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

  “I can’t believe how many people are out tonight. Is it some sort of festival going on?” asked Ben.

  “No. It’s an influx of people for Argren’s Conclave. Delegates, guards, retainers, hangers-on.” Saala eyed one exceptionally boisterous group spilling out of a nearby inn. “I’m surprised they’re in such good spirits. My friend I met with earlier said the talk is that it will lead to war with the Coalition. Not this year and probably not the next, but the writing is on the wall. Argren is pressing hard to recruit more men, building warships, stockpiling goods… I’ve seen it before and that road only leads to one destination.”

  “I don’t understand why Argren would want a war with the Coalition. They’re all the way on the other side of Alcott. The Coalition isn’t a threat to him, is it?”

  “It’s about balance,” Rhys responded. “A buildup of power necessitates a buildup elsewhere. The Coalition has been gathering forces and it’s causing a reaction. If it weren’t Argren, it’d be someone else. Issen or Venmoor, maybe. No. Once someone starts, it always escalates.”

  Saala nodded. “Rhys is right, but enough of that. I certainly don’t plan to go to war tonight, so let’s enjoy it. I hear there is a certain guardsman that owes you a round and I mean to help you collect!”

  The talk about war was quickly forgotten once they found Meggy’s. Seth was true to his word and bought the first round of drinks for their party. Once it got out why he was buying, Ben and his friends drank for free the rest of the evening.

  Meggy’s was crowded with off-duty Citadel guards and all of them wanted to hear the story of Seth getting laid out by an untrained country boy. Seth, as the gatekeeper for new arms at the Citadel and one of the few who could bend Master Brinn’s ear to keep someone out of trouble, was popular with the other guards. He took the ribbing in good humor. Before the night was over, Ben had a long list of sparring partners that wanted to see what he was really about.

  A flushed, bald-headed, heavily bearded guard was already taking bets on the outcomes before Ben knew what was happening. He briefly tried to put a stop to it but the man wrapped an arm around his shoulder and leaned close, sloshing ale all over both of their boots. The guard shouted in his ear, “Don’t worry about it none! The only ones that’d be upset about it are the ones who’ll lose!”

  Ale flowed freely and quickly. Ben was having more fun than he had since leaving Farview. He missed Serrot and his other friends back home, but the excitement of being out at night in a city like Whitehall was overwhelming. He was drunk and giddy with the possibilities of life. One of the last things he remembered before the rest of the night became fuzzy was standing on a table, arm-in-arm with Renfro and Seth, belting out the newly learned marching song of the guards of the Citadel.

  The next morning brought a painful reminder of how much ale he drank the night before. His head was pounding and his mouth tasted like sour milk. As he lurched out of bed to the washbasin, he found he was still wearing one boot.

  The other men were sitting around a table over breakfast when Ben stumbled out of his room. He got sympathetic looks from Rhys and Saala, but Renfro was slumped over with his head in his hands, softly moaning. Ben thought it was possible someone was having a worse morning than him.

  “Try some of this.” Rhys gestured to a mug of steaming black liquid. “It’s called kaf. They drink it up north, and believe me, it’s a critical part of the cure. After that, we’ll get some bacon and toasted bread in you then head down to the steam baths. I’ve been in your shoes more than a few times. We’ll get you feeling right as rain by afternoon.”

  Down in the baths, steam boiled through the dimly lit, cavernous rooms. Ben tipped back a flagon of cold spring water and thought that Rhys really did know what he was talking about. Rhys stated that every drop of water he sweated out had to be replaced by three that he drank. Between that, the kaf, and the food, Ben was almost feeling like his normal self again.

  The steam rooms at the Citadel were even more impressive than the bathing room he’d seen at the inn in Fabrizo. There, the copper piping system had fed hot water into a few baths. The steam rooms at the Citadel were made up of a series of honeycombed chambers containing pools going from scalding hot to ice cold. Rhys had them sit on benches in one of the hottest rooms while they poured sweat and drank cold water. When Ben thought he couldn’t take the damp heat any longer, they moved down to the coldest of the rooms and plunged into the freezing pool. The change in temperature sent a wicked shock through Ben’s body. Rhys claimed it made his blood pump harder and helped clear out the toxins from the night before. Now, they were in the last stage of recovery and were soaking in one of the warmer pools before eating again, and Ben hoped, taking an afternoon nap.

