by A. C. Cobble
For someone who likes peace and quiet, thought Ben, Bart loved to talk.
Their guide was dressed in a rough brown tunic and faded black cloak. He carried a half-full pack and had a hand axe strapped on one side of him and a well-used cutlass on the other. The cutlass was an odd choice for a woodsman, but they knew Bart wasn’t always a woodsman.
The pack was half full, Bart explained, because he intended to fill it up on the way back. He agreed to guide Ben and Amelie as far as Kirksbane in exchange for eight heavy gold coins.
“No one in Free State bothers with coin,” remarked Bart. “It’s all barter. But they like coin in town just fine. I’ll pick up a few things which I can trade back here. Get me some decent hooch, too. That swill Myland distills isn’t fit for my goat.”
Eight gold coins was a significant portion of what they’d managed to keep after fleeing the City and raiding Reinhold’s estate. If it got them to Kirksbane safely though, it would be worth it. Ben didn’t like the idea of stealing, but if it came down to it, they could survive in the fertile Sineook Valley for a long time without coin. It was farm after farm. No one bothered placing a guard over cabbages in the field.
“Bart,” asked Amelie, “How long is it to Kirksbane?”
The man scratched unceremoniously at his behind and answered, “Should take us about four weeks. It’s faster on the river road of course, but I’m guessing you don’t want to go that way.”
Amelie cringed. They hadn’t told Bart much, but it wasn’t hard to surmise they were running from something. Why else would they be out in the middle of nowhere?
“Don’t worry, lady,” assured the Free Stater. “No one is going to find you out here.”
That night, Ben and Amelie huddled together and decided to keep at the sword practice. In the past, they avoided practicing around strangers, but that was while they were trying to hide Saala’s true skill and keep a low profile. Out here, they didn’t have much skill to hide, and there was no avoiding Bart.
As it turned out, Bart was happy to help them. He disparagingly eyed the forms Ben was instructing Amelie on then interrupted.
“No, no, no!” he griped. “You try and swing a rapier like that, you’re going to get chopped up in heartbeats.”
He drew his cutlass and stomped over to where they were practicing. “What you are doing is just fine with that longsword, but using a lighter blade is different. Let me show you a few things.”
After that, every evening involved at least a bell of sword practice. Bart was proficient with the cutlass and was even able to help Amelie handle both of her blades at once. Like Ben found when they were attacked, Bart explained the trick was using the offhand for defense.
“Think of it as a shield with an edge,” he instructed. “If you try to attack with both blades, it’s awkward and weak. Always use one to defend and the other to counterattack. Then you’ve got a deadly fighting style.”
He unslung his axe and demonstrated some maneuvers. “Back in my day, before I lost the eye and my depth perception, I used a dagger in my offhand. Helps turn aside a blow, and if someone gets close, well, it’s easy to turn to offense and stick ‘em. Overall, the style is defensive though. If you want to get aggressive and attack, you might be better off ignoring your dagger hand and just using the rapier. You can’t effectively swing both at once. I can show you some attack postures if you like.”
Amelie, breathless from the practice, panted. “Defense and counterattack is good for now. I don’t intend to go around attacking people.”
Bart grinned, twisting the scar around his missing eye. “You never intend to attack someone, until you do.”
Two weeks into the trip from Free State to Kirksbane, Ben was starting to feel confident. The cuts and scrapes he’d gotten fleeing the City were healed and they hadn’t seen a soul since departing the village. For the first time since the attack on him and Renfro by Gulli’s men, he felt like he didn’t need to look over his shoulder.
Early one morning, he was up just before dawn and settled on a moss-covered log to watch the sunlight break through the canopy of leaves above them. A bright array of colors was on display. Soon, the leaves would fall to the ground. The air was crisp and promised the chill of winter was just around the corner. We need to get some warmer clothing in Kirksbane, he thought.
A muted scuff of boots on dirt caught his attention. He turned to see Amelie picking her way over to join him.
