Fifthwind (3 page)

Ben
almost interrupted, feeling that Mason was giving too much
information. Their purpose for coming to Kishell Springs was their
own concern, and the fact that they had owned horses could be cause
for suspicion; only the most wealthy could afford such luxuries. He
trusted Mason's judgment but he did not need to be questioned about
his means by a man who killed for a living.

"Then
you
are
crazy," Gordo said, apparently uninterested in the
particulars Mason had offered. "What if you were caught alone out
there in the wild? These woods are crawling with thieves and maybe
things worse."

The
words suddenly reminded Ben of his encounter with the shadowy figure.
He still could not explain what he had seen, but by his estimation,
it clearly fell under the proposed description of 'things worse' and
he wondered if Gordo might know something more. He glanced back
toward the forest almost involuntarily, nervously searching for any
sign of movement in that dark concealment. He decided it was best to
keep his questions to himself, so he shook off the thought and turned
his mind back to the present.

Ben
said, "It'd be no different than if we were caught alone on the
road. Except that the road is being watched by those we'd like to
avoid." He thumbed back toward the trees, "Out there, we at least
stood a chance."

Gordo
acknowledged the logic with a nod and turned to leave, motioning for
Mason to follow. "Come with me, I've wasted too much time already.
Horace will want to hear for himself the explanation for your
roadside foolery. You gave his daughter quite a scare and he's not
very forgiving when it comes to her safety and comfort. Then, we need
to get moving if my injured man is to get the attention he needs."

As
the two men turned to depart, the three caravan guards, who had been
dispatched to the scene, stepped up to receive their instructions.
The men appeared to be both anxious to please and nervous of the
consequences around the hardened Borderman who was obviously not the
most pleasant man to work for.

Gordo
pointed back at Ben and barked, "Watch him."

Mason
and Gordo moved away toward the wagons and left Ben to face the three
hired swords. These men were not veterans, in fact, they appeared to
have very little experience even holding weapons. They shuffled their
feet nervously and moved around Ben in a rough circle. They kept
their sword points lifted in Ben's general direction, but they were
constantly looking to one another for reassurance.

Ben
recognized the type. He had trained more than his share of new
recruits and was always amazed at the low level of proficiency
exhibited by inexperienced men. As a gifted young swordsman himself,
he was almost disgusted by the lack of available talent. But as a
former officer in the King's service, he understood the process of
training, and never blamed a new man for lacking skill. Soldiering
was a learnable craft and the first step was finding one's
confidence.

Ben
turned his attention to the first of the three guards, a young man
with a mop of blond hair hanging over his face. His uniform was
ill-fitted and he squirmed uncomfortably under his mail shirt that
was also too big and drooped off of one shoulder. He did not meet
Ben's stare and kept his eyes on the other two men in the hope for
some guidance.

"You,"
Ben said. "Who are you watching, me or them? Keep your eyes on the
threat. Widen that stance and lower your chin."

"The
prisoner will hold his tongue!" the novice guard shouted, but then
reacted immediately to Ben's command and did as he was told.

Ben
nodded his approval and turned to the next guard who stood trembling
with both hands grasping his weapon. He was no more than seventeen
years of age and was having trouble managing the heavy blade; the tip
of the sword dipped downward toward Ben's feet. Perhaps to an
untrained eye, he appeared to demonstrate a casual readiness, a
confidence that there was no reason at this point to bring the weapon
to the ready.

Ben
knew better. He stared into the young guard's eyes and then stepped
forward onto the tip of the blade that was scant inches off of the
ground and drove it out of the young man's hands. The subtle move was
unexpected and left the poor boy defenseless.

"It
doesn't matter how big your sword is if you can't manage it." Ben
reached down, retrieved the blade and handed it back to the red-faced
young man. "Promise me you'll trade this in for something a bit
lighter."

"Yes
sir," the young guard said, then tried his best to hold the sword a
little higher.

