Benjamin Ashwood Series: Books 1-3 (Benjamin Box)

by AC Cobble

  Ben didn’t quite agree, but the thought of getting up and doing something appealed to him. They were all feeling morose, with reason, and it didn’t help to sit around and drag each other down.

  “Sure Rhys, I’ll go,” responded Ben.

  “Hold on. Before we get out there, I have something for you.” He went over to his pack and pulled out a long, narrow bundle. “I picked this up at Snowmar for you, since yours was ruined in the lightning storm.”

  Ben took the bundle and slowly unwrapped it to reveal a sword. The weapon was plain and unadorned, just like his old weapon, but he could feel the quality was far superior.

  Saala was peering over at them. “Venmoor steel?”

  “Yes,” answered Rhys. “Best forged steel you can find, in Alcott at least.”

  “Best steel in the world many say,” Saala responded with a quizzical look, “although, maybe I’m not as familiar with some of the places you are.”

  Rhys shrugged. “It’s good steel. Better than that stuff you were using before, Ben. In fighting, or any endeavor I suppose, you’re only as good as your tools.”

  “That is true,” agreed Saala. “Snowmar’s captain, I presume?”

  “Yeah. I figured he didn’t need it anymore.”

  Saala gestured for the sword, and Ben handed it to him. He spun it through a series of forms then handed it back, hilt first. Ben wondered if he had a moral objection to taking the weapon. Saala could be funny like that.

  Saala nodded. “Good find by Rhys. Well balanced and just the right size and weight. Ben, try to take care of this one. We practiced holding onto it in a fight, but I can’t help you if you run into any other ladies in their bath.”

  The joke was too early, but Ben understood what Saala was trying to do. Meredith’s death was a tragedy. There was nothing they could do to fix it now. The world was a dangerous place and they needed to move on.

  Later that morning, they put Meredith to rest. Rhys and Ben stumbled across an aspen grove half a league from the road and thought it was the perfect spot. It was on a hillside overlooking the length of the valley and far enough from the road that she would not be disturbed. The men quickly dug a shallow grave. They all spoke a few short words.

  That afternoon they made it to Eastside, the first town at the head of Sineook Valley. A subdued Lady Towaal agreed they would stop for a few days before continuing on through the valley to the Venmoor River. She was still recovering from the energies she’d released at Snowmar and even the half day of travel seemed to wear her out. Renfro was also struggling. He kept up on his crutches, but a few days’ rest was needed for his ankle to heal.

  Briefly, they discussed spending another night on the road, but realized it was critical news of what happened got to the right people. All of the demons that attacked were dead, but there could be more lurking in the mountains. Until a full sweep of the area was made, it was too big of a risk to other travelers to delay.

  Ben was surprised as they approached Eastside. He wasn’t familiar with the town from the stories and had expected it to be a small waystation similar to Murdoch’s. When they saw it, it was nearly large enough to be called a city. Saala explained that Eastside was a critical point of commerce. Nearly all of Whitehall and much of the Blood Bay’s agricultural products were supplied from Sineook Valley. Any freight from the valley had to pass through Eastside on the way to Snowmar Pass.

  The Lords of Eastside had built it into a decent-sized trading hub. They built warehouses and silos to keep goods until they were needed to replenish the stores in Whitehall. Space was at a premium in the port city, so Eastside made a natural staging location. Eastside also had natural defenses and little need to maintain a standing army. With mountains surrounding the valley on the north and south, Whitehall to the east, and the length of Sineook to the west, it would be impossible for enemies to make a direct assault on the place.

  For that reason, the actual keep of Eastside was relatively small for a community its size. The bulk of the buildings spread out from it with no protective walls. It reminded Ben of an overgrown Farview.

  When they made it to the outskirts of town there weren’t even any guards. They had to progress all the way to the keep before finding arms men with Foley’s livery.

  Amelie took the lead. “Lady Amelie to see Lord Foley. Please send a man to let him know I’m here immediately. We have urgent news about Snowmar Station and must speak without delay.”

