The Last Survivors Box Set

by Bobby Adair

  Blackthorn nodded at one of the boxes. “Open it.”

  With no measure of hesitation, Tenbrook flipped a lid open on its ancient brass hinge.

  Blackthorn watched Tenbrook’s eyes as they fell on the desiccated tongues lying within. He saw nothing at all in those eyes—no surprise, no fear, no shock, and no abhorrence. Tenbrook didn’t have a weak stomach, not for the ghastly items inside the box and not for the odious methods that filled it, both indispensable qualities for a man who’d sit at the head of the council. As glorious as the seat looked from down there, among the dirty peasants, the townships could only be stably governed by a ruthless man, willing to do anything to succeed. Unfortunately, “anything” tended to be vile, indefensible acts that wore away the humanity.

  “True, then,” said Tenbrook.

  “Take one.”

  Tenbrook reached in and pulled a wilted tongue out of the box, measuring its weight on his hand, letting his fingers linger curiously on its texture, looking closely to read a leather tag attached by a thong through a hole in the tongue. “Beck?”

  Blackthorn nodded.

  With a chuckle, Tenbrook said, “I can’t imagine how the minister speaks without it.”

  “That tongue belonged to Minister Beck’s father.”

  “I see.” Tenbrook looked up from the tongue in his hand. “Is it safe to assume Minister Beck knows nothing of his father’s tongue’s whereabouts?”

  “That would be a safe assumption.” Blackthorn glanced over at the fire. “Toss it in.”

  Tenbrook’s face showed his surprise. “In the fire?”

  “Yes.”

  Tenbrook tossed it into the flames. “Would you like me to toss in another?”

  “No.” Blackthorn settled into his chair and sipped from his wine. “Each tongue in these boxes represents a lesson.”

  “A lesson?” Tenbrook’s face showed more curiosity. “How so?”

  “First off, Tenbrook, tell me what you think my assessment of your leadership abilities would be.”

  Tenbrook took a moment to try to read Blackthorn’s intent. He grinned again. “I’ve never known you to abide fluff in the answers you request, so I’ll tell you honestly what I think of my skills. Since I’m being honest, and have the utmost respect for your ability to understand the men in your command, I have no doubt we’ll agree. I am a superb cavalryman. My men love me as much as their own peckers. When you give me a task, I complete it without fail.”

  Blackthorn nodded. “So far, we are in perfect agreement.”

  “Men die under my command, sometimes more than I’d hope, sometimes more than the other captains expect. Sometimes the other captains scoff behind my back. Out of jealousy, they spread rumors whenever my imperfections come to the surface. I accept that I am not perfect. My men, though, believe that I am. My men accept that some of us will die in following our orders while stealing victories from the maw of the beast. The price of victory is not something we merely accept, it is a price we willingly pay.”

  “Why?” Blackthorn asked.

  “Why for me? Or why for my men?”

  “Both.”

  “My men pay the price because I ask it of them.” Tenbrook’s face showed no false confidence. “For me, I pay the price because on the day I first chose to put my foot in the stirrup, I chose to give my life to the townships. We are humanity’s last survivors. It is only through the devotion of men on the horse, men who carry the sword, that humanity lives through each year. I don’t wish for my species to be annihilated by putrid brutes. Nothing exists in this world which I will not attempt to conquer to achieve that goal.”

  Blackthorn nodded slowly. “We are of the same mind in that.”

  “Though you’ve never said those words to me, I’ve always known, and never doubted the truth of it.”

  Blackthorn nodded. “What else of your skill as a leader?”

  Tenbrook leaned back in his chair and took an unusually long moment of silence. “I dare say, I’ve read every book in Brighton that could be borrowed from a merchant or from Minister Beck’s scholars. The fact that I can read puts me in rare company. I may be the most well-read man in the three townships, outside of the academy. I understand mathematics better than all but a few of Beck’s learned men. Among peasants who can barely count the fingers on their hands, I might be one of the most educated men in the three townships. I know I’m the most academically advanced man among your officers.”

  “I don’t doubt that, and yet you have a weak spot.”

  Tenbrook nodded. “I do, but not one that is likely to cause me problems, unless I’ve miscalculated and you intend to slice off my tongue and throw me on the pyre.”

  Shaking his head, Blackthorn asked, “What is your weak spot?”

  Tenbrook paused again, having trouble admitting his shortcoming. He looked away from Blackthorn when he answered. “The complexities of navigating relationships with my peers leaves me often perplexed and angry. When I was a young officer, I chalked up my unproductive, adversarial relationships with them to their jealousy. Some of that may be true. Through the years, I have come to accept that I lack aptitude in this area.” Tenbrook captured Blackthorn’s eye and said, “Whatever in my nature is at the base of the chasm between me and the other officers, I suspect is also the basis of your dislike of me. My weak spot is a blind spot to certain subtleties of human behavior. It is not a problem that arises among my subordinates. I suspect that is because I define that relationship on my terms, as their unquestioned leader. When I am not the leader, problems arise.”

