Summoner: Book 2: The Inquisition (28 page)

Fletcher shielded his eyes, gazing at the setting sun as its last light filtered through the tangled branches. He was glad they had chosen to make camp before it grew dark, for the moon was barely more than a slit in the sky and wyrdlights would attract too much attention.

Dusk’s arrival was heralded by the gruff bellows of howler monkeys, echoing through the forest in the canopy above. The team settled down for their first night alone in enemy territory, choosing a clearing a safe distance from the forest trail.

As Ignatius scampered on to his neck and began to doze, Fletcher reflected on their journey so far. The natural trail had diverged towards the river on several occasions, but they made sure to head uphill, curving away from the water. Despite the incline, they had made good progress, and Fletcher felt confident they would reach their rendezvous at the pyramid in two days’ time.

Sariel and Lysander had acted as rearguard the entire day’s journey, watching for an ambush. Athena worked the canopy, occasionally fluttering above the treeline so Fletcher could make sure they were on course, using his scrying crystal. Meanwhile, Ignatius and Tosk protected their flanks, slipping through the thicker undergrowth with barely more than a rustle. It was Solomon who was left out, for he was too slow and clumsy. Instead, he became their pack mule, carrying their supplies on his stony shoulders when the weight became too much for them.

‘Now that it’s just the four of us summoners, it feels more real,’ Sylva said, prodding their unlit campfire with a stick. ‘I felt like we could take on an army when we were all together. Now I’m not so sure.’

‘I don’t know,’ Fletcher said, tugging Ignatius from his neck. ‘I think we’re a pretty formidable team. We have two Tournament winners, and two runners up. If we encounter an orc patrol, I reckon we could take them.’

Ignatius mewled with annoyance at being woken and, after some mental cajoling, reluctantly spat a ball of fire at the pile of wood.

‘It’s not beating them that I’m worried about,’ Sylva said, shielding her face as the sticks burst into flames. ‘It’s one of them getting away during the battle that scares me. If they raise the alarm, then the mission is over.’

‘Well, Sariel and Lysander can chase them down,’ Othello said, groaning as he removed his boots and socks. ‘Because this great lump isn’t going to be catching anyone any time soon.’

He rubbed Solomon affectionately on the head, and the demon rumbled with happiness. Just as he had back in the shed outside of Corcillum, the Golem dutifully held Othello’s socks up to the flames. For the first time in what seemed like years, Fletcher felt contented.

‘So how’s everybody feeling?’ he asked, opening his pack and removing a wrap of dried venison. He spitted a piece on to a nearby twig and held it to the flames.

‘About as good as I smell.’ Othello grimaced. ‘Which isn’t great. This heat doesn’t agree with me, or you lot for that matter.’

‘You can say that again,’ Cress laughed, holding her nose. ‘The orcs can probably smell us from miles around.’

She rummaged around her pack for her own food, then paused.

‘Hey! I’m missing some bolts from my crossbow.’

Cress frowned and showed them the quiver strapped to her satchel. It was no longer full, leaving the quarrels to rattle loosely within.

‘Same here,’ Sylva said, brandishing her own quiver. The fletching on her arrows, as well as Fletcher’s and Cress’s bolts, had been dyed blue, the team’s colour. They were beautifully made and the points were slimmer and sharper than Fletcher’s own, better than even his best efforts when he had fletched his own arrows in Pelt.

‘Maybe they fell out?’ Fletcher suggested.

He ran his fingers over his own quiver, but all the arrows seemed to be there.

Cress shrugged and laid the quiver back down.

‘Still plenty left, but let’s be careful. Orcs don’t use arrows, but if they find one on the ground they’ll know we’re out here.’

Sariel and Lysander, who had been patrolling around the camp, returned and lay behind the fire, their broad backs making a comfortable pillow for the others. In fact, Fletcher saw that all but one demon had returned, with Tosk settling on Cress’s navel, curled up like a dog.

Fletcher strapped his scrying glass to his eye, so he could see where Athena was, her view appearing as a pink-tinged overlay of half his vision.

