The Inquisition (Summoner, #2)(59)
‘That was awful,’ she gasped, digging her fingers into the ground.
‘I thought you’d be used to heights, what with the Great Forest and all,’ Fletcher said, though his own heart was pounding so hard he could almost hear his pulse in his ears. He jumped to the ground and promptly collapsed beside her, his legs numb from gripping Lysander’s sides for so long.
‘It’s not so much the height as the descent,’ Sylva replied, slapping him playfully on the chest. They lay there, watching, as other riders glided more slowly through the canopy.
‘Idiots,’ Lovett grumbled, watching as one of the crates was lowered through the treetops by a pair of hovering Griffins. ‘The longer we take to land, the more likely the orcs might spot us.’
Athena fluttered down and perched on Fletcher’s chest, blinking as she examined him. She paddled with her paws at his stomach and legs, making sure he was still in one piece. He grinned and stroked her, revelling in the strange way her downy plumage blended with the soft fur of her chest and back.
He sat up and took in his surroundings. The woods were thicker and more abundant than the elven lands, which had consisted of massive trunks surrounded by a flat blanket of moss. In contrast, the jungle’s ground was covered in a bed of mulched leaves, with thorny branches, broad-leafed plant-life and hanging vines filling the gaps between the gnarled, interlocking trees. The soil was dark and fragrant, fuelled by the constant fall of dead leaves to leave a rich, soft loam underfoot. Just beyond the clearing he and the others had landed in, pools of stinking liquid cratered the earth – brackish black water covered by a scum of moulding, rotting foliage.
‘I’m never doing that again,’ Cress declared, and Fletcher turned his head to see her face-down on the ground, hugging the earth for all she was worth. Othello seemed to be faring only slightly better, kneeling beside Arcturus’s Alicorn with a relieved look upon his face.
‘I’d rather walk,’ Cress continued blithely. ‘You can sod off with your flying malarkey, Arcturus. You and Buck can sleep in when it’s time to rescue us.’
Arcturus laughed, removing his leather cap and shaking out a thick, untamed mane of black hair. Fletcher was sure he saw Lovett blush, glancing quickly up at Arcturus and then looking away. Fletcher caught her eye and grinned, but the stern look she returned him swiftly wiped it from his face.
‘On your feet, all of you,’ Ophelia’s voice cracked out from the milling demons around them. ‘We’re leaving.’
The teams assembled and the crates unloaded, leaving Sacharissa, Hannibal and Caliban to stumble out and join the others. Arcturus lifted Lovett from Lysander’s back and carried her to Bucephalus, cradling her like a sleeping child. For a while Fletcher had forgotten her loss of movement and he felt a surge of guilt for taking Lysander away from her.
Ophelia strode back and forth impatiently, eager to return to the safety of Hominum’s front lines.
‘I want you all to remember that the world is watching you through your sponsors’ demons’ eyes,’ she snapped, her eyes roving across their faces. ‘Comport yourselves in a way that would befit graduates of Vocans. Do not shirk your duty.’
Her granddaughter, Verity, raised a tentative hand, but after a glare from Ophelia, returned it to her side. It took a few more moments for Arcturus to remove Lysander’s saddle and strap it to Bucephalus’s side, then the Celestial Corps were mounted once again.
‘Look after Lysander, would you?’ Lovett called, raising her voice to be heard over the well-wishes of the other riders.
‘Sacha too,’ Arcturus echoed.
Then, just like that, they were in the air again, leaving the graduates to their fate. The teams stood and watched in silence for a while, until the corps had disappeared from sight.
‘So,’ Seraph said cheerfully. ‘What do we do now?’
25
The four team leaders gathered in a rough circle, squatting on their haunches to avoid the wet ground. Seraph had spread his map on his backpack, with his planned route marked out along it.
The river followed a meandering path, the only real feature in an ocean of green. On one of the river’s more curved bends, a red X marked the spot where the orc caves were, as well as a crude drawing of a pyramid. In the corner of the map was a more detailed diagram that delineated the orc encampment, made from Mason’s memories of his time as a slave there. The square-based pyramid featured heavily, with a network of cave tunnels running beneath it – that was the location of the goblin eggs.
‘We’re going to follow the river on the west side, so we don’t need to cross it to get to the camp,’ Malik said, tracing his path with a finger. ‘With Mason as our guide, we’ll be able to avoid any patrols easily enough.’
‘We’re going on the east of the river and will cross in the darkness,’ Seraph said, shaking his head and pointing to the dotted line his team had already drawn along the river bank. ‘The west side is nearer to the orc camps. I’d rather get wet than get killed.’
He nodded at his guide, a grizzled veteran who was armed with a heavy crossbow.
‘Sergeant Musher was left for dead after a battle in the jungles last year. Evaded capture for twenty days, living off the land and navigating by the stars. He’ll see we m—’
‘You’re both wrong,’ Isadora interrupted, slapping Malik’s hand aside and outlining a wider arc, further to the west. ‘We will cross like Malik, but curve around the west bank of the river. The river is a source of fish and water, that’s where the orcs will congregate. It’s more ground to cover but it will be safer.’