Throughout the entire process, he continued to feed turyn to his father. The first three trolls were gone, and Mark was now starting on another three, but the other nine were beginning to climb to their feet, despite the soldiers steadily hacking and stabbing at them with swords, spears, and axes. The monsters’ regenerative capacity in the face of ordinary wounds was nothing short of amazing. It was enough to make even a vampire jealous.

  The men moved aside as Will walked forward, fearful of the lightning that still crawled back and forth across his skin like deadly snakes. “Move back from the trolls and form a tight perimeter,” he ordered. His voice was soft, but it rang clear in the ears of every warrior. They obeyed, and as they withdrew, he stepped out, approaching the nearest troll.

  The creature was probably nine feet tall, or would have been if it had been standing. It was also clever, for it had been hiding its recovery. Once Will was within six feet of it, the giant sprang forward, uncoiling its long limbs and sweeping deadly claws at his hips, just below the waist. The attack was perfect, too fast for him to leap back, too high to jump over—there was no avoiding it.

  Will stopped the attack at the last second, interposing a point-defense shield. The troll’s arm rebounded, but Will had already dismissed the force spell and switched to the force-push he had learned from Ethelgren, flattening the massive monster against the ground. A few of the other trolls were moving as well, jumping up to converge on him.

  Calling down lightning would take seconds he didn’t have, so instead Will lifted his hands and discharged most of the power he currently held within himself. Blue lines spiderwebbed out from him in every direction, catching his attackers and sending them twitching to the ground. For a moment, the sparks that had been crawling over him vanished, but seconds later they started reappearing as more turyn flowed into him from the sky above.

  At the same time, his call to the heavens had been heard, and lightning flashed down, doing a far more thorough job on the trolls and buying him more time. Only the one he held pinned to the ground remained untouched. Will looked down at it and asked in trollish, “Who leads?”

  The creature’s eyes widened, surprised to hear its own tongue coming from the mouth of a human. “What?”

  “Who is chief?”

  The troll responded in heavily accented Darrowan, “Stupid.”

  Will’s expression didn’t change, but he applied Grim Talek’s bonebreaker spell to the troll and watched its body twist and crack for several seconds while it tried to scream with torn lungs. Eventually he relented, and the troll’s body began healing immediately. Using one arm, he waved his hand at the other incapacitated trolls. “Which one?”

  “Not here!” barked the monster in trollish. “Stupid is chief.” The only notable exception was that the word ‘stupid’ was again repeated in thick Darrowan. Will finally understood. Opening one hand, he cast and released the spell he had prepared just minutes ago. Nothing visible happened, but to those with turyn-sensitive eyes, a complex spell structure crossed the space between them and disappeared into the trapped troll’s skin.

  Glancing back, Will could see that his father was now working on his third set of trolls. That would make nine eradicated. He wanted to get rid of more, but there was a growing tension in his head, neck, and shoulders. It was a sensation akin to that of an incipient headache, but Will knew the true meaning. There was no lack of turyn to be had, but his will was beginning to feel the strain. Directing so much energy, controlling the storm, sustaining his father’s efforts, it was beginning to wear him down.

  For the moment he was in control, but he’d learned his lesson the hard way once before. If his will broke, he’d be powerless for weeks, months, or possibly forever. He released the spell pinning the troll to the ground, then warned, “Take the others and give Stupid a message. Grak Murra will speak to him.”

  Grak Murra was William’s troll name, ‘Troll Mother.’ The troll gave no sign whether he recognized it, but he edged away carefully, to avoid provoking a defensive attack from the wizard. “Stupid is not stupid,” said the monster without a trace of irony. The first Stupid was spoken in Darrowan while the rest of the sentence was in trollish. “He will not come.”

  “I will find him, when I am ready. Go.” Swiveling his head slowly, Will warned the other trolls, “Go now, or I will burn you all.” Turning back to the soldiers, he switched to the language of his birth. “Hold fast. Don’t engage. They will retreat.” He kept walking until he reached Mark Nerrow. His father was just finishing the cremation of his current set of trolls when Will severed the source-link.

