She quirked an eyebrow. “Aye, but ya will.” The voice of experience.
Aidan shuddered again. “How do I—”
“Not now, sir. You need to rest.” She started to pull away, and he reluctantly released her, only to be overcome with a wave of pain and nausea that threw him onto his back when she was no longer touching him.
He groaned and grabbed her hand to stay her. “Don’t go.” The full weight of what had just happened crashed down on Aidan’s shoulders. Had she not shown up, would the guards have bothered to stop? He would have failed them, his family, Slaíne. All of them. As he closed his eyes, the girl lay down next to him and pressed his shaking hand against her heart.
“I ain’t going anywhere, sir.”
* * *
When he awoke the next morning, Aidan found he was nearly crushing Slaíne against him, his body curled around her. He moaned and unwittingly lost grip of everything he held in Nothingness.
Slaíne jumped as the sword clanged on the ground next to her. “Sir,” she hissed, reaching for it. “You need to send it back or use it.”
Aidan had grabbed her hands and was holding them pressed against her. He was trying to send the sword back along with everything else piled up in the room, but it was proving difficult. He hadn’t realized that the toll on his mind had been as taxing as on his body.
Footsteps and shouts sounded up above, and human Pulls drew near as Aidan Dismissed the sword, the saddlebags, the saddle, and that was as far as he could get before the guards came rushing in, followed by Dewhurst.
“What was all that….” The lord stopped short at the sight of the patera, wood, and odd belongings strewn across the floor. He swore. “Where did you get all this?” It was then that he noticed Slaíne, who was still trapped in Aidan’s arms. “What the devil? How did she get down here?” Dewhurst struck the nearest guard across the face with the man’s own dirk. “Search through this – this filth and see if the maps are there.”
Aidan had a strange impression of Dewhurst. He looked furious, his face red and his nostrils flared, but there was a hollowness in his chest, an ache as he stared at Aidan and Slaíne, the latter of whom had gone rigid. Aidan didn’t know what to make of it, until the man’s feeling disappeared completely and was replaced with icy terror, though his expression remained livid.
“Who turned on me? Who dared touch my prisoner without my consent?” So, he’d spied the bruises. He shook from head to boot. “She’s going to kill me.”
The guards were on their hands and knees searching through everything Aidan had accidentally Summoned. They said nothing, not even as their one bleeding comrade got down on his knees as well, dripping blood everywhere as he searched.
Blood. It occurred to Aidan then why he was able to guess what Dewhurst was feeling and thinking so easily: his blood was in Dewhurst’s system. What other advantage might this give Aidan? He did not know, but for now he settled for latching onto Dewhurst’s thoughts in what he hoped was a subtle enough way as not to draw attention.
Get the maps, the impression of Dewhurst’s thoughts pressed into his mind. Get the maps, and it won’t matter if we slaughter Ingledark here and now. I will be her equal, at least. Absently, Dewhurst patted at his pockets. There was a presence in there, a mix of iron and another metal. Difficult, that.
Aidan could try to Call what he guessed to be the key, Summon the sword, and run the man through while Slaíne unlocked his shackles. He explored the key’s Pull and repulsion as Dewhurst continued to pace. No good. The metals were too closely bound. If he gave it a Tug, the non-iron part might respond, but the iron part would stay in Dewhurst’s pocket, and Dewhurst would know what Aidan was attempting. If only he could fool Dewhurst into handing the key over….
As if in response to Aidan’s silent wish, Dewhurst removed the alloyed key from his pocket and held it out. He stared at it for a moment, his face void of expression. With a blink, it was back in his pocket. Dewhurst looked befuddled for a moment before shaking his head and turning back to his guards and swearing. “What’s taking you so long? Have you found it?”
The bleeding guard stood whilst applying pressure to the wound on his face. “There’s nothing, sir. Well, not nothing.”
“Well, what is there, then?”
The other men stood, too, their faces red from exertion. “Well,” said one, “there’s lots of hay. Which means he has a horse.”
