Benjamin Ashwood Box Set 2

by A. C. Cobble

  Rhys laughed and loudly scooted his chair across the stone floor, sliding a pitcher of ale along the polished table. “Bureaucracy. It’s the same everywhere, I guess.”

  “Did you serve in the military?” asked Seth.

  “Once or twice,” confirmed Rhys. “Let me tell you, you’ll learn to appreciate the paperwork after a few hard campaigns. Sleeping in the mud, bad food, no ale, definitely no women. Well, not the type who will warm your bedroll for free, at least.”

  “What other types of women are there?” asked Prem, settling down across the table from Rhys and leaning forward on her elbows, locking the rogue with her gaze.

  “Ah, wash women…”

  Owing Rhys for saving him, Ben broke in, “Well, Seth, maybe we can do a little sparring while we wait for a ship. I can help you knock some of that rust off.”

  “It’d be good for the lad,” boomed General Brinn from the far end of the table. “Lady Towaal tells me you’ve become quite skilled, Ben. Says you’ve even got men following you now. Lots of them, according to her.”

  “I—”

  “You’ve got men?” interjected Seth. “How many, Ben? That’s exciting!”

  “Well, it’s just the five of us here,” muttered Ben.

  “I’m told there are hundreds,” prodded Brinn.

  Ben scratched at his scar and shot Towaal a glare. She was sitting back, her arms crossed beneath her breasts, looking pleased with herself.

  “Hundreds, yes, something like that.”

  “Where are they?” asked Brinn.

  “North,” responded Ben, seeing no reason to hide the knowledge. “I’m sure you heard about Northport? We faced the swarm that overran the city. We killed the bulk, but plenty of the creatures broke free. They’ve been plaguing the north lands, and our men are working to hunt them down.”

  “We did hear about Northport,” responded Brinn. “Terrible news about Rhymer and his people. We were counting on their strength when it comes to facing the Coalition. That fox Jason will leverage this. He’s cunning and dangerous. We could have used Rhymer’s tactical mind and his men’s sharp steel. We’ll need every advantage we can get when we finally meet the Black Knife in the field. Losing Northport is going to drag this war out, believe me.”

  “It’s too bad Rhymer and his men won’t be able to fight with you against the Coalition,” said Ben softly, thinking about the hundreds of thousands of civilians who had lost their lives when the demons rampaged through the city.

  “You know it was the Black Knife that did King Argren in?” continued Brinn, not picking up on Ben’s somber tone. “Cut him down right in these corridors. It scared the highborn something fierce, knowing that even the king was vulnerable. After Northport and with the threat of the Coalition, even the stupidest of them realized we needed a military leader. Their middle-of-the-night maneuvering wouldn’t do a bit of good if they got stabbed, or we lost the war. If we lose the war, they know the Coalition won’t give a damn about their titles. When Saala’s name came up, they couldn’t throw their weight behind him fast enough. The army is happy with the change, too. Saala got us moving and seems to have a fair hand at leadership.”

  “He’s led men into battle before,” acknowledged Ben. His mind flashing to the stories O’ecca had told them of the Red Hand, Saala’s bloodthirsty group of men who’d been accused of plotting against the emperor of the Ooswam. That was the reason Saala had fled the South Continent.

  “May end up doing us good, him being from down south,” said Brinn. “I’m told that the emperor is mighty interested in forming a relationship with the Alliance. Any day now, we’re expecting the arrival of his emissary. Some little girl, I’m told, though she’s supposed to be a wonder with a spear. The emperor’s son was killed in a coup attempt some months back. Lots of upheaval, these days.”

  “We heard about the coup,” remarked Ben, shooting a glance at his friends.

  “Well,” continued Brinn, “I guess it got the old man thinking. They say he’s worried about his legacy now and wants to secure the empire. I get it. We’ve got an ongoing example of what can happen when you don’t have clear succession.”

  “The emperor’s emissary, this girl,” inquired Amelie, “you said she’s coming here?”

