Fifthwind (29 page)

The
wind picked up and swirled around Ben, and in the wind he heard
laughter. It was a harsh, arrogant laugh. The wind died down as
quickly as it had come and a presence as solid as any tree appeared.
At last, the stranger had revealed himself. Ben opened his eyes and
lifted his head to face the Man in Gray.

The
stranger stood a mere hundred paces away at the edge of the
surrounding boulders. Ben could not quite make out a face beneath the
hooded, gray robe, though he could feel the weight of eyes upon him.

The
figure lifted a hand and pointed a rigid finger at Ben and the hills
echoed with his words, "Fool! It is I who will destroy you!"

Ben
instinctively reached for his sword.

The
figure laughed. "Have you learned nothing at all? I cannot be
harmed by your steel."

Ben
knew the words were true. What stood before him was not a man at all,
but the perceived presence of a skilled Drifter. Only Ben's increased
awareness revealed the figure at all. The Man in Gray's true location
could be as distant as his power allowed.

He
stood, but did not sheath his sword. In moments of intimidation, he
had always relied on his brazenness to see him through; he had always
been able to talk his way out of being afraid. "Drifter, why not
stand before me,
in body
, so I can introduce myself properly?"

Instantly,
Ben regretted taunting his opponent. In his attempt to coax an
emotional response and hopefully an unseen vulnerability, he had only
managed to anger the stranger. With a baleful wail, the figure welled
up off the ground and spitefully lurched forward over the snow like a
flying banshee.

Ben's
head swooned as the Fifthwind bent and bowed under the pressure of an
immensely building force. The wind increased and the trees started to
vibrate the snow from their branches. Ben was in dire trouble,
despite the distance between them, the Man in Gray would be upon him
in seconds.

Ben
readied his sword against the nearing target, knowing it would be
useless. He could only watch helplessly as the gap between them
quickly narrowed.

Then,
without warning, a man stepped up next to Ben from behind. Startled
by the sudden appearance, Ben had to force his eyes away from his
rapidly approaching doom, to confront the new arrival. There had been
no one else in the forest, it was if the man had stepped out of thin
air at his side. Even though he had little time to act before the Man
in Gray reached him, Ben blinked in disbelief. Beside him smiled the
face of a familiar bearded man.

"That
wasn't the best of ideas, angering him like that," the man said
calmly, grabbing Ben's wrist and squeezing hard. "Time to go."

The
world shattered into a million bright lights as Ben was pulled away
through a swirling tunnel. His mind raced as visions of trees and
meadows and hills and valleys sped by. He thought he felt something
clawing at him as he was torn from the forest, and in the distance,
he thought he heard an angry screech.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Ben
opened his eyes to a blinding white light and, for a moment, he was
sure he had been spirited away to take his place in the eternal halls
of his fathers. But, he blinked away the brightness, saw a powdery
blue expanse and concluded that he was lying flat on his back looking
skyward. Very much alive.

He
staggered to his feet and nearly fainted from the swaying of the
world before his eyes. He steadied himself against a tree until the
dizziness passed. The forest was different, though he couldn't say
why. He stood on a hilltop no different than any other wooded
hilltop. A small fire smoked nearby, surrounded by stones and wafting
the smell of roasting meat and wild onions. There was no sign of the
maker of the fire, and despite his foggy memory, Ben was sure it had
not been made by his hand.

He
gazed out over the valley, trying to gauge his position. The trees
were thicker and the underbrush was heavier than what he remembered.
Then he noticed the absence of snow. There were a few small patches
of white in the shaded areas near the trees, but not nearly the
amount there should be. This made him wonder how long he could have
been asleep. Surely, it had only been a few minutes.

The
Kreggorian range was farther away now, and he didn't quite recognize
the shapes of the peaks. He was having strange difficulty referencing
his position, but if his estimation was accurate, Kishell Springs was
at least two days by foot from where he now stood. He could not have
been unconscious long enough to have been carried such a distance, so
the only explanation he could guess was that he had somehow been
instantly transported to this spot. If that were the case, then how
and by whom was the more important question.

