“Hold on, Will, hold on, we’re nearly to the forest.” Niet was saying. Will had a feeling the squire was talking to himself more than Will. “They’re chasing Laster, not us.”
Will tried to nod, only managing to knock his already spinning head on the saddle. It must have been hard as the world blinked out into nothing.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
It was the still that roused him. Will opened his eyes, blinking at the red sky that peaked through high tree boughs. His mouth was dry and, judging by the taste of his own tongue, he hadn’t managed to keep himself from vomiting. Rolling onto his stomach, he pushed himself up on shaking arms and spat onto the forest floor. Forest. They shouldn’t be on the forest floor, should they?
He turned, trying to see his surroundings but the light was piercing his eyes, the still of the woods deafening. They were in the heart of the forest and the soft earth was ladened in dead leaves.
“Don’t move much or you’ll get the poison going through your body again.”
Will started, dropping onto one elbow, and craned his neck to blink upwards. Niet was standing over him, dark hair a mess, his face exhausted but elated.
“Where are we?”
Niet shrugged. “Somewhere in the forest. I thought it best you get your arm treated before we carried on.”
“But we were being chased,” Will mumbled. He ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth. Alamore. Had he been chewing on the rotting leaves?
“Here.” Niet crouched, holding a water skin out to Will. “Drink. You drink, it’ll help your body recover from the toxin. Laster was right, the knights all were on his tail. I can only hope that either he dropped the Prince, or his horse is strong enough to lose them.”
Will guzzled the water. He wasn’t sure he had ever had anything that tasted as good. After a moment he pulled it from his mouth, processing Niet’s words. “But Rowan and Colin?”
“They got out ahead of us,” Niet said, grinning. “They actually caused the chaos that gave us a way out. Rowan ended up lighting that stage on fire on his way out. I guess it’s his version of a grand exit, eh?”
Will managed a weak laugh. “Sounds like Rowan.”
“But we did it.” Niet beamed down at Will. “We saved the Ranger. We actually did it.”
The Ranger. Will sat up, immediately wishing he hadn’t as his head spun again. He turned, ready to be sick, then relaxed as the churning in his stomach settled. “The Ranger and Ross?”
“They were the first out. We made Ross get the Ranger out on Admere. That’s why I was in the courtyard still instead of with Laster and the others, I was waiting on them. Ross showed up and was going to charge right back in, but I told him to get the Ranger out and start the chase, so we’d stand a better chance.”
“We did it,” repeated Will softly. For the first time in days, Will allowed himself to relax, leaning his head back on his sore neck to stare at the sunset stained sky overhead. They had done it. It was all over now. A distant sound snapped him back to reality and he glanced around them. “We shouldn’t be here. We should still be riding.”
“You needed treatment,” Niet said, pushing himself to his feet.
Will touched the thick bandaging on his arm. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Niet straightened, brushing leaves from his tunic. “The only thing that would have made this escape better was the chance for me to come face to face with Marl. I could have had the chance to kill him then.”
“You don’t want to cross Marl,” Will said, shaking his head. “He’s…he’s evil.”
Niet snorted, his nose wrinkling in disgust. “And evil shouldn’t survive, let alone rule Kelkor. It would be worth my life to end his.”
Will shivered at his words. “Yeah, well, you’re alive still so I think that’s good enough. Maybe when we’re knights you can go kill him and we’ll host a party or something. Right now, though, I want to move.”
He pushed himself up, trying to stand. His legs were still weak, too weak to hold his weight, and they buckled. The forest floor sent a throb of pain through his bruised body as he crashed to his knees.
“Easy, Will. That poison can cause serious issues. I’ll get Cerlan saddled, and we’ll be out of here, but you just sit.” Niet pushed down firmly on Will’s uninjured shoulder. “I said sit. And I will come back here and deal with you in a moment, alright?”
