‘I know it’s here somewhere,’ she muttered, piling dusty books next to her on the stone floor.
‘Here!’ she announced, heaving a heavy tome on to the bed.
Fletcher sat next to her and she flicked through it, before settling on an illustrated page in the middle. The scene it depicted made him feel dizzy: elves riding elks, charging into a horde of orcs. The broken arrow pennant streamed behind them. Men on foot assaulted from the other side, wearing the exact same armour as in Fletcher’s vision. Even the albino orc’s bodyguard was featured, the red and yellow war paint unmistakeable.
‘Do you remember what I told you that night in the cornfields? About how the elves taught the first King of Hominum how to summon in exchange for an alliance against the orcs? This was the final battle they fought, the Battle of Corcillum, so called because of its proximity to the dwarven city. Your demon’s namesake, Ignatius, would have led the charge in that battle. Apparently it didn’t happen too far from here, but the site of the battle has been lost in time. The fact that you got to see it . . . it’s incredible!’ She stroked the page, tracing the outline of an elk’s antlers.
‘But I don’t understand. Why was there an albino orc . . . and why was Ignatius the only demon there?’
‘Only the elven clan chiefs were summoners, and the whole reason they made their deal with your first King was so they didn’t have to risk themselves in battle. The elves weren’t supposed to do any fighting after the agreement, but the Battle of Corcillum was fought because a clan chief’s son was kidnapped, so the elves sent their own soldiers in to help. They hadn’t taught King Corwin the art of summoning yet either, as the conditions of the agreement clearly stated that the orcs had to be utterly defeated first. As for the albino orc, I have no idea. All I know is that after the Battle of Corcillum, the orcs fell back to the jungles. It was the decisive victory that heralded an age of peace, lasting until the Second Orc War, three hundred years ago.’
Fletcher was glad he had come to Sylva. She seemed to have learned everything about human and elf relations in her preparation for coming to Vocans.
‘I think we need to go to the library and research if there have ever been any reports of another albino orc,’ Fletcher said. ‘It seems as if after the last one was killed, the orcs fell into disarray. Maybe the white orcs aren’t just their leaders; there could be something more to it!’ Fletcher said.
‘You’re right. Ignatius was about to be gifted to him and it seemed to be an important ceremony. We need to research what we can about the orcs and their past leaders, maybe we can turn something up.’ Sylva stood and strode to the door.
‘Where are you going?’ Fletcher asked as Sariel bounded after her, nearly knocking him to the ground.
‘To the library, of course. I said, as soon as possible!’
Fletcher had no choice but to follow her.
It was dank and cold in Vocans at night, but their wyrdlights lit the way well enough. The use of spells no longer gave Fletcher the joy it had before, for he was still dwelling on his performance in Arcturus’s lessons.
He tried to stay positive and concentrate on the task at hand. At least he had the chance to redeem himself by providing useful information about the orcs.
If only they had access to the summoner’s book. Fletcher would have loved to be able to read more about the site where Ignatius’s scroll had been found.
As they descended the spiral staircase, Fletcher saw the glow of another wyrdlight behind them.
‘Hide! It might be Rook!’ he hissed.
They snuffed out their own lights and ducked into one of the upper corridors. Holding their breaths, they pressed themselves into a doorway. Sariel whined at the sudden darkness but was silenced with a tap on the muzzle from Sylva.
Hasty footsteps soon followed, accompanied by heavy breathing. Whoever it was, they were in a hurry. After what seemed an age, the steps faded, and they were shrouded in darkness once again.
‘Come on, let’s go,’ Fletcher muttered when he was sure they were out of earshot.
‘Who would be wandering the corridors at this time?’ Sylva asked.
‘I think I have some idea,’ Fletcher said, leading the way down the stairs again, careful not to trip in the dark.
‘What do you mean?’ Sylva asked.
‘The first night I was here, I saw someone leaving our common room and eventually the castle. It looked like they were in a hurry and didn’t want to be seen,’ Fletcher replied, turning into the corridor that lead to the library.
‘That’s so suspicious, Fletcher. Why haven’t you told anyone?’ Sylva asked, disapproval clear in her voice.
‘Because I didn’t think anything of it. It could have just been someone going for some fresh air. That’s why I was out that night. Now it’s happened again though . . . maybe I should have said something.’