Benjamin Ashwood Box Set 2

by A. C. Cobble

  He blinked and looked outside. “I directed it though the sword. I channeled the power away from the storm. I stole it’s strength. It wasn’t about manipulating the energy to do something, it was about pulling it away from what it had been doing. When I took the power from the wind, the storm died. Amelie, I don’t think I could—”

  “Not you, Ben. It’s the antithesis of what they taught in the Sanctuary. Instead of manipulation of energy to achieve a goal, it’s removing strength to achieve the goal,” said Amelie, and she began walking toward the open doors to the wide veranda where they’d attended Argren’s gala the year before.

  Avril noticed the movement, and her eyes flashed. She shouted at her assassins, “Kill her!”

  Suddenly, several things happened at once.

  The dark-clothed assassins surged forward.

  A bolt of scorching hot flame burst from Lady Coatney’s hands and streaked toward her rival, crackling and hissing with incredible heat that Ben could feel from twenty paces away.

  Towaal shouted, “Harden your will!”

  Rhys spun like a dervish, his mage-wrought longsword cleaving the air, smoke boiling in its wake as he met the charging assassins and decapitated the first one.

  And Ben was kicked between his legs.

  His world flashed bright-white for a moment, and a sharp spike of pain blew every other thought from his mind. His muscles turned to water, and he collapsed in a limp pile on the marble floor. His hands clasped around his injured manhood and he whimpered in agony. Blinking tears from his eyes, he struggled to look up.

  A black-clad assassin was standing above him. Smoke drifted off the man, doing little to hide him up close, but making him hazy and indistinct to Ben’s liquid-filled eyes.

  “Sorry about that, chap,” drawled a voice from behind the silk mask. “Lost my blade when I threw it at you. I want you to know it isn’t my normal way of doing things. I feel bad that this is the way you will die.”

  The figure stooped and collected Ben’s sword, raising it high and preparing to deliver a death blow. Ben wiggled, but the throbbing ache between his legs was too much. He couldn’t extend a leg and kick his attacker or even use his feet to push himself away.

  A silver streak flew over Ben and impacted the assassin’s chest with a sickening thunk. The man staggered away, dropping Ben’s sword in surprise. He stood, wavering for a moment, then fell.

  “Time to fight instead of lying around like a castrated goat,” chided Prem, darting by Ben and spinning into a cartwheel, one hand holding a long knife and supporting her while the other hand plucked her other knife from the dead assassin’s chest. She landed lightly on her feet and continued her momentum, charging into a group of assassins closing on Rhys.

  Groaning, Ben struggled to a sitting position.

  A score of Whitehall’s guards rushed by him. The men who had been chasing Prem were winded and red-faced from the run, but they threw themselves into the battle, quickly realizing that the black-masked men with the shadowy blades were definitely bad guys.

  One hand still gripping his groin, Ben scooted over to grab his longsword. He struggled to his feet and kicked the body of the man who had kicked him.

  General Brinn yelled over the tumult, directing the guardsmen into the fray, and the assassins were suddenly outnumbered. With Rhys, the Sanctuary’s blademaster, and Prem at the center, a wall of steel formed and began to push the black-clad men back.

  Ben limped after them, but with the reinforcements, his friends had the attackers bottled up. The assassins were quick and deadly, and they had the mage-wrought blades, but they were not blademasters. They trained for strikes from the shadows. Whitehall’s men were trained for this type of combat, and it was obvious as their units formed into coordinated blocks around Ben’s friends.

  A thunderous boom erupted from outside and shook the stone walls of the Citadel.

  “She’s unleashing the storm!” yelled Lady Coatney in warning, hands raised, still directing a brilliant cone of fire at Lady Avril.

  The former Veil marched forward like it wasn’t there, heat and flame blowing over her, around her, parting in gusts and billows to reveal her determined face as she strode through the inferno.

  Ignoring the conflagration, Amelie stepped outside, raising her hands toward the churning sky.

  “Protect her!” called Towaal, scrambling to stand between Amelie and Avril.

