Will (Book 2)

by S. F. Burgess

  “Freddie, you and Kip appear to have some energy to burn off. This evening you can report to me for some personal unarmed combat training,” Conlan said, his eyes bright with cunning. Freddie nodded, his humour gone, Kip whispered something to him and Freddie whispered something back. Kip paled slightly and suddenly became very focused on the twisting blade manoeuvre Freddie was showing him. Conlan watched them for a moment before rolling his eyes and turning his head to give Will a stern look.

  “You…” he said, the English carrying a menacing growl, amid the cheerful tinkle of bells. “… are next!”

  As Will left with Amelia he heard Conlan disband the sword fighting to move on to juggling and acrobatics. Will walked with Amelia’s warm, soft, delicate hand in his, back to their cart. I love you. He gave her hand a light squeeze and she smiled at him. Inside, the place looked like an eclectic, upmarket haberdashery, with clothes, thread, buttons, material and ribbon strewn about in colourful confusion.

  “As the Sage, your outfit is a little different. You can keep your normal clothes on underneath and just wear this over the top,” Amelia said and spun round to present a beautiful bright blue velvet robe.

  “No clothes off?” Will asked, giving her a totally faked hurt expression.

  “No clothes off!” Amelia said, giggling, as Will pulled her into his arms, crushing the robe between them.

  “But everyone’s distracted, playing at being players… and there’s a bed,” he said, kissing her before she could respond. She pushed him away, breathless, colour filling her cheeks as lust filled her eyes.

  “You have no sense of decorum,” she said, stepping out of his embrace and doing her best to look annoyed.

  Will shrugged. “I just don’t want to waste a moment alone with you if it’s made available.”

  Amelia frowned as she held his gaze. “Recently it’s as if there’s something more.” She paused, taking his hand, rubbing her thumb across the knuckles, gazing into his eyes with loving concern. “What’s wrong, Will? You used to talk to me…”

  Caught unprepared, Will felt his suddenly pounding heart jump into his throat. Thinking fast, wanting to buy time, he sighed and moved to sit at the table, carefully moving clothing aside to do so. What do I say? The truth was out of the question, but he had never lied to Amelia and he did not want to start now. Some truth then… Could he tell her enough that she would be satisfied?

  “They’re all so young,” he said quietly. “We have a huge army before us, and I fear for them… I fear for us. Being with you is life-affirming and comforting at the same time. You are the only true safety I have.”

  Amelia sat next to him, wrapped her arms around him and laid her head against his chest. “I worry about us too,” she admitted. “But I don’t believe Conlan would throw our lives away. I don’t think we’ll be facing any armies with just the twelve of us.”

  Not by choice… Uncomfortable with the bitterness of this thought, Will said nothing, just pulled Amelia tighter against him and felt her body relax. She took a breath as if she was going to say more, then let it slowly out, the moment broken.

  “Come on, let’s get you into this outfit,” she said, pulling herself to her feet and picking the robe up from the table.

  She helped to slip the heavy material over Will’s head, then moved back as the folds settled around him, checking the seams and length. It was a simple, floor-length, blue velvet robe, with long sleeves that flared open at the cuffs and a thick collar that buttoned at the back. ‘Simple’ was a misleading term though. Although no fancy embroidery adorned its rich, shimmering surface, the cut of the material and the way it twisted and caught the light as he moved made Will think of excessive opulence.

  “This is amazing,” Will said, turning a tight circle in the small space of the caravan. Amelia frowned, her head tipped to one side. Confused and worried that Amelia might move back to their previous conversation, Will smiled.

  “What’s the matter? I love it.”

  Amelia shook her head. “It’s nothing. You just remind me of someone I’d rather forget.” A wide smile not quite masking her fear, Amelia ran a lingering hand down his face. “Let’s not talk about it… besides, you do look rather stunning.”

  “Someone you’d rather forget…?” Will asked.

  “What part of ‘Let’s not talk about it’ was confusing?” Amelia asked, annoyance in her eyes.

