Summoner: Origins The Prequel

by Taran Matharu

  They glided expertly into the courtyard, circling until they landed on the cobblestones. Arcturus felt a flash of relief from his demon as the box thudded into the ground behind them.

  A half circle of steps led up to a thick set of oak double doors, higher and wider than ten men. Behind them, an arched gatehouse loomed, shadowing the open drawbridge beneath it.

  ‘I can’t stay with you long, Arcturus,’ Elizabeth said, unclipping the leather lead from his demon’s crate. ‘But I have some advice. Don’t trust anyone, not even your teachers, for they are cut from the same cloth as their students. Study hard and take advantage of every opportunity you are given - the nobles will only respect you if you are better than them. Even then, some will hate you. But it is better to be hated and respected than their prey.’

  ‘I will, Lieutenant Cavendish,’ Arcturus said, lowering his head in deference. She tutted and lifted his chin.

  ‘Keep your head up and give as good as you get. Your old life is over. Reforge your soul in the fires of Vocans Academy.’

  Her eyes burned into his and he knew that she meant every word. He set his jaw and nodded.

  ‘I won’t let them push me around. I have my demon now.’

  ‘What’s its name?’ she asked, pointing at the box beside them.

  ‘I haven’t thought of one yet.’

  ‘Well, you’ll need one. It’s bad luck to leave a demon unnamed for too long.’

  Arcturus was taken aback. He wracked his brain, trying to think of a female name for his demon. The women in his life had rarely been kind to him, for the serving girls at the tavern had their own problems to deal with and the inn keeper’s wife was as cruel as her husband. But there was one.

  Sacharissa had been a skinny waif of a girl, abandoned by her parents when they could no longer afford her. Arcturus had taken her under his wing, teaching her the ways of the workhouse. They would spend their nights together, sharing body heat in their freezing cot and talking all night about the lives they would make for themselves when they were older. But it was not to be. She had died of pneumonia a year later.

  ‘Sacharissa,’ Arcturus whispered. He felt the sting of tears in his eyes, but wiped them away, furious with himself.

  ‘It is a good name,’ Elizabeth said softly. She let him have a moment to gather his emotions, then spoke again.

  ‘I have a feeling you might need a weapon,’ she said, rummaging in a pack at the back of her saddle. She removed a blade, still in its sheathe. The scabbard was beautiful, the outer edge inlaid with gold and the leather embossed with the whorls and symbols of a summoner. She kneeled at his feet and secured it to his left boot, for it came with two leather belts attached. Arcturus heard the scrape of metal as Elizabeth grinned at him and withdrew the blade. It was too long to be a dagger and too small to be a sword, but it felt good in his grip when she handed it to him. He gave it a practice swing, feeling the balance of the weapon.

  ‘This is a dirk. When you battle with an orc shaman’s demon in the sky, you need a blade long enough to do some damage, but with enough speed and manoeuvrability to defend yourself from all sides; an attack can come from any angle. This is the perfect compromise. For a young boy like you, it will do just fine.’

  She mounted Hubertus as he gazed at his weapon. It was an expensive piece, beautiful in its design and sharp enough to shave with.

  He only realised she was leaving when he felt the breeze from Hubertus’s wingbeats against his face.

  ‘There is greatness in you, Arcturus,’ Elizabeth called, her voice almost snatched away by the wind, ‘Remember what I told you!’

  Arcturus watched until she faded into the darkness of the sky, wishing he had thanked her. Then he set his jaw and turned to the double doors.

  ‘Well,’ he said, laying his hand on the box beside him. ‘Let’s get started.’

  5

  Arcturus stabbed his dirk into the crack on the edge of the box and heaved. The wood creaked under the strain, then the nails gave way and the lid crashed to the ground.

  There was a low growl from inside, before Sacharissa bounded out. Her fur stood on end and she snarled, spinning in a circle to scope out her surroundings. It was only when she saw Arcturus that she calmed, snuffling at his feet before lapping his hand with a rough, wet tongue.

  ‘It’s OK, girl. The Favershams won’t hurt us here. Not if I can help it,’ Arcturus brandished his dirk so she could see the blade, then slipped it back into the scabbard on his boot.

