The Outcast (Summoner #4)(76)

That meant a hundred eyes watching him as he walked there, and a hundred crossbows ready to be pointed if the squad left without permission.

He was at a loss. For now, he unslung his crossbow and pressed his back against the wall, standing beside the other silent rebels. Now he looked like just another of them.

From his vantage point, he could see the summoning room door. There were two guards posted outside, their spears crossed in front of it. There was no way he was getting in there, not without being challenged. So he would need to think of another plan.

It was at that moment that he saw him. Ulfr the dwarf, stumbling out of the dining hall at the end of the atrium and heading toward the stairs. He clutched a large tray in his hands, and there were covered dishes piled so high that the dwarf could barely see over the top.

Arcturus waited, hoping against hope that the dwarf would come to his aid. He could smell the food without his new smelling abilities. Bacon and eggs.

The smell grew stronger, and finally he saw Ulfr stomp up the stairs onto his floor, and heard dwarvish curses muttered through his beard.

Arcturus waited until the dwarf walked past, then followed, casually breaking away from his post by the wall and walking after him. He could feel the eyes of the nearby crossbowmen on him then, and it was all he could do to keep going. He had somehow forgotten how to walk normally. How was he supposed to move his arms?

To his relief, he turned down the corridor unchallenged, back the way he had come. Again he walked the gauntlet of open doors, but luckily it was Ulfr who got the attention.

“Is that for me, pipsqueak?” called one rebel. “Let me take some of that load off.”

“It’s for the general, you daft git,” Ulfr growled back.

“Well, bring me another when you’re done with him,” the rebel replied.

But Ulfr had already moved on, his cursing only getting louder. More calls for food followed, but Ulfr ignored them all.

Arcturus blanched at the thought of returning to that area—Crawley and Dorcas might be prowling nearby, and Barcroft and his guards might recognize him too.

His stomach twisted as he stepped by the rebel he had killed, the man still propped up against the wall, his eyes closed, knees drawn up to his chest. Ulfr barely gave the dead rebel a second look, assuming the man was sleeping. It appeared that so had everyone else who had passed by, but Arcturus’s heart still pounded long after they had left the corpse behind.

As he watched Ulfr shuffle down the corridors, he considered how strange the dwarf was. He always treated Arcturus with disdain, and his hatred for humanity seemed to run deep. And yet, he had tried to warn Arcturus when the Twenty-Fourth had come through the door. He had told Crawley to stay away from Arcturus too, and of course he had run to get help when Arcturus was being attacked by the Wendigo.

He was sure Ulfr had a soft spot for him. Better still, he had overheard the dwarf refusing to join the rebels. Perhaps Arcturus could turn him to the right side.

Now they were nearing the provosts’s office, where Barcroft had set up camp. Arcturus stopped, sliding into an empty doorway and watching as Ulfr receded into the gloom. It was not long until he was just a hazy figure—the torches in sconces on the walls here were running on a low flame, and clearly the servants who usually refilled them had other concerns that night.

As Arcturus leaned out, Ulfr continued right past the office. For a moment Arcturus wondered if he had got it wrong—but no, he was sure of it. Groaning, Arcturus scurried after him, his heart pounding in his chest as he passed the ornate doors to Obadiah’s office.

Then Arcturus’s heart stilled. Three large rebels dressed in black cloaks lined the end of the corridor. Ulfr stopped in front of them, and Arcturus was forced to hide in a doorway once more. He concentrated, and the world became louder in his ears. He could hear an endless burble of voices, the opening and closing of doors, and the rasp and jingle of metal. But above all else, the conversation down the corridor won through.

“Stop, dwarf. This area is restricted,” one of the rebels said flatly.

“I’ve brought food,” Ulfr said, and Arcturus could hear the impatience in the dwarf’s voice. “Stand aside.”

“About time, we’re starving,” a second rebel said. “Just leave it here and piss off.”

Arcturus heard Ulfr let out a deep, long-suffering sigh.

“It’s not for you, you idiot,” Ulfr said. “It’s for the prisoners.”





CHAPTER

44

OF COURSE. THERE HAD been too many plates for the general—Ulfr had only said it was for him so the rebels he had been passing wouldn’t steal the food. Arcturus knew he should have felt happy to find out where his friends were being held, but instead he felt a lump of dread weighing down his stomach.

He was going to have to get past those guards somehow. The only good news was that along this part of the corridor, there were no open doors. They had moved from the many small rooms of the servants’ quarters to the larger chambers where the teachers lived. In fact, there were only two doorways between Arcturus and the three men. If he could act quietly enough, there would be no reinforcements.

Ahead, Ulfr had pushed past them, but they had prevented the dwarf from going farther. Lucky for Arcturus, the rebels now had their backs to him.

“Come on,” one of the guards said, grasping Ulfr’s shoulder. “They’re nobles. Let them starve. We’ll take a plate each; they can share the rest.”