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

by AC Cobble

  True to his word, Rhys led them to a sturdy, clean-looking inn on the water that overlooked the shallows. After dropping off their gear and freshening up, they met downstairs in the common room. It had wide doors that opened up to a back porch hanging over the water. The porch was framed by massive century old willow trees that drooped down to the water and gave the inn a private feel even though it was near the center of town.

  As they settled into seats near the water, a sultry voice called out, “Welcome to the Curve! What can I get for you folks?”

  Ben’s mouth went dry. The woman’s honey blond hair was piled up in a loose bun which accentuated her long neck and bare shoulders. She had on a white, loosely tied top that was hanging on precariously. Her dark skirts fell low enough to hide all but the toes of her shoes and swayed as she walked with a natural dancer’s grace. She was stunning. Not the classic, regal beauty of Amelie. She had an earthy, approachable aura. She exuded sensuality.

  “A couple of pitchers of ale please,” answered Amelie before glaring at the men around the table.

  “Sure thing, sugar,” purred the woman. “That’s our specialty. Master Taber brews it all in house. We have a golden lager, a red ale, and a barley wine.”

  Amelie gave Ben a sharp kick under the table before responding again, “Maybe the expert here would like to choose. Ben, aren’t you supposed to be a brewer? What sounds good?”

  “Oh, uh, yeah. I know how to brew beer,” he answered lamely.

  The stunning barmaid leaned in, put a hand on Ben’s shoulder, and said, “Congratulations. Now, what would you like to drink?”

  Ben felt the heat rising in his face as he ordered a round of lagers and ales and barely held his hand from moving to where the barmaid had touched his shoulder. With difficulty, he ignored the hard looks from the girls and turned toward the other men.

  “A brewer?” asked Rishram.

  The man was so silent that Ben wasn’t even sure it was him who’d spoken at first.

  “Yes, yes,” answered Ben. “I was the brewer at home before I left with Lady Towaal and her company.”

  “So, not an arms man? I figured you must be, travelling in company like this. I’ve seen your fine sword. Venmoor steel if I’m not mistaken?” The little man was inching closer to Ben and his voice seemed to be dropping even lower. “With a blademaster in your group and Master Rhys, how could you not be skilled?”

  “Oh, no,” denied Ben. “I’ve done some practice with them, but I don’t consider myself to be very skilled. We’ve been travelling so hard that there really isn’t time for it. Maybe someday. I haven’t figured out what I’ll do once all of this is over. I had planned to return home, but maybe I’ll find employment with my sword or even open a brewery in the City.”

  He didn’t mean to share so much with the little hunter, but Ben figured it was better he talk than listen to that quiet, creepy voice.

  He was saved from further awkward conversation with Rishram by Ferguson loudly slapping the table and near shouting, “A brewer huh! Now that is a profession I can get behind. People drink in both good times and bad. I once saved a brewer in Northport and the man was so grateful that I drank for free in that town until the poor fellow went out of business. Never understood that really…”

  Ferguson’s monologue washed over Ben as he sat back and looked out over the bubbling water and watched the willow branches dance in the slow current. Three weeks away from the drama at Whitehall, the attack at Snowmar and the awkward interactions with Lord Foley. It felt good to be on the road with his companions and away from the pressures of the large towns where Amelie was known. He wasn’t sure what would happen when they made it to the City, but he decided he would enjoy this last stretch of the journey down the Venmoor River.

  Later that evening, musicians started playing and the staff cleared the tables and pushed them to the edges of the room to make space for dancing. Their party relocated to the fringes of the room. Even though it had been easy travel through the valley, it had still been three weeks constantly on their feet. The music set a lively mood though and the revelry in the room was infectious.

  Renfro slid onto the bench next to Ben and scooted close. “You should ask her to dance.”

  Ben jerked his eyes away from the honey blond barmaid who was gliding around the room, swapping empty pitchers for full and deftly avoiding staggering and sometimes handsy patrons.

  “She’s working,” snapped Ben. “What do you mean ask her to dance? She doesn’t have time for that kind of thing now.”

