Will (Book 2)

by S. F. Burgess

  “I do not understand,” Amelia said softly. “Why does it have to be Will?”

  “Getting someone into the Central Tower is fairly easy,” Eleanor said. “Getting the information they discover out again without exposing them… is next to impossible.”

  “You need to be able to contact me through our connection—through the extended connection we now get when using our talismans. This is how you will find out what I learn,” Will said. Eleanor nodded.

  “Your problems with your energy would be of benefit in this instance,” Davlin told him, and Will wondered just how well informed the inner council was. “Arran has told us,” Davlin continued, “that the Enforcers would see you as a normal human, unless they decided to pay very close attention. So you would need to stay out of their way, which should not be too hard; Enforcers and Protectors do not ‘socialise’.”

  “Will is ill. We all ignore it because Eleanor insists he will get better soon,” Amelia said bluntly, glaring at Eleanor with a well-honed hostility that shocked Will but did not even generate a flicker of surprise on Eleanor’s face. Will felt guilt punch him hard in the middle of the chest as he realised what the little pixie had most likely been subjected to as a result of his lies, by an angry, frightened Amelia. “Right now, Will is barely functioning,” Amelia continued. “He needs a lot of sleep, which I am guessing a new Protector will not get. He needs to eat regularly, again not something that Protectors can expect, I am told. How do you expect him to look like ‘promotional potential’ if he cannot stand?”

  “This was my argument,” Conlan said. “This is entirely up to you, Will. Do you feel you can do it?”

  “How long do you expect me to be in the Central Tower?” Will asked. How long am I going to have to keep pushing myself?

  “Until you have the information we need,” Eleanor replied, her tone and expression the blank emotionless nothing that normally belonged to Conlan. “Many months. A year, perhaps.”

  Will considered this, questions jumping through his head.

  “How are you going to hide his brand?” Amelia asked. Davlin and Eleanor glanced at each other, but it was Conlan who answered.

  “Will can use the Idiot’s face paint to hide it. We can make it look more skin-coloured.”

  “I understand that I could give you regular information without risking my position,” Will said. “But how, exactly, do you intend to get me out if I manage to kill the Source and the job is effectively over?”

  “A higher rank would give you more freedom to come and go,” Davlin told him. “We expect you to simply walk away.”

  Will had a feeling there would be nothing ‘simple’ about it, but he kept his silence. To be honest, he doubted leaving was going to be something he would have to worry about.

  “What if someone recognises him?” Amelia asked. “There have been reward pictures of him circulating for months. I know a lot of the Protectors who joined us failed to recognise him, but the Source will certainly know who he is. What if some of the Protectors from the North Tower have gone to the Central Tower and they spot him? You are sending him to his death.”

  “There is a risk, but…” Davlin acknowledged.

  “A risk!” Amelia spat, turning her attention on Davlin, who winced as he was forcibly shoved back in his chair by Air’s pushing force. Then Amelia took a deep breath, and her body relaxed slightly. “Sorry, Davlin,” she said, sitting heavily back in her seat.

  “I understand,” Davlin replied. “No apologies are necessary.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence. Will watched their faces; they were all aware of the risk, but none of them seemed overly worried about it. There must be a plan or some logic here that he was missing, as Amelia’s argument had made a lot of sense.

  “You do not consider the issues Amelia has just raised to be enough of a reason not to go ahead with this plan,” Will said. “I am assuming you have some respect for my life, enough that you would not just waste it. So I would know why you believe these risks can be ignored.”

  “Yes, we value your life,” Erit said. “As we value the lives of all our men, Will. Yours even more so perhaps, for your Avatar status and Healer abilities. The very fact that we are seriously considering this mission should impress upon you how important the results are for us. While there are risks, we believe most of them can be reduced with a little careful planning.”

  Eleanor spoke up. “While Freddie, Amelia and I were recognised immediately when Daratus’s Protectors joined us, you had to tell quite a few people who you were, Will, as Amelia just pointed out,” she said. “Your reward poster was not very good, and we asked the men around camp—very few Protectors would have pinned you to it. Of course, steps must be taken to alter your appearance to further hide you from the Source, or those who might have glimpsed you at the North Tower, but we think the odds of you staying hidden are high.”

