Benjamin Ashwood Box Set 2

by A. C. Cobble

  Ben sighed. “You’re right. We should have told you. It is the emperor we’re running from. It’s not like you think, though. We did a favor for him. He wants us to stay, but we need to leave. I suspect he’ll forget about it in a few days. Until then, we can’t be in the city.”

  “I can get you out,” assured Martin. “It’s what I do, but it’s not going to be a pleasant evening stroll anymore. We’ve got to smuggle you.”

  “Smuggle us?” queried Amelie.

  Martin grinned. “That’s my job, honey. You won’t get caught, but it could be a bit of a bumpy ride.”

  Ben grumbled as he climbed into the filthy barrel. It was damp and smelled of the sour ale from the Fish Head. He wedged himself deeper, pulling his knees against his chest and shifting, trying to force himself lower so Martin could affix the cap to cover him.

  In a barrel beside him, Rhys complained, “I’ve had dreams where I dove into an ale barrel, but it never went like this.”

  “You can try walking past the emperor’s soldiers,” responded Martin dryly.

  Ben sighed. “Can you push me down? I don’t have the leverage to get in here.”

  Martin put his hands on Ben’s shoulders. Apologetically, he offered, “Sorry about this.”

  “I don’t like small spaces,” admitted Ben, wiggling in a vain attempt to get comfortable.

  “I said I was sorry.”

  Martin pushed down, shoving Ben deeper into the barrel. The slimy, ale-damp wood slid across his skin. Ben felt a finger-sized splinter break off into his arm. He winced in pain from the splinter and from the pressure of the barrel against his knees and chest.

  “Should be good enough,” muttered Martin.

  One of his crew came over and set the cap over Ben’s head.

  Ben closed his eyes in the darkness and tried to ignore the four quick hammer blows that nailed the barrel shut. He supposed he should be thankful the story was that they were sneaking out empty barrels, or else Martin would have insisted on pouring ale in there with them. As it was, the empty ale barrel was unpleasant enough. He grunted when someone tipped the container over. Then his stomach lurched as the barrel started to roll.

  He tried not to think about the tiny space, smaller than the cell in Fabrizo, the tight bunks on a ship, and anywhere else he’d ever found himself. He shifted his focus to where they were going, trying to block out the sense of creeping dread in the small, dark barrel.

  Martin and his crew would roll the four of Ben’s companions down to the docks, along with half a dozen other empty barrels, and then load them onto their ship. They’d sail with the midnight tide, but until then, Ben was stuck inside the foul-smelling container. It didn’t make it better when he realized he’d been drinking ale out of a very similar barrel just half a bell before.

  The ale sloshed in his stomach as he was turned over and over on the long journey down to the docks. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to think about getting sick, which only made it worse. After an interminable time, they stopped, though his head continued to spin.

  He heard muffled voices outside. Someone tapped on the wood with hard knuckles. He heard more taps and then a screeching sound as one of the barrels must have been pried opened. Customs or soldiers, he guessed, ensuring the barrels were empty of smuggled goods. The problem was the barrels weren’t all empty. If someone opened one of the ones his friends were hiding in, they couldn’t help but discover them. And he was stuck, unable to get himself out, and unarmed even if he could. Martin’s men were carrying the weapons.

  More muffled voices then finally, a clink of a coin purse and the barrel started to roll again.

  Ben was bounced and jostled for another quarter bell, his forehead banging against the damp wood and his legs cramping from the awkward position they were forced into. His stomach churned. Belatedly, he realized his bowels were full. By his count, he had five ales back at the Fish Head, and he’d forgotten to pee before climbing into the barrel. He groaned, thinking of the bells still left before the ship set sail and it was safe for them to climb out.

  His barrel slammed against another one and he heard a muted squeal. Amelie, he thought. The world tilted, and suddenly, he was upside down. He slid down and banged his head on the cap of the barrel, which was now below him. Moments passed, and the blood rushed to his head.

