Will (Book 2)

by S. F. Burgess

  “Okay, Conlan, it’s just us. Let’s hear the plan,” Freddie said. “We can’t leave your grandfather with Daratus.”

  Flashing him a grateful smile, Conlan nodded.

  “Gregor is being held in the North Tower. Obviously it’s a trap…” he said, glancing at Eleanor. “But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t go and get him. I wouldn’t wish the North Tower’s dungeons on anyone! We’ll have to be careful, but I think I can get us in and out without being caught.”

  Eleanor drew breath, and Will knew a rant was coming. He glared at her, and she dropped her head, saying nothing. Unaware of this exchange, Conlan continued.

  “When I lived at the North Tower I wasn’t allowed to leave. The guards at the gate would stop me, so I found different ways of escaping. The tower has several tunnels built under the defensive wall; they come out in the surrounding countryside. I’m fairly certain I could find an entrance to one of these tunnels and get back into the tower. And once inside, I’d know the layout blindfolded. I can get us to the dungeons. Then we rescue Gregor and get out the same way we got in.”

  There was a pause as they all seemed to consider this.

  “Questions, concerns?” Will asked.

  Eleanor opened her mouth, looked at Will, and shut it again, uncertain. Will sighed. Amelia was right, as usual; he had been heavy-handed. Eleanor had no idea what Will wanted, and why should she? He had not made himself very clear. All he had done was confuse her.

  “How well known are these tunnels?” Freddie asked.

  “Not very. I stumbled into the first one by accident, literally, then started looking for more,” Conlan said.

  “Did you speak to anyone about them? Did anyone speak to you about them? Could the Protectors or the Lords have known about them and just not mentioned it?” Freddie persisted.

  “I suppose, but they weren’t blocked off or guarded in any way. I’m sure if anyone knew about them they would have taken such basic precautions,” Conlan replied, appearing irritated by the questions.

  “Seeing as you escaped using one of these tunnels, could they have been found since then?” Freddie continued calmly.

  “I’m sure it’s possible, but if they have, I’m betting Arran would have heard about it; the Protectors and Lords would have found it very difficult to keep it a secret. We can ask him.”

  Will was surprised: these were perceptive questions for Freddie. Then he looked closer and noticed the glazed look in Freddie’s eyes. So, Eleanor was talking in Freddie’s head, no doubt directing the conversation.

  “What makes you think Gregor will be in the dungeons?” Freddie asked.

  Conlan shrugged. “Where else would he be?”

  Freddie paused, his head to one side, concentrating. Eventually he continued. “This is a trap, as you’ve said. Daratus knows we’re coming. So why would he put Gregor anywhere obvious? If he’s smart, he’ll attempt to trap us in the dungeons—but if that fails, forcing us to methodically search every room in the tower will give him all the opportunity he needs to pick us off one by one.”

  This was one un-Freddie-like comment too many. Understanding suddenly dawned in Conlan’s eyes and he looked suspiciously at Freddie, who had the good grace to blush.

  “Something you want to say, Eleanor?” Conlan asked, giving her a pointed look.

  Eleanor raised her head, her face full of innocent surprise. “Me? Nope, not a word.”

  Conlan glowered at her until Amelia filled the silence. “How many Lords, Enforcers and Protectors are there at the North Tower?” she asked, doing an admirable job of keeping the fear out of her voice.

  “Four Lords. Arran will be able to tell us how many Enforcers there are, but I’d guess just the three we’ve already met, probably about two hundred Protectors and various servants and retainers,” Conlan said, a small frown starting to appear between his eyes. This was not the way he had expected this conversation to go.

  “Are we going to have to kill any of them?” Amelia asked quietly.

  “It’s not part of my plan,” Conlan reassured her.

  “But there’s no guarantee,” Freddie said.

  Conlan shook his head. “There are never guarantees.”

  They’re missing the most obvious problem, Will thought and asked the question himself. “How were you planning on getting to the North Tower?”

  Conlan looked confused. “The same way we get everywhere—ride.”

