The Outcast (Summoner #4)(73)

“It’s Crawley, here to see the general,” Crawley said, rolling his eyes.

“Let him in,” a bass voice growled. “Crawley, what’s this I hear about new arrivals?”

“Follow me,” Crawley said, and then Arcturus was dragged into a room of plush carpets, a four-poster bed and statues. Arcturus guessed it was the provost’s bedroom, and this was confirmed by a large painting on the wall depicting Obadiah Forsyth with his hand on Zacharias’s shoulder.

“The message said for soldiers to gather outside Corcillum,” continued the man who had spoken, and Arcturus was faced with a middle-aged soldier with lamb-chop sideburns, a plum-red nose and a paunch that jutted out over his waistband. Behind him, more than a score of soldiers lined the walls, their crossbows readied to fire.

The chevrons stitched to the man’s shoulders confirmed Arcturus’s suspicions. This was General Barcroft … and he was not much to look at. This was the man who had inspired a rebellion?

“Father, Vocans is on the way to Corcillum for many of your soldiers, is it not?” Crawley said. “They are not the first group to have stopped here today.”

Barcroft grunted and leaned over a table, sprawled with various maps and markers. It took a moment for Arcturus to process how Crawley had addressed the general.

“You’re his son?” Arcturus blurted.

“Silence,” Crawley hissed, and Arcturus was rewarded with a slap across the back of the head.

“A bastard son,” Barcroft said, never looking up from his maps. “Like you, my boy, if the rumors are true.”

Arcturus looked at the thin-faced steward beside him, towering a foot taller than his father. It was hard to see any resemblance.

“Useful things, bastards,” Barcroft continued. “Loyal and obedient, like a good hunting dog. But only if you catch them young, raise them right.”

Arcturus saw a flash of disdain in Crawley’s eyes, but it was swiftly replaced with a forced smile.

“Old Faversham didn’t catch you young, did he, boy?” Barcroft said, finally looking up at him. The man’s watery eyes appraised him, and Arcturus stood a little straighter.

“I hear he tried to kill you, is that true?” Barcroft asked.

“Yes, he…,” Crawley began.

“Let the boy tell it,” Barcroft snapped.

It was time to prove his loyalty. For a moment Arcturus considered his chances. They had not stripped him of his weapons, and though his hands were tied, a finger had slipped free. But then he remembered the blade Crawley had pressed against his throat, and the row of crossbow men behind him, not to mention the two guards at the door. It would be suicide.

No … he would have to talk his way out of this. Sweat prickled his palms, but he took his time and chose his words with care.

“He had his son do the dirty work, and another jumped-up noble boy helped. But I survived,” Arcturus said as confidently as he could. “I have no love for him, or any other nobles for that matter. In fact, I despise him.”

It was easy to make his words sincere, for most of what he said was true. Even so, the general’s eyes narrowed with suspicion and he approached Arcturus.

“So you’d join our cause, then, is that what you’re saying?” Barcroft asked, prodding Arcturus’s chest with a stubby finger.

“I … I don’t know,” Arcturus said, knowing that they would never believe he had converted so swiftly. “I would see the commoners rule, if that’s what you’re asking. But right now I just want a bed and something to eat.”

Barcroft stared at him a moment longer, then grunted and returned to his maps. He muttered to himself and moved a marker an inch upward. Crawley cleared his throat.

“Father, I have news,” he said. “We have caught more hostages.”

More? Arcturus’s heart dropped. Could it be?

“We have Prince Harold,” Barcroft said, waving Crawley away. “And a Forsyth and a Queensouth. We have no need of more. King Alfric and his nobles dare not fight back while we hold them. They have not even attacked our patrols.”

So the others had been captured. Arcturus struggled to keep his face blank, even as despair took hold. His newfound friends were all prisoners. And he among them, if he did not play his cards right.

“Indeed, Father,” Crawley said, speaking swiftly. “But now we have a Raleigh, a Lovett and a further Queensouth. It sweetens the pot, does it not?”

“Put them in with the others,” Barcroft said, shrugging his shoulders. “What matters now is that we take control of Corcillum while the nobles are too scared to attack us. They have already ceded us Vocans and the southern half of the city.”

“What news from Corcillum?” Crawley asked excitedly. “Do the people side with us?”

Barcroft sighed and rubbed his eyes.

“Not yet,” he said. “They cling to their old lives like a whipped dog does its collar. But in time, they shall. Once they see the nobles brought low. For now, we must simply make our presence felt, have our men march through the streets.”

“Praise the heavens,” Crawley said, clasping his hands together. He moved toward his father, as if to hug him, but was stopped by a look from Barcroft.

“Leave me,” Barcroft said, his face filled with irritation. “I have work to do.”