The Last Humanity (The Last Survivors Book 3)

by T. W. Piperbrook

  She shuddered at the thought.

  A pair of boots came to a stop on the floor in front of her.

  She sniffled, trying to stop her tears.

  "Stand, woman."

  Hanging her head, Fitz got to her knees, but fear of what she knew was coming froze her muscles in place.

  A hand reached under one of her arms. The voice, gentle this time, said, "Please, stand up."

  Fitz gulped down her sobs and got to her feet. Strands of her black hair pasted themselves to the tears across her face. As she blinked to clear her eyes, she hoped she would die at that moment to avoid the pain that was to come.

  Before her stood Captain Tenbrook, a man with a reputation like no other.

  Without a doubt, he was handsome to the point of beauty. He was tall, with strong but gentle hands, a man molded from the dreams of young girls. But the whisper among the girls old enough to have salacious fantasies was that this beauty of a man had no soul. He'd been born empty.

  Cruelties beyond imagination were mentioned in the quietest of voices, always with a look over the shoulder as though they were talking about an evil demon that could materialize out of ash in the wind. Always, though, the cruelties had happened to someone who knew someone, or whose cousin or niece had witnessed it. No name ever came with the rumor, as though the names themselves had run away from the stories in fear. Or the empty soul of Tenbrook himself ate them.

  And his men, wild-eyed and loyal, seemed to long for death at only the chance of one favorable word from Tenbrook's lips. All other in the cavalry hated him, or so it was said.

  Fitz wondered, as she looked through her mussed hair at that perfect face, if Tenbrook was an ancient demon-god, haunting Brighton for his pleasure.

  He reached a hand up to her face, and she flinched.

  "It's okay," he said, as gently as a father to a daughter. He brushed her hair from her face with three or four strokes. He pulled a cloth from a pocket and dabbed at her tears. "What are you doing here?"

  Fitz looked at Tenbrook, confused, unable to reconcile all that she'd heard with the kindness in the touch of his fingers, the softness in that rumbling voice.

  "Do you speak?" Tenbrook asked, concern on his face.

  Fitz nodded.

  Tenbrook tilted his head toward Blackthorn's still closed doors. "Did you have business with General Blackthorn?"

  Suddenly ashamed for what she'd intended, Fitz found the strength to say, "I was sent to ask General Blackthorn a favor."

  Tenbrook nodded, as though he had some information on the details of Fitz's request, though she knew he couldn't possibly be aware of her intentions.

  "For your husband?" he asked.

  Fitz didn't know how to answer that question, so she said nothing.

  Tenbrook stepped back and looked her up and down. "That is a lovely dress. Your husband must do very well. And he must keep you very well hidden. I don't recall seeing you before."

  Fitz thanked her stars that Tenbrook had never visited The House of Barren Women. If so, he'd have recognized her instantly.

  Tenbrook turned and took a few steps down the hall.

  Fitz stayed in her place.

  He looked back at her. "Come downstairs with me."

  Chapter 50: Bray

  Bray immersed himself in the forest. His trip to Coventry had done him good, though he could've done without the beating. His foray with the locals only deepened his appreciation for the wild. He soaked in the peacefulness and familiarity of the woods, allowing the isolation to wash over him as he thought of Ella.

  Whether it was his absence for the past day and night or some misguided nostalgia, Bray wasn't sure, but he hoped to make sense of it when he got back.

  Hopefully Ella, William, and Melora had survived without incident.

  Cutting a path similar to the one he'd taken before, he studied the ground for evidence that he'd been followed, but didn't see any. It was a precautionary habit that had saved his life on many occasions. One time in particular, a Warden had followed him to the outskirts of town and watched him enter Coventry, hoping to ambush him when he returned. If Bray's guard hadn't been up, he might've fallen victim to the man's perceived grudge.

  When he was fairly confident he hadn't been followed, Bray picked up his pace, tallying his coin. Despite his relaxation at The House and his spending on ale, he'd managed to save a bit of the money he'd been paid. Old habits, he supposed. His plan was to take it back to the Ancient City and keep a few coins on his person, should the scalps dry up.

