‘The Forsyth blood is strong. Zacharias will be proud,’ Rook said, helping Isadora to her feet.
Tarquin followed suit, lighting up twelve again.
‘Twins usually have the same fulfilment level, but it is worth checking,’ Rook muttered, half to himself, as he shook Tarquin’s hand. Fletcher’s heart felt like a stone in his chest as Tarquin pushed past him roughly to stand at the back. They were all so powerful – Lovett was only level eleven!
Penelope was a level seven, but she seemed happy, smiling and nodding as she stood up. Rufus was a level nine, a result that earned him a backslap from Tarquin and a grunt of approval from Rook.
‘Now for the commoners. You first, dwarf. A level eight, at least, from what I hear, given that you were able to summon a Golem. The average for commoners is five of course, but then you are a special case.’
‘Why do commoners have lower fulfilment levels, sir?’ Rory asked, shuffling his feet.
‘I say bad breeding,’ Rook sneered. ‘But the official answer is that nobles grow up amongst demons and are gifted their own well in advance of arriving at the academy, allowing them to increase their fulfilment level over the years by practising basic spellcraft and infusion. You will be starting with the level you were born with, since you have had no time to build yours. That is another reason why commoners usually start with Scarab Mites. No use capturing a demon you might not even be capable of controlling – not that you deserve anything better. It seems as if some of you have been particularly lucky this year.’
Othello had pressed his hand to the fulfilmeter by then, interrupting Rory’s response as it began to glow again. The segments lit up one by one, vibrating the room with ten dull throbs.
‘Ten! It looks as if dwarves may have a knack for summoning! I shall let the King know at once. Very interesting indeed . . .’ Rook said, motioning for Sylva to take Othello’s place. Fletcher caught Othello’s worried expression. Why tell the King? Would Othello’s result mean the dwarves were better allies than the King had thought . . . or an even greater threat?
‘Elves usually start at seven, or at least they used to. Go ahead anyway. You’ve had your Canid for a few months now.’ Sylva was indeed seven, though the eighth segment flickered for a brief second.
‘Good, you’re close to moving up a level. Work hard and you will be able to capture a Mite in addition to your Canid.’
Genevieve was exactly five. Seraph surprised everyone with a seven and Atlas managed a four, much to his chagrin.
‘I hope you’re better off than me,’ Atlas groaned as an ashen-faced Rory hurried past.
This time the fulfilmeter stuttered, then two segments glowed into life. After a full thirty seconds, a third segment flickered on. Rook grabbed his arm and began to pull him away.
‘No!’ Rory yelled. ‘Give me a little more time, there’s more!’
‘There’s no more, boy. That’s all the demonic energy you can absorb. You are a level-three summoner. Be happy it’s not less.’ He wrenched Rory up and pushed him back into the crowd of commoners.
‘Now for the bastard. Let’s see what we have here,’ Rook said, pushing Fletcher to his knees.
Fletcher closed his eyes and pressed his hand on to the fulfilmeter. The gems were cool against his palm, like polished ice. He felt the draw of mana as it was sucked away, pulsing through his veins and out through his fingers. Then something else was pushed back into him. It was not mana, for it was like fire that boiled his blood and tingled his skin.
He didn’t want to look up, but the dull vibration let him know exactly how many segments were lighting up. Five so far. Then six. On the seventh he felt the flow ebb, but still it pushed into him. Eight . . . the gush slowed to a treacle. Finally, just as he thought there was nothing left, a ninth buzz echoed through the room. Relief flooded through him, but he felt pity for Rory at the same time. James Baker had been a level-three summoner.
‘Well, well, colour me surprised. Who would have thought it? No matter. Fletcher will be here as long as it takes for me to discover evidence that Arcturus sent him a summoning scroll. Bastard children have not been allowed to attend Vocans since old King Alfric decreed it, on the bequest of Lady Faversham. Nor are any of the old bastards allowed to search new bastards out. That includes Arcturus.’ Rook’s words drew a gasp from the commoners. Arcturus’s secret was out.
‘No doubt you will have a new teacher soon, once I have got rid of him,’ Rook said with a grin.
‘For the last time, he did not send me a summoning scroll. If you must know, it was an orc shaman’s scroll that I was given by a passing tradesman,’ Fletcher said through gritted teeth.
Rook stared at him for a moment, then unclipped a leather cylinder from his belt. He removed a brown roll from inside and unravelled it on the stone floor. It was a summoning leather.