More
hungry than he could ever remember being, he moved to the fire and
helped himself to the food. The small pheasant was nicely seasoned
and perfectly cooked. The warm meat eased his hunger and settled his
thoughts. Even far from the comforts of civilized inhabitation, the
owner of this campsite was no stranger to well-prepared food; an
unexpected sign of refinement for which Ben was thankful.

Ben
thought back to the last thing he could remember and cringed. The
image of the faceless Man in Gray bearing down on him was still burnt
into his mind, and he lifted his hand to his face in an involuntarily
defensive reflex as he relived the moment. It was an image that would
give him nightmares for weeks, if not forever.

An
unexpected chill came over him; a slight shiver crawling over his
skin. He sensed a strange tug as the energy in the area was drawn
toward a concentrated point opposite the fire. He felt a nudge from
behind and heard a muffled popping sound that ended with a slight
flash of brightness. Without turning, he knew he was no longer alone.

"How
is your head?" a voice asked.

Ben
stiffened and reached for his sword. He expected to find it missing
but his hand fell upon the familiar leather wrapped hilt. Whoever
this stranger was, he evidently had not seen the need to disarm him;
an encouraging sign, but one he did not trust. He was unsure of the
stranger's intentions and was not prepared to take anything at face
value. Assumptions had the tendency to have a deadly sting. It was a
mistake he would not make. Though the voice was pleasant enough, it
belonged to the watcher he had encountered over the last several
weeks. The same shadowy figure that had welcomed him on his first day
in Kishell Springs. The memory of that initial encounter was no less
frightening than his recent experience with the Man in Gray. Ben was
reluctant to react too reflexively, knowing he needed to appear calm
and in control, despite the fact that he was neither. He took a deep
breath and turned to face the man.

"I
am Cobalius," the man said as he tossed a pack to the ground near
the fire. "Shifting will make you dizzy, but you'll get used to
it."

He
was a tall man in a simple black cloak. He wore high, black boots
polished to a keen shine, and wore gloves of equal quality. His head
was clean-shaven, and he sported a neatly trimmed beard in the style
worn by eastern patricians; similar to the goatees worn by sailors,
but kept shorter to the chin. The man was impeccably clean and
well-groomed, something not often found in the wildlands far from the
cities. His clothing was in good repair, and he carried himself with
an air of confidence that Ben had not seen since his time among the
wealthy in the King's court.

A
silent warning stirred in Ben's memory. Vincent had spoken of men in
positions of wealth and power that could not be trusted, but
something told Ben that this man was not of that dark calling. Ben
ventured a guess and cautiously greeted his host, "Fahd
Cobalius..."

"Very
good. You know your history."

"I've
been told a few things," Ben said, "but there's no way to know
what to believe."

"Belief
is a personal matter that I cannot help you with. All I can do is
present the facts and let you make up your own mind," said
Cobalius. "Most of what Woodlock has told you is accurate... at
least as accurate as his knowledge allows."

"You
know Vincent?"

Cobalius
bent down and opened his pack. "I've never met him."

Ben
waited for an explanation of the cryptic revelation, but none was
apparently forthcoming. It seemed that Cobalius intended to remain a
bit of an enigma. There didn't appear to be any immediate threat, but
Ben had difficulty relaxing in the presence of the mysterious
newcomer.

Vincent
had described The Fahd as champions of mankind, those who looked out
for the weak and protected the innocent. He had awaited their
appearance with great anticipation, feeling that the threat of The
Magus Core would be eliminated once the mysterious Eleven showed
themselves.

Given
the recent events, and that Cobalius had failed to act in any
meaningful way to help them, bothered Ben to no end. He couldn't help
but wonder if the Fahd even cared about the plight of the people of
Kishell Springs, but as curious as he was, he wasn't goingt to ask.

