Eleanor (56 page)

It was a moment before the roar of battle left her and a movement on the edge of her vision told her she was being watched. She turned and found Conlan staring at her with his usual unreadable expression.
Bet he’s thinking of all the mistakes I made.
She felt guilt simmering beneath the surface at the carnage she had caused, but she swallowed it down. It was like drinking acid.
I’m not going to apologise to him any more for being what he has created.
Keeping her face as hard and as calm as possible, she moved towards him, stooping to pick up the flowers she had collected. As she walked past, she looked him in the eye.

“Still think I need protecting?” she hissed. The look of shock, distress and disappointment on his face gave her such a strong feeling of satisfaction it was almost worth all the guilt she was going to feel for killing a bunch of incompetent, disorganised, half-starved morons. She stepped round him and walked back to the camp. Conlan did not follow and Eleanor tried hard to hold on to the feeling that she did not care. Will, Freddie and Amelia were halfway through building a large three-sided shelter when she arrived; they looked surprised that she had come back alone.
 

“Did Conlan find you?” Freddie asked. “He wasn’t impressed you’d wandered off by yourself.”

“Yes, Conlan found me,” Eleanor said, noticing Amelia eyeing the bloody sword in horror.
 

Will looked with alarm at the sword and the crimson streaks that covered her hands and arms. “You didn’t kill him, did you?” he asked, not entirely in jest. Eleanor felt the ghost of a smile drift across her face at the joke and handed the plants over to Will.
 

“Chew the roots; it will help with the headache,” she said quietly. Will looked down in surprise.
 

“You found
lepdrac
? How did you know about this?”
 

Eleanor shrugged. “Conlan told me,” she said flatly.

“What happened?” Freddie asked, his gaze travelling from the sword to her bruised face and then to her eyes.
 

Eleanor shook her head and walked away, heading towards the stream. She felt numb, as if someone had shoved a sword through her, and she was just waiting for the agony. The stream ran past lazily, and she dropped to her knees at its edge. Rubbing the gore off her hands she cupped them and sipping the clear, cold water she washing the taste of blood out of her mouth. The incriminating red stains continued up her sleeves and she wanted it off. Leaning forward she plunged her arms into the water’s icy depths, watching as the steady flow dragged the blood away with it, spreading dark clouds through the water for a moment before it cleared. The cold water was numbing her hands and arms to match the rest of her – and it felt right. She had killed them, just like she had killed the people of Nethrus; killed another four men, just because she could. The rage had made her want to kill them. She wanted the world to see how she felt inside, to have someone else experience her pain. Her anger had made her powerful and able to deal with looking at Conlan; her anger was a wall which had kept him out. She remembered the distress and disappointment she had seen in his eyes.
He gave you a gift, the ability to protect yourself and to defend others, and you betrayed him
. She shied away from that thought, pushing it deep inside her along with her guilt and all the other emotions that threatened to drop her into sobbing hysteria. He would not see her weeping and full of remorse.
I am stronger than this.
She smiled as the thought made her feel stronger; anger was a way to deal with her hurt. She heard movement behind her and grabbed her sword. She spun round into a crouch, flexed and ready to pounce, if necessary. Freddie stared at her, fear on his face.

“What happened?” he asked again.

Eleanor allowed herself to relax ever so slightly as she stood and calmly returned his gaze.

“I met a few would-be rapists and killed them.”

Freddie’s eyes grew wider. “How many?”

“Six attackers, I left four dead.” Eleanor felt the guilt crash against her as she recited her crime, but the wall she had created held; she would not have to deal with the guilt just yet. Freddie stared at her but said nothing. She pushed past him, heading back to the camp, but she stopped short as the trees opened into the clearing. Conlan was walking into the camp from the other side, the body of one of her attackers, the one who had spoken out, resting over his shoulders.
What’s he brought the body here for?
He knelt down and gently lowered his burden to the ground in front of the shelter. As he did so, the man moaned and clutched at the wound in his stomach.
He’s still alive.
Her anger came surging back and removed all her guilt. She welcomed the feeling, he would pay for attacking her. Coming up behind her, Freddie gasped.