  “You heard what Mickle said when they arrived. The Lords of Mydren have started an official manhunt for us. They’re circulating images of us, offering two hundred gold pieces each for our capture,” Will said, remembering the worry on the man’s face as he had explained the gravity of the situation.

  “Then I guess we’ll have to travel carefully,” Conlan said.

  Amelia shook her head. “No, I don’t think we should be travelling anywhere—certainly not into a trap! I thought we were going to find a remote, safe place to hole up for a while and learn to use the connection. When things have died down a little and we can more effectively defend ourselves, then we can plan an assault on one of Mydren’s seats of power.”

  There was more silence, during which desperation filled Conlan’s eyes and he dropped his head.

  “Please…” he said, the pain in that one word getting all their attention. “Please, I’m begging you: don’t leave Gregor in Daratus’s hands for a moment longer than he has to be.”

  This is new! Will thought. Conlan gave orders, demanded things—he expected to be obeyed. Begging was most definitely not his style. Yet he seemed sincere.

  “We’ll find a way to rescue him,” Freddie said, giving Conlan a reassuring smile. There was another lengthy silence.

  “If we can’t even get close to Gregor without being caught, I don’t see how,” Amelia said eventually.

  “Conlan’s plan to break into the North Tower needs work,” Eleanor said diplomatically, glancing at Will. When he said nothing, she continued. “But I do have an idea on how to get us to the North Tower.” They all stared at her expectantly.

  “We disguise ourselves as players,” she said quietly.

  There was another heavy silence. Players? Mydren had a rich history of travelling troupes of entertainers who moved from town to town, putting on shows. They were actors, acrobats and comedians, cultivating an air of excitement and mystery everywhere they went. They usually wore bright, outlandish clothing, make-up and wigs, and were rarely out of character. All welcomed them and there were many stories of players being given special treatment by Lords and Protectors alike. The players they had passed on their way to the waterfall had fascinated Eleanor, and Conlan had answered quite a few of her questions about them at the time.

  A smile touched Will’s lips. It was an idea that he could see working. They would need some preparation time and a trip to the nearest town for supplies, which could be a challenge, but it was a great idea. Clever little pixie!

  “Genius,” Conlan murmured appreciatively.

  Eleanor gave him a wicked grin.

  “We could dress you up, like that multi-coloured player we saw once, with the little bells on his cap,” Eleanor continued. “He had that thick make-up on… we could use it to hide your scar.”

  “You want to dress me up as the ‘Idiot’?” Conlan asked, eyes narrowing.

  Will knew that within the world of the players, there were certain characters that had to exist. The Sage, the Orphan, the Maiden, the Mother, the Hero, the Rebel and the Idiot were archetypes that no self-respecting troupe would be without.

  “Is that who he was?” Eleanor asked, her eyes wide and innocent again, lips twitching in amusement. “Well, if the jingling hat fits…”

  Will put effort into hiding his smile and Amelia turned her face away to cough politely. Freddie, unfortunately, could no longer contain himself and burst into spluttering giggles, earning a disgusted look from Conlan.

  “No, I’m not doing it!” Conlan snapped. There was silence, except for Fred
die trying to stifle his sniggering, the subtle creak of trees moving in the wind and the crackle of the fire.

  “You’re willing to risk our lives to rescue Gregor, but not your pride?” Eleanor asked in an ice-cold voice, all humour gone.

  Will felt Amelia’s energy caress him. Is this the sort of manipulation you wanted? she asked.

  She’s got a point, Amelia. And it’s actually a really good idea.

  I hope so, because Eleanor isn’t giving Conlan any graceful way to back out.

  Conlan frowned, and his glowing green eyes turned in Will’s direction. Conlan was apparently expecting him to ‘rescue’ the situation—but it was not going to happen, not this time.

  “Anyone got any better ideas?” Will asked, ignoring Conlan’s look.

  More silence. Conlan looked a little alarmed. “If we stay off the tracks, avoid Protector patrols, we can get there…” he said.

