by Bobby Adair
"I was young then, young enough that I still had dreams of bedding one of those galloping young cavalrymen and having his beautiful, strong babies." Hilda's mood changed in an instant and she cackled. "But I was ugly then, just as I am now. I was only naïve enough to think a man might find me beautiful because of my youth."
Fitz felt sorry for her, but couldn't think of any words to say that wouldn't bring more hurt than comfort.
Hilda sighed and put her thoughts back into the story. "The cavalry went out to chase some horde that was heading to slaughter the people of Ashford. They mounted up that morning as soon as the sun rose. I remember the sound of their hooves beating the earth as they rode out—thunderous, and powerful, our boys." Hilda drew another long breath. "But we were surprised by another horde that nobody knew was out there. A mob of demons attacked Brighton when the sun was setting. The guards spotted them coming out of the forest and raised the alarm, but the militia wasn't ready. The militia was slow to get to the wall, and when they did, they went through the gates and trickled out into the fields. But the demons were already coming over the wall. It was a slaughter."
From Hilda's mood, Fitz guessed that it wasn't the demons that were slaughtered.
"The first militiamen who reached the wall died. The slow ones, the cowards, never made it into the fields. They tried to form a defense at the edge of town and failed."
"They all died?" Fitz asked, wondering why she'd never heard this story.
"They broke and fled into the streets when they thought the horde numbered too many." Hilda's face showed her distaste for those men. "They were all armed. All trained. Had they stood their ground, they'd have won the day. That's what The General Blackthorn told them that day in the square after it was all over. He decimated the survivors for their cowardice."
"Decimated?" asked Fitz.
"Counted them off one through ten until he'd counted them all. Then he burned all the tenth ones to teach the others a lesson." Hilda grimaced again. "Not a tear was shed that day, I'll tell you. Blackthorn could have burned every one of those bastards and the people of Brighton would have gladly chopped the wood for the fires. Their cowardice got thousands of innocents killed. Nearly every family lost somebody, a mother, a child." Hilda shored her courage up for the next words, but even as she did, tears filled her eyes. "A grandmother."
"Your grandmother?" Fitz guessed.
Hilda nodded and blew her nose on her sleeve. "Look at me, I'm a silly old woman, still crying over a dead grandmother from nearly eighty years ago."
Fitz got out of her chair and wrapped Hilda in a hug.
Hilda cried some more before pushing Fitz away. "The old saying is true. Fear brings out the worst in people." She took Fitz's cheeks in her knobby old hands and held Fitz's face as she looked into Fitz's eyes. "Be careful with the truth. Be careful with the fear. Hopefully, you can save Brighton, Fitzgerald. Hopefully you can prove that my intuition about you was right."
Chapter 51: Bray
Bray slowed his horse, guiding it around a patch of thick weeds that had grown over the trail on which they were riding. He'd taken one of the lesser-known smuggler's paths up a mountain, hoping to avoid the high elevations and the deeper snow, but it had been a long time since he'd come this way. Things didn't look the way he remembered.
"Earlier, you said you met some people from Brighton," Bray asked over his shoulder. "Who were they?"
Kirby was quiet for a moment. "A few hunters," she said.
Curious if more strange people were about that Bray hadn't seen before, thinking they might not actually be from Brighton, he asked, "What did they look like? Were they dressed like you?"
"No, they were dressed the same as you," Kirby answered.
"Not as handsome, I assume." Bray sat straight on his horse and tipped back his shoulders.
"No, they were pretty much the same. Dirty. In need of a shave," Kirby's laughter echoed through the trees. "Fewer scars, maybe, but I didn't pay attention. I don't have time for men."
Bray quieted for a moment, pretending to be insulted. "You know, most of my scars are from battles."
"So are mine," Kirby said with a smile.
Bray didn't need to question her to know she was telling the truth.
As they rode, the terrain grew increasingly steeper. Light snow covered the ground, speckling the tops of sticks and rocks in sparkling ice. A white glaze coated the tops of the tree branches. Every so often, Bray spotted tracks in the snow—mostly from small animals, but a few from barefooted demons. Those made him recall his fear as he pictured the twisted mass of demons he'd seen earlier.
Bray listened for sounds of the demons or the army, even though they were too far away to hear.
He was grateful that he'd convinced Kirby to come with him, but he was worried about what he'd tell her when she saw Winthrop and his army of zealots. What would she do when they encountered thousands? It was a lie he hadn't thought his way out of yet.
"I really appreciate you helping me out," he said, hoping to ingratiate himself. "Where were you headed before I ran into you?"
Kirby paused a moment. "Away," she said finally.
"You wanted to get away from where you lived, because everyone was dead," he surmised. "I understand that."
"Why stay, when everyone else is gone?" Kirby shrugged as she rode.
"Sometimes I feel like getting away from Brighton, even though my people are alive," Bray said over his shoulder. He quickly added, "But I have my son to think about. A life in the wild is no good for a boy."
"Of course," Kirby said. "Hopefully, we'll find him soon. And then I'll be on my way, with my horses."
