Benjamin Ashwood (24 page)

The
tension in the room when Towaal spoke quickly dissipated.  Magic always seemed
like a touchy subject around her.  The Sanctuary had it’s secrets and Ben knew
she wanted to keep them.  Ben looked at Meghan and could tell she saw an
opportunity.

“Lady
Towaal, I have never heard of Blacksmith Mages before.  What other kinds of
Mages are there?” she asked innocently.

“It’s
all one and the same girl.  It’s not a Blacksmith Mage, it’s a Mage who happens
to know the arts of a blacksmith.  People call it all kinds of things; magery,
sorcery, wizardry, magic, witchcraft and more.  But it’s all the same.  At the
heart of it is harnessing the energy around you and within you.  When forging
steel, there is an incredible amount of heat.  If someone knows what they are
doing and has the strength of will, they can use that heat to modify and
improve the steel.”

“Is
that how,” Meghan paused, “is that how you did what you did at Snowmar? 
Harnessed the energy around you?”

“Yes,
in essence that is correct.  All around us there is friction caused by tiny
particles that you can’t even see.  They are constantly moving and generating
heat and energy.  The light from the sun or the power of wind are also forms of
energy.  The friction, it’s the same thing that causes you a shock when you
walk across a wool carpet.  That is external energy.”

Towaal
accepted the glass of wine Rhys handed her and continued talking, “I used that
friction to create a small charge.  I funneled more energy then I directed it
at our attackers.  There was only so much around us that I could draw on for
the charge though, and I needed more than a little shock.  I had to pull
substantially from my own reserves - which is why I have been so sluggish the
last few days.  Channeling one’s internal energy externally is taxing and
dangerous.  But in short, yes, I harnessed the available energy and sent it at
our attackers.”

“You
make it sound so simple.  Just take energy and direct it?”

“The
concept is simple child, but the execution takes years or even decades of study. 
To manipulate physical matter, you must understand it.  And I don’t just mean
know what it is.  I mean fully understand to the tiniest detail.  Take a tree. 
Everyone knows what it is and everyone knows what it does, but understanding
how sunlight, water and nutrients from the soil react in the plant to produce
the energy to grow is something that very, very few people understand.”

“So,
at the Sanctuary, learning to be a Mage is about understanding how things
work?” asked Meghan.

“That
is one part of it.  A Mage must understand what they are trying to do before
they do it.  There is no short cut to obtaining that knowledge.  The second
part is difficult as well.  The second ingredient, so to speak, is will power. 
Anything in this world is possible if one has the will power to make it
happen.  Focusing that will in the proper direction and achieving results takes
a special person and takes intense practice.  Someone might be a natural, like
yourself and Amelie, but you will never reach your potential without extensive
training.  Preparation and ability, they are useless without each other.”

Amelie
who had been listening closely asked, “I’m familiar with the study involved. 
Lady Greenfoot has been preparing me for the Sanctuary since I was a little girl. 
She was never clear though about what training goes into directing one’s will. 
She always said that was for another time.”

“Study
of the world around us is something that anyone can do with the proper
instructors or resources.  Many of the world’s best scholars have no interest
in mage craft at all.  It is also something that can be done safely from a
comfortable chair in a well-appointed library.  Focusing will and causing
physical elements to react, that is something that cannot be done comfortably.  It
is strenuous and it is dangerous.  Greenfoot is right, that is for another
time,” Towaal glanced at the men in the room.  Apparently her openness had it’s
limits.  “And Greenfoot is no Lady.  She is as common born as they come, no
offense of course.”

“None
taken” murmured Meghan.

“I
understand your impatience.  You are embarking on a journey that will surely
change your lives in ways you may have never imagined.  You must know though,
this path is a long one.  Over the course of millennia the Sanctuary has
developed ways to guide girls down that path.  But it is a thing best done in
the safety and security of the Sanctuary.  I only say what I say now because
you have witnessed the terrible potential that comes with being a Mage.  It is
not something entered lightly.”

Amelie
replied, “you speak as if we have not already started.  My journey started when
I stepped out of Issen and Meghan’s when she left Farview.  We are on this
path, and we are not turning back.”