  “Working?” Renfro guffawed. “I don’t think she’s worked a day in her life.”

  Ben glanced at Renfro quizzically and saw he was looking at Amelie. “Wait. You think I should ask Amelie to dance?”

  “Of course! Who else do you think I was talking about?” asked Renfro. “Meghan is your sister and Towaal, well, Towaal is Lady Towaal. She knows it wasn’t anything serious with Meredith. Amelie knows, I mean. That poor girl was reading into it more than was there. Amelie’s experienced with these things and she respected Meredith, even though she was overstepping. She doesn’t mind…”

  “Hold on!” broke in Ben. “What are you talking about? You sound like one of the old women when they’d gossip over laundry back in Farview. Where did you hear all of this?”

  Renfro adopted a hurt look. “It’s not gossip. I was just trying to help. Meghan’s been so worried about Amelie after the thing at Snowmar. She thinks a little excitement might be the cure and we all know the way Amelie was looking at you before Meredith moved in.”

  “You’ve been talking to Meghan!” exclaimed Ben. He was silenced when Renfro dug one of his sharp elbows into Ben’s side.

  Amelie and Meghan suddenly appeared in front of the two of them.

  A flushed Amelie blurted, “This isn’t court dancing like I’m used to, but I think I could get the hang of it.” The stomping and twirling crowd spun around behind the girls. Amelie reached out a hand to Ben, “Meghan says you know these country dances. Care to show me?”

  The next morning, bright sunlight fell directly on Ben’s bed and he rolled out onto his feet with a groan. He and Renfro were sharing a room and the little thief was still buried under his pillow and blankets snoring softly. Ben padded out of the room to put on his boots and straightened up in the hall before descending to the common room.

  The tables had all been pushed back into place and he spied Saala and Rhys sitting in a corner near the back porch.

  Ben plopped down in a chair at their table and held up a hand to shield his eyes from the sun.

  “I’m sensing a pattern.” Rhys smirked before pushing a mug of steaming kaf toward Ben. “If you intend to celebrate every time we make a new town, you need to learn to pace yourself.”

  “Funny,” answered Ben. “I don’t recall you pacing yourself.”

  “Ah,” remarked Saala, “that’s because our friend Rhys is a professional. His natural state is sodden. You can’t feel the hangover if you never stop the drinking.”

  “I’ll drink to that!” exclaimed Rhys.

  After a few more mugs of kaf and a breakfast of biscuits and bacon, Ben was ready to follow Saala and Rhys into the sun and down to the barge moorings to see if they could secure a ride to the City.

  “Kirksbane survives on these shallows,” explained Saala. “Barges coming down from Northport or up from the City all stop here and move through a series of locks on the far side of town. The depth of the shallows is too low for a loaded barge. Centuries ago, they’d portage around the shallows. Tie up north of town and cart all the goods to just south of town. But that took time and a lot of effort. It was the industry that this town sprung from, though. Eventually, some enterprising fellow built the locks and barges can safely pass through without loading and unloading.”

  “Why don’t they just dredge the channel?” asked Ben. “I mean, it seems like that would be relatively easy to do, right?”

  “Ah, and that’s why it’s called K
irksbane,” said Saala. “It means King’s Bane in old Vennish. Back in the portage days, the King of Venmoor attempted to fund the project himself. At the time, he must have thought the ease of doing business between his people and Northport was worth the cost. But the town that was here at the time, they refused the king. Goes with their nature. The Vennish have never been ones to listen to authority. Handling those barges was what put food on the tables for the few residents who weren’t river bandits. They weren’t willing to give up their only source of legitimate income.”

  “How did they build the locks then?” asked Ben.

  “A wealthy family in the City bought up all of the land outside the west end of town and started digging. The river itself is public property, but on their own land, no one could stop them.”

  “People tried though,” added Rhys. “The entire town rose up against the folks building the locks. They had to hire a small army of guards. For about a year it was basically open warfare. Half the able-bodied men in Kirksbane didn’t survive that year. There’s a little obelisk somewhere around here they raised for a memorial. The same family owns and runs the locks to this day.”

