“You’re bleeding,” Freddie noticed. Eleanor followed his gaze to the small, dark-red puddle she had left on the ground.
“Yes,” she agreed, returning her eyes to Will. She was past caring.
“You should have said. When did you get hurt?” asked Freddie.
Eleanor shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”
Freddie took her chin and turned her head to face him, the life and humour gone. “You’re bleeding, Eleanor, of course it matters.”
“Really? Why?” Eleanor asked in lifeless monotone. “Amelia is most likely going to die, at which point it sounds like Will is planning to kill himself, having first handed Conlan over so Jarrick can torture him to death. I am going to lose most of my family in one go, including the man I love, along with all hope of saving this world. You and I will be left hunted and alone, so tell me, Freddie, why do you think a little blood matters?”
Freddie stared at her for a moment, then wrapping his arms around her and burying his head into her hair he sobbed. Too emotionally battered to comfort him, Eleanor let him cry while watching Will. He stared back at her and Eleanor waited, hoping that eventually her words would reach through his desperation and grief, that he would realise what he was doing was not the answer.
Freddie’s crying had dropped to sporadic hiccupping and the odd sob, although he was still clutching tightly to Eleanor, when they heard the sound of hooves. Pulling away from Freddie, Eleanor rolled herself onto all fours and stood. Conlan’s silhouette walked through the trees and out into the clearing, an insubstantial shadow. A feeling of dread and death made Eleanor shiver. He did not step into the fire’s circle of light, instead staying hidden in the dark.
“Jarrick will help Amelia. Will and I will take her. Freddie, you stay here with Eleanor – look after her. She is not, under any circumstances, to follow us. Is that clear?” Conlan ordered, his tone giving no room for argument. Freddie nodded his agreement as he came to stand behind her. Eleanor glared at him. I don’t need looking after. Stepping around the fire towards Conlan, her voice trembling along with her body, she made another attempt to get through to him.
“What did he make you agree to? Is he going to take his pound of flesh?”
There was a long pause, and when Conlan finally spoke, his voice was the terrible hollow sound that tore at her heart. “He gets to give me another beating, but he has promised to let us leave alive, if I give him Rand.”
Eleanor gasped, a tornado of emotions whipping through her mind. “And you believe him? How do you even know he’ll keep his word?” she demanded. “There’s nothing stopping him from killing you and using Amelia as leverage to get Will to do whatever he wants – or the other way round.”
“Jarrick is a monster, but he is a man of his word,” Conlan said with conviction.
“Don’t do this, Conlan, you’re making a mistake. Let me help you,” she pleaded. Will walked past her, past Rand and Conlan, and out of the clearing clutching Amelia to his chest, leading his horse behind him.
“Let’s go, Conlan,” he ordered over his shoulder.
Conlan hesitated for a moment, his face still in shadow. Eleanor took a few more steps towards him.
“Are you just going to leave?” she asked. “You have no idea if you’re going to survive this. Aren’t you even going to say goodbye?” Tears washed lines through the blood on her face, dripping pink onto the front of her shirt.
“Goodbye, Eleanor.”
Two words. So much meaning was held in them that Eleanor felt she was being buried under their weight. The pain in his words stripped her of her strength, and as Conlan turned to follow Will, she sank to her knees. He was already a ghost, a dark wraith moving through the trees, fading and then gone completely.
For a long time Eleanor remained kneeling on the ground, arms wrapped round herself and tears falling, her mind blank at the horror of what she might be losing. Freddie tried to offer comfort, but she pushed him away. She did not need comfort, and she most certainly was not going to accept this. She needed to think. Forcing her fear and grief down, she stood and began pacing in front of the fire. Her mind made up, she turned and began following in the direction Conlan had taken back to the track. She had almost made it to the edge of the clearing before Freddie ran in front of her, blocking her path.
“No, Eleanor, you have to stay here,” he said, placing a restraining hand in the middle of her chest. Eleanor looked down at it, not understanding. Surely he wanted to help her?
