The Outcast (Summoner #4)(79)

“Help me lift him,” Ulfr said, taking the swordsman’s corpse under the arms and heaving its back onto the window. Arcturus took the legs, then the body was gone. It took a long time for Arcturus to hear the distant splash.

The food tray and other bodies followed, and Arcturus felt the blood, sticky on his hands. He felt sick once more—he had no stomach for this kind of killing.

“I took the keys from the big one,” Ulfr said, peering into the gloom they had come from. He held them out and shook them impatiently.

Arcturus took the keys, unsure what Ulfr expected of him. They had likely passed several doors in the darkness, but there was no way of telling which one held his friends.

“Why are you helping me?” Arcturus asked, delaying the task at hand. “Surely you hate the nobles as much as anyone.”

“Rich humans, poor humans, you’re all the same,” Ulfr muttered, avoiding Arcturus’s eyes.

Sacharissa whined, sensing Arcturus’s fear, and he comforted her with a ruffle of her mane.

“So what’s in it for you?” Arcturus pressed.

“If the rebels take power, they won’t treat the dwarves any better.” Ulfr sighed, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes. “We refused to help them.”

“Why?” Arcturus asked.

“We’ve tried to overthrow the nobles many times, and never won,” Ulfr replied. “We didn’t think they had a chance. Of course, we didn’t know the rebels would capture their children. They have a slim hope now, but it’s too late for us to join them.”

He stopped for a moment, and the dwarf’s brow furrowed, as if he were working something out.

“But if a dwarf saves King Alfric’s son, the rebels lose,” he whispered, so quietly that Arcturus had to strain to hear it. “Then he would owe us. Give us more rights. Make us equals.”

Ulfr opened his eyes and Arcturus thought he saw the briefest hint of a smile through the dwarf’s beard.

“Can you help me get them out of here?” Arcturus asked.

“I can try,” Ulfr said. “But it’s not going to be easy. Come on.”

The dwarf hurried back down the passageway, and Arcturus followed. Within moments they were in darkness once more, but soon Arcturus grunted with pain as he ran into Ulfr’s back.

“Here,” the dwarf said, guiding Arcturus’s hand to the keyhole. “This is where I brought their food yesterday.”

Arcturus struggled with the keys. There were three of them on a loop, and he blindly fumbled one into the slot. It rattled in the lock but would not turn.

“Try the next,” Ulfr whispered.

On the other side, Arcturus heard the low murmur of voices, and his heart leaped at the thought of rescuing his friends. The next key turned, and suddenly the world was bright again as he fell into the room.

He looked up, a grin on his face, but it was wiped away as swiftly as it appeared. Because in front of him, spread in a row, a trio of crossbowmen stared at him down the shafts of their quarrels.

“I’m here to relieve you,” Arcturus said weakly, even as he lifted his bloodied hands, and Sacharissa growled from behind him.

“Don’t. Move,” one of the rebels growled through gritted teeth.

“If his fingers so much as twitch … shoot him,” another snapped. He appeared to be the leader, for his voice commanded some authority, and he wore finer clothes than the others.

Beyond the guards, Arcturus could see the trussed-up bodies of his friends, and hear their muffled moans as they tried to speak through tight gags. Arcturus only glanced at them, for he could not tear his eyes away from the sharp points aimed at his chest.

He heard the shuffle of footsteps behind him, though he dared not turn his head to look. Ulfr had entered the room, but the dwarf did not have his hands up. Instead, he stumbled to the side and fell.

“Thank you,” Ulfr said, getting to his knees and shuffling away. “The bastard forced me to bring him here.”

The men ignored him, their crossbows firmly pointed at Arcturus. He was the threat—a single spell from him could take the three of them out. Little did they know, Arcturus had no mana left to use.

“Listen, I can explain,” Arcturus began.

“Save it,” the leader said. “We know who you are. You’re the common summoner. The bastard.”

“We should kill him where he stands,” hissed one of his companions. “He’s a traitor to the cause.”

“Not before Crawley gives the go-ahead,” the leader said.

“To hell with Crawley,” the other rebel snarled. “I’m not hanging around here to get blasted into ash while we wait for permission.”

The leader remained silent, but Arcturus knew the man was calculating the odds. He could almost hear the strings creaking on the crossbows, ready to whip steel-tipped death into his body.

Behind, Sacharissa’s growling intensified, and Arcturus sensed that she was crouched in shadow beyond the door. Even an order from Arcturus would not quell the noise. Her message was clear. Kill Arcturus and she would tear the rebels apart.

The throbbing of his neck wound grew with the quickening of his pulse. In the corner of his eye, he could see Ulfr had reached the cart where Edmund remained unconscious. Gelert lay prone beside the boy, and a slim shred of hope fluttered as Arcturus watched the dwarf draw his knife and begin sawing silently at the demon’s bonds, all out of sight of the three guards.