Will (Book 2)

by S. F. Burgess

  Mickle went deathly pale, his lips pursed into a small line, his eyes narrowing, blazing hate.

  “You will not trouble Conlan with such insignificance. That is an order!” he hissed.

  Moylan shrugged. “As you command,” he replied cheerfully.

  Mickle snarled, but turned away from him and looked forward, stony faced. Moylan winked at Will before also facing forward.

  Will sighed. The lying I’ve witnessed is clearly not the full extent of Mickle’s dishonest nature. The frustrating part was, had Mickle gone to Conlan and explained that he needed new boots, there was every chance Conlan would have let him buy new ones from the proceeds of the horse sale anyway.

  Then another thought came to him: Why did Mickle not worry about my silence? Mickle clearly had little respect for him; he had little respect for anyone but Conlan. Does he think the order he gave Moylan includes me too? This was a disturbing thought. Was Mickle really that arrogant?

  “What is this?”

  Davlin’s curious but loudly spoken question was an alert from up front, jerking Will out of his reverie about how far they could trust Mickle and why Conlan had allowed him to keep the position of authority he had assumed. Moylan, a frown on his face, pulled to a stop behind the cart Davlin operated, handed the reins to Will and leapt down, moving quickly towards Davlin and Eleanor. Will hesitated for a second, then tossed the reins to Mickle and followed.

  All four of them looked up the track at what appeared to be a small pile of rags about forty feet ahead. Will watched as Davlin, his sword already drawn from their luggage, did a quick environmental assessment. Several feet of grass verge flanked the track, there was a ditch on the right, and then thick undergrowth and shadows of towering trees took over on both sides.

  “It is rubbish,” Mickle snapped, coming up behind them. “Drive over it.”

  Even as he spoke, the rags moved, revealing a small child, three or four maybe, struggling to sit. Dirt streaked its face and matted its dark brown hair. Will was unable to tell if it was a boy or a girl. The child rubbed its face, looked around, fear widening its eyes, then proceeded to emit a loud, piercing wail, tears streaming down its face. Even Mickle looked surprised, although he rallied quickly.

  “Move it onto the grass and let us get going,” he ordered.

  No one moved.

  “It is a child,” Moylan said, uncertainty in his voice.

  “I am aware of what it is, Moylan,” Mickle retorted. “Move it!”

  “But it is a child, a young one. It must belong to someone. What is it doing here?” Moylan persisted.

  “I am asking you to move it, Moylan, not kill it,” Mickle snapped. Moylan shook his head, looking rather shocked. Mickle glowered. “Then I will do it myself.” He took a purposeful step forward, and Davlin grabbed his arm, pulling him to a stop.

  “Take your hands off me! I am not the girl you mother,” Mickle snarled.

  Ignoring Mickle’s insult, his eyes still on the wailing child, Davlin shook his head. “Something about this feels wrong. We should be wary—bandits are not uncommon in this area,” he said softly. Mickle hesitated, his expression oscillating between utter contempt for Davlin’s supposed stupidity and concern over the possibility that he might be right.

  “Very well,” he conceded stiffly. “Arm yourselves. If this is a trap, I shall spring it.” With that, Mickle yanked his arm out of Davlin’s grip and marched off towards the child.

  Davlin swore under his breath, climbed quickly into the cart and handed everyone their weapons from where they had been hidden. Will felt his fear ease for the first time in hours as the familiar leather grip of his sword slipped into his hand.

  “Ignore him,” Eleanor counselled Davlin. “You did what you could. The man is an idiot. If this is a trap, they are most likely after the carts and their contents. Would they be easier to protect if we pulled them side by side?”

  Davlin jumped down from the cart, his attention flicking back to watch Mickle’s progress.

  “Do not speak that way about your superior,” Davlin reprimanded her sharply. His eyes softened as he noticed the hurt that filled Eleanor’s expression. “But you are right about the carts,” he added more gently. “Moylan, go and bring the other one alongside.” Moylan nodded and dashed off to the other cart.

  “Plan?” Will asked Davlin, glancing at Mickle, who had nearly reached the child.