“It’s getting hard to sneak up on you,” she whispered.
Ben smiled. “I feel like I’m at home in the woods. It feels right. It feels good. Anything that is not in place seems to jump out.”
“Is that like the blademaster sense Saala spoke about?” she asked, wide eyed.
Ben shrugged. “I don’t know. I just feel more connected out here.”
“You know we can’t stay out here, right?” inquired Amelie.
Ben sighed. “I know. We have to get to Whitehall and warn Argren about what the Coalition and the Sanctuary are doing.”
“These Free Staters,” Amelie added, “they ran away from the world. Maybe that was easier for them, but that doesn’t mean it’s the right thing to do. People need us and we can’t turn our backs on them.”
Two weeks later, they were in the last stretch of woods outside of Kirksbane and stopped early.
“From here, we’ll start to see people,” explained Bart. “You haven’t told me what you’re running from, but I think it’s time you told me a little. What are we up against? Is there anything I need to know about before I walk into that town with you?”
Ben frowned. “Maybe it’s best for you if you don’t walk in with us.”
Bart fingered the hilt of his cutlass. “Ya’ll came from the City, right? You think someone’s going to be looking for you all the way up in Kirksbane?”
“I don’t know. Hopefully not.” Ben sighed. “You got us all of the way here. There’s no use for you to take any additional risk. Tell us which way to go and we can make it on our own. You’ve earned your pay as far as I’m concerned.”
Bart smirked and gestured to his half empty pack. “Remember, I gotta get into town too. I’m not spending two months walking out here and back just to keep drinking Myland’s swill. How about this? Ya’ll camp here tonight and I keep moving. That will put me into town a few bells earlier than you two and no one will suspect we traveled together. I wish you the best of luck, I really do, but if someone’s looking for you, I don’t want to be seen together.”
“I understand,” agreed Ben.
Ben clapped Bart on the back then watched as the man disappeared into the trees without further word, stuffing his new shiny gold coins into his belt pouch.
“He was nice,” said Amelie. “Once you get past the fact that he won’t shut up.”
***
The outskirts of Kirksbane posed an intimidating obstacle. It was nearly five weeks since they were attacked and lost Mathias. They hadn’t seen any sign of Sanctuary pursuit since then. That didn’t mean the mages had given up. Kirksbane was a major intersection of both river and road traffic, so it made sense someone could be watching it. Despite the risk, Ben and Amelie felt they had to stop.
Away from civilization, they had no idea what they were up against. They needed news and supplies. They needed to know what was happening with Issen and Whitehall. A busy town was the only place they could get that information.
That didn’t mean they would be stupid and just walk right in, though. They spent the entire morning slowly circling the sprawl and looking for anything out of place.
The wagon and barge traffic was heavy this time of year. It was harvest time in Sineook Valley. Wagons covered the road going into Kirksbane and barges clogged the river heading south toward Venmoor and the City.
“If we can attach ourselves to an empty wagon train, that may help us move through the Valley unnoticed,” muttered Ben. “Maybe we can pose as guards.”
“Yeah, but empty wagons don’t need gu
ards,” remarked Amelie.
“Hmm. Then maybe we could be lovers eloping a step ahead of your angry father?” joked Ben.
Amelie rolled her eyes. “You had better stay a step ahead of my father if you want to be my lover,” quipped Amelie.
Want to be her…
“Come on,” continued Amelie. “Let’s go. We haven’t seen anything suspicious out here. They are either watching the roads or they are not. It’s been five weeks since we escaped. Not even the Sanctuary can have men guarding every road in every town between the City and Whitehall. We need information and this is the only way to get it.”
Ben hitched his pack higher on his shoulders and loosened his longsword in the scabbard. “As you command, my lady.”
Minutes later, Ben thought they’d made a horrible mistake. A pair of guards stopped them at the entrance to town. Both were dressed in long chainmail jerkins and carried sturdy-looking pikes with a short sword on their belts for good measure.