  His nose ran from the cold. It was a bitter day—colder in the woods than in the township. He wiped his face with his sleeve.

  A few miles past town, he encountered several demons meandering in the trees, and he made quick work of them, tucking their skins in his bag. Although he wasn't fond of the weather, the early temperature made the demons lethargic, easier to kill.

  "At least I'll eat this week," he grumbled. Leaving the bodies behind, he thought of the rodents that would be appreciative of a quick, easy meal.

  A while later he approached the place where he'd left Ella, William, and Melora. He slowed. He saw nothing alarming, no proof that anyone else had traveled this way. Demon smell was in the air.

  Worry crept inside him.

  He felt an inexplicable concern for the people he'd left behind. If something had happened to them…

  He hastened his pace, drawing his sword. The chirps and chatter of the birds floated through the air, deepening his unease. If something had occurred, it wasn't recently. That meant he couldn't affect the outcome. He'd be too late. He'd gone a few hundred more feet when he heard voices. He smiled, picking out Ella's feminine lilt. Patches of clothing appeared through the trees. Three forms sat in the distance, talking in conversational tones. Grinning, he slowed down to sneak up on them. He dampened his footsteps and smiled mischievously.

  Within twenty feet of his companions, he saw the travelers sitting in a circle, facing the remains of a fire. They held their swords in their laps. He moved sideways until he saw Ella.

  She brushed her hair behind her ears, giving a genuine but cautious smile.

  He crept a few paces forward until he reached an open patch of dirt about ten feet from them. Then he stepped quietly into the open. He remained silent for a minute before speaking. He stroked his beardless face, shaven from his time in town.

  "Miss me?"

  Chapter 51: Tenbrook

  Tenbrook sat in Blackthorn's chair at the head of the table, with the fire at his back. He imagined how he'd look when this long, ancient table was his, bequeathed to him at the passing of the General on his folly into the Ancient City.

  Folly?

  No, Tenbrook only called it folly because despite the General's reasons, the mission didn't make sense. Sure, there was the stated justification, to thin the population and avoid the famine. The thing that didn't make any sense was why General Blackthorn had decided he had to die. Why not lead the pig chasers and dirt scratchers to their deaths and ride to safety with a few squadrons, or all the squadrons of his cavalry?

  Upon hearing the General's plan, Tenbrook's first thought was that the General was in the early stages of losing his senses as some of the old people in town did. He thought Blackthorn's plan was the idiotic product of a diminished mind. Tenbrook, of course, said nothing. After all, by some wholly unexpected miracle, General Blackthorn had chosen him as his successor.

  After coming to an eventual acceptance, and getting past the stifled giddiness of it, Tenbrook started to think about the problem rationally. What he concluded was that General Blackthorn was not suffering from an age weakened mind. Indeed, he seemed just as sharp as ever. He was a little weaker than normal, but each passing year had to be paid for.

  Tenbrook typically measured other men in terms of how quickly he thought he could slay them. The thought of one-on-one combat with the General still gave him pause. Not many other men did.

  He wondered if the General was playing
a complex game that Tenbrook had yet to see. He wondered if finding the answers to unspoken questions was part of the education that General Blackthorn was providing. He wondered whether the General was simultaneously grooming one or two of his other captains to succeed him, perhaps letting Tenbrook and the others proceed through some competitive vetting process, at the end of which, one would become the new general. The other two would have to die. That would be the politically expedient solution. The General would know that.

  With those stakes now stark in his mind—success or death—Tenbrook's excitement grew. These were the sorts of things that made life worth suffering the tortuously boring times for; these made the irritation of having to deal with dunces worth it.

  "How long do you require me to stand here?" Fitzgerald asked.

  Tenbrook looked up at the woman, knowing that he'd lost himself in other thoughts, even though he'd intended to get her expensive dress off and see those tempting curves.

  Tenbrook listened to the sounds inside the house for a moment. No noise came from upstairs. Tired old Blackthorn must have gone back to bed.

