by AC Cobble
“I…” Evan was dead, and Red, wherever he was now, didn’t need that kind of help. “Reinhold hired the best physicians. I think they did everything that can be done. Honestly, I’ve seen what Towaal can do, and even she couldn’t help with this. Thank you for offering, though. I appreciate it.”
A relieved-looking Amelie nodded quickly and brushed an errant strand of hair back over her ear. “Okay then. I had to offer.”
“So, healing. Are you a mage now?”
The spark of the old Amelie, before the Sanctuary, shined through briefly. She smirked back at Ben. “I’m a mage like you were a blademaster the day we left Farview.”
Ben felt a little better as he walked back through the busy streets of the City. His two guards shadowed him several steps behind. He almost felt alone, and like things were back to normal. Whatever that meant anymore.
He hadn’t lost the watchful edge that he gained over the last week, though. He spied Rhys heading toward him through the crowd while he was still a city block away.
“Come on. I want to show you something,” called Rhys.
Ben fell in beside Rhys.
“You two can head back to the warehouse,” Rhys said to the guards.
“You sure?” asked the blond to Ben.
“It’s broad daylight and I’m with him.” Ben smiled as he gestured to Rhys.
“Right.” The guard eyed Rhys up and down then said to Ben, “The name’s Henrick. Everyone on Lord Reinhold’s staff knows me. Get the word to someone and I’ll be there if you need me. The lord wants you protected.”
“What’s going on?” asked Ben as he and Rhys moved off into the current of people in the street.
“I’ve got to leave,” answered Rhys. “A little bit of work. Nothing serious, but it’s urgent. The damn Veil herself requested both Towaal and I go and that we leave tonight. Terrible timing with what’s going on. I hate to leave you while Saala is out of town too, but I can’t say no to the Veil. I want to show you a few things before I go.”
“Lady Towaal is in town?” inquired Ben. He hadn’t seen her since they arrived in the City.
Rhys nodded. “She never stays long. I think she just got back yesterday.”
They arrived at The Flying Swan Inn. Mathias saw them from behind the counter and waved them back. Ben followed Rhys through the busy kitchen and out to the yard behind the building. He’d been back there before making deliveries. This time of day it was empty except for two practice swords leaning against the wall of the inn.
“Practice swords?” asked Ben. “I thought you never practiced.”
“I don’t,” replied Rhys, “but you do. The blademaster taught you well and you’re on your way to being a perfectly adequate swordsman. There’s more to it than memorizing some forms, though. You do that and you’re just waiting for the guy who learned one more than you. Then it’s over.”
Ben picked up both of the blunted weapons and tossed one to Rhys. “So, what will you show me then?”
Ben swished the sword back and forth a few times to get a feel for the weight and balance then started loosening up. In the months he’d known Rhys, he’d never seen the man practice.
He had seen him in combat at Snowmar, though. Rhys had a smooth elegance with his weapons that surely came from experience. The rogue moved like a powerful wind. Even Saala was impressed, so Ben was both excited and nervous about what would happen next.
Suddenly, Rhys surged across the space between them and slapped Ben’s practice sword from his hand before he could react. Ben dove across the hard-packed dirt, snatched at his sword, and rolled to his feet, ready to face Rhys.
Instead of the expected attack, he saw the rogue’s jaw drop open. The swordsman pointed over Ben’s shoulder and Ben spun to face the new threat, only to the feel the painful slap of the practice sword against his bicep, sending him stumbling to the side.
He angrily turned back to Rhys and demanded, “What are you…”
Rhys launched a cloud of loose dirt at Ben’s face and he felt his practice sword yet again violently smacked away from him while he tried to shield his eyes.
“Come on!” Ben shouted.
“Get your sword,” responded Rhys coolly.
“Not until you tell me…”
Rhys jabbed his own practice sword hard into Ben’s midsection and Ben collapsed to the ground breathless.
Rhys squatted down next to Ben, who was still gasping and painfully clutching his stomach. “I will tell you. I am teaching you how to fight.”
