“Rook hit me with a fire spell,” Fletcher replied, finding his words hard to believe even as he said them. “It was bad. But … it didn’t hurt me.”
Harold raised his eyebrows, then a slow grin spread across his face.
“Immune to Manticore venom and fire,” he laughed. “You’re a veritable trove of surprises, Fletcher Raleigh. That Drake of yours must have given you some protection.”
“That’s why?” Sylva asked. “I thought Fletcher had healed himself.”
“Of course not,” Harold said, shaking his head in astonishment. “He’d never be able to heal himself fast enough. Think about it—a summoner with an Arach or Mite becomes immune to their own individual demon’s venom. Fletcher’s immunity to fire must be an extension of this phenomenon. You’re a lucky young man, Fletcher Raleigh.”
Fletcher turned to Ignatius and smiled to see that the lazy demon had fallen asleep beside the hot metal chimney that extended through the spiral staircase in the center of the room and into the roof of the tent. He was lucky indeed.
“So what happens now?” Cress asked, disinterested in Fletcher’s immunity. “Did it work? Did the people hear us?”
The future of her race was at stake, and she wanted answers.
“Most of the guests have recovered from your … how shall I put it … flavoring of the drinks.” Harold said. “Fortunately, the more important nobles were spirited away by their bodyguards before they could suffer too much embarrassment. I must admit, I still feel a little queasy. You could have warned me!”
He winked at Cress and Othello to show there were no hard feelings.
“News of your proclamations has already spread throughout the land: Even the guests at the banquet now know every word of Sylva’s speech. We won’t know if you’re believed or not until tomorrow.”
“So it might all have been for nothing?” Cress asked.
“All I know is that Fletcher and Sylva have forced my hand when they captured those two traitors,” Harold said, motioning over his shoulder. “I told my father I sent the orders for their arrest myself—hence their disappearance. He wasn’t too happy with that, but the evidence was so damning that he accepted it readily enough. Anything to prevent himself being implicated in this sordid state of affairs.”
“Well, that’s good, right?” Cress persisted. “We’ve won?”
“Not quite.” Harold sighed, running his hand over his face. “Look. Alfric has ordered half the army into the city. Originally it was in preparation for the announcement where he rescinds all dwarven rights, so they could crush the dwarven recruits and the rest of your people as soon as they began to riot. But now he can’t make that announcement—it’s too much of a risk for him. Instead, he’s declared a national holiday and organized a last-minute military parade, to celebrate the success of your mission and the rescue of Lady Raleigh.”
“Great, so what’s the problem?” Fletcher asked.
“If the people of Hominum believed what Sylva said, they will welcome the dwarven recruits with open arms. ‘All is forgiven, we were wrong,’ so to speak. Alfric knows that if he made the announcement then, the whole thing would backfire—the people will be even more sympathetic to the dwarves. Even if the dwarves rioted, the soldiers certainly wouldn’t view it as a revolution and start slaughtering them.”
“Exactly, that was the plan all along,” Fletcher agreed.
But Harold wasn’t finished.
“On the other hand, if the dwarven recruits arrive and the people and soldiers give them a cold welcome, my father will know that their hatred runs so deep that they’ll ignore the truth. If that happens, he’ll make the announcement there and then. The Pinkertons invade dwarven homes, the dwarves riot and the soldiers are told to march into the Dwarven Quarter and put down the ‘rebellion.’ Violently.”
“So even after everything we’ve done, the future of my species rests on how welcoming everyone is tomorrow?” Othello asked, his face dark with anger.
“I’m afraid so,” Harold said.
CHAPTER
30
IT WAS STRANGE TO SEE A SKY so bright and cheerful in the midst of such tension. Spring had come early, and the day was unnaturally hot. They were in the Anvil Tavern, sitting on the balcony and watching the people mill below. Othello and Cress were long past caring if they were seen, and Fletcher and Sylva had joined them there after some cajoling from the two dwarves.
In truth, few people looked up at them as the soldiers marched by in all their finery, bayonets glinting in the sunlight, red coats fluttering in the warm breeze. All along the pavements, the citizens of Corcillum cheered, waving flags and pennants and joining in as the men sang ribald marching songs. The beat was rattled out by the drummer boys, young lads of no more than thirteen who marched proudly in uniform beside the soldiers.
Even Othello found himself humming along to the jaunty tunes, and had to catch himself. The mood was gay and joyful, which boded well for the dwarven recruits’ arrival. Yet at the same time, there was none of the anger that Fletcher had expected, given the revelation that one of Hominum’s nobles had been bombing their own people. Either way, there would be no guarantees that day.
“They’re all so young, aren’t they?” Cress said, leaning out to get a better view of the soldiers.
“That’s because they’re all from the recruitment camps on the elven border,” Sylva said. “They arrived a few days ahead of the dwarves, so they’re pretty raw. I doubt any of them have seen action yet.”
“Does that make them more, or less, likely to welcome the dwarves?” Fletcher asked, half to himself.
Othello considered it for a moment. “Well, they’ve been training beside the dwarven recruits for more than a year now, but since the Anvil attacks tensions between them have been high: a few heated discussions here and there, even a brawl or two. Alfric probably couldn’t risk bringing the veterans up from the front lines, so he’s marched this lot down. It’s good news, I think. These men have never killed before—I doubt they’d have the stomach to slaughter women and children. He probably reckons they’re more likely to take orders though, being green and all. We’ll see.”
But Fletcher was barely listening. There was a commotion down the road, and for a moment he thought it was the dwarves. But then the new arrivals came into view, and Fletcher couldn’t help but grin and lean out for a better look.