  “Aye, sounds a bit strange, a lady warrior, but the rumor is she helped to foil the coup and earned a place at the right side of the emperor. She replaced his son and truly does have some talent with her weapon, I’m told. I’m looking forward to seeing this spear of hers and what she can do with it. It’s a bit of a passion of mine, collecting foreign weapons. None of ‘em are ever as good as a simple broadsword or my two-hander, but it’s worth knowing what is out there, don’t you think? You never know what you’ll face in battle.”

  “There are surprises around every corner,” agreed Rhys.

  The companions all shared a look. It was clear they were thinking the same thing.

  “Do you suppose this emissary will want to deal directly with Saala?” asked Amelie.

  Brinn shrugged. “She’s coming here, we were told. Saala left me the authority to open discussions but not to agree on anything formal. If that’s all we’re doing, then I don’t suppose she’ll need to see Saala. He’s too busy for that. If she wants to go chasing across the Blood Bay to try and find him in Fabrzio, though, that’s fine with me. It would give me more time to get this city in order and get more troops mobilized. I don’t have time for diplomacy.”

  “Maybe she’ll do that,” agreed Amelie, sitting back with a smile on her face.

  Dawn was barely peeking above the horizon. The first shards of light were sparkling on the water of the Blood Bay and illuminating Whitehall like a lantern set ablaze in a dark room.

  Seth yawned, his jaw cracking, a fist failing to cover his gaping mouth.

  “Too much to drink last night?” speculated Rhys.

  “Can’t do it like I used to,” muttered Seth. “You sure you want to spar? We could tell Brinn we did it and go find some kaf and breakfast instead.”

  Ben grinned, perusing the rack of practice weapons.

  “Or an ale,” added Seth grimly. “Sometimes that’s the only cure.”

  “We’ll sweat it out,” encouraged Ben. “A little exercise is good for you, and it’s the best way to fight through a hangover.”

  “If you say so,” grumbled Seth dubiously.

  “You wouldn’t have to deal with hangovers if you just drank less,” suggested Amelie.

  “Where’s the fun in that?” asked Rhys, his voice chipper in the crisp morning air. “Besides, if you do it enough, then you don’t get hungover.”

  “Really?” asked Seth, finally shuffling over to find a practice blade of his own.

  Rhys shrugged and tipped up a water skin.

  Ben frowned. A water skin, Rhys had said.

  The rogue winked at him and asked, “You two going to spar, or what? I didn’t come down here just to watch your foreplay.”

  “Speaking of sparring,” said Prem to the rogue, “how about we see what you can do with those long knives?”

  Rhys glanced at her.

  She met his gaze, her body standing straight, her hands on her hips.

  “I don’t spar,” replied Rhys.

  Prem frowned. “You’ve sparred with Ben, haven’t you?”

  “That was different,” claimed the rogue.

  “You’ll engage in a little foreplay with Ben but not with me?” asked Prem, her frown turning to a glare.

  Rhys coughed uncomfortably.

  “Sounds like you’ve got a date,” said Ben with a wink. He left Rhys to talk his way out of crossing knives with Prem and turned to see Seth shrugging into a thick set of practice armor. Cloth pads covered his shoulders, chest, and thighs. The former assistant to the arms master wiggled and squirmed, letting the armor settle.

  “Are you going to put yours on?” asked Seth when he saw Ben watching him.

  “I don’t think so,” said Ben. “I’m used
to fighting without armor.”

  “You might take a few knocks then,” claimed Seth. “From what I remember, you’re no slouch, so don’t think I’m going to take it easy on you!”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to,” said Ben, walking out onto the dirt field. It was packed hard from countless boots of Whitehall’s trainees over the years.

  Seth faced him, settled his footing, saw Ben was ready, and then leapt forward, a broad grin on his face.

  Ben swept the newly minted captain’s practice blade away and whipped his sword back, smacking his old friend in the chest and sending him reeling.

  “Oof,” Seth grunted. “Nice counterattack. You surprised me there.”

  “Sorry,” said Ben, cursing himself for not holding back.