“Freddie, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. I’m going. I would prefer to do it with your help, but I’ll do it without, if I must,” she said, keeping her tone calm and controlled.
“Conlan said you were to stay here.”
“When did Conlan’s orders become law again? Use your common sense, Freddie; we can help him.”
Freddie shook his head. “Eleanor, there are some things you just can’t fix.”
Eleanor stared at him. “How do we know what we can and can’t fix until we try? Conlan is going to suffer unless we do something, so please, I’m begging you, help me.”
“No.”
“Do you really hate him so much you would let Jarrick torture him?”
Freddie looked hurt. “No, Eleanor, I don’t hate him. I don’t want him to suffer. I just want what he does, to protect you from Jarrick.” Eleanor felt rage crawl through her guts and she shoved Freddie back with both hands, catching him so much off guard that he fell to the ground. Eleanor stepped round him quickly. Turning back, she looked down at him.
“I don’t need protecting,” she snarled.
“Eleanor…” he began to implore, but something caught his attention and his eyes flickered behind her head, opening wide in shock. Sensing movement, Eleanor turned in time to see a blurry object moving at speed towards the side of her head. She reacted by trying to step back, but Freddie was in the way and the long, thin object crashed across the side of her head, rattling her teeth and dropping her into black oblivion from a great height.
Breathing was difficult, and something was crushing her lungs, forcing her to take short, shallow gasps. Oblivion pulled back a little. Something was very wrong. Her hands and feet were tied and restraints bit deeply into her flesh. Her arms and legs had been tied firmly, securing her over something, something that was moving. I’m tied over a horse. As more awareness came back, the situation became clearer. She was face down, head to the ground, over the back of a moving horse. The raised pommel of the saddle was digging mercilessly into her chest and stomach; so much pain filled her head that Eleanor was surprised it had not exploded. She tried to struggle, to call out, but all she managed was a strangled groan. She froze as she felt a hand run firmly down her back to rest on her buttocks. Someone was sat behind her in the saddle.
“Now, now, Princess,” said a soft, nasty growl in Dwarfish. “You should not be awake yet.” The hand gave her rear a squeeze, making her whole body tense, and then a booted foot kicked the side of her head. It was not a particularly hard blow, but it made contact with the bruises she already had, the pain clamping down like a vice and the oblivion coming back in a rush to claim her.
“She is a mess, Perry! And so was the other one. Did I not give you clear instructions that they were not to be injured?” The Dwarfish was cold, commanding.
“She was already in this state when we got there, and you saw the power of the other one – it took a lot to take him down.” This voice was familiar: it was the man who had touched her and called her ‘Princess’. Forcing down the pain and the fear, Eleanor opened her eyes. She could only get her left to half-mast, but she decided under the circumstances that this was good enough. The bright lantern light made her wince and blink tears until she could deal with it. Eventually her vision cleared and she found herself looking at a winged horse. Too many blows to the head, she thought groggily, shutting her eyes and counting to five before she opened them again. The winged horse was still there, flying above her. It took her far lon
ger than it should have to work out that she was looking at a beautiful painting on the ceiling of the room she was in. She was lying on a comfortable couch, a pillow under her head. A man sat on a chair next to her, another man stood behind him. The man in the chair smiled, his watery pale-blue eyes full of sympathy. It was a kind smile, an encouraging smile. He had a large round face, its podgy and undefined features making the eyes look small. Even relaxed, his mouth gave the impression of petulance, and his weak chin and bad teeth gave him a slightly pathetic air. Sat comfortably in his chair, expensively cut black trousers and white shirt not able to hide his heavy frame and thick, fat fingers held delicately on his crossed knee, he was assessing her, too.
“Hello, I am Jarrick,” he said softly, giving his introduction a quiet growl that indicated a meeting of equals.
Eleanor froze, instinctively wanting to get as far away from him as possible. Adrenaline overriding every ache and pain she scrambled up, drawing her legs into her chest, cringing into the corner of the sofa and watching him with suspicion. If Jarrick was upset or surprised by this he hid it well, instead he cocked an amused eyebrow at her.
