by AC Cobble
“Well, in that case, I’m happy to have you with us. Karina, I mean Lady Towaal, says that it’s a two month journey to the City. It will be good to have a familiar face with us.”
“Meghan,” Ben asked tentatively, “what happened back in Farview? Why are you going to the City?”
“It’s for Brandon.” She sighed. “Lady Towaal healed Brandon but she only did it after I agreed to go with her. She said she sensed great potential in me and that she would heal him in exchange for twenty years of my service.”
“Twenty years! Wait. Service doing what?”
“I am to become an Initiate of the Sanctuary,” murmured Meghan.
Ben sat back, stunned. The Sanctuary was part of the myth of the City. It was said that the Sanctuary was a fortress in the middle of the City that housed the mages. It was also said that the Sanctuary was a sort of school.
Meghan kept going, “Lady Towaal says that I will be an Initiate for several years. After that, I will serve the needs of the Sanctuary until the remainder of my twenty years are up. At that time, I’m free to stay or go as I please. Ben, I will be a mage!” Meghan breathlessly finished.
Ben realized that, just like him, she was excited about the possibilities of a life outside of Farview. She may have agreed to this deal to save Brandon’s life, but Lady Towaal did not need to force her. She wanted to go and she wanted to do this thing. He sat in silence, contemplating how this girl who was like his sister was going to change into something that he had thought only existed in stories.
“Ben,” said Meghan. “I feel like we have so much more to talk about but we’ve been here too long. We need to get back to the rooms.”
Right then, two hairy-knuckled fists smacked down on the table. “Lass, if this boy got you back to his room, he wouldn’t know what to do with you. Why don’t you come on back to my room instead?”
The man looked to be one of the merchant’s guards. He wore a stained leather jerkin and had a bushy black beard that was in serious need of a comb. His eyes were glazed over from too much ale and he reeked of stale sweat. He was a monster of a man, nearly as wide as Ben was tall. His arms were like tree trunks sprouting out of the wood table.
Meghan stared in shock but managed to reply, “No thank you, sir. We are fine.”
“Ah, lass, ‘fraid that wasn’t meant to be a question,” rumbled the man. “It’s been a long trip all over half of Alcott and this place don’t even have a proper whore. But don’t you worry. The boys and I will pay you good copper and you might even enjoy it. We ain’t here to steal your virtue, just want to rent it for a bit.” The man leered down at Meghan and smiled, showing he was missing his front two teeth.
Meghan tried to stammer a response.
The big man clamped one hand around her arm and said, “Now, now, lass. You ain’t my wife, so there’s no need to go arguing.”
Ben shot out of his chair and shoved the man away with all of his strength.
The man drunkenly stumbled backward against a table and slurred, “Hey, why the roughness? You can have your turn too. Right after me and the boys get done. Course, if it’s a fight you want…”
He lurched forward, and before Ben knew what was happening, the man backhanded him across the face. Ben felt like he’d been hit in the head with an iron bar and went crashing down to the ale-soaked, sawdust-covered floor.
His vision spun with bright lights but Meghan’s scream jolted him to his senses. He looked up and saw the man drag her to her feet and try to wetly kiss her face and neck. She was not going easy, and was kicking and clawing at the man. He was far stronger than her though and had one hand locked around her waist. With the other, he grabbed a handful of hair.
For Ben, the world turned red. He didn’t know if it was blood running into his eyes or if it was rage, but he felt an energy burning through this veins that he’d only felt once before, when the demon attacked. He sprang to his feet, snatched up a sturdy wooden chair, hauled back, and smashed it across the man’s back with all of his might.
The man fell down onto his knees. Meghan shrieked in terror, scrambling away. Ben yelled at her to run and turned to go with her. His heart sank when he felt a hand grip the back of his tunic. He spun around. With all his weight behind it, he launched his fist straight into the bearded man’s face. The man’s head snapped back, but he didn’t lose his grip on Ben’s tunic. The big man blinked rapidly, shook his head, and spit a thick globule of crimson red on the floor. He laughed in Ben’s face and his eyes lit up like lanterns.
