Benjamin Ashwood Box Set 2

by A. C. Cobble

  Staggering away, Jason yanked his sword from Saala and cried in agony as the blademaster fell, his body sliding off Ben’s sword which was still impaled through Jason. Blood poured down the Black Knife’s front, and a pink froth bubbled out of his mouth.

  He grinned, showing crimson-stained teeth.

  Ben backed up a step, wincing at the pain in his legs. His sword was stuck in the Black Knife, and the man was still somehow holding onto life. Ben pulled his hunting knife from the sheath, but he knew the short blade was no match against even a mortally wounded Lord Jason. He took another step and felt a terrific pain on the back of his calf. Screaming, he jumped away from the blazing matrix of light that was closing behind him.

  “Nowhere to go,” said Jason, a fresh dribble of blood leaking down his chin.

  In moments, Jason would be dead.

  That was too long.

  The Black Knife stepped forward, his longsword still in his hand, the other hand holding onto the hilt of Ben’s sword. If he drew it out of himself, he’d bleed to death in heartbeats, but he didn’t. He kept advancing, the hilt of the weapon sticking out from his stomach and bobbing as he moved.

  Behind Ben, he could feel the heat of the pattern drawing closer, and the scorching burn on his calf signaled just how much pain he’d be in if the thing caught up to him.

  Jason’s eyes blazed with murderous intent.

  Ben drew a deep breath, and knew what he had to do.

  “Try it,” coughed Jason, spitting a sticky glob of blood onto the grass. “I want you to.”

  Ben raised his knife above his head and charged.

  He meant to charge, at least, but his injured legs kept him to a pained shuffle.

  Bloody lips smiling, Jason watched Ben slowly draw closer. He stroked a small, rune-covered token on his belt. “I would guess I’ve got less than a quarter a bell to live, but my men are only a couple of hundred paces outside of these walls. I brought a mage.” He coughed, and a cloud of pink mist expelled from his lungs. “I just called him to come heal me.”

  Jason held up his longsword, the point aimed directly at Ben. It trembled in the dying man’s grasp, but at close range, as slow as Ben was moving, it was steady enough. Ben would have to skewer himself to reach the man. He grimaced and kept shuffling forward, the knife raised high, his other hand in front of his chest.

  Jason blinked uncertainly, and Ben took another step closer.

  The King of the Alliance was dead. As long as Ben could keep Jason’s longsword from immediately killing him, he could bring down his knife, and the King of the Coalition would be dead, too.

  Ben would have to sacrifice himself to make it happen, but so be it. The path was obvious. There was no choice. He had to stop the war. It was something worthwhile, he thought, dying for a cause.

  Jason fell back, his longsword wavering. The man didn’t have the strength to make an effective blow, but he could skewer Ben on the longer blade long before Ben’s dagger could reach him.

  Ben didn’t care.

  Jason stepped back again, and Ben increased his limping pace, ignoring the grind of bones in his injured knee and the squish of blood pumping from his other leg. A flicker of concern filled Jason’s eyes as Ben closed within half a dozen paces. A sword sticking through his body, Jason didn’t have the strength to run.

  Ben drew back his hunting knife, keeping it raised well above his head, and came closer. In two steps, he’d be to the tip of Jason’s sword. He steeled himself for the pain of the blade entering his body.

  Snorting, Jason raised his longsword to defend against Ben’s attack.

  Ben pitched forward and felt Jason’s longsword parry the hunting knife. With weak hands, Jason had managed to raise his longer weapon to meet Ben’s blow. The steel of the longsword bit him deep, cutting the flesh of his hand down to the bone. The hunting knife went spinning out of Ben’s hand.

  With his other hand, Ben shoved against Jason’s chest, putting everything into it as he stumbled forward. Jason fell back, surprise on his voice as he twisted to avoid landing on the point of the longsword stuck through him.

  The world slowed, and each beat of Ben’s heart seemed to take a hundred. He watched Jason spin, the man twisting like a cat to avoid tearing himself in two by landing on the sword. A pace above it, the Black Knife saw the glowing matrix of yellow lines below him. The pattern Saala had damaged earlier, lying on the grass, was directly under Jason’s falling body.

