by A. C. Cobble
“If you want to wait half a bell, I can form a fireball,” replied Amelie mirthlessly.
“The old-fashioned way then.”
Ben gripped his longsword tightly and started down the hill. Shouting at the creature, he tried to distract it. Any one of those heavy blows could be the one that finally smashed in the carriage door. Once that was open, the demon would consume whoever was inside.
Hearing his voice, the demon turned its head. Its mouth opened, displaying rows of wicked, sharp teeth. It roared at Ben. Then the demon turned from the carriage and charged.
“That’s good, I guess,” Ben mumbled under his breath.
The monster took two bounding leaps and was halfway to Ben. His breath caught. The thing was faster than he’d expected.
The crash of a storm was building in his head, but it wasn’t yet the crescendo he’d heard when he was able to unleash a powerful burst of wind. Instinctually, he knew it was a wasted effort. The power he released took time to build, and he didn’t have time. Instead, he crouched low and prepared to meet the charge.
In heartbeats, the beast took one last leap and soared through the air toward him. He stepped to the side and whipped his blade around, aiming for the beast’s abdomen. If he could gut it, it would be effectively finished.
The demon’s arm swept down with startling speed, blocking Ben’s strike. He tried to push past the arm, but the creature’s momentum carried it forward. He ducked low to avoid the heavy thing smashing into him.
He felt his sharp steel slice into its arm and scrape along bone as the creature flew past. It missed his shoulder by a finger-length. Purple blood sprayed from the creature’s wound. Ben rolled on the ground and jumped to his feet, spinning to face the demon. It wasn’t coming at him, though. It landed from its leap at Ben and took another bounding jump right at Amelie.
His friend was standing, grim-faced, holding her rapier and dagger in front of her. The thin weapons would shatter under the weight of that monster.
A claw-tipped hand swept at her with enough force to tear her head off. Ben charged after the demon, helpless to get there in time and defend his friend. Amelie met the attack with her rapier.
Ben expected to see the demon smash through the slender blade and rip into his friend, but the claws didn’t reach her. Instead, when the demon’s hand impacted the rapier, it stopped, like it had smacked against a stone wall.
Amelie went flying, her body tossed like a rag doll, sailing ten paces through the air before landing hard and tumbling through the plains grass.
The demon stood looking at her, confused.
Ben reached it before it could react. He slammed his mage-wrought blade into its back. The steel punched into the flesh between the creature’s arms-length wings. The blade speared cleanly through and Ben felt the tip slide into open air.
Skewered, the demons slumped to its knees, dead. Ben placed a boot on its back and yanked his weapon free. Keeping the fallen creature in the periphery of his vision, he ran to his friend. She was face down in the grass, moaning. He knelt beside her and gently turned her over.
“Oh, hell,” she groaned. “That hurt.”
“What did you do!” exclaimed Ben. “I thought you were about to get torn in two.”
Amelie shifted her arm and shoulder, checking to see if anything was broken. “You’re saying I’m not,” she muttered.
Ben smiled down at her. Amelie struggled to sit up and Ben helped her. She winced when his fingers touched her arm.
Feeling gently, she probed at her side. “Just bruised, I think.”
“How’d you do that?” asked Ben.
She frowned. “I was trying to do something Jasper mentioned. Diffusion. In theory, if a force is spread out over enough surface area, it will be harmless.”
Ben sat back on his haunches, not understanding.
Amelie picked up her rapier and smirked. “I suppose it sort of worked.”
The blade was bent at an angle. It was totally useless now, but it hadn’t broken. Whatever she had done prevented the demon’s arm from smashing through it and into her.
“Instead of all of the force from the demon’s blow being concentrated on the narrow steel of this blade,” she continued, “it was spread across my entire body. Which now feels like is one giant bruise. That thing was stronger than I anticipated.”
“Well—” started Ben.
He was interrupted by a shout from the carriage.
“Well done!”
Ben looked and saw a man standing in the road. He was dressed like a courtier, with a royal blue doublet, tight black leggings, and a flat hat perched precariously atop his mussed blond hair. The man took a step forward then looked down at his black velvet shoes and the muddy road. He stopped walking and glanced at Ben and Amelie.