“Make that four dead and one soon to be dead,” Eleanor murmured, marching forward.

“Who’s that?” Will was asking Conlan.

“A survivor. I’m going to need your help burying the other bodies,” Conlan muttered.

“Bodies? A survivor of what?” Will asked, confused.

“Me,” Eleanor said.

Conlan turned to stare at her and she glared back, feeling the anger fill her with strength.

“You left him for dead,” Conlan said.

“My mistake,” Eleanor sneered. “But one I can fix.”
 

She matched towards the injured man, raising her sword. He was conscious and saw her coming. Holding out a blood-stained hand in a pitiful attempt to defend himself, he whimpered, tears carving rivers into his dirty face. She brought the sword down, aiming at his head. It was not a subtle blow. She had not wanted it to be, as she did not want the man’s death added to her list of crimes, but to keep herself in one piece she must keep the anger going, must fuel it. If she was slow and clumsy in her attack, perhaps one of the others would stop her. As her blade sliced through the air, another weapon came up to meet it, stopping it an inch short of the trembling man’s head with the resounding clamour of striking metal. Eleanor recognised the blade and turned slowly to face Conlan, green eyes iridescent with fury. Silently she stepped back into the open, away from the injured man and the fire, giving herself room to manoeuvre. She raised her sword, waiting.
 

“I don’t want to fight you, Eleanor,” Conlan said, although his twitching sword hand indicated otherwise.

Eleanor narrowed her eyes.
 

“Afraid I might beat you?”
 

He did not rise to the taunt but just stared back at her passively. This pushed Eleanor’s anger up another notch. It felt good to be this strong, not a pathetic wailing woman weeping over a broken heart. She moved back threateningly towards the injured man. Conlan stepped between them, raising his sword.

“You’ll regret this,” he cautioned quietly.

She smiled grimly. “I’m not really in the regretting mood.”

She sprang towards him, feigning a thrust to his face. The point of her weapon heading for his eyes, Conlan was forced to react by blocking the blade. As he did, Eleanor pushed her arms out, slapping his sword to the side. If her blade had been sharp she would have pulled back and sliced into his neck. A killing blow if she had the aim right, but with the blade’s dull, rusty edge she was forced to swing it back as a blunt instrument. Using her hand on the hilt as a fulcrum she flicked the pommel of the sword away from her, the see-saw motion snapping the blade back towards Conlan. A hammer blow to the side of his head. She felt the impact vibrate along the blade’s length. He staggered back, dropping to one knee, his body slumping and stopping himself collapsing completely with his outstretched sword hand. His body trembled as he pushed the palm of his other hand into his scalp. He looked shocked when it came away streaked in blood. Eleanor felt cold, hard victory course through her body as she held her sword comfortably in a relaxed two-handed grip and stared at Conlan. There was no pity, no mercy, no guilt. All those cumbersome, painful emotions were buried deep inside. His sword hand was supporting his body. He was kneeling, vulnerable. She moved cautiously towards him and placed the tip of her blade against his throat. He stared up at her, his eyes unfocused. Slowly he stood, leaving his weapon at her feet; she let him up but kept the blade tip resting against his skin.

“You want me dead? Do it,” he said, his voice empty and the hard, unreadable expression back on his face.

“You really shouldn’t tempt me,” Eleanor said, surprised by the menace she could hear in her voice.
Who am I?
What am I doing?
She saw movement in her peripheral vision.
It’s a distraction.
She quickly took several steps away from Conlan, swinging her weapon to the right as Will came towards her, his open hands held out to the sides in a universal sign of surrender. However, Conlan had not surrendered, and as Eleanor turned to face Will, her sword raised, he charged her. Eleanor caught his movement, and as he launched himself she dropped her sword, grabbed both his arms and rolled back onto the ground, pulling him down with her. She curled her legs into her chest and planted her feet firmly into his stomach, and as he came up over her head she pushed out hard with her legs, releasing her grip on him. He sailed over her, crashing into and through a group of saplings ten feet across the clearing. She continued her movement, rolling over her shoulder and back onto her feet into a crouch, grabbing her sword again as she did. She brought the point back to face Will, who had frozen, staring at her in utter amazement.
 

