by A. C. Cobble
“Don’t run,” cautioned Rhys, slowing Ben’s pace. With his voice pitched so the party could hear and no one else, he advised, “Don’t be afraid to look at them. Keep your face blank, though, and if they start to approach, just shake your head subtly.”
“You know a lot about how to act in these places,” chided Amelie.
Across the room, Ben saw a pair of heavily muscled guards. His eyes scanned the space and picked out more of them. At least a dozen. He was confident he and his friends could take them, but they were on the twenty-fifth floor. If there were a dozen men per floor, this was going to get ugly.
“Damn,” grumbled Rhys.
Ben followed his friend’s gaze and saw the doorway leading to the stairs. It was flanked by more heavily armed guards. Fifty paces and they’d be there.
“We’re going to have to fight our way through those two,” whispered Rhys. “No way they will let us go upstairs without explaining ourselves.”
A slender girl, clad in the flimsiest silk robe Ben had ever seen, gasped, a manicured hand covering her painted lips. Ben saw her eyes were fixed on their weapons.
“How much for the night?” Sincell quickly asked the girl. “My friends and I are looking for a party. Do you have friends here that could join us?”
The runaway mage cut her eyes to Rhys, and he nodded. He quickened his pace. The guards at the door noticed them coming twenty paces away. Ben saw one of the men frown, clearly seeing that Ben’s party wasn’t typical in such a place.
“Can you tell me,” called Rhys, “where I can take a piss? I drank enough ale to float a boat. Gotta go make room for more, ya know? Figured you boys would get upset if I dangled it out the window.”
That got them within half a dozen pace of the guards. Ben didn’t wait any longer. He charged one of the men. The surprised guard didn’t have time to react before Ben was on him. At a run, he smacked the palm of his hand into the man’s face, throwing the man back where his head crunched loudly against the stone wall behind him.
Ben hoped he hadn’t killed the man. Being a guard at a brothel shouldn’t be a death sentence, but if they didn’t fight their way through these men, a lot more were going to die when the Veil figured out how to activate the wyvern fire staff.
The second guard went down quickly as well when Rhys snatched a table off the floor and swept it into the side of the poor fellow’s head. Behind them, shouts rang out as the other guards saw what was happening.
“Now’s the time to run,” urged Ben. “We’ll find a defensible spot on the stairs or at a doorway and hold it. Towaal, you’re with me. We’re going to find Milo. Everyone else, watch our backs and keep the guards from coming up the stairs.”
They charged up the stairwell, quickly leaving the public areas behind. The luxurious trappings didn’t disappear, though. If anything, the area they entered was even nicer. It was also guarded by a thick steel door, a stoic copper face on it.
“It’s not real,” declared Prem.
Ben trusted she knew what she was talking about. He turned to the others. “Here’s the spot. Can you hold this?”
“We’ve got it,” said Rhys. “We’ll keep them off your back as long as we can, but hurry.”
“How do we get out of here?” complained Renfro, looking back down the stairwell.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got an idea,” declared Ben.
“What?”
“You don’t want to know,” insisted Ben.
The rogue slammed the door shut and slid a wrist-thick iron bar down to lock the door. A boom echoed through the stairwell, cutting off the conversation.
“Should hold for a bit, at least,” murmured the rogue.
Ben heard the muffled sound of the guards racing behind them on the other side, but a dozen strong men had no chance to get through that barrier. They’d need tools or a mage.
“Go,” said Amelie.
Ben nodded. Then, he and Towaal went higher. One floor up was a kitchen and what looked to be staff quarters, then a decadent reception hall, then a stunning dining room, and finally, the room they’d spied from the other tower. Milo wasn’t there, but two other people were. Two women wearing well-made but simple dresses.
“Karina!” exclaimed one of them.
“Find Milo,” screeched Towaal. She faced the women and raised her hands. A heartbeat later, a shower of sparks blasted against an invisible barrier. Through gritted teeth, Towaal yelled, “I can handle them. Go!”
