Will (Book 2)

by S. F. Burgess

  Cai is a good choice, Will said—and he meant it. There was no jealousy; everything seemed so much clearer and calmer now. He’ll do a good job. He’s smart and cares about his men. Who else made this ‘inner council’?

  So far, Freddie’s in charge of camp security, and Erit, camp logistics. I don’t envy Erit his job, I have to say. He’s our superior, by the way. Murray’s too. Amelia paused again, and Will began to wonder how insecure she thought he was.

  They are both sensible appointments, he said after a moment’s consideration. And given what just happened with Erit, I think we’ll get on very well. Amelia’s confusion drifted across their connection. I really am okay with this, Will assured her. I wanted to be Conlan’s captain because Mickle was such a poor choice at the time, but there is a huge difference between being captain to ten men and captain to a hundred. That’s more responsibility than I ever wanted. Conlan can’t win this war with just the four of us; he needs dependable, capable, trustworthy advisors around him. Cai and Erit are both excellent choices.

  Murray turned out to be a far better assistant than he had seemed on first meeting, putting the utmost effort into everything he did. Together, he and Will soon had the soiled bedding washed and hanging on ropes strung up between the cart and a tree. Will was dubious that they would dry quickly in the cold, but he had no energy to pull the water from them, and he did not want to interrupt Freddie with such a menial task as drying sheets, especially given Freddie’s new role.

  As Will inspected Davlin’s injuries, Murray watched with interest, making intelligent and perceptive observations. Some of the wounds were infected, and Will treated these injuries separately, adding his antiseptic salve and lightly covering the area in clean gauze. He explained what he was doing to Murray as he went; the man seemed to be on familiar ground, even offering up his own burn remedy: honey and lavender. Given that the sticky yellow aloe leaf pulp Amelia had applied was having next to no effect, and seeing no obvious reason why it might make things worse, Will decided to allow Murray to try his remedy, making a mental note to work on a special burn ointment if the honey made an improvement. They got the lavender from Amelia, who gladly sacrificed all of the remaining lavender oil perfume Eleanor had bought her.

  Explaining the ratios he was using to Will, Murray added a little of the lavender to the honey, then applied the mixture carefully to the burns on Davlin’s back.

  “Will, why do I smell like your favourite breakfast?”

  The soft-spoken comment made Will jump, and he looked down at Davlin’s face, miraculously almost unmarked, the blast having come from behind the man. Most of the scarring would be on his now partially bald, crisped, raw head and back. His dark eyes were bright with fever, but the pain was under firm control, and a smile twitched his lips.

  “Murray has a remedy for burns and we are trying it out,” Will told him. “How are you feeling?”

  “That magic thunder powder of yours is powerful. The ringing in my ears has gone now though, so I actually feel quite a bit better,” Davlin said, although Will strongly suspected the man was putting a brave face on things. “But honey…? Really?”

  “Yes, honey. Now lie still,” Murray said.

  “I was not moving, darling,” Davlin commented, and Will had to bite the insides of his cheeks to keep from laughing at the look of consternation on Murray’s round face.

  “Then be quiet,” Murray snapped.

  Davlin rolled his eyes at Will, but did not speak further and was asleep again before the honey mixture and fresh muslin was applied to all of his wounds. I think my apprentice healer needs to work on his bedside manner. Once Davlin had been treated, they moved on to check Eleanor. Murray stared with open-mouthed awe as Will explained to him about her injury and the solution he had devised to help her heal. Talking Murray through it, Will used the spare supplies they had taken from the North Tower and carefully stripped the old bandage. The hoof glue had stuck firm; he would need to experiment with ways to get it off later. For now, he cut as much of the old, soiled bandage away as possible—with tiny, careful slices, aware that air was being drawn into Eleanor’s chest with every laboured breath—and stuck a new bandage over the top, reapplying the jelly. The wound was healing too fast; investigating, Will felt her energy rising. Amelia would be needed to lower it again. I’m going to have to reopen this gash if it heals before her lung does.

