“A large group of men, on horses, fast-moving horses, heading this way, east along the track,” Will said. Davlin nodded, not looking at him, watching the approaching men. “A large group of men on horses could really only mean Protectors,” Will mused, thinking out loud. “But there is nothing out here for them… Drent is a free town, and there are few reasons for them to be going there. Besides, if they were going to send Protectors to Drent, it would be quicker to send them from the North Tower. And if they were coming to man the garrison in Prenderick, there would be no need for their speed… or their numbers…”
Will felt a cold sweat cover his body. “They are coming for us. They know where we are.”
Davlin nodded. “My conclusion also.”
“How many men do you think that is?” Will asked, nodding his head towards the far-off dust cloud.
“A full quintery,” Davlin said with certainty.
Fifty men… and if they are on horseback that means elite troops, not the everyday Protectors—they’ll be armed to the teeth. Okay, this is a problem.
“That is a lot of men.”
“Well, actually, Avatar of Water, it is not,” Davlin said slowly.
“Will. My name is Will,” he said with a distracted smile.
Davlin inclined his head in acknowledgement before continuing. “You managed to disable over thirty men very effectively in Katadep. I do not think fifty would be much more of a challenge to you. If I can reach this conclusion, so will the Lords of Mydren. They have the numbers. Were they truly convinced that they would face you today, they would have sent hundreds of men.”
“So they do not know for certain we are here?”
“No, Will, I think they have perhaps heard rumours and are checking it out.”
“Then we need to get out of here before they arrive,” Will said, mentally compiling a checklist of what that action would entail. Arran and the Protectors have two horses and a mule between them, and the mule won’t let anyone but Kip ride him. We have five horses, but if we start doubling up it will be very slow going, and I don’t even know if Moylan is back from town yet or where Conlan and Eleanor are hiding out.
“Davlin, a fast getaway is not an option. What alternatives do we have?” Will asked.
A tiny flicker of surprise darted across Davlin’s face.
Is he not used to being asked for his opinion?
“We kill them,” Davlin said in a flat, hard voice, his eyes moving back to follow the dust cloud.
“Any ideas that do not include the ruthless murder of fifty men?” Will asked.
“We do not have much information. We do not know for certain they are coming for us. But we cannot take the risk of doing nothing. As you have pointed out, leaving quickly enough to be out of the area when they arrive is not an option. We must stop them and ensure that none of them are able to report back to the Lords about what they encountered.”
Davlin’s logic was hard to fault, but Will know Conlan would never sanction that much death if there was any other alternative—not that Davlin seemed to require Conlan’s agreement.
Think, you idiot! There must be another way.
“How long before they get here?” Will asked, his churning mind coming up a blank.
“They will be here before sunset. Once they have crossed the bridge, it is a straight flat run to Prenderick,” Davlin said.
Okay… it’s about four hours until sunset… could we go out to meet them? Distract them… wait… what did he say…?
“Davlin—what was that about a bridge?” Will asked. His overexcited neurons started firing in all directions.
“Once they have crossed the bridge—” Davlin started.
“Okay, so there is a bridge. Does it cross water?” Will interrupted.
Davlin looked at Will like he had lost his mind, but pointed to the dark line that followed the sweep of the landscape. “The locals call the river ‘Sharte’.”
“If the bridge was not there, could they still cross the river?” Will asked.
Davlin shrugged. “Building a bridge is difficult. If one exists, it is because there is a need for it.”
“Can you get me to the river? It does not need to be close to the bridge, just closer than this to the water?” Will asked.
“Yes, the river flows along the western edge of this forest.”
Will started climbing down the tree with bruising, careless speed. “Come on, Davlin, we have not got much time,” he called up as the man peered through the leaves watching his rapid descent.