Ben
had a thousand questions, but no patience to play games. If Cobalius
was not going to reveal more, then Ben had more important matters to
tend to. Everything he had been told led him to believe that the Fahd
were on the side of good, and were here to defend the interests of
the kingdom. That estimation now seemed on the far edge of all
possibilities. It seemed more likely that the Fahd were more
interested in observing than actually helping.

"Look,
I appreciate what you did for me, but I've got to get back." Ben
turned in the direction he thought Kishell Springs to be. "I'm
needed."

"Your
friends made it to safety with no losses and minimal injuries.
They'll be fine." Cobalius continued to rummage through his pack
and did not seem concerned over Ben's desire to leave. He smiled
victoriously when he found what he was looking for and pulled out a
small, ornate silver shaker. "Sennith. The finest spice of the
Southern Isles. It's quite expensive and hard to come by."

"I
need to go home."

"Sit
with me and share my meal. Over the course of our conversation, your
feelings on that matter will undoubtedly change. There's no need to
be in such a hurry, we've only just met. Besides, I know you've
already sampled my cooking," said Cobalius with a cheeky grin. "Who
wouldn't want more?"

"My
friends need me," Ben plainly reiterated and then turned again to
leave.

Cobalius
shrugged. "Suit yourself, but you're facing the wrong way and it'll
take you at least a week to walk back. Don't you think you should at
least eat something first?"

Ben
ignored the unexpected comment about his location, and instead
decided to ask, "You said my friends made it back safely... how can
you be sure?"

"I
am sure. You need not worry about them."

Ben
eyed Cobalius squarely. Everything about the man called for trust.
There was a certain casualness about him that both eased and
frustrated Ben at the same time. Ben kept his hand on the hilt of his
sword, in fact he had not let go of the blade since Cobalius had
appeared. In times of uncertainty it helped calm his nerves. He had
always prided himself on being able to judge the capabilities of his
opponents. Cobalius was fit and confident, and no doubt skilled with
the longsword at his side.

For
some reason, and without any frame of reference, Ben was reasonably
satisfied that he could not best the man in fair combat. Still, he
kept his hand on the familiar pommel of his sword.

"Cobalius—"
Ben started.

"
Fahd
Cobalius," the stranger interrupted with a sharp correction. "In
time, you will learn the significance of that title, and address me
appropriately." There was no anger or arrogance in his sudden
admonishment, only a matter-of-fact tone that carried a plain
sincerity. "Now continue, please."

Ben
inched his sword out of its scabbard in preparation for any
eventualities. He was going to directly question the man's motives,
and was not sure what the reaction would be. With his blade loose in
the nest, he took an aggressive step forward. "You've sat by and
watched innocent people die at the hands of the Murg, and you've done
nothing to help. Why should I not strike you down now as an enemy of
the Kingdom?"

Cobalius
took on a serious expression and began to pace thoughtfully. He did
not react to Ben's aggressive posture and simply crossed his arms
over his chest and stroked his beard as he searched for his answer.
"Have you ever heard the story of Cyril's Cloud?"

"I
don't think I'm familiar with it," Ben answered grimly.

"Then
bear with me for a moment," Cobalius said as he sat down on a rock
and made himself comfortable. He kicked up one foot and rested his
elbow against his knee. "You see, Cyril was a field mouse."

"I
don't have time for this," Ben objected, moving another step
forward.

"Yes
you do!" Cobalius asserted and continued without hesitation.

"Cyril
was well known for always being prepared, always thinking of the
future, and always planning ahead. After all, being part of a
community meant putting the needs of others before yourself at all
costs and Cyril was very much a dedicated member of the community."

"On
a spring day long ago, Cyril had been charged with gathering food for
the nest. So, he had set forth with the determination to bring in the
most bountiful feast he could find. He searched for most of the day,
venturing far from the nest and into the fields. He passed up many
opportunities of meager fare along the way in search of something
special. The day was growing short, and the shadows were growing long
when he finally came across his prize; a fallen ear of corn. Ripened
by the sun and golden sweet, the find would bring him praise and
admiration."