  Ben fell to his knees then onto his face. Dew damp grass pressed against his cheek. He heard a high-pitched scream, and he looked up.

  Lord Jason, the Black Knife, was writhing frantically on the glowing lines of the broken geometric pattern, oily black smoke twisting up from under him as the incandescent lights burned through his flesh like hot metal pressing against cold butter.

  Behind him, Ben knew the other matrix was approaching, but he didn’t have the strength to run. Pushing himself to his knees, he watched Jason burn. He shuddered at the thought of his own approaching, excruciating death.

  Finally, Jason’s hoarse voice fell silent, and the glowing lights flickered out. With Lord Jason dead, they lost their power. Ben blinked in amazement, and took two long, ragged breaths before he risked looking behind him to see that the second matrix had vanished as well.

  On the ground in front of Ben, Black Knife’s flesh popped and hissed from where it had been burned, but the sounds quickly faded as the heat from the burning lines was gone. The tinkling water of the fountain and Ben’s pained wheezes were the only sounds left in the courtyard.

  Ben struggled to his feet, tears coming to his eyes as he put weight on his damaged legs. Staggering, he almost fell as he bent to collect Lord Jason’s longsword. Gripping it, he felt a surge of energy and heat flow through his body. It wasn’t healing him, but it was lending him a warmth that his body was quickly losing from blood dripping out of his torn flesh.

  Grim-faced, Ben looked around and saw Saala’s weapon as well. He shuffled to it and stooped to collect it, just in time to hear running feet and shouts as men poured into the palace.

  Ben straightened, a mage-wrought blade in each hand, the tips resting on the lush, green turf. Blood trickling down his body, Ben felt tremors of pain coursing through him, but he had the strength to stand. For a while, at least.

  Men, clad in Coalition grey, burst through the same double doors Jason had kicked open when he’d entered the courtyard. A score of them. Two score. Ben stopped counting when he realized there were enough. He couldn’t fight these men.

  “Lord Jason,” gasped one of the soldiers, eying the body of their lord.

  They spread out as they streamed into in the courtyard, steel broadswords held by steely-eyed men. They didn’t attack, though. They waited.

  Ben heard another sound, and slower-moving feet approached. An elderly man, one he didn’t recognize, stepped through the broken doors.

  “Councilman Graff,” said the soldier who’d spoken earlier. “King Jason is dead.”

  Both men’s gaze flicked between the fallen lord and his longsword, held in Ben’s hand.

  “Who are you?” asked the councilman, a dark glare on his face, a shimmer of building energy swirling around his hands.

  “I’m the man who killed your lord,” growled Ben. “I killed the King of the Alliance as well. I’m betrothed to your Lady Selene’s daughter. I’m the liege of your dead lord’s brother, Lloyd. I require your healing or your head.”

  The councilman’s jaw fell open. His eyes darted between Jason, Saala, and Ben.

  “I’m not a patient man, Graff,” snapped Ben, using the last of his strength to raise the two, mage-wrought swords, crossing them in front of his face, his eyes fixed on Councilman Graff between the glowing weapons. “Heal me now, or these men will tell your widow that you were executed by Lord Benjamin Ashwood.”

  16

  Weight of the Crown

  Ben yawned and rolled over, tugging the heavy, silk-lined blanket up in a f
utile attempt to block the day.

  “The world won’t wait on you, Benjamin Ashwood,” declared Amelie.

  He peeked out from beneath the sheets and saw her shrugging into a casual dress, one that she could receive close staff and advisors in but not as formal as the one she’d wear to open court later in the day. She would only need a quarter bell of hair and makeup preparation with the casual dress. For the formal one, the world waited.

  “There’s kaf,” she said, exiting the bedchamber into her sitting room where the staff would have already laid out silver trays filled with a sumptuous feast. Eggs, rashers of bacon, fresh bread, jams to spread on it, honey, creamy butter, sliced fruit, and kaf.

