Benjamin Ashwood Box Set 2
Page 100
Issen hugged a broad, slow-moving river that nestled in rolling, emerald green hills. Around the city and up and down the river, fields were bustling as workers moved to bring in the fall harvest. Ben realized ruefully they were rushing to gather what they could and put it into storage before the armies of the Alliance and Coalition descended upon the place like locusts. He thought they had better hurry.
“It’s beautiful, like I remember it,” murmured Amelie.
Ben had to agree. In the center of the city, pale stone walls rose half a dozen stories into the sky forming an imposing diamond. All around it, buildings, towers, and palaces sprawled out. The city didn’t have the rigid organization that the City did, but it wasn’t the messy sprawl they’d seen in other places. It wasn’t imposing like Whitehall or Irrefort, but it had presence. Based only on observation, Ben would have guessed that a settlement had been on the site for thousands of prosperous years. Ancient structures stood out from the jumble, but they were well-maintained. Palaces, universities, and public areas were well-spaced throughout the city. From a distance, there was little of the derelict tenements that dotted less wealthy cities.
“Home,” breathed Amelie.
“It’s been a long time,” said Ben. “Are you ready to go back?”
“I think so,” she replied, a catch in her voice.
Ben put his arm around her and drew her close.
“It will be different,” she said. “Our relationship will change when we get there.”
“Because you are highborn and I am common.”
“No,” she replied, a bittersweet smile on her lips. “Once, that would have made a difference, but you have an army now. You’re just as powerful as any of the highborn families. Who can look down on that?”
Ben laughed. “I guess that does make a difference.”
“I meant it will be different because I will have responsibilities and commitments. When they’ve recognized that I am the rightful heir, there will be constant petitions, decisions to make, people to watch over, and to watch out for. It’s never-ending, Ben. My father was one of the most well-respected lords in all of Alcott, and even he was worn by the constant press of duty.”
“We’ll help you,” offered Ben.
Amelie shook her head. “It’s not like helping someone repaint their cottage or watch over a child. There are decisions that only the leader can make.”
She fell silent, and Ben had nothing to add. He hadn’t spent as much time in the halls of lords as Amelie, but he’d seen enough. He knew she was right.
“If you two are done cuddling,” called Rhys, “it’s almost dark. It’s time we started in.”
The rogue was halfway down the hill from them. Serrot and Prem were at the base. Ostensibly, Ben and Amelie had gone up to scout. Ben knew she simply wanted to look over her home before they walked in. For the time being, the city looked peaceful, without scars of war. In the next few days, if they couldn’t stop it, that would change.
10
Behind the Walls
They passed through the streets of Issen, unremarkable and unnoticed. The structures, the merchants, the hustle and bustle of commerce, it all felt familiar, like they were in any of Alcott’s major cities. Underneath the veneer of a healthy economy and a well-maintained city, though, was a current of fear. Issen was the natural meeting point between the Alliance and the Coalition, and the people knew it. They’d known it a year before when King Argren’s conclave ratified the Alliance agreement, and Issen signed it. They knew it when Lady Selene betrayed Lord Gregor and threw their lot in with the Coalition. They knew it when Lord Dronson stripped her of her titles, and they knew it now, when two opposing armies were bearing down just a few days away.
Steps were quicker. Children were rounded up and brought inside well before full dark. The men wearing Issen’s pale blue tabards eyed the shadows in the alleys and doorways suspiciously. When darkness fell, the streets emptied quickly. Shopkeepers weren’t staying open late, and housewives weren’t running last minute errands. They were all hunkering down before the marching of boots and the clatter of armor could be heard on the horizon.
Ben’s party earned a few hard glances from the watch, but it seemed a curfew hadn’t been declared yet, and they were not harassed.
“They’ll do it the moment Saala or Jason come into view,” guessed Rhys. “They have to. Otherwise, the looting will start early.”
“Looting?” asked Amelie.
