by Bobby Adair
"Do you believe they'll come from both directions, sir?"
"It is not whether I believe they will; I know they could. That is what we must be prepared for. Send two squadrons forward. Keep them well back of the foremost defensive line. You stay with the other two squadrons camped on the hill. Support the forward squadrons as necessary. Rest your men as much as you're able."
"Yes, sir."
"We'll divide command of the battle tonight. I'll keep two squadrons of cavalry to support our position in the rear."
"Sir?"
"You do not understand?"
"Would it not be better for you to remain here on the hill to direct the whole army?"
"Yes." Of course, it would. Blackthorn didn't need that question from Captain Swan. "You're a capable captain. You'll have no trouble managing the defense at your end. Tonight, I may need to swing my sword and shed demon blood. It has been too long since I rode with my brothers into battle."
"I understand."
Something's got to matter…
As inevitable as the death of the army was, Blackthorn wouldn't die without a fight.
Chapter 32: Evan
Evan hurried from Blackthorn's house, looking over his shoulder. Only when he realized he might draw suspicion did he slow his pace.
Calm down. You're not in danger. Not yet, he told himself.
The truth was, he wasn't sure. One or more of the deserters were untrustworthy. In only a few days, his and Beck's plan had unraveled. How could this have happened? Where were the Dunlows? Did they know about this?
And what was Beck doing now? Did he know the plan had been foiled? Evan's foolish hope was that Beck would've absconded by now and returned so they could make a decision on what to do.
I need to warn him.
Evan needed to send out a rider to the army. He just hoped he'd catch Beck in time, before he did anything that implicated him too strongly or that Beck couldn't talk his way out of. Cursing the danger he'd put himself in, Evan scurried down the alley, trying to determine who might've spilled the information.
In truth, it could've been anyone. The deserters were peasants, not soldiers. Tenbrook was right. They were scared men, risking their lives, fearful of the pyre like everybody else. That was the downfall of his and Beck's plan. Not that he and Beck hadn't thought things through, but that the men they'd recruited weren't as motivated as he and Beck were. That thought led to another.
What if the Dunlows had betrayed him?
Evan had been so busy rounding up horses and weapons that he hadn't spoken with them in a while. A surge of dread coursed through him. If he'd spooked the Dunlows, they might've sold any number of lies to the new General.
But that didn't make sense.
If the Dunlows had spoken, wouldn't they have given him up to Tenbrook?
It didn't sound like they had.
He knew they'd used Minister Beck's name to do their recruiting. They obviously knew Evan was involved. Any one of those deserters could've flipped and gone to Tenbrook, hoping to curry favor.
Unless… What if Tenbrook already knew Evan was involved? What if the meeting was an attempt to stack the pyre kindling around his feet?
Evan swallowed.
Dammit.
There was no way to know.
Evan felt like he was a man tossed into the River of Brighton with his arms lopped off, kicking desperately for the banks. For a second, he contemplated throwing the whole plan, blaming the whole conspiracy on the Dunlows. He might get away with it. Tenbrook would be more apt to believe an appointed Elder than a scorned merchant's family with a grudge against Brighton. Of course, that meant the plan was finished. Could he do that to Beck?
What should I do?
Evan paused and looked around the deserted alley, his heart pounding. Even though he'd accepted that death might be the result of his participation, he wasn't ready to give up yet. He couldn't make a rash decision that would get him killed.
He needed to think logically. He'd promised Tenbrook he'd look into the conspiracy. That was all. That should give him leeway to figure out what was going on.
I'll talk to the Dunlows.
I'll just make sure they don't suspect anything is wrong.
Chapter 33: Jeremiah
Jeremiah paced the muddy shore, waiting for the strange contraption to float back over the water, even though he knew Ivory and the strange man weren't coming back. His anger rose as he replayed the escape in his head. If they hadn't seen him yesterday, he would've caught them. He would've squeezed their necks until they divulged their secrets. Instead, he'd been squishing through the banks of the salty, shit-ridden ocean for more time than he cared to think about. He stomped the ground, watching wet soil cave around his massive boot print.
