Benjamin Ashwood Box Set 2

by A. C. Cobble

  The blond man broke into a charge with his sword raised above his head.

  Ben ducked to the side and whipped his practice sword across the man’s legs. He smiled when he heard the satisfying crack of his wooden sword meeting the man’s shin bones.

  With a startled cry, the big man lost his footing and went flailing forward to crash down on the stone.

  Ben rose and was about to jump on him, lashing down and finishing him, but the gasp of the crowd stayed his sword. Finishing it quick was one way to make a statement, but toying with the bigger man was another. He let his practice sword hover over the man’s head. Then, he backed away. Out of the corner of his eye, Ben saw Master Vert purse his lips and cross his arms. The Master at least was aware Ben could have finished it easily.

  The blond man struggled to his feet with a noticeable limp.

  “A blow to the legs isn’t fatal,” he growled. “Duels here end when you land what would be a fatal strike.”

  “Ah,” responded Ben. “I thought I just needed to knock you down. Understood.”

  Rage flashed in the blond’s eyes, and he charged again.

  Ben was slightly shocked and a little appalled that the man didn’t vary his attack. The big man came just like before, sword raised above his head. He deserved what he was about to get, thought Ben. Instead of letting him finish the charge, Ben surged forward, quick as a mongoose, and rammed the point of his weapon into the man’s exposed stomach. With a grunt, the air whooshed out of the blond, and he doubled over, clutching his gut and dropping his practice sword. He stumbled, wheezing painfully.

  “A fatal blow?” asked Ben calmly.

  He spun his wooden blade and raised it high, ready to bring it down on the blond’s neck. It was almost too easy. The man was gasping and heaving, his head at the perfect level for Ben to strike and decapitate him if they were using real blades.

  It was obvious the man had never been in a real fight where death was a consequence of losing. In that case, you fought through the pain, you got away, and you never let your opponent have such an easy finish.

  “That’s enough,” declared Master Vert, holding up a hand to stop what he must know could be a crippling blow.

  Ben shrugged and lowered his sword. Around the courtyard, the crowd was silent except for the pained retching of the blond man. He stumbled away from Ben and fell to his knees.

  “Someone fetch Master Lloyd,” said Master Vert. His voice was calm, but it carried over the silent courtyard.

  “Now we’re getting somewhere,” muttered Rhys from behind Ben.

  Ben hoped so.

  “Where did you learn to spar?” asked Master Vert while they waited.

  “Here and there,” responded Ben. “I’m originally from a small logging town. I guess swinging the axe isn’t so different from swinging a sword, is it?”

  Vert frowned at him but didn’t reply.

  Quickly, a small knot of students came back, surrounding a man who must be Lloyd. They parted, revealing a man about Ben’s size. His hair was tied back in a blond ponytail, and he moved like a stalking wolf. He wasn’t as obviously strong as the big man, but he had a bounce in his step that Ben knew meant power. Ben couldn’t help but notice the impression of a blademaster’s sigil on the man’s scabbard.

  “Lloyd,” growled Master Vert. “Would you be so kind as to test this candidate? It seems he’s more skilled than a senior.”

  The newcomer took off his weapon and tossed it to one of the other masters. When he stooped to pick up the wooden practice sword, he did it with a preternatural grace, a grace Ben felt was familiar.

  “Where do they get so many blonds?” wondered Rhys under his breath.

  Ben tried not to roll his eyes at the rogue. He knew the hair wasn’t what reminded him of something… something he couldn’t quite place.

  Lloyd’s steel grey clothing washed out his pale features and blond hair. It wasn’t his color, Ben thought. Ben’s eyes drifted back to the clothing while the man did a few quick stretches, and then he gestured for the students to form into a circle around the combatants.

  “So, you knocked down a senior?” the man said, a foreign accent on his lips. Foreign but familiar. Just like the man’s face, it hung there like a sign, one that Ben was unable to read. “Where have you studied before, young man?”

  “I did knock him down, and I’ve never studied anywhere. Just sparred with some friends, from time to time,” responded Ben. “You are an instructor here?”

