19
Sweat prickled Fletcher’s back as he stepped into the arena, infusing Ignatius and Athena with a flash of his palm, for they were the only demons in the room. He could still sense both of them in his mind and, stranger still, a third connection, slowly forming between the two. Perhaps Athena and Ignatius were beginning to trust each other.
As he entered the pool of flickering torchlight, memories of the last time he had walked these sands swam to the forefront of his mind. The dangers he had faced then would be nothing compared with what was to come.
‘You have all been told why you are here,’ Rook announced, pacing back and forth along the sand. ‘There are two objectives to your mission. The first, to destroy several thousand goblin eggs before they hatch. The second, to rescue Lady Cavendish, Rufus’s mother.’
Rufus sat a little straighter in the stands as the students turned to look at him, and Fletcher could see his knuckles whiten as he gripped the hilt of his sword. The young noble had not impressed Fletcher last year, for the boy had fawned over the Forsyth twins. He hoped that Rufus would not be a liability on such a dangerous mission, especially with the added pressure of rescuing his own mother.
A flash of blue turned Fletcher’s attention back to Rook. He had produced a wyrdlight, and the ball of light was slicing back and forth through the air. As it travelled, it left a trail of azure light in its wake, etching a shape as one might with a spell.
Soon, an enormous four-sided pyramid hung in the air, with a strange web of tubes surrounding a central chamber beneath it. It spun gently, casting the room in an eerie blue glow.
‘Our intelligence suggests that the goblin eggs are located within the volcanic cave network beneath this ancient pyramid, deep in the heart of the orc jungles,’ Rook said, jabbing his finger at the web of tunnels below the pyramid. ‘Lady Cavendish is kept somewhere within too, and for good reason – it is the most secure place in the whole of Orcdom. The pyramid is their most sacred ground.’
This was all news to Fletcher, and his heart seemed to batter his ribs as his pulse quickened. He had thought they would be raiding a remote orc village, not losing themselves in the bowels of the earth.
‘The Celestial Corps will drop you as close as they can, then you will make your way there on foot. You must – and I cannot stress this enough – you must meet at midnight, at the back entrance of the pyramid, three days after the drop-off. From that point, you will have a maximum of eight hours to complete your mission – that is as long as the Corps can wait on standby, halting their patrols of Hominum’s skies. Remember, you place the people of Hominum in jeopardy with every hour you take, for if the orcs notice the open skies they will send the Wyverns to raid helpless towns.’
Fletcher gulped, imagining the destruction a single Wyvern could cause to an unprotected settlement. It was a huge risk to take.
‘The Celestial Corps will be watching through the scrying crystals and will try to arrive as soon as your mission is completed. If any team is not with the others at that point, it will have to find its own way home.’
Rook paused again, allowing the gravity of his words to sink in.
Fletcher knew that attempting to return home alone would be a death sentence. Around him, the others wore grim expressions. Even Tarquin and Isadora looked worried, the colour drained from their faces. They had been fighting on the front lines for over a year – and knew better than any what the teams would be up against.
‘As you all know, scrying crystals are to be distributed around Hominum,’ Rook said. ‘Soon, every tavern, village hall and public square will each have four crystals, one for each team, where the populace can watch the mission’s progress. You will not be given these yourselves, because if one team is captured, the orcs will be able to use them to track down the others.’
Rook snapped his fingers and the pyramid disappeared, leaving the room bathed in orange torchlight once again.
‘In order to allow you to fully focus on your mission, each team will require a demon to act as the conduit for these stones,’ Rook continued. ‘As such, we have asked for sponsors to volunteer their own demons. These sponsors will also provide your team with an expert guide, to help you find your way through the jungle. You will find out who your sponsors and guides are soon enough.’
He clapped his hands and rubbed them together in anticipation.
‘Now, let’s all get into our respective groups. There are to be four teams of four, made up of three second-year students and one first-year volunteer. Volunteers, as soon as you set foot on this sand, there is no turning back …’
He allowed his voice to trail off as he watched the small group of first years across the arena.
‘The captains have already been selected,’ Rook continued, unravelling a long scroll. ‘They stand before you right now.’
Fletcher felt a flush of pride and nerves, the two emotions sitting uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. He had been out of the game for so long, had barely spoken to anyone but Ignatius for an entire year … and that was a pretty one-sided conversation. Was he really ready to lead a team on a deadly mission?
Rook cleared his throat, and Fletcher turned with baited breath to hear who his teammates would be.
‘After careful consideration from the king’s council and the teachers at the school, the teams are as follows. Please come and join your chosen captains as each name is called out.’
He cleared his throat.
‘In Isadora’s team, we have Tarquin and Atlas. In Seraph’s team, Rory and Genevieve. In Malik’s team, Penelope and Rufus. In Fletcher’s team, Othello and Sylva.’