Ben
smiled. "That's better. Once you're stronger, it'll get easier."

The
third guard widened his stance, lifted his sword in a confident,
almost threatening manner and kept his eyes planted on Ben with an
unwaivering glower. Ben turned to him and grinned.

"You
pay attention... that's good." Ben looked him over from toe to head
and nodded appreciatively. "I can tell you've trained hard. You
hold your sword with a confidence not often seen in someone so young.
I'd wager you saw some action toward the end of the war." Ben moved
to walk around the guard, but the man raised his blade and blocked
Ben's path.

Ben
turned to the other two guards and said, "Did you see how he didn't
trust my movement? How he's keeping me front and center where he can
keep an eye on me? It shows he won't be caught unprepared. You two
could learn a lot from him."

"And
I'm not going to fall for your tricks," the guard said. "Talk all
you want, but you should know, that when the stakes are life or
death... I've never lost a fight!"

Ben
chuckled, "That's about the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard,
soldier. Any breathing man can claim the same." He turned to the
young mop-haired guard at his right. "Have you ever had to kill a
man?"

"Yes
sir, once."

"Have
you ever
been
killed?"

A
perplexed look crossed the young soldier's face. "Sir?"

Ben
repeated, "It's a simple question. Have you ever been killed in
battle?"

"Well,
no... of course not."

Ben
returned his attention back to the guard before him. "And neither
has any other man still alive enough to carry a sword. When the
stakes are life and death, there are two kinds of men: The dead ones
and the rest of us. Your boast means nothing." He looked over the
man once more and let his eyes linger on the weapon before him. "Who
taught you to hold a sword like that?"

At
first, the young soldier did not answer, but then he rebutted, "I'm
strong enough to handle my weapon. Stand back!"

"Oh,
you're strong enough alright, it's just that you're going to lose
your grip holding it that way."

The
soldier looked at his hands and twisted the blade back and forth
examining his tight grip. "I don't see anything wrong with my grip.
It's no different than anyone else's."

"Relax,
it's a common mistake and nothing to be ashamed of...let me see it,
I'll show you what I mean."

The
guard reluctantly handed Ben the sword and said, "but it's not too
heavy—"

Ben
accepted the weapon and immediately turned it on the guard, pressing
the point into the tender area just below the collarbone. The guard
looked up at Ben in helpless humiliation.

"I'm
disappointed in you," Ben said, shaking his head, and then turned
to face the other two men. He waited a moment to gauge their reaction
but saw only surprise, confusion and a blatant reluctance to do
anything.

"What's
worse is that your friends aren't going to help you. I should be dead
by now, but I'm not." Ben quickly reversed the blade and returned
it to the embarrassed guard. He then reached to his belt and drew his
own sword. The eyes of the three guards widened in surprise. But
instead of attacking, Ben threw it to the ground.

"Always...
always
disarm a prisoner," Ben said pointedly. "It's the
first thing you should do."

Ben
took a moment to make eye contact with each of the three young men.
"Soldiering is not glamorous; it's a tough life. Like anything
else, it requires practice and dedication. If you are to survive,
you'll have to hone your skills and learn to trust another with your
life. You've only got each other. No one else will be there to save
you when things turn ugly."

The
four trade carts creaked into motion as the drivers urged their teams
forward. Gordo had remounted and called for all men to resume their
places; the three young guards ran back to join the others. Mason
walked alongside the lead wagon and waved for Ben to join him. Any
lingering suspicions had apparently been resolved and even the
merchant's daughter was smiling as she spoke with Mason.

Ben
bent down, picked up his blade, and took a moment to turn his
attention back toward the forest. The mountains were in black
silhouette against a dark blue sky and it would take at least another
hour to reach town. By then, it would be night. Soon, the lead wagon
was upon him and he stepped up to join Mason.