“Eleanor? It’s OK, calm down,” Will said quietly.

“I’m perfectly calm, thank you!” she snapped, jumping to her feet. There was a groan from the trees into which Eleanor had flung Conlan, and both she and Will turned to look. The trees trembled and rustled as Conlan hauled himself up, using a snapped tree trunk for support.

“Some great warrior you are,” Eleanor sniped at him as he stood. He stared. There was silence, a lengthy silence. Eleanor began to think she was missing something again. She looked at Will, who was still looking at her in shocked amazement.
 

“What?” she demanded.

“You’re just so incredibly fast,” he whispered.

“And strong,” Conlan finished as he walked towards them, his hands now raised in surrender as Will’s had been.

“I was well trained,” she sneered, daring Conlan to accept responsibility. He continued to walk towards her. “Don’t come any closer!” she ordered when he was still comfortably out of her range. He froze. Eleanor wondered if he realised that she had given him the order to protect him, not because she was afraid of him. He was still staring at her, and he spoke quietly.
 

“No, Eleanor, this is beyond training, this is something else. Your movements are precise and economical, but when you fought those men you used moves I’ve never seen and adapted your approach immediately for the limitations of your weapon. You made it look easy... graceful. If you were thinking your way through that fight, not acting purely on instinct, then your reaction times are truly astonishing.”
 

So he saw me fight
. His words sounded like a compliment, but why could she see fear in his eyes? Will was regarding her in much the same way he had the dragon. Looking behind her, Amelia was knelt beside the still whimpering man, but her terrified eyes were fixed on Eleanor’s bloody sword. Like Will, Freddie managed to look both impressed and fearful at the same time. What was Conlan trying to say?
I’m not behaving like myself
. She was actually behaving like Freddie with his energy too high. She cautiously examined her own energy. It was higher than normal, a lot higher. It was not causing pain, but holding onto even a small amount of excess energy was turning her into a total psycho. An image of Earth using her body to fling Will across the room sprang into her head.
More energy, enhanced strength and speed?
Even understanding what was happening did not take away the desire to rip Conlan’s head off, and anger flared as she looked back at him. Her energy jumped once more.
That’s the trigger; my anger is pulling more energy from the earth, knocking my internal balance out.
She took slow, deep breaths and tried to relax by releasing the excess energy into the ground. It was working, until Conlan spoke again.

“You can put your sword down, Eleanor, I’m not going to let you murder an unarmed, injured man.” His usual hard look was back on his face and Eleanor felt her hands jerk with the urge to ram his words back down his throat.

“But when you want to murder an unarmed kid just because he’s a Protector, that’s OK?” She bit the words out, the buzz of fury filling her ears and her energy leaping up again.

“No, that wasn’t right either, but I had you to stop me from doing something I would regret. It’s a favour I’m trying to return,” he said, his intense gaze not leaving her face.

“I do not think you could stop me,” Eleanor said slowly in Dwarfish, relishing the feeling of power over him she took from delivering the words in his own language and knowing them to be true. He stared at her and then glanced at Will. She could not read the look that passed between them.

“No,” he agreed, responding in Dwarfish. “I do not think I could, but you will have to kill me to reach him.”
 

He would do it
. Eleanor marvelled at the stupidity of the man; he would throw his life away for some useless nobody, just to make a point. She struggled for a moment to fight down her anger and to focus on something good, something she loved about him. A deluge of images filled her mind.
Just one
, she thought distractedly. Obediently her mind brought one image into sharp focus: Conlan’s soft smile, eyes full of affection as he watched his grandfather recite his family line. His feeling for this man he had not seen in years, someone he admired, made her feel warm inside.
I want him to look at me like that
, Eleanor realised. She held the image in her head as she allowed the little voice in the back of her mind to become a yelling insistence:
I don’t want to kill you, Conlan, I love you.
The warm glow the image brought forth took the place of some of her anger. A little too much, though. She needed to get away from him, her anger was draining and taking her resolve and her strength with it. The guilt and the pain were coming – and she would not show that in front of him.