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

  The funicular was the way around that. It was a wooden contraption built on wheels, set on a rail, and attached to a pulley system. Once loaded, a signal would be sent to the operators and a team of oxen would pull the heavy cables running through the pulleys. The funicular would roll smoothly to the highest levels of the city, making several stops along the way. Wealthy passengers would board and disembark as the funicular made its way up the steep track.

  “Better than walking,” said Rhys with a wink.

  Their party boarded the funicular with several other passengers and the signal was given. Ben held on tightly when they lurched upward. As they rose, the view was both spectacular and terrifying.

  The massive ships in the bay began to look like small toys. The business of daily life in a large city surrounded them. The smells and sounds of the port faded away and the quality of the buildings and shops improved.

  The lower tiers of the city were where the commercial business of the port took place, along with warehouses, boarding houses, and taverns for the sailors. Above that were densely packed apartments and businesses like grocers and general stores. The higher they got, the buildings got wider and the type of goods more diverse. There were tailors, jewelers, armorers, and others located past the mid-point.

  Above the specialized shops, many buildings were made of marble instead of limestone. Ben caught glimpses of secluded gardens behind the tall walls and thick gates. Toward the top, the only word Ben could use to describe the buildings was ‘palace’. Large, statue-filled gardens behind the walls of each residence became commonplace. The streets were nearly empty compared to below. Many of the people that were in the streets were armed guards patrolling or standing watch. Ben wondered if Argren’s rule in this city was as secure as Amelie made it out to be.

  By the time the funicular reached the highest point, Ben’s party were the only remaining passengers. At the top, the Citadel, King Argren’s seat of power, was the only building. As they exited, Ben gasped in awe at the massive, intimidating structure. He didn’t know what he expected, but this building was an imposing castle. It had soaring towers, hulking marble walls, battlements crawling with crossbowmen, and a massive double gate. The outer one thick, iron-bound oak logs. The inner, iron grate with bars as thick as one of Ben’s legs. They both rose at least ten times higher than Ben’s head. It must take several teams of oxen to open or close them, he thought.

  The defense seemed unnecessary. Any force that was able to take the entire city up to these gates was likely able to take the Citadel as well. Even if they could not, at that point, the battle would have been lost. These walls and gates were made for a different purpose, he suspected. Intimidation. Anyone who walked up in front of this place couldn’t help but feel small and inconsequential. Whether or not Argren himself commissioned the fortress, Ben did not know, but he thought it spoke to the mindset of the rulers of this place.

  Hanging from the above the gates was a massive banner emblazoned with a royal blue figure. The banner gently flapped in the salty wind blowing off the bay.

  “King Argren’s sigil?” inquired Ben.

  “I believe that is the purported new banner for the Alliance,” replied Amelie with a smirk.

  “What is that?” he asked. “An elephant? I’ve heard of them in the stories but have never seen one.”

  “No,” answered Amelie. “I think it’s supposed to be a charging mammoth—it’s like a big powerful elephant that only lives far north of Northport. It does look a little rotund though, doesn’t it?”

  Waiting at the gates was a bald, bearded man wearing a plain bleached robe that nearly blended in with the white marble walls. As they approached, he scampered forward and bowed deeply to the ladies. “Lady Amelie, Lady Towaal, welcome to the Citadel. I apologize for the informal reception. I just got word of your arrival.”

  He raised one eyebrow in seeming rebuke that he was not notified in advance. He glanced between the four women before quickly deciding which were highborn and focusing his attention on them. “I am King Argren’s Head of House. You may call me Marrion. Come, let me offer you refreshments and show you to your rooms. King Argren would be pleased if you both are available for dinner this evening. He has much to discuss with you.”

  The man bowed for Amelie and Towaal, but ignored the rest of the party.

  When they made their way through the gates and across the meticulously landscaped courtyard, Marrion waved to another robed figure and purred, “Please, have your female servants come with us. Roland will take the males.”

