Benjamin Ashwood

Book 1: Benjamin Ashwood

by AC Cobble

Genres: Fantasy action & adventure; New Adult & College

Synopsis

Life is simple in Ben's small town until an attack brings the arrival of exciting strangers straight out of a story. Before Ben understands what is happening, he embarks on a dangerous journey to help his friends. A mage, demons, thieves and assassins are just a few of the perils he will face while trying to make it to safety.



But things aren't always what they seem and safety is a fragile concept when the destructive behaviors of the powerful are exercised unchecked. In Ben's world-like our own-politics, the economy, and military might create a system to keep the elite in power at the expense of the common man. As the series unfolds and Ben's knowledge and skills grow, he will have to decide if he wants to live within the system, flee from it, or break it.

Release date: May 25, 2016

Publisher: Cobble Publishing LLC

Print pages: 440

Sample

Chapter 2

 

Farview

 

 

Ben peered into the dense fog. The mist blanketed the forest in an unnatural silence. The only sounds were the coughs and nervous shuffling of the men stretched out around him. The men were in a ragged line that quickly disappeared into the impenetrable wall of white.

 

He imagined the men on the ends of the line could easily slip off unnoticed and head back to town. He tried to remember who was out there on the end and pictured if they were the type to leave their neighbors to this task alone. Dale Catskin was one of them, he thought. He wasn’t the type to be out here any longer than he had to.

 

His reverie was broken when his friend Serrot emerged like a wraith from the fog and moved silently toward the men. Serrot waved an all clear and the men passed it down the line in hushed whispers. They started moving slowly forward again.

 

Serrot fell in next to Ben and adjusted his grip on his bow. He was clutching it with an arrow nocked and had a long hunting knife strapped to his belt. Ben knew that in normal circumstances Serrot would never have his bowstrings out in this damp. The hunt they were on had all of them acting skittish. His friend wanted to be ready.

 

“Did you see anything?” whispered Ben.

 

“No, I made it up to the stream and it’s all clear,” answered Serrot with a shrug. “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to see anything in this fog. Hopefully when we get up on the ridgeline, it will have burned off some. It’s only another two leagues.”

 

Serrot was acting as their scout. He hunted small game and deer in these woods and could pick up a track better than any man in Farview. They had been friends since Ben moved to Farview years before.

 

Ben ran his hands along the smooth ash of his quarterstaff and wished for the hundredth time he’d asked to borrow a real weapon. He was good with the quarterstaff. Last year, he’d placed second in the tournament at the Spring Festival. For this though, he wanted something more substantial, he wanted something with an edge.

 

Serrot hissed, “What if we can’t see it in this fog? I don’t want the damn thing dropping down on top of me. Old Gamson told me they can fly. He’s seen them swoop down behind a man and take his head off without a sound. I can’t believe that tight ass on the Town Council wouldn’t hire a hunter for this!”

 

Ben glanced to his left where Alistair Pinewood, Ben’s adopted father, was walking with his true son Brandon. Everyone knew who the ‘tight ass on the Town Council’ was.

 

Years before, Ben was adopted by the Pinewoods when his real father passed away. Alistair had assumed ownership of the Ashwood family timber holdings to cover unpaid debts. Taking responsibility for Ben in the bargain was one of the few times the rest of the Council got their way and made Alistair bend.

 

Outstanding debt to Alistair was not unusual in Farview. He was by far the wealthiest man in town and earned much of that wealth by lending to his neighbors. The ‘tight ass’ moniker came because he didn’t always see eye to eye with the rest of the town on what he should contribute to the common good.

 

Ben had a unique view of what life was like with the Pinewoods. They had money, but it didn’t make them any happier. Ben’s friends never understood that. Watching Alistair and Brandon walk together now, Ben didn’t miss the connection the younger Pinewood had with the older or the gold and property he would eventually inherit. Alistair was a cold, hard man. The short time Ben had with his real father was better than a lifetime of that.

 

Ben sighed and forced himself to pay attention. He responded to Serrot, “Old Gamson claims to have seen an awfully lot for someone who’s never been more than ten leagues outside of Farview. A demon this small can’t fly. When they’re this small, they don’t even have wings. It’s like hunting down a rabid dog.”

 

At least Ben hoped it was like that. He hadn’t seen any more demons than Serrot had.