“Lad, you’re a feisty one,” snarled the man. “This is more fun than I’ve had in weeks.”
He then pounded his fist into Ben’s gut, blasting the air from his lungs and causing him to dry heave as he felt his knees turn to water. But Ben didn’t fall. The man was holding him up and lifted Ben above his head as easily as Ben would lift a small sack of hops. The huge man hurled Ben across the room. He went sailing over one table and bounced off another before thudding to the ground at the feet of the man’s companions.
Ben took a painful gasp of air as he looked up at the merry faces above him and heard the man call out, “Hold his arms. I think the kid made me bite off a bit of my tongue. I’m going to take a piece of his in exchange.”
Two burly men dragged Ben to his feet as he thrashed around. He saw the first man spit another blob of crimson and wipe at the stream of blood running down his chin. The man pulled a razor sharp knife from his belt and winked at Ben. He strode forward, tossing the knife back and forth from hand to hand and chuckling wickedly.
Ben could not take his eyes off of the blade. The fire light flickered across its edge as it spun between the man’s hands. Ben struggled to gain enough breath to shout for help from the inn’s bouncers, or anyone, but he was still winded and gagging from the punch to his gut.
Suddenly, a hand shot into Ben’s field of vision and axed into the bearded man’s throat, dropping him like a sack of potatoes. The two men holding Ben let go and shouted in disbelief, one charging forward and the other reaching for his sword. Ben slumped helplessly to the ground and watched as Saala swept effortlessly forward and smashed his elbow into the charging man’s face. The force of the blow sent the man crashing flat onto his back where he lay motionless.
The third man had his sword free and leapt over Ben toward Saala. As he pulled back for a swing, Saala stepped in close. Saala gripped and twisted the man’s sword arm with one hand while the other chopped down onto the man’s elbow, causing an audible crack. The man shouted in pain and dropped his sword. Cradling his broken arm, he slunk away from Saala.
Saala calmly stooped down to pick up the fallen sword. He ignored Ben, the man with the broken arm, and the unconscious body of the second man. The big bearded man had rolled onto his side and was gripping at his throat and kicking his feet as he struggled to draw a breath. Saala knelt and plunged the point of the sword into the oak floor just inches from the man’s face. The man froze like a startled deer. All sounds seemed to stop except for the harsh wheezing of painful breath.
Ben struggled to hear as Saala softly spoke to the man. “The girl told me what happened and what you intended to do to her. Slightly harder and instead of injuring you, I would have crushed your throat. You would be dying right now. I want you to know this, to know that it would have been easier to kill you. I made an effort to spare your life. I want you to think about this moment every time you talk to a woman for the rest of your life. If I ever hear that you attempted to force yourself on another woman, or even if a woman complains about your company, I will return. I will kill you as easily as I mounted the steps to this inn.”
The bearded man whimpered in response.
With a clatter of weapons and shouts, the two portly bouncers finally arrived, shoving their way through the loose circle that had formed around the fight. They were both brandishing heavy, iron-bound, oaken cudgels and raised them as the larger one spoke to Saala, “Hey now, there ain’t no fighting at Murdoch’s. You got a
problem you settle it out on the road or we crack your head open and take your purse for our trouble. Murdoch don’t give a damn about whatever feuds your master got. Around here, you cause trouble, you pay for it.” The bouncer gave a nasty grin as the pair split up, attempting to circle Saala.
“From the looks of things, you’ve already caused plenty of trouble.” The man turned toward his partner and said, “What does it look like to you, Mord? Two silvers’ worth of trouble?”
Mord held a silent grin and cracked his cudgel against a table, causing the man with the broken arm to give a pained, sympathetic whimper. Mord glanced quizzically at the injured man then frowned as he reevaluated the scene. “Mert—” he started.
Saala rose to his feet and interrupted in the same soft tone he always spoke in. “You, sirs, are too late to prevent this. I have almost finished doing your job for you. These men accosted a female companion of mine in your inn and you failed to protect her. If any damages are to be paid to Murdoch, it will be by these men. And if my companion asks it, I will have recompense from you also.”
