Will (Book 2)

by S. F. Burgess

  “I suggest you leave, councillor,” Moylan snarled, placing himself between Will and the man he still assumed was a threat.

  As he looked around him, a cunning smile spread across Nicolas’s face. When he spoke, his voice was full of confidence and bluster.

  “I made your Master Sage an offer. He did not seem to want to take it, so I open my offer to any one of you,” Nicolas said, opening his arms wide and turning in a circle. “Bring me the Maiden, and I will give you two thousand gold pieces.” For several moments the silence became thicker and thicker as hostile eyes glared at Nicolas. Then he shrugged and turned to go.

  “Wait!” With a jingling of bells, Conlan moved a few steps towards Nicolas, who turned back, a smug smile on his face. “Two thousand gold pieces is a lot of money,” Conlan said, his voice calm, curious. “You could buy a lot of whores for that; you could buy yourself a wife for that. Why the Maiden?”

  Given confidence by Conlan’s apparent interest, and seeing perhaps a potential ally, Nicolas came a little closer. “Of all of you here, it is the Idiot who thinks to take advantage of this great offer. What does that say of your intellect?” Nicolas looked around at them, disdain in his tone. Then turning his attention back to Conlan, he gave him an almost conspiratorial smile. “I shall tell you, Idiot: whores have Whore Masters; wives have fathers. I am not free to indulge my pleasures where there are those who would consider it damage to their property. Your Maiden is without a higher authority to which I must answer. I can make her scream with impunity.”

  “You have ‘indulged these pleasures’ before’?” Conlan asked, an obscene excitement in his voice, and despite knowing it was faked for the benefit of the monster before him, Will felt a shudder rattle through him. Brilliant, Conlan, get him on-side, make him think you’re with him… but to what purpose?

  Nicolas nodded, his bragging tone back in full force. “I have had eight women under my boot over the years.”

  “And where are they now?” Conlan asked.

  “They bored me eventually. Once they are broken and compliant, they lose their appeal—so now their bodies fertilise my garden,” Nicolas said, chuckling at a joke that was evident only to him. Will could not see his face very well, but he could quite clearly hear the vile, unrepentant animal he was in his voice. Needing to get closer to be able to fully understand what was going on, Will hauled himself to his feet, unsteady for a moment before a couple of deep breaths stopped everything from spinning. Moylan looked back at him like he had seen a ghost, before giving him a grim smile.

  “You must be very powerful here to take the time to explain this to me in front of so many people. Do you not fear one of them may report you?” Conlan asked.

  Nicolas laughed. “You are a bunch of itinerant players! Who would believe you?”

  “I see,” Conlan said softly, before raising his voice. “Is that enough for you, Councillor Loson? Your son has condemned himself with his own words.”

  “What?” Nicolas spun round. Moving closer, Will could see the older councillor and two Protectors stood behind Nicolas with Eleanor and Davlin. With the look Melus directed at his son, Will was amazed that Nicolas did not melt to nothing on the spot.

  “Arrest him,” Melus commanded, pointing his finger at his son, tightly controlled fury in his voice, his eyes glacial.

  “You tricked me!” Nicolas snarled, turning back to Conlan, who nodded solemnly, his bells tinkling a bright, mocking sound, loud in the darkness.

  “I saw the Maiden return with your father and felt, as an honourable man, that he had the right to know the deviant, abusive, arrogant, corruption of humanity he had sired,” Conlan said, in a voice harder than steel, a growl of contempt beneath the words.

  As the Protectors cautiously approached, Nicolas flicked his eyes between them and Conlan. Having already damned himself with his own tongue, his choices were limited. With a yell of anger and frustration, the cornered man took one of the less prudent options available to him and, instead of just running, as Will had expected, he released his cloak to the ground, pulled a dagger from the scabbard on his belt, and charged at Conlan. Waiting until Nicolas was nearly upon him, Conlan moved with precise aim and stunning speed. In a small, almost effortless movement to the side, he caught the hand holding the weapon and, with a delicate twist, caused Nicolas to drop his knife with a yelp of pain accompanied by jingling bells. The unrestrained speed in Nicolas’s attack meant his momentum carried him forward; gracefully, Conlan clipped the man’s ankle, sending him sprawling into the dirt. After a couple of seconds catching his breath, Nicolas flipped himself onto his back and pulled himself up onto his elbows, only to find Conlan stood over him. Conlan looked speculatively at the knife Nicolas had just tried to use, making it flip and bounce on his fingers so that it appeared to dance in his hand.

