Will (Book 2) Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Books by S.F. Burgess

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Map of Mydren

  Map of Central Mydren

  The Idiot

  The Sage

  The Orphan

  The Maiden

  The Mule

  Davlin

  Brothers

  Mickle

  The Play’s the Thing…

  Players

  Merckley

  Kip

  Bapa

  Trust

  The North Tower

  Daratus

  Need

  Family and Friends

  Choices

  Training

  Pandral

  Principles

  Rodin

  Shyla

  Mortarlo

  The Truth

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Will

  The Books of the Five: Book Two

  by S.F. Burgess

  Books by S.F. Burgess

  The Books of the Five:

  Eleanor (Book 1)

  Will (Book 2)

  First published in Great Britain in 2014 by Jojosala Publishing Ltd.

  Copyright © 2014 by S. F. Burgess

  Cover illustrations by Scarlett Rugers

  www.scarlettrugers.com

  Maps by S.F. Burgess

  S. F. Burgess has asserted her moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN: 978-0-9576996-3-2 (Paperback)

  ISBN: 978-0-9576996-4-9 (EPub Edition)

  First Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by an means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade of otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publishers prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  For my darling John,

  At first I thought it was all a dream,

  An existence created by a desperate mind in repose.

  But the dream is reality, and you are mine.

  In return, all that I am I humbly dedicate to you.

  The Idiot

  “Often the scars that grieve us the most, are the ones we carry deep inside.”

  Direct quote from Will, the ‘Extended History of the Five’.

  “Are you TOTALLY insane?”

  Eleanor’s loud, angry voice echoed through the trees from somewhere off to Will’s left. The sun was barely up. The irritation at not knowing the exact time—an irritation that had faded over the years, but was still able to catch him out—washed over him. Most of their camp still slept around him as he poked at the embers of last night’s fire.

  Too early for drama, Will thought wearily.

  Freddie had woken at the sound of Eleanor’s voice, giving Will the impression that his sleep had not been very deep in the first place. They had all been sleeping with one eye open since the Protectors had arrived. Freddie yawned, rubbing bleary eyes, and scanned the sleeping bodies. He stared for a moment at Conlan’s and Eleanor’s empty blankets, then raised a questioning eyebrow at Will.

  “Does she need help?” he asked quietly.

  There had been a time when Eleanor and Conlan’s arguments had caused Will to worry about Eleanor’s safety; but recently he found his concern swinging towards Conlan instead. On occasion Eleanor’s comments could be brutal, and she often failed to notice how much her words hurt the man she loved.

  “You’re going to get us KILLED!”

  Eleanor’s yelling tore through the morning silence again, loud enough to wake Amelia and to cause some of the sleeping men to mutter and stir.

  “Are they okay?” Amelia whispered, sitting up.

  Will nodded. “Most likely. Come on, let’s go find out before they wake everyone.”

  He gave up on stoking the fire and stood. Stretching cold, stiff muscles, he did his best to ignore his headache. That was no easy task: the lump on the side of his head still pulsed pain behind his eyes whenever he moved too quickly. He saw it as a sign of everything that was wrong. He should not be taking this long to heal. But then again, the Protector should not have been able to sucker punch him so easily in the first place. You’re forty this year. You’re getting old, you idiot! he chastised himself, but it was more than that, and he knew it.

  With supreme effort he pushed his fears back down. The here and now. The here and now. The here and now. The endless mantra he had been repeating to himself for months. It worked: calm suffused his body. Smiling, he took Amelia’s hand, and with Freddie following, they crept through the prostrate men lying around them, heading in the direction of Eleanor’s yelling.

  The sight of all the grey Protector uniforms was profoundly strange. In his ten years of hiding from, running from, and generally avoiding Protectors, Will had built up an irrational fear of the grey uniform, due in no small part to the very rational fear of what it represented. So that now, even though these Protectors had defected to their side a couple of days ago and insisted that they wanted to help, Will could not stop the feeling of unease creeping around his brain.

  After five minutes of tramping through the dew-drenched undergrowth, they found Eleanor and Conlan standing in a small clearing. Their “conversation” appeared to have ceased, and the little pixie now stood toe to toe with Conlan, glaring at him. Conlan, as usual, masked his thoughts with a flat, emotionless expression, but Will could see his hands screwed into fists at his sides, suggesting he was keeping a tight grip on his temper.

  As Will and Amelia approached, Conlan lifted his head, glowing green eyes reflecting a very volatile anger. Reaching forward, he snatched a piece of paper out of Eleanor’s hand and marched towards them.

  “How long were you going to wait before telling me about this?” Conlan demanded, shoving the paper into Will’s chest.

  Confused and irritated by Conlan’s attitude, Will took the paper from him and read it. It was not good news—he had doubted it would be. Knowing how wound up Conlan would be, Will made his tone as calm, quiet, and non-confrontational as possible.

  “I didn’t know about it.”

  “What is it?” Freddie asked.

  “A letter from Remic,” Will said. “Apparently Daratus has arrested Gregor. He’s being held in the North Tower.” He watched the anger slowly fade from Conlan’s eyes, leaving only his fear for his grandfather.

