Harper shrugged. “I told you, I am hiding… in the last place anyone would look for someone like me. With the added advantage that I get to help people like Rodin. I saw enough in that vile man’s mind to be able to find the boy, I think.”
Pandral’s eyes narrowed. “You would use this information to bargain for your life?”
Harper gasped and moving forward; he dropped to his knees, staring up intently. “No, my Lord. I would use this information to rescue a child. If my life is forfeit in your eyes for a curse I was born with and did not ask for, then take what has always been yours. I would ask only for mercy and a swift death.”
Pandral gazed down at him, a frown creasing his forehead as tense moments crawled by.
“If anybody else finds out about your abilities, I will be unable to protect you. And I will deny all knowledge.” Pandral reached down to offer Harper a hand to his feet. “Now get off your knees, you melodramatic fool. I do not want your life, I want your help—Rodin needs your help.”
Struggling back to his feet, and hefting the enormous burden of his energy as he did, Harper gave Pandral a tired, grateful smile, receiving an impenetrable expression in return.
“Fate is an animal of all moments,” Pandral said. Harper knew what the Mydrenian saying meant—it was an expression of surprise at the part coincidence played in life—but he was unsure what Pandral was implying with it. Seeing his confusion, Pandral smiled. It was a look of friendship, of brotherhood. “I was just thinking,” he said. “That you were lucky it was I who spotted you, which makes you almost as lucky as I am for having found you.”
Too tired to feel guilty for his deceptions, Harper smiled.
Having informed the dungeon guards that the prisoner was dead, Pandral expressed his extreme displeasure to all six men. Mortarlo, he believed, was to blame for this failure, and when the man bothered to turn up in answer to Lord’s demand for his presence, they were to explain this to him. Not sure of the advantage to be found in antagonising a torturer, Harper had used the time to focus on bracing up his energy and locking away what was left of its minute, painful, throbbing mass until the others could deal with it.
They walked back to Pandral’s office in silence, although the Lord’s light, rapid steps made Harper think he was desperate to get back so he could hear all about what had been in Daxis’s head. Once behind the closed door, Pandral waved Harper to a seat, rang the bell for Aldrich and sat at his desk, looking expectantly at Harper.
“Daxis was protecting his father, which is why Mortarlo was having difficulty getting him to talk,” Harper started, trying to put the memories he had seen into a logical narrative. Pandral nodded and waited patiently for Harper to continue. “They are taking children off the streets of Hemtark and moving them out of town, to a barn somewhere outside a nearby village, I think, and selling them.”
“How resourceful,” Pandral said with mild sarcasm. “Can you find this barn?”
Harper nodded, then jumped at the loud knock on the door he had not expected so soon.
“Enter,” Pandral said, giving Harper a flash of concern.
“You rang for me, my Lord?” Aldrich asked upon opening the door.
“Yes. Harper and I require dinner,” Pandral ordered.
Aldrich turned his head to look Harper up and down once more.
“Is there anything special the Protector would like?” Aldrich asked, his tone of polite subservience not fooling anyone. Anger flashed through Pandral’s eyes.
“Whatever everyone else is having will be fine, Aldrich,” Harper said before Pandral could speak. “However, if you have any bread and honey to go with it, I would appreciate some,” he added with a serene, innocent smile.
Aldrich’s muttering as he left was so loud that Harper could almost distinguish the words. The door was pulled shut with considerably more force than it needed, although it was not quite a slam. There was a moment of silence, then Pandral burst into laughter. Feeling like a naughty schoolboy who had just got away with an infraction of some arbitrary school rule, Harper grinned at him.