Having sent Teris to find Elroy so the two could head back to the camp and warn them to start packing up, Will followed Davlin through the trees in a steady, ground-eating lope. Once Will found his stride, his breathing steadied, and keeping up became less of an effort, but it was still more exercise than he had taken in a while. I’m going to pay for this tomorrow, he thought as his body told him—with a myriad little twinges and twitches—what the mad dash was costing him.
Will knew the river was there long before they could see or hear it. The run was rapidly draining his physical energy, and his elemental energy was compensating, but that too was dropping, heightening his ‘senses’ when it came to finding sources of more energy. He pushed a string out, and it surged forward far faster than he could run. As it plunged into deep, fast-flowing water, he came to a sliding, staggering, undignified halt. Cold, soothing calm poured through him, his headache and physical exhaustion washed into the background with the deluge.
“Are you well, Avatar—Will?”
Opening his eyes, Will found Davlin stood before him, watching him with concern.
“Yes, this is close enough. I found the river.” Davlin’s eyebrows rose slightly in surprise, but he said nothing, just waited, as a good solider would, for further instruction. “I am going to mess with the level of the river, then hopefully use the additional weight of the water to batter the foundations out from under the bridge,” Will explained.
He closed his eyes, gathering his energy. Extending his awareness along his energy string, he entered the river, feeling it, exploring its source, its limits and its potential. He sent his awareness up and down the river, looking for any other nearby bridges or crossings that would make the effort he was about to expend pointless. The river was wide, deep and powerful, and while it did not have the coherent consciousness that Earth seemed to have, Will could feel its awareness and how frighteningly small he was in comparison. Moving along its length for miles in each direction, he found only one place where the water flow was being obstructed: where it hit the resistance caused by the stone pillars that held up the bridge.
Concentrating, Will placed a barrier downstream, out of sight of the bridge—straining to hold the water back—and allowed the water level around the bridge to rise. Then, once the water started lapping high up the banks of the river, Will began to pull it. It felt a little like stirring a huge vat of treacle-like liquid with a wooden paddle. He forced the water back, then released it, letting it crash against the bridge. Through the water, Will could feel the vibrations as the structure shook. Heaving the water around, smashing it repeatedly into the bridge, Will felt the shaking intensify, and over the roar of the water, he heard the creaking strain of stone, metal and wood.
He pulled at the water again, and his grip on his energy ‘slipped’—there was no other word for it. Gasping, frightened, he felt bruising pain as his body hit the ground. Calm, deep breaths, calm. Pushing away awareness of anything other than what he was doing, Will focused, concentrating, feeling the water, merging with it, heaving it and slamming it again into the bridge, feeling and hearing the almighty crack as the structure began to crumble. Just a bit more, just a little bit more. He could feel the loss of his energy, could feel it wobble and pulse. Gritting his teeth, he slammed the water into the bridge again and again.
His strength failing, his heart pounding painfully in his chest, Will was relieved when the bridge finally crashed into the river. He released his dam, a
nd the violently raging torrent dragged most of the collapsed bridge far downstream as the excess water drained away.
With great difficulty, his energy strings holding a weight he had never felt before, Will dragged himself free of the river. He opened his eyes to find Davlin crouched next to him, watching him curiously. Pains from all quarters assaulted him: joints ached, cuts and bruises from his scramble up and down the tree throbbed, and his headache screamed. Struggling, Will forced himself to sit. Whoa! The whole world spun around him, his stomach tightened, threatening to revolt, and dazzling light flashed through his vision. Dropping his head into his hands, he closed his eyes and took slow, deep breaths.
“Can I assist you, Will?” Davlin asked.
“No,” Will whispered, too afraid of the pain to even shake his head.
Eventually the dizziness and general torment faded a little. With extreme care, Will moved an energy string back to the river, checking it, while tentatively pulling enough energy to even out his internal balance. On opening his eyes again, he saw that Davlin had not moved and was still observing him.
“Are you able to walk now, Will?”
“I do not know. I guess we are going to find out,” Will said, carefully getting to his feet. Davlin stood with him, and although the man made no move to help, Will got the feeling the watchful Protector would have caught him if he had collapsed.