  Keeping that rather worrying development to himself for the moment, Will went back over everything with Murray, asking his new apprentice lots of questions to gauge how well he’d been paying attention and how much he understood. The smiling little man never faltered in his responses, and his accuracy was impressive.

  As they talked, he could tell Eleanor was listening in, glassy-eyed and breathless. Her body displayed none of the vigour her voice had in Will’s head the night the North Tower had fallen. Had she gone ahead with Conlan’s request, he knew she would have died in agony. Freddie, we owe you!

  Fatigue was dimming his vision when Amelia came in with lunch, the aroma of beef broth filling the air. With a bump of her hips she pushed Will to sit at the table, and he cleared a space for his meal among the medicines and assorted paraphernalia of healing. A bowl of clear, brown, viscous liquid was placed in front of him, steam rising and swirls of golden, iridescent fat moving across the surface. Amelia placed a large hunk of bread and a thick wedge of cheese down next to it. Will was amazed she had managed to carry it all without spilling any, as she still carefully balanced two other bowls—for Davlin and Eleanor—the contents of which also seemed to be beef broth. Does she consider me an invalid too, or was it just convenient to bring three of the same thing? The smell awoke Will’s hunger, and he tucked in, dunking his bread with gusto as Amelia showed Murray how to help Eleanor eat and then moved on to persuading a groggy, rather uninterested Davlin to have some of his meal.

  “I don’t eat meat.”

  It was Eleanor who had spoken, but her voice was so frail Will barely recognized it.

  “Eleanor, you’re ill, really ill. You need the extra protein and vitamins in a form your body can process easily. Right now you’ll eat what we tell you,” Amelia said, her tone firm. When Eleanor readily acquiesced, Will’s worry for her rose sharply. As he ate his own broth, he tried to think of other easily digestible non-meat products that they could feed her—anything that might provide the nutrients she needed. The idea that they were overriding Eleanor’s principles, when she was unable to put up a fight, made him feel like he was violating some sort of unspoken trust.

  “Hey! How come Will gets cheese?” Eleanor asked. Will lifted his head, his mouth full of bread, broth running down his chin, and found a vexed look on the little pixie’s face. She had deep purple hollows under eyes that seemed to have trouble focusing, giving the impression of more desperation than Eleanor most likely intended. Smiling, wiping his chin with his hand and ignoring the look Amelia gave him for his poor manners, Will handed the wedge of cheese over to Eleanor, and her eyes lit up. With care she broke the piece in half and gave him half back.

  He swallowed his mouthful. “You can have it all if you want.”

  She smiled at him. “No, it tastes better if we share it.” Will took the proffered piece, watching Eleanor nibble her bit with obvious pleasure, and felt such a profound sense of peace, love and family that tears filled his eyes and he had to look back at his soup to hide them.

  The food made him feel better; it pushed back the exhaustion that was lurking within him. Far sooner than he would have liked, Will finished his meal and stood, scanning the table for the lepdrac bottle. He reached for it, intending to lace Davlin’s and the little pixie’s water with a small amount, but once it was in his hand, he realised that merely holding the bottle was a risk. His body trembled as he stared at it.

  A hand covered his, taking the bottle from him. Liquid grey eyes found his, and Amelia gave him an angelic smile that washed all other thoughts but her from his mind.

  “Let me
help you, Will.” He nodded dumbly, keeping his eyes on hers, letting her be the distraction he so desperately needed.

  “Eleanor and Davlin need a spoonful each, and Davlin needs…” Will coughed, his mouth going dry, his eyes straying down to the bottle. He could almost taste the bitter drug, feel the diffused warmth it brought. A soft, tender hand grasped his chin, slowly turning his head, and love held him.

  “It’s all in your mind, Will,” Amelia whispered. “You can fight this. Now… what does Davlin need?”

  “Ellet bark tea for his fever. And Eleanor needs her energy stripped,” he said in a rush, panting and closing his eyes. Amelia leant forward and kissed his coldly sweating brow.

  “Murray and I can handle that,” she said. “How about you take your med kit and go check on Conlan’s leg?” Will nodded, took the bag she handed him and fled.