  Before long, they made it through the low-lying buildings and down to the barge moorings. Even though the town no longer did much portage business, it was still an important port for produce coming out of the Sineook Valley. The center of activity was the barge moorings. The produce would go downriver to Venmoor or even the City. Empty barges were pulled up the river by a team of horses walking along the bank, then they would tie up and wait for enough cargo to fill their hold before floating back down.

  Instead of docks, the moorings were sturdy, thick iron rings driven into a sloped stone bank. The barges would toss a rope to shore then be pulled tight to load right there in the shallow water. Narrow gangways were run up to the barges by wheelbarrow men clustered around waiting for work.

  This early in the morning, things were still moving slow. A few wagons heaped with vegetables were parked and the drivers were haggling over prices with the bargemen. The only other sounds were the nickers of the horses and the creak of the heavy ropes securing the barges to shore. Ben noted that this time of year, there were more barges than wagons. He didn’t think the bargemen would have good news to report back to their lords.

  They made their way down toward the long stretch of moorings and Rhys grunted then elbowed Saala. At the end of the line of moorings there was a wooden pier with a sole vessel docked. It was a long, sleek-looking river sloop with two bare masts and a small flag.

  “City colors,” grunted Rhys.

  “Worth a try,” replied Saala with a shrug. “She’ll make it four times faster than any of these barges.”

  “Ho the ship!” shouted Rhys as they approached, winding through the maze of hemp ropes strung out from the barges.

  Instantly, a wizened, scrawny-looking shirtless man popped up on the deck. “Ho the shore!”

  “Are you making for the City from here?” inquired Rhys.

  “Where else would we go?” cracked the man.

  “Fair enough. We’re headed that way also and want to inquire about passage. Are you the man to talk to about that?”

  “You need to talk to the captain.” The scrawny man scratched himself and stared down at Rhys.

  “I imagined we would.” Rhys paused and spared an exasperated look with his companions. “Can you tell us where the captain is?”

  “He’s on shore. At an inn called the Curve. Best ale and best barmaids outside the City. I would’ve been up there myself last night if I wasn’t on watch.”

  “Of course he is,” grumbled Rhys as they turned back toward town.

  Rhys’ mood didn’t improve any when they reentered the common room to find Lady Towaal and the girls sitting across a late breakfast from a well-dressed courtier and a weathered portly man. Ferguson and Rishram were seated behind them at another table, leaning slightly in and clearly trying to overhear the conversation.

  “Gentlemen,” started Towaal, “I hope you didn’t pay for passage yet. Lord Reinhold and Captain, ah, Fishbone are heading back on the morrow. They have a sloop, which Captain Fishbone estimates can make the City four times faster than any river barge. They also have a dozen men at arms, which is a bonus. There is word the river is getting restless again and bandits have reappeared.”

  “Lady Towaal!” exclaimed Ferguson. “Rishram and myself would be happy to accompany you on the rest of the way to The City. Lord Foley wouldn’t like it if we left you at the mercy of river bandits.”

  “Of course, Master Ferguson. We’d be happy to have you.”

  “Just what we need,” muttered Rhys darkly.

  Ben and Saala were quickly driven outside by Rhys’ grumpiness. Ben didn’t blame him. Ferguson was a blustering fool and Ben was always a little shocked every evening they turned in and Rhys had not punched him in the face. Sooner or later, Ferguson was going to say too much. Ben suspected he’d quickly regret it.

  “Let’s get some work done if we’re going to be here all day,” Saala said as he tossed Ben his sword. They still used real steel during their practice. While Ben was rapidly improving, he wasn’t yet a danger to Saala. The man moved with an unnatural quickness and swirled away like smoke anytime Ben came close.

  There was a small clearing in the thicket of willow trees beside the inn where they began to practice. Saala didn’t mind instructing Ben around others, but he was always careful to hold back when he did. In towns, he kept his blademaster sigil hidden and none of the company spoke of it. There was an unspoken agreement that the less said to members outside their group, the better.

