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

by AC Cobble

  “It looks like the décor was entirely stocked from the side of the road,” muttered Amelie.

  Ben grinned. “You see any trees while we were walking in?”

  “Good point,” acknowledged his friend.

  “Ho there,” called a friendly voice from the back. A tall man with spectacles hanging off his nose bustled out from behind the bar. “Welcome to the Hammer and Anvil,” he boomed.

  The man reached out a hand. When Ben gripped it, he felt his bones grind together. Ben winced and thought to warn Amelie, but for her, the innkeeper merely laid her hand atop his and bowed as if to kiss it.

  “Food, drink, lodging?” asked the man.

  Ben nodded. “All of it.”

  A smile split the tall man’s face. “Wonderful. Take a seat. I’ll draw you some fresh ales and check on the kitchen. Most of our customers don’t come in until later when the smithy fires die down. The name is Jolly Jon. Shout behind the bar if you need me.”

  Ben and Amelie sat at a rough table near the fire. The planks of the table were different sizes and loosely hammered together. Ben stripped off his pack and cloak and turned to the fire. Frowning, he realized there was no wood in it.

  “Manure,” said Amelie.

  He peered closer and realized she was right. Clumps of manure were burning cheerfully. The smell wasn’t as unpleasant as he thought. It smelled earthy and clean, unlike the fresh stuff.

  Jolly Jon returned with three ales and laid down two of them. “We’ve got a bison stew on the fire left over from the midday crowd. Nice and hearty. Good for this weather.”

  “Bison?” asked Ben.

  Jolly Jon frowned at him.

  “The animals we saw in the distance,” explained Amelie.

  “You’re not from around here?” inquired Jon.

  Ben shook his head, cursing silently for making it so obvious.

  “What are you doing in Amum then?” pressed the man. “You don’t work for the mine, I can see that, and you ain’t a blacksmith.”

  “We’re just passing through,” responded Amelie.

  Jolly Jon scooted back a chair and joined them. Cradling the third mug of ale in his hands, he leaned forward on his elbows. “We’ve had a lot of people passing through recently,” remarked Jon in a low, conspiratorial voice. “Most stay at the Governor’s Inn. There’s a lot of activity over there. I’ve had a few here, though. I don’t just serve ale to the smiths, no matter what that ass Vander says.”

  Ben cleared his throat. “Yes, it seemed busy there. We thought your inn looked more comfortable.”

  Jolly Jon grinned. “Aye, it is.”

  Jon took a long drink of his ale and wiped his lips with the back of his sleeve. Ben took a drink as well. It was the polite thing to do. Surprisingly, the ale was quite good. Ben complimented Jon. The innkeeper’s smile grew ear to ear.

  “I’m glad you’re a man who can appreciate good ale,” responded Jon. “Most of my customers just care that it’s cold. Not a problem this time of year, but they give me hell during the summer months. Some days, I’m not sure it’s worth it. The governor’s trying to run all the honest business people out of here. If you’re not one of his friends, then it’s getting tougher and tougher every month. It makes you want to pack up and find some place far away from all these lords and wannabe lords.”

  “The governor?” asked Amelie.

  “Captain Vander,” replied Jon before pausing to spit on the floor. “Folks have taken to calling him the governor ‘cause of the way he acts. He don’t have the official papers from the Council in Irrefort, but you wouldn’t know it with the way he runs the place. They say he’s looking to make a name for himself. Not sure how he’s supposed to do it this far from anything, but I’ve heard he wants to get restationed, maybe to Issen. Let me tell you, that’ll be a lucrative spot if he gets it. Vander’s getting bold, taking advantage of people and sending more than the allotment back to the Council. Like those dried up old men even notice. With the soldiers behind him though, who is going to say anything?”

  The innkeeper drank deeply of his ale again. Ben met Amelie’s eyes. They weren’t looking for company, but the man was friendly enough. Turning his ale all the way up, Jolly Jon finished it with a satisfied sigh.

  “Since you’re staying the night, the next round is on me,” offered the innkeeper.

  Ben glanced down at his three quarters full ale mug and mumbled, “Thank you.”

