by A. C. Cobble
Rhys pouted. “You’re no fun.”
Ben rolled his eyes and then directed Amelie to go bribe the men. Half a dozen guards, three or four bright gold coins apiece, and a pretty face to deliver them. In moments, they were rushed through the gate, the guards looking anywhere but at them. The men would risk losing their positions when the ship was found missing, but unless it was discovered immediately, they could easily claim it was on another shift.
Ben figured it could be weeks before anyone actually realized Reinhold’s vessel was gone, though. The suing heirs certainly weren’t keeping up with his house.
They scurried along the dock until they saw the familiar profile of Reinhold’s low-lying sloop. Sleek and fast, just what they needed for a water escape. They stalked up the gangplank and surprised Fishbone, who was swaying drunkenly and admonishing an equally drunk sailor about tying a proper knot. The captain turned, and his eyes bugged out.
“You!” he slurred.
Towaal stepped forward. “We have need of your services, Captain Fishbone.”
The man spat. “It all went downhill the moment you stepped on my ship.” The gruff sailor slowly scanned the rest of the party, his eyes flaring alive when they passed Ben. “You got my boss killed, you know.”
“Sorry about that,” mumbled Ben.
“Why the hell do you think I’d sail anywhere with you?” barked Fishbone. “Leaving this dock with this ship is a hanging offense. Letting you get away without me ain’t much better. While there’s breath in my body, you ain’t movin’ the Lord Reinhold’s boat.”
“Don’t you mean, Captain Fishbone’s boat?” inquired Ben.
The man blinked at him, not comprehending.
“We don’t need the ship. We just need a ride,” added Ben. “Whatever happens to this beautiful craft after that would be up to you.”
“I ain’t gonna dangle, son,” muttered Fishbone.
Ben nodded. “Aye, returning to the City would certainly be inadvisable. Akew Woods, though, that’s a town a man could enjoy living in, particularly if he owns such a nice vessel as this.”
The captain stared back at Ben, his jaw clenched as he ground his teeth. Finally, he growled, “Where do you want to go?”
“North for now,” said Ben.
“If we sail north, then to get to Akew Woods, I gotta sail by the City. You think I’m dumb, boy?”
“The mages may see you. They may not,” allowed Ben. He gripped the hilt of his longsword. “We’re sailing on this ship tonight. You can either stand behind the captain’s wheel or sit down in the cargo hold. Which do you prefer?”
They made it around a bend in the river and passed out of view of the Sanctuary two bells before dawn. Fishbone had spent twenty years captaining boats in and out of the private harbor and up the river. Even with a skeleton crew, he could manage it. Even in the thick of a full-blown drunk his instincts were still sound. It wasn’t until they’d made it to the river channel, and safety, that Fishbone got noisily sick over the gunwale. The captain’s slightly less drunk first mate took over while Fishbone slumped down against the mast and began snoring raggedly.
Feeling safe for the first time since before they had entered the Octopus, Ben and his friends settled down to rest too, lying in an exhausted jumble on the deck of the ship.
Towaal crawled over to Ben and probed his wounds, adding another dose of healing energy.
“A few days rest on the ship will do you good,” she murmured. “You’ll have no permanent damage if you allow it to heal.”
“Good to know,” he said.
The excitement of the last few days was fading, and with it, the pace of his heart slowed. Despite the healing, the puncture Milo left in his thigh still throbbed painfully. It was almost enough to keep him awake, but not quite. His eyes drooped shut, and he laid his head down on the deck of the ship.
Amelie woke him two bells later, the sun hanging barely over the horizon.
“Ben, Jasper’s contacting us,” she hissed.
He blinked, dragging himself into consciousness. Two bells sleep on the wooden deck of a ship after what they’d been through wasn’t enough, it seemed.
Amelie crawled around the deck, rousing Towaal and Rhys. She left Sincell and Prem sleeping. They clustered around her and placed their fingers on the thought meld.
“We’re here,” thought Amelie.
