Moments later, the door swung open, revealing a disheveled-looking Elizabeth, her uniform rumpled and soot-stained. Her eyes were red-rimmed, as if she had been crying.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, confused.
Arcturus barged past her, catching a brief glimpse of Crawley rounding the corner. Sacharissa bounded in behind him and Elizabeth closed the door, a puzzled look upon her face.
Arcturus breathed a sigh of relief, and collapsed onto a stool in the corner of the room. He had not realized how panicked he was until that very moment, feeling his heart hammering in his chest.
“Arcturus, I did not invite you in,” Elizabeth said reproachfully, surreptitiously flicking her blanket over her unmade bed. “I know you were raised in an orphanage, but surely you know this is unacceptable.”
Embarrassed, Arcturus lowered his head. The room was barely furnished, with a few dirty plates piled on a rickety desk, alongside a stack of books, parchment and a stub of candle. A large wardrobe was the only other piece of furniture, leaving Elizabeth to sit down on the bed.
“I’m sorry, I was just…”
He stopped. Something held him back from mentioning Crawley. Ulfr was involved somehow, unwillingly or not, as was he. Was he keeping quiet to protect Ulfr … or himself?
“… worried about you,” he muttered lamely, twisting his hands in his lap.
Elizabeth’s face softened at his words, and Arcturus felt a twinge of guilt for lying to her.
“Well, something to keep in mind next time,” she said, giving him a quick smile. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there this morning. Unfortunately, I’ve been ordered to report to the palace, so I won’t be able to come and tutor you in the afternoon. After the weekend you’ll have to rejoin normal lessons, Provost Forsyth’s orders.”
Arcturus’s heart sank, dreading his next encounter with Lady Faversham—he had just got her son expelled after all, and who knows what Charles had told her. He didn’t want to think about it.
“What happened to you?” Arcturus asked, staring at Elizabeth’s blackened uniform.
Elizabeth sighed and brushed ineffectually at the soot on her trousers, but only managed to spread it further.
“There was trouble in Corcillum last night,” Elizabeth replied, rubbing her eyes wearily. “Some of the common folk set fire to the barracks. They’re not happy with how their taxes are being spent. There was some looting, even some fighting. Most of the teachers were called in to manage the situation—lessons have been canceled today since we were up all night fighting the blaze.”
Of course, he should have known—Zacharias had mentioned the riots. Arcturus stood and shook his head apologetically.
“I’m sorry, I must have woken you. I should go,” Arcturus said, standing.
“It’s fine. Here, take this,” Elizabeth said, reaching across to her desk and picking up a slim volume.
“It’s the demonology textbook. All the demons that we know of are in here, along with their stats and abilities. This one’s out-of-date—there’s a new edition each year with updated illustrations and newly discovered demons—but it should give you something to read if I can’t make it this afternoon.”
“Thank you,” Arcturus said, clasping the book gratefully to his chest. “I’ll study it today.”
He slipped out the door, giving her an apologetic wave.
Only to find Crawley waiting for him.
“Ah … there you are,” Crawley said, putting an arm around Arcturus’s shoulders and propelling him down the corridor. “We haven’t been properly introduced.”
The servant ignored a warning growl from Sacharissa, who paced along beside them with her teeth bared. There was a strange scent emanating from the man, masked with what must have been a liberal splash of cheap cologne; Arcturus couldn’t place it.
“Arcturus, right?”
Arcturus nodded mutely, trying to shrug off the iron grip that now encased him.
“I’m Crawley, head steward,” the man continued, turning Arcturus down another passage. “You might say I run the show where the servants are concerned. I want you to know, if you need anything, anything at all, you just let me know.”
“Thank you,” Arcturus said guardedly, finally managing to extricate himself. They had arrived in a small alcove with a bookcase and two armchairs. He could see the balcony farther down the corridor, and the area was lit by a rainbow of light from a stained glass window in the wall.
“This is my favorite place. Please, sit.”
The hand that pushed Arcturus down left him little choice.