  “Lady Amelie? I’m sorry miss, but I’m not familiar with you. Are you a lady from Whitehall? Coming from the Conclave I suppose. How is that—”

  “Sir! Maybe I should have spoken more strongly. Snowmar Station has fallen and every man there is dead. Send someone to alert Lord Foley!” she barked.

  Suddenly, the guardhouse burst into activity. It was like Amelie kicked an anthill.

  “Dead! How can that be?”

  “Wait. Did she say Snowmar Station?”

  “It’s war! Whitehall is marching on us!”

  Finally, a captain appeared, still hastily buckling his sword over his tunic. “Damn it. Get ahold of yourselves! Ma’am, you said Snowmar Station has fallen. Are you sure? What happened?”

  “Yes, captain. We passed through there two days ago and there is absolutely no doubt. I believe the details would be better addressed in private with Lord Foley.”

  “Yes, of course,” he replied. The men of Eastside had little experience in actual combat, but the captain had been around long enough to understand a serious situation. He knew how to respond.

  “Come this way. Lord Foley is in the gardens. Private Bratch, run ahead and let him know we’re coming. Now, man, run!”

  The gardens turned out to be a tree-shaded emerald green lawn surrounding a clear sandy-bottomed pond. Lord Foley had recently emerged from the pond and was wrapping a thick cotton robe around himself. He didn’t have the posture of a warrior lord like Argren, but he was a large man and fit. Ben thought he would strike an imposing figure if he were dressed for battle and not wearing a bathing robe.

  “Lady Amelie.” He gave a short bow that was almost a nod of the head then continued, “Bratch here was telling me you’d arrived. Pardon my attire. A swim a day keeps the heart rate up, so my physicians say at least. So sorry we haven’t given you a proper welcome. I understand this is urgent?”

  It certainly must keep the heart rate up thought Ben as he spied a blond, a redhead, and a brunette ducking into a door at the far end of the garden.

  Lord Foley took the news of Snowmar’s fall surprisingly well. He seemed more interested in their group’s battle than he did the casualties to the guard and residents in the pass. He did agree to immediately send messenger pigeons to Whitehall with the news and dispatched a guard captain to take a force up to scout the area.

  Before long, they were ensconced in a guest wing of Foley’s keep. At Amelie’s insistence, they were all kept close. The keep was not nearly as grand as Whitehall, but the rooms were more than sufficient for their needs. Ben thought he’d come a long way in the world when he saw a pair of silver candlesticks in the keep and wasn’t impressed. There was a time not long ago when he couldn’t have even imagined owning that much wealth.

  That evening, Amelie and Towaal begged off of a feast that Lord Foley wanted to throw them and they all spent a quiet night by themselves. For Ben, it felt like the first night they were not running from what had happened at Snowmar and Meredith’s death. They’d said what they needed to on the road, now it was time to move on.

  It didn’t hurt that Rhys had been away from the amenities of a town for over a week and made up for it by ordering Foley’s staff to keep bringing fresh pitchers of ale and wine.

  After dinner, Saala drew his falchion and examined it for nicks. He started oiling it and sliding a small whetstone up and down the blade to smooth out any tiny imperfections he found.

  Ben moved over to Saala and brought out the sword Rhys had given him. “I haven’t had a chance to look at this one y
et.”

  Saala nodded at it. “Always wise to check your equipment following combat. A small chip can eventually lead to a blade shattering at the wrong moment.” He slid his jar of oil and a whetstone to Ben before gently running a finger along one edge of Ben’s new blade. “The captain took good care of this.”

  “More likely he didn’t ever use it,” snorted Rhys from the other side of the room.

  “Do you need to check your weapon Rhys?” asked Ben.

  “Nah. I’ll be fine.” Rhys was in good spirits. A pitcher or two of ale cured a lot of his ills.

  “Mage-wrought?” asked Saala.

  Rhys sighed and picked up his sword from near his pack and tossed it to Saala. “I suppose we’ve been travelling long enough together that I can trust you.”

