Will (Book 2)

by S. F. Burgess

  Looking down, Conlan gasped, hesitantly reaching for the soft red leather as if he expected it to disappear at any moment. As he did so, the metal manacle at his wrist slid down, bumping against the wider part of his hand. Will knew Conlan carried permanent bruises there because of this continual movement, and pity flooded through him. The heavy shackles remained as silent testament to both the pain Conlan had been subjected to, and the pain he would suffer for the rest of his life.

  Seeing Will’s look, Conlan pulled his shirt cuff back over the iron and turned his attention back to the pouch. “I thought it gone forever,” he murmured in Dwarfish, gratitude swelling through his words. Taking the pouch from Will’s hand, he rubbed it reverently between his fingers.

  “It was torn from you when the Protectors ripped off your jacket and shirt,” Will said. “I found it the next morning, but with everything that was going on at the time, I put it in a safe place and forgot to return it. I am sorry.”

  A smile unfurled with a warmth that pushed down into Will’s soul, spreading out, making his body tingle, reassuring him that while there may be doubts about his abilities, he was still a valued part of Conlan’s life.

  “I have it back now, when I need it. That is all that matters,” Conlan said.

  “What is it?” Will asked, curious about what could be so important to Conlan. He was not a man who craved possessions, or one who was prone to sentimentality.

  “You never opened it?” Conlan asked, surprised.

  “No, of course not—it is yours. It is clearly private and important,” Will said.

  “Bapa, you have been inside my head. I gave you access to every part of me, hid nothing; the only secrets between us are yours,” Conlan said without resentment, releasing the strings around the mouth of the pouch as he spoke. Holding up his palm, he carefully shook out the contents.

  Two items dropped down. One was obviously a thick lock of Eleanor’s hair from before she had cut it short and dyed it. It was tied at one end with a thin purple ribbon that wound in a spiral down the braid, holding it together and ending in a bow at the bottom.

  “I found it,” Conlan said softly, stroking the tress in his fingers. “When she cut her hair. After I left her with you, by the stream. I was fuming. I walked, followed the water upstream, and there it was. Something so very beautiful, discarded, because I was too stubborn to listen to her.”

  Touched by the romantic gesture it implied, Will wondered if Eleanor knew Conlan carried this token around with him.

  The other item was heavy, with the deep yellow lustre of gold. Large coloured stones flashed from it in the sunlight. Jewellery of some kind?

  Conlan noticed Will’s scrutiny.

  “It was my mother’s bracelet,” he explained in a thick voice. “She was wearing it the night they took her.”

  Looking closer, Will could see where two of the links had snapped apart under force and one of the stones had been lost, its empty setting giving mute witness to a woman’s last desperate struggle for freedom.

  “This, the book I gave Eleanor and my memories… they are all I have left of her,” Conlan whispered.

  “No, Conlan: you have much more,” Will said with a smile. “You have your mother’s intelligence and wit, her sense of fair play and, more importantly, you carry her strength and compassion.”

  Conlan stared at him in confusion.

  Will chuckled. “It is true—it is not as if you inherited any of these qualities from your father, is it? I have wanted to tell you this for years, but you always avoid talking about your mother. You have not truly lost her; she lives still because you do, because you hold all of her potential within you. She would be so proud of who you are. Hold on to that feeling, because it is her love that supported you through your father’s abuse, her love that protects you even now.”

  Slowly Conlan’s blank stare melted into a smile that brightened his eyes. He put his treasures back into their pouch and put it around his neck. For a while they sat in comfortable companionship, enjoying the silence and the view. Will pulled his cloak tighter and let his mind drift, memories of happier times in their cave in the mountains, when it had just been him, Conlan and Amelia, and life had been…

  “I will understand,” Conlan said, interrupting Will’s thoughts, the words sincere and heartfelt. “When I know what is going on with you, I will understand.”

  Will sighed, ignoring the tightness inside, as the feelings of happiness being cultivated were crushed. “I know you will. I am counting on it, in fact. I am also hoping you will forgive me.”

  There was more silence, growing heavier as the minutes passed.

