Benjamin Ashwood Box Set 2

by A. C. Cobble

  “Some suspect that the First Mages burrowed too deep and uncovered places that should have been left undisturbed. Whether they caused it themselves, or whether it just happened, the arrival of the dark forces changed our world permanently. Mankind, for the first time ever, found a true enemy, a real reason to fight. Demons, goblins, wyverns, and others began to appear.”

  Silently, the swordsman circled the room, refilling everyone’s ale mugs. Ben barely noticed him.

  “Also, for the first time, it was not merely seekers of knowledge who became interested in manipulating energy. Many flocked to what the First Mages had to offer. They were taught, much as before, uninhibited and unrestrained. As you can imagine, using energy as a weapon was a paramount concern all of a sudden. People studied and formed groups based on their interests. They specialized in areas, and in some cases went further than the First Mages had themselves. Society of the Burning Hand, the Sanctuary, the Purple, and many others. They responded to the threat of darkness differently, but they all responded. It wasn’t until years later that the knowledge of man was turned to truly nefarious purposes. By then, the First Mages had begun to step back from the world, to retreat into far off places, or, they were killed.”

  “These societies,” asked Towaal. “They were founded by the First Mages?”

  The old man shook his head. “No, they were founded by the ones who came after. The First Mages never had much use for organizations and structure. It is why they disliked the modern world that came to be after the dark forces were pushed back. It’s why they fled or were unable to survive.”

  “Who could kill a First Mage?” asked Ben.

  The old man shrugged. “Like today’s mages, they did not all specialize in combat. In fact, I’m told some of them were quite unconvinced for the need to defend themselves. Others did study combat, and they were viewed as threats by the next generation. The Society of the Burning Hand, for example, had little interest in their branch of death magic existing outside of the cabal they formed. They hunted and destroyed their tutors. Anyone with knowledge of their skills was a threat, and by then, people had begun to seek power for the sake of power. The world had changed.”

  “I am sorry to be rude,” said Amelie, “but what does this have to do with you? If all of the First Mages are dead, then why are your protecting their secrets?”

  The swordsman in the corner laughed.

  The old man crossed his arms with a grin. “Not the normal Sanctuary fare, are you?”

  “I left there,” responded Amelie abashedly, “a turn of the seasons ago, but it seems like a lifetime.”

  “Life passes quickly when you are young,” acknowledged the old man. “To answer your question, it has everything to do with us. The First Mages are almost all gone now, but their legacy remains. Their knowledge continues in the individuals who followed them. Their will, in some cases, was so strong that it remained as well. A swirl of force, unseen and largely unnoticed. Not untouchable, though, for those who understand what it is. Like any energy, the will of the strongest First Mages is there and available. We retain that will. We ensure it is there for the last First Mage to use and no one else. That repository of power, and the knowledge associated with it, is what we protect here.”

  Ben glanced around and saw Towaal with her jaw hanging open. Rhys had a sickly look on his face like he’d just swallowed his own boot. Amelie’s face was contorted, confusion battling with incredulity.

  “How?” whispered Towaal.

  “How does it exist, or how can it be used?” answered the old man with a smile. “How it can be used, of course, is our secret. How it exists is because the First Mages, over millennia, refined their will into a force in and of itself. The First Mage’s last great trick, you could say. Some have claimed they did it to provide a layer of protection for the people who came after them, and some say it was a barrier to the forces of evil that they knew were arising. The truth, I think, is that they did it unintentionally. Some actions are so great the echoes last for a long time. The power is not what it was a thousand years ago, but it is not gone either. In time, our leader will return, and all we have protected will be there for him.”

  “Your leader?” inquired Ben. “I thought you…”

  “There is one First Mage we know of who still lives,” said the old man. “He will lead the guardians when he chooses. I am merely minding things until he returns.”

  “The copper faces on the gates,” muttered Ben. “What about those? They are First Mages, right? That’s not very secret.”

