by AC Cobble
Benjamin Ashwood
by
AC Cobble
Text Copyright © 2016 AC Cobble
All Rights Reserved
Table of Contents
Hero
Farview
The Road
Fabrizo
The Philosophy of Thieves
Saltwater
Whitehall
Ruined Evening
The Road II
Snowmar Pass
Sineook Valley
Kirksbane
Venmoor
The City
Conflicting Interests
The Sanctuary
Engagement
Flight
The End
Hero
The tricky thing about living in a society that allows you freedom is that everyone else has it too.
Some people can’t handle that. They can’t accept their neighbor making a different choice than they did. That’s the tricky part, letting someone else have the freedom to choose. A choice isn’t really a choice if there is only one option. It’s inherent with real choices - with true freedom - that everyone can make their own decisions. For us to be free, we have to come to terms with that. We have to understand that not every decision is our’s to make. Not every decision is a good one.
People call me a hero. They say that because I fought for them. Let me tell you, that was the easy part.
The hard part, the part that really mattered, is what happened after. That’s what I want to be remembered for. Not because I fought. Not because I killed. Not because I survived. Remember me because I tolerated. Remember me because I accepted. Remember me because I understood that I’m not here to make your choices.
If I had done that, if I had been just one more dictator sitting atop a golden throne, then it would have been for nothing. I didn’t free you from your oppressive rulers. I freed you from yourselves.
I’m sorry if you don’t like it.
Unattributed lecture series notes
37 A.W. - City University
Farview
Ben peered into the dense fog. The mist blanketed the forest in an unnatural silence. The only sounds were the coughs and nervous shuffling of the men stretched out around him. The men were in a ragged line that quickly disappeared into the impenetrable wall of white.
He imagined the men on the ends of the line could easily slip off and head back to town and none of the rest of them would ever know. He tried to remember who was out there on the end and picture if they were the type to leave their neighbors to this task alone. Dale Catskin was one of them he thought. He wasn’t the type to be out here any longer than he had to.
His reverie was broken when his friend Serrot emerged like a wraith from the fog and moved silently towards the men. He waved an all clear and the men passed it down the line in hushed whispers. They started moving slowly forward again.
Serrot fell in next to Ben and adjusted his grip on his bow. He was clutching it with an arrow knocked and had a long hunting knife strapped to his belt. Ben knew that in normal circumstances Serrot would never have his bowstrings out in this damp. The hunt they were on had all of them acting skittish and his friend wanted to be ready.
“Did you see anything?” whispered Ben.
“No, I made it up to the stream and it’s all clear,” answered Serrot with a shrug. “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to see anything in this fog. Hopefully when we get up on the ridgeline it will have burned off some. It’s only another two leagues.”
Serrot was acting as their scout. He hunted small game and deer in these woods and could pick up a track better than any man in Farview. They had been friends since Ben moved to Farview years before.
Ben ran his hands along the smooth ash of his quarterstaff and wished for the hundredth time he’d asked to borrow a real weapon. He was good with the quarterstaff. Last year he’d placed second in the tournament at the Spring Festival. For this though, he wanted something more substantial, he wanted something with an edge.
Serrot hissed, “what if we can’t see it in this fog? I don’t want the damn thing dropping down on top of me. Old Gamson told me they can fly and he’s seen them swoop down behind a man and take his head off without a sound! I can’t believe the tight ass on the Town Council wouldn’t hire a Hunter for this!”
Ben glanced to his left where Alistair Pinewood, Ben’s adopted father, was walking with his true son Brandon. Everyone knew who the ‘tight ass on the Town Council’ was.
Years before, Ben was adopted by the Pinewoods when his real father passed away. Alistair had assumed ownership of the Ashwood family timber holdings to cover unpaid debts. Taking responsibility for Ben in the bargain was one of the few times the rest of the Council got their way and made Alistair bend.
Outstanding debt to Alistair was not unusual in Farview. He was by far the wealthiest man in town and earned much of that wealth by lending to his neighbors. The ‘tight ass’ moniker came because he didn’t always see eye to eye with the rest of the town on what he should contribute to the common good.
Ben had a unique view of what life was like with the Pinewoods. They had money, but it didn’t make them any happier. Ben’s friends never understood that. Watching Alistair and Brandon walk together now, Ben didn’t miss the connection the younger Pinewood had with the older or the gold and property he would eventually inherit. Alistair was a cold, hard man. The short time Ben had with his real father was better than a lifetime of that.
Ben sighed and responded to Serrot, “Old Gamson claims to have seen an awfully lot for someone who’s never been more than 10 leagues outside of Farview. A demon this small can’t fly. When they’re this small they don’t even have wings. It’s like hunting down a rabid dog.” At least Ben hoped it was like that. He hadn’t seen any more demons than Serrot had.
