The Summoner's Handbook

by Taran Matharu

  What was inside set my curiosity ablaze. All around, pickled demons gazed silently back at me, many missing limbs and organs. Fat candles sat beneath beakers and jars of bubbling liquid, while strange charts and symbols adorned the walls.

  I felt a hand fall upon my shoulder. I must confess, I let out an unmanly yelp of fear. It was then that I met Electra Mabosi.

  The servant, Jeffrey, was dismissed forthwith, but I was told to remain. I trembled as she observed me, and in turn I observed her back. She clearly hailed from the land of Swazulu across the Vesanian Sea, for her skin was far darker than my own and her head was capped with short curls. She wore a white-cloth coat, and her hands were clad in thick leather gloves that were covered in disgusting stains.

  I do not remember the exact wording of our conversation. But it was something like this:

  “Curiosity is to be encouraged,” she said. “Snooping is not.”

  “I wasn’t snooping! Jeffrey brought me here. I just wanted to see more demons.”

  She looked at me strangely then. She tapped her chin with a glove, leaving a yellow stain streaked across her chin. I shuddered.

  “I need someone like you. Someone with curiosity. I have heard reports from Lord Etherington—you’re a good student.”

  “He said that?” I asked.

  She ignored me.

  “Before, I would ask graduates to work for me. But who wants to keep studying once they’ve graduated? They just want to go off and fight in their wars, order their soldiers about.”

  I didn’t understand, but I remained silent. She could still get me into trouble, if she wanted to.

  “But you … maybe you’re the one. And you can’t run off and fight a war if you haven’t graduated yet. Yes….”

  She pulled up a chair and sat opposite me.

  “Are you brave, James?”

  I nodded, and she smiled.

  “Lord Etherington and I have been working on a secret project. Do you know what keys are?”

  “Yes, they’re coordinates to the ether.”

  “To a certain part of the ether,” she corrected me. “Well, did you know that the orcs use a different set of keys?”

  I shook my head.

  “You see, the orcs capture their demons in an entirely different part of the ether. That’s why orcs often use different demons to our own. We tend to use demons that are native to our part of the ether—Canids, Felids and the like. They tend to use demons such as Nanaues and Sobeks.”

  I nodded once more. It made sense—a different ecosystem meant different demons.

  “So you see, we need to find the keys to their part of the ether. Can you imagine the knowledge we could discover there? New demons, new spells. It could change the course of the war.”

  “Spells?” I asked.

  Electra smiled at me.

  “Certain demons have abilities that use mana. For example, the Phoenix can breathe fire. But did you know that the reason it is able to do this is that it has a fire symbol inside its throat? Long ago, the earliest summoners dissected dead demons to find the symbols inside them, which are the spells we use today. If we were to do the same with orc demons … well … think of the new spells we could discover.”

  It was a lot to take in. But now I understood the dead demons floating in jars.

  “We could fight the orcs in their part of the ether, prevent their shamans from capturing new demons for their army. And we could start capturing new varieties of demons for our own army. This is important, James. And you could help me do it.”

  “How?” I asked, shuddering involuntarily. What could I possibly do to help?

  “Now, you run along back to your room. I’ll have work for you soon enough,” Electra said, giving me a crazed smile. She led me to the doors and propelled me out.

  And I admit, when she shut the doors behind me … I ran.

  Day 31

  As the days go by, I begin to see more demons. The nobles have begun to show theirs off, but now I see that Electra was right. There is little variety in the species these nobles use—mostly Canids and Felids as she described. I yearn to see others in the flesh, the same ones that Lord Etherington shows us in his lessons.

  Speaking of Lord Etherington, he has begun to treat me better than the others. I believe Electra has spoken to him about me. But I dread to think what plans they have for me.

  Day 47

  I saw the beginnings of muscle on my stomach today. If I shine a wyrdlight directly above me anyway. The pudgy flesh around my cheeks has given way, and I no longer feel the weight of my stomach on my knees when I bend over to tie my laces.

  Did a servant girl smile at me the other day, or was it at Jamie Fitzroy behind me? In any case … I shall continue my training and studies. Only two rashers of bacon for me tomorrow, instead of the usual four.

  Day 48

  I saw the servant girl canoodling with Fitzroy today. Damn.

  Day 57

  As I study more and more, I am beginning to see the importance of the elves. They were the first summoners, and though they lost the ability to summon centuries ago, it would seem that they knew more about summoning then than we do now.

  Dame Fairhaven has taken pity on me and has given me a treatise on the elves. I have copied it down here, in the hopes that it gives me some clues to discovering new keys.

  Millennia ago, they imparted the ability to summon to King Corwin and his nobles. I wonder … did the elves use the same keys as we use now? More study is needed.

  As I write this, Sable is tugging on my sleeve, eager to play. So, I end the entry here.

  TREATISE ON THE ELVES

  By Lord Edmund Raleigh

  Trade between the elves and the people of Hominum has been my life’s work. Resistance has been strong on both sides, a consequence of distrust and suspicion sown by old rivalries and past transgressions. Some progress has been made, but I fear I have failed in my demands. Even so, I have formed good friendships with some of their clan leaders, and I hope that my descendants will succeed where I have failed.