  Meghan adopted a baleful scowl after being referred to as a servant, but Renfro grinned at Ben, delighted at being there regardless of his status. Ben had noticed tension between Meghan and Amelie recently, and felt that if the rest of the Citadel had the same attitude as Marrion toward highborn and common, he might be better off staying well away from the women for the duration of their stay.

  As soon as Marrion and the ladies were out of earshot, Meredith and Meghan following closely behind, Rhys slapped Roland on the back and belted, “Roland, my man! Marrion I’m sure did not have time to inform you that I am the head of Lady Amelie’s household guard. I’m certain she’d be upset if I didn’t get accommodations befitting my status. I don’t want you to suffer if she were to find me in some mean servant’s quarters.”

  “None of the guest quarters in the Citadel could be considered mean, sir,” answered Roland in a frosty tone. “I am confident you will be happy with the room you are given.”

  Despite Roland’s uptight demeanor, Ben could see he was a quick study and wasn’t going to fall for the rogue’s deception. As he led them into the Citadel, Ben caught Saala rolling his eyes and giving Rhys a light shove.

  The rooms they were given were plain and simple, but they were more comfortable than any Ben had ever stayed in, including the inn in Fabrizo. The beds were stout and stuffed with fresh straw, there was a comfortable chair in each room, and they shared facilities to perform the necessaries. To Rhys’ delight, the sitting room was stocked with wine and ale. They only had to call and a serving man appeared to fetch whatever they needed from the kitchens.

  Saala explained that the expectation for a lord’s travelling men was that they always be on hand when he needed something, so the Citadel provided the servants everything they needed. That way they could be at their lord’s beck and call. Luckily for them, Amelie and Towaal were unusually self-sufficient for highborn. If they did need something, they had Meredith with them.

  Ben quickly stowed his gear in his room, cleaned up, then sat down in the common room to wait. He had nothing to do and it felt odd. They had been travelling for the last five weeks and had reached a major milestone in their journey. While some of their party was busy meeting with royalty, Ben was only there to wait.

  After three weeks on the ship, he was restless and ready to stretch his legs, but he didn’t know where he could go. If Roland was any example, the staff at the Citadel would be frosty and unhelpful if he asked for directions. Certainly there were many interesting places in such a large building, but the Citadel was completely outside his experience.

  He was saved from having to decide what to do when Rhys and Renfro arrived. Rhys, as always, had an idea.

  “Saala went to meet up with some household guard,” remarked Rhys. “A man he knows from working for one of the city lords. So, we’re on our own. What do you say we go find out what there is to do around here?”

  To Ben’s surprise, Rhys did not immediately lead them out to the nearest flophouse. Instead, he led them on a tour of the Citadel.

  When Ben asked how he was so familiar with the fortress, Rhys responded, “I passed through a couple of years ago. Also, all of these places are basically the same. There are areas where the actual work gets done and there are areas where the highborn play. Same kind of work goes on in any castle and the highborn do pretty much the same thing too. Once you’ve been in a few of them, they all start to look the same.”


  It may have been the same to Rhys, but to Ben and Renfro, the Citadel was amazing. The more they explored, the bigger it seemed. When they first arrived outside, Ben had thought it was at least as big as the village of Farview. Once he walked around inside, he realized it was much larger than that. The footprint was the size of three or four Farviews, and in some places, it rose seven stories tall. They saw hundreds of people working and there must have been thousands more they did not see.

  Of all of the people they saw, very few of them stopped the group and asked what their business was. While there were guards nearly everywhere, none of them seemed to be guarding anything specific.

  Rhys speculated, “Argren’s pumping up the roster in preparation for war. There’s only so much drilling a man can take so he must be giving them breaks with guard duty. The actual guards, the one’s he trusts, will be close around his personal quarters and the throne room.”

  One place they were questioned was the kitchens. They stumbled across several kitchens, and every time they ducked their heads in one, an angry-looking aproned woman would come charging at them waving a spoon. After the third time, Ben asked Rhys and Renfro if they thought it was the same stressed-out cook following the same route they were, or if they hired them all to look the same.