  Ben’s head was finally clear enough to remember they were supposed to be back on the road this morning. He groaned. “I hope we’re not holding off our travel plans because of me getting drunk. Lady Towaal is going to kill me.”

  “No, we’ve got plenty of time now,” answered Rhys, who was floating gently in the mineral-smelling water. “Towaal and Amelie left word after their dinner with King Argren last night. They agreed to stay for the Conclave. Sounds like the both of them want to hear what is discussed.”

  “What does Lady Towaal have to do with the Conclave?” wondered Ben. “I thought it was just Amelie who was relaying a message from her father.”

  “You’ve got a lot to learn about politics, kid. I didn’t know it before we got here, but the Sanctuary is neck deep in this. I should have realized something was going on earlier. Lords need mages and mages need lords. Think about it. Why else would Towaal have been pushing us to travel so hard? Sure, we need to get Amelie and the others to the Sanctuary, but there’s no deadline there. I wouldn’t be surprised if Towaal knew about this and was angling to be here before we even left Issen.”

  “But, on the ship, Lady Towaal sounded like she was against a war. She said in the Blood Bay War there was no real winner.”

  “She would know that better than anyone,” murmured Rhys. “It was brutal after that war and while people have forgotten, I’m sure she hasn’t. Her personal feelings and that of the Veil may be different, though. She’s a spirited woman but she’ll do what she’s told when it comes down to the business of the Sanctuary.”

  “The Veil?” asked Ben, sitting up in the warm water to look at his friend.

  “The Veil is head of the Sanctuary,” explained Rhys. “Or the Veil is the Sanctuary, some would say. She’s their leader and she leads absolutely. If the Veil wants Argren to form his Alliance, then Towaal will support it. That being said, what the Veil appears to want and what she actually wants may not be the same thing. The currents of politics run deep in the City and the Veil plans decades ahead. I’ve been travelling with Towaal for months now and I couldn’t tell you what the Sanctuary’s goals are, but there is no chance they’d miss an event like the Conclave.”

  The next few days were full of more of the same. Ben found eager sparring companions in the younger Citadel guards and they were more than happy to show him their city. Seth, in particular, took a liking to Ben and treated him almost like a little brother. It was an odd feeling for Ben because he quickly realized that in some ways, he was the more mature and worldly of the two. Still, it felt good to make a connection with someone who was close to his own age.

  Seth, like many of the younger guards, had never been more than half a day outside of Whitehall. Initially, Ben was the one bubbling over with questions, but soon he found himself spending more time describing the islands of Fabrizo than he did hearing about the towering structures below the Citadel.

  The girls, for the most part, stayed in another wing of the keep. Saala, Rhys, and Renfro also kept to themselves. The men would come watch Ben spar and may come out for a few ales afterward, but none of them struck up friendships like Ben did. With the amount of time he was spending with the guards, Ben felt himself being pulled away from his travelling companions.


  After one awkward evening at Meggy’s where Saala repeatedly dodged Seth and other’s questions, Ben asked him about it during the walk home.

  “These are my friends. They’re good people. They’re helping me on the practice field and they’re showing us around Whitehall. I don’t understand why you are avoiding talking to them.”

  Saala slowed his pace and glanced around the nearly empty streets. Lantern light reflected off cobblestones still wet from an earlier rain. This late in the evening they were alone, aside from the occasional passerby bundled up and uninterested in them. “They are friendly, but that doesn’t mean they are friends. The help they are giving you, the time they are spending with you, it is because they want to learn about you and who you are travelling with.”

  “What do you mean?” Ben asked Saala. “Why would they have any reason to want to know about me?”

  “You are a simple boy from Farview.”

  Ben glanced at the blademaster out of the corner of his eye.

