Benjamin Ashwood Box Set 2

by A. C. Cobble

  “It could have been someone coming to join us,” speculated Ben.

  Rhys didn’t respond. Instead, he dropped to his haunches and poked at the bodies with the tip of one of his long knives. It was clear he didn’t agree. Ben didn’t agree either, but he couldn’t come up with another logical explanation.

  “Here!” cried Amelie.

  They moved to her side and found her squatting beside a stick that had been pushed into the turf. It was stripped of bark and its length was covered in small runes that someone had gouged into the wood.

  Towaal turned to Rhys. “Look on the other side of the blast and see if you can find a twin to this stick.”

  “A trap?” asked Ben.

  “It looks like it,” replied Towaal. “Remember the ward we found on the way to Northport, the one that created an invisible field across the trail? I believe this is similar, except instead of tripping a warning—”

  “It tripped an explosion,” finished Ben.

  Towaal nodded grimly.

  “The Sanctuary would have no reason to set a trap like that, would they?” asked Amelie. “Surely, they don’t expect us to come back south and confront the Veil in the City.”

  Towaal bent closer to the stick and then glanced back over her shoulder at the crater. “Whoever those bodies are, they were likely headed north. See, the blast area is just beyond this stick, and they are south of it, like they crossed a threshold and triggered the trap. They were blown back the direction they had been coming.”

  “Sanctuary mages may have been coming north,” said Ben slowly.

  “The Sanctuary wouldn’t set a trap for their own mages,” retorted Amelie. “Perhaps it was delegates from Venmoor or somewhere else and they didn’t want us to hear the message?”

  “This trap was likely attuned to those with talent,” responded Towaal. “We’ve had patrols passing through here for days, and there have been merchants up from Venmoor.”

  “I don’t understand,” admitted Ben. “If the trap was set for those with talent, who set it and why?”

  “Avril,” stated Amelie flatly. “The Sanctuary is the only place that would have six talented individuals traveling together. Lady Avril is the only one who would set a trap to kill them.”

  Towaal stood, her hands on her hips, glaring at the stick protruding from the turf. “It makes sense. If that woman wanted to head off mages from the Sanctuary, this was the perfect place to do it.”

  Rhys returned, and Ben jumped when he saw a rune-carved stick in the rogue’s hands.

  “What?” asked Rhys. “It’s already been set off. No sense in leaving it there.”

  Towaal held out a hand and he gave it to her. Sighing, she collected the other and looked around suspiciously. They were on the river road between Kirksbane and Venmoor. It was broad and flat. Braced by the river on one side and sparse forest on the other, there was nowhere nearby to hide, but Ben couldn’t shake the feeling they were being watched.

  “If Lady Avril is nearby, setting lethal traps on the roads, what should we do about it?” asked Amelie.

  Ben scratched his head and looked to Towaal. The mage held the two sticks in her hands and then quickly brought them down on a raised knee, snapping the wood in two.

  “If Lady Avril is around, I’m not sure there is much we can do except alert the others and watch our backs,” responded the mage. “That woman has been hiding in the shadows for centuries. She’s escaped detection by the most powerful woman in Alcott. I don’t think we will find her. When the time comes, she will find us.”

  The two mages couldn’t be more different, thought Ben. He was studying the giant Earnest John and the diminutive Elle. One, with his huge crossbow and wild shock of black hair. The other, swallowed in brown wool robes, only her tiny face peeking out. Together, they seemed to have taken charge of Jasper’s mages after he had passed. None of the others objected when they gave orders, at least.

  To Ben’s surprise, the two mages in front of him had never given an objection to anything he asked of them. When he had asked them why they were still following him after Jasper’s death, they had merely shrugged and said it was what Jasperwould have wanted.

  “Lady Avril,” murmured Earnest John, running a hand along his spiked-up hair. “I thought she was dead.”

  “Everyone did,” replied Ben, “until we saw her on the South Continent. She was hiding in Shamiil.”

  The big mage turned to Elle. “Can you find her?”