Fletcher breathed a sigh of relief as the students leaped down into the arena, joining their respective teammates. Sylva flashed him a smile as she stood beside him, and Othello gave him a light punch on the arm.
‘Trust them to put a human in charge,’ Othello whispered, but he winked to show he didn’t really mind. ‘Looks like they arranged us by friendships.’
‘Agreed,’ Fletcher said happily. ‘Isadora’s looking pleased. I bet when Tarquin lost the Tournament to me she was deemed the stronger of the two.’
As the rest of the students lined up, Fletcher saw four students left on the stands. Atilla, Cress and Didric, along with a dark-haired girl who Fletcher did not recognise. Rook swept his hand around the arena, pointing to each one.
‘You will now have the option to select a fourth member on to your teams from the first-year students who volunteered for the mission. Isadora, you have been randomly chosen to go first.’
‘Yeah right,’ Sylva murmured in Fletcher’s ear, and he suddenly became very aware of the soft touch of her hand on his waist. ‘Not that it matters. We both know who she’s going to pick.’
‘The valiant Didric Cavell,’ Isadora said, beckoning Didric over with a magnanimous hand. ‘After his brilliant performance in the Tournament, robbed of his victory by rotten luck.’
‘Luck had nothing to do with it,’ Cress called, ignoring Rook’s hiss of disapproval at her speaking out of turn.
Didric jumped down into the arena, staggering slightly with dizziness from what was probably a mild concussion. Tarquin shook his hand as Atlas and Isadora patted him on the back.
‘Now, Fletcher,’ Rook said, his eyes still on Cress, daring her to speak again.
Fletcher blanched. For some reason, he had expected to go last.
He paused, earning himself a glare from Atilla. It was obvious whose team the dwarf wished to join. Yet … Cress had just won the Tournament. She had requested, politely, to be part of his team. Then there was Atilla’s recent outburst against Cress’s choice of dress. Fletcher wanted his team to be a shining example to the world – of solidarity, friendship and acceptance.
Atilla had a good heart and was a capable warrior, but Fletcher would not choose him, not for this. Now, he only needed a reason that Atilla would understand.
‘I choose Cress,’ he said, but held up his hand as Atilla began to protest. ‘Othello and Atilla’s parents would never forgive me, if their sons were in the one team that didn’t make it, both killed in a single stroke of misfortune. Better to spread the risk. The king’s army do not allow brothers to serve in the same regiment for that very reason.’
Atilla bowed his head, then gave the curtest of nods.
‘I won the Tournament too, in case you forgot, Fletcher,’ Cress said loudly, already walking across the sand. ‘And it’s Cress Freyja, by the way.’
‘I had not forgotten,’ Fletcher whispered as she took her place beside them. ‘That is the other reason. Good to have you on board, Cress Freyja.’
‘Seraph, your turn,’ Rook said, turning his back on them.
Seraph gave the dark-haired girl a sidelong look, but only for a moment.
‘Atilla Thorsager, of course. Come here, you grumpy bugger,’ Seraph said with a wide smile, beckoning the dwarf over. Atilla rolled his eyes as he walked down the steps, but there was a hint of a smile on his face. The two must have become closer while Fletcher was away.
‘And finally, Malik,’ Rook said.
‘I’m very happy to chose Verity Faversham,’ Malik said, smiling as the dark-haired girl walked into the torchlight. ‘I’m surprised she wasn’t picked first.’
When the girl joined her team, Fletcher couldn’t help but stare as she shook out a bundle of sable hair. She was beautiful, perhaps more so than any girl he had ever seen, with a heart-shaped face and large, expressive eyes that seemed to linger on him as she approached her team. For a moment, her name made no impression on him, and it took a growl of disgust from Othello to remind him.
‘She looks just like her grandmother Ophelia, don’t you think, Fletcher?’
Fletcher saw the resemblance, but found it difficult to associate her with the hard-eyed woman who ruled the Triumvirate with Zacharias and Didric. Even her Inquisitor father, Charles, seemed a long way from the girl, despite their shared pale complexions. Verity greeted Malik with a warm smile and embraced Penelope and Rufus with open arms.
Sylva elbowed him in the side, and Fletcher realised he was staring. He shook his head, trying to remember that the Favershams were enemies.
‘She’s a first year?’ Fletcher asked.
‘Aye,’ Othello confirmed. ‘Though I didn’t see much of her around. Kept herself to herself, spent most of her free time in her room studying or away in Corcillum.’
Fletcher watched as the rest of the teams lined up, waiting for Rook’s next announcement.
‘As you all know, the scrying stones that have made this mission possible were generously provided by Tarquin and Isadora’s father, Verity’s grandmother and Didric himself,’ Rook said, nodding at the respective students. ‘I think we should all take a moment to thank the Forsyth, Faversham and Cavell families for their generosity.’
