The point of Dennis’ blade entered the middle of his thigh a split second before Will’s blade reached him. In a match that would have meant that Dennis had won a point. Will continued forward and his blade continued upward, slipping under Dennis’ chin and through his throat until it was stopped by a bone.
Will felt a jolt as Dennis’ sword shuddered to a halt against his femur, then he flicked his sword out and sideways, ripping through the side of his enemy’s neck to be sure he finished the job. He hobbled back a second later, bleeding profusely from his wounded thigh.
Across from him, blood was spraying from Dennis’ ruined throat and the other man fell back, collapsing to the ground. He was dead within seconds, his blood pooling on the hardwood floor of the gym.
Gritting his teeth, Will tried to keep his expression calm as he looked at the referee. “Did his point strike first or mine?”
“I think it was his,” stammered Matthew.
“Damn!” swore Will. “That’s too bad.” He hobbled over to Dennis’ corpse. “It appears you drew first blood. Since I lost, I retract my words. I apologize for calling you a pus-ridden little rapist.” Reaching into his tunic, he pulled out a short length of rope he had brought for the occasion and tightened it around his leg above the wound. He winced despite himself as he cinched it taut before tying it off.
The other students stood around him, stunned into silence, their faces pale. Will wiped the blade of his sword clean on his already ruined trousers, then hobbled over to his sheath and put it away. Addressing the others, he said, “Would anyone like to help me to the Healing and Psyche building? I don’t think I’ll be fit to participate in class today.”
It was then that Instructor Rhodes walked into the gym. The older man knew something was off as soon as he entered. “What are you lads doing?” he asked loudly, then his eyes fell upon Dennis’ body and the spreading pool of blood. “Sweet Temarah’s tits! What the hell happened?”
“Dennis challenged me to a duel and won, so I apologized,” said Will, feeling woozy. Lack of sleep and loss of blood were taking their toll on him. He leaned on Matthew. “They’ll tell you,” he added, his head beginning to sag.
Chapter 15
“He’s waking up,” said a man’s voice from somewhere nearby.
Will rolled his head to one side, searching for the source of the voice. After a moment, his eyes came into focus and he spotted an older man standing nearby. The man’s hair was white—what remained of it, for he was mostly bald. He stared down at Will over a belly that had a distinctly rotund shape.
His head was pounding and his breathing was too fast. Will could feel his heart racing in his chest, which only exacerbated the throbbing headache that was beginning to make itself known to him. He stared up at the unfamiliar face. “I hope so.”
“What’s that?” asked the man.
“I hope I’m waking up,” said Will breathily. “Otherwise this is a shitty dream. I have higher expectations for my dreams than this.”
“Young man, do you know where you are?”
The world swayed as his eyes rolled in a circular fashion. “No,” Will answered faintly. How many people were in the room? He could see several other shapes standing off to one side, and he struggled to focus his vision on them.
“You’re in the main operating room of the Healing and Psyche building,” said the man. “Be grateful they got you here in time.”
One of the figures was definitely female, though her figure was obscured by a loose gown. An odd-looking cap covered her head, hiding her hair.
“One of the large veins in your leg was torn. You almost bled to death.”
“Which one?” asked Will curiously.
The man frowned. “Excuse me?”
He wheezed as he tried to clarify, “The saph—saphenous vein, or the femoral vein?”
“Does it matter? I’ll explain everything when you’re feeling better,” said the old man.
Will turned his head toward the woman. “Is there someone smarter I can talk to?” he asked drunkenly. “This fellow’s a fucking idiot.” He tried to laugh but couldn’t catch his breath.
The balding man stepped back. “He’s delirious.”
Will heard a familiar voice respond. “His mother is a healer in the village he comes from.”
“I guess that explains his questions on anatomy,” said the man.
“Thank you for everything you’ve done, Doctor Morris,” said the woman. Her voice was agonizingly familiar.
“It was probably a waste,” said the doctor. “The Spry family will be asking for his head on a platter.” He walked away. “I’ll be back in a little while.”
The woman turned to the others. “I’d like a few minutes alone with him.” The other figures filed out. Then she came closer, leaning over until Will could see her face. “Will, do you know who I am?”
He blinked. It was Selene, and the first thing that popped into his mind was the line King Lognion had given him. I know who you are, he thought, but he couldn’t say those words. Instead, he tried to shake his head. “No,” he rasped.
“You’re probably confused. There’s barely enough blood left in you to keep your heart working, much less your brain,” she responded gently.
Reaching up, Will pulled on her cap, causing it to come off. A cascade of dark locks fell forward, framing her face and tickling his cheeks. “What did you do that for?” she asked.
“I’m sorry.”
She held up the cap. “For this?”
“No. For the things I said—before.”
Selene leaned closer, studying his eyes. “So, you do recognize me.”
Will muttered something unintelligible.
“What was that?” She turned her ear toward him and moved her head until it was close to his mouth.
“I said, ‘no,’” he repeated, then he raised his head slightly and kissed her cheek.
