Will (Book 2)

by S. F. Burgess

  “Will, are you listening to me?” Conlan asked, the comment having none of the irritation it would normally have carried.

  Focusing on the bruised face in front of him, Will frowned. “You want to go back tomorrow; I heard you. I just don’t understand what response you want from me.”

  “Am I well enough?” Conlan asked.

  Will stared at him. “Well enough for what?”

  “To go back,” he said, irritation finally breaking through into his tone.

  “I said we should have gone straight back—you were the one who wanted some time. We can go back whenever you’re ready,” Will said, still not fully understanding what Conlan was asking him.

  “But am I up to it?”

  Slowly, realisation dawned on Will. “Conlan, if you’re asking me if you’re ready to ‘go back to work as usual’, then the answer is no! It will be a long time before you are. The bones in your hand could take months to knit back together, and putting strain on them will make healing take longer—and potentially cause permanent damage. The same goes for the rest of you; you took quite a beating. Your kidneys are damaged—I don’t know how seriously—and your stomach too, judging by how little you want to eat, and I’m still not sure about the effects of having the crown welded to your head. You need sleep, rest, decent food and as much lepdrac as I think it’s safe to give you. All of that will be easier to provide you with if we rejoin the others.”

  Conlan shook his head. “I can’t go back looking this… this… ”

  “Human?” Will interrupted.

  “I was going to say ‘weak’.”

  “You are human, Conlan. You’re not an Avatar, and being human comes with a certain inherent weakness. Your men are not going to think less of you for it. They may even identify with you more.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” Conlan snapped. “You took a beating as well, and two days later you’ve got a slight limp, but otherwise you’re fine! Given the choice, I’d rather be an Avatar!”

  The words were a dagger right through Will’s heart. The hurt must have shown on his face, because Conlan’s anger stalled, confusing replacing it.

  “Will? What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  Fighting for calm, his emotions battering him, Will took slow, deep breaths. He was surprised when Conlan asked again, pushed him for an answer.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Will felt a sudden need to tell Conlan everything, to unburden himself, to make Conlan see why being human was infinitely better than being an Avatar. But as he raised his head, the words on his tongue, Will met glowing green eyes that, despite everything, still held a measure of innocence, a tiny spark of purity that Conlan had, against all the odds, managed to retain. I can’t take that from him. The truth shrivelled back into the squalid depths of his withering soul and Will sighed.

  “I would, I think, on balance, rather be human,” he murmured, grasping at this loose approximation of the truth. “Your humanity may have a base of weakness, but it also holds the possibility of a future, of family, a life. I would give up all the advantages of being an Avatar in a moment for the possibility of a family with Amelia. Besides…” Will lifted his shirt to reveal the large purple and green bruises that coloured his ribs and stomach where he had been kicked and punched. “My leg’s not the only injury that’s not healed. I just took fewer blows than you did.” He dropped the material, wondering if Conlan would compare his healing time with Eleanor’s and find it lacking.

  “I’m sorry…” Conlan’s voice was so full of shame that Will felt guilt flood him.

  “Don’t be sorry,” Will said, giving him a smile. “You saved my life all those years ago, gave me a purpose, wonderful friends, the love of my life and the chance to experience some of the joys and challenges of being a father. I don’t have any regrets. But you must understand that physical strength is not everything in life. Show your men you bleed as they do. Being human is a gift.”

  “Thank you,” Conlan said.

  Will nodded and slowly unravelled the bandages to avoid looking up, frightened that what he really wanted to say would be evident in his expression. When Conlan pulled back his injured hand, Will was forced to look into his face again.

  “Thank you,” Conlan repeated, putting as much weight as he could into those two words. “I have done nothing to deserve the care and effort you give me. I pulled you here, gave you no option to resist. I forced this existence on you, and that is the first time I’ve ever heard you speak out against the torment I’m putting you through.”

  “Not torment,” Will assured him with a smile. “I just sometimes fall into the self-pitying trap of ‘if only’ thoughts. I feel like Pinocchio.”

