Summoner: Book 1: The Novice (20 page)

36

The Hydra advanced on Fletcher, hissing from its forked tongues. The heads waved hypnotically, swaying back and forth like cobras about to strike.

‘Solomon!’ Othello shouted, materialising the Golem into existence. The stone demon stomped in front of Trebius and squared up against it. Ignatius soon followed, snarling furiously. Together the two stood, daring the Hydra to try and pass.

‘So the dwarf decides to put his cards on the table. I’m not surprised. The weak often stick together,’ Tarquin drawled.

‘I’ll show you how weak I am. Come try me,’ Othello growled. He circled around to stand beside Fletcher.

‘There is no time for this! Can’t you see Captain Lovett is dying?’ Fletcher yelled, furious at both of them. The teacher’s breathing was becoming more and more difficult, her prone figure taking choking gulps of air as if every second was a struggle.

‘Let the half-man fight if he wants,’ Tarquin said, drawing a gasp from the others at his racial slur. Even Fletcher knew that the word ‘half-man’ was a hugely offensive term for dwarves. Othello’s hands balled into fists but he did not rise to the bait.

‘Shut your mouth! You don’t talk to him that way!’ Fletcher roared, rage flooding his veins like liquid fire.

‘The dwarf thinks that because one of his betters was forced to give him a demon of value, he is now their equal,’ Tarquin continued, unfazed. ‘I am going to show him he is wrong. Then I’ll kill your ridiculous little imp, Fletcher. Its fire tricks don’t scare Trebius.’ At the sound of its name the Hydra hissed and pawed at the ground.

‘Brother dearest, don’t hog all the fun. I want to duel too!’ Isadora stepped into the light. She curtsied, scraping the edge of the nearest pentacle as she did so. Thin strands of white light flew from the leather to form a shape, twisting and curling until her demon stood in the centre of the pentacle.

It appeared to be much like a large feline, yet it seemed to be almost bipedal, walking in a hunched crouch, like a jungle chimpanzee. Its thick fur was striped orange and black like a tiger, with powerful muscles that rippled underneath. A sabre-tooth’s enormous canines extended on either side of its mouth, both over four inches long and ending in needle points. Just like a Canid, this demon had an extra set of eyes behind the first.

‘Never seen a Felid before?’ Isadora said, catching Fletcher’s expression of wonder. ‘My Tamil is quite the specimen. You won’t see another like him in your lifetime. Mother dearest was kind enough to bequeath him to me. It was the least she could do after Tarquin was given Father’s pride and joy.’

Tamil yowled in excitement, his tail switching back and forth. He turned his blazing eyes on Ignatius, unsheathing a set of deadly claws with practised ease.

Fletcher gulped as the two demons advanced, his anger ebbing as reality sunk home. Both had likely been their parents’ primary demons, meaning they were extremely powerful. Even with Solomon supporting him, Fletcher was sure that Ignatius was outclassed. He willed Ignatius into firing a burst of orange flame in the air, but the noble demons barely flinched as the fire flared above them.

‘Now, Trebius!’ Tarquin shouted, sending the Hydra charging towards them with a hiss, followed by a bounding Tamil. Solomon spread his legs and unleashed a guttural roar, raising his stone fists. Ignatius reared back on his hind legs and took a deep breath, ready to let forth a gout of flame.

Suddenly, a flash of golden fur raced between the four demons; Sariel had arrived on the scene. Her aureate mane was standing on end, all four eyes blazing with anger. The Canid’s usually elegant snout was wrinkled in a fearsome snarl that was all teeth and dripping saliva. She pawed the ground with her front claw, leaving four grooves in the leather. This time, the Hydra paused.

‘Stop this!’ Sylva cried out. ‘Have you forgotten who the enemy is? We are all on the same side!’

‘Not officially; or have the elves surrendered already?’ Tarquin spat maliciously. ‘You are a glorified hostage, nothing more.’

Sylva bristled at his words and Sariel barked, feeling her anger.

‘Come now, Tarquin, let us not forget ourselves,’ Isadora said, laying a calming hand on Tarquin’s shoulder. ‘The elves may very well soon be our allies. The Forsyths and the elven clan chieftains could greatly benefit each other . . . remember?’

