Benjamin Ashwood (26 page)

“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 comfortable 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 ground.  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.