Will (Book 2)

by S. F. Burgess

  “Will!”

  Conlan’s concerned shout brought him back to himself. He had slumped into Freddie, dropping the reins. Will shuddered, pushing Water’s invasion out of his head, and pulled himself up. Bringing the cart to a halt he found glowing green eyes scrutinising him, the unspoken question crackling in the air between them. Can I do this? Grabbing the reins and sitting firmly upright, Will held Conlan’s gaze and gave one sharp purposeful nod of his head. Conlan frowned, but moved his attention to address the group as the other cart came to a stop.

  “Davlin, find us a couple of bows and what arrows we have. You, Eleanor, Freddie and Amelia are with me. We are going to give our guests a warm welcome,” Conlan ordered. “Everyone else, go with Will to the river and get the carts and the horses across. We are going to buy you a little time, but we will join you soon.”

  Will moved to the back of the cart to help Amelia down, but she was already there, strapping her sword to her waist. Will pulled her into his arms, his nostrils full of the smell of incense and lavender—Amelia’s smell.

  “Be careful,” he murmured into her neck. She pulled away and gave him a smile full of strength and determination, although Will could see her trembling slightly.

  “You too,” she whispered back, kissing him firmly before slipping out of his arms and moving to stand with Freddie and Eleanor.

  Once Davlin had the bows and arrows Conlan had asked for and everyone who was staying was armed, Will led the others down to the river bank. He moved a little way downstream until he found a place where the bank seemed to slope into the water and out at the other side, so it would be easier to manoeuvre the carts across.

  “How do you want to do this, Will?” Mickle asked as they pulled the carts to a stop.

  “I am going to hold the water back, stop it flowing,” Will explained. “This is not easy, and once I am incorporated with the water, pulling me out will be difficult. So I would suggest all of you concentrate on moving one cart across at a time—that way, if I lose control, it is just one cart we are risking. Start with your cart; it has less in it so it will be lighter, which should make the job quicker. Do not forget to take Meran, Horse and the mule with you.”

  His orders given, Will walked down to the river’s edge and, lying flat amid the tall grass, dropped his hand into the river. Instantly he felt the pull trying to drag him out of his body. With every ounce of strength he had, he held onto his awareness of himself as he fed his energy out through the water, feeling the flow, the eddies, the life that moved within it, each individual molecule. Leaning into the water, he drew an imaginary line and forced the water to remain above that line, pushing it back, holding it through its length, pushing back all the way to its source. Will felt the water’s vibration, its struggle with this unnatural flow, and focused his concentration on the line, his body quivering violently with the effort. He was vaguely aware of shouting, then yelling, screaming and the clash of swords.

  Absorbed in the single-minded need to hold the water back, Will was almost oblivious to his surroundings. But the arrow that hit him, high in the thigh, fractured his concentration. The water he was holding tumbled out of his control, stripping his energy from him as blistering pain tore through him. With his consciousness still threaded into the water and pain clawing through his insides, Will fought for control. It was a struggle, but the river of red-hot lava in his leg helped to guide him back to his body. Awareness of his prone position on the ground arrived just as a large, fast-moving, booted foot attached to a grey Protector’s uniform made contact with his leg right above where the arrow was embedded in it. Will’s scream merged with the screams of panic from people and horses as the river raged around them, dragging them down and away.

  Did everyone get across?

  Dread that one of those screams could be Amelia’s pushed Will to fight harder against his impending blackout. He was roughly manhandled so that his hands could be tied tightly behind his back.

  “You are tying me up?” Will asked, confusion making him bold. “I thought you would just be slitting my throat.”

  The Protector laughed, a harsh bark. “We are under strict orders to bring prisoners alive to Lord Hernas.”

  Will smiled. “You cannot kill me? Good to know.” With strength driven by the adrenaline surging like fire around his body, Will twisted violently and, with his good leg, kicked the man, delivering a crushing blow to his genitals. He felt something pop under his boot. The man paled, his eyes watering and, clutching himself, toppled over whimpering. Cringing, trying not to think about what he had just done, Will pulled himself up to sit, surveying the now torrential river. A group of maybe fifteen Protectors and their horses were caught in the flow. He doubted they would survive, and no efforts were being made to help them. On the far side of the river he could see one of their carts and the horses and men. Scanning them, he saw Amelia being carried by Moylan. She was too far away for Will to tell how badly she was injured. Eleanor’s energy barged painfully into his head.

