Summoner 7 Read online

  For a moment, Gawain stared at his stew with wide eyes. Then he chuckled and took us all by surprise.

  “I was done, anyway,” the fire mage said dismissively.

  I could tell he liked Nia, since I wasn’t so sure he’d be able to laugh at himself if anybody else had done the deed, but I wasn’t worried.

  I knew Nia Kenefick only had eyes for me.

  As Gawain’s amusement tapered off, Braden and Varleth looked at the fire mage in confusion, but they seemed pleased with his reaction.

  I realized that not everybody had experienced the new Gawain yet, but with time, they should warm up to him.

  “Cyra, Almasy,” I said, “you two left later than the rest of us. Are there any new developments in Varle or the Academy?”

  The two of them exchanged a look.

  “We didn’t hear much,” Cyra said, and her tone was hesitant. “I visited Maelor to ask him to keep an eye on things, though. He can be pretty good at collecting information when he wants to.”

  I chuckled because I knew exactly what she meant. Maelor seemed like some inconsequential old man, but he made conversation easily and knew exactly what questions to ask. People liked to tell him things they wouldn’t normally say out loud.

  Cyra grinned back at me. “You should probably write him a letter,” the dark-haired summoner suggested. “I’m sure he has all kinds of news now.”

  “I’ll do that later,” I agreed. It would be great to hear from Maelor anyway. I felt kind of guilty about how I left him behind in Varle without me or Cyra, but I knew the old man could handle himself as long as he didn’t get too lonely.

  On the topic of old men, I had another one to worry about.

  “Arwyn,” I asked, “how was Sleet doing when you left? That explosion didn’t look good on Antoine.”

  My brows knitted together in worry at the thought of Sleet sustaining a similar kind of damage. When I last saw Antoine, he had pieces of furniture lodged through his body. He would have died immediately without the use of dark magic, and he ended up succumbing anyways as the darkness consumed him. He and his lover, Penny, had met such similar, gruesome ends.

  Arwyn pursed her lips with a concerned expression. “The good news is Sleet was on the ground by the time the explosion occurred.” She held out her hands to gesture as she talked. “The worst injuries were burns to his back and legs, but he escaped almost all of the debris from the table and chairs.”

  I sighed in relief. “Do we have any idea how long it will be before he recovers?”

  Arwyn hummed. “Perhaps another week, perhaps longer. I would keep him in bed for at least three, but it depends on Sleet himself and when he feels he’s up to the task.” The healer didn’t seem happy at the prospect of the Headmaster going back to running an entire school before he was completely healthy.

  “Alright,” I started happily. “So that’s it, we have nothing to worry about. We’ll have a few weeks of Nia’s father in charge, but we know he has our best interests at heart. As long as Miriam Sharpay doesn’t find us, we’re as good as two jugs of half-priced ale.”

  “We took special care to stagger our arrival times, so I think we’ll be fine,” Varleth added.

  The others nodded in agreement, but Arwyn held up a hand to interrupt our celebration.

  “Actually,” she said slowly, “I have some bad news that came through the grapevine. Kennefick came to visit Sleet and me in the infirmary.” She took a breath and continued. “The council isn’t putting Kennefick in charge. They’ve decided instead to elect Goredrin Madox.”

  Gawain’s father was going to be the temporary headmaster. Silence fell over the table as ten people stared at Arwyn in shock and horror.

  “What?” Erin gasped.

  “That bastard,” Gawain snarled.

  I knew his relationship with his father was poor, but the amount of rage in his voice was startling. My heart sank as I considered what it would mean if even a man as caustic as Gawain considered Goredrin to be a terrible choice for a leader.

  “There’s no chance this information is false?” Nia questioned.

  “It’s true,” Arwyn responded with a frown. “The council has all but made up their minds. Goredrin Madox is to be the new headmaster of Varle Enclave’s Academy.”

  Chapter 5

  By the next morning, I was able to sit up in bed without my legs and arms twitching all over the place. The tremor in my hands had gone away, and I no longer struggled to hold small items without dropping them. I was, however, sore enough to feel like I’d been run over by a team of horses and worked over on a smith’s anvil. That was just something I’d have to wait out.