  Without warning, he felt the barrel lifted up and it swung through the air. It crashed down hard onto the deck of the ship and his face was smashed into the wood again. His neck was twisted awkwardly, and the entire weight of his body rested on his cheek and nose.

  The barrel was dragged into position, jostling him further. Then, mercifully, the movement ceased. He thanked whatever lucky stars that had stopped the jostling, until he realized that the barrel was in place. It wouldn’t be touched again, and he was lying upside down.

  The bells passed.

  Ben listened to the shouts and calls from the sailors, trying to guess when they were finally ready to sail. Over and over, he guessed wrong.

  He passed out, either from boredom, or the blood pounding in his head.

  He woke suddenly when his barrel was toppled over. A sharp crack and the cap was pried off. Strong hands reached in and grabbed Ben’s tunic, hauling him out of the tiny space.

  He lay on the deck of the ship, panting like a dying fish. His entire body tingled as blood rushed to his extremities.

  Beside him, Rhys was sprawled on his back, staring up at the midnight sky.

  Amelie was kneeling, a pool of vomit lay below her. She fingered slimy strands of hair and flopped onto her side.

  “You didn’t have any barrels that were used for lavender oil or cotton maybe?” she griped.

  Martin, who had assisted them out, snorted. “We sell ale, lady. That’s all the barrels we got.”

  Towaal was standing, stretching her back and shaking her arms to loosen her shoulders.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever drink ale again,” complained Rhys.

  Ben snorted and the rogue laughed.

  “You’re right,” admitted Rhys.

  “As long as you don’t mind sea water, you can wash up at the back of the ship,” suggested Martin. “Though, I’d wait until we’re out of the harbor. There are rags and soap behind the forecastle. We saved a bunk for you, and we’ve got some spare clothes you might want to change into. You four smell terrible.”

  Ben grunted and rolled onto his stomach. Slowly and painfully, he stood. His muscles protested, and his joints cracked. He shook his arms and stomped his feet, slowly feeling his blood begin to circulate again. Once he got moving, the sharp tingling sensation felt good.

  “You two go first,” suggested Rhys, still not moving off his back.

  Ben looked at Amelie and she winked at him. They moved to the back of the ship and saw a couple of buckets with ropes tied to them. They waited a few moments until the vessel cleared the harbor and then Ben dropped two of the buckets over the side and filled them in the water below. He hauled them back up and turned to find Amelie had stripped off her shirt.

  A silly grin stretched across his face as Ben brought her the buckets.

  “Need some help?” he asked, looking around to see if anyone could see them. “I could wash your back.”

  “Yes, that would be nice,” she murmured. “When I’m done with my hair, you can start on my back. There’s a lot of me that needs to get clean.”

  She ducked down and Ben helped pour the bucket over her head. She scrubbed at it with soap and rinsed it with sea water. Finally satisfied, she stood and turned her back to him.

  Ben’s grin grew wider. He sloshed water across her smooth skin, watching the tiny rivulets that formed when he brought the wet rag over her shoulders. He stripped off his own shirt and began soaping her back. He ran his hands over her, feeling the small raised scars she’d accumulated in their time together, and marveled at the hard muscle lying beneath her silky skin.

  Amelie leaned back against his bare chest, and his hands
slid around to her front. He squeezed the rag, covering her chest with soapy water. Then, he felt her breasts. Her nipples stiffened underneath his touch. After a few moments, Amelie caught his hand and pushed it lower, over her ribcage, past her flat belly and navel, and down to her belt.

  “It’s dirty down there, too,” she whispered, turning her face to bury it in his neck. “Do you think you can help?”

  She undid her belt and slipped her britches down over her hips.

  Ben felt his excitement rising.

  Amelie must have too. She wiggled against him, pressing her body against his. He heard a small moan as his hand dipped between her legs.

  “Hey!” yelled Rhys. “You weren’t the only ones stuck in those ale barrels. Are you getting clean back there or just wasting time?”

  Amelie yelped, scrambling to cover herself, but Ben saw Rhys hadn’t come around the side of the forecastle. Or maybe he had and then ducked back out of sight.

