“Will, Eleanor needs medical attention,” Conlan said quietly. Concerned, his eyes flicking between Eleanor’s face and Conlan’s, Will retrieved his medical bag. Freddie jumped to his feet.
“Eleanor? Are you OK, what happened?” he asked softly. She had no idea what she should be saying, as her mind was putting too much effort into dealing with her pain; she just wanted to sleep. Not understanding her silence and wanting to offer comfort, Freddie wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a hug. As he made contact with her back and shoulders, Eleanor cried out, pain clawing at her and tears spilling down her face. Surprised, Freddie pulled back and withdrew his arms, realising they were covered in blood as he did so. In total shock, he stared at the dark-red stickiness before staring back at Eleanor.
“They punished you,” he whispered in horror. Unable to stop the tears now, Eleanor nodded. “Will, she’s bleeding,” Freddie said, unable to drag his eyes from the blood. Will moved to Eleanor’s side, raising an eyebrow at Freddie’s blood-stained hands and arms. He moved behind her and she heard him gasp.
“Freddie, she needs to lie down,” he said with forced calm. Taking her hand, Freddie led her to the rug.
“Eleanor, lie down,” he said softly.
“She needs to lie on her front,” Will ordered, stating the obvious in a flat, empty tone while rummaging through his supplies for what he needed. Eleanor dropped to her knees. The jolt making her whimper again, and behind her she heard another gasp.
“What happened?” Amelia asked of no one in particular, horror raising the pitch of her voice and making it wobble.
“They punished her for exploding a tree,” Freddie told her in an empty voice, helping Eleanor to drop forward. She moved her arms under her head. It hurt. Resting a tear-streaked cheek on her arm, she sighed as Freddie gently stroked her hair.
“You let them do this to her?” Merl asked. He sounded traumatised. Conlan gave no response. Eleanor felt an energy string brush against her and Will’s furious presence filled her head.
He let them do this?
Eleanor sighed. No, Will, I let them do this. I could have stopped them if I’d wanted. I made the choice to submit.
Why? You’re a mess.
This was worth it, I promise.
He had no right to ask it of you. Eleanor cringed as Will’s anger and hurt battered against her – on top of her own pain it was too much and she started crying again.
I’m sorry you’re upset, Will. Please don’t be angry with me, I don’t think I can take it just now. She briefly felt Will’s guilt, before shuddering as his loving affection for her flooded through her body as a warm glow, wrapping round her carefully and separating her from the pain. He gingerly pulled up her shirt and began cleaning her back with an antiseptic that should have had her screaming in agony, but with Will supporting her mind, numbing the sensations, all she felt was a mild stinging.
I’m not angry with you, Will said. I’m angry with Conlan for putting you in this position. I don’t like seeing you in pain.
I told you, Will, this was my choice – and it was worth it.
So you said, but tell me, is any of this ‘benefit’ your pain has brought going to directly benefit you? Shocked by the anger she could still hear in his voice, Eleanor was silent. When she did not respond, Will continued. I didn’t think so. You made a deal, agreed to suffer to help Conlan and he let you. Do you understand why I’m angry?
Eleanor felt her own anger rising. Will was being an idiot; he knew how important this was. It was my plan, Will, my idea. I’m quite proud of it actually, and anything that benefits Conlan benefits us too, you know that. I don’t understand. Conlan made a deal and agreed to suffer in order to help Amelia. And you let him… you talked him into it. How is this different?
Will rubbed a little too hard over one of the thick, bloody welts that went across her lower back and round her side. Even with him keeping the pain at bay, Eleanor felt it and cried out.
Sorry, Will said.
Actually, Will, I’m really impressed – you’re talking to me, keeping the pain away and treating my injuries all at the same time.
Who says men can’t multi-task? And you’re changing the subject.
Eleanor sighed. I don’t want to talk about it anymore, what’s done is done. We can’t change it.
How much are you going to give for a man who offers you nothing in return? Will asked in serious concern. Where does it stop?
It stops when my heart stops beating, and possibly not even then, Eleanor said with a calm, steely resolve. And don’t you think you’re being a little hypocritical, especially given what you were prepared to do for Amelia?