  The girl shook her head. “I can try, but I don’t think so. She’s been hiding from the Sanctuary for centuries. Lady Coatney must have known her daggers missed the mark. If she couldn’t find Avril, I don’t think I will be able to.”

  “You’re better at questing than any of the Sanctuary mages,” mentioned John.

  Shrugging, Elle responded, “Maybe, but they have the motivation.”

  “Do you have any suggestions other than keeping an eye out and watching our backs?” asked Ben. “I don’t have a lot of experience dealing with a mage of her talent.”

  John shrugged. “You could ask those former Sanctuary mages. They would know Avril’s intentions and capabilities better than we do.”

  “They said to watch my back,” replied Ben dryly.

  Earnest John held out his open palms, clearly unable to offer better advice.

  “We can ask Adrick,” said Amelie.

  Ben nodded. “He’ll be back in two or three days. Once he returns, we can have a meeting with the captains and figure out what our next move is. One thing is sure, we can’t let the army sit here and grow hungry. Before long, they’ll start to trickle away.”

  “They won’t leave you,” assured Earnest John.

  “You’re sure?” asked Ben with a small smile. He had found that despite his frightening appearance and devastating crossbow, the big mage was a kind, gentle soul.

  Earnest John nodded. “They joined you because you battled the demons. Some because they felt you were the only one standing against the darkness. Some because they saw a chance at glory, a few because they had nowhere else to turn. None of them joined you thinking they’d get rich. The true sell-swords are already marching under Whitehall’s banner to pillage Issen. Your people will be behind you, Ben, even if they don’t get paid.”

  Ben coughed and flushed. “You heard about that?”

  “Everyone’s heard about that,” admitted John.

  “Three months,” said Elle.

  Ben frowned at her.

  “You have three months to prove yourself, and then the army will start to dissipate,” explained the tiny girl. “The true believers will remain with you, but these farmers and apprentices who have been arriving the last few weeks will suddenly remember they have responsibilities at home. You have to show them something in that time, Ben. Show them you’re worthy of their loyalty, or show them a piece of your grander vision. John is right, it’s not pay they want, but they do want something. What’s in it for them? Show the men that, Ben, and this army will follow you anywhere.”

  “We still have to feed them and arm them,” said Amelie. “No matter how dedicated they are, without food and weapons, they can’t go into battle.”

  Elle smiled. “You’ll figure it out.”

  “We will?” asked Amelie.

  The girl nodded. “I am sure of it.”

  Ben grunted and stood. “I’m glad you have faith, because we don’t, but there’s nothing to do except move on.”

  “The way forward is clear,” agreed Elle. “The path is obvious.”

  Turning to leave, Ben pondered what the strange girl had said. The way forward wasn’t clear. The complexity of the logistics, the difficulties managing a large force of men, the uncertainty about where to send them, the threats looming from Avril and the others… No, the solutions weren’t obvious at all to Ben.

  He and Amelie left the inn and Ben led them through the busy streets of Kirksbane. Back when he’d been on those streets before, things had been clear, hadn’t
they? He’d been accompanying Amelie and Meghan to the Sanctuary where they would become initiates. He’d been planning to… Well, he’d been planning to do something. That was certain. Times had been simpler, then.

  He sighed as they dodged through the crowded streets, nodding offhandedly at the salutes and well-wishes of his army. He cringed. His army. What was he going to do with an army?

  Despite Elle’s assurance that the solution was obvious, no answers were forthcoming. None had been obvious in a long time. Only when he was in the thick of battle did the choice seem clear. Only when he was on the move, when the action was hottest. Then, the choices were always clear because there was only one way. In battle, you attacked. Sitting and letting the fight happen around you was a surefire way to get yourself killed.

  He paused, and Amelie stopped beside him, raising an eyebrow in question.

  “Let’s order everyone to prepare to march.”

  “March where, Ben?”

  “North,” he replied.

  Amelie frowned at him.

  “The longer we stay here, the worse our problems will get,” explained Ben. “Sitting still doesn’t get us any closer to Saala and stopping the war between the Alliance and the Coalition. It doesn’t clear the remaining demon swarms around Northport. It doesn’t address Lady Avril or Lady Coatney. Amelie, there’s no reason we should still be here.”