Selene pulled away and gave him a stern look. “I didn’t give you permission to kiss me.”
He smiled weakly. “There’s money in my purse. Is six clima enough?”
Her features softened, and she blinked several times to clear her eyes of excess moisture. “What am I going to do with you?”
He tried to shrug but his position made the gesture difficult.
“You’ve been here a little over a week and you’ve already murdered someone,” she chided him. “Do you think that’s normal behavior?”
“He was an asshole,” said Will. “He tried to—”
She put a finger over his lips. “I heard the story.” Her expression grew thoughtful. “Who was the girl? No one seems to know.”
“Her parents work for Count Spry,” said Will. He still couldn’t catch his breath. “Need to keep her name out of it.”
“Who else knows who she is?”
“Chris Burnham and Brett Conn,” he answered. “They were going to pay for turns with her. If they say anything—”
Selene nodded. “I’ll make sure they know better.” Then she added, “You should be more worried about what’s going to happen to you. Lord Spry will want your blood when he hears you killed his son.”
He looked away. “I had to do it.”
Her hand gripped his chin, turning his face back toward her. “No, you didn’t.” A few seconds later, she asked, “Is she pretty?”
Will nodded. “Yes.” He saw a hint of anger in her eyes when she heard his answer.
“Are you in love with her?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
He kept his eyes firmly on hers. “There’s someone else.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know her name,” he answered.
Selene’s face was a picture of conflicting emotions. “I know you recognize me.”
“I don’t,” he said stubbornly.
“He knows I’m here,” she said, her voice tense. “He’ll ask me what you said. Just say it, damn you. Get it over with.” Her eyes were welling with tears.
> “No.”
“You have to say it,” she told him fiercely. “Everyone does.”
Will turned his head away, closing his eyes. “Get out. I don’t know who you are.” Please leave, so I can keep loving you. Something wet landed on his forehead and a moment later he felt the light brush of lips against his cheek.
“There. We’re even,” she said. The only sounds he heard after that were her footfalls, as she left the room.
***
The next day Will was propped up in bed, supported by several pillows. He was eating steak from a bowl. Someone had generously cut the meat for him, so all he had to do was navigate the task of getting the pieces to his mouth. He washed them down with watered beer from a clay mug that sat on a table beside the bed.
“Someone needs to castrate the jackass that cooked this,” he complained around the overcooked piece he was chewing. “It’s blasphemy what’s been done to this meat.”
Rob shook his head. He was sitting in a chair not far away. “I can’t believe you have the audacity to complain about the food. You nearly died yesterday.”
Will gave his friend a hard look. “Your point?”
“You whine about food the way a nobleman complains when he’s brought the wrong vintage to go with his roast duck. You should just be grateful someone’s feeding you.”
“Just because I’m a peasant doesn’t mean I have to enjoy bad food,” Will said sourly.
“Most people would be happy to be on a strict red meat diet for two weeks,” observed Rob.
“I would be too,” said Will, “if they let me do the cooking. When I can get out of this bed, I’m going to find the man that did this and punch him in the nose.”
His friend started laughing, but he stopped when a knock came from the door.
“Come in!” called Will.
Rob rose from his seat and headed for the door. “I should get going. I’m already taking my life in my hands just visiting you.”
The man that entered was of average height with grey, speckled hair, a clean-shaven face, and an intense gaze. He walked over to the bed and gazed at Will over the rims of his thick glasses. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Mister Cartwright.”
Putting aside his irritation over the state of his steak, Will decided to be diplomatic. “Then you have an advantage over me, sir, for I don’t know your name.” He offered his hand.
The man shook it. “Alfred Courtney. I’m the head of Wurthaven’s Research Department. Professor Dulaney has described your unique ability to me at some length.”
Will was surprised. He had expected another lecture or more threats about his violent behavior. “I didn’t realize I was so unusual.”
Professor Courtney’s expression was friendly, almost whimsical. There was an air about the man, almost as if he didn’t quite exist in the same mundane world everyone else was forced to live in. “Oh, but you are!” he said. “I wonder if you could be persuaded to help me with my research.”
“I don’t know that I would be much help,” Will replied. “My only talent seems to be causing trouble.”
“I’d like to study you, if you’re willing,” said the professor.
“That depends,” said Will.
“On what, if I might ask?” said the researcher mildly.
“On how long I can continue breathing. I’m told there are a lot of people who are very upset with me.”
Professor Courtney nodded. “I’ve been talking to the chancellor and vice-chancellors about that. I believe there’s a good chance we can keep you out of harm’s way, for a time at least.”
“I’m interested to know how.”
The older man rubbed his hands together, warming to the subject. “Well, as I understand it, you’ve broken no laws. As barbaric as the custom of dueling is, there are still no laws against the practice. King Lognion has resisted every effort to reform the laws in that regard for the past twenty years. As misguided as I think that is, it means you can’t be charged with the crime of murder. Several of your classmates have already come forward stating that Dennis Spry issued the challenge and that you merely accepted it.”