  “The part where you don’t share what’s bothering you…” Will said softly, upset that she was shutting him out.

  “Hurts, doesn’t it?” Amelia said, distress clouding her eyes. “When the one person you love and trust above all others won’t let you in.”

  Will took in a sharp breath, shocked. “I told you what was bothering me.”

  “No, you told me a minor concern,” Amelia said. “What’s been bothering you has been bothering you since before the Protectors joined us!”

  Will stared at her, mind blank, heart pounding and fear’s needle teeth sinking slowly into him in a thousand places. Goose bumps erupted across his skin, his palms suddenly sweaty. All the logical, sensible reasons why he had chosen not to tell Amelia faded to nothing under the strength of her gaze. He dropped his head. In that moment all he wanted to do was tell her, to share his fear, his misery, to know that in at least one person’s presence he would not have to hide it. Not that I’m doing a very good job of that! He took a breath, ready to let it out. You’re going to destroy her. The warning voice in his head was quiet but firm. It’s going to happen; she doesn’t need to worry about it until it does. Slowly Will regained his composure and was able to think again. He could not tell her, could not hurt her like that

  “It’s me that’s stripped your calm, isn’t it?” Amelia guessed, her voice trembling.

  “Stripped my calm?” Will asked.

  Amelia took his hand, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles again, not looking at him as she spoke. “One of the things I love about you is the way you radiate calm. Nothing fazes you—until now. Your calm is gone. You’re running around like everything has to be done today, like tomorrow might never come. Even Freddie is calmer than you at the moment. You don’t think I’m going to be able to cope with what’s coming, do you? And you’re panicking, trying to work out how to prepare me.”

  Will stared at the perceptive, bewitching woman before him: her eyes were moist, her distress clear on her face, but her tears were kept in check. Hating himself for it, he took the escape from the conversation she had offered. Pulling her into a tight embrace so she could not see the guilt in his eyes, he sighed and told her half a truth.

  “What’s coming is going to be so hard for you, and some of it you’re going to have to handle on your own. I want to help you. I’m trying. I didn’t realise it was making me this unsettled.”

  There was silence as Amelia seemed to think this through. Eventually she pulled back as she raised her head, a look of stubborn determination stamped upon her face.

  “There’s nothing you can do, Will,” she said, her voice strong, eyes dry. “This has to come from me. I’m not afraid of who and what I am anymore. I know there are battles coming and that I can’t afford to worry endlessly about it. I know this, and I’m working on coming to terms with it. I’m sorry, I didn’t want it to affect you. Please Will, please, stop worrying about me. I’m a lot stronger than you think. I’ll be just fine.”

  With Amelia’s words the chains that had been dragging down Will’s heart fell away; her reassurance resonated through him, freeing him from so much fear and darkness. It felt as though he had never seen the light before.

  “Yes,” he agreed smiling. “You’ll be just fine.”

  Amelia pulled him close again, kissing and nibbling under his chin. He returned her passion, his hands running up and down her back. Suddenly she pushed him gently away, panting slightly, a goofy smile on her face.

  “Not now. Later, I promise,” she said, the love in her eyes dazzling.

  Reaching forward, Will took h
er head between his hands, committing the adoring look on her face to memory, before leaning in to kiss her forehead.

  “So what was bothering you about my outfit?” Will asked.

  Amelia shrugged. “You look like Daratus.” Will shuddered. “Now you see why I didn’t want to tell you. There are some things it’s just better not to know,” Amelia said, before ordering him out of the caravan so she could prepare the next outfit.

  Needing to think, Will asked Conlan for time to go searching for the herbs and plants he needed for his medicine case, then grabbed his sketch pad and pencils and wandered out into the forest. It was a beautiful day, the warm air heavy with the perfume of the flowers he passed, birds singing out their joy. Finding a comfortable spot at the base of a large hazel tree growth, the wide-spreading branches still bearing the bright yellow catkins of spring, Will leant back, the multitude of branch-like trunks reaching up from a single base providing a flexible resting place.

