Fletcher started, then looked around the room. Othello was moodily poking the flames with a stick. He was topless, his shirt and jacket left to dry out beside the fire.
'I must have drifted off. How long was I out?' Fletcher asked, sitting up. His clothes were still damp, but he decided to leave them on. He supposed that Sylva would not be pleased with such a lapse in decorum. Yet, to his surprise, she was sitting on the other side of the fire, ripping the bottom of her dress off in a long strip. Ignatius was curled up beside her, his back warmed by the flames.
'Only a few minutes, Fletcher,' she said, handing the strip to Othello. 'Here, use it to wrap your head. It will help it heal.'
'Thanks,' Othello said, with a look of happy astonishment on his face. 'I appreciate it. I'm sorry you had to ruin your dress.'
'That's the least of my worries. How stupid of me, to think I could walk the streets of Corcillum in the middle of a war and not suffer the consequences.'
'Why did you?' Fletcher asked, furrowing his brow.
'I thought I would be safe with the Forsyths. They walked with their demons in plain sight and we were given a wide berth. In hindsight, I am not surprised.' She wrung her hands in frustration. 'I am sure if a man was to saunter into elven territory, he would suffer a similar fate. There are race haters on both sides of the frontier.'
'I'm glad you feel that way. I wouldn't blame you for thinking the worst of us and convincing your father to end all chances of an alliance between our peoples,' Fletcher said, shuffling over to the fire and warming his numbed hands.
'No, it has only strengthened my resolve,' Sylva replied, gazing into the flames. Gone was the haughty girl who had looked down her nose at them. This person was someone entirely more righteous.
'How so?' asked Fletcher.
'If even the false war we pretend to fight has created so much hate between our peoples, what would a real one do?' she explained, pushing more wood into the fire.
'What is the feeling amongst the elves?' Othello asked, removing his boots and letting his socks dry by the crackling fire. Solomon dutifully picked them up and held them close to the flames.
'Some understand it, saying that joining with humans to fight in the south is worth it if it keeps the orcs from our doorsteps. Others claim that the orcs would never raid so far north, even if the Hominum Empire fell,' Sylva answered, wrinkling her nose at the cheesy smell of the dwarf's feet. 'But my father is an old chieftain. He remembers the stories his father told to him, of the days the orcs laid waste to our villages, slaughtering us for sport and gathering our warriors' heads as trophies. The younger elves are barely aware that it was the orc marauders that made us make our homes in the great oaks of the north in the first place, thousands of years ago. Even when we did, that only slowed the orcs down. It was the first humans who allied with us, driving them back to their jungles and patrolling the borders. Our alliance existed since the first men crossed the Akhad Desert, yet over time and countless generations it fell into non-existence.'
'We were allied with the elves?' Fletcher asked, wide-eyed with incredulity.
'I studied the history of our two peoples before coming here on my diplomatic mission. We elves can live for two hundred years, so our historians' memories are longer than yours. King Corwin, the first King of Hominum, led a war against the orcs on our behalf. It was the elves who taught him and his ilk how to summon in exchange for his protection, creating the first noble houses of Hominum.'
'Wow. I had no idea you had a hand in creating our empire,' Fletcher marvelled. 'Nor that elves were the first summoners.'
'Not so,' Sylva murmured. 'The orcs were summoning long before we were. But theirs was a rough, nascent art, small imps and nothing more. Would that it were so today—'
'I have a question,' Othello interrupted. 'Why didn't you bring your own demon? Surely you must have your own demons over there, if you taught men how to summon in the first place?'
'That is a difficult question to answer. We had a long period of peace after the Hominum Empire was founded. Whilst the dwarves were rebelling and the orcs were raiding the kingdom of man, the elves remained in relative safety. So, our need for using demons to defend ourselves passed. Of course there were other factors. For example, the summoning of demons was banned for a brief period four centuries ago, when duelling came into fashion amongst our clan chieftains' heirs. Eventually there were no more demons to gift as they were either killed in these duels or released back into the ether.'
Othello's stomach rumbled and Sylva laughed; the sombre tone of the room rushed away.
'I've got an idea,' Fletcher said, standing. After a moment's hesitation he jumped outside. Thirty seconds later he rushed back into the shed, soaked to the skin once again but holding an armful of corn.
As he settled back down Fletcher noticed something he hadn't before. Othello's back was tattooed in black, depicting a hammer crossed with a battle-axe. The level of detail was extraordinary.
'That's a beautiful tattoo, Othello. What does it mean?' Fletcher enquired.