When Aldrich returned, with the boy in tow carrying the tray, Harper was delighted to discover bread and a pot of honey hidden among the dishes. Pandral was already making plans for tracking down Rodin the next day, a discussion that continued as they ate their meal. Afterwards, Pandral explained that his living quarters were only designed to hold one servant, and currently this was Aldrich. With an apologetic growl, he asked Harper if he would mind sleeping in his office. Harper agreed immediately. Compared to some of the places in which he had been forced to sleep over the years, the room was warm, comfortable and inviting; it also offered him some freedom of movement if he was careful. So when Aldrich came back to collect the remains of their meal, Pandral asked him for pillows and blankets, then missed completely the disgusted, knowing sneer on the old man’s face as he left the room. Harper wondered if he should mention it, but decided that drawing attention to Aldrich’s lewd suspicions was most probably not for the best.
Harper moved soundlessly down the corridor. There had been little time for exploring in the mad frenzy of the last few days, so he was not entirely sure where he was going. He had a reasonable understanding of the Central Tower’s layout: four towers, one at each corner of a square, with buildings joining the towers and enclosing an enormous courtyard, with the White Tower rising up out of the centre of it. Pandral’s office was on the second floor of one of the parts of the building that spanned the huge distance from one fortification to the next. From the view out of the office window, Harper knew it was not that far from a corner, and it was the top of this tower he wanted to reach.
The moon was riding high in the sky before Harper discovered an entrance to the spiral staircase that enabled him to reach the battlements and the fresh air that buffeted him through the embrasure. The view was spectacular, but he had few moments to appreciate it before his consciousness was seized.
Amelia stood in the grey nothing of Conlan’s mind, and smiled with relief and delight when Harper appeared. Running forwards, she threw herself at him.
Harper caught her and froze. He knew this was not her body he was touching; she was no more real than he was, only a construct of Conlan’s mind, created by him instinctively as a representation of what their strings presented to him. Yet she felt real: warm and soft, placing loving, tender kisses all over his face and neck, making little noises of joy. She even smelt right, lavender and incense sparking a million precious memories through his mind. It was almost too much for him to bear. Longing, desire, misery, lust and loneliness made odd bedfellows in his chest, and slowly he hugged her back.
I’ve missed you so much, she murmured in his ear.
Harper could not speak. There were no words to express his feelings, just the endless ache that he tried to ignore—which was, day after day, numbing his heart.
I know you don’t want to talk about home… Amelia said, pulling back, her eyes widening, gentle fingers running across where Davlin had burnt his jaw. What did they do to you? She pulled back further and noticed his bandaged hand. Tears filled her eyes, but did not fall.
Amelia… he tried, but even speaking her name hurt more than any broken bone. I’m fine, honestly. I smashed my hand trying to stop someone else getting hurt—no-one inflicted it on me. And the burn was something that had to happen. I’m okay. I miss you too, but having you here is making things much harder for me. I don’t want to be reminded of what I’ve got to live without.
Amelia wiped furiously at her eyes. You need me to go. I’m sorry.
Harper reached forward and cupped her face. He kissed her and, with that act, offered her everything. All his love, his desire, his passion—a vow made with his body, his soul. Every heartbeat was hers until he was no more. Their tongues intertwined, he closed his eyes and tried to etch this single moment in eternity into his mind. It was Amelia who pulled away first, the tears flowing unchecked.
Amelia, don’t come back here, Harper
said.
Amelia nodded, her body fading as she pulled her string back, her last words echoing around him. I love you.
Harper dropped his head, taking deep breaths, pushing his feelings back down. He wondered, distractedly, if his actual body, stood on the top of the tower, was also taking deep breaths. When he brought his head back up, Conlan stood in front of him, his blank expression very welcome.
Don’t let her do that again! Harper snapped at him.
Conlan nodded, stepping closer, looking at the burn Amelia had noticed and coming quickly to a different, far more accurate conclusion.
Davlin and Eleanor disobeyed me, he said, a sharp edge to the words.
Yes, they did, Harper confirmed, his tone hard. And if they hadn’t, I’d be dead by now.
Conlan held his gaze. Hello, Harper. His greeting was formal, as if he was not familiar with the person he was addressing.
