Benjamin Ashwood Box Set 2 Read online

  Ben stumbled, losing his grip on Amelie’s hand. He kept running and dropped his hand to the hilt of his sword. His mind swirled, and the sound of the wind rose inside his head, a counterpoint to the rapidly closing storm behind them.

  A channel, Jasper had called it. He said the sword functioned as a channel for energy which Ben was able to manipulate with his will. Wind was a nearly endless source of energy, Jasper had said.

  Still running, Ben awkwardly drew his sword and felt the surge of power coursing through him. Like it did when he anticipated a battle, the sound of the wind grew, crashing and howling with fierce energy.

  Rhys, who was running beside him, mouthed something, but Ben couldn’t hear him. The rage of the storm behind him and the corresponding force inside his head drowned out everything else. He glanced over his shoulder then slowed his run. He stopped and turned.

  Cresting a league above his head, the massive wall of wind and sand billowed closer. It blocked out the stars and the moon, but it wasn’t dark. Brilliant flashes of lightning burst like fireworks deep within the storm. With each heartbeat, more flashes and thunder backlit the towering wave of sand. Ben could feel the hairs on his neck stirring with the power of the electrical surges.

  He focused on the storm, holding his blade in front of him.

  Towaal returned and gripped his arm, but he didn’t budge. She pressed her lips against his ear and shouted. He could barely hear her.

  “This is too much, Ben. There isn’t enough wind within a thousand leagues of here to punch back at that storm. It’s too strong. We have to run.”

  He tightened his grip on the sword.

  He didn’t need the power she spoke of. He could feel the energy of the storm itself. It pulsed through him, pumping in time with his blood. He felt it like air filling his lungs. It was there, untapped, ready to be used. All he had to do was channel it back into itself. Defeat the power of the storm with its own strength.

  Towaal must have read his intentions.

  “Ben,” she yelled, “you cannot do this. A person’s body is only made to handle so much. Manipulating that much energy will destroy you.”

  She might be right. He didn’t know nearly as much about magic as Towaal. He did know what he felt though, and he felt the potential. He looked back and saw Amelie had stopped along with Rhys and Corinne. Thyr and Milo had already vanished into the darkness.

  If Ben did nothing, his friends would die. Even if it cost him his life, he would act. The choice was clear, the path obvious. He forced a smile at Amelie. Then he turned to the sand storm. He closed his eyes and opened his senses like Towaal had taught him.

  The wind pushed against him, pressing his clothing against his body. Tiny particles of sand blasted his exposed face. He knew that within moments, his flesh would be scoured to the bone.

  The wind wasn’t constant. It ebbed and flowed. It shifted direction and speed. He listened to the storm outside and the storm inside. In the center, fifteen or sixteen hundred paces to the northeast of him, he felt a calm. The eye of the storm.

  He let the energy from the storm flow through him, into his heart, along his veins, down to his arms and legs, and into his sword. The wire-wrapped hilt of the mage-wrought blade felt comfortable in his hand like it was part of him. He could feel the blade, the intricate scrollwork like his own arteries, pulsing in time with his heartbeat, drumming with the fury of the sand storm.

  He brought in more. His eyes watered, and pressure built in his head. He didn’t hold the power, though, he funneled it down into the weapon, and let it grow there. Let it sing until the blade was humming with trapped energy. Tiny, rapid vibrations rattled his arms.

  His teeth were clenched tight and he couldn’t relax his jaw. His arms and legs felt both tense and loose at the same time, ice melting to water. He was certain he’d collapse if he moved, but his feet were rooted, his body locked except for the involuntary tremors that rattled through him. He was shivering with cold and burning with heat.

  Behind his closed eyelids, he saw the flashes of lightning approaching. There wasn’t much time left. Then he knew he’d be consumed by the storm. He couldn’t hear it anymore, but he sensed it. He could feel it in his bones. Vast, unimaginable power, rising far above him, ready to sweep him and his friends away.

  The hum of the sword and the roar of wind in his mind was reaching its zenith. Within heartbeats, he’d be lost. He knew the power would wreck him, break him down into motes smaller than the sand.