  “What’s wrong with Will?” Eleanor asked as he was leaving.

  Will firmly closed the door behind him; he did not want to listen to Amelia’s answer. He walked without picking a direction, just away, his chest heaving, the freezing winter air a slap in the face he very much needed. The early afternoon light was grey and dispersed, the bright sunlight of the morning hidden behind thick, milky-white clouds. Will suspected there would be snow before long. Eventually he realised he was lost in a landscape of campfires and makeshift shelters. He stopped in front of one such fire and, after introducing himself, asked the five men sat around it where Conlan could be found. Having got over their surprise at having an Avatar stood in front of them, they all began talking at once, but eventually Will got the idea and set off again in the indicated direction.

  As he walked, he paid a bit more attention to his surroundings, and soon realised that there was a pattern of sorts to the camp. In the middle was the players’ cart, the one he had painted with stars. It was incorporated into a larger awning structure and seemed to be serving as Conlan’s base of operations. Radiating out from this in ever-increasing circles were the campfires and temporary shelters of the men who had joined them. North of the central command post was the cart Eleanor and Davlin lay in, surrounded by the store and supply tents, along with the horses and additional carts they had taken from the tower. Will wondered why Conlan had left Eleanor with the supplies, until he realised just how heavily guarded the supply tents and horses were. Hard-eyed, well-armed, alert men stood within sight of each other around the area, inspecting and scrutinising all who passed. If Freddie was commander of camp security, then these were his men. Will made a mental note to tell Freddie how impressed he was with their discipline and vigilance.

  Judging from the smell, noise and smoke, the cooking fires were to the east of the central cart, presumably so that there would not be that much of a walk to the supply tents. While the camp had a definite temporary feel to it, once he considered it as a whole, Will could see that the organisation was thorough and considered. It spoke of firm control and competent management, and Erit took another leap up in his estimations.

  Now that the layout was obvious to him, Will took what he hoped was a shortcut between two tent walls, aiming for Conlan’s command tent. He was deep in thought about Eleanor’s injury when he walked into Freddie, making them both stagger back.

  “Watch where you’re going,” Freddie said.

  Pleased to see a familiar face, Will smiled. “Sorry,” he said stepping out of the way. “Congratulations, by the way, I heard you made commander.”

  Freddie stared at him for a moment, his face blank. “You know what this means, don’t you?” he asked. Surprised by the cold, hard words, Will did not answer. Freddie continued. “It means I outrank you.”

  “Yes, you do,” Will agreed, failing to understand why this point was relevant. Freddie leaned in and hissed in his ear.

  “Get down on your knees, soldier.” Is he joking? His tone and manner implied that he was not. If he was joking, then Will wanted to call his bluff. And if he’s not joking, I’m going to have to show him what power he holds. He needs a lesson in responsibility. Either way his next step was the same. Bowing his head, Will sank to his knees in the freezing mud, his voice quiet and subservient when he spoke.

  “Yes, Commander.”

  There was silence. Will wanted to look up, to see the expression on Freddie’s face, but patience was the key here. When Freddie finally spoke, his tone was still cold.

  “I think I might send you over to help dig the latrines out…” Freddie mused. “Or perhaps I’ll just demand forty push-ups from you… What do you think?” Still not sure of Freddie’s motivations, Will thought of an answer that would cover both his aims in either scenario.

  “I’ll do as I’m ordered,” he said. “I trust that those placed above me know best where my skills can be used. But I’d also respectfully remind the commander that I’m a healer, and that digging latrines and doing push-ups is going to keep me from that task.”

  Freddie snorted in amused annoyance. “How do you do that?” He once again sounded like the Freddie Will knew and loved.

  “Do what, Commander?” Will asked politely, raising his head to Freddie’s bemused expression.

  “Manage to make my teasing you into a lesson in responsibility!”

  Will smiled, and tension he did not realise he had been holding drained out of him. “I’m just massively talented,” he replied. Freddie snorted again. “Can I get up now please, Commander?” Will added.