  Perhaps that was it. The General was getting old. Perhaps he'd rather die feeling the exhilaration of fighting for his life while swinging his sword, than lying toothless in a bed laboring for breath. That was something Tenbrook understood. If he lived as long as the General, perhaps he'd one day make a similar decision.

  He set all thoughts of Blackthorn aside, concentrating on the raven-haired beauty before him.

  "When I found you on the floor upstairs, you were holding your upper arm."

  Fitz nodded.

  "Did the General hurt you?"

  Fitz reached a hand over to touch her arm. "I'll be okay."

  Standing up from Blackthorn's chair so that he could look down on the woman, Tenbrook pulled his face into an expression to which he knew young ladies responded well. He made it appear as if he truly cared. "I have a man who tends to my wounded. He knows all there is to know about injuries and how to heal them. I could have him look after you."

  Fitz shook her head and said, "I don't think—"

  A raised hand from Tenbrook silenced her.

  "In moments of stress, people often don't know the extent of their injuries." Tenbrook tried his best to sound casual. "I had a man with me once. We were ambushed by a band of demons as we rode through the forest."

  Fitz's confusion showed on her face.

  "I tell you this story only because it is germane. I saw this man, Alvin was his name, fall from his horse." Tenbrook stuck his left arm out to his side. "He tried to catch himself. It's a stupid thing to stick an arm out when you fall from a horse. But instinct trumps training in some men." With his other hand, Tenbrook drew a line across his forearm. "I saw Alvin's arm snap right across there, like a twig."

  Fitz cringed.

  "In all the excitement of raising his sword and fighting for his life, he didn't realize he'd broken his arm. He never felt it. He didn't even know until the skirmish had ended, and all the demons were dead. I pointed it out to him then. He looked at it, completely surprised."

  "What…" Fitz started, and then gulped. "What happened to him?"

  Tenbrook shrugged as though it made no difference whatsoever. "Died of fever within a week."

  Fitz touched her arm again. It hurt quite a lot. Knowing it wasn't more than a bruise, she looked down without catching herself just to be sure her arm wasn't bent at an unforgiving angle.

  Tenbrook stood up and walked over to Fitz. Putting a comforting hand on her shoulder, he said, "What is your name?"

  "They call me Fitz."

  "Fitz," said Tenbrook, "I would be so pained to see you leave here with an injured arm. Allow me to check it, please."

  Fitz looked down at her dress, seemingly unable to decide how to proceed.

  Tenbrook looked at the deep red dress, buttoned from navel to neck, wrapped around her tightly enough to show every curve of her shape before spreading out into flowing folds the color of late summer roses. There was no way she could pull her arm out of it to show Tenbrook without peeling the dress down over her shoulders and half exposing herself.

  Something on the girl's face changed, as though she suddenly saw through his sophomoric plan to peel away her dress. Nevertheless, she thanked him for his kindness and started to undo the buttons, slower than was necessary and certainly slower than nimble fingers were capable of moving.

  The way her fingers touched the buttons, the way her hands lingered between her breasts, aroused Tenbrook, and he found himself unable to look away. He wanted at that moment more than anything else to see this woman naked, to feel her skin against his, to do what strong men do with such lovely creatures.

  The unbuttoning stopped when Tenbrook saw her navel, but his eyes could hardly turn away from the roundness of her breasts as they pushed out to spread the unbuttoned seam apart.

  In the same sensuous way Fitz had handled the buttons, she reached up to the left side of her neck and tugged the garment over her shoulder, wriggling her arm up as she went. When the movement was finished, the dress hung from her right shoulder, exposing part of one breast along with the injured arm.

  Tenbrook gave only the barest of glances at the bluing, finger-shaped bruise marks on the arm and found himself cocking his head ever so slightly to see the nipple hidden just under the button lined edge of fabric. His breathing quickened.

  "What do you think of the injury on my arm?" Fitz asked.

  Tenbrook looked up at Fitz's face. He could tell she knew what she was doing. He walked behind her, capturing her with one arm around her waist. With his free hand, he caressed the skin over the bruise as he looked down, seeing everything from his new angle.

