Summoner: Book 2: The Inquisition by Taran Matharu Page A

chuckled to himself and rapped his knuckles on the table.
    ‘A voting system was introduced, one that my father, Alfric, believed he could control, given his friendship with most of the council. But I had my own allies. As their parents died from old age and from protecting their borders, my younger friends inherited their positions. I managed to push through these new laws using that conduit. That was why last year’s Tournament was so important – it was my father’s idea to offer a council seat as a prize. If one of Zacharias Forsyth’s children had won, the balance of power would have swung in my father’s favour, for the Favershams and Forsyths remain on his side. I owe you thanks for preventing that.’
    ‘What does this have to do with Othello and our trial?’ Fletcher asked.
    ‘My father still believes I am as hateful as he and his friends are, that the laws I have introduced are for reasons of practicality, not morality, even if he disagrees with them. If he knew the extent to which I am against him … he would start a civil war and take power once again. I am trying to hold Hominum together, and the safety of its people balances precariously. We are barely holding off the orcs as it is. If there were civil war between my father and me, or if the dwarves were to rebel, or the elves to decide to invade, our armies would fall and the orcs would rampage across the Empire, slaughtering everyone in their path.’
    ‘So you can’t get involved in our trial, because your father would get suspicious if you did. You can’t give us a pardon?’
    ‘I can only give pardons to the nobility, but yes, even if it were possible, I could not, not without a good reason,’ Harold replied. ‘But, I am not here just to explain my actions. I have to tell you what will happen if Othello is executed tomorrow. The generals, nobility and common soldiers would be told a dwarven officer had been found guilty of murdering five men and committing treason. The dwarven recruits would find out that an innocent dwarf, the son of the great Uhtred Thorsager himself, has been executed for defending himself against a group of racist soldiers. Can you imagine what would happen?’
    ‘There … there would be riots … the humans and dwarves would murder each other,’ Fletcher gasped, horrified. He had been so concerned for himself and for Othello, he had not realised the wider ramifications of the trial.
    ‘The dwarves would be slaughtered, but not without first putting up a fight that would cripple our army,’ Harold said grimly. ‘The elves might end their alliance, after seeing what we did to the dwarves. And all the while, the albino orc would be gathering his forces, ready to send his hordes at our beleaguered and distracted army. All this, from one dwarven death. Yet all the Triumvirate can think of is their damned weapons business and getting their revenge on you. All my father cares about is putting the dwarves and elves in their place. I’m damned if I help you and damned if I don’t. It’s civil war with my father or a dwarven rebellion.’
    ‘Is there nothing you can do?’ Fletcher asked desperately, grabbing Harold’s hand.
    The king looked sadly at Fletcher, and grasped him like a drowning man.
    ‘There is nothing I can do. But there is something you can do.’ His eyes bore into Fletcher’s, burning with hope.
    ‘I’ll do anything. I’m a dead man anyway,’ Fletcher said. It felt good, to have a purpose, a plan of any kind. For a moment, he allowed himself a flicker of hope.
    Harold took a deep breath.
    ‘Confess to treason tomorrow. I’ll make sure your death is quick.’

 
     
     

     

10
    Fletcher received no further visitors that night. When sleep would not come to him, he summoned Ignatius and they played together, a stupid game of tag around the table that left Fletcher with bruised shins but gave him a welcome distraction from what was to come.
    But by the end Fletcher could do little but sit in