  Grim-faced, Lady Coatney and her detail of mages joined Towaal, and the women formed a wall of defensive magic, but Avril kept advancing. In one hand, she held the dagger. She raised the other, and the mages were shoved back, their feet sliding across the smooth, marble floor.

  Amelie was outside, flashes of lightning illuminating her and then casting the veranda into blackness when they flickered out.

  Avril kept coming, and Towaal, Coatney and the other mages were forced to step outside.

  Ben shuffled toward the veranda as well, swerving wide around the mages, hampered by the hollow ache between his legs. Lights flashed, temporarily blinding Ben, and waves of heat crested over him.

  “The Veil protecting Amelie,” muttered Rhys, appearing beside Ben, flicking blood from his longsword. “That’s a strange turn of events.”

  Ben grunted, struggling to move quickly to get outside and help Amelie do… what? He didn’t know, but he couldn’t let her fight this battle alone.

  Another blast of heat, like the doors of a furnace were thrown open, washed over Ben and Rhys. He heard a chorus of pain and terror behind them. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Avril was still engulfed in fire, but from within that fire came streaks of heat and light that were thrown indiscriminately toward Towaal and Coatney. Half the blasts were striking the men battling across the floor of the throne room.

  “Those men don’t know how to harden their will. There’s no way they’ll survive this,” Ben realized. To Rhys, he instructed, “Get Brinn, evacuate the room, and everyone else nearby that you can. Start getting people out of the Citadel if you have time. Direct them toward the mountains. This is only going to get worse.”

  “What will you do?” asked the rogue.

  “Help Amelie.”

  “How?”

  Ben didn’t answer. He forced down the pain between his legs and started to run, skirting around the battling mages and ducking outside.

  The wind whipped against him, pressing his clothing against his body and stinging his skin with violent drops of rain. The air exploded overhead in a massive network of branching electrical energy, raising the hairs on the back of his neck and threatening to shatter his eardrums with the incredible clap of thunder that rolled down after the lightning. The Citadel shook, the stones of the ancient fortress grinding against each other, threatening to topple down the hill, roll over the city, and fall all the way down to the harbor below.

  Ben made it to Amelie, nearly slipping on the rain-slick tile of the veranda, but he didn’t speak to her, and he didn’t touch her. She had her hands raised, her face tilted upward. Her wet hair blew in the wind, whipping around her face then flying free. Beads of water were on her brow and cheeks, reflecting the incredible light of the lightning bursting above them.

  Ben spun and saw the mages were falling back, unable to stop Avril and the incredible power she drew from her repository. In moments, the mages would be forced back to Amelie, and she would no longer be behind their protection. Unaware of the battle, she’d have no defense against Avril’s assault. Sword gripped uselessly in his hands, Ben shouted, his frustration lost in the scream of the wind. This fight was between the mages, and there was nothing he could do.

  Unless…

  Ben darted to the side, running quickly around the backs of Coatney, Towaal, and their wall of protective magic. When he rounded them, he felt a blast of heat across his face and suddenly questioned his choice, but it was too late.

  He hardened his will and he charged.

  Heat, then cold, then crackling static energy battered against his b
ody. The hairs on his arms and head smoldered from the flame cast off by the mages. He squinted and ran through the fire, forcing the heat from his skin but unable to keep his clothes from starting to crackle. His sword burned scorching hot and he dropped it involuntarily, his injured fingers refusing to maintain their grip on the scalding hilt of the weapon.

  Ignoring the pain, he kept his will hardened and raced closer, flinging his body at Lady Avril. He slammed into her with a grunt. Arms held wide, his shoulder drove into her side, and he wrapped around her, both of them flying off their feet.

  He landed on the former Veil hard, blasting the air out of her lungs with the weight of his body. Around them, sharp blades of wind clashed against their hardened will. Directed by the Veil and her stooges, they were not letting up their attack just because Ben was in the way.

  Ben felt his back flayed, the wind peeled off from the powerful storm by the mages and formed into thin, dense whips that sliced his skin as easily as a knife.

