by Dante King
Ben had to decide. If he stayed in his hawk form, his profile would be smaller and harder to find. But he couldn’t move his wing, let alone fly. The best he could hope for would be to play possum and pray he wouldn’t be spotted.
But a quick glance down at his brown wings against the emerald green grass put the kibosh on those plans. He stuck out like a sore thumb. There was no way he’d be able to hide from D’reth and his slaves.
He had to think of something, and fast.
“He can’t have gone far!” shouted D’reth. “He’s a damn wounded bird! Simply find him and break his little neck!”
Determination filled Ben. He was ready to show D’reth what a “wounded bird” could do. He closed his eyes and focused, picturing his mana supply in his mind’s eye. He was nearly empty, and there was no doubt shifting back to his human form would consume what little he had left.
But he had no choice. Ben ignored his pounding heart and his nerves that were aflame with the fear of being caught. He calmed himself and focused, shifting back into his human form.
Relief took hold of him at seeing his body return. But the relief was instantly replaced by incredible, searing pain. He glanced over at his arm and saw that the breaks in his wing had shifted back with him. The sight was grisly, his forearm cracked at an unnatural angle, bone sticking out through bloody, torn flesh.
Healing Touch. If I’m going to do anything, I have to fix this arm. But where?
He looked around, noticing that the rolling hills, while pretty to look at, didn’t offer much in the way of hiding. Not a single tree was within sight, and the only variation to the landscape was the river—which was too far to reach.
Ben rose, his arm singing in pain at the slight movement. He took one step, then another, his wrecked forearm cradled in front of him. Each footfall sent a fresh blast of pain through his arm. As much as he tried to ignore it, he knew there was no way he’d be able to make it far before having to stop, recharge his mana and heal himself.
But he had no option other than to keep moving. Ben made his way down the hill, scanning the scenery to find somewhere he could take shelter for a few minutes.
“Here’s the deal,” called out D’reth. “The slave who finds him lives. The slave who tried his best will merely take a beating. And the slave who doesn’t perform the search to my satisfaction will be flayed alive by my magic. Deal? Don’t forget that you’re all infinitely replaceable.”
Ben’s anger almost drowned out the pain as he listened to D’reth’s words echo over the hills. The mage was a menace, and he looked forward to taking him out—violently, if possible.
Ben hurried down the hill, but paused to catch his breath as a new hill faced him when he reached the bottom. He estimated that there was a good hundred feet between him and D’reth. No time to waste, he reminded himself. Ben winced—there’d be plenty of pain to endure on the way to the next hill.
It wasn’t much of a plan, he knew. He’d go to the other hill, climb to the top, and hope that it would give him a vantage point from which to figure out his next move. He ran on, the pain in his arm more and more unbearable with each step.
“The next hill!” shouted D’reth. “That’s where he’s going!”
“Which next hill?” asked one of the slaves, his voice weak.
“Gods, how stupid are you three? You scout that hill, and you scout that one. And you scout the one ahead. There’s only so far he can go!”
Ben moved as quickly as he could, trying his best to ignore the pain.
But when he reached the halfway point between the two hills, his foot hit something hard under the grass. Something big. As Ben looked closer, —a voice spoke out to him—the same one he’d heard when he’d flown over the ruins.
“Benzhameen. Take what is yours.”
He stopped, the words echoing in his mind. There was no doubting that the voice was speaking to him, calling out to him.
And when he glanced down at his feet, he saw something large and round.
It was a door in the ground. Ben dropped to his knees. Sure enough, a stone, round door was in the earth, surrounded by overgrown grass. He ripped the grass away. The door was circular, and made of solid stone, impossible to move.
Right at the moment he found himself trying to figure out what the hell to do with the door, the voice spoke again.
“Take what is yours.”
What the hell does that mean? he thought, letting out a frustrated sigh as he swept his eyes over the door.
Then he noticed something. There was a handle on the door made of black iron. And in the grooves in the iron looked just the right size to fit fingers. His fingers.
Take what’s mine, thought Ben. Well, one way to try.
He grabbed the handle, letting his fingers fall into the groves in the iron. Ben’s fingers fit them perfectly, as if they’d been designed for his fingers and his alone. The instant he clasped his hand around the latch, a click sounded, followed by the impossibly heavy door rising and spinning out of the way. A ladder led down, and Ben was so surprised by what he’d seen that all he could do was stare into the darkness.
“There!” shouted one of the slaves. “I’ve found him!”
Ben whipped his gaze over his shoulder and spotted the slave rushing toward him, the man running quickly despite his emaciated frame. Then again, the slave’s life was on the line.
Ben didn’t wait. He pivoted his body and put his legs on the second rung of the ladder. It took considerable effort to make his way down with only one usable arm, but he managed it, slowly and surely, the pain throbbing through his forearm.
When he dropped to the bottom, the gray sky a perfect circle above, the stone door shifted back into place. There was total darkness for a moment.
What the hell is this place? Ben wondered. It’s pitch dark down here—did I just climb down into my grave?
He didn’t have much time to ponder the question. All around him, torches on the walls came to life, their flames whooshing until they were bright enough to cast a flickering, orange glow through the space.