  In my time visiting the elves, I have learned a great deal about their history and culture. This, I impart to the scriptures of Vocans now, in the hopes that it will serve for better understanding between our species.

  Elves have existed in what is known as the Great Forest for millennia. There, they live in the treetops themselves, making their homes in carved hollows of the trunks and passing between them using living bridges of twisted root, vine and branch.

  They are far longer lived than we are, capable of reaching two hundred years of age. However, elves reach adulthood at the same time as us, and generally share the same maturity. It is only their middle age that lasts far longer than our own.

  The species is segregated into clans with their own chieftains, much like the noble houses that we have in Hominum. However, there is no single ruler, but instead a council of chieftains that votes on matters of law and state. War between clans is extremely rare, but dueling between chieftains and their families was once commonplace. Such violence became so widespread and deadly that summoning was banned for four hundred years. The ability to summon has now been lost to the elves.

  This is an irony not lost upon them, as it was the elves who first taught King Corwin and our other noble ancestors how to summon in the first place, in exchange for driving the orcs back into their jungles. It is their fervent hope to bring back summoning, especially considering that the majority of elves are born as level seven summoners, far higher than our human average.

  I am told that their libraries are full of knowledge that far surpasses our own: ancient texts that give deep insight into new spells, the ether’s geography, its demons and their abilities. There is certainly the opportunity to trade for such knowledge in the future, but they are reluctant to do so without summoners of their own. It is an ongoing discussion.

  Elves are also formed of two distinct castes, between which intermarriage and breeding is strictly prohibited, o
n pain of banishment.

  It is the high elves who hold power in the Great Forest, serving in the roles of academics and other learned trades. Elven doctors are some of the best in the world, with medicines that we can only dream of. It is my hope that we will someday be able to acquire some of these medicines, but it is hard to speak to the high elves at the best of times. This caste spends most of their time in the trees, and it is not unheard of for some to never set foot on the ground their entire lives.

  The wood elves live on the forest floor, tending the Great Herds. These herds are made up of thousands of deer, with dozens of different species living together. These provide the elves with much of their resources, resources that Hominum is very much in need of. These include furs and leathers for clothing and blankets, meat and milk for our tables, bones and antlers for carving, sinews and rawhide for bowstrings and stitching, and fats for tallow, soaps, candles and glues.

  This caste is considered to be closer to nature, and it is not unheard of for them to keep birds as pets, as well as foxes and other such creatures to help them corral and protect the herds. Wood elves differ in appearance to high elves. The latter are always pale and blond, with blue eyes, while the former tend to have darker hair and eyes of hazel. Both castes share long, pointed ears and dark rings around their irises, and are generally considered to be stronger and more athletic than humans are to varying degrees.

  All elves have an affinity to the bow, though wood elves seem to surpass their high elf cousins in that regard. Both use similar garments and weapons when going into battle: lamellar armor of vivid colors and large, two-handed falx swords. It is not uncommon for elves to fight mounted upon elk or moose, making for a deadly cavalry that Hominum cannot match.

  Finally, I must confess to a millennia-old legend that I have heard whispers of in my travels there. It tells of a third caste—known as the dark elves. The story goes that these red-eyed, black-haired elves lived beneath the ground, in among the roots of the trees. This caste was said to have been banished south long ago, when it was discovered that they were performing necromancy. It is said that they perverted the use of demonic energy to bring corpses back from the dead to serve as their undead servants, killing their demons in the process. Supposedly, nothing has been heard of them since.

  Day 73

  Today, Lord Etherington took me aside after our demonology lesson. I had hoped that Electra had forgotten about me, but alas, it seems she has found something for me to do. Still, Lord Etherington was so kind as to offer me a trip to Corcillum tomorrow. I have accepted. After almost three months of being cooped up in this castle, I’d go to the orc jungles themselves for a change of scenery.

  Day 74

  Our carriage ride to Corcillum was … an awkward affair. Lord Etherington did not say much. In truth, he arranged our carriage so early that even the servants were not up. He kept glancing about as he urged me into the carriage and then stared nervously out the window until Vocans was out of sight.

  I write in my diary now, to fill the silence as we judder along the cobbles. It seems he is scared of the carriage driver overhearing us—he is a servant at Vocans.

  If I had to guess, my involvement in whatever plans he and Electra have devised for me have not been sanctioned by Provost Scipio. Still, if it helps me advance in this world, I shall follow this where it leads. It’s research after all. How dangerous can it be?

  The carriage has stopped. More soon.

  We went to the Anvil Tavern. It is a place for dwarven sympathizers and dwarves and is not frequented by nobles. Perhaps that is why Lord Etherington took me there—for fear of being seen elsewhere.

  It was strange to see so many dwarves in one place. They stared at us suspiciously over their meals, and my stomach rumbled at the sight of the fried root vegetables and dumplings they were eating. I had missed breakfast.