“By throwing dirt at my face?” grumbled Ben.
“It was effective, wasn’t it? I won that round. You should appreciate what Saala has taught you, he is very skilled at what he does, but fighting isn’t sparring, dueling, or some refereed blademaster qualification. A real sword fight is about maiming or killing your opponent. And when someone is trying to kill you, you do anything you can to get an advantage. You distract them. You throw dirt in their face. You attack when they aren’t looking.” Rhys stood and gestured for Ben to get up. “Saala and his ilk bring honor to the profession of swordsman, but it isn’t about honor or following some set of rules. It’s about winning and staying alive until tomorrow. You can worry about your honor then.”
Ben sat up slowly. His stomach really hurt from where the blunted point of Rhys’ wooden blade hit him.
“Why are you telling me this now? Saala spent months practicing with me on the road and you just watched.”
“You didn’t need it then. You were with me, Saala, and Towaal. What more protection could you have?” He grinned. “Of course, at the time I didn’t expect you’d get captured by the Thieves’ Guild in Fabrizo, face a swarm of demons at Snowmar, or anger a lord of the City enough that he sent a hit squad after you. I think, despite yourself, you’ve chosen to live a rather dangerous lifestyle.” Rhys reached down and hauled Ben up to his feet. “We don’t have much time and the blademaster made a good start. I will teach you as much as I can about winning a fight. It’s about taking what you’ve learned so far and adding creativity and ruthlessness. Knowing all of the proper forms does you no good if your opponent knows them all too. The forms Saala taught are the most efficient and powerful strokes or defenses you can make in a particular situation, but they don’t take into account that your opponent might anticipate that, or might react some way other than swinging his sword.”
The rest of the afternoon was spent with Rhys landing strike after strike. By the end of it, Ben was sure he had more bruises and welts than he would have with a month of training under Saala. Rhys was fast, strong, and efficient with his movements. His real advantage though was that Ben could never guess what he was going to do. Rhys anticipated Ben’s movements before they even happened. Even when Ben attempted some creativity and modified a swing, Rhys was ready.
“Every movement that is taught by master swordsmen also has a counter that is taught,” said Rhys while he circled the hard-packed dirt courtyard. “Inventing your own movements can help, but don’t expect that to always work. I suspect everything that can be done with a sword has been done. Instead, you need to go beyond the forms and teach your body to adapt to the moment. You are most effective when there can be no expectation of what you will do next. If the most efficient stroke from a position is high, that only makes sense if your opponent doesn’t know to counter it.” Rhys continued probing strikes at Ben while he spoke. “If your opponent is in position to parry your high swing, then you go low. Do not plan a complicated sequence of attack. Instead, attack your opponent’s vulnerabilities and weaknesses. Use your environment. Skilled swordsmen are taught to read your eyes to anticipate a movement, so try tricks with the eyes to confuse them. Shift your balance when it won’t throw you off and yell at them or taunt them. Make them emotional. If you’re not willing to fight dirty, then you shouldn’t be fighting.”
Finally, as the sun began to drop behind the slender towers of the City, Ben flopped down by the wall and leaned back exhausted. He was too
tired and in too much pain to even remember the sword forms Rhys was trying to shake him out of.
“Where did you learn all of this?” panted Ben.
“Experience. Lots of experience. Come on. I’ll buy you an ale.”
Mathias was on the way to their table with a pitcher and mugs before they even sat down.
“He teach you anything?” the gruff barkeep asked as he plunked the ale down on the table.
“I spent most of the afternoon falling down and getting hit. So, too early to say,” replied Ben with a pained groan. Mathias had grown to be a good friend. He seemed to never leave the Flying Swan, and was always willing to make time to speak to Ben.
“My first lesson with him was the same. Pissed me off at the time, but it kept me alive through some pretty nasty situations.”
Ben frowned. Rhys had maybe a decade on Ben, but Mathias had at least the same on Rhys.
“He trained you? Uh, when was that?” inquired Ben.
