The Outcast (Summoner #4)(24)
The knell of the bell echoed down the corridor, leaving his heart thundering as he realized the moment had arrived.
“Come on, Sacha,” Arcturus murmured, opening the door. “Let’s hear what he has to say and then leave as soon as possible. We’ll run back to the room and lock ourselves in for half an hour, then make our escape when the coast is clear.”
They hurried down the corridors, feeling their way in the darkness. Arcturus didn’t risk a wyrdlight, for it would be too bright against the pitch-black of the castle interior. If any of their teachers caught him out at night, his chances of meeting Charles would be scuppered, not to mention any possibility of escape.
It felt like an age until they reached the atrium, and for a moment Arcturus was worried that he was too late. It was only when he saw a bright light flickering beneath the summoning room’s door that he realized that Charles was waiting within.
“Okay, Sacha. This is it.” He took a deep breath and pushed open the heavy door.
For a moment Arcturus didn’t understand what he was seeing. After being in darkness so long, the light within half blinded him.
It was a portal, the blue orb hanging in the air like a miniature sun. Rook was kneeling beside it, pulsing mana into the violet pentacle beneath. This wasn’t right.
Arcturus turned to run, but Charles was standing in the doorway, a nasty smile on his face. He swung the door closed with a kick of his heel.
“What’s going on here, Charles?” Arcturus growled, gripping Sacharissa by the scruff of her neck. She was preparing to pounce on him, driven by equal parts of fear and fury.
But before Charles could answer, Arcturus felt something wet and sticky whip around his body, trapping his arms to his chest. Sacharissa leaped, but Charles was already rolling out of harm’s way and the Canid slammed against the door. Another thread hissed through the air, glowing like a shield spell. This time, it wrapped around Sacharissa’s hind legs.
“Trussed like a chicken, ready for the kiln.” Charles cackled as more threads shot out of the shadows, swathing Sacharissa as she scrabbled at the oak floorboards. Another lashed around Arcturus’s neck, tighter than a hangman’s noose.
Arcturus fell to the ground, bringing his knees up to his chest. He gripped the dirk in his hand and eased it from the scabbard, even as he became entangled by more of the deadly strands. Soon he could barely move, only watch as Sacharissa howled and snapped at the strange fibers that constricted her. A few moments later, a last thread encircled her muzzle and tightened, reducing her noise to a strangled growl.
“Beautifully done, Anansi,” Charles called. “You can come out now!”
Charles’s Arach crept out of the shadows, the strange glowing fluid dripping from the back of its abdomen, beneath a deadly stinger. It was an enormous black spider, with a body as large as a human head and long spindly legs that scuttled along the floorboards. It had a cluster of beady eyes set in the center of its forehead and a swollen body peppered with stiff brown hairs. The mandibles that served as its mouth clicked menacingly as it circled around Arcturus to return to its master.
“You know, I think you did me a favor, stable boy, by taking that pathetic Canid from me,” Charles sneered, hunkering down to bring his face close to Arcturus’s. “The Arach is a glorious specimen, able to trap its prey with a mana web, inject them with its stinger and then consume them at their leisure. Anansi can even scratch away at his hairs, which float into the air to blind and irritate his victims—as his owner, I’m immune, of course. He is versatile, agile and deadly. I couldn’t ask for a better demon.”
“Thanks for the demonology lesson,” Arcturus said sarcastically, though the tremor in his voice revealed his fear. “Why don’t you tell me what all this is about. You’re taking a great risk, trapping me like this. When the king finds out—”
“The king won’t find out,” Charles interrupted gleefully, slapping Arcturus lightly on the face, just because he could. “You won’t be in a position to tell him, or anyone else for that matter, what with you being dead and all.”
Arcturus’s heart lurched as Charles’s eyes bore into his, their murderous intent as plain as the words he had just spoken. Twisting his hand beneath the webbing, Arcturus began to gently scrape at the gossamer with the dirk’s blade. It was hard to tell if it was having any effect, but it would not do to reveal his weapon to Charles. His only chance now was the element of surprise. He had to keep the young noble talking until he was free.
“How’s it looking, Rook?” Charles called, for the pentacle was spitting and sizzling behind them. Arcturus twisted his neck to see Rook’s kneeling figure, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead.
“Five more minutes. I’ve found the Minotaur’s corpse. The Wendigo only took the heart, liver and kidneys. The flesh must have been too tough; it will still be hungry. There’s a trail of blood.”
Arcturus saw a shard of scrying crystal on the ground between Rook’s hands, flashes of green reflected in it as his demon hunted in the ether. Why on earth were they hunting for the Wendigo, and now of all times? Even Scipio had been afraid of it.
Arcturus turned back to Charles, who was gently stroking the Arach’s abdomen.
“Why am I here? You said I did you a favor by taking Sacha, and I’ve caused you no other offense.” Arcturus felt the first strand of gossamer part, leaving him more room to maneuver the blade.