by Bobby Adair
Maybe an opportunity was coming together. Beck looked at the trees at the edge of the forest.
He needed to escape.
Chapter 9: Melora
Melora readjusted under the blanket Ella had given her, looking through several thin cracks in the ceiling of the Ancient building. The moon looked the same as always—a bright, wondrous bulb. It was hard to believe she was viewing it from the Ancient City. A mixture of excitement and fear kept her awake.
She swallowed as she listened for William. She hadn't heard him for a while. She assumed he was asleep, run down from the exhaustive journey. She rolled over, trying to find comfort in her thin blanket. Tucking her hands under her chin, she smelled on her fingers the apple Bray had given her earlier. She had a meal and a place to stay.
Melora was grateful. Not only to be out from the wild, but to be bedded down in a place with protection. Her hands stung from the cold of night, but it was better than being outside, roaming among the beasts. Every so often, a demon wailed in the distance, but the noises were far enough away that she convinced herself that she, William, Ella, and Bray weren't in danger.
She'd just started drifting off when she heard voices. She snapped awake and looked around.
Bray was whispering to Ella. Melora strained to make out their conversation, but could only pick up a word or two. The Warden was keeping his voice low, but the casual lilt in his voice was one she'd heard before, normally by men who were trying to bed a woman or take a wife. Melora instinctively reached for her sword. She told herself that Ella could take care of herself. If Ella didn't like Bray's advances, Ella would tell him.
Right?
She recalled Ella's warning at the campsite when Bray had gone to Coventry. Despite the fact that the Warden continued to help them, Ella was mistrustful.
That made Melora wary, too.
Melora kept alert as the conversation continued. She heard the banter of voices as Ella deflected whatever suggestions Bray was making.
I should've stayed in the same room with them.
Bray had assured her and William they'd be safe.
Of course, he had.
He probably meant to separate them so he could employ his devious plan. Melora was about to spring to her feet when she heard Ella turn over. The conversation faded, leaving only the lingering sound of insects that were brave enough for the weather. Melora kept a silent vigil, but the noises had stopped. Eventually, she convinced herself it was all right to sleep. Thoughts of lustful men were replaced by dreams of Tech Magic. Now that they'd found a place to stay, maybe she'd find some of the Ancients' secrets that she'd fantasized about since she was a child.
Melora didn't remember drifting off, but she did.
Chapter 10: Beck
From far up the road, the sounds of a battle carried back to the campsite. Beck stood outside his tent, looking both at the woods and at the sprawling camp spread out past the rows and rows of tents that housed the sleeping militiamen. Or that's to say, the tents that housed the few soldiers who did sleep.
As Beck understood it, a third of General Blackthorn's draftees and half his cavalry were either patrolling the camp perimeter in platoon-sized formations or had gone up the road under Blackthorn's direct command, to take on the noisy horde of monsters that was moving down the road. As for the militiamen who had the chance to sleep, most weren't in their tents. Some stood by the fires, weapons in hand, watching the forest. Others walked the camp looking for food, Barren Women, or any other distraction that might take their minds off the danger of being outside the circle wall. Of the camp followers, few appeared to be sleeping. The camp was nearly as active as it had been hours ago before the sun went down.
Beck's four assigned guards were nowhere to be seen. Whether they'd merged with the platoons of men who were covering the empty pasture between the ministers' tents and the edge of the forest, Beck didn't know. He did know that a better chance to escape might not present itself. He already had his boots on his feet and his warm coat to protect him from a night that was turning to harsh cold. He had a knife in a sheath on his hip. He was ready to steal away.
But out there in the trees, the demons lurked. Shortly after they started howling, they attacked. They'd been attacking the camp since the sun went down. At first, they came in ones, twos, and threes, never at the same time. They had the camp frazzled, but they were easily handled by the platoons of soldiers guarding the camp's perimeter.
Thinking about escape, two unresolved questions kept Beck immobile. If he fled, how could he keep Blackthorn from sending horsemen out to find him? Short of that, what would stop Blackthorn from sending a rider back to Brighton to alert Tenbrook of the desertion? In that case, Tenbrook would scour the city until he found Beck, and then Beck would spend the last moments of his life breathing searing hot air from the pyre flames as they burned away the flesh on his body.
Beck trembled.
The more pressing question was whether Beck could evade the beasts in the woods. If they attacked him, he didn't believe he could defend himself. He had only the most rudimentary skills with a knife, and no experience in fighting anything but a thick slice of pork on his plate. He had no sword. No spear.
He couldn't steal the horse Blackthorn had given him to ride. To do that would be the clearest proof of escape.
A commotion to Blackthorn's left caught his attention. People screamed. Men cursed, and swords glinted in the light of the fires. Demons howled—half a hundred, maybe twice that. They were attacking.
Beck stepped quickly in the direction of the noise, getting away from the light of the fire, hoping to see what was happening.
Men ran in the direction of the fight. Others fled.
However many demons were attacking the camp, it was easily the largest group of the night.
Thousands of people across the encampment were on their feet, looking in the direction of the commotion. More were standing up and coming out of their tents.