  It had been nice to get spoon-fed by a beautiful woman, but all good things were best in moderation. I was grateful to be able to button up my shirt and pants once again in less than a minute.

  With my dexterity restored, I set to work on what Cyra suggested and began to write a letter to Maelor. I’d accepted Layla’s quill and ink as well as sourced some paper from Arwyn’s bags. With that, I had everything I needed.

  I started the letter with some inane pleasantries about the weather around town without specifically naming our location as Ralor’s Stead, then transitioned to a description of how it had changed since we’d last been here with the copper accenting and general lack of supplies.

  After that was done, I described to Maelor what had happened since we’d arrived. I detailed out our battle in the rift and gave him the casualty and damage report. I was sure he’d be happy to hear things hadn’t ended too badly for the town. That seemed to be a rarity these days.

  I also added a short description of the sprucebores and asked if he knew anything more about them. Now that I had a crystal containing one, I would have to learn how to use it best. I pulled the crystal from my bandolier and examined it. It was spherical and swirled bright red with a branching, abstract tree pattern. Nothing remarkable, but I thought the sprucebore itself was pretty interesting for a monster that probably ranked no higher than a grade C.

  Finally, I cut to asking about what Maelor had heard regarding the school and the state of Varle Enclave as a whole. My old mentor would be grateful for the rest of the letter, but I was also sure he’d realize this was the most important part of why I was writing him. I finished and signed the letter from “a student,” which was as far as I could go to conceal the nature of who I was.

  It might take a few days for him to get back to me, but I thought it was imperative we knew what we were dealing with before we made any moves. Miriam Sharpay had proven herself as dangerous and cunning too many times for me to ignore the council’s decision entirely. I couldn’t trust that she didn’t have Goredrin Madox under her influence.

  With my letter done, I folded another sheet of paper to act as an envelope and sealed them both up. Then I opened up the door to the hallway.

  Oddly, I wasn’t alone. Gawain stood at the end of the hall with his back to me as he stared out the small window into the world outside. His hands were loose at his sides, and he seemed like somebody who’d been cut adrift from the life he’d once known.

  Really, he looked lost. Was this the result of him learning about his father taking over the school?

  I took a step closer and opened my mouth to speak, but then thought better of it. I’d never seen Gawain so introspective before, but maybe it was something he needed to do to process this. So, I left him alone and turned to go.

  My sore legs protested as I stumbled down the stairs. It seemed like this was just another side effect of having far too much electricity pushed into my body.

  When I limped down into the dining area, I found Cyra with a full plate of food in front of her. Her silver and pink dragon, Kalon, was wrapped around her neck, and she twitched her tail happily as she chewed on a piece of sausage. Monsters didn’t need human food to survive, so it struck me as a funny habit for her to have.

  Cyra waved her fork at me in greeting.

  “Morning,” I said ba
ck. By the time I’d managed to lower myself down into the chair next to her, Maron bustled out of his kitchen with another plate of food.

  More sausage from last night, but with eggs and waffles this time, too. He’d also mashed the leftover potatoes into a spiced, creamy mixture topped with chives. My mouth watered as I coated my waffle in the pad of rich, yellow butter he’d set in a dish next to it.

  I didn’t care what anybody else said. Wilds food was just the best.

  Cyra finally managed to swallow her mouthful of breakfast. “Morning, Gryff,” she responded. “Are you ready for a day of hard work?”

  I blinked. “Sure,” I agreed as I ignored my aching body. “What exactly are we doing?”

  “Rebuilding, of course,” Cyra told me, and her eyes danced with amusement. “Don’t tell me you forgot everything you learned under Maelor?”

  “Of course not,” I said with a mock frown. “In fact, I was there first. If anything, it should be me telling you how to do menial labor while an old man yells backwoods sayings at you.”

  Cyra grinned. “That’s an awfully bold thing to say, coming from someone who uses phrases like goblin piss in everyday conversation.”