Dewhurst’s face turned as red as raw meat. “What the devil sort of good is that going to do me?”
The man quailed and took several steps backward. “If he’s got one, why did he not ride in on it?” The question was raised on the end of the sentence, the man obviously stressed and tense.
“Who the ruddy well cares? I’m looking for paper, not horses.”
Aidan released Slaíne, after whispering in her ear, “This is our chance. Wait for my signal then approach Dewhurst.”
She gave him a confused look but nodded.
Aidan closed his eyes and homed in on Dewhurst’s thoughts. They weren’t as clear as they had been moments earlier, but Aidan latched on to them anyway and tried directing his own wants and ideas toward the man’s mind. He’d never controlled a human being before, but he had controlled objects, and he used the same intuitions and principles. Hearing Dewhurst complain of a stomachache in his mind, Aidan gave his thoughts a Push as he would Push a piece of paper, lightly and delicately.
Dewhurst’s hands went to his middle as he towered over his guards and continued barking at them.
Aidan held on to Dewhurst’s thought and pretended as though he could see it. Put your hands lower, in your pocket again.
Dewhurst obliged.
Sweat formed on Aidan’s brow, and his head was beginning to ache. Now, slip out the key and hold it out behind your back. His head screamed at him to stop, but he knew he might never get a chance like this again. With all of his mental might, he Pushed the thought at Dewhurst until, at last, the man slipped a hand into his pocket and again produced the key. Behind your back. Put the key behind your back.
Again Dewhurst unwittingly obliged.
Aidan nudged Slaíne, who rose to her feet and sneaked up behind Dewhurst.
Still holding Dewhurst’s mind in his hands, Aidan used the last of his strength to will Dewhurst to release the key and then forget about having done so.
Fortunately, Slaíne guessed what Aidan was up to and managed to catch the key before it could fall, and returned to Aidan before one of the guards noticed her. She was back beside him in a blink. “Now what?” she asked.
But Aidan couldn’t answer. All strength had left him, and he began to cough. I hope Slaíne’s hidden the key away.
Gone were Aidan’s impressions of Dewhurst’s thoughts and whims. They were replaced by a dull ringing in Aidan’s ears as the nausea subsided. He gagged twice and then was still.
Dewhurst swore. “Someone, clean this mess up.” With that said, his Pull retreated as he ran to and up the staircase.
Despite the command, the guards didn’t remain behind; Aidan felt all of their Pulls retreat, and heard their feet scrabbling up the stairs not seconds after Dewhurst had used them. It was now only Slaíne and him.
“What did you do?” Slaíne whispered, her voice awed. “Ne’er seen nothing quite like that.”
Aidan attempted a chuckle, but it came out as a grunt. He blinked several times to clear his vision, but everything looked filmy and distorted. “Are they gone?”
“Yeah. Guess they can nay stand the smell down here no longer.” She then called them something rather colorful, and this time Aidan did manage to laugh.
“Do you have it?” he murmured.
“The key? Yeah. Should I use it?”
Aidan hesitated as she placed a cool hand on his throbbing forehead. “It might be best to wait until I’ve regained some strength. What are yo
u going to do, carry me out of here?”
Slaíne was silent. “He said three days he’d give you before…well, you know.”
“Yes, well—”
“Oh, for the love of mercy, what are you afeared of?”
Aidan groaned, and Slaíne pulled away her hand. “I’m in no mood to argue, so—”
“Never mind all that.” With that said, she took the key, went to his feet, and undid the shackles binding him. “There. Now, would you mind bringing that sword out, or do I gotta do everything myself?” She stared at him expectantly, until with a roll of his eyes, Aidan Summoned the sword.
Slaíne picked up the blade after it had clattered to the ground. “Right. They will have heard that, no? Get up.”
Indeed, there were more shouts overhead, and several Pulls returned to the mouth of the cell. “C’mon,” she insisted.