  “Protect Lady Eleanor and the carts,” Davlin said. “Until we know whether this is a trap or just poor parenting, I am unsure of specific action. However, if it comes to a fight, keep the carts at our backs for protection and fight in a semi-circle. We are enough, with enough skill, to hold back a reasonably sized force. Are either of you able to contact Lady Amelia or the Avatar of Fire? Can you call them for assistance if we need it?”

  Will nodded. “Yes, we both can, but they are some distance away. It would not be a swift rescue.”

  Davlin nodded, his attention on Mickle.

  “You realise that, trap or not, we will have to take that child with us. We cannot just leave it here,” Will said softly.

  Davlin flashed him a grim smile. “One battle at a time.”

  Moylan drove the cart up next to the lead vehicle, but they all had their attention on Mickle, who by now had reached the child. Looking around carefully, furtively checking what was happening by the carts, Mickle stooped, grasped the child under the arms and picked it up. This pushed it to an even higher state of distress. Its wails became terrified screams and it struggled wildly. Adjusting his hold for a tighter grip, Mickle walked to the side of the road and deposited the noisy bundle onto the grass, where it sat, still screaming. Mickle stared at the child for a moment, then shrugged, turned and started walking back towards the carts.

  He had managed less than five feet when an arrow whistled out from the darkness of the forest and hit him in his right shoulder. Mickle hit the ground with a groan, his left hand reaching to gingerly feel for the arrow. Finding it, he tried to pull it free with a hard tug. He gasped, giving a squeak of pain, and collapsed, lying still.

  “Take cover!” Davlin ordered, placing himself between Eleanor and the direction from which the arrow had come, then hustling his charge back, behind Brutus’s bulk. Will moved behind Davlin’s horse with Moylan, as it offered the largest surface area of protection while still giving them a view towards the direction their enemy was firing from.

  There was silence.

  “What are they waiting for?” Moylan whispered.

  “They test us,” Davlin replied. “To see if we attempt to rescue our fallen brother or perhaps fire arrows back. They establish our intentions while we know nothing of their numbers, weaponry or plans.”

  Picking up on the fear and racing adrenaline, Moss began a nervous shuffling, spooking Pal, who began squirming in his harness, shaking the cart.

  “The horses do not like being used as shields,” Eleanor commented.

  “Calm them down please, Lady Eleanor,” Davlin said. As the animals settled, he turned, looking across their backs. “Will, I believe it might be time to call for help.”

  There was a familiar whistling noise as another arrow shot out of the forest, embedding itself in the ground mere inches from Mickle’s head.

  “It could take a while for help to arrive,” Moylan pointed out. “We have to go and get Mickle—they are going to kill him.”

  Davlin shook his head. “Everyone stays here. They will not kill him; they would lose their leverage.”

  “They might already be trying, and just be poor shots,” Eleanor said. “Moylan is right: we have to go and get Mickle.”

  “No.” Davlin’s voice was soft and gentle, yet Will did not doubt that he would enforce his edict if necessary.

  “So I am reprimanded for calling a superior an idiot, yet you intend to actually murder the man and that is fine?” Eleanor spat, glaring up at Davlin.

  “Mickle’s safety is not my primary concern. We will stay protected here until
help arrives,” Davlin snapped, giving Will a pointed look.

  Slightly horrified by how quickly Davlin had written Mickle off, Will slowly shook his head. “I am not willing to leave the man to his death either, Davlin.”

  Eleanor’s smug smile vanished as Davlin flashed angry eyes from one to the other. “I forbid you from leaving the safety of the carts, but if there is anything magical you can do to help him, feel free.”

  “What we do does not work like that,” Eleanor said. “Can we not just move the carts forward to cover Mickle?”

  “The moment we begin moving the carts, they will kill him,” Davlin said.

  “How do you know that?” Eleanor asked.

  Davlin gave her a flat stare. “Because it is what I would do. Better to lose your leverage in a way that demoralises your enemy than in a way that will hearten them.”

  Eleanor shuddered. “So we need to distract them?”