  He let go, pouring himself into the blade, extending his will along its steel length. He felt the force of it, the force of the wind, of the sand beneath his feet, the rock below it, and he let it go. Ben channeled everything he had. He was a conduit, pulling from the storm, letting it flow into the sword, and then back out in one gigantic release. One massive pulse of energy. One explosive push. One chance to save his friends.

  Ben fell to his knees, then onto his face. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut. There was no will remaining to manipulate his arms and legs, his body was spent.

  Around him, he felt the sand. It pressed against his chest, against his back.

  It didn’t have the force of the wind behind it, though. It had the force of gravity.

  Sand was falling on him.

  Buckets of it. Wagon loads of it. Hills of it. Maybe mountains. He didn’t know. All he knew was that it was burying him.

  6

  Buried Alive

  He felt himself fall.

  It wasn’t far, and he landed softly. He still felt half a dozen sharp pricks of pain. His shoulder, his arm, his chest, his face. Warmth leaked down his cheek. Blood, he thought. He wasn’t sure why he was bleeding or, for that matter, where he was. The last thing he could recall was sand. Raining sand.

  “Damnit,” exclaimed a familiar voice. “You dropped him right on his face.”

  “I’ve been carrying him half the day in this heat,” growled a response. “He’s lucky I didn’t drop him two bells ago.”

  “He’s bleeding again,” worried the first voice.

  “Weren’t you going to heal him?”

  “I did what I could.”

  He drifted into unconsciousness, floating on the sea of sand.

  When he woke again, his first thought was pain, raw, blistering pain. His face felt like he’d been flayed. His hand rose involuntarily to the skin around his eyes and he immediately jerked it away. His skin felt blistered and raw because it was.

  “Hopefully, we can find ointment in Frisay,” remarked a voice that Ben slowly identified as Milo.

  He opened his eyes and blinked, startled by the bright light around him. Sensation gradually filled his body. All of it was unpleasant.

  “Ben,” advised Amelie, “move slow.”

  He tried to answer, but it came out as unintelligible mumbles.

  “Here.”

  Something was pressed against his lips, stinging them. It was worth it when warm water trickled into his mouth. He swallowed and tried to open his eyes again. The world was still bright, but beside him, he could see Amelie kneeling. Other shapes started to come into focus.

  A tall structure rose behind Amelie. A rock, Ben thought. Someone leaned against it, probably Milo. Sprawled out between him and Milo was another person. He blinked a couple of times to clear his vision until he could see the prone figure was Lady Towaal.

  “Is he up?” asked another voice. O’ecca, he thought. He couldn’t see her.

  “Barely,” responded Amelie.

  She tipped the water skin up again and he drank greedily. This time, he had enough control to swish the liquid around his mouth before swallowing it.

  His friends kept speaking, planning something, discussing when others would return.

  Ben slowly did a mental inventory of his body as his awareness crawled back. He raised his hand. It looked normal except for a strip of fabric wrapped around his forearm. It hurt. A laceration, maybe. How did he get cut by the fine grains of sand? He wasn’t sure. He’d
ask later.

  One by one, he identified other sharp points of pain. Cuts or punctures across his arms and torso. Mysterious. As if he’d been in a sword fight while unconscious. His face was raw and painful. He remembered that at least, the sand blowing with tremendous fury against him, scrapping the skin away. His muscles were sore and weak.

  “You’ll need to eat,” he heard Amelie say.

  He turned his head toward her and worked his mouth, slowly getting enough moisture onto his lips and tongue that he could speak. Painfully, he croaked, “What happened?”

  Amelie laughed and asked, “You don’t remember?”

  He shook his head.

  “You saved us.”

  O’ecca squatted next to Amelie. “That is three times you’ve saved my life.”

  “How?” rasped Ben.

  “The sandstorm was on us,” explained Amelie. “There was no shelter in sight, and we had nowhere to run. You drew your sword and stood against it. Do you remember that?”

  He nodded.