  “I am,” responded Lloyd. He’d begun to pace in a circle, his feet crossing and uncrossing in a smooth movement, every step filled with confidence.

  Ben began to circle as well, watching Lloyd’s motion, hoping to spot a weakness. They moved halfway around the circle and Lloyd passed by Ben’s friends, his face crossing in front of Amelie’s. Ben blinked in recognition. The blond ponytail, the wolf like grace… it hit him like a lightning bolt.

  “I crossed swords with your brother once,” remarked Ben. “He was much more aggressive than you.”

  Lloyd’s foot work continued without missing a beat, but a flash in his eyes told Ben he was right.

  “Where was that?” asked Lloyd coolly.

  “In his home, in the east,” answered Ben.

  “Do you work for my brother?” asked Lloyd flatly. “If so, you’ve made a mistake announcing yourself. We’re going to have some questions for you.”

  “I think you may have more questions to answer than I would, here in the heart of the Alliance,” responded Ben. “I’m no friend of your brother. Are you?”

  “I haven’t seen him in years,” murmured Lloyd. “If you’re hoping to gain sympathy from me by mentioning his name or to threaten me with it, you’ve come to the wrong place. In fact, no matter your purpose, I think you’ve come to the wrong place.”

  The students were watching with mouths wide open. Master Vert’s nostrils were flaring like a prize bull at the show. Ben could see the man was torn between wanting Lloyd to strike a quick blow and wanting Lloyd to explain what they were talking about.

  Ben dropped out of his stance and stood upright. “How about we find somewhere private, and I can explain why I came here.”

  Lloyd stood as well and turned to the master holding his weapon. He opened his hand, and the man tossed the sword belt to him. Eyeing Ben out of the corner of his eye, Lloyd strapped it on.

  “Is this meant to be a personal encounter?” he asked, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his blade.

  Ben looked to the other masters. “No, it is relevant to everyone in Venmoor.”

  Lloyd nodded and instructed Vert. “Gather the other blademasters and have them come to my classroom.”

  Vert puffed himself up and opened his mouth to respond.

  “Now, Vert,” snapped Lloyd.

  Master Vert spun and started off, the crowd of students parting in front of him. Lloyd followed behind, and Ben and his friends scurried after.

  “He’s one of the three Masters responsible for administration,” explained Lloyd after Vert took a turn deeper into the college. “He’s a capable sort at that. He’s utterly incompetent when it comes to the blade or life and death situations.” Lloyd looked over his shoulder as he led them through the open walkways of the college complex. “This is life and death, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” assured Ben.

  Lloyd eye’s drifted over Towaal and then Rhys. He grunted and took them to his classroom. It was arranged like a small amphitheater with seating for one hundred on uncomfortable stone benches overlooking a dirt half-circle. Ben guessed Lloyd would demonstrate techniques while the students watched. Lloyd gestured for them to stand on the dirt practice area and he took a seat on one of the benches.

  Ben and his friends stood awkwardly as men and a few women began to file in. Soon, there were about twenty of them present. Ben recognized a few from the tavern the night before, but he avoided their curious gazes.

  “This is enough,” declared Lloyd. “Yo
u came here to tell us something, yes? What is it?”

  Ben took a deep breath and then told them about the demons. It wasn’t a big impressive speech. It wasn’t a rousing cry to battle. It was the facts of the situation.

  “Hold on, you’re telling us there is a big demon army that overran Northport, and now they’re coming south?” barked one of the men, interrupting Ben.

  A big burly man, he wore his black hair in heavy curls. His hands were clenched into fists on his knees. From across the room, Ben could see they were scarred from battle. That man at least was not merely an academic swordsman.

  “Uh, yes,” confirmed Ben. “That is exactly what I’m saying.”

  “Surely you heard what happened to Northport last winter?” exclaimed Rhys. “Don’t tell me you are not aware of it.”

  “The city held,” growled the man. “The swarm was defeated, and the demons scattered across the north lands.”