  “J-Just finding the soap,” stammered Ben loudly. “Give us a few moments.”

  He and Amelie quickly rinsed off and changed into the clothing Martin’s men had provided.

  Amelie grabbed Ben and pulled him close, grasping his head and pulling it to hers. Her lips parted and her tongue darted into his mouth.

  “We’ll find time later and pick back up where we left off,” she whispered.

  “I can’t wait,” responded Ben.

  He thought he really couldn’t wait.

  He briefly considered tossing Rhys off the back of the ship, but he felt bad when they came around and he saw the sour ale still clinging to the man. Even Lady Towaal looked perturbed. She held her arms away from her sides as if she was disgusted to touch herself.

  Rhys, Ben couldn’t help but notice, already had an ale mug in hand.

  Martin nodded at it. “The men get restless if we unload everything. I always keep a few kegs held back for the return trip. Fancy a mug?”

  Ben glanced at Amelie and she smiled at him, evidently pleased he would seek her opinion.

  “Sure,” responded Ben. He didn’t have anything else to do for the next four weeks.

  By the next morning, Ben realized they did have something to do. Something they needed to do. They needed to plan. He called Amelie, Towaal, and Rhys together. They met in the cargo hold of the ship where they’d have privacy from the crew.

  “We’ve been following leads and relying on hope,” stated Ben. “More often than not, it’s backfired on us. I think we are worse off than before we went to the South Continent.”

  “We stopped the Purple from using demons as a weapon, and we gained an ally in O’ecca,” reminded Rhys. “The emperor isn’t our friend, but we have someone close to him now. We know we can’t do this alone, which means we need to enlist others. In that sense, the mission wasn’t a total failure.”

  Ben stared at him.

  Rhys sighed. “You’re right. In all other respects, it was a failure.”

  Amelie touched the rogue’s shoulder, evidently thinking about Corinne.

  “The demons won’t wait for us,” responded Ben. “The Alliance and the Coalition won’t either. We don’t even need to get into Lady Avril, the Veil, and whatever is planned for the staff Milo took. No, we don’t have time for another wild chase around the world. We have to settle down, agree on what we can do, and do it.”

  “We’re listening,” said Towaal, a sly smile forming on her lips.

  “I was hoping you might have an idea,” suggested Ben.

  “As Rhys said,” replied Towaal, “we need people to join us. We can’t do it alone.”

  “How do we get more people to help?” pressed Ben.

  “We need a leader,” answered Towaal, “someone who can inspire them. Someone who can give them a reason for hope amongst the threat of darkness. If people realize there is another option between the Alliance and the Coalition, they’ll take it. If they realize there is someone standing up to the demons, they’ll follow. The Veil, Lady Avril, neither one of those women will ever gain followers through anything other than fear.”

  Ben sat back, glancing between Towaal, Amelie, and Rhys.

  “It’s too bad we lost Gunther,” he said. “He was the kind of man people would follow.”

  Towaal leaned forward. “Ben, don’t you see? Gunther followed you. Amelie followed you. Corinne followed you. O’ecca followed you. Rhys and I decided to follow you.”

  Ben blinked.

  “You are our leader, Ben.”

  “I’m no lord,” he protested. “No mage. Not even a blademaster.”

  “She’s right, Ben,” stated Amelie. “You aren’t a lord, a mage, or a blademaster, but you’re a good man. A better man than any other I have met. Nearly everyone we come across agrees to help you. They sense the same thing I do, that you can be something special. Something Alcott needs right now.”

  “Some of the people I ask for help agree,” said Ben, “but some of them try to capture or kill us. Remember why we fled Shamiil?”

  “You can’t please everyone,” quipped Rhys.

  “I don’t know what to do!” complained Ben. “I don’t have the strength or the knowledge to do this, to be a leader against these forces.”

  “You’re not alone, Ben,” assured Towaal. “A leader of people doesn’t have to be the strongest, or the wisest, or even have the best ideas. The leader has to be the one who inspires people, who takes what they have to offer, and molds it into something more. You make us greater than we are as individuals.”

