The Soul for the Dragon - Summoner book 4 - (Fanfic)

The Message

"Fire!"

The shots rang out and the stone targets were reduced to rubble due to the barrage of musket balls.

"Load!" Fletcher Raleigh shouted as The Foxes tore the gunpowder open with their teeth. The intense training that they took on drenched their uniforms in sweat. The Foxes can all shoot and reload with their eyes closed a long time ago, but since the southern front had turned desperate, with hundreds of elves dieing at the hands of the now organised orcs, thus Fletcher had hand-picked the best half and they will be the one to go to battle. The other half will stay at Raleighshire to protect the city and maybe against another orc flanking manoeuvre of the southern front. 

Tomorrow was the day that they will leave. Fletcher, Othello and Cress leading their chosen troops, to Corcillum and then south to the battlefront. Morale overall was high as all the soldiers gathered around a big table outside their barracks near the mansion, they shared stories and laughed together, unaware of the chosen half that will face the emminent battles ahead.

As Fletcher strided towards the mansion, he thought of Sylva, like he does every day, how she was doing out there in the battle, having to fight wave after wave of demons, orcs , goblins and whatever else is out there. Her parting kiss still lingered on his lips. 

"How was your training, Fletcher?"

Fletcher shook out of his daze and looked up. Stood in front of the mansion door were Othello Thorsager, his best mate and Cress Freyja, his friend at Vocans Academy. The two looked happy together, but the pain from Othello's eyes told him that he still remembered his twin brother, Atilla. The charge that he led saved Fletcher and Raleighshire was a debt that Fletcher cannot pay back.

"It was good. Everyone is in a good state and morale. What about you two?"

Othello and Cress looked at each other.

"Most of them are in a sort of pre-battle frenzy..."

As if to prove Othello's point, Fletcher heard a thunk and a cheer and spun around. Judged by a throwing axe impaled in an apple and another apple already in the air, an axe-throwing show was on.

"...but some of them are not in good shape, mentally."

Fletcher scanned them all, nearly all were still wound up in the show, but about a dozen sat in a clump, some clutched letters from their friends and comrades in the front lines, some kicked loose pebbles into the now diminishing fire, but most just sat there, as if they were comtemplating the chances of them going to battle.

Fletcher sighed and began to walk towards the table, Othello and Cress exchanged glances and quickly followed. A few noticed them first and elbowed the rest into silence. A dwarf stopped during a mid-through and tossed his axe aside. Lieutenant Geneveive Leatherby and Lieutenant Kobe saw what was going on and paused their talk with the dwarven blacksmith and hurried over. Without any words said by Fletcher, the few hundreds of mostly dwarves, humans and elves soldiers gathered around and sat on the logs a few feet from the dieing fire.

Fletcher took a deep breathe, then let it out.

"The chosen half of you have been decided."

As he looked towards Othello as confirmation, he saw that many of them were eager for battle after a month of just training. But the clump of a dozen soldiers tensed themselves and prepared themselves for what they feared.

Othello gave a nod and spoke: "The dwarves going to battle in my and Cress's units are..."

He read the names off a list and the yells and cheers of the dwarves could be heard all the way to Vocans. He recognised one of the chosen as the one who have been throwing the axes. He looked surprised but nevertheless joined the line. Fletcher guessed it was as a last minute decision as an exchange for the low-morale troops. As Othello finished, he gave a curt nod to Fletcher and stepped back.

Maybe I can do that too. Fletcher thought as he stepped forward. He scanned the low-moraled and realised many were on his list. He looked at the expectant ones and made a decision.

"Those of you unwanting to go stand off to the right."

A long silence. Then a shuffling as one of them sidestepped to the right. More joined him. Until more or less left half of The Foxes were to the right. He stared at the ones still sat. They were the slaves that he rescued, all the dwarves and all the elves.

"Line up!" Fletcher ordered and the soldiers stood up and hurried behind him. Dalia, the wood elf, punched his arm playfully and flashed a smile at him. Her animosity over the month has thawed for some reason and he hoped that she wouldn't be cozying up to him. 

"Do not be disheartened if you did not get chosen. Your duty is now to Lieutenant Leatherby and Lieutenant Kobe..." Othello nodded respectfully to the two. They replied by saluting. "...and to the people of Raleighshire. Defend it well. Rest tonight so that you can fight tomorrow. For Raleighshire! For Hominum!"

Everyone saluted in unison.

"Dismissed!" Fletcher shouted.

As all the soldiers moved to their barracks, Fletcher and the others began to walk to the mansion in the dim light of dusk.

"You could have thought we planned it." Fletcher grinned at Othello.

"The announcement was not until tomorrow, why did you hurry it?" Cress inquired.

"Othello and Fletcher wanted all of them to know so that they can make some...preparations, I suppose." Kobe replied for Fletcher, then he and Genevieve split off to the officer's accommodations. 

As the three of them reached the doors, the guards immediately uncrossed their poleaxes and allowed them through.

"Well, see you tomorrow Fletcher."  Othello said, then departed to the left with Cress. Just before they rounded the corner, Fletcher saw that they were holding hands.

He climbed the stairs, then took a right and found his room. He left his jacket by the door and sat on his bed. Then he stood up again, wary of a note beneath him. 

Fletcher, dinner is served at sundown, be there soon!

Love, your mother Alice.

Fletcher groaned and put his belt back on, slipped Blaze and Gale to their holsters and left his room. He descended down the stairs and walked throught to the dining room. Chandeliers fed by candlelight dangled from the ceiling and a long table filled with plates after plates of extravagance. He saw his mother, sitting at the far end where all the high chairs were. He joined his mother, Alice Queensouth at the far end and hungrily wolfed down a block of bread filled with fish fillets. As he picket at some vegetable that have suspicious yellow edges, he noticed Othello, still in his uniform, who was trying to feed Cress some soup, but failed again and again because Cress kept on slapping it away. Then he noticed Berdon Wulf, his foster father, and beckoned him over. 

Berdon hurried over, and Fletcher saw the urgency in his eyes.

"Berdon...What's wrong?" Fletcher asked.

"A message from the king," he replied, holding up a scroll tightly bound with a ribbon and a seal of the king. "You are leaving for Corcillum."

"I know, tomorrow..."

"No, NOW."

A/N

Hello everyone and I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of my first book! If there is anything you think that can improve the story, comment down below!

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Word count : 1286