Will grudgingly stopped his attempts to rise, contenting himself with another pull from the waterskin as Niet stomped across the clearing to where the palomino horse stood, his coat matted in dried sweat, his blanket and saddle hanging from a nearby tree. Will frowned, staring at the horse. They had to have been here a while if the sweat had dried. It made him uneasy. Even with the knights after Laster, someone might have followed them. He could still remember the last time he’d been to Thornten and rested. Had it not been for the arrival of Ross, Laster, Miller, and Rockwood, he would have been captured again by Robin on that adventure.
Another sound in the woods, this time nearer, made him stiffen. He noticed Niet do the same, turning toward the wall of trees and reaching for his sword. There was a low sound carrying toward them now, growing closer. Will tried again to push himself upright, panic rising. He knew that sound. The gentle jingle of tack, the soft thud of horses hooves.
Niet seemed to recognize it at the same moment. He grabbed the horse, pulling it over toward Will without the saddle. “We got to go.”
Will could hear some of his panic now echoed in the older squire’s voice. Niet grabbed him by the arm, half lifting him, and pushed him onto the horse’s bareback. A moment later, he swung up behind Will and dug his heels into the golden horse’s side. The palomino surged forward, and Will ducked his head, grabbing handfuls of the white mane. They were plunging into the forest and, over the crack of breaking thicket. The rumble of hooves, Will heard the second horse. It too seemed to be gaining speed.
“Come on, Cerlan,” Niet hissed to his horse. The horse stretched out, covering the ground in great bounds. Will squeezed his legs tight around the animal’s sides, half certain he’d fall each time the horse leapt a felled tree or small twisting offshoot of creek. “Come on!”
Ahead the trees were thickening. Will flattened himself forward, trying to keep out of Niet’s way. They could lose their pursuer in the forest, through these trees. If they could just hide where the foliage was the thickest…
The horse stumbled and Niet’s arm tightened around Will’s chest. All peace was broken. Invisible in the tangle of trees, the horse was plunging off the edge of the earth itself. The ravine was sharp, breaking into the clearing beneath. Will tried to pull himself straight, bracing himself backwards against the animal’s withers but the horse fell onto his front leg, stumbled up, then fell again. A loud burst of swearing and he felt Niet’s arm break free.
He’d hit one of the low hanging branches of a tree. Will tried to twist, to see where he had landed, and the horse staggered again.
In a blur of color, sound, the smell of dirt, everything rushed toward Will. He fell for either seconds or an eternity, he couldn’t be sure. His plunge ended as hard earth crushed the air from his ribcage, ripped the skin from his palms. He rolled down the steep incline, struggling to stop himself. Hard earth battered his body, thickets tearing his skin and clothing, in an endless fall that seemed never to end. It was a tree that stopped him, colliding with his bandaged shoulder and the pain and darkness swallowed his surroundings.
CHAPTER FORTY
The world was spinning, hot blood slid down the side of Will’s face when he tried to open his eyes. The Inanimus was coursing through his aching shoulder and his head throbbed with pain. What little recovery he had made when they stopped was gone, the feeling of being sick churning in his stomach again as if the poison had taken hold again when he and Niet had fallen.
Niet!
He tried to move, to sit up, to see anything but the spinning forest floor. His body seemed to be broken, limbs twitching and
convulsing each time he tried to move. He lay back on the ground, breathing hard. Niet would find him. Perhaps he was catching the horse. He would find him, and they would get back to Alamore before the rider could catch them. Now that he was this weak, Niet wouldn’t argue or pause. They would ride without stopping.
The clash of steel on steel made Will try to rise. His body failed and he crashed back to the earth, the skin breaking across his palms. He heard a familiar bark of cold laughter and tried to rise again, this time to his hands and knees, his body shaking. This time he knew the shaking wasn’t all because of the poison as terror clawed through his throat, tightened on his lungs.
“Is that the best you’ve got, boy?”
Marl. Marl’s voice. Marl’s laughing, hateful, voice. He had found them. He had found Niet.
Niet!
He tried to crawl forward, but his limbs weren’t working, they shook under his weight. Another deafening sound of blades colliding split through Will’s head as if it had been struck. He lifted his face, swaying, and blinked the blurriness from his eyes. Niet was standing several paces away, his sword gripped in both hands, panting, watching Marl.
