The Choice of Magic - Michael G. Manning Page 0,215
the determination in his eyes, and when she gave up the others followed suit. Will apologized for his decision, but he was packing as he did so.
Dressing in his freshly washed though still-stained gambeson, he shimmied into the mail shirt and put on his belt. He no longer had his sword, which gave him a moment of chagrin when he realized he would be forced to pay for it when he returned. Thankfully, he had left his shield and spear back in Branscombe.
He held the gold ring in his palm for a moment, trying to decide what to do with it. It seemed too ostentatious to wear. That much gold in plain sight was an invitation to robbery or accusations of theft. Only a nobleman would dare wear so much wealth in plain sight. Still, he hadn’t put it on even once since receiving it. I’ll just wear it until I get close to the camp, he told himself, slipping it onto the ring finger of his right hand.
Nothing happened. He felt no overwhelming urge to do evil things, and there were no voices whispering wicked advice in his ear. Will was almost disappointed. Holding up his hand, he saw a glimmer of turyn around it, the first sign of magic he had noticed around it thus far. I guess Aislinn didn’t cheat me, he thought. It must do something.
He shrugged and said his goodbyes, hugging everyone again. Annabelle followed him out the door. “I’ll wait for you,” she told him earnestly.
“Don’t,” said Will. “There’s no guarantee I’ll be back, and even if I do…”
“She’s dead, Will,” said Annabelle without a trace of remorse. A hint of madness danced behind her eyes.
“She’s not. No matter what happened to her. I’ll find her.” Turning his back, he walked away, though he could feel Annabelle’s eyes following him until he disappeared around the side of the house.
His trip back to Branscombe was unremarkable. The goddamn cat declined to speak when he passed through the cave, though he spent several minutes trying to convince the creature to converse with him. With a shrug, he resumed walking, and soon he was back at the hidden spring.
He recognized the guard at the town gate. It was Ned. The constable called out to him as he turned right to head toward the military camp, “I don’t see your murder weapon. Did you leave it at the scene this time?” Ned began to laugh at his own joke.
Will just waved and kept going. Actually, I did, he realized.
The camp guards asked for his name when he reached the perimeter, so he answered, “William Cartwright, returning from extended duty away.”
“Which unit are you with?” asked one of the two soldiers.
“Company B, Fifth Platoon,” said Will.
“Extended duty?” asked the other.
Uncertain, Will rephrased his words, “Detached duty? Get Sergeant Nash. He’ll confirm it for you.”
“One moment.”
One guard stepped away a minute, and a runner was sent. Will was forced to wait at the perimeter for nearly twenty minutes before Lieutenant Stanton appeared, flanked by no fewer than six men in mail. The look on his face was not welcoming. “Take him into custody.”
Will’s head went from side to side as the men maneuvered around him and grabbed his arms. “Wait. What? I had orders! Ask Selene, she’ll tell you.”
“Who?” The lieutenant raised one brow curiously.
“Isabel,” he said, correcting himself. “Ask Isabel! She said she’d arranged the orders for us.”
Stanton stared at him for a moment, disappointment written on his features. “I’m sorry to disillusion you Mister Cartwright, but the lady you’re referring to is no longer at this camp. I would also like to remind you that she is not part of the military command structure. Was any part of that unclear to you?”
“No, sir,” said Will reflexively. “I mean, yes, sir! She was part of the command, wasn’t she?” His eyes were full of confusion.
“Bring him.”
The men quickly marched Will to the command tent, but rather than taking him inside, they shackled his wrists together and attached the chain to a metal loop on a pole that stood nearby. The loop was above his head, so he was forced to stand with his arms in the air. “Could I talk to Lord Nerrow please?” he asked.
Lieutenant Stanton gave him a look that almost seemed sympathetic. “Lord Nerrow is no longer in charge of this army. The Royal Marshal has taken command.” He started to walk away.