Athena was standing vigil on a high branch, her owlish eyes able to see through the orange sunset as clear as day. Every few seconds she swivelled her head, like a sentinel standing guard. Fletcher urged the Gryphowl to come down with a thought, but sensed her desire to remain.

‘Well, looks like we don’t need to arrange a night-watch schedule,’ Fletcher said. ‘Athena intends to stay there all night.’

‘Good,’ Sylva yawned. ‘I don’t think I’d be able to keep my eyes open.’

They lay there in comfortable silence, allowing the campfire’s heat to seep the ache from their muscles. The night sounds of the jungle had already begun, with the chirps of crickets adding a dull buzz to the quiet, interspersed with the occasional call of nocturnal birds. It was strangely soothing, reminding Fletcher of the sounds of Pelt’s forests.

Jeffrey, who had been silent for most of the journey, spoke up for the first time that night.

‘I don’t know why I’m here,’ he sobbed, the fear in his voice cutting through the cosy crackle of their campfire. ‘All I have is the short sword Uhtred gave me. I’m only any good at biology and botany – we’re not going to run into any dead demons out here and when the raid begins, dissecting one will be the last thing on my mind.’

‘I’d take you as a guide over any of the others,’ Sylva said generously. ‘We’re barely hungry with all the fruit and vegetables you gathered as we were hiking, and we’ve refilled our water-flasks from those vines all day. We don’t need a navigator with that great big pyramid marking the way, and we have a map of their camp. Just make sure you hang back when the fighting starts and we’ll deal with the orcs.’

‘Thanks,’ Jeffrey muttered, but it was obvious he was unconvinced. He rolled away with his back to them, and Fletcher thought he caught a glimmer of a tear on the lad’s cheek, reflected by the firelight. Then the glimmer flashed again, and he realised it had appeared in the overlay of his scrying crystal.

‘What the hell is that?’ Fletcher muttered.

A fire had been lit, only a few hundred metres away, right on the forest trail. For a moment he’d thought Athena had been looking down at them, so close by was the light.

He removed his eyeglass and the others leaned in, squinting at the coin-sized crystal.

‘Orcs?’ Jeffrey asked, his voice trembling.

‘I’ll send Athena closer,’ Fletcher said, conveying his orders to Athena with a flash of intent.

Soon, the crystal showed the rushing canopy below, as the Gryphowl glided over the treetops. It took but a few seconds for her to reach the place, and she landed with feline grace on a broad branch. It creaked under her weight – Fletcher could hear all that she did in his mind. He winced at the noise, but the figures below seemed not to react.

It was too far up to see their faces, but the monstrous creature standing watch beside them left no doubt as to who they were.

Isadora’s team were following them.

‘What are they doing here?’ Sylva hissed. ‘They’re supposed to be on the other side of the river!’

‘I don’t know, but they’re up to no good,’ Othello whispered. ‘Thing is, they can’t do anything with Lysander watching. Not unless they attack in the dark …’

They paused for a moment, contemplating his words.

‘Maybe they got lost, or decided against crossing the river,’ Cress suggested.

‘You don’t know them,’ Fletcher said. ‘They’re trying to sabotage us to prove that a team with dwarves and elves doesn’t work. They could take us out with spells in the darkness. It would look like orc shamans had ambushed us.’

‘That’s incentive enough for them to ambush us,’ Sylva said. ‘Not that they need a good reason. They hate us enough as it is.’

Fletcher sat up, looking out into the gloom around their camp.

‘We need to move at first light, put as much distance between us and them as possible. Athena will keep an eye on them, make sure they don’t know we’re so close.’

He looked at his team’s bright fire, then began etching the ice spell in the air. With a pulse of mana, a stream of frost crystals enveloped the wood, casting the camp in pitch darkness.

‘Get some rest,’ Fletcher sighed, settling down against Lysander’s soft underbelly. ‘It might be the last we have for a while.’

As the others pulled blankets from their packs, Othello wriggled in beside him.