  The innkeeper rose to his feet and advised, “I’ll be right back.”

  While the man was at his taps, Ben whispered to Amelie, “Maybe we can get some information from him.”

  “If he pauses long enough for us to ask a question,” grumbled Amelie.

  Ben smiled as Jolly Jon reappeared with three full ale mugs and sat back down.

  “You folks said you’re just passing through. Mind if I ask where you’re headed?”

  “Irrefort,” answered Ben, hoping the man’s natural loquaciousness would take over and he wouldn’t probe further.

  “Ah, for the coronation?” Jon asked with a sly wink. “I knew you two looked like highborn. Didn’t mean anything personal earlier about getting away from the lords and ladies. Just shop talk, you know.”

  Amelie coughed and Ben blinked at the innkeeper.

  “Coronation?” Ben asked, confused.

  “The rumor is all over town,” replied Jon. “After Issen, I think it was obvious to everyone Lord Jason rules the Coalition. It just hadn’t been made official yet. The rest of them on the Council, aside from maybe Rettor, are half-dead old men or hedge mages. None have the guts to stand against Jason. Word is that when he returned to Irrefort, he stormed into the Council chamber, slung the head down in the middle of the table, and demanded they make him king. None of ‘em said a word, so here we are. The Coalition will have a king.”

  “The head?” queried Ben.

  At the same time, Amelie asked, “What happened at Issen?”

  Jon looked between the two of them. “Really, you haven’t heard? I could have sworn you were some highborn from up Cormender way.” The innkeeper sat back in his chair. “Maybe the news just hasn’t spread west yet.”

  Amelie gripped her mug, white-knuckled.

  “We’ve been away on an expedition,” explained Ben, letting the innkeeper infer what he wanted. “Tell us. What happened at Issen?”

  “Two weeks ago, Lord Jason took the city and lost less than a dozen men,” answered Jon, “and everyone says those men fell in the drunken looting after. They were probably stabbed in the back by their brother soldiers, I think.”

  “Issen fell bloodlessly?” choked Amelie in a tight voice.

  “Well, not completely,” replied Jolly Jon. “Lord Gregor’s head was cut off, of course. They say Lady Selene offered it to Lord Jason on the same silver platter she and Gregor shared at their wedding feast. She did it right on the front steps of the palace. At least, that’s what people are saying.”

  Amelie’s empty ale mug thumped down on the uneven planks of the table. She scooped up the second mug and turned it up.

  “Lord Gregor was betrayed,” asked Ben, “by his wife?”

  Jolly Jon shrugged. “I suppose you could put it like that. What else was she going to do though? Issen was surrounded. No help was coming from their stronger allies, Whitehall and Northport. Lord Gregor stubbornly refused to surrender. Lady Selene saved tens of thousands of lives. Maybe more.”

  “You’re certain?” quaked Amelie.

  “Well, I didn’t see it myself,” complained the innkeeper. “It’s all over town. Lord James spoke of it when he passed through just a few days past. That’s when we all found out. They say Lady Selene is travelling to Irrefort and will be Lord Jason’s wife. They’ll be married shortly after the coronation. Queen of the Coalition, Queen of the World someday. That’s a big reward for the lady, but she deserves it if you ask me.”

  Amelie stood slowly. “I need to use the water shed.”

  Jolly Jon w
aved her toward a back door. “Behind the building and to the left.”

  Ben reached over and gripped Amelie’s hand.

  “Stay here,” she said. “I’ll be back.”

  Ben and Jon’s gazes followed her as she stumbled out of the common room.

  “I’m not meaning to be rude,” said Jolly Jon, “but your girl cannot handle her drink.”

  Ben looked back at the man and nodded, afraid to speak, lest his voice crack and the man suspect something.

  “Let me get us another round while we wait for her,” suggested the innkeeper.

  Ben nodded and sat back, stunned at Jon’s revelations.

  Ben and Jolly Jon finished two more ales before the innkeeper finally had to leave and tend to his inn. A crowd of thick-armed, smoke-smelling workers trickled in from the smithies. They weren’t a rowdy crew. They kept to their small groups, perched on trembling chairs that barely supported their weight. They clustered around plates of bison stew and mugs of ale, lots of mugs of ale.