  “Alter him how?” Amelia asked suspiciously. Several unpleasant answers to this question bounced through Will’s head, and he replied before Davlin could, lest Amelia end up pushing the man through his chair.

  “You are talking about Davlin punching my face into looking like someone else,” Will said with cold certainty. Fear sent a cold shiver through him as Eleanor, her emotionless expression once again in place, nodded.

  Amelia gasped, giving Will an angry look. “Have you heard enough now?” she snapped. “Can we go?”

  He knew what it was going to cost Amelia when he accepted the mission, but she would have to pay the price of loving him eventually. At least this way, leaving her had a purpose. He would be helping their cause, and preventing another from taking an even bigger risk to get the same information.

  “If you need me for this, you have me,” Will said, addressing Conlan. Amelia stood, her body held in tight, trembling control, and without a word she walked out of the tent. Will’s eyes did not leave Conlan. There was a shocked silence. They really didn’t expect me to say yes.

  “Would you like some time to consider this?” Conlan asked, his voice rough, his eyes darting a bitter glance at Eleanor.

  “No, thank you, Sire,” Will said, the pain and fear of the choice he had made under firm control. “I know what I just agreed to, and I accept the consequences. I would appreciate knowing how much time I have left with my wife and children before I have to leave.”

  “I will be accompanying you to the Central Tower,” Davlin said. “So that I can prepare you on the way for the role you must play and get you accepted as a new recruit. I will be ready to leave the day after tomorrow.”

  Two days. Oh please, Amelia, forgive me quickly, Will thought.

  “Very well,” he said. “Then I would ask the council’s permission to be dismissed. I have a lot to do and very little time to do it.”

  “Of course,” Conlan said, grief deep in his eyes.

  Will stood, nodded respectfully to the council and headed back home, fear and dread dragging at his feet. He was surprised when Conlan’s energy brushed against him, bringing him to a halt.

  You didn’t have to do it, Conlan said. Amelia’s right: you’re a father—your place is with them.

  I understand why it would be better if I did this, Will said. I have a chance of success that others don’t. I can tell you’re mad at Eleanor for even coming up with the idea, but in the light of cold logic, this is the best plan. If I do nothing, the Source is a risk to all of us, and my children’s youth won’t save them from the Protectors’ swords. As a father, I want to safeguard my family—and this is a way I can push us further along the path to victory. I would, however, ask a favour of you.

  Anything, Conlan said immediately.

  Be there for Oakes when I’m gone, Will said with a heavy sigh. The children will help keep Amelia going, stop her from surrendering to her fear while she learns to cope. And Arabel and May will have Freddie to stand in for father duties. But Oakes is different. He’s gentle, fragile, he needs to be listened to… please… Will stopped; even in his
head the word pulsed with all of his misery. Taking a breath, he tried again. Please, Conlan, make time to be with him. And make sure he has someone to talk to in his life.

  I promise. I will be a friend for Oakes until you come back, Conlan said, the vow heavy with intent. Will smiled and let his gratitude wash through their connection. Go, be with your family, Conlan said, severing the connection, but not before Will felt some of the anguish Conlan was fighting to hide.

  Amelia sat on the sofa at the back of the cart, her gaze distant. May sat on her lap, his thin arms around her neck, wailing. Arabel sat next to them, silent tears streaming down her face, and Amelia’s arm was around the girl’s shoulders, pulling her close.

  “Where is Oakes?” Will asked. Amelia nodded to Will’s side. The boy was sat on the floor, his knees drawn into his chest, eyes empty.

  “Please stay,” May begged, squirming off Amelia’s lap and throwing himself at Will, who caught him and clutched the boy’s tiny body tightly to his chest, his heart breaking as desperate sobs filled his ears and tears fell on his neck.