The room was circular, filled with tall, wooden bookshelves packed with dusty, colorful spines. There was a grand desk, made of hand-carved wood, along with a small bed. Despite being underground, the air tasted fresh and cool. It was a cozy space, like a medieval hotel room reserved for nobles.
What the hell is this place? he thought as he stepped further into the room. It’s like a little dorm room under the earth. But for me?
But one glance at his busted arm reminded him that he had bigger things to worry about. Whatever this place was, it gave him the perfect spot to recharge his mana and heal his arm. Ben sat down on the edge of the bed - which was surprisingly soft - and rummaged through his bag. He withdrew one of two remaining mana crystals and eagerly chomped at it, chewing quickly. His mana refilled and he took a moment to catch his breath.
When he was ready, Ben closed his eyes and focused, tapping into Healing Touch. He held his hand over the protruding bone. The spell took hold, his bone withdrawing back under the skin, the ragged wound stitching itself up until the skin was as good as new. He stretched out the now-healed arm, making sure it was as usable as it looked.
“Where…where the hell did he go?” The voice of the slave echoed clear as day in the space. There was no way he should’ve been able to hear the slave that well. Was there some kind of magic that allowed him to hear what was going on outside of the room’s door?
As if the space answered his question, a screen appeared on the wall, one made of magical energy. It was like looking into a CCTV powered by magic, the view of the slave seated near the door.
“He got into one of these doors,” said the slave, reaching over and tapping the stone door.
“How the hells did he get into it?” D’reth screeched from afar. “We haven’t been able to open a single one of them!”
There are other doors? Ben thought. Whoever these people were, they knew more about these chambers th
an he did.
The slave let his head fall into his hands.
“I’m dead,” he said, shaking his head. “There’s no way I’ll be able to find him in here. I might as well present my neck to D’reth and get it over with.”
The slave clearly knew something about this area. And more than that, Ben wasn’t about to stand around and let the slave be brutalized by D’reth. There would be none of that in his empire.
Ben stood up.
“Door, open,” he commanded.
Instantly, the stone door rolled open to the side. On the magical screen, the slave scampered away from it, clearly shocked by what he’d just seen. Ben hurried over to the ladder and climbed up, poking his head over the top.
“Hey!” he shouted. “Get in here!”
The slave turned to Ben, staring at him dumbfounded.
“W…what?”
“Do you value your life?” Ben asked. “If so, get in here!”
The slave looked around, as if he wanted to make sure that this wasn’t a trick. Ben took note of his features. The slave was wiry and lean, his muscles practically nothing under his patterned cloak that had seen better days. His hair was short and choppy, his slim face covered in a patchy beard. Ben guessed that he was in his forties. Despite his emaciated stature, Ben could see a strength to him, though one that had long-faded.
“Look,” Ben said. “You can take your chances with me, or you can go back to D’reth and see how he handles hearing you’ve failed. Choice is yours.”
That got the slave’s attention. He hurried over as Ben went down the ladder. The slave followed him down and when they were both at the bottom, Ben commanded the door to close. It did, replacing the natural sunlight with the flickering flames of the torches.
The slave looked around the room with wide eyes, as if trying to figure out what he’d gotten himself into.
“You can sit,” Ben said.
The slave stumbled back and bumped into the bed, falling onto it. The look of surprise was still on his face.
“What…” he said. “How…what is going on here?”
“You’ve got questions for me,” Ben said. “I’ve got questions for you. First you will answer mine—what the hell is this place?”
The slave shook his head. His hands trembled, his terror clear as day. Ben spotted a dusty bottle of wine on one of the bookshelves. He stepped over and picked it up, using a knife in his pack to open the bottle. Once it was open, he placed it in the slave’s hands.
“Drink,” he said. “And calm down.”
The slave nodded quickly before bringing the wine to his lips and drinking deeply, purple streaks trickling down his chin. When he’d drunk nearly half the bottle, he set the wine down on the floor and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Gods… that…that was the first taste of wine I’ve had in over a decade.”
“Then let it calm you and tell me what you know. What is this place? And who are you?”
He nodded. “I’m only a slave,” he said. “They don’t tell us much. All I know about this area is that they sent the scouting party out to explore these ruins and figure out what they were. My name is Quintus, by the way.”
“I’m Ben. Who doesn’t tell you much? Who sent the scouts out here?”
“The One Who Rules All.”
“I see,” Ben said. “Does he have any other name?”
“Some call him simply The One.”
“He’s part of the Xurian Realm?”
“He is not. No one has seen his face or heard his voice. He gives his orders to his attendants who pass those orders down the command line,” the slave said simply before moving on. “The One’s scouts have found many of these stone doors, but not one of the soldiers or D’reth has been able to open them.”
“D’reth—he’s a scout mage?”
“He’s the leader of the expedition. But he doesn’t like to put himself in harm’s way, so he chooses to scout—watching the perimeter.
A coward, thought Ben. A coward and a sadist.
“And,” the slave continued, “if he finds out that these can be opened…” he looked around, shaking his head in disbelief. “All they know about these ruins is that they hold immense power. D’reth has been trying to get our leaders to give him an expedition to investigate them. He’s convinced that once he unlocks their secrets, he’ll be able to tap into their power and take it for himself.”