“Truly well fought,” continued the man. “I didn’t see the entire battle, but I saw the masterful blow at the end.”
Ben pulled Amelie to her feet. They strode toward the man and the carriage.
Behind the original man, another emerged, a sour-faced character also wearing royal blue. He was clutching a crossbow and had an iron cudgel hanging from his belt.
The foppish blond continued, “My name is Lord James. My footman, Ian, and I were unable to get out and face the creature. It damaged my carriage door and we were stuck inside.”
Ben looked to the open door on the other side of the carriage but didn’t comment.
When they drew close, he saw a wisp of a mustache on the courtier’s face, and he reevaluated his impression the man’s age. Initially, he though the man must be a decade older based on how he spoke. Up close, the courtier appeared new to manhood.
Bowing to Amelie, the Lord James continued, undeterred by the lack of response from Ben, “Lady, are you seriously injured?”
“Just my pride,” replied Amelie with a quick curtsy. “And a few bruises.”
Ben frowned. He wondered if he should have bowed. His experience with highborn was limited. The ones he encountered didn’t require a great deal of formality, but this man could be different.
Ignoring Ben, the courtier stepped forward and offered her his arm, apparently intending to help her walk. “I owe you and your man a debt. My carriage could have been damaged further if you hadn’t arrived.”
Ben grunted. Unless they were exceptionally skilled, the courtier’s rapier and his companion’s iron club wouldn’t have done much to stop that demon. The carriage would have been the least of their problems.
“It was merely luck that we happened by,” protested Amelie. “No favor is expected.”
“Looks like we’ll be walking, my lord,” called the footman. He was squatting near the front of the carriage. “Horse is dead and so is the driver.”
Lord James’ lips pursed petulantly. “I was going to offer you a ride, but it appears we’re also on foot.” James turned back to his footman. “Gather our things and our coin. Secure the carriage as best you’re able and we’ll continue to Cormender. We’ll buy supplies there and another carriage.”
“We don’t have a lot of coin,” answered the gruff footman.
James sighed. “We’ll requisition supplies from the governor. Come now, Ian. Daylight is wasting.”
The footman clambered back inside the damaged carriage.
“Find my boots!” yelled the lord after him.
Amelie looked at Ben, unsure how to react to the pompous lord. Ben shrugged. This was her area of expertise, not his.
Turning his gaze back to Ben and Amelie, the lord remarked, “It appears I have no way to compensate you for your assistance.”
“Really,” interjected Amelie. “No favor is expected.”
Shaking his head, the lord responded, “You assisted me, and even though it is not expected, chivalrous conduct dictates I offer you a favor. A day and a half ride further down this road, I’m not sure how long it will take to walk, lies the town of Amum. It’s more of a waypoint, really, not a proper town, but there is a captain ove
r the barracks. A fellow by the name of,” James glanced back at the carriage, “Ian, what is that captain in Amum called?”
“Vander,” replied a muffled voice.
“Yes,” continued James, “Vander is his name. I will give you a signet ring of my house. Show it to Vander and inform him I’ve instructed he give you twenty gold coins as a reward for your assistance.”
Ben swallowed. Twenty gold was a lot of coin.
James stripped a glittering silver-and-ruby ring off his finger and offered it to Ben. Ben bowed, unsure if that was the proper reaction, and accepted the ring. He didn’t know what to say to get out of it.
Lord James brushed a finger along his wispy mustache and eyed Amelie. “You are certain you do not want to travel with us to Cormender? We will obtain horses and a cart there. Our return journey will be much quicker. A beautiful woman like you should not be on the road alone.”
“I, uh, I won’t be alone,” stuttered Amelie.
Lord James glanced at Ben then stalked back to his carriage. “Leave my ring with Vander,” he called over his shoulder. The foppish man disappeared into his carriage, presumably to put on his boots and boss Ian around.
Ben gestured down the empty road beyond the carriage. “After you, my lady.”