  “I didn’t mean that to sound bad.” Saala sighed. “I mean that your motives for being here in Whitehall are simple. You are here for your friend Meghan. Maybe you are here because you’re enjoying a bit of an adventure. But that is it. These people in this place, they are so used to intrigue that they can’t understand you are what you seem.”

  “I don’t think so, Saala. I’ve spent nearly all of the last four days with these guardsmen. They’ve heard my story. They know who I am.”

  “Hearing isn’t always believing, Ben. You are travelling with the Princess of Issen, a mage of the Sanctuary, and me, a blademaster. We show up unannounced and claim we are just passing through, but now two of our companions are members of King Argren’s Conclave. That is bound to raise some eyebrows. I’m sure King Argren is finding out what he wants to know directly from Lady Amelie and Lady Towaal, but the city is packed full of people with political ambition right now. With tensions rising between the Alliance and the Coalition and now the apparent involvement by the Sanctuary, well, certain information has value in that environment. If the Sanctuary is going to lean toward one side or the other it could make a big difference in the conflict.”

  “But that’s just ridiculous!” argued Ben. “Lady Towaal wasn’t even invited to this Conclave, was she?”

  Saala laid a hand on Ben’s shoulder. “No, I don’t think she was. Argren certainly wasn’t expecting her at least. Maybe it’s just a coincidence Lady Towaal has been pressing to travel so hard and we happened to arrive right before the biggest political council this half of the continent has seen in years. Now that we’re here, of course, it makes sense to wait for over a week. Could be Lady Towaal is just lucky she happened to be travelling with one of the couple dozen people who were invited to this event. What do you think—is it luck or design?”

  They continued up the damp streets quietly. Ben was mulling over what Saala had said. When put like that, it seemed an awfully large jump to write it off as mere coincidence. But if it weren’t, what would motivate the ladies? Amelie’s father was actually invited to this thing, so she would have no reason for subterfuge. And even though she wasn’t invited according to Saala, King Argren had certainly not turned Towaal away. Travelling all of the way to Issen and back with Amelie in tow seemed like an awfully lot of work and timing just to get into a meeting. Saala worked for Amelie, he had to know something.

  Ben glanced at his friend. “If you’re worried about sharing some sort of secret information with Seth and the other guards, then why are you letting me talk to them? You’ve heard me. I’ve been telling them everything I know.”

  “Precisely Ben, you’ve been telling them what you know. Of course, you can’t tell them things you don’t know. I can assure you that Lady Amelie is not here under some false pretense. I’ve been with her family for years now, long before this journey was planned. I know it wasn’t planned in anticipation of this event. She would tell me if she was playing a deeper game. But Towaal, I only met her days before we left Issen. She arrived early and pressed us to leave quickly. I don’t know what she is up to, but there are secrets there. I do not tell you this to concern you. I don’t think any of these plans directly involve you. I am just trying to explain why I have been reclusive toward the guardsmen. Keep being friendly with them if you like, it makes no matter to me. Lady Amelie or Lady Towaal would have already stopped you if they were concerned. Just be aware, not everything is always as it seems.”

  The conversation cut off as they entered the Citadel and headed toward their rooms. The now friendly nods from the guardsmen and glances from the service staff had taken on a new meaning to Ben. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to shake the suspicious seeds that Saala planted. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice a door swing open and he plowed straight into the man exiting it.

  Startled, Ben sprawled backward onto the stone floor. The man quickly spun around.

  Saala snorted loudly when they saw who it was.

  A shocked-looking Rhys stared down at Ben and exclaimed, “Oh damn! You scared the hell out of me. I thought you were…”

  Rhys broke off as another person darted out of the doorway. It was an attractive woman with disheveled hair and smeared makeup. She paused to stare daggers at Ben and Saala before turning up her nose and sweeping past them down the hall. Ben watched and half expected her to break into a run before she got to the nearest intersection where she glanced both ways then hurried down one without looking back at the three men.

  Rhys reached one hand down and hauled Ben to his feet. He was grinning ear to ear and said, “Well, how was your night?”