Eleanor, Amelia loves me in return, we have a relationship. She gives me so much; what do you get from Conlan?
A lot more than you think, Eleanor snapped.
Will snorted. I hope so, because from where the rest of us are stood he’s an uncaring, unfeeling, merciless bastard.
No, Will, please don’t think that.
Will huffed in exasperation, pulling his energy string free. Hot pain poured through her again. She winced but forced down her whimpering cry. Will tenderly pulled her shirt down over her back again. Freddie lay down next to her, his arm a pillow for her head so she could move slowly into a more comfortable position.
“Will, her hand needs attention, too,” Freddie said in a pain-filled, brittle voice. Confused, Eleanor looked down and saw the half-moon bite mark she had left across the first knuckle and the side of her right hand, the ripped skin oozing blood in a steady pulse with her heartbeat; she had not even noticed it. Will knelt at her side and lifted her hand up slightly, not wanting to move her shoulders.
“You bit yourself?” he asked, his voice calm and clinical, despite the tension Eleanor could see in his body.
“I was trying not to scream like a baby and make an utter fool of myself,” Eleanor muttered.
Will frowned but said nothing more. He cleaned her hand, wrapping a bandage tightly around it. “It really should be stitched. It’s a deep wound, but your teeth haven’t left a neat enough edge, so you’re going to have to be careful, OK?” he ordered, giving her a stern look.
Eleanor nodded. She felt so tired. Freddie’s arm was comfortable, and her eyes closed. Freddie covered them with a blanket. She tensed as the material fell across her, but it did not hurt as much as expected, as her back felt strangely numb. She wondered what Will had treated her with and why he had not used the same stuff the last time he had given her stitches. Maybe it was something Kona had told him about.
“Is she going to be OK?” Conlan asked, his voice as emotionless as Eleanor imagined his face to be.
“No. She’s in pain, she’s scarred for life and she’s so totally besotted with you that she thinks this was a good idea!” Will snarled at him.
“Will…” Conlan started.
“Shut up,” Will barked. “I don’t want to hear it.”
Eleanor wanted to explain, wanted to tell Will to leave him alone, but she was drained and her body would not follow her commands. The peaceful inky black was sucking her down, like water down a plug hole.
She was in the middle of a strange dream about being in the thick of battle, standing over Conlan’s fallen body. Defending him. Her sword swung desperately around her at the enemy, a dark, faceless hoard. In her dream Eleanor felt something brush against her fingers and she looked down. Conlan was conscious and stopping her fighting because he was holding her sword hand, the blade immobile in front of her. She woke with a start, pain making her wince. It was quiet. Freddie’s soft snores and the slow deep-sleep breathing of the others were the only sounds. It must be late or really early. Opening her eyes she found Conlan lying on his side next to her, pained green eyes staring back. Hidden under their blankets she could feel his fingers gently brushing up and down hers, stopping where the bandage started. It was a small, comforting movement, loving almost. Her need for him flowed through her. Ignoring Will’s advice, she gr
asped Conlan’s hand and held it tight. The delicate scab that had formed split open and blood began soaking her bandage, but she did not care. She wanted him to know that it was alright, that she was alright. She smiled at him and he slowly smiled back. She reluctantly released his hand, not wanting him to feel the blood; it would only upset him. He moved his hand forward slightly, resting it on her forearm and gently rubbing her skin with his thumb. Eleanor relaxed, sighing in pleasure and closing her eyes. This is what Will and the others don’t see, this is why they don’t understand, she thought, before she allowed the darkness to pull her back down into a deep, restful and dreamless sleep
The bolt thrown back in the lock woke Eleanor with a start. Her body tensed and pain shot through her. She whimpered, struggling to get up. Everybody else was awake. Conlan was watching her from against the wall. He did not look like he had slept. The others seemed to be ignoring him, although Merl shot him an angry glance as Freddie helped her to sit upright.
Eleanor smiled. “You let me sleep?”
Freddie nodded. “You looked like you needed it, looked so peaceful, so relaxed, we didn’t want to wake you.” Eleanor felt the ghost of Conlan’s touch on her arm and sighed. The door was opened and warm sunshine washed over her, reminding her there was a world outside. The light was too bright, so she closed her eyes but did not turn her face away, feeling the joy of it wash through her. She knew the person who had opened the door may well be the traitor come to kill her, but for a few seconds it did not matter. A figure in the doorway blocked the light.