  “You are not going to tell me, are you?” Conlan said, trying hard to hide his hurt.

  “No, Conlan, I am not going to tell you right now,” Will agreed, making his voice as hard and final as he could.

  “Very well. I shall not bring it up again.”

  The blank, emotionless mask was back in place, and for once Will was glad of it; it was far easier to say no to that face than to the hurt, worried distress of a moment ago.

  Conlan stood, shaking the snow off his cloak, and without a word turned and walked back towards the camp. A tension in Will’s heart released with a sharp painful rip, and he dropped his head into his hands. Screwing his eyes tightly closed, he quietly accepted the blows as his misery and fear punched him with all the force of his guilt.

  Will arrived back into camp at the same time as Eleanor, who, with a big smile on her face, informed them all that inserting Davlin into the tower had gone smoothly. She had an earnest whispered conversation with Conlan, pointing into thin air above her head, where seconds later Amelia dropped her shield to reveal their two enormous hot air balloons. They winked into view below the tree line of the large clearing their camp sat in. Will was impressed that Amelia had been able to create a shield big enough to hide them both from view. Freddie was strapped, face-down, into a harness hanging underneath one, suspended from ropes that went over the top of the balloon like a net, and Amelia was attached in the same way to the other. Teris had attempted a few unsubtle innuendos about this the first time the balloons had been demonstrated, until Moylan had threatened to hit him if he did not stop.

  The trees were lofty giants around them, many well over a hundred feet tall, yet the balloons sat only ten feet or so below their tops, with Amelia and Freddie hovering mere feet off the ground. They were made of muslin, dyed black to help them blend better at night—assuming it did not snow—and sealed with linseed oil heated into a paste and applied like varnish to help hold in the hot air. Unlike the hot air balloons Will had known, these were perfectly round; Freddie heated the air from the inside, so there was no need for a large opening at the bottom with a burner, just a hole big enough to allow the excess air out as it was heated and expanded.

  Freddie and Amelia climbed out of their harnesses and moved around the balloons, tying them down. The balloons took a while to set up, and Will knew it would be easier on Freddie to keep the air inside them hot rather than to have to reheat the air again from scratch when they were ready to go. Will watched the huge, silently bobbing black spheres. He had never been able to fly with Amelia, to accompany her into the place she felt most comfortable, and he longed to be able to share that joy. Yet this excitement was mixed with trepidation. They would be riding the balloon into battle, against a ridiculously superior enemy that might outnumber them a hundred to one. If Conlan could pull it off, Will had no doubt they would sing songs about it for generations to come.

  But the odds did not fill him with confidence.

  Once the sun had set and full darkness had fallen, Conlan helped Will into the second harness that hung below Amelia’s, strapping in his medical bag as Elroy and Eleanor helped Mickle into a similar harness on Freddie’s balloon. Conlan handed Will his bow, which had been secured to the harness with some rope in case he dropped it, and strapped four quivers of arrows around him so he could easily reach them. Once he had finished
, Conlan looked him in the eye, pushing an energy string into Will’s head.

  Are you up to this? he asked.

  Will gave the same response he had given Eleanor when she had asked him the same thing earlier. Yes, I can do this, he replied with a smile, hoping his determination showed in his expression.

  Very well, Conlan continued. I’m relying on you to clear our path to the tower gate.

  Will nodded, letting calm wash over him, offering as confident a smile as he could manage. Giving him a pat on the shoulder, Conlan picked up a large black bag, made out of the same muslin as the balloons, and walked over to Freddie, handing it up to him. The rest of our explosives, Will guessed, hoping that Freddie found them easy to ignite. Given the clandestine nature of their work, he, Eleanor and Freddie had only been able to explode tiny, although potent, amounts of their gunpowder, just enough to test the compound, so Freddie had never had the opportunity to experiment with setting off large amounts. Too late to worry about it now. Freddie took the bag of explosives gingerly and secured it carefully to his harness.