“And he tells you this?”
“He rants about it. The man is in love with the sound of his own voice. He talks our ears off about what he’s planning. I suppose he figures it doesn’t matter because he’ll just dispose of us eventually.”
“Dispose?” Ben clenched his fists, anger rising in his heart.
“Dispose.” He nodded. “D’reth is wealthy, and likes to show it off—you can tell by the way he dresses and the horse he rides. And one of the ways he loves flaunting his wealth is by going through slaves like we’re nothing. The slightest displeasure and he executes the slave that angered him, having him replaced by the end of the weak.”
“And how did you come to be in his custody?”
“I was the captain of the guard of my village, which was raided by the One Who Rules All. They captured the women and children, killed the men who weren’t strong enough to be useful. I have no idea where my family is, and until speaking with you just now, I’d assumed that I wouldn’t be returning from his scouting trip.”
A curious expression flashed on Quintus’ face, as if something had just occurred to him.
“Wait,” he said. “Who are you? How the hells did you open this place?”
No sense in hiding it any longer, Ben supposed.
“My name isn’t only ‘Ben’—it’s Benzhameen,” he said. “Benzhameen the Forgotten Ruler. And I’ve returned to reclaim my empire.”
Quintus stared at him with a wide-eyed expression.
“The…Forgotten Ruler? You are him?”
“You were expecting someone else?”
“No, not at all. Please forgive me for my insolence.” He hunched over, as if expecting Ben to strike him.
“Calm yourself,” Ben said, offering him a smile. “I’m only joking.”
“That’s…that’s another surprise. I would’ve expected to see the Forgotten Ruler on a mighty throne, serious and grave and larger than life. To know you’re a man like me, with a sense of humor… never mind—I’ve said too much.”
“You’re safe now, assuming what you say is true.”
“It is. I’ve no loyalty to D’reth or any of his men. I would kill him myself if I had the chance.” Quintus glanced away. “But he’ll be looking for me. There’s a rule among his slaves—if you escape, two lives will be taken repayment. If he doesn’t find me soon, there’s no doubt that he’ll kill the other slaves once he realizes he can’t track us down.”
Ben paused to think. “You wish to have your freedom?” he asked.
“More than anything.”
“Then I can offer you and the other slaves shelter in my tower—if you can help me kill D’reth.”
Quintus didn’t hesitate before speaking. “It would be a pleasure.”
Ben came up with a plan and shared it with Quintus. It would be risky, but if it worked he would be able to kill the mage without breaking a sweat—and perhaps gain a few more spells in the process. Ben handed one of the null locks to Quintus once they were both up the ladder.
“When I give the word,” Ben said. “You know what to do.”
“Yes. And… thank you.”
Ben nodded, watching as Quintus hurried off up the next hill, disappearing over the horizon. Ben tensed, his sword at his hip. He didn’t want the situation to turn into an all-out fight, but he needed to be ready if it were to come to that.
The gray, roiling clouds overhead shifted and swirled, lightning flashing within their depths, wind blowing over the grass. Ben felt like a cowboy ready for a high-noon showdown.
After a few minutes,
D’reth, Quintus, and the other slaves raced over the hilltop, the mage mounted on his horse.
“And there he is,” said D’reth. “The nosy little hawk who won’t stay dead.” His voice carried down the hill as he rode, and soon he was only a few dozen feet from Ben. Quintus stood with the defeated posture befitting of a slave—Ben suppressed a smile as he noted Quintus was doing an excellent job going along with the plan.
“Here I am,” Ben said. “And I’m ready for you to tell me what the hell you’re doing on my land.”
D’reth’s thick, dark eyebrows rose in surprise, as if he weren’t quite sure that he’d heard Ben correctly. He laughed—a loud, barking laugh that carried over the hills.
“You…you’re serious?” he asked. “Who the hells are you to claim this land for your own? And furthermore, who the hells are you to have the power to change into a hawk? What is going on here?”
Ben stood strong. “My name is Benzhameen,” he said. “The Forgotten Ruler. This is my land and I’ll back my claim with force, if I need to. Now, if you wish to see another sunrise, you’ll —give your slaves over to me. Then you’ll go to your men and lead them out of these ruins, never to return.”
D’reth let out another barking laugh. “Surely, you’re joking! And what will you do if I refuse?”
“Kill you,” Ben said, glaring at D’reth. “I haven’t decided yet how, but you will certainly die.”
D’reth narrowed his eyes, as if he’d realized that Ben wasn’t joking. “I can sense your power, young man,” he said. “And while it is… not insignificant if you’ve mastered the spell of transformation, it’s still nothing compared to mine. I don’t know how you got it into your head that you’re the Forgotten Ruler, but you’re on the verge of making a grave mistake—one that will cost you your life.”
He held his hands, his palms facing one another. A small, red orb grew larger by the second.
“Here’s a deal of my own. Turn around and leave. Scamper back to wherever you came from and spread the word that D’reth D’abruzzi is as generous as he is powerful.”