“Hold up there,” barked one of the guards.
Ben tensed, prepared to fight. He thought they might be able to take the two guards if they acted fast and surprised them, but they would have to flee quickly. If any of the guards in this town were mounted, they would have no chance of escape.
“It’s harvest time and the inns are almost full. Meaning, they’re all charging full fare,” growled the guard. “There’s no room in town for vagrants. We don’t need any wagon men and the barge jobs go to locals.”
“Vagrants?” mumbled Ben, confused.
“Son, you look like you’ve been living in the forest for a month.” The guard snorted mirthlessly. “If you don’t have two coins to rub together, then you’re best off turning around and going back to whatever hole you crawled out from.”
“Sir,” broke in Amelie, “we do have coin for an inn.”
The first guard eyed her up and down skeptically.
His companion took another look at her and licked his lips. “Lass, you look like you might clean up pretty. How about you come on back to my apartment? I’ll see you’re taken care of. You can share my bed as long as you like.”
Amelie blushed furiously. “That won’t be necessary.” She shook her belt pouch. The clink of coins was unmistakable.
The second guard continued to stare lasciviously, but the first eyed the pouch and allowed, “Very well. You two can come in, but be warned, we clear the streets every night. If you can’t find a bed, then out you go. And I’ll be very disappointed and not nearly so friendly if I’ve got to turn you out later.”
The man finished with a stone-faced stare. Ben and Amelie quickly scurried past the pair.
“I thought…” started Amelie.
“Me too,” groaned Ben. “I think we made a mistake coming here. We need information, but anyone here could be working for the Sanctuary. My heart is going to be in my throat until we can get back out and away from people.”
“Maybe you’re right.” Amelie sighed. “But we’re here now. Let’s find out what we can and leave quickly. If we finish before dark, we can fit in with the vagrants getting tossed out at night. You have to admit, that is good cover. People won’t expect me to be traveling so rough.”
Ben nodded. “We have half a day then. In the stories, people are always able to get information from talkative barkeeps. Should we try a tavern?”
“Yes,” she agreed, “but in the stories they always know the barkeep. Do you know anyone running a tavern here?”
“There’s the Curve…” started Ben before he realized that bringing up that particular tavern was probably a bad idea.
Amelie glared at him. “We are not going to the Curve.”
“Right, of course,” he said, red-faced. Stupid, he told himself. “There is another place I remember from last time. It was by the barge moorings. I remember it because it was separated down the middle. Half was river men and half was wagon drivers. Rhys said they kept them apart to prevent fights. If the Sanctuary has people here, they are probably watching the river, but we only need to know what is going on in Sineook Valley. If we stay on the wagon driver side, we could learn what we need and keep relatively safe. What do you think?”
“That’s a better idea,” Amelie said with a scowl, “but it doesn’t entirely make up for your first one.”
The incongruously named Plowman’s Rest was packed full of river men on one side and wagon drivers on the other, just as Ben recalled. Autumn, when they transported the bulk of Sineook Valley’s harvest, was the busy season for both groups, but no sane merchant was going to ask the men to skip a little bit of fun at the end of each haul.
The place was near overflowing. A wall of noise washed over Ben and Amelie as they walked inside. Rough benches and tables stretched the length of the room. Untouched platters heaped with stew and loaves of bread were surrounded by empty tankards of ale.
“I guess we just find a place to sit?” inquired Amelie.
She was used to classier places, realized Ben. The rough tradesmen filling the room weren’t too different than what Ben was used to back home or the taverns the guards favored in Whitehall. In the City, he’d usually sold his ale to nicer places than this, but he’d been in his fair share of dives.
“We order up there,” he said, nodding toward a busy bar. “Then find a place to sit.”
“There are no serving women?” asked Amelie, peevishly. She was eyeing the long line at the bar.
Ben gestured to the roaring and carousing crowd around them. “How many girls could you find willing to brave this pack? Imagine after night fall when it gets really wild.”
