Summoner: The Demon

Chapter 10

Note: Thank you so much for the suggestion Fantasydemonwriter! Sorry I didn't include Rory, I swapped him for Seraph, Othello an--oops! This chapter might also be in Fletcher's perspective, as well as a second year, random guard, Goodwin and Arcturus. TaranMatharu has been an amazing influence on me, and so has DarthSchrik. Thanks to all!

"Second years!" Major Goodwin bellowed. "Follow me to the armoury! First years, go to your quarters. Stay there until we return. Remember to read all your textbooks!"

Ignatius felt Fletcher give a sidelong look to Othello, then saw the dwarf nod. All the cadets scrambled madly, scampering about as Major Goodwin stormed off with Arcturus. The old man slipped out a summoning mat and conjured up his Lycan, fierce jaws slavering. The Warriors and their battle tested mammalian demons departed, with a dozen students hopping after him.

"Come on! Let's go!" Seraph said to Fletcher and Othello. The three boys sprinted up to their dormitory, and paused. 

"We're sneaking off, right?" Seraph said. "I saw that look you gave Othello." Ignatius smiled at the boy's perception and bluntness.

"Yeah. Have you noticed that Sir Caulder is the only one that guards his post at ten past midnight?" Fletcher whispered.

"Mr. Mayweather takes a break for five minutes exactly, leaving us a small time window to get into Rimgard. But we can't  go past the main gate, we'll be seen. The sentries change regularly, and this week it's Sir Caulder on the Spire. We can't budge!" Othello contributed. The Spire was a watchtower with many, many telescopes, all bristling from the tower. If you sat down on a chair in the spire, you could see everything and if an intruder came, you would be altered by a series of bells and chimes. Sir Caulder was by far the most vigilant, so when he was on the Spire escape was futile. Unless... Ignatius thought and transmitted his idea to Fletcher.

"Maybe we can sneak into a caravan?" Fletcher suggested. 

"You're a genius!" Othello said, clapping him on the back. Ignatius harrumphed, credit stolen by the summoner.

"The produce chariot is leaving tonight." Seraph said. "We can get on it as the driver stops to sign out." The others nodded, grim. 

"We leave tonight." Othello announced.

In a corner an unlit torch sat on the wall, but a plume of flame from Ignatius changed that. Fletcher took the torch, gripping his Khopesh in his other sweating hand as he led the way. A caravan with a green tarp drove by, and the three cadets wordlessly hopped on the vehicle's trunks. They barely rustled, using the torch for light instead of wrydlights. Better conserve their mana. Three other caravans trotted alongside the green one -which had been dubbed Clop by Seraph due to the sound it made-. All the boys were garbed in dark blue cloaks to blend in the night (better than black, which made silhouettes.) and carried a Khopesh, Bow and arrows, dual short blades, and a battle axe respectively, in addition to their summoning mats.

"Full mana?" Seraph whispered hoarsely. The other two nodded, than Othello peeked out. 

"Road is empty as my cousin's head," Othello said. They jumped off the Caravan and landed painfully. "Ouch!" He grunted. He was helped up by Fletcher and Seraph. "Tha-" Ignatius cut off his response with a burning flare. 

"Listen!" Fletcher said. "There's someone over behind the tree!" They all halted like deer caught in a hunter's gaze. Fletcher's Khopesh was unsheathed, due to their dire mission. Othello hefted his axe and the sound of rasping steel on leather was accompanied by Seraph drawing his second blade.

"Othello, flank them to the right. Seraph, go left." Fletcher whispered out of the side of his mouth. They nodded and crept towards the tree. All of the cowled figures were tense, ready for action, and expecting a fight. "Now!" Fletcher said, and the hooded figures of Seraph and Othello lunged alongside him. Ignatius hopped onto the tree, an ideal vantage point. 

Suddenly, a cold steel stiletto was pressed against Fletcher's throat. An arm wrapped around his midriff to prevent movement. Ignatius sensed his master's alarm and turned around, cursing himself for crawling through the leaves. All this stealth was so hard! He was not able to completely navigate the tree, but did not risk scorching the plant for the element of surprise was on their- well, his side. Othello and Seraph were still fumbling in the dark, unaware.

"Don't move." A cold voice said from behind Fletcher. "I'm not afraid to use this." The steely voice said calmly, pressing the blade into the soft flesh of Master's throat, leaving trace amounts of blood trickling down his neck. Fletcher's grip on his sword loosened, letting the curved blade tumble to the ground in a loud clang. 

"Are you okay?" Seraph said, jogging towards his friend, Othello in tow. They both halted abruptly when they saw a masked figure holding a knife against Fletcher's jugular. The figure's mask was elaborately carved with a unmistakeable similarity to a Wyvern, one of the most rare and powerful demons. A crude steel representation of flames was around the person's head, fastening their hood, and a sable bow and quiver lied on the person's back. It was already strung. Their stiletto gleamed in the moonlight, threatening Fletcher's life. Othello lowered his axe, and Seraph reluctantly dropped one of his dual blades, the other behind his leg.

"What do you want?"Othello asked gruffly. 

"It is not your position to ask questions." The voice said. It was unmistakably female, but to whom, no one but her knew. "Before you can pick up your weapons, I can dispatch him," she said, nudging Ignatius' master. "And kill one of you with my bow, and shortly take out the other one with my stiletto."

"What do you want?" Fletcher said, repeating Othello's question. Ignatius now had a clear view. Despite the nature of the encounter, the figure answered.

"What are you doing here, out at this hour, armed?" 

"We could ask the same to you," Fletcher said. She tightened her hold, and Fletcher groaned.

"You first," She said. "I'm very curious." Seraph gulped as his hand strayed to the sword embedded behind his leg. "Don't touch the sword!" The masked woman said. Quick as a blink, she unslung her black bow and shot an arrow at Seraph's sword. The arrow found its mark, knocking the weapon to the dirt. Another arrow was already knocked on the bowstring and eager for blood. "Next arrow is in your eye." She whispered to both of them. They kicked away their weapons and dropped their belts too, as a reassurance, but Fletcher had escaped her grip. 

He her in the face, leaving temporary a mask shaped indent on his fist, but sent the person reeling back. Othello charged, battle axe raised, but the person nobly evaded him. She quickly knocked him out with the hilt of her knife. Fletcher retrieved his Khopesh as Seraph launched an assault with his twin swords. Fletcher joined him, forcing the figure do bob and weave frantically, dodging by inches each time. She swept out with the stiletto, grazing Seraph's leg, and hit Fletcher in the face with the flat of the blade. The woman detached the back of her mask and used it as a weapon to help fend off the three blades. 

Ignatius saw his chance, and took it. He leaped at her head and pulled the hood back. He was about to burn the person to death when he paused. He knew this face. 

It was Sylva.

The two cadets halted their attack, bewildered. They both pulled back their cowls, revealing their faces.

"Sylva?! W-why are you-u here?" Fletcher stuttered. Ignatius wrapped himself around his master's neck. She looked around, then replied.

"I've gone to help Rimgard's defence force. They need more people. I assume you're here for the same reason?" 

Seraph nodded, dumbstruck."Othello's over there. He'll be in for a surprise when he wakes up!" He said, regaining his cheerful attitude.