Will (Book 2)

by S. F. Burgess

  “Certainly,” Conlan said, the harsh growl he added making the word a reprimand.

  Mickle marched off, Teris following behind him.

  Purposely ignoring their departure, Conlan moved over to Will, confusion and concern in his eyes as he looked him up and down.

  “Are you all right?”

  Frightened to find out how much it was going to hurt to speak, Will nodded carefully.

  “You know, I find it easier to wash my clothes if I take them off first,” Conlan said with a straight face, making Freddie snigger as he came to join them, Kip following.

  Eleanor dropped to Will’s side, with Davlin watching over her shoulder. Amelia sat on his other side. Will looked at the two women warily. At least there’re unlikely to want to give me stitches this time!

  “How badly are you hurt?” Eleanor asked, reaching out to probe the bruised lump he could feel spreading up the left side of his mouth. He flinched away from her touch, watching her eyes widen in worry, her solid energy latching on to his.

  Can you even open your mouth? How can I tell if your jaw is broken? she asked.

  Your jaw is broken! Amelia gasped.

  Will shot Eleanor an irritated look. No, my jaw isn’t broken, he snapped.

  How do you know? Eleanor asked, suddenly sounding more curious than concerned. So, the little pixie had switched to learning mode. Forcing himself to deal with the pain, Will carefully rubbed his cheek and gently pushed them out of his head as he tentatively opened his mouth to explain.

  “When a jaw breaks, it usually fractures in a couple of places. If my jaw was broken, I’d feel pain under my ear, the most obvious site of secondary fracture. I don’t. Also my ‘bite’ would feel misaligned, and it doesn’t. It hurts like hell, but I’m fine.”

  Eleanor nodded, taking this information in. “You know, having all this medical information in just one person’s mind seems sort of stupid,” she said, her head on one side, watching him. “What if you’re seriously injured? Who would care for you? I think you should teach a few of us what you know about medicine and herbs. I’d like to learn.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Conlan agreed.

  As soon as the words were spoken, Will knew this was something he had overlooked. Of course he would need to pass his knowledge on; they were a larger group now, and sheer logistics required that there be more than one person with medical skills. It would reduce the risk that they would be left with no healer. Besides, should they get into a fight, treatment for injuries could be handled more quickly. He should have planned for this already. And Eleanor might be a good choice; perhaps one of the Protectors, too.

  “Could you possibly give him a chance to get over this before you give him his next assignment?” Amelia asked testily, giving Conlan a bitter glance.

  “I’m okay, Amelia, just a little embarrassed that I’ve managed to get sucker punched twice recently,” Will said, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze before turning to Eleanor. “The role of healer isn’t for everyone. It’s not just about knowledge—it’s about judgement and experience. Learning what I know won’t be a quick or easy process, and learning a little would be as dangerous as knowing nothing at all—more so, perhaps. Are you willing to put the effort in, to sacrifice private time to it?”

  He saw the guilt skitter across her face as her eyes flicked to Conlan, but she took a deep sigh and slowly nodded her head. “I don’t want to think you, or anyone, could die when all it would’ve required from me was effort to learn.”

  “I want to learn too,” Amelia said quietly, watching Will’s face closely.

  Will paused; it was not that he thought Amelia was incapable of learning. On the contrary, she was very bright. What she lacked was the ability to make judgement calls. She would never trust herself enough to put a life in the balance and take a risk—like the one he had taken in operating on Duncan. She would never be able to make a decision as to who got her attention of two critically ill patients, and as a result both would likely die. However, she would make a very good nurse; she had a calm, loving and patient manner and was not in the least bit squeamish.

  “Alright,” he agreed. “But we should have one more person. Four healers would be a good idea, easier to practice lessons too.”

  “I think Arran might be a good choice…” Conlan started.

  Will shook his head, instantly regretting it as the pain tap-danced through his skull and a throbbing headache started up. “No, Conlan, you can’t assign this to someone; you can’t ‘make’ them be a healer. They either have an interest, a desire to learn, or they don’t. You will need to ask people if they are interested and see who steps forward.”