  “Somehow, you pushed back against the storm or did something within it. I could feel the energy flow out, but I couldn’t tell exactly what you did. Whatever it was, it blew a hole in the storm. The wind died and the storm collapsed on itself.”

  “It had already crested above us, though,” added O’ecca. “Sand must have hung a league high, blown by the winds. When the wind disappeared, the sand fell.”

  “It rained sand on us for two bells,” said Amelie. “It just kept coming, more and more of it, falling harder and harder.”

  She shifted the water skin and gave Ben another drink.

  “At first,” she explained. “We didn’t think it would be a problem. Quickly though, we realized if we didn’t do something, we’d be buried. In moments, the stuff had gotten to mid-calf on me. Rhys grabbed you and tried to drag you away, but the storm was huge. We ran but couldn’t get far. We found Thyr, already stuck up to his waist in fallen sand. It was rising quickly around him. We kept trying to climb it, but it was exhausting. We couldn’t keep up.”

  She gave have him another sip.

  “Towaal demanded we stop and circle around her. We did, and she somehow created a force that pushed back up, forming a dome above our heads. I’m still not sure how she did it.”

  Ben saw the look of concern in Amelie’s face. She was looking at the unconscious mage. Whatever the mage had done took a lot out of her.

  “The sand fell atop the dome and we were covered. I thought we were going to be trapped under there.”

  O’ecca shuddered. “It was frightening. The dome started to collapse. The sand dropped a hands-length and we all had to kneel. I thought we were going to be crushed. The mage held as long as she was able, then exploded the sand out, blasting the roof off, so to speak. She fell over and hasn’t moved since. The sand was still coming down but not as quickly. We tended to your injuries as best we could and slowly climbed up the shifting slopes of that hole. We kept sliding down, but after two bells, the sun rose, and we finally made it out.”

  Amelie nodded, clutching the water skin in her hands.

  “Seventy, eighty paces of sand had fallen around us,” finished O’ecca. “I still can’t believe we survived.”

  “My injuries?” asked Ben. He was looking at his bandaged forearm again. Somehow, he’d missed the part of the story where he got injured.

  Amelie swallowed and looked uncomfortably at O’ecca. When Amelie’s gaze returned to Ben, he could see she was uncomfortable telling him.

  He put his hand on her knee.

  Amelie sighed. “Your sword shattered. The energy was too much for the structure of the blade to take, too much for it to stay stable. First, the pommel, the anima-wood, ignited, a brilliant flash of fire that was gone in a heartbeat. Then the blade split with a crack. Pieces blasted outward. You were holding it, so many of them stabbed into you. We counted a dozen or so slivers of the metal, some small, some large. I tried to heal you the best I could while we were hunkered beneath Towaal’s dome of sand, but there were so many cuts. Some were deep.”

  “She exhausted herself,” stated O’ecca. “We had to drag the three of you out of that hole.”

  “Sorry,” mumbled Ben.

  O’ecca laughed, and Amelie smiled beside her. “Don’t take it the wrong way. Any day, I’ll drag you out of a sand pit rather than getting shredded by a sandstorm or buried alive. You saved us, and hauling your body for a few bells doesn’t make us even.”

  He grinned, then realized what Amelie had said.

  “My sword?” he mumbled, his heart sinking.

  Amelie winced and admitted, “It was completely destroyed. There was nothing left to save.”

  She held his hand, and he allowed his eyes to sag shut.

  “I think I’ll rest some more.”

  The third time he woke, he felt like a person, a person who was sore and suffering from a number of puncture wounds but a person all the same. He sat up and breathed deeply. His head swam with dizziness, and his stomach roiled, but he managed to keep down the little bit of water that he’d been able to swallow before.

  “Take your time,” advised Amelie. “I only partially healed you. Your body was drained and will need time and sustenance to replenish itself before you are back to capacity.”

  He slowly began stretching his limbs, rolling his head around on his neck and working his jaw. His muscles and ligaments creaked in protest, but it felt good to move again. Like Thyr said about the Ohms, getting the blood flowing would help him heal.