  “That would be an excellent idea. But as we do not know where they are, how do you intend to do this?” Davlin asked, genuinely curious.

  Eleanor smiled. “Something magic can achieve,” she said, closing her eyes.

  Davlin gave Will a questioning look. Having no idea what Eleanor was up to, Will shrugged. Davlin turned his attention back to the thick darkness of the forest.

  “There are three men and a woman,” Eleanor told them, her voice sounding odd, disconnected. “The woman appears to be a captive. Her hands are tied, and she is crying.”

  “The child’s mother?” Moylan suggested.

  “What weapons do they carry?” Davlin asked.

  “Hard to see,” Eleanor said, her eyes still closed. “Only one man seems to have a bow. The others have swords, I think.”

  “Can you be certain?” Davlin snapped.

  “No,” Eleanor retorted. “My line of sight is rather close to the ground right now.”

  Will wondered what animal’s eyes she had borrowed for the task.

  “Very well,” Davlin said, immediately switching tacks. “You said you could distract them. How?”

  “By finding out if they like spiders,” she said, and Will heard the deep echo of Earth’s voice beneath Eleanor’s comment.

  They heard the screaming and yelling long before the three men came into view. They came tearing through the trees, panic in their eyes, hands brushing madly over their bodies, all else forgotten in the frantic need to remove the mass of eight-legged fiends that covered them. A young man took the lead, running faster than his older comrades. Even as they ran, the horde pursued them, spiders ranging from the size of a fingernail to that of a clenched fist, working together, driving their prey towards the road.

  “Getthemoffgetthemoffgetthemoff!”

  The young man’s fear-soaked pleading was accompanying by a twisting, gyrating dance of terror. The creatures crawled into ears, up noses, into hair, under clothes, biting wherever they went. They’re lucky we’re not on the southern savannah. Some of the spiders there have venom strong enough to kill a man, Will thought, resisting the urge to scratch in uncomfortable empathy.

  The high-pitched mantra was brought to an abrupt halt as spiders crawled into the young man’s open mouth. He spat furiously, his eyes bulging, looking at them in desperation, his sanity clearly at its breaking point. His two older colleagues were not faring much better, although they had wisely chosen to keep their mouths shut. They dropped to the ground, rolling and thrashing, trying hard to dislodge the creatures.

  “Remind me not to anger Lady Eleanor,” Moylan murmured in awed horror.

  Will nodded, a cold chill washing over him as he saw the empty, indifferent look in Eleanor’s eyes. He could tell that Earth had hold now, evidence of the power she had tapped into to achieve this result.

  The woman followed the men from the forest, her red-rimmed eyes cautious, but with their own frantic desperation. She staggered forward to the still screaming child and crouched over it, shielding and comforting it at the same time.

  “Eleanor, stop now,” Will said gently, moving round Moss and laying a light hand on her shoulder as he had seen Conlan do occasionally. “Davlin and Moylan have disarmed the men.”

  The men… Realisation dawned. These were the beggars that had been outside the gate. Beggars with clean hands? No dirt under their fingernails. Not beggars, then, and unlikely to be simple bandits… So this was the observation he had made earlier, but not consciously recognised. This had been the reason for his unease.

  Eleanor let out a shaky breath, her stiff body relaxing, compassion and warmth returning to her expression as she turned to look at Will, giving him a strained smile when she saw his concern. Immediately the spiders dropped from their victims, looking almost like water as they poured off of them, crawling rapidly back into the forest. The men struggled to their knees, shuddering as they brushed the few remaining spiders from their hair and shook out their clothes. Moylan and Davlin stood over them, swords drawn. Eleanor took another deep breath.

  “Are you okay?” Will whispered in English.

  “Yes,” she replied in Dwarfish. “Go help Mickle and the woman; I’ll help Davlin and Moylan.”

  Will noticed the tired look and slight trembling of her body, but she hid well the physical cost of what she had just done. As Will walked past Davlin, he looked down at the three men. “These are not average bandits,” he murmured in Davlin’s ear.

  “No,” Davlin agreed. “These men are something far more dangerous.”

  “Why not tell him just how dangerous, Davlin?” one of their captives commented.

