Conlan’s voice was a whisper, and pain danced deep in his eyes as he fought for consciousness, struggling to sit up.
“Yes, she’s fine. She put up a great fight,” Will said. Conlan stared at Eleanor, the strange look back on his face as he examined her.
“Erm, Boss, what do you want to do with this one?” Freddie called from behind them.
Conlan looked past them to where Freddie stood over the young Protector.
“Will, get me up.”
Will shook his head. “You should stay where you are, let Freddie handle it.”
Conlan glared, until the blond man sighed.
“Yes, Boss,” he muttered, hauling Conlan to his feet, watching him walk painfully towards the Protector.
“Freddie, your sword,” Conlan said softly, holding out his hand.
“Yes, Boss.” Freddie answered. He unsheathed his weapon, handed it to Conlan and stepped out of the way. The terrified Protector began to babble in his growling language. As the tip of the sword was placed against the man’s chest, his babbling intensified, tears ran down his face and he started wringing his hands. Horrified, Eleanor moved to Conlan’s side.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
Conlan looked at her, eyes dark, unreadable. “Killing him.”
Eleanor gasped and shook her head. “Let him go, he’s just a kid.”
“He knows who you are Eleanor, knows you exist – knows we exist. He can’t be allowed to live,” Conlan said, his voice empty.
“So what if he knows we exist?” she asked, angry at Conlan’s sudden casual disregard for life. Was he not the one who was just berating me for accidentally killing people in Bremen?
“So when he goes running back he will tell the Enforcers, and we’ll be hunted. The minute the snow melts they will be swarming all over this mountain. It will make things very difficult.”
“Then it makes things difficult,” Eleanor snapped. “Let him go!”
Conlan grabbed her right wrist, giving no care to the still slowly oozing knife wound, and pushed it in front of the kneeling man’s face. He growled something at the terrified Protector in his own language. The kid looked horrified, nodded and said something back; it sounded to Eleanor like the word Knife Man had yelled, harish . She yanked her hand back, hissing in pain.
“What did you say to him?” she asked.
“I asked him if he knew what you were, if he recognised the symbol on your wrist.”
“I take it he did. What’s the word he used, ‘harish?’ ”
“The closest Will got it in your language is ‘abomination’,” Conlan replied.
“He thinks I’m an abomination?”
Conlan nodded. “Yes, he does and that’s why he and his kind will hunt us and kill us if they can.” As if that was enough of an explanation, Conlan raised the sword. Eleanor stepped quickly in front of the trembling Protector. Alarmingly, the tip of the blade punctured the rough material of Eleanor’s shirt, coming to a rest against her skin. It would take very little pressure to force the sword into her belly. She gasped and froze. Conlan glared at her with barely controlled fury; he did not withdraw the sword.
“Eleanor, he has to die,” he said quietly.
“So this is what you are? A cold-blooded killer? Don’t you think there’s been enough blood and pain for today?” Eleanor yelled, her anger giving her courage.
“If you had done as I ordered, the only blood spilled today would have been mine.”
His tone was lethal and ice-cold. Eleanor recognised that this was a dangerous situation, that she did not know Conlan well enough to predict if he would actually push the weapon into her, but she was too angry to care.
“You’re saying this is my fault for disobeying you? You want to punish me? Punish me! But don’t take it out on someone else!”
Conlan tightened his grip on his blade. Eleanor felt the tiny movement against her side, a whisper of menace from the razor-sharp edge, it raised goosebumps across her trembling flesh.
“Yes, she’s fine. She put up a great fight,” Will said. Conlan stared at Eleanor, the strange look back on his face as he examined her.
“Erm, Boss, what do you want to do with this one?” Freddie called from behind them.
Conlan looked past them to where Freddie stood over the young Protector.
“Will, get me up.”
Will shook his head. “You should stay where you are, let Freddie handle it.”
Conlan glared, until the blond man sighed.
“Yes, Boss,” he muttered, hauling Conlan to his feet, watching him walk painfully towards the Protector.
“Freddie, your sword,” Conlan said softly, holding out his hand.
“Yes, Boss.” Freddie answered. He unsheathed his weapon, handed it to Conlan and stepped out of the way. The terrified Protector began to babble in his growling language. As the tip of the sword was placed against the man’s chest, his babbling intensified, tears ran down his face and he started wringing his hands. Horrified, Eleanor moved to Conlan’s side.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
Conlan looked at her, eyes dark, unreadable. “Killing him.”
Eleanor gasped and shook her head. “Let him go, he’s just a kid.”
“He knows who you are Eleanor, knows you exist – knows we exist. He can’t be allowed to live,” Conlan said, his voice empty.
“So what if he knows we exist?” she asked, angry at Conlan’s sudden casual disregard for life. Was he not the one who was just berating me for accidentally killing people in Bremen?
“So when he goes running back he will tell the Enforcers, and we’ll be hunted. The minute the snow melts they will be swarming all over this mountain. It will make things very difficult.”
“Then it makes things difficult,” Eleanor snapped. “Let him go!”
Conlan grabbed her right wrist, giving no care to the still slowly oozing knife wound, and pushed it in front of the kneeling man’s face. He growled something at the terrified Protector in his own language. The kid looked horrified, nodded and said something back; it sounded to Eleanor like the word Knife Man had yelled, harish . She yanked her hand back, hissing in pain.
“What did you say to him?” she asked.
“I asked him if he knew what you were, if he recognised the symbol on your wrist.”
“I take it he did. What’s the word he used, ‘harish?’ ”
“The closest Will got it in your language is ‘abomination’,” Conlan replied.
“He thinks I’m an abomination?”
Conlan nodded. “Yes, he does and that’s why he and his kind will hunt us and kill us if they can.” As if that was enough of an explanation, Conlan raised the sword. Eleanor stepped quickly in front of the trembling Protector. Alarmingly, the tip of the blade punctured the rough material of Eleanor’s shirt, coming to a rest against her skin. It would take very little pressure to force the sword into her belly. She gasped and froze. Conlan glared at her with barely controlled fury; he did not withdraw the sword.
“Eleanor, he has to die,” he said quietly.
“So this is what you are? A cold-blooded killer? Don’t you think there’s been enough blood and pain for today?” Eleanor yelled, her anger giving her courage.
“If you had done as I ordered, the only blood spilled today would have been mine.”
His tone was lethal and ice-cold. Eleanor recognised that this was a dangerous situation, that she did not know Conlan well enough to predict if he would actually push the weapon into her, but she was too angry to care.
“You’re saying this is my fault for disobeying you? You want to punish me? Punish me! But don’t take it out on someone else!”
Conlan tightened his grip on his blade. Eleanor felt the tiny movement against her side, a whisper of menace from the razor-sharp edge, it raised goosebumps across her trembling flesh.
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