  The old man nodded. “The glyphs. Many, even those who have the faces on their own gates like the Sanctuary, do not understand what they are doing. The Veil understood, in the past. I cannot tell you what the current Veil is aware of. The faces are a call for protection. They invite the will of the First Mages to a place. If the artificer was skilled enough, the glyph may trap the First Mage’s power there, allowing it to be invoked by those who know how. In some cases, like that wall in front of the Sanctuary, the power flows through, sustaining the structure, charging the defenses. It’s why they haven’t had to do maintenance in over a thousand years, though my guess is that most of the mages, despite their claims of careful study and observation, don’t ever wonder about that. Their negligence and lack of curiosity is what allows us to do nothing about it.”

  A low whistle escaped Rhys’ teeth.

  The old man nodded. “When done by someone with sufficient skill and knowledge, the glyph of the First Mages contains immense power. It is not to be trifled with, but fortunately, we’ve been effective at our work.”

  “Gunther claimed the one in the Purple’s fortress was real,” said Ben, turning to his companions. “Remember, the face hung there after he smashed the door with his hammer?”

  Now, it was the old man’s turn at incredulity.

  “You know Gunther? The Gunther?” exclaimed the old man, bolting to his feet. “When did you see him? Do you know where he is now?”

  Ben looked at the old man.

  “Gunther is a friend of ours,” Ben responded slowly. “I am sorry, but I will not tell you where he is. I appreciate you sharing, but we still have a long way to go before I give out information about my friends.”

  The swordsman shifted. Ben expected the man to be gripping the hilt of his sword, but instead, he had one hand on the side of his head, and he was staring back at Ben in what looked like either awe or terror.

  The old man frowned and then collapsed back into his chair. “Gunther is lost to us. For two moons now, we have been unable to sense him. He has not joined the hall, but it feels like he should have. The other elders look to me for understanding. I am the oldest, but I have no answers. This has not happened before. If you know what is going on, please tell me. It is… important to us.”

  “I am sorry, but I do not think he would be pleased if we told you,” said Ben quietly.

  Moments passed in silence.

  Then, the swordsman spoke up, startling all of them. “Three years ago, someone began burrowing new node gates indiscriminately. Holes were left into the void, similar to the way a rift works. The dark forces have found them and have begun to walk the lines. Our barriers are insufficient to stop them. They are far more attuned to the lines than we are. Gunther was our last hope. We sent word, but he has not responded. I will not lie. It has been longer than my lifetime since he wanted anything to do with us, but we remain hopeful. Without him, the dark forces will travel unimpeded through the nodes. It is only a matter of time, and they will overrun all of us. Our work will have been for naught if we cannot close the remaining rifts.”

  “The nodes are like the rifts,” asked Amelie, “but instead of to a demon world, they transverse our world?”

  The swordsman nodded confirmation.

  “Gunther would know what to do about this, but we do not,” admitted the old man.

  Amelie looked to Ben, then said, “An offshoot of the Purple, based on the South Continent, opened a new
rift three years ago. Or maybe it was a node. I’m not sure they understood what it was they were doing, and I certainly don’t. They were able to move it anywhere in our world, but only demons could pass through. Maybe that is what caused the disruption here?”

  “The Purple opened a rift?” exclaimed the old man. “It must be destroyed immediately!”

  “Already done,” responded Ben. He paused and then added, “You guys really need to get out more.”

  “Do you believe him?” asked Amelie.

  Ben shrugged. “No reason not to, I guess.”

  They were watching the sun creep over a distant mountain range. The first shards of light stabbed between the jagged passes, painting the bare rock in vivid oranges, yellows, and pinks.

  “Yesterday, we could barely see a hill through the trees,” observed Amelie.

  Ben nodded agreement.

  She continued, asking the obvious question, “Where do you think we are?”

  They sat quietly while Ben pondered.

  “Two, maybe three weeks north of Akew Woods,” he said. “Two weeks short of the City, I’d guess.”

  “How do you know?” wondered Amelie.