  Surprised, Will looked at the dark-haired man knelt before him, hands behind his head, hard eyes flat and inscrutable. His older companion’s face was set with a similar unresponsive look under blond, almost white hair. It was only the third man, the youngest of the three, whose expression betrayed his fear.

  “You know these men, Davlin?” Will asked, suspicion creeping through his brain.

  Davlin’s gaze did not leave their captives, but he nodded. When he spoke, he addressed the blond-haired man knelt before him. “What are you doing here, Adian? Where are the others?”

  The man, Adian, said nothing.

  “I do not understand,” Will said, confused. “We are a long way from Katadep. How do you know these men? Why are they not dressed like Protectors?”

  “Ha!” Adian’s dark-haired companion snorted. “Protectors are sheep. We are not sheep.”

  “Hey! Watch where you throw your insults!” Moylan snarled.

  “Be silent, Barrows,” Adian snapped.

  Will caught Eleanor’s eye. He could see her concern and suspicion mix with something else—hurt, perhaps. The beginnings of a shattered trust. Had Davlin been playing them all along?

  “What are you doing here, Adian? Where are the others?” Davlin asked again.

  “We do not take orders from you anymore, Davlin. You were stripped of rank and title when you failed to check in,” Barrows spat with an enmity that spoke of years of hate. “Adian is our commander now,” he added with a smirk.

  “Right…” Davlin said quietly. “So if I torture you, Adian, you can tell me the whereabouts of the others and your mission parameters.”

  Adian paled. “Barrows,” he muttered. “If you speak again, I will cut out your tongue.”

  Barrows’s mouth twisted in a sullen snarl, and he glowered at Davlin.

  “Commander of what?” Eleanor asked, eyes flicking between Davlin and Adian. “Davlin, who are you…?”

  The silence was painful. Suspicion and fear squeezed Will’s gut. On reflex, he pulled Eleanor behind him and jabbed his sword between Davlin’s shoulder blades, hard enough to push through his clothes and into flesh, eliciting a grunt of pain.

  “Hand over your weapon, pommel first, and explain, Davlin,” Will demanded.

  “Now is not a good time for me to be disarmed,” Davlin said, caution in his tone. In answer, Will slid the blade a fraction deeper to emphasise his threat. Davlin took a sharp half breath
, and in one fluid movement flipped his blade and handed it to Eleanor as she stepped out from behind Will, her face hard and cold.

  “Now is not the time for this,” Davlin reiterated. “Not here, not out in the open, in front of potential witnesses.” He cast a glance down at the woman sat on the grass verge, her hands still tied, clutching her child to her, eyes wide as she watched them.

  Will jumped as Eleanor’s energy brushed against him. She started talking the moment he pulled her into his head.

  What do we do? We’ve no idea who these people are, what risk they present. How dangerous would it be to take them back to Conlan and let him sort it out? We can’t just kill them.

  I’m not planning on casually killing anyone, Eleanor, Will snapped.

  “Let the woman go,” Davlin urged calmly. Trying to focus on what Eleanor had said and come up with a plan, Will found Davlin giving orders rather annoying, but logically it was a sensible thing to do.

  Eleanor, untie that woman and get her up and walking back towards Gallendary. I assume that’s where she comes from.

  Speaking calm, soothing words, Eleanor approached the terrified woman, cutting carefully through the cords that bound her wrists and helping her to stand. With more kind words, she guided the woman around their carts and gave her a little shove along the track in the direction of the town. The woman glanced back once, and then grabbing her skirt, pulling it above her ankles and holding on to her child so tightly it squealed, she fled as fast as her overburdened legs would carry her.

  “That was stupid,” Adian observed. “She will go straight to the Protectors in Gallendary. You have very little time before they show up, and I am guessing from the spiders that one of your party is a magic practitioner, although I have never heard of that particular skill before.”

  “She and her child were innocent,” Davlin said flatly.

  Adian snorted. “Pointless sentimentality. Have you taken a blow to the head while you have been away, Davlin?”

  What now? Eleanor asked, as she came back round the carts to join Will.