Benjamin Ashwood Box Set 2

by A. C. Cobble

  “They have to be twice the size of the one in the Wilds,” exclaimed Amelie. “What do they need two of them for?”

  “What did you expect to find here?” asked a calm voice from behind them.

  They spun and saw an elderly man flanked by five other men. They wore loose purple robes and held no weapons. Behind them, two dozen guards poured onto the balcony.

  No one answered the man.

  “I found the body of Simon,” continued the man, unperturbed by their silence. “He was new among us and not strong, but I am still impressed you overcame him.” The man’s gaze turned to Towaal. “You are from the Sanctuary. We have been preparing a long time for your leader to locate us. I knew she would want to recover what was taken so long ago. Now that you found us, I’m almost ashamed about how worried we were. It’s impressive you made it to this room, but what do you think you can do against us by yourself? I have been alive for over a thousand years. You are like a child to me. I thought I’d be facing dozens of you when this day came.”

  Towaal stared back at the man. Ben guessed she was trying to process what the man said.

  “Master,” muttered one of the younger men.

  The elderly man, clearly enjoying his moment, spared an irritated glance at his underling.

  The younger man simply pointed to Gunther.

  The older man turned and Ben saw his eyes go wide in surprise. The man’s gaze locked onto Gunther’s hammer.

  “Who are you?” he demanded. “Where did you get that?”

  “You spent all those years preparing for Sanctuary mages,” rumbled Gunther. “You should have gotten ready for me.”

  Gunther stepped forward and one of the younger Purple rushed to meet him. The man’s hands were raised, the sleeves of his robes falling back to reveal swirling energies clutched in his fists.

  The giant head of the black-iron hammer swung forward. The young man skidded to a stop, apparently surprised at a physical attack, and crossed his arms in front of his body. He must have intended to stop the blow with his will alone.

  Light sparkled like shattered glass. The young man barely had time to grunt in shock before the hammer smashed into him. His body was pulped instantaneously. A shower of gore was flung back across the balcony and splashed against hastily raised shields of the other Purple.

  “You’re him,” exclaimed the elder Purple. “The hammer mage. I know of you.”

  Gunther glared at the man. “Why did you build these rifts?”

  The guards were fanning around the edge of the balcony, ready to engage Ben’s companions, but obviously not interested in going anywhere near Gunther and his hammer.

  The elder Purple didn’t answer.

  “Do you think you’ll be able to tap the energies outside of our world using this?” growled Gunther. “I’ve sensed you trying. It will be futile. Rifts do not work like that. The tunnel you create will bypass the power you seek.”

  The bearded Purple mage frowned. “You’ve been monitoring us. Why did you not intercede?”

  “You would not have been able to control the power which you sought. You are not strong enough, and it would have destroyed you.” Gunther gestured to the rifts behind him. “It appears you not only are missing the will, you are missing the knowledge.”

  The Purple mage stood straight, stretching his ancient body to its full height. “You are right. We realized we do not have the strength to control the power flowing between our worlds. I spent five hundred years learning that. Even the staff we took from the Sanctuary is beyond our control.”

  “Are you trying to replicate what your peers in the north did?” pressed Gunther. “Are you attempting to meet the demon threat with this?”

  “No,” answered the mage sharply. “Those fools abdicated their power when they built the first rift. They didn’t see what was sitting in front of them. We didn’t either, I must admit, not until recently.”

  Ben glanced between Gunther and Towaal. Both looked unsure.

  “And what was that?” asked Gunther slowly.

  The elderly mage smiled. “The rift in the Wilds was a portal between our world and the demon realm. That’s not all it has to be. The fabric of space and time can be bent, twisted, and manipulated in many ways. Our ancestors discovered this, but they never made use of it. They opened the door a crack. We wondered what would happen if we threw it wide open.”

  “You built these rifts to somewhere else,” guessed Towaal suddenly. “You’re using them for transportation. You could send yourself anywhere, but why?”

