Benjamin Ashwood Box Set 2

by A. C. Cobble

  “You’re trying,” said Amelie. “That counts for something.”

  Rhys shrugged. “I’m not sure it does.”

  He stared down at his sword, fingers following the etchings in the blade.

  “Something changed when I met you two. You don’t fight your battles because of what you think you will gain, or because they are easy, or because you’re certain you can win. You fight because you believe it’s necessary. Whether you will win or lose is a secondary concern, and I’ve grown to respect that.”

  Amelie passed the wine skin to Ben and he took a sip.

  “Back in Indo, Ben,” continued Rhys, “you wanted to stay and fight the Red Lord, to help protect the people there. We talked you out of it, but should we have? Maybe we would have failed. Maybe we would have been successful. I don’t know. I do know that had we tried, it would have been the honorable thing. You asked what I suggest you do, and my answer is that you don’t give up. You continue to fight the battles you think are necessary.”

  Rhys pointed to Ben’s sword.

  “You no longer have a mage-wrought blade. You can’t call the wind at will. That wasn’t your strength, though. Your strength is your conviction. You don’t need a magical sword or the ability to manipulate energy with your mind. The true power you possess, Ben, isn’t in your arm. It’s in your heart. Do not seek power. Seek to do what is right.”

  The rogue stood and held out a hand for his wine skin.

  Ben passed it back quietly and watched his friend walk away from camp into the dark night. Corinne stood and followed him. Towaal leaned against her pack, eyes open, staring at the stars above them. Milo appeared to be asleep.

  Across camp, Ben saw Gunther lying on his side, the flickering light from his hammer subtly illuminating his face. His eyes were open, watching them.

  The next morning, the first rays of sunlight beamed down on them, heating the dry air and burning the moisture from the parched land.

  Ben stood and stretched, glancing around the blasted landscape. They were away from the sand sea and hadn’t ventured into the deep desert, but the terrain wasn’t any more forgiving than what they’d seen on the way to Frisay. With cracked rocks, red sand, and only a few scraggly trees poking up in the distance, it was a harsh land they would travel.

  The mage Gunther followed Ben’s gaze. “We should be there in a week.”

  Ben looked at the man, their guide, and wondered whether he would help them or not when it came time to decide. He thought about the conversations the night before and decided Amelie was right. Rhys was right. They had to fight the battle because it was necessary. They couldn’t be one more sword in the army if they wanted to permanently stop the demons. Even if no one else saw it, Ben knew the hordes of life-draining creatures were the biggest threat facing the world. He wouldn’t stand by idly while they ravaged unchecked.

  “You’re looking fresh and energized,” remarked Gunther.

  Ben grunted. “As fresh as I can be after spending the night rolling from one rock to the other. Will it get any better as we go west?”

  The big mage scratched at his head, shaking a shower of loose sand from his hair. “No, not really.”

  Ben groaned.

  “Take half a bell to stretch out before we start hiking,” advised Gunther. “Your body will thank you later.”

  “The Ohms?” Amelie asked Ben.

  He nodded.

  Rhys joined them and they dropped into the first stance. As they moved through the positions, O’ecca approached.

  “Can you teach me?”

  “Sure,” replied Ben. He stood and resumed the starting pose, showing her how to do it.

  “If the Dirhadji see you doing that, they won’t like it,” warned Gunther.

  “Thyr saw us, and we talked him into joining,” responded Ben.

  “The Sanctuary mages won’t like it either,” declared Gunther.

  Ben blinked at him.

  “Control,” said the big mage, glancing in Towaal’s direction. “Control over yourself is the first step in hardening your will. The Dirhadji have been refining the technique for centuries. Why do you think no mages live in the desert? Towaal is the first Sanctuary mage who’s come here in centuries. They’re afraid their power won’t give them an advantage. They won’t meet a man blade to blade, hammer to hammer. It’s why the Purple came here, because they knew no other mage would follow.”

  Towaal met the larger mage’s look impassively.