 

In fact, it had been years since anyone in Farview had seen a demon. In the stories, there were big ones who could rip an ox in two. But Ben talked to some of the men down at the Buckhorn Tavern who’d actually been on demon hunts long ago and it didn’t sound too scary. The ones they saw weren’t more than a yard tall and weren’t any more dangerous than an angry bear. Reason for caution certainly, but nothing the men couldn’t handle. Sending for a hunter for something like that was unnecessary. Still, with this fog, Ben wished again that he’d brought a weapon more lethal than his quarterstaff.

 

As the day wore on, the thick fog stubbornly remained floating throughout the forest. It was the early days of spring and this high in the mountains the air still carried a bitter chill. Ben rubbed his arms and strained to see further into the murky white. The eerie silence was unnerving. He couldn’t help but wonder where the normal birds and forest creatures had gone.

 

He was peering so hard into the mist that he missed seeing a tree root which caught his foot and nearly sent him sprawling. He uttered an embarrassed swear and stole a glance at Serrot, who was effortlessly gliding around obstacles. Serrot spent nearly every waking moment in these woods and moved in them as naturally and silently as the animals he hunted.

 

Ben hoped Serrot knew what he was doing. He was counting on him to be ready in case the demon came at their section of the line. The tactics for hunting a demon this size were fairly simple. Demons fed on life blood and had a supernatural sense for when it was near. A smaller demon would rarely attack a large group of men on its own, but if stumbled upon, it would not be able to resist charging. So, the men spread out in a loose formation and stalked through the forest. When the demon was attracted, they would let the archers wound and slow it down, rush in with spears to pin it, and then finish it with an axe or sword.

 

The demon would sense their life forces long before they would see it, but a demon is not a cautious creature. It would make no secret when it began its charge. The stories said it would bellow a challenge as it rushed toward its target. With plenty of visibility and skilled archers, there was little danger with a young, small demon.

 

The topic of demons is not exactly dinner table conversation, but they are a fact of life and Farview is like any small town. There were always plenty of men at the local tavern to tell a story or two. Generally accepted knowledge of demons and how to face them was passed down with the same care and assurance as crop cycles and telling a proper weather forecast.

 

Because he was largely ignored by Alistair Pinewood, Ben had the freedom at a young age to spend far too many bells at the Buckhorn Tavern hearing those stories. For many of the Buckhorn regulars, young Ben became something of a tavern mascot. They delighted telling him about demons, hunters, grumpkins, hobgoblins, wyverns, mages, the long-lived, and other stories that seemed mythical to a boy in Farview who hadn’t seen anything more dangerous or exciting than logging accidents and the Spring Festival. Ben was certain that the most exciting and vivid storytellers, like Old Gamson, didn’t have any more experience with these things than he did, but he could never resist hearing about a good adventure.

 

And finally, he was getting to live his own adventure, even if it was turning out to be a bit boring.

 

For the last month and a half, many of the farmers who lived on the outskirts of Farview had reported mysteriously losing livestock. Rumors ranged from mountain lions, to bandits, to refugees, to theft by jealous neighbors, to every manner of magical creature.

 

Last night though, Farmer Ell rushed into town calling for a full meeting of the Town Council.

 

Still in the middle of the square, he claimed he’d seen what was taking their livestock. Ell said he saw a small black shape no larger than a sheep dog dragging away one of his pigs. He started running across the yard and when he was halfway to the creature, the full moon came out from behind a cloud and there it was—small curved horns on its head and wing buds on its back—it couldn’t be anything other than a young demon.

 

The Town Council immediately called for a posse to track the demon down first thing in the morning. Ben spent the rest of the night thinking about what it would be like to see one of the creatures he’d only heard of in stories. It wasn’t nearly as exciting as seeing a wyvern or meeting a long-lived, but still, it was something.

 

At least, it seemed exciting before they started trooping around in the cold damp forest all morning without seeing anything other than drifting mist.

 

No one really knew where demons came from. Usually when first spotted, a demon would be small, weak, slow, and confused. As they fed on life blood, they grew in size, strength, and speed. Most dangerously though, they grew in intelligence. A demon the height of a man is incredibly deadly and there were stories where dozens of trained warriors couldn’t take one down. When faced with the threat of a grown demon, a town like Farview would hire one or more professional hunters. Hunters were men and women who made a vocation of hunting down demons and other dangerous prey.

 

Ben shifted his grip on his staff and kept walking. They didn’t have a hunter with them. It was up to Ben and the other men from town.