  There was no sense showing Seth and the rest of Whitehall’s soldiers what he could do. So far, the rumor around the Citadel was that he and his party were old companions of the king. There were plenty of others claiming some relationship to Saala, hoping to gain advantage in court, so they didn’t stand out. Ben and Amelie were content to let everyone assume they were just another group of sycophants. They didn’t need to add additional intrigue by showing what they were capable of.

  Seth attacked again, and Ben parried, circling the soldier and then launching a tentative attack that Seth was able to counter. For a moment, they sparred back and forth, Ben pressing and then relenting.

  Seth moved cautiously after taking the hard strike on the first flurry. Then suddenly, the captain waded in aggressively, planting his leg and drawing back for a powerful blow.

  Ben slashed down, catching Seth on the side of his knee, nearly knocking his leg from under him. Then, he reversed his swing and brought the practice blade back, thumping into Seth’s sword arm and jarring the weapon from the captain’s hand. A third movement and Ben’s sword jabbed into his friend’s chest armor, knocking the air out of Seth’s lungs with an explosive wheeze.

  The captain flopped straight back, landing heavily, his practice sword lying forgotten next to him. A pained groan rose from the prone guardsman.

  Ben scrambled forward to check on him.

  “You were holding back, weren’t you?” accused Seth through gritted teeth.

  “Let’s get you up,” said Ben.

  A trio of soldiers appeared from nearby where they’d been watching the contest.

  “A little rusty, are you, captain?” said their leader with a laugh. “You’ve been spending too much time behind the desk. Or maybe your skills don’t match your new position?” The soldier turned to his friends. “What you do think, boys?”

  Seth clambered up on one knee and stuck a hand under the armor to rub his chest. He said, “Ben was trained by the king. I don’t mind admitting he’s a better blade than I.”

  “What?” responded the leader, disbelief heavy in his voice.

  “Would you care to spar?” Ben asked the newcomer.

  The man blinked.

  “It looks like there are plenty of practice weapons and armor here,” continued Ben. “We could give it a go, and you can see how you fare.”

  “We’ve got work to do, lad,” responded the man quickly. “There’s a war on, and I don’t have time for play fighting.”

  “Oh,” said Ben. “I thought your friends would like to see what you’re capable of. Unless you’re scared, that is.”

  The man snorted.

  “How about this,” offered Ben. “You can use that steel sword on your hip, and I’ll keep this wooden one.”

  Ben looked to the man’s friends, meeting their eyes and holding each soldier’s gaze for a moment.

  The leader of the group stepped back. “I told you. I don’t have time for silly games, and the paperwork I’d have to do after killing you would take me all day.”

  “You’re threatening to kill me?” asked Ben, an eyebrow raised. “If that’s the case, I believe I’m in my rights to defend myself. I think King Saala told me something about Whitehall’s dueling laws when we were traveling together.”

  “N-No, ah, no…” stammered the soldier, taking another two steps back.

  “I think it’s best you run along,” growled Ben. “But before you do, I have a friendly suggestion. You should be more worried about the upcoming battle than agitating internal strife. You should support your fellow leaders instead of taunting them. If you ever want to captain more than a bunch of barracks rats, it’s a lesson you need to learn. Now, unless you’re prepared to duel, go find somewhere else to be.”

  The man and his friends needed no other encouragement. They spun and walked quickly across the practice field, struggling not to break into a run.

  “Thanks,” said Seth, taking a deep breath and wincing. “Everyone thinks I made captain because of my connection with Brinn, and they’re not wrong. Without Brinn, I know I wouldn’t be a captain. I don’t have the family connections, and most days, I don’t think I’m ready. Before the last year, I’d never led more than a few soldiers tasked with keeping the arms room straightened up. Some of these men have been in combat.”

  “No one is ready to lead men into battle,” assured Ben. “Good leaders aren’t born, Seth. They’re made. They’re made when they gain command and prove they deserved it. You will do well. I know you will.”

  Seth eyed Ben, still rubbing his chest. “You’ve changed, Ben. For the good, I mean. You’re not the same man you were when I saw you last. You’re… you’re a leader now, aren’t you? A real one.”