  The Purple smirked. “Rifts cannot be used to transport people. The surge in energy they expel is deadly to any lifeform from this world, but demons are uniquely suited to absorb that surge in power. They seek it and feed off it.”

  Ben looked at the two rifts. They sat facing each other. Both of them would go somewhere. Demons could pass through one and then immediately go through the other.

  “Demons are the weapon!” exclaimed Ben.

  The elderly mage cackled. “An army of demons appearing anywhere I choose. We finished the construction on the second rift four years ago. We’ve been testing it slowly. Sending demons to places they would be expected like the Wilds. Other places they wouldn’t like the mountains above Whitehall. The stupid lords never figured out what hit them. We could have sent four times as many of the creatures, but we didn’t need to. We’ve proven that no army can stand against us. Soon, it will be time to show the world.”

  The elderly mage had removed a rune-covered copper disc from his robes and was toying with it while he spoke. It was a rift key, Ben saw.

  “Don’t let him activate that!” shouted Ben.

  “Drop it,” snarled Gunther, his hammer rising menacingly.

  The old man smiled grimly. “If you are able, you will destroy me no matter what I do with this.”

  “I am able,” snapped Gunther.

  “I believe you,” conceded the Purple. “I knew it as soon as I realized who you were. I wanted to explain what we created so you know what you’re up against. I hope you understand now that it’s not me you need to worry about.”

  A flicker of blue-white light burst out behind them. Ben’s heart sank. A rift had been activated.

  He glanced over his shoulder. Arcs of lightning danced around the edge of one of the rifts. In its center, thick black smoke billowed out, obscuring the hot red glow of magma. The same heat that destroyed the rift in the Wilds coursed through the home of the demons. Ben could see it behind the roiling clouds of soot. He could see shapes moving there too, squat, black, and coming closer. They began to fill the space on the other side of the rift.

  The Purple tossed the rift key into the air. It levitated in front of him, and he watched as scorching green fire engulfed it, melting the disc into a glowing ball of molten copper.

  Gunther stared at the ruined rift key in dismay.

  “I can fashion another, I suppose,” the elderly mage remarked coolly. “If I don’t, then that rift will remain open. Demons will pour into this world unabated. If you kill me, you will never close the rift. You will have to destroy it. When you do, it will obliterate you and anyone within several leagues of here.”

  Gunther took a step closer to the mage.

  An enraged shriek sounded from the rift then another and another. Ben raced to the railing and looked down. He saw demons pouring through the open gate.

  A short spear came flying across the room, thrown by one of the Purple’s guards, streaking toward Gunther. The big mage spun his hammer and crashed it against the spear, bursting it into a thousand splinters.

  One of the younger mages charged, brilliant whips of bright orange fire streaming from his wrists. He lashed one at Gunther. Gunther raised his hammer and let the whip wrap around the black iron. Blue fire burst from the hammer and streaked back down the whip. The Purple mage released the whip, and it flew into the air, burning into nothing.

  A screaming guard hurtled across the stone floor at Ben. He bar
ely got his sword up in time to parry the man’s spear thrust. The man’s strike went wide and his body crashed against Ben’s shoulder. Ben drew his longsword across the guard’s throat.

  Amelie pulled back the sleeve of her tunic, revealing the vambrace they’d collected in Irrefort from the dead Thin Blade. She held up her arm and her eyebrows knit in concentration. A flurry of fist-sized fireballs blasted out and showered one of the younger mages. He shrieked as his body was immolated in the unnatural fire.

  A crackle of electricity split the air. Luminous bolts of lightning blasted across the balcony. Ben wasn’t sure which mage was directing them, but the surging charges burned iridescent streaks into his eyes.

  A pack of the spear-toting guards stormed toward Ben. He dropped into a fighting stance and waited. He could no longer pay attention to the mage battle.

  Corinne took his side. They ducked and spun under the first wave of men, longsword and hand axes striking legs as the guards ran past. Ben felt his sword slice into a guard’s thigh-bone and the blade lodged, stuck.