Who was the hell was Ivory with, anyway? It appeared the man had been controlling the device, whatever the hell it was. That led Jeremiah to reconsider the man's features. He'd certainly looked like a demon when Jeremiah had seen him yesterday. Between his odd gait and his pale, swinging arms, he'd been different than any man Jeremiah had ever seen. The more Jeremiah thought about it, the more he was certain he'd been one of the beasts.
Jeremiah grunted and spat in the water. It had to be a special demon if it was helping Ivory, instead of playing in its own shit.
"Strange," he muttered.
He'd never seen anything like it before. But that wasn't even the most interesting thing. If Ivory and the demon had Tech Magic, they might possess even more interesting treasures than piles of moth-eaten books. There might be a hoard of treasures close by, things that would make Jeremiah a powerful man, indeed.
Jeremiah spun, his attention roaming from the never-ending ocean to the building the floating object had come out of. He squinted as he tried to see the cavernous, dark space. He took a step toward it. It was doubtful Ivory and the demon would return anytime soon. Not when they knew he was after them.
But maybe that would work to his advantage.
Grinning, Jeremiah pounded up the bank and toward the street, heading for the entrance to the building.
Chapter 34: Tommy Dunlow
Tommy Dunlow peered out the glassless windows of the ramshackle house, hidden just past the busy corner of Market Street. Timmy stood next to him. Unlike the house they lived in, filled with opulent objects and sparkling treasures, this one was filled with sweaty men and sparse furniture. Bands of deserters milled around them with nervous grunts and clipped conversation, waiting for the stream of soldiers that would force them into a confrontation.
Tommy and Timmy knew Evan's plan had been hopeless from the beginning.
As much as Tommy and Timmy hated Blackthorn, they were smart enough to know a political move when it presented itself. The other day, Tommy had given up the conspiracy to Tenbrook. His hope was that he and Timmy would ingratiate themselves to Tenbrook, who in all likelihood would be the new General if Blackthorn didn't return. They would restore their family's status in Brighton.
Tommy had also sold a lie that Blackthorn's life had been threatened. It wasn't true, as far as he knew, but it was enough to severely implicate Evan.
There was a good chance Blackthorn would die in battle. Rumors of the horde indicated that it was the largest band of demons Brighton had ever encountered. Regardless of Blackthorn's bravery, Tommy and Timmy hoped the sheer number of demons would strike him down.
Either way, the Dunlows' hands would be clean.
At least, that was their hope.
Tenbrook had promised he'd send a note to Blackthorn excusing the twins of their military duties. He promised he'd keep them safe.
They'd heard nothing since that initial meeting.
Several times, Tommy had sent messages to Tenbrook, hoping for another word with him, but none of his notes had been answered. He'd even crept close to Tenbrook's house, hoping for a conversation, but guards surrounded the property.
Tommy was afraid that showing his face again might lead to his death.
And so—after several days of frayed nerves and frantic conversations—Tommy and Timmy had moved their band of deserters from their house to this new location on Market Street and had hidden their family. Not wanting to spook Evan, they'd sent word to him. Now they were waiting. For what, Tommy didn't know. It was getting harder and harder to placate the men around them, who were expecting Tommy and Timmy to lead them into battle.
Tommy swallowed with fright.
They were essentially hiding among a band of men they'd betrayed—men who would string them up and gut them if they knew. But what else could they do? If they remained at home, the neighbors would report them for deserting, and Tommy and Timmy's family—their father, mother, and sisters—would be implicated.
Tommy stared out the window, catching glimpses of the farmers and merchants down the road, peddling their wares. Fear burned in his belly. At any moment, he expected to see a cordon of soldiers rushing toward the house. He'd give up. Hopefully, the other insurgents would die in battle, and Tenbrook would spare Tommy and Timmy's lives.