  When Amelie finally shuffled back to the table, she was calmer than Ben expected. Red-rimmed eyes told Ben she’d been crying, but she wasn’t crying anymore. She looked resigned.

  “Are you okay?” whispered Ben when she sat.

  “I don’t want to talk yet.” She sighed. “And I need another ale.”

  They drank silently and steadily throughout the evening. The crowd around them surged as workers from the smithies stomped in, quaffing a quick ale before going home to their families or sitting down with companions for a meal.

  Ben and Amelie ate as well, more for something to do than out of hunger. They’d both lost their appetites. For Ben, the news about Issen didn’t change what they needed to do, but he knew Amelie needed time to process it. He suggested they go somewhere more private to talk.

  She declined. “I’d rather be around people right now.”

  “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?” Ben offered. He knew the words rang hollow. Her father was dead, killed by her mother. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could say about that.

  Amelie shook her head. “My mother has always been a political creature. She married my father for position and not love. She had me for the same reason, hoping to produce a male heir. When I came out a girl, and when she couldn’t get pregnant again, I know she was frustrated. She felt like a failure, but my father always cared for her. He had his mistresses, of course, but he was discrete. She always got the respect due the Lady of Issen. This though, I don’t know what could have happened. Why would she do it?”

  Ben stared helplessly at Amelie. She kept her gaze down into her ale mug.

  With a grimace, Ben mentioned, “Jolly Jon said she travelled to Irrefort with Lord Jason.”

  A tear leaked down Amelie’s cheek.

  “Would she betray my father, our people, to be queen?” asked Amelie plaintively.

  Ben sat silently. He didn’t have an answer to that.

  Amelie finished her ale, her fourth ale, and sat it down on the table. A boom shook the Hammer and Anvil. At first, Ben thought she’d unleashed her magic somehow, but the door swung open and a soaking wet man staggered in. A storm had rolled over the town.

  For the next bell, they drank ale and listened to the weather. Wind battered the sides of the building and rain pounded the roof. Thunder reverberated through the town of Amum.

  The smithy workers cleared out, eager to get home in the storm. Before long, Ben and Amelie were among the only patrons left. Jolly Jon scurried about, collecting empty ale mugs and sweeping leftover food onto the floor. A portly dog waddled out from behind the bar and set to cleaning the mess.

  Another wave of thunder crashed over the building. Ben glanced nervously up at the ceiling. Jolly Jon has promised them a comfortable room upstairs. If the roof was built as shoddily as the tables though, it was going to be a wet night.

  The door slammed open and Ben sat bolt upright. His mind had been drifting, lulled by the warm fires, cold ale, and sound of the rain. Amelie didn’t look up. She hadn’t spoken in half a bell except to suggest another ale. Ben let her be.

  Leaning against the door, pushing it shut against the billowing wind and rain, the newcomer grumbled and peeled a floppy, soaking wet hat off his head. He was shorter than Ben and had a shock of thick black hair. He ran a hand through it, trying to brush out the water. He stripped off a prodigious overcoat, which covered him nearly to the ground, and flapped it about, spraying water all over the nearby tables. Ben thought the man was lucky the blacksmiths had gone home. They wouldn’t appreciate getting showered with dirty water by the little man.

  “Samuel!” called Jolly Jon from the other side of the room. “You’re getting water all over the place.”

  “There’s water everywhere already,” grumbled the man. “It’s like someone is dumping the entire south sea on the town of Amum.”

  “It’s dry in here, or, at least it was until you arrived,” argued Jon.

  “So it is,” allowed Samuel. “Sorry. I’m a little put out. I just got in from Cormender. The trip took two bells longer than it should have because that damn Lord James ran me off the road. I had to dig my cart out of the mud. In this rain, no one was out there to help me ‘cept my donkey.”

  Ben tensed at the mention of Lord James. The lord had been walking west to Cormender when they left him. His return trip would have been quicker if he’d managed to secure a horse, but even then, he must have turned around almost immediately. They’d helped the lord. They had no reason to worry about him, but it was another awkward encounter Ben wanted to avoid.

