‘We can’t prove anything!’ Fletcher cursed, clenching his fists together. ‘In fact, if we tell the King the whole story, he is more likely to think it was the dwarves committing treason, what with the war council and all.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Sylva announced. ‘Their plan is ruined now. I will write to my father tonight and tell him that the Forsyths are not to be trusted. The plot to start a civil war with the dwarves has been foiled and I am relatively safe at Vocans. There is nothing they can do to harm us now.’
‘Yes, there is,’ Seraph cautioned. ‘The tournament. If one of the Forsyths wins, they will become high-ranking officers and gain a seat on the King’s council. That’s an extra vote for Zacharias and another voice speaking out against my family, not to mention the elves and the dwarves.’
Othello nodded, then scratched his beard contemplatively. ‘Let’s not forget that the most powerful people in Hominum will be watching it; the nobles and the generals,’ he said, pacing back and forth. ‘They will be deciding if the elves and the dwarves are worthy allies, then reporting back to the King. We can be sure the Forsyths will be doing everything they can to discredit and embarrass us during the tournament too.’
‘Then we beat them!’ Fletcher jumped to his feet. ‘Who says we can’t win the tournament ourselves? We have a Golem, a Barkling, a Canid and a Salamander!’
Seraph shook his head.
‘We aren’t as powerful as them. Even the second year commoners will have an advantage over us. How are we supposed to win?’
Fletcher took a deep breath and looked him right in the eye.
‘We train.’
45
A heavy mist hung around the castle, fading the horizon into a shadowed whiteness. It gave Fletcher and Atilla the cover they needed as they hobbled down the road outside.
‘I hope Uhtred makes it in time,’ Fletcher said. ‘Rook will be suspicious if I don’t turn up for his lesson.’
‘He’ll be here. You said Valens delivered the pick-up instructions just fine,’ Atilla replied. He was ashen faced, but had recovered enough to walk, even if with a pronounced limp.
They had managed to sneak out of the castle with barely any trouble. Tarquin had made a snide comment as they passed on the stairs, asking if the dwarf was limping because someone had stepped on him that morning. Fortunately, with Othello’s spare uniform and some quick braiding of Atilla’s beard, the twin dwarves were indistinguishable.
Fletcher’s heart leaped in his chest as a shadow darkened the mist in front of them.
‘It’s OK. That’s my father,’ Atilla grunted.
A boar emerged from the fog, pulling a chariot behind it. The rider wore a hood, but Uhtred’s bulky figure was unmistakeable.
‘Get on, quickly. It is not safe out here,’ Uhtred said, pulling the chariot to a halt beside them. Fletcher helped Atilla sprawl at his father’s feet.
‘The dwarves are in your debt. If you need anything, anything at all, just ask,’ Uhtred rumbled, flicking the boar’s reins and turning them around.
‘Wait! I have something to say,’ Atilla announced.
Fletcher turned back, wary of being late for Rook’s lesson that would be starting any minute.
‘Thank you. I owe you my life. Tell Othello . . . I was wrong.’
With those parting words, they disappeared into the mist, until all Fletcher could hear was the echoing clop of the boar’s hooves.
Fletcher was late. When he arrived in the summoning room, both Rook and Arcturus were there waiting for him, with the rest of the students standing in silence before them. Fletcher noticed that Arcturus was wearing an eye patch. Fletcher couldn’t help but smile. With his tricorn hat, Arcturus looked like a pirate captain.
‘Wipe that grin from your face, boy. Do you think your time is more valuable than our own?’ Rook snapped, waving him over to the other noviciates.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Fletcher said, standing with the others.
‘I will deal with him later, Rook,’ Arcturus said. ‘But perhaps we should get on with the lesson.’
‘Yes, perhaps we should,’ Rook said dryly, stepping forward. ‘With the tournament coming up, we think it is time to demonstrate how a duel works. Now, Arcturus here believes that learning to duel another battlemage is a useless practice—’
‘The orc shamans rarely duel,’ Arcturus cut Rook off. ‘It is unlikely that you will ever go toe-to-toe with one. They prefer to hide in the shadows and send their demons to do the fighting for them.’
‘A strategy that has served them well in the past. I suspect our battlemage attrition rate is several times what theirs is, but the fact that we fight on the front lines and put ourselves in harm’s way is why we are winning this war,’ Rook countered.
‘But that is not duelling, Inquisitor. That is using our abilities to protect and support the soldiers,’ Arcturus retorted.
‘Yet we use the same skills, do we not?’ Rook mused, rubbing his chin in mock pensiveness.