The Outcast (Summoner #4)(50)

“The rest of you, infuse your demons, and I mean all of them.” Rotter looked pointedly at Elaine, who, despite her exhaustion, had surreptitiously hidden Valens behind her back. “Their smell is distinctive.”

“All right,” she groaned, removing a handkerchief-sized summoning leather from her pocket.

Arcturus grimaced as he called Sacharissa, who reluctantly allowed him to infuse her once again. Perhaps if the dogs were not so close, she would have refused him, but the barking was so loud it sounded as if they were just around the corner of the pathway.

“Now, cover yourselves in mud from head to toe,” Rotter said, digging thick dollops of mud from the ground and smearing himself all over. “We haven’t much time.”

So they did, being careful not to take it all from the same place. It was not perfect, but soon they were almost entirely covered by the foul-smelling sludge. Arcturus suspected that other, less savory substances had been mixed in with the mud.

“We’re downwind, so this may just work,” Rotter muttered. “Now follow me.”

They ran farther up the trail; then suddenly Rotter pushed his way into a thinner patch of vegetation, walking along the top of a fallen tree trunk and slipping into the bushes at its end. Arcturus and the others followed, until they were all crouched behind a screen of waxy leaves, watching the path ahead.

“Here, rub these on yourselves,” Rotter murmured, crawling a little way back and tugging a few handfuls of leaves and tubers from a nearby plant. “It’s wild garlic, I think … might help mask the smell.”

They did so, hearts pounding in their chests as the sound of the rebels’ dogs became louder and louder, and the distant chatter of voices could be heard.

Then they saw it. The first dog, scampering past with its nose to the ground, tongue lolling out, tail wagging. But even as Arcturus allowed himself to feel relieved at its passing, it returned, called back by a sharp whistle.

“Look here, footprints,” shouted a voice. “The dogs ’av’ slowed. Summat’s changed.”

“Keep it down,” growled another. “There’re orcs here.”

“Like the dogs aren’t making enough of a racket,” one more replied. “This is a fool’s errand. We’ll never find them in this mess.”

Now Arcturus could hear the jingle of metal, and the panting gasps of men who were nearly out of breath. And there were dogs passing ahead of him, a whole pack of them, panting as they loped by their hiding place. For a moment one paused, a mangy, flea-bitten thing, its nose snorting in their direction. It growled, its lips curling back to reveal a row of yellowed teeth.

“Gerronwithit,” a voice shouted, and the hound yelped as a hobnailed boot kicked it ahead. “They’re close, I can sense it. Hurry up, lads, we’re catching up to them!”

Arcturus caught a glimpse of several hooded figures running past them, then behind followed a straggled line of others, clutching assorted weapons to their chests.

They remained crouched in the bushes, holding their breaths as more and more rebels thundered past. Arcturus could hardly believe how many of them there were. At least a hundred men had followed them into the jungle. All to find Harold … or him.

It felt like an age until the last rebel had stumbled by, and even then Rotter kept them silent and still for a full five minutes before he allowed them to move.

“I was wrong, ’twas a bloody bad idea following the trail,” he finally whispered. “I thought there would be but a dozen or so of ’em. We should cut through the jungle. There’s too many of ’em to keep up with us—they’ll get separated and lost.”

Edmund cursed, swiping a curious insect from his face.

“Damned vermin,” he growled, waving his hand. “We can’t cut through the jungle now; our rescuers will never find us. The trail is the best marker we have for the Celestial Corps.”

“We haven’t much choice,” Rotter replied, getting to his feet. “We’ve bought ourselves some time, but they’ll be back this way when the trail runs cold.”

“Something’s wrong,” Edmund said, clutching his brow. “Athena’s angry! Wait … I can hear something.”

He tugged the crystal from his pocket and the group leaned in to see. Only … it was black.

No. There was a dim glow, filtering through.

He closed his eyes and cocked his head to one side.

“A man is speaking…,” he whispered. “Athena can hear him. They’ve got her trapped somewhere, I can sense it. A cupboard or something like it.”

“What’s he—?” Rotter asked, only to be silenced by a raised finger from Edmund.

“It’s one of the king’s guards,” Edmund said, his brow furrowing. “He’s telling someone that … it was a good thing they read the note before they sent her on her way. That General Barcroft will be pleased.”

“Barcroft?” Alice whispered.

“They must be rebels,” Edmund said. “I can hear footsteps … the bastards are leaving.”

He cursed and smacked the ground with his fist.

“To hell with them!”

But Arcturus was barely listening. They were being hunted, deep in enemy territory. And nobody was coming to save them.