  The next morning Ben hit the practice field early. The grass was still damp with morning dew and most of the new guardsmen Ben trained with had not arrived yet. The few who had were clustered near the armory sipping steaming cups of kaf.

  Ben nodded to a few of the men he had seen before and went to the racks where the practice weapons were stored. He planned to run through some of the sword forms to get warmed up before his normal sparring partners arrived. Saala constantly emphasized the importance of stretching, warm ups, and warm downs before, during, and after practice. It was another thing Saala felt the guards didn’t do well. He said that if you didn’t stretch, it would leave you sore, tight, and useless when a real fight broke out.

  As Ben was working his way through a complicated series of strokes that Saala had taught him, he saw a shape out of the corner of his eye and spun around into a fighting stance.

  “Ha!” shouted a large keg-shaped man. “I like it. I wish some of my boys had half your vigor. This early in the morning they’re all still in the barracks paying for the celebration the night before. It’s like they think war only breaks out in the afternoon after half a roast chicken and pint of ale down at Meggy’s.”

  The man was impossible to miss around the practice yard, both because of his imposing size and wherever he walked there was always a flurry of activity in his wake.

  “Yes sir, Master Brinn. I’m still new to the sword so I, uh, need the practice,” replied Ben clumsily.

  “Right. Maybe so, but you don’t look new to me. Must be getting good training from those fellows you’re with.” He nodded toward Saala, who was strolling into the practice yard. “A blademaster, am I right?”

  Ben winced. After his talk with Saala the night before, he was sensitive to questions. “Yes sir. I’ve been training with my companions.” He wasn’t sure where this was going or how to deal with it. A diversion seemed like the safe option. “I’ve really enjoyed sparring with your men, sir. They’ve taught me a lot.”

  “Good, good. Care to show me?” Master Brinn stripped off his shirt, lifted a heavy-looking two-handed practice sword from the rack, and gave it a few twirls. He was shaggy as a bear. At first glance, he looked stocky, but Ben could see heavy muscle cording as he swung the practice sword.

  Ben nervously backed up, bringing his own sword up. “Uh, sir, don’t you want some training armor?”

&nb
sp; Brinn grinned widely. “You saying I’ll need it?”

  Ben was saved from answering by Saala appearing at his side. “Just a few words of encouragement for my pupil,” he told Brinn with a wink. In Ben’s ear, he whispered, “He’s strong, obviously, but be prepared for him to be fast too. And he’s not going to fall for any of the little tricks you’ve been using on his guardsmen. This is an experienced fighter. Assume he knows the same forms you do plus many more. Your speed and agility are your best friends. Try to stay away from direct engagement because that sword of his is going to put a hurt on you if he makes solid contact. First, you need to shake him up. He’s used to ruling this yard and you need to show him you’re not afraid. Be aggressive and go on the attack. Hopefully you shake him up a bit and then let him wear himself out.”

  Saala shoved Ben forward and moved off to the side. Immediately, Brinn lunged and launched a probing jab toward Ben’s midsection which Ben avoided by back pedaling. Ben danced a few steps to Brinn’s offhand. The Master of Arms easily pivoted to face him. Before his opponent settled, Ben started one of the forms that the guardsmen seemed to favor, and as he expected, Brinn raised his sword in defense. Instead of completing with a high swing like he had seen Seth do numerous times now, Ben dropped to one knee and slashed down at Brinn’s legs.

  The Master of Arms was caught flat-footed and took a solid strike on his left leg before lurching backward. Ben surged off his knee. Instead of going for a body shot, he took a swipe at Brinn’s left arm, slapping his practice blade hard against the exposed skin. The Master of Arms grunted in pain as he lost his grip with one hand and tried to spin out of the way.

  Seeing his opening, Ben reversed his swing and leaned in, feeling the satisfying tug of his weapon dragging across the other man’s chest. His elation was short lived though, as the Master of Arms continued his spin then dropped low like Ben had and swept his two-handed sword into Ben’s legs.