Mathias snorted. “You don’t ask an old war dog like me specifics. We like to talk in generalities. Everything before I bought this inn is ‘back then’. Whether I was a young pup or making my last march, it’s all the same time to me now.”
“I told you I had experience,” added Rhys with a wink. Then he grinned and said to Mathias, “I don’t remember you ever being a young pup.”
Early the next morning, Ben was rousted out of bed by a heavy banging on his door. He, Mathias, and Rhys had put down a few more ales. He got a little tipsy, but he stopped himself before he could be called drunk. As he stretched out the soreness from Rhys’ training and winced at the more severe bruises, he was glad he’d learned at least one thing from his time with the rogue—don’t try to match the man drink for drink.
“I’m coming,” he cried coarsely. He crossed his tiny apartment in a few steps to the door.
He peeked through a gap in the doorframe and saw Reinhold’s mustachioed blond guard, Henrick, standing impatiently.
When Ben opened the door, Henrick barked, “Glad you survived whatever it was he put you through yesterday. Get dressed and pack for travel. Bring your sword. We found where Gulli has been hiding.”
Against Henrick’s protests, Ben swung by the warehouse on the way to Reinhold’s estate north of the City. Renfro and many of the others clamored to go with them, but Ben insisted everyone stay and continue to work like any normal day. The customers weren’t going to care about a delay to settle scores.
Renfro pulled Ben aside. “Come on, Ben. If anyone is going, it should be me. They nearly killed me!”
Ben smiled then poked a finger into Renfro’s newly healed arm. The little thief winced in pain.
“You can’t go out there with that,” declared Ben. “If anyone came at you, there’s no way you could defend yourself.”
“We’ll be behind Reinhold’s men,” argued Renfro. “They’re professionals and I have no intention of getting in their way.” Renfro sighed and rubbed the spot Ben had poked. “But I get your point. Just promise me, we’ll get justice for Evan and what they did to me.”
“I don’t think we need to worry about that. I think Reinhold wants to use this to settle things with Gulli once and for all.”
“You better go.” Renfro nodded toward Henrick and clapped his good hand on Ben’s shoulder. “I think he’s going to have a heart attack if he doesn’t get you to the estate soon. Good luck Ben.”
Reinhold’s estate was two bell’s worth of brisk walking from the boundaries of the City.
“I’m surprised Reinhold comes out here very often,” muttered Ben as he matched Henrick’s quick pace. The guard didn’t have any sympathy for the sword practice or drinking Ben had done the previous day.
“This estate is closer to the City than most,” replied the guard. “He keeps a place in town and only comes out here when he wants to relax, or marshal forces, I guess. Besides, when he comes out he rides a horse.”
Horses were almost exclusively used for commerce. It was too expensive to keep and feed one for any other purpose. Keeping one stabled in the City was ludicrous. Ben imagined spending the gold wasn’t really a problem for Reinhold, though. He decided he was right when they finally made it to the expansive manicured grounds of Reinhold’s country estate. It was even more impressive on land than it had been from the river. The entire thing was encircled by a low stone wall and it must have covered the same area as the Sanctuary.
As far as Ben could see across the gently rolling hills, there were little bits of carefully placed trees and bushes with the occasional small structure he supposed was for resting while strolling the massive grounds. He could also see little foot bridges that may have been crossing unseen streams meandering through the property.
The path to the estate was behind an imposing stone and iron gate that rose ominously up from the low walls and a thicket of colorful flowers that surrounded its base. A cobblestone path led to a huge building that Ben thought was more appropriately labeled as a castle than a country estate. Ten Flying Swan Inns could fit inside the thing. The marble-clad walls looked like they could withstand a barrage of trebuchet or catapult fire for a week.
Ben was so focused on the estate that he missed the handful of guards standing by the gate. To Henrick, one called, “Glad you made it. Looks like the lord will be ready to march in half a bell. They’re staging over by the festival grounds.” To Ben, he smirked. “First time here?”
“Uh, yeah. Nice place,” replied Ben, peering through the gate at the massive palace.