Fletcher saw her squeeze Tarquin’s arm, digging her nails into his flesh. Tarquin paused and then bowed his head, beckoning Trebius to take a few steps back.

‘I apologise, I was caught up in the moment. Battle fever, you understand,’ Tarquin muttered, but his face was still flushed with anger. He gave Fletcher a menacing look.

‘So, Sylva, what is it to be? The dwarf and the pleb . . . or us?’ Isadora asked. But she would never hear the elf’s answer.

The door slammed open and Arcturus stormed in, followed by Genevieve and two servants bearing a stretcher.

‘What is going on here?’ he roared. Sacharissa loped in and stopped beside Sariel, standing a full head taller than her. With a snap of her jaws she sent the other Canid back to Sylva.

‘Take her up to the infirmary now,’ Arcturus murmured, picking up Lovett and laying her gently on the stretcher. He brushed a curl of hair from her forehead and closed her eyelids, for they stared unseeing at the ceiling. The servants hurried her away, stumbling in their haste.

‘Now . . . someone is going to tell me what is happening here,’ he uttered, with barely restrained anger.

‘We were scaring off a Shrike that had come through the portal,’ Tarquin lied smoothly. ‘It’s gone now.’

Arcturus’s eyes turned to Fletcher, but Fletcher was loath to get the others in trouble. He kept his mouth shut, but he shifted guiltily. Arcturus narrowed his eyes and strode forward, throwing blue wyrdlights around the room. As the noviciates squinted in the electric glow, he spoke in a loud voice.

‘I hope you haven’t been thinking about duelling. The elves liked to duel. They lost demon after demon, until they didn’t have any left. Do you know what happens when there are no demons left? There’s no mana to open a portal. No way of replenishing numbers. That’s it, the ether is lost forever. You, Sylva, of all people, would be a complete fool if you were to duel here. The concessions your people had to give to get you here alone . . . you are to be the founder of a new generation of elven adepts, to whom you will be tasked with gifting their first demons. You are the first elven summoner in a thousand years. Do not take that lightly. If you lose your Canid, we will not gift you another.’

Sylva hung her head in shame, and Sariel whined, her tail between her legs. Fletcher was grateful that Sylva would take such a risk on his behalf and silently thanked her from across the room. They could have been in the middle of a duel and subsequently expelled if it had not been for her.

‘Any instance of duelling will be rewarded with instant expulsion. Commoners will have to join the rank and file with no further training. Maybe, if you are lucky, you will become a sergeant. As for the nobles, you will have the right to purchase a commission as an officer, shaming your noble house into bribing your way into the military. Even then, you will have to be privately tutored.’

Tarquin scoffed at Arcturus’s words and whispered something to his sister.

‘Is that what you want, Tarquin? The great Zacharias Forsyth, forced to buy his son’s way into an officership?’ Arcturus’s scathing voice was layered with sarcasm. Tarquin blanched at the thought, then rallied as he felt everyone’s eyes on him.

‘Pocket change.’ He shrugged, then his voice took a more sinister tone. ‘And half-nobles? What happens to them? I mean, you are the man to ask about that . . . or am I mistaken, Arcturus?’

Tarquin smiled as if he had won the exchange and Arcturus paused with shock. Then his face turned scarlet with rage and Sacharissa growled with deep menace, so loudly that the sound reverberated in Fletcher’s chest. Tarquin took a step back, realising that he had gone too far. Fortunately for him, Scipio ran into the room, his walrus face red from exertion.

‘I came as soon as I heard,’ he wheezed, panting for breath. ‘Is she all right?’

Arcturus took a deep, calming breath and turned to him.

‘No, sir, she is not. It’s ethershock, that much is certain. We will have to wait for her to come out of it, but there is no telling when she will be back on her feet. I will take over her lessons in the meantime.’

Scipio closed his eyes and sighed with frustration. Then he turned to the noviciates and spoke.