  With his pencil resting across his open sketchbook, Will stared at the empty white page. Amelia’s words had released some of his tension, but there was still something, a pressure he was refusing to acknowledge. He could see the truth in Amelia’s words. His calm was gone, sacrificed to the struggle against a truth he could not change. If I can’t change my fate, what do I do with that?

  Acceptance.

  Acceptance was the only way forward. Will smiled at the realisation that he was suffering only because he was refusing to accept what he could not change. He already knew what was coming and how bad it would be; he was as prepared as he would ever be. The tension melted out of his body, but to his surprise, accepting the future that had been dealt him did not dissolve his desire to keeping fighting as long as he could, as he had feared it might. It was only his anger that had faded away.

  He laughed, without bitterness, at his stupidity. He had invested so much effort in hiding the truth from those he loved that he had managed to hide it from himself—from his conscious mind at least. But his heart had known, and stifling his feelings, bottling them up, had been tearing him apart. Slowly, a peace he recognised—his sense of peace—settled over his once harried mind, and he relaxed a little. Despite the heavy burden of containing his energy, he felt comfortable in his own skin. Taking up his pencil, his heart lighter and everything clearer, Will began to write.

  It was lunchtime before Will walked back into camp, carrying his sketch pad and pencils along with the herbs, flowers and tree bark he had collected, his trouser pockets stuffed with small, bright red berries from the Casrem bush he had stumbled across. The sharp, fresh taste of their skin contrasted with the sweet pulp inside and made them one of Amelia’s favourite treats. Leaving his finds in the cart for later, Will joined the group for lunch around the fire.

  During the meal, Conlan, still wearing his Idiot’s outfit, explained that while he wished to avoid it as long as possible, as they travelled through the more populated areas they might well have to put on a production to keep up their pretence of being players. And, he added, Eleanor had an idea for a play. Will listened with amusement as Eleanor outlined the play she wanted them to put on, which shared a remarkable resemblance to Romeo and Juliet. And Will was not the only one to notice the blatant plagiarism. Freddie nudged Amelia and commented that she had never truly experienced Shakespeare until she had heard it in the original Dwarfish. The comment earned them both an exasperated look from Eleanor, who shrugged and pointed out that the choice had seemed appropriate—as they were, after all, King’s Men. Will had no idea what she meant by this, but judging by the looks of bewilderment on Freddie’s and Amelia’s faces, he was not the only one.

  Eleanor failed to notice their confusion and continued the story. She finished to a stunned silence, and when she asked for opinions, everyone started talking at once. Moylan argued that no woman, not even a beautiful one, was worth dying for, and Davlin told him he was too young to understand how wrong he was. Their good-natured argument soon grew to encompass everyone.

  Eleanor asked everyone if they had any other ideas for plays. Playing different parts, but clearly having similar thoughts on the subject, Elroy and Moylan acted out a short, rather funny story about a man who wanted the beauty of his neighbour’s daughter and tried various ill-conceived plans to get her father to part with her hand in marriage. Eleanor looked quite impressed until Conlan pointed out that this was already an established play performed by other players. More conversation led to Davlin asking Eleanor if she had any other ideas. Smiling, Eleanor gave them a brief run-through of what sounded to Will like Macbeth and Hamlet, although she had changed the character’s names and settings to more Mydren-sounding ones. Again, Eleanor’s renditions were met with silence as they were considered.

  “These are popular stories in your world?” Elroy asked Eleanor.

  “Yes, for well over four hundred years,” she replied.

  “I appreciate that using them would save us time, but could we not devise our own?” Elroy asked, his eyes flicking uncertainly between Conlan and Eleanor, as if he expected to get yelled at.

  Conlan leaned forward. “What did you have in mind, Elroy?”

  Elroy swallowed, but did not drop his gaze. “Could we do a play about Alaric and the return of kings?”

  Will saw Conlan and Eleanor tense. It felt like everyone collectively held their breaths. It was Kip who broke the silence, a frown on his face.

  “I do not think that is a good idea. Alaric does not like lots of people; he would get frightened.”