  Mark looked at him. “I can finish these, but I will need more if we are going to fight.”

  Will was still holding onto the storm, but he was beginning to have trouble maintaining his focus. As soon as he saw the remaining trolls were backing away, he released the connection. “The fighting is over for today.”

  His father seemed unconvinced. “I couldn’t understand that growling jibber-jabber. You may have cowed them for now, but I don’t believe for a minute that those things are done with us.”

  Annoyed, Will let his irritation show in his voice. “Then set guards, rest your sorcerers, this is your command.” Stepping closer, Will put a hand on his father’s shoulder. He tried not to notice how the man flinched at the touch. Ignoring that, he put some of his weight on the older man to stop himself from swaying. His next words were a whisper. “I need a place to sit with some dignity. I think that would be best for morale.” His eyes moved to scan the soldiers around them.

  Frowning, the governor eased closer, supporting his son in a manner that spoke more of friendliness than desperation. With practiced ease, he began giving orders. “We’ll camp here. We need to treat the wounded and see to the captives we recovered before we move. Set up the command tent. We can return to the main force at dawn.”

  Chapter 22

  By the time the tent was up, Will was already feeling steadier. It wasn’t his body that was tired after all, nor did he lack energy; it was a fatigue that rose from the core of his being, from his soul itself. The feeling was hard to describe. The most obvious sign was an increasing difficulty shaping turyn, but at the extreme, when his will was in danger of breaking, it would become a debilitating sensation of not being able to do anything. The mind and body might be willing, but the heart would fail to deliver.

  Because of that, the only times he had managed to break his will involved moments of extreme emotion or stress, generally after he’d already pushed himself. Today he hadn’t gone nearly that far, but given the desperation of the situation, it could have happened. Trying to finish all the trolls off might have been enough to do it. Maybe I’m getting wiser, he thought with a silent chuckle.

  The memory of his euphoric madness came to mind then, disabusing him of that notion. It made him uncomfortable to think about, but he couldn’t avoid the reality. Years of violence, stress, and anxiety had left their mark on him, causing him to train with a single-minded focus that went beyond discipline and firmly into obsessive neuroticism. With each passing year, he felt more powerless, less safe, and less able to protect himself or those important to him. As a result, when forced to actually use his power, it seemed to result in a perverse flip in his personality. Fear turned to rage, anxiety to euphoria, and worst of all, his conscience was replaced by a swelling egotism.

  “That’s not who I am,” he whispered to himself, but he had trouble believing it. Even now, as he regained his sensibility, he didn’t feel truly guilty. He’d killed some of the soldiers to save the others, and it bothered him a little, but not as much as it should have. It was necessary. That’s what he really believed.

  Mark Nerrow entered the tent, carrying a metal flask. Producing a small wooden cup, he poured a small drink and handed it to Will. “Sorry I don’t have anything better, but we didn’t bring much with us. This was supposed to be a quick rescue, not an overnight camp.”

  Will nodded and drank the contents in a single gulp, grimacing at the burn which followed. He’d been staring at the ground between his feet, but he looked up and met his father’s eyes when he returned the cup, unsure how to respond. “Did any of the villagers you were rescuing survive?”

  “A few, but more importantly, you don’t look like a man who just saved an army,” said Mark, his tone light.

  Will looked away. “You’re a terrible liar.”

  Mark frowned. “I wasn’t lying, I was trying to lift your spirit.”

  “You’re no good at it. I saw the way you looked at me out there. I don’t blame you either, but don’t pretend—”

  His father interrupted, “You scared me witless, there’s no denying that. But that was then, this is now. You caught me by surprise. I’ve never seen—that. I don’t even have words for whatever you did, but it worked and most of us survived. That’s enough to make me grateful—son. I thought it might be a year before I got to see you again.”

