Chapter 15 Maximus #4
“Well, I’ve been discharged. Honorable, they called it, but we both know what it means.”
Torres had been one of my most promising junior officers—eager to learn, quick to volunteer.
“What are you doing here? If they catch you—”
“They won’t. I’ve come to get you out.”
I stared at her. “That’s impossible.”
“No, sir, it isn’t.” Torres exchanged a look with Ben. “I was there. I saw what happened on The Valiant. I remember you questioning that missing stock, sir. I know you’re innocent.”
She wasn’t entirely correct–I wasn’t entirely innocent. And I already knew I’d carry that guilt to my grave.
“We don’t have much time,” Ben interjected. “The next patrol comes through in twenty minutes.”
“You’re risking everything,” I said. “Why?”
Torres’s expression hardened. “Because Cunningham is parading around like a hero while you rot in here. Because I told them what I saw, and they laughed in my face. And because Matthew always said you were the finest officer he ever served under.”
“Matthew?” I blinked.
“My brother,” Ben explained. “Torres was his friend from the Academy.”
The pieces clicked into place. “You planned this together.”
Torres nodded. “We have a way out, but it won’t be pleasant.”
“How?” I gestured to my missing leg. “I can barely walk.”
“You won’t have to,” Ben said, producing a key. The lock clicked open.
Torres slipped into the cell carrying a bundle of rags. “Put these on. Quickly.”
As I changed with Ben’s help, she explained in whispers. “There’s a waste disposal run before dawn. Kitchen scraps are collected in barrels and taken outside the city.”
My stomach dropped. “You want me to hide in garbage?”
“It’s the only way,” Ben insisted. “The barrels aren’t checked… the smell keeps the guards away.”
“And once you’re out, I’ll be waiting with a cart,” Torres added. “We have to get you to the docks before sunrise.”
I stared at them, these two risking everything for me. “If you’re caught—”
“We won’t be,” Torres said. “But we need to go now.”
The corridor remained empty as Ben helped me hobble toward the service area, my crude cane thumping softly against stone. Each step sent pain through my stump.
The kitchen waste area was lined with large wooden barrels. The stench hit me—a putrid mix of rotting food and waste.
“That one,” Ben pointed to a barrel near the door.
I stared at it, my last shreds of dignity threatening to desert me.
“Go on,” Torres said gently. “I’m sorry, sir.”
With grim determination, I approached. Ben removed the lid, revealing a nauseating slurry of kitchen scraps.
“We added extra vegetable peelings on top,” Torres explained. “The bottom is… well…”
“I get the picture,” I said grimly.
Ben helped me position myself at the edge.
“Once you’re in, don’t move or make a sound.
The waste collectors will load you onto their cart.
When it stops, count to one hundred, then push the lid off.
Torres will be waiting about a mile down the road.
If something goes wrong, head east toward the harbor.
There’s a ship called The Siren’s Call departing at dawn.
The captain owes my dad a favor—he’ll take you on. ”
I nodded, fighting the urge to vomit at what came next.
“Thank you. Both of you.”
“Don’t thank us yet,” Ben said. “You’re not free until you’re out of Sunada.”
Free? I’ll never be free again.
With a deep breath, I steeled myself. Ben and Torres helped lower me into the barrel, putrid slop engulfing me inch by agonizing inch. The rotting matter squished beneath me, seeping through my clothes, the stench overwhelming.
When I was fully submerged, Torres gave my shoulder a final squeeze and passed me the makeshift cane Ben had given me—it just barely fit inside the barrel. “Good luck, sir.”
Ben positioned the lid over the barrel. “Remember—don’t move, don’t make a sound.”
The lid closed, plunging me into darkness.
Time lost meaning in that fetid darkness. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours as I sat motionless, half-submerged in filth, my stump throbbing. The smell was so intense I could taste it.
Finally, I heard voices and felt the barrel being jostled. I bit my lip as pain shot through my leg.
“This one’s heavier than usual,” someone complained.
“Just load it, we haven’t got all night.”
The barrel tilted, then began to roll. Nothing could prepare me for the agony as I was tumbled over and over, my body slamming against the sides, waste sloshing over my face.
By the time the barrel was upright again, loaded onto a cart, I was fighting unconsciousness. Every part of me hurt, but I remained silent.
The cart began to move, each bump sending fresh waves of pain through my body. When it finally stopped, I began counting. One… two… three…
At one hundred, I pushed against the lid. It didn’t budge. Panic flared as I pushed harder. Had I been discovered?
With one final desperate shove, the lid gave way. Fresh air rushed in, so sweet I nearly wept. I dragged myself upward, arms shaking as I pulled my filth-covered body over the rim and collapsed onto solid ground.
I lay there gasping, the cool night air a blessing against my skin.
“Sir?” A whisper from nearby.
Torres emerged from the shadows, leading a small cart hitched to a mule. Her nose wrinkled at the smell, but she didn’t hesitate to help me up.
“We need to move quickly,” she said. “Dawn’s only an hour away.”
The cart bed was lined with straw. I collapsed onto it, beyond caring about the filth I brought with me.
“There’s a stream ahead,” Torres said as she urged the mule forward. “You can clean up before we reach the port. We’re heading outside of Embergate, to a smaller dock, a few hours north.”
As we traveled, I thought of the stories that would eventually circulate about my escape. Would they say I fought my way past a dozen guards? The reality—me huddled in waste, trembling with pain—was far less heroic.
“What will you do?” I asked as we reached the stream. “If they question you?”
“I have family in Asteris. Central Gearhart. I’ve got passage already lined up.”
“And Ben?”
“His younger brother is going to give him a black eye. He’ll be found unconscious when morning comes.”
I nodded, praying they would be alright. I couldn’t bear the thought of them suffering for my freedom.
The cold water was blissful, washing away the filth, if not the memory. To my immense shame, Torres had to help me bathe, then help me into the clothes I’d been wearing in my cell.
“We should go,” she said, glancing at the lightening sky. “The ship won’t wait.”
After another hour of traveling through farmlands, hugging the kingdom’s wall, I spotted the telltale signs of a port perched atop one enlarged section.
A wooden lift, operated by rope pulleys, thankfully lifted our cart to the top.
Then Torres pointed to a weathered airship with faded blue sails.
“That’s The Siren’s Call. Captain Mercer will take you as far as the Freehold Islands. After that, you’re on your own.”
I clasped her hand. “If there’s ever anything I can do for you—”
“Stay alive,” she interrupted. “And someday, make Cunningham pay for what he did.”
With that promise between us, we parted ways. I hobbled toward the ship, each step a reminder of all I’d lost.
Before boarding, I paused at the edge of the wall.
From my pocket, I withdrew my lieutenant commander’s insignia—the last remnant of my former life.
Without ceremony, I threw it as hard as I could, my eyes refusing to track its fall.
Then, I reached into my pocket again and felt the silver ring.
I slipped it onto my finger—no longer a token of love but a reminder of betrayal.
Of what happened when you trusted too completely.
In that moment, I made a promise: somehow, I would survive.
And one day, I would make Eric Cunningham pay.
Never again would I trust so completely. Never again would I give anyone the power to destroy me.
Maximus Blackwood, First Officer of The Valiant, loyal servant of House Eldritch, died that day. He drowned in the harbor of Embergate, taking with him all his na?ve beliefs in honor, duty, and love.
Who emerged was someone else entirely—a man with no allegiances, no illusions, and nothing left to lose. A man who would build himself anew from the wreckage.
The Reaper wasn’t born that day, but his seed was planted in the bitter soil of my heart, waiting to grow into something terrible.