  “This is the right thing to do, May,” Will said, not really sure whom he was trying to convince. “I want to make sure that you are all safe, and this is something I can do to help that. I know you might not understand right now, but I am hoping you will one day, and that you will be able to forgive me.”

  May raised his head, the expression on his tear-stained face one of confusion. “Forgiving is what you get when you have been bad and you are sorry,” the child said slowly. “But you are not bad. Amelia said you are brave.” May’s black, sparkling eyes gazed down into Will’s soul, and the boy smiled at the obvious destination of his train of thought. “I do not need to forgive you,” he said, affectionately mussing Will’s hair. “But I love you, so you have to stay.”

  “I love you too, May,” Will said, kissing the boy’s grubby cheek, his eyes flicking to the harrowing sorrow in Amelia’s face. “And that is why I have to go. Can I trust you to be a good boy while I am gone?”

  “But… but… you have to stay,” May said, a look of understanding breaking across his face as he realised that there was nothing he could do to stop Will from leaving.

  “I have to go, May,” Will repeated gently. “It is not fair and it is not what you want, but life is often like that.” May nodded with sombre wisdom. For a child, he was far too well acquainted with the concepts of disappointment and loss. And you just punched that lesson home even harder, sneered Will’s father’s voice in his head. Coward!

  “I will be good while you are away,” May agreed, then gave Will a sly look. “But if you stay, I will be perfect, I promise.” Overcome by emotion, feeling the lump of his tears rising in his throat, his chest tight, Will stared at the funny, sweet, intelligent little boy. My precious son, I’m so sorry. Three months wasn’t enough time.

  Amelia took May out of Will’s arms and placed him on the floor. “Please, can you give Will and I a little bit of time?” she asked, ushering the children outside and closing the cart door.

  There was a heavy silence. Moving forward, Will dropped heavily to the bench, staring at the table in front of him, its once-new wood stained and scratched with the lives that had been lived around it. Home.

  “When are you leaving?” Amelia asked.

  “The day after tomorrow,” Will answered. The words felt like death in the air. Silence again fell, cold, deep, filled with suffering.

  “You’re not coming back, are you?” Amelia said, with an eerie calm. She had seated herself across the table from him, her arms wrapped around her body.

  “There are no guarantees,” Will said.

  “I’m not talking about buying a secondhand car, Will. I’m talking about your life,” Amelia snapped. “Are you going to promise me that you’re coming back?”

  Will looked into the beautiful face before him, his love for Amelia mixing with the pain of his children’s distress. More than anything he wanted to make the promise, but what good would it serve? He did not intend to come back.

  “No, Amelia, I won’t use what could be some of my last words to you to make a promise I have no idea whether I can keep,” Will said. Slate grey eyes held him, and in their depths he could see the accusations, the anger, the hurt, the words she would use to rip him apart for the pathetic husband and useless father he knew himself to be, but she left it all unspoken and reached for his hand across the table, holding it tightly.

  “Then we shall make the most of the next two days,” Amelia said, with a sad but determined smile. “Wherever you go from here, I want you to know that you are loved and that you are going to be missed.”

  The two days passed with a speed that reduced events to a rapid, almost unconnected series of snapshots in Will’s memory. There were tears and goodbyes, patient handovers for Murray and last-minute instructions. Freddie agreed immediately to keep an eye on Amelia and the children, thanking Will for the honour, while taking pains to point out that he had agreed with Conlan that Will should not be taking on the mission at all. Eleanor took possession of his sketchbook, agreeing with tear-filled eyes that she would ensure its unopened safety and give it to Amelia if he died. Will tried to reassure her that he did not hold her plan against her, but Eleanor refused to take his words of comfort, clutching him to her as she begged him to be careful.