  Ow! Eleanor, don’t do that, you’ve no idea how much it hurts!

  WILL! Some of the Protectors were actually Enforcers in disguise. We didn’t recognise them, and they began picking us off before we realised. Amelia is okay, by the way, just drained. Arran, Kip and Conlan are still on the wrong side of the river with you. Everyone else is safe. Conlan needs your help.

  Will could hear the desperation and exhaustion in Eleanor’s voice, so he chose not to point out that he had an arrow in his leg and empty energy reserves and would most likely be of very little help to anyone.

  Eleanor seemed to read his mind. Please, Will, whatever you can do, get up and help him. We wiped out a lot of the elite Protectors, but there are enough of them left to kill him. And Davlin won’t let me come back.

  Will forced himself up—not an easy task with his hands tied behind his back and an arrow in his leg. But by taking slow deep breaths to counter the pain, he eventually managed it, and when he turned, he saw the problem.

  Conlan stood before their cart, a sword in each hand. Six armed men cautiously advanced, stepping over the bodies of comrades Conlan must have already killed. By their short-fitting coats that allowed them easier movement and the sleek, honed edges of their weapons that caught the sunlight, Will knew these were the elite guard. They attacked as one, bearing down on the lone figure.

  HELP HIM!

  Eleanor’s scream in his head galvanised Will to action. He limped towards the fight, dealing with the pain as he moved, until he had a rhythm of forward motion he could maintain without passing out. Conlan fought with deadly grace, his weapons lethal, destructive blurs as he engaged the first two of the elite guard to reach him. He was aiming to deliver death with the most efficient use of movement possible. There would be no quarter given here, no mercy, there were too many of them, the stakes too high, and for the first time Will saw the ruthless, savage, unrelenting killer Conlan could have been had Daratus succeeded in beating a conscience out of his son.

  Shouting came from behind him and Will risked a glance back. There were others coming, ordinary Protectors, but with enough numbers skill became irrelevant, and Will was about to be trapped between the back of Conlan’s fight and the fresh reinforcements that were rapidly approaching. His hands were still tied behind his back, and he had no weapon but his momentum.

  Will put on a burst of speed, ignoring the pain and the black spots in his vision. He barrelled into two of the elite guard, catching one in the side with his shoulder and unfortunately catching the other one in the hip where the blow would cause less damage. All three of them hit the ground. The one he had caught on the hip squirmed and, pulling himself up, grabbed Will’s upper arms, trying to take control. Will slammed his head into the man’s face and heard the crunch of bones as the man cried out. Then he dropped awkwardly onto the other Protector, aiming his elbow down from behind his back and hearing his enemy’s ribs crack as the force made his arm go numb. Satisfied neither of the men were an immediat
e threat, Will forced himself to stand, intent on making his way to Conlan’s side.

  Conlan….

  The anguish in Eleanor’s voice echoed through his head. It did not seem possible, but the clamour of battle and the screams of the injured appeared to intensify.

  “No, leave him alone!”

  The yell came from top of the cart steps. Kip, a large metal skillet in his hand, charged into the fray, slamming his kitchen utensil in all directions and landing punishing blows. Will felt cold dread drop into his stomach and a huge amount of respect for the courage it took for a sixteen-year-old boy to defend his king against trained killers—with nothing more than a large frying pan. Not wanting to waste the surprise distraction Kip’s gesture was providing, Will continued his move forward. As he came up behind the next Protector, Will swept the man’s feet out from under him, then stamped hard on his face and neck once he hit the ground. His victim lay still and Will looked for his next target—but by now he had been spotted, and he had lost both momentum and the element of surprise. As Kip reached Conlan, Will was jumped by three Protectors coming up from behind.