Crawley settled opposite him, and gave him a calculating look over steepled fingers. This time, Arcturus was angry. They might both be commoners, but that gave the man no right to manhandle him that way.
“What do you want?” Arcturus said, lacing his voice with a measure of the anger he felt.
Crawley only smiled and continued staring. Even another growl from Sacharissa couldn’t shift his eyes. It was as if he were deciding something.
Finally, after what felt like an age, he spoke.
“Do you like it here, Arcturus?”
Of all the questions, that was what Crawley wanted to ask him?
“I like it well enough. I mean, I almost died, but that’s over with now.”
“Ah, yes. The supposed duel … I think we both know that’s not exactly what happened. They tried to kill you, didn’t they? For being a commoner. Don’t deny it.”
Arcturus blanched at the accusation, and Crawley smiled at his reaction, nodding to himself.
“I thought so.”
Unnerved, Arcturus made to get up, but Crawley raised a warning hand.
“I know you were forced to keep it quiet. I’ll keep it our little secret. I mean, they wouldn’t want the story that some nobles had tried to assassinate the first common summoner getting out to the masses. Not in the current climate.”
Arcturus didn’t like where the conversation was heading.
“Look, whatever you want from me, I don’t want any part of it. Leave me alone and we won’t have any problems.”
This time, he stood and began to walk away. Crawley snatched his wrist as he hurried past, holding him in place for another moment.
Crawley glared up at him, and this time Arcturus saw a fanatical, mad look in the servant’s eyes.
“You’re going to have to pick a side one day, Arcturus,” Crawley snapped. “And you may not have a choice when that day comes. Think on it.”
Sacharissa barked, flecking the man’s face with saliva. He didn’t even blink. It was all Arcturus could do to stop her from latching onto Crawley’s forearm, his mind twisting to hold her in place.
“I … I will,” Arcturus managed to say.
Crawley let his arm go, and Arcturus rushed away without a backward glance. He felt sick to his stomach, the world spinning as he sprinted down the stairs.
It was only much later, reading his new demonology book beneath a glowing wyrdlight, that Arcturus realized what Crawley had smelled like. The fires in Corcillum sprang unbidden to his mind.
He had smelled like lamp oil. Flammable, raw lamp oil.
CHAPTER
19
WHEN ARCTURUS WOKE TO the first rays of morning light streaming through the open arrow slit, the previous morning’s events felt like a bad dream.
He had hidden there for the rest of that day, only opening his door to accept cold sandwiches of salt pork and cheese from an impatient servant boy, feeding half to a hungry Sacharissa.
Now he pushed the memories from his mind, packed up his meager possessions and headed down for breakfast, wondering if Edmund’s offer had been genuine … or even directed at him at all. He kept Sacharissa infused once again—she had come so close to attacking Crawley, Arcturus was worried he might not be able to stop her from attacking the next time he was being threatened. And that was happening far too often these days.
His heart dropped when he stumbled into the dining hall. It wa
s empty, but for a single, bored-looking servant hunched beside a platter of bread and bowls of jam and butter.
Arcturus felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment. In some ways he had been scared of joining these rich, confident nobles on a weekend jaunt. But still … he had been looking forward to making some friends—or at least, friends his age. If the day before had taught him anything, it was how alone he really was.
“There you are,” a voice called out from behind him. “Honestly, where are your chambers? We’ve been banging on every door in the west wing looking for you.”
Arcturus spun, only to find a grinning Edmund, standing with his hands on his hips.
“I’m in the tower,” Arcturus replied, smiling himself. The young noble’s grin was infectious.
“The carriages are waiting outside. I say, is that all you’re bringing?” Edmund looked pointedly at the small bundle of possessions on Arcturus’s back.
“Uhh … yes,” Arcturus said.
“Jolly good, no need to call the soldiers in to help move your stuff,” Edmund said, heading for the double doors in the atrium. “I swear, Zacharias brought his entire damned wardrobe.”
“Soldiers?” Arcturus asked, hurrying behind him.
