The Inquisition (Summoner, #2)(20)

‘Sir Caulder was held up by the guards outside.’

Arcturus paused for a moment, then shook his head.

‘No … that is all,’ he announced, then turned to Lovett and said in a low voice. ‘It won’t make a blind bit of difference, no matter what he has to say.’

Rook grinned as he caught Arcturus’s words and raised his gavel.

‘Well, it’s nice to see that we are in agreement on that point. Court is adjourned until tomorrow morning, when we will hear your defence. We should have a verdict by the afternoon … and the convicts dead by evening.’



They didn’t let Fletcher stay with Othello, though he knew that he was not far away when they threw him back in his cell – he could hear Uhtred’s angry bellows through the wall. The words were muffled, but there was the splinter of broken furniture and yells from the guards. A few moments later, Jakov burst through the door, and Uhtred was hurled to the ground at Fletcher’s feet.

‘You can calm down in here,’ Jakov snarled, wiping a trickle of blood from his face. His lip was cut and a red bruise was blossoming on the corner of his jaw. ‘Raise your hand to the guards again and I’ll give you the same beauty treatment I gave your son.’

Fletcher advanced on him, flaring a fireball into existence as he did so.

‘Get out,’ Fletcher snarled. ‘Or I’ll give you the beauty treatment I gave Didric.’

The door slammed shut before Fletcher had even finished speaking. The fireball spun above his finger and for a moment he was tempted to blast the door apart. Unlike the steel entrance in the underground cell, this one was made of wood.

‘Thank you, Fletcher,’ Uhtred groaned, dragging himself up into the chair. He clutched his side and winced, turning his back on the door.

‘He’s a monster, both inside and out,’ Fletcher growled, absorbing the fireball’s mana back through his fingers. He would need all the mana he could get if he had a chance to escape, but now was not the time.

‘Come here. I have something to tell you.’ Uhtred’s words came in short bursts – his injuries had to be worse than Fletcher thought: beneath his beard it was difficult to see the damage his brawl with Jakov had wrought. Fletcher pulled up a chair and sat beside him.

‘I won’t let you and my son die here. I have a plan,’ Uhtred growled. ‘We’re going to break you out.’

Fletcher couldn’t think of a reply, but his heart sank. No good could come from this.

‘The dwarven recruits are not far from here. I will fetch them and we will storm the village.’

‘Don’t even think about it,’ Fletcher said in a low hiss, looking fearfully at the door. ‘The consequences would be catastrophic. All the goodwill you have won with King Harold, gone. The end of peace between dwarves and men. You would throw this country into civil war, and you would lose.’

‘No, Fletcher. Our soldiers have been armed and trained now. We have Othello here to capture demons for our own summon—’

‘So what?’ Fletcher snapped, cutting him off. ‘You forget, I heard your debate at the war council. Nothing has changed since then.’

‘But it has, Fletcher. We will take Didric’s castle. It has enough supplies to last a decade and the king would not waste his troops laying siege to it. The cannons will be enough to dissuade an attack from Hominum’s flying battlemages, the Celestial Corps, and we can use the money there to trade with the elves. We will carve out our own kingdom.’ Uhtred’s eyes were unfocused, but his words shocked Fletcher to the very core. The dwarf had believed in peace, like Othello, but something was broken within him now. Fletcher only hoped he could repair the damage.

‘What about Thaissa and Briss, and all the other dwarves in Corcillum? Have you considered what would happen to them?’

Uhtred was silent, twisting his callused hands in his lap. Fletcher continued.

‘Arcturus and Lovett are here, do you think they would stand by idly as you openly rebel? Or would you kill them too? The king and his father are also present, not to mention dozens of nobles, each one a powerful summoner in their own right. As for the castle, it’s heavily defended day and night because of the convicts. If you say the Celestial Corps can’t beat its cannons, what hope do your dwarves have? Your soldiers would die bravely, but it would be dwarven blood that stains the earth tomorrow, and none other.’

Uhtred blinked, tears running down his face. The anger that had gripped him so tightly abandoned him, leaving only pain behind.

‘I have failed my people,’ Uhtred gasped, his broad shoulders heaving. ‘I have failed my son.’

Fletcher put his arm around the dwarf’s hefty shoulders. It filled him with fury to see the Thorsagers brought so low, but he pushed that feeling aside. It was compassion that was needed now.

‘Don’t let what those scumbags did to Othello jeopardise everything you and he have achieved. This is what they want. Remember, the king—’

‘The king has abandoned us!’ Uhtred bellowed, hitting the table with his fist. ‘He watched! He watched as they did that to my boy. My brave, kindhearted boy.’

There was a polite cough from the doorway behind them. Fletcher froze, the hairs on his neck standing on end. If it was a guard, their conversation was enough to have Uhtred executed for treason right alongside them. He powered up his telekinesis finger, keeping his back to the door. One blast would be quick and dirty enough to incapacitate whoever it was.