The Last Survivors (Book 6): The Last Conquest

by Bobby Adair

  Chapter 32: Fitz

  Fitz scanned across the faces of the women of the New House, all sitting in high-backed chairs around Fitzgerald in the meeting room, watching her. Those who couldn't find seats were hovering in anxious rows behind the rest. Several servants and a few young boys, novices leftover from the clergy, mingled, whispering, waiting for whatever she had to say. Ginger had sent word to the Academy again, but none of the men had responded. Fitz wasn't surprised.

  Projecting her voice, Fitz stood and said, "I have news."

  The room grew silent. A few of the young novices peered around the women's shoulders as they waited. Fitz relayed what she'd heard from Tara and Loren, speaking of the death of Blackthorn, Winthrop's army, and their intention to break down the circle wall.

  "How far away is Winthrop's army?" one of the Strong Women asked.

  "As few as two days, as many as four," Fitz answered. "They come at their own pace, which our scouts say changes according to Winthrop's whim."

  "How many men does Winthrop have?"

  "A few thousand, at least," Fitz answered. She explained what the number meant to the people in the room, most of who didn't have their numbers.

  The women looked around at each other as a rumor turned into a realization. A few clutched their hands. "What happened to the rest of them?"

  "We're not sure," Fitz admitted. "It's possible they're behind Winthrop, somewhere. I've sent the riders back out to find more information."

  "So you haven't seen the rest of the army?"

  "No," Fitz admitted.

  "The rest of our relatives are dead!" a woman put together, a sob escaping her lips.

  Several people in the room started talking at once. A few women broke down and cried, gripping their friends and consoling one another as they mourned relatives they never thought they'd see again.

  "My uncle taught me my numbers," one woman explained to her friend. "If the rest are dead, that's almost all of them!"

  "By the gods!" the woman shrieked. "My husband and sons are out there!"

  Fitz let the women cry for a few minutes. She knew they needed time. When they were finished, she put her palms on the table, the way she'd seen the leaders do, speaking loudly enough to quiet the lingering conversations in the room. "We don't know for sure that they're dead. But what we do know is that Winthrop is out there. We've all seen the way Winthrop acted before he rode out on the horse. We saw the way he acted in the Sanctuary, looking around at the ceiling, listening to the words of ghosts. And now, that insanity has spread into the minds of his followers. We can't let them in."

  The young novices looked over their shoulders nervously, as if someone might smash through the door and carry them to the nearest pyre.

  "We'll be burned for what we've done!" one woman said, unable to contain her fright. "Our men will punish us when they get back!"

  "No, they won't," Fitz said, holding up her hands to try and preserve the calm. "You people have stood by me. We've done what we had to do to Tenbrook and his men in order to stay alive, and we can do whatever we have to do to survive again."

  "It's one thing to seduce a few hundred soldiers," one of the women broke in. "But how will we convince the rest of the men—our men—not to burn us?"

  "We have to let them in," another woman argued, looking around. "They'll kill us if we don't."

  "We don't have to let them in if they mean us harm, or if they mean to break the circle wall," Fitz said firmly. "We'll fight back, if we have to."

  The women continued talking amongst themselves. Some argued. A few of the servants exchanged wide-eyed expressions that revealed their worst fears had come true.

  One of the Strong Women leaned over a few women sitting at the table, speaking loudly. "We have the numbers. And we have the circle wall. It has protected us for three hundred years from hordes of demons. It will protect us from men too drunk on the glory of killing to think straight," she said.

  "But how will we defend it?" One of the servants held up her hands in exasperation. "The army has weapons. We have almost none. We outnumber them, but the people left in Brighton are women, children, and the elderly, not soldiers."

  Fitz raised her voice again. "We're in a better position than we were last week, or last year. We have enough food to sustain ourselves. We have a wall to protect us from the army and the demons. We can outlast an attack until we figure out how to resolve this."

  Several of the Strong Women and the women from The House of Barren Women nodded, reinforcing Fitz's statement.