Saala then raised his foot and swiftly brought his heel down with a sickening crunch onto the bearded man’s hand. The man’s hoarse shriek filled the silent common room. Saala glanced down at the bearded man, who was writhing in pain clutching his hand. “I trust the loss of function in this hand will be all the reminder you need?”
When Saala returned his gaze to the bouncers, Mert swallowed hard and gripped his cudgel with both hands. He was a tough, hard man. He had been in his share of scuffles with equally hard men, but he had never encountered someone who stood so coolly and completely devoid of fear after being threatened by him and Mord. And this man wasn’t even armed. Mert glanced at Mord and saw him nervously licking his lips as he surveyed the wreckage.
Mert was saved from responding when Rhys drunkenly stumbled into the center of the men. “Well, there you two are! What the hell have you been up to? I was halfway asleep ‘fore I realized you weren’t there and thought you’d gone off to have another pint without me!”
The two bouncers took a step back in silent, unspoken retreat.
Rhys barreled on, “Ben, how long have you been lying there? Passed out drunk, huh? You better not be thinking you’re sleeping in the same bed as me if you’re smelling like the damn barroom floor.”
Rhys kicked away a few shattered pieces of a chair and hauled Ben to his feet. “Let’s get you off there ’fore I decide I’m gonna throw you in that river out back. Serve you right, not being able to hold your liquor and all.” Rhys gave Ben a sly wink before clapping him on the back and pulling him toward the hallway where they were staying. Ben saw the girls had clustered around Meghan and were pulling her down the hallway already. “Ah, don’t feel too bad. Believe me, I’ve fallen asleep in worse places.”
Rhys droned on as he guided Ben to follow the girls down the hall. Saala haughtily eyed the room one last time before following. The crowd stood, surveying the damage and watching Mord and Mert in disbelief. Murdoch ran a relatively peaceful place, as far as roadside taverns go, but the place had its share of action. No one had seen the two bouncers cowed by anything less than near open warfare—and even then they only paused to bring backup.
The next morning, Ben winced at a sharp twinge in his side as he spooned down a warm bowl of oatmeal. He was fortunate that despite the hearty beating he’d taken, he hadn’t suffered any incapacitating injuries or broken bones. The bumps and bruises would make for a few unpleasant days on the road, but he’d suffered as bad sparring with the quarterstaff.
Meghan got the worst of it. She’d kept a straight enough head to run for help as soon as she was free, but despite her lack of physical injuries, she had been deeply shocked by the sudden brutality of the world outside of Farview. At home, no one would dare lay an unwanted hand on a woman. Out in the world, even a crowded common room was unsafe.
During breakfast, Meghan kept silent while Amelie and Meredith hovered over Ben, inquiring about how he felt and complimenting him on his bravery. Privately, he knew bravery played no part. He’d reacted on instinct without considering the consequences. If Saala had not arrived when he did, Ben would have been left in much worse shape. He’d profusely thanked Saala last night, but the blademaster took the entire incident in stride and seemed more concerned about Ben’s injuries than the ugly violence he’d visited on the merchant’s guards.
Lady Towaal had barely spoken the night before. She’d been in the common room when the fight ended, but made no move to intervene. Ben wasn’t sure if that was because she arrived too late or if she had other reasons. She professionally checked Ben’s injuries before instructing Saala and Rhys to have him ready for travel in the morning. She wasn’t at breakfast, but the girls said she was up and out of the room before they’d woken.
Ben gulped down the last few bites of oatmeal when he saw her striding in the door and across the room. Without preamble she barked, “Everyone ready?” When the group nodded in assent, she continued, “Good. We’re wasting daylight. I inquired about supplies with the quartermaster and bought enough rations for a few days. Rhys, he’s holding it for you to pick up. I also got this.” She held up a plain sword and scabbard hanging from a worn leather belt and tossed it on the table in front of Ben. “If you’re going to be travelling with us, you’ll need to learn to defend yourself. Saala or Rhys can instruct you.”