The women were deep in the room, and the path to the stairs was open. Below, Ben heard a sharp clanging start as if someone was battering the steel door with a hammer. They weren’t going to be exiting down those stairs, he realized. He ignored the dizzy spell that assailed him as his back-up plan flashed through his mind. First, he had to find Milo and get the staff.
A sharp crackle of released energy followed him up the stairs as he progressed deeper into the rooms. Apartments, he realized, and not cheap ones. Expansive rooms with views of the river, fine furniture, and high enough to catch a constant breeze. Prime real estate, as long as you didn’t mind sleeping on top of a brothel. He wondered how Milo had managed to find himself in such luxurious rooms.
Ben made it up another flight of stairs and ducked his head into an open chamber. A glint of light and a blur of motion saved his life. He jumped back, and a short spear thudded into the wooden door beside his head. The steel head of the weapon was buried halfway into the wood, and the shaft vibrated with the impact. A short spear, just like Milo favored.
“Milo, give up the staff!” called Ben.
There was a pause. “Ben?”
“We know you took it, and we know you’re planning to give it to the Veil,” stated Ben. “You have no idea what that woman intends to do with the thing, how powerful it will make her. Milo, there is still time to stop this!”
A soft chuckle sounded from a different side of the room. Milo’s voice floated out. “You have no clue, do you?”
Ben gripped his longsword, mind churning. When he’d glanced in, the room was open and dark. Milo could be anywhere inside, waiting for Ben to stick his neck out again. Taking time and talking him down wasn’t an option, though. Sooner or later, the guards would break through the door below.
“So self-assured that you can make a difference, so ignorant of the world,” continued Milo. “What are you going to do, Ben? I’m guessing you don’t have a plan, do you? That was the most frustrating thing about traveling with your group, you know. Stumbling into one disaster after another, never understanding what was happening, and never knowing what you’d do next. Pathetic.”
He’s stalling, realized Ben. The longer it took to face him, the more time guards and mages would have to arrive and corner Ben and his friends. He had to act. He dove through the door, tucking his shoulder and rolling across the floor. Another spear flashed overhead and clanged against a stone wall. Ben rolled to his feet, longsword held ready.
Moonlight streamed in through the windows, the only light in the room. Milo stood, silhouetted before a window, another spear cocked to throw. It streaked toward Ben and he spun his blade, catching the side of the shaft and brushing the projectile away. Milo snatched another spear off a rack beside him. There were a dozen of the things there.
“Ah, hell,” muttered Ben under his breath. “Who keeps that many spears?”
He couldn’t clearly see Milo’s face, but he could imagine the broad grin that would be plastered there. No sense waiting for the former apprentice to get tired of throwing spears. Ben charged, sword ready to deflect another missile.
Instead of throwing, Milo snatched a second spear and sprung at Ben, one bladed-tip jabbing, one sweeping low.
Ben parried the thrust and stepped into the blow of the second weapon, taking a strike on his leg from the wooden shaft but avoiding the steel.
Milo danced back, his arms weaving sinuously in the dim room, the steel tips of the razor-sharp blades reflecting the moonlight from the windows.
“Such a foolish quest,” chided Milo. “Such a waste of time until, despite all odds, you actually stumbled across something worthwhile. Something you stupidly left lying in the open. The one device that could ensure victory for whoever found it and you fools just left it there where anyone could pick it up. No matter. You never would have had the guts to sacrifice and figure out how to use the thing. Opening a vein for ultimate power? No, Benjamin Ashwood would never do that. You’d never sacrifice someone’s life to gain the full power of the weapon. That’s why you can never be a real leader, you can never make the hard decisions.”
Ben kept his eyes on Milo, his mind swirling, trying to process his comments. What sacrifice? Evidently, Milo knew far more about the weapon than Ben and his friends. What else did he know?
“Are you sure you aren’t the one about to be sacrificed?” probed Ben. “The Veil doesn’t care about you.”
Milo snorted. “You don’t know anything about my mother or what she cares about. It’s funny, actually, how you inadvertently handed us the staff which she has been searching the world for. You think she doesn’t care about me? You should have seen her face when I showed her what I’d found.”
