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

Chapter 17

The room was stiflingly hot compared to the chilled corridors. A blaze crackled in the corner of the dim room, spitting sparks that were sucked up into the flue of the chimney.

'Shut the damned door! It's bloody freezing out there,' the voice boomed again. Fletcher jumped to obey as he noticed a figure sitting behind a large wooden desk in the centre of the room.

'Let's be having you, step lively now. And remove that hood from your face. Don't you know it's rude to cover your head indoors?'

Fletcher hurried into the room and pulled his hood down, revealing the demon that had taken refuge there soon after Fletcher had set foot in Vocans.

The figure harrumphed and then struck a match, lighting a lamp on the corner of his desk. The glow revealed a walrus of a man with a white handlebar moustache and thick mutton-chop sideburns that dominated his features.

'I say, that's a rare demon you've got there! I've only seen one of those, and that wasn't on our side, either.' The man snatched some glasses from the desk and peered at the imp. It shied away at his gaze, causing the old man to chuckle.

'They're fragile little things, but powerful. Who gave it to you? I'm supposed to be informed whenever someone manages to summon a demon outside of the usual species,' the Provost boomed.

'Arcturus sent me,' Fletcher said, hoping that answer would be enough.

'Impress him, did you? We haven't had a novice brought in by a battlemage for quite some time; two years now, I think. You're lucky, you know. Most of the commoners are given weaker demons to start off with. Mites, usually. They're easier to capture and, when we need a new one, a battlemage is chosen at random to provide it. Doesn't put them in a generous mood, unfortunately. Not the best system, but it's the only one we've got. In any case, I shall be having words with Arcturus about it.'

Fletcher nodded dumbly, earning himself a stern glare.

'There's no nodding here. You say "Yes, Provost Scipio, sir"!' the man barked.

'Yes, Provost Scipio, sir,' Fletcher parroted, standing up straight.

'Good. Now, what do you want?' Scipio asked, leaning back in his chair.

'I want to join up, sir; learn to become a battlemage,' Fletcher replied.

'Well, you're here, aren't you? Be off with you. Registration is tomorrow, you can make it all official then,' Scipio said, waving him away. Fletcher left, dumbfounded. He was careful to close the door behind him this time. It had all been so easy. Somehow, everything was falling into place.

Jeffrey was waiting for him, an anxious look on his face.

'Everything OK?' he asked, leading Fletcher back to the stairs.

'More than OK. He's allowed me to join up,' Fletcher said with a grin.

'Not surprising. We need every summoner we can find, that's why we started making all the changes. Girls, commoners, there's even . . . well . . . you'll see for yourself. It's not my place to say,' Jeffrey muttered. Fletcher decided not to pry, instead being careful not to lose his footing on the dark stairwell.

'There aren't many fires or torches here,' Fletcher observed as they trudged up the steep stairs.

'No, the budget is strained as it is. When the nobles arrive we will warm the place up. Everything has to be just so for them, or they complain to their parents. Half of them are spoiled little popinjays, but don't get me wrong, some are nice enough fellows,' Jeffrey panted, pausing when they reached the fifth and final floor. Fletcher noticed Jeffrey was even skinnier than he was himself, with dark brown hair that contrasted starkly with a pallid complexion that was almost verging on the sickly.