  Will blinked, trying to process what he’d heard. Mark Nerrow only acknowledged their relationship when they were alone, but Will couldn’t remember being called ‘son’ before, not during a conversation. “She knows,” he replied darkly.

  “Knows what? You lost me.” said the governor.

  “Agnes,” said Will. “She knows I’m your bastard.”

  His father remained quiet, his face stoic. “It was only a matter of time. I’d planned to tell her once the king recalls me from this post.”

  “It’s worse than that. Laina’s dead. Tabitha nearly died. Agnes blames me, and in some part, I agree with her. I have a lot to tell.”

  Silence fell over the room, and his father remained completely still, a blank expression on his features. Eventually, he moved again, first saying, “Let me find a seat. I don’t think I heard you right.” Taking two steps, the normally graceful lord bumped into a camp table and nearly fell before steadying himself and settling on a stool.

  “Laina’s dead,” repeated Will. “Lognion ordered her to kill me, and she fought the enchantment until it destroyed her soul. I watched it happen.”

  “W—why would the k-king order that?” asked Mark, stammering slightly, his voice faintly tremulous.

  “I was planning to kill him. Not then, but another day. He was going to kill me anyway. He moved first and laid a trap for me at Tabitha’s engagement—”

  The older man broke in, “Tabitha’s what?”

  “The king was going to marry her,” said Will.

  “I wasn’t consulted,” said Mark, as though that made the very idea impossible.

  “Agnes agreed to it, but it was just a trap to lure me in—and it worked.”

  The governor put his face in his hands. “Laina’s dead, and you’re what, a fugitive? What of my family? Has the wedding already happened?” Despair rang thick in his voice.

  Will answered immediately, “No. I killed him, or rather I tried to—he wasn’t human. Selene will be queen now.”

  The beginnings of a grief he had not yet begun to deal with brought the older man’s frustration to the fore. “Wait, what? Selene is queen but Lognion isn’t dead? You’re not making any sense!”

  Taking a deep breath, Will started over, beginning with the news of Tabitha’s engagement and running through the events that followed with mechanical efficiency. Over the past few years, his relationship with his father had gradually changed. While he couldn’t really call it paternal, he had developed trust in his father, along with respect for the nobleman’s integrity. When he reached the explanation for how Tabitha had nearly been slain while shielding him with her body, his voice cracked.

  He hadn’t really had a chance to grieve. He’d come close when Tabitha had tried to convince him that Laina was still alive, but events had kept prodding him forward, preventing him from dealing with his emotions. Glancing up, he saw his father waiting patiently, though surely the man must have been dying to know the rest of it. Will blinked to clear his eyes, and after a second, his throat loosened up so that he could continue.

  It was less than a minute later, as he tried to describe Laina’s inner battle and inevitable death, that he was seized by a wracking sob that strangled his words and destroyed his composure. He fought to control himself for some time, but when he felt Mark’s arms around him, it undid all his efforts.

  Eventually he recovered, though he still felt embarrassed. Mark Nerrow was the last person he would feel comfortable exposing his emotions to. The man still didn’t feel like a father to him, not that he had any idea what such a thing would feel like. Will dared a look into the older man’s eyes then looked away. His father’s eyes were still dry.

  Mark seemed to read his mind. “It doesn’t feel real yet. Later, tomorrow, next week, whenever it truly sinks in—I don’t know what it will do to me. I’ve never lost a child before.”

  Will nodded. “Sorry for that. I know you need to hear the rest.” He opened his mouth to continue, but Mark stopped him for a moment, putting a hand on his head as if he was still a child.

  “Don’t be sorry. I’m honored you care enough about my daughters to weep for them, to feel so deeply about a family that’s brought you nothing but misery. Don’t apologize for that.” The older man pulled Will’s head down and against his chest, ignoring the fact that Will was taller. “For accepting them, for doing what you have—thank you. I don’t have the right, but I’m proud of you.” Mark Nerrow’s eyes were no longer dry when he finally released Will. Wiping his cheeks with a sleeve, he motioned for Will to continue. “Maybe you should finish quickly, though. I think it’s starting to sink in.”