'Oh, that. It's a dwarven sigil. They are the two tools that dwarves use. It represents the axe for our prowess in battle and the hammer for our skill as craftsmen. I never liked the idea of tattoos though. I don't need marks on my skin to tell the world that I am a true dwarf,' Othello grumbled.
'Why did you get it then?' Sylva asked, spitting a few ears of corn on a rusted pitchfork and holding it over the flames.
'My brother had it tattooed on him, so I had to do the same. Sometimes I need to take the rap for him. It makes more sense that we look identical. The Pinkertons take off your shirt when they . . . punish you.'
Sylva continued to look at him with a mix of bafflement and horror, then her eyes widened as they settled on Othello's scars.
'We're twins, not that the Pinkertons could tell the difference usually anyway; one dwarf is the same as another to them,' Othello explained.
'So . . . you're like Isadora and Tarquin then,' she ventured. 'I've always wondered what it would be like to be a twin.'
'I thought they were twins, but I wasn't sure,' Fletcher said, trying to picture the two nobles.
'Of course they are,' Othello said. 'It's always the first-born who inherits the ability to summon, twins included. The other children have a much smaller chance, although it happens sometimes. Nobody is quite sure why, but it has certainly helped consolidate power in the noble houses. Firstborn sons and daughters inherit the entire estate, so the lands are not portioned out to multiple children in the majority of cases. The Forsyths have enough land for two though, that's for sure.'
The dwarf pulled an ear of corn from the pitchfork and bit into it greedily, blowing on his fingers.
'So tell me, Sylva, what were you doing in Corcillum? Did you see Genevieve and the others in the perfumery?' Fletcher asked, trying to put aside the fact that she had almost got them killed.
'The nobles took me in a carriage to the town square. Then Isadora and Tarquin brought me to the flower district, as they wanted fresh roses for their rooms. I was wearing a headscarf to cover my ears and hair, so I did not think there would be a problem. But my eyes, they must have given me away. That fat man, Grindle, he tore my shawl from my head and dragged me down an alleyway with his friends. Isadora and Tarquin ran at the first sign of trouble. They did not even look back. I didn't have a summoning leather with me, so Sariel remained infused within me. I'll never make that mistake again.'
'Summoning leather?' Othello questioned, finishing off the last of his cob and reaching for another. Sylva slapped his hand away playfully.
'Greedy! Fletcher, have some. I noticed none of you came down for lunch at the canteen earlier, you should eat something.'
'Thanks. All I had for lunch was an apple,' Fletcher said, grabbing an ear for himself. He bit into the soft kernels, each one bursting with cloying sweetness in his mouth.
'A summoning leather,' Sylva turned back to Othello, 'is just a pentacle printed on a square cut of leather, which would allow me to summon Sariel when she has been infused within me. I'm not sure if your summoners call it that today. The documents I found on summoning practices were pretty ancient.'
'I can't believe that Tarquin and Isadora ran away!' Fletcher exclaimed through a mouthful of corn.
'That's not the worst part. They both had their demons out when I was captured. I suspect it was the sight of them that attracted so much attention in the first place.'
'Those cowards,' Othello growled.
'And their full-fledged demons are inherited from their mother and father,' Sylva continued. 'They could have taken several times the number of men that attacked me. If I had been standing closer to them, the men would have never attacked, but I was getting sick of their narcissistic chatter so I walked away for a moment.' Sylva paused, delicately biting into her own cob.
'Why did you try and befriend them if you didn't like them?' Fletcher asked.
'I am here as a diplomat. Who would you think it best to befriend if I am to broker an alliance between our two peoples? I know now of course that the best way is to become an officer as soon as possible and make a name for myself in battle, not suck up to spoiled children with no real power. That will get the word out, if it is known that the elves have some fight in them.'
'Ah,' said Fletcher. It made sense, yet the way she had treated him before still hurt. Then again, if he were alone in his enemy's land with such a huge burden of responsibility, being considerate might be the last thing on his mind, too.
'Right, we should bed down for the night. We're probably going to get in trouble for staying out all night, but there's no way we can walk back in this weather,' Fletcher said, stretching out by the fire.
'Oh, I don't know about that,' Othello said, rolling his jacket into a makeshift pillow and lying back on it. 'There are no guards or anything at the academy entrance. If we get there before the deliveries, we should be able to sneak in without a soul seeing us.'
As Sylva curled up beside the fire and pulled up the jacket's hood, a thought crossed Fletcher's mind. How did Othello know that?
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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