Benjamin Ashwood Box Set 2

by A. C. Cobble

  Around him, Ben’s friends staggered in surprise. O’ecca screamed, and Prem stepped in front of the lady from the South Continent. She reached back with a hand, placing it on her. Tears filled the former guardian’s eyes, but she was holding up against the aural assault better than Ben.

  The attack wasn’t directed at them, though. The undying howl was aimed directly at Lady Avril, and Ben’s friends were merely collateral damage. The former Veil stumbled several steps back, her hands raising involuntarily, trying to block the noise from penetrating into her. Blood leaked from her ears, where her eardrums had burst, and she opened her own mouth, confusion and fear evident on her face.

  The undead mage advanced, its mouth open, its awful scream unabating.

  Trembling, Avril raked her hand, and to Ben’s horror, the second undead mage, the one with the flattened head, rose to its feet and pounced on the surviving one. It raised a bony fist and brought it down, pounding the other in the side of the skull, cutting off the ear-shattering cry.

  Clawing, grabbing, and punching at each other, the two corpses battled, stumbling and sliding across the floor toward Ben and his friends. Ben took an involuntary step back as the horrors lurched closer.

  “I’m done with these things,” growled Rhys.

  His longsword flared bright, the runes sparkling and bathing the room in a silver glow. He twirled the blade and leapt forward, delivering a powerful horizontal strike. His mage-wrought longsword sheared through both undead corpse’s heads in one blow. Instantly, their battle stopped, and they fell to the floor with a clatter of lifeless bones and dried flesh.

  “That had better be the last of them,” muttered the rogue.

  Lady Coatney’s eyes remained fixed on Avril. She flexed her fingers and drew a deep breath. “Let’s see how much you have left.”

  Avril, unable to hear a word the Veil was saying, launched a crackling fireball and then spun to flee.

  Coatney brushed the attack aside, her eyes shining bright with triumph. She gestured, and the doors at the far end of the room slammed shut, cutting off Avril’s escape route.

  Turning, the pretty blond raised her hands.

  Coatney raised hers in a similar gesture.

  Lightning burst in violent streaks, flashing back and forth between the women. Bolt after bolt, blow after blow, they rained attacks on each other, Coatney advancing, Avril stumbling in retreat.

  Amelie stepped forward, but Towaal grabbed her arm. They watched as the Veil closed on her rival, her blows coming faster and faster. Even to Ben, it was clear she was getting the best of Avril.

  The former Veil shook her head, reeling from the strikes. She rallied under the barrage of lightning and tried to stand, then the disc in her hands cracked. Ben gasped as Coatney took a final step forward. She slapped the broken disc from her rival’s fist and wrapped her hands around the blond woman’s neck.

  “I’m glad this is the way it’s ending,” she growled, tightening her grip.

  Avril’s hands shot up to grab Coatney’s wrists, but she was wounded and powerless. She’d used the last of her strength of will defending against the lightning. She was spent, physically and mentally.

  The Veil, hatred locked on her face, squeezed harder, and Avril dropped to her knees, her face reddening.

  “W-We have to—” stammered Amelie.

  “No,” said Lady Towaal. “Rhys told me your plan. Can you link to our allies at the Sanctuary again?”

  “I-I believe so,” responded Amelie, her eyes falling shut. After a moment, she said, “I’ve got them.”

  “Relay my words to Hadra when the time comes,” instructed Towaal.

  Quietly, Ben and his friends watched as the Veil choked the life out of her foe, strangling the woman to death on the battle-scarred marble floor. Finally, Lady Coatney let go, her hands leaving angry, red impressions on Avril’s milk-white skin. Coatney stood and faced Ben and his friends, a look of dark satisfaction marring her pretty face.

  She glanced at Amelie. “She’s projecting to the Sanctuary again?”

  “She is,” confirmed Towaal.

  Lady Coatney smirked. “Then I suppose it’s time for me to leave.”

  “No, Coatney,” said Towaal, her voice booming with command. “It is time for you to be judged.”

  “Judged by you?” asked Coatney with a grim laugh. “You plan to end me now, is it, so you can take the Veil?”

