Summoner: Book 2: The Inquisition (25 page)

He sat up and took in his surroundings. The woods were thicker and more abundant than the elven lands, which had consisted of massive trunks surrounded by a flat blanket of moss. In contrast, the jungle’s ground was covered in a bed of mulched leaves, with thorny branches, broad-leafed plant-life and hanging vines filling the gaps between the gnarled, interlocking trees. The soil was dark and fragrant, fuelled by the constant fall of dead leaves to leave a rich, soft loam underfoot. Just beyond the clearing he and the others had landed in, pools of stinking liquid cratered the earth – brackish black water covered by a scum of moulding, rotting foliage.

‘I’m
never
doing that again,’ Cress declared, and Fletcher turned his head to see her face-down on the ground, hugging the earth for all she was worth. Othello seemed to be faring only slightly better, kneeling beside Arcturus’s Alicorn with a relieved look upon his face.

‘I’d rather walk,’ Cress continued blithely. ‘You can sod off with your flying malarkey, Arcturus. You and Buck can sleep in when it’s time to rescue us.’

Arcturus laughed, removing his leather cap and shaking out a thick, untamed mane of black hair. Fletcher was sure he saw Lovett blush, glancing quickly up at Arcturus and then looking away. Fletcher caught her eye and grinned, but the stern look she returned him swiftly wiped it from his face.

‘On your feet, all of you,’ Ophelia’s voice cracked out from the milling demons around them. ‘We’re leaving.’

The teams assembled and the crates unloaded, leaving Sacharissa, Hannibal and Caliban to stumble out and join the others. Arcturus lifted Lovett from Lysander’s back and carried her to Bucephalus, cradling her like a sleeping child. For a while Fletcher had forgotten her loss of movement and he felt a surge of guilt for taking Lysander away from her.

Ophelia strode back and forth impatiently, eager to return to the safety of Hominum’s front lines.

‘I want you all to remember that the world is watching you through your sponsors’ demons’ eyes,’ she snapped, her eyes roving across their faces. ‘Comport yourselves in a way that would befit graduates of Vocans. Do not shirk your duty.’

Her granddaughter, Verity, raised a tentative hand, but after a glare from Ophelia, returned it to her side. It took a few more moments for Arcturus to remove Lysander’s saddle and strap it to Bucephalus’s side, then the Celestial Corps were mounted once again.

‘Look after Lysander, would you?’ Lovett called, raising her voice to be heard over the well-wishes of the other riders.

‘Sacha too,’ Arcturus echoed.

Then, just like that, they were in the air again, leaving the graduates to their fate. The teams stood and watched in silence for a while, until the corps had disappeared from sight.

‘So,’ Seraph said cheerfully. ‘What do we do now?’

The four team leaders gathered in a rough circle, squatting on their haunches to avoid the wet ground. Seraph had spread his map on his backpack, with his planned route marked out along it.

The river followed a meandering path, the only real feature in an ocean of green. On one of the river’s more curved bends, a red X marked the spot where the orc caves were, as well as a crude drawing of a pyramid. In the corner of the map was a more detailed diagram that delineated the orc encampment, made from Mason’s memories of his time as a slave there. The square-based pyramid featured heavily, with a network of cave tunnels running beneath it – that was the location of the goblin eggs.

‘We’re going to follow the river on the west side, so we don’t need to cross it to get to the camp,’ Malik said, tracing his path with a finger. ‘With Mason as our guide, we’ll be able to avoid any patrols easily enough.’

‘We’re going on the east of the river and will cross in the darkness,’ Seraph said, shaking his head and pointing to the dotted line his team had already drawn along the river bank. ‘The west side is nearer to the orc camps. I’d rather get wet than get killed.’

He nodded at his guide, a grizzled veteran who was armed with a heavy crossbow.

‘Sergeant Musher was left for dead after a battle in the jungles last year. Evaded capture for twenty days, living off the land and navigating by the stars. He’ll see we m—’

‘You’re both wrong,’ Isadora interrupted, slapping Malik’s hand aside and outlining a wider arc, further to the west. ‘
We
will cross like Malik, but curve around the west bank of the river. The river is a source of fish and water, that’s where the orcs will congregate. It’s more ground to cover but it will be safer.’

Fletcher felt strange, being so close to Isadora. Her father had worked hard to have him and Othello executed, not to mention the fact that she and Tarquin had planned Sylva’s murder. Yet here they were, working together against the orcs.

‘Fletcher,’ Seraph said, nudging him. Fletcher glanced up and saw the other team leaders looking at him expectantly.

‘I agree the banks of the river will be more populated,’ he said, remembering the route he and the others had decided on. ‘We’ll do the same but on this side. We’ll cross at night like Seraph but before that we will stay away from the river’s edge.’

‘Nobles on one side, commoners on the other,’ Isadora smirked, nodding to herself with satisfaction. ‘We’ll see who gets there first.’

Seraph scowled at her words but rolled up the map.

‘It’s good we’re splitting up,’ Malik said, ignoring Isadora. ‘If one team is caught, there will be three others to complete the mission. But there’s a disadvantage too.’

‘What’s that?’ Fletcher asked.

‘It will be hard to arrive at the pyramid at the same time, like Rook said. If we don’t, the first team to arrive will have to go in all alone and the other teams will be vulnerable when the alarm is raised. Then the Celestial Corps will have a hell of a time locating all four teams in the window before the Wyvern riders arrive.’

‘He’s right,’ Isadora agreed, though begrudgingly. ‘We’ll just have to do our best. If one team arrives early, wait inside the pyramid. Mason tells me it’s sacred ground that’s used only for ceremonies, so we’ll be safe inside. If you’re late … you make your own way home.’

