by A. C. Cobble
The man paused.
Ben risked a step back, his hands raised, though he had no intention of dropping his longsword.
“Look, I’m leaving,” said Ben, frantically trying to think how he could assure the man of his intentions. “Watch me walk away, and then you can continue recovering your gold.”
“How do I know you won’t come back?” asked the man, his voice quaking.
“You’ll have to risk it. Unless you’re a good enough shot with that crossbow to be certain of a kill,” snapped Ben, still backing up, gaining valuable distance between himself and the man.
It was clear the man was a merchant or a highborn and had no experience with the weapon in his hands. At a close enough distance, it may not matter. The man had managed to load and cock the thing. Pulling the trigger would be easy. Even a terrible shot would have no difficulty hitting Ben at such a close distance.
They were at an impasse.
“Look,” said Ben. “I’m a scout with Issen’s forces. I’m trying to make it out of the city before dawn. I have no interest in what you’re doing here. I was just walking by and heard you.”
“You had no interest,” whispered the man. “I could believe that. Doesn’t mean you aren’t interested now. You could come back, slit my throat, and have more wealth that any soldier ever dreamed of.”
Ben’s eyes fell to the open chest, and he had to admit, the man was right. There was more gold in the chest than he’d ever dreamed of before he left Farview. He guessed it was more than even existed in his old village. He was sure it was more than he could carry.
“The ecstasy of gold,” murmured the man, watching’s Ben’s gaze. “You won’t be able to let it go, will you?”
“No, I—”
The man’s finger closed over the trigger of the crossbow.
Ben flung himself to the right, hoping the man’s trembling grip would throw off his aim.
He heard the tell-tale thump of the release and felt a whish of motion above him. His foot caught on a fallen beam and he pitched over it, tucking his shoulder and rolling across the ash-coated marble floor of the ruined mansion. He slid into a tumbled wall and shook his head, letting his body fill with battle strength. He gritted his teeth and prepared to spring to his feet and charge the man. He had to incapacitate him before the man could reload, but to his surprise, he saw the man stumble into view. The man’s crossbow slipped from his grip and clattered on the floor. His eyes bulged wide, and he wheezed a wet cough.
The quarrel slipped off the man’s crossbow onto the floor and the man fell on top of it. Ben frowned. Then, he saw a wood shaft and crimson tip sticking through the highborn’s throat.
“Did you hit him?” asked a voice from the shadows. “I hit mine.”
“Didn’t you see him go down?”
“I think he jumped.”
“Why would he jump? He fell when my bolt hit him,” snapped the second voice. “It was a good shot.”
“Go find the body, then,” instructed the first man.
Ben looked over his shoulder and saw he was lying behind the heavy beam that had tripped him. It blocked the men’s view of him and his view of the two of them. He hoped there were just two of them.
“Let’s reload first,” responded the second man. “Might be more of them lurking in the wreckage.”
Ben jumped to his feet and saw two men standing at the edge of the shadow cast by the flickering fires. Two. He breathed a sigh of relief. Had there been more, he might have been done.
“He’s not dead!” screeched the first man.
Ben charged, leaping over the beam, raising his longsword. The two crossbowmen, holding empty weapons, were stunned.
Ben didn’t give them time to decide whether to drop their crossbows and draw the swords hanging on their hips or to try and use the wooden weapons to defend themselves. Two quick, horizontal slashes and both men were stumbling back, crimson blood pouring over their white tabards.
Whitehall’s men.
He didn’t know if they were on patrol, just the two of them, or if they’d split off from a larger group and were looking for loot. Either way, Ben wasn’t going to hang around and find out. He spared a glance back at the open chest full of gold, and then trotted off into the dark night.
Outside of the city, Ben made good time and jogged unimpeded across the black landscape. He avoided the road, figuring the Alliance and Coalition were likely to have checkpoints there. It didn’t matter. The terrain around Issen was easy to move across for an unencumbered individual.