“I see you have heard of me.”
Eleanor stared. You got your wish, moron, Jarrick is sat in front of you. Now what are you going to do? A million questions poured through her brain, but taking slow deep breaths she managed to bring herself under control.
“How did I get here?” she asked, giving the man stood behind Jarrick’s chair an angry look. A predatory smile spread across his pinched, thin face, his brown eyes full of lust. Frightened, Eleanor dropped her eyes back to Jarrick’s face.
“Conlan is a bad liar. I knew there were more Avatars out there so I sent some men to follow him. They found you and your friend and brought you back here,” Jarrick said.
“What is an Avatar?” Eleanor asked, playing dumb while trying to work out what Jarrick already knew.
He smiled at her. “Elemental conduits. Which one are you?”
“I do not know what you mean,” Eleanor said.
“You are no better at lying than my brother,” Jarrick advised conversationally.
“Where are my friends?” Eleanor asked. Jarrick nodded, as if this was a question he had expected.
“Your lady friend is being tended to by my healer, who was able to remove the arrow. I am told she may yet live – the next few days will be critical. The desperate blond-haired man is with her. The friend you arrived with has been locked up, as he was a little angry when he regained consciousness and tried to set people on fire. The Avatar of Fire, I presume…”
“Where is Conlan?” Eleanor whispered, not sure she wanted to know the answer.
“Conlan is strung up, awaiting me. Your return to consciousness forced a delay in our ‘conversation’, but I am anxious to resume it,” he said, as if they were discussing an interruption to a sporting event he was watching. Eleanor cringed, her stomach twisting at his words and sending electric sparks of pain through the entire length of her body.
The sympathy returned to the pale-blue eyes. “I am sorry if hurting him upsets you, but he has brought it on himself.”
Eleanor stared at him, not understanding. “What did he do?”
Jarrick narrowed his eyes slightly.
“How much do you know about Conlan?” he asked.
Eleanor shook her head. “Not very much, he is sort of private.”
Jarrick chuckled. “Private? No, he just has too much to hide.” He looked at Eleanor for a moment, his face draining of humour, and when he spoke his voice was hard and cold. “When our mother died, our father came to claim us and took us to the North Tower – not a place to raise small children. From almost the moment we arrived, Conlan ignored me. He would spend hours talking with our father in his study, and when he was not there he was out in the training ground being taught the arts of a gentlemen by some of the finest swordsmen and warlords who ever lived. In short, he was given a full and extensive education. I was left totally by myself. There were no other children in the tower and nobody had time for me. I was six years old and everything I loved had been taken from me. I tried to approach Conlan, tried to reach out to him, but he pushed me away, that hard, cold emotionless look on his face... I can see you know the one I mean.”
Eleanor winced. She was giving too much away again, she concentrated on making her face blank as Jarrick continued. “Conlan has no compassion, pity or empathy; he is selfish and cruel. I will make him hurt as I did, for the nightmare he put me through.” Jarrick gazed intently into Eleanor’s eyes, the shadow of a desperate, lonely, miserable child clear. He really does believe this, believes that Conlan hurt him on purpose.
“Conlan would not have meant to hurt you,” she replied. “Maybe he just did not understand, but regardless, what he did to you does not justify what you are doing to him now. He is a good man, give him the chance to explain himself,” Eleanor said.
Jarrick laughed a harsh bitter bark – Conlan made a sound like it occasionally, but it did not suit him; coming from Jarrick, however, it seemed to fit. “You are defending him?” he asked incredulously. “Why? He dragged you into this world so that he could force you into giving him energy, force you to fight for him, kill for him, force you into making him king. My father’s ambitions drove him as far as ruling North Tower, but Conlan wants the whole of Mydren – and you do not think that is a problem?”
Angry, Eleanor leant forward on the sofa. “You know nothing about him – that is not what he wants at all!”