  He did his best. The rest was easier to communicate, although some of it was shameful to admit. Will left nothing out, dispassionately including his lethal responses to cries for mercy. He finished with a simple description. “It was like today, except I was angry.”

  His father lifted his brows, then lowered them and let out a long sigh. “I’m glad I wasn’t there. Today was terrifying enough.” When Will didn’t respond to that, he added, “So, you’re human.”

  Will gave him a questioning glance.

  Mark explained, “During the war you seemed almost inhuman. You did lose your composure a few times, and you took risks that seemed suicidal, but overall I was a little worried about your excessive self-control, especially when it came to mercy toward our enemies.”

  “I murdered people who had already surrendered.”

  “You were alone,” countered the governor. “Mercy is a luxury, one you couldn’t afford without an army behind you. Many of those you fought were bound to Lognion in ways that made it impossible for them to truly surrender. They might say one thing, but the enchantment would make that irrelevant. You had no way of knowing who you could safely ignore, and being alone, it would only take one mistake to make you a dead man.”

  “That’s just a rationalization for—”

  “The hell it is!” interrupted Mark. “It’s the truth. You’re just feeling guilty because you enjoyed it. Am I wrong?” Will stared back at his father for a moment, then closed his mouth, unable to argue. Mark continued, “So, I’ll repeat what I said earlier—you’re human. You were mad as hell. You thought Laina and Tabitha were dead, and you were out for blood. People died who didn’t deserve to, and you feel bad about it, that’s fine, but the blame lies with Lognion.”

  After a moment, Mark added, “From what you just described, Lognion was dead, but you said he wasn’t human earlier. Maybe you should explain that.”

  Will nodded. “He sent me a letter the next day, then a dragon appeared and burned my mother’s home to the ground. That’s how—”

  Mark interrupted, “Is Erisa—?”

  “She’s fine,” answered Will, “and Lognion is the dragon.”

  “Lognion is the dragon,” repeated Mark Nerrow in a voice that was devoid of understanding. “You mean that in a figurative sense, don’t you?”

  Will shook his head. “I didn’t see him, but his flame was hot enough to turn soil to glass. There was nothing left of the house.”

  Mark gaped at him for a moment, then asked, “Erisa wasn’t there?”

  “The lich saved her.”

  “Pardon?”

  That led to another extensive conversation. Will explained what had happened, as well as the bargain he had made. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have shared so much, but for some reason he felt the need to confess, to tell someone everything. It was likely the fact that he wasn’t overly close with his father that made it easier to share. Selene, Sammy, Erisa, none of them would have understood. They cared too much to accept the price he would pay. “So, Grim Talek is impersonating me in Cerria, lending his political skills to Selene’s cause, while I’m here to clean up the trolls.”

  Mark seemed calm, but his voice was tight with anger. “Trolls be damned—he expects you to kill a dragon? That’s ridiculous! Selene is savvy enough to handle the succession, especially with you beside her. Which one of you is immortal? It isn’t you! The damned lich should deal with his own problems. Let one monster fight the other. What do you get out of this? Nothing! But you agreed to such a ridiculous price? I never took my son for a fool!”

  “The price wasn’t negotiable,” said Will quietly.

  “You had him helpless!”

  “I beat him, but I couldn’t kill him,” corrected Will. “It was agree or let him kill Mother.”

  “A devil’s bargain! Don’t you have any care for yourself? What of those who depend on you? Erisa certainly wouldn’t agree with this.”

  “That’s not the point, Father,” responded Will, almost stumbling over the last word. “Grim Talek’s been around for at least a thousand years, possibly two or three thousand, and he couldn’t do it. He’s been trying for ages. If he could manage it, none of this would be necessary.”

  Mark narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Isn’t the lich more powerful than you?”