  Conlan smiled. “No, Kip, I believe Elroy wants to do a play about the first king, Alaric. Your mule is safe.” Will smiled at Conlan’s expression, so full of affection and patience. The care Conlan had shown Kip, always speaking to him with respect, had brought the young man out of his shell and given his men an example to follow. Kip’s growing confidence meant he smiled and laughed more, both of which were infectious, improving the moods of all those around him.

  “Oh…” Kip said, a reciprocal smile spreading across his face.

  Conlan’s gaze moved on to Elroy. “We are using the players’ world as a disguise,” he said. “I am unsure how effective this disguise will be. It seems foolhardy to invite scrutiny by putting on such an inflammatory play.”

  “This will be a play for the people. We will mention the made-up places and names that have been used to preserve Alaric’s story, to hide it from the Lords. It will be safe,” Elroy assured him. “Alaric still has many fiercely loyal subjects in Mydren. We would do well to align our cause under his banner—unless you believe you can win the battles we must fight with just the twelve of us?”

  Conlan raised an eyebrow at Elroy’s mildly insubordinate tone, his eyes hard. Will could see the thoughts flashing through Eleanor’s eyes. Should Conlan tell them he’s Alaric’s descendant? Would it help? It had always been such a dangerous secret. Even when it had just been the two of them in a cave in the mountains, snow three feet deep outside, Conlan had still whispered when he had first told Will about his true heritage.

  Conlan held Elroy’s gaze until he dropped his head, blushing. Eleanor took a breath and Conlan’s eyes snapped to hers, flashing a warning. Her face strangely blank, Eleanor nodded and slowly exhaled.

  “Elroy, please will you work with Eleanor, so she can write this play?” Conlan asked. “I will review it when you are finished. It will need to be done as soon as possible, because once we leave here after lunch, we could be called upon at any time to present it. I would like to start practicing it when we camp at night.”

  As the camp was packed up around them, Conlan quietly asked his Avatars to join him. Thinking it was an odd time for another balancing session, Will followed the others to the private spot they had used for this sort of work before. However, when they got there, Conlan just stood, surrounded by them, looking at the ground.

  “What’s the matter?” Freddie asked.

  Conlan sighed. “Soon we’ll be moving into the more populated areas of Mydren. Mixi
ng with people is inevitable, and my eyes are going to make me stand out even more than this ridiculous Idiot’s outfit.”

  Eleanor gasped. “You want us to take our energy back?”

  Conlan nodded. Will felt the hard knot in his stomach that worrying about using his energy always gave him. Can I do this? What if I pull too hard? Taking a deep breath he pushed the negativity aside, calm taking its place.

  “Won’t that be painful? What if we hurt you?” Amelia asked.

  Conlan smiled at her. “I don’t think it could more unpleasant than getting caught by the Protectors—and these glowing eyes are rather noticeable.”

  “Sounds sensible to me,” Freddie said. “Do you want us to do it all at once or one at a time?”

  Conlan’s lips twitched as he tried to hide his amusement at the gleeful practicality in Freddie’s tone.

  “Let’s get this over with,” Conlan said briskly. “All at once will be fine I’m sure.”

  “Okay,” Eleanor said, looking doubtful. “Everyone ready…? Three, two, one—”

  Will pushed an energy string out to Conlan. This, he knew, was the easy part. Carefully, he searched for his own energy in the swirling mass. It’s like trying to unravel a tangled ball of string. Taking slow, calming breaths, Will stilled his mind and all outside distractions faded; purple and blue strings of his energy surfaced towards him. He slowly began drawing it into himself, but he discovered that the more he drew, the less control he had over the pulsing accumulation. I need to drain it off. Still pulling his energy from Conlan, Will sent another energy string out in the direction of the stream that ran by their camp.

  But as he reached it, he lost control, and instead of syphoning off the excess energy back into the water, he released it. His awareness travelled with the electrical concussion that shot through the water. He felt it kill fish, plants and even a bird drinking at the water’s edge before it dissipated. Trying to keep hold of his calm and his control, horrified at what he had done, he fought the energy that was left.