“Your mother?”
Milo fell silent, circling Ben, his spears jabbing and feinting like tongues of two venomous snakes tasting the air, waiting for the right time to strike.
Understanding spread through Ben’s mind like a rising sun. Milo’s mother. A person who could teach him to harness his will, to find masters to train him with weapons, who would know to send him to the Librarian in Northport, who could pay for the apartment they were standing in. Eldred’s reluctance to attack once she saw Milo, his knowledge of things he shouldn’t have known, it all fit together. With a flash, Ben understood why the young man was staying outside of the Sanctuary and still had the staff. The world couldn’t know the Veil had a son, and there was no one else she’d trust to keep the weapon out of sight from the rest of the Sanctuary.
Without warning, the former apprentice surged toward Ben, lightning quick thrusts from his spears coming in a flurry. Ben swiped his blade back and forth, parrying the strikes. Milo wasn’t committing to any of them, though. He was merely probing, waiting for a gap in Ben’s defense. Then, he would put his weight behind a blow.
One of the spears came close, and Ben jumped in shock when a crackle of lightning burst out from the tip of the weapon and struck his left hand. A jolt coursed through his body, and it was all Ben could do to keep moving, stumbling back, thrashing wildly trying to keep Milo from delivering a fatal strike. The moonlight passed across the former apprentice’s face, and Ben saw him smiling coldly. There wasn’t a trace of fear, just pleasure. He was enjoying this.
“Didn’t see that coming?” snickered Milo. “You never do, do you? You didn’t see my betrayal coming, I bet. Oh, I wish I could have been there to see your faces. It would have almost been worth spending a few more bells around that insufferable Towaal just to see your dumb looks. It must have been glorious.”
“You didn’t stay, though, did you?” snapped Ben. “Had to run home to Mommy.”
Milo twirled one spear above his head and then lashed out with it, swinging it like a whip.
Ben easily ducked under and jabbed his longsword at the young man. It caught nothing but air as Milo stepped out of reach.
“I’ve been training with these spears and my will for decades,” said Milo. “How long have you been using that sword? Do you honestly think you can withstand me if I use my full will on you?”
“You don’t want to beat me with your magic,” snarled Ben. He was focusing on centering himself in case the former apprentice struck again, but if he could eliminate one threat and just have to defend against the spears, it’d help. “If you wanted to blast me with your will, you would have when I walked in the door. No, you’re enjoying this too much.”
Milo chuckled. “I’ll admit you’re right about that.”
Ben attacked.
His blade met wood, and chips flew from the shaft of Milo’s weapons. The former apprentice used his speed to stay out of reach, but when Ben got close, he shunted off the blows with the spears. It was an odd defensive style but effective. Ben couldn’t get through the maze of wood in front of him. His attacks, though, had more strength than Milo could muster with a spear in each hand, so the strikes kept the young man off balance and retreating. Ben kept up constant pressure, and Milo couldn’t find room for an attack.
Milo pursed his lips and blew. A puff of air, scalding hot and interwoven with a gout of flame, exploded in Ben’s face.
His will was hardened, but the unexpected attack startled him, and he scrambled back, blinking his eyes and shaking his head. His forehead stung where the fire singed him, and he thought he might be missing his eyebrows. After a heartbeat, though, he could see again. He could see a vague form charging at him.
Furiously, Ben defended, more on instinct than any rational reaction to Milo’s attack. Without thought, his blade moved in a blur, executing forms that were pure muscle memory. Gradually, his vision improved. He could see the tips of the spears again and lashed out with an attack of his own. Milo ducked and twisted, dancing across the room, a grin painted across his face.
A boom from below rocked the tower, and both Ben and Milo stumbled to their knees.
Milo, without pause, drew back and launched a spear at Ben.
Ben threw himself down to the floor, and the weapon swished overhead.
Milo placed his free hand on the floor and cartwheeled himself off the ground to his rack of weapons.
“Seriously, why do you have so many of those damn things?” snarled Ben, climbing back to his feet.