  “Welcome to A and F Airlines,” Freddie announced loudly once the explosives were safely attached. “We will be flying at a cruising altitude of about a thousand feet and suggest for your comfort and safety you keep your arms and legs inside the harness at all times. In an emergency, feel free to panic, along with your pilots.”

  Eleanor was giggling so hard by this point that Will and Amelia had to join in, especially when Will caught sight of Conlan’s bemused expression in the light of the covered lantern Elroy carried.

  “They do know that they are going into battle, do they not?” Elroy asked Conlan, his bewildered glance flicking between the laughing Avatars. Conlan nodded and gave a him a shrug as he rolled his eyes, which just made Will laugh harder, aware that he was heading towards hysteria.

  “Let the balloons go, please,” Amelia ordered, and the holding ropes were released. Immediately they began to rise, the ground dropping away at an alarming rate. The feeling pulled the laughter from Will’s lips as he gasped, his stomach flip-flopping inside him. They went straight up at a frightening speed, the air thumping against his ears as he rocked and twisted violently in his harness. He could not see Mickle in the darkness, but he could hear the fear in his voice as he spoke one last prayer to the Goddess Ethrel before the wind whipped his words away.

  Eventually their ascent slowed and a strong wind picked up from behind, pushing them in the direction of the tower. Once the tight dread of being so high up had subsided a little, Will took the opportunity to appreciate the experience. It was incredibly cold, and he understood why Amelia had made sure they were all wearing lots of extra layers and were wrapped in blankets in their harnesses. As they moved forward, the freezing wind smacked him hard, filling his ears with white noise and making his eyes water; his tears were freezing down the cheeks of his painfully numb face. And yet, even so, it was the most amazing feeling. Nothing but him and the wind, soaring over the landscape below, snow glowing faint silver as the tiny sliver of moon rose above it. He wanted to share the exhilaration of it with Amelia but knew better than to distract her. What she and Freddie were doing required all of their concentration. Freddie had to keep the air in the balloons hot enough to hold them up—but not so hot as to set the balloon on fire, as he had accidentally done with their first balloon. Amelia, for her part, needed to hold a large shield up to hide them, whilst controlling the wind that pushed them forward. This delicate balance of their depleted energy required a lot of skill and good communication, and Will did not want to plummet out of the sky because he had disturbed the conversation in their heads to tell Amelia how cool it was to fly.

  It was not long before the tower came into view, and as they ghosted towards it Will realised just how large it was, its walls dwarfing the balloons. Apprehension crept up behind him and slapped him on the back of the head. It was always the same before any military action he had ever been involved in. His stomach would knot and twist with anxiety and fear until he was able to take his weapon in his hand and quiet his mind, focusing only on his objectives, letting the practice, the job, take over.

  The balloons came to a halt and again Will swung and twisted in his harness, his harsh breathing echoing through his head. In front of him, less than thirty feet away and just below, were the battlements of the tower’s outer walls. There should have been men standing guard, walking around in the cold, but looking the length of the wall as far as he could see, Will found only three men. Two were stood together almost directly in front of him, and one of them, the younger one, was clutching his stomach, doing an odd little dance, his face creased in pain. He’s eaten Davlin’s laxative dinner. Will smiled—he could not help it. The man might be in pain, and the situation embarrassing, but he was more likely to live through the next few hours if he was in too much intestinal distress to raise a sword. The older man gave him a look of disgust and, waving his hand, gestured him to leave. A captain? There was no red sash across his uniform, but that was not conclusive proof. The dancing figure turned and fled.

  Farther down the wall stood another figure, looking out towards the distant hills in the direction of their camp. He did not seem to be suffering any adverse effects from either laxative or sedative. With agonising slowness—Will marvelled at the control it must have taken—the balloons floated in a complete circuit of the tower, giving them the opportunity to work out where the other Protectors stood. There were eight men in total on a wall that, according to their recognisance, should have been patrolled by forty. As the balloons returned to their original positions, Will felt an energy string collide with his mind and winced as the iron fist of Conlan’s casual strength pulled them together.

  Amelia, Freddie? Are the balloons in position? Conlan asked.