Harper relaxed slightly. Conlan, at least, was going to treat him as someone different, someone he barely knew. Harper truly hoped they could be two almost-strangers, discussing business.
Hello, Conlan, Harper said, with a nod of recognition. I have a few things to report, but first I would appreciate it if you could flatten my energy.
Conlan raised an eyebrow, but refrained from asking why this was necessary. When Harper was happy that his energy was back in its fully quiescent state, he reported his progress to Conlan.
So this Lord saw you do magic and is keeping it to himself? Conlan asked, disbelief strong in his tone.
Yes. He’s not what I expected of a Lord, Conlan, Harper said. There is a heart and a conscience inside him; drive and ambition, certainly, but compassion, too.
You like him… Conlan said, giving Harper a scrutinising look.
Yes, I do.
Well don’t let it interfere with your mission, Conlan said, his eyes hard and tone sharp, giving Harper a timely reminder of why he was there. Getting inside the Central Tower was a good start, but do you have any news on the Source?
None yet, Harper said. The fall of the North Tower is still only rumours and gossip; currently it’s being passed off as a natural disaster.
The truth will be known by the Lords in higher positions. You need to get yourself into the White Tower, Conlan said.
Then I should get back to work, Harper said. I will expect contact again at the next full moon.
Very well, Conlan said, and there was anguish in his eyes he was struggling to hide. And be careful when you release the connection. Eleanor was flung across the tent the last time you broke contact and had a headache for a week. She says it might be the distance amplifying the effect.
Harper winced. His loss of emotional control could have killed her. He was guiltily grateful to Eleanor for hiding this fact.
Thank you, my wonderful little pixie.
Pardon?
Harper cringed. He had spoken his thought.
Conlan… I… errmmm… Harper stopped, not sure what he could say. It’s my nickname for Eleanor, he blurted.
I’ve never heard you use it before, Conlan said.
Well, no, Harper agreed. Not out loud…
What’s a pixie? Conlan asked.
It’s a term of affection, Conlan, I promise, Harper insisted with a smile.
Conlan gave him a friendly smile in return. Goodbye, Harper.
The connection was starting to fade.
Goodbye, Conlan, Harper replied. Please look after Amelia for me, he added, not knowing if Conlan could still hear him.
Harper dropped out of the connection to discover that he was lying face down on cold flagstones. He rolled onto his back, and for a while let the wind tug at his clothes as he watched clouds race across the diamond-studded expanse above him. Weak and tired, he eventually hauled himself up and returned to Pandral’s office. Making himself a comfortable bed out of the excessive pile of pillows and blankets Aldrich had brought, Harper tried to sleep, but for the first time in months he had been afforded the luxury of too much rest. The blank, restful void he had become used to was eluding him, and instead his mind tortured him with Amelia. Her supple body pressed against his, her amazingly expressive grey eyes, the soft, delicate lips that kissed and nibbled at his skin seductively. Her intelligence, her ability to see his weaknesses and love him anyway—all of it was lost to him. The grief came then, molten iron that oozed into his chest and around his heart, squeezing it.
In desperation, Harper made a supreme effort to push it all back down. He got out of bed, lit the three lamps on Pandral’s desk and began digging through the reports and notes stored in the office, looking for information on the Source, but the words swam on the page and were not enough to distract him from his thoughts of Amelia or Rodin. He put the reports back and took out a stack of fresh paper, then began drawing what Daxis had shown him. The broken bones in his hand made the process slow and painful, and the results were definitely not his best work, but forcing himself to do it provided a very effective distraction.
A loud slam of the office door woke him with a disoriented jerk upright. He had been asleep, slumped over the desk, a pencil still in his hand. The piece of paper that was stuck to his face was now being carefully peeled off by Pandral, who stood to his side. He was dressed in a Protector’s uniform again, and had an amused look on his face, but his tone was chiding.
“All the effort Aldrich gave to finding you those blankets, and you decide to sleep at my desk.”
Harper gave his stubbly face a vigorous rub, wiping the fuzziness from his eyes, as Pandral looked over his drawings.
