‘Magic,’ Dorstal said coldly, ‘has been outlawed for centuries. Magic is evil. People who do not give up their magic are outlaws. They are evil, and power-hungry in turn.’ He studied Annev’s face for continued dissent. ‘Magic of any kind is dangerous, no matter who wields it. We are tasked with protecting others by securing it in the Vault of Damnation, under the supervision of the Order of Ancients.’
Annev then wanted to ask why the masters and ancients could use artifacts for training at the Academy, but not permit others to heal their sick or injured – but he sensed this was an argument he would not win. Pressing would only further provoke Dorstal, and Annev couldn’t risk a punishment that might jeopardise his participation in tomorrow’s test. He quietly gave up the argument and Dorstal’s wrinkled face smoothed itself out again. The man nodded curtly and went back to the rods on the table.
‘Once you’ve accepted that all rods are dangerous,’ Dorstal said, looking sternly at Annev, ‘then you must learn to tell if the rod you are stealing is magical or not. Sometimes a rod is just a rod, just as some sticks are just sticks. If they hold no magic, they are not artifacts.’
Dorstal looked out over the class. ‘Throughout your training at the Academy you have been taught how to tell the difference between an artifact and an ordinary, non-magic item. We will test that skill today, before your final Testing Day.’ He eyed the seven boys in beige. ‘Let’s see if you can identify whether these wands are magical’ – he gestured at the rods on the table – ‘and, if so, what they do.’ Dorstal crooked a finger at a skinny boy in a dirty tunic. ‘Therin.’
Therin stumbled out of his seat and quickstepped to the ancient’s side. He avoided looking at the rods and gave Annev a crooked smile. Dorstal looked down his nose at the black-haired boy.
‘Take a rod, Therin.’
Therin paused, studied the display, then raised his right hand and paused again, his hand hovering nearly a foot above the table.
‘You can’t test the rods without touching them, Therin.’
A laugh went up at the back of the room. Therin blushed, self-conscious, and pinched a slender ash wand between his fingers.
‘Hold it properly,’ Dorstal chided. ‘Avatars can’t be scared of the very artifacts they’re sent to collect.’ Several more of Annev’s classmates laughed, but Dorstal continued. ‘You’ll have a better idea of what the rod can do if you make full contact with it.’ Therin winced but complied. ‘Now. What do you feel?’
Despite the laughter, the class was leaning forward with earnest interest. Even Annev was curious what Therin might sense. His friend wasn’t the best at magical identification, but he wasn’t the worst either.
‘It’s magical,’ Therin said. ‘I can tell that. And it’s cold. Very cold.’
Dorstal let the cowl of his robe fall back, exposing his bald head. ‘What else?’
Therin’s shoulders slumped. ‘I don’t know. What should I feel?’
Dorstal snatched the wand out of Therin’s hand and balanced it in the centre of his palm. He held it there, barely breathing, not saying anything, the boys watching with bated breath. Finally he rested it on the table beside the other wands.
‘It’s a Rod of True-Seeing,’ Dorstal said, looking at Therin. ‘And I suspect that it felt cold because we’re going to have a light frost tonight. The details would be obvious to someone innately cursed with magic, but with practice even the pure can discern an artifact’s true nature.’ He paused, eyeing the boy in front of him. ‘You did well, Therin. That was a hard one.’ The boy plopped himself back down in his seat, sighing with relief. ‘Who’s next?’
Four hands shot up. Dorstal eyed the group then singled out a boy who had not volunteered.
‘Fyunai.’
Fyn eased out of his chair and swaggered to the front of the room, his brown dreadlocks swinging lazily. He was tall, athletically built and handsome.
He was also mean as piss, most especially to Annev.
Dorstal waited as the larger boy took his place at the long wooden table. ‘Take a rod, Avatar Fyunai.’
Fyn flicked his dreadlocks back and selected a rod made of solid gold. He clutched it in one hand and half closed his eyes. After a few seconds, he opened them again.
‘It’s magical,’ he said. ‘I can feel it pulse. But it also makes my skin feel raw.’ He paused, studying the ancient’s face as he spoke. ‘It’s almost painful … like it’s been used to hurt people.’ He waited for a reaction from Dorstal.
The ancient shrugged. ‘Perhaps it has. But can you discern the rod’s intended purpose?’
Fyn hesitated. ‘Ah … to torture people?’
Dorstal studied Fyn’s face for a second before starting to laugh. He laughed so hard his eyes teared up and he began to cough, which turned into a hacking gasp for breath. The ancient doubled over, clutching his mouth and robes while his students watched with a mixture of amusement and concern.
Dorstal finally got his breathing under control. He wiped his eyes, laughed a little more and smoothed his clothes.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Very good, Fyunai.’ The ancient patted the boy’s shoulder. ‘It’s not a dark rod or a greater rod, but you’re probably right that it caused some people discomfort.’ He reached out and took the rod from Fyn.
Fyn exchanged glances with Jasper and Kellor – the two friends who sat at the back with him – but the boys only shrugged.
‘It’s a royal cleaning rod,’ Dorstal said, answering the unspoken question. ‘For nobility who were too dainty to wipe for themselves.’
Fyn grimaced and backed away from the table. He wiped his hand on the front of his brown robes and hurried back to his seat.
Dorstal chuckled as he waited for Fyn to sit down. Then his smile faded from his face. ‘Acolyte Ainnevog.’
The rest of the class turned towards Annev as he rose from his seat and Fyn, Jasper and Kellor whispered something behind his back. Annev ignored them, his attention focused solely on the challenge ahead of him.
Aside from the gold rod, four other metal wands lay on the display table. Of those, Annev was fairly certain that two were silver and one was bronze. He wasn’t sure about the last one. Iron, maybe.
Annev couldn’t discern the origin or composition of any of the seven wooden rods. Some were lighter, some darker. Some were stained and some not. The only one he thought he recognised was the rod Therin had taken, but up close he wasn’t sure.
‘Choose a rod, Annev.’
Annev lifted his hand above the display, about to take the iron wand, but then his fingers tingled and he sensed something else at the corner of the desk: a polished stick of palm vine, the same flexible Ilumite wood Annev used during his training sessions with Master Edra and his sparring sessions with Sodar. He grabbed it.