They
spent two more days in Eastside.  Partly because they needed the rest but not
insignificantly because Lord Foley seemed so offended at the thought of them
leaving.  He threw a feast as extravagant as he had promised and spent the rest
of the time entertaining them with stories of his hunts, musical performances,
poetry readings, demonstrations of arms and the best his court had to offer. 
It slowly dawned on Ben that this was not a Lord who had been at Whitehall for
the Conclave.  This was a man who had significant wealth but little political
power.  The idea that the two could be separated was a new concept.

His
loyalty to Whitehall was a given because of the geography his city occupied and
the lack of military power he had at his disposal.  He wasn’t part of the
wrangling give and take that Argren had done with the other Lords.  Foley had
aspirations, but he was bound to allegiances that his ancestors and nature had
made long before his rule.  He was a Lord yes, but he was also a vassal of
Whitehall and that was how he felt others saw him.

Once
Ben realized this, the man’s behavior made perfect sense.  Any favor he could
gain with a Lady of Amelie’s status or a representative of The City was more
than the scraps he would get from Argren’s court.

One
of Foley’s suggestions that they found difficult to turn down was an escort
from two of his Hunters.  They would travel with them as far as Kirksbane on
the Venmoor River to ensure they had “no fear of bandits”, as Foley said.

“Make
sure we don’t get lost somewhere in between the cabbage and potato fields?  
More like ‘listen to every word we say to his neighbors’.  I can’t wait to get
out of this inbred valley,” grumbled Rhys.  “Most of these Lords are married to
each other’s cousins and none of them have anything better to do than look at
what the other one is doing.  You give a man a little bit of power and he’s
going to try to find something to do with it.  Whitehall won’t stand for them
making war on each other and they can’t reach anyone else.  Makes them compete
over silly stuff like taxes on barley, diverting an irrigation ditch or who
threw the best fall harvest party.  All while ignoring things like the attack
at Snowmar which took out an entire barracks.”

They
were in one of Eastside’s bare, stone circled courtyards that served as a
garden and working through another one of the Ohms.  The calming breathing
techniques Rhys had spoken about before weren’t having any effect on him today.

“You’re
probably right about why he wants the Hunters with us,” smirked Saala.  “Lady
Amelie and Towaal went public in Whitehall and Eastside.  Just because all the
fancy Lords and Ladies joined Argren’s Alliance doesn’t mean they stopped
playing their games.  So what though, we might as well have the extra swords. 
Amelie is a tempting target and Lord Foley doesn’t want any incidents happening
anywhere near him and I’m agreed on that.”  Saala winked at Ben, “besides, some
might see our small escort as scant protection for such a high born Lady.”

“Scant
protection!  Isn’t that your job to protect her Ladyship?”

Saala,
poorly hiding his amusement at Rhys’ frustration, heaped on, “I think it will
be nice having some more able bodies with us.”

Rhys
stumbled out of his Ohm stance and glared at Saala.  “Able bodies my ass.  Any
Hunter spending his days on Foley’s payroll is either unofficially retired or
feeble.”

Early
the next day with morning dew still clinging to the stone walls of the keep,
they departed Eastside and Ben got a clear picture of why Rhys was so upset
with their new companions.

“Ah,
Rhys!  Never thought I’d see you again looking so healthy!” boomed a large man.

“Yeah
Ferg, nice to see you again too,” muttered Rhys.

“Oh
ho ho, I see you are no longer wearing the sigil?  Got a little uncomfortable
maybe?”  The man could only be described as pompous.  He was wearing a flashing
silver breastplate and had a massive two handed sword strapped to his back. 
His long swept back raven hair was accented by a silver mustache that drooped
from around his mouth and down past his chin.  His long hair was bound by a
silver circlet that matched both the mustache and breastplate.  Surely that
could not be intentional thought Ben.