Without preamble, Jasper launched into it, “The demons have departed Northport. They’re heading south, following the west bank of the river.”
“The west bank?” wondered Ben.
“The mature ones can fly, but the bulk of the force won’t cross the water,” explained Jasper.
“Kirksbane,” thought Amelie. “They may cross at the shallows there.”
“They might,” responded Jasper. “A swarm this size has to feed, though. The little towns and villages they roll over on the way south won’t be enough. This arch-demon, or maybe we should call it the demon-king, as powerful as it is, will need to feed its minions if it wants to maintain control.”
“Venmoor,” thought Towaal.
“Exactly,” responded Jasper. “It’s possible they could cross at Kirksbane and travel east into the Sineook Valley, but I think it’s more likely they’ll continue south to Venmoor. If the city is unprepared, the demons will demolish the place. Unopposed, they’ll feast and gain strength. They could then proceed further south to the City. After what we’ve seen and the strength the swarm may gain from Venmoor, the mages would have their hands full, and I’m not sure how that battle would go. If we don’t stop them now, we may not get another chance.”
“It’s settled then,” Ben thought. “We’ll travel to Venmoor to alert them and try to gain their support. You warn who you can on the journey south. We’ll meet you at Kirksbane. One way or the other, we know the demons will go through there.”
“We need help,” worried Jasper. “My band and I will not be sufficient.”
“Be at Kirksbane,” instructed Ben. “Bring the armor. We found something that may be enough to turn the tide. We’ll tell you more when we meet.”
A sense of determination flowed through the meld, and then it went silent. A subtle buzz that was difficult to notice while in use was obvious when the connection was severed.
“You sure about this?” asked Amelie, concern etched deeply on her face.
“We don’t have a choice,” responded Ben.
Late that afternoon, a three-man dinghy rowed through the shallow water to the riverbank. It was thick with bright green grass. A sailor grasped a tuft of the grass to hold them close, and the runaway mage Sincell clambered out of the boat onto shore.
“You certain we can trust her?” asked Amelie, watching from the deck of their sloop.
Ben laughed. “No, of course not.”
Amelie paused and then allowed, “You’re right. What choice do we have?”
Ben nodded. “Either she’ll convince Hadra and her companions to meet us at Kirksbane, or she won’t. Maybe the Veil will come and try to capture us and the staff. If she does, I hope she pauses to address the descending demon army while she’s there.”
“Coatney is power hungry and manipulative,” commented Towaal, “but she’s not insane. If she sees the true threat, she’ll do what she can. No sense trying to take over the world if all of the people are dead and a demon-king is sitting on the throne.”
“A demon-king, that’s what Jasper called it, isn’t it?” said Ben.
Towaal shrugged. “He was right. What else would you call that image he sent us? It’s certainly no arch-demon I’ve ever heard of.”
Prem studied Sincell as the runaway mage wasted no time and began hiking south, along the riverbank back toward the City. The guardian turned to Ben. “She’ll do what she says. She’ll make an effort to enlist these mages you spoke to. Her fight is with the Veil, and stripping away some of the Veil’s mages aligns with her interests. Our concern should be if she’s caught. If they found out she was inv
olved with the tower, they will be looking for her.”
“Well, let’s hope she doesn’t get caught then. It’s too bad we can’t risk approaching the Veil with her. Of all of us, she’s the least likely to be suspected of involvement in stealing the staff. If we could only talk to her, I wonder if we could convince Coatney of the threat the demons represent? Saala told us that was one of the two ways for a leader to gain loyalty.”
Rhys slapped him on the back. “You’re learning quick, but it’s too late now. With the staff in our hands, there’s no way Coatney will listen to us.”
Ben grunted.
“Now, we’ve got three more days to Venmoor by my estimate,” said Rhys. “This vessel wasn’t looted like Reinhold’s estate. Assuming Fishbone didn’t drink it all himself, there should be plenty of good drink left to get us where we’re going.”
Ben glanced at Amelie.