  Eyes filled with fire, Avril looked up at him and tried to push him off. Scrambling, Ben held her down, using the weight of his body to pin her against the wet marble tiles.

  Her dagger plunged into his side. The repository, not just a store of energy, but blade of sharp steel, slid into his flesh. Lancing pain tore through his gut. She smiled at him.

  Gritting his teeth, Ben swung his head down, the crown of his skull connecting solidly with the former Veil’s nose. Surprised by the move, she didn’t even try to dodge the blow. Ben felt bone crunch and heard a startled yelp. He rolled away, gripping the crossbar of the knife in his fist and ripping it from Avril’s hands.

  He felt the sharp steel turn and gouge his flesh, hot blood pouring over his hands, but she lost control of the blood-slick handle and he tore free. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he kept going, rolling over and over, hunching his back to avoid the weapon dragging against the tile. He had to get distance between himself and the former Veil. He had to stop her from reclaiming her dagger.

  The cuts on his flayed back stung, and the knife in his gut pulsed pain through his core. Then, thumb-sized hail pounded against him. Flung by the storm with the speed of a pebble out of a sling, the small chunks of ice whistled into his flesh, leaving immediate welts everywhere they struck.

  He looked back, dazed and in agony. A dozen paces away, Lady Avril was rising, bent under the assault of the hailstorm, but turning to glare at Ben. She stood straight, ignoring the barrage of ice against her flesh. Her eyes were lit with unnatural fury. Her clothing dripped with blood.

  Mostly his blood, he realized belatedly. He staggered to his feet, slipping and sliding on the ice and the blood that poured from him.

  Avril raised a hand, a finger pointing through the falling ice directly at Ben. He tensed, his mind swirling and confused, unable to gather sufficient concentration to harden his will.

  A fist of ball-lightning smashed into Avril from the side and the former Veil was blown off her feet and sent tumbling across the veranda toward the stone balustrade that stood between it and the city below.

  Lightning from above crackled, and Ben saw the top of the Citadel hammered by the storm, a burst of stone and mortar exploding from where the bolt struck.

  “Oh my,” muttered a voice, barely audible over the raging wind.

  Ben turned to see Amelie, hanging suspended a pace above the stone.

  Power swirled around her, roiling energy, manifesting physically. It was like looking at her through a stream of rushing water. She was calm though distant. The whipping wind and flying hail evaporated as it passed into the cloud of pure energy floating around her. Her head was still tilted up, and Amelie’s palms were raised toward the sky.

  “Release it!” shouted Towaal. “Release it before it consumes us all!”

  As the mage spoke, the stone balcony groaned, and Ben felt it tilt alarmingly.

  “She’ll bring this entire structure down,” growled Lady Coatney, shoving her minions out of the way and running toward Amelie. “She’s not strong enough to retain that kind of energy. Not even I have the will to handle that much power. When it consumes her…”

  Ben struggled to remain standing, desperate to put himself between his lover and the Veil, but he didn’t have the strength. He was fading rapidly.

  The Veil, spots of blood marring her face where the hail had battered her, stormed closer. She raised a hand.

  Ben knew she meant to act, to stop Amelie, to throw their fates to the fury of the storm.

  Then, Avril stumbled into the group of Sanctuary mages, her hands wrapping around one woman’s throat and tearing it out, her fingers transformed into sharp claws by a sickening dark power that swirled down her arms.

  The other Sanctuary mages swarmed around Avril, trying to keep her from the Veil, but the woman’s hands raked across their flesh, rending it and tearing the women to shreds. None of them had the strength to stop her, and they were flung away by the fury of her strikes.

  Coatney spun and released a ball of light that flew a dozen paces and shattered on Lady Avril’s face. The former Veil staggered back, spitting blood, but she did not fall.

  “You didn’t think I only brought one repository, did you?” she snarled, drawing a palm-sized copper disc from her belt. Raising her first, she crowed, “This isn’t enough to stop the storm, but it’s enough to stop you.”

  “You’ll let all of these people die?” shouted the Veil, her hands raised, but her shoulders slumped in exhaustion.

