The Inquisition (Summoner, #2)(42)

Fletcher felt strange sitting so close to Sylva, for they had not spoken since the council meeting. It was difficult for him, to swing between friend and diplomat so quickly, especially after her hesitation to support him.

‘So, as I was say—’ Cress began, but then stopped as Atilla stomped down the stairs beside them. He avoided her gaze pointedly, before nodding respectfully at Fletcher and Sylva.

‘It’s good to see you – Fletcher, Sylva,’ he muttered, avoiding Cress’s frank gaze. ‘It has been too long.’

‘Aren’t you glad to see me too?’ Cress said brightly, her tone bordering on the sarcastic.

Atilla reddened and turned his head away, then growled under his breath.

‘It’s bad enough among the students, but in front of all these people? It’s … disgusting.’

Fletcher creased his brow, confused. What was Atilla talking about?

‘Do I really look that bad?’ Cress said, cupping her face between her hands and fluttering her eyelashes at him.

‘Cover yourself,’ Atilla said, his face darkening even further.

‘Understand one thing, Atilla,’ Cress said, her pleasant tone taking on a dangerous edge. ‘Dwarf women wear the veil because they want to. It’s for themselves, not for you. If I choose to reveal my face then that is my choice to make. You have no say in the matter.’

‘It is immodest,’ Atilla said, still looking away. ‘You flaunt yourself for all to see.’

‘And what about me, Atilla?’ Sylva interjected. Her tone was calm, but Fletcher could see the tips of her ears had gone red, a sure sign she was angry.

‘I don’t understand,’ Atilla said, confused.

‘Am I immodest? Do I flaunt myself?’

Atilla spluttered, but could think of no reply.

‘What about you, Atilla?’ Cress asked, pressing home the advantage. ‘You have a handsome face, a luxurious pair of moustaches. Why, I’ve seen you training bare-chested. You expose yourself to the world and to me. How immodest of you.’

Atilla stomped his foot in anger.

‘I will not argue with fools. Cress knows what she is doing is wrong, even if you non-dwarves don’t understand. You, brother, should not be so accepting. She is supposed to be an example to all dwarves, and everyone in the Hominum Empire will see her face if she joins the mission. Imagine if the other girls follow her example?’

Othello looked at Cress and gave her a tentative smile.

‘I see nothing to complain about,’ he said.

Atilla huffed and stomped away, making his way around the arena towards Seraph, who had just noticed them and was waving happily. He was wearing a gaudy amber uniform with a scarlet sash, and was armed with a scimitar and a holstered pistol.

As Fletcher and his friends waved back, Rook strode into the centre of the Arena, etching a spell as he did so. When he completed the etching, a tremendous bang echoed around the chamber, loud enough to hurt Fletcher’s eardrums and leave a dull ringing sound in his head.

‘Now that you have all shut up, we can begin the selection. Fletcher, Isadora, Malik and Seraph, come and join me in the arena.’





19


Sweat prickled Fletcher’s back as he stepped into the arena, infusing Ignatius and Athena with a flash of his palm, for they were the only demons in the room. He could still sense both of them in his mind and, stranger still, a third connection, slowly forming between the two. Perhaps Athena and Ignatius were beginning to trust each other.

As he entered the pool of flickering torchlight, memories of the last time he had walked these sands swam to the forefront of his mind. The dangers he had faced then would be nothing compared with what was to come.

‘You have all been told why you are here,’ Rook announced, pacing back and forth along the sand. ‘There are two objectives to your mission. The first, to destroy several thousand goblin eggs before they hatch. The second, to rescue Lady Cavendish, Rufus’s mother.’

Rufus sat a little straighter in the stands as the students turned to look at him, and Fletcher could see his knuckles whiten as he gripped the hilt of his sword. The young noble had not impressed Fletcher last year, for the boy had fawned over the Forsyth twins. He hoped that Rufus would not be a liability on such a dangerous mission, especially with the added pressure of rescuing his own mother.

A flash of blue turned Fletcher’s attention back to Rook. He had produced a wyrdlight, and the ball of light was slicing back and forth through the air. As it travelled, it left a trail of azure light in its wake, etching a shape as one might with a spell.

Soon, an enormous four-sided pyramid hung in the air, with a strange web of tubes surrounding a central chamber beneath it. It spun gently, casting the room in an eerie blue glow.

‘Our intelligence suggests that the goblin eggs are located within the volcanic cave network beneath this ancient pyramid, deep in the heart of the orc jungles,’ Rook said, jabbing his finger at the web of tunnels below the pyramid. ‘Lady Cavendish is kept somewhere within too, and for good reason – it is the most secure place in the whole of Orcdom. The pyramid is their most sacred ground.’

This was all news to Fletcher, and his heart seemed to batter his ribs as his pulse quickened. He had thought they would be raiding a remote orc village, not losing themselves in the bowels of the earth.