“When all of the men in the watch are standing on the wall, looking at an army coming closer, there’s no one to keep an eye on the stores. Particularly when the merchants start to flee with their families, there’s nothing stopping the more… enterprising citizens from breaking in and helping themselves to anything that was left. It happens every time.”
“The armies are three, maybe four days away,” said Ben. “If these people were going to flee, why haven’t they done it already?”
“They got comfortable,” said Rhys with a shrug. “They’ve known war would happen for at least a year. Like anything, they must have gotten used to that knowledge, that it would happen someday, but they knew that day wasn’t today. When foreign soldiers are within sight, that’s going to be different. They’ll get a reminder then of what is coming, and then those that are able will run.”
“We need them to stay,” murmured Amelie, glancing at the few civilians who were still scurrying down the street after dark. “Without the people, there is no Issen.”
“You could lock the gates and force them to remain inside,” advised Rhys. “It’s certainly been tried before. Even worked a few times, but be aware it can backfire. If someone thinks their family’s death is imminent, no gate and no guard is going to stop them. You could have riots in that situation. Your own citizens busting out of the gates and overrunning your soldiers.”
“That’s… awful,” remarked Amelie.
“That’s the horror of war,” replied Rhys.
A boisterous group of young people passed by, calling out loudly to each other, their brash confidence not yet effected by the looming threats. Behind them, a pack of guards trailed along, looking for trouble, but with no curfew in place, they had no reason to stop the younglings and send them home.
The guards eyed Ben and his friends with blank looks.
“We should hurry,” suggested Amelie once the guards had passed out of earshot.
“Where is it you’re taking us, Rhys?” asked Ben. “Some secret tunnel, a hidden passageway set in the wall, hopefully not the slop gates again...”
“No,” said Rhys, “Nothing like that. We’re going in the front door.”
“This is Amelie’s home,” argued Ben. “They’re certain to recognize her. You’ve stayed in the keep, they might recognize you, too. Saala’s and Jason’s spies could even have my description.”
“They won’t recognize us,” assured Rhys, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “We’re going in disguise.”
“What kind of disguise?” asked Amelie flatly.
“A pimp, his guard, and his stable of whores.”
“Rhys…” warned Amelie.
“Shouldn’t it be two guards?” asked Ben, pointing between himself and Serrot.
“Not all whores are women, Ben. Have an open mind,” chided the rogue. He put a finger on his chin and frowned, looking between Ben and Serrot. “Now which one of you…”
“Maybe you should be the man-whore,” barked Prem, glaring at the rogue. “We can find you some nice, sheer linens that you could wear. Allow you to show off your… sword. Unless you’re ashamed of it.”
“Prem,” replied Rhys. “This is merely a disguise. As our expert sneaker, it’s best if I’m able to modify my disguise as we go. Now, if we really wanted to earn some coin doing this, then of course I should be the one showing off the wares, so to speak.”
“You think you’d command a higher price than the rest of us?” snorted Ben.
“Certainly,” said Rhys. “Prem knows what she�
��s talking about, but we’re not here for profit, Ben. This is serious.”
“I’m younger,” argued Ben. “I’m more attractive, too.”
Rhys guffawed and looked to Prem and Amelie, dramatically rolling his eyes.
Ben scratched at his scar, frowning at the rogue and wondering how they steered into this conversation.
“Well, I suppose there’s only one way to settle this,” declared Rhys. He took a turn, walked up to a darkened shop, and forcefully banged on the door.
“What are you doing?” hissed Ben.
“Is that a costume shop,” asked Amelie, “like, for theatre players?”
“Exactly,” answered Rhys. “Ben and I will dress as men-of-the-night, or whatever they are called. We shall enter the castle in that disguise, and once inside, we’ll see who can really earn some coin.”
“I don’t think—”
The door was flung open, and a short, stout woman was standing in it, her small stature doing nothing to diminish her looming presence.
“What are you doing?” boomed a voice that was two sizes too large for the little woman. “It’s two bells past sunset. We’re closed!”
