Benjamin Ashwood Box Set 2

by A. C. Cobble

  Rhys struck from behind, stabbing his glowing silver longsword at the demon-mage’s back. The tip of the blade skittered away, catching nothing but night air. The creature twisted, and Rhys ducked, rolling on one shoulder and popping right back up.

  “It’s got some sort of magical barrier around it!” he called.

  Ben lashed out while the demon was still recovering from its spin, and his sword nicked the creature’s arm, drawing a thin line of purple blood.

  The demon snarled at them.

  “How did you do that?” shouted Rhys, crab-walking away from the demon.

  “Is your long knife mage-wrought like your sword?” shouted Ben.

  “These things are bloody impossible,” cried Adrick from a score of paces away where he was furiously defending himself and flailing backward.

  “They’ve armored themselves against magic somehow,” shouted Rhys in response. “They’re impervious to our weapons.”

  “What?” screeched Adrick.

  A painful crunch sounded, and Ben heard the man tumble across the mud again, but Ben didn’t have time to look. It was taking everything he had to stay a step ahead of the demon-mage facing him and Rhys.

  “It’s not impervious to my sword,” said Ben. “It’s simple steel.”

  “We need to distract it!” said Rhys.

  Ben was wondering how when Adrick’s silver armor flashed by. The swordsman smashed into the side of the demon-mage with one lowered shoulder. His mage-wrought armor slammed against the magical barrier, but the force of the blow against the magic sent the demon flying. Both Adrick and the creature crashed to the ground, the man scrambling, sliding along the invisible barrier and trying to stay on top of the demon and pin it to the earth.

  Ben rushed forward, and Rhys leapt to distract Adrick’s demon-mage. On the ground, the creature didn’t have the leverage to stick its claws into Adrick, but they scraped against the side of his plate, sawing through the steel. Adrick was thrown clear, and Ben struck an instant later, slamming his longsword down into the demon-mage’s chest.

  The steel blade punched deep, finding the monster’s heart. The demon-mage twitched violently once and then fell limp. Ben yanked his long sword out and staggered back.

  The second creature wailed, a long, sharp, piercing cry that sent Ben staggering to his knees. Blinking tears, he pivoted on his knee and flung his longsword at the demon, hoping to catch it unaware. The demon-mage reacted with uncanny speed and batted away the weapon.

  “Oh, damn,” muttered Ben. “That was stupid.”

  The demon-mage charged.

  Ben’s hand closed around the hilt of his hunting knife, and he crouched low. Closing faster than he thought possible, the creature raised its claws, rage radiating from its eyes. Ben sprang forward, throwing up one arm to brush aside a stabbing claw and whipping his knife out with the other.

  Searing pain shot through his body as the sharp claw sliced through his flesh and dug into the bone of his forearm. It spasmed as a jolt of energy leapt from the claw into his body. He could feel his muscles twitching, being ripped apart by the violent power. The other claw swung wide, though, and Ben, holding his knife low, stabbed it into the demon’s abdomen.

  The creature gripped Ben’s shoulder with its clawed hand, the one that had missed him, and tossed Ben as easily as he’d throw a child’s toy. He went flying into the air, struggling to hold onto the hilt of his hunting knife. The blade sliced along the demon’s midsection as Ben was thrown clear, tearing a huge hole in the creature’s abdomen.

  As his feet lifted off the ground, he lost his grip on his knife, but the creature’s claw was jerked out of his arm, and relief washed over him as the connection to the surging purple energy was severed. With a painful grunt, Ben landed on dry mud. He’d thrown his sword away, and somewhere between him and the creature was his hunting knife.

  The demon-mage stepped closer to him and then looked down, appearing confused. Spilling out of its torn-open gut was a disgusting pile of tangled white entrails.

  “Nice work,” remarked Rhys.

  The demon wavered, swaying on its clawed feet. Slowly, it fell to the side.

  “We still have the other two thousand to worry about,” said Rhys grimly. His tone didn’t hide his assumption that they were about to die. He glanced at Ben’s bloody arm. “You all right?”