  Ben asked, “Trust us? What do you mean?”

  “Mage-wrought blades are very rare,” answered Saala slowly. He drew the weapon from the scabbard and admired its length and heft. The silver etching Ben had noticed before was faded to the point he could barely see it.

  Saala continued, “In fact, I’ve only seen three of them in my time. They don’t break, they don’t need sharpening, they resist heat, and it’s rumored some have other mysterious properties.” He raised an eyebrow in Rhys’ direction.

  “Depends on the mage that crafted it,” Rhys responded with a shrug. “At least that’s what I’ve been told. I haven’t noticed any worthwhile mystical properties so far. Of course, can’t complain about how it cuts. Does that just fine.”

  Ben wondered, “A mage crafts it? Like a blacksmith?”

  “Exactly like a blacksmith,” broke in Towaal. She was leaning back in a stuffed chair. Ben had thought she was asleep. “The mages who make weapons are trained in the both arts of blacksmithing and harnessing energies. During the process of heating and folding the steel of a sword, the mage is able to change the nature of the material into something more durable. Occasionally, like you say, the mage is able to imbue something of a different nature into the weapon, which gives it certain properties. It’s a difficult process and mistakes can be dangerous. It also takes an incredible amount of skill with one’s hands. There are few mages in the world. Even fewer mages take the time to learn a mundane task like blacksmithing, which is why the blades are so rare.”

  She paused. “Rhys, if you are going to keep ordering wine, can you at least pour me a glass?”

  The tension in the room when Towaal spoke quickly dissipated. Magic always seemed like a touchy subject around her. The Sanctuary had its secrets and Ben knew she wanted to keep them. Ben looked at Meghan and could tell she saw an opportunity.

  “Lady Towaal, I have never heard of blacksmith mages before. What other kinds of mages are there?” she asked innocently.

  “It’s all one and the same, girl. It’s not a blacksmith mage, it’s a mage who happens to know the arts of a blacksmith. People call it all kinds of things; magery, sorcery, wizardry, magic, witchcraft, and more. But it’s all the same. At the heart of it is harnessing the energy around you and within you. When forging steel, there is an incredible amount of heat. If someone knows what they are doing and has the strength of will, they can use that heat to modify and improve the metal.”

  “Is that how…” Meghan paused. “Is that how you did what you did at Snowmar? Harnessed the energy around you?”

  “Yes, in essence that is correct. All around us there is friction caused by tiny particles that you can’t even see. They are constantly moving and generating heat and energy. The light from the sun or the power of the wind are also forms of energy. The friction is the same thing that causes you a shock when you walk across a wool carpet. That is external energy.” Towaal accepted the glass of wine Rhys handed her and continued talking, “I used that friction to create a small charge. I funneled more energy into it and then I directed it at our attackers. There was only so much around us that I could draw on for the charge, though, and I needed more than a little shock. I had to pull substantially from my own reserves—which is why I have been so sluggish the last few days. Channeling one’s internal energy externally is taxing and dangerous. But in short, yes, I harnessed the available energy and sent it at our attackers.”

  “You make it sound so simple,” murmured Meghan. “Just take energy and direct it?”

  “The concept is simple, child, but the execution takes years or even decades of study. To manipulate physical matter, you must understand it. And I don’t just mean know what it is. I mean fully understand to the tiniest detail. Take a tree. Everyone knows what it is and everyone knows what it does, but understanding how sunlight, water, and nutrients from the soil react in the plant to produce the energy to grow is something that very, very few people understand.”

  “So, at the Sanctuary, learning to be a mage is about understanding how things work?” asked Meghan.

  “That is one part of it. A mage must understand what they are trying to do before they do it. There is no short cut to obtaining that knowledge. The second part is difficult as well. The second ingredient, so to speak, is willpower. Anything in this world is possible if one has the willpower to make it happen. Focusing that will in the proper direction and achieving results takes a special person and takes intense practice. Someone might be a natural, like yourself and Amelie, but you will never reach your potential without extensive training. Preparation and ability, they are useless without each other.”