He rolled his shoulder as he moved, working out the painful tweak he’d gotten when he’d dove away from the crossbowman. It’d be sore the next day, but he’d been banged up enough by now that he knew he could still fight with it.
The next day… It was a generous assessment that he’d be alive the next day to worry about his shoulder. He’d be lucky to make it past breakfast.
A bell away from the city of Issen, the thick clouds of soot dissipated, and by the light of the stars and the moon, he could see the tall hill Amelie had described. North of Issen, her family’s summer manse looked over the river and the countryside around it. They’d built it there for the expansive views and the steady breeze on the water. It was prime farmland, but Amelie’s family kept the surrounding area wild and used it primarily for riding and security. The summer palace had none of the high walls and siege defenses that the castle had, but no force could move close to it during the day and remain unseen. Rolling hills and open grass surrounded it for a league in every direction. When Amelie’s family was in residence, regular patrols, watchtowers, and dogs formed a net of observation.
Amelie’s family wasn’t there, though. No one was. All of the staff had been pulled back into Issen’s keep, and far-seeing showed neither the Alliance nor the Coalition had set up camp at the palace. It was too far away from the city to be of any strategic value, and neither army was interested yet in the wealth that was stored there.
At night, alone, Ben was able to approach quietly.
On the outskirts of the palace was an extensive stable complex for equestrian sports, and formal gardens where the family could throw summer parties or take a stroll. The building itself was a sprawling, two-story affair that covered the top of a hill and boxed in a large courtyard.
The courtyard was where Ben had asked Saala and Jason to meet him.
Neither man was told the other was coming, and both had been instructed to come alone. They were to meet at dawn. If either of them brought backup, if either one of them attempted a betrayal, then the plan would fail before it started.
The objections had been frequent and furious, but Ben believed it might work. It wasn’t certain, but there was a chance, and any chance was worth taking if it meant avoiding full-scale war. The tipping point was Rhys and Lloyd’s faith they could convince Saala and Jason to come alone. The two men had put their lives at risk to make the meeting happen. They were willing to gamble, so Ben was as well.
Either it would work or it wouldn’t.
If it did, it was now up to Ben. He’d be face to face with the Kings of the Alliance and the Coalition. Somehow, he had to be the one who walked away, but even if he wasn’t, even if one of those men was the sole survivor, it could still prevent the war. It may grant easy victory to the survivor, but that outcome was better than wholesale death.
Ben cursed himself and forced his thoughts back to the task at hand. The outcome wouldn’t matter if he managed to give himself away before he made it to the courtyard.
He slipped through the bushes and into one of the formal gardens. It was formed of head-high hedges that were grown into a labyrinth. He didn’t have time to stalk the maze and find his way to the palace, so he dropped to his stomach and crawled under the thick branches and leaves.
He benefited from Amelie’s advice, and she’d told him she’d done the same as a little girl when she and Meredith would play in the maze. Of course, she and Meredith had been little girls, and Be
n was a grown man. He silently cursed as the tough branches of the hedges snagged his cloak. He wormed forward, ignoring the damage that the foliage was doing to his clothing.
The sound of his approach was too loud. He could only hope that no one was waiting near the garden, listening. If they were, they might catch him even if he was walking.
Half a bell later, sweating in the chill, pre-dawn air, Ben finally broke through the final hedge wall and wriggled on his belly into the open. Above him, the sky was still dark, but it wasn’t the pitch black of deep night. He guessed he had another half bell until dawn broke on the horizon. He moved into a crouch and shuffled across the fifty paces of space that separated the hedges from the palace.
The grand doorways that the highborn would use and the utilitarian entries that the staff would use would all be easy to watch if one of the other men had planned an ambush. The palace was designed for security, not for folks to sneak into unseen.
Amelie’s knowledge of the building came in handy again, though, and she’d directed him to a corner of the palace between the kitchen and the servant’s living quarters. There, the windows weren’t covered in expensive glass, just wooden shutters that he could pry open. One window in particular led to a narrow chamber that housed a night scullion. Amelie claimed to have snuck in and out of it dozens of times without alerting the guards, though the scullion certainly knew someone was passing through their room. A few copper bits left behind each time ensured they would never speak of it.
