by AC Cobble
Waiting at the gates was a bald, bearded man wearing a plain bleached robe that nearly blended in with the white marble walls. As they approached he scampered forward and bowed deeply to the ladies.
“Lady Amelie, Lady Towaal, welcome to the Citadel. I apologize for the informal reception but I just got word of your arrival.” He raised one eyebrow in seeming rebuke that he was not notified in advance and glanced between the four women before quickly deciding which were high born and focusing his attention on them.
“I am King Argren’s Head of House. You may call me Marrion. Come, let me offer you refreshments and show you to your rooms. King Argren would be pleased if you both are available for dinner this evening. He has much to discuss with you.”
The man bowed and scraped for Amelie and Towaal but ignored the rest of the party. When they made their way through the gates and across the meticulously landscaped courtyard, Marrion waved to another robed figure and purred, “please, have your female servants come with us and Roland will take the males.”
Meghan adopted a baleful scowl after being referred to as a servant but Renfro grinned at Ben, delighted at being there regardless of his status. Ben had noticed tension between Meghan and Amelie recently and felt that if the rest of the Citadel had the same attitude as Marrion towards high born and common, he might be better off staying well away from the women for the duration of their stay.
As soon as Marrion and the Ladies were out of earshot, Meredith and Meghan following closely behind, Rhys slapped Roland on the back and belted, “Roland my man! Marrion I’m sure did not have time to inform you that I am the head of Lady Amelie’s household guard and I’m certain she’d be upset if I didn’t get accommodations befitting my status. I don’t want you to suffer if she were to find me in some mean servant’s quarters.”
“None of the guest quarters in the Citadel could be considered mean sir. I am confident you will be happy with the room you are given.” Despite Roland’s uptight demeanor, Ben could see he was a quick study and wasn’t going to fall for Rhys’ deception. As he lead them into the Citadel Ben caught Saala rolling his eyes and giving Rhys a light shove.
The rooms they were given were plain and simple but they were more comfortable than any Ben had ever stayed in – including the inn in Fabrizo. The beds were stout and stuffed with fresh straw, there was a comfortable chair, facilities to perform the necessaries, each man had his own room and they even had a sitting room they shared. To Rhys’ delight the sitting room was stocked with wine and ale and they only had to call and a serving man appeared to fetch whatever they needed from the kitchens. Saala explained that the expectation for a Lord’s travelling men was that they always be on hand when he needed something, so the Citadel provided the servants everything they needed. That way they could be at their Lord’s beck and call. Luckily for them, Amelie and Towaal were unusually self-sufficient for high born. And if they did need something, they had Meredith with them.
Ben quickly stowed his gear in his room, cleaned up and sat down in the common room to wait. He had nothing to do and it felt odd. They had been travelling for the last five weeks and had reached a major milestone in their journey. While some of their party was busy meeting with royalty, Ben was only there to wait.
After three weeks on the ship he was restless and ready to stretch his legs, but he didn’t know where he could go. If Roland was any example, the staff at the Citadel would be frosty and unhelpful if he asked for directions. Certainly there were many interesting places in such a large building, but the Citadel was completely outside his experience.
He was saved from having decide what to do when Rhys and Renfro arrived. Rhys, as always, knew what to do. “Saala went to meet up with some household guard he knows working for one of the city Lords so we’re on our own. What do you say we go find out what there is to do around here?”
To Ben’s surprise, Rhys did not immediately lead them out to the nearest flophouse. Instead, he led them on a tour of the Citadel. When Ben asked how he was so familiar with the fortress Rhys responded, “I passed through a couple of years ago. Also, all of these places are basically the same. There are areas where the actual work gets done and there are areas where the high born play. Same kind of work goes on in any castle and the high born do pretty much the same thing too. Once you’ve been in a few of them they all start to look the same.”