  A woman with dark hair asked, "Why would they break down the wall and let in the demons? I don't understand."

  "They mean to punish us for what we've done, like I said," a woman reiterated.

  "We're not sure what their intentions are," Fitz said. "But whatever the case, we can't let him come here and change things back to the way they were."

  "If we let them in, we might be able to avoid a burning," one woman said, drying quiet tears on her face.

  Hearing the words made Fitz angry. Looking around at the ladies from The House of Barren Women, she recalled the bruises on their arms, or the times they'd lain on their backs, pleasuring men for the good of Brighton. Then she considered the women in the homes of Brighton who had taken similar abuse, or worse yet, the children. "Is that what you want, to let them in and have Winthrop throw your children on the pyre? To have a man you don't love share your bed and be treated like a farm animal? To be beaten when the crops fail, or when dinner isn't ready before sundown?"

  Silence.

  "Mark my words, if they come through those walls, all of us in this room will pay. He won't keep any of us alive. He'll keep the rest of the sheepish women for chores and pleasure, but we will burn! His men will do what they want with us. We need to do whatever we have to do to protect ourselves. We need to defend the circle wall."

  With her pronouncement made, Fitz stared around the room, waiting for an argument. The fear in the room was a tangible aura, hanging above them, but no one disputed what she said. Everyone knew she was right.

  "We can't let them kill us." Ginger stood up straight and moved closer to Fitz. "We need to work together."

  "Hopefully we'll hear back from the riders again soon. In the meantime, we need to be prepared for whatever is coming our way," Fitz said. "We need a plan. And when we have one, we need to relay it to the townspeople."

  Chapter 33: Bray

  After following the army for most of the previous day, Bray camped out in the forest, foregoing his fire so he didn't attract the soldiers or the demons. He resumed his watch the next morning, sticking close to the thick trunks of the trees, moving stealthily, until he saw a few men relieving themselves in a copse of trees that preceded a clearing. Past them was a large gap of open land, where the sun shone brightly on a maze of crumbled ruins and rocks, through which the army was already forging. Bray knew the area well. Those ruins had been worn down with paths that started with the Ancients, continued with the animals, and had been taken up by travelers over the years as they went to and from the Ancient City.

  More often than not, demons roamed there, too.

  The army could afford to lose a few men, but Bray wasn't about to risk his own ass.

  He hiked through a tangle of briars and snagging vines, slicing through them with his sword as he went deeper into the forest, but still close enough to hear the chants. He stiffened as he almost stepped on the body of a dead demon, its arm cut off at the elbow, its stomach slashed. Its mouth formed a bloodied frame around its cracked, stained teeth. It looked like the injured thing had lived long enough to flee the army and make a final resting place under the weeds.

  Another twenty feet later, he discovered another dead demon.

  He couldn't understand how an army of raggedy men and women was slaughtering so many.

  "Luck, that's all," he tried to convince himself, but he couldn't dispel the feeling of uneasiness that crept into his stomach.

  Bray kept moving.
Deep in the distance, he heard the chanting of the army rising and falling as they progressed through the small buildings. None of those buildings were as impressive as those in the Ancient City, but they were a frequent stop for metal scavengers who didn't know better than to avoid the demons. They're definitely headed in the direction of Brighton, he thought. He didn't care where they were going, as long as he was able to keep track of them and take William. After that, he'd head somewhere that wasn't likely to be swollen with deranged, suicidal men.

  Maybe they'll all die from eating demon meat.

  Bray laughed under his breath as he hung on that thought, knocking his way through the thicket and tangled bushes. Everyone knew better than to consume the foul, twisted things.

  The exertion of a cold, hard hike was taking its toll on him. Or maybe it was his injuries. Bray hadn't had a decent night's rest since he'd started following William. He'd been sleeping only when he knew the boy was bedded down, and waking before William was likely to rise. His fear had been that he'd lose him to the wild, or to the demons.

  He'd never suspected he'd lose him to a pack of war-crazed men.