  In the privacy of the willow trees, though, he was like a stalking tiger.

  Ben was comfortable with the forms Saala had taught him and after the time in Whitehall with the Citadel’s guardsmen, he was learning to adapt. He couldn’t match Saala’s speed or agility, though. Time and time again, he whirled into an aggressive sequence and Saala would counter until Ben thought he was getting close, then suddenly, Saala would slide out of reach or pivot around Ben’s attack to launch one of his own.

  For two bells they danced across the clearing, Ben trying futilely to find a gap in Saala’s defense. Finally, after one particularly furious series, Ben flopped down on to his back, exhausted.

  “You’ve been training me two months now and I still haven’t come close to touching you. I’m not sure I’m cut out for this,” panted Ben.

  “It might be a year before you manage to score a hit on me in practice. Probably less, though. You are learning quickly,” answered Saala in a calm, even tone.

  Ben couldn’t fathom the fact that Saala wasn’t out of breath.

  Saala continued, “You must understand, I am the best at this. There are very few men in this world who can defeat me. Certainly there are none that have only been training for two months. When I was young and had only picked up a blade two months before, there were many men who could defeat me. Skill comes with time and practice.”

  “It’s just… you’re so much quicker than me,” mumbled Ben. “I can practice these forms but it doesn’t do any good when you’ve already moved from where I was swinging.”

  Saala sat down next to Ben. “Speed comes with time too. It will also come with the exercises Rhys is teaching you. Some people are naturally fast, and you are fortunate to be one. But true quickness like I have, that is from years of training your body to react before your mind processes a threat. It is more than seeing and more than hearing, it is an extra sense that can be learned and developed. I am confident that you will learn it.” Saala held one hand down near his waist and one hand high above his head. “Your skill is here today,” he shook his lower hand and then looked up, “but your potential is up here.”

  Ben rolled to his feet. “I hope so.”

  Saala rose also. “Give it time. Most do not have the potential to be a blademaster. You do. You are getting better very quickly, but you need to think in years and decades a
nd not weeks and months.”

  They started back toward the inn and there was a rustling among the willow branches and then the sound of running feet. Ben’s sword instinctively rose.

  “She’s running away. And that is not the kind of threat I was talking about,” said Saala with a grin.

  “Who’s running away?”

  “The honey blond barmaid you were so taken with last night. She’s been watching us for half a bell. As I said, she’s not a threat like we were talking about.” Saala tapped Ben’s sword. “And you’ll need more than that to stop her.”

  Later that afternoon, Ben enjoyed a cold lager in the common room with Renfro. He’d washed up after his practice with Saala and wasn’t sure how to spend the rest of the day. Since they’d secured passage on Captain Fishbone’s river sloop, there wasn’t anything to do but wait.

  Suddenly, Renfro bounced to his feet, “Meghan, Amelie!” he called.

  The girls had appeared at the foot of the stairs to the sleeping quarters and came over to their table.

  “Have an ale with us,” pleaded Renfro. “It’s really good. Ben chose it.”

  “Good for him,” said Amelie coolly as she looked around the room. “Where is Ilyena?”

  Ben blinked. “Ilyena? Who is that?”

  “You don’t know?” asked Amelie skeptically. “That’s the name of the blond barmaid everyone was falling over yesterday. I thought you… well, that’s her name. My father always taught me to learn the names of the help. It makes them feel special.”

  Amelie’s cold demeanor was new to Ben, but he’d seen the same thing from the village girls in Farview. The nicest girl in the world turned mean around a rival. He figured it would blow over soon. After all, Amelie was the girl he’d danced with the night before.

  “Well, Ilyena, or whatever her name is, isn’t around right now. The ale is still good. Care for a mug?”

  “I’m sure it’s grand,” Amelie responded primly, “but I have no interest in drinking ale in the middle of the day. I’ve heard of the locks of Kirksbane, so Meghan and I are going to see them. They’re key to commerce in the region. That kind of thing is important for rulers to understand even if it is not our lands. You two may escort us.”