In fact, it had been years since anyone in Farview had seen a demon. In the stories there were big ones who could rip an ox in two. But Ben talked to some of the men down at the Buckhorn Tavern who’d actually been on demon hunts long ago and it didn’t sound too scary. The ones they saw weren’t more than a yard tall and weren’t any more dangerous than an angry bear. Reason for caution certainly, but nothing the men couldn’t handle. Sending for a Hunter for something like that was unnecessary. Still, with this fog, Ben wished again that he’d brought a weapon more lethal than his quarterstaff.
As the day wore on, the thick fog stubbornly remained floating throughout the forest. It was the early days of spring and this high in the mountains the air still carried a bitter chill. Ben rubbed his arms and strained to see further into the murky white. The eerie silence was unnerving and Ben couldn’t help but wonder where the normal birds and forest creatures had gone.
He was peering so hard into the mist that he missed seeing a tree root which caught his foot and nearly sent him sprawling. He uttered an embarrassed swear and stole a glance at Serrot who was effortlessly gliding around obstacles. Serrot spent nearly every waking moment in these woods and moved in them as naturally and silently as the animals he hunted.
Ben hoped Serrot knew what he was doing. He was counting on him to be ready in case the demon came at their section of the line. The tactics for hunting a demon this size were fairly simple. Demons fed on life blood and had a supernatural sense for when it was near. A smaller demon would rarely attack a large group of men on it’s own, but if stumbled upon, it would not be able to resist charging. So, the men spread out in a loose formation and stalked through the forest. When the demon was attracted they would let the archers wound and slow it down, rush in with spears to pin it and then finish it with an axe or sword.
The demon would sense their life forces long before they would see it, but a demon is not a cautious creatu
re. It would make no secret when it began it’s charge. The stories said it would bellow a challenge as it rushed towards it’s target. With plenty of visibility and skilled archers, there was little danger with a young, small demon.
The topic of demons is not exactly dinner table conversation, but they are a fact of life and Farview is like any small town. There were always plenty of men at the local tavern to tell a story or two. Generally accepted knowledge of demons and how to face them was passed down with the same care and assurance as crop cycles and telling a proper weather forecast.
Because he was largely ignored by Alistair Pinewood, Ben had the freedom at a young age to spend far too many hours at the Buckhorn Tavern hearing those stories. For many of the Buckhorn regulars, the young Ben became something of a tavern mascot and they delighted telling him about demons, Hunters, grumpkins, hobgoblins, wyverns, Mages, the long lived and other stories that seemed mythical to a boy in Farview who hadn’t seen anything more dangerous or exciting than logging accidents and the Spring Festival. Ben was certain that the most exciting and vivid story tellers like Old Gamson didn’t have any more experience with these things than he did, but he could never resist hearing about a good adventure.
And finally, he was getting his to live his own adventure, even if it was turning out to be a bit boring.
For the last month and a half, many of the farmers who lived on the outskirts of Farview had reported mysteriously losing livestock. Rumors ranged from mountain lions, to bandits, to refugees, to theft by jealous neighbors to every manner of magical creature. Last night though, Farmer Ell rushed into town calling for a full meeting of the Town Council.
Still in the middle of the square, he claimed he’d seen what was taking their livestock. Ell said he saw a small black shape no larger than a sheep dog dragging away one of his pigs. He started running across the yard and when he was halfway to the creature the full moon came out from behind a cloud and there it was – small curved horns on it’s head and wing buds on it’s back – it couldn’t be anything other than a young demon.
The Town Council immediately called for a posse to track the demon down first thing in the morning. Ben spent the rest of the night thinking about what it would be like to see one of the creatures he’d only heard of in stories. It wasn’t nearly as exciting as seeing a wyvern or meeting a long lived, but still, it was something.
At least, it seemed exciting before they started trooping around in the cold damp forest all morning without seeing anything more dangerous than drifting mist.
No one really knew where demons came from. Usually when first spotted, a demon would be small, weak, slow and confused. As they fed on life blood, they grew in size, strength and speed. Most dangerously though, they grew in intelligence. A demon the height of a man is incredibly deadly and there were stories where dozens of trained warriors couldn’t take one down. When faced with the threat of a grown demon, a town like Farview would hire one or more professional Hunters. Hunters were men and women who made a vocation of hunting down demons and other dangerous prey.
There were around 60 men in the posse, nearly a quarter of the healthy men in Farview. Ben could only see the closest five or six though as they made their way through the gloom. Massive pine trees loomed out of the mist and disappeared into the curtain of white above them. The silence of the forest was oppressive. Moisture dripping off the pine needles was the only sound that accompanied the ones the men made. Ben glanced at Serrot who was at home among these trees and could see that he was nervous too.
Serrot saw his look and whispered, “it’s about 500 yards down the slope until we get to the stream. There’s a clearing there and we can regroup before pushing up to the top of the ridge. Up on the ridgeline we’ll get better visibility.
“I hope you’re right,” muttered Ben.
Alistair Pinewood dramatically grunted and glared at them. When he caught their attention he hissed, “stay focused!”