  “And if no one steps forward?” Conlan asked, concerned.

  “Then we have three healers, not four,” Will said, giving Conlan a hard look to match his hard tone. Attempting to teach a difficult, involved subject to someone who did not wish to learn was an exercise in futility.

  Conlan seemed about to argue the point, then thought better of it. “Very well,” he agreed. “But I’d also appreciate it if you gave us all some basic training on how to stabilise injuries.”

  “Yes, definitely, that’s a great idea,” Will said. Conlan smiled.

  “Should I go and fetch the Avatar of Water’s healer’s bag?” Kip asked suddenly, clearly trying to work out what was being said.

  “No, Kip, but thank you. I will be fine, once I have got my breath back,” Will assured him.

  Eleanor regarded the young Protector, questions clearly running through her mind. “Kip must have been just a child. Why did the Protectors take him in?” she asked in English.

  Will took a breath to answer the question and Conlan beat him to it.

  “The Protectors have always taken in stray boys as cheap menial labour. Plus it’s a good way to swell their ranks as the boys get older. I was once told that by taking them in as children, the Protectors can instill a strong sense of obedient, unthinking loyalty in their future soldiers…” Conlan’s voice dropped away in pained silence at the horror on Eleanor’s face, as the reality of the situation dawned on her.

  “I thought we were fighting vicious killers, who had chosen to be what they were,” Eleanor said slowly. “But we aren’t, are we…?”

  “No,” Conlan said, deep sadness settling over him. “Many of those we may end up fighting won’t have been given any choice in being there.”

  Eleanor’s eyes narrowed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It never came up,” Conlan replied.

  Will thought about that response. There had been several occasions in the last year when he or Conlan could have explained the situation, but it was so much a part of Mydren, so much an assumed, understood part of life, he had never thought to mention it.

  “That’s why you get so upset about killing them—you know they’re just more victims of the Lords of Mydren,” Eleanor said, glancing at Kip and Davlin, who both patiently watched a conversation they did not understand.

  “Not all of them,” Conlan said quietly. “But many of them, yes.”

  “So if orphaned and abandoned boys end up with the Protectors…” Amelia began, “where do the girls…” She stopped as horror overtook her. Misery filled Conlan’s eyes and he dropped his head to camouflage it.

  Thinking Conlan would be unable to confirm what Amelia already suspected, Will answered for him. “The girls go to the brothels,” he said in a flat monotone.

  Amelia gasped, and Will reached for her hand. Eleanor winced at what Will assumed was Conlan’s pain, although this time Will had not felt it.

  “Mydren sucks,” Freddie muttered, looking at Conlan. “How can you stand it?”

  “I can’t,” Conlan said, his expression one of hard determination. “That’s why I’m trying to change it.”

  Davlin

  Amelia’s goodbye preyed on Will’s mind as they headed towards Gallendary. He envied Eleanor—a hug, a tender kiss, Conlan’s whisper in her ear that had made her g
iggle. Leaving had not been so easy for him. Amelia’s begging for him to be careful and weepy demand for his promise to come back safely came from a place of love as well as fear—yet it still made Will uncomfortable. He disliked making promises he could not be sure he would be able to keep, especially to Amelia. His worry over how she would cope if anything did happen to him surfaced again, along with his guilt.

  Angry with himself, he pushed these feelings back down, his thoughts racing in circles. The only way to protect Amelia was to get Conlan on the throne as soon as possible; however, achieving this was going to require putting them all in considerable danger first. Were there short cuts they could take? Safe short cuts? Did Conlan even have an overall plan for taking on the Lords of Mydren? They had never really discussed it in detail, but that did not mean Conlan did not already have ideas.

  After a while Eleanor pulled Lady next to Brutus and tried to talk to him. But Will was involved in his own thoughts, making plans and working out questions he wanted to ask Conlan, and his responses were brief. At last Eleanor, looking a little hurt at her failure to draw him into conversation, caught up with Davlin and Moylan instead.