“Closed even to old friends?” asked the rogue.
“Who are—Rhys?”
The woman didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she leaned forward, grabbed a handful of the of the rogue’s tunic, and yanked him inside. The door hung open, and Ben and his friends shared a look before darting after them, shutting the door to the street once everyone was in.
They were in a large room filled with reams of fabric, mannequins, masks, prop weapons, and other paraphernalia that stage players would need. The room was dark, but light spilled in from behind a curtain at the rear. The curtain parted, and they saw Rhys dragged through it, the small woman leading him with a strong grip on his ear.
“You don’t think he really wants us to dress up like, well, like that, do you?” asked Serrot.
“There is no telling,” responded Ben dryly. “Whatever he’s planning, we’d better hurry before she takes him out back and butchers him. It looks like that woman has a score to settle.”
They hurried to the curtain and ducked through, finding a hallway lit with a single oil-lamp. A few doors broke the plain wooden surface of the walls, and at the end, they saw the hall opened into a seating area. Ben led them down the passage and poked his head out, seeing Rhys ensconced on a couch, a cloudy glass of dark brown ale in his hand and the short woman towering over him.
“Stay right there, you sneaky bastard!” she exclaimed. “I’ll be back in a moment with Darla. We’re going to do it right, this time!”
“I don’t think—”
“I didn’t ask what you thought, did I?” cracked the woman. “As soon as I get Darla, we’re going to find a highborn who can marry you two.”
Ben burst out laughing.
Rhys shot him a glare, and the woman ignored them all, bustling about the sitting room, throwing a shawl around her shoulders, and keeping a sharp eye on Rhys.
Finally, as the woman prepared to duck out the door, Rhys stood and said, “Damma!”
The woman stopped, fixing him with her gaze.
“Damma, I’m not here for Darla. I’m not the marrying kind of man, and Darla’s not the marrying kind of woman. You know that.”
“Who’s Darla?” whispered Prem.
Ben shrugged.
The little woman drew a deep breath and then opened her mouth, with what Ben hoped was a stern admonishment and maybe a string of harsh curses directed at the rogue, but Rhys cut her off.
“Damma, we need to get inside the castle.”
“Why would I help you do that?” snapped the woman.
Rhys glanced at Amelie meaningfully.
Damma frowned at the rogue before seeming to notice for the first time that he had companions. Her eyes found Amelie.
“Rhys…”
“She is who you think she is,” said the rogue quietly.
The woman remained still a moment. Then she dropped to one knee. “My apologies, m’lady. I-I didn’t see you at first. I… we all… we thought you were dead.”
Amelie drew herself up and commanded, “Please, rise.”
The costumer rose but kept her eyes down as if afraid to meet Amelie’s gaze.
“You understand why I cannot see Darla,” said Rhys, his voice soft.
Damma nodded without looking at him.
“We need to get into the castle,” repeated the rogue. “Is it safe?”
The woman shook her head, her eyes still on the floor. “The tunnel is still open. I keep waiting for the sound of it flooding, but… it is open.”
“Thank you,” responded Rhys. “Before we go, is there any news you can share, anything we should know? We’ve been hesitant to stop in the city and ask questions.”
Damma shot a quick glance at Amelie before fixing her gaze back on the floor. “You know the Alliance and the Coalition are bearing down on us? The talk is that war is certain and that we’re stuck in the middle. Of course you know that, how could you not? Ah, Lord Dronson convened a council of highborn, and they stripped Lady Selene of her title. No one has been named ruler. We were told that… it was… they said you were dead, m’lady.”
“Damma,” asked Amelie gently, “my mother’s title or our house’s status?”
“Just your mother, m’lady. You… I am no expert on these things, m’lady. They’re… The talk in town is that Lord Dronson has a plan, but no one’s sure what it is. The man doesn’t seem to be taking power for himself, though. He might be trying to gain leverage for negotiations with the Alliance, or he may be working with another noble house. There are plenty of rumors, m’lady, but I don’t know which hold the truth.”