  “Could be worse,” grunted Ben through gritted teeth.

  Stumbling, Adrick made his way to them and then slumped to his knees. The mage-wrought plate armor was barely hanging from him, the breastplate dented and scored. The cuisse, covering his legs, had been nearly torn off from the battering by the demon. Ben could see the leather straps that still clung to Adrick. They were soaked in blood.

  “Well,” said the swordsman, “maybe it was a suicide mission, but it worked. We got the bastards.”

  “Don’t count us out yet,” said Ben.

  Rhys snorted. He had his longsword up and was facing the swirling wall of demons that surrounded them. Thousands of the creatures. Perhaps stunned by the death of their mages, they had not yet charged, but they would. At least, they would if they didn’t have something else to worry about.

  Grinning, Ben stood. He calmly collected his long sword and slid it into his scabbard. He started looking for the knife he’d lost when the demon threw him.

  “Giving up?” chided Rhys.

  “No,” answered Ben, “just preparing for a swim.”

  The rogue’s eyes widened, and he looked up. A single blue orb hung suspended in the sky above them. The signal that the water upstream was released. Barely audible over the snarls and screeches of the demons was a growing roar. Somewhere to the north of them, a wall of water was rushing down the empty riverbed.

  “Should we be getting out of here?” asked Adrick.

  “Those demons don’t look like they’re in the mood to let us leave,” remarked Ben.

  The creatures were starting to tighten the circle around the three companions. Step by step, they were gaining confidence that the men were nearly beaten. Arch-demons were snarling and howling, Ben guessed encouraging the lesser creatures to attack. If the beasts charged, Ben was sure they would be beaten. Time was almost up, though.

  “If we’re going to have to swim, cut this off me,” pleaded Adrick.

  Rhys kneeled down and slid a long knife along the exposed leather straps, cutting the swordsman out of his breastplate, his leggings, and the rest of the battered plate armor.

  Ben gripped the helmet and helped the man yank it off his head.

  “It’s a shame to see such a beautiful artifact destroyed,” said Adrick wistfully.

  “It served its purpose,” responded Ben.

  A single demon broke from the pack and charged them.

  “This might get worse before it gets better,” said Rhys, standing and striding forward to meet the creature, but none of the other demons had a chance to attack.

  The crashing sound of the river returning was growing to the point even the demons couldn’t ignore it. They started to turn and panic. Scores of them began to scramble up the sides of the bank, but any that left the riverbed were rained on by mage-fire. The mages must have witnessed what happened and were keeping the creatures pinned in the path of the water. Unfortunately, Ben and his friends were stuck there as well.

  “Time to get wet,” said Rhys. He turned, watching for the approaching wall of water.

  “Stay on top if you can,” advised Adrick. “It’s going to be carrying a thousand demons with it when it hits us. Those things aren’t going to be happy about being in the water, and they’ll sink like rocks, but before they sink, they could tear us to shreds.”

  Ben nodded, then looked over the heads of the demons and nearly threw up. A wall of water was rushing toward them, and on the front of that wall, all he could see were the thrashing shapes of demon’s bodies. Hundreds, a thousand, he had no idea. All around them, the creatures were racing, trying to put distance between themselves and the
water. Ben knew it was futile. That water would keep coming and then keep going until it emptied out into the South Sea. The banks were bound by mage fire. There was nowhere to go. So, he held his breath and gripped the hilt of his sword.

  Around the three men, the air shimmered. Ben’s jaw dropped open and the wall over water, carrying demons, rocks, and other debris slammed into an invisible barrier half a dozen paces in front of him. The sound crashed into his ears, bringing tears to his eyes, and the tempest swirled around them.

  “The mages!” exclaimed Adrick. “They must have seen us.”

  The wall suddenly flexed, the torrent of water slipping a pace closer to them, rushing an arm-length above their heads, pressing against the invisible barrier.

  “I don’t think it’s going to hold…” declared Rhys.

  They dropped to their knees and ducked their heads, the black storm cutting off all visibility. The initial deluge was by, the worst of the danger passed, but overhead, an entire river of water pressed against around them.

