The shouts were in the distance now, but they were by no means safe. If the enemy battlemage had a flying demon, it might spot them.
‘Stop right there!’ a voice shouted. A man stepped out from the shadows, pointing a musket at them. Again, Fletcher cursed his inability to perform a shield spell.
‘No surrender . . .’ Atilla muttered in his ear. But the dwarf’s voice was slurred and faint. Fletcher doubted Atilla could take more than a few steps before collapsing.
Ignatius jumped from Fletcher’s neck and hissed. The man ignored him and continued to point the musket directly at Fletcher’s face.
‘Keep that thing away from me, or I fire,’ he said, jerking the muzzle threateningly.
Fletcher lifted his hand and flared a ball of wyrdlight into existence.
‘I can whip this into your skull faster than any bullet. Drop the weapon and there will be no trouble.’
‘I’m a soldier, you idiot. I know what a wyrdlight is. Drop the dwarf on the ground and— agh!’ The man yelped and clapped his free hand to his neck.
A dull brown Mite buzzed above him and then flew in a circle around Fletcher’s head.
‘Valens,’ Fletcher breathed. Somehow, the little demon had found them. The man fell over sideways, his musket still raised. It was as if he had been frozen.
‘Major Goodwin wasn’t kidding about a Scarab’s sting,’ Fletcher marvelled. Valens emitted a loud buzz and then flew back and forth in the air.
Fletcher watched him for a moment, then realised that the little demon wanted him to follow.
‘Just a little longer, Atilla,’ Fletcher murmured. ‘We’re going to make it.’
44
Atilla was unconscious by the time they arrived at Vocans, but he was still breathing. The dwarf’s leg was stiff with clotted blood, but in the darkness Fletcher could not see the extent of the damage. He wrapped the wound as tightly as he could with a strip of cloth from Atilla’s shirt, then followed Valens over the drawbridge.
‘Where do we go now?’ Fletcher whispered to the hovering demon above him.
The Mite buzzed encouragingly and stopped halfway up the eastern staircase. Fletcher eyed the steep steps with apprehension.
‘I don’t know if I can do it!’ he groaned, hefting Atilla’s body. Sensing Fletcher’s mood, Ignatius leaped to the ground.
‘Thanks, buddy, that’s much lighter,’ Fletcher murmured half-heartedly, rubbing the demon under its chin.
Valens led him up the stairs, the thrum of his wings guiding Fletcher in the darkness. He did not risk a wyrdlight. If Rook caught him with Atilla, it would be reported to old King Alfric.
They stopped on the top floor, then continued up to the northeastern tower. By this time, Fletcher’s knees were close to buckling, but he continued on doggedly. Somehow, Valens had a plan.
Finally, they reached a set of heavy wooden doors at the very top of the tower, and Fletcher realised they were at the infirmary. Before he had a chance to knock, the doors swung open and a frantic Sylva appeared.
‘You’re OK! We thought you had died,’ Sylva sobbed, burying her face in Fletcher’s chest. Othello stared at him, his face pale and streaked with tears. The dwarf rushed to Fletcher’s side and took Atilla into his arms.
Fletcher patted Sylva’s head awkwardly and looked around the room. There were several rows of beds, their frames rusting and covered in dust. Three newer beds lay close by the door, with Sariel resting beneath them. As Othello laid Atilla on one of them, Fletcher noticed that they were not all empty.
Lovett lay motionless on the nearest bed. She was so still that she might have been a corpse, were it not for the almost imperceptible rise and fall of her chest. She was dressed in a nightgown, with her long black hair falling about her head like a halo. The others had lit the torches and candles on either side of her bed, which cast the room in a dull, orange light.
‘Valens led you here too?’ Fletcher asked, as the Mite landed on Lovett’s chest.
‘He found us about an hour ago, then flew straight out of the window as soon as we got to this room,’ Sylva said, wiping a tear from her eye. ‘He must have sensed you were in trouble.’
‘I don’t think it’s just Valens we need to thank,’ Fletcher said, stroking the beetle demon’s carapace.
‘What do you mean?’ Sylva asked.
‘Arcturus told me that some summoners can learn how to see and hear through their demon, effectively using their own mind as a scrying stone. I doubt a Mite could have done what Valens did tonight without someone guiding him. Were you with him, Captain Lovett?’ Fletcher looked at her immobile face.
The demon buzzed and spun in a circle.
‘Not possible!’ Sylva gasped.
‘How did she know?’ Fletcher asked, his eyes widening in wonder.
‘She must have been watching out for us. Probably since Rook showed up,’ Sylva said, smoothing Lovett’s hair out on the pillow. ‘We’re lucky. We could be dead if it wasn’t for her.’