“So, everything is fine?”
“Not quite,” said the professor. “As you know, the duel was not a duel to the death, but rather to first blood. To make matters worse, you’ve already admitted to losing, which means your opponent’s death occurred after the duel should have officially ended.”
By a fraction of a second, thought Will dourly. “You just said I wasn’t guilty of murder, though.”
“You aren’t,” agreed the professor. “But you’re still open to a claim of wrongful death. Once the news reaches Count Spry, he is almost certain to demand a blood-price.”
That didn’t sound very reassuring. “What’s that?”
“When someone is found to be at fault for the death of another, the victim’s family can demand compensation,” explained Professor Courtney. “You’ll have to pay a hefty penalty.”
“How much?”
“It varies depending on the status of the person who died. For example, a healthy laborer is valued at a hundred crowns, while a woman or child only incurs a debt of seventy crowns—”
“How much for Dennis?” insisted Will, irritated by the professor’s lengthy explanation.
“A thousand gold crowns,” answered the man. “The good news is that it will take at least another ten days for the news to reach Lindham, and another two weeks for a response, which gives you almost a month. So, if you’re recovered enough to leave in a week, then—”
Will held up a hand. “Wait. A thousand crowns? I can’t pay that! What happens if I don’t have the money?”
“Oh, you’ll be put in prison, of course! Lord Spry will likely ask to have custody as well. I understand he’s a very vengeful man, so it will probably be quite unpleasant. But, as I was saying, it will take at least three weeks for him to make the demand, and you’ll have a period of time to respond as well. If you’ll start working with me as soon as you’re better then I can probably gather the data I need before they haul you away,” said the professor happily.
After a moment he noticed the look of dismay on Will’s face and hurried to add, “I realize that you may be upset, naturally, but it’s important to think of the good you could accomplish in the time you have left.”
Will stared at the man as if he had gone insane. “I’ve already done enough good just getting rid of that sick bastard. You expect me to smile and help you with your research when I’m going to be put in prison and tortured?”
Professor Courtney held out his hands placatingly. “I understand how overwhelming it must feel, but Professor Dulaney and I have already done as much as we could for you. Did you know they were going to have you expelled? It was only our dogged determination and endless requests for leniency that convinced the chancellor to keep you on at Wurthaven. Surely that must count for something.”
He’s mad, thought Will. This whole damn world is mad. He struggled to contain his temper and probably only succeeded because his extreme fatigue made it difficult to summon the energy to scream. Sighing, he leaned back into the pillows. “I appreciate your efforts, Professor,” he responded, his voice dripping with unappreciated sarcasm, “but I’m tired. I’ll think about your offer if and when I find a way to come up with a thousand crowns.”
The professor nodded, stepping away. “We’ll talk more after you’ve recovered.” He quietly exited the room.
“The hell we will,” muttered Will acidly.
Chapter 16
Will spent a week in bed at the Healing and Psyche building before he was sent back to the dorm. Aside from Rob’s one visit, he had surprisingly few visitors. One of the proctors, a man named Blake Grim, stopped in to explain his situation once again, though he did little more than restate the same facts that Professor Courtney had outlined. He was given a stern warning not to repeat his behavior, and most especially not to consider wearing his sword on the campus grounds, even though there
wasn’t a specific rule against doing so.
All in all, he felt strangely unchastised. Even though everyone told him he’d done something terrible, no one was going to do a thing about it. He was free to return to classes on Monday. It felt surreal when he smelled the fresh air outside as he walked back to the boys’ dorm.
If not for the fact that he would probably be thrown in prison in a month or two for not paying an astronomical blood-price, it would have been completely unbelievable.
As he walked, he noticed people staring at him. If they happened to be along his path, they quickly found other places to be, and those at a safe distance whispered to one another. It was ironic, since he had tried his best to be friendly from the beginning, with the exception of Dennis Spry. “You stab one asshole through the neck, and suddenly you’re a pariah,” he told himself with a dark chuckle.
He hadn’t made friends, but he had found infamy. He wondered if they avoided him because they feared him, or if they feared being associated with him when Count Spry’s inevitable vengeance arrived. Either way, he would be alone to face it.
He spotted the resident assistant as he entered the boys’ dorm. “Hi Mom,” he called out amiably.
The glare she answered him with was cold and unforgiving. “Do you have business with me today, Mister Cartwright?” she asked.
Brought up short, he replied, “No, ma’am.”
“Then I’d appreciate it if you didn’t speak to me.” She returned to the book she was reading, dismissing his existence from her reality.
“But—”
She glanced up sharply. “Do you remember our last conversation?”
He nodded dumbly.
“Then you understand why I don’t trust you or wish to associate with you.”
Her rejection hurt more than all the lectures he had received put together. “I understand,” Will said quietly.
He made his way up the stairs and opened the door to his room. Seth looked up in alarm as he entered. “Will.”
Secrets and Spellcraft Page 13