  “I don’t know,” admitted Ben, “but on the map, the peninsula that Akew Woods sits on has a few peaks about two-thirds of the way up. We’re higher in elevation than we were yesterday. The air’s colder and thinner but not as cool as I’d expect this time of year further north. In Farview, in early autumn, we’d be bundled up in our cloaks right now. Where we are is not the important question, though.”

  “What is, then?” asked Amelie, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

  “What are we going to do?” responded Ben. “We saw what that swordsman is capable of, and I’m certain the old man is a mage. Who knows how many others are in this place. I don’t think we can fight our way out of here. We can ask to leave peacefully, of course, but what if they say no? I think that man was entirely serious when he said he keeps his secrets at any cost.”

  It was Amelie’s turn to frown. She looked behind them, at the stone and thatch village that climbed the hill, two score buildings, mostly houses, but a few larger structures as well. There were no walls, no guards, no watchtowers to spy incoming marauders or escaping witnesses to their power. They didn’t need that. The guardians of the First Mages had laid a network of wards all around the forest.

  Ben and Amelie didn’t speak about it because they didn’t have to. On the way up the road, neither Amelie nor Towaal had sensed wards or even a hint of magic. For generations, no one in the Sanctuary detected the tripwires the guardians had left. If they couldn’t sense the wards, then they’d be stumbling blindly. If they fled, Ben knew in his gut the guardians would be able to find them. The question was, if it came to a fight, could they win?

  He was afraid he knew the answer.

  Ben sighed and turned back to the vista before them. They were sitting at the base of the village, perched on a flat shelf of rock that overlooked a narrow valley. Ben guessed there was a sizeable stream below them. Across the valley was a pine-covered ridge just like the one they sat on and beyond that, to the north, jagged mountain peaks. Walking away would be easy. No one was watching them, but if they fled, what would they gain?

  “You carry that sword like you know how to use it,” remarked a calm voice from behind them.

  Ben turned, struggling to mask his surprise that someone snuck up on them. The swordsman was standing next to a slender girl.

  “We didn’t get a chance to introduce ourselves last night. My name is Adrick Morgan,” said the man. “This is Prem.”

  “Benjamin Ashwood. Everyone just calls me Ben, and this is Amelie.”

  “The elder asked me to tell you that the things we discussed last night should remain between us,” said the swordsman. “There are those in this village who will not leave you alone if they learn what you shared with us.”

  “Keeping secrets from your own people?” asked Ben.

  Adrick Morgan shifted his weight and shrugged. “Perhaps. Do you care to spar?

  Ben shared a look with Amelie and clambered to his feet. He reached down a hand and helped her up. “Why not?”

  The swordsman gave Ben a quick nod and turned to lead them back into the village.

  “Do you sword fight also?” asked the girl, glancing at Amelie’s rapier.

  Amelie shrugged. “Not well.”

  The girl smiled. “Maybe we should practice then.”

  She pushed back a light cloak to reveal two long knives strapped to her sides. The weapons were the length of Ben’s forearm, and judging by the width of the sheath, they’d be narrow and sharp. Nothing that would hold up against a heavy blade, but something about the way the girl carried herself made Ben suspect she knew what she was doing.

  She had an undyed, thin linen cloak. It covered baggy trousers similar to Adrick’s, and she wore a strange, tight tunic underneath. Her hair was pulled back and tied behind her head, and her cheeks were covered in scattered freckles. Ben pegged her a good five years younger than he and Amelie, but he reminded himself the Lady Avril appeared younger too. With mages, anything was possible.

  “It’s been a while since I’ve practiced the blade,” admitted Amelie.

  “Good,” remarked the girl. “Then it’s time you did it again.”

  The girl gave a quick bow and then stepped quickly to follow Adrick. He led them to a small, dirt clearing. It was flanked by benches, a water trough, and racks of practice weapons.

  “There is not much to do here except roam the forest, so we spar,” explained the girl.

  Adrick slipped his sword belt off and hefted a wooden practice sword.