  “Yes, of course; and you can stop calling me Commander,” Freddie said, offering him a hand. Will took it with a nod of thanks, heaving himself up.

  “I’ll call you Commander for as long as you hold the title,” Will told him, brushing the dirt off his trousers as best he could. Amelia was not going to be happy with the state of them. “Chain of command is important,” he continued. “And besides, I’m proud of you. It’s something you’ve more than earned. I met some of your camp security down by the supply tents; if they’re anything to judge you by, you’re already doing a great job.” Will meant what he said. Freddie had his full support, but he also knew the man, and knew that his words and acceptance, without anger, of Freddie’s behaviour would have a far greater impact than scolding him. Not that I have the privilege of being able to do that anymore. Will felt a pang of loss for their simpler relationship until he realised that he could still guide Freddie—he just had to be more subtle about it.

  “Thank you…” Freddie looked a little stunned by Will’s comments. “I’m sorry I was mean. You’re not very well, and it was—”

  “Perfectly understandable. Given the hurt I’ve inflicted on you recently,” Will said, with a dismissive shrug. Stepping forward, he clasped Freddie’s arms, holding his gaze, recognising confusion and a guarded wariness in the black pools of Freddie’s eyes before he continued. “You’re a strong, brave, dependable friend, Freddie. I’m continually impressed with your sharp mind, although maybe not your sharp tongue. Conlan did well in promoting you. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have guarding his back.” Freddie stared at him, shocked. Will let him go and waited with growing apprehension for a response.

  “I…” Freddie began, then stopped, dropping his head. “I always thought you considered me an unworthy idiot,” he muttered.

  His words, while not entirely unexpected, shot pain through Will’s heart. “No, Freddie,” he said, protocol forgotten in his distress. “I just saw the advantage you would bring Conlan, if I could just impose a little discipline on you. If I’d been wise, I’d have seen what Eleanor did and recognised a man who needed a friend. That was my mistake, Freddie, and I’m sorry.”

  Freddie smiled, a wide grin that broke across his face like dawn’s sunrise. He enveloped Will in a fierce, tight embrace, thumping him on the back several times before he let him go and stepped back.

  “We are friends, Will,” he said, with strong conviction. “Don’t ever doubt it.”

  Humbled by Freddie for the second time that day, Will dropped his head. “And I’m more grateful than y
ou know,” he replied. There was an uncomfortable silence.

  “Would you really have gone to dig the latrines if I’d ordered it, no argument?” Freddie asked.

  “Yes, Commander,” Will said seriously. Raising his head he gave Freddie a pointed look. “But if Eleanor had suffered complications, I would have told Conlan the reason I wasn’t at her side.”

  Freddie paled. “I’ve held you up enough, Healer,” he said, moving so that Will could pass. “You’d better get back to work.”

  “Thank you, Commander,” Will said, giving Freddie a friendly pat on the shoulder as he walked past, continuing towards Conlan’s tent. And as he walked, large, soft flakes of snow began drifting down, sticking to all they touched.

  The central tent was really nothing more than the King’s Men’s cart, with an expanse of tent enclosing it on all sides so that just the roof was visible. A camp guard stood on each corner of the structure, and Will could hear muttered conversation from within. Moving around it, he found the entrance, denoted by two lanterns on poles, and stepped in front of the large bearded man who stood watchfully before it. He was a head taller than Will and almost twice as wide at the shoulder. A sword hung at his side and he regarded Will with suspicion. Nice choice as Conlan’s gatekeeper, Freddie! Will was not easily physically intimidated, but the man before him was as huge a muscled specimen as he had ever seen.

  “I need to see the king,” Will told him, waiting patiently for the ‘who are you, what do you want’ questions he felt sure would follow. He could have just given the man the information up front he would need to gain entry, but Will knew from experience that those with this sort of job liked the kick they got from exerting this small power, and that he would get further by allowing the man his pleasure.

  “Did the king call for you?” the guard asked, with a glowering look.

  “No, but—” Will started.

  “Then go away. The king is busy,” the guard snapped.