‘Tut, tut!’ Sodja said, drawing her rapier and backing through the door. ‘Is catching me really worth your friend’s life?’ She gestured at Annev, and when his companions glanced back, she fled.
Smoke and flame filled the room now, and Annev was at the centre of the conflagration. He shook his manacled arm at Fyn and Kenton, trying to wrestle it free, feeling uneasy as the flames edged closer to him. ‘I’m stuck!’ he shouted. ‘I need my sword – it’s near Janak’s desk.’
Fyn nodded to Kenton. ‘Help him. I’ll catch the thief.’ Matching words to actions, Fyn chased Sodja’s fleeing shadow, leaving Kenton to aid Annev.
Annev watched the raven-haired boy dash past him seeking Mercy. As he waited, he ran his fingers over the iron manacle, searching for a lock to pick. Instead of a keyhole, he found perfectly smooth metal without a hint of a crack or exposed locking mechanism. He tried again to slip his hand free from the restraint, and he felt the chafed skin beneath the phoenix glove start to bleed.
Kenton approached, his attention divided between Annev and the encroaching flames.
‘I don’t see a way to unlock it,’ Annev said, also distracted by the fires. ‘I might be able to cut it free with my sword, though.’
‘Yes,’ Kenton said, weighing the shortsword in his hands. ‘I felt the magic when I killed Duvarek … but it was different. Not like your lantern or the stumble-sticks or that cup I filled with honeywine.’
Annev looked up and saw the boy eyeing him, a strange look on his face. ‘Kenton, what’s wrong?’
Kenton looked down at Mercy and slowly shook his head. ‘I felt the same magic when I put that collar on Duvarek. It’s not the power of a common artifact … it’s something you couldn’t use unless you have magic.’
Annev shook his head, liking neither the direction of their conversation nor the dark look on Kenton’s face. ‘If these chains weren’t common artifacts, how did that woman manage to cuff me? How did you?’
Kenton shrugged. ‘She can obviously use magic. Just like you … and me.’
Annev’s eyes widened and his heart beat heavy in his chest. He tried not to react – tried to appear confused – but Kenton saw through the ruse.
‘You knew the sword was magic – that’s why you brought it. That’s how we killed Duvarek … you summoned its magic.’
‘Kenton,’ Annev said, eyes pleading, ‘it’s not what you think.’ He took a step towards the boy but stopped when Kenton backed away.
‘Those manacles will only unlock for the person that placed them.’
‘What?’ Annev said, wondering if he had misunderstood his companion. ‘How can you know that?’
Kenton shrugged. ‘The same way I knew how to make your lantern work … or how to fill that cup Dorstal gave me.’
‘Well, Sodja is gone,’ Annev said, processing this new information. ‘And I can’t wait for Fyn to drag her back – but you could unlock Duvarek’s collar, right? Then I could carry these chains out of here.’ He retreated to the Master of Shadows’s body, coiling the chains in his hands as he walked. ‘Or you could give me the sword. Then I could—’
‘I know how the blade works, Annev.’
Annev watched as Kenton dragged Mercy’s tip across the floor, carving a sinuous line into the stone.
Annev swallowed. ‘Yes, it seems you do.’
Kenton walked towards him with the shortsword extended. ‘I can feel the magic calling to me,’ he said, ‘telling me how to use it – telling me how it wants to be used.’
Annev stood still as Kenton approached then flinched when the boy suddenly reached for him – but Kenton did not attack, nor did he cut away Annev’s chains. Instead, he used Mercy to cut the scabbard free from Annev’s belt.
Annev stared, dumbfounded, as the boy sheathed the weapon and retreated towards the safety of the hallway.
‘What are you doing? Are you leaving me?’ He coughed, shielding his eyes and mouth from the smoke.
Kenton continued his slow retreat, his eyes taking in the flames that now engulfed the room. He shrugged. ‘I think this is better for both of us. We’re keokum, Annev – we can use magic, and anyone who learns that will kill us.’ He paused long enough to snatch the magic harp off the wall, and when he looked back there was a meanness in his eyes – something dark and sad, but not quite regretful. ‘I was willing to follow you, Annev, but we were never friends. You’ve never really been one of us … and I’m not willing to die for you.’
Annev watched him go, paralysed with disbelief.
He left me to die. My friend left me to die.
No, Annev amended. They had never been friends – Kenton was right about that. They had been allies, and sometimes adversaries, but never friends. Even so, the betrayal hurt.
Heat tickled Annev’s boot, and he recoiled from the dead guard’s burning limb. As he saw the severed arm, though, he realised the solution to his problem was staring him right in the face.
Annev concentrated on his left arm and forced himself to let go of the magic prosthetic that he so often treated as his true limb. The stub of his left forearm slipped from the artifact and slid out of his glove’s long crimson sleeve. Annev gripped the base of the prosthetic with his right hand and cautiously tugged at the chained limb. When it didn’t slide out, he tried pulling it in the opposite direction.
Nothing – the magic that allowed the prosthetic to change size must only work when it was fitting itself to someone. He tried gripping the iron manacle that still bound his prosthetic, willing it to release itself, but it was as Kenton had said – the artifact refused to work for him.
The smoke was now chokingly thick and the arch of Janak’s doorway had begun to crack with the heat as Annev crouched low to the floor, trying not to breathe and fumbling with the prosthetic. Unable to make it react, and with the heat growing, he abandoned any hope of salvaging the limb and instead tugged on the fingertips of the phoenix glove, yanking the crimson cloth from the confines of the manacle. He held Myjun’s Regaleus gift tight.
At least I saved something tonight.
He tucked the red-and-gold cloth into his pocket then stooped, searching for his fallen hand-axe. He spied its wedge peeking out from behind Janak’s burning desk and ran to it, keeping his head below the smoke.
‘Bloody kraik,’ he swore, when he saw the handle smoking amidst oil and flame, its axe-head beginning to glow a sullen maroon-grey. He was about to turn away when he saw Janak’s brass incense lamp lying just beyond the flames. He snatched it up, turning the artifact over in his hand, and was surprised that it felt completely cool to his touch. His eyes and fingers danced across the metal, examining the hundreds of tiny runes that had been carved into its surface.
If this is really the Oracle of Speur Dún …