  Beyond the thick barrier of woods, a clear section of forest dotted with pine trees and needles came into view. A little farther on, Bray knew, was a stream. He'd take a quick break, fill his flask, and splash water over his sweat-ridden clothes.

  He'd just reached the other side of the thicket when he heard a snuffing noise. Bray froze and peered through the forest. Perhaps some half-dead demon was taking its final steps. He stalked quietly through the forest, aiming to surprise whatever it was as he hid behind a crowded section of pines. On the other side of the trees, the forest curved down a narrow bank and toward the stream. Pine needles tickled his face as he kept cover between the branches.

  Pushing aside the thick foliage, he caught sight of three large shapes lurking by the stream. He froze. Adrenaline made him clench his fingers on the sword. He watched as the shapes lifted their monstrous, elongated snouts and glanced behind them. They snuffed again.

  They weren't monsters, at all.

  Horses!

  Bray lowered his sword, the surging adrenaline of battle changing to another strategy. He crept through the pine needles, making his presence known, trying not to alarm them.

  "Easy, boys," he told them, sneaking closer.

  He scooted down the bank until he was ten feet from the horses. They eyed him wearily but made no move to run. Blood striped the fur on their flanks, and saddles clung to their backs.

  Bray rarely saw horses in the wild. In fact, the few he'd come across had been so startled that they'd fled faster than he could catch up with them. It'd been years since he'd owned a horse. He hadn't ridden one since he was hunting with his father, back when he was learning to become a Warden. The only people who owned horses were cavalrymen, or merchants rich enough to stable and feed them.

  Looking around, Bray didn't see anyone who might own these horses.

  They must belong to the cavalry.

  Judging by the blood on their sides and their spooked demeanor, he guessed that whoever had ridden them had been killed. Bray took another cautious step until he was close enough to grab hold of one of the reins. He led the horse gently over to the other two, careful not to get in the path of a kick.

  Horses would be a huge advantage in keeping up with the army. Bray smiled. Maybe his luck was turning around.

  After securing the horses' reins, Bray filled his flask and splashed his face in the brook.

  Chapter 34: Fitz

  Fitz looked around at the women of the New House, the servants, and the novices. After more arguing, some crying, and finally, a nervous acceptance, calm had settled over the meeting room as they tried to determine a plan to bring to the people of Brighton.

  "What do you think we should do?" One of the women from The House of Barren Women, Ashley, asked as she looked at Fitz from across the table.

  "We need to convince the townspeople that we have to keep the gates closed until we figure out what's going on," Fitz said. "We can't let those men back in town to destroy it. We especially can't let Winthrop set foot in here."

  No one in the room disagreed.

  "We'll need weapons," Fitz continued. "Even if we don't use them, men respect them. And men from war will especially be used to swords and spears."

  Several nodded.

  "We have the swords of Tenbrook's soldiers," one of the Strong Women said, patting the sword scabbarded at her side.

  "Yes, but we'll need a lot more."

  "Maybe we can collect weapons in town," Ginger suggested. "Most have been taken with Blackthorn's army, but some things are bound to have been left behind. If the people understand the threat against us, you should be able to convince them to share their arms."

  Fitz nodded.

  "The families of the blacksmiths might be able to assist us in making some things we can use," Ashley said. "They won't have the experience of the men, but they're sure to have knowledge that will be helpful."

  "One of my neighbors was a blacksmith," one of the Strong Women spoke up. "I've been to his shop plenty of times. Swords would be ideal, but it takes a lot of metal to make a sword. We might be better off making spears."

  "That way we can arm more people," Fitz said, running with the idea. "More bodies with spears will do better than a handful with swords."

  "How will we intimidate them, if they can't see us over the wall?" Ashley asked. "The wall is smooth at the top. There's no place to stand that is protected. We'd have to stand in the open."

  "We'll have people in the guard towers," Fitz said. Turning to Ginger, she asked, "How many women do we have watching for demons?"

