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

Chapter 15

Fletcher used the time he had before the thieves arrived to coax the demon on to his shoulder. It dug its claws into the leather of his jacket, sensing his agitation.

'Be ready, little fellow; I think this is going to get messy,' Fletcher murmured, nocking an arrow to his bow and kneeling for better aim. The men rounded the corner and stopped, staring at him.

'Back off or I'll put this through your eye. I've no qualms about putting down a cutpurse,' Fletcher shouted, squinting down the arrow at the largest of them. The man smiled, showing a mouth full of yellowed teeth.

'Aye, I've no doubt. But you see, we're not so much cutpurses as cutthroats, if ye catch my meaning.' The man sneered and held up a curved blade. 'All we wants is yer purse and we'll be on our way, no harm done.'

He took a few steps forward, putting himself within ten feet of Fletcher. The demon hissed and huffed twin plumes of flame from its nostrils that flared just a few inches from the man's face, sending him stumbling back into the others.

'I'm not messing around here. Leave now or you'll regret it!' Fletcher shouted again, though his voice trembled. He glanced at the silent houses around him. Why hadn't anyone heard? Someone needed to call the Pinkertons. How wretched it would be to have made it this far, then to die in a dank alleyway on his very first night.

'Ah, a summoner. You're one of them adepts from Vocans Academy, aren't ye? Little past yer bedtime now, isn't it?' the man said, brushing himself off.

'Leave!' Fletcher said, realising the demon could probably only breathe fire a certain distance. He didn't want to test that tonight.

'Well now, ye've shown me yours. Let me show ye mine,' the man said, then whipped out a pistol and pointed it at Fletcher's chest. Fletcher almost loosed the arrow then and there, but the muzzle jerked as the man walked forward once again.

'Now which one do ye think will hit faster, the gun or that there bow?' the man asked with easy confidence. Fletcher eyed the pistol. It was an ugly thing, the metal rusted and the barrel cracked and worn.

'It doesn't look too accurate,' Fletcher said, backing away.

'Aye, yer right there. But say it missed, and you put that arrow through my eye? My two friends here will come at you sharp like, and slit you from ear to ear. We could both die here, or ye could make it easy and give us what we want. There's nowt spellcraft or a demon can do against a bullet, summoner,' the man said, his voice steady and confident. Something told Fletcher the thief had played this game before.

'I'll take my chances,' Fletcher said, loosing his arrow. The pistol belched smoke with a clap and Fletcher heard the crack of an impact near his chest. Light flared across his vision, yet he could feel no pain – perhaps that would come later. The demon's squeals rung in his ears as he crumpled to the ground, smiling grimly as he saw the thief fall with an arrow in his skull. The two men behind stood frozen; they had not been expecting Fletcher to go through with it.

'Wrong, actually,' came a well-spoken voice from the shadows at the end of the street. 'There's plenty spellcraft can do. Like throwing up a shield, for example.'

The scarred officer Fletcher had seen in the tavern emerged, striding in between the two men left standing. A growl came from the gloom behind him, so loud that Fletcher could almost hear it, rumbling in his chest.

'I would run if I was you,' advised the officer. Without a second look, the men turned tail and sprinted around the corner. From what Fletcher could hear, they did not make it very far. A loud snarl echoed from out of sight, followed by screams that swiftly descended into a horrid gurgling sound.