In very unladylike fashion, Amelie snorted and started hobbling along. Luckily, she’d avoided broken bones, but Ben was certain that for days she’d be suffering from the bruises the demon left her.
The rest of the day passed in silence, broken only when Ben spotted some large, shaggy creatures cresting a hill a quarter league from the road.
He stared at them hard until Amelie explained, “Bison. They’re kind of like wild cows. They roam the plains outside of Issen in large herds.”
“Are they dangerous?” asked Ben curiously. From a distance, they looked big.
“Not particularly, just don’t stand in front of the herd if it gets spooked,” answered Amelie. “One starts running and the rest panic. Before you know it, they’re all charging without any clue what they’re running from.”
Ben grunted. “Just like people.”
***
In four days, they finally found the town of Amum. From afar, they saw columns of dark smoke drifting up behind the rolling hills of the plain. Ben worried about the smoke, but as they drew closer, he heard the unmistakable clang of blacksmith’s hammers. Lots of them.
When they reached the crest of the last hill before town, they saw it wasn’t much of a town. At the north end, a cluster of buildings was pouring out smoke. The smithies, Ben realized. At the south end of the development stood a pair of long barracks with a muddy yard between them. Filling the space between the smithies and the barracks was a motley collective of low stone and sod houses. Dirty, narrow streets snaked between them. It was all slapdash and squalid. On the far side of the town, they saw wagons coming and going.
“There must be an iron mine to the north,” speculated Amelie.
Ben nodded. “When did the initial conflict with the Coalition start?” he asked.
Amelie shrugged.
“This place isn’t more than a few years old,” Ben guessed. “They must have built it in preparation for war. They mine the iron ore and take it here to forge into weaponry and armor. It would be cheaper to transport finished goods than the raw ingots.” He surveyed the town below them. “They didn’t put much into this town, but still, it would have taken years of planning and development. The Coalition was getting ready long before the Alliance was formed. Devious, but smart.”
“Now you’re thinking like a lord,” quipped Amelie.
Ben grunted.
“What do you think, should we go find this Captain Vander?” asked Amelie.
“Twenty gold is a lot,” responded Ben slowly.
“We don’t need it though,” replied Amelie. “Jasper gave us plenty.”
“Walking into a barracks is a risk,” added Ben. “Even if this Vander doesn’t recognize us, some of his men might. They might have even been part of Lord Jason’s squad that tried to capture you.”
“I could wear a disguise,” suggested Amelie. “We could go in quickly and leave as soon as we have the coins.”
Ben shook his head. “I think Jasper was right earlier. A disguise could raise attention. Let’s avoid attention and avoid the captain. We don’t need the gold. There’s no reason to walk into a lion’s den.”
“Works for me,” agreed Amelie. “If not the barracks, then where to?”
“An inn,” answered Ben. “Somewhere with a nice warm fire, decent food, and cold ale.”
“And a hot bath,” amended Amelie.
***
The streets of Amum must have started on a rigid grid, but in short order, seller’s stands, wagons, and toppled walls intruded into the open spaces. A block after the open gate, it was obvious people used every item at their disposal to cobble together new structures or expand existing ones. Ben saw more than one wagon that had been torn apart and repurposed as a wall, sometimes with the wheels still attached. Scrawny men and haggard-looking women trudged about performing their errands. It was as if the slums of Cormender had overgrown the entire town.
He spotted a thin-looking young man with greedy eyes that reminded him of Renfro. He touched the hilt of his longsword and gave the boy a hard stare. Glaring back at Ben, the potential thief scampered down a side street.
Ben and Amelie walked through the narrow passageways, looking for an inn that was suitable. Near the barracks, they found a lively looking place but turned away when they saw the steady stream of soldiers going in and out. The center of town had a fine inn, but it was situated across a muddy street from a large building ringed with bored-looking guards. The captain’s quarters or the seat of government for the place, maybe both, they decided. Trying to avoid Captain Vander while staying across the street from him was silly. They moved on.
