“I think he did you a terrible disservice,” said Isabel. “Although, officially, I should say what he was doing was illegal. You should have been started on spell craft during the first year. The only thing I can think is that whatever exercises he was putting you through somehow helped you to develop a very strong will. Normally that spell doesn’t fail unless it’s attempted against a very experienced wizard or sorcerer.”
Will shrugged. “He used to say I was as stubborn as a goat.”
Isabel’s features softened. “I’m sorry you lost him. Though I’m glad he isn’t teaching you anymore. You need to go to Wurthaven. Otherwise you’ll wind up in prison sooner or later.”
“I’m a private contract,” said Will. “I’ve got most of five years left to serve. Assuming I don’t get hanged today.”
She shook her head. “No. As soon as things are settled here, I’m taking you to Cerria. Unlicensed wizards can’t be allowed to run amok.”
“I’m not dangerous. I wouldn’t do anything bad.”
“Like sneaking into a young woman’s bedroom?” said Isabel, raising one brow.
Throwing caution to the wind, he asked, “How old are you?”
“Just a few months older than you,” she replied immediately.
“How do you know how old I am?”
“Oh,” said Isabel, and her eyes darted to the side for a split second. “I saw your age in the contract book. I had Lieutenant Stanton look up the record while they were on their way to arrest you.”
Will knew better, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to confront her on the matter. He had already gotten himself in deep enough for one day. “What happens now?”
Isabel got to her feet and put her hands on his shoulders to steady him as he tried to rise. Will’s knees were numb and stiff from kneeling so long, though, and with his hands tied behind his back he stumbled. Isabel stepped forward and caught him briefly, steadying him as his head landed on her shoulder. He could sense the muscles in her back as she kept him upright until he got his legs sorted out. She’s stronger than she looks. Backing away, he apologized, “Sorry.”
She ignored his remark and moved around him to untie his hands. “I should have done this a few minutes ago, when I was certain you were cooperating.” Then she gave him a stern look. “Wait here. I’ll go outside and explain to Lord Fulstrom that you were the victim of someone else’s attempt to disguise the source of the letter. You’ll be sent back to your company after that.”
“Thank you.”
She pointed a finger at him. “Only until we get reinforcements and the pass is secured. After that I’m taking you to Cerria to be properly trained.”
Will’s shoulders drooped slightly. “Fine.”
“And if you need to speak to me again, come to the medic tent. I’ll make certain Doctor Guerin knows to notify me if you show up. If I’m not there, find Sir Kyle, your captain. I’ll give him the same instruction.”
With that she was gone, and Will took a deep breath through his nose, trying to catch the faint scent of roses she left in her wake.
Chapter 43
Things returned to normal over the next few days. Will managed to dodge most of his squad mates’ questions by simply saying he had been mistakenly accused. Dave had a great time teasing him about being a criminal, but he and Sven seemed to believe him. He wasn’t as sure about Tiny though, and Will noticed the big man giving him odd looks now and then.
He couldn’t help but keep thinking over the things Isabel had said, but nothing made sense. Was she a friend of Baron Nerrow’s? If so, that might explain her willingness to help him. From what he had overheard her say previously, she had already known there was a paid exemption for him on the roll ledgers. Was his father more important than Baron Fulstrom? They were both barons, so he assumed they were of roughly equivalent rank, though admittedly he knew almost nothing of the inner workings of the nobility. If Isabel was acting on Nerrow’s behalf, why was she being treated with so much deference?
On several occasions he was tempted to go to the medic tent and try to see her, but each time he talked himself out of it. All of his excuses seemed pointless or trite. Deep down he knew he just wanted to see her. I’m such an idiot, he told himself, and in the back of his mind he heard his grandfather’s voice agreeing with him.
Almost a week passed before his next big shock. His platoon had just mustered for the morning roll call when Sergeant Nash called his name just before releasing the squads for their first duties of the day. “Cartwright. You’re relieved of duty this morning. See me for your assignment.” Then the sergeant addressed them once more, “Dismissed.”
Will waited, worried he was about to be punished for something else, though he couldn’t think of anything he might have done—this time. The sergeant gave him an appraising look before speaking. “Go into Branscombe and see the armorer there. His name is Andrew Harless. He’s expecting you.”
“Sir?”
“Did I stutter, soldier?” barked the sergeant. “Get moving.”
Doing as he was told, Will started to leave, but Sergeant Nash added one parting remark, “Cartwright, I don’t care who your friends are, if you screw up or make trouble for my men, I will bust your ass.”
Will stopped and saluted, thumping his fist over his heart. “Understood, sir!” Sergeant Nash stared at him for a few seconds longer then walked away. What the hell is going on this time? he wondered.
Half an hour later, he was standing in front of the smithy, feeling conspicuous. The man there sent him to a second building behind the main smithy, which apparently didn’t deal directly with weapons and armor. The other building was open in the front with two small forges operating and a number of apprentices busy working on a variety of tasks. Harless turned out to be a short, heavy-set man with a pronounced lack of hair. Not only was he bald, but part of one of his eyebrows was missing due to a past scar.
“Who’re you?” asked the master armorer, hardly bothering to glance up at him.
“William Cartwright, sir,” said Will. “I was told to see you.”
The smith cleared his throat and then spit on the ground before answering. “Oh, you.” Straightening up, he called to one of his assistants, then directed Will to go with the man. “He’ll take your measurements.” A second later, the armorer returned to his work, apparently having banished Will from his awareness.
Will didn’t move. “Excuse me, sir. What’s all this about?”
The armorer sighed deeply, as though frustrated beyond all endurance. Will almost flinched when his eyes focused on him once more. “Fucking aristocrats,” said the smith. “Not only do they want everything done yesterday, they want a nice chat as well. I’m not a goddamn tailor, and I certainly ain’t a babysitter.”
“I’m not an aristocrat,” said Will.
“I know that, otherwise I’d be kissing your ass instead of cussing you, dumbass,” spat the armorer. “Follow Jeremy and let him get your measurements. We need ‘em if we’re to make anything that fits you.”
Will noticed the aforementioned Jeremy giving him a sympathetic look. Closing his mouth, he went with the apprentice, who promptly instructed him to strip. “Everything?” asked Will.