  “I plan to end you,” agreed Towaal. “The Veil will be granted as it always has, by vote.”

  “Have you lined up your support, Karina?” asked the Veil, drawing up to her full height. “If you haven’t, and you don’t watch them constantly, they’ll stab you in the back. They’ll start plotting against you the moment that flimsy fabric falls across your face. I wish I could watch it happen.”

  “I have no designs on your position, Coatney,” replied Towaal. She stepped toward the woman, the leader of the Sanctuary, and declared, “A quorum of mages is gathered in the Sanctuary at this moment. I submit that you’ve betrayed your vow to be the Veil between our world and the dark one. I submit you’ve delved into secrets that have been banned to our members. You’ve used your position to enact you own evil schemes, and I ask that the assembled mages sentence you to death.”

  Lady Coatney’s lips twisted into a feral smile. “You think you have the strength to carry out that sentence, Karina? You’ve never been stronger than I.”

  “The mages agree,” said Amelie, her eyes still closed. “The sentence is death.”

  “I suppose I should be proud,” remarked Lady Coatney, shaking her hands out and stretching her neck. “Any other time, it would have taken those scared hens several weeks to return a death sentence against a sitting Veil. It seems you did line up your supporters in advance.”

  “I did not,” said Towaal. “They saw what you’ve done here. They know the evil in your heart.”

  “Then I hope they’re ready for the war I will bring,” snarled Coatney. She raised a hand and a blast of bitter cold flew toward Towaal, moisture freezing in an instant and forming into a narrow spear of ice.

  Towaal crossed her arms and tried to hold stasis, but the attack hit her with a force she wasn’t prepared for. She was blown off her feet, landing heavily on her back.

  “You cannot match my will, Karina!” crowed Lady Coatney.

  “Try me,” stated Amelie calmly, opening her eyes and stepping between Coatney and Towaal.

  “Out of the way, Initiate,” snapped the Veil.

  “No.”

  Amelie curled her hands, and heat swirled around the Veil. The woman contemptuously raised her arms, and her eyes widened in surprise. Amelie held Coatney’s gaze, and the heat swirled in closer, shimmering in the air. From across the room, Ben could feel it against his face. He stepped away from Amelie, seeing she had the matter in hand and knowing he wouldn’t have the strength to stop any of the Veil’s counterattacks.

  “No!” shouted Lady Coatney. “You cannot do this. You are not strong enough!”

  Amelie brought her hands together, slowly, like she was squeezing a stubborn object, and the flame swirled closer to the Veil. Sweat was popping out on the woman’s forehead, and she screamed incredulously.

  “Knowledge and will,” stated Amelie through gritted teeth. “You have the knowledge, but you do not have a strong enough will. You cannot stop this.”

  The Veil snarled and pushed her arms out, forcing the fire away.

  Amelie’s brow furrowed, and she pushed her hands in again. The fire licked at the Veil’s outstretched arms.

  The woman cried out in agony, and the flame closed. A sharp, bitter scream erupted from her throat, and Amelie clapped her hands together. The inferno responded and raged around the Veil. Pressing her hands together, Amelie held the pose, and the roaring fire burned hotter. The pained scream rose, a counterpoint to the awful wail of the undead mage. Then it wavered, and then it stopped.

  Amelie relaxed her hands and let them fall to her waist
. The body of the Veil fell to the floor, merely a sickening pile of ash and char. Little flames danced on her smoking ruin.

  “Thank you Amelie,” muttered Lady Towaal as she clambered to her feet, brushing melting ice from her chest and arms. “I underestimated her. She kept more in reserve than I thought she was capable of holding, and she’s not the only one.”

  “I held onto the strength of that storm in Whitehall,” admitted Amelie, “as much of it as I could comfortably maintain.”

  Lady Towaal blinked at her. “You held onto it for weeks even while you slept?”

  Amelie shrugged.

  “Being a mage isn’t just about the strength of your will,” said Towaal, straightening her dress. “It’s about knowledge and will together. It’s about balance and supplementing your knowledge with will and your will with knowledge. You’ve done well, Amelie. I’m impressed.”

  “I can’t believe this worked,” declared Rhys, moving to stand over the bodies of the two former Veils. He prodded Coatney with his boot before saying, “Just making sure they’re really dead this time.”