“My lady Laurice asks for you to make good on your promise, Avatar,” a high squeaky voice spoke in an attempt at a harsh, nasty tone.
“Hello, Harnlyn,” Eleanor said quietly, smiling at him. It must be afternoon already, as the traitor had made no move on her, unless this was the move, but Eleanor really could not see Harnlyn as a devious mastermind. She staggered painfully to her feet and walked towards him. Freddie stood, joining her.
“What are you doing?” Eleanor asked, glancing at him.
“Coming with you,” Freddie said.
Eleanor’s heart squeezed, horrific scenarios running through her overactive mind – the traitor attacking, Nials and his men fighting back, Freddie caught unknowing in the middle. She shook her head.
“No, stay here, you can’t help me with what I need to do,” she said, pushing him back with a hand on his chest. It was like pushing a brick wall.
“I’m coming with you,” he said again. There was focused determination in Freddie’s face. Harnlyn shoved him back so he could reach Eleanor, pulling her arms behind her back to tie them. She was unprepared for the rough movement, and the pain ripped up her back. She cried out, tears immediately flowing, and staggered, feeling weak and dizzy. Only Harnlyn’s bruising grip on her arms kept her upright.
“No sharp comment, child?” he gloated.
“It would be a waste of my breath, you are too stupid to understand my better insults,” Eleanor snarled, unable to stop herself and knowing it was a bad idea to bait him, but she did not want him thinking he had beaten her. Harnlyn let out a high, frustrated yell, which sounded like a woman in pain. With considerable force he flung her into the wall. Pain exploded claymores in her head. Through dazed, half-open eyes she watched Freddie launch himself at Harnlyn, pounding his fists into the man’s surprised face. Will pulled Freddie off his bleeding, struggling victim and dragged him back, his arm firmly across his chest. Thankfully, Will had reacted before the two guards who had followed Harnlyn through the door had recovered from their shock enough to take matters into their own hands. A body crouched in front of Eleanor, blocking her view, hands roughly propping her up, dragging her back against the wall behind. Pain roared through her and made her body twitch involuntarily. She sobbed weakly.
“Sorry, Eleanor, are you OK?” Merl asked. Eleanor could see Conlan beyond Merl’s shoulder, his body rigid, forcing himself not to intervene.
“What is going on here?” The deep voice echoed around the room, carrying the assumption of absolute authority. Surprised, Merl turned to face it and Eleanor got a view of this new stranger. It was another tall man with ebony skin, but not someone she had seen before. This man seemed older; his short cropped black hair had flecks of grey through it. He carried his strong, thick body with the confidence of one who knows his every order will be obeyed. He glanced disgustedly down at Harnlyn, before stepping over him towards Eleanor.
“Move,” he ordered Merl in a voice of velvet-clad steel. Still staring in surprise, Merl stood up and moved out of the way. The older man crouched in front of Eleanor, his strong, unflinching gaze holding hers.
“I am Berick,” he said, the growl he put through the Dwarfish implying a meeting of equals.
Eleanor assessed him. Cunning intelligence looked back from deep black eyes. He had the same elaborate ritual scaring under his eyes as Laurice, Urerla and Yatt. A member of Laurice’s family? Without thinking, Eleanor raised a hand to his face and gently ran her fingers over Berick’s scars. Like reading Braille. She smiled at him, he smiled back and she knew, without a doubt, that this man was the traitor. A strange calm followed this realisation. She would react quicker if she was relaxed.
“I am Eleanor,” she said, annoyed at how fragile she sounded. He took her hand as she withdrew it from his face and gave it a gentle, friendly pat.
