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

Chapter 28

The steps opened up into a chamber, as wide and as tall as the tent above. The pipe in the centre contained a crackling fire resting over a grate, the gush of hot air and smoke from below sending sparks rushing upwards. The walls were made of bare earth, propped up by strong oak beams that held the room in place. Small chandeliers with wax candles hung from the ceiling, giving the room a warm orange glow. Seven doors were built into the walls of the round room, each one made of solid steel.

They continued down into a near-identical chamber, this one containing a stone dining table. Instead of a fireplace, the pipe was connected to what looked like a large oven and kiln. Vases and pots of all sizes were stacked against the walls. Each one was painted with an intricate floral pattern.

'This is where my mother spends most of her time. She likes baking, both food and porcelain. A man comes to buy her goods in bulk every week so he can sell them in his shop. The housewives of Hominum turn their noses up at dwarf-made pottery, so he pretends he makes them himself. We make a tidy profit,' Othello boasted. Fletcher was astonished at how quickly the dwarf was recovering. They were a hearty people, of that he was certain.

They continued deeper and deeper into the earth, as the stairwell became more narrow and constricted. Fletcher was glad that Solomon had decided to rest with Thaissa and Briss; his stumpy legs would never have managed the steep steps.

They passed two more chambers on their way down, each one smaller than the last. The first was layered in stone and full of residual steam, with copper tubing that twisted around the central pipe column; baths of some sort.

The next room was too dark to see much, but Fletcher could just make out the outline of pikes and swords. He guessed it was a storage room, full of Othello's father's weapons. The stairs became so steep that Fletcher almost had to clamber down, fumbling in the dim light.

'Sorry about the stairs. They were designed for defence, you know. The stairs go down clockwise so any men fighting their way down would have to fight with their left hand and would only be able to come one at a time. One dwarf could hold this stairway against a thousand foes, if he was warrior enough,' Othello said, knocking the pillar in the centre that prevented a right-handed fighter from manoeuvring his sword. It rang hollow beneath Othello's knuckles, and Fletcher reckoned he could hear the sound of hot air rushing within.

'Have your homes always been this way?' Fletcher asked, starting to feel claustrophobic as the low ceiling scraped against his head. For someone used to open skies on top of a mountain, this was not a comfortable experience.

'Yes, as far back as we can remember. We think it was at first to defend against the wild animals and orcs, but in time we preferred to sleep below the earth. It's so quiet and peaceful down here. I must confess, I have been having trouble sleeping in the top of that tower, with the wind blowing into my room.'

'Yes . . . me too,' Fletcher said, thinking back on the figure from the drawbridge last night.

'Here it is,' Othello said as they reached the bottom of the stairs. There was a large steel door surrounded by stone, as if it had been embedded into a natural sheet of bedrock underground.

'Even if they dug around this, they would have to chip their way through the stone to get in. My father takes his privacy very seriously. There are many others just like this, to house the factories that produce the muskets. But this one is special. It is where the first musket was ever created.'

He knocked his fist against the door with a rhythmic booming pattern, a secret code of some sort. A few seconds later, there were a series of bangs as locks were removed. Then a familiar face opened the door.

'Athol!' Fletcher exclaimed, smiling at the familiar face. 'Othello's father is your boss? I should have guessed, what with those beautiful guns.'

'What are you doing here?' Athol's face filled with surprise and confusion. 'And with Othello of all people?'

'He's my friend from Vocans,' Othello said, pushing his way into the room. 'I want to introduce him to my father.'

'Uhtred is busy now, Othello. You'd best be coming back another time,' Athol warned. 'Wait out here, Fletcher. I don't think he would want you in the workshop.'

The dwarves disappeared inside, leaving Fletcher to peer in. The room was filled with tools and piles of metal ingots. In contrast to Berdon's forge, everything was organised to an almost obsessive degree. The inside of the room radiated heat, as if Fletcher had his face a few inches away from a bonfire. Just out of sight, a murmured conversation went on, but Fletcher could not make out what they were saying over the muffled roar of the forge's flames. Then rumbling like the bellows of the forge itself, a voice rang out.

'WHAT?' the voice thundered. 'HERE?'

Footsteps thudded through the chamber and Othello's father stood in front of him. The dwarf's naked chest was enormously broad, with brawny arms spanning the doorway as he blocked the view into the room. The red beard that hung from his chin was split into a fork that hung in two braids down to his waist, and his long, droopy moustache hung almost to his stomach. His thick pelt of chest hair glistened with sweat in the orange glow of the forge's fire.

'Athol tells me you asked to work as my apprentice just a couple of days ago.' Uhtred's deep booming voice echoed in the tight confines of the stairwell. 'Now I find you're chumming up to my boy, wheedling your way into our forge. I don't trust you, not even as far as I could throw you, and I warrant I could chuck you a good long distance.'

Ignatius stirred from beneath Fletcher's hood, sensing the threat. Fletcher took a few steps back. He was horrified by the implication. Yet he understood how suspicious the situation appeared.

'I swear, I had no agenda in coming here. I worked in the north as an apprentice blacksmith. I had just arrived in Corcillum and was seeking employment! Othello and I only met when I enlisted at Vocans. I need a scabbard for my sword, and your son offered to take me to a trustworthy blacksmith. I did not even know he came from a smithing family until just a few minutes ago, nor that Athol worked here until just now. I will go upstairs. My deepest apologies for disturbing you.'

Fletcher bowed and turned to leave, but had only made it to the first step when Uhtred cleared his throat.

'I may have . . . been hasty. My son is a good judge of character, as is Athol. But I must test your story first and see if you were really an apprentice. Athol, hide the musket-making tools and fetch one of the smaller hammers for Fletcher. If he is a spy, best to find out now so we can take the proper precautions. In the meantime, show me this sword. I have not seen a khopesh of quality for a while.'

Fletcher removed his sword and handed it to Uhtred. It looked tiny in the dwarf's meaty hands, more like a sickle for pruning flowers than a deadly weapon. He was almost five feet tall, practically a giant for a dwarf.

'You need to look after this better. When was the last time you oiled it, or sharpened it?' Uhtred asked, turning the blade this way and that in the dim light. 'A sword is a tool, just like any other. I will leave you an oilcloth to wrap it in whilst the scabbard is prepared, should your story check out. Look after your weapons, boy! Would you let your demon starve?'

'I guess I have been lax of late,' Fletcher said with embarrassment. He had barely given the khopesh a second thought since he had received it, other than during his fight with Sir Caulder. Another twinge of guilt ran through him as he thought of how much time and effort Berdon must have put in to make it.

'All right. Athol should be done by now,' Uhtred said, stepping out of the way. 'Let's see what you've got.'

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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