The Inquisition (Summoner, #2)(26)

‘Why?’ Charles blurted. ‘Why would you not tell anyone about it? About the baby, the secret entrance, all of it!’

Sir Caulder sighed and lowered his shoulders, avoiding Fletcher’s eyes. He hung his head, the courage gone out of him.

‘I was afraid. Afraid that if I tried to tell anyone, the betrayer would kill me to avoid suspicion. Afraid that if they found out the boy had escaped, they would go looking for him. That was why I took the post at Vocans, in the hope that he would somehow find his way to the Academy. And he did.’

There were cries of alarm as Zacharias stood suddenly, shrugging off King Harold’s hand as he advanced upon Sir Caulder.

‘I don’t believe a word of it. You’ve concocted this story to save your friend’s skin, at the expense of my dead friend’s memory!’ He bellowed the last words into Sir Caulder’s face, slamming his hands on either side of the podium. Sir Caulder did not even blink, instead calmly wiping a fleck of spittle from his face.

‘That is up to the king to decide. He can believe Fletcher is a noble and pardon him from this trumped up charge for the sake of his parents. Or he can do nothing and let him die,’ Sir Caulder said. He met Zacharias’s gaze, until the noble turned away in disgust.

‘Do you believe this, Harold?’ Zacharias asked in disbelief. ‘The man is clearly mad. Do not besmirch Edmund and Alice’s memory so this old crackpot can save the life of a murderer.’

Fletcher could see hope in King Harold’s eyes as he stood and, with a deep sigh, joined Zacharias in front of the high table. Fletcher felt that hope reflected in his own heart.

Before Harold could speak, Sir Caulder made one last plea, his voice trembling with emotion.

‘My king. I loved the Raleighs as if they were my own flesh and blood. I owe them my life and more, for my failure as their protector. I do this for them, so their child may live, not out of loyalty to a student.’

Harold held up a hand, silencing the old man.

‘It is a tall tale, one that I wish I had heard many years ago,’ King Harold remonstrated. ‘We started a war over the events of that night. To tell an incomplete version of that story verges on treason.’

‘Hear hear,’ Zacharias said, nodding in agreement.

‘But … I cannot in good conscience kill the lad, even if there is no way of proving his heritage. You, Zacharias, of all people, will understand that. I deem the boy a noble, and give him a full pardon, for the sake of the memory of Edmund and Alice Raleigh.’

It was over. Sir Caulder’s ruse had worked. Fletcher felt a flood of relief and Othello’s hand thumping him on the back. His first thought was of Berdon. There was so much he needed to tell him. He felt faint with happiness. Somehow, he had won.

But then, a cold, wavering voice cut through the air.

‘There is a way of proving it.’

It was the old king. Fletcher turned to see him being helped up by Lady Faversham. Now that he saw her in full view, Fletcher could tell she had been very attractive in her younger days, with delicate cheekbones and a cascade of silver hair falling to her waist. Her eyes, however, showed that her beauty was only skin deep, for they were filled with hatred.

‘The Raleighs had a unique demon, handed down over generations, before it was killed a few hundred years ago. That is why the crest on Sir Caulder’s uniform bears the image of a Manticore, is it not, my son?’ old King Alfric continued, taking a long cane from beside his seat and hobbling over to stand beside the others. Was this the man King Harold was so afraid of ? The wizened elder before him did not seem so formidable an opponent.

‘Do you remember the old tale of a second son who was stung by his older brother’s Manticore and inherited the gift through its venom? Not unlike our friend Lord Cavell, who became a summoner when he was burned by the flames of the criminal’s Salamander,’ old King Alfric said, nodding at Didric.

‘King Alfric, I beg—’ Arcturus began, but was silenced by a kick to the ribs from Jakov.

‘Eventually, that older brother died in the first dwarven rebellion, leaving the second son as heir,’ Alfric continued, ignoring Arcturus. ‘From then on, all of the firstborn children of his descendants, the Raleighs, were immune to Manticore venom.’

‘That is a fable, a story,’ Harold said, smiling at his father good-naturedly. ‘Even Edmund did not believe it. A thimbleful of Manticore venom is enough to kill ten men. Only a Manticore’s master could survive such a sting, and even then, only if it was administered by their own particular Manticore, in the same way that a Mite or an Arach’s owner is immune to their demon’s venom.’

Fletcher could tell Harold was speaking for the crowd’s benefit, though he already knew it from his demonology lessons. At the time he had thought it a useless piece of information. How wrong he had been.

‘Do not presume to lecture me like an incompetent child,’ Alfric snapped, limping up to Fletcher and examining his face. His eyes were cold and calculating, and they flashed with sadistic intent.

‘This boy should by all rights be executed – a punishment well befitting his heinous crime. I should not indulge your fantasy. It is preposterous to believe that this common guttersnipe is the son of the great Edmund and Alice Raleigh. The stink on him alone is proof enough for me.’ Alfric chuckled to himself and turned back to his son.