 

There were around sixty of them in the posse, nearly a quarter of the healthy men in Farview. Ben could only see the closest five or six though as they made their way through the gloom. Massive pine trees loomed out of the mist and disappeared into the curtain of white above them. The silence of the forest was oppressive. Moisture dripping off the pine needles was the only sound that accompanied the ones the men made. Ben glanced at Serrot who was at home among these trees and could see that he was nervous too.

 

Serrot saw his look and whispered, “It’s about five hundred paces down the slope until we get to the stream. There’s a clearing there and we can regroup before pushing up to the top of the ridge. Up on the ridgeline we’ll get better visibility.

 

“I hope you’re right,” muttered Ben.

 

Alistair Pinewood dramatically grunted and glared at them. When he caught their attention, he hissed, “Stay focused!”

 

This section of forest was part of Alistair’s timber holdings so no one objected when he declared himself the leader of the posse. It had been years since he spent much time in these woods, and as far as Ben knew, he’d never encountered a demon. Ben had to admit though, Alistair was able to use his influence to gather such a large group of men quickly.

 

As they continued the advance, another sound faintly intruded on Ben’s conscious. They were approaching the clearing and he could hear the rushing stream. Alistair curtly motioned Serrot forward to go scout out the clearing as the rest of the men hung back amongst the trees.

 

Demons were said to avoid water, so they did not expect it to be near the stream, but a demon in a clearing with this little visibility was dangerous. Even a young demon could gain a lot of speed across open ground. If it was at full speed, they would have little time to react in the fog. Back in the trees they would be somewhat protected because the confused creature could not take a straight line of attack.

 

Serrot adjusted his grip on his ash bow and drifted off to make a circle of the area. The fog swirled around his legs as he disappeared to Ben’s right. In moments, Serrot reappeared on the left. He nodded to Alistair that it was clear to move forward.

 

Alistair whispered up and down the line, “Move toward the stream and we’ll take a break there.”

 

As the men gathered by the water, Ben watched the snow melt swollen creek rush by. It poured over heavy rocks, tumbling branches, and other debris caught up in the seasonal torrent. In four leagues the waters would pass through Farview, and on the other side of town, they would meet more mountain streams to form the Callach River. From there, the river ran by Murdoch’s Waystation and, if followed far enough, eventually all of the way to the coast and the port city of Fabrizo.

 

Serrot nudged Ben and handed him a bite of tough salted jerky. Ben glanced around and saw that most of the men were digging into their belt pouches for something to eat or taking long pulls on their water skins. The way some of the men gave a face afterward made him suspect there was more than water in those skins. He dug into his pack and pulled out a small loaf of bread and wedge of hard white cheese. He broke the loaf in half and passed it to Serrot in exchange for another handful of jerky.

 

It was only mid-morning, but already it felt like they had been out there all day. For any resident of Farview, a four league hike up into the mountains was not a great difficulty, but the constant need for vigilance and the stress of attempting to peer through the fog was taking its toll on the men.

 

Alistair must have sensed the strain as well because after conferring with his head logger William Longaxe, who spent even more time in this particular valley than Serrot, he allowed the men a quarter bell before standing up and calling everyone closer.

 

“All right. Will says there is a shallow crossing about one hundred paces upstream. We’ll head up there to cross over, spread out again, and make our way up to the top of the ridgeline. From there, we’ll work back toward town. None of us want to be out here after dark. If we haven’t seen the thing by then, it’s probably moved out of this part of the forest.”

 

***

 

As they crossed the stream, Ben was finally glad of his quarterstaff. Even at the shallow crossing, the water came above his knees. The slippery footing risked dumping him in the creek. He had his boots slung over his shoulder to keep them dry and leaned on his quarterstaff to help keep his balance. He couldn’t help smiling to himself as he heard a splash behind him and a series of loud curses. At least one man was going to have a long, cold walk home.

 

Ben was in the first group of men to cross and sat down with both of the Pinewoods while William Longaxe and the miller’s son Arthur stood guard. Will seemed completely at ease despite the mission they were about, but Arthur nervously shifted his grip back and forth on the long boar spear he had found somewhere.

 

Several more men made it across the creek while Ben finished pulling his soft calf high boots back on. Alistair was already up and directing some men to put their shoes on. Others were tasked with holding positions and guarding the crossing as if they were a small invading force landing on foreign soil. As soon as Ben was up, he was sent to stand between Brandon Pinewood and Arthur, halfway to the tree line.