Finally, near the smithies, they found an inn that wasn’t swarmed with Coalition men. The place was a rickety three-story building with a metal sign depicting a hammer and anvil hanging over the door. It was uncomfortably close to the racket of the smithies, but Ben hoped they would stop once dark fell. Otherwise, it was going to be a long, noisy night.
When they walked into the warm interior, they saw roaring hearths on both ends of the common room. An assortment of empty wooden tables and benches spread between the two fires.
“It looks like the décor was entirely stocked from the side of the road,” muttered Amelie.
Ben grinned. “You see any trees while we were walking in?”
“Good point,” acknowledged his friend.
“Ho there,” called a friendly voice from the back. A tall man with spectacles hanging off his nose bustled out from behind the bar. “Welcome to the Hammer and Anvil,” he boomed.
The man reached out a hand. When Ben gripped it, he felt his bones grind together. Ben winced and thought to warn Amelie, but for her, the innkeeper merely laid her hand atop his and bowed as if to kiss it.
“Food, drink, lodging?” asked the man.
Ben nodded. “All of it.”
A smile split the tall man’s face. “Wonderful. Take a seat. I’ll draw you some fresh ales and check on the kitchen. Most of our customers don’t come in until later when the smithy fires die down. The name is Jolly Jon. Shout behind the bar if you need me.”
Ben and Amelie sat at a rough table near the fire. The planks of the table were different sizes and loosely hammered together. Ben stripped off his pack and cloak and turned to the fire. Frowning, he realized there was no wood in it.
“Manure,” said Amelie.
He peered closer and realized she was right. Clumps of manure were burning cheerfully. The smell wasn’t as unpleasant as he thought. It smelled earthy and clean, unlike the fresh stuff.
Jolly Jon returned with three ales and laid down two of them. “We’ve got a bison stew on the fire left over from the midday crowd. Nice and hearty. Good for this weather.”
“Bison?” asked Ben.
Jolly Jon frowned at him.
“The animals we saw in the distance,” explained Amelie.
“You’re not from around here?” inquired Jon.
Ben shook his head, cursing silently for making it so obvious.
“What are you doing in Amum then?” pressed the man. “You don’t work for the mine, I can see that, and you ain’t a blacksmith.”
“We’re just passing through,” responded Amelie.
Jolly Jon scooted back a chair and joined them. Cradling the third mug of ale in his hands, he leaned forward on his elbows. “We’ve had a lot of people passing through recently,” remarked Jon in a low, conspiratorial voice. “Most stay at the Governor’s Inn. There’s a lot of activity over there. I’ve had a few here, though. I don’t just serve ale to the smiths, no matter what that ass Vander says.”
Ben cleared his throat. “Yes, it seemed busy there. We thought your inn looked more comfortable.”
Jolly Jon grinned. “Aye, it is.”
Jon took a long drink of his ale and wiped his lips with the back of his sleeve. Ben took a drink as well. It was the polite thing to do. Surprisingly, the ale was quite good. Ben complimented Jon. The innkeeper’s smile grew ear to ear.
“I’m glad you’re a man who can appreciate good ale,” responded Jon. “Most of my customers just care that it’s cold. Not a problem this time of year, but they give me hell during the summer months. Some days, I’m not sure it’s worth it. The governor’s trying to run all the honest business people out of here. If you’re not one of his friends, then it’s getting tougher and tougher every month. It makes you want to pack up and find some place far away from all these lords and wannabe lords.”
“The governor?” asked Amelie.
“Captain Vander,” replied Jon before pausing to spit on the floor. “Folks have taken to calling him the governor ‘cause of the way he acts. He don’t have the official papers from the Council in Irrefort, but you wouldn’t know it with the way he runs the place. They say he’s looking to make a name for himself. Not sure how he’s supposed to do it this far from anything, but I’ve heard he wants to get restationed, maybe to Issen. Let me tell you, that’ll be a lucrative spot if he gets it. Vander’s getting bold, taking advantage of people and sending more than the allotment back to the Council. Like those dried up old men even notice. With the soldiers behind him though, who is going to say anything?”