  “Who?”

  Will chuckled—it sounded forced. “Ask Eleanor!”

  Conlan nodded, his face still serious. “I am grateful, Will; you did a wonderful job raising me. I couldn’t have asked for a better father or role model in general. I hope when I’m king I can repay you with a comfortable life with Amelia. Eleanor says I should make you the official court artist… do courts have artists?”

  “Your court can be anything you want it to be. It should be a reflection of you, of what you think is important,” Will said, dropping his eyes back to the bandages and splints to hide the melancholy he was feeling.

  “Amelia’s right: you’re a natural at this ‘Sage’ business,” Conlan said, amused.

  It was nearly lunchtime the following day when they reached the place where Amelia, Freddie and Eleanor had left the others. Conlan, while not able to ride a horse, had insisted on sitting next to Freddie as he drove the cart. Will rode Meran, and Eleanor rode Horse, both of them catching each other watching Conlan for signs that he was overtaxing himself. Amelia rode in the cart with Arran, who had made several attempts at sustained consciousness. He had even eaten and drank something the night before, much to everyone’s delight. He was weak and fragile, but he was living proof that the Lords of Mydren had lied about the effects of the drug they used to control their Enforcers.

  They received an enthusiastic welcome when they arrived, tempered with grief when it became clear that Kip would not be coming back. Will explained what had happened, focusing on how brave Kip had been. Nobody mentioned the crown on their leader’s head, but Will noticed the curious stares even if Conlan did not. After a lunch which made it obvious that Moylan and Elroy were not nearly as good at cooking as Kip had been, Will insisted that Conlan get some sleep. He reluctantly agreed, but asked that they wake him for Kip’s memorial ceremony later.

  Once Conlan had gone to bed, aided into sleep by a large dose of the new sedative Will had brewed, what little joy their return and Arran’s improved health had brought faded, and the pain and grief of losing Kip darkened every face. They sat around the fire, talking in hushed voices of how Kip had touched their lives. Will, not wanting to get dragged into the misery and knowing he would struggle to get out of that state if he did, made regular, lengthy checks on Amelia, who watched over Conlan and Arran as they slept.

  Returning to the fire after one such visit, Will noticed Eleanor was missing, her absence standing out because Davlin was still present, staring into the flickering flames with a hard, preoccupied look on his face.

  “Where is Eleanor?” Will asked, crouching next to the brooding man.

  “I neither know nor care,” Davlin muttered.

  “I would remind you, Davlin,” Will said in a sharp, commanding tone, “that Conlan has not released you from your duty of care to Eleanor. He trusts you still to protect her.”

  Davlin rose and strode away; Will followed him. They were a distance from camp, out among the trees, when Davlin stopped, fists clenched at his side, taking deep breaths.

  “Davlin?” Will asked tentatively.

  “What of my trust?” Davlin muttered with bitter anger. Turning, he faced Will, his eyes blazing fury. “Eleanor does not need my protection. She does not need anybody’s protection
. Why do you and Conlan not see that?”

  “Perhaps our love for her means we cannot help but see the tiny girl before us, instead of the enormous strength and power that she wields,” Will said after some thoughtful consideration. “However, regardless of whether you believe she needs your protection or not, Eleanor is your responsibility, and until Conlan removes that burden, I suggest you carry out your orders.”

  “I want nothing more to do with her,” Davlin snapped. “I made that quite clear to her.”

  “You told her?” Will asked, horrified.

  “Yes, of course. I will not let such deceit pass.”

  “You do not get it, do you?” Will said, pity for the little pixie clawing at his heart. “You are her friend, Davlin, and she loves you—but Conlan holds her heart. There is nothing you could have done that would have stopped her from coming for him. She did not want to hurt you, nor did she want Conlan blaming you for not stopping her, so she took the only option she thought she had. She was trying to protect you.”

  “She betrayed my trust,” Davlin spat with stubborn insistence.