“Go on,” she said. “Rhys is right. You need to rest. There’s nothing else to do for the next few days. Get drunk tonight, sleep it off, rest, and be ready when we make Venmoor.”
11
Venmoor
Venmoor was famous for its swords and swordsmen. Ben recalled from when they had passed it on the way to the City as a giant, dark smudge on the edge of the river, overshadowed by the constant billow of smoke from the smithies. His second impression did little to change the first.
Before they spied the structures of the city, they saw the tower of black smoke that arose from it. Hanging thousands of paces in the air, the column of ash tilted like it was falling over, drifting slowly in the light breeze away from the city.
The Alliance and Coalition were gearing up for war, and the weapons from Venmoor were the tools they used to make it. The smithies were working night and day. Every blacksmith who could swing a hammer would be working overtime to fashion weapons to rend the flesh of enemies. Venmoor steel was flexible and strong. It gave an edge to any warrior facing a lesser blade. The growing armies needed quality weapons, and Venmoor appeared to be hard at work crafting them.
“Fortunes are being made,” remarked Captain Fishbone.
He was surly and rude, but Ben supposed they had pressed him into stealing a ship. If he was caught, he’d be hung. If he wasn’t, though, Fishbone was now a wealthy man.
Ben glanced at the sailor.
“Lord Reinhold told me an opportunity like this war only arises every few generations,” continued Fishbone, spitting a sticky wad of intoxicating herbs over the side of the ship. “Could be the biggest conflict this continent has seen since the Blood Bay War. Maybe bigger. The winners will be the new highborn. Their families will live in castles and rule unchallenged, until the next one, at least.”
“I’ve heard that in war, there are no winners,” remarked Ben.
“Why do they keep fighting them, then?” barked Fishbone.
Ben shrugged.
“You’re right, in a way,” admitted the captain. “We’re just talkin’ ‘bout different people. Most people who go off to fight end up dying or worse. Wives don’t wait at home for long, wondering if their husband will make it back, and if he does, whether he’ll be the same man that left. Nah, they move on. Businesses fail, fields go fallow, nets are untended. Everything a man has worked his life for rots and dies before he gets home. Most would rather be dead than face that. That don’t mean no one wins, though, does it? Just means you and I won’t win. Men like Reinhold, King Argren, Lord Jason, Lord Gulli. Those are tha folk who win. Well, half of ‘em anyway. They’re the ones who make the fortunes, and they’re the ones who keep starting wars. They just don’t fight ‘em, ya know?”
“It shouldn’t be like that,” muttered Ben.
“Aye,” agreed Fishbone. “It shouldn’t, but who’s gonna change the world, lad? It certainly ain’t gonna be me. No, best to understand it and figure out a way to survive til tomorrow.”
Fishbone stalked off, his strange rolling gait more suited to the sea than river sailing, but Ben supposed after this, maybe that is just where the man would be headed.
“He’s right, in his way,” remarked Rhys. He took Fishbone’s place at the railing and studied the cloud of smoke on the horizon.
“I know,” said Ben, “but just because something would be difficult to change doesn’t mean it shouldn’t change.”
“You’re going to be the one to change it?” asked Rhys.
“Why not?” retorted Ben.
“Why not indeed,” responded the rogue with a grin. “Come on. We’d best go get packed. Changing the world is nice, but having a fresh pair of trousers is a more immediate concern.”
Ben smiled and followed his friend below deck.
They dropped anchor two hundred paces away from a sturdy-looking stone wharf. Every spot on it was taken.
“Wouldn’t mind a night on the town,” grumbled Fishbone, “but I suppose it’s best. I need to get off this river ‘afore someone comes lookin’ for this vessel. Best of luck to ya.”
Ben nodded, clambered over the side of the sloop, and dropped into the shore boat. They’d have to make a few trips to get them all over, but it was best they arrive that way. Unremarkable, unnoticed.
“I suggest we rest up tonight and then try to see Lord Vonn in the morning,” declared Amelie when they’d all assembled at the end of the wharf. “We can warn him about the demons and ask for his help. We can spend the night figuring out a plan to approach him.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Ben. “Anyone know of a good place to stay in this town?”