  “See you on the other side,” said Rhys, and then the barrier collapsed.

  Ben was inundated, thrown back, flipped, spun, and churned like a leaf in a rapid. There was nothing he could do but pull his arms and legs tight against his body and try to ignore the painful rake of claws and the heavy bodies that battered against him. The demons were confused and angry. He doubted they could even see him, but they lashed out any way they could. Unseen or not, the claws still hurt.

  Ben kicked, guessing which way was up, bumping against demons and getting spun around the other direction. The sound of water filled his ears. He didn’t bother opening his eyes. At night, underneath a river, and surrounded by the black shapes of the creatures, there would be nothing to see.

  His lungs burned, and precious air bubbled out of his nose. A clawed hand wrapped around his ankle, but he kicked free. His chest ached, tempting him to suck in, but all he’d find would be water. He kicked harder, shedding his boots and unclasping his cloak. His body screamed at him, desperate for air.

  He felt demons thrashing near his feet, and hoping they were sinking to the bottom, he kicked away from them. His bare feet churned through the water, and he scooped handfuls of the cold liquid with his hands and propelled himself forward.

  Finally, he broke the surface. Gasping, panting, he kicked his feet frantically. The current was fast and the river still turbulent, but his head was bobbing in the air as he thrashed his legs, treading water. He drew in deep breaths between hacking and coughing up river water. His heart pounded, and his head swam, but he was kept afloat by the glorious realization that he would live, probably.

  The river was racing, pushing him further and further downstream. He saw the bank rushing by and cursed himself. The battle was still continuing north of him, and with every breath, he was moving further and further away. Some of the demons would have made it out of the riverbed, and the demon-king was still lurking out of sight.

  He started to swim, his longsword and clothing dragging at him, but he was unwilling to lose either of those. He’d already ditched his cloak and boots. If he survived, he didn’t want to hike back to the battle naked and unarmed.

  His left arm was numb from the cool water. It dulled the agony where the demon-mage’s blade had bit him. The relief from the pain was welcome, but he began to worry he was going to bleed out before he made it to shore. The cut had been to the bone, and his arm trembled with every excruciating stroke.

  On the black surface of the river, he didn’t see any demons. As Adrick said, they must sink like rocks. Spitting water and struggling, Ben kept his head down and swam for the western bank, giving up trying to track his progress or assess where he was. He swam and nothing else until his hand slapped down on thick grass. The current by the bank wasn’t nearly as strong as in the center, and he planted his feet, grabbing handfuls of the grass to drag himself out of the water.

  He flopped down like a dead fish, his mouth opening and closing, sucking in lungfuls of air. It was several long moments before he regained enough strength to raise his head and look around. He was on the riverbank, thirty paces from the broad dirt road they’d followed north. There were no demons, and he didn’t see Adrick or Rhys. Just him, the river, the grass, and the road. He groaned and rolled onto his back.

  After a moment, he drew his hunting knife out of the sheath and started sawing on his shirt, cutting the sleeves off. He wrapped the fabric around the deep cut on his arm. Holding one end in his teeth, he tied a knot and jerked it tight. The pressure felt good, but his entire arm throbbed still. He felt woozy. He guessed it had been half a bell since he’d been injured, and he’d lost a lot of blood in that time. He needed to eat, drink, and rest. Muttering under his breath, Ben sat up and then staggered to his feet. There would be no rest, not yet.

  The only sounds were crickets and night birds. The wind rustled the grass around him, and he shivered. He was soaking wet and barefoot. He sighed. Better get moving. He padded across the grass and felt the hard, cold dirt of the road underneath his feet.

  Two bells later, his throat was bone dry, and his feet were raw and sore from stepping on small, sharp rocks that were invisible at night. He was thirty. So thirsty.

  Ben glanced at the river again, watching the slow current bubble by him. Shaking himself, he thought about how many demons had been washed through that little stretch and how their foul blood and dead bodies were probably still tainting the water.