It may have been the same to Rhys but to Ben and Renfro the Citadel was amazing. The more they explored the bigger it seemed. When they first arrived outside Ben had thought it was at least as big as the village of Farview but once he walked around inside he realized it was much larger than that. The footprint was the size of three or four Farviews and in some places it rose seven stories tall. They saw hundreds of people working and there must have been thousands more they did not see.
Of all of the people they saw, very few of them stopped the group and asked what their business was. While there were guards nearly everywhere, none of them seemed to be guarding anything specific.
Rhys speculated, “Argren’s pumping up the payroll in preparation for war. There’s only so much drilling a man can take so he must be giving them breaks with guard duty. The actual guards, the one’s he trusts, will be close around his personal quarters and the throne room.”
One place they were questioned was the kitchens. They stumbled across several kitchens and every time they ducked their heads in one, an angry looking aproned woman would come charging at them waving a spoon. After the third time, Ben asked Rhys and Renfro if they thought it was the same stressed out cook following the same route they were or if they hired them all to look the same.
“Maybe sisters?” replied Renfro with a grin.
They quickly learned that the kitchens in the Citadel were the gears that made the place run and the stern women who ran them – sisters or not – booked no foolishness or visitors.
The most impressive for the two young men though was the armory. Arms and armor of nearly every description stretched down narrow corridors as far as they could see. Most of the weaponry was standard issue for the Citadel’s guards but they also had a dazzling array of foreign weapons. As they were marveling over a rack of wicked looking exotic axes, a young plain looking man approached them and asked, “anything I can help you with sirs?”
“Just taking the boys to admire your stock,” Rhys responded.
“Finest collection of arms anywhere on the Continent. We’ve got weapons from places you’ve never even heard of. Master of Arms Brinn is a bit obsessed about it, to be honest. Anyone comes in here with a piece he hasn’t seen and he’ll buy it right off ‘em. You have the look of men at arms, here for the Conclave next week?”
“No, uh…” Ben wasn’t sure what to say.
Rhys broke in, “yes, we’re arms men in the service of Lady Amelie. We’re not here for the, what did you call it, Conclave? We’re just passing through.”
“Lady Amelie,” the guard grinned, “word was she was at the Citadel, but I cannot believe she isn’t here for the Conclave. Argren called in all of his banner men and they will be discussing the Grand Alliance.”
“I’m not sure Lord Gregor of Issen considers himself a banner man. We have been travelling with Lady Amelie and I’m certain she did not know a Conclave had been called.” Rhys glanced at Ben. “Crazy timing though, us happening along right before that started. Amelie didn’t know and neither did I, but maybe someone else in our party heard about it.”
The young guardsman seemed dismayed by the denial. “Well, I’m sure Lord Gregor and his daughter have a lot to think about. While you’re here, would you care to spar?”
Rhys pushed Ben forward, “he would love to!”
As Ben strapped on sparring pads it occurred to him that Assistant to the Master of Arms was likely a pretty boring job. Master Brinn oversaw the training of new guardsmen and the supply of arms for the Citadel. His young assistant’s only responsibility seemed to be watching the storeroom and making sure no one r
an off with unassigned weaponry.
Ben took a couple of practice swings with the blunt tourney sword and felt comfortable with it. While it didn’t move with the same speed as his actual sword, the weight was similar. The sparring pads constricted his movement a little but he supposed it would be worth it when he was struck. He had never used them with Saala. The Blademaster was skilled enough to not cause an injury with his real blade and Ben was never in danger of actually striking Saala.
The young guardsman walked him out to the sparring grounds which were mostly empty in the late evening twilight. The grass was worn from countless feet scuffing and sliding in combat. There was a small group of green looking guards training in a far corner but they had the rest of the field to themselves.
Ben and the young guard squared off and started to spar. In no time at all it became obvious that the guard was the more aggressive fighter. He came after Ben with a series of quick thrusts and short swings. Ben was able to dance back and avoid a hit and started to back around in a circle while the guard pursued.
