Benjamin Ashwood

by AC Cobble

  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,” smirked Rhys before pushing a mug of steaming kaf towards 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 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 towards 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 in 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 Kirksbane. It means Kings 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 and 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 and 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 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 knickers 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 and didn’t think the bargemen would have good news to report back to their Lords.

  They made their way down towards 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?”

  “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 towards town.

  Rhys’ mood didn’t improve any when they re-entered 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, 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 and 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 and 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 tress though, he was like a stalking tiger.

  Ben was c
omfortable 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 could defeat me and certainly 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. 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 you’re 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, but you do. You are getting better very quickly but you need to think in years and decades and not weeks and months.”

  They started back towards the inn and there was a rustling among the willow branches 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 blonde 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 sat in the common room with Renfro enjoying a cold lager. 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 a beer 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? Oh, that’s the name of the blonde 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 though, 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 though, 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.”

  Maybe it wouldn’t blow over as soon as he’d hoped.

  The locks, it turned out, were essentially a long trench looping around the west side of town with two massive gates, a windmill and a water pump. The gates and pumps were used to account for the change in elevation between the river north and south of town. The shallows masked a drop of about five yards which would have made it difficult or impossible to pull a loaded barge up.

  With the two gates and the pump, the operators of the locks were able to raise and lower the water level so the barges were able to enter, float up, then exit at the higher level. After they understood the concept and watched a barge make it’s slow progress through the system, the young people headed back to the inn.

  “It’s pretty amazing to think how they figured that out. Without those locks, they still would be hauling goods up river by hand,” said Meghan.

  “Yes, these are remarkable people here in Kirksbane. I wish we had more of that kind of innovation back in Issen,” replied Amelie. “The fees and jobs bring a lot of money into this town.”

  “It wasn’t these people,” interrupted Ben. “I mean who built the locks. It was actually a family down in The City. The people here, they fought it. They used to be in the business of hauling goods by hand so the locks disrupted that and it meant fewer jobs. The people fought the King in Venmoor on it too, but I guess the family that finally did it had the determination to get it done.”

  “They had more money than the King,” said a quiet voice from behind them.

  The young people spun around and saw Rishram standing a few paces behind them.

  “Where did you come from!” exclaimed Renfro.

  “I followed you from the inn. I wanted to make sure someone was watching you. I saw Lady Towaal deep in discussion with Lord Reinhold before we left. Saala and Rhys aren’t nearby are they?”

  Ben frowned. “I’m not sure where they are. Maybe they’re back at the inn? We’re heading that way if you want to go with us.”

  “As long as they aren’t here,” said Rishram in his quiet voice. He then pulled out both of his hunting knives and started advancing on the group.

  “Hey!” shouted Ben. This wasn’t right, why did the man pull his weapons?

  “There you are” boomed the loud voice of Ferguson. “I’ve been looking all over for you!”

  All five of them turned to see Ferguson stomping down the street. Rishram was the first to move. He launched himself towards the big man with his knives held low.

  “What are you…” started a wide eyed Ferguson but he didn’t have time to finish his sentence. Rishram was on him, one knife going low and plunging into Ferguson’s unprotected side. Rishram pulled back with his other blade and started down to stab into Ferguson’s neck but the big man got his arm up in time and the flashing silver weapon punctured his forearm and slid all of the way through, leaving a hands length of bloody steel jutting out of Ferguson’s arm.

  Ferguson jumped back spinning, the knife stayed lodged in his forearm. His side spurted a fountain of blood as Rishram wrenched the first knife free.

  Silently, Rishram turned towards the young people and charged. The little mustachioed man was headed straight for Amelie, ignoring the injured Ferguson and the rest of the party. Amelie started running backwards down the street but her heel caught an uneven stone and she went sprawling onto her back.

  Rishram picked up his pace with a murderous glint in his eye and was full on sprinting towards her when Ben arrived just in time, crashing into Rishram’s side and sending him flying to the g
round. Ben had little time to set himself before Rishram flipped off his back onto his feet with an acrobat’s grace and snarled at Ben, “poor decision brewer boy. I would have let you live.”

  Ben couldn’t keep his eyes off the bloody knife while Rishram stalked towards him. He cursed himself for not bringing his sword and searched in vain for a weapon.

  He was temporarily saved by Renfro hurtling at Rishram with a cobblestone in his hand but Rishram barely paused. He ducked Renfro’s charge, caught him in the midsection with a narrow shoulder then tossed Renfro over his head like a rag doll. Renfro crashed to the hard ground stunned. Ben could see he was Ok, but Ben knew he wouldn’t recover in the heartbeats before this fight was over.

  Rishram darted forward towards Ben who slid to the side in one of Saala’s signature moves. He almost wasn’t quick enough and Rishram’s knife sliced open a tear in his shirt. Any slower and that razor sharp blade would have emptied his guts onto the street.

  Suddenly, a pained bellow erupted from Ferguson and he charged into the fray swinging his two handed sword Panther at Rishram’s head. The smaller man easily ducked the wild swing and came in close to cut a deep laceration along Ferguson’s thigh.

  Blood bloomed along Ferguson’s new injury and his entire side was now covered in blood from the first wound. He kept coming though with a vicious figure eight attack. Rishram’s knife was still sticking out of Ferguson’s forearm and he could barely hold his heavy two-handed blade. It wavered in his grip giving Rishram an opportunity to come in close again. Ferguson was able to twist at the last instant and the knife slashed along his shoulder instead of stabbing into his heart but he was nearly finished. He dropped his two handed sword with a clatter and gripped the much smaller man’s wrist.

  Rishram’s face twisted into an evil grin and he started a series of quick punches into Ferguson’s injured side, dropping the bigger man to his knees. Rishram then chopped a hand down on Ferguson’s shoulder causing a pained cry and springing Ferguson’s grip on his knife hand. Ferguson slumped back, his injured arm with the knife still embedded in it raised to protect himself.