Chapter 52: Fitz
Fitz and Ginger walked through the streets leading to the Academy. The cracked, well-traveled roads had become increasingly familiar to both of them over the course of days. The Scholars had chosen a building that was secluded from the rest of town, citing the need to preserve quiet. Fitz often wondered if living out here was an excuse to separate them from the brutal happenings in Brighton.
"It's so peaceful out here," Ginger commented.
"Yes. It's almost far enough away that you could escape the smell of the burnings," Fitz said.
Ginger shrugged. "Maybe that's the real reason they live out here."
"Minister Beck decides who is burned and who isn't. And then he retreats back to his Academy with his Scholars," Fitz said with disgust. "Or at least, he did, before he left with the army."
"Where do you think Beck is now?"
"He must be dead, if Winthrop is in charge," Fitz said with a shrug.
Looking left, Fitz recognized several broken-down buildings that had once been tall, but had since succumbed to decay, devoured by weeds and ripped to the ground. Animals and people had scavenged those ruins for years, taking every loose bit of stone and steel until they were too dilapidated to live in. On the right was a swath of trees climbed so many times by Brighton's children that all of the smaller limbs had cracked off.
"If I wasn't looking for the Scholars, I wouldn't know they were in hiding. The only time I saw them was when they came to The House."
Ginger gave her a sympathetic look.
"I remember when one of them tried talking to me in a different language," Fitz said. "He was trying to impress me."
Ginger laughed. "One did that to me, too."
"I can't imagine a life studying ancient artifacts, when there are so many other things to be done. But in a way, I respect their knowledge."
The only Scholar that Fitz had known well was Evan.
And now he was dead.
She wasn't sure if the Academy could help, but she hoped they might. After what she'd learned from Hilda, she was worried. If nothing else, adding some male bodies to the fight would help them to victory, and maybe the Scholars even had some ancient Tech Magic secrets.
In order to find out, they needed to get them to open the doors.
Rounding a patch of trees and peering down anothe
r street, Fitz and Ginger increased their pace until they spotted the large, familiar square building in the distance. The walls—made of blocks of stone leftover from the times of the Ancients—gleamed with a shine that rivaled Blackthorn's house. Several large windows looked out over the sprawling property. She imagined many servants were needed to keep the Academy in order, but there was no one taking care if it now. Most of the windows were blocked with boards. A few of the upper ones were open, but she saw no faces.
"I sense people watching," Ginger said quietly.
"As always," said Fitz. "Let's give it a try."
She approached the walkway and made her way to the door, raising her hand to knock while Ginger hung close by, holding her sword.
"Go away!" someone yelled before Fitz had knocked twice. The voice was gravelly and familiar. It was the same person who had yelled at them on previous visits.
"We need to speak with you! It's urgent!" Fitz called, trying to inject sincerity in her voice.
"As urgent as it was yesterday, I imagine," the voice said, mocking them.
Biting back her anger, Fitz said, "The next visitors you have won't be so friendly. The army is coming back to break down the circle wall. And so is an army of demons."
Silence. Then the shuffle of a few feet. Fitz heard muffled voices from somewhere in the building. She watched the windows, wishing she were speaking to a person instead of a door. Looking at the thick piece of wood protecting the entrance, she thought about battering it down, even though she knew it was too heavy. She needed to speak with someone face to face.
She was about to shout again when she heard objects being moved beyond the door. Fitz stepped back, reaching for her own sword. Maybe the Scholars had gotten sick of her visits and were going to threaten them, or worse.
The door swung open.
A cluster of shuffling, nervous men stood in the corridor, watching her. They wore long, white shawls similar to what Scholar Evan had worn. A few carried rusted spears that might've been artifacts. But they weren't threatening Fitz or Ginger. They looked concerned about what she had to say.
One of the men stepped through the group, meeting her eyes. Fitz was surprised. He wasn't from the Academy, but from town.
"Kreuz?" she asked, unable to hide the confusion in her voice as she recognized the owner of the smoked meat market.
"You better not be lying about the demons," Kreuz said, in the same gravelly voice Fitz and Ginger had been hearing through the door. "Come in and we'll talk."
Chapter 53: Fitz
Fitz and Ginger settled in two chairs around the table, looking at the ancient paintings on the walls in the Academy library. All around them, the Scholars were standing and watching. Only Kreuz sat across from them. After letting them through the entrance, Kreuz and his Scholars had taken them directly to the large room filled with mostly empty shelves of books, rusted pieces of metal that looked like they were on display, and empty chairs that lined the perimeter. Some still had notebooks and writing utensils sitting on the seats. Fitzgerald didn't need to see the Scholars sitting in them to imagine the number of hours they'd been used.
Farther down on the table where Fitz, Ginger, and Kreuz were sitting was a large, ornate box. Fitz felt the stares of dozens of pairs of eyes on her. Ever since she had killed Tenbrook's men, she felt as though she were living a life standing on the dais, watched by everyone. She turned her attention to Kreuz.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"I've been staying here since Tenbrook's last burnings," Kreuz answered. "Things were bad in town. It looked to me like they were going to get worse."
