Benjamin Ashwood (2 page)

As
they crossed the fjord, Ben was finally glad of his quarterstaff.  Even at the
shallow crossing the water came above his knees and 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 and 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 other 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 and
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 but 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 it’s talons
across his leg.  He screamed in agony but Ben had no time to worry about
Brandon, the thing was almost on top of him!

Out
of pure instinct, Ben 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 and his quarterstaff shot out of his hands with the impact.  It was
just enough though to turn the demon from it’s path though and it went crashing
straight into Arthur.

Ben
watched in horror as Arthur was sent sprawling onto his back with the demon on
top of him.  Ben dove for his fallen quarterstaff but 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 and the demon, which came barely waist high, surged
forward and slashed across Will’s stomach sending a shower of gore slapping onto
the wet ground.

Suddenly,
an arrow sprouted on the thing’s back, right between it’s two tiny wings.  It
bellowed in rage and turned towards the new assailant.  Ben saw Serrot standing
on the far bank knock 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 towards 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 his 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 drug 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 crossing the shallow fjord 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 and he knew he had only seconds
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 towards the safety of the far bank, Ben
half pulling Brandon and both of them half drowning.

They’d
been washed several hundred yards downstream by the time they made it to the
other side and 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 sunk down on the damp carpet of pine needles that covered the floor of the
forest and 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 town was still on edge.  In a community the
size of Farview the loss of two people was felt by the entire town.  And
despite Ben’s heroic efforts, everyone was 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 and
Alistair demanded a new hunting party form to go 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 but 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 though, 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 and even during the day people were moving about
in groups and keeping their weapons nearby.

The
story tellers had gone silent at the Buckhorn Tavern.  They all knew what came
next.  As the demon continued to kill, it would grow in power and eventually
the size of the town would no longer be a deterrent.  At that time, it would
kill or be killed and 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 60 men and left only injury and death in it’s 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 this 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 this part of the world,
Murdoch’s was the central meeting point and Farview’s best hope for finding a
skilled Hunter.

It
was ten days since Serrot returned from Murdoch’s with the bad news and 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 getting
slapped on the back and accepting 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 he 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.

Ben
shook his head to clear it of thoughts about the demon and pulled another bag
of hops out of the storage cellar and tossed it next to a large kettle.  He
knew he should focus on his work and helping out however he could in town, but
he couldn’t stop remembering how he felt during the attack.

The
liquid in the kettle, called wort, was coming to a roiling, healthy boil.  Ben
expertly gauged the timing before dumping the bag of hops into the mix.  Soon, Ben
would take the kettle off the fire and cool it in the cellar.  By evening, the
cooled liquid would be poured into one of his copper fermenting tanks along
with several other kettles worth of wort where it would sit for about a week. 
After the week was up, the tanks would be full of a strong, dark ale.

In
normal times, Ben brewed about four barrels a week for the Buckhorn Tavern and
the few residents of Farview who preferred to drink their ale at home.  This
week, Ben was filling up every one of the copper tanks and wishing he had
more.  Sales at the Buckhorn had doubled since the demon attack and people who
had never asked for a barrel of beer before wanted one now.  He supposed that
it was only natural.  People had always turned to a pint of ale to spread some
cheer or get through a difficult time.

A
year before, shortly after his eighteenth birthday, Ben had taken over the brewery. 
The previous brewer passed away without an heir and like many of the businesses
in Farview, he owed money to Alistair Pinewood.