  One of them got a grip on the arrow, which was still embedded in his leg, and twisted. Will felt the barbed head snag and tear through muscle, scraping along his thigh bone, and he screamed, trying to pull away. A hard, fast-moving fist found his stomach, forcing the air from his lungs, and the arrow was ripped free. Will’s consciousness moved in and out of focus, everything seemed fuzzy and distant, and his body would no longer respond to the instructions his brain was giving it.

  He was dragged upright and pulled forward. Conlan’s fight was over. Panting heavily, a tall, bearded Protector held a knife to Kip’s throat and Will watched, as Conlan, his expression inscrutable, threw his weapons to the ground. Two of the elite Protectors kicked the swords out of his reach and grabbed him roughly on either side, twisting his arms cruelly behind his back. The injured, dead and dying littered the ground around them, the grass painted red and the sickening tang of blood on the breeze. Conlan did not acknowledge Will’s presence, his gaze fixed in the distance, watching Eleanor. The noticeable lack of injuries he carried was a testament to Conlan’s skill with a sword, but Will knew the death he had delivered would hurt him just as much and for far longer than any physical injury. Will gave Kip a nod of respect. His frying pan gone, a large Protector gripping his arm, the knife digging slightly into his neck, he seemed so vulnerable, yet he still managed a smile, full of fear and boyish bravado.

  Conlan…

  Will felt Eleanor leave his mind and glanced across the river, he could just make out the fear on her face, Davlin had pulled her out of arrow range, but she was still trying to fight him.

  The thunder of hoofs approached and the Protectors parted to allow the horse and rider access. The animal slowed to a walk, picking its way carefully through the bodies to where Kip, Conlan and Will stood, held firmly by the enemy.

  “The traitor—Conlan Baydon,” said a cold voice. “And the Avatar of Water, I believe. The river was an impressive trick I had not anticipated.”

  Fighting the pain that was rapidly draining what little strength he had left, Will lifted his head to view the man on the horse. Dark, cunning, suspicious eyes regarded him from the weather-beaten face of an older man, immaculately dressed in his shining armour. It was not anyone Will knew, but he saw the recognition and deep hatred that moved quickly across Conlan’s face before the flat, expressionless mask returned.

  “Yes Lord Hernas,” agreed one of the Protectors. “And Arran, the rogue Enforcer, is in the cart. He is ill, unresponsive, I believe he is in the final stages of the ‘Shaking Death’.”

  “And this one?” the Lord asked, nodding towards Kip.

  The Protector shrugged. “One of the traitor’s followers, my Lord.”

  “The traitor, Enforcer and Avatar come with us. Take all the necessary precautions,” the Lord said, pulling his horse round.

  “And the boy?” the Protector asked after him.

  The Lord waved a hand over his shoulder. “Kill him,” he ordered without turning back.

  In grim silence, Conlan struggled against the two men holding him. Getting one arm free, he punched and kicked, trying to reach the man who held the wide-eyed and trembling Kip. Many of Conlan’s punches were returned, and several hit their mark.

  “Enough of this!” an elite Protector snarled, and he brought his thick, polished, wooden truncheon down in an arc. It crashed into Conlan’s skull just above his ear with a loud crack, and Conlan’s head snapped round, his body collapsing to the dirt—and he did not move further.

  Across the river, Will saw Eleanor’s head snap violently in the same direction, as if hit by the same blow, and she folded, limp, into Davlin’s arms. The moment the fight went out of her, Davlin carried her to where Meran stood, waiting impatiently, anxious to be off in the direction the others had already fled. Draping Eleanor over the saddle, Davlin mounted, cast one last regretful glance back across the river and, pulling Eleanor into his arms, pushed Meran to an instant gallop

  The Protector stared down at his handiwork and kicked Conlan in the stomach, spit on his unconscious body in disgust, then marched over to Kip. He nodded at the man holding the frightened boy and the Protector removed the knife from Kip’s throat and moved to Kip’s side, keeping a firm grip on his arm. Despite the fear in his eyes, Kip watched the two men calmly.

  “You picked the wrong man to follow, boy,” the Protector growled, brandishing his sword.

  Kip smiled serenely. “No, I did not. And one day you will all see that.”