  A cloud drifted across the moon, casting the courtyard in a shroud of darkness. Arcturus could barely make out the doors, but he stumbled up the stairs regardless, his hands outstretched in front of him. Sacharissa followed behind, bumping against his shins in her attempts to keep close by.

  Before he could knock on the doors, they swung open unexpectedly. The inside was brightly lit and he shielded his eyes as a figure stepped out brandishing a torch. Arcturus gaped when his eyes adjusted to the glare. It was a dwarf!

  Of course, Arcturus had heard of the dwarves, though they were rarely seen in the north of Hominum, where he had grown up. This one appeared almost exactly as he had imagined, standing as tall as his midriff. The dwarf was stockily built, as all his people were, with long, red hair kept in a ponytail and a braided moustache and beard. He wore a simple servant’s uniform, plain green with a red sash around the middle.

  ‘Welcome to Vocans, my lord,’ the dwarf said in a deep, respectful voice. ‘Please, come in out of the cold.’

  Arcturus did as he asked, speechless. Sacharissa gave the dwarf a suspicious sniff before entering, then sat protectively beside Arcturus.

  ‘I see you already have a Canid. A fine specimen, if you don’t mind me saying so.’ The dwarf held out a thick, callused finger for the demon to sniff. Sacharissa snorted disdainfully and flicked her tail, then walked further into the castle.

  The room they were in was an enormous hall, with identical winding staircases on either side. They stopped at intervals on five levels, each one complete with a long balcony bordered by gilded metal railings. The ceiling was supported by giant oak beams, and Arcturus could see a dome of glass in the very centre that would allow natural light to illuminate the room in the daytime. All around, the walls were ensconced torches, casting pools of flickering light that made the marble floor look like shifting water.

  ‘We call it the Atrium. Beautiful isn’t it?’ the dwarf said proudly.

  ‘It is,’ Arcturus breathed. At the very end of the hall, there was another set of doors, just as large as those behind him. But it was the archway above that took his breath away, for it was intricately carved with the twisting figures of a thousand demons. Their eyes were set with a myriad of glittering jewels, and the shifting shadows of the torchlight made it appear as if the creatures were alive. He tried to spot a Canid like Sacharissa among them, but it was near impossible, given the countless species that danced along the stonework.

  ‘Well, come on. I have to take you to your quarters. Most of the other nobles are sleeping, but you’ll get a chance to meet them in the morning. Do you have baggage, my lord?’ the dwarf asked.

  ‘No baggage,’ Arcturus said, spinning to show the dwarf his rucksack. ‘But hang on, I’m not a—’

  ‘Follow me,’ the dwarf interrupted, before he could finish.

  The dwarf led him up the east staircase, holding the torch aloft to light their way. They continued all the way to the top floor, though Arcturus caught tantalising glimpses of tapestries and paintings as they passed each level. He was disappointed to find the walls relatively bare when they finally left the staircase and made their way down a long corridor, but was fascinated by the suits of armour that lined the way. The occasional crumpled breastplate or crushed helmet revealed that they had once seen battle, and he realised with a gulp that he might someday face the creature
s that had broken them. Sacharissa sensed his fear and began to whine, but he settled her with a scratch behind the ears.

  Once or twice he saw orcish javelins and arrowheads, preserved on velvet cushions behind glass cabinets, but the dwarf walked surprisingly fast for one with such short legs, and Arcturus could not pause to examine them further. After what seemed an age, the dwarf stopped by a door and pushed it open.

  ‘I will let the Provost know you have arrived. Your uniform is on the bed, although I know most of you like to have a tailor make a fresh one. Still, it’s there if you need it. If you need anything else, ask for me, Ulfr. I’ll do my best to assist you.’ Before Arcturus could open his mouth, Ulfr had ushered him inside and closed the door behind him.

  The room was enormous; almost the size of the stable Arcturus had worked in, with high ceilings and a chandelier lit by a ring of thin candles. The walls were lined with awnings of red and gold, and the carpet beneath his feet was a deep, white shag that Sacharissa immediately began to roll around on, rubbing her back against the fabric.

  The bed was a king-sized four poster, with a mattress so thick and plush that it would be difficult to climb into. Arcturus wasted no time in diving across it, revelling in the springy bounce and the silky, satin sheets.