Milo only cackled in response. The tips of the spears shimmered with constrained energy, and Ben heard a hissing vibration. He knew a blow from one of those weapons might sending him flying. Shouts and more explosions drifted up from below. Whatever time they had was rapidly vanishing. The longer this fight took, the more chance for Milo’s allies to arrive, assuming the curly-haired man even needed help. Ben had to act.
“Soon, your mommy will be back here to save you,” remarked Ben coolly.
In the moonlight, he saw Milo’s eyes flash with anger. He’d touched a nerve.
“Must be nice, seeing her when you’re in trouble,” continued Ben, starting to pace slowly around the room. “I’m guessing that’s about the only time she sees you, when you’re in trouble or when she wants something. Did it feel good when you showed her the staff, or did it make you realize she only cared about what you could give her and not about you?”
Milo charged.
Struggling to keep his breathing even, Ben kept speaking while he defended Milo’s wild attack.
“Funny how she doesn’t tell anyone about you,” he said, “and this is a nice place she’s put you in, on top of a whorehouse. It’s a long way from the Sanctuary, though. Are there no apartments on this island any closer? It’s like she’s ashamed of you.”
The spear thrusts came furiously, getting more and more erratic. Ben struggled to stay out of reach of the deadly spears, but a thrill spread through him. He was triggering the young man, making him emotional.
“All of that training with spear and will. I bet she never helped, did she? She always sent someone in her place.”
Milo screamed and threw himself at Ben.
Ben, nearly instantly regretting it, made a quick decision and parried one of the spears. He stepped in and felt the tip of the other weapon pierce his thigh, sinking deep into the meat of his leg. A hard jolt of electrical charge battered against his hardened will, made more difficult by the tip of the weapon embedding in his flesh.
Ben grappled with Milo, slapping the spear away, which tugged painfully as it was jerked from his leg, but it relieved him of Milo’s magical attack. He wrapped his arm around Milo’s other arm, trapping the second spear in Milo’s hand and on Ben’s back.
A mop of shaggy hair came flying at Ben’s face as Mil
o tried to headbutt him, but Ben ducked his head and absorbed the blow on the crown of his forehead. Pain shot through Ben’s body as their heads thumped together, but he saw in Milo’s face that the young man was hurt just as badly as he was.
Milo wrapped his free hand around Ben’s throat. Leering in Ben’s face, Milo snarled, “This is even better than stabbing you to death.”
Ben opened his mouth to yell another taunt in the former apprentice’s face, but he couldn’t find the breath. Milo’s hand tightened on his neck, and spots of light danced in Ben’s vision. He snapped his mouth shut.
“What does it feel like to die?” asked Milo, one hand clutching Ben’s throat, the other wrapped around Ben’s back, the shaft of his spear blocking Ben’s longsword.
Ben’s answer came when his hunting knife buried in Milo’s rib cage. He jerked it out and stabbed again, over and over. Milo staggered back. His second spear dropped, and both hands instinctively went to the gapping wounds in his side.
“Practice is one thing,” growled Ben. “Experience is where you really learn.”
He stepped forward and feinted with his knife at Milo’s neck. The former apprentice’s blood-covered hands shot up, and Ben plunged his knife into Milo’s gut. He sawed with the sharp steel, cutting a hand-length hole in the young man’s stomach like he was gutting a deer.
Milo collapsed to the floor, futilely trying to gather his spilled entrails. Within heartbeats, he’d be dead.
Ben looked around, but the room was empty. A training room and nothing more. The staff had to be upstairs, in Milo’s private room. Ben was certain of it. He took a step to the door and crashed to the ground. His leg, forgotten in the battle fever, throbbed with exceptional pain. Ben glanced down and saw his entire left leg was painted in blood. He grunted. Time to worry about that later.
Grabbing one of Milo’s spears, he levered himself up off the floor and sheathed his longsword. If he came across a skilled opponent, he was dead anyway. Hobbling with the spear clutched in both hands, Ben limped to the stairwell. Clenching his teeth, he struggled higher, a bloody footprint left on each step.