  A second wave of spearmen was on him. Razor-sharp tips of the weapons thrust at him. He had to drop his sword then roll across the stone floor to avoid being skewered. One of the thrusts still caught him on the arm. He felt the point of the spear stab painfully into his flesh.

  O’ecca flew over him, and the heavy blade of her naginata swept into Ben’s attacker, lifting the man off his feet and flinging him back.

  Ben scrambled to his sword and tore it free from the injured guard. He ignored the man’s scream as the steel was wrenched out of his body. The man thrashed helplessly on the blood-slick stone floor.

  Ben turned and saw O’ecca and Corinne were holding off half a dozen of the spear-wielding guards. The men were clearly used to training instead of actual combat, but six, sharp-tipped spears were enough to keep the girls at bay.

  As Ben watched, one man swept his spear around Corinne’s axe and nicked her leg. The huntress grunted and stumbled back. Another spearman punched his weapon into her shoulder.

  O’ecca’s naginata swept down and took the man’s hand off, but the damage was already done. Corinne tucked her left arm to her side and grimaced in pain. She still held her hand axe in her right hand, but the reach advantage of the spears was nearly insurmountable. She was bleeding from the earlier wound in her side, her leg, and now her shoulder.

  Ben charged into the fray, smashing his longsword down on a spear then changing course and whipping his steel into the man’s face.

  More guards stormed after the first waves, evidently preferring to engage with sword and spear instead of fire and lightning.

  Ben risked a look over his shoulder and saw only two of the younger Purple mages remained. Gunther was stalking them across the balcony with his hammer.

  Both of the robed men were clutching devices, pouring a dark cloud of ominous smoke toward Gunther, but Ben didn’t take time to study it closely. The panicked look on their faces told him all he needed to know about how effective they would be at stopping the big mage.

  Rhys and Milo slammed into the backs of the bunched guards and wreaked havoc amongst them. Rhys slashed his mage-wrought blade through them with surgical precision. Milo stabbed his borrowed spear into the backs of the men while they were reeling away from the rogue’s glowing blade. There were still a dozen of the spearmen standing, but Ben was gaining hope, until, behind him, he heard an ear-shattering howl.

  Three chest-high demons scrambled up the stairs to his right and plunged into the battle.

  One of the creatures charged directly at Ben but found a spearman first. The unfortunate man stepped back, escaping a blow from O’ecca’s naginata. The demon pounced on his back, slamming him into the stone floor. Jaws snapped down on the man’s skull, crushing it with a powerful bite. The man’s terrified wail lapsed into a wet gurgle.

  Ben thrust his blade into the demon’s spine before it looked up from its feast.

  A thunderous boom rattled the entire chamber and Ben stumbled to his knees. Across the balcony, Gunther and the two Purple mages were lying on their backs. All three were stunned. Acrid smoke filled the space between them.

  The elder Purple mage was the only one still on his feet, but instead of attacking Gunther, he turned and fled.

  Corinne raced after him, limping on her injured leg, wounded arm against her side. Blood flowed freely down her leathers.

  “Don’t bother,” shouted Towaal from the stairs. “We have too much to deal with here. We can find him later.”

  Corinne ignored the mage and picked up her pace.

  The Purple mage turned in the shattered doorway of the balcony. His frazzled beard stuck out wildly. His eyes locked onto the huntress.

  Rhys ran after Corinne, his longsword boiling sparkling silver smoke.

  Corinne flung her axe at the bearded Purple mage. The man raised an arm in defense and cried out when the axe head thumped into his forearm. Half the head of the axe disappeared into his flesh.

  He glared at the huntress. In his other hand, crackling energy snapped around his closed fist.

  Rhys screamed but was only halfway there when a snap of brilliant white electricity shot out of the mage’s palm. The line of crackling power arced toward Corinne, sizzling as it flashed into her chest. The huntress was thrown backward and skidded across the smooth stone floor. She thudded into the stone railing.

  Wordless anger burst from Rhys’ throat. He raised his longsword, closing on the elderly mage.

  The man directed his lightning at the rogue, but the bolt fizzled against Rhys’ hardened will.