Ben stared in disbelief. He never thought he would need to own a sword. Being trained to use it by a blademaster was something that wasn’t attainable even in his dreams. He ran his hand across the smooth wooden hilt and steel cross-guard. He marveled at the weight when he lifted it. He slid the blade a hand’s length out of the scabbard and tested the edge with a finger.
Rhys snorted in mirth. “You ought to be able to teach him not to cut himself by the time we get to Fabrizo, right Saala? First things first, why don’t you show him how to belt the thing on.”
Saala solemnly replied, “I’m not sure I’m much of a teacher, but I will try.”
Despite Ben’s enthusiasm, the lessons progressed slowly. Each night on the way to Fabrizo, they would take two or three bells for sword practice. The first lesson was grim foreshadowing of how stern a teacher Saala could be. He was an absolute perfectionist when it came to the sword, and Ben soon realized his imagination of dramatic sword fights had little to do with reality.
Ben’s daydreams involved him swinging across decks of sinking ships, fending off pirates in overlong contests of stamina and cunning before defeating an evil character with a masterful stroke. But according to Saala, a sword fight rarely lasted more than several heartbeats, and if it did, it was generally due to rank clumsiness of the combatants. When Ben pressed, Saala admitted it was possible that in the rare contest where there were two skilled, equally matched swordsmen, it could possibly take a little longer. But he was firm in stating that this was no concern of Ben’s since any skilled swordsman would dispatch him with ease. And Saala made sure to provide numerous object lessons to drive the point home.
The road to Fabrizo would take them several weeks to travel. It was sparsely populated with little towns the size of Farview or smaller along with the occasional hostel. They frequently stopped at these places for fresh supplies, but Lady Towaal usually pushed them to keep moving. They spent most nights on the road. Aside from her constant concern about speed of travel, she claimed most of the small town inns were filled with vermin and that she’d rather spend the night in the open than any of the frequently ramshackle places they passed.
Ben was happy to spend the nights in the open. He was used to going on overnight hunting trips with Serrot in the mountains around Farview. The early spring weather was cool but comfortable. Bedding down in the open also provided him plenty of time for sword practice with Saala and thankfully fewer witnesses. The ones he was traveling with were plenty.
His first lesson in using the sword came on the first night out of Murdoch’s. They made camp a good stone’
s throw off of the road on a small hill. It was clear of the pine forest that filled most of the flat space in the area and had good visibility up and down the road. This section of the Callach Road was well travelled and this close to Murdoch’s there was little concern for bandits, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared.
As soon as they dropped their gear, Rhys built a small cook fire, Amelie and Meredith started preparing dinner, and they all watched Ben and Saala practice.
“Tonight we will work on two things. First, the most basic aspect of swordsmanship. Second, the most fundamental.” Saala pulled a long branch out of Rhys’ pile of firewood and walked over to where Ben was standing. “Hold your sword up and defend yourself.”
Ben raised his sword with both hands. Before he could react, Saala flicked the branch against Ben’s blade and sent it spinning out of his grasp. “Your grip is too loose. Try again.”
This time, Ben gripped hard on the wood pommel of his sword and was ready for Saala’s blow. Again, the blade flew from his hand as soon as there was impact. Because he was gripping so hard, he felt the shock run up both his arms.
“Too hard. A steel blade against yours, and your entire body would have been ringing. In between those two is correct. Try again.”
A third time Saala brought his branch against Ben’s sword. Even prepared as he was, Ben barely managed to hold onto his blade. He grimaced as he heard the girls laughing over by the fire. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but so far, sword play was not as dashing as he hoped.
“Better,” remarked Saala. “Not good, but better.”
Saala spent the next two bells positioning Ben’s fingers on the pommel and showing him various grips for different strokes. Primarily the difference was one-handed or two-handed, but there were nuanced differences between how to hold the blade for a backhand stroke or a forehand one. During this time, every few strokes, Saala would step back and swipe at Ben’s blade, sometimes as a surprise, sometimes with warning. Ben only held on about half the time and Saala stopped commenting on the results. Before long, the tree branch was covered in chips and scars where Ben had managed to meet it with some force.