  “Maybe sisters?” replied Renfro with a grin.

  They quickly learned that the kitchens in the Citadel were the gears that made the place run. The stern women who ran them—sisters or not—booked no foolishness or visitors.

  The most impressive for the two young men, though, was the armory. Arms and armor of nearly every description stretched down narrow corridors as far as they could see. Most of the weaponry was standard issue for the Citadel’s guards, but they also had a dazzling array of foreign weapons.

  As they were marveling over a rack of wicked-looking exotic axes, a young man approached them and asked, “Anything I can help you with, sirs?”

  “Just taking the boys to admire your stock,” Rhys responded.

  “Finest collection of arms anywhere on the continent,” remarked the young man. “We’ve got weapons from places you’ve never even heard of. Master of Arms Brinn is a bit obsessed about it, to be honest. Anyone comes in here with a piece he hasn’t seen and he’ll buy it right off ’em. You have the look of men at arms. Here for the Conclave next week?”

  “No, uh…” Ben wasn’t sure what to say.

  Rhys broke in, “Yes, we’re arms’ men in the service of Lady Amelie. We’re not here for the…what did you call it? Conclave? We’re just passing through.”

  “Lady Amelie.” The guard grinned. “Word was she was at the Citadel. I cannot believe she isn’t here for the Conclave. Argren called in all of his banner men and they will be discussing the Grand Alliance.”

  “I’m not sure Lord Gregor of Issen considers himself a banner man. We have been travelling with Lady Amelie and I’m certain she did not know a Conclave had been called.” Rhys glanced at Ben. “Crazy timing though, us happening along right before that started. Amelie didn’t know and neither did I, but maybe someone else in our party heard about it.”

  The young guardsman seemed dismayed by the denial. “Well, I’m sure Lord Gregor and his daughter have a lot to think about. While you’re here, would you care to spar?”

  Rhys pushed Ben forward. “He would love to!”

  As Ben strapped on sparring pads, it occurred to him that Assistant to the Master of Arms was likely a pretty boring job. Master Brinn oversaw the training of new guardsmen and the supply of arms for the Citadel. His young assistant’s only responsibility seemed to be watching the storeroom and making sure no one ran off with unassigned weaponry.

  Ben took a couple of practice swings with the blunt tourney sword and felt comfortable with it. While it didn’t move with the same speed as his actual sword, the weight was similar. The sparring pads constricted his movement a little but he supposed it would be worth it when he was struck. He had never used them with Saala. The blademaster was skilled enough to not cause an injury with his real blade, and Ben was never in danger of actually striking Saala.

  The young guardsman walked him out to the sparring grounds which were mostly empty in the late evening twilight. The grass was worn from countless feet scuffing and sliding in combat. There was a small group of green-looking guards training in a far corner, but they had the rest of the field to themselves.

  Ben and the young guard squared off and started to spar. In no time at all, it became obvious that the guard was the more aggressive fighter. He came after Ben with a series of quick thrusts and short swings. Ben was able to dance back and avoid a hit. He started to back around in a circle while the guard pursued.

  The guard was aggressive and he was clearly practiced, but Ben was faster, which helped him avoid a big strike. Still, the guard was able to get through Ben’s defense several times in the first few moments. The blows were glancing, and with the pads, Ben barely felt them. They would not leave the bruises and welts he’d gotten from the flat of Saala’s sword.

  After a quarter bell of sparring, Ben noticed the guard maintained a consistent, predictable pattern. He moved through forms similar to what Saala had taught Ben, but unlike the guard, Saala’s forms shifted with the reaction of an opponent—he called them anticipatory forms. The guard did not seem to adjust once he was set in a pattern. Ben began predicting the next swing and found he was quick enough to disrupt the pattern and was able to put up a real defense.