  He pushed his pelvis against her from behind.

  "You're right," he said. "It's just a bruise."

  "Thank you," said Fitz as she spun away from Tenbrook's arm. In one swift motion, she pulled her dress up over her shoulder and turned to face him.

  Tenbrook looked at her eyes. He looked at her lips. He looked at her breasts, partially hidden by the open dress.

  Fitz said, "I'm afraid I disturbed General Blackthorn while he was sleeping and that caused him to do what he did. Unfortunately, in his mood, he was unable to hear my request."

  Tenbrook stepped forward, raising his hands to wrap the woman up and pull her close, but she stepped back, glancing at his hands. Tenbrook understood immediately. They were negotiating. He glanced up, as though to see through the ceiling to where Blackthorn lay in his bed on the second floor. "What was your request of him?"

  Fitz turned slowly, displaying all the curves of her backside. She finished the move and came back to face Tenbrook from another step farther away. "I'd prefer not to trouble you with something you can do nothing about."

  "I think you might find yourself greatly surprised by what I can do." Tenbrook smiled confidently.

  "Really?" Fitz laughed like a young girl hearing the braggadocio of a lovesick boy.

  "Yes," Tenbrook said, his face turning deadly serious. "There is little in the realm of the townships and all the unnamed villages that is beyond my purview." Tenbrook's coy smile returned. "Ask and let us see what I can and cannot do for you."

  Fitz shrugged, as if to indicate she might be thinking about Tenbrook's request. The dress slipped off her shoulder again. Fitz deftly caught it before too much of her private skin was exposed. "That sounds like it might be an exaggeration."

  Tenbrook reached quickly and grabbed Fitz's hand, holding her in a grip not tight enough to hurt, but powerful enough that she knew she wouldn't be getting away. "Perhaps we both promise too much. I will deliver on any promise I make. Will you? Or must you be forced?"

  Fitz's face showed a spark of panic, but she caught her composure as she slowly nodded. "I know what you want. I'm not a foolish virgin girl. I trust you, and I accept that you'll be truthful."

  "What is it you'll have?" Tenbrook asked.

  "Father Winthrop," said Fitz.
"General Blackthorn came to see him in the temple."

  Tenbrook tried to suppress a laugh at the things he'd heard lately about Father Winthrop. "I've been told he's locked himself in his chamber, wetting himself with fear, and that he refuses to come out."

  Nodding, Fitz said, "That is true and not."

  "How not?" asked Tenbrook.

  "Father Winthrop is gathering his courage to embark on the kind of quest that strong men such as yourself take for granted. He wants to go out with the army when they leave, but he can't force himself to do it."

  Tenbrook was confused. "What are you asking of me?"

  "Can you force Father Winthrop to go? Or, more accurately, can you ensure that General Blackthorn, despite his recent ambivalence, ignores Father Winthrop's pleas to persuade him otherwise, and force him, instead, to ride out with the army?"

  Tenbrook worked to suppress his laugh. This stupid woman was bargaining for something that General Blackthorn had already decided to do. Still, she seemed to have information about Blackthorn's thoughts on the matter that Tenbrook was not aware of. That was not a matter of concern for Tenbrook. It would be a simple matter to sway the General to do as the woman was asking.

  And in the end, did it matter one way or the other?

  Tenbrook had already decided he was going to tell her whatever she wanted to hear to make her a willing participant for what he had in mind. Of course, none of them stayed willing through all of it. "No need to worry on that count. The General and I discuss the matter of Father Winthrop with some regularity. I can see that the General will do what you ask." Tenbrook smiled and looked down from Fitz's captivating eyes to those two partially hidden breasts. "And now to your part of the bargain."

  Fitz pulled at her dress, slid it off her shoulders, and let it fall to the ground.

  Chapter 52: Bray

  Bray grinned. Ella shot upright, stifling a scream. She stumbled backward. She raised her sword. When she recognized Bray, she yelled, "You bastard!"

  Melora and William rose to their feet, looking startled and confused. When they saw Bray, their faces lit up.