  Yes, Freddie replied. There only seem to be eight men in the battlements—not enough for more than two at a time to be in each other’s line of sight. Will and Mickle can take out two at a time without the others raising the alarm.

  ‘Take them out…’ you mean kill them, Amelia said.

  Now is not the time, Amelia, Conlan snapped. Will felt her flinch back but was proud of the anger and strength in her retort, even though he disagreed with her sentiment.

  I was not questioning your plan, Conlan. I simply wanted to be clear. If we have to take their lives, then we could at least give them the respect of saying it and not hide behind empty idioms.

  Fine, Conlan snarled. Will, I want you and Mickle to kill the eight men on the battlements, with an arrow through their throats, so that they can’t alert anyone while they bleed to death. Clear enough for you, Amelia?

  On occasion, Conlan, you are an utter— Eleanor started. A deep bass growl stopped her short.

  Focus! Conlan snapped. You can insult me later! Freddie, can you pass my orders on to Mickle?

  Yes, Freddie answered.

  Good. We’re all easy targets out here until we can get through the tower gate. Get to it! Conlan’s harsh order echoed through their connection.

  Will carefully slipped his hands out of the blanket he had tucked them into to keep them warm and reached for his weapon, the cold already biting at his fingers. He unstrapped the bow from the harness then slid an arrow out of the quiver and notched it.

  Will, Freddie… I’m going to count to three, and on three let the shield drop, Amelia said in a flat monotone. Fire quickly so I can raise it again. Freddie, can you let Mickle know all that?

  Looking across at the other balloon, lit by the flickering orange of the fire baskets on the walls of the tower, Will watched Freddie lean down and speak to Mickle, who nodded. Will positioned his bow, aiming roughly at the man closest to him, glancing to the side to check that Mickle was aiming at the man at the other end of the wall. Raising the weapon, Will pulled back, the bowstring brushing his right cheek, holding the lethal tension, taking slow, deliberate breaths. He took several seconds to align the tip of his arrow with his target’s Adam’s apple, a diffic
ult shot from slightly above the man. He automatically adjusted infinitesimally for the wind and distance, the whole exercise as natural and unthinking as breathing. Mickle had spent a lot of time in the last few months trying to get everyone proficient at using a bow, but had ultimately been forced to admit that it was only himself, Conlan, Davlin and Will who had any real aptitude for it, much to Conlan’s annoyance.

  Okay… Amelia said stiffly. One… two… THREE!

  Will gave it one heartbeat for the shield to drop, and knew that it had when his target looked up in surprise at the two balloons that had just appeared before him. With another tiny, almost unconscious adjustment to compensate, Will loosed his arrow. It leapt from the bow, flying true and embedding itself through the man’s neck, tearing through his larynx and destroying his windpipe. The man collapsed to the flagstones of the battlements without a sound, blood spreading out around him. Looking to the left, Will found that Mickle’s target was also down, an arrow sticking out under his chin.

  Amelia moved the balloons around the walls, and they repeated the process three more times, Will and Mickle killing the Protectors on guard in twos. When the last man fell, Freddie reported back.

  Conlan, the walls are empty. Your way to the gate is clear.

  We’re heading there now, Conlan replied. Send the signal.

  Will looked over the battlements and across the inner courtyard, watching the oil fires that burned in large metal stands on either side of the main door of the tower. For a brief moment the flames jumped and writhed with much higher intensity. Must be for Davlin, to tell him they’re coming. As he turned his gaze to the other side of the battlements, the orange afterglow of watching the flames slowly fading from across his eyes, Will could see the darker black of five running shadows dashing across the vast open space between the tree line and the battlements’ outer gate. The figures paused at the gate, their shadows blending with the wall’s, and Will heard the keening screech of unoiled, rusty hinges tear through the frigid air. Notching another arrow so he was prepared, Will saw Eleanor, Davlin and Arran head off to the right side of the courtyard, disappearing through a door in a low building which leant against the side of the tower. Swords drawn, aware that they were exposed, Conlan, Teris and Elroy walked up the wide steps to the tower’s main door and positioned themselves on either side of the door, pressed into the cold stone.