The enormous desk had been flipped over, the heavy drawers flung open, with parchment spilling from one and a blue bottle covered in runes toppling out of another and rolling slowly across the floor. Fyn lay motionless a dozen paces from the overturned desk, blood trickling from both ears.
He’s dead, Annev thought, surprised at his own sorrow to see the fallen avatar. Dead or severely injured. He looked for any signs of life, but instead a nearby movement caught his eye: the guards were recovering. They had to strike now.
‘Kenton! Now!’
Annev spun towards the rising soldier whose padded jacket bore the stripes of a squad leader or captain. He brought Mercy to bear as a familiar tingle ran up his arm. He moved to slice the man’s hamstrings, but the man fell back with his hands upraised.
‘No!’ he screamed. ‘Please, let us go!’
It was the first time a soldier had spoken. He saw fear and panic on their faces, and recognised they were no longer in thrall to the magic of Janak’s dark rod.
‘Stop!’ Annev ordered, as Kenton was about to peck his tachi into a man’s skull. ‘Let them go, Kenton. They had no choice. Look at their uniforms – they belong to the Banok city watch, not to Janak’s household guard.’
The captain nodded, vigorously affirming Annev’s guess. ‘I don’t serve Janak – none of us do. I just want to go home to my family.’
Kenton looked between Annev and the other prone soldiers then nodded, sheathing his tachi.
‘Get out.’
The surviving guards struggled to their feet and ran.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Janak’s powerful hands clutched the wheels of his chair as if doing so might somehow retain their magical protection. He had a look of incredulity stamped on his face as he saw the near half-score of dead guardsmen. Breath ragged, he stared at Fyn’s motionless body then turned his gaze on Kenton and Annev at the centre of the destruction; he looked at them without seeing them, his eyes dull.
Annev dashed over to Fyn: the boy was breathing, but a thin stream of blood still leaked from his ears. ‘He’s got a concussion for sure,’ Annev said, checking Fyn’s pulse. ‘I think he’ll be all right, though. He’s got a hard—’
Something heavy clanged into the floor on the other side of Fyn. Annev jumped to his feet, reaching for his weapons, and both he and Kenton turned towards the suit of armour that had stood on display before Janak’s ward of deflection had erupted. The fallen bronze suit clanged again, creaking, then slowly rose to its feet.
‘Kenton,’ Annev breathed, ‘… you seeing this?’
The boy nodded, speechless – and then the suit of armour opened its visor.
‘Duvarek!’ Kenton ran towards his former mentor. ‘You were hidden there the whole time?’ He shook his head, disbelieving, then grinned so broadly Annev barely recognised his surly companion. ‘Did Janak hurt you?’
The Master of Shadows groaned, attempting to clutch his helm-encased forehead with gauntleted fingers. ‘Got a damn awful headache,’ he said, wincing. ‘Feels like I’ve been crammed into a vat of— What are you doing here? And Annev – and Fyn!’ He shook his head, both frantic and disbelieving. ‘Who came with you? You have to go! If Lord Harth finds—’
Janak roared, shaking himself from his stupor. Annev turned and saw the merchant fumbling for something in his lap, muttering dark curses to himself.
‘Run!’ Duvarek waved them behind him and scooped up the boar spear at his feet.
‘He’s going for the rod!’ Annev shouted. He and Kenton turned to sprint towards Janak, their weapons ready.
‘No!’ Duvarek yelled, interposing himself between Janak and his former students. ‘The other way! Get out!’
Janak cast his blanket aside, lifted the short golden artifact, and pointed it at the Master of Shadows. ‘Duvarek,’ he commanded, voice booming, ‘protect me!’
To Kenton and Annev’s horror, Duvarek’s face went slack and his eyes turned glassy; his posture straightened as he stood to attention, his former discomfort vanishing. He slapped down his visor, hiding his face behind the dark slit in the bronze helm.
‘Duvarek?’ Kenton asked, taking a tentative step towards his former teacher.
Quick as a snake, the steel-tipped boar spear snapped out. Kenton jumped back, barely dodging the spearhead. ‘Master Duvarek,’ he pleaded, retreating. ‘Please … fight with us. Fight the magic – don’t let the taint corrupt you.’
‘Kill them, Duvarek!’
The suit of armour cocked its head towards the merchant, hesitating.
‘Dove,’ Kenton tried again, holding his position, ‘please come back to Chaenbalu.’
The bronze warrior returned his metallic gaze to Kenton. He nodded once, as if consenting, then advanced with measured steps.
‘Dove?’
‘Kenton,’ Annev said, stepping back, ‘I don’t think—’
Duvarek lunged, swinging his boar spear for Kenton’s throat as the boy stumbled backward, tripping on broken relics, hastily lifting his tachi to block the attack. He parried another thrust from his former master then ducked behind a toppled armoire, its treasure of rich dresses and infant clothes scattered across the room.
Annev moved to help but then stopped, realising there was a better way to end Duvarek’s thralldom. If I break Janak’s concentration, then he can’t maintain the spell of compulsion. We have to kill Janak … then we can save Duvarek, grab the artifact, and get the hell out of here.
Annev looked over and saw the merchant watching the fight with morbid interest, following Kenton around the room and muttering as the boy dodged and blocked every one of Duvarek’s attacks, never making one of his own except to probe his opponent’s armour for weaknesses.
A dozen feet away, Fyn began to stir. Annev turned to see if Lord Harth had caught the movement, but Janak’s attention was fixed on Duvarek’s hunt and Kenton’s recursive flight. Annev edged towards the wheelchair, his axe and shortsword still drawn.
‘Thinking you’ll tie up loose ends?’
Annev froze as Janak’s eyes turned on him. ‘Probably wise. Winsor should have done it after his witwomen stole my child but didn’t quite manage to poison me … but he was either too shrewd or too merciful.’ He chuckled without mirth. ‘Well, come on then. Finish your mission. My shield is gone so I’m helpless.’
Annev eyed the merchant’s lap blanket: the brass lamp and Rod of Compulsion lay in plain sight, and while Janak’s hands rested atop both items, Annev didn’t feel the specific tug on his thoughts and emotions that indicated Janak was using the dark rod. Even so, he felt his actions were somehow not his own as he took another step towards the merchant.
Janak smiled. ‘That’s right, boy. Come closer …’
Annev faltered again and Janak tensed, his hand tightening momentarily on the artifact in his lap. Annev took a step back, watching the merchant, and the man suddenly seemed less sure of himself.
‘Come here, child.’
Now Annev felt it – the subtle touch of magic playing on his insecurities, magnifying his empathy for the man, drawing on his desire to help him avenge the wrongs the Academy had committed against him.
Annev turned away and walked towards Fyn.