  Will sighed; Davlin was too angry to listen to reason. Perhaps if he just spent a little more time with Eleanor. They needed to talk it over some more. If he gave her the chance to explain further and apologise again, Davlin might start thinking a little more rationally. An idea occurred to Will that might give Eleanor that opportunity.

  “I know you are angry with her,” Will said. “Only you can come to terms with that. But you still have to help me find her now; my energy is too low to use that.” Davlin opened his mouth to object, and Will held up a hand. “Help me find her now, and I will take over your job as her shadow until Conlan is able to discuss the situation with you. Agreed?”

  Davlin nodded. “Very well.”

  Although he had already located her with his energy string, Will pretended to search for Eleanor for over an hour before he heard Davlin holler his name. As he approached, Will could see only Davlin’s back as he faced Eleanor, but even from behind, the taut body and still pose radiated fuming hostility. Eleanor stood in front of him, tears slipping down her face, guilty desolation in her eyes.

  Davlin turned as Will approached. His expression was flinty. “She is here, she is fine, and she is all yours.”

  With that, Davlin marched stiffly away and back towards the camp, leaving Will and Eleanor staring at each other. Well, that idea was a bust. Not really knowing what to say, Will opened his arms, and Eleanor ran into them, sobbing bitterly into his chest as he held her, sparks of pain shooting behind his eyeballs as the headache he had had all day—and refused to admit to—throbbed in time to her outpouring of grief, his leg throwing in its own aching discomfort. I need a strong dose of lepdrac.

  Eleanor cried for Kip, for Conlan, for Arran, for Davlin, all the tears she had been fighting back for so long. Will tried to remain detached, comforting her without being submerged. He had more than enough of his own emotional pain to deal with. Eventually her sobs petered out to a soft sniffling and then dried up altogether as she wiped her eyes on her shirt sleeve. She gave him a hesitant smile.

  “Davlin’s never going to forgive me, is he?”

  “He might, eventually,” Will said, wiping the tears she had missed from her cheek with a careful thumb. “But in the meantime,” he continued, “I agreed to take over his job as your ‘shadow’. I don’t have time to keep chasing you down, Eleanor. So until this gets sorted, I’m going to need to trust you to stay near me. Please?”

  “Okay.”

  The soft whimper of acquiescence was not at all the response Will had expected, but he fought down the pity rising within him. Eleanor would not appreciate it if she saw it in his expression; in that regard she and Conlan were very similar. Instead, he wrapped a comforting arm round the little pixie and they walked together in silence back to the camp.

  All the lights were doused. They stood in the glow of the pale starlight before an impressively tall oblong wooden construction. Kip’s body should have been lying upon this pyre, but they had been denied that—although Conlan had felt better for knowing, when Will had told them of Kip’s end, that the boy had received a warrior’s funeral at the hands of the Protector who had killed him. As it was, all they had to burn in his memory were Kip’s spare set of clothes. Shuffling between them, Conlan approached the pyre, standing before it with rigid determination, a single lit candle gripped in his fist. He took several deep breaths, the candle flame flickering and jumping, and then a fireball exploded through the wood.

  Conlan did not flinch or step back when the pyre burst into a scorching conflagration. As the flames clawed at the timber, giving Conlan an orange corona, Will realised why Conlan had not been startled. This was not Freddie’s doing, as Will had assumed; this inferno was controlled by Conlan, stretching his Fire abilities for the first time with the control the crown offered.

  They stood in silence, watching Kip’s few pathetic rags burn to ash. His arms wrapped round Amelia, Will felt the weeping she was trying so hard to hide, and struggled to fight back his own tears. Kip’s loss was still a hollow ache within him, but the pain he felt now was for the living, for those who had called Kip friend, for those who had loved the sweet, caring boy. Will wanted to be strong for them. Watching the care Freddie and Elroy gave to Arran, helping him to stand, and the way Moylan and Davlin stood, brushing shoulders, providing a subtle comfort, Will could see that Kip’s loss had brought them all noticeably closer together.