  She had me there, and I laughed heartily. “You’ll be saying it soon enough too, mark my words,” I warned her.

  “Ridiculous,” a male voice behind me drawled.

  I looked up to see Gawain saunter down the stairs at last.

  “There’s no way anyone can achieve the level of yokel that Gryff lives in,” the fire mage scoffed.

  Cyra rolled her eyes and touched me on the shoulder. “You should meet me out by the collapsed house when you boys are done,” she ordered.

  I nodded. “I’ll find you then.”

  Gawain stalked over to the table near me and leaned back in his chair as his bloodshot eyes narrowed to slits. The man looked exhausted far beyond how he should’ve been. In fact, if I left him here, I was sure he would fall asleep before breakfast arrived.

  “Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed?” I asked in an effort to not sound too concerned.

  Gawain waved it off. “I’m fine. Just couldn’t quiet my head down enough to get any rest.” He released a bone-weary sigh and peeled his eyes back open. “Finish your eggs and go join that summoner. You two have a lot of work to do before Ralor’s Stead goes back to looking only mildly ugly instead of a complete wreck.”

  I snorted and stuffed some eggs into my mouth with a nod. Despite the tone, I knew this was just Gawain’s way of telling me not to worry so much.

  “Go ahead and get some more rest,” I told him. “We don’t want your rich ass trying and failing to put together new walls, anyways.”

  Gawain let out an offended sound, and I snickered as I swallowed the last of my eggs. Then I got up and stacked my dirty plate and utensils on the bar counter. Maron came through with some food for Gawain just as I left, and I waved goodbye as I headed out the door.

  I stopped at the sight of Ralor’s Stead hard at work. People carried lumber and copper joinings as they hurried past with determination. Over by the entrance of town, Cyra intercepted a man who lugged a bucket of smooth, round stones. As they conversed, I walked over to join in.

  “You don’t have one of those cement thingies?” the man asked, and his bushy beard waggled as he talked.

  Cyra looked apologetic. “I’m afraid not. I do have the monsters for cutting down trees, but none for laying cobblestones. Oh, but here comes Gryff, he’ll have just the thing.”

  “I’ve got two cementrolls,” I told the man.

  His pinched face melted into gratitude. “Thank goodness.” He grunted and set down his bucket. “I didn’t want to start pulling up the broken stones if we didn’t have a way to replace ‘em.”

  “Of course,” I replied. I scanned the broken street briefly and felt a pang of guilt as I realized most of the damage was almost certainly the result of my daggerdillos. However, these superficial blemishes were certainly a cost I was willing to pay in order to protect the people of Ralor’s Stead.

  I pulled out my letter to Maelor. “Let me post this before the mail goes out,” I said, “and then I’ll help you with pulling up the bad stones.”

  “Better hurry,” the bushy-bearded man advised. “Nicka said he was going to take off with all our mail at noon, and it looks like it’s almost that time.” He waved a hand toward the far end of the village.

  I remembered Nicka the messenger from my time in Ralor’s Stead before. He was a young man with lean muscles and a head of red curls that glowed like a lighthouse. Those traits made him easy to find in the crowd of workers.

  I reached him just as he mounted his horse, a gray mare with an impatient look to her.

  “Here,” I called, “I’ve got one more letter for you, Nicka.”

  He took it with curiosity. “Where’s this one going?”

  “A man named Maelor in Varle Enclave,” I replied.

  Nicka nodded, then something seemed to occur to him. He looked up and scanned me from head to toe. “By the Maker, you must be Gryff,” he realized. “I didn’t recognize you at first. You sure have come into your own, haven’t you?”

  I smiled and patted his gray mare on the neck. “If you say so,” I agreed. Maybe he was right about it being difficult to recognize me now. I’d changed and grown so much since I’d departed this town just over a year ago. Well, perhaps I hadn’t changed so much as added dimensions to myself that I never knew I was capable of.

  “Seriously, Gryff,” Nicka said, “you’ve saved us not once, but twice. I don’t know if you realize how huge that is for a little town like ours. Thank you for everything you’ve done for Ralor’s Stead.”