  Grumbling to himself, Ben kicked his way out of the heavy sheets and slid on a plain tunic and britches that he’d thrown over a stuffed lounging chair the night before.

  “You can’t wear that outside of these rooms,” said Amelie when he walked barefoot into the sitting room. “You look like you just got back from the tavern.”

  “I feel like I just got back from the tavern,” muttered Ben as he joined her at the breakfast table.

  He tilted a silver pitcher and poured a stream of rich, black kaf into a white porcelain cup. He frowned when he saw the thing was patterned with pink and purple flowers. He had been sleeping there, but there was no doubt it was still Amelie’s bedchamber. Shrugging, he breathed deep, letting the aroma of the kaf perk his senses. Then he sat down and collected a biscuit. Splitting it open, he started to slather honey on it.

  “What time did you get back last night?” wondered Amelie.

  Ben shrugged.

  “You have to be careful, Ben.”

  “You think someone will make an attempt on our lives?” he wondered around a mouthful of flaky bread and honey.

  “No,” she said and sipped at her own cup of kaf. “I worry you’ll get drunk and make a fool of yourself, or perhaps speak too freely about something that should not be shared. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “I keep my secrets,” declared Ben.

  “Remember what you told Adrick Morgan about his daughter and Rhys?” asked Amelie. “That was just yesterday.”

  Ben fell into a coughing fit. He finally recovered and wiped his mouth before croaking, “Dry biscuit.”

  Amelie eyed him doubtfully.

  “I didn’t say anything or do anything that would embarrass you last night.”

  “I’m not worried about me,” said Amelie, shaking her head. “Ben, people look up to you. They watch your every move. They study you. You have a chance to show them the way or a chance to prove that you’re nothing more than a country lout. It’s your time to lead, Ben.”

  “I thought that’s what I’ve been doing,” he complained, taking a tentative sip of his kaf and deciding the scalding heat was worth the jolt of wakefulness it would shoot through him. “I led men against the demons and against the Alliance and the Coalition. What else do people expect?”

  “That was the easy part,” retorted Amelie.

  Ben frowned at her.

  “I am serious. Being a leader in the moment is easy,” she continued. “Well, not easy. Easier, I should say. Rising to the challenge, showing bravery in the face of terror, that’s something you felt you had to do. You’re the one who said it every time before a battle. ‘The choice was obvious. There was only one thing to do.’ Fighting a battle when it’s the only thing to do, that is easy. Living every day publicly, setting the example, that is hard.”

  Ben sipped at his drink and studied the breakfast tray in front of him.

  “You do want to be a leader, right, Ben?”

  “I don’t know,” he mumbled.

  “There’s a void in the world,” continued Amelie, “a void left by the powerful leaders who we helped topple. If we do not fill that void, who will? Can we say the next Veil, the next leader in Irrefort, Whitehall, or Issen will be any better than the ones we just killed? What was the point of it all if we let fate decide? What was the point if we do not make sure everything we fought for actually happens?”

  Staring into the swirling darkness of his mug, Ben replied, “I understand what you’re saying, Amelie, but isn’t there someone else, someone…”

  “Ben,” she responded gently, “you’ve seen what the other leaders in this world are capable of. If not you, if not me, then who else can we trust to lead our people? There is no one else, Ben. It is our time to lead, to make things right.”

  Ben looked up to meet her eyes. “You said ‘our people’.”

  Amelie blinked at him.

  He drew a deep breath then asked, “What did you mean ‘our’?”

  “Of everything I said, that’s the one thing you paid attention to?” asked Amelie.

  Ben held her gaze.

  “They can be our people if you want them to be,” mumbled Amelie, her eyes falling down. “We could rule side by side.”

  “I-I, ah…”

  “There’s the betrothal period and the ceremony, of course. I believe even in Farview that’s how these things are conducted?”

  Ben worked his mouth, struggling to figure out what to say.

  “Traditionally, the man would start the process by asking the question.”

  “Amelie—”

  “On one knee,” she reminded him.