  Amelie, who had been listening closely, asked, “I’m familiar with the study involved. Lady Greenfoot has been preparing me for the Sanctuary since I was a little girl. She was never clear though about what training goes into directing one’s will. She always said that was for another time.”

  “Study of the world around us is something that anyone can do with the proper instructors or resources. Many of the world’s best scholars have no interest in mage craft at all. It is also something that can be done safely from a comfortable chair in a well-appointed library. Focusing will and causing physical elements to react, that is something that cannot be done comfortably. It is strenuous and it is dangerous. Greenfoot is right. That is for another time,” Towaal glanced at the men in the room. Apparently her openness had its limits. “And Greenfoot is no lady. She is as common born as they come, no offense of course.”

  “None taken,” Meghan replied quietly.

  “I understand your impatience. You are embarking on a journey that will surely change your lives in ways you may have never imagined. You must know though, this path is a long one. Over the course of millennia, the Sanctuary has developed ways to guide girls down that path. But it is a thing best done in the safety and security of the Sanctuary. I only say what I say now because you have witnessed the terrible potential that comes with being a mage. It is not something entered lightly.”

  Amelie replied, “You speak as if we have not already started. My journey started when I stepped out of Issen and Meghan’s when she left Farview. We are on this path, and we are not turning back.”

  They spent two more days in Eastside, partly because they needed the rest, but not insignificantly because Lord Foley seemed so offended at the thought of them leaving. He threw a feast as extravagant as he had promised and spent the rest of the time entertaining them with stories of his hunts, musical performances, poetry readings, demonstrations of arms, and the best his court had to offer. It slowly dawned on Ben that this was not a lord who had been at Whitehall for the Conclave. This was a man who had significant wealth, but little political power. The idea that the two could be separated was a new concept.

  His loyalty to Whitehall was a given because of the geography his city occupied and the lack of military power he had at his disposal. He wasn’t part of the wrangling give-and-take that Argren had done with the other lords. Foley had aspirations, but he was bound to allegiances that his ancestors and nature had made long before his rule. He was a lord, yes, but he was also a vassal of Whitehall and that was how he felt others saw him.

  Once Ben
realized this, the man’s behavior made perfect sense. Any favor he could gain with a Lady of Amelie’s status or a representative of the City was more than the scraps he would get from Argren’s court.

  One of Foley’s suggestions that they found difficult to turn down was an escort from two of his hunters. They would travel with them as far as Kirksbane on the Venmoor River to ensure they had, ‘no fear of bandits’, as Foley said.

  “Make sure we don’t get lost somewhere in between the cabbage and potato fields? More like listen to every word we say to his neighbors. I can’t wait to get out of this inbred valley,” grumbled Rhys. “Most of these lords are married to each other’s cousins and none of them have anything better to do than look at what the other one is doing. You give a man a little bit of power and he’s going to try to find something to do with it. Whitehall won’t stand for them making war on each other, and they can’t reach anyone else. Makes them compete over silly stuff like taxes on barley, diverting an irrigation ditch, or who threw the best fall harvest party, all while ignoring things like the attack at Snowmar, which took out an entire barracks.”

  They were in one of Eastside’s bare, stone-circled courtyards, working through another one of the Ohms. The calming breathing techniques Rhys had spoken about before weren’t having any effect on him today.

  “You’re probably right about why he wants the hunters with us.” Saala smirked. “Lady Amelie and Towaal went public in Whitehall and Eastside. Just because all the fancy lords and ladies joined Argren’s Alliance doesn’t mean they stopped playing their games. So what, though? We might as well have the extra swords. Amelie is a tempting target and Lord Foley doesn’t want any incidents happening anywhere near him, and I agree with that.” Saala winked at Ben. “Besides, some might see our small escort as scant protection for such a highborn Lady.”

  “Scant protection!” barked Rhys. “Isn’t that your job, to protect her ladyship?”