“The bridge is gone,” he told Davlin, as the world made a half-hearted attempt to writhe around him before settling back into normality. “I scouted up and down the river a little. There are no other bridges or sensible crossing points within three days’ ride in either direction as far as I can tell. They are either going to have to risk themselves and their horses swimming across, or make a long detour.”
Davlin nodded. “A hard-won solution to ensure you did not take the lives of your enemies.”
“Preserving life, even of an enemy, is worth a headache,” Will said, trying to rub the pain from behind his eyes before setting off back towards the camp.
The Orphan
“Where have you been? What is going on?”
Conlan’s Dwarfish, necessarily loud above the noise of horses and men milling around, was demanding. Will strode towards him, across the clearing their camp had once stood in, and automatically forced his tired body to stand to attention so he could make his report. As he got closer, the annoyance drained from Conlan’s face, replaced with shock and worry.
“What happened to you?” Conlan asked, as his gaze swept over him, inspecting.
Will sighed. Do I look that bad?
“I am not injured, if that is what you are looking for,” Will said, offering a tired smile as Conlan’s eyes came back to his. “But I am guessing my afternoon was not as much fun as yours.”
Conlan’s glance darted to Davlin, who stood patiently behind Will, and switched to English when he spoke. “I should never have left the camp. It was a lapse in judgement. It won’t happen again.”
Will felt a conflicting stab of pity along with the pride that these words created. Conlan was trying hard to think like a king, like a leader. It was just a shame he felt the need to sacrifice time with Eleanor to do it.
“Will!” Amelia’s shriek of horror made him jump as she ran towards him, Freddie following close behind. She came to a halt in front of him, her eyes wide, tears threatening, hesitant, afraid to touch him. He felt her energy brush against his, checking his level but withdrawing before he could talk to her in the private confines of his head.
“What did you do to him?” Freddie snarled, heading straight for Davlin.
Will stepped between them. “He did nothing more than help me, Freddie. I’m fine. Please, can everyone just calm down.”
Freddie stepped back, but continued to flash Davlin dark, angry glances. Will felt the subtle shift as Davlin went from relaxed to ready, although his placid expression did not change and he said nothing.
Another wave of exhaustion threatened to flatten Will. Pushing it back, he stood straighter. “I’ve bought us some time, but we need to move as quickly as possible. Is Moylan back from Prenderick?”
“Yep, we’re ready to go,” Freddie confirmed, still not taking his eyes off Davlin.
“What happened?” Conlan asked again.
“I didn’t buy us that much time. Please could we discuss this when we’re on the move?” Will asked.
Conlan nodded. “Mount up, we are leaving,” he ordered, his deep voice carrying across the clearing.
“Where are we heading, Conlan?” Mickle’s voice came from somewhere near the front of the line of horses waiting patiently to leave. Freddie’s energy pushed against Will, who started translating before Freddie even asked.
Mickle’s question seemed to have caught Conlan by surprise, and Will saw the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. They had been heading roughly south since their escape from Katadep, originally running for the Southern Savannah and relative safety, but that plan had changed.
Mickle walked over, his face hard and grim, and spoke directly to Conlan. “If we are going to rescue your grandfather, we need to be heading for the North Tower.”
“The Lords have your grandfather?” Davlin asked. Conlan’s eyes moved to look at Davlin, but flicked back to Mickle, who continued talking as if Davlin had never spoken.
“The quickest way to the North Tower would be to take the road to Drent,” Mickle said.
“Yes, they do,” Will said, answering Davlin’s question.
“Once we get to Drent,” Mickle continued, “we can get what we need for the plan to dress ourselves up as players and then head directly north.”
“Taking the Drent road might not be a great idea,” Davlin said slowly.
Mickle turned. “Lord Conlan did not ask for your comment,” he snapped.