  ‘Up you come, Sacharissa. There’s room for both of us,’ Arcturus laughed, patting the space beside him. Sacharissa yapped with excitement, bounding on to the bed in one fluid leap. Her feet caught in the uniform at the foot of the bed, and Arcturus untangled it and held it up for them to inspect.

  ‘Fancy,’ Arcturus murmured. The jacket was double-breasted, made from a deep blue velvet and held in place by shining gold buttons. It looked too showy to be a military uniform, but then Arcturus was no expert and Elizabeth’s clothing had been just as ornate. He let his feet dangle off the side of the bed and undressed, before shrugging on the uniform. He was pleasantly surprised to find that it fit him well and the material was as soft as the bed sheets he sat on.

  ‘I could get used to this,’ he murmured, rubbing Sacharissa under the chin. Life wasn’t so bad after all.

  The echo of footsteps from outside disturbed his thoughts, then the door slammed open. This time, it wasn’t a dwarf.

  A man stood in the doorway, so tall and brawny that he had to stoop to enter. He was resplendent in the red uniform of a General, with tasselled epaulettes on his shoulders and rows of medals pinned to his chest. His hair was made up of blond curls, which tumbled across his shoulders in an aureate mane. The man was smiling when he stepped into the room, but as soon as he laid eyes on Arcturus he froze. His face was handsome, with chiselled features and a square jaw, but it turned ugly as it twisted into a furious scowl.

  ‘Ulfr!’ the man bellowed, balling his hands into fists. ‘Come here, immediately.’

  ‘What is it, Lord Forsyth?’ Ulfr asked, scurrying in behind him. He kept his eyes low and gave a half bow as Forsyth turned on him.

  ‘Why is this peasant in Charles Faversham’s room?’ Forsyth’s voice was deep and threatening.

  ‘Is he . . . but he . . .’ Ulfr stuttered, his eyes flicking nervously from Arcturus to Forsyth.

  ‘But nothing!’ Forsyth growled, grasping the dwarf by his beard and lifting him so he had to stand on tiptoes.

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ Arcturus interjected, standing up. ‘I didn’t tell him who I was—’

  ‘I’ll deal with you in a minute,’ Forsyth snarled, his grey eyes flashing with anger. Arcturus fell silent, lost for words. The venom in the man’s voice had turned his insides cold.

  ‘My lord, it was an accident. You told me Charles would be arriving tonight, so I assumed . . .’ He trailed off.

  ‘You assumed this filthy urchin was the son and heir to Lord and Lady Faversham, did you?’ Lord Forsyth said, lifting the dwarf still higher.

  Suddenly, he punched the dwarf in the head, grunting with effort. There was a sickening crack of knuckles against skull and Ulfr sprawled across the carpet.

  ‘Hey!’ Arcturus yelled, rushing to Ulfr’s side. The blow would have knocked the senses from any human, but the dwarf was only stunned for a moment, before cradling his head in his hands.

  ‘A halfwit and a half-man. Though the two often go hand in hand.’ Forsyth laughed, rubbing his knuckles. Arcturus recognised the racist term ‘half-man’ and felt disgusted. Sacharissa gave a low growl as she felt his anger and padded towards Forsyth, but Arcturus calmed her with a thought. He did not want to make the situation any worse.

  ‘When you’ve recovered your wits – if you had any to begin with – take the peasant to the empty room at the top of the north eastern tower.’ Forsyth commanded. He swept out of the room without a backwards glance.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Arcturus asked, trying to lift Ulfr to his feet.

  ‘Get off me, human,’ the dwarf barked. Arcturus released him as if he had been stung.

  ‘And you wonder why the dwarves rebel against you so often,’ Ulfr muttered bitterly, rubbing his temple. Already, a large lump was forming on the side of his head.

  Arcturus understood the hatred that dwarves felt towards humans, for even he knew of how the humans had overthrown the dwarves millennia ago, reducing them to second-class citizens in their own homeland.

  ‘I’m not like him,’ Arcturus whispered.

  ‘There’s nobody like Obadiah Forsyth,’ Ulfr replied, hauling himself to his feet. ‘But he is the black to your grey. In the end, you are all stained with the evil that is the human condition.’