 

About a quarter of the men had made it across the stream with another quarter crossing. The remaining men mulled around on the far side waiting. Ben glanced back at Serrot who was on the other side after completing a final scouting trip on that bank. Serrot was bent down checking the string on his bow, clearly worried about the damage the moisture was doing.

 

Ben was still staring across the stream when he heard a sharp crack behind him. His blood ran cold. He spun around, raising his quarterstaff, but couldn’t see in the fog past the first few pine trees. His mind raced, trying to find a natural explanation for the sound. He knew that all morning these woods had been dead quiet.

 

Arthur stammered, “Isn’t it supposed to bellow a…”

 

At that moment, they heard a bestial shriek that rattled their bones. A heavy black shape shot out of the gloom, heading directly for them. Brandon barely had time to raise his axe when the creature swept by him, raking its talons across his leg. He screamed in agony.

 

Ben had no time to worry about Brandon though—the thing was almost on top of him!

 

Out of pure instinct, he swung his quarterstaff in front of him and made solid contact with the demon’s shoulder. It felt like he had just swung at the side of a building. His quarterstaff shot out of his hands with the impact. It was just enough to turn the demon from its path, though, and it went crashing straight into Arthur.

 

Ben watched in horror as Arthur sprawled onto his back with the demon on top of him. Ben dove for his fallen quarterstaff. When he rolled to his feet, he could see he was too late. The demon had ripped out Arthur’s throat and was greedily slurping the gushing fountain of blood.

 

Will Longaxe burst out of the shroud of fog with his axe raised above his head and took a mighty swing at the creature. Ben blinked in disbelief as the demon darted to the side and the axe whistled by, catching nothing but cold air. Will stumbled off balance. The demon, which came barely waist high, surged forward and slashed across Will’s stomach. A shower of gore slapped onto the wet ground.

 

Suddenly, an arrow sprouted on the thing’s back, right between its two tiny wings. It bellowed in rage and turned toward the new assailant. Ben saw Serrot standing on the far bank nock another arrow and take aim.

 

Ben knew he had little time before the demon finished with Arthur and turned back on him. His quarterstaff was useless against the monster. He tossed the staff, ran to Brandon’s side, and started dragging him back toward the stream and the rest of the men.

 

He could see Alistair Pinewood and the others standing wide eyed and stunned by the creek bank.

 

“Get back. Get back! It won’t cross the water!” Ben shouted.

 

Ben had a tight grip on Brandon’s jerkin and dragged him across the wet, bumpy ground in a stumbling half-run. He couldn’t spare a glance behind him, but knew the demon was coming because Serrot and the other archers were frantically launching arrows behind him and screaming for him to hurry.

 

Ahead of him, the rest of the terrified men dragged a frozen-in-shock Alistair through the water. None of them stayed behind to help protect Ben’s retreat.

 

Ben knew he could not hope to pull Brandon through the rushing torrent and maintain his balance. If he tried the shallow crossing with Brandon, he’d likely get them both killed if the demon pursued. In his panicked rush, he saw the deep pool of water below the shallows and prayed that everything he heard in the stories was true.

 

Serrot winged another arrow a hand past Ben’s shoulder. Ben knew he had no time left. With all of his strength, he slung Brandon around in front of him and launched both of them head first off the creek bank into the water. The icy chill blasted the air out of his lungs as he plunged beneath the surface. He lost his grip on Brandon’s flailing body and pushed off the rocky creek bottom with both feet. He came up coughing and glanced at the far bank. Serrot and the other archers were still rapidly firing off arrows, but the look of intense terror was gone from their faces. He was too afraid to look over his shoulder and see where the demon was.

 

Ben felt Brandon thrashing around under the water by his feet and pulled him to the surface. They started awkwardly swimming toward the safety of the far bank, Ben half-pulling Brandon and both of them half-drowning.

 

They’d been washed several hundred paces downstream by the time they made it to the other side. Most of the men ran to meet them. Several strong hands reached down and dragged them from the water.

 

Ben lay on his stomach, hacking up what felt like half the Callach River while the men gathered around Brandon. Through their legs, Ben could see Edward Crust, Farview’s resident baker and doctor, kneeling beside Brandon and wrapping a makeshift tourniquet around his ruined leg.

 

Crust glanced up at Alistair. “I think he’ll make it, boss. It will be awhile before he walks again, if he ever does, but he’ll make it.”