“I am not a Lord, Mickle. I would know the opinions of the men I lead,” Conlan said quietly.
“We do not have time for this—the Protectors are on their way here. We need to leave now!” Mickle insisted.
“Will, you say you bought us some time… Enough for me to hear Davlin out?” Conlan asked in English.
“Yes,” Will said, watching as Conlan purposely stepped round Mickle, paying no attention to the older man’s snarl of irritation.
“Why is the Drent road a bad idea, Davlin?” Conlan asked.
For a moment there was silence, as Davlin and Conlan assessed each other.
“The journey to Drent along that road goes through the Fire Mountains and is a hard trek,” Davlin said. “The road was built for traders, those with caravans, with lots of supplies. It is a fast route, but not an easy one if you are forced to forage. We would struggle to feed our group. There are also very few places to hide along the way. Will has held up the Protectors following us, but he has not stopped them, and while it was not obvious an Avatar was involved, they will be suspicious. If reinforcements are called from the North Tower, we run the risk of being trapped on the Drent road between Protectors coming at us from both directions.”
Mickle’s eyes narrowed and he glared at Davlin. “How can you possibly know about the Drent road?”
“I have travelled it,” Davlin replied.
“Your level of Protector does not leave their posting. You lie,” Mickle spat.
There was a collective intake of breath and Will realised they had an audience; many of the Protectors had pulled their horses along with them rather than miss the action.
Glancing at the faces around him, Mickle continued. “Conlan, we do not have time for this. You wish to go to the North Tower; the Drent road is the quickest way to do that.”
“I do not appreciate your accusation, Mickle, and unless you have evidence, I have no wish to hear it,” Conlan said, the Dwarfish carrying a heavy threatening undertone. He paused to let this reprimand sink in. Mickle dropped his head under the ferocity of Conlan’s glare.
Pulling himself to his full height, Conlan’s voice rose as he addressed everyone. “I wish to trave
l to the North Tower, but speed is not my primary concern. The safety and welfare of our group has more importance. Disguising ourselves as players is a safer way to travel. I do not wish to risk a long journey without this protection, and we need a reasonably sized town to facilitate the plan. As we can no longer stay here, we are going to head north and move into the mountains. There are several large towns between here and Katadep; we can drop into one of them.”
“As you wish,” Mickle muttered. “It is your grandfather they will be torturing.”
Conlan’s hard expression did not slip, but Eleanor’s face twitched with what could only be the echo of Conlan’s pain as she stood to the side, watching.
“Mount up,” Conlan ordered again, giving the impression he had not heard Mickle’s parting shot.
Mickle is trouble, Freddie said. Will did not respond—Freddie’s distrust did not need fuelling further—but he heartily agreed.
Travelling through forest, in the dark, with overburdened horses, was arduous. Had it not been for the eerie sliver light of the partial moon, they would have been almost blind. Brutus, Will’s grumpy, devious horse, had never really been much for speed, but with both Will and Amelia sat astride him, the sloth-like animal had decided this was cause to move at a snail’s pace, testing each step before committing to it. Still, Brutus was not much worse than many of the rest: several of their horses now carried two riders, and Kip’s mule was so buried by bags he resembled a large luggage pile with legs. As a result, their whole convoy moved with a slow, tedious gait.
At least the horses’ dilatory attitude gave Will plenty of time to tell Conlan about his afternoon’s adventures—and earn an epic telling-off from Amelia for overusing his energy. Will took the tongue-lashing in dutiful silence, because despite the words she was yelling through his head, she was also letting her emotions slip, and he could feel how desperately worried she was for him.
Just as the sky was beginning to show the first pale light of dawn, Conlan pulled Meran in next to Brutus. As their convoy had trudged on through the night, Conlan had moved regularly up and down the slightly strung-out line of tired men and horses to check that everyone was keeping up. Thanks to his stupid animal and its ridiculously slow shuffle, Will now found himself at the back of the line.
Will (Book 2) Page 5