The Outcast (Summoner #4)(101)

Finally, after an hour of waiting, several others had joined him, also at Prince Harold’s request. Or rather, King Harold’s.

Not all the soldiers were there. Seven had died in the fighting, while another four were too injured to attend. Rotter was one of the wounded, though Sergeant Caulder had assured Arcturus that the young soldier would be back on his feet in no time.

Strangely, none of the nobles were present. Only the commoners—the three sergeants, the soldiers and Arcturus, all sitting and waiting for their audience with the king. And Ulfr was there too, wringing his hands nervously, his short legs swinging above the floor.

So Arcturus waited, looking at the sumptuous marble floors, the velvet curtains that separated each room, and the grand set of double doors that led to the throne room.

“Do you think he’s going to give us a reward?” one of the soldiers asked.

“I’ll reward you with a boot up your arse if you’re thinking of asking for one,” Sergeant Caulder growled, though he spoke with a good-natured smile.

There was a creak, and the doors swung open, held by two, heavily armored guardsmen.

“Finally,” Arcturus said, getting to his feet. “Come on, Ulfr. You too.”

Arcturus put his arm around the dwarf’s shoulders, and to his surprise, the dwarf didn’t push him away. There was a smile on his face—one of triumph, and pride.

They walked together through the double doors, leading the way into the high-ceilinged throne room. A red carpet led up toward a raised dais, upon which two thrones sat. On either side, great pillars held up the ceilings, and a skylight allowed the morning sun in.

It was a sight to behold, but Arcturus took little time to enjoy their surroundings. Because it was not Harold sitting on the throne … but Alfric.

“Come on,” the old man called, beckoning them forward. “We haven’t got all day.”

Arcturus felt a rush of relief to see Harold on the smaller throne beside Alfric’s. What had he expected, that the old king would just disappear? Perhaps this was the official ceremony, where the crown was passed from one king to another.

As he drew closer, Arcturus saw nobles, lined up beside the throne, confirming his theory. Though to his dismay, he could see Ophelia Faversham there, as well as Provost Forsyth, prominently seated closest to Alfric.

The group stopped in front of the throne, and King Alfric leaned forward and examined them over steepled fingers.

“I was wrong about you,” Alfric finally said, his cold eyes flicking between Arcturus and Ulfr. “You common summoners are perhaps useful after all.”

He clicked his fingers.

“Obadiah, how goes your search?”

“Well enough, my lord,” Obadiah said, bowing low. “There are more like him, scattered across the land. Vocans will have new students soon.”

“Good,” Alfric said, then pointed at Arcturus. “You can stay there too, boy. And you can live. That is your reward for the loyalty you showed me today.”

Arcturus felt the blood draining from his face. This was not how he had imagined this meeting would go.

“Harold…,” Arcturus said.

Harold shook his head silently, as if to tell Arcturus to hold his tongue. But Arcturus would not.

“Who is king here? You or your son?” Arcturus demanded.

“Did I ask you to speak?” Alfric shouted. “Hold your tongue, before I have it cut out.”

Arcturus could not believe what he was hearing. Ophelia grinned as the two guards stepped in front of Arcturus, forcing him back.

“Since you must know,” Alfric continued icily, once he had settled back in his chair. “We have been planning this ‘transfer of power’ for some time now, is that not so, Obadiah?”

“Just so, my lord,” Obadiah said, bowing his head.

“Only we had to do it a little earlier than I had planned. No matter, there is gold enough left to finish the palace.”

With every word Alfric spoke, Arcturus felt his happiness shrivel and die.

And he remembered. Obadiah, in the hospital wing at Vocans. Telling him exactly that. How the people were angry at Alfric … and that Harold might have to take power. But at the time, Arcturus didn’t understand that it would be a ruse. That it was all a trick.

“Father, you promis—” Harold began, but Alfric lifted a hand, silencing him.

“We agreed you would be king.” Alfric sighed, speaking as if to a child. “Not that you would hold the king’s power. You are far too young for that.”

“I must learn to rule by ruling,” Harold argued. “Father, I am not a puppet.”

“And so you shall learn,” Alfric said, smiling broadly. “I have appointed a council for you. To advise you, and vote on all matters of state.”

King Alfric gestured at the nobles around him. “They will serve you well, and I shall be there to guide them of course. It has all been ratified in the law. The people will accept that, since you are so young, and they will trust you are in good hands.”

Harold’s face whitened, and Arcturus knew that there was no hope. What could he do?

“And what of the dwarves?” Ulfr demanded. “What concessions shall you make for their hand in saving your son?”

Alfric’s face darkened as Ulfr spoke.

“Who invited this ingrate?” he spat. “Get him out of here.”