The Outcast (Summoner #4)(70)

CHAPTER

39

THEY WERE GOING TO Vocans. The instructions on the scroll had been clear—traitor soldiers were to go to Corcillum, and that meant that it was the most dangerous place in the empire at that moment. Not to mention the rumors that meant, as Percival told it, the city’s street fighting and fires had turned it into a hellscape.

So they marched. Rotter had the bright idea that they should turn their coats black, not only to avoid being seen, but so that if they came across any rebel soldiers, they too would appear to be rebels.

But there would be no nobles on the rebels’ side, so Reynard had been infused, and Gelert was now in the cart with Edmund, hidden beneath the men’s spare cloaks. They went in silence, footsteps muffled on the grass, avoiding the cobbled roads and thoroughfares as the lands gradually became populated once again.

Soon they could see cows in the fields, and crops of swaying corn and wheat, neatly parceled beside sleepy hamlets and the occasional homestead. For the first time in what seemed like a long time, Arcturus felt as if he were back in the world he knew once more. Though how long it would stay that way was a question he didn’t want to consider.

Then it was there, rising up out of the darkness. Vocans. So tall that it dominated the horizon, a four-cornered block of crenelated towers and yellow-lit apertures, with the gatehouse and courtyard at its base. The moat that surrounded it shone in the moonlight, like a shiny black snake encircling its prey.

It was quiet as they approached, turning onto the road outside and marching to the drawbridge, ominously left open despite the troubles of nearby Corcillum. The wood creaked as they crossed, and Arcturus knew he had made the wrong decision. He should have warned the others about Crawley. Was the servant going to be waiting for them? His palms began to prickle with sweat.

Yet … where else could they go? Vocans had one of the best medical wings in the empire, and from what Alice had told him, it was stocked with equipment specifically for people in Edmund’s situation—for the poison of the ether’s air paralyzed any summoner exposed to it, leaving them unable to take water or food without aid. Just like Edmund, unconscious in his cart.

They were in the courtyard now, surrounded by deathly quiet. The windows and arrow slits were alight, so they knew it was occupied … yet there was nobody to greet them.

“All right, lads, stay alert,” Percival muttered, his sudden words in the still silence making Arcturus jump. “We’ll make sure the place is secure and then head back to our posts.”

He turned to Rotter.

“Make sure the drawbridge is raised once we leave,” he advised. “Whoever left it down is a damned fool; this place would have been near-impregnable without it.”

“Agreed,” Rotter whispered.

They mounted the steps and, silently, Percival’s soldiers lifted Edmund’s cart, placing it in front of the double doors like a miniature battering ram.

Without a word, Percival eased the door open and they made their way inside. The cart’s wheels rattled on the smooth marble floors, echoing around the great empty space. Above, the various balconies hung empty and silent. Still, no one.

Arcturus pulled down his hood, glad to be in the warmth once more. Across the room, he could see the glint of the bejeweled eyes of the demon carving above the entrance to the dining hall. And there, between the gap in the doors … he saw a face staring at him. Ulfr, hidden in shadow, flapping his hands in warning.

But it was too late.

A whistle was blown, the sound a harsh screech that filled the atrium and put Arcturus’s teeth on edge. Then rebels appeared as if from nowhere, rushing out of the darkness and resting their crossbows on the railings of the five floors. Scores of them.

“Shield fort!” Percival cried, and suddenly Arcturus was being shoved into a crouch as the soldiers threw up their shields. He fell among their feet, and found himself beneath a roof of wood, so tightly wedged together that he lay in shadowed darkness. The cart containing Edmund was a little island in their center, where light filtered through and allowed Arcturus to see the nervous faces of the men beneath.

For a few moments he lay there, listening for the inevitable sound of whistling death that would follow. But instead, he heard a strange sound.

Clapping. Long, slow claps, and footsteps approaching.

“Well done,” a voice said. “Don’t worry, we saw your uniforms. You can lower your shields.”

The Twenty-Fourth didn’t move, though in the shadowed light, Arcturus could hear Percival cursing quietly.

“You’ve come to join us, have you not?” the voice called out, now with a hint of doubt lacing the words. “I said lower your shields.”

“That we have,” Percival called out, and perhaps it was only then that Arcturus realized how grave their situation was. The Twenty-Fourth had been forced to choose the king’s side through circumstance, and faced now with the hundred crossbows, they had no choice but to pivot to the other.

“We tried,” the sergeant whispered. “But we aren’t dying here, which is what will happen if we fight. Don’t betray us. Maybe we can get out of this mess later.”

Arcturus’s heart fell, and he heard Rotter agree, the reluctance clear in the soldier’s voice.

“I’ll stay with you, then,” Rotter murmured.

“We don’t blame you,” Alice said. “Tell the king we’ve been captured, should you get the chance.”