  Before long, Ben gained enough confidence that he switched over to offense and started attacking. The guard fell into familiar defensive patterns and Ben saw he was meeting the blunted tourney blade head on instead of sweeping the attack to the side like Saala had taught. Every time the guard met one of Ben’s swings, Ben’s arms rang with the impact. The guard’s must have been, too. He was getting slower and slower to recover from each strike.

  Ben saw his opening and backed up, letting the guardsman get in an attack. Then Ben sent three hard lateral swings in a row which the guard met with raised sword. On the fourth swing, Ben swept his sword down and up, missing the guard’s weapon and connecting solidly with his ribs, sending the man crumpling to the ground.

  Rhys and Renfro shouted out a cheer and Ben dropped to one knee beside the fallen guard to make sure he hadn’t hurt him. He was relieved to see the guard roll onto his back with a grin on his face.

  “Surprised me there,” grunted the guard. “I thought you were tiring out.”

  “I was. I knew I had to get it in then or I’d be too worn out to keep going.” Ben reached down and grasped the guard’s hand, pulling him to his feet.

  “Seth, by the way,” the young man introduced himself. “Assistant to the Master of Arms of the Citadel. Glad Brinn wasn’t here to see that one.”

  “If he’d been there to see the first part, all he would have seen was you tacking them on and me flailing backward.”

  “Ah, it was going well at first,” groaned Seth. “But as Brinn says, ‘it’s how you finish a fight that counts.’ Which reminds me, I probably ought to get back to the Armory. I’ve got a little bit more to do before I close up shop today. When the guards spar we normally put a mug of ale on it to make things interesting. I’ll honor the same stakes if you want to meet me after my shift. I’ll be down at Meggy’s on the street of flowers a bell after dusk. It’s where a lot of the guards go. Clean ale, good-looking girls, and they don’t try to cheat you.”

  That evening on the way down to Meggy’s, Renfro excitedly described the match to Saala, who had joined back up with them. “Seth obviously knew what he was doing, being a professional and all, but Ben had him down on the ground by the end of it. Nice piece of sword work if you ask me, up against a guard of the Citadel.”

  Ben was feeling pretty proud of himself too, until Rhys took the wind out of his sails. “That was a good strike at the end. Of course, in an actual sword fight, you wouldn’t have made it to the end. He struck you ten or twelve times before you go
t one on him. In the real thing, it won’t last long after the first blood has been drawn.”

  “He did get me a few times, but he’s a professional guardsman!” exclaimed Ben. “He probably trains every day and I’ve just had a few lessons on the road.”

  “If he’s like any castle-trained guard I’ve ever seen fight,” Saala interrupted, “Then you shouldn’t have had too much trouble with him. Sounds like I’ve got work to do.”

  “What do you mean? Why shouldn’t I have had any trouble with him? I hadn’t even picked up a sword until a few weeks ago!” protested Ben.

  “Maybe I’m putting too much expectation on you too soon,” replied Saala with a sigh. “You’re a natural with a blade. You’re quicker and smarter than most of the opponents you’ll ever face. The reason you should be able to beat Seth or most guardsmen is that instead of training, they drill. He’s probably been taught a handful of useful forms and has been practicing them for years now, most likely with people who have been taught the same things as him. If he’s like most castle-trained guards, he won’t know how to react to something new and different.”

  Ben thought back to how he had gotten his strike in. Seth had defended only one way against the swing, so Ben had been able to alter his stroke and sweep past Seth’s guard. By falling out of the standard form, he’d landed a stroke. When he had been using the forms, Seth was able to meet him with the proscribed defensive responses. He had likely been drilled on them so much that he was able to react without even thinking. Ben realized that he had a lot of work to do before he met an opponent in a real fight.

  Tonight, though, he wasn’t planning on fighting. They had opted to avoid the Funicular and walk through the streets of Whitehall on the way down to Meggy’s. It was a balmy night and the lantern-lit streets were teeming with people. The noise of excited revelry poured out of the wine shops and taverns as they descended through the city.