  It was not long before Mickle, who was only there to sell his horse, decided to stamp his authority on their trip by telling the little pixie to stop her ‘incessant prattle’. Eleanor, who had actually been filling Davlin and Moylan in on their adventures—a topic in which they were genuinely interested—gave Mickle a pointed look, anger settling across her face. Will was amazed to see Davlin give her a small shake of his head; and more amazed to see Eleanor apologise to Mickle—although her tight expression still broadcasted her displeasure— before dropping into frustrated silence. Davlin then offered her a reassuring smile and nodded.

  It was only when Will considered Eleanor’s background that this unexpected behaviour made sense. He had never fully appreciated how out of her depth Eleanor must be. She had no formal military training, had never had to work as part of a team where chain of command could be a matter of life and death. While Freddie had never had military training either, he had worked as a fireman, and so understood command and how to follow it. Eleanor was, of all of them, the only true ‘civilian’. And as such, Davlin was clearly taking his role as guide seriously.

  As the ivy-covered, crumbling walls of Gallendary came into view, Eleanor again dropped Lady back to flank Brutus, and Will felt her energy string knock into him.

  Are you okay? she blurted out.

  Will smiled. Yes, I’m fine. I was just thinking about the future and how we would take on the Lords of Mydren.

  Eleanor frowned. Conlan has some plans, I think, but he won’t discuss them with me.

  I’m sure he will when he’s ready, Will replied, automatically giving her the response she needed.

  Eleanor gave him a doubtful look, but nodded, her attention turning to the open gateway of the town they were entering. They went through in separate groups: Mickle first, then Davlin and Moylan, followed a few minutes later by Will and Eleanor. This had been planned in advance, in an attempt to throw off any overly vigilant Protectors. It worked, but then again, the Protectors who watched the gates seemed far more interested in harassing three very smelly beggars who appeared to have been hanging around for too long, rather than in checking the normal trading traffic that was coming and going. Despite their inattention, Will’s gut roiled with cold unease. Something did not feel right, but he had no idea what.

  Once they entered the town, Mickle left them to locate the horse market, giving them very strict instructions about when and where to meet up with him again. The rest of their party went to find the jeweller, to collect the carts, supplies and equipment they had been promised.

  The wagons turned out to be large, sturdy vehicles, with strong, well-fitting wooden slats for the base and two-foot-high wooden walls. The wheels had thick wooden spokes and metal rims that represented the height of innovation in Mydren. While obviously not new, the wagons and their metal undercarriages had been well cared for, and, doing a quick inspection, Moylan passed them as more than acceptable for their needs. Together they worked hard to load the carts with the supplies Remic had bought for them.

  Will was grateful for the cool spring breeze that stopped them from getting overheated as they toiled. Bags of dried food, lots of parcels and packets of items too numerous to count, bolts of material in all manner of colour and style, woodworking tools, paint, musical instruments and other more curious pieces of equipment were loaded. Some he recognised, like the large lanterns surrounded by mirrors, which Will assumed were stage lights, but he had no idea about the purpose of others, such as the large frame with a piece of material stretched between two rollers.

  When the job was eventually finished, they covered their supplies with two large waterproofed canvas sheets, which the jeweller pointed out would make good roofs for the wagons once they had built the frame. Looking at the carts, Will was filled with a secret delight. They were large enough that if the living space was designed correctly, they could each have a bed off the ground, warm, soft, maybe even with a real mattress.

  “Comfortable,” he whispered to himself, unable to hide a smile. He figured it was just age creeping up on him, but sleeping outside on the ground left him stiff and sore most mornings, something he had not noticed properly until after the weeks they had spent sleeping in real beds while visiting the People of the Horse.

  Once the carts were loaded, Davlin took the reins of one and Moylan the other. They hit a slight snag when Brutus objected to being turned into a cart horse, but Eleanor eventually convinced him to behave.

