Chapter Sixteen

Darcy flew as quickly as he could towards the Red Lion. It was already after one o’clock which meant the attack might well already be underway. Darcy could tell from the evidence at the farm there were several well-trained attackers on the way to strike at the meeting, a convocation where there might be only two or three defenders that had ever seen any sort of combat. He was particularly worried about Bingley. While he had a potent gift, he had never been forced to use it in a life-or-death context.

He glanced to his left where Miss Elizabeth, with her sleek black wings, was doing her best to keep up with him. He might wish that she was doing less well than she was. He would rather he be in a position to ensure the situation was under control when she arrived; particularly as there was the possibility that her father might be injured, or worse. Darcy would protect her from that eventuality, if he could. He saw smoke rising in the distance and could hear the rolling cracks of multiple guns firing, but his view of the innyard was blocked by the building itself.

A mighty crash sounded. Darcy passed the inn and came into sight of the ongoing battle. A six-armed assailant was in the midst of the militia men, methodically firing and discarding a seemingly endless complement of pistols. A young woman was brandishing jets of flame that ignited everything they touched. And Sir William was engaging a small man in teamster’s attire. It was their resounding blows that were creating such a tumult.

“I have the shooter. You stop the firebrand,” Miss Elizabeth ordered as she banked towards the fray in the yard. Darcy almost called after her but realized the flaming woman really was the greatest threat to the populous. He reached out and created a ball of gravity as powerful as he could and sent it to hover above the woman. Her flame jets began to curve upwards to be swallowed by the gravity well.

“Nooo...” She screamed. “You cannot stop me. I won’t let you.” She turned her flames on Darcy as he flew above her. He wanted her to concentrate her attacks in the air rather than towards the town. Her blasts were devoured by his all-consuming sphere.

While they stayed locked in this stalemate, Darcy saw from the corner of his eye Miss Elizabeth fold her wings and drop from the sky like a hunting raptor. She landed on the six-armed man, bearing him to the ground. The man lashed at her with blades and gun butts. She parried with suddenly sprouted claws.

Each time they clashed, the weapon with which he would attack flew from the hand holding it. She was slicing his wrists with each strike. After only a moment she was able to lay a hand on his head and he immediately collapsed. She barely managed to avoid the attacks of the militiamen before they realized their part of the battle was over.

Darcy was startled back to his own battle when the woman produced a pistol of her own and fired at him. The shot suffered the same fate as her flames, absorbed by his gravity construct. When she realized the futility of her continued attacks on him, she turned to flee, igniting the thatch roof of a dwelling near the edge of the town either in an attempt to distract him or just lost in her pyromania. Regardless, he had to put an end to her destruction.

He sent a pulse that slammed her into the ground and increased the gravity beneath her. She responded to her immobilization by unleashing her flames in all directions, triggering a conflagration that threatened to engulf the town. Darcy cursed to himself as he reversed the pull of gravity on her, sending her falling upwards at an ever-increasing velocity. He watched miserably as she left a flaming trail across the sky, like a daylight meteor. By the time she left the range of his control, he knew she was far too high to survive the eventual plummet to earth. He always regretted taking a life but found killing women particularly distressing.

When he returned his attention to the battle, Darcy found it had culminated without him. Miss Elizabeth and Sir William stood over the unmoving form of the teamster. The militiamen had the multi-armed dervish bound with chains and leather cords. Men, both civilian and military, were pouring out of the door of the inn. Darcy was relieved to see both Bingley and Mr. Bennet seemed none the worse of the experience, though their disheveled appearance led him to believe there had been more fighting inside.

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“Lizzy!” Miss Elizabeth, upon hearing her father’s call, raced into his arms. Their obvious affection made Darcy yearn for the warm embrace of both his dear departed father and his loving sister.

Bingley appeared to be searching the area for something, or someone. Darcy scanned with his enhanced vision but saw nothing other than the devastation the attackers had left in their wake. Darcy landed next to him.

“Are you well?” the older man asked his friend.

“I am, though the same cannot be said for the Colonel … or his wife.” Bingley replied in the most subdued voice Darcy had ever heard him use. “They were slaughtered, as were Carter and Pratt. I’m not sure about the others.”

“How did this occur? I thought the assailants were here in the yard.”