  Three days later, seven days after the duel in the courtyard of the summer palace, Ben and Amelie stood side by side in front of the gates of Issen. Behind them, Serrot, Adrick Morgan, Earnest John, Elle, and rank after rank of Issen’s soldiers stood ready to march.

  “Are you sure about this?” asked Ben, adjusting the two sheaths strapped to his back. “There could be treachery.”

  Amelie snorted.

  “What?”

  “Isn’t that the kind of thing I’m supposed to ask you?”

  He shrugged.

  “We have an entire army behind us, Ben.”

  “They have bigger armies,” he reminded her.

  “For now,” challenged Amelie. “You’ve seen the reports just like I have. Every day, thousands are leaving and going home. Those armies are bigger today, but in a week, or if they march to fight, they’ll hemorrhage men. They’ll have more men walking home than to war, if those men don’t swing by Issen first in an attempt to join us. The armies of the Alliance and the Coalition have lost the will to continue, thanks to you.”

  Ben grunted. “They still have a lot of men, and they’re not all leaving.”

  “Not yet.”

  Ben glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Very well then, let’s go.”

  They started walking, and behind them, scores then hundreds then thousands of booted feet began to march down the road, headed north to where they would parley with the leaders of the Alliance and the Coalition. They weren’t entirely sure who that would be.

  Ben and Amelie had access to far-seeing, so they had a clear view of the respective camps of their opponents, but they couldn’t see what was happening within the tents. They couldn’t hear what was being discussed by the remaining command structures. In a typical campaign, they would have attempted to work spies into the other camps, but theirs had not been a typical campaign, and there had been no time to establish the connections necessary for espionage.

  They walked for a bell, heading toward the unknown, the crisp autumn breeze blowing into their faces. Finally, they came to a large, flat area beside the road. Two small armies already sat on opposite sides of the field. As their group arrived, they formed the third point in a triangle. The image sent a shiver down Ben’s spine.

  “Adrick, Earnest John, Elle, Captain Whan, with us,” ordered Amelie.

  She started walking again, approaching the center of the field. Ben was beside her, and the four others followed them. In the distance, Ben could see small groups splitting off from the other armies, walking out to meet.

  “Anything?” Amelie asked the strange girl, Elle.

  “There are torrents of emotions,” squeaked th
e tiny mage in the high-pitched voice of a girl who’d seen no more than twelve summers. “I do not sense any betrayal.”

  “How can you sense them?” asked Ben.

  Elle did not answer, and when he looked over his shoulder, the huge mage Earnest John gave a slight shake of his head.

  Ben turned and flexed his sword hand, trying to remain calm. He was still stiff after the ordeal with Saala and Jason. The Coalition’s councilman, a mage of slight talent, had been scared and confused about the outcome of the duel and Ben’s relationship to the Coalition’s potential new leadership. Talking quick, Ben had convinced the man to heal him. It hadn’t been much, but it had been enough to keep him alive. Elle had done a more thorough job after they’d found him unconscious, halfway back to Issen. Healing could only go so far, though. His body had to recover strength on its own after a near-death experience.

  Ben was functional, and he had no problems moving about throughout the day, but he knew he’d be severely disadvantaged in a fight. In his weakened state, he wouldn’t survive facing the likes of Saala and Jason again. He hoped there wasn’t the likes of Saala and Jason still around.

  “Here,” said Amelie.

  Ben looked around. They were almost to the center of the field. “Amelie, another three hundred paces and…”

  “And we’d be in the middle,” acknowledged the Lady of Issen. “We arrived late on purpose, Ben, and we will make them come to us, on purpose. It is one of the subtle games of power that the lords and ladies play.”

  “What if they don’t come to us?” wondered Ben.

  “Then we already know how this meeting will go, and we’d best hurry back to our men.”

  “They’re coming,” stated Earnest John.

  Ben held a hand above his eyes and studied the approaching parties, five people in each one. His eyes widened when the Alliance group came close enough that he could see their faces. “General Brinn. That’s a good thing, right?”

  “I think you’re right,” said Amelie, excitement building in her voice. “If he’s the representative they’re sending, I think he’ll treat with us fairly.”