  “When did you get a letter from Remic?” Amelia asked Eleanor as she came to join them.

  “Leda gave it to me before we escaped Katadep,” Eleanor said.

  “And you told no one until now?” Conlan snapped, the anger coming back in a rush.

  Eleanor turned to Conlan, her indignation obvious, intent on giving him a mouthful, but she gasped as her eyes met his. Her hands gripped over her heart, and her anger died stillborn, pain and distress taking its place. Will had seen similar reactions a few times now, as if Eleanor was reading more into Conlan’s mood than was apparent to everyone else. They had been able to share each other’s emotions for a while. Maybe this bond was deepening?

  Or perhaps, he mused, she’s just regularly reading his mind.

&nb
sp; “I didn’t do it on purpose,” Eleanor whispered softly. “I was just so tired, and we were constantly moving. I only remembered the letters yesterday.”

  Conlan raised an eyebrow. “You forgot something?” he asked incredulously.

  Eleanor huffed. “Yes, Conlan, it happens! I’m not infallible.”

  “Can I get that in writing?” Freddie said. Eleanor shot him a murderous glance, and he smirked.

  Conlan’s expression softened, but his tone remained hard. “But you still waited until now to tell me. Why?”

  “Because I knew the first thing you’d want to do was go charging off to rescue Gregor. And I wanted a bit of time to think about a plan,” Eleanor admitted.

  “I was coming up with plans long before you turned up, Eleanor. I’m sure I can manage it now,” Conlan said.

  “Your plan is going to get us all killed,” she retorted.

  Will immediately saw the implications. This explained why the Protectors had not chased them from Katadep. It had “massive trap” written all over it, and while Conlan certainly had the ability to plan meticulously, his patience for a well-crafted undertaking tended to evaporate when someone he loved was being threatened.

  “I wasn’t the one who totally disregarded our last plan!” Conlan spat.

  “And if I hadn’t, you’d most likely be dead right now, or at the very least be in a world of hurt!” Eleanor yelled back.

  The argument descended into accusations and the dragging up of past misdemeanours, one step away from outright name-calling. Will sighed. This man who wanted to be king still had a lot of growing up to do.

  “You know, I thought this would happen less now that they’re an item,” Freddie said quietly. Amused, Will gave him a small smile and a shrug.

  Eleanor must have overheard, because she stopped yelling at Conlan and rounded on Freddie. “I had sex, Freddie, not a lobotomy! Conlan’s little rescue plan is a suicide mission.”

  Will winced at the crude comment and the hurt that flared in Freddie’s eyes, a hurt that Eleanor missed totally as she turned back to continue her argument with Conlan.

  “Enough!” Will ordered, feeling some satisfaction when both Eleanor and Conlan snapped their mouths shut and looked at him. “This is something we should be considering rationally and agreeing on together. Can we please go back to the camp, sit down, and discuss this like adults?”

  Conlan struggled with his frustration for a moment, but gave Will a curt nod. Turning, he marched back towards the camp.

  Freddie trotted after him, talking to him quietly as he caught him up. Will could see the tension melt out of Conlan’s body at whatever Freddie said. Eleanor, too, watched them go, a frown on her face.

  “It’s a trap,” she said.

  “Yes,” Will agreed. “I know, as I’m sure Conlan does.”

  “Then should we just be waltzing into it?” Eleanor asked, turning her bright angry gaze on Will. “Our track record with Protector ambushes isn’t great. They’ve always been one step ahead of us. He’s going to kill us.”

  “Your arrogance is getting annoying again, Eleanor,” Will snapped. “Conlan deserves more respect than you’re giving him. He’s got a lot more experience than you.”

  Turning away from the confused hurt on Eleanor’s face, Will set off back towards the camp with Amelia. After a moment, Eleanor followed.

  Amelia’s concern filled Will’s head along with her presence. That was a little harsh.

  She needs to learn, Will replied.

  Learn what? Amelia asked. That someone she loves and trusts is now going to berate her if she has an opinion that differs from Conlan’s?

  That’s not why I had a go, and you know it, Will said testily. Eleanor needs to learn that loudly disagreeing with Conlan is not the way to get her point across.

  Oh, right! She needs to learn how to better manipulate the man she loves, Amelia said, with mild sarcasm.

  Will sighed. Frankly… yes. Eleanor and Conlan together could take tactical brilliance to a completely new level, something they’re going to need to do to survive. But that’s not going to happen if they can’t learn to work together. Eleanor needs to learn how to handle Conlan.

  Amelia flashed him a cheeky smile that made his insides melt. How very Machiavellian of you. You worry too much. They work together just fine—and they have you to guide them. Eleanor is never going to have to do this on her own. You’re just being heavy-handed. Will felt his gut tighten, his body reacting to the truth his mind refused to accept. And anyway, Amelia continued. Why is Eleanor the one who needs to learn? Maybe Conlan should be learning how to handle Eleanor!

