then unsheathed one of his long knives.
Rhys prodded at the cloth pouch with the tip of the blade. Ben gasped as a bright, silver needle stabbed out near the mouth of the container.
“Trapped,” murmured Rhys. “This man wasn’t some simple skulker on the streets of Issen. This was a true professional.”
“How many of these people are there?” muttered Ben in disgust. “I feel like we’ve been killing assassins all over Alcott.”
“It does usually work in the other direction,” mused Rhys.
“Seriously, nearly the entire assassins guild was wiped out in Irrefort,” complained Ben. “A score of them at Whitehall. How many more can there be?”
Rhys, gently trying to remove the man’s belt pouch without touching the needle, said, “Not many more of this caliber. The guild in Irrefort had some of the most respected assassins in the field, but they’re all dead now. Humboldt in Whitehall was one of the best, after me, of course. There is a guild in Narmid, and the City is filled with black knives. Whitehall had a handful, but I suspect most of them are dead. Fabrizo has only a few because the Thieves’ Guild runs that place. Issen I don’t think has any skilled enough to contract for Amelie and actually make it this close to her. Before yesterday, Issen had not had a contested succession in hundreds of years, and the economy is prosperous. No one had any reason to kill each other.”
“Where are they coming from then, the South Continent?” wondered Ben.
“The problem isn’t where the assassins are coming from,” replied Rhys. “It’s who is hiring them.”
“Why don’t you go put on some pants, Ben?” requested Amelie. “Then we can talk. It’s almost dawn. By the time this mess is cleaned up, we might as well start the day.”
12
A Snake in the Grass
“This is a real army that you have?” asked Serrot, moments after they exited the gates of Issen and were alone.
That morning, it would be publicly announced that Amelie had returned and taken her family’s seat. Knowledge of their army would spread quickly after that, but they didn’t want to be overheard before the announcement was made.
Ben shrugged. “It’s pretty real.”
“I know you keep saying it, but I don’t understand. How did you get an army to follow you?”
“There was a need,” explained Ben. “A demon swarm like no other. It seems they felt I was the only one trying to do anything about it, so they joined. After that, they’ve stayed with me.”
“Are they for the Alliance or the Coalition?”
“Neither. They’re in favor peace.”
“An army fighting for peace,” said Serrot. “Now I really don’t get it.”
“Maybe when you meet them, you’ll understand,” said Ben. “Some of them are simple folk like you and me. Others, well, they have options. They don’t need to follow me. I certainly can’t pay them as much gold as they’d earn elsewhere, and they have better places to live than out in the field, but they do it anyway. They do it because they saw some of the awful things that exist in the world, and they want to do their part to end it.”
“I saw some things, too,” said Serrot, suppressing a shudder. “People we’ve known all of our lives torn apart like meat. Those demons, Ben, it was terrible.”
“I know,” replied Ben. “Unfortunately, people do some pretty terrible things, too. We’re aiming to put an end to that if we can.”
“You think it will really come to war?” asked Serrot, veering to the side of the road and striding past a slow-moving wagon.
The wagon was driven by a tired-looking man. Its bed held bundles of clothing, furniture, and boxes, which Ben guessed were stuffed full of food. Atop the pile of goods was a woman and two children. A family fleeing the coming conflict.
After they passed out of earshot of the wagon, Ben answered, “Those people think it will come to war. If it does, the city will be devastated. Whether the Coalition or the Alliance wins, Issen is currently opposed to them. The city will be sacked. Anything of value will be taken by the victorious army. Families will lose everything. Coin they’ve saved, valuables in their house, goods in their stores, their jobs and livelihoods, their girls… Soldiers, high on victory and let loose on a hostile city, there’s no end to the depravity they could commit. I’m sure Saala and Jason will make efforts to rein them in, but what will happen before the men are back under control?”
Serrot looked over his shoulder at the wagon falling further and further behind them. “We won’t let that happen.”