Fitz nodded. She couldn't deny what he was saying. The Academy was a good place to hide for someone avoiding the prying eyes of soldiers. And someone with as much money as Kreuz—a source of significant wealth in town—would've had no trouble convincing the Scholars to let him in. She could smell the lingering scent of smoked meat on his clothes, even though his market was halfway across town. That scent should've made her hungry, but she was too worried to think about food.
"Tenbrook's soldiers are dead," Fitz said, breaking the silence. "I'm sure you've heard that. But that isn't why I'm here."
"I heard." Kreuz furrowed his brow, but there was no emotion behind the gesture. "Tenbrook was worse than the rest. He did Brighton no favors."
"Blackthorn is dead, too."
"Yes," Kreuz said. "I heard that, as well." She imagined Kreuz had seen many more deaths than she had.
He tapped his long, bony fingers on the table, unable to hold back his questions any longer. "You said the army is coming to break down the circle wall. We'd heard those rumors, which were alarming enough. But now you say demons are coming too? How do you know that?"
Fitz briefed the Academy members on what she'd heard from her riders. She watched the expressions on their faces change as she explained how thousands of demons were headed to Brighton. Then she described the condition of the army, the chants, and Winthrop's leadership. Several of the Academy members looked at her, stunned. Even Kreuz seemed shocked.
"That many demons will be impossible to fight," Kreuz said, shaking his head. "And without the wall, we might as well be standing in the wild, if Winthrop's men manage to break it down."
"At the very least, we need the wall to protect us," Fitz said. "We can't let Winthrop and his men do what they're planning."
"We all knew Winthrop was going mad at that last meeting in the square," Kreuz said, his eyes narrowing. "But I must admit, I didn't think I'd ever see him again after he rode off on that horse."
A few in the room nodded, but no one agreed out loud, as if they were still afraid to be implicated.
"I understand you're scared," Fitz said, voicing all of their concerns. "But if this information is correct, Blackthorn is dead, and the only one left is Winthrop."
"What about Minister Beck?" Kreuz asked. "Have you heard anything about him?"
"My guess is that he's dead, too." Fitz gave a grim nod.
"That's what we were afraid of," Kreuz said, looking around at the Scholars.
"We're all in equal danger here. Demons aside, if Winthrop breaks down the wall, or if he gets in, we won't be talking like we are now. I wouldn't be surprised if he burned down the Academy the way Tenbrook burned down the Sanctuary. He's paranoid, and anyone who might oppose his rule isn't safe."
A glimmer of fear passed through Kreuz's eyes. "Let's say you're right. How do you propose we defend Brighton?"
"We need to organize defenses. We need to make sure Winthrop's men don't attack the wall, or get in. And we need to get ready for the demons."
The reality of the situation hitting him, Kreuz said, "So we're going to fight our own men?" He shook his head incredulously. "Wives and daughters fighting husbands and fathers?"
"If it comes to that," Fitz said stoically.
Kreuz stifled a laugh. "I don't see how that will work. I heard about your meeting in the square. You might have rallied all the women, but you really think a wife is going to raise a sword against her husband when he comes back?" He shook his head decidedly. "Not one will do it, when it comes down to it."
"They will, if they have to defend their children. And the majority of the women have already lost their husbands. Most of Blackthorn's army is dead. The widows in Brighton won't have any issues defending the family they have left. Everyone knows that if Winthrop's army breaks down the wall, every last person here will be killed, if the demons get in."
"Not all of Winthrop's men can be as insane as him. Surely they can be reasoned with," Kreuz argued.
"I want to believe that," Fitz said. "But are you willing to risk it?"
Kreuz looked around the room, his eyes resting on one of the rusted spears in a Scholar's hand. "Everybody knows the weapons are gone. Brighton is a town of inexperienced women and children. Even these men behind me have never fought in wars." Kreuz waved at the Scholars in the room. "No offense."
None seemed offended.
"So what is your plan?"
"We have women in the streets, collecting the weapons we have left. Some of the blacksmiths' families have offered to help forge new ones. They won't be as good as what the army uses, but they'll be better than bare hands."
"What else?"
"We have people. Lots of them. And the hope that we can work better together than separately." Fitz looked around the room at the Scholars. She put on her most convincing face. "There's no disputing you are some of the smartest people in Brighton. My hope is that we can figure out something together to battle the demons, and to keep Winthrop and his men from tearing down the wall. I've come to you for help."
With her final plea on the table, Fitz waited.
Kreuz looked around the room. His eyes landed on the ornate box that sat at the end of the table. "Can you hand me that box, Johnson?"
One of the scholars—Johnson—walked to the table and slid the box gently down to Kreuz. Kreuz reached to the bench next to him and picked up a bucket of water and a rag. Fitz studied the box. The box was studded with pieces of shiny metal, latched with a clasp and a working lock that had already been opened. As if he was putting on a show, Kreuz opened the box, tilted back the lid, and exposed the contents to Fitz.
"Books?" she asked, in a tone that couldn't mask her disappointment as she peered inside.
"Yes," Kreuz nodded. He dipped his hands in the bucket and washed them with the rag, then shook them dry. "I purchased these books from Minister Beck before he left for Blackthorn's war."