  “Do not worry,” he said to Ben. “I gather these from the western edge of the forest south of Narmid. It’s bamboo. Hollow and light. It won’t have the same weight as your blade, but it won’t hurt when I strike you.”

  “Or when I strike you,” challenged Ben.

  His heart wasn’t in the banter, though. His eyes were locked on the man’s weapon. The previous night, he hadn’t seen it in good light. Now that he did, he was confused. The thing appeared to be fashioned of a thin sheet of glass or crystal. Ben could see the bench it was resting against through the blade. The sword was without question mage-wrought, but it was like nothing Ben had seen before. If he hadn’t seen it in action, he would have thought it would shatter the moment it struck steel.

  “Let’s watch for a bit if that is okay,” suggested Prem to Amelie. “It is rare to see my father spar with an outsider. I am curious how he fares.”

  Ben grunted. Her father. After seeing the man single-handedly take down Zane’s pirates without breaking a sweat, he had no doubt how the man would fare.

  “Here,” said Adrick, interrupting Ben’s thoughts. He tossed a practice weapon Ben’s way.

  Ben smoothly snatched it out of the air and then fumbled to unbuckle his own sword belt with one hand while holding the practice sword in the other.

  Adrick waited patiently. When Ben cleared his belt and set his feet, the swordsman attacked. He came quickly, his bamboo sword whistling through the air like a swarm of angry hornets.

  Ben stumbled back, trying to adjust to the man’s speed. Barely perceptibly, Adrick slowed, and Ben settled into a rhythm. He was scrambling on defense, but Adrick didn’t press the attack. Instead, he kept up a constant barrage, forcing Ben to stretch to defend each new tactic the man threw at him.

  Ben had learned against Saala and was used to sparring with Rhys. They were quick, but nothing like this man. And while Ben had learned forms from Saala, Black Bart, the guards at Whitehall, and the rogue, none of them were like Adrick’s movements. Instead of set forms, the swordsman seemed to whirl with unseen currents of wind or as if he could sense Ben’s movements before Ben made them. He moved ahead of Ben, his blade going where Ben was going, his feet stepping away from Ben’s strikes before Ben started them. In moments, Ben had accumulated several painful welts on his sides w
here the bamboo blade had smacked against him.

  “Hold,” he gasped.

  Adrick paused mid-swing.

  Ben stripped off his shirt, ignoring the early morning chill in the air. Adrick grinned and tossed his shirt aside as well. Ben looked at Amelie and tried to ignore her admiring the swordsman’s chiseled physique. In the light of the day, the man looked even more impressive than he had in the firelight the night before.

  Removing his shirt wasn’t to put on a show for the girls, though. It was to give Ben time to think. The swordsman was relentless and quicker than anyone Ben had faced, but the man wasn’t invulnerable. Ben smiled to himself and then tried a thrust at Adrick’s midsection. As expected, the swordsman brushed it aside and settled into an attack.

  Parrying, Ben laid down a predictable defensive pattern, avoiding most of Adrick’s blows and keeping his practice blade constantly in motion.

  Suddenly, Ben’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open in shock. Concerned, Adrick glanced over his shoulder where Rhys was taking a place on a bench to watch. Ben’s bamboo sword smacked meatily against the man’s muscled chest, and the swordsman jumped back, his weapon rising and a smile curling on his face.

  “Sorry for the cheap shot,” apologized Ben.

  Adrick chuckled. “I haven’t had someone try a trick like that on me in fifty years. It’s good you did and a reminder that I need to be aware of more than just your blade. In a real fight, anything can happen, and you have to be ready.”

  Behind, Ben heard Prem whispering to Amelie. “What’d he do?”

  “A dirty trick,” responded Amelie. “He learned from the best.”

  Ben didn’t hear any of the rest of the conversation because Adrick swarmed back at him, the bamboo practice blade whipping at his head. Ben dodged under it, slashed a counter attack which was deflected, and then retreated back out of reach.