Running would be the end of his effort to free Barrowden. It would be the end of his friendship with Tiny and Dave. Isabel’s face drifted through his mind. Leave me alone, he thought.
Staying was potentially the end of his life. That fact should override all other considerations. Will stopped, turning in the direction of his freedom, but he couldn’t take the first step. What if they didn’t arrest him? What if he could convince them he was innocent? Even if they did put him in shackles, could they hold him? He was no longer the helpless young man he had once been. If that happens, I could escape, he told himself.
He turned around and began walking purposefully toward the center of the camp.
The commander’s tent had a new banner beside the entrance, the same red-and-black quartered design with gold oak leaves that he had seen carried by the reinforcements. Two guards stood in front of the tent, and one went inside as soon as they spotted him. A moment later he was escorted in.
The man who sat at the center desk was known to him. It was the Baron Mark Nerrow, his father. Will could see several elementals hovering invisibly over the man, one each of fire, earth, and water. The baron looked at his guards. “Leave us.”
They left, and Will found himself alone with his father for the first time in his life.
“Have a seat, William,” said Lord Nerrow, gesturing to a chair that was probably meant for one of his aides.
Will sat. He hadn’t expected this, though perhaps he should have. Does this mean I have more hope, or less? he wondered.
“Do you know who I am?” asked the nobleman.
He nodded. “You’re Baron Nerrow. You visited our house last year.” He wasn’t sure what else to say, but then he remembered. “Milord.”
The baron nodded. “You can drop the formalities since we’re alone, William.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mark Nerrow leaned forward; his features stern. “I’m afraid to ask this, William, but I have to know. Forgive me if this causes you pain. I know you escaped Barrowden, but what of your mother? Is Erisa alive?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is she here, in Branscombe? Is she safe?” asked the baron.
Will stared at the man who was his father. The question made him feel defensive, or perhaps it was protectiveness. “She’s safe.”
Mark Nerrow paused, then replied, “You don’t want to say where she is. Very well. Perhaps that is for the best.” Rising from his chair, he went to a small chest on one side of the room and removed a bottle and two glasses. He filled each halfway and handed one to Will. “You’ve become a man, William. It seems I will have to entrust Erisa to you now.”
Will held the glass but didn’t drink. His reply shocked even himself. “She was always mine. You weren’t there.”
The baron sipped his wine, closing his eyes for a moment. “I can’t deny that. Whether you believe me or not, all I can say is that I had my reasons.”
Unsure what to say, Will took a drink from his glass. The taste was a shock. Was it really wine? The taste was a far cry from what he had drunk in the tavern.
“You say that she is safe,” continued the baron. “If so, why are you here?”
“You called for me?”
“In the army, William. Why did you volunteer? You know I paid a hefty fee for your exemption.”
“Oh,” said Will, feeling foolish. He didn’t have to think long about his answer. “They killed my aunt and one of my cousins.”
“So, it was your uncle that you passed the exemption to?”
Will nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Did you make a deal, William? A deal to gain power, so you could avenge your family?” Nerrow’s eyes were piercing as they bored into him.
His mouth went dry. Will knew his life probably depended on what answer he gave. Yet he wanted to be honest. The man in front of him was his father, and this was the first real conversation they had ever had. Nerrow was a sorcerer, but he wanted to believe the man wasn’t evil, if that were somehow possible. “It wasn’t that sort of deal. I didn’t bargain for power.”
“Who did you deal with?” asked the baron, his voice neutral. “And what did you gain?”
“One of the fae,” said Will. “She helped me sneak into the enemy camp, but everything else was done with my own abilities.”
“The fae?” Mark Nerrow’s spine stiffened, and he nearly spilled his glass. “That isn’t possible.”
Will shrugged.
“The fae haven’t dealt with humanity in centuries. They won’t even speak to us. Any who cross into their realm are never seen again. How did this happen?”
“I crossed by accident, without knowing what I was doing,” explained Will. “A girl there stole something from me, but I escaped. Afterward she told me she owed me a debt. The help she gave me was to repay that.”
“And that’s it?” asked his father. “You expect me to believe that?”
“It’s the truth.” Will took a second drink from his glass, hoping it would relieve his nerves.
The baron finished his glass and put it down. “I don’t know whether to believe you or not, but I know others won’t accept that as an answer. They’re already whispering about you. When King Lognion arrives, I won’t be able to stop them from beginning an investigation. Have you considered leaving?”
“Sir?”
Mark Nerrow leaned forward. “Running, William. You could run before the king’s inquisitors take you.”
Will had just been considering that very thing not long ago, but he had made his decision. “I thought about it,” he admitted. “But I won’t run.”
His father’s face changed subtly, showing an emotion that Will couldn’t decipher. “Then you need an answer that won’t get you hanged. You need power to prove you aren’t a warlock.” Getting up from his chair once more, Mark Nerrow left, heading into the private portion of the tent. When he returned, he was carrying a wooden box ornately carved with a depiction of waves. He held it out to Will. “Open it.”
Inside was a glittering knot of magic, a heart-stone enchantment. Will had never seen one that wasn’t attached to a person—or a corpse. He gasped.
“Take it, William,” said the baron. “With that, you can explain your miraculous luck. All that is left is to explain what happened to the elementals of the sorcerers you slew. Do you know what became of them?”
Will was staring at the box in his lap. “No, sir.”
“Then the most likely possibility is that the enemy claimed them after you left,” said the baron. “I still don’t understand why you didn’t take them yourself. Do you have any idea how much power you left behind?”
Will felt his heart sink. For a moment, he had dared to hope. His next words would probably be his doom. “I do, sir. I didn’t leave them behind. I freed them. If you give this to me, I’ll do the same for the spirit trapped within.”
Mark Nerrow’s eyes seemed to bulge. “You—what? What did you say?”
He closed the box regretfully, feeling fresh guilt for not freeing the spirit within. I can only do so much, Will told himself. Then he stood and placed the box in his seat and finished the wine in his glass.