This section of forest was part of Alistair’s timber holdings so no one objected when he declared himself the leader of the posse. It had been years since he spent much time in these woods, and as far as Ben knew, he’d never encountered a demon. But Ben had to admit, Alistair was able to use his influence to gather such a large group of men quickly.
As they continued the advance another sound faintly intruded on Ben’s conscious. They were approaching the clearing and he could hear the rushing stream. Alistair curtly motioned Serrot forward to go scout out the clearing as the rest of the men hung back amongst the trees.
Demons were said to avoid water so they did not expect it to be near the stream, but a demon in a clearing with this little visibility was dangerous. Even a young demon could gain a lot of speed across open ground, and if it was at speed, they would have little time to react in the fog. Back in the trees they would be somewhat protected because the confused creature could not take a straight line of attack.
Serrot shifted his grip on his ash bow and drifted off to make a circle of the area. The fog swirled around his legs as he disappeared to Ben’s right.
In minutes, Serrot reappeared on the left and nodded at Alistair that it was clear to move forward. Alistair whispered up and down the line, “move towards the stream and we’ll take a break there.”
As the men gathered by the water, Ben watched the snow melt swollen creek rush by. It poured over heavy rocks, tumbling branches and other debris caught up in the seasonal torrent. In about four leagues these waters would pass through Farview and on the other side of town they would meet more mountain streams to form the Callach River. From there the river ran by Murdoch’s Waystation and if followed far enough, eventually all of the way to the coast and the port city of Fabrizo.
Serrot nudged Ben and handed him a bite of tough salted jerky. Ben glanced around and saw that most of the men were digging into their belt pouches for something to eat or taking long pulls on their water skins. The way some of the men gave a face afterwards made him suspect there was more than water in those skins. He dug into his pack and pulled out a small loaf of bread and wedge of hard white cheese. He broke the loaf in half and passed it to Serrot in exchange for another handful of jerky.
It was only mid-morning but already it felt like they had been out there all day. For any resident of Farview, a four league hike up into the mountains was not a great difficulty, but the constant need for vigilance and the stress of attempting to peer through the fog was taking it’s toll on the men.
Alistair must have sensed the strain as well because after conferring with his head logger William Longaxe, who spent even more time in this particular valley than Serrot, he allowed the men several minutes before standing up and calling everyone closer.
“Alright, Will says there is a shallow crossing about 100 yards upstream. We’ll head up there to cross over, spread out again and make our way up to the top of the ridgeline. From there, we’ll work back towards town. None of us want to be out here after dark and if we haven’t seen the thing by then, it’s probably moved out of this part of the forest.”
As they crossed the fjord, Ben was finally glad of his quarterstaff. Even at the shallow crossing the water came above his knees and the slippery footing risked dumping him in the creek. He had his boots slung over his shoulder to keep them dry and leaned on his quarterstaff to help keep his balance. He couldn’t help smiling to himself as he heard a splash behind him and a series of loud curses. At least one man was going to have a long, cold walk home.
Ben was in the first group of men to cross and sat down with both of the Pinewoods while William Longaxe and the miller’s son Arthur stood guard. Will seemed completely at ease despite the mission they were about but Arthur nervously shifted his grip back and forth on the long boar spear he had found somewhere.
Several more men made it across the creek while Ben finished pulling his soft calf high boots back on. Alistair was already up and directing some men to put their shoes on and others were tasked with holding positions and guardin
g the crossing as if they were a small invading force landing on foreign soil. As soon as Ben was up he was sent to stand between Brandon Pinewood and Arthur halfway to the tree line.
About a quarter of the men had made it across the stream with another quarter crossing. The remaining men mulled around on the other side waiting. Ben glanced back at Serrot who was on the other side after completing a final scouting trip on that bank. Serrot was bent down checking the string on his bow, clearly worried about the damage the moisture was doing.
Ben was still staring across the stream when he heard a sharp crack behind him and his blood ran cold. He spun around raising his quarterstaff but couldn’t see in the fog past the first few pine trees. His mind raced trying to find a natural explanation for the sound but he knew that all morning these woods had been dead quiet.
Arthur stammered, “isn’t it supposed to bellow a …”
At that moment they heard a bestial shriek that rattled their bones. A heavy black shape shot out of the gloom heading directly for them. Brandon barely had time to raise his axe when the creature swept by him, raking it’s talons across his leg. He screamed in agony but Ben had no time to worry about Brandon, the thing was almost on top of him!
Out of pure instinct, Ben swung his quarterstaff in front of him and made solid contact with the demon’s shoulder. It felt like he had just swung at the side of a building and his quarterstaff shot out of his hands with the impact. It was just enough though to turn the demon from it’s path though and it went crashing straight into Arthur.
Ben watched in horror as Arthur was sent sprawling onto his back with the demon on top of him. Ben dove for his fallen quarterstaff but when he rolled to his feet he could see he was too late, the demon had ripped out Arthur’s throat and was greedily slurping the gushing fountain of blood.