The guard was aggressive and he was clearly practiced but Ben was faster which helped him avoid a big hit. Still, the guard was able to get through Ben’s defense several times in the first few minutes. The strikes were glancing and with the pads Ben barely felt them. They would not leave the bruises and welts he’d gotten from the flat of Saala’s sword.
After several minutes of sparring, Ben noticed the guard maintained a consistent, predictable pattern. He moved through forms similar to what Saala had taught Ben but unlike the guard, Saala’s forms shifted with the reaction of an opponent – he called them ‘anticipatory forms’. The guard did not seem to adjust once he was set in a pattern. Ben began predicting the next swing and found he was quick enough to disrupt the pattern and was able to put up a real defense.
Before long, Ben gained enough confidence that he switched over to offense and started attacking. The guard fell into familiar defensive patterns and Ben saw he was meeting the blunted tourney blade head on instead of sweeping the attack to the side like Saala had taught. Every time the guard met one of Ben’s swings, Ben’s arms rang with the impact. The guard’s must have been too because he was getting slower and slower to recover from each strike. Ben saw his opening and backed up, letting the guardsman get in an attack then Ben sent three hard lateral swings in a row which the guard met with raised sword. On the fourth swing, Ben swept his sword down and up, missing the guard’s weapon and connecting solidly with his ribs which sent him crumpling to the ground.
Rhys and Renfro shouted out a cheer and Ben dropped to one knee beside the fallen guard to make sure he hadn’t hurt him. He was relieved to see the guard roll onto his back and give Ben a grin. “Surprised me there, I thought you were tiring out.”
“I was. I knew I had to get it in then or I’d be too worn out to keep going.” Ben reached down and grasped the guard’s hand, pulling him to his feet.
“Seth by the way,” the young man introduced himself. “Assistant to the Master of Arms of the Citadel. Glad Brinn wasn’t here to see that one though.”
“If he’d been there to see the first part all he would have seen was you tacking them on and me flailing backwards.”
“Ah, it was going well at first, but as Brinn says, it’s how you finish a fight that counts. Which reminds me, I probably ought to get back to the Armory. I’ve got a little bit more to do before I close up shop today. When the guards spar we normally put a mug of ale on it to make things interesting. I’ll honor the same stakes if you want to meet me after my shift. I’ll be down at Meggy’s on the street of flowers a bell after dusk. It’s where a lot of the guards go. Clean ale, good looking girls and they don’t try to cheat you.”
That evening on the way down to Meggy’s, Renfro excitedly described the match to Saala who had joined back up with them. “Seth obviously knew what he was doing, being a professional and all, but Ben had him down on the ground by the end of it. Nice piece of sword work if you ask me, up against a guard of the Citadel.”
Ben was feeling pretty proud of himself too until Rhys took the wind out of his sails, “that was a good strike at the end. Of course, in an actual sword fight you wouldn’t have made it to the end. He struck you ten or twelve times before you got one on him. In the real thing, it won’t last long after the first blood has been drawn.”
“He did get me a few times, but he’s a professional guardsman! He probably trains every day and I’ve just had a few lessons on the road.”
“If he’s like any castle trained guard I’ve ever seen fight,” Saala broke in, “then you shouldn’t have had too much trouble with him. Sounds like I’ve got work to do.”
“What do you mean? Why shouldn’t I have had any trouble with him? I hadn’t even picked up a sword until a few weeks ago!”
“Maybe I’m putting too much expectation on you too soon. You’re a natural with a blade. You’re quicker and smarter than most of the opponents you’ll ever face. The reason you should be able to beat Seth or most guardsmen is that instead of training, they drill. He’s probably been taught a handful of useful forms and has been practicing them for years now, most likely with people who have been taught the same things as him. If he’s like most castle trained guards, he won’t know how to react to something new and different.”
Ben thought back to how he had gotten his strike in. Seth had defended only one way against the swing so Ben had been able to alter his stroke and sweep past Seth’s guard. By falling out of the standard form, he’d landed a stroke. When he had been using the forms, Seth was able to meet him with the proscribed defensive responses. He had likely been drilled on them so much that he was able to react without even thinking. Ben realized that he had a lot of work to do before he met an opponent in a real fight.