  Without asking, Jolly Jon filled an ale for Samuel and plunked it down on the bar. The little man hurried over and scooped it up gratefully. Ben turned his attention back to his own ale when he saw Samuel twist and survey the room.

  Speaking quietly to Amelie, Ben suggested, “We should turn in soon. I think we’re safer out on the road than we are in town. The sooner we leave here, the sooner…”

  He let the thought die and swallowed uncomfortably. Amelie’s mother was in Irrefort now, Issen was overthrown. Would Amelie even want to continue? Would she want to get to Irrefort now more than ever? He didn’t know.

  “One more ale,” she answered. “Then we’ll go to the room.”

  “Okay. I’ll go get a round.”

  At the bar, the man Samuel was standing alone. Jolly Jon had disappeared into the back. When Ben arrived, Samuel glanced at him but remained silent. Ben rested his elbows on the rough wood of the bar before stepping back when it creaked alarmingly.

  Samuel chuckled. “Carpentry isn’t Jon’s strong suit.”

  Ben smiled at the man and nodded.

  “This time of night,” continued the man, “he might be back there shoulder deep cleaning some stew pot. You want an ale? Step around and pull the tap. That’s what the regulars do. Let him know you got one, of course, and he’ll settle it in your bill when you leave. You’re staying the night, right?”

  The steady rumble of thunder rolled through the inn again. Ben grinned. “We’ve been considering it.”

  Samuel grunted and held out his hand, “Samuel.”

  Ben thought quickly and then clasped the man’s arm. “Mathias.”

  “Who is your friend over there?” asked Samuel.

  “Meghan,” answered Ben.

  “This is a clean place. Jon runs it proper, but I wouldn’t advise leaving a young lady like that unattended. There’re a lot of young men from the smithy that think they’re the kings of the world. Get a few drinks in ‘em and they can be aggressive.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” responded Ben. “I’d better get back then.”

  He weaved between the empty tables and sat back down with Amelie.

  Heartbeats later, Samuel appeared at the table. “You forgot your ale!” the little man exclaimed.

  Ben blushed, and Samuel sat down two frothy mugs, one for Ben and one for Amelie. He eyed the empty chair Jolly Jon had occupied earlier in the night.<
br />
  Ben took a deep breath and offered, “Take a seat if you like.”

  Without a pause, the man sat down. Amelie peered at him curiously. The ale was starting to affect her but not enough Ben was worried she might let something slip.

  Ben quickly made introductions, “Meghan, this is Samuel. Samuel, Meghan.”

  Amelie attempted a weak smile at the man.

  “Pleased to meet you,” said Samuel with a slight bow of his head.

  The thunder rumbled again and Ben winced.

  “These plains storms roll through quickly,” remarked Samuel. “It’ll blow itself out tonight. The road’ll be pure mud tomorrow though. It should dry enough for travel the day after.”

  “It won’t be suitable for travel tomorrow?” inquired Ben.

  Shaking his head, the man replied, “No. I’ve been travelling the roads around here for years. After a rain like this, it will be calf-deep mud. You’re better off waiting for it to dry.” Noticing Ben’s pained look, the man continued, “If I may ask, where are you headed?”

  “Irrefort,” answered Ben. They’d already told Jolly Jon. Why not add one more breadcrumb to their trail?

  “So am I,” replied the man. “Maybe we can make a deal.”

  “What kind of deal?” asked Ben.

  “I’m a merchant of a sort, a peddler of rare and unique items. My intention is to head to Irrefort for the coronation. My concern,” said the man, “is the demons.”

  “You’ve seen them on the road?” asked Amelie.

  The peddler shook his head. “Fortunately, I haven’t seen any, but I have seen the bodies. I am a merchant, a good one I like to think, but I am not a warrior. I could use some protection on the journey.”

  “Why do you think we’d fare any better against a demon?” asked Ben with one eyebrow raised.

  “Come now.” Samuel smiled. “I deal in rare and unique items, items like mage-wrought blades. I won’t take it personally that you don’t think I can recognize such a weapon immediately. In my experience, it is a safe assumption that anyone confident enough to carry a mage-wrought blade in public has at least some idea of how to use it.”