  The tavern was nearly empty, it being so early in the morning, but Lord Etherington bought me a large tankard of beer, and I supped it as we spoke. I was a little tipsy by the end of our conversation, drinking on an empty stomach and all, and it tasted sour to my unaccustomed tongue.

  Perhaps it was the beer that made me accept his offer so readily. But now, in the cold light of the morning, with my head aching from the beer I drank, I wonder if it was the right choice.

  He said he would help me advance at Vocans. That I might even graduate early, if I played my cards right, and serve as an officer in his own regiment. All I needed to do was work hard, and he would do the rest.

  Even in my drunken state, I probed him, indirectly, to try to find out the cause for all this secrecy. And so he told me, in a roundabout way.

  The orcs were the problem. Studying them was banned among the nobility—their savagery was not to be emulated. Their ways were old and archaic. Even believing that the orcs used a different set of keys was rarely spoken about. Speculating that they might know something we didn’t was considered treasonous talk, and grounds for demotion in the army, as well as being made a laughingstock among the nobility.

  Now, Electra cared little for what other people thought, but she was scared of the outdoors—it had been years since she had left her chamber, let alone the Vocans grounds. She would not venture into the jungles and study their villages, their remains, their ways. It was hard enough convincing soldiers to bring her the corpses of orcish demons—only Lord Etherington’s regiment did so, and he kept them out of the thick of the fighting.

  But … a student, and a commoner no less. Such a person could study the orcs, in plain sight. They could ignore the jibes, endure the loss in reputation. Basically, I wasn’t important enough for anyone to care what I thought.

  Then he told me matter-of-factly what my future would hold, should I not accept his offer. He predicted I would spend two miserable years at Vocans, where the other students would far outstrip me in all things, beating me through sheer power, no matter how hard I trained.

  With such a low summoning level, at the end of those two years I could expect to be drafted into the army as a second lieutenant, the lowest rank. Then I would be thrown against the orcs in battle after battle, until I was expended. Such was the fate of common summoners—or at least low-level ones.

  If I accepted Lord Etherington’s offer, he would keep me safe. I would be his eyes and ears, learning all I could about the shamans and their demons. And we would share the credit when I eventually succeeded.

  I asked him how I could graduate after just one year … surely I had to wait for the tournament. He told me to let him worry about that.

  So I agreed, slurring my words slightly. He gave me fare for the carriage ride back and more besides, then he left me. And what a day I had—let me tell you.

  Or rather, I won’t, because I am exhausted. Tomorrow, then.

  Day 75

  So, there I was in the dwarfish tavern, staring at more silver than my father earned in a month. Lord Etherington had handed it to me as if it were nothing.

  I closed my hand around it, but not before a few of the dwarves saw. I worried then. Dwarves are always being arrested—they fill our jails to overflowing.

  So when one sidled up to me, I gulped down the last of my beer and stood to leave. I quietly cursed my decision to infuse Sable earlier, even if it had been at Lord Etherington’s request.

  The dwarf held up his hands placatingly.

  “Your father likes our beer, I see,” he said.

  Then I knew I was safe. A dwarf was taking his life into his own hands if he robbed a noble-born. I didn’t correct him. I think the conversation went something like this—though my memory was fuddled by the beer.

  “My name is Athol,” he said. “And I see you don’t carry a blade as the other nobles do. Perhaps you are in need of one?”

  A blade. My heart quickened at the thought. I had seen the swords that Sir Caulder kept in the arena—though we had not been allowed to practice with them yet (only wooden replicas). Rusted things, made from pig iron and heavy as lead.
To have my own sword …

  “Perhaps,” I allowed.

  “I am but an apprentice, but I have some weapons that might be to your liking. May I show you?”

  I acquiesced, and together we left the tavern.

  He led me to a back alley. It was rather stupid of me to follow him into the darkness, now that I think about it, but luck was on my side that day. He removed his backpack—an enormous thing that came down to his knees—and unrolled a long cloth from inside.

  Within were a dozen blades, each more magnificent than the last, or at least, to my untrained eyes.

  “They’re simple things—I’m not trained in engraving yet. But they’ve a fine balance and edge.”

  So I could see. I knew that eventually I would fight with a real blade against my fellow students. A good blade would give me an edge—if you’ll pardon the pun, dear journal.

  “What are you looking for?” Athol asked me.

  What indeed?

  I knew one thing—in the tournament, our bodies were protected by a barrier spell. The blades could bruise, but not cut. So sharpness was not a thing I needed. But balance and speed were.

  “What do the other nobles use?” I asked.

  Athol smiled at that. I realized then, he already knew I was not a noble—my accent would have given it away as soon as I opened my mouth. Not to mention my uniform was clearly secondhand.

  “They use rapiers,” he replied. “Fast fencing blades, no edge, made for scoring points in your tournament. Useless against orcs, mind you.”

  I grimaced at that. I didn’t want to buy and practice with a blade that would eventually be useless. He caught my expression. I think he took pity on me then.

  “Nobles have training, you see. You won’t beat them at their own game. And you’re short—they’ll have a longer reach than you.”