Trembling, Aidan raised himself to a sitting position. From there, he got to his knees, his muscles protesting. But soon he was able, with Slaíne’s help, to rise to his feet. Just in time, too.
Though the guards who had retreated were slow in their return, Aidan had just managed to ready himself as the first one came into view. “What’s all this?” the one in front asked.
Mercifully, Slaíne had thought to hide the blade behind her back. Even so, the men were eyeing her warily. “What? You afeared of me?” she said.
One laughed. The other one looked taken aback at her cheek.
Aidan knew what she was going to do before she moved, and he was helpless to protest or stop her. So as she ran the first man through with her silver blade, Aidan Dismissed the belt holding up the other man’s trousers.
The first one collapsed with a gasp, red blooming from his stomach as he toppled forward onto the floor. The second one stumbled out of his drawers and moved to pick up his blade, which had clattered to the ground, but Slaíne was already upon him, slicing him across the throat.
The guard’s hands went up to his neck as he sputtered blood, and she pushed the blade clean through his throat until it emerged on the other side. Dying, the man collapsed.
Aidan latched on to the deceased’s Pull, Dismissed it, and watched as the light left the second man’s eyes, Slaíne hastening his end like a dread angel of mercy. Once that man had passed, Aidan latched on to that Pull and Dismissed the second body. His head spun and his muscles spasmed beneath his own weight, but they’d only spent two minutes of precious time. “I don’t know if this is a good idea….”
But Slaíne would hear no complaints. She pocketed the key and came to where Aidan stood swaying slightly. Mercifully, his vision had cleared, and he could feel some of his strength returning, though not what had been lost in the weeks of being under-fed, bled, and remaining inactive. Putting one arm around his waist whilst holding the sword in the other, she helped him hobble toward the prison door, which remained ajar. No calls of alarm had been taken up, so they made their way up the stairs.
With each awkward step he took upward and away from the iron, the more like himself Aidan began to feel. But it wasn’t enough. He was getting lightheaded, and his knees began to buckle.
Slaíne swore below her breath and nearly lost hold of him. “Sir, you gotta keep goin’.”
But he sank onto the step he was on and clutched his head. His ears rang, and a vision overtook him. It was of a man, perhaps in his twenties, standing on Aidan’s family estate.
“Need some help?” the man asked sotto voce.
Aidan could feel himself being shaken, knew that Slaíne was there somewhere, tugging on him and urging him forward. Weary beyond belief, Aidan could do nothing but nod.
The familiar stranger gave Aidan a piteous smile before saying, “This is going to feel peculiar.” And with that, Aidan returned to the moment, Slaíne standing over him instead of the stranger.
“Blimey,” she murmured, her face red with exertion. “Can you walk?”
Aidan opened his mouth to answer, and that is when he first felt it, the sensation of becoming too large for his own skin. He had experienced something similar the night previous when the guards had come in to beat him, but that had only lasted a moment. A great swelling of strength and energy took over him, clumsily controlling his movements. Soon he was upright, walking with Slaíne as though his body were making its own decisions.
Slaíne gave him a confused look, but moved ahead of Aidan, sword raised as they crept around a corner. “Can you feel any Pulls, sir?”
Aidan closed his eyes and concentrated, but whatever or whoever was controlling his body was interfering with his ability to feel any Pulls…or have control over them. “I don’t think I have my abilities right now.”
“What? How’s that even—”
“Later. Can you get us out of here?”
The house was full of various noises: maids, perhaps, running around overhead; cooks and kitchen wenches chattering over the clatter and clank of earthenware and metal pots; and there were male voices, right around the corner. Aidan frowned, having no sense whatsoever where anything or anyone was. “This is disorienting.”
Slaíne hushed him and stepped forward to peek around the corner, and swore beneath her breath. “This way,” she mouthed.
Aidan followed her, or rather, whoever possessed control over him did, and they made their way toward where Aidan thought the kitchen might lie. They had no sooner neared the savory aromas of roasted meat and potatoes, than a voice rumbled from behind them.