  Nodding, Blackthorn said, “It is true. I don’t like you, though I have difficulty explaining why. I can talk about your cavalier smile. Your obnoxiously consistent successes. Sometimes I secretly wish you a failure to bring your ego down to a normal man’s level. The list could go on, but taken by its parts, it doesn’t justify my dislike.”

  Tenbrook straightened in his seat and acknowledged Blackthorn with a nod.

  Blackthorn continued. “Sitting in the General’s chair, leader of the council and leader of the townships, I don’t have the luxury to ignore the complex subtleties of men who would see themselves as my equal, whether they be on the council, among the merchants, or even among my officers.”

  Tenbrook blurted, “I assure you, General. I am not one who would hold himself up as your equal. I have sworn my sword to follow you until the day I die, and I shall.”

  “I don’t doubt your loyalty, Tenbrook, not one bit.”

  “Thank you, General.” Tenbrook took a breath and ventured further. “With respect to your last statement, might I say that, from where I stand in your shadow, it appears you do more than tolerate these men that consider themselves your equal. You have a rare talent for managing those relationships. In the old days, men might have called you a politician.”

  Blackthorn’s face darkened. “You would call me a greedy buffoon in my own house?”

  “No, no,” Tenbrook pleaded. “That is the meaning attached to the word as it is used today. In the ancient books, most politicians were indeed greedy buffoons, but some rare politicians were able to navigate the spider web of relationships as though they were born to it and were able to bend it to their will with ease. That is what I say when I call you a politician, General. It is the highest compliment, given on how well you have managed the townships all these years.”

  “I understand.” Blackthorn nodded and looked vacantly at the fire, then back at his boxes of tongues. “Each of these belonged to a man who sought to bring ruin on the townships through his petty plots, his lust for power, or his seditious proselytizing on pacifism. Each of those is a story and a lesson that an intelligent man, if paying attention, might listen to, might understand, and might put to use as he manages the power seekers among his peers.”

  Tenbrook looked a
t the fire. “Minister Beck’s father’s tongue would represent just such a lesson?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why have we burned it?”

  “I intend to teach you the lesson I learned from the episode with minister Beck’s father.”

  Tenbrook was confused and trying hard to hide it. “Why? Is this solely for my benefit in smoothing the bumps out of my relationships with the other captains?”

  Blackthorn shook his head.

  “I don’t understand.”

  Blackthorn pulled in a deep breath and took the first step on a path that he dreaded, necessary though it was. “I intend for you to fill my shoes as General when the day comes that they must be stepped into.”

  Chapter 8: Ella

  “We have to get out of here,” Bray urged. “Come on! The soldiers won’t be distracted long.”

  Ella, William, and Bray fled the storage room, sidestepping the spilled belongings, exiting the house. The alley was clear, but it reeked of demons. For the first time since Ella had smelled them in the forest, the stench was a welcome one—the demons were keeping the soldiers at bay.

  Ella stuck next to Bray and William, creeping around the bodies, heading for the end of the alley. She blotted her tears. Seeing Samuel made everything real in a way seeing her aunt and uncle hadn’t. He’d confirmed what had happened. He’d given voice to their pain. Just a few hours earlier, Frederick and Jean had been alive, walking and breathing. She’d come to Davenport too late. If only she’d saved her silver years ago and moved to join them.

  Now she’d never see them again. She’d never see Melora.

  She glanced back in the direction of the square.

  “Ella!” Bray cautioned. “We can’t go back there.”

  Ella swallowed, fighting her heartache.

  “I don’t know this area too well, Ella,” Bray tried. “I need your help. Stay with us. Stay with your son. Help us get out of here.”

  Ella wiped her tears and concentrated. “Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll lead.”

  Following her childhood memories, Ella led them through the streets, holding William’s hand. She guided them past the houses as if she’d built them herself. She dodged barrels and debris, steering clear of the main roads. Bray kept a lookout. Several times Ella heard cries from adjacent streets—soldiers battling demons, demons razing homes—but she continued moving away from the noise. Right now, distance meant safety.

  They fled through an unkempt section of town. Fewer bodies lined the road, and the wreckage around them was evidence of its age, rather than the destructive hands of men. She’d played in these areas as a child, in street games and races.

  Had Melora?

  I’ll come back. I’ll find her…

  Ella swallowed the sick feeling in her stomach. Though she might’ve saved William by fleeing Brighton, she’d condemned others to die. This is my fault. How can I live with myself? They reached the end of a row of buildings. Ella paused at the edge of one of them, leaning around to inspect an open field of dirt. A hundred feet away was one of the rear entrances to Davenport. To her relief, the gate was open and unmanned. Two soldiers lay slumped on either side, shock contorting their dead faces.

  “Let’s go!” she mouthed to William and Bray, the guilt heavy in her stomach.

  They broke out into the open, casting glances in all directions. It sounded like the soldiers were still entangled with the demons. Whether more soldiers lurked in the woods, she didn’t know, but they’d face that obstacle later. Right now Davenport village was a graveyard for the unburied, a monument to Blackthorn’s cruelty.