Amelie looped an arm around Ben’s and groused, “I’ll stay close to you then, tough guy. Let’s get something at the bar, so we fit in, and then try to find someone who has been through the valley recently.” She added after a pause, “And isn’t too drunk yet.”
They pushed and jostled their way through the crowd to the bar where Ben ordered two ales and two bowls of stew.
A harried serving man sloshed stew into the bowls and passed over two large tankards with foam spilling down the sides. Ben’s mouth watered.
In the back of the room, Ben found space on a bench that they were able to squeeze into side by side. Next to Amelie was a man lying face down on the table snoring. His companions were laughing uproariously around him. At a point earlier, someone had stacked a pile of upside down bowls on the man’s head. Gravy from the stew and globs of congealed fat dripped into his face and hair.
“I don’t think we’ll get much out of him,” whispered Amelie.
On Ben’s side sat a small, dark man who was involved in a contentious argument with a fellow across the table from him. Ben picked up that they were discussing where in the Sineook Valley they should go next. He gestured to Amelie that they should listen in.
Apparently, the men had assured a particular farmer they would return for his goods, but one of the men thought they could earn a better margin elsewhere.
Ben listened while he dug into his stew. It was lumpy and certainly not fresh, but after the four weeks in the woods since Free State, he devoured it. Stale ale washed it down. He glanced at Amelie to see if she was also following the conversation next to him.
Instead, he noticed she was leaning back, focused on a discussion behind them. He looked to see who she was listening to and saw a foppish man, likely a courtier in a minor court, who was expounding loudly to a merchant across from him.
“I tell you, Barnes, it’s the opportunity of a generation!” exclaimed the foppish man.
Barnes, the merchant, responded calmly in a voice that Ben could not pick up over the noise of the crowd.
“Argren doesn’t give a damn about them. He’s shown that,” insisted the courtier.
Ben’s ears perked up.
“You can’t get there anyway, so there are only two sides to play,” continued the courtier emphatically. “Northport or the Coalition.”
The merchant grunted a garbled response. Only one word was aud
ible to Ben and Amelie—Issen. They glanced at each other.
“Your loyalty is admirable,” appeased the courtier. “But it gets you nowhere. Lord Gregor of Issen is in no position to pay you and Argren apparently doesn’t share your sense of honor. If you insist you are still Gregor’s vassal, then Northport is an option, of course. Rhymer has more gold than he knows what to do with and he has a small shred of decency. He knows what Coalition rule will do to him. He might make you whole just to keep it out of the Coalition’s hands, but why take that long journey and risk it?”
The courtier paused for effect. “You let me broker the deal now, and you’ve got your profit without having to travel to Northport. Don’t be foolish.”
The merchant was starting to raise his voice. Finally, his half of the conversation was loud enough to hear. “My deal was with Gregor. If he’s unavailable, I will rely on his liege to make me whole. I won’t go running to Northport to beg on that slob Rhymer’s doorstep, and I sure as shit won’t deal with a toad like you!” snarled the merchant.
“You’re making a mistake,” debated the courtier. His tone took on a snake-like smoothness. “Argren doesn’t believe the mages should be as big a source of power in Alcott as they are. He’s not going to funnel gold into their pockets no matter what is promised about the efficiency of the devices. Besides…” The man’s voice dripped with venom. “You’ll soon find the mages aren’t as supportive of Argren and his Alliance as you imagine they are.”
“What do you mean?” demanded the merchant. “The mages were at the signing of the Alliance. I have it on the best authority that they support Argren still. Lord Gregor’s daughter is one of them for goodness sakes! It’s well known all over Alcott.”
The courtier raised his hands in a defensive posture and tried to placate the merchant. “You’re right, that is known. I shouldn’t have said what I did. My point is valid though. You know Argren doesn’t believe in the mages like the rest of the lords do, and you can see by the way he is treating Issen what his honor is worth.”
“I don’t give a damn about his honor!” thundered the merchant. “It’s my honor I’m concerned about.”