  Ben looked between them. Suddenly, the reason the Ohms felt so similar to Towaal’s meditation exercises clicked into place. They felt the same because, at the core, they were the same.

  “It’s good exercise,” advised Rhys with a wink.

  “You knew!” accused Ben.

  “Most people won’t meditate,” said the rogue. “It’s boring. When you are thinking about how they will help your swordsmanship, the Ohms are exciting.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” wondered Ben.

  Rhys shrugged. “It never came up, I guess. I didn’t plan to teach you to harden your will. It started as something to kill time. Towaal asked me to teach you to fight with your hands, remember? Figured it’d be good for both of us. Once we were in the City, it seemed like hardening your will was a skill you were going to need.”

  Ben grunted and narrowed his eyes at his friend. The man kept secrets as naturally as he breathed. Even after all of their time together, Ben was certain there were still treasures buried under the surface.

  “Well, that’s even more reason we should do them,” declared Amelie. “Stretching for the day, learning to harden our will, I don’t think anyone will argue either one is bad for us.”

  Gunther turned and tended to his bedroll, folding the thin blanket and stuffing it in his pack.

  Ben looked between Amelie and O’ecca and then assumed the starting position again.

  O’ecca was a natural at the poses, shifting from form to form with effortless grace. Ben recalled the speed and flexibility she’d displayed when they faced the demons. In the right circumstances, the diminutive lady wasn’t someone he’d care to face in combat. She was lithe and quick.

  The tip of Amelie’s boot caught his backside and Ben stumbled forward.

  He spun to her in surprise, ready to admonish her for kicking him, then saw her glare. He flushed as he realized just how closely he’d been watching O’ecca’s movements.

  Amelie raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to object.

  Instead, Ben offered her a short bow as apology.

  “If you two are done fooling around,” growled Rhys, “let’s pack up and get going. It’s too hot to stand here doing nothing.”

  Ben scooped up a small rock and tossed it at the rogue.

  “There’s only a couple of days’ worth of wine in the skins Gunther brought. We have to get moving!” encouraged Rhys.

  “There’s plenty of wine in the skins I brought, for me,” rumbled the big mage.

  Rhys effected a hurt expression, and they all busied themselves packing up. Rhys was right. It was foolish to stand around in the heat doing nothing. They should be looking for shade or moving.

  The days passed in a hot, sweaty blur.

  They wrapped turbans around their heads, but it did little to blunt the force of the pounding sun. At night, it grew cool. The dry air couldn’t retain the heat of the day, and they huddled together for warmth when they slept. There was no wood for fire, and they would have been reluctant to set one anyway. The Dirhadji lived south of them. Gunther advised it wouldn’t be prudent to attract their notice. It was a distraction they didn’t need. They’d packed plenty of rations, but the dry food held little flavor, and eating it was almost more work than it was worth.

  Fortunately, they were able to find ample sources of water. Gunther seemed to have a nose for finding the hidden pools or bubbling springs that quickly vanished in the desert sun. It wasn’t until Amelie informed him several days into the journey that Ben realized the man was del
ving for the liquid.

  “He extends his will almost as an afterthought,” mused Amelie. “It’s as natural as breathing to him.”

  Ben eyed the big man as he hauled himself up a rock shelf and into a short cave where he claimed a small spring was hiding.

  “I believe he may be the most powerful mage alive,” said Amelie quietly.

  “Stronger than the Veil or Jasper?” Ben asked.

  “He is stronger than the Veil,” assured Towaal, who’d approached silently from behind them. “Significantly so. If that man chose to do it, he could level cities with that hammer of his. He could face an army and be the only one standing afterward. I’d guess it would take at least a third of the mature mages in the Sanctuary to stand against him, though, with those kind of fireworks, anything could happen.”

  Ben watched Gunther’s tree trunk-sized legs wiggle as he crawled into the cave. He’d fill his water skin and then the rest of them would pass theirs up.

  “If he has that kind of power,” wondered Ben, “what does the Purple have that even he is cautious?”

