“Zacharias!” Edmund shouted, and now Arcturus knew the source of the strange spell that had protected them. A blue symbol hung from Edmund’s outstretched finger.
But the blond noble ignored him, instead running over to his collapsed demon and tugging at the bolt stuck in its chest. It had barely penetrated the thick chest muscles, and came out with little more than a wiggle. Zacharias tossed it aside, then there was a flash of white light as Zacharias performed a second spell, sketching a heart shape in the air. Moments later the wound was gone, and the only sign it had been there at all was the bloodstained projectile in the grass beside it.
“Zacharias,” Edmund repeated, squaring up to the boy opposite him, rigid with anger.
“Why did you stop it?” Zacharias growled, standing and facing Edmund. He was a full head taller than the raven-haired boy, but that did little to faze his opponent.
“You mean why did I stop you from murdering my guest?” Edmund growled, shoving Zacharias.
Zacharias stared back at him, confusion spreading across his handsome face. It was as if nobody had ever pushed him before.
“He’s a commoner. Who tried to kill my demon,” Zacharias said, as if he were explaining something to a child. “It was a joke, for heaven’s sake.”
“I didn’t know it was yours, and I was protecting Elaine,” Arcturus yelled, the half lie coming easily to his lips.
“Whose did you think it was then, you stupid fool?” Zacharias roared, raising his fingers again. Edmund knocked his hand down and shoved him again. This time, Zacharias shoved back.
“Boys, no!”
Beyond the pair, Alice, Josephine and Prince Harold had arrived on the scene.
“I thought it was an orc’s demon … or a wild animal,” Arcturus said lamely. The words were unconvincing in his ears.
“You were being cruel to Elaine,” Edmund said, and it was strange for Arcturus to see the happy-go-lucky boy so angry. “It seems to me you deserved this.”
Zacharias raised his fist, but then Alice was standing between them, her chest heaving with exertion.
“Don’t … be … so … stupid,” she managed. “You’re … supposed to be … friends.”
“What gave you that idea?” Zacharias spat.
He turned and stalked away, his back stiff with anger. The demon followed, but not before one of its heads hissed threateningly in Arcturus’s direction. Josephine stood for a moment, undecided.
“Wait up, Zach!” she yelled, jogging behind him.
As Zacharias walked out of earshot, Edmund deflated, and ran a hand over his face.
“That was unfortunate.” Prince Harold shook his head, a grim look on his face. “Arcturus, over here please.”
Arcturus approached him, wincing as the soles of his ragged, stable-boy shoes sizzled in the still-burning grass.
“I’m sorry, Harold … I wasn’t thinking,” Arcturus muttered.
“Well, why don’t you try thinking next time,” Harold snapped. Arcturus stared at his feet, kicking at the sooty ground.
Harold sighed.
“Forgive me. You have to understand, Zacharias is…”
Then he stopped, staring past Arcturus, his eyes widening.
Arcturus spun, his heart racing at the thought that Elaine might be hurt. But she was fine, sitting cross-legged just a few paces behind him, wiping at her tear-streaked face.
No, it was the figure staggering toward them behind her, his face and uniform covered in blood.
It was Rotter. Even as he neared them, he fell to his knees.
“Help me,” he gasped. “For heaven’s sake, help me.”
CHAPTER
22
IT TOOK ONLY A few seconds for Alice to heal Rotter, wiping away the deep cut in his ashen forehead like wine spilled on a table. But in that time it seemed the world became darker, the sun halfway through its descent beneath the horizon.
“What happened?” Prince Harold asked, handing a flask of water to the exhausted soldier.
“Men from the north,” Rotter gasped after a deep draft. “A few hundred of them. Came at us with swords while we set up camp outside Raleightown. I was on the edges, played dead … waited till they’d moved on.”
For a moment the group stared at him in shocked silence.
“Did any of your comrades survive?” Edmund asked, gripping Rotter by his shoulder.
“Aye, Sergeant Caulder,” Rotter said, his eyes darting furtively behind him. “Sarge fought like the devil, but there were too many. One snuck up from behind, knocked him out with a club. I think they kept him alive for interrogation.”
“Is the town being pillaged?” Edmund demanded, his eyes turning in the town’s direction. “I don’t see flames.”
Arcturus could see the glow of the town’s torchlights in the distance, suddenly visible in the growing darkness.
It didn’t seem real. It was so quiet. Were there dead men over there, cut down in the dusk light?
“What are they doing here?” Alice murmured. “No pillaging … and there are too many of them to be bandits. A dwarven uprising?”
“They were no dwarves,” Rotter growled. “Too tall. But they wore matching cloaks and covered their faces with scarves. Like they were organized. Like someone might recognize them.”
Arcturus felt a chill take hold of him then. Could this be what Crawley had been talking about?
“The riots,” Arcturus said, his voice barely more than a whisper.
“What of them?” Zacharias snarled from behind him, making Arcturus jump. He had not heard Zacharias and Josephine return. The boy’s demon was gone—infused into Zacharias’s body.
“Arcturus is right,” Prince Harold said, holding up his hand. “They are here for us. This is an uprising. Just not a dwarven one.”
“It’s the commoners,” Edmund said, his face filled with sudden understanding. “The ones who started the fire in Corcillum.”
“What are you saying?” Josephine asked. Her voice quavered, and Arcturus could see her face was pale in the dim light.
“They are here for us,” Edmund explained, loading his crossbow with grim determination. “The prince, the nobles. All of us.”
“No!” Elaine gasped and rushed over to grip Arcturus’s hand.
“Why?” Alice asked. “What good are we to them?”
“Because we are weak,” Prince Harold said. “Weak enough to capture. All of us are novices, with our first demons and the most basic grasp of spellcraft. We have not had the time to grow our summoning levels, or capture more powerful demons. With their numbers … they could defeat us without too much trouble.”
“What good would capturing us do?” Josephine demanded, her words verging on a wail. “Our parents control everything, not us!”
“Exactly,” Edmund replied. “With a knife to our throats, they would be able to make our parents do whatever they wanted.”
“Not mine,” Harold said, shaking his head. “My father would never bow to their demands, the stubborn old goat. I’d die for sure.”
“Even if our parents did not love us, the consequences of our deaths would be too costly,” Edmund said, shaking his head. “We are not just their children—most of us are their heirs, their firstborn.”
“Only the firstborn are guaranteed to be born summoners,” Arcturus murmured, understanding dawning on him. If the firstborns were killed, the ability to summon might be lost to their families forever.
“I’m not a firstborn,” Elaine whispered, nudging Arcturus. “My brothers can summon. Will I—?”
“No,” Arcturus said, forcing a smile. “Your parents would never let that happen.”
Elaine gripped his hand, and he felt the weight of her Mite, Valens, alighting on his shoulder. Sacharissa nuzzled the young girl’s waist, and she stroked the demon’s shaggy coat.
“So what’s the plan?” Josephine asked desperately. “Shall we head for the bridge?”
“No,” Edmund said. “There are two ways into Raleighshire. One is across that bridge to the north, and the other is a pass south through the mountains, which will lead us into the orc jungles anyway. With an attack this well organized, we can assume they will have blocked both routes.”
“Well, whatever your decision, you had better make it soon,” Rotter snapped. “They’ll be sending out search parties as soon as night falls, if not sooner. And they have hunting dogs with them.”