The Outcast (Summoner #4)(7)
He found himself going all the way back to his childhood, from the early years of starvation and backbreaking labor in the workhouse, to the endless beatings and abuse at the hands of the innkeeper. Elizabeth spoke very little, but he knew she was listening, for she would occasionally interrupt to ask him to describe something further. She was as fascinated by his life as he was by hers, and he suspected that she was unaware of the plight the orphans of Hominum faced, despite her common husband. For a moment he thought he saw a tear trickle down her cheek, though whether it was the harsh winds that tore at their faces or his words that brought them forth, he did not know.
As the sunset cast a rosy glow over the cloud bank and Hubertus began his descent, Arcturus reached the end of his story. Somehow, it had felt good to let it all out. He realized she probably knew more about him now than anyone in the world.
He was about to ask where Vocans was, but his mouth fell open, speechless, as it came into view. Four crenellated towers stretched into the sky, one on each corner of a vast, shadowed castle. It was a perfect square, but for a crescent-shaped courtyard surrounded by high walls. A band of murky black water encircled it, a moat that could only be crossed by a heavy drawbridge. In the dim light of dusk, Arcturus could see hundreds of lights glowing from behind thin windows. It was a giant building, larger than anything he had seen before, as vast and immovable as a mountain.
They glided expertly into the courtyard, spiraling until they landed on the cobblestones. Arcturus felt a flash of relief from his demon as the box thudded into the ground behind them.
A half circle of steps led up to a thick set of oak double doors, higher and wider than ten men. Behind them, an arched gatehouse loomed, shadowing the open drawbridge beneath it.
“I can’t stay with you long, Arcturus,” Elizabeth said, unclipping the leather lead from his demon’s crate. “But I have some advice. Don’t trust anyone, not even your teachers, for they are cut from the same cloth as their students. Study hard and take advantage of every opportunity you are given—the nobles will only respect you if you are better than them. Even then, some will hate you. But it is better to be hated and respected than their prey.”
“I will, Lieutenant Cavendish,” Arcturus said, lowering his head in deference. She tutted and lifted his chin.
“Keep your head up and give as good as you get. Your old life is over. Reforge your soul in the fires of Vocans Academy.”
Her eyes burned into his and he knew that she meant every word. He set his jaw and nodded.
“I won’t let them push me around. I have my demon now. We have each other.”
For the first time, Arcturus didn’t feel alone. It was a strange feeling … like a weight being lifted from his shoulders.
“What’s its name?” she asked, pointing at the box beside them.
“I haven’t thought of one yet.”
“Well, you’ll need one. It’s bad luck to leave a demon unnamed for too long.”
Arcturus was taken aback. He racked his brain, trying to think of a female name for his demon. The women in his life had rarely been kind to him, for the serving girls at the tavern had their own problems to deal with and the innkeeper’s wife was as cruel as her husband. But there was one.
There had been a skinny waif of a girl, abandoned by her parents when they could no longer afford her. Sacharissa. Arcturus had taken her under his wing, teaching her the ways of the workhouse. They spent their nights together, sharing body heat in their freezing cot and talking about the lives they would make for themselves when they were older. But it was not to be. She had died of pneumonia a year later.
“Sacharissa,” Arcturus whispered. He felt the sting of tears in his eyes, but wiped them away, furious with himself.
“It is a good name,” Elizabeth said softly. She let him have a moment to gather his emotions, then spoke again.
“I have a feeling you will need a weapon,” she said, rummaging in a pack at the back of her saddle. She removed a blade, still in its sheath. The scabbard was beautiful, the outer edge inlaid with gold and the leather embossed with the whorls and symbols of a summoner. She kneeled at his feet and secured it to his left boot, for it came with two leather belts attached. Arcturus heard the scrape of metal as Elizabeth grinned at him and withdrew the blade. It was too long to be a dagger and too small to be a sword, but it felt good in his grip when she handed it to him. He gave it a practice swing, feeling the balance of the weapon.
“This is a dirk. When you battle with an orc shaman’s demon in the sky, you need a blade long enough to do some damage, but with enough speed and maneuverability to defend yourself from all sides; an attack can come from any angle. This is the perfect compromise. For a young boy like you, it will do just fine.”
She mounted Hubertus as he gazed at his weapon. It was an expensive piece, beautiful in its design and sharp enough to shave with. He wondered at Elizabeth’s generosity. Nobody had ever given him anything before—and he definitely had never owned something so precious.
He only realized she was leaving when he felt the breeze from Hubertus’s wing beats against his face.
“There is greatness in you, Arcturus,” Elizabeth called, her voice almost snatched away by the wind. “Remember what I told you!”
Arcturus watched until she faded into the darkness of the sky, wishing he had thanked her.
Then he set his jaw and turned to the double doors.