  Towaal’s eyes narrowed. “We’ll find out. I believe we should heed his caution. If that man is afraid, we should be doubly so.”

  The moment they finally saw Gunther in action was on them before Ben realized what was happening. They were passing through a narrow canyon. Striated red and yellow stone walls rose three man-heights above their heads. The bottom of the canyon was filled with soft, red sand. Ben listlessly kicked rocks ahead of him as he walked, wondering how long it had been since there was enough running water in the desert to carve the canyon out of the landscape.

  A low-pitched growl sounded above them.

  Ben glanced up and saw a dark shape blocking out the blue sky. Suddenly, he was thrown to the side and bounced hard against one of the rock walls.

  Gunther was standing in his place. The huge man swung an arm up to catch a thrashing, green-pebble-skinned creature. Gunther gripped it with one big hand.

  The thing clawed wildly at the giant mage, leaving bloody lacerations in his skin. It snapped at him with finger-length curved teeth.

  Calmly, Gunther dropped his hammer and wrapped his second hand around the thing’s neck. Its body contorted, clawed-feet scrambling against the hard muscle of his torso.

  With a crack, Gunther twisted its neck. Its head lolled to one side, and Gunther tossed the carcass down on the sand.

  Laid out, unmoving, Ben saw it was a lizard. A big one. It stretched half again as long as he was tall. Speckles of blood stained its talons where it had gouged Gunther’s flesh.

  Ben looked at the mage and his eyes grew wide. The bloody gashes were knitting themselves back together.

  “H-How…” stammered Ben.

  Towaal interrupted him. “You’re healing yourself!”

  The big mage looked at her blankly. “Of course I am. Infection can be deadly out here.”

  “How did you do that?” pressed Towaal, momentarily forgetting her caution around Gunther. “I’ve never heard of a mage being able to heal themselves. It defies everything I’ve been taught. No one understands the body well enough to risk manipulating those energies. Doing anything other than simply boosting the body’s natural ability is, well, dangerous.”

  “You’re long-lived,” stated Gunther.

  Towaal nodded slowly.

  “That is self-healing. Repairing aging cells in your body, replacing them with new, constantly refreshing yourself.” Gunther pointed to his abdomen where the last signs of a deep cut were fading into smooth skin. “That is all that I am doing right now, refreshing myself and speeding the natural process.”

  Towaal looked at him uncertainly.

  “Just because you do not have the knowledge does not mean it doesn’t exist,” added Gunther. “The Sanctuary forgets that too often.”

  “What if you make a mistake?” asked Towaal. “You could easily harm yourself.”

  The big mage eyed her curiously. “We’re talking about healing, right? The implication is that you’ve already been harmed.”

  Towaal frowned at him but didn’t have a response.

  Corinne was squatting next to the giant lizard.

  “What is this thing?”

  “Sand dragon,” answered Gunther.

  “Dragon? Like a wyvern!” exclaimed Ben. “There are real wyverns?”

  Gunther shrugged. “I’ve never seen a wyvern like in the stories. These things are bad enough. The big ones have been known to surprise and eat entire caravans.”

  Corinne stared at him. “This isn’t a big one?”

  Gunther grinned. “Don’t worry. Those live in the deep desert. The ones here don’t get more than seven or eight-paces long. They tend to nest together, though, so keep an eye out.”

  Ben looked down at the lizard and shuddered.

  “Why didn’t you use your hammer?” inquired O’ecca. “Surely that would have been easier. You didn’t need to let it scratch you up. It’s not the nut thing, is it? There are no tables out here to destroy.”

  She was looking at the long rips in Gunther’s leather vest. The flesh below was already healed.

  “Every tool has a purpose,” responded the mage. “The purpose of my hammer isn’t to pulverize lizards.”

  O’ecca shifted her naginata on her shoulder. “What is the purpose of it then?”

  “Maybe you’ll see when we find the Purple.”