  “You should have seen him north of Kirksbane,” said Rhys, stepping up to join them.

  “Rhys…” warned Ben.

  Seth opened his mouth to ask a question, but Rhys cut him off. “You should go get that looked at, captain. Pretty hard strike. Even with the armor, it could crack a rib. It probably didn’t, but better to get a physic’s opinion before you set sail for war.”

  Seth murmured a goodbye and promised to meet up with them later before vanishing into the Citadel.

  “That’s why I never spar,” said Rhys as soon as Seth was out of earshot. “When you draw steel, you have to be ready to use it.”

  “You think I’ll go soft from sparring?” questioned Ben, putting his practice sword back on the rack.

  “I think you might hurt someone,” clarified Rhys. “I saw that last sequence. You were acting on instinct, like you should. If you’d aimed for the head instead of the chest…”

  Ben frowned.

  “Don’t worry,” said Rhys. “You didn’t, and he’ll be fine. That blow wasn’t hard enough to crack bone. I just wanted to get rid of him. In the future, though, you have to be careful. You’re not a soldier, Ben, not like them. You’ve faced demons, and those creatures are not interested in sparring. In the future, you might face worse. If you find yourself on the opposite end of a blade from Jason or Saala, there can be no hesitation.”

  “Jason or Saala?” muttered Ben. “I don’t plan to ever have to fight one of those two.”

  “You never know,” responded Rhys. “What I do know is that you have to be ready.”

  Grimacing, Ben replied, “Point made, but Rhys, remember we’re trying to keep a low profile. Let’s keep the discussion of what happened at Kirksbane to ourselves.”

  The rogue snorted. “I’m not the one who was embarrassing Whitehall’s captains on the practice field and then giving orders to their peers, or did you forget about that?”

  “Let’s go see if there is word of the emissary,” suggested Amelie, changing the subject.

  “I don’t care if you were Saala’s own brother,” remarked Brinn later that evening. “I can’t allow you into the meeting with the emissary. Can you imagine how that would look to the highborn clustered around here? They’re like jackals, waiting for a chance to slink in and tear off a hunk of meat. No, I’m sorry. I just can’t do it.”

  Ben nodded. “That’s fair. I understand we can’t be in the meeting, but can you tell her that Ben is in the Citadel?”

  Brinn blinked uncertainly. �
�You think the emissary will know your name?”

  “I do,” replied Ben, unconsciously scratching at the scar on his arm.

  Brinn glanced at Amelie and then Towaal before asking, “How do you know the emperor’s emissary?”

  Ben shrugged. “You get around… you meet people.”

  “Ben, were you ever that farm boy I remember?”

  “I was, once,” admitted Ben.

  “He’s not anymore,” added Towaal.

  Ben looked at her, and she raised an eyebrow, challenging him to argue.

  “No,” agreed Ben slowly. “I suppose I’m something else now.”

  “Well, farm boy, or whatever you’ve become, you can’t be in the meeting. I will tell her you’re here, and if she wants to find you, she can.”

  “I appreciate that,” said Ben.

  Amelie, slicing through a thick cut of beef with a silver knife and fork, asked, “General Brinn, ever since we’ve gotten here, we keep hearing about tension amongst the troops and the highborn. Seth told us there’s been a particular problem with divisive rumors. Is the situation really so dire? Typically, war would unite both highborn and the people rather than tear them apart. A common enemy and all of that.”

  Brinn pushed at a pile of roasted potatoes on his plate. “No longer the heir to Issen but you’ve got the training for it, don’t you? Well, because you know Saala, I suppose there’s no harm in being honest with you. Yes, the situation really is that dire. The blademaster has defended against a dozen assassination attempts, half of which we’ve managed to keep quiet. We hoped that by him leaving to lead the army, it would bring everyone together like you suggest. We hoped it would be obvious that with the Alliance marching to war, we needed a war-leader in charge. We thought the highborn would go with him and it would give them a chance to work off some of their aggression on Lord Jason’s men instead of our own. We thought the rumors and backstabbing would die down.”