  “It’s part of the job,” I told him as I tried not to flush with pride. “Have a good ride.”

  Nicka clucked his mare into a trot, and she tossed her head fitfully while he waved goodbye.

  After that, I spent most of my day on my hands and knees alongside the townsfolk as we pried up crushed or fractured cobblestones. Ralor’s Stead was low on supplies before the rift opened, and that remained true now. There was nothing to be done for the lack of iron, so soft copper nails and molded trim were used in construction projects that needed metal.

  When the supply of lumber ran out, I went out to the forest with my axe goblins to cut down more trees. It gave me an odd sense of deja vu to be back in the forest I’d once worked in daily, only this time I had a whole host of immensely powerful grade B and higher monsters in my bandolier.

  It was a bit like if I’d used a banisher’s sword to spread butter on bread, but I enjoyed the work all the same.

  After I’d cut a few trees, I gathered Braden, Gawain, Varleth, and Orenn from various spots around the town and brought them into the forest.

  “Oh, lovely, we’re doing yokel work,” drawled Gawain as I brought them over to the piles of cut trees.

  I ignored the comment and gestured at my friends in turn. “Orenn, you’re with Gawain. Braden, you’re with Varleth. Four people should be able to carry one of these logs. I want two on each end.”

  Orenn and Gawain seemed like an odd pair, but I thought the cheery metallogue was the least likely person to get into a fight with the fire mage. Sure enough, Gawain’s snide remarks seemed to bounce right off Orenn’s relentless optimism, and the trees got taken away just as quickly as I could cut them.

  After we’d collected enough for the town to last them through the next couple months, I set my team free and strolled back into town to look for more work. While I wandered, I ran into Arwyn in her makeshift healer’s tent. She’d commandeered the covered patio adjacent to the town bakery for her needs, and surprisingly, Ashla was there, too.

  “What’s going on?” I asked as I examined the pair of women.

  Ashla had her leg elevated on a pillow with her sock and boot off, while Arwyn crouched and grasped the ice mage’s ankle with two firm but gentle hands.

  “What’s going on,” Arwyn said darkly, �
��is Ashla decided not to mention she’d badly sprained her ankle in the fight, and now it needs urgent medical treatment.”

  “I just rolled it,” Ashla defended. “My ankle didn’t need to be looked at.”

  “Right,” Arwyn said in a voice that crackled with disapproval. “And then the inflammation set in, and it swelled up to the size of a troll’s fist, and you still thought it didn’t need medical care?”

  Ashla flushed and shook her head. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

  There was something heavy and loaded in her voice that was left unsaid.

  That was right. I’d forgotten the two of them shared some history. I wish I knew what exactly had happened between them.

  Arwyn huffed. “You’ve always been irresponsible about your health. What if your team is depending on you and your injury holds you back?” she scolded.

  “You sound just like Doc,” the ice mage complained.

  Arwyn nodded curtly. “As well I should. At least I know how you stayed healthy until now, since he was probably keeping you alive and on your feet through pure force of will.” She shook her head. “You would have never gotten through school without me.”

  “I was a wonderful student,” Ashla protested.

  Arwyn opened her mouth to retort, but her teasing attitude faded away. An awkward silence hung over the two of them.

  “I suppose you were,” the healer mused.

  My smile had grown as the two bickered, but there was something not quite right in the air. Arwyn and Ashla seemed to be old friends, but I wasn’t sure where the carefully unspoken wariness came from. Something had happened in their shared past, and to this day, that bad event came between them. I hoped to fix it some time, but I wasn’t sure how to.

  Arwyn drew her hands away from Ashla’s leg. “Alright,” she announced. “You’re all fixed up for now, but don’t do any heavy activity.”

  “Ashla,” I said, “I think the townspeople need more hands on sanding duty. Scratch stripping shouldn’t be too hard on your ankle.” I tossed my head over my shoulder to indicate the group of people absorbed in polishing away gouges in the sides of buildings.