  “They’d better be,” grunted Ben.

  “When you first told us what you intended, I was certain one or both of these women would burn us like… well, like Amelie burned Coatney,” said Rhys.

  “Why’d you come along if you thought we’d lose?” asked Ben.

  “I figured I could run away while you distracted them,” answered Rhys, turning to grin at the group.

  Ben rolled his eyes and declared, “I think it’s best we get out of here as soon as possible. I can’t imagine the guards are eager to walk through the doors after hearing that battle, but sooner or later, they’ll venture in. We need to be gone when they do.”

  “Where should we go?” asked Amelie. “Hide out in Fabrizo or head straight to Murdoch’s Waystation and Saala?”

  “I could use an ale…” suggested Rhys.

  “We know,” responded Ben.

  “I believe Madam Crimson served those, and she has plenty of beds we could rest in for a few days,” continued Rhys.

  “You can’t help yourself, can you?” wondered Amelie.

  Prem moved to stand in front of the rogue, and he sheepishly looked away.

  “For once, no one’s injured,” said Ben. “Between the thieves, the Sanctuary’s guards, and whoever else may come looking for us, it’s best we leave town at once. We could make it a few bells outside of Fabrizo before dark. Two more weeks, and we’ll be at Murdoch’s. With any luck, we’ll catch Saala before he moves again.”

  “As much as I’d like to,” said O’ecca, “I cannot join you any further.”

  Ben nodded. “I understand. You have responsibilities to the emperor. We’re grateful for your help, though. We may not have made it here without you. O’ecca, we owe you.”

  “I, and the emperor, owed you for your help in Shamiil,” sad the diminutive girl with a giant smile on her lips. “Not to mention, you’ve shown me a way of life, a comradery, that I never knew existed. Before I joined you, I was rather… stiff.”

  “You said it,” responded Ben, a grin turning up the edges of his mouth. “Let’s call it even.”

  “Fair enough,” agreed O’ecca. She wrapped her arms around him for a hug.

  Amelie embraced her as well, but when they moved away and O’ecca turned to say goodbye to the others, Lady Towaal said, “I must go a different path as well.”

  “What?” exclaimed Ben.

  “The Sanctuary will be in turmoil,” explained Lady Towaal. “Coatney was a strong leader, and the factions that supported her were strong. They have lost a great deal of credibility now, and that leaves a vacuum of power. Anything could happen, and while I think Coatney was a unique brand of evil, there are others who could be just as bad in their own ways. Even while trying to do the right thing, there is much that could go wrong. A change in the Veil only happens every few centuries, and the Sanctuary needs the right leader now more than ever. If we elect the wrong woman again…”

  “Should-Should I go to the City as well?” wondered Amelie.

  “You never completed your training,” responded Towaal. “You have no vote and no reason to be there. I do have a vote, though, if I can make it to the City in time to cast it.”

  “I will take you,” offered O’ecca. “I believe the emperor will understand. Being nearby when one of your colleagues is granted the Veil could be a unique opportunity for us.”

  Towaal offered a grateful nod.

  “I will stay with you, Ben,” said Prem, turning from Rhys. “Your cause is just, and you need my connection to my father and your troops.”

  “We can use you,” said Ben, nodding to the girl. He looked at Rhys. “I’m afraid to ask.”

  The rogue, his eyes on Prem, did not immediately respond. He turned to Lady Towaal and raised an eyebrow.

  “Go with Ben. He will have need of your skills.”

  Rhys hitched his belt, and Ben felt a flood of relief. He had been prepared to continue, but without Towaal, the loss of Rhys would have been difficult.

  Towaal said to O’ecca, “I would like to leave as soon as possible.”

  O’ecca set her naginata on her shoulder. “We’ll inform Madam Crimson of what happened here, and then we can leave on the next tide.”

  “With luck and a strong wind, we may reach the Sanctuary before the vote,” said Towaal.

  “Hold on,” advised Amelie. “I can contact Hadra again through our thought meld and ask the Sanctuary to wait until you arrive.”