  The mage’s eyes bulged wide and he spluttered a panicked cry. The old man fell to his knees, futilely trying to raise his wounded arm in defense.

  The rogue’s longsword swept down and cleaved through the Purple’s arm and then his neck. His head spun through the air. His body, gushing blood, fell to the side.

  Ben heard a sickening crunch. He tore his eyes away from Rhys and saw the last of the Purple mages get flattened beneath Gunther’s hammer. Ben looked in shock at Corinne, who lay motionless against the stone balustrade.

  Jolting him out of his stupor, a spearman vaulted the body of the dead demon in front of him, the sharp tip of his weapon aimed for Ben’s heart. Ben parried the spear away and slammed his shoulder into the spearman, knocking him back. The man flopped to the floor, and heartbeats after he landed, a demon scrambled on top of him.

  Ben backed away, O’ecca and Milo flanking him.

  The remaining spearmen were locked in a battle with four demons, both sides taking grievous injuries.

  “We have to close the rift!” shouted Towaal from across the balcony.

  The mage was standing atop the far stairwell, raining fire down where Ben assumed a mass of demons was trying to make their way up.

  “We have to flee!” argued Gunther. “We can’t hold this room indefinitely. We can figure out a way to destroy the gate when we’re safe.”

  “I have another rift key,” declared Towaal, holding up the copper disc she’d been carrying since Northport. “If we wait until we’re a safe distance away to destroy this thing, thousands of those demons could come through. My key is not attuned to these structures, though. I need to get closer to use it.”

  Gunther strode to her side, his massive hammer ready.

  “Save your anima,” he suggested. Then he charged down the stairs.

  Ben, Milo, and O’ecca joined Towaal. They followed the big mage. He was swinging his hammer indiscriminately, coruscating waves of color thrumming through the massed bodies of demons below him. Black iron met black flesh and crushed it beneath the powerful blows.

  Before they disappeared down the stairwell, Ben saw Rhys fly into the massed demons and spearmen left on the balcony. His sword was blazing white, painting his face in an eerie and unnatural glow. Ben thought he could see tears streaming down the rogue’s cheeks.

  Amelie was kneeling beside Corinne. She met Ben’s gaze and shook her
head.

  At the entrance to the balcony, three young, purple-robed men burst out and then skidded to a stop. Mouths dropped open as they took in the scene in front of them.

  “I’ve got this,” asserted Amelie to Ben. “Help Towaal and Gunther. We have to get that gate closed.” She rose to her feet, vambrace held ready. Facing the three new arrivals, she shouted, “Rhys, we’ve got company.”

  Ben turned and rushed down the stairs. It was five flights to the bottom. A surging river of angry teeth and claws was flooding in from the open gate and up the stairs, blocking their way down. He saw several giant shapes looming over the crowd on the floor of the room. Arch-demons.

  Gunther hammered his way down the stairs, arms churning like a blacksmith at the forge. With each strike, spikes of color flew off his hammer, scything through demons, shattering masonry, and filling the air with a sticky purple mist.

  Ben slid and tripped down to stand with Milo and O’ecca. Towaal was ahead of them, cautiously following the path Gunther was clearing. None of them wanted to get too close to the mage’s hammer. A careless back-swing could easily crush them.

  Howls of rage welled up from the floor of the room as the demons watched their peers get annihilated by Gunther.

  Ben grimaced when he saw the taller shapes wading through their minions, converging on the base of the stairs.

  “Gunther!” he called. “Arch-demons.”

  The big mage didn’t respond. He kept pounding his way through the throng of creatures in front of him.

  An enormous roar shattered the air in the room. Even Gunther paused. A black mass blotted out the light of the rift as an incredible arch-demon stepped through the opening. It stood three stories tall. Its wings brushed the edges of the stone archway as it entered the room. The smaller demons cowered away from it, squealing in fear.

  Gunther, who’d made it to a landing one story above the base of the floor, placed a hand on the balustrade and called back, “Watch my back.”

  He easily vaulted over and plunged down into the writhing mass of creatures below.