  A side effect of the decision she’d made.

  Ella swallowed her bile and kept running until they’d reached the gates. She fought the words that kept repeating in her head, the voices of three hundred souls echoing in her ears.

  You did this, Ella. You killed us all.

  Chapter 9: Blackthorn

  As Tenbrook stared with his mouth open, Blackthorn wished he’d had another choice. He wished he’d had a son of his own to pass his name and title to.

  He thought about his wives, all three of them. Try as he might, none of them would bring him a child. What terrible luck he had that all were barren. Ironically, after each passed to The House of Barren Women, whatever malady had prevented his seed from finding the fertile field in their bellies had somehow cured itself. The third of them had a single child. The second went on to feed bastards into the orphanage. The first… Blackthorn didn’t want to think about the first one.

  Now, here he was, late in his life, sitting in the townships’ most powerful seat, not only without children but without the means to make one. His manhood had stopped functioning a year prior. After that, his urine began to leak at the most inopportune times. Now, he counted himself lucky on days when he had any control at all over his stream.

  To manage the problem, he’d taken to drinking nearly no liquids. He’d given up on alcohol. Still, in the mornings he woke to a wet bed. He’d taken on the services of a mute maid to wash his bedclothes daily. Each morning when he dressed, he stuffed a thick cloth in his pants to soak up anything that might leak out during the day.

  Now, his back hurt all the time and his joints were developing aches that seemed to grow worse each time he moved. Blackthorn, through his great success as a General and leader, now had the misfortune of having stayed alive long enough to get an old man’s disease. He’d wanted to die with a sword in his hand, not in a stinking, wet bed.

  Finally, Tenbrook spoke. “I am honored.”

  “I know.”

  Tenbrook looked down at the tongues. “I’ll learn all you can teach.”

  “I have no doubt.”

  “I will need every bit of insight you can provide when it comes time for me to step ahead of your captains, to sit equally, no, above, ministers Beck and Winthrop.”

  Shaking his head, Blackthorn said, “That will not happen. When you ascend to take my place, none of the old captains will remain here to be jealous. The two ministers will also not be your problem.”

  Tenbrook was taken aback. “Will you send them to the pyre?”

  “If necessary.” Blackthorn shook his head. “I don’t think it will be, though. I am developing a plan to handle all of them.”

  Nodding, Tenbrook said, “At your convenience, I’d be pleased if you could inform me of this plan.”

  “First, let me ask you, given your knowledge of numbers and your education, what do you think of Minister Beck’s theory that we will all starve unless the weather takes some very favorable turn for us?”

  Tenbrook cast a glance toward the door. “When I arrived, an early snow was starting to fall. Though I think the ground is too warm for much of it to stick.”

  “I was afraid the chill and the wind today bode badly for that eventuality. What of Beck’s other points?”

  “I would like to review the mathematics behind Scholar Evans’ analysis, but he is not one to make mistakes in either process or prediction. I fear Minister Beck is right. Famine is coming.”

  “I also believe that to be the case,” said Blackthorn. “The plan you asked about. You and I will talk many times about it over the coming weeks. I intend to activate the militia to support our cavalry. Twenty-two cohorts are at our disposal. I’ll leave it to you and Beck to tell me how many men I must take with me so that the rest of the townships survive. Fewer mouths to feed, you know. I will take this army, along with the older captains and the two ministers, to the Ancient City, under the pretense of clearing the demons from that city and ridding ourselves of demon hordes for all of our future days.”

  Shaking his head, Tenbrook said, “Stories from the Wardens who have had the misfortune to get lost and find themselves in the Ancient City say the demons are beyond number there. You may do little more than r
ide to your death.”

  Nodding, Blackthorn said, “Or to glory. If all of us die, the townships will avoid a famine. The transition from an old leader to a young one will proceed without skullduggery and violence. We may succeed in clearing out the Ancient City or we may not. If not, we will kill so many that we might preemptively protect the townships from hordes for another generation or two.”

  Tenbrook nodded gravely. “So this is the plan you have decided?”

  “It is what must be done.”

  Chapter 10: Ella

  Ella, William, and Bray ran until the cries of soldiers gave way to a bitter wind whistling through the trees. Pine and oak branches hid them from any eyes that might be looking. A light flurry had begun to fall, and the air had grown colder, invading the lungs of the travelers. Though their legs protested, they pushed on for miles, dodging thick strands of thorny bushes and streambeds that threatened to twist their ankles. Finally, they climbed a rocky incline to the crest of a small hill. They halted.

  Ella placed her sword on her lap, catching her breath while Bray watched the forest across the tops of the trees.

  “Winter’s coming early,” the Warden muttered, staring at the falling snow. Ella was barely listening.

  William leaned down beside his mother. His face was contorted with emotional agony. “You didn’t tell me Melora was my sister, Mom.”

  “I couldn’t.” Ella’s eyes watered, unable to contain the grief.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I just…couldn’t.”

  “You said she was my second cousin. You said she was too sick to travel when Uncle Frederick and Aunt Jean came to visit. Why did you lie?”