“Attagirl,” Arcturus said, rolling up his summoning leather and following her into the ill-lit aisle.
He could almost smell the scent that Sacharissa was pursuing, just as he had smelled Elaine in the summoning room. It wasn’t as powerful as when he looked directly into Sacharissa’s eyes, but it seemed as if the demon’s senses were bleeding into his own.
Elizabeth’s scent was like a symphony of notes in Sacharissa’s mind, and Arcturus found it hard to concentrate as the new sensation wafted through him.
And yet, there was another, stronger smell breaking through, made up of leather, musk and soot. Even as it became stronger, Arcturus thought he could make out a short, stocky figure in the gloom ahead, a flickering light hanging in the air beside it.
It was Ulfr, squinting at them beneath his bushy eyebrows as the pair approached. Arcturus stepped into the light of Ulfr’s lantern, and was suddenly suffused with guilt. He had not thought to thank the dwarf—he owed Ulfr his life after all. If the dwarf had not gone for help when Arcturus was under attack, the young summoner would likely be Wendigo droppings by now.
“I … I wanted to thank you, for fetching the teachers,” Arcturus stammered, suddenly shy under the dwarf’s glower. “I should have come sooner. I’m sorry.”
“No thanks or apologies needed,” Ulfr muttered, turning aside. “’Twas not for the love of you, but to get back at those noble brats. Many’s the time they’ve taunted me. Now who’s laughing.”
The dwarf broke into a grim smile.
“You have my thanks all the same,” Arcturus replied, his heart sinking at Ulfr’s words. “We are not all like them.”
“Aren’t you?” Ulfr growled, his brows beetling as his face darkened with anger.
He grabbed Arcturus’s arm and pulled him a few steps up the corridor, ignoring the warning growl from Sacharissa. The dwarf spun Arcturus around and stabbed a stubby finger at a painting hanging on the wall.
“This is what humans do.”
It took a moment for Arcturus to register the scene before his eyes, for the image was cracked and faded. Then his eyes widened in horror.
A column of dwarves were depicted midmarch down the center of a parade, complete with a pennant-waving crowd on either side. They were naked and soil stained, with metal collars around their necks, and heavy chains kept taut between them. Behind, men on horses were frozen in the act of flailing whips at their bare backs, and if Arcturus looked closely, he could see red-furrowed wounds on the dwarven skin, and the red rivulets of blood that streamed beneath them.
“They hang these in the servants’ quarters, especially the dwarven floors. ‘Lest we forget,’ so we’re told,” Ulfr spat. “Well, I won’t forget, they can be sure of that.”
“Who are they?” Arcturus asked.
“The captives from the last dwarven rebellion, many years ago,” Ulfr said through gritted teeth. “They want us to remember that we lost the last one. And the one before that.”
“It’s cruel,” Arcturus said, horrified.
“Aye. Like all your kind,” Ulfr said.
Before Arcturus could think of an answer, someone cleared their throat behind him. He spun to see a thin, yellow-toothed man standing behind him. The newcomer wore the robes of a servant, and his expression turned to one of surprise as he took in Arcturus’s uniform.
“Are you lost, my lord?” the man said with a bow, his voice nasal and obsequious.
“No need to bow, Crawley, he’s no lord,” Ulfr said derisively. “He’s that commoner.”
“Indeed?” Crawley’s eyes lit up with sudden interest, and he leaned in to examine Arcturus closely. “Fascinating.”
He furrowed his brows, cocking his head to one side, and his eyes flashed hungrily to Sacharissa.
“I had not thought … perhaps … yes.…”
He trailed off, but continued to stare at Arcturus, his eyes roving back and forth. Arcturus coughed awkwardly, eager to get away from the strange man.
Remembering himself, Crawley smiled and nodded at Arcturus before turning to Ulfr.
“Ulfr, I was looking for you—”
“We’ve nought to talk about,” Ulfr interrupted, shuffling uncomfortably. “You’ve heard my answer and that’s the end of it.”
The dwarf caught Arcturus staring at him and his face darkened.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Ulfr snapped.
Sacharissa growled at the dwarf’s tone, and Arcturus was forced to grip the mane along the ridge of her back.
“You had better hurry along,” Crawley said, still giving Arcturus that strange, inquisitive look.
“Come on, Sacha,” Arcturus said, calming his demon with a thought. She had become extremely protective of late.
They continued down the corridor, following Elizabeth’s elusive scent. Behind them, a whispered argument echoed eerily, though Arcturus was unable to hear what was being said.
He glanced over his shoulder as they turned the corner, catching the silhouettes of the two servants.
“I wonder what that was all about?” Arcturus pondered aloud, scratching Sacharissa under her chin. It was strange, but she had grown almost a half foot taller than she had been when they had first met, and was now almost as large as a miniature pony.
As she looked up at him, her eyes half-closed with pleasure, their gazes met. Arcturus felt himself slipping into the gray-tinted world that Sacharissa inhabited, complete with intensified sounds and smells.
He did not break the connection—it was an experience like no other. Scents were so intense it was as if he were tasting the air itself, and he could even sense its ebbs and flows, and determine its direction. Still, it was not all good.
A stale aroma of body odor leaked beneath the door they stood beside. It made Arcturus gag with every fresh waft, while Sacharissa snuffled at the door with an inquisitive nose, fascinated.
He looked away from Sacharissa’s eyes, and was relieved to find that with a bit of concentration, he was able to continue the ability independently.
Intrigued, he took a few steps away. Along with the marginally fresher air, sounds of a whispered argument around the corner reached his newly sensitive ears.
“… I say again, the dwarves will not join you in this folly.” It was Ulfr, his words rapid and angry. “Nor will I have any part in it.”
“You’re making a mistake. Grant me an audience with your elders; I know I can make them see reason,” Crawley growled. “This is happening with or without you.”
“I cannot help you,” Ulfr replied.
“If the dwarves will not aid us, I cannot guarantee their position when the sun rises three days hence,” Crawley said, his voice taut and threatening.
“So be it,” Ulfr snapped.
Arcturus heard footsteps as Ulfr strode away.
“Wait!” Crawley called. “There’s something else.”
The footsteps ceased.
“The boy. You know him, yes?” Crawley asked.
“What of it?” Ulfr replied warily.
“He could be useful. Perhaps you could turn him to our cause. If you did, our leaders would look more kindly on the dwarves.”
Silence.
“You leave him out of this,” Ulfr said.
The footsteps continued, until they had faded from earshot.
CHAPTER
18
ARCTURUS HURRIED DOWN THE corridor, Crawley’s footsteps following behind him. The man was cursing under his breath, but Arcturus did not wish to listen any further. Nor did he wish to run into him, especially after what he had just heard.
His mind was in turmoil. Their conversation had made little sense to him. Crawley needed the dwarves’ help to do something secret … something that would take place in three days’ time. And somehow Arcturus was involved. But why? Why him?
Arcturus’s thighs thudded into Sacharissa’s side, nearly tripping him onto the floor. The demon was sitting beside a wooden door, one of many embedded in the walls of the maze of corridors.
He realized that they had arrived at Elizabeth’s room. As Crawley’s footsteps neared, Arcturus banged on the door with his fist, looking furtively down the gloomy passageway.