  “The army needs coin to move, Ben,” argued Amelie. “They need weapons, gear for winter, and provisions. We can’t just send them up there with nothing. I understand we’re not accomplishing anything here in Kirksbane, but if we want these men to follow us, we can’t allow them to starve.”

  Ben clenched his fists in frustration.

  Around them, the streets were crowded with people going about their daily errands. Kirksbane was busting at the seams. It was a small place compared to the City or Whitehall, and it was filled beyond capacity with Ben’s army staying there. The din of activity was driving Ben to distraction. He needed a quiet place to think, to discuss options with Amelie.

  “I need an ale,” he told her.

  “You could come to the Curve Inn, Lord Ben,” breathed a timid voice.

  Both Ben and Amelie turned. Standing in the street, eyes on the ground, one foot coyly tucked behind the other, top barely clinging to pale, milk-white shoulders, was a beautiful woman. Honey-blond hair framed rosy cheeks, and a welcoming smile curled her lips.

  Ben’s heart sank.

  “I’ll speak to Master Taber,” continued the beauty. “I’m sure the ale would be free for a powerful and handsome lord like you, Lord Ben.”

  Ben’s throat went dry, and his eyes darted wildly toward Amelie.

  The woman looked up. “Do you remember me, Lord Ben? I told Master Taber about… about us. He didn’t believe me. After I heard what you did up north, with the demons, I even told the mayor.”

  “You told—"

  “I believe Ben does remember you,” interjected Amelie, her voice flat.

  “I’m not a lord,” Ben declared to the air, halfway between Amelie and the barmaid Ilyena. He’d hoped to avoid the woman, and now that she was standing in front of him, he wasn’t sure what to say. It didn’t help that Amelie was beside him, looking as if she was deciding between assaulting Ben or the barmaid.

  “You said that before,” claimed Ilyena, her gaze defiantly meeting Amelie’s glare.

  Ben looked anywhere but at her.

  “The mayor tried to bed me, you know?”

  Ben closed his eyes and swallowed.

  “I told him I’d been with a real lord. You, Lord Ben,” continued Ilyena. “He’s no lord, you know. He’s barely any better than a village councilman in some farm town. Lord Vonn down in Venmoor rarely even acknowledges him. I told him to be a real lord he had to do something like you did up north with the demons. He had to—”

  “I’ve got an idea,” said Ben, opening his eyes and turning to Amelie. “Let’s go get an ale at… somewhere else.”

  Amelie, stone-faced, started down the street.

  2

  The Road

  Ben tugged the straps of his pack, hitching it high where it was comfortably distributed to provide the least amount of wear on his body. He checked his longsword and hunting knife, ensuring the blades were firmly in their sheaths but accessible if he needed to draw them quickly. The night before, he’d run the whetstone over them, smoothing the steel of nicks and honing them to razor-sharp.

  Beside him, Amelie, Rhys, Lady Towaal, and the former guardian Prem all settled their gear and then looked to him expectantly.

  “Let’s get on the road, then,” he said, feeling silly giving the order.

  He led them east from Kirksbane, heading toward the Sineook Valley. From there, they’d cross Snowmar Pass down into Whitehall. If they were unable to catch Saala there, they’d find a vessel to sail across the Blood Bay to Fabrizo, where the Alliance was staging its army. Ben didn’t think about what would happen if they couldn’t catch their old friend there. Issen was the next stop, and where everyone expected the Alliance to meet the Coalition. If the two sides came together before Ben and his friends were able to convince Saala to stop, it was certain to be war.

  Ben didn’t know who would win the conflict, but he knew plenty of people who would lose. The city of Issen would be demolished in the fighting. Tens of thousands, no, hundreds of thousands of soldiers would be killed. Their families would be left without husbands, fathers, and sons. Commerce would grind to a halt as tradesmen, conscripted as soldiers, didn’t return to their shops. Farms would go fallow. Nets wouldn’t be cast. The size of the armies promised a titanic conflict that would devastate Alcott for decades.