Frowning, Ben realized he hadn’t asked Amelie where she was going when she snuck out. He pinched himself and wrestled his thoughts into order again.
Quietly, he approached the shutters that blocked the window and pulled on them gently. A simple catch was all that held it shut, and he slipped the blade of his hunting knife in between the shutters and lifted it. Gripping the windowsill, he hauled himself inside and scurried across the small room to the door.
He cracked it open and peeked out into the hallway. It was dark and quiet, just like it should be when the family and staff had been evacuated. Slipping out the door, Ben tiptoed down the hall to a plain stairwell at the other end. This was the most dangerous part of his journey, the easiest place to ambush him if someone had planned one. Any sounds within the building could also give him away even if no one had set up a betrayal.
Ben’s heart pounded in his chest as his feet fell softly on the stone floor. He regretted not asking Amelie which hallways had rugs and choosing one of those to sneak down, but it was too late now.
In his hand, he held his longsword, and his eyes constantly roved, peering into every corner and through every open doorway, but there was nothing. The palace was silent except for his own footfalls.
He made the staircase and crept into the dark well, feeling his way up. He was blind, without even the pale light of the moon illuminating the windowless stairs, but after one turn, he found an exit into the second-floor hallway. This one was lined with thick rugs and tapestries. Mirrors and flashing metallic sconces hung along the walls. It was the family’s private quarters.
Ben padded down the hall, counting off the doors as he went until he found the one he was looking for. Hoping it was unlocked, he pressed the latch and pushed it open to reveal a sitting room filled with delicate furniture, frilly lace, and dominated on one side by a huge dollhouse that rose to Ben’s height and spanned half a dozen paces. In the pre-dawn gloom, it looked to be painted a bright shade of pink.
Ben covered his mouth and fought back a chortle.
Looking around, he saw the rest of the room was decorated just as flightily as the dollhouse. Lace fell to form a tent in one corner, barely obscuring a tiny couch overflowing with small, stuffed animals. Larger ones covered the floor around it. A mirror and table stood on the other side of the room, set with countless jars, vials, combs, and other implements of beauty he could only guess at.
Shaking his head, he weaved through the room, wondering how Amelie had grown to be such a grounded woman after being raised in such a… pink room.
He moved from the sitting room to her old bedchamber and breathed a sigh of relief. There were frills lining a thick blanket on her bed, and the bed itself was topped with an extravagant, heavily embroidered curtain, but the rest of the room felt like it was designed for a more mature resident than the sitting room. He could recognize this bedroom and the girl who had grown up in it.
A blush of light was spilling in from a large, glass double door. Ben moved to it and peered out, looking onto a veranda and then down into the quiet garden below. He couldn’t see anything.
It wasn’t yet dawn, and the courtyard was lost in shadow. There was no movement that he could detect, but someone could be down there. He settled in to wait, watching the sky above the roofline on the opposite side of the courtyard.
The sun would rise behind it, and as soon as there was sufficient light to see the courtyard, he would sneak out onto Amelie’s old balcony. It overlooked the gardens from end to end, and she’d claimed it was a perfect spot to observe what happened below while still allowing himself a chance to escape if there was a trap.
He sat on her bed and marveled at the cloud soft bedding.
Ben’s gaze dropped to his longsword. It was resting point down on the carpet, the length of the blade between his legs, the hilt in his lap. The dark Venmoor steel blended into the dim light around him. Barely visible, partially obscured by the dried blood of the guards he killed in the city, a relief of mountains was etched into the blade.
He let his fingers drift across the design, and he felt the shallow grooves that some long-forgotten artisan had made. For the hundredth time, he wondered what it meant. Was it supposed to symbolize something, or had it merely been done to beautify a weapon of war? Years after the death of the artisan, the etching remained, but it’s purpose was a mystery.