“Your damaged hand is reducing the effectiveness of your work,” he noted. There was no sympathy in his voice; it was just a statement of fact.
“Remind me not to rescue you from any more nasty cracks to the head in future,” Harper replied, giving the Lord a pointed look that was totally ruined by a massive yawn he could not hold back.
“Come along, Harper,” Pandral said, pulling a thin leather satchel out of a desk drawer, dumping the contents out and replacing them with the drawings. “We need to get going; we have a long way to go.”
“What? No breakfast?” Harper asked.
“You had more than enough last night,” Pandral told him, heading for the door.
Silently mourning the loss of his favourite little breakfast cakes, Harper followed.
They went to collect the horses, but the stable boys were not able to read the orders Pandral had written for them, so they despatched the youngest to wake the stable-master. The boy returned a short while later with a bruised, bloody lip and a sullen expression to inform the other stable boys that two horses should be made available immediately for the two Protectors stood waiting. The horses they were given were fine animals, and it gave Harper a strong sense of comfort to be in a saddle again. His damaged hand gave him some trouble with the reins, but he was a more than competent rider and soon worked it out.
Crisp, bright dawn met them as they headed towards the south gate, which was just opening for the day as they approached. As they rode out of the town, Harper smiled at the bright oranges, dark greens, intense reds and golden browns of the autumn foliage in the trees that grew tall over the track and in dense clumps between the towns and villages he could see stretched out before him, the vista a riot of colour. Pandral rode in silence; he seemed deep in thought. But Harper was quite used to a withdrawn companion and took the time to appreciate nature’s stunning display. Had the reason for their journey not been so serious, Harper would have been enjoying himself.
They stopped at midmorning to stretch their legs and consult the map of the area that Pandral had brought. Much to Harper’s surprised delight, the saddlebags had also produced a full waterskin and a wrapped cloth that held twelve of the small breakfast cakes he loved.
“You packed well,” Harper told Pandral, smiling around the cake he had just stuffed into his mouth.
Pandral raised an eyebrow. “Your lack of manners would not be so much of a problem if I did no
t suspect that you were raised better.”
“You sound like my mother,” Harper said, the details of his faked past coming to mind.
“A wise woman,” Pandral said solemnly.
“Not that wise,” Harper said bitterly. “She married my father.”
“Is she the reason you believe a husband can rape his wife?” Pandral asked with cautious familiarity.
Harper held his curious look with a hard, cold expression. It had been a line, part of a story, but Pandral was already reading into it, fitting a life to him that had never happened. The blurring of reality and fabrication made him feel uncomfortable. Pandral was reaching out in honest friendship and unknowingly grasping only smoke and deceit. Suddenly sickened at the thought of having to give him more lies, Harper moved towards his horse.
“We should go,” he said abruptly as he mounted. “You said that tavern I drew was in the next village.”
Pandral pushed the guilty look out of his eyes, packed up his maps and the food, and mounted his horse in a graceful, practiced motion. He guided the animal around and urged him to a trot. Harper was relieved when they travelled to the next town in silence.
They found the tavern, but with no sign of the barn, they continued through the village. Not long after, Harper felt a warning tingling. He peered ahead, and in the distance he could see a bridge.
“Pandral, I think we are going the wrong way,” Harper said, his voice flat to hide his fear. “There was no bridge or river here on the map.”
Turning around in his saddle, confused, Pandral shrugged. “Why would an easy to cross river be shown on a map? This is the right direction, Harper—it is the only track out of that village.”
Harper nodded, trying to swallow around his tightening throat. Now what do I do?
As they got closer, he discovered the bridge crossed a wide and fast-flowing river, and he felt his energy stir, his desiccated strings straining to reach the water. The only chance I’ve got of getting past this without an incident is to do it at high speed! The best speed he was going to get was a gallop. But I can’t just suddenly put on a burst of speed…
Will (Book 2) Page 66