“Ah … yes, well, what with the riots last night and Prince Harold coming with us, King Alfric has sent some of Hominum’s finest to escort us,” Edmund replied.
A chill ran through Arcturus at the reminder of the riots. He didn’t want to think about it … things would sort themselves out.
Edmund heaved the heavy double doors open, and Arcturus followed him into the brisk morning air. To his surprise, the courtyard was a hive of activity. Servants ran back and forth, lifting and tying an assortment of trunks and bags onto the tops of two carriages. In front of each vehicle stood a pair of sleek black horses, snorting gouts of steam into the chill morning air.
“Zacharias has taken up most of the room in one of the carriages with all his damned bags—and you’re the last one here. You’ll have to ride with the soldiers,” Edmund said, grimacing apologetically.
He pointed beyond the carriages, where a squat, canvas-covered wagon sat beside the drawbridge. A dozen soldiers stood outside, stomping their feet to stay warm.
“We’ll have plenty of time to catch up when we get there,” Edmund said, giving Arcturus a gentle push. “Go ahead, I told them to make room for you.”
Arcturus turned to thank Edmund, but the boy had already disappeared into one of the carriages. Through the darkened glass, Arcturus could see Zacharias and Harold there too, the spare seat piled high with cases and furs. As he looked, Zacharias turned toward him and gave him an icy glare before tugging the curtain closed.
“Great,” Arcturus mumbled, trudging toward the wagon.
As he came closer, he was surprised to see the military’s horses were of a far poorer quality than those on the nobles’ carriages. The two specimens before him were swaybacked nags, the fur around their muzzles dusted with the gray of old age, though his experience as a stable boy told him they were well fed and groomed.
Now that he thought about it, the soldiers were not in the best shape either. All wore a hauberk of chain mail, but the metal links were stained with the telltale red-brown of rust. Their boots were cracked and worn, and most of their clothing looked as if it had not been washed in weeks.
And yet … there was an air of cool professionalism about them. They held themselves with confidence, and their eyes roamed the surroundings in a habit clearly born of long practice, even as they puffed tobacco from pipes and cheroots.
“Well, lad, are you coming or not?” a grizzled sergeant called from the driver’s bench at the front of the wagon. The middle-aged man patted the seat next to him, and though Arcturus looked longingly at the relative warmth within the vehicle’s canvas shell, he leaped up at the front.
“All ready!” called a voice from behind them, as dwarven servants scattered to make a path.
The wagon shook as the soldiers leaped in behind them; then they were trundling over the drawbridge, while Arcturus looked nervously at the murky waters on either side—knowing that if they tipped in, he would sink like a stone. He had never learned to swim.
“So, they’ve saddled you with our little band of ruffians,” the gruff sergeant beside him said, clicking his tongue as he turned their wagon onto the dirt track outside Vocans.
“Well, there was no room so…,” Arcturus mumbled.
“Aye, that Zacharias boy brought enough garments to clothe half of the king’s army,” the sergeant grumbled. “Though truth be told we could do with them, fancy though they may be.”
The sergeant grimaced picking at a loose thread on his breeches. Arcturus maintained a diplomatic silence, looking out at the rolling countryside.
“We’ll not be seeing any orcs around here,” the sergeant said, misunderstanding Arcturus’s gaze. “They don’t raid this far north. Nor would a gang of brigands attack a convoy under our protection, not to mention one carrying a group of novice summoners. You’re safe, lad.”
Arcturus was not so sure; Edmund had told him that the need for an escort was related to the riots. Still, it was a relief to hear that they were not in danger of orcs. He had never seen one, but the fearsome creatures were the stuff of nightmares, used to scare naughty children into behaving.
“You fight them?” Arcturus asked. “The orcs, I mean.”
“That’s the long and short of it,” the sergeant said. “Raiders mostly, after cattle. The southern villages are all but empty now—nobody wants to live there anymore. There’s only so much our soldiers can do.”
Arcturus shuddered at the thought, remembering the tales he had heard from the wounded veterans who had passed through the tavern, trading their tales of horror and bravery for a few pennies and a bed.
