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

Chapter 23

The nobles arrived late for breakfast, sitting on the other side of the room and completely ignoring the group of commoners. Tarquin and Isadora led the way, clearly having established themselves as the ringleaders, although the casual backslapping and guffawing made Fletcher think that most of the nobles already knew one another.

'Why are they ignoring us?' Atlas asked, looking over his shoulder as the nobles began to make loud comments about the poor quality of the food.

'This is normal,' Seraph said matter of factly. 'The nobles always stay separate from the commoners. I snuck past one of their rooms the other day. They're the size of our entire quarters and then some!'

'I don't think it should be this way,' Rory said. 'Are we not going to be living together for the next two years? There are only five of them. Surely they will get bored of each other's company?'

'I doubt it,' Fletcher ventured. 'One of the servants told me that the nobles often spend their free time in Corcillum. It is us who will be stuck in this castle with little to do. Our best bet will be to befriend some of the older commoners.'

Even as he spoke, a dozen second years began to stream into the hall, talking loudly. They split into two groups and sat on separate tables, but unlike the first years, the two cliques seemed to be talking to each other with no clear animosity. Yet judging by the quality of their uniforms, Fletcher suspected the table divide was between nobles and commoners once again.

'They're down for breakfast early,' Seraph commented as both tables of second years looked them up and down, with special attention placed on Othello. One of them nudged another and pointed at Ignatius and the Golem, who Othello had named Solomon. The dwarf shifted and lowered his head over his meal, uncomfortable under their gaze.

'I wish we could have breakfast at the same time as they do every day. There's enough room for hundreds of us to eat in here.' Genevieve yawned, resting her head in her hands. Fletcher eyed her red hair with suspicion. Was she the figure he had seen leaving Vocans last night?

As the servants finished laying out breakfast for the new arrivals, the room suddenly hushed. Looking up from his meal, Fletcher saw the Provost stride into the room, followed by two men and a woman who were dressed in officers' uniforms. With a start, he recognised one of them to be Arcturus, his milky eye staring resolutely ahead. The man showed no sign of recognition. The elf girl strode in behind them, causing a stir. She walked with her head high to a seat further down from the commoners' table. Her Canid curled beneath her, its bushy tail stiffening as it glared around the room protectively.

The four officers stood with their arms crossed and stared at the room until absolute silence had fallen.

'Welcome to Vocans! I trust you have all settled in,' Provost Scipio announced gruffly through his bristling moustache. 'You are privileged to be the latest generation of students to grace the hallowed halls of Vocans Academy.' Fletcher looked around, counting the other novices. The second years numbered twelve students, the same as them.

'Our traditions date back to the first King of Hominum, over two thousand years ago,' Scipio continued. 'And though we are few in number, the battlemages that graduate from this institution go on to serve as the finest officers in the military, whether it be at the King's pleasure or under the banner of one of our great noble houses.'

Fletcher saw Tarquin lean in and whisper to Isadora, whose tinkling laugh rang out across the room. He was not the only one to notice. Scipio's face reddened with anger, and he pointed at the young noble.

'You, stand up! I will not abide rudeness, not from anyone, noble or otherwise! Stand up, I say, and give account of yourself.'

Tarquin stood up, yet he seemed unshaken by the Provost's anger. He dug his thumbs into the pockets of his trousers and spoke in a clear voice.