  The Protector sneered, and in one smooth, violent movement he shoved his sword into Kip, twisted it sharply and withdrew it. Kip gasped, pain scrunching his face. The man holding him let go, and he dropped to the ground with a breathless groan, hands grasping his stomach and quickly becoming slick with blood. They had not killed him instantly—they might have hit a kidney or some other major organ—but Will suspected the Protector had not been aiming for a quick kill: he wanted Kip to suffer a prolonged, agonising end. Pity and a burning impotent rage surged up, making Will’s already dizzy head swim.

  A Protector Will had not yet noticed, with a red captain’s sash across his chest, started giving orders. “Go and get rope—we need to tie these captives up well,” he snapped at two of the Protectors, before turning to point at another two. “You! Go and get an Enforcer here. I do not want to take any chances.”

  As he issued orders, the Protectors moved to do his bidding. Soon only the captain and the two ordinary Protectors holding Will were left in the immediate vicinity. The captain walked over to where Kip lay making a soft, wet, choking, mewling noise and crouched at his side.

  “Please, leave him alone—do not inflict any more pain on him,” Will begged, before he even realised he had spoken, a desperate growling plea for compassion saturating the strained Dwarfish. The captain looked back at him, pain and regret in his eyes. He turned to Kip and ran a hand over the suffering boy’s sweat-dampened hair.

  “It hurts…” Kip whimpered, looking up at the man.

  “I know. I can fix that, if you want,” the captain said gently, pulling a knife from his boot. Kip looked at the small blade, then into the man’s face and nodded, closing his eyes. Will watched in helpless horror as the captain positioned his knife at the back of Kip’s neck, at the base of his skull, and quickly forced it in. Kip’s body jerked stiffly and then relaxed as life left him. The captain removed his blade, wiped it clean on Kip’s shirt, and placed it back in his boot.

  Grief and loss crashing over him, tears blurring his vision further, Will dropped his head, trying to breathe around the hideous ache in his chest. The emotion was too strong, coupled with the pain he was barely controlling, and in his weakened state, he passed out.

  “Will…?”

  His name, whispered by Conlan, penetrated the fog; cold and discomfort pulled him the rest of the way. He opened his eyes.

  It was dark
, a moonless night, and raining, a steady drizzle that had soaked him. An orange glow came from a fire a short distance away, and men sat around it, talking and laughing. Will caught the smell of cooking food and his stomach grumbled. The image of Kip’s smiling face as he handed Will his dinner jumped into his mind, closely followed by the way Kip’s body had relaxed as he had died. Brother… Kip whispered through his memories. Will’s heart squeezed, tears burning his eyes. No, there will be time to grieve—not now! Pushing it away, Will took in their surroundings. They appeared to be camped on the side of the road. Where are we going? The inane question served as a much-needed distraction. He and Conlan knelt next to each other, at the side of their own cart, their hands tied to the top of the cart wheel, their ankles tied to the bottom. The bonds were secure, with no give. In the darkness Will could just make out Arran’s limp body, tied to the front cart wheel in the same way they were tied to the rear one. Will automatically felt for Arran’s spark of life; he still had it, but that might not be the case for much longer.

  “Will…?” Conlan whispered again.

  “I’m here,” Will whispered back, struggling to kneel more upright in order to relieve some of the pressure on his wrists, then regretting it as scalding heat rippled out from the throbbing intensity in his thigh. The thin scab ripped open, and blood oozed thickly to mingle with the rain; nausea rolled over him and bright lights flashed behind his eyes. Will swallowed, ignoring the pain and the grinding headache his movement had awakened.

  “What happened?” Even as a whisper, Will could hear the command to report in Conlan’s tone. The memory, closely followed by hot, razor-edged grief, filled his mind again, and Will shied away for it.

  “Will…?”

  “They murdered Kip.”

  It had not been what he had wanted to say. He was still trying to dodge the memories, but this seemed cowardly given the courage Kip had shown. He heard ragged breaths and felt an echo of the tearing, bruising emotional agony that had just ripped, trampled and beaten its way through Conlan’s mind.