Summoner: Book 2: The Inquisition (10 page)

Fletcher received no further visitors that night. When sleep would not come to him, he summoned Ignatius and they played together, a stupid game of tag around the table that left Fletcher with bruised shins but gave him a welcome distraction from what was to come.

But by the end Fletcher could do little but sit in silence and watch as Ignatius slept, glad that the slumbering demon could not sense the despair that had taken hold of him.

Jakov and his guards came early, banging and shouting as they entered the cell, expecting to drag a terrified convict from his bed. Instead they found Fletcher standing alone beside the door, ready for what the morning would bring.

Despite the early hour, the courtroom was full of people, with more nobles and generals in the crowd, even some soldiers. It did little to assuage Fletcher’s nerves, but he reinforced his resolve with thoughts of the consequences of inaction.

What he was about to do would exonerate Othello of all crimes. It would cheat the Triumvirate of their victory and prevent a war that would tear the Empire apart.

All it would cost him was his life.

Arcturus looked haggard as he took a seat at the defence table, a great pile of notes and papers clutched to his chest. Captain Lovett looked no better, seated behind him on the front bench, uncomfortably squashed between Zacharias Forsyth and old King Alfric, with a rickety wheelchair close by.

As Rook and Charles waited for the crowd to be seated, Othello was dragged into the room and manacled beside Fletcher. This time, he stood proudly, head held high, eyes blazing with defiance.

Fletcher worried whether Uhtred had told Othello of his plans. Whether he might still go through with it. The threat to his son’s life had put a lot of strain on the goodhearted dwarf … it would be best for Fletcher to make his move now, just in case.

‘Othello, I need you to promise me something,’ he murmured, keeping his voice low. ‘The king came to see me last night. He’s on our side and has a plan. I don’t have time to tell you what’s going on, but whatever happens, you have to go along with it.’

Othello raised his eyebrows and gave Fletcher a trusting smile. It was strange to see so much of Othello’s face. His jaw was strong and square beneath the remaining stubble, like the edge of an anvil.

‘I’m glad someone has a plan,’ Othello whispered back. ‘After my dad’s …
outburst
last night, they punished us by banning Arcturus and Lovett from seeing us – I heard them arguing with the guards outside my cell. My father can’t even attend the trial.’

Othello curled his lip with anger, shooting a hate-filled glance at Jakov. He whispered out of the corner of his mouth, ‘Are you sure we can trust the king?’

‘We have no other choice,’ Fletcher replied. ‘I doubt anything Arcturus and Lovett could say will make a difference.’

Othello glanced at the defence table and shook his head.

‘They look like they’ve been up all night. I’m willing to roll the dice.’

Fletcher gave Othello a sad smile, wondering if there would be a chance to explain himself before his execution. He took a deep breath.

‘I have something to say!’ he yelled, twisting his body uncomfortably against the chains so that he faced the crowd.

‘Fletcher, be quiet,’ Arcturus growled, his tired eyes widening with surprise.

Rook banged his gavel as the room began a murmured discussion, with many of the crowd standing, to better see which prisoner had spoken.

‘I’m sad to say I agree with Captain Arcturus,’ Rook sneered. ‘We have no time for impassioned speeches and grandiose last words. Keep your tongue still or Jakov shall gag you as he did the dwarf.’

‘I want to confess,’ Fletcher said, turning back to him.

‘Don’t do it,’ Arcturus yelled out. ‘We can still win this, we can still wi—’ His voice was muffled as he was tackled off his feet and slammed into the ground; Jakov’s bulky frame straddled his chest and a meaty palm clapped over his mouth.

Another guard stepped purposefully towards Lovett, but there was no need. Fletcher could see Zacharias Forsyth whispering in her ear, and the glint of something sharp and metallic pressed against her ribs. It only strengthened Fletcher’s resolve. He hated these bloodless, indifferent men – they were nothing but empty vessels, slaves to their own desires.

