The Inquisition (Summoner, #2)(56)
‘You’re lucky that my wife is the best seamstress around. She’ll replace what can’t be cleaned and have these ready for you tomorrow.’
Before Fletcher could apologise for ruining his new clothes, there was a creak from upstairs. Then, before anyone could move, the door to the cellar burst open and a crossbow was aimed down the stairwell.
‘Who’s down there?’ Sylva yelled, rolling out with her bow drawn, as Cress squinted at them over her weapon.
‘It’s just us,’ Fletcher admitted sheepishly. Uhtred stomped up the stairs and pushed Cress’s crossbow down.
‘Get some rest,’ he chuckled. ‘I’ll see you all tomorrow.’
For a moment the two girls stared at the half-naked boys, their faces marked with soot from the explosion, Jeffrey splayed drunkenly on the floor.
They burst out laughing, much to Fletcher’s horror.
‘Well, well,’ Cress said, her eyes sparkling with merriment. ‘Looks like we missed the party.’
24
The four teams stood on an expansive wooden platform, overlooking a sea of red-uniformed men, just beyond the trenches of the front lines. The soldiers stared back grimly, and the world was silent but for a whistling wind that left their jackets flapping in the air.
Fletcher felt a rustle in the rucksack on his back and froze. Blue had been sleeping, or at least pretending to, all night. The plan had been to keep him there and release him into the wild when they landed. Unfortunately, the gremlin’s slumber seemed to be over.
As Fletcher prayed that Blue would go back to sleep, Provost Scipio climbed slowly up the stairs on the side of the stage, resplendent in the full uniform of a general. He nodded to each team, then turned to the crowd of soldiers.
‘You all know me,’ Scipio said, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. ‘The Hero of Watford Bridge. Provost of Vocans Academy. I have fought in this war for a decade and defended the borders long before that. Many of you know me personally. So when I tell you that what you are about to hear is the truth, I expect you to trust me.’
There were nods from the watching soldiers, tensed shoulders relaxing, even some smiles.
‘You have heard about Lady Cavendish, suffering in captivity for all these years. You know of the goblins, and the thousands of eggs that are waiting to hatch. These four teams will be leading an expedition, deep behind enemy lines, to eliminate these threats. It is as dangerous a mission as I have ever signed off on. Each and every one of these young warriors is risking their lives to keep our country safe. I want you to keep that in mind when the dwarven and elven recruits arrive on the front lines.’
He paused, and Fletcher’s eyes flicked to the blackened earth beyond the crowd, where the aftermath of the recent explosion was still visible.
‘We lost forty-three good men last night, in a senseless, brutal attack. The men who did it are just that: men. The dwarven elders have condemned the attacks over and over again, pronouncing that these atrocities are not done in their name. I want you to remember that too.’
This last statement was met with frosty silence, some shaking their heads, others simply looking on impassively.
‘The Celestial Corps will arrive soon, along with the teams’ jungle guides and demon sponsors. I want you all to show them your appreciation for the sacrifice these young men and women make today.’
As applause broke out, tiny dots appeared in the clouds, at first circling like bees around a honeypot, then growing larger until they filled Fletcher’s vision with enormous, flapping wings. There were dozens of them, all powerful flying beasts that spiralled in perfect formation.
Lovett landed lightly beside them, the click of Lysander’s claws barely making a sound. The Griffin folded his wings and kneeled beside Fletcher.
‘I can fit two of you,’ she whispered, pulling Fletcher up alongside her. Sylva slipped wordlessly behind him, a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead. She lay her head on his rucksack, grasping him around the waist tightly.
‘It’ll be fine,’ Fletcher said, though unconvinced of his own words. There was no movement from Blue. It was as if the gremlin knew he should be silent.
Another demon landed alongside them, hooves clopping on the ground. It was an Alicorn, one of the rarer demons in Hominum’s arsenal. Fletcher admired the beautiful white pelt and swanlike feathers, its body moving gracefully among the crowd of students. It looked like a large horse, but for its broad wings and a long cone of a horn that erupted from its forehead.
The rider’s face was obscured by his leather cap and wide goggles, but he waved Cress and Othello aboard and then pulled them up beside him, their short stature making it difficult for them to mount themselves.
More demons followed, each landing accompanied by a cheer from the watching soldiers. Hippogriffs swooped in; like Griffins in physical form but with the body and back legs of a horse instead of a lion. Antlered Perytons clattered across the stage, appearing for all the world like elven elk but for their large, tawny wings, elongated tail feathers and the razor-sharp talons on their hind legs.
There was even the occasional Chamrosh, miniature Griffins but with a hawk’s head and wings and a dog’s body and mannerisms. These were too small to be ridden – only twice the size of Athena, perhaps. They instead provided much needed support and were excellent companions to the primary demons of the Celestial Corps.