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

Chapter 27

The tall buildings fell away to reveal row upon row of huge white tents, exquisitely embroidered with kaleidoscopic shapes of red and blue. Springy green grass replaced the cobblestones, and each pavilion was surrounded by lovingly tended gardens. The vividly coloured flowers wafted sweet scents in the air, reminding Fletcher of his youthful summers in the mountains. Unencumbered by the dingy buildings, the winter sun cast a pale but warm light across Fletcher's face.

'It's beautiful,' Fletcher said, amazed by the sudden transformation. He had expected the Dwarven Quarter to be a squalid and miserable place, given the standard of the buildings that surrounded it. Othello smiled at his words and limped on, waving at nearby dwarves as they sat talking in the gardens.

'This is mine.' Othello pointed to a nearby tent. 'My whole family lives in here.'

'How many are there of you?' Fletcher asked, trying not to mind the stares he was receiving from the other dwarves as they passed by.

'Oh, there are probably around thirty of us in each tent, but ours contains my father's workshop, so there are only twenty of us in this one. He needs his space.'

Fletcher tried to wrap his head around how a pavilion tent could house twenty people and a workshop. Each one was about the size of a large barn but, unless they slept in bunk beds, there was no way that could be true.

'Take down your hood and remove your shoes before you go in. In our culture that is polite,' Othello said. Fletcher helped him take off his boots; the poor dwarf had begun to turn pale from the pain of his injury and bending over was difficult for him. As he kneeled and struggled with Othello's thick-knotted bootlaces, a short figure in flowing robes ran up the path towards them, crying out in shock. Her face was obscured by a pink veil, held in place by a delicate silver chain.

'Othello, what happened?' the figure wailed in a high-pitched voice.

'I'm OK, Thaissa. We just need to get me inside. It's best not to let the others see me injured. They will think I am being mistreated at Vocans, which is not the case.'

Thaissa parted the tent flap and ushered them in. Strangely, it was not the tightly packed room that Fletcher had expected. Instead, the floors were lined with ornate floor mats and cushions. In the centre, there was a thick metal pipe that extended to the top of the tent like a chimney. Understanding dawned on Fletcher when he saw the spiral staircase that wound around the pipe, going deep into the earth. They lived underground!

Thaissa, who could only be Othello's sister, continued to fuss around him, piling cushions on the ground for him to lean against.

'You have a lovely home,' Fletcher commented as another figure came up the stairs. He caught a flash of a rosy-cheeked face with bright green eyes before the female dwarf uttered a shriek and pulled a veil over her face.

'Othello!' she cried out. 'How can you bring guests here without letting us know? He has seen my face!'

'It's OK, Mother, I don't think a human counts. He is my friend and I ask that you treat him as such.' Othello slumped to the ground and clutched at his side.

'You're hurt!' she gasped and ran to him.

'Please, get the bandages. Constable Turner and Sergeant Murphy attacked me again. This time I think they may have broken a rib. I will need you to bind my chest.'

He spoke in short bursts of breath, as if it hurt to breathe, as he removed his jacket and the top half of his uniform. His broad chest and shoulders were covered with a thick pelt of curly red hair, which also extended halfway down his back. The skin of his shoulders was latticed with scars; evidence of more brutality from the Pinkertons. Fletcher shuddered at the sight.

Othello's mother ran downstairs as Thaissa dabbed at his forehead with her sleeve. She returned soon after with a roll of linen and began to wrap it tight around his chest. Othello winced with each swathe, but bore it stoically. Fletcher could already see a black bruise blossoming on the dwarf's chest.

'Othello, what are you doing back so early? Someone told me they had seen you in town,' came a voice from behind them.

'I'm just getting patched up, Atilla,' Othello said. 'The Pinkertons had another go at me. Lucky I had Fletcher here to help me out.'

Another dwarf stood in the doorway. He looked the spitting image of Othello, almost identical in fact. The dwarf gave Fletcher a look of pure hatred and helped Othello to his feet.

'The humans will never accept us. We should move out of this goddamned city and create our own settlements, away from here. Look where fraternising with this human has got you,' Atilla ranted. 'Get out of here, human, before I do the same to you.'

As if Ignatius could understand the words, he leaped on to the floor and hissed, allowing a thin stream of smoke to waft from his nostrils.

'Enough! I have had it with your antihuman rhetoric!' Othello shouted. 'I will not have you insult my friend in my own home. It is you who needs to leave!' He coughed with pain at the outburst and leaned on Fletcher. Atilla gave Fletcher another glare and then swept out of the tent, muttering under his breath.

'You will have to forgive my twin brother. He too passed the testing, but his hate for your people means he will never fight for Hominum, not even as a battlemage. We both desire freedom for the dwarves, but that is where our agreement ends,' Othello said miserably. 'I worry about him, what he might do. I can barely remember the number of times I turned myself in when they put out a warrant for his arrest, enduring his punishments. If they tried to arrest him, he might have fought back. Then they would have killed him. What else could I do but go in his stead?'

'It's OK. How can I blame him for feeling that way after what I saw today? I hope that I'll get a chance to change his mind some day. We aren't all bad.'

'Aye, you're all right,' Othello said with a grin. 'We've been keeping Atilla out of trouble, working with Dad in the workshop. I might as well take you there now. My father will take a look at that sword for you. He's the best blacksmith in all of Hominum.'

'The inventor of muskets and pistols? I don't doubt it,' Fletcher said, then remembered his manners. 'I would be honoured if you would allow me to visit your home,' he said to the two female dwarves, inclining his head.

Othello's mother's veil hid her expression, but she nodded after a few moments.

'I trust my boy's judgement, and I am glad he has found a friend at the academy. We had feared that he would be unhappy there. My name is Briss. It is a pleasure to meet you.'

'He has many friends. I am just one of them,' Fletcher said, patting Othello on the back. 'I am honoured to meet you, Briss, and you too, Thaissa.'

'We must seem very strange to you with our veils,' Thaissa's voice was shy and hesitant. 'It is not often that dwarven women meet humans. Why, many still think that dwarf women grow beards and cannot be told apart from the men!'

She giggled and even Briss let out a light, tinkling laugh.

'I must admit, I was wondering why you wear them. Would it be rude of me to ask?' Fletcher enquired.

'Not at all. We wear them so that dwarves marry for love and not out of lust,' Briss said. 'Our spouses cannot see us until our wedding night, and so they must love us for our personalities and not our looks. It is also a mark of modesty and privacy, so that we do not flaunt our beauty for everyone to see. That is a privilege reserved for our husbands—'

'Speaking of husbands, I must take Fletcher to see Father right away,' Othello interrupted, flustered by his mother's forthrightness. 'Come on, Fletcher. He's downstairs.'

Did you know that the Wattpad version of Summoner: The Novice is just a large sample of the first draft? The published version is longer and 100% completed, with more demons, more lessons and more action! 

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