  Behind him, he heard a strange sound. In the moonlight, he saw a lone man hiking along the road. Ben paused, waiting.

  Looking like a drowned cat, Rhys marched closer. The rogue’s boots squelched with each step, and his long hair was plastered around his head and over his face like a wet mop. His sword belt looked to be gone, but he still held his longsword on his shoulder, one hand gripping the hilt and the other hand holding a silver flask.

  “I saved you a bit,” declared the rogue, coming to a stop beside Ben.

  “I’m surprised,” said Ben, accepting the flask.

  “Me too,” admitted Rhys. He sighed and shifted his longsword. “I have blisters from walking in these wet boots that I’m afraid may never heal.”

  “I lost my boots in the river,” stated Ben. He turned up the flask and let the fiery spirits fill his mouth. It wasn’t the water his body was craving, but it tasted pretty damn good.

  “Adrick?” asked Rhys.

  “I didn’t see either one of you after the water hit us. He could be somewhere up the road or somewhere far down it.” Ben winced, not wanting to vocalize the other obvious possibility. Adrick may not have made it. Instead, he asked, “How far do you think we have to go?”

  “A league, maybe a hair more,” answered Rhys. “We should be to the outskirts of the battle in half that, assuming it’s still going on.”

  Ben took another pull from the flask and then handed it back. “We’d best get moving then.”

  The first thing Ben saw was the single tower sticking up from the hill. In the pre-dawn twilight, it was a black finger standing against a grey sky.

  “I don’t hear much fighting,” remarked Rhys. “That’s either good or really bad.”

  “They should have had plenty of strength left to mop up the remaining demons,” said Ben. “Either they did it, or the demon-king found them.”

  They started passing the bodies of demons interspaced with the corpses of men. It was the column of creatures that had broken off, trying to flank them. Ben was glad to see it was mostly black shapes, but there were plenty of rangers down and even a few of the blademasters. He didn’t see Lloyd, but he wasn’t going to step off the road and go looking. He wasn’t far from lying down and joining the corpses. He was drained of blood, and the hike back to the hill had used up nearly everything he had. His head was swimming, and he felt feverish.

  “Just a bit longer,” mumbled Rhys.

  The rogue’s head was hanging, and his boots were scrapping the dirt road with each step. He didn’t
have a deep cut like Ben, but he’d aged decades in the last year, and it was clearly weighing on him. No one had the stamina to do what they’d done the night before.

  The sound of pounding feet drew Ben’s head up and he saw a man slipping and scrambling closer to them.

  “Lord Ben?” asked the man.

  Ben coughed. “I’m no lord.”

  In the pre-dawn gloom, Ben saw it was one of Rakkash’s rangers. He looked a bit worse for wear. His clothing and armor were torn, rivulets of dried blood stained one hip.

  “You’re alive!” exclaimed the ranger. “We’ve been waiting for you, hoping you’d return.”

  “What happened here?” asked Ben, raising his head to scan the battle-torn terrain.

  “Of course, of course you’d want to know,” stammered the man. He filled them in as they hiked the last couple of hundred paces up the hill to the watchtower.

  According to the man, the mages had all suddenly scrambled out of their huddle, yelling that the river broke and was going to come rushing down. The ranger wasn’t sure how it happened, but he was clear that the mages insisted they keep as many demons in the riverbed as possible. They’d seen Ben, Rhys, and Adrick down below, but no one could get close enough to help.

  The mages started using their magic. They blew the ranks of demons back from the line of rangers and then started laying down fire to keep the creatures in the riverbed. Within moments, the water came down, and thousands of the creatures were swept away, along with Ben and his companions.

  Several hundred demons were still in the field and surrounding the watchtower, but the men had been heartened when the majority of the force was wiped away with no effort. They rallied and made quick work of the remaining beasts. Some of the demons fled, but they’d killed nearly all of them. Word around the campsite was that it had been at least three thousand of the monsters in total.

  “How many did we lose?” asked Ben.

  The ranger’s face fell, his excitement at the victory tempered when he thought about the cost.