“I know who you are, Eleanor, Avatar of Earth. A woman of remarkable talents. My sister Laurice has told me what you are going to do, and I thought I would come and take you to meet Meran. Harnlyn cannot be trusted to behave in an acceptable fashion,” Berick said, giving Harnlyn a contemptuous glance. Harnlyn looked back reproachfully, rubbing his jaw as he got to his feet. Firm hands took Eleanor’s arms, helping her to stand, but the room spun; her overtaxed body headed towards shutdown. As she staggered, she was caught and lifted off the ground, held carefully against a strong body, arms trying to minimise the contact with her back, her head falling onto a shoulder. Merl, she realised. She looked over Merl’s shoulder and caught Conlan’s eye. She saw understanding. He flicked his gaze to Berick and Eleanor gave him a tiny nod.
“She is too weak to stand, I will carry her,” Merl said to Berick, who nodded once, before turning to leave. Merl, Harnlyn and the guards followed him. Looking behind them as they walked away, Eleanor saw the door slammed shut and bolted. She missed the others already; she had not wanted them with her, they were safer where they were, but she felt their absence as a tearing pain. She fought down the guilt she felt for putting Merl in danger, it would be better for Conlan to lose Merl and one Avatar than two Avatars. She admitted to herself that if it came to it, she would rather Merl died than Freddie. Working hard to stop her body tensing, she looked around as far as her peripheral vision would allow without having to move her head, trying to spot Nials, wondering when he would strike and hoping he would not wait until she was dead before he did. Eleanor closed her eyes and let her mind drift. There was nothing she could do now – her plan would either succeed or fail. A strong unexpected burst of pain suddenly filled her stomach; not her pain, she realised, it was Conlan’s physical pain. Concern for him flashed through her mind, but it faded almost as soon as she had felt it, as if Conlan had pushed her away, leaving her confused.
The sun’s glorious warmth disappeared as they entered a building. Eleanor opened her eyes, allowing them time to adjust. She did not think she would be able to put up much of a fight if it became necessary, but being able to see would be an advantage. At least then I can look death in the eye.
“Eleanor? Do you want to stand?” Merl asked gently. She nodded against his shoulder and he placed her down, keeping a firm hold of her arm until he was sure she was not going to drop again. Once on her feet she looked around her and realised with a jolt of fear that they were in the stables Nials had taken her to the previous evening. She could see her jacket still lying on the floor where she had abandoned it. Many more lanterns had been lit, the soft orange light tryi
ng to compete with the brilliant sunlight that poured in through the open double doors at the far end of the room.
There was the shuffling of hooves, and Eleanor turned to see a man leading a horse forward from one of the stalls. The other stalls still looked empty. The horse moved slowly, tottering painfully forward like an old man with chronic arthritis. Eleanor gasped, her own pain forgotten, as she stared at the miserable creature before her. She knew this was Meran, but her logic found it incredibly difficult to match the horse before her with the one she had seen in the picture in Laurice’s room. The once strong, muscled body was wasted, gaunt and hollowed out, flesh slipping loosely over sharp bones. Eleanor could see every rib, and his joints creaked as he moved. The black coat, which had shone in the painting, was dull and lifeless and missing in some places. Open sores stood angry red. The head dropped forward almost to the floor, listless eyes staring at nothing. Horrified, Eleanor pushed into the animal’s head and immediately understood. The horse was grieving, blaming himself for his beloved master’s death. Meran raised his head stiffly and looked Eleanor in the eye. Pushing deeper she found a keen intelligence, a brave and devoted heart and a strong sense of duty. Meran knew he had failed to protect his master and had given up caring about life as his guilt ate away at his soul. As Eleanor pushed carefully through the animal’s mind, all sorts of interesting facts and information came to her. Meran struggled to pull his pain-scattered thoughts together, but he seemed to want to show her something important. Without her needing to ask, the tormented animal sent Eleanor the memory of his master’s death. They were attacked by several men riding out of the sun. Meran had fought back, lashing out with his hooves, as his master had hacked and stabbed with his sword, but someone had managed to reach his bridle and had yanked it roughly down and round. Meran had bitten the arm, tasting blood, but it was too late, as his head twisted too far and he lost balance, falling heavily on his side, landing on his master and trapping his leg, making it impossible for him to avoid the blow to the head with a rock that killed him, his skull splitting. Meran had been pulled up, and it was then that he saw a figure riding towards them from the distance. Berick. Eleanor recognised the man as he approached.
Eleanor Page 57