“How in the blazes…?” It was Dewhurst, and his expression of surprise turned to one of indignation and rage.
Slaíne grabbed Aidan’s arm with her free hand. “Run!”
He didn’t need telling twice. Aidan ran after Slaíne, overtaking her at twice his normal pace. “Slow down,” he had to tell the stranger controlling his movements.
“Are you sure?” the man’s voice echoed in his head.
“I’m not leaving her in my wake. Slow down,” he said, knowing Slaíne must think him mad. He shrugged against his own volition.
“Fine. You might want to pick that girl up…if you don’t want to get caught, that is.”
“I’m not strong enough right now, I—”
“No, you’re not, but I am.”
Dewhurst was screaming for guards, his footsteps falling fast behind them. Any moment now, he would emerge from behind them, grab Slaíne – or worse – and they would be done for.
“You’re being dramatic, Aidan.” And with that, he halted against his will, turned, and picked up Slaíne as if she weighed nothing more than a sack of feathers. With barely a moment’s pause, he was back to running toward the kitchen.
Slaíne was shouting turns at him, and he was taking them. Servants scurried out of their way, and those that weren’t quick enough Aidan bowled over with inhuman strength. They had made it out the kitchen door, finding the kitchen empty, when they were met with a surprise on the back lawn.
Darkness had begun to fall, and surrounding the estate were men armed with bows and flaming arrows. At the sight of Aidan, they let out a cry.
“Sorry, mate. This is where I leave you,” said Aidan’s possessor, and the extra strength leaked out of him like new wine from an old wineskin. He collapsed beneath Slaíne’s weight, and that is when the fiery arrows began to rain.
Chapter Seventeen
To Aidan’s amazed eyes, the missiles bounced off the roofing, skittering and rolling as they made contact with the thin metal plating. But some of the arrows were true and found weaknesses, barren spots in the house’s armor.
When the men surrounding them took their aim again, they aimed for the top levels of the house, which soon caught ablaze. Screaming servants streamed out of the smoking manor. The guards weren’t far behind.
If they didn’t want to get pierced by the arrows meant for their enemy, Aidan knew he needed to move. But it would seem that
Slaíne was rooted to the spot. “Slaíne, we need to move.”
“They’re burning it down with people inside,” she said so softly, Aidan could hardly make out what she had said. She turned to leave his side, and Aidan knew what she meant to do.
Aidan latched on to her Pull and Tugged it hard, sending her flying back toward where he was struggling to his feet. “Slaíne!” he bellowed.
“Lemme loose.” She thrashed against his invisible hold on her like a fiend, but he continued to reel her toward safety, for they were nearly trampled as people poured out of the flames. “They’ll burn them alive. Let go.”
“Think, woman. Think! We need to get out of here or—”
“I am thinking,” she snapped, pushing off him. After giving the burning manor one last piteous look, she turned, put her arm around Aidan, and helped him limp out of harm’s way.
No one was trying to extinguish the blaze. No one was fighting the men who had surrounded them and shot the arrows. It was as though some spell had fallen on all of them…or as if one had been lifted. Dazed, they wandered away from the heat of the fire and then stood, eyes transfixed on the catastrophe.
From the front of the manor there came a great cry, and soon Aidan felt Dewhurst’s Pull joining the company in the back yard. “Thieves, fire, foes! What are you standing around for, you stupid lumps on a log?” The man swore. “Put the fire out!”
No one did anything.
Slaíne collapsed, the sword still clutched in her hands. Beside her, Aidan felt a sudden surge of energy that had nothing to do with whatever force had possessed him before and everything to do with the fact that he could end this. That energy propelled him toward Dewhurst.
Some of the guards hissed at Aidan and spat, even. But none tried to stop him. Aidan did not hesitate, for he knew Dewhurst’s men were not loyal, and though they hated Aidan and his ‘magic’, they were surrounded by their enemy. And judging from the familiarity of at least a dozen of the Pulls, Aidan knew who that enemy was and that his secret missive had been received.
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