Ben shook himself and turned to look over Amelie’s room. There was little personality that would tell him about her. Countless maids had filtered in since the last time Amelie slept there. Dusting, straightening up, removing any trace of the girl she had been. Amelie had gone to the Sanctuary as an initiate, and they wouldn’t have expected her to return for years.
Against the wall, there was a tall wardrobe. Dark wood was inset with pale gemstones. It was beautiful, and he guessed it cost a fortune. He wanted to cross and open it, to see if any of her old clothing was inside, but as he watched, the color of the stones became apparent, and he knew the sun was rising. He would have spent the entire day in Amelie’s rooms if he could, poking around, trying to understand her better. Her life as a highborn was a mystery to him, and he wanted to know her, but he could not. Not yet.
It was time to go to battle. To live or to die.
He stood and stretched, allowing his tense muscles to pull against his frame. He rolled his head from side to side, stepped into the middle of the room, and spun his longsword in a series of swooping loops. His bruises from the fall outside of Issen’s gates and the tumble dodging the crossbow twinged in pain, but it was minor, and when the battle fever fell upon him, he knew he’d be able to ignore it. He was healthy enough.
The smooth leather on the hilt of his sword caressed his palms as it spun turn after turn. The heavy blade felt weightless in his hands, like it was an extension of him. The exhaustion of the previous days and nights, the bumps from dashing through Issen, the scrambling beneath the hedges, they all fell away. He felt energized. Excitement coursed through his veins. He didn’t know if he’d be successful, but he knew what he was doing was right. He knew this was the best plan they had.
Ben unlocked the door to Amelie’s balcony, wincing at the sound of the bolt sliding through the iron hasp. He pulled the door open and was greeted by a wave of cool air. It raised bumps on his arms and down his spine. It brought the pleasant scent of flowers. Roses, he thought.
He stepped onto the veranda and spared a quick glance at the sky. It glowed faintly, orange and pink. Yellow and gold wouldn’t be
far off. Soon, the clouds above would be shining, beautiful and ephemeral. He wished he could sit and watch.
His eyes fell to the gardens below. Short, flowering trees, some bearing fruit, stood watch over low bushes and beds of flowers. In the early autumn, most of it was not in bloom, but enough was that it filled the space with a thick perfume. The foliage surrounded an open, grass lawn. Amelie said they had parties there, sometimes, and that she had played on the lawn as a young girl.
The grass was low, even, and Ben realized someone on the staff must have trimmed it just weeks before. Even with Lord Gregor dead and Lady Selene gone, when they knew the armies of the Alliance and the Coalition were bearing down, they’d continued their maintenance. The wheels continued to roll.
In the center of the lawn was a fountain fashioned to look like a branching tree. Water tinkled a soft symphony as it fell off the delicately carved stone leaves and splashed into the pool below.
Ben walked to the edge of the veranda and peered over the balustrade. There was nothing below except a quiet, fall garden. His gaze scanned the windows and doors around the courtyard, but he saw no movement. It wasn’t quite dawn yet, when Saala and Jason were told to arrive, but it wasn’t far off, either. The world seemed absolutely still, with only his own pounding heart, the blood rushing through his veins, the air filling his lungs, and the tinkling fountain giving any break to the serene scene below him.
Below him. He frowned.
Amelie had told them that directly below the balcony was a long gallery of glass doors. Behind them was a banquet hall her family used for entertaining when the weather wasn’t nice enough outside. The banquet hall had a large public entrance that was easily accessible for carriages and anyone traveling to the estate for a party. It was one of the easiest entry points, she’d said, and one way she thought Saala or Jason could come in.
If they were in there, they’d be directly below Ben. He couldn’t see a thing from the balcony he was standing on. In the corner of the veranda, he saw a thick iron post topped with an unlit lantern. He sheathed his sword and put one foot on the railing, one hand on the post, and boosted himself up. He gripped the post and leaned forward, looking straight down, trying to detect any sign of light or movement in the hall below.
