Act of Will by A. J. Hartley Page B

thought about going to wish her good night, but figured she’d probably knife me as soon as I was in range.
    The cicadas and crickets in the treetops buzzed and clicked smugly to themselves. Twice I heard an owl somewhere and tried to find it, wandering around the makeshift tents and trail fodder where the horses lay, but it just laughed at me invisibly. I nodded to Orgos, who lay awake inside the back of the wagon on a pile of boxes draped with the materials that had got us out of Cresdon.
    “Have you done your watch?” he said, and his voice was low and hoarse.
    “Not quite,” I said. “There isn’t much to watch, and if there was, I wouldn’t see it till it had bitten my leg off. Maybe nothing’s hungry. Garnet’s on next but he’s sleeping.”
    “Then leave him be. I’ll do it. I can’t sleep anyway.” He sat up and dropped to the ground, stretching and pulling on his ring mail in an irritatingly easy motion. In the darkness he was just a shadow, save when he looked at me and I saw his eyes bright and clear. Taking one of those long swords of his he wandered over to where I had been sitting and said, “Get some sleep, Will. We have a long way to go tomorrow and we’re going to have to move fast, probably off the road. Whether the Empire comes after us or not, we’re in dangerous country and will be for a while. Sleep tight. Don’t let the mountain lions bite. If they do . . . well, I guess you bleed to death.”
    “Funny,” I said. “Thanks.”

SCENE XI

    Of Gorse and Wild Thyme
    I slept under the wagon in a sleeping bag of cotton so thin that I could feel every contour of the hard ground beneath me, and dreamed of the fight in the Cresdon pub when I had met the party. I was back in the chest and the soldier was opening it, seeing me, grinning . . .
    And then . . . something .
    I couldn’t remember it properly, but there had been a strange amber light. . . .
    When I woke, my right arm numb and my back aching, I found myself wondering how my life could have been so screwed up in only twenty-four hours. Half an hour later, Mithos told me in a confiding voice that I wasn’t exactly pulling my weight as far as dismantling the camp was concerned. This was true. I started to tell Mithos that I had a bad back, but he just gave me one of those please-don’t-waste-my-time looks of his and tossed me a canvas bag that felt like it had a cow in it.
    So I lugged bags and boxes back into the wagon and Mithos watched and prompted me to the thrilling act of high adventure I might try next: washing the breakfast pans. I fed the horses (at arm’s length). I stamped out the fire and buried the ashes. I put more stuff in the wagon. I wasn’t sure I could take all this excitement.
    Orgos re-dressed the wound on my leg, which showed no sign of infection and would be gone altogether soon.
    “Morning, Will,” said Garnet unexpectedly. “Will you be riding on the wagon again today?”
    “I expect so,” I said guardedly. “Why?”
    “Would you mind doing me a favor?”
    I regarded him steadily and waited.
    “It’s not a big job but my hands will be full since I’ll be riding escort. Some of the armor we acquired in Cresdon needs cleaning up.”
    Of course: more menial labor for the party’s mentally subnormal help. He handed me a coarse, heavy sack, which clanked against my legs.
    “There’s a wire brush, rags, some oil for the rust and the moving parts, and some polish to finish them off. Do you mind?”
    I muttered that it was fine, anything to oblige, and so on, and he beamed at me, guessing how much it hurt.
    “Thanks, Will,” he said, his green eyes smiling brightly, “I appreciate it.”
    He slapped my arm good-humoredly as if to say “welcome aboard” or something similarly nauseating, and strode off to his horse. He was already in his armor, complete with helm, ax, and a leather-covered shield. He looked like an adventurer. I, however, looked like a metal polisher. I climbed onto the