Beck started to fear that he might not need to worry about escape. The night was only half over, and the demons were coming in greater and greater numbers.
He might die before he got away.
Chapter 11: William
After waiting for Melora to fall asleep, William slipped from underneath his blanket. He held his breath, certain the slightest exhalation might awaken the others. With cautious, creeping fingers, he reclaimed his sword. He got to his haunches. A sliver of moonlight shone through a crack in the walls, providing enough light to see Ella in the same position she'd been in when she fell asleep. Bray was dozing. William had watched the Warden over the past week. He'd studied him enough to learn his habits. Though Bray was observant in the ways of the demons, William was pretty sure he'd miss a cautious, lightweight boy who already knew the path he was taking.
William crawled on hands and feet until he'd reached the stairs, then slipped down them, avoiding loose stones and rubble. He pressed his boots firmly but quietly, his heart pelting his ribcage. His palms were sweaty on the sword handle.
Reaching the barricade they'd placed in front of the door, he set down his sword and quietly moved the smallest of the stones.
Soon he was in the open air. Cold air filled William's lungs as he drew a breath. The moon turned the buildings into hulking, irregular masses, giants that might uproot and follow him on colossal legs. He kept to the shadows, sneaking down the street, exploring.
The smell of demons was a potent reminder of the creatures around him. William kept going, driven by curiosity.
I'm one of them, he told himself. They won't hurt me.
In truth, he wasn't certain. William reached down and brushed his knees. The hard, swollen lumps were still there. He'd noticed more knots when he'd taken a bath in the stream. Thankfully, his mother and sister hadn't seen.
The spreading lumps were proof of what he was becoming.
Two more reasons for Ella, Bray, and Melora to kill him.
Would Ella and Melora join Bray when he sw
ung his sword? William wasn't sure. He no longer knew whom he could trust.
Swallowing, William let go of that thought and concentrated on the road. He took stock of where he was. He recognized a few of the buildings, even in the looming darkness. They were taller than any he'd ever seen in Brighton, constructed in a fashion he could hardly fathom. Despite the crumbling, decayed edges, the pocked walls, and the faltering tops, he could envision how they'd once looked: tall, proud and unblemished.
William continued, weaving down several streets, keeping track of where he was. He'd never been alone before. He'd run from his mother a few times, sure, but only far enough to earn a scolding.
The smell of the demons thickened. A fallen, rectangular shape of stone blocked the roadway. Something rustled behind it. A hiss escaped into the air: mucous-filled and thick. A demon. William stopped and stared at the piece of rubble, shaking. He held up his sword.
The moonlight revealed the edges of the stone, but nothing more. He gulped. Something else shifted in a nearby building, coming toward him and stopping. He sensed the demons' presence. Watching. Waiting. Perhaps they knew what he knew.
They were waiting for him to speak.
That had to be it. Right?
Finding his courage, William took a step forward and announced his presence.
"Come out and show yourself," William said, his voice tinny and weak.
His words died almost as soon as they came out of his mouth. They were accompanied by a shot of fear. He'd given himself up. If the demons didn't know where he was before, they knew it now.
He suddenly doubted the authority he'd asserted in the woods. Had the encounter in the forest been a coincidence? Maybe the creatures that'd attacked Ella and Melora had never listened to him at all.
He glanced over his shoulder. For a brief moment, William considered running back through the streets, calling out for the others.
But he was too far away. He knew it, and so did the demons. They had him.
They'll overtake me before I make it back. It's too late.
The first demon crept out soundlessly. William wasn't sure when it had appeared, but suddenly it was there, lurking next to the rectangular stone like a specter in the night. It stared at him, its eyes glinting moonlight. If it weren't for the beast's scraggly, naked form, William might've mistaken it for a villager, coming out to greet a passerby. Another demon crept into the open, emerging from a gloomy building to his right, then another, to his left. The three demons took several insidious steps forward.
William's panic thickened. Not only had he left his family behind, but he'd also made a decision that might cost him his life. Gritting his teeth, he held up his sword and prayed for bravery.
"Stay where you are!" he commanded.
He pushed courage into his words, projecting deepness he'd never found in his young voice. He waited for the beasts to charge, to overtake him in a flurry of limbs, but instead they halted. He blinked to ensure he wasn't imagining things. The beasts had stopped. Just like they'd done in the woods.
Just like he'd hoped.
A smile crept across William's face. Ignoring his pounding heart, he stepped forward. The demons made no move to intercept him. They hovered in silence, as statuesque as the buildings around them. If it weren't for the hiss of their hot breath through their broken teeth, he might've convinced himself he was alone.
William kept walking. He scuffed the ground, testing the beasts' reaction, but none moved. It was as if the command he'd given before had rendered him invisible.
Soon the demons were around him in a half-circle.
The fetid stench of blood and sweat filled William's nose, reminding him of whatever animals or humans had been unlucky enough to cross the creatures' paths before. Their breath plumed the night air. He watched their knobby, wart-covered shoulders hitch as they waited for his instructions.
He pointed to the rock from where the first creature had emerged.
"Get behind it," he said. "All of you."