Jarrick looked at her balefully, a flash of steel in his watery blue eyes. “Really? Did he tell you about our mother? Did he tell you he was responsible, that he betrayed her to her death? Even my father was angry at him for that. I saw him once, he made Conlan kneel before his desk and forced him to say he was sorry for killing her. My brother took everything from me, and he is going to pay for that.”
He never uses the word ‘sorry’, Eleanor thought, wondering how many times his father had forced him to say it. She ignored Jarrick’s comments about Conlan’s part in his mother’s death. Jarrick was wrong. Conlan loved his mother, grieved for her, even now; he would not have purposely caused her death.
“What would it take for you to stop hurting him?” Eleanor asked, wondering if the direct approach would work. Jarrick looked a little confused by the change in conversation, and Eleanor saw Conlan’s echo in the expression.
“I have everything I want in life, tearing my brother apart is just an added pleasure. Consequently, there is nothing you can give me that I cannot take for myself,” Jarrick said, the wide and friendly smile back on his face. He’s totally insane. I have nothing to bargain with… Conlan said he was a violent man, so perhaps he would understand violence better than deals. How would he respond to threats? What could I take off him that he would miss?
She looked around. They were in a large oblong room, a library. Several expensive, comfortable, delicate-looking chairs and sofas were placed over a brightly coloured, tightly woven carpet on the floor. Book shelves lined the wall behind her, and down each side wall, in front of her, were floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto a large square courtyard, lanterns placed around it allowing her to see across the space. There were lots of doors and windows facing into the courtyard, and a large, closed wooden gate stood firmly in the wall at the far end, directly across from the library’s windows. There seemed to be lots of people standing motionless in the enclosed space, watching the dawn as it began to appear over the red-tiled roof of the continuous block of buildings that enclosed the courtyard. Curious, Eleanor unfolded herself and stood, swaying a little as her head complained bitterly. She took a couple of deep breaths, waiting until her body could handle being upright. When neither man made a move towards her, she walked to the windows, looking out at the people. Statues. They filled the courtyard. Turning and looking back into the library from the windows Eleanor realised there were several in the room with her. I wonder how much he values them? The nearest w
as in the left-hand corner. Eleanor moved towards it. The stone was a beautiful polished pink and had obviously been chosen to enhance the subject matter carved into it. The statue showed a naked woman with rounded hips and large breasts, a massive snake wrapped around her. Its jaws were wide open and ready to bite, but the woman seemed unafraid – her face held a look of almost sexual pleasure.
“She is very special,” Jarrick said as he appeared at her side. He was gazing adoringly into the woman’s face. He loves this statue. Eleanor reached a hand out and ran her fingers along the stone’s smooth, cold surface, automatically pushing an energy string out to it.
“This statue is hundreds of years old; it once resided in Alaric’s palace. Do you know who Alaric was?” Jarrick asked. Only half-listening to him, her concentration on the stone, Eleanor nodded, wondering if Jarrick knew he was related to him – she doubted it. The stone sang to her, of life and its creation, of all the events that had brought it to its current position. Jarrick was wrong. She turned to him, pulling back her energy string, a small smile on her face.
“I think I may have found something to bargain with.”
“Really?” he sounded intrigued.
“This statue is not old. In fact, it was created only a few months before you stole it. I am the Avatar of Earth, Jarrick. Stone talks to me, tells me its secrets and retains a memory of everything that has happened to it. I can tell you which of your statues are fake, if you like... or I can just destroy them.” Pulling energy from the earth as she turned, Eleanor released it at the statue of a man coiled in battle pose and ready to strike, which stood in the opposite corner of the room. The statue exploded outwards with a cracking boom that blew the windows out into the courtyard. The statue’s fragments shredded through the book shelves behind it and the furniture in front of it, filling the room with noise, dust and grit. It took all of Eleanor’s self-control not to flinch, not to duck as stone fragments flew at her and not to raise her arms to protect her face. She forced herself to stand still, unconcerned, amongst the devastation she had wrought. She was stunned when nothing actually hit her, so when Perry came at her through the confusion and grabbed her upper arms, holding her in front of Jarrick, she did not resist.
Eleanor Page 37