  "Only a handful," Ginger answered.

  "We'll get everyone else ready behind the gates, when the time comes." Fitz nodded as the plan solidified. "The rest will be in the towers. Most of The People in Brighton are inexperienced, but there are bound to be some older men that have fought in wars. They can teach the women and children."

  "We won't have much time," a woman said.

  "Of course. But it will be better than being completely unprepared," Fitz answered.

  "How will we know which gate Winthrop will march on?" one of the Strong Women asked.

  "I know Winthrop. He'll march through the front," Fitz said, without hesitation. "He won't be expecting a reception like this. He might be expecting Tenbrook and his men, but he won't be concerned about a few hundred soldiers." Her face twisted as she recalled Winthrop's greasy, soft fingers and his narrow eyes. She never wanted to see him up close again, unless she was shoving a blade into his stomach. "Even still, we should plan on guarding the rest of the gates with equal numbers of people, just in case."

  "We're talking as if the townspeople have agreed to this plan," one of the Strong Women said. "But we still have to tell them. And none have heard the news."

  "Some might not believe it. Others might panic, the way we did, at first," the Strong Woman said matter-of-factly.

  "Having a plan will help them digest the news," said Fitz. "We need to convince them we can be strong, just like we've done before."

  "Do you know what you are going to say to them?"

  "Yes," Fitz said, standing. "I think I do."

  Chapter 35: Bray

  Bray sat tall atop one of the horses, leading the others behind with a rope he'd found in a saddlebag. It was a lucky find. The rope would enable him to lead the horses as a train, one behind the other. He'd ride one horse until it got tired and then switch off to another.

  He smiled at his luck. It was good to get off his feet for a change. The soles of his boots were worn from the constant hiking. His heels were cracked from the cold.

  He'd been keeping as close as he dared to the army, tracking their movements by the insistent chanting. Bray hadn't seen many demons since the cluster of bodies he'd discovered earlier. Maybe the army had driven most of them south. Or maybe the ignorant men and women were driving the demons c
loser to Brighton.

  Whatever the case, he couldn't wait to be rid of their annoying singing, which would surely plague his dreams. He followed a game trail as it curved through foothills and ran mostly parallel to the army's path. The horses quickly fell into a rhythm of riding behind one another. Bray stayed in forests thick with oaks and maples, skirting the meadows, only crossing in the open when he had no other way. The army had passed the ruins outside the city and was traveling toward the mountains. The ground was leveling off, and the mountain tips were creeping above the tops of the trees. Bray knew the route well.

  The army was marching toward an ancient road that zigzagged up the face of the mountain before cutting into a long canyon over an ancient bridge.

  Bray had passed through the area many times. If the army were headed through the canyon, it wouldn't be wise to follow. Sprawling valleys and hills would leave him exposed. In certain places, the terrain narrowed too much to leave him any escape, should Winthrop's mob see him and choose to come after him.

  His horses snorted and clopped as they obeyed the pulls of his rope. He led them to a clearing in the trees, through which he had a better view.

  Coming to the edge of the forest, Bray crested a hill that rose taller than most in the area, catching sight of men streaming across a field that stretched for a mile, stomping down the ancient, overgrown road as if they had made it themselves, heading toward the road up the mountain.

  There must be thousands of them, Bray thought.

  He watched them swing their spears and swords as they marched, bellowing chants of war. In the middle of one group was the row of horses that contained William and Winthrop. He couldn't see much more than Winthrop's flowing white robe, the clusters of men and women surrounding him, and the blood-printed people marching in front and behind, trying to keep close. They were treating Winthrop as if he were an ancient god come to life. Bray shook his head in disgust. He'd need to pursue them in a different direction. He'd have to head north. If he could cut through the forest, he should be able to push his horses faster than thousands of marching men, circle around the canyon, and come out the other side and catch up to them. Unfortunately, that would mean he'd have to wait until the army passed. And he'd have to go up a mountain. That would mean he'd have to rest his horses more.