Marl looked unphased, as though this were nothing more than simple training. His black eyes were empty of emotion and he wore a smile that showed his teeth like a snarl.
“You’ve got to learn to fight better than this, boy,” Marl hissed. “You won’t live long, just like your King. Go back to Alamore, why don’t you? Let them teach you to fight and then, maybe, I’ll let you crawl back to Kelkor, let you join my armies.”
He turned his back on Niet and Will’s arms buckled, half in exhaustion, half in disbelief and relief. Marl was truly striding away, moving to sheath his sword and reaching for the reins of his black horse that stood, sweaty and waiting. Hidden in the undergrowth, Will held his breath. Maybe Marl thought Niet was riding alone, that he wasn’t worth his time.
Glancing toward Niet, Will’s muscles went rigid. A shadow had crossed the older squire’s face, twisting the features in furious hatred that rose in storm clouds behind dark eyes. Marl had just reached to mount his horse, his back turned to them, when Niet lunged forward. Marl seemed to sense the attack and spun so the blade meant for his heart only sliced into upper arm, biting deep into the outside of his left shoulder.
With an animalistic roar of fury, Marl unsheathed his sword again with his good arm and swung. Niet was forced to block blow after heavy blow that made his arms visibly shake. Will could do nothing but watch, transfixed with horror.
Niet took a step back, then another, then another. He was being backed against the thicker vines that lined the clearing. His foot caught one and he threw his blade forward wildly to block Marl’s strike. Steel screamed, snapped under Marl’s own sword, and the shards of Niet’s blade fell into the dirt, useless. Marl struck without hesitation and scarlet blood rose to the gash across Niet’s shoulder.
“No! Leave him alone!” Will didn’t recognize his own voice, hoarse, cracking.
But Marl stopped. He wheeled round, eyes landing on Will. His lips twisted into a smile and he stepped toward him, leaving Niet gasping on the forest floor. Will braced himself, staring at the blood-stained steel of the blade. Instead of striking, Marl crouched, bringing his face low so he could look into Will’s face. Will refused to look away and fought the urge to blink. He had never hated anyone as much as he hated this man standing before him. With the burning in Marl’s eyes, he knew his father felt the same spite.
“You cause death, boy,” Marl hissed. “You bring about death better than any sword I’ve ever held. Are you saying I should kill you in his place? Offering your life up for his?”
Will struggled to keep his voice from shaking. The poison in his blood was making everything hazy again, the edges of his vision darkening.
“Leave him alone,” Will repeated, his voice low now. “I don’t care if you kill me but leave him alone.”
Something in the dark eyes flickered and Marl hesitated. Will longed for the broken portion of Niet’s sword or even his dagger, lost somewhere in Thornten castle. He could strike now, kill Marl. It would be worth his life.
“No.” Marl straightened, shaking his head. “You can’t decide who lives and dies, boy. This squire, this boy.” He was striding toward Niet, lifting his sword. “He chose to defend you. I would never disrespect his dying wish by letting him see you killed.”
And the sword plunged down. Will’s scream never left his throat, it couldn’t, but he felt it tear through his body. He tried to stand and crumpled. Again, and again, he fought to reach Niet, the poison and the blow to his head dragging at him, attempting to pull him under its darkness.
By the time he had reached Niet’s side, Marl had vanished, his horse’s hooves a distant echo that resounded in Will’s ringing ears. He stared down at Niet’s blood, staining the front of his sea green tunic, the corner of his mouth, and thought of Sir Dannix’s mutilated body.
“Niet,” Will whispered, pleading, trying to make his hands stop the blood. “Niet!”
“Will.” Niet’s voice was gravelly, too soft, too tired, too strained with pain.