“Come on,” said Henrick. “Bodas was supposed to bring my pack but he’s a lazy ass. I need to check things over before we leave. Shouldn’t be gone more than a few days, but if I get on the road with no socks, I’m going to kill that fool.”
The festival grounds turned out to be a wide-open flat grassy area. It was packed full of milling men adjusting packs and checking weapons. There were about one hundred of them and they were all decked out in Reinhold’s livery. Most wore light chain mail and had swords strapped to their sides. A few carried spears and bows as well. One massive, brutish-looking man leaned against a wicked battle axe that was taller than Ben.
“Stay away from him,” advised Henrick. “That’s Gra. Reinhold got him from some western island and they haven’t really tamed him yet. He carries that damn axe everywhere and is always looking for excuses to use it. After the first week he joined, Reinhold banned him from the City and keeps him up here. There were some incidents. When things get hot, he’s just as likely to take your or my head off as he is Gulli’s.”
The rest of the men seemed friendly enough, though, and Henrick turned out to be a squad leader. Ben surmised he’d been with Reinhold for many years and was now trusted with more than keeping trespassers off the property.
“You’ll march with my squad. If it gets hairy, you stay behind us,” explained Henrick. “I know you think you know how to use that blade, but leave this to us. Of course, I expect Gulli’s thugs will throw down their weapons as soon as they see us, but you never know.”
“Of course,” answered Ben. “I have no problem watching from the back.”
“Good,” said the guard with a nod.
Shortly, Reinhold appeared out of the palace and they started to march. With a glance, Ben saw how Reinhold wanted this to end. The lord was decked out in chainmail, just like his men, and had an elegant-looking long sword strapped to his back. Whether he really knew how to use it or not, Ben didn’t ask. His grim face told all that needed to be known.
Ben wasn’t comfortable with how this expedition was going, but he didn’t think there was anything he could do to stop it. In the City, Reinhold was a polished urbane merchant banker. Now, he looked every bit the bloodthirsty warlord. Ben hoped Gulli’s men did throw down their weapons quickly, because Reinhold was going to take any excuse to slaughter all of them.
They had gotten a report that Gulli was holed up in a town called Arrath. One day into the march, they got confirmation from a secon
d rider Reinhold sent immediately after hearing the first report. Gulli only had a dozen of his thugs with him and his household staff. The rest of his men were assumed to have quit and run for the hills when they realized who they’d pissed off.
The rider rested with the group then started scouting ahead on his horse. Reinhold rode at the head of the column. The rest of them walked.
Arrath was another two days’ travel. The plan was to move into the woods surrounding it and gather further intelligence on where exactly Gulli was. With one hundred heavily armed and trained men, they could easily overrun the entire town if need be, but no one thought that would be necessary. The town people of Arrath would be happy to give up Gulli in exchange for Reinhold’s good will and gold.
The first night on the road, Ben huddled around a small campfire with the men in Henrick’s squad. They had the confidence of men who were with one hundred of their peers, but there was still a little nervous excitement in the group.
“The pay is good but you don’t see much action with Reinhold,” explained one of the younger men. “I spend most of my time patrolling the border of the estate. Been doing it a year and haven’t seen anyone trying to come in yet. Unless you count deer and birds.” He snorted.
“Working in town isn’t any better. You spend all day in the lobby of the lord’s tower or following him around to meetings, which is even worse,” chided another of the men.
“Yeah, but at least there’s something to do at night! Go out, meet some friendly ladies, and show ’em a good time. There’s only so long you can spend watching Gra practice with that damn axe before you start to lose your mind.”
“Well, at least this will be a little excitement. Who knows? Maybe they’ll try to put up a fight.”
The morning of the third day, the squad leaders strode around the camp, kicking awake the late sleepers and shouting for everyone to get ready. They stopped early the previous night and were two bells outside of Arrath, far enough that word of their approach wouldn’t be known in the town yet. “Look alive, boys. This is real action. We’re not hiding the mistresses from each other today!”