“Thank you, Damma,” murmured Amelie. She turned to the group. “We need to find Dronson.”
“The tunnel is through the door below the staircase,” offered Rhys. “We can follow it to the gardens in the palace.”
“Your discretion is appreciated,” Amelie said to Damma, “at least until we can address Lord Dronson and settle matters. After that, your service will not be forgotten.”
Damma dropped to a knee again, her eyes still on the floor. “M’lady, your father was a good lord, a good man. The people had love for him, m’lady. It’s been tough since… since what your mother did. The people will be glad you have returned.”
“I’m glad to be back,” acknowledged Amelie. She looked at the companions and shrugged, as if she thought she should say more, but didn’t know what.
“Let’s go,” suggested Rhys. “We still have a bit of walking we need to finish before daylight.”
They followed the rogue back into the hall and through the door under the steps. They brought a lamp from Damma’s sitting room and it illuminated a narrow staircase that led down below the building. The costumer, Damma, stayed behind on one knee, her body shaking. Ben swore he could hear low sobs.
When they reached the bottom of the stairs and were well out of earshot, Ben barked at Rhys, “What’s this? I thought you said we weren’t going through a tunnel. What was all of that about disguises and man-whores?”
“I lied about the tunnel,” admitted Rhys. “It seems a little easy, doesn’t it? After the tunnel in Fabrizo, I thought the disguises would be more dramatic. Also, you should have seen your face.”
Ben ran a hand through his hair and looked to Amelie in the steady glow of the lamp light. She smirked as if to ask what he expected from the rogue. Rhys was incorrigible, and a little thing like a looming war wasn’t going to stop his antics.
“Who is Darla?” inquired Prem.
Rhys coughed and then turned and led them down the tunnel without answering. His body cast wild shadows on the ancient brick walls of the tunnel.
“He doesn’t answer a lot of questions, does he?” complained Prem. “I don’t know how these things are supposed to work. We had some fun, and then ever since we left Kirksbane, he’s been avoiding me.”
“I-I didn’t know,” murmured Prem.
“And there’s your father,” reminded Ben helpfully.
“My father?” wondered Prem.
“If he’s in your head… when, ah…” Ben looked to Amelie for help, but she only closed her eyes and shook her head. Ben’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he managed to eek out, “You said that when you have strong emotions, your thoughts… Adrick Morgan is an intimidating man.”
“Oh, I—Oh,” stammered Prem. “When we, ah, my father was on patrol when, ah…”
“Ben’s right,” said Amelie. “Adrick Morgan is an intimidating man, and he seems very protective of you.”
“I need to talk to Rhys,” mumbled Prem.
“Let’s go,” said Ben, starting down the tunnel. “I’m not sure he will wait for us.”
“This must be hundreds of years old,” remarked Amelie when they caught up to the rogue, tracing a finger along the dusty brick. “It was likely built before my family even took power.”
“How old is Issen?” wondered Ben. “The castle, I mean.”
“No one knows for sure,” replied Amelie. “It was raised in stages, but my tutors believe the original footprint is over one thousand years old. The walls have been expanded since then. Four or five hundred years have passed since the last major build, according to the scholars. After the Blood Bay War, building stronger castles was unnecessary for a time.”
“I don’t know if there’s a building in Farview over five decades old,” declared Serrot.
“The Pinewood’s house is pretty old,” said Ben. “It’s probably over five decades. That and the tavern.”
“The Buckhorn Tavern always seemed ancient, but I think Blevin’s grandpa built it. I suppose Old Gamson would know,” speculated Serrot. “He was probably on the stool the first day it opened for business, but no one would be alive from when they built this castle.”
Ben stared at the rogue’s back but didn’t respond to Serrot’s comment. His friend was having enough trouble adjusting to Amelie being a lady. They could find another time to tell him about the long-lived.