“Don’t talk, we got to get you to the castle, to the Ranger, a healer, someone,” Will whispered. “We have to-”
“Will,” Niet insisted, interrupting. His voice was growing weaker, and Will leaned in, desperate to catch the words, fighting the burning in his eyes and throat. “Will, take care of Eldin, won’t you? Her…and Kalia…”
“You’re going to be okay; you’ll be fine, you’re going to get back to the castle.” Will knew the words were a lie, but he tried his hardest not to see the blood running down Niet’s chest, his face, into his dark eyes.
Niet laughed, the sound weak, choked. “Don’t gamble, ever. You’re not a good liar.” His fingers reached up to grab Will’s arm, clenching around them. He could feel them shaking, weak and in shock. Niet’s dark eyes flitted between Will’s and he swallowed hard, color leaching from his face. “Don’t tell Serena…I acted a coward…struck at a man’s back…”
“Marl isn’t a man, he’s a snake.” Will shook his head. “We won’t tell her, you’re going to be okay, we’re going to get back to Alamore, it’s going to be okay.”
Niet gave a shadow of his wolfish smile and let his hand fall to his side, his eyes shifting to the sky. “I miss the ocean.”
“We’ll go to the ocean. Maybe you, me, Rowan, Colin, Eldin, Kalia, we can all go Please,” Will whispered. Niet’s face was pale, his lips tinged with blue. His eyelids flickered, sails in a heavy wind, then closed. His chest stopped rising, the silence that had been filled moments ago with the sound of his breath was deafening.
He was dead.
Will stared at him, not sure what to do, a ringing filling his ears. Around him the forest was still, even the wind held its breath.
“No,” he whispered, grabbing Niet’s shoulders. He wanted to shake him, to make him wake up. Something told him he couldn’t, though. He couldn’t shake him hard enough to wake him. Those eyes wouldn’t open again.
“No!” His voice broke and he released Niet’s tunic, his hands shaking too badly to hold on any longer.
Everything was wrong. This was wrong. It was a nightmare, a terrible nightmare. He would wake up in the squires’ chamber, it would be dawn again and this whole nightmare wouldn’t happen. It wouldn’t happen because it wasn’t real.
Something hot and wet was dripping down the side of his face. He saw his blood fall onto Niet’s chest, mixing with the scarlet that stained his hands. Niet’s blood. It was real. It wasn’t a nightmare. This was death and he, Will, had brought it about. He had been helpless to save Niet’s life.
Grief tore at his chest, ripping deep claws through his heart, up his throat, until he thought he might scream with the suffocating pain of it all. His breathing was coming in ragged gasps and, somewhere, an animal’s cry to the night seemed to echo the agony inside of him.
It was only as he bit down
, hard, on his own sleeve and the keening stopped that he realized there was no animal. Nothing in the world moved. His cries had stopped, now trapped behind his teeth, desperate to escape once more.
He lay like that in the dark of the forest, night wrapping cold and dark around him, his body shaking with sobs that seemed unwilling to escape. It was as though the pain bit deeper than tears could understand. Nothing mattered. The world was gone. He wanted to be anywhere else but here, be anyone else. Because it wasn’t anyone else who had caused this. It was his fault. Marl had killed Niet to spite him, only to waste a life from pure hatred. Somehow he felt certain that steel could not bite as deep into his body as the emptiness that consumed him and the poison that gripped tight over his mind and forced him back into unconsciousness once again.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
“Ross, he’s here! He’s over here!”
Hands grabbed at Will’s uninjured shoulder, but he tried to push them away and squeezed his eyes tighter. If he didn’t open them, this would be a nightmare. He had hoped that reality would pause a moment, not flood back over him, but give him even a lung full of air as reprieve. It hadn’t. Under his hands, he could feel the stiffness of drying blood on the front of the tunic.
“Will.” The voice had become softer. He wasn’t sure he had ever heard it so gentle. “Will, you need to let go of him.”
At last, he opened his eyes and met the blue eyes of the Ranger, his face drawn and pale, the hood of the cloak he wore pulled away. Bruising still marred his face, fresh blood beading over his broken lip, but somehow he looked stronger than he had the day before in the Thornten. The day before. Had it only been the day before?
The Cutthroat Prince (William of Alamore Series Book 2) Page 42