  “Where is everyone else?” he asked, finally becoming coherent enough to realize not all of their party was there.

  “Rhys, Corinne, and Thyr went scouting,” said Amelie. “That Dirhadji won’t admit it, but I’m convinced he got turned around in the storm and is lost. We can use the sun to find south, but that may not help us find Frisay.”

  Ben grunted. Lost in the sand sea. He hoped she was wrong.

  “They left mid-morning,” added O’ecca. “It’s evening now, and I expect they’ll be back before full dark.”

  “If not…” Amelie started and then trailed off. If they weren’t back by dark, it would be impossible to find each other in the flat expanse of the sand sea.

  Milo stood from where he was leaning against the rock.

  “Regardless, we have to leave in the morning,” he stated. The former apprentice jiggled the nearly empty water skin at his belt.

  Amelie’s gaze fell to Lady Towaal. Then she looked back at Ben. He read the worry in her glance, but he also knew it didn’t matter. They hadn’t packed enough water to spend an extra day in the baking sun.

  A bell later, O’ecca called down from the top of the rock they’d camped next to. “I see them. Far off still but they’re coming.”

  Amelie exhaled slowly.

  Ben struggled to his feet. He grew dizzy and nearly flopped over, but he had to be able to move the next day. If he couldn’t stand now, how was he going to hike in the morning?

  A quarter bell later, the rest of the party made it back.

  “Glad to see you up,” said Rhys.

  Ben smiled at the rogue, then felt his lips turn down. There was a grim undertone in his friend’s voice.

  “What did you find?” Ben asked.

  “More travelers,” stated Thyr. “A caravan that must have been on its way to Frisay.”

  “Maybe they can help us,” suggested Amelie.

  The Dirhadji shook his head. “They’re dead.”

  “What happened?” queried Ben.

  “Buried,” replied Thyr. “We saw a flag sticking up behind a ridge of bare rock. Travelers use them out here to find each other in case they get separated. They were likely sheltering from the sand storm there. We investigated the area enough to realize there were at least half a dozen wagons. Could have been more. Buried deep, though, so we couldn’t get to the supplies without another half day of digging.”

  “They were buried by the storm?” wondered Ben.

/>   Thyr met his eyes. “They were buried when it suddenly expended itself and the sand rained down. No way they could have gotten those wagons moving in time to outrun it. Out here, they have broad flat wheels that get them across the sand, but they don’t move fast.”

  Ben grimaced. “You’re saying they were buried because of what I did. You’re saying I killed those people.”

  The Dirhadji shrugged. “I’m not saying you meant to. You saved us. If you didn’t stop that storm, we’d be the dead ones.”

  “I killed them,” stated Ben, horror creeping down his spine.

  “You couldn’t have known,” exclaimed Amelie.

  Ben plopped back down to the sand.

  “How many people would be with a six-wagon caravan?” he asked.

  Thyr didn’t reply immediately.

  Ben held his gaze until he answered.

  “Getting wagons across the sand is tough. Could have been twenty, maybe twenty-five of them,” admitted the Dirhadji.

  Ben rubbed a hand across his face and immediately regretted touching the raw skin.

  “You stopped the storm Ben,” declared Amelie. “You saved us. You had no way of knowing it would harm someone else. It’s not your fault.”

  “It is my fault,” mumbled Ben. “If it wasn’t for me, they would have lived or at least had a chance.”

  O’ecca strode up to him.

  “You must not think like this,” she insisted. “You tried to do the right thing. You acted. Your girl is right. You are not responsible for what happened because of it. It was outside of your control.”

  “Just because I didn’t intend it doesn’t mean I am absolved of all responsibility,” argued Ben. “When you act, you own the consequences of those actions.”

  O’ecca shook her head in protest. “Imagine if every lord thought like you are talking, afraid to do anything lest someone be harmed. Nothing would happen. The people would be left to their own devices. The world would be chaos. You have power, and like all powerful people, you are judged on your intentions. Unintended consequences are the unfortunate byproduct of progress. Would you rather you didn’t act, and we’d all be dead?”