  “Are you going to kill me now?” Nicolas sneered.

  “No,” Conlan replied, and slid his hands together, making the weapon vanish in a masterful display of sleight of hand. “I am just the Idiot. Your fate will be up to your father, the other councillors and, when you are formally charged with eight counts of murder, the Enforcer who will be called upon to hear your case and pass judgement. I hope you will be offered the same mercy you offered those you have had ‘under your boot’.”

  “They were just women,” Nicolas whined. “Nobody important.”

  “Perhaps not,” Melus said, coming forward, and Will saw his agreement make Davlin wince. “And had it been just those women, leniency would have been possible. But this revelation is merely solid proof that connects a wealth of circumstantial evidence I have had presented to me over the last few years. How many more have you killed? I have long suspected your older brother’s death was not accidental and that there was money going missing from the village coffers. Rumours have often reached me about your involvement in nefarious activities, most recently in the violence we have seen in the village in the last few weeks. They may only be women you murdered, but the unsavoury manner of their deaths will be enough to hang you—and I will not mourn your passing.”

  Nicolas’s face paled, horror filling his eyes. He put up no resistance as he was pounced on by the Protectors, dragged to his feet and marched off into the darkness. His father picked up Nicolas’s fallen cloak and retrieved the bag of money Will had handed over earlier. Draping the cloak over his arm, Melus moved a few steps forward.

  “Master Sage,” he said, giving Will a penetrating look before he spoke again, his voice tired and heavy. “I am sorry for my son’s behaviour. I have no right to ask any more of you or your troupe, but I would request that you, and they, keep silence on this matter. Please take back your player charge; it is the best we can offer in compensation under the circumstances.”

  “None of us will discuss what happened here tonight beyond our own company,” Will assured him, taking the money. “However, I would ask something from you.”

  Melus raised an eyebrow. “What is that, Sage?”

  “We would like to leave now,” Will said. “You must excuse us, but we will not feel safe inside your village walls tonight.”

  “A bold request,” Melus said. “But understandable. Very well, follow me to the Protectors’ building and I will send someone down to the gates to ensure you are allowed to leave.”

  “Thank you, councillor,” Will said, with a respectful nod.

  They travelled away from Virr for a while before pulling to the side of the track and setting up camp. No one wanted to sleep.

  Once Will had washed the blood off his face, he came to sit with Amelia by the fire. The others sat round them, walled in by their own thoughts. It was Eleanor who broke the silence, speaking a suspicion that had crossed Will’s mind but which he had dismissed as foolish.

  “So… how many of you think murdering women is acceptable if no one will miss them?” Eleanor asked, a Dwarfish whine of disbelief running through her words.

  Will winced. You tactless wonder!

  It was El
roy who answered, his voice tight and controlled, but anger simmering in his eyes. “You have lived with us for months now, Lady Eleanor. Do you believe such evil lives in our hearts?”

  Eleanor held his gaze. “Who knows what you hide? Hence my question.”

  Elroy snorted. “And I took you for a smart person.”

  Conlan frowned; he looked about to say something, but Will caught his eye and shook his head. The little pixie needed to understand that she could not expect Conlan to rescue her whenever she spoke without engaging her brain first. Elroy was bright enough to take her down a peg or two, and it needed to happen. Perhaps she will learn something about control. Conlan nodded and relaxed himself into the background as Eleanor spoke again, her voice hard and cold.

  “Please explain what I am missing, Elroy.”

  Elroy jumped to his feet, glaring at her from across the fire. “Really? You need this explained?” he spat. “Have you not heard the love in his voice when Mickle talks about his dead wife, or noticed how Davlin has devoted himself to you? Do you miss the effort and concentration Moylan puts into his sword practice with you, desperate to impress you? How about the care and attention Kip gives both you and Lady Amelia, cooking your favourite treats whenever he gets the chance? Arran has a bounty on his head because he came when you called! If you had bothered to ask, you would know that Teris still mourns a sister raped and murdered by a Lord of Mydren on her wedding night. His inability to save her was the driving force behind his joining Conlan.”

  Elroy took a breath, and his voice was calmer, but many degrees colder, when he spoke again. “Do these sound like the actions of men who consider women so lowly they would condone their murder for what appeared to be sexual gratification? You would assume our natures to be the same as Nicolas, a deviant criminal?”