  “That is true, in a sense,” said Rhys. “The demons formed into a new swarm, though, and they’ve been overrunning small towns and villages, gaining strength. Just a week past, they toppled Northport. A swarm strong enough to defeat the most capable force in the west is coming south toward you. That is what we face.”

  “Just a bunch of undisciplined hunters up there,” muttered the big, black-haired man.

  “I’d stake the average hunter out of Northport against the average blademaster in this room,” claimed Rhys. “They could beat you in a real fight, and you know it.”

  The black-haired man stood, drawing his sword.

  Rhys smiled and drew his blade as well, the silver runes flaring to light and sparkling smoke boiling off the steel. Slowly, the rogue spun his sword, the shimmering smoke forming lazy circles in front of him. There was no doubt to anyone who knew what they were looking at that Rhys held a mage-wrought blade. He was putting on a show.

  The blademasters saw the blade, and a collective gasp tore through the room. Whether they were fighters just for show or true killers, they knew exactly what a mage-wrought weapon was and how rare they were.

  “He’s provoking you,” said Lloyd, his voice rising above the muttering behind him.

  “Just getting your attention,” said Rhys with a wink.

  “Do you have a far-seeing device here?” asked Towaal.

  Twenty heads turned toward her.

  “If not, I can create one for you. You can see the size of the demon swarm yourselves. When you do, you’ll understand what must be done to stop it. I must warn you, though, if you far-see, be prepared for what you will witness. There is what can only be described as a demon-king leading this force. It is like nothing you have seen, nothing you have ever heard of. It leads an army of thousands of demons.”

  “Bullshit,” snapped one of the men near the back.

  Lloyd held up a hand, and his companions quieted. Ben saw he was a leader of these blademasters, even if it wasn’t formally acknowledged. They listened when he spoke. He was the one Ben needed to convince.

  “Do not worry,” said Lloyd. “I know you would not fabricate something so easy to check as the fall of Northport.”

  “When I met your brother,” responded Ben, “he thought I was an enemy at first. We crossed swords. Then, he threw me through a glass door and nearly cut off my head. But like you, he was curious why we were there, why we had come to speak with him. We told him a story similar to what we just told you. We didn’t know as many details, and Northport hadn’t yet fallen, but he was wise enough to see the truth in our words. Even there, in the east, they’ve experienced the surge in demons. I am sure you have in Venmoor as well. There have been rumors about the creatures troubling the smaller towns, am I right?”

  Lloyd rubbed his chin, his eyes locked on Ben, but he didn’t speak.

  “Your brother had his man Briggens bring us a special document, one that he thought would lead to a clue about how to face the demons,” continued Ben. He studied Lloyd and guessed how the man felt about his brother. “If he, the Black Knife, was willing to help us, will you do less?”

  The blademaster stood, a grim expression on his face. “You know how to pull a man’s rope, don’t you?”

  “It’s not a ploy,” replied Ben. “There’s no reason for us to speculate or doubt. Allow our mage to show you the remains of Northport. You can see for yourself what is coming to Venmoor.”

  “If Northport has fallen, we’d know it!” growled one of the blademasters behind Lloyd. “That kind of news would fly down the river.”

  “Yes, I’m sure it will,” said Towaal. “How many days does it take a fast vessel to get here from Northport?”

  More blademasters called out, voicing various objections, but Lloyd held up a hand.

  “The name Briggens is not well known in the west,” he said. His peers paused to listen to him. “And throwing you through a door is something my brother is like to do, but proving you know my brother gets you nowhere here. What do you want from us?”

  “There are thousands of demons headed south on the river road. They may cross east at Kirksbane, or they may come here. Either way, we will march to face them before they have the choice.” Ben paused and drew a deep breath. “There’s no choice for us. We must stop them, and we need your blades to do it. We ask that you stand with us outside of Kirksbane and protect Venmoor and Alcott from the demons.”

  The room erupted in chaos, but Lloyd merely looked back at Ben, thinking. Finally, he held up his hand again, silencing the room. “I believe you. It’s too ridiculous of a story to make up, and you’d be found out before long. Surely, though, it will take more than you five and some blademasters to meet this threat?”