‘Take heed, cadets. Now you understand the dangers of the ether, the risks your parents and donors took to give you your demon. Be thankful and work hard to make their gifts worthwhile.’ With those words, he took a few steps towards the door, then paused and spoke again.

‘Tarquin Forsyth, you are to come with me. Do not think you got away with speaking so disrespectfully to a superior officer. There will be consequences for your insolence.’

Tarquin’s face fell and he stared at the ground, but Scipio’s tapping foot sent him walking to the door. Fletcher could not help but smile. Serve the spoiled little upstart right.

His happiness was short-lived, however.

‘Wipe that smile from your face, Fletcher.’ Arcturus’s voice cut into his thoughts. ‘As your sponsor, your behaviour reflects upon me. Go directly to my office and wait for me there. We are going to have words.’

37

Arcturus’s office was as cold as Scipio’s had been hot, with no fireplace and a glassless arrow slit in the wall. It was surprisingly bare, but then both he and Fletcher had only arrived a few weeks ago, hard though it was to believe. Fletcher felt like he had been at Vocans for years.

The minutes ticked by, and soon he got bored. Ignatius was sleeping on his neck, having exhausted himself in all the excitement earlier. Listening out for approaching footsteps, Fletcher walked around the large oak desk that seemed to be the only piece of furniture in the room, other than two chairs and a large cushion for Sacharissa in the corner. Papers were scattered haphazardly on the desk, yet one caught Fletcher’s eye.

It was a list of names, all beginning with Fletcher. He looked below it in confusion and, to his horror, found another list, this time all ending with the name Wulf. This was not good news. If Arcturus were to dig deeper, he might find out about Fletcher’s crime. Worse still, he might leave a trail that Caspar could follow to track Fletcher down. He wracked his brains, trying to remember if he had mentioned Pelt by name.

Footsteps rang in the corridor, sending Fletcher scurrying back in front of the desk. Moments later, Arcturus strode in, followed by a bounding Sacharissa. Fletcher could tell from his movements that Arcturus was agitated, though his face revealed nothing. He sat down at his desk and shuffled his papers, giving no sign that they had anything to do with Fletcher. Then he looked up and steepled his fingers.

‘Do you know why I sponsored you, Fletcher?’ he asked, looking Fletcher in the eye.

‘Is it because I already had a demon so you wouldn’t need to capture one for me?’ Fletcher suggested.

‘No, I do not mind doing that. Sacharissa is adept at hunting in the ether, though the Barkling did prove a tricky customer, didn’t it, Sacha?’ Arcturus said, ruffling the Canid’s head.

‘Guess again,’ he ordered, leaning back in his chair.

‘Ummm . . . my rare Salamander?’ Fletcher hesitated.

‘That was an added bonus, but it’s not why,’ he said, eyes twinkling with mild amusement.

‘My bravery in the face of certain death?’ Fletcher joked, catching Arcturus’s expression and hoping to lighten the mood.

‘No, not that!’ Arcturus replied with a chuckle. ‘Some might say that you made the wrong decision there. An officer must learn to sacrifice good men so that the rest of his command can survive. So too could you have given up your money in exchange for your life. But I must say I was impressed. You were cool under pressure and you took a calculated risk. Good officers are pragmatic and calm under fire. But the men and women who rise to greatness are the risk takers, the gamblers. Those who take all or nothing. Perhaps you too will rise to their station if you play your cards right.’ Fletcher grinned at Arcturus’s words, but then they took a more sombre turn.

‘Today you played your cards wrong, Fletcher. Very wrong. Duelling Tarquin could have resulted in instant expulsion.’

‘I’m sorry, sir. I was only defending myself. If I knew how to shield myself I would have used that instead,’ Fletcher muttered, hanging his head.

‘A shield would not be much use against a demon, but that is neither here nor there. You need to understand that the nobles will do anything they can to get rid of you. Better to take a beating than rise to their bait. Trust me, I know.’ Arcturus sounded bitter. He looked as if he was going to continue, but then thought better of it and shook his head. He stood suddenly and beckoned Fletcher closer to the desk.