  “That’s not a plan, Conlan, that’s wishful thinking,” Freddie said gently.

  “And there are a few problems with your plan, Eleanor,” Conlan said, ignoring Freddie. “Player troupes have paperwork, are registered with the Guild, have equipment, outfits, stages, sets—we have none of that.”

  “Do the Lords and Protectors know every player troupe?” Eleanor asked.

  Conlan shook his head. “No, but it’s an easy matter to look it up.”

  “Then we register our troupe.”

  “Yes Eleanor, because a troupe registered recently won’t look at all suspicious.”

  Eleanor looked a little peeved by his sarcasm, but thought for a moment. “How difficult would it be to bribe the guild to say we registered years ago?”

  Conlan stared at her, open-mouthed, momentarily speechless. Eleanor watched him, waiting for a response.

  “Bribe a guild?” he said finally.

  “Yes. How difficult would it be?” she asked again, her voice calm.

  “Very. Eleanor, we have no money!” Conlan said.

  Eleanor smiled. “No, but Remic does. You said we would need things to look like a proper troupe: sets, clothes, and no doubt carts to carry it all. We’re going to need money for that, too. Remic will help us.”

  “I’m going to owe that Dwarf half of Mydren by the time I rule it!” Conlan muttered.

  “So is that a yes?” Eleanor asked sweetly.

  With an air of resignation, Conlan nodded. “I’ve a feeling I’m going to regret this, but yes, okay, we’ll do it your way.”

  “Can we learn how to juggle?” Freddie asked, excited.

  “It would be a good idea. We’re also going to need to come up with a few plays we can perform,” Eleanor said, slowly taking in the shocked faces around her. “What—how hard can it be?” she shrugged. “Between the four of us, the books we’ve read, the films and plays we’ve watched, we must know thousands of original stories the people of Mydren haven’t seen. Conlan can sing, we can learn some acrobatics, it’ll be fun!”

  Will could not help smiling wryly at Conlan’s deepening look of horror. The poor beleaguered man could only roll his eyes and shake his head.

  “Conlan, what is the matter?” Moylan asked, coming up behind them with Arran and Kip in tow. They deposited the clean bowls and sat themselves around the fire as if they belonged there, Arran pulling his long black robe around himself in the morning chill.

  Will felt an energy string thud into him.

  What’s he saying? Freddie asked, a strong undercurrent of distrust running through the question. Automatically Will began translating the conversation.

  “We need to go to the North Tower. My grandfather has been arrested; I need to rescue him,” Conlan told them.

  “It is a trap. Your grandfather is most likely already dead,” Arran said sadly. Moylan nodded his agreement.

  Conlan flinched. “Yes, I am sure it is a trap, but if there is the slightest chance I can get Gregor out, I must try.”

  “We will help, brother,” Kip said, patting Conlan’s shoulder, a gesture of familiarity that Will was surprised Conlan tolerated.

  “We are a long way from the North Tower,” Arran said, his mind clearly on practical considerations. “How will we get there? Every Protector in Mydren is looking for you.”

  “Not every Protector,” Kip protested.

  Moylan smiled affectionately. “You are no longer a Protector, Kip. You forfeited that title when you deserted.”

  “Right you are brother,” Kip said solemnly, as if this concept had only just occurred to him.

  “Eleanor has come up with a rather interesting way to get us to the North Tower,” Conlan said, briefly explaining the idea. Moylan looked at Eleanor with surprised admiration.

  Kip looked confused. “So we are going to be players now? I was a Protector and now I am a player… when are we getting rid of the Lords of Mydren?”

  “Kip, we are just pretending to be players. We will adopt secret identities so we can move around easier. The ultimate goal is still to make Conlan our king, but that is not going to happen straight away,” Moylan explained patiently.

  Kip went quiet, trying to process this information, and Conlan observed him, calculating, assessing.

  Making sure Kip’s dull wits are taken into account in your planning, smart, thought Will.

  “It is a very good plan,” Arran said, nodding at Eleanor. “Nobody will think to look for a future king as the Idiot in a troupe of players.”