  When Elroy at last finished speaking, the silence was total. Eleanor had blushed so heavily she looked ill. Will felt a vague stab of guilt and embarrassment, but it was better this was aired now, rather than be allowed to fester at the back of her mind. Besides, they were learning more about the men they trusted to guard their back.

  “I am sorry, Elroy,” Eleanor said, her voice a rough whisper, the words stiff and formal in her distress, her pained brown eyes not leaving his. “I am ashamed of myself. You are right.” She dropped her head. “I should have realised it was a stupid question. I will make more of an effort to control my outbursts in future.”

  Her contrition and guilt were enough that Will could see the anger fade from Elroy’s eyes.

  “I would prefer it if you would just tell me what it is I need to do to earn your trust,” Elroy said, and there was no unpleasantness in the remark, just honest confusion. Will expected Eleanor to backtrack, to fill the brittle, cold silence with polite words, to say that she did trust him, but this was Eleanor, and empty politeness would not put her fears to rest. Her eyes hard, she raised her head.

  “I know why Davlin, Arran and Mickle joined us,” she said. “Kip has explained to me his motivations, and you have just explained about Teris and his sister. Why are you and Moylan here?”

  Elroy turned and gave Moylan a questioning look. He nodded, pulled himself to his feet and ran his hand through his tangled mop of red hair, a habit Will recognised as nervousness in the large man. With only a moment’s hesitation, Moylan peeled off his shirt and, raising his arms, turned in a slow circle.

  Eleanor gasped; his chest, sides and back were covered in scars, lash marks, burns and cuts. All healed long ago, but worse in their way than anything Conlan carried because it was clear that the abuse had been done with care, placed just so, in order that the injuries inflicted could be hidden beneath a shirt. Whoever did this expected Moylan to carry on as if it wasn’t happening, Will thought with a shudder that echoed through Amelia’s body, her eyes filling with pity for the large man with the ready smile, a man who suddenly seemed so vulnerable.

  Eleanor walked forward and Moylan froze, blue eyes watching her with apprehension as she reached out a hand and ran gentle fingers over the marked flesh.

  “What happened?” she whispered.

  Moylan shrugged. “When I was five, my father ‘gave’ me to Lord Harris of the West Tower, to work as a stable boy. The Lord’s eldest son, Rawn, was a vicious bully. Most vicious boys pull the legs off spiders or kick puppies until someone beats it out of them, but not rich little boys; they get to hurt those around them and nobody tells them to stop. Except that one day someone did tell the brat to stop. I was ten, and the son of a visiting Lord came to my rescue. He stopped Rawn from taking his riding crop to me again, and he talked Lord Harris into releasing me to the Protectors.”

  Eleanor looked confused. “I do not understand…”

  “I do,” Conlan said, his eyes suddenly wide, soft wonder in the Dwarfish. “I thought I recognised that red hair when you first arrived. You have grown from the scrawny child I remember, Moylan.”

  Eleanor’s gaze moved between Conlan and Moylan as surprise danced across her face. “That was you?” she asked Conlan. “You rescued Moylan?”

  “So it would seem,” Conlan said, giving Moylan a wide smile that was quickly returned.

  “You saved my life, Conlan, and gave me hope. When Elroy told me to whom they were planning to offer fealty, I did not hesitate. You have earned my loyalty a hundred times over, and I long for the day we can bring your compassion and justice to the whole of Mydren,” Moylan said, giving Conlan a respectful nod before turning back to Eleanor. “And as for my feelings about women… I did not have much belief in the ability of women until I met you and Lady Amelia, and I admit that I have occasionally lost my temper and considered hitting a woman justified. But murder of the innocent in cold blood has always been wrong to me, regardless of who the victim was.”

  Eleanor dropped her head as embarrassment once again flushed her cheeks. Elroy moved to her side and placed a hand on her shoulder, giving her a small smile when she raised her face to him.