‘We need summoners, Fletcher, but they do not need to be battlemage officers. A summoner in the rank and file is just as good as one in the officer’s mess, in the grand scheme of things. Commoners being trained alongside nobles is not a popular practice. Many believe that you should have a separate academy. Do not give Scipio a reason to demote you.’

Fletcher nodded grimly. He couldn’t help but glance at the papers on the desk. Arcturus made no move to hide them.

‘The reason I sponsored you, Fletcher, was because you remind me of myself. More importantly, it is because I know who you are. Or
what
you are, at least.’

He swung the papers round for Fletcher to see and ran a finger along them.

‘There are few Fletchers of your age listed in Hominum, and none of them have the surname Wulf. You are not on any official census that I can find. Am I right in saying that you are an unregistered orphan?’

Fletcher nodded his head, not understanding.

Arcturus sat back down, nodding to himself as if Fletcher had confirmed his suspicions. He pointed at the chair opposite him. Fletcher sat and watched as Arcturus stared at him through hooded eyes.

‘Do you remember Tarquin suggesting that I am a half-noble?’ Arcturus asked, smoothing his hair back and readjusting the bow that held it in place at the back of his neck. Fletcher assented and, after a long pause, Arcturus continued.

‘Ten years ago, a young noble was on his way to Vocans, coming from his home in the northern territories that border the elven lands. He was spending his first night in Boreas which, as you know, is not too far from your Beartooth Mountains.’ Fletcher was not sure if he should be glad or upset that Arcturus had mentioned Beartooth instead of Pelt. There were hundreds of villages there, but word travelled fast. Arcturus would put two and two together if he found out a young fugitive had escaped from there.

‘This noble boy had been gifted a Canid by his father, Lord Faversham,’ Arcturus continued. ‘But he did not want to read his summoning scroll until he arrived at the school, where the teachers could supervise the transfer. He therefore left his summoning scroll in his saddle bags and bedded down for the night.’

Arcturus stopped for a moment, rubbing Sacharissa’s ears. The demon rumbled with pleasure and nuzzled his hands.

‘That night, a stable boy decided to rob the noble for all he was worth. He had nothing to his name. He was an orphan who had been raised in a workhouse, then sold to the stable master for twenty shillings. He didn’t even own the clothes on his back. The theft was a last, desperate bid to get enough money together to escape and make a new life for himself. But fate had a different plan for him.’

Fletcher furrowed his brow. This story sounded familiar, but he could not place where he had heard it before.

‘The boy could read somewhat. He had taught himself so that he could learn about the world, devouring every book left abandoned by passing travellers in the tavern that owned the stables. So when he found the scroll and summoning leather that came with it, he laid them out and read them, more out of curiosity than anything else. Fortunately for the boy, he still struggled with his reading, so he said each word under his breath as he read them. Nobody was more surprised than him when he summoned a Canid pup, with black fur and shining eyes. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.’

Fletcher looked from Sacharissa to Arcturus, then realisation dawned on him.

‘You were the first commoner to own a demon since . . . well, since forever!’ Fletcher gasped. ‘If it wasn’t for you, none of us would be here! Your discovery tripled the number of battlemages!’

Arcturus nodded gravely.

‘But hang on,’ Fletcher said with confusion. ‘What does this have to do with me? Or you being a half-noble?’

‘That is the story you already know, with a little more detail. But there is a second half to it, one that is only known by the nobility and a few select others. You see, some years after I was discovered, there was a great meeting between the noble houses, the generals of Hominum and King Harold. The war was going poorly in its first year, the orc shamans were uniting under the albino orc’s banner and they outnumbered our own battlemages many times over. The nobles were loathe to put their firstborn sons and daughters in harm’s way, for with each heir’s death their bloodlines would come under threat. They were being forced to have several children, so that if the firstborn died, there might be a sibling with the ability to summon. After the firstborn, there is only a one in three chance of a noble child being an adept. Many noble houses will have three or four children in case of a death, so that the next adept can become the heir. On top of this, many young nobles are forced to marry and have children as soon as they graduate from the Vocans, so that if they die fighting they leave an heir to take their place.’