He stared expectantly at the other students. The Forsyth twins and Didric grinned as Fletcher and his team muttered their unenthusiastic thanks, although Verity simply blushed and looked at her feet.
‘Very good,’ Rook continued. ‘Now, I have an announcement for you all. There is a prize for this mission, to keep things interesting for both the participants and the spectators around the Empire. Whichever team succeeds in rescuing Lady Cavendish will receive one thousand sovereigns, to be divided equally among the team members. There will also be another five hundred sovereigns for any team that participates in the destruction of the goblin eggs. After all, there’s nothing like some healthy competition.’
He grinned at the students as the room filled with furtive whispers. It was a king’s ransom, enough to outfit a small army. The reward came as no surprise to Fletcher, though it mattered little to him. If, in the depths of the jungle, a team lost heart, the reward would be a strong motivator for them to do their duty.
‘If you would turn around,’ Rook ordered, pointing at the doorway behind them, and Fletcher spun. Four demons stood in the entrance, three of which he instantly recognised.
‘Teams, meet your new demons,’ Rook said.
Lysander, Lovett’s Griffin, walked proudly down the steps, beating the air with his wings to send a spray of sand in Isadora’s team’s direction. It was clear whose team he had been selected for, as he made his way straight towards Fletcher before pawing the ground beside them.
‘She can’t,’ Fletcher whispered, his heart dropping at the thought of Lovett confined to a wheelchair, alone. ‘He’s her legs, her wings. He’s her best friend. All she’ll have left is Valens.’
‘She wants to protect us, Fletcher. This is her way of doing that,’ Sylva murmured. ‘We’ll bring Lysander back, safe and sound. And it will be as if she’s right there with us. She can scry using her mind, practically inhabit his body like she did with Valens. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s doing it now.’
Lysander gave Fletcher a nudge with his beak, as if to draw Fletcher’s attention to the next demon that bounded down the stairs. It was a gesture that felt unusually human and, as Fletcher glanced down, he saw Lysander wink at him. Lovett was in there all right, and Fletcher grinned back at her.
Arcturus’s wolf-like Canid, Sacharissa, scampered past, pausing only to give Lysander a playful nudge. The Griffin lashed out with a claw, but only succeeded in catching the end of the four-eyed Canid’s bushy black tail.
‘Looks like Arcturus was thinking along the same lines,’ Fletcher said as Seraph welcomed Sacharissa with a strip of jerky, miraculously produced from a pocket in his jacket. Though Griffins were more powerful and versatile than Canids, Fletcher wished that he could have both on his team. With Arcturus and Lovett’s demons at his side, he would feel much safer in the gloom of the orc jungles.
‘What the hell is that thing?’ Cress asked, pointing, as an enormous, skeletal creature, roughly humanoid in shape, slunk down the stairs.
It had thick, branching antlers that swept out from either side of its head like tangled thorns. The head was like a hairless mix of deer and wolf, with hungry, black eyes that swept the room. Long, dangling arms knuckled the sand ahead of it, the hands tipped with razor-sharp talons. Its flesh was the mottled grey of a corpse, with a stench to match. Despite its rangy frame, the musculature shifted beneath the tight skin as it moved, like corded wire being stretched and tautened.
‘A Wendigo,’ Othello replied, his voice tinged with a mix of awe and horror. ‘Level thirteen and rare to boot. That’s Zacharias Forsyth’s primary demon. Almost everything we know about the Wendigo was learned from studying that very creature – they’re almost never seen in the ether.’
‘No mystery where that thing’s ending up,’ Fletcher said, as the creature came to a stop beside Isadora’s team. He grinned as Tarquin, the closest to it, wrinkled his nose at the smell.
‘My Caliban shall be joining Malik’s team,’ Rook announced, beckoning the final demon over, his own.
It was Rook’s Minotaur, a burly beast clad in a shaggy black pelt. It was powerfully built, all brawn and meat, where the larger Wendigo was sinew and hard bone. The bullish head snorted through its thick, piggish nostrils as it clopped down the stairs on cloven hooves, each breath like the pumping of the bellows in Berdon’s old forge.
‘Thank you for sponsoring us, Inquisitor,’ Malik said, bowing low.
‘We can’t let the Saladins’ and Favershams’ only heirs go unprotected,’ Rook said, pointedly ignoring Penelope and Rufus, whose families, though noble, were not as wealthy as the rest. Rufus, however, seemed not to notice, grasping Rook’s hand and shaking it emphatically.
‘You won’t regret this, Inquisitor,’ Rufus said. ‘My elder brother will reward you tenfold when we rescue my mother, I swear to that!’
‘You shall be meeting your guides, who have been chosen for you by your sponsors, tonight,’ Rook said, extricating his hand with a grimace. ‘Malik’s team, stay here with me. The rest of you, follow the demons.’