He glanced at Rhys and Towaal, the only two who’d actually been there before.
“The Blademaster’s Baby. It’s a fine inn and within a few blocks of Vonn’s keep. Also,” added Rhys, wincing, “it’s about as far from those damn smithies as you can get.”
Ben nodded. Even at the docks, the constant clang of hammer on metal was ubiquitous. The blacksmiths would be at work from dawn until well after dusk. If the companions wanted any chance of real rest, staying as far away as possible was good advice.
They started up the wharf, dodging wheeled carts stacked high with wooden boxes. Ben suspected the boxes were stuffed full of weapons, traveling up to Kirksbane then through Sineook Valley to Whitehall. There, Argren would be assembling his men and preparing to march against the Coalition.
“One of Fishbone’s crew told me they already opened staging grounds outside of Fabrizo,” remarked Rhys, eyeing the equipment as they passed. “War is inevitable now, so Argren must have wanted to secure a landing before Jason got aggressive and moved to take it. The Alliance has the advantage on the water, but they can’t win it from there. They’ve got to plunge the knife deep and threaten Irrefort itself.”
“They’ll have to move through Issen first,” said Amelie grimly.
Rhys didn’t respond.
Issen had been taken by the Coalition when Amelie’s mother had betrayed her father and the city. They’d found out in Irrefort that Lady Selene had thrown the gates open and laid down for Lord Jason, in more ways than one. None of them thought King Argren’s passage through the city would be so bloodless. Despite everything Lord Gregor and even Lady Selene had done to spare the common folk, it appeared Issen would be the site of the first major battle of the war. Hopefully the last if Ben and Amelie could do anything about it. He snorted helplessly. What could they do?
“I wonder if Saala is there,” said Amelie.
Ben blinked. It’d been months since they’d seen the blademaster. “I think he went to Whitehall, didn’t he?”
“That’s the last we heard of him,” agreed Rhys.
“He doesn’t have any reason to stay in Whitehall,” said Amelie.
“He doesn’t have reason to go to Issen anymore either,” reminded Rhys. “He spent a lot of time with your family, Amelie, but he’s a sellsword. He’ll go where someone is willing to pay him. It’s not Issen, and I don’t think he’d risk Irrefort. Maybe he would return to the City, but Argren’s the one raising arms, and Argren’s
the one who would pay gold for a man with Saala’s talent. Northport’s fallen. He can’t go home. Where else is there for a man like Saala? I’d bet anything he’s in Whitehall now.”
“Doing what, joining Argren’s guard?” questioned Ben.
“If you were a lord with nearly unlimited resources and you were raising an army to go face Lord Jason, wouldn’t you hire that bald bastard? He’s one of the best blades on the continent, and you heard what we learned in Ooswam. The man’s highborn, and he’s used to nice things. He wouldn’t turn down the kind of gold that Argren can offer him.”
Amelie frowned but did not respond.
Rhys led them through the streets, heading deeper into town and, Ben noticed with relief, toward the other side of it from the smithies.
“Why is this place called the Blademaster’s Baby?” asked Prem. “Surely there is a story behind that.”
Rhys grinned. “One thing you have to learn about the world outside of your village is that tavern names don’t make any sense. In fact, the loonier the name, the more likely it is to be a fun tavern.”
“Why?” asked Amelie. “More drunks inside?”
Rhys winked at her.
“As long as it has tubs for bathing,” said Lady Towaal.
She was waving her hand, trying to clear space in front of her of the ever-present cloud of soot that hung suspended over the city. It settled over everything, giving the place a dark, menacing aspect. Even the cobblestones below their feet were black, the soot ground into the stone.
“What’s the point of bathing if you’re going to be walking around in this mess the next morning?” wondered Rhys.
Towaal shook her head. “If you haven’t learned by now, I’m afraid you never will.”
Ben smiled, enjoying the banter. For a brief moment, he was able to let go of the tension he felt about what was coming.