  “I’ll do anything as long as you die,” cackled Avril, murderous intent clear in her gaze.

  “No,” said Amelie. “You won’t.”

  Ben blinked, suddenly realizing the hail had stopped, the wind had slowed, and lightning no longer pounded the heights of the Citadel. The rain still fell heavily, obscuring everything within a score of paces around them. It left the mages and himself isolated on the veranda in a world of falling water.

  Amelie’s feet touched lightly to the tiles.

  Avril sneered at Amelie. “The Veil and a dozen of her most powerful mages cannot harm me. You think you have strength to challenge me, girl?”

  “I do not, but your storm does.”

  The air twisted like the fabric of the world itself was shifting.

  Ben’s vision swirled with a stomach-churning lurch, and a punch of pure power erupted from Amelie and slammed into Lady Avril.

  A shocked scream burst from the former Veil as she was flung back, flying over the balustrade like a missile from a catapult. The woman’s body soared into the curtain of rain, disappearing hundreds of paces above the city of Whitehall. A shriek, the only evidence of her passage, faded quickly into the distance.

  Amelie stumbled, the pouring rain suddenly shoving her down. Wet hair stuck to the side of her face, and her clothes hung heavily on a wobbling frame. She looked around and, seeing Ben, offered a weak smile. He tried to smile back, but his vision wavered, and black encroached around the edges. His hand dropped to the dagger in his stomach. He felt the warm blood going cold as it soaked around his fingers.

  “I—”

  He didn’t get to finish. His body fell face first onto the tiles, splashing in a puddle of melting ice, rain water, and his own blood.

  6

  Aftermath

  “Are you awake?”

  He was, barely. Ben shifted, confused, like he was arousing from a deep, engrossing dream. The voice floated through his conscience like a leaf on a swirling stream.

  “I can see you moving,” chided the speaker. “I don’t have time to sit here all day.”

  Ben blinked, bright light in the room blinding him momentarily. He opened his mouth but only got out a cough instead of words. His throat was bone-dry.

  “There is water on the table.”

  He blinked again, the light slowly resolving into shapes. Beside him was a silhouette that could have been a pitcher, against the wall a shape which he guessed was the speaker. He struggled to sit up, reaching for a cup he n
oticed beside the pitcher, and then stopped cold.

  The movement of his arm caused a dry rattle of metal links moving over metal links. Chain. A band of iron encircled his wrist, and attached to it was a string of the links. He had room to move, but he was locked in chains. He was a prisoner.

  “Sorry about that,” said the voice. “We’ll take no chances until I am gone.”

  “Who…” he started then paused, trying to work some spit into his throat. Rasping and barely audible, he asked, “Who are you?”

  “Lady Coatney, the Veil, of course,” answered the voice. She shifted, and he heard her chair scrape as the figure moved closer, scooting into the light that spilled from the lone window in the room to reveal red hair, green dress, and the same simple silver jewelry he’d seen on her before. “Who else do you think would have you locked up in chains?”

  She paused, as if expecting a response, but before he could voice one, she continued, “You know what? Don’t answer that. I’ve learned a great deal about you, Benjamin Ashwood. You’ve led an exciting life in such a short time. There are some periods I was unable to learn about, but I know enough to guess that there are a lot of people who might want to lock you up. This time, it is by me.”

  “Why?” he croaked.

  “You oppose me, do you not?” answered the woman in a measured tone.

  “I—”

  “Do not be foolish,” chided the woman. “I was merely being polite when we met on the road. Do not think it was ignorance. Your plan is to unseat me, though, I’m not clear on who you believe will be raised in my place, or why they would be any more amenable to your goals. I’m aware that you absconded with our initiate, Amelie. I know you were recently in the City and stole the Staff of Wyvern from us. I know that you torched a tower in your escape from the City, killing several of my friends. I know you killed my son.”

  Ben flopped back down on the bed, regretting his question.

  “Yes, that’s right,” murmured Lady Coatney, leaning closer to him. “When you stop to think about it, you shouldn’t be surprised that I have you in chains, should you?”