  Eleanor had a quiet conversation with the jeweller out of earshot. Will watched curiously as she handed over more letters he was unaware she had brought with her, and received a small wooden box in return from the slightly flustered and overawed jeweller. She then thanked the man and jumped into the driver’s seat of the cart next to Davlin, stowing her parcel carefully underneath her. Davlin also noticed, but made no comment. Making a mental note to ask her about it later, Will pulled himself into Moylan’s cart next to the red-haired man, who gave him a wide smile.

  “We are ready to go?” Moylan asked. Will nodded, preoccupied, as the cart jerked forward. All told, it had proved to be a simple task, far simpler than Will had expected. Yet throughout, he could not shake the feeling that something was wrong. And now that feeling of unease had intensified to fear, and still he could not pinpoint why.

  The noise and bustle of late afternoon in a provincial market town flowed around them as the carts made their sedate progress towards the town’s gate. On the brief occasions when they were forced by the crush to move next to each other, Will could see Eleanor gazing around, soaking in the sights and sounds, a small smile on her face. Will wished he could be so relaxed, but, like Davlin and Moylan, he was busy scanning the people who moved around them, looking for anything that could spell danger, the feeling that something was amiss pounding through him.

  They made it to the gate without incident. Two smiling Protectors took a good look at the carts, their contents piled high, and demanded a ‘safe passage’ tax, payable in cash—immediately. Davlin had warned them of this, having witnessed it on his and Eleanor’s first visit, and so they had spare money ready to grease the palms of the unscrupulous officials. Once through the gates, Will tried to relax. They had seemingly made it—and yet his feeling of fear had not dissipated.

  As they trundled down the bumpy track in a convoy, Davlin’s cart leading, Will decided the cart’s suspension, while primitive, was actually efficient. It might not be the most comfortable ride, but it would still be more comfortable than a saddle for their long journey. The weak warmth of the slowly sinking sun was making a final attempt to fight off the winter chill. It was a lovely time of day, marred only by Moylan’s tuneless whistling, a sound Will found excessively irritating—and judging by his flicking ears and glances back, Brutus was unimpressed too. The main track curved to skirt the edge of a hill, a
nd they turned off down a side track along the edge of the forest, moving out of direct sight of the town. It was not long before Mickle came into view, leaning against a tree, waiting for them, a scowl on his face.

  “You are late!” he snarled, pulling himself into the cart’s driving seat next to Will.

  Neither Moylan nor Will responded, but Will caught the look Moylan flashed in his direction. Mickle would have complained no matter what time we’d turned up. No sooner was the man in the cart than he began a ranting tirade against the town they had just left, the inability of its occupants to know good horseflesh when it was presented, the consequences of over-breeding, and what the influx of cheap horses from the south was doing to horse prices. Fear still keeping him alert, Will paid little attention to Mickle’s vitriol, concentrating instead on the track and the lengthening shadows of the forest they travelled through. But he heard enough to recognise that the point of Mickle’s long-winded rant was to illustrate why they had received such a low price for the horse.

  When Mickle at last finished his explanation, he huffed himself into silence. There was a moment of peace which Moylan broke softly.

  “Are those new boots, Mickle?”

  A silence as still, cold and deadly as the bottom of the ocean engulfed them. Will switched his attention to Mickle’s footwear. They were polished, unscuffed, soft, black leather—expensive, supple and unused. New boots, indeed.

  Mickle glared at Moylan. “These are the same boots I’ve been wearing since we met. I had them polished.”

  “Polished so well they changed colour,” Moylan murmured.

  Will felt goose bumps erupt all over his body as Mickle’s whole demeanour instantly changed to one of vicious threat, his voice steely hard as he addressed Moylan. “Is there some reason I should not wish to care for my equipment?”

  Clearly not in the least bit concerned about Mickle’s growing fury, Moylan gave the man an easy, wide grin. “On the contrary, Mickle, your diligence should be commended. I shall mention it to Conlan when we return.”