  “I don’t even know where to start,” muttered Ben.

  “Step by step,” advised Towaal. “What can we do that will have the biggest impact, and what can we address that is most urgent? That is where you should start.”

  Ben frowned.

  “If we can find Milo and the wyvern fire staff, that would be a big impact,” stated Rhys. “We need that weapon to face the hordes of demons loose in Alcott.”

  “Eldred is urgent,” responded Amelie. “We have to assume she’ll still be hunting us. One way or the other, we’re going to have to face her. I don’t see any way around it. We can do it on our terms, or we can wait until she surprises us.”

  “There are thousands of demons loose in the north. They’ll continue to cross unrestrained,” said Towaal. “The Alliance and Coalition are still gearing for war. Those are big problems. We can’t solve them today, but we can start to plan. We can put things into motion.”

  “I agree Eldred is the most urgent concern, but we can’t do anything about her while we’re on this ship,” challenged Ben. “We don’t even know where she is.”

  “She’s going to come for us,” said Amelie, talking her way through an idea. “After what I did to her face in the Sanctuary and then when I stabbed her in Hamruhg, she won’t rest until she kills me. If we make ourselves known facing any of these other threats, she’ll find us. What if we made it easy for her?”

  “What do you mean?” asked Ben.

  “I doubt she knows exactly where we are or where we are going. She can’t track us by our blood. She likely couldn’t track our journey in the barrels through far-seeing, but there is one other way she could find us. We could use the thought meld and indiscriminately give out our location.”

  Towaal laughed out loud, startling Ben.

  “That’s a bold idea,” acknowledged Rhys.

  They fell silent.

  “It could work,” said Ben finally. “If we allowed her to know where we are and do it a few times, she’d know our course. She’d know exactly where we are headed.”

  Amelie nodded, determination on her face.

  “It’s risky,” advised Ben. “We’ve faced her before, and we had to flee. Are we sure we can beat her? Maybe we should find Jasper first, and see if he can face her.”

  “We can beat her,” said Rhys. He drew his longsword. “I’ve been thinking about it. Eldred uses dark magic. She feeds on death. She draws in power every time something is killed near her. It makes her st
ronger. Her magic is a void, always seeking to be filled. My longsword feeds on life. That is why I aged in Northport. The sword drew heavily from me when I faced the arch-demons. If I can fill the void inside her, her power would be greatly diminished, and I think we could beat her.”

  “Would using that much power with your sword be any different from what happened in Northport?” worried Ben.

  Rhys looked at him silently.

  “Rhys,” cried Ben. “We can find another way.”

  The rogue shook his head. “I told you after Corinne passed that I felt the end. Maybe this is it. Maybe it isn’t. One thing we know, we have to stop Eldred. We have to reclaim the wyvern fire staff. We won’t accomplish everything we want to do without sacrifice, Ben.”

  “We need allies,” argued Ben. “I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather have by my side.”

  “I may not suffer the same effects I did in Northport,” responded Rhys. “I’d never used the sword like that, and I didn’t know what would happen. Maybe now that I do know, I can contain it and be more efficient. It’s a huge risk, I admit, but it’s a necessary gamble. We have to face her sooner or later. Let’s do it now when we can pick the time and place. Besides, if you keep saying I’m the only one you want by your side, Amelie may get a little jealous.”

  Amelie rolled her eyes.

  Ben looked to Towaal, hoping the mage would have another solution.

  “You are the leader, Ben,” she reminded him. “The decision is yours. If it helps, I think this is our best chance to stop Eldred, and hopefully Milo, before they return to the City. Once they’re behind the Sanctuary’s walls, I don’t know how we can get to them. We can’t make a direct assault on the Veil. She has too many mages under her command. We can’t win an open battle against all of them.”

  “Ben,” said Amelie. “We can’t avoid a confrontation with Eldred forever. We’re going to have to fight her. If we have a plan, we have a chance. If she finds us when we’re not ready, it will be over before it starts.”