  Will nodded but said nothing further. Amelia sighed and removed her energy string.

  Amelia had a point. Why have I assumed that it’s Eleanor who needs to change? Will thought. Because you could never get Conlan to change for you! another voice in the back of his head whispered. And it was true. Despite years of effort, it was always Will who had been forced into adapting his approach. While Conlan’s tolerance, patience, and control had improved over the years, Will simply had not considered that it might now be more effective to council Conlan on how to work with Eleanor rather than the other way around. Better still, maybe I should work on them both—get them to a middle ground they’re both happy with. This set his thinking off in a whole other direction.

  His reprimand had deflated Eleanor a little, as he had known it would. Even as they got back into camp, she still seemed to be quietly processing his words. Will disliked upsetting her or chastising her for what he knew was, fundamentally, her nature. It felt cruel, but it had to be done. He did his best to harden himself to the reproachful look the little pixie gave him when her eyes caught his.

  The others were awake when they returned. The fire was blazing and the air was heavy with the thick, inviting smell of the cinnamon-and-honey-flavoured porridge the Protectors favoured for breakfast. Kip gave the bubbling contents of the large metal pot a slow stir and returned Will’s smile with a wide toothy grin of this own. Of the six Protectors who had thrown their lot in with Conlan, Kip was the only one Will trusted so far. He could not have said why. If pressed, he might have pointed out Kip’s simple, honest, straightforward manner, or his ready smile, or the faith and hope in his eyes when he looked at Conlan. Perhaps it was all of these things, or something less tangible.

  “Would you like some breakfast, brother?” Kip asked.

  “If it is your wonderful porridge, yes please,” Will said. Kip’s eyes lit with pride at the compliment.

  “Brothers,” Kip said, raising his voice. “And sisters,” he continued, smiling in Eleanor’s and Amelia’s direction. “Breakfast is ready.”

  There was a bit of a stampede as the Protectors crowded round the fire, rushing in to get a bowl of the sweet, sticky, filling meal. Kip ladled out the food, his gentle brown eyes watching those around him, his young, pockmarked face happy and smiling as he brushed the fine, light brown hair of his fringe back under his bandana. This was clearly what he enjoyed: cooking, feeding his ‘family’. An odd pleasure for a Protector.

  When Freddie reached the front of the line for breakfast, Kip gave him a slightly bigger portion than the others had received. Freddie smiled. “Thank you, brother,” he said in passable Dwarfish. Kip’s friendly smile turned into a delighted grin. Those three words, taught to him by Kip, might be all the Dwarfish Freddie could currently speak, but they had stuck, and Freddie was now using them almost unconsciously.

  Kip handed bowls of food out to Eleanor, Amelia and Conlan, who were already seated by the fire. Will came over to sit next to Amelia and gave Kip a nod of respectful thanks for his food. They ate in silence for a while. The sign of a satisfying meal.

  “Don’t you want that?” Freddie asked, waving his spoon over Eleanor’s untouched bowl, having just scraped the dregs from his own. She shook her head and handed her breakfast over to him. Conlan lifted his gaze and regarded her with a frown, but said nothing.

  �
��You do not like it?” Arran asked from the other side of the fire. Eleanor seemed to shrink further as several quizzical looks turned in her direction.

  She shook her head. “It is lovely, I just seem to have lost my appetite,” she said, dropping her eyes to the floor, her thoughts distant. Knowing he was responsible for her dejected expression, Will carefully hid his remorse and ignored the accusing glance Amelia gave him as he finished his food.

  The meal done, various people drifted off to specific tasks. Conlan had asked Mickle—the older, quiet, unsmiling man these rogue Protectors had made their ‘captain’—to make them all bows. A skill the man had taken great pride in telling them he had. Conlan regretted having been forced to leave their old weapons in the mountains when they had fled their home all those months ago, and Will knew how eager he was to replace them.

  Will had intended to spend the day with Mickle, getting an idea of the work that went into creating a bow and also spending some time getting to know the man—he was still trying to work out if he could be trusted. But as Mickle headed off in the direction of his makeshift workshop on the other side of the clearing, Will wondered if he would get the chance for that now. A heavy feeling of responsibility settled uncomfortably on his shoulders. The sooner he got Conlan and Eleanor working efficiently together, the better.

  Three other Protectors—Will tried to remember their names and failed—disappeared off to act as watch over the camp, a state of affairs that made Freddie edgy and irritable—although he had yet to say anything directly to Conlan. Kip, Arran and a Protector called Moylan collected the breakfast bowls and utensils, then disappeared off in the direction of the stream to wash them, Kip and Moylan engaging in a relaxed conversation about how best to season a roasted duck. Moylan was the man who had given Will the blow to the head when they had first arrived. His name had stuck in Will’s mind as much for his striking appearance as for his powerful punch. The man stood taller than the other Protectors, his bright, intelligent blue eyes viewing the world through an unruly mop of copper-red hair, and the profusion of freckles on his face made him seem younger than he probably was. Moylan had apologised several times for striking him, and Will had forgiven him, but he was not quite ready to trust the man.