‘Trust you to hog Lysander as a pillow,’ Othello whispered. ‘Move over.’

Fletcher shuffled to the side and Othello stretched out beside him. It was comforting to have the dwarf there.

‘Hey,’ Othello said suddenly. ‘What did you end up doing with that gremlin?’

‘I … Er … I let it go,’ Fletcher said.

Othello sighed. ‘I knew you would but … it makes me uneasy.’

Fletcher’s stomach twisted with unease at Othello’s words. He had almost forgotten about Blue, with everything else going on.

‘I’m pretty sure it won’t betray us. And anyway, it was the right thing to do,’ Fletcher replied, not knowing who he was trying to convince more – himself or Othello.

‘Well, I hope you’re right,’ Othello murmured, shifting on to his side. ‘For all our sakes.’

Fletcher took a deep breath, trying to push the doubt from his mind. He already had enough to deal with, without the gremlin to worry about too.

‘You’ve been brooding all day …’ Othello said under his breath, so that the others couldn’t hear. ‘Anything else on your mind?’

Fletcher paused. He knew they should be sleeping, but he was sure he would be up all night thinking of Athena’s infusion dream. Maybe it would help to talk about it.

‘I saw my parents die,’ Fletcher murmured.

‘You remember it?’ Othello asked.

‘No … I saw Athena’s memories. You know, from infusing her,’ Fletcher replied, as tears welled in his eyes. ‘They were so happy, and then … It was horrible.’

‘Oh …’ Othello whispered. He paused.

‘I’m sorry.’

Silence. Then Othello spoke, his voice throaty with emotion.

‘Did you know I had another sister?’

‘No,’ Fletcher said, creasing his brow. Had?

‘Essie was born when Atilla and I were three, two years before my mother became pregnant with Thaissa and the laws were relaxed. We had to keep her hidden – dwarves were only allowed one child back then, and what with Atilla and I being twins we had already got away with two on a technicality. We kept her underground, hid her under the floorboards when the Pinkertons did their inspections. But when Essie was one year old she got sick … really sick. So we took her to a doctor, a human.’

Othello stopped, and Fletcher saw his friend’s face was wet with tears.

‘He called the Pinkertons, Fletcher, and they took Essie away from us. We don’t know where. A few weeks later they told us she had died from the illness. Just like that – she was gone. They never even returned her body.’

Fletcher reached out and laid a hand on Othello’s shoulder.

‘I’m so sorry that happened to you, Othello. To your sister. To your family. I can’t imagine how that must feel.’

‘We never talk about it,’ Othello said, wiping his tears with his sleeve. ‘Thaissa doesn’t even know. But if I had the chance to know what really happened to her – to hear her laugh, to see that smile one more time – I’d do anything for it.’

Fletcher knew he was right. It had been a blessing – to see his parents, know their voices, their faces. What had happened to them was a tragedy, and the truth of their death was painful to know … but necessary.

Above him, Lysander turned his head and stared down at Fletcher’s tear-streaked face. Gently, he raised a talon and brushed Fletcher’s cheek, the movement too human for the demon to do alone. Then he laid a wing on top of them, like a blanket. Fletcher knew that Lovett was watching over them.

‘Thank you for sharing that with me, Othello,’ Fletcher whispered. ‘I’ll remember it.’

It was early morning, and the team were moving at a fast pace through the jungle. They were even more careful than before to cover their tracks, but fortunately the trail they were on was regularly used by the jungle animals, confusing the ground with dozens of different claw and hoof prints.

Most disconcertingly, they had found the flatfooted prints of orcs there too, not unlike a human’s but larger and with deep toe indents. It was difficult to say how long they had been there, but Fletcher was glad that Athena was watching from the canopy above, her view translating directly to the scrying crystal strapped to his head.

‘Can…we…slow…down…yet?’ Othello gasped, readjusting his pack with a bow-legged jump. Solomon had been infused within him, for the Golem was too slow to keep up and his weighty legs left deep impressions on the ground. Since then, the heavy satchels had once again been strapped to their backs, making the going even tougher.