The tingling sensation spiked and Annev’s arm began to throb. The feeling was painful, but pleasant, too; he wanted to laugh, he wanted to cry. Mostly, though, he suddenly wanted to destroy something – to siphon the blood from Dorstal’s body, or to throw Fyn against the back wall and splatter his brains across the grey stones. And there was more than that – more than a feeling of anger or a selfish desire to act on his base impulses; he sensed the presence of untapped power, and he felt some silent part of him reach for that power, wanting to bend its purpose to his will.
Annev gasped and dropped the wand back on the table. Dorstal stood, waiting.
‘It’s … uh …’
‘It’s what, Annev?’
‘It’s … a dark rod. It causes pain.’
Dorstal sniffed and waved the boy back to his seat. Annev hesitated for a moment, shaken and still looking at the rod, then turned and sat down.
‘I’m surprised, Annev,’ Dorstal said, straightening the rods on the table. ‘This is a very easy one.’ The ancient sighed and picked up the palm vine wand. ‘This is a Rod of Healing.’
There was a light rap on the door and Dorstal replaced the rod before opening it. A middle-aged man with a strong jaw waited in the hallway. His short-cropped hair was bright red, the same colour as his smock.
‘Master Edra,’ Dorstal greeted him.
‘Ancient Dorstal.’ The red-headed man gave a slight bow then peered into the classroom. ‘Last day for most of these boys.’
‘I suppose it is,’ Dorstal said, looking at the class with an air of disappointment.
Edra grunted. ‘We aren’t meeting in the sparring room today, so I thought I’d collect this lot before gathering Benifew’s class.’
Dorstal grunted, then waved a hand at the boys. ‘Go on then. Follow Edra.’
As one, they bolted from their seats and poured out of the room.
Chapter Four
Annev padded down the stone corridor behind the rest of his classmates, fretting over a half-dozen things. He was increasingly anxious about tomorrow’s Test of Judgement, fearing failure almost as much as the inevitability of betraying his friends. Yet those fears were somehow overshadowed by his experience with the palm vine healing wand: why had he felt so violent when holding the rod? Why had holding it made him want to do terrible things to Dorstal and Fyn?
A Rod of Healing shouldn’t do that, Annev brooded. Its purpose is to salve wounds and heal injuries … yet I wanted to drain the blood from Dorstal. Blood-letting could certainly be a restorative procedure and, if done for medicinal purposes, it wasn’t inherently evil …
But I didn’t want to heal him, Annev admitted to himself. I wanted to kill him. I wanted to smash Fyn’s head in. Annev bit his lip, trying to rationalise what he had felt in the classroom. Had he sensed the rod’s ability to heal people? Annev didn’t think so. If it had been there at all then the rod’s potential to heal had been drowned out by its more malevolent potential. As Annev pondered what that might mean, he became vaguely aware of Therin falling back to join him at the end of the queue.
Could Dorstal have mistaken the wand’s purpose? Annev wondered. It could still be a dark rod, but if that were true, it meant Annev’s instincts were superior to the ancient’s knowledge and experience – and Annev doubted that.
So did that mean Dorstal was right, that all magic really was evil? Annev would not – could not – believe that. Sodar had taught him that magic was a tool that could be used for good or ill, and Sodar was a mage. To believe that magic was innately evil was to accept that Sodar was evil, which simply wasn’t true.
That left Annev with one answer: the dark impulses were his own, not the wand’s. The more Annev thought about it, the more he suspected that was the case – and the worse he felt.
‘Bad luck with that wand, eh?’
Annev looked up to see Therin watching him. At the same time, he remembered what he had to do at tomorrow’s test and his treacherous heart gave a guilty lurch. ‘Hmm?’ he said, pretending he had not heard.
‘You’re normally pretty good at magical identification,’ Therin said, oblivious. ‘But guessing that healing rod was a dark rod … Heh. Pretty far off the mark.’ Annev’s cheeks flushed. ‘Of course, Fyn’s the dolt of the day. A cleaning rod. Ha! I can’t believe someone turned a gompf stick into a magic artifact.’ He giggled then stopped, suddenly thoughtful. ‘Genius, though. I wouldn’t mind not sharing a sponge with half the Academy.’
Annev was still lost in his thoughts. He ran his fingertips over the dusty tapestries hanging on the wall as the class climbed to the next floor of the Academy. ‘What was the rod of true-seeing like?’ he said after an awkward pause.
Therin pursed his lips. ‘Weird. At first, I thought it was cold because it had sat in the Vault of Damnation all winter – that’s why I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to look stupid. But then I felt this prickle down my arms and back. Like a window had been opened and an icy wind blew across my skin … except there was no wind.’ He shook his head then looked over at Annev. ‘What did you feel when—’
‘Hey,’ Annev interrupted, avoiding the question, ‘here comes Titus!’ At the front, their classmates and Master Edra had joined a group of students led by the wispy-haired Ancient Benifew. Therin eyed the other class with a feral grin, his question forgotten.
‘Mm,’ Therin grunted. ‘I’m going to enjoy beating Titmouse, today.’
Annev shook his head. ‘Only because Titus is the only person you can reliably beat in combat training – and he’s two years younger than you.’
‘So? Still counts as a win.’ As he spoke, a round-faced boy with soft cheeks and fluffy blond hair weaved his way through the press of brown-and beige-clad students. He was smaller than the rest and, though he wore a dirty beige tunic like Annev and Therin, Titus’s robes were a few shades brighter than the rest.
‘What still counts?’ Titus asked.
‘Heya, Titmouse!’ Therin ruffled the younger boy’s mop of curly yellow hair.
Titus groaned and pushed Therin’s hand away. ‘You know I hate being called that.’
‘Which is exactly why I do it,’ Therin said cheerfully. ‘Hey, Annev says it doesn’t count when I beat you because you’re so little. What do you say?’
Annev gave Therin a shove, knowing his paraphrasing would upset their friend.
‘Is that true?’ Titus asked, his voice peaking.
‘No! I said Therin picks on you in combat training because he can’t beat anyone his own age.’
Titus brightened. ‘Oh. That’s true. He can’t.’
Therin stuck his tongue out.
A dozen feet away, the black-clad Ancient Benifew took his leave of Master Edra. The fiery-haired weapons master folded his beefy forearms and looked over the assembled boys.
‘Today’s weapons training will take place on the rooftop terrace,’ Edra said, ‘followed by some special training in the nave with Master Duvarek.’
A murmur went up at this. Training with the Master of Shadows was rare.
‘Quiet!’ Edra snapped. Most of the boys stopped talking and suddenly Fyn’s voice could be heard.
‘… always away or drunk—’
Annev turned and saw that Fyn had been speaking to Jasper and hook-nosed Kellor. A bullish avatar from Titus’s class had also joined the trio and was sniggering in the silence. Edra’s gaze locked on to him.
‘Something you’d like to share with the rest of us, Brinden?’