With a yell, he leaped to his feet, striking out with a clenched fist. It met a furry muzzle, rewarding him with a yelp as the creature fell back. Emboldened, Arcturus struck out again, sending the creature skittering into the shadows. It was clumsy, stumbling and tripping over itself as it ran.
Arcturus grabbed his pack and sprinted to the door. The inn was dark still, with no signs of movement. He grinned with relief, realizing he might still have a chance to escape. If he was lucky, the horse might not be far away.
But as he began to leave, a strange feeling came over him. Pain and … betrayal. He shook his head and took another step, but the feeling intensified. On the edge of his consciousness, Arcturus felt something stir. The creature was connected to him somehow, as if by a mental umbilical cord. Suddenly, Arcturus was overcome with an immense feeling of loneliness and abandonment, emotions that were all too familiar to him.
He turned and stared into the darkness of the stables. In the light of the moon, the entrance yawned like a cave mouth, shrouded in shadow. The creature was whining, like a dog whose master had kicked it. He felt guilty, for the demon had only been licking his face. Of course … a demon. The noble was on his way to Vocans Academy to learn the art of summoning them after all. Had Arcturus just done that? Summoned this demon? But that was something only nobles could do … wasn’t it?
As if it could sense his guilt, the demon tumbled out of the stable, blinking in the moonlight. It was not as huge as he had thought, only the size of a large dog. In fact, it had the head of a dog too, with a pair of large blue eyes, followed by a second, smaller pair behind them. It was entirely black, with a shaggy ridge of hair along its spine. This ridge continued on to a bushy, fox-like tail, though it swished back and forth much like an eager pet. Strangest of all was its body, muscled like a jungle cat with sharp, dangerous claws and powerful limbs.
“What are you?” Arcturus whispered, holding a calming hand out. He could feel the demon’s fear dissipating, replaced with an eager desire to please. The demon took a wary step forward, and licked his hand with a rough, wet tongue.
Arcturus examined it more closely, stroking its head. Despite its size, the creature looked young, with an overlarge head and clumsy, thick limbs that gave it a puppy-like mien.
“Do you want to come with me?” Arcturus asked, rubbing the creature under its chin. It closed its four eyes and nuzzled back, panting with pleasure. With each scratch Arcturus felt a keen sense of satisfaction on the edge of his consciousness.
“I bet any passing brigands would think twice before attacking us, eh?” Arcturus murmured, smiling. “Let’s just hope you don’t scare the horse too. We’re going to need him tonight.”
He turned, just in time to see a cudgel lashing toward his face.
Pain.
Then nothingness.
CHAPTER
2
ARCTURUS AWOKE IN DARKNESS. For several agonizing seconds, he thought the attack had blinded him. It was only the thin sliver of light at the end of the room that told him otherwise.
The air was stale and heavy, as if it had not been disturbed for some time. The stone underneath him was chilled, devoid of any warmth or comfort. Pain twinged through his skull with every turn of his head, and a tentative feel of his temple revealed a lump the size of a goose egg.
He lay in the gloom, bracing himself to stand and explore his confines. Perhaps if he crawled to the light, he could call for help. He tried to speak, but couldn’t manage more than a raw croak. A thirst he had never known was raging inside him, leaving his swollen tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth like a slab of salt pork.
Footsteps, loud and purposeful, echoed from the source of light. The door, for that is what it was, swung open, blinding him with the glow of a torch. He blinked in the new light, shading his eyes with a hand.
“Awake already, are you?” a cold voice snapped, lifting the flame higher.
Arcturus squinted, revealing brass buttons on black cloth—the uniform of a Pinkerton. The man had a handsome face, but his eyes were cruel and devoid of empathy. He approached Arcturus and crouched down to examine him.
Arcturus spied a tankard of water in the man’s hand and snatched it, all sense of decorum forgotten. He took deep, noisy gulps, filling his belly until the liquid sloshed inside him as if in a half-empty gourd. The man chuckled and lifted him to his feet, his grip like a vise on Arcturus’s shoulder.
“Thank you for the water,” Arcturus gasped, dizzied from standing so suddenly.
“It wasn’t for drinking. It was for throwing over you to rouse your lazy carcass. Two days you’ve been in and out of consciousness. That noble must have hit you something fierce.” The Pinkerton laughed again, then pulled Arcturus out of the cell and down a narrow corridor.
“Where are we going?” Arcturus slurred, his gorge rising as a bout of nausea overcame him.
Forks of pain spread through his brain with every step, as if his skull were full of lightning. He felt the demon on the very edge of his consciousness, awash with confusion and terror.
Arcturus preferred the sensations in his own mind. Pain he was used to, for his master would knock him about when the mood took him. It was the demon’s fear he could not abide, though he was getting flashes of his own as the Pinkerton ignored his question, dragging him up some stairs.
The stairs opened into a small hallway with a set of double doors at the end carved from dark oak and stamped with the insignia of a noble house. They spoke of wealth and power, the old kind that was passed from generation to generation. Paintings lined the walls: portraits of old men with beady eyes that seemed to follow him as they went by.
“You’re to go in alone. Be quick about it. It doesn’t do to keep a king waiting,” the Pinkerton snapped, then grinned at the shock on Arcturus’s face. “That’s right, boy. You’re in that much trouble.”
He shoved Arcturus through the doors, then slammed them shut behind him.
Arcturus stumbled and collapsed to the floor, meeting the soft down of a bearskin rug. Bookshelves lined the walls, broken only by the door behind him and a crackling hearth in front. It was uncomfortably hot in the room, as if a sick man was being purged in a sweat lodge.
There were two armchairs and a stool by the fireplace. The young noble was in the smaller seat, eyeing Arcturus with trepidation. Behind him sat two middle-aged men, both with silver dusting their black hair at the temples. One appeared as the portraits did, his eyes beady with a hooked nose. He bore some resemblance to the young noble, and Arcturus guessed that he was his father.
The other wore a circlet around his head and a scowl, twisting an otherwise handsome face into a savage expression. He could only be King Alfric, ruler of Hominum. The three wore expensive clothing, all velvet, silk and silver lacing.
“Tell us exactly as it happened, Charles,” King Alfric growled at the young noble, his voice low and angry. “Leave nothing out.”
“I told you already. I left the summoning scroll and leather in my panniers and bedded down in a filthy inn just outside Boreas. I woke up to a great racket from outside, so I went to investigate. Next thing I see is this … hoodlum … petting my demon!” Charles pointed a wavering finger at Arcturus, spitting as he spoke. “I knocked him out with my blackjack and got the innkeeper to fetch the Pinkertons while I trapped the beast in the stable. It’s not me you should be questioning. Ask the delinquent.”
“You will speak to your king with respect!” the father bellowed, leaping to his feet and slapping Charles across the face. He lowered his head and bowed to the king, who waved a languorous hand in acceptance.