‘It was you two who did it in the end,’ Othello said, with a hint of disappointment. ‘I wish I could tell my father it was me. I wanted the Forsyths to know it was the dwarves who cost them their victory.’
‘Othello, the dwarves gave me the tools I needed to win and if it wasn’t for you, I would have used up all my mana fighting Rufus in the semi-final,’ Fletcher said, looking the dwarf directly in the eye. ‘This was all three of us. Even Seraph played his part; I bet he was no pushover when it came to his fight with Tarquin. I just wish Sylva was awake to celebrate our victory.’
‘She will be,’ Othello said, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes. ‘It’s the first thing I’m going to tell her. Hell, she’ll probably be offered a commission as soon as she wakes up.’
‘I’m sure you will too, Othello. The dwarven recruits are going to need leaders. By reaching the semi-final, I think you proved yourself. Just remember why you came here: to show the world that the dwarves are worthy allies,’ Fletcher said.
‘That’s true,’ Othello replied with a grin. ‘I didn’t think about that. Scipio will definitely let Atilla join Vocans now; he is my twin, after all. The first thing I’m going to do after this is learn how the Inquisition tests for adepts. We will need battlemages in the dwarven battalions.’
‘You can count on it. I will bring the subject up at the council meeting straight away, if I can,’ Fletcher replied.
He felt a flash of anxiety as he pictured a long table in a dark room, surrounded by the most powerful men in the land. Zacharias would be there, trying to discredit him at every turn. Even with the Forsyth twins beaten, he would still have their father to contend with.
Footsteps echoed in the stairwell, until Seraph’s excited face appeared in the doorway.
‘Guys, Dame Fairhaven said it was OK for me to come and get you, if you’re able. They’re going to start handing out commissions soon. Come on!’ He disappeared from sight and they could soon hear him running down the stairs.
‘Someone fancies his chances,’ Othello laughed. ‘Help me down, would you? I can’t put any weight on my damned leg.’
‘I swear, half my life seems to be spent as a crutch for an injured dwarf,’ Fletcher joked.
He swung his legs over the bed and stood. There was a rush of dizziness for a moment, but it soon passed after a few deep breaths.
‘We must look like a right pair,’ Fletcher said, putting his arm around Othello’s shoulders. ‘I think I’m going to need your help as much as you need mine.’
He winced as he took Othello’s weight, his aching body complaining at the effort.
They hobbled down the steps and corridors, stopping to rest every few skips.
‘Come on, you can’t miss getting made a captain,’ Othello said.
At the reminder of his captaincy, the war trophies and weapons that lined the corridors took on a sudden new meaning for Fletcher. Sooner or later, an orc might be swinging one of those fearsome weapons at his head.
The atrium was milling with nobles and generals when they arrived, all of them staring at the pair as they staggered in. Some even had fear in their eyes.
‘Pure, unadulterated genius,’ Scipio shouted, striding over. ‘Tattooing yourself to skip etching altogether; using a scrying stone as an eyeglass. Huge jumps forward in battlemage technology – how on earth did we not think of them before?’
Behind him, Fletcher could see Tarquin being berated by his father, hanging his head in shame. The other noviciates were seated on the low benches brought in from the dining hall, waiting for the commissioning ceremony in silence.
‘Rest assured, I will be asking you all about this tattooing business later. Now, General Kavanagh, if you would bring over the papers so we can get Fletcher all signed up. When is the King’s council, next month? We will need to get a tutor in to teach him about Hominum’s politics before then; as a commoner he won’t know a thing.’ Scipio fussed about Fletcher like an overprotective mother, brushing the dust from his shoulders.
Fletcher stood up straight and surveyed the room, meeting the eyes of the generals and nobility with a steady gaze. With pride, he considered what he and his friends had achieved.
Sylva and Othello had proved to the upper echelons of Hominum that their peoples were a force to be reckoned with. Seraph’s elevation to the nobility would be a smooth one, now that he had demonstrated his tenacity in the arena. As for Fletcher, he was just glad to have kept the council seat from the Forsyths and secured himself a bright future. He only wished Berdon was there to see it.
He squeezed Othello’s shoulder and nudged him, pointing at the generals and nobles.
‘One of those men is going to give you a commission today. Do you have any preference?’
‘As long as it’s not Zacharias or the Favershams,’ Othello chuckled back. ‘You should have seen the look on their faces when I beat Rufus.’