Timmy tugged on Tommy's arm, interrupting his thoughts.
"Who's that?" Timmy hissed, pointing a nervous finger out the window.
Tommy peered past a cluster of women with baskets, catching sight of a familiar form headed in their direction, a hood over his head. The man was walking hurriedly, staring at the ground.
"I recognize the walk," Timmy said.
"So do I."
"I think it is Scholar Evan."
Chapter 35: Jeremiah
Jeremiah drew his sword as he stepped into the ancient building. The smell of the salty, damp air bit his nostrils. He crept through a walkway in the interior that lined the left wall, temporarily forgetting the pain in his arm. Whatever he found in the building might make his injury worth it.
Cracks in the building's walls shed rays of light into the building. Once his eyes adjusted, he had enough light to see water glistening to his right, more than he'd seen the night before. He assumed that was where Ivory and the demon had stored the strange contraption. He hugged the narrow walkway, wary of the several-foot drop into the water. He knew that losing his footing might lead to his death. Jeremiah couldn't swim. He had no idea how deep it was. His echoing footsteps added to the mystery of what might lay ahead of him.
Jeremiah cursed as he crunched over loose stones and debris, following the path until he noticed a staircase. He huffed in triumph as he found dusty boot prints. The prints overlapped on the stairs as if someone had made numerous trips.
Demons' feet were bare. A person had been here.
His grin widening, Jeremiah traipsed up the staircase. His heart hammered as he carried his sizeable weight, but he didn't slow down, and he didn't stop. The prospect of a room full of treasure drove him on.
Lungs burning, he reached the top of the staircase, finding several shut doors in a hallway at the top. Most of the doors in the Ancient City were broken down, ravaged by years of scavenging and demon activity.
These were intact, or, at least, closed.
Although there were footprints next to every door, the majority led to one door in particular. Examining it, Jeremiah saw the tarnish worn off a metal handle. The handle alone would be worth something.
My efforts are already paying off.
With a smug snort, he yanked the handle. The door wouldn't budge. He paused for a moment, considering whether it would be worth the gamble to break the lock. What if nothing was inside the room? Outside, the waves lapped against the shore. Demons screeched in the distance.
With a grunt, Jeremiah stepped back and heaved himself against the door. The door gave way on the third slam.
He barged into a well-lit room.
He gasped.
Shelves lined every wall, filled with books. Some were stacked on top of each other. Several rusted metal chairs sat by the window, as if someone spent considerable time in one position. A book had been left on one of the seats as if the owner meant to come back to it. Looking around to ensure he hadn't entered a trap, Jeremiah lowered his sword and walked around, inspecting the books carefully. Although he had no taste for such things, he knew he'd discovered a pool of money.
The books dazzled him enough to make him forget the other treasures he'd expected. He picked the book up from the chair, unsurprised to find several pictures similar to the object he'd seen on the water. His grin widened.
If he could read, he might be able to decipher the Tech Magic these books held. Even as he had the thought, he knew that was a fool's dream. Jeremiah would never have the patience for that. He might be adept at hunting creatures in the wild, but that was the extent of his talent.
Beck could read.
Beck had promised him a thousand coins. A grand sum, for certain. But what if Jeremiah could have the coins and the Tech Magic? What if he could force Beck not only to give him the money but also to provide him with powerful devices that might solidify his status? Jeremiah laughed as he pictured using some Tech machine to ride over the dunces that had wronged him.
A childish laugh escaped his throat. His body filled with such giddiness that he couldn't remember feeling this way since he was a boy. His future was sitting in front of him in yellowed pages and spines, and all he could think of was revenge.
He laughed until his body ached and his sides felt like they might burst open. Then Jeremiah sat down on the chair by the window and pulled out his snowberry.
It was time to celebrate.