Fletcher had never given much thought to the idea of succession and noble bloodlines. He could imagine the noble families, desperately aware that with a single death, their entire house could disappear in one generation. For a moment he pitied Tarquin and Isadora, with all the pressures that their noble blood brought with it. But only for a moment.

‘Believe it or not, it was Obediah Forsyth – Tarquin’s grandfather – who was the noble who led the charge on introducing commoners into the ranks of battlemages, using his own money to fund the great Inquisition, bringing children in from across the land and looking for hints of mana in them. He was the most powerful and wealthiest noble at the time, and still is today. His son, Zacharias, married another firstborn from another great house, Josephine Queensouth, uniting their neighbouring lands under the Forsyth banner. This effectively dissolved the Queensouth house. Usually heirs will marry a second- or third-born from another noble house so as to keep their legacy, but the Queensouths were near bankruptcy and were close to selling off their land. It was the only solution for them at the time. I explain this to you, Fletcher, because nobility, marriage and succession are key to understanding who you are.’

Fletcher nodded sagely, trying to keep track of it all. The political machinations of the nobility were interesting, but he still did not understand what it had to do with him, or Arcturus for that matter.

‘In any case, Obediah’s search bore fruit and commoners were introduced to Vocans, myself included. The old King’s Inquisitors took over the search, but they noticed a curious trend, one that Obediah had missed. There were strange clusters of adepts, most noticeably in the orphanages in the northern cities. Now why do you think that is, Fletcher?’ Arcturus asked him, the milky orb of his eye staring unseeingly through Fletcher’s head.

But Fletcher’s mind was blank. What was so special about orphans?

‘What differentiates the orphans from everyone else?’ Arcturus asked, parroting Fletcher’s thoughts.

‘Nobody wants them?’ Fletcher suggested.

‘That’s right, Fletcher. Now who usually don’t want their children?’ Arcturus murmured, talking him through it.

‘People who can’t afford to keep them.’ Fletcher’s memory flitted to the long, lonely nights where he had wondered about that very thing.

‘True, Fletcher, there are some who abandon their children for that reason. There are also orphans whose parents have died. But there is another group who abandon their children regularly. The Inquisition found this was the one commonality between almost all the orphaned adepts.’

Arcturus took a deep breath. ‘Almost all of their mothers were courtesans. Including mine.’

Sacharissa whined, and Arcturus hushed her gently. Fletcher could see that he was touching upon something that caused him great pain.

‘You see, Lord Faversham was . . . shall we say . . . an insatiable man. His wife could not bear him children for a long time. Lady Faversham eventually grew cold and distant, turning him away from her bed. So he sought the beds of those who would not.’

Fletcher sunk into his chair, finally understanding.

‘So the firstborn children of the courtesans he slept with became adepts? Is that how it works?’ Fletcher asked, trying not to think about what it might mean about his own heritage.

‘Yes, although he had mistresses as well. A man can have adept children with several different women, as long as it is the woman’s first child too. So too can a woman have several adept children with different fathers, if the men are yet to father a child. It was pure coincidence that a small number of commoners were also being born with the gift. I set the search in motion, but I was not born with the gift independently, like other commoners are. I was an adept because I was one of Lord Faversham’s firstborn sons.’

Fletcher’s mind raced, thinking of the circumstances of his abandonment. Not even a blanket to protect him from the cold. It seemed a fitting explanation. Arcturus interrupted his moody thoughts.

‘Of course the discovery caused a scandal. Proof of infidelity cast shame over various noble houses, especially the Favershams. Noblewomen went on strike and refused to go to war unless a law was passed that orphans could not be tested by the Inquisition. They could not bear the shame, to see their husbands’ other children fighting alongside them and their true-born sons and daughters.’ He whispered now, his voice layered with complicated emotion.

‘I hear Lady Faversham was aggrieved when she learned that the demon meant for her son was actually passed on to me. Her hatred for me is even greater than that of the other noblewomen. She has only given birth to one child, meaning that should her son die, I will be next in line as Lord Faversham by Hominum law. She was forced to request special permission from the old King to take her son from the front lines, in case I should try to murder him and take his place as the next heir. You won’t be surprised to hear that she was the one who organised the strike.’