Summoner: The Novice (Book 1) SAMPLE OF NOW PUBLISHED BOOK

Chapter 5

If the soldier had expected to impress his crowd, he was mistaken. Most looked on ambivalently and there were even a few groans. In a small hunting town such as Pelt, learning to read was far down the list of priorities. Many villagers would struggle to get through the first page, let alone the entirety of a thick book. Fletcher, on the other hand, had been put in charge of Berdon's finances, which required him to be both numerate and literate. The many long hours he had spent sweating over his numbers and letters had cost him precious time to play with the other children, but he was proud of his education and was sure he was just as learned as Didric, if not more so.

The soldier smiled as he brandished the book, holding it up in the grey winter light and flicking through the pages, giving Fletcher a tantalising glimpse of scrawled handwriting and intricate sketches.

'What else you got?' asked Jakov, the disappointment clear in his voice.

'Plenty! But they don't get much better than this, if you will allow me to explain. Let me show you, before we move on to the next item,' the soldier implored.

The crowd, though disinterested in the book, was not going to let free entertainment go to waste. There were nods of assent and urging from them, and the soldier broke into a snaggle-toothed grin. He hopped on to an empty crate from the next stall and beckoned the crowd closer, holding the tome above his head where everyone could see.

'This battlemage was the lowest rank a summoner can assume, a second lieutenant to a regiment that hadn't even finished their training. But he volunteered for that fateful mission, and when I looked through his book I understood why. The man was looking for a game changer, a way of summoning something new.' He had their attention now, and he knew it. Fletcher gazed across the street, slack jawed, earning him a warning cough from Berdon. He straightened and busied himself with the stall, though it was already impeccably arranged.

'The orc shamans summon all manner of demons, but they are mostly base, weak creatures, no match to what our own summoners can bring forth. Yet there are only a few species of demon our summoners are able to capture from the other world, with the occasional rare exception. So, although our summoners are more powerful than orc summoners many times over, that leaves us with only a few strings to our bow, so to speak. And what this battlemage was trying to do was to find a way, using orcish techniques, to summon the really powerful demons.'

During his night in the barracks on the elven front, Fletcher had overheard reminisced accounts of horrifying demons that slunk in the night, slitting sleeping throats and slipping away. Beasts that came clawing out of the jungle like wildcats and fought until their bodies were ragged with musket balls. If these were the base and weak creatures that the soldier spoke of, then he would not like to meet the demon of a fully-fledged battlemage.

'So we're to believe that book holds a secret that will change the course of the war? Or contains instructions on how to summon our own demons? Perhaps it is worth its weight in gold,' a familiar voice scoffed, dripping with sarcasm.

It was Didric, back from the stables. He had been standing behind the next stall along, out of Fletcher's view.

'Your words, not mine, my good sir,' the soldier said, tapping his nose with a knowing wink.

'It would be more worthwhile to invest money in the pitiful weapons across the road than in your book!' Didric smirked as Fletcher reddened at the jibe, then Didric strolled around the crate to the front of the crowd, carelessly kicking the rhino horn over as he did so.

'Why would the summoner volunteer for such a mission, if he had already discovered this great secret? And why would you be selling it here, if the book was worth so much? As for it containing summoning instructions, we all know only those of noble blood and a few lucky others are blessed with the ability needed to summon.' He sneered as the soldier gaped in surprise, but then the soldier rallied with surprising alacrity.

'Well now, sire, he probably was eager to see an orc demon up close. I don't know my letters, and so I don't know its worth, and it would be confiscated from me if I tried to sell it to any battlemage, since it was stolen from one of their own.' He spread his arms, his face a picture of innocence.

'Of course,' he went on, 'I will likely hand it over when I get to the elven front. But if I can make a few shillings on the side, knowing that the book will reach a battlemage eventually regardless, well, who could begrudge me that, after carrying the man halfway across the jungle?' He lowered his head in false modesty, peeking through his greasy locks. The crowd was uneasy, unsure which party to side with. Didric was certainly popular, especially when he was being free with Caspar's money in the tavern. Yet the soldier was exciting, and Fletcher could see the crowd wanted this story to be true, even if they knew in their hearts that it was not.

Even as the crowd jeered and Fletcher began to grin at the bully losing this battle of wits to a common soldier, Didric interjected.

'Wait. Did you not say earlier that you knew the focus of his studies by looking through the book? Surely you would need to read to know about any of this? You are a liar and a fraud, and I have a good mind to send for the Pinkertons. They might even throw a desertion charge at you too.' He laughed as the soldier spluttered.

'You have him dead to rights now,' Jakov said, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

'There are pictures in the book . . .' the soldier stammered, but was immediately shouted down by the crowd, who had begun to mock him. Didric raised his voice and held up a hand for silence.

'I'll tell you what. I like the look of the book. It is curiosity and the need for learning that drives me, not the desire for riches,' he declared nobly, even as the gold trimming on his clothing glinted in the sunlight.

'I will come by later to pick it up. Shall we call it . . . four shillings? I just so happened to sell a pair of fine antlers for the same price last night,' he said, giving Fletcher a gloating look. He did not wait for an answer, but instead strode off in triumph, followed by Jakov and most of the soldier's customers.

The soldier looked after him in fury, but soon dejection took over. He sat down on the crate with an audible sigh, dropping the book on to the ground in defeat. Crestfallen at Didric's victory, Fletcher watched as the wind sent the pages riffling.

He did not know how, but Didric was going to pay that night. One way or another.

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