Chapter 36: Evan
Evan scooted up the worn steps and rapped on the door at the end of Market Street. The conversation drifting from the open windows ceased. The men inside listened. Evan cocked his head enough to see a dirty face peering back at him through an opening. A few seconds later, the door swung open, and someone escorted him inside. Evan swallowed the thought that he might be in danger. He dug his hand in his pocket, verifying he still had his knife.
Evan wasn't a fighting man, but he wasn't stupid.
Unlike the house he'd entered several days ago, this one was dirty and looked like it'd been used to store animals. The air reeked of men's bad breath and unwashed armpits. He looked for Timmy and Tommy in the room but didn't see them. All around him were faces of deserters whose names he didn't know, and probably would never know.
A dirty-faced man pointed him to a back room, indicating that he'd have to escort himself. Evan nodded at several groups of men who had stopped conversing to stare at him. They seemed agitated and nervous. He made his way through a main room and into a back quarters, crossing a threshold that didn't have a door. Tommy and Timmy were inside, watching him. He noticed they were standing by the window, next to a table filled with knives and swords.
"We expected to hear from you yesterday," Tommy said, doing nothing to hide his agitation.
Evan looked for something deeper in Tommy's tone, but couldn't find it. "I'm sorry. I'm still gathering up horses and more weapons. I got your note about moving to the new location."
"When are we going to strike?" Tommy asked.
"I'm working out the details," Evan said evasively, realizing he hadn't thought the conversation through. His hope had been to find the truth in Tommy and Timmy's eyes. They looked nervous, but maybe those nerves were normal? Evan glanced through the open threshold. Some of the conversation in the main room had ceased, giving way to stares and eavesdropping.
"Are all your men accounted for?" Evan asked, keeping his voice low.
"Of course." Timmy drilled Evan with his stare. "Why wouldn't they be?"
"I wanted to make sure none had reconsidered."
"Of course not," Tommy said, furrowing his brow. "You asked us to round up men, and we did. We trust them as much as we trust you."
"When can we expect word from you on the attack?" Timmy asked, his impatience growing.
"Very soon," Evan said. "I'll have word to you by tomorrow."
"We'll be here waiting."
Chapter 37: Tommy Dunlow
"D
o you think he believed us?" Tommy whispered to Timmy as they watched Evan weaving between the market dwellers, his frock billowing behind him.
"I hope so. We have to get out of here, brother. The situation will only get worse."
"I agree. I think if we stay here, we'll end up dead."
"Did he seem strange to you?"
"It was hard to tell. Evan always seems strange."
"This silence from Tenbrook is making me nervous. Let's send another note to him. If we don't hear from him, we'll consider approaching his house."
Chapter 38: Oliver
Nobody paid attention to Oliver. Why would they? He was just a boy.
As he walked up the road, he spotted Blackthorn's tent up on the hill at the bend in the river and made that his goal. Oliver knew another tent up on that hill would go unused, a big tent, probably with warm furs, thick pillows, and with any luck, food. Winthrop's tent. Since Winthrop had gone crazy and seemed content to spend another night chanting nonsense by a fire, while demons howled in the woods upriver and militiamen brought twisted bodies as offerings, his tent would go unused, again.
What safer place to sleep than on a hill in the center of the army's strength?
At the base of the hill, Oliver got off the road and worked his way up the hazardous slopes above the river. Few trees grew on the steep side of the hill, but plenty of bushes provided cover and something to grab onto when the footing grew treacherous. Saplings sprouted among the bushes where the steepness of the side of the hill eased near the top, providing more than enough cover to keep Oliver hidden.
Oliver raised his head above the shrubs to get a look at the top of the hill and to get his bearings.
Several rows of soldier's tents were lined up across the hill's flat top. Horses and men were among the tents, busying themselves with chores that were of no concern to Oliver. One part of the hill stood at a higher elevation than the rest, and that's where Blackthorn's tent stood, along with Winthrop's.
