The Inquisition (Summoner, #2)(31)
Fletcher nodded, remembering how Ignatius had attacked Didric unbidden. Reluctantly, he infused Ignatius in a flash of violet light.
‘Begin,’ Harold said, nodding with approval.
‘Doh rah go si mai lo go.’ Fletcher’s voice grew more confident with each word spoken, growing louder and louder until the deer directly below scattered in confusion. ‘Fai lo go di ai lo go.’
The pentacle flared with purple light, and Fletcher’s vision became saturated with colour, just as it had years ago in Pelt’s graveyard. A violet orb appeared above the star, expanding until it was as wide as a carriage wheel, spinning slowly. There was a roaring sound, and Fletcher could hear the shouts of startled wood elves as the entire deer herd began to canter down the plains, fearful of the flashing lights and noise.
‘Lei go si mai doh roh!’
As the last words were spoken, the orb blinked out, leaving a fluttering creature in its place.
‘My apologies!’ the king laughed as the wood elves below hurled what could only be elvish curses at them.
But Fletcher was ignorant of it all, for the new consciousness in his mind was like nothing he had ever encountered. While Ignatius’s psyche was a gentle mix of emotions and intentions, this creature’s mind was as sharp as it was fast, flitting from thought to thought with absolute clarity.
The demon was much like a barn owl in appearance, with a heart-shaped face, white plumage on its underside and tawny brown feathers above. But unlike an owl, it had four feline legs, complete with a cat’s tail, ears and claws, as well as fur intermingled within the fluffy plumage. Most endearing of all, it had round, expressive eyes as blue as Sylva’s, which it focused on Fletcher with curiosity.
‘The Gryphowl is exceedingly rare, so you may not have heard of it before,’ Harold said, edging away from the demon as it emitted a disgruntled screech. ‘As you might have already guessed, it’s rather like a hybrid of owl and cat, at level four. Your father named her Athena.’
‘She’s beautiful,’ Fletcher breathed, exerting the control he had learned at Vocans. Grasping his connection with Athena, he pulsed his intentions to her, allowing her to read them as he could hers.
The Gryphowl cocked her head to one side then, with a flap of her wings, settled on Fletcher’s shoulder. She was careful not to grip too hard with her paws, for they were tipped with a razor-sharp mix of claw and talon. As Athena sensed a twinge of pain from Fletcher, they retracted back into her paws with a soft schick.
‘You should probably infuse her, before anyone sees,’ the king said, looking around warily. ‘The elves have requested that any foreign demons must be infused at all times. I would have waited, but I wanted to gift you the demon before Zacharias laid claim to the scroll. I wish you well of her.’
Fletcher was disappointed, for he wished to get to know the demon better, but nevertheless pointed his palm above his shoulder. The pentacle flared violet until he could feel its outline, hot against his skin. With a mental tug, Athena dissolved into threads of white light that shot into his palm. He staggered with the powerful euphoria of the first infusion, as his consciousness merged with hers like the meeting of two rivers.
Within him, he felt his pool of mana grow twofold, and the threads that connected master and demons seemed to braid themselves together. He felt more powerful, the electric energy pulsing along the connection like a beating heart.
As for the psyches of the two demons, they remained apart from each other, unable to sense each other’s thoughts. Still, he could sense their intentions, as they watched the world through his eyes.
His mind felt very fuzzy, pulled in all directions by the combined consciousness of two demons. He remembered Seraph had once described a summoner who had dozens of Mites. He couldn’t imagine how confusing that would be.
‘Good!’ Harold said, snatching up the summoning leather and propelling Fletcher along the branch before he could catch his breath. The sun was almost completely set now, and the king released a large ball of wyrdlight, which illuminated the branch ahead as they walked.
Still dazed from infusion, Fletcher saw other lights wink into existence on the branches around them, illuminating the elves that still wandered above. But these were not wyrdlights.
Luminous mushrooms, previously just common frills of brown that had grown along fissures in the mossy bark, glowed with a fierce, green light. Above, blue shone out from the undersides of the branches – glow-worms with incandescent strands of silk dangling like blue gossamer. Even as he marvelled, the fireflies ascended from the wood floor below, a drifting cloud of orange sparks that swirled around them. It was a kaleidoscope of colours, which cast the entire network of branches in an eerily shifting light.
‘Amazing, isn’t it?’ the king said. ‘Edmund wrote about it to me, years back. He was often in the Great Forest then, negotiating a trade agreement with the elven clans. Bows, leather, furs and medicines – all were much-needed commodities in Hominum. He dreamed of a society where elves and men could walk each other’s lands, with free trade and movement for all. Of course, it all fell apart when he died.’
Fletcher listened closely, eating up every morsel of information he could about his parents. He wished he knew what they looked like. With a twinge, he realised that, in a way, he already did. Had he seen Zacharias’s wife in the crowd during the Tournament and the trial? It was hazy in his memory, but he could just about picture a blond lady, sitting close beside Lord Faversham. He supposed he had inherited his dark hair from his father.