  Arcturus bit back a retort and started gathering his things together. Ulfr was already walking out of the room when he had finished.

  ‘I hope there’s a bed where we’re going,’ Arcturus said, tugging a reluctant Sacharissa behind him. She clearly didn’t want to leave the plush carpet in Charles’s room.

  ‘It has all the essentials. It’s where the Provost sends students as a punishment if they break the rules. Solitary confinement and all that,’ Ulfr replied, turning into another stairwell at the end of the corridor.

  ‘What’s a Provost?’ Arcturus’s voice echoed in the tight confines of the staircase.

  ‘A headmaster of sorts. He runs the academy, decides who graduates and sets the curriculum. You might say he’s the highest authority at Vocans.’

  ‘When do I get to meet him?’ Arcturus asked. Ulfr ignored him and turned into an empty chamber with two doors. He took him down the left one and they entered a narrow corridor.

  ‘Storage rooms,’ Ulfr grunted, pointing at the identical doors on either side. He pushed open a door at the very end and showed Arcturus a bare room with a thin pallet bed in the corner, with a simple desk and cabinet crammed against the far wall. An arrow slit allowed a cold gust of wind into the room and Arcturus felt the hair on his arms stiffen with gooseflesh.

  ‘Home sweet home. If you need anything, keep it to yourself. I’m paid to serve the noble born children, not freaks like you. Common summoners. It’s not natural!’ Ulfr shook his head and began to walk away.

  ‘I want to tell the Provost how poorly the servants are treated here. When do I get to meet him?’ Arcturus asked again, hoping to make peace with the dwarf.

  Ulfr turned and gave Arcturus a bitter laugh.

  ‘You’ve already met him. The Provost is Obadiah Forsyth.’

  6

  Arcturus woke feeling refreshed. Despite the cold draughts of wind that gusted through the glassless window, Sacharissa had wrapped herself around him like a slightly smelly fur coat, keeping him warm and comfortable all night.

  She whined in complaint as he extricated himself from her embrace and stood shivering in the room. He yanked the threadbare blanket from beneath her and wrapped it around his shoulders.

  ‘Come on lazybones, we’re going to go find the baths and get ourselves cleaned up. First impression
s are important.’

  Sacharissa rolled over, then blinked her four eyes at him sorrowfully.

  ‘None of that,’ Arcturus grinned. ‘Your puppy dog act won’t do you any favours here.’

  She snorted with feigned annoyance, before padding to the door and nudging it open with her nose.

  Arcturus followed her out into the corridor, past the storerooms and down the stairs. She snuffled at the ground, as if she was hunting for something.

  ‘I hope you’re not taking me to the kitchens,’ Arcturus murmured, trailing behind her. ‘We need to find the baths.’

  As if she could sense his meaning, she turned and looked at him. When his eyes met hers, he felt the connection between them flare, and for a brief moment his senses swam with a new awareness. Sounds became more acute, smells were intense and vivid. Only his vision suffered, the blue-white light of the morning outside turning into shades of grey and shifting strangely in front of his eyes.

  He staggered at the sensation, steadying himself on the wall. As quickly as it came, the feeling left him, but not before he sensed the scent that Sacharissa was tracking. Water.

  ‘Lead on,’ Arcturus smiled, shooing her forward. He grinned, relishing the memory of his new power. It was fascinating to learn that Sacharissa might not be able to see colours. Who knew?

  She turned down the spiral staircase, taking him down to the Atrium while snuffling at the ground. It was obviously still early, for the castle was as lifeless and silent as a tomb.

  It was for that reason that he almost jumped out of his skin when a voice hailed him from the balconies above.

  ‘Arcturus!’ Obadiah Forsyth snapped, his face peering over the metal railing from the floor above him. ‘Who gave you permission to leave your quarters?’

  Before Arcturus could answer, Obadiah’s head disappeared and footsteps echoed in the stairwell behind. He emerged red faced, an accusatory finger pointed at Arcturus like a weapon.

  ‘Sir, I am sorry, I needed to use the facilities,’ Arcturus said, layering his voice with as much respect as he could. ‘I did not mean to break any rules.’