‘Say that again,’ Charles said, his voice breathless with excitement. ‘Say it so the whole room can hear it.’

The room was loud again, and Fletcher felt the combined gaze of the most powerful men and women of Hominum. He did not flinch – it needed to look convincing.

‘I confess to the murders of the five men,’ Fletcher bellowed, shocking the crowd into silence. ‘Yes, that’s right,
I
did it. It was me and no other. I stole Othello’s tomahawk that night and went out looking for trouble. Little did I know Othello had seen me take the axe and followed me.’

He stuttered, the words he had rehearsed so carefully like hot coals in his mouth. With every syllable, he brought himself closer to death.

‘Af— After he had tracked me for almost an hour, the soldiers saw him on their patrol and decided that a dwarf would make for good target practice. I heard the gunshot and went to investigate. When I arrived, I saw that they had shot Othello through the leg.’

He took a deep breath, knowing the next words would condemn him. Yet, in the final act, his nerve returned, and he spoke with conviction once again.

‘I killed them all while he was barely conscious on the ground. I did it in cold blood – they didn’t even see me coming. Othello had nothing to do with it. I am the guilty one here.’

The words rang in the silent room.

Rook scribbled furiously, barely looking up from the table. But Charles’s glee faded from his face, as he realised what was happening.

‘The … the dwarf. He also …’ Charles stuttered. There was a curse from behind and Fletcher allowed himself a grim smile, recognising Didric’s throaty tone.

‘We must confer,’ Charles said, seizing the gavel from the high table and banging it against the side. He hurried up the steps and there was a hushed conversation between the two Inquisitors, but Fletcher could not hear it over the whispers of the crowd. He noticed a great deal of glancing at the Triumvirate and the old king Alfric, confirming his suspicions. Othello was the real target for the trial. His own death was just the icing on the cake, and now they would find it a poor meal.

Suddenly, a new voice broke through the crowd.

‘We have our verdict.’

It was one of the jury, a tall, imperious-looking lady with grey, scraped back hair and tortoiseshell spectacles. She held a small pile of torn paper in front of her, and Fletcher’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of it. The jury had voted while the Inquisitors were distracted.

‘A moment, if you please,’ Charles said, holding up a finger.

‘We do
not
please,’ the jury lady snapped. ‘You would do well to remember that it is the defence’s turn to speak, and Fletcher has clearly dismissed his representative and pleaded guilty. It is we who make the decisions in this courtroom and we may rule whenever we like. I only ask whether the dwarf has anything to say, before I read it out.’

Othello hesitated, looking searchingly at Fletcher’s face. After a moment he looked away, indecision creasing his brow. For ten beats, the future of Hominum rested in the hands of a single dwarf. Then he shook his head, unable to say the words aloud.

‘In that case, our first ruling is this. We find Othello Thorsager … not guilty. He is a victim of circumstance, nothing more.’

Othello barely reacted, instead gripping Fletcher’s wrist and drawing him close.

‘What was the plan?’ Othello whispered. ‘This doesn’t make any sense.’

He stared into Fletcher’s eyes with sudden intensity. This time, they told the truth that Fletcher’s mouth could not.

‘No …’ Othello said, tightening his grip as Fletcher’s eyes began to water. Fletcher did not need to be strong any more. Othello was safe now.

‘You said there was a plan,’ Othello croaked, grasping Fletcher’s clothes like a drowning man. ‘The king was going to save you.’

‘This was the plan,’ Fletcher said, smiling bitterly at the dwarf through blurred eyes. ‘You’ll understand one day. This is bigger than us.’

The jury’s verdict hit his ears, each word like a hammer blow to his chest.

‘Fletcher Wulf is found guilty of all charges. He shall be hung by the neck until dead.’

The verdict echoed in the rafters like a death knell, and Fletcher supposed it might as well have been. Silence weighed heavily on the room; some people were shocked, others waited for his reaction.