“There were at least two in the inn.” He turned his haunted eyes to Darcy as if looking for an explanation. “One was a mere boy. He could not have been older than twelve. He should have been in the schoolroom, not sticking knives into good men … I think he got away. He moved fast and seemed to disappear in front of my eyes.”

“So at least two inside? What happened to the other?”

“Mr. Bennet sliced him open. Bled him like a stag.”

“I would not have thought he had it in him.” Darcy mused. Much like his daughter, it seemed there was more to the scholar than was readily apparent. “If the Colonel is felled, who is in charge?”

Bingley looked around then turned lost eyes to his friend. “As Crown Magistrate, I think you may be.”

Darcy squared his shoulders and nodded. “See if you can organize the townsfolk to put out the fires. I think the militia will be required to safeguard the prisoners and deal with the wounded. Is that Jones over there?”

“He was at the meeting.”

“Thank you. Get going. The occupation will do you all good. And those fires need extinguishing before the whole town is lost.” Bingley nodded and sped away.

Darcy approached Captain Hawthorne, who was already ordering men to gather the wounded. Jones was there, directing the staff of the inn to set up tables in the yard to lay the wounded upon. “Captain, is there anything you need? May I request that you work with Mr. Jones to treat those civilians that have sustained injuries, as well as your own men?”

“Of course. And Miss Elizabeth’s assistance would be greatly appreciated, as well. We were not prepared for this volume of wounded in a supposedly safe posting.”

“Miss Elizabeth has been actively involved in several stressful incidents in the past few days. Perhaps it would be best for …”

“… For her to continue to carry out her duty to the people of Meryton as long as she has the ability to do so? I agree completely Mr. Darcy.” Miss Elizabeth’s voice was strained, with exhaustion Darcy assumed, when she interrupted his discussion with the surgeon. “Shall I assist with triage, Captain, or should I begin to heal those most greatly injured?”

“If I might suggest. Alan Dash is grievously wounded in the inn,” Mr. Bennet interjected. “As he was one of the attackers and given that he has somehow developed a powerful gift in the last few months, it would behoove us to ensure he be brought into a condition to answer questions.”

“You might have thought of that before you slit his throat, sir,” chided Captain Hawthorne harshly. “There is little we can do for him, even if he still yet lives.”

“Captain!” Darcy barked, drawing the surgeon’s attention to Miss Elizabeth’s horrified face.

“He had injured my daughter on my own land, not to mention killing your colonel and his wife. It would be providential if we have the opportunity to interrogate him but allowing him to continue his murderous rampage when I had the opportunity to stop him was never an option, lost intelligence or not.”

Darcy watched as Miss Elizabeth stood straighter and placed a hand on her father’s arm. He looked at her and she nodded to him. The older man then turned back to the officer and apologized. “I beg your pardon, sir.”

“No, sir. It is I that beg your pardon.” The surgeon wiped at his face with his hand, smearing blood. “All I can claim is that the stress of the situation may have loosened my tongue where it would have been better if it had roused my brain.” He turned to Miss Elizabeth. “If Mr. Jones can see to the transportation of the wounded and the coordination of supplies, I will perform the triage, while you stabilize those in most need. Our prisoners should be a priority as we need them alive for questioning.”

“Indeed,” she agreed. “We have to know if these are the only attackers or if there are others in the group that we have not encountered. This may not be over yet.”

“With that in mind,” Sir William approached the group, “We need to get patrols out on the road, especially as at least one blackguard got away. Captain, with the Colonel and Captain Carter gone, who is in command?”

“It should be Major Ryan, but he was invalided out just last week and has not yet been replaced. I suppose that would leave Mr. Denny as senior surviving officer.”

“But aren’t you a Captain?” asked Mr. Jones.

“Yes, but I am not a line officer. I cannot take command.”

“Wonderful…” Sir William muttered. “I’ll go speak with him. Perhaps he’ll accept some advice from an old soldier.”

“Sir William,” Darcy stopped him. “If there are not enough officers, perhaps some of the local gentry can act as guides for the patrols, preferably in pairs or greater numbers.”

“A capital idea, Mr. Darcy. Just capital.”

“Now, let’s see what we can learn from our prisoners.” Darcy suggested to the Bennets.