The Outcast (Summoner #4)(100)

“Arcturus, tell me,” Elizabeth said.

Arcturus choked a breath, his mind still reeling from how close he had come to death. But before he could answer, the world turned a shade darker … and the shield began to warp into a thousand different strands of white energy. The strands streamed and flickered, twisting their way down into a cylinder of stone, held in Prince Harold’s outstretched fist.

It glowed bright red, flashing with an intensity so powerful that every man, woman and child in the crowd turned away, or shaded their eyes from the glare.

Far below, as the afterglow of the light faded from Arcturus’s eyes, Prince Harold’s fingers traced a symbol in the air. And then … he spoke.

“People of Corcillum,” Harold said.

His voice boomed out over the city, so loud that flocks of birds burst from rooftops, cawing in protest at the sudden noise. He had amplified it with mana, so that all the crowds could hear.

“I hear you. I … Prince Harold Corwin, heir to the throne of Hominum, hear you.”

Silence. Not even a murmur stirred the watching crowds. At the back of all four entrances, Arcturus could see the Celestial Corps swooping over the rebels’ heads, threatening them into silence. For now, the frenzy the rebel agitators had whipped the crowd into had dissipated. The shield had done its job, letting the mob expend their energy on its walls.

“Our military is weak,” Prince Harold shouted. “Their coffers are empty. They fight to keep us safe with dented armor and rusted swords.”

“What’s he doing?” Elizabeth hissed. “He’s making them angry again.”

“Just wait,” Arcturus said as Prince Harold spoke again.

“Our poor starve, and those who work see even the stale crust of bread they can afford taken from their mouths, to pay for the palace that we do not want or need.”

Now there were stirrings in the crowd. Furious shouts, and raised fists. The crowds now surrounded no more than a thin circle of bodyguards, and a few began to spit and curse at them, daring them to raise their swords.

“It is a travesty,” Prince Harold shouted. “An abomination of greed and hubris.”

The crowd screamed back, and now Arcturus could see weapons raised in the air.

“Seriously,” Elizabeth said. “What is he doing?”

“Give him a chance,” Arcturus replied, though he too began to worry. Hubertus floated lower, and Arcturus could see the battered prince, his face bloodstained, his eyes wild with exhaustion. What was his plan? Arcturus could not see it.

“Crime is rife. Bandits roam our lands, and the rule of law is flouted by those who can pay for the privilege,” Harold continued.

He stared out at the crowd, letting his words sink in. Behind him, Arcturus could see King Alfric, glowering at the crowds from the platform on his golden throne. Whatever words the prince and his father had exchanged, it seemed the king had agreed to this speech.

“No king who would do this to his own people deserves to rule,” Prince Harold shouted. “A king who would put his own pleasure before the needs of his people is no king at all.”

The crowd roared in agreement, stamping their feet with approval.

“And I am ashamed,” Prince Harold said, his voice cracking with emotion. “Ashamed that I did not stop it. For you are my people too … and I stood by and watched.”

The shouts of anger faded, as if the crowd did not know how to react to Harold’s words.

“So I say, my father’s reign is over,” Harold bellowed, pointing at his father for those in the crowd who might see. “He will never rule again. Never!”

Cheers now, fists pumping the air.

“But who should rule in his place?” Prince Harold said, lowering his voice.

The crowd died down. These were no rebels. Just an angry mob, who had suddenly found the target of their anger, the royal family itself, agreeing with them.

They had no alternative … they did not even know who General Barcroft was. Most had never even seen the battle fought at the southern entrance.

“So I ask you. No, I beg you. Give me that honor. For I will not let this stand.”

Still, more silence.

“The palace tax will be lifted, and the gold from our own royal coffers will bring our military back from the brink,” Harold promised. “A new police force shall be formed, to keep our lands safe. The poor shall be given work, and the lawless shall be imprisoned.”

He took a deep breath.

“And I swear to you, I will never fail you again. Because I have heard the voice of the people, and I will never be deaf to it.”

It began with a clap. Somewhere at the back, alone in the quiet. Then another person joined in, until the smattering turned into a flood. People cheered, and Arcturus could almost feel the tension leaving the crowd.

He laughed, and felt tears flow down his face as he realized it was over. They had done it.

This was not a joyous celebration, nor was there a palpable enthusiasm that took hold of the crowd. At worst, it was polite applause, at best one of relief. But it worked.

It worked.





CHAPTER

60

ARCTURUS SAT IN THE waiting room, sinking into the plush red seat of his armchair. It was heaven … just to sit down. To be warm and safe. To have friends, to be alive.

He was in the palace. Elizabeth had flown him there after healing his and Sacharissa’s wounds. He had infused the demon so he could bring her with him, but now Elizabeth had taken her leave, and he had forgotten to ask her for her summoning leather, having lost his in the battle. Still, the Canid seemed happy enough within him, even if he wanted to hug her close and sleep for several days.