“How many of you are there?” Arcturus asked, remembering the paltry number of men in the wagon behind them.
“There’s maybe a few hundred of us,” the sergeant said. “A score or so of squads like mine. Hard to say really—we lose a lot of men, and recruit a lot of volunteers. Poor buggers. When they find out the reality of it, it’s too late to change their minds.”
“Is it really so bad?” Arcturus asked.
If he ever graduated Vocans, he assumed he would be on the front lines with men like these. At least, that was the case for the lesser nobles who had no money to raise their own soldiers, and instead became officers in the king’s army. It was a few years away yet, but that did not change the dread that suddenly seized his heart.
“Not for my lads,” the sergeant replied, a hint of pride in his voice. “We haven’t had a casualty in almost six months. It’s why our squad got picked for this escort mission, even if it is a babysitting job.”
“That’s a relief,” Arcturus replied, but the sergeant remained unconvinced.
“Don’t be fooled by our appearance. We do our best with what we have; our generals equipped us with hand-me-downs of hand-me-downs, rusty old swords and half-rotted crossbows. But you’ll find my men know how to use them. I keep them on a tight leash.”
“The tightest,” came a voice from behind them, muffled by the canvas. “He’s a harsh taskmaster, that’s the truth. Drills us night and day. It’s a miracle we even get any sleep.”
“Quiet in the ranks!” the sergeant barked, but with a grin on his face.
A head popped out between Arcturus and the sergeant, pushing through the parting of canvas behind them.
“Bloody hell, Sarge, you don’t half blather on. We’re trying to get some sleep back here.”
The soldier who had spoken was surprisingly old, aged at what Arcturus guessed was in his thirties. He had light brown hair and a wide, infectious grin.
“Private Rotter, you will get back to your station,” the sergeant growled, pushing the private’s head back with his elbow. “Or you’ll be digging our latrines for a week.”
“Right you are, Sergeant Caulder,” Rotter replied
, saluting smartly and retreating back inside.
Sergeant Caulder shook his head and gave Arcturus a wry smile.
“Despite appearances, Rotter’s a damned good soldier.” Caulder whispered, “I’d have recommended his promotion a long time ago if he weren’t so damned immature.”
The muffled sound of a raucous, curse-filled shanty emanated from behind them.
“Shut it, Rotter,” groaned another soldier.
The singing only got louder.
Arcturus grinned. Maybe he hadn’t pulled the short straw after all.
CHAPTER
20
AS ARCTURUS GAZED AT the slow-changing surroundings, the gentle, green-carpeted fields filled with sleepy hamlets and lowing cows receded into the hills behind them, replaced by something wilder.
Untended, overgrown hedges began to mar the landscape, which was now scattered with outcrops of rocks and sprawling brambles. It was only when they began to see the first ruins of burned-out and abandoned houses, covered with invading tendrils of ivy, that they turned off the main path, forking to the southwest. The convoy was on the edge of orc-raiding territory now, and the sergeant laid a crossbow upon his lap, his eyes scanning their surroundings for signs of an ambush.
Already the weather was becoming warmer, and the sun was high in the sky when they reached what Sergeant Caulder told him was Raleighshire’s edge, the border marked by a bridge of wide stone, arched over a rushing river.
Beyond, a savannah of yellow long grass swayed in the breeze. The horizon was broken by a row of jagged mountains, with the plains beneath populated by herds of four-legged creatures that Arcturus could not see clearly from where he sat. It was a marked difference—shocking in the contrast between green and yellow, and separated only by the broad river of dark water.
On they went, the wheels rattling along the cobbled bridge and onto the hard-packed mud path on the other side. To Arcturus, who had never been so far south, the warmth was a miracle. To have to undo the top few buttons of his jacket, at this time of year? Unheard of.
Now he could see the animals, like the deer of the north but with twisting horns and a ribbon of black separating their white-furred bellies and the sandy coat above. They were strange creatures to be sure, and he had no idea what they were.