  They left in the morning. Davlin chose Elroy and a member of Freddie’s camp security team, a man named Finn, to accompany them to the Central Tower. Mindful of Will’s reluctance to engage as he tried to deal with his feelings of loss and sorrow, Will’s three companions spoke very little to him to begin with. In fact it was several days before Davlin brought up the subject of Will’s training and began covering what they intended to teach him. The topics ranged from the backstory they had created for him to breaking and entering, from lip reading to five easy ways to dispose of a body. Will had frankly found Davlin’s entire syllabus rather disturbing, but he recognised the need for it. And he found that throwing himself into the lessons and pushing himself to hone his fighting skills helped him cope with the painful emotions that still haunted him. Without Amelia and the children, his life did not feel right, did not feel like his own. You’ve been living on stolen time for a while now, Will told himself. It’s time to pay the price.

  Two days after Will’s training began, Davlin took him by surprise, punching him hard enough to break his nose with a sickening crack. The bright, sharp agony caused Will to black out. He came around to find himself making the most frightful sniffing noise through a nose that had been badly reset. When, days later, the swelling eventually subsided, his nose had taken on a flat, crooked look. Then Elroy, using something that smelt a lot like henna, dyed Will’s hair, as per Arran’s instructions, giving it a dark brown appearance. The dye would need reapplying periodically, but this was apparently not an uncommon activity for rich Mydren men, which fit well with Will’s faked past. The net effect of their efforts was surprising; Will found it amazing to discover just how different a hair colour change and a rearranged nose could make him look.

  They had been travelling for almost a month, with at least another month’s travelling left, and this morning was the first morning since the journey started that Davlin had not given Will instruction while they rode. He seemed distracted, and Will could feel a sort of subtle nervousness. Will glanced at Elroy, but he was more interested in the scenery. His gaze moved back and fell on Finn, who gave him a friendly smile, but did not speak. Over the past month, Will had become impressed with Finn, and he understood why Davlin had chosen him for the trip. He was an affable man and took orders as easily as he could give them, reminding Will of Freddie with slightly less sarcasm; but he could also appear and disappear silently on any terrain and knew how to kill in about a hundred different ways.

  “There is a good resting place at the bottom of this valley. We will camp there tonight,” Davlin informed them all. Surprised—they had only stopped for lunch a few hours ago—Will pushed Brutus
to catch up with Davlin.

  “We can go a bit longer if you want, Davlin,” Will offered, worried that they thought him incapable of keeping up the pace. Davlin raised his face to the sky, casting a speculative look at the thickening grey clouds racing across it.

  “No. Bad weather is coming in; it is going to rain. If we want a hot meal tonight, we need to stop soon.”

  Will shrugged and nodded. Davlin was usually right about the weather, and he had no problem with spending a few more hours out of the saddle. But something still felt wrong. He glanced around at the other men, trying to gauge their moods. Neither Elroy nor Finn would look at him. Will’s sense of unease moved up a few notches.

  When they arrived at the camping place Davlin had decided upon, they each began their usual tasks, having long before settled into their ‘travelling routine’. Will took his time to set a good fire in the hopes that it might survive the rain that was starting to spit. Elroy disappeared for a while and brought back a dinner of two fat, ground pheasants, which he and Finn prepared and set to roast. Yet through all this activity the friendly conversation was missing; each man seemed gloomy and lost in his own thoughts.

  “Is everything well?” Will asked, settling himself against his saddle and pack, having hobbled the horses.

  “Just tired, I think,” Davlin said quietly.

  “Maybe this will perk us up a bit,” Finn said, passing Will a blue glass bottle.

  “What is it?” Will asked.

  Finn gave him a grin. “The finest Dwarfish brubick,” he said proudly.

  Will smiled. Brubick was an expensive type of whiskey that he had never had the opportunity to try. Appreciating the gesture, Will accepted the bottle with a nod of thanks. Pulling out the cork with a loud squeak, he took a long swig and passed the bottle to Elroy. The strong alcohol had a surprisingly smooth, sweet taste. As the thick liquid ran down his throat, warming his body from the inside out, the fumes filled his nose with a rich, delightfully spicy aroma. The alcohol hit his empty stomach and sat there, a comforting heat. He thought the drink had an odd aftertaste, that perhaps he even recognised, but it was too much effort to worry about it. The blue bottle was passed back to him and Will took another large drink, giggling as he spilt a little down his chin.