“No,” agreed Ben. “We won’t.”
By dusk, they’d made it through the city of Issen, the surrounding villages, and deep into a wide plain that was broken only by rolling hills. The grasses were losing their lush, emerald color in the cooling autumn air, but they were still soft and would make an adequate bed. Ben, used to camping on the sides of roads, had brought along a bundle of cut firewood.
When they stopped to camp, he efficiently cut out a clump of grass, tossing it away and making a pit for their fire. He built a neat tent of the thinnest chunks of wood from his bundle and then stripped off a layer of bark from several of the pieces and arranged the bark into a pile underneath the tent. Striking a flint against his hunting knife, he knocked a shower of glowing orange sparks onto the bark pile, and it caught instantly. He let it burn a moment before giving it a few gentle puffs of air. He nodded in satisfaction when the tent of wood began to smoke and caught fire. When the blaze was hot, he’d start adding big pieces that would burn longer and provide plenty of heat for cooking dinner and warming them in the early part of the cool night.
“You’re a lot better at that than I recall,” remarked Serrot.
Ben grinned. “I’ve had practice. Over the last year, I spent a lot of time on the road. You become efficient at little tasks like this when you’ve been marching day after day. There are only so many bells before dawn, and you want to make the best use of them.”
Serrot rummaged through his pack, pulling out a small cookpot, a hunk of dried beef, and little bags of salt, rice, and beans. “It’s not going to be like the food we’ve been eating in Issen.”
“Simple things are good things,” said Ben. He pulled a heavy ale skin from his pack. “It’ll be an easier walk tomorrow if we drink some of this.”
Serrot filled up the cookpot with water and the other ingredients. When there were enough coals from the fire, they would pile some of them on one side of the pit and lay two wet sticks over it. They would rest the cookpot on that and, within half a bell, have a hearty, if not elegant, meal.
Ben took a swallow of ale and murmured, “Not the best, but not too bad after a day in the skin.”
Serrot accepted the bag from his
friend and squirted a stream of the liquid into his mouth. “Not as good as yours, but I’ve had worse.”
Ben leaned back against his pack and looked up at the sky. Full dark had fallen, and the stars were twinkling to life.
“This isn’t a bad way to live,” mentioned Serrot, pulling his boots off and wiggling his toes near the fire. “I’ve spent nights out in the woods around Farview, but this feels so different. There’s a sense of, I don’t know, anticipation?”
“Adventure,” said Ben. “You don’t know what will happen next, but you’re excited to walk to that next horizon and find out.”
Serrot took another gulp of ale and handed the skin back to Ben. “I think you’re right.”
“I felt like that, too, when I first left.”
“You don’t anymore?” asked Serrot.
Ben frowned. “I do, I think. The sense of adventure is always there, but it gets overwhelmed sometimes by the stress of everything going on around us. What I want, someday, is to fix all of this, and settle back into a normal life where I can enjoy sitting around a campfire with a good friend.”
“You’re not enjoying it right now?” chided Serrot.
“I said a good friend,” jested Ben.
Serrot snorted and picked a dry bean out of their sack. He flung it at Ben, narrowly missing him.
They settled into a comfortable silence and watched the soup boil.
“You say you want a normal life,” said Serrot. “Do you think you could have that, a normal life, after everything you’ve been through?”
Ben sipped at the ale skin and thought a moment before answering. “Not normal. Not like it used to be. Never like it used to be. But there are those who’ve retired from the world. There are those who’ve stepped away from this craziness and live quietly now. Remind me to tell you about Gunther one day.”
“He was like us? He went on an adventure and then retired?” wondered Serrot.
Ben laughed. “No, not like us at all. Like, well, there is no one like Gunther, not anymore. He’s a mage of incredible talent. According to Towaal, he’s the strongest living mage. From what I saw, I believe it. A man like him, with skill like his, it comes with expectation. Expectation that he use it for some purpose. He found another way, though. He retreated from this world, retired from general society.”