  “That is because it is not very dignified,” Conlan muttered.

  Arran shrugged. “Perhaps, but I would rather be smart and alive than dignified and dead. How are you planning to get your grandfather out of the North Tower once we get there?”

  Conlan opened his mouth, then closed it again. He glanced at Eleanor, who gave him a questioning look.

  “We have not worked a plan out yet,” he said carefully. “But we have a long journey ahead of us, and I am confident a plan can be devised by the time we arrive.”

  Will smiled. Maybe getting them to work better together is going to be easier than I thought.

  Arran nodded. “I can help you. I am very familiar with the North Tower, its routines and layout.”

  “Yes, thank you Arran, I am sure your experience will be invaluable,” Conlan said.

  As Arran’s face broke into a smile, Will was again struck by the similarity between the Enforcer and Conlan. He had not doubted Eleanor’s assertion that the two were half-brothers, even if they themselves were, as yet, unaware, but the more he watched them together, the harder it was to work out why nobody else seemed to have made the connection.

  “Right,” Eleanor said in Dwarfish, standing up and walking towards where Kip and Moylan were sat. “I need to pay a visit to the nearest town. Which of you fine men would like to come with me?”

  The Sage

  The argument Eleanor sparked off with her desire to go into town had gone on for a while. Conlan and Freddie insisted it was too dangerous, and Eleanor, as the holder of Remic’s knife, insisted she had to go.

  Will had done his best to stay out of it. Agreeing with either side was likely to infuriate the other, and there was no good outcome here. He understood the fear Conlan and Freddie had when it came to putting Eleanor in harm’s way—after all, he would have fought tooth and nail to stop Amelia going off on her own in a similar situation. However, Eleanor was not Amelia. Eleanor was resourceful, sure of herself, spoke Dwarfish, was wickedly fast with a blade and was not afraid to use it. Will had a very healthy respect for Eleanor’s ability to survive. He had underestimated her once and it had cost them dearly; he would not do so again. Of course, the other point was that Eleanor was right: she was the only one who could send the letter to Remic.

  Amelia had assumed that the Dwarf had developed a bit of an infatuation with Eleanor and that this was why he had offered help and money, but Will had seen the way Remic and Candar had looked at her. It was not lust or a misguided crush that motivated them—it was devotion. Whatever Eleanor asked for, Remic would d
eliver, and despite Conlan’s concerns, there would never be any expectation that this help would be repaid; it was given freely. They were lucky to have such good friends.

  As the argument escalated, Eleanor had tried the blustering, yelling, ‘I-will-get-my-own-way’ approach, which Conlan had stubbornly ignored. Things had eventually come down to a vote, but it was a vote that Will never got the chance to cast, as it would have made no difference: Conlan, Freddie and Amelia voted against Eleanor’s plan and the little pixie stormed off, followed by Conlan’s concerned gaze.

  Once Eleanor had gone, Conlan had a calm, rational conversation with Moylan and Kip, both of whom seemed shocked by the yelling. Will wondered if they had ever seen a woman argue with a man before. They might not have understood the English, but it had been obvious what was going on. Conlan made no comment or reference to Eleanor’s behaviour but simply asked Moylan to scout out Prenderick, the nearest town, check out its security and perhaps buy some clothes that drew less attention than the grey Protector’s uniforms they all wore. Conlan wanted a report on the risks they were walking into before he allowed Eleanor in to send the letter to Remic.

  It was a rational, sensible approach, and Will felt sure Eleanor would have agreed if she had shut up long enough to let Conlan explain it. As Conlan stood to see Moylan off, giving him some last-minute advice and a large chunk of his small store of money, he had caught Will’s eye, a look of frustrated annoyance and concern moving across his face. Understanding the unspoken request, Will nodded his agreement. He did not like Eleanor wandering around alone any more than Conlan did, and furthermore, he had a plan. It was time to put phase one into action and have a conversation with Eleanor. He routed through his bag, fishing out his pencils and drawing pad.