 

Ben’s head sank down on the carpet of damp pine needles that covered the floor of the forest. He breathed a sigh of relief. His heart was still hammering inside his ribcage, but he would live, and he’d saved Brandon’s life.

 

***

 

Two weeks after the attack, the entire village was still on edge. In a community the size of Farview, the loss of two people was felt by everyone, and despite Ben’s heroic efforts, they were worried that there would be a third casualty. Brandon Pinewood survived the brutal gashes the demon left on his leg, but a few days after the attack, he came down with a fever that Edward Crust did not have the skill to cure.

 

If it wasn’t for the demon still roaming the forest, Brandon’s injury and Alistair Pinewood’s black grief would have been the talk of the town.

 

When the battered group returned, there was an emergency Town Council meeting. Alistair demanded a new hunting party form to avenge his son’s injury. Cooler heads prevailed, though, and Alistair instead offered to personally finance a contract with a hunter. Since that meeting, he had barricaded himself in his estate and refused to speak with anyone other than his daughter Meghan and Edward Crust. The rumor was that he spent each day by Brandon’s bedside in an alcohol-fueled haze, slowly working his way through his prodigious cellar.

 

Despite the drama with the Pinewoods though, news and speculation about the demon was all that anyone was talking about.

 

After the initial attack, Serrot and the other archers peppered the creature with a quiver full of arrows. It disappeared back into the fog, dragging the bodies of Arthur and William Longaxe with it. They knew the demon still lived because farmers continued to wake up to dead livestock. The farmers on the outskirts of town began keeping their animals in at night or moving them to farms south of town where attacks had been less frequent. Just two nights past, the creature smashed in Nathan Rockfield’s barn door and slaughtered every one of his cows. Since then, everyone slept behind barricaded doors. No one was venturing out after twilight. Even during the day, people were moving about in groups and keeping their weapons nearby.

 

The storytellers had gone silent at the Buckhorn Tavern. They all knew what came next. As the demon continued to kill, it would grow in power. Eventually the size of the town would no longer be a deterrent. At that time, it would kill or be killed. Ben was not sure how the town would survive. Even two weeks ago, the demon had been faster and stronger than any of them expected. It survived an attack on sixty men and left only injury and death in its wake.

 

After the emergency Town Council meeting, Serrot and another man were sent at first light to Murdoch’s Waystation to find a hunter. They returned four days later with news that there was no one at the Waystation willing or able to take the contract. They left a plea with Murdoch himself to look for a suitable person and offered ten gold coins to anyone who could slay the demon.

 

While there was no one currently at Murdoch’s to take the contract, the Town Council had hope that someone would take it soon. Murdoch’s Waystation was not really a town so to speak, and had few permanent residents. It sat at the intersection of the Callach River, the Fabrizo Road, and the Kingdom Highway. Anyone travelling in that part of the continent of Alcott was likely to stop at Murdoch’s.

 

As long as anyone could remember, there had been a Waystation there. Murdoch was just the most recent proprietor. Over the centuries, it had turned from a small roadside inn into a bustling mercantile hub for traders who did not want to travel all the way to the coast at Fabrizo, or up into the small mountain towns like Farview.

 

It was common for merchant trains to spend a few nights at the Waystation until they could work out a deal with another merchant who came from the other direction. That way, both parties saved a great deal of travel, which directly padded their bottom line. It was also common for all manner of individuals and adventurers to stop by for supplies, news, or work. In that part of the world, Murdoch’s was the central meeting point and Farview’s best hope for finding a skilled hunter.

 

***

 

Ten days passed since Serrot returned from Murdoch’s with the bad news, but even with the impending threat of a demon attack, life moved on in Farview. Food had to be put on the tables, children had to be praised or scolded, and shops had to be tended.

 

Ben was back to work following a few days of exhilarating fear and celebration. After word spread of his part in fending off the demon and saving Brandon Pinewood’s life, he spent several happy nights at the Buckhorn Tavern. He got slapped on the back and accepted countless pints of lager in exchange for just one more description of what the demon looked like up close, how fast it moved, or how he knew to dive into the water.

 

Of course, once he found out about Brandon’s fever, the joy leeched out of his celebration. Even though they were never tight like real brothers, Brandon was the closest thing Ben had to one and it felt wrong to celebrate while his life was hanging by a thread. Privately though, Ben was still intoxicated by the thrilling mix of fear and excitement that had coursed through his body during the attack. To his friends, he adamantly proclaimed that he was done with adventures. However, in his heart, he felt like he had discovered something new about himself.