CHAPTER THREE

"You
gave us cause for concern Lieutenant," the merchant said. He was a
well-dressed man, who spoke in an educated, almost aristocratic
manner. "After last night's attack, I think you can understand our
reluctance to trust strangers."

At
the mention of his rank, Ben gave Mason a sidelong glance of
disapproval.

Mason
said, "Ben, this is Mr. Horace Hoff, his son Kasper, and his lovely
daughter, Megan."

Ben
gave a slight bow to each introduction and to Megan he added, "I
sincerely apologize if my antics startled you."

Horace
smiled. "It amounts to no more than a momentary delay. Though, one
of our men is in need of a healer and we cannot linger too long."
He indicated a man lying in the cart.

Ben
moved to the back to examine the injured man. A space had been
cleared on one side to accommodate him. The other side of the cart
held an impressive amount of bagged spices. Sennith and cinnamon were
readily apparent by smell alone. If the other three carts held an
equal load, then this merchant carried a small fortune. Spices,
especially the more rare, could easily equal their weight in silver.
The rarest, like Sennith, could even exceed the value of gold.

Ben
turned his attention to the wounded guard. It was clear from the
blood-soaked bandages that he was badly hurt. The man was asleep but
his breathing was labored. He had several long, clean cuts running
along his chest downward toward his waist and his right leg appeared
to have three deep puncture wounds. His shoulder and lower neck had
been seriously ravaged. Ben quickly checked the bandages and was
satisfied with the quality of the bindings.

He
returned to the side of Horace, walking briskly to keep pace with the
rolling cart. "What happened?"

The
merchant grimaced. "We're not exactly sure. Last night, he and
another man had fallen back a way behind the wagons. We heard
screams, and by the time we got to them, one was dead and this one
was in pretty bad shape."

"The
attacker?"

"We
never saw, but before he lost consciousness, he kept saying something
about yellow eyes. We think it might have been a bear."

Gordo
quickly added, "My men are capable, though I may need to recruit
more experienced men in the future. The roads in and out of Kishell
Springs are getting worse of late."

Horace
nodded and pointed to the town before them. "I can remember when a
trader could come through here unprotected."

Ben
looked toward town and could now make out activity on the outskirts.
Like any trade town, there would be an active open market late into
the night.

Mason
asked, "Is Kishell Springs really that dangerous?"

"Not
at all," said Horace. "The town itself is quite safe. It's the
forests for miles around that pose the danger. Thieves, wild animals
and—"

"Sorry
to interrupt," Gordo said, "but it's time that I cut this
conversation short. You two are welcome to walk with us, but I must
ask that you move to the front where I can keep an eye on you."

Horace
gave an understanding nod. "I'm sorry, but when it comes to
security matters, I must follow Gordo's insights. He has proven
himself a wiser man than I in these areas."

Megan
addressed Ben, "Wait, before you go, is it true that you're a Royal
Guardsman, a Lieutenant in the King's service?"

Ben
leveled his gaze at Mason and wondered again how much he had told
them. Mason gave a slight shrug and looked away innocently. Ben
didn't want to appear rude, but also did not want to discuss personal
matters with strangers. He decided to keep his answer short and
simple.

"Once,
but not anymore."

Gordo
turned and said, "You'll find that life out here isn't as
comfortable as what you're used to in Arden City. King Erlich's arm
doesn't reach as far as it once did. You might have to pull out that
pretty, polished sword of yours and actually learn how to use it."

Mason
grinned. "That's what he's got me for. I get to do the dirty work
while he stands around and looks important."

Mason
quickly moved to the front.

Ben
smiled at the jest and moved to join him. "You could have at least
tried to spare my pride."

Mason
said, "You're a better swordsman than any of us, but they don't
need to know that. Let them think what they want."

Ben
faced his friend and said, "Did you see that man's wounds? No bear
did that."

"I
know, I've never seen anything like it. Those cuts are clean from
sharp steel, but he also has some nasty bite marks on his shoulder.
Unless bears have taken up knives lately..."