  Ben grimaced and kept walking. They’d reach Saala, reason with him, and put a stop to it. They had to.

  “Lord Vonn’s troops haven’t stopped and questioned us yet,” said Amelie. “That’s a good sign.”

  “He’s probably just happy to see us go,” remarked Rhys. “The longer we stayed in Kirksbane, the weaker he looked. An army just a few days north of his city, no lord wants that. We gave him a way out, and while he’s not happy about it, it’s better than it could have been. Besides, what’s he going to do, go to war with his former men? Half our strength is his rangers and blademasters, not to mention all these new arrivals from his lands. It’d be brother against brother. He’s experienced enough to know that sometimes not losing is winning.”

  “I do not understand your lords,” murmured Prem. “The rangers chose to follow us. How can this Lord Vonn complain about it? It’s not our fault he did not earn their loyalty. Maybe if he’d marched to face the demons, he would be the one gaining followers, not us. Besides, we had no intention of going back to Venmoor and threatening him.”

  “It’s not us he’d feel threatened by,” explained Amelie. “As Rhys said, with an army sitting on his doorstep mostly made up of his former soldiers, he looks weak. While we had no intention of pressing it, what about the other lords? If Venmoor looks weak, if Lord Vonn looks weak, it’s only a matter of time before another lord tried to step in. Then, he really would have a fight on his hands.”

  “So by sending Kirksbane’s mayor and its remaining men north with our army, Lord Vonn will gain what?” questioned Prem.

  “Lord Vonn gets Northport, or what’s left of it,” explained Ben. “The mayor gets a chance to prove himself and earn a title. They need our men and mages to do it, though, so in exchange for that, we get the coin we need to arm and feed them. We all have incentive to make it work, and I’m as happy with Vonn ruling up north as anyone else. He seems a fair sort, for a highborn.”

  Amelie snorted.

  “It was well done, Ben,” complimented Towaal. “You thought out every angle and found a solution that kept everyone happy with no bloodshed. I’m impressed.”

  “Still glad you decided to support me so many months ago?” asked Ben.

  “I liked you better when you brewed ale,” interjected Rhys. “This world
has enough lords. What we need is more brewers.”

  Ben rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Rhys. Seriously, though, I was a much better brewer than I am a lord.”

  “You are a lord, though, Ben, at least in the ways that matter,” said Towaal. “You may not have land, and you may not have been raised to the nobility by a powerful highborn, but you have an army and followers. You have people counting on you, and you count on them. That’s what it means to be a leader, not some official decree.”

  Ben scratched at the scar on his arm and didn’t respond. He was no lord. He knew that, but it seemed fewer and fewer others did.

  That evening, they sat around a small campfire and Ben stirred a pot. Chunks of potato, carrot, onion, and beef swam in the boiling water. It was more fresh meat and vegetables than they would usually travel with, but passing through Sineook Valley, food would be plentiful and they would have no trouble resupplying. The valley was the agricultural source for most of Whitehall’s needs, and farmers were always happy to make a sale locally instead of having to cart their goods days away.

  Ben inhaled the rich scent of the stew and smiled. Something felt good about being out on the road again, away from the pressure of command, and crafting a simple meal for his friends. He sat back contentedly.

  “Don’t burn it,” muttered Rhys, eyeing him across the fire, “Lord Ben.”

  Ben rolled his eyes and leaned back to the fire, scraping the wooden spoon along the bottom of the iron pot. They sat silently for a moment, enjoying each other’s company and not finding a need to fill the space.

  Giving the stew another stir, Ben asked Prem, “Have you contacted your father?”

  “No,” answered the girl. “Not since I told him we were leaving.”

  “Is it easy?” asked Amelie. “We used a thought meld with Jasper, but we had a device for it that he attuned to himself. It didn’t take any thought at all, really, just enough energy to activate it.”

  “It’s easy for me,” said Prem. “My father and I have always been close, and we’ve been communicating that way for seven or eight decades now. As you say, it barely takes a thought.”