  “We are King’s Men, Lady Eleanor, but we would follow you or Lady Amelia into battle without hesitation,” Elroy said, looking round at the others with pride as heads nodded in agreement. “While there are many of our countrymen who are not quite as enlightened as us,” Elroy continued, “you should understand that this belief, that women are little more than animals, is not an affliction of the common people. We may consider women physically weaker, and sadly there are many men who take the frustrations of their lives out on wives and daughters with their fists, but there are quite a few of us who respect our ladies for their intelligence and wisdom. It is the wealthy, powerful men of Mydren who believe that woman are inferior, with no redeeming features. Burdens on men, to be despised, nothing more than breeding cows to be trodden down. And those with aspirations to join these circles of power… they imitate these attitudes.” Elroy’s words were followed by muttered comments of “True!” and “Agreed!”, and more heads nodding sagely.

  “Why do you think that is?” Conlan asked, and Will could see his green eyes calculating, thinking, planning.

  Elroy stood thoughtful for a moment before answering. “The Lords covet power. By debasing women, they prevent one half of the population of Mydren from taking their power.”

  “A simple and elegant theory,” Conlan mused. “There is little I can do now to make the changes in this area that I would wish, but if we were to alter our play, to make the Maiden and the Mother’s roles more assertive, do you think this would help?”

  Looking a little startled at being asked, Elroy shrugged. “It cannot hurt. What changes did you wish to make?”

  “The Mother should send the Hero on his mission, offer more advice and direction; and the Maiden should fight at the Hero’s side once the Catalyst falls,” Conlan said. “Amelia’s Dwarfish has improved; I believe she would be able to handle a small speaking part.”

  “I will try,” Amelia said, the Dwarfish carrying a growl of doubt. Conlan gave her a smile.

  Elroy thought the changes th
rough, his eyes distant as the ramifications for the story moved behind them. He nodded and spoke again. “I think also that the Hero should be a little more respectful to the Maiden in his victory. While sweeping the Maiden off her feet and kissing her is… exciting, it is, perhaps not the image of respectful behaviour we wish to convey. Maybe the Hero should thank her. Perhaps a chaste kiss to the hand would be better?”

  Conlan glanced at Freddie’s peeved expression and, with a smug smile, nodded. “An excellent idea, Elroy. Please can you and Eleanor go through the changes with your cast tomorrow?”

  Despite the shadow of loss that passed briefly through Freddie’s eyes, Will welcomed this change to their play. He had been surprised when Conlan and Eleanor had tolerated Freddie’s impromptu ending in the first place and suspected that the love and affection they both had for him had held them back, not wanting to hurt him further. Yet Freddie needed to be firmly rebuffed, he needed to be forced to move on, and giving him the ability to steal kisses from Eleanor was not helping that process. Elroy returned to his seat and Moylan, pulling his shirt back over his head, returned to his. That left Eleanor stood by the fire, a frown on her face.

  “Did we not answer your questions satisfactorily, Lady Eleanor?” Teris asked, his comment sharp, cutting.

  Ignoring him, Eleanor continued to stare at Elroy, who looked back with calm yet stubborn resistance. He was not going to volunteer the information for which Eleanor appeared to be waiting.

  With a huff of frustration, her voice tight and irritated, Eleanor spoke. “Elroy, why are you here?”

  Stillness settled over Elroy, spreading out across them all. His eyes glittered with grief, pain and loss, a depth of agony that could crush a soul. When he spoke, his voice had an empty, echoing lifelessness to it, a deep hollow quality.

  “I am here because for one glorious, perfect afternoon, I was the husband of Teris’s sister.”

  Time slowed as the partial moon tracked across the cloudless, star-studded expanse above them and the fire died down to embers. There were a few whispered conversations, which Will could easily ignore, but still no one slept. Amelia lay against him, her head on his chest, watching the last dying flames dance and shimmer within the stones of their fire pit. Will, however, gazed up in awe at the glittering, majestic beauty above him, struck, as he always was, with how small and insignificant man was in comparison. He had often done the same thing back on Earth, before. Before Conlan, before Mydren, the ‘before’ he sometimes struggled to remember in anything more than vague abstract. There, he had looked up and wondered why he bothered with anything—after all, in a hundred years, who would remember him? But Mydren had changed that. If they succeeded, if they put Conlan on the throne, made him king, they would change the course of Mydrenian history forever. They would make a difference that might be felt a thousand years in the future, and with this thought the stars no longer seemed to mock him, but drove him on. His fate became his guide, making everything so much clearer. Hearing why their men had joined them had bonded them together more tightly than ever. Had he been given the choice, Will would have preferred it if someone other than Eleanor had done the interrogating, but the result was still a positive one. Sharing their pasts had made them more than just King’s Men: now they were family.