‘That works for me,’ Fletcher said, as Malik and Seraph nodded.

‘We’ll head through the swamp to where it joins the mouth of the river,’ Malik said, standing up. ‘Then we go our separate ways and reunite at the pyramid.’

As the team leaders returned to their respective groups, Fletcher was increasingly aware of the rustling gremlin in his rucksack. The little creature could obviously smell that he was back in the jungle and was making an attempt to break free. Fletcher needed a distraction.

‘I have an idea,’ he announced to the four groups, wary of raising his voice too much, in case it carried through the jungle. ‘Each of our guides has expertise that the others don’t. For example, Jeffrey has access to a new set of spells that have only recently been discovered and a knowledge of the local plant-life, all of which I am willing to share with you. Seraph’s guide, Sergeant Musher, will know about avoiding detection and navigating in the forest. Yours …’

He looked over at Malik’s guide, Mason, who was busy eating his way through a pile of jungle fruit.

‘Well, we’ll all have something to contribute I’m sure.’

‘What about me?’ growled a voice from among Isadora’s team. ‘Will I be of use?’

With all the excitement and the milling around, Fletcher had not had a chance to see who Tarquin’s guide was. Yet, when the bulky frame revealed itself, Fletcher’s breath caught in his throat. Grindle.

He was an ugly man, with the squashed face of a bulldog and a thick padding of fat all over his body, more even than Atlas, who stood beside him. He wore the black uniform of the Forsyth Furies, as did all of Isadora’s team.

‘I served as Lord Forsyth’s man for many years,’ he said, lumbering towards Fletcher. ‘You know, getting my hands bloody, so Zacharias wouldn’t have to. Couldn’t let his kids go into the jungle without my watchful eye over them.’

Grindle winked at Sylva, whose face had gone ashen white. Almost two years ago, this man had put her head on a block and had raised the very same knobbled club that he now wore on his back, intending to kill her. Had it not been for Othello and Fletcher’s intervention, she would now be dead, and Hominum would be in the midst of war with the elves.

Sylva nocked an arrow to her bow, but Othello tugged it from the bowstring before she could raise it.

‘The world is watching,’ he hissed, pointing at the Wendigo, whose black eyes were fixed on them with keen interest.

‘You want to help them?’ Sylva snapped, turning her anger on Fletcher.

‘Maybe we’ll just share with Seraph’s team,’ Fletcher said, his voice taut with the same fury. ‘You seem like you have all the help you need.’

‘What help would a filthy servant boy with ideas above his station and a soldier stupid enough to get himself lost in the jungle give us?’ Tarquin said, inspecting his nails. ‘Run along and share all you like. We’ll be on our way now.’

Isadora grinned nastily at them, then hissed an order at the Wendigo. It knuckled its way through the underbrush, its claws spreading wide to tear a path ahead.

‘Catch you later, Fletcher,’ Didric called, tapping the rapier at his side. ‘We’ll be seeing you
very
soon.’

Then the Forsyth team walked nonchalantly into the jungle, their backs receding until all that remained was the distant snap of branches.

‘Well, I don’t want to know what that was about,’ Verity said brightly, stepping forward. ‘But we would be
very
willing to share. Mason can show you how to read the ground and leave no trail, a lesson that those idiots could have benefited from.’ She pointed a thumb over her shoulder at the path of broken stems and disturbed ground the Forsyths had left behind. ‘What do you say?’

She kicked Malik, who coughed and nodded in agreement.

‘You’re a Faversham,’ Fletcher said bluntly, though he reddened as soon as the words left his mouth. He wasn’t used to being so rude.

‘And you’re a Raleigh,’ Verity replied sarcastically. ‘I know my father prosecuted you at trial, but that’s his job. I try not to judge people based on their families. Do you?’

Fletcher hesitated as she smiled at him, a hint of mischief in her big, dark eyes. She really was very attractive. He stuttered, tongue-tied – and the way Sylva was staring disapprovingly at him did little to help.

Fortunately, Seraph spoke before the silence went on for too long.

‘Can’t hurt,’ he said, puffing out his chest. Seraph could never resist a pretty face. ‘If one of us gets caught, it makes things harder for the rest. I say we spend the day here teaching each other and then camp overnight. It’s already afternoon anyway. Should have done all this planning before we got here, but there you go.’

Fletcher looked to Othello for guidance, and after a pause, the dwarf gave him a curt nod. A faint scratching from within his backpack sealed his decision.

‘Fine,’ Fletcher said, pushing through his team and striding to the edge of the forest. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some business with one of those trees out there.’

Fletcher hurried into the jungle, his face burning. Pretending to need the toilet. Couldn’t he have thought of a better excuse?

He struggled through the tangled bushes, his skin itching as he brushed against a sticky cobweb. Around his head, the whine of mosquitos intermingled with the low buzz of common flies. Despite the abundant humidity in the air, the insects seemed attracted to the moisture in his eyes and mouth, and he spat and spluttered his way through until the others were out of sight.

Aware of his vulnerability so far from the others, he summoned Ignatius and Athena with two blasts from his palm. Immediately, Athena was fluttering to the top of the nearest tree, scanning the area for danger. Ignatius contented himself by scampering up Fletcher’s shoulder, giving his master a remonstrative thwack of his tail for keeping him infused for so long.

With a furtive glance over his shoulder, Fletcher crouched among the bushes and slowly opened his pack. Within, Blue stared back through wide, fearful eyes. He had somehow armed himself with a fishhook, one of the many tools that Uhtred and Briss had stowed in the leather satchels the dwarves had provided. It was a pitiful weapon, but the gremlin held it aloft as Fletcher stepped back, his arms raised to show he was no threat.