  Ben rolled his shoulders. “We have allies, but we need more.”

  Lloyd stared at them for a long moment, his eyes darting between the companions.

  “What we say is the truth,” said Towaal.

  Lloyd grunted. “If the demons are coming to Kirksbane, and you will meet them, then I will meet them as well. If you are misleading us somehow…”

  “Fair enough,” said Ben, trying to hide the jolt of excitement that shot through him.

  “What is next then?” asked Lloyd.

  “Lord Vonn. If he wants to protect Venmoor, we believe sending men with us is the only way to do it.”

  “A good idea,” agreed Lloyd. “I will make sure Vonn takes time to listen to what you say. I cannot promise he will send swords, but he will listen.” The blademaster paused and looked at Towaal. “I presume you have a plan for this demon-king you told us about? Our blades will not be sufficient for what you’ve described.”

  “We’re working on it,” mumbled Ben under his breath.

  “I will deal with the demon-king myself,” said Towaal, bravely if not entirely accurately. “Even when it is killed, though, the swarm will number in the thousands.”

  “I understand,” said Lloyd.

  “This is madness!” exclaimed one of the other blademasters. “We cannot leave on this foolish quest. We don’t know these people, and we don’t have anything to do with Kirksbane. Here, this college, this is our place.”

  “Why did you begin to learn the sword?” asked Lloyd, turning to look at the man who had spoken. He moved back from his bench so he was standing in front of Ben and his companions. “Did you learn it to impress a woman or maybe to gain a comfortable position in the college teaching wealthy, overly entitled students? Did you take up the sword to get some exercise or to avoid some other trade your father was pushing on you?”

  The blademaster was stalking back and forth like a lion ready to pounce. Ben pictured him giving lectures like that and imagined the uncomfortable benches were not necessary to keep his students awake.

  “Or did you first pick up the sword because you wanted to be a hero?”

  He left the comment hanging in the air, letting it settle onto the assembled blademasters and cut deep.

  “Tell me again what we’re up against?” asked the big black-haired man who had drawn
steel earlier. He didn’t appear any happier about going, but Ben guessed he didn’t want to admit to being a coward in front of his friends.

  That afternoon, Lloyd and a contingent of blademasters led Ben and his friends to Lord Vonn’s keep. The rest had stayed behind to mollify Master Vert and the others and recruit what senior students they were able. Shocking Ben, every one of the blademasters had agreed to come with them.

  “Most of them have never been in a real battle,” remarked Lloyd as he strode through the soot-blackened streets of Venmoor. “They earned their sigil here or in one of the other colleges. They’ve never killed someone or had someone attempt to kill them, much less participated in a full-scale battle. They have no idea what they’re agreeing to. I can’t vouch for their spines in front of an actual enemy, a massive demon swarm of all things, but they do have talent.”

  Rhys grunted.

  “I recognize that sword,” remarked Lloyd.

  “Is that so?” asked Rhys.

  Lloyd chuckled mirthlessly. “I’ve only been a Master here for about six years now. Prior to that, I lived at home in the east. You know my brother, so maybe you know a little bit about me, too. He’s older than me, and I followed in his footsteps most of my life. Until, well, he started taking pleasure in what he… we, did. I traveled a lot back then. I ran into a wide variety of people in my line of work.”

  “I’m familiar with the business,” admitted Rhys. “I’ve dabbled myself, a time or two.”

  “Just twice?” responded Lloyd dryly.

  “You’ve never mentioned a brother,” said one of the blademasters who accompanied them.

  “No, I didn’t,” responded Lloyd.

  He didn’t explain further, and he dropped the inquiry of Rhys. Ben could see Lloyd’s companions were eager to question him, but they wouldn’t do it in front of strangers, strangers who apparently knew more about their friend’s family than they did.

  They made it to a squat stone keep. It was black, stained from the ever-present soot of Venmoor. The place looked evil to Ben, but the blademasters strolled in through the open gate like they owned the place. They made into a giant reception hall before someone stopped them.