Then a string of curses erupted from the very back of the hall. Fletcher turned and saw the familiar, lopsided figure of Sir Caulder stomping down the centre of the court. His wooden leg clunked against the stone floor as he made his way to the front of the room, never ceasing his tirade of expletives.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Rook yelled, banging his gavel. ‘Guards, expel him from the court at once!’

‘Dammit, I have something to say and I’ll hamstring any guard who comes near me,’ Sir Caulder growled, unsheathing a short sword from a scabbard at his waist. He was in his old uniform – steel chainmail with the silver and blue surcoat of the noble house he had once served. The guards hesitated, instead raising their muskets.

Zacharias Forsyth shook his head in disgust, then sprung to his feet and turned to address the crowd.

‘Would you give this foulmouthed old man a platform to spew his ramblings? The trial is over – let us leave him to his mad thoughts.’

But Zacharias had clearly misjudged the crowd. Eager for more entertainment, they ignored him, some even calling for him to be seated. King Harold stood and glared out at the onlookers, until silence reigned once again.

‘I am inclined to agree with Zacharias,’ he announced.

Fletcher’s heart sank. Why would Harold take Zacharias’s side? Had this all been a ploy, to get him to confess?

‘But …’ the king continued, ‘I knighted Sir Caulder and appointed him as weapons master at Vocans Academy myself. He is a good man, and of sound mind. Out of respect for a knight of the realm, we shall hear him out.’

He sat down with finality, and Zacharias was forced to join him, unable to publicly contradict his king. Fletcher sighed with relief and turned his gaze back to the old weapons master.

‘Thank you, my king,’ Sir Caulder said, inclining his head. He cleared his throat, then began to speak in a loud, clear voice.

‘Twenty-one years ago, I entered the service of the Raleigh family, protecting their ancestral homeland of Raleighshire. The estate was on the outskirts of a village which bordered the jungle and suffered frequent raids from the orcs, but was easily defensible. There was only one way the orcs could enter into our territory – a mountain pass, where my fifty men could hold off an army of orcs if need be. For years I defended that pass, with nothing more than a few skirmishes.’

His voice hitched and he paused, taking a moment to compose himself. Fletcher didn’t get it. Sir Caulder was buying time, but for what, Fletcher did not know. Was he stalling, so that Uhtred could get his dwarves into position? Fletcher glanced at the entrance doors, hoping against hope that they had not gone ahead with such a foolish plan.

‘It was a night like any other. The sentries were awake, the sentinel torches were lit. There was no movement from the tree line. We didn’t know it was happening until a dying servant staggered through the back entrance of our mountain camp with a javelin in his belly. He told us that orcs had appeared out of nowhere, slaughtering the entire county. By the time we arrived it was too late. The family and villagers were dead or dying and a hundred orcs were bearing down upon us. I was the only survivor of the attack.’

Sir Caulder brandished his hooked hand, for all to see.

‘I lost a hand and a leg, but that was nothing compared to the loss of life that night. Every man, woman and child in the village beheaded, their skulls piled in the village square. The Raleigh family and their servants, impaled on spikes and left to rot on the jungle border, a warning to the Empire to stay out of orc lands. They were barely recognisable by the time they were cut down and laid to rest.’

Inquisitor Rook groaned aloud and stared up at the ceiling in exasperation.

‘We have all heard this story before, Sir Caulder, it is the event that set the war in motion, after eight years of bad blood. I have no patience for an old man reminiscing over his past failures. Get on with it.’

Sir Caulder glared up at the pale-faced Inquisitor, but with visible effort turned back to the courtroom.

‘That mountain pass was the only obvious way to enter Raleighshire. But there was another. A secret passage under the mountain, known only to the Raleighs and their friends. Someone betrayed them. They are probably in this room right now.’

His words were quiet, without accusation, but they caused the room to fill with the low buzz of whispered debate.