  Towaal blinked. “Girl, I don’t think they’d—”

  “She just executed the Veil for them,” reminded Ben. “When Hadra mentions that, and about the demon-king, the undead mages in their midst, the wyvern fire, everything else… They had better wait.”

  A smile stole onto Towaal’s face. “You two have come a long way into leadership, haven’t you?”

  “I don’t know about leadership,” muttered Ben, “but I know that even an ungrateful bunch of witches should admit when they made a mistake and wait a few weeks to make sure they don’t make another one.”

  9

  Going Home

  “I don’t see why we couldn’t stay just one night in Fabrizo,” complained Rhys.

  “There was a time you said it was all fish and wine down there,” replied Ben, “and you’re an ale man.”

  Rhys drew on his pipe and then slowly exhaled the fragrant smoke. “I’ll drink wine when it’s the only thing available.”

  “How much of it is an act?” asked Prem, sitting across the small campfire from the rogue, studying him through heavily lidded eyes.

  “An act?” responded Rhys innocently.

  “You play the rogue like you were born to it, but there’s more beneath the surface,” said Prem. “You’re here with us, camped out beside the road with no women, no ale, and no payment at the end of this quest. You don’t have to come with us on this journey, but here you are.”

  “There are a few women,” protested Rhys, waving his pipe in her and Amelie’s direction.

  Prem snorted. “None you want to share a bedroll with.”

  Ben thought he saw the rogue flush, but it could have been the heat from the fire.

  “Your father—” started Rhys.

  “Isn’t here,” interjected Prem. She leaned closer to him, pinning him with her eyes through the flickering flames of the fire. “Why do you do it? Why do you keep up the image of the uncaring assassin?”

  “He has a reputation to keep,” responded Ben, coming to his friend’s aid. “The minute he shows everyone how gooey and soft he is inside, he’ll be tossed out of the assassin business. Cold-hearted killers only, I’m told.”

  Rhys guffawed. “There’s some truth to that, I suppose, but I’m not sure that’s a business I want to be a part of anymore. The real truth… this is fun, and it’s nice to do something noble for a change. I’ll let Ben be the bright-hearted hero, though. Drinking, carousing, cracking-wise, that’s wha
t I prefer.”

  Wordlessly, Prem stood and circled the fire, gathering her bedroll and flipping it out to where Rhys had already laid his. Only a finger-width of room separated the two blankets. The rogue and the former guardian stared at each other. Finally, he grunted and pulled a plump wineskin from his pack. He offered it to the girl, and she took it, settling down beside him.

  “Are you going to go back to Farview, Ben?” asked Amelie, turning to him and trying to ignore the looks between their two friends.

  “I’m not sure I can,” he responded.

  “It’s, what, two or three days from Murdoch’s Waystation?” she asked.

  “Two,” answered Ben. “That’s not what I meant, though.”

  “It probably won’t be the same place you left,” warned Rhys from across the fire.

  “And I’m not the same person,” added Ben.

  “We don’t have to go there,” said Amelie. “I just thought… we’ll be so close.”

  “I have friends I’d like to see,” admitted Ben, “and family, I suppose. But, going there, spending time with everyone… I’m not sure we can afford to lose a week, and if I go there, I’m not sure I can do what I need to do.”

  “We’ll know when we get to this Murdoch’s, right?” asked Prem. “If we find King Saala there, maybe this will all end, and you can go home.”

  Ben frowned. “Maybe.”

  In the first few days of travel from Fabrizo, they passed the small towns that were scattered around the outskirts of the city, little places that subsisted on a specific focus in specialized crafts like making lace or blowing glass. They stopped in several towns for supplies, but they found the stores were empty, and the locals greeted them with glares and curses.

  The Alliance’s army was passing through. While it was an incredible boom in business for the small towns, it was clear the residents were overwhelmed. They’d gotten sick of the constant stomp of hobnail boots on the road, the rudeness of the soldiers, and the haughty disdain the highborn displayed toward the provincial craftsmen.

  “Saala isn’t winning any friends around here,” remarked Rhys as they ducked out of a store which purported to sell general merchandise. Inside, they’d found mostly empty shelves and a grouchy proprietor who’d answered their queries with surly disdain.