  9

  House on a Hill

  Ben wasn’t sure where he expected an ancient, secretive cabal of mages to live. He supposed a mountain fortress, secluded from civilization, and surrounded by an impenetrable-looking oasis was as good a place as any.

  “The trees will provide some cover,” mused Corinne, studying the layout.

  “Will we need to climb the side of the mountain?” wondered O’ecca.

  “I don’t think we can just walk in the front door,” answered Corinne.

  “Have you been here before?” Rhys asked Gunther.

  The big man shook his head. “Not this close. I’ve evaluated their defenses with far-seeing and delved what I could of the interior. I’m afraid it’s not much detail to plan an assault with. The top of the mountain is ringed by their fortress with a large open space in the middle for gardens. Underneath the fortress, the mountain is honeycombed with passages and tunnels. There are giant caverns inside which may be natural, or they may have been dug by the Purple.”

  “How many people?” queried Rhys.

  “Three hundred, maybe more,” replied the mage. “Deep in the mountain, it’s difficult to tell without letting the mages detect my sensing.”

  “Look!” hissed Amelie.

  She pointed to a slowly moving dust cloud that approached the fortress. Now that Ben saw it, he could see it followed a barely discernable road.

  “Traders,” speculated Corinne. “They must have some contact with the outside world then.”

  “Food and supplies,” remarked Rhys. “They don’t have enough space on that mountain to grow sufficient food to sustain three hundred people.”

  “The wagon is coming from the south,” observed Ben.

  “Good point,” acknowledge Gunther, pinching his chin, lost in thought as he studied the dust cloud.

  “What does it mean?” asked Amelie.

  “They’re trading with the Dirhadji,” answered Gunther, “though, that doesn’t make sense. The desert tribes don’t have excess fresh produce and meat. They have hardly any industry aside from war.”

  The party watched the caravan draw closer.

  “It’s some sort of large boxes,” remarked Corinne. “About man high, perforated along the top. They could be for livestock. They have a lot of guards, though. Half a dozen per wagon. Maybe they’re nervous around the Purple and they bring a lot of men. There are chains too, I think. Long ones piled on top of the boxes.”

  “It’s not livestock. It’s slaves,” growled Rhys.

  Gunther’s knuckles cracked, and Ben shot a look at th
e big mage. He was staring hard at the caravan and standing slowly.

  “Now is not the time,” stated Ben.

  The mage looked down at him.

  “You said it yourself,” pleaded Ben. “The Purple is powerful. If we ambush this caravan on their doorstep, they’ll know we are here. We’ll lose the opportunity to sneak inside.”

  “This isn’t right,” rumbled Gunther.

  “It isn’t the right time, either,” challenged Ben. “Good intentions do not always lead to good actions. You told me that. We have to think about what we’re doing. We have to plan. When we act, we need to be certain.”

  “Throwing my words back at me, boy?” snarled Gunther.

  Ben met the big man’s look and didn’t back down.

  “They are your words,” agreed Ben after a long pause. “Did you mean them?”

  Slowly, the mage’s shoulders slumped, and he settled back down to kneel.

  “What is your plan then?” Gunther asked.

  They scurried across the moonlit landscape, hugging the ground as they moved, nervous the Purple had watchers on the walls.

  “There is no way they can see anything this far away at night,” muttered Corinne.

  “You can’t see that far,” reminded Rhys, “but these are mages.”

  “Watch the foliage when we get under the trees,” stated Gunther. “At night, under the canopy, mundane traps will be almost impossible to detect.”

  “Leave those to me,” said Rhys. “I’ll take care of the trip-wires if you make sure we don’t walk into any wards.”

  “They do not have the skill to set a ward I cannot detect,” declared the big mage. “Do not worry, assassin.”

  Towaal flitted along beside Ben. Ben caught her shaking her head at the older mage’s confidence. He was skilled, no doubt, but he wasn’t the only one who had access to ancient secrets. There was no telling what the Purple knew or what surprises they’d been able to develop over the centuries.