Tonight though, he wasn’t planning on fighting. They had opted to avoid the Funicular and walk through the streets of Whitehall on the way down to Meggy’s. It was a balmy night and the lantern-lit streets were teeming with people. The noise of excited revelry poured out of the wine shops and taverns as they descended through the city.
“I can’t believe how many people are out tonight. Is it some sort of festival going on?” asked Ben.
“No, it’s an influx of people for Argren’s Conclave. Delegates, guards, retainers, hangers-on.” Saala eyed one exceptionally boisterous group spilling out of a nearby inn, “I’m surprised they’re in such good spirits. My friend I met with earlier said the talk is that it will lead to war with the Coalition. Not this year and probably not the next, but the writing is on the wall. Argren is pressing hard to recruit more men, building warships, stockpiling goods… I’ve seen it before and that road only leads to one destination.”
“I don’t understand why Argren would want a war with the Coalition. They’re all the way on the other side of Alcott. The Coalition isn’t a threat to him, is it?”
“It’s about balance,” Rhys responded. “A build-up of power necessitates a build up elsewhere. The Coalition has been gathering forces and it’s causing a reaction. If it wasn’t Argren, it’d be someone else. Issen or Venmoor maybe. No, once someone starts, it always escalates.”
Saala nodded, “Rhys is right, but enough of that. I certainly don’t plan to go to war tonight, so let’s enjoy it. I hear there is a certain guardsman that owes you a round and I mean to help you collect!”
The talk about war was quickly forgotten once they found Meggy’s. Seth was true to his word and bought the first round of drinks for their party. Once it got out why he was buying, Ben and his friends drank for free the rest of the evening. Meggy’s was crowded with off-duty Citadel guards and all of them wanted to hear the story of Seth getting laid out by an untrained country boy. Seth, as the gate-keeper for new arms at the Citadel, and one of the few who could bend Master Brinn’s ear to keep someone out of trouble was popular with the other guards and he took the ribbing in good humor. Before the night was over, Ben had a long list of sparring partners that
wanted to see what he was really about.
A flushed, bald headed and heavily bearded guard was already taking bets on the outcomes before Ben knew what was happening. He briefly tried to put a stop to it but the man wrapped an arm around his shoulder and leaned close, sloshing ale all over both of their boots and shouted in his ear, “don’t worry about it none! The only ones that’d be upset about it are the ones who’ll lose!”
Ale flowed freely and quickly and Ben was having more fun than he had since leaving Farview. He missed Serrot and his other friends back home, but the excitement of being out at night in a city like Whitehall was over-whelming. He was drunk and giddy with the possibilities of life. One of the last things he remembered before the rest of the night became fuzzy was standing on a table, arm in arm with Renfro and Seth, belting out the newly learned marching song of the guards of the Citadel.
The next morning brought a painful reminder of how much ale he drank the night before. His head was pounding, his mouth tasted like sour milk and as he lurched out of bed to the washbasin he found he was still wearing one boot.
The other men were sitting around breakfast at their common room table when Ben stumbled out of his room. He got sympathetic looks from Rhys and Saala but Renfro was slumped over with his head in his hands softly moaning. Ben thought it was possible someone was having a worse morning than him.
“Try some of this,” Rhys gestured to a mug of steaming black liquid. “It’s called kaf. They drink it up north and believe me, it’s a critical part of the cure. After that we’ll get some bacon and toasted bread in you then head down to the steam baths. I’ve been in your shoes more than a few times and we’ll get you feeling right as rain by afternoon.”
Down in the baths, steam boiled through the cavernous dimly lit rooms. Ben tipped back a flagon of cold spring water and thought that Rhys really did know what he was talking about. Rhys stated that every drop of water he sweated out had to be replaced by three that he drank. Between that, the kaf and the food, Ben was almost feeling like his normal self again.