  As the fire burned, Conlan spoke, his voice low, yet still carrying over the roar of the blaze, tears he did not know how to shed hiding within the lower registers.

  “Kip believed in our cause. Even in the face of death he did not betray that belief. I wish us all such courage and strength of purpose. I was proud to call Kip a friend, and his death has made several things very clear to me.” Conlan took a breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was stronger, clearer and more resolute. “The Lords of Mydren have been allowed to get away with the fear and destruction they create for far too long. It stops now. We are going to take the fight to them. I do not plan to just rescue my grandfather. I intend to tear the North Tower to the ground. I am going to show the Lords of Mydren the threat we represent, and I am going to announce myself as Alaric’s heir, the rightful king of Mydren.”

  There was a collective gasp and stunned silence. Will was unsure if this was because of Conlan’s plan, or because of his revelation about his bloodline. Will staggered back as Amelia’s and Freddie’s energy strings ploughed into him.

  Did Conlan just say he was Alaric’s heir? Freddie asked. Alaric, as in the first king of Mydren? The one Earth had the ‘hots’ for?

  Yes, he did, Will replied. And before you ask: yes, he is.

  There was a shocked pause as Freddie and Amelia exchanged looks.

  How long have you known? Amelia asked.

  I was sworn to secrecy, Will said, trying to calm the situation he could see arising. Until Conlan was ready to embrace his heritage, it was a far too dangerous piece of information to share.

  Eleanor already knew, Freddie pointed out, his gaze focused on the little pixie. No surprise on her face.

  Yes, she knew, Will agreed, seeing no point in trying to hide the obvious. But it wasn’t me who told her. I know you feel left out and marginalised right now, but you need to understand that Conlan has been incredibly protective of this information. He told me only because I half figured it out anyway and forced him into explaining, I imagine Eleanor did the same.

  So because Amelia and I aren’t smart enough for it to occur to us that there were facts missing in what we were told, we haven’t earned the right to be told at all? Freddie fumed.

  Will sighed. I didn’t say Conlan’s decision not to tell you was right, but it didn’t have anything to do with how smart he thinks you are. Once it’s widely known, what Conlan just said will see him actively hunted by all the Lords of Mydren, not just his father. I think he was frightened of
what it would mean to him, to us. The more people who know, the more real the truth is, the more unavoidable his destiny becomes. What he just did was a huge leap of faith, and it took a lot of courage. Please, don’t tarnish that for him by berating him for not telling you sooner.

  “Truly, Conlan, you are Alaric’s heir?” Moylan asked, breaking the silence as the men exchanged looks with each other.

  Sometimes people make bad decisions out of fear, Amelia said, and Will could hear the forgiveness in her voice.

  At least he’s told us now, Freddie said, his anger fading. Gratitude welled up within Will, and he let it flow through their connection.

  “Yes, he is. The Dwarfs have proof if you need it,” Eleanor said in response to Moylan, her tone daring anyone to deny it, but there was just more silence.

  Then one by one, the men around them dropped to their knees. Freddie gave Elroy a shrug, and assisting Arran, they followed suit. Eleanor and Amelia did the same, and Conlan turned back at the silence to find that only he and Will were standing. They stared at each other, and the expression on Conlan’s face, orange firelight flickering across it, was one of embarrassed pride. Knowing this was something he was going to have to get used to, Will gave Conlan a grin and joined the others on his knees, as Conlan rolled his eyes.

  “Please stand,” Conlan said with tired exasperation, waiting until they all complied and faced him before he continued speaking. “In this endeavour we face each other as equals. What I am asking you to do is dangerous. You all gave me your pledge of service, but if any of you are having second thoughts, I will understand and release you from your oath. This is your last chance; speak now.” Silence surrounded them, and Conlan smiled. “I am honoured to have you. Now get some sleep; tomorrow we need to make our plans. We have precious little time before the Protectors come looking for us again, and most likely in vastly superior numbers.”