Summoner: Book 2: The Inquisition by Taran Matharu Read Free Book Online Page B

Berdon. Fletcher barely had time to stand up before he was wrapped in a bear hug, lost in his adoptive father’s scent of leather and coal-dust.
    ‘Son … my son …’ Berdon sobbed.
    He pulled away and grasped Fletcher’s face, examining it through sparkling eyes.
    ‘You’re taller. Almost up to my beard,’ he said, half laughing and half crying. ‘You’re a man now. Still can’t grow a proper moustache, though.’
    Fletcher grinned and hugged him again, unsure of what to say. He couldn’t find the words to describe how much he had missed the amiable giant.
    ‘There’s so much I have to tell you,’ Fletcher murmured.
    ‘Your friend, Othello, has told me all of it,’ Berdon replied, ruffling Fletcher’s hair. ‘A year is a long time, and I’ve been working with his family to get you a fair trial. I hear you’re quite the warrior.’
    Fletcher shuffled his feet and shook his head with embarrassment.
    ‘Othello’s father, Uhtred, is a decent blacksmith,’ Berdon continued, filling the silence after a brief pause. ‘You’re a good judge of character, son.’
    ‘They’re good people,’ Fletcher said, nodding through blurred eyes. ‘I wouldn’t have made it through Vocans without them.’
    Berdon took the seat behind Fletcher and began teasing out the tangles in his hair with a comb from his pocket. Ignatius sniffed suspiciously at his feet, unsure of what to make of the big man. Berdon looked down and ruffled Ignatius’s head, leaving the demon with an affronted look on his face. He spat a puff of smoke, and Berdon chuckled as the Salamander stalked off, his snout in the air.
    ‘Haven’t seen this little tyke in a while. I hope you’ve been looking after him,’ Berdon said.
    ‘More like he’s been looking after me,’ Fletcher said, warning Ignatius to behave with a thought.
    Arcturus, who had been sitting awkwardly next to them, coughed politely.
    ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, but the trial starts soon and we’ve had no time to prepare your defence. Othello and his father will be joining us at the trial. They have told me what happened the night of the dwarven council meeting.’
    ‘Best get you cleaned up while you speak with Captain Arcturus here,’ Berdon murmured. ‘You never were one for self-grooming.’
    ‘Thanks … Dad.’ The word felt unfamiliar in his mouth, but Berdon’s huge smile told Fletcher he had said just the right thing.
    ‘May I?’ Berdon asked Arcturus, pointing at a slim knife scabbarded on his belt.
    ‘By all means.’ Arcturus smiled, handing it to him.
    Berdon brandished the knife, then trimmed away Fletcher’s wispy moustache and beard with deft swipes of the blade. He considered Fletcher’s long hair for a moment, then shrugged and handed the knife back to Arcturus.
    ‘We’ll deal with the length later,’ Berdon said, lifting the comb once again.
    Arcturus cleared his throat and for a moment Fletcher thought he saw a tear in the man’s eye. He turned away to sheath his knife, and Fletcher wondered if he was mistaken, for when he looked back it was gone.
    ‘Let me recap, and you can tell me anything Othello and Uhtred might have left out,’ Arcturus said.
    ‘Go ahead,’ Fletcher said.
    ‘You and Sylva followed Othello when he snuck out to attend the dwarven council meeting. Someone betrayed the meeting’s location and Lord Forsyth’s men gathered outside to ambush them, under the pretence of preventing a rebellion. You were able to warn the dwarves before the soldiers could attack, but killed five men as you, Sylva, Othello and Atilla made your escape from the area. Atilla was injured and you carried him to the infirmary at Vocans, guided by Captain Lovett through her Mite, Valens. On the way, a young soldier accosted you but was incapacitated thanks to the Mite. Does that about cover it?’
    ‘That about covers it …’ Fletcher replied, wracking his brains. It was hard to think clearly with Berdon combing his hair. It brought back memories