He swallowed, hoping they wouldn't hear the crack in his voice. The creatures stared at him, their red eyes glistening in the dark.
Then they listened.
Chapter 12: Tenbrook
Tenbrook roamed Blackthorn's dining hall, barely noticing the ornate fireplace or the sprawling table that had enthralled him in his prior meetings with Blackthorn. He'd earned the General's seat, but he had no time to enjoy it.
He was focused on the information he'd heard from Tommy Dunlow—a tale of traitors about which he needed to learn the truth.
Like many other soldiers, he'd learned to tune out the noise around him and focus on a plan of attack. That ability to concentrate was one of the reasons he'd risen in the army's ranks, outlasting those with less patience and surviving them in the battlefield.
He stopped pacing the dining hall, running his hands over the decorative boxes that had once contained Blackthorn's tongue collection. He'd already dumped the remaining tongues into the fire. He had no use for a dead man's lessons.
It was time he created his own.
He reviewed what the backpedaling deserter Dunlow had told him.
General Blackthorn was to be murdered. That fact alone didn't concern Tenbrook. Any doubts he might've had about the General's returning were solidified by the insurgents' foolhardy plan. Let them kill him, or let them die trying. He didn't care. Even if they failed, Blackthorn would succumb to the disease that had driven him to the wild in the first place, leaving Tenbrook in charge.
Or Blackthorn would die in battle.
The deserters on the other hand—they concerned him. Tenbrook had no doubts in the abilities of the soldiers under his command, but a sufficient number of rabble-rousers might be able to overwhelm his army, depending on their numbers. That would leave Tenbrook susceptible to attack. Especially if others in the clergy or the Academy were involved and helping. His best plan was to ferret out the leaders, squeeze the information out of them, and dispose of their bodies. He'd burn the sedition from Brighton, one way or another.
No one would question him with Blackthorn gone.
He wasn't worried about Franklin. Franklin was as weak as Winthrop had been. Tenbrook had seen Franklin's indecisiveness as he'd burned Father Nelson. Others might not have noticed his trembling hands, but Tenbrook had. The hopelessness on Franklin's face was almost as satisfying as hearing the quick-tongued clergyman scream.
That memory gave Tenbrook a stir in his trousers.
That left Scholar Evan, the weasel-faced man that Beck had left in charge, the one that Tommy Dunlow had pointed to as the leader. Evan had never concerned Tenbrook, other than walking in Beck's shadow. Tenbrook wondered if Evan's intelligence had allowed him to devise a proper plan.
More than likely Minister Beck was behind it.
Beck would die in the wild.
That left Evan to deal with.
Tenbrook was pretty sure Tommy Dunlow was telling the truth. The threat of the pyre was enough to make most men tremble. He wouldn't be surprised if Tommy had gone home and laundered the piss from his trousers.
Of course, he had to consider that Dunlow had given up Evan to preserve his life. Perhaps Evan was the scapegoat that would clear Tommy of all wrongdoing.
Tenbrook pondered that twice.
He scratched his smooth chin.
Tenbrook would keep the Dunlows and their family close by while he sorted things out. Whether that led to the pyre or some other torture of his imagining, he wasn't sure yet.
Footsteps beat the hall outside Tenbrook's door. The footsteps softened as someone approached the room, probably considering what kind of mood Tenbrook was in, or how lightly he should knock. The respect Tenbrook had gotten from his men before had amplified with his new appointment.
"Captain Tenbrook?" A voice rang out, a combination of courage and compliance.
"Come in," Tenbrook said.
The door opened, revealing the tall, uniformed figure of Captain Sinko. The man had serve
d at Tenbrook's side for several battles. Tenbrook trusted him as much as he trusted any man—never fully.
"I've requested the rider secure the list of deserters from General Blackthorn's army, as you ordered," Sinko said. "He'll leave in the morning."
"Thank you," Tenbrook said, unable to suppress a smile. "That will be very helpful. Make sure the census-takers know the importance of naming these deserters."
"Of course, sir."
He dismissed Sinko and returned to looking at the empty boxes. The army should already be at their first camp, bedding down for the night. He'd have the list of deserters soon. Once he had all the information he needed, he'd start filling Blackthorn's empty boxes.
Once Evan's plan was discovered and taken care of, he'd figure out a way to take care of Franklin.
Then he'd be the sole ruler of Brighton.
Chapter 13: Oliver
Sitting by the fire watching Winthrop, still surrounded by more than a hundred militiamen and camp followers, Oliver took his dagger out of its sheath. After his experience with the demons earlier in the day, he didn't want to be empty-handed when they were getting close. Judging by the wailing from the western edge of the camp, the demons were nearby.
Winthrop's voice rose to a bellow of fast words that sounded half like a song and half like a plea to his invisible gods. He stared at the fire. He could have been begging for mercy or calling down thunderbolts. Whatever the purpose, Oliver was bolstered as Winthrop's babble turned into a droning chant.
Tens or hundreds of beasts howled. Urgent shouts preceded dying screams from one side of the camp. The demons were attacking in force.
Winthrop found a new rhythm and a higher octave in his chant.