The
man continued, “I earned my sigil a year later, no thanks to you.”  He patted
the hilt of his sword and turned to show a large, brightly gilded Blademaster’s
sigil.  “I understand of course, it’s an honor and a responsibility.  Old Nemil
didn’t give it up easy, mind you.  It was a tough fight.  I almost feel sorry
for the old chap.  Died a couple moons later.  A lot of hungry challengers once
I beat him.  He wouldn’t give it up.  By the by, it’s Ferguson now.  I dropped
Ferg once I signed Lord Foley’s contract.  He was paying good gold then because
he wanted a man with a proper Blademaster’s sigil.  He’d pay good for a second
sigil too, I suppose.  It’s a shame you don’t have your’s anymore.”

Saala
had tucked his own scabbard behind his travel pack where his more subtle sigil
was hidden.  He picked up his pace to walk beside Rhys and asked Ferguson, “you
earned your Blademaster sigil by beating a man named Old Nemil?  I can only
assume he was, ah, old?”

“Aye,
that he was.  Did you know him?”  Ferguson continued without waiting for a
response, “he was cunning, that is for sure.  Comes from the wisdom you know? 
He’d seen it all.  Took some creative blade work to get through that guard. 
Wasn’t my first choice of course.  Good ole Rhys here was carrying a sigil back
when we were at Northport together.  He disappeared the day after I challenged
him.  You heard me earlier right?  That’s why I said I was surprised to see
him.  Figured a man who can’t protect his sigil is going to get nothing but
trouble.  Just like Old Nemil did.”

“This
is going to be delightful traveling with you, Blademaster Ferguson!”  Saala
slapped Rhys on the back then dropped back, grinning, to walk beside Meghan and
Ben.

That
evening they dropped the normal routine of working through Rhys’ Ohms and just
did sword practice, mostly in an effort to ignore Blademaster Ferguson.  The
man was an unending fountain of stories about his own bravery.  Through the
verbal onslaught, Ben determined that he had been in Lord Foley’s service the
last half decade and before that he had been stationed in Northport guarding
some Lord’s household.  That’s where he’d met Rhys.

“The
Lord of Northport, is that Lord Rhymer?  Why did you leave his service, I hear
he is quite well off and I’m sure would pay better than these Valley Lords,”
asked Ben.

“Oh,
no, not Rhymer.  You’re right, Rhymer is The Lord of Northport, but we guarded
A Lord of Northport.  You understand the difference, I am sure.”  Ferguson gave
Ben a knowing wink, but Ben wasn’t sure he really did know the difference.

“Lord
Allimach got around, that’s not secret.  He was worried about, well, you know,”
as Rhymer continued, Ben really thought he didn’t know.

Amelie
saved him the breath and broke in facetiously, “oh, I have not heard!  What was
this Lord Allimach so worried about?”

“Jealously
my Lady.  He was worried about jealous husbands.  He hired a group of us to
keep his estate safe.  We did keep it safe.  Many tried, but none made it past
our guard.  Pity him dying of a shellfish allergy.  Such a strange way to go,
eating shellfish in Northport and with so many willing to pay good coin to put
a knife in him.  Anyway, it was a couple days after when a lot of us were
looking for new employment that I challenged your friend Rhys here.  He skipped
town that night and I haven’t seen him since.”

Rhys
grinned back at Ferguson.  “That’s true, I did leave right after you challenged
me.  I figured with Lord Allimach dead, my work there was done.” 

Ben
saw Renfro looking at him with a raised eyebrow. 

Rhys
continued while tapping his longsword, “if it’s been bothering you so much
these last five years, maybe we can pick up where we left off?”

Lady
Towaal butted in, “I don’t think that’s necessary.  The man has his sigil now
and we need to keep moving.  Can’t risk someone getting hurt during the
contest.”

Rhys
smiled at her, “that is true, an injury is certainly possible.  Oh well, maybe
another time Ferg.”

The
history with Rhys did little to stem Ferguson’s loquaciousness.  Throughout the
length of the Valley he regaled them with tales of his exploits.  Occasionally,
Rhys’ sword hand would get a little twitch, but the rest of them were able to
treat it as pure, presumably fictional, theatre.  If nothing else, the man had
an imagination.