‘Titus?’ Annev said, taken aback.
Kenton took another step towards Annev. ‘He was always useless. He should have become a steward from the very beginning. But Benifew and Grimm didn’t see that – they just kept pushing him, trying to get Winsor to advance him to our reap. The Masters didn’t care one way or the other. They tried to beat the incompetence out of him. And I … was stupid. I stood up for him once – once – and this happened.’
‘Duvarek said it was a training accident—’
‘I never should have helped him,’ Kenton continued, his voice low,‘should have let Ather and the rest beat the tears out of him. Then nothing would have changed.’
Annev looked up, the tiny amount of sympathy he’d felt for Kenton evaporating. He gritted his teeth, his hand shifting to grab the lip of the dish he’d hidden in the waste shaft.
‘Once I was scarred she wouldn’t touch me,’ Kenton continued, oblivious. ‘Wouldn’t talk to me.’ He gave Annev a nasty smile. ‘Now she knows the truth … you’re more scarred than me.’ He spat in Annev’s face. ‘She could have been mine if you hadn’t lied to her. She would have come back!’ He snapped out his foot, kicking the side of Annev’s stump. ‘Bastard Son of Keos!’
Annev whipped his right arm forward, splashing the bowl of luminous golden liquid into Kenton’s face. The avatar screamed, dropping the torch and keys as he tried to wipe the burning liquid from his eyes.
Annev rammed his shoulder into Kenton’s gut, sending the boy crashing to the ground. He stooped, snatched up the torch and keys, and sprinted through the open cell door.
Kenton was still screaming, both hands pressed to his face, as Annev yanked on the heavy iron door, bracing both feet against the stone wall behind him to slam it shut seconds before Kenton smashed into it. The drop bar fell into place; Annev slammed the window closed and turned the key in the lock.
‘Ainnevog!’ Kenton yelled from the other side of the door, pounding on the metal. ‘Keos burn your bones, I’m going to kill you. I will kill you!’
Annev backed away from the door, trembling. He was free. Naked and defenceless, but free. He shivered, partly from the welcome heat of the torch and partly from adrenaline. If he was seen, he’d be hunted. But now he was free, he could save Sodar.
He looked down the long hallway and saw two rows of iron doors similar to the one he’d just closed on Kenton. The passage to his left was a dead end, but to Annev’s right there was a stone staircase leading up out of the Academy’s dungeons.
He took the stairs two at a time, leaving Kenton screaming behind his barred door. He kept the torch in front of him, ready to strike at anyone or anything he might encounter, and finally reached a small landing that opened on to a new floor.
This must be the Vault of Damnation, Annev thought. Brayan said it was right above my cell. He glanced at his stump, and at the landing, and then he pressed on, intent on reaching the surface. Saving Sodar came first. The old man was the one true and steady thing in his life. He didn’t understand why the priest had come back, only that he had. He hadn’t abandoned Annev after all – and Annev would be damned if he’d abandon him.
He’d climbed a dozen more steps when he heard the sounds of battle above him – the shriek of metal against metal coupled with the cries of people screaming and dying. He slowly backed down the steps as the sounds grew louder, nearer, then ran for the safety of the floor below and sprinted down the hallway, away from the noise of fighting.
He felt like a coward, fleeing from danger. He was nothing like Breathanas or the brave Halcyon Knights from Sodar’s stories – they would have fought, naked and glorious, battling with a wooden torch till they found a more suitable weapon. Annev was sure of it. Breathanas would probably have climbed to the surface, saved his mentor, the village, and the woman he loved, all while earning himself the praise and respect of the people who persecuted him – and without wearing a stitch.
But Annev was not Breathanas. He wasn’t a Halcyon Knight, or even a squire to one. He wasn’t even a Master Avatar any more. He was just a frightened, one-armed boy.
The corridor widened then narrowed, turned, and widened again. He kept running, not stopping or slowing until the light from his torch reflected off an immense ironwood door at the far end.
As he drew nearer, the corridor widened into a hall and Annev saw how truly immense the door was. Perfectly round and nearly twenty feet in diameter, the dark grey ironwood had been polished till it shone. An enormous glyph, nearly six feet tall, had been inscribed in the centre of the door. Annev stopped, holding the torch aloft, and studied the symbol.
The glyph was an X capped with an upside-down V, equal in width but only half as tall, with the legs of the V closing the top of the X. A round O filled the lower half of the diamond-shaped space created by the first two symbols, giving the appearance of an open eye, but Annev knew its true significance: the X represented two pieces of cut wood stacked on top of each other – t’rasang; the upside-down V represented the flames that consumed the wood – lumen; and the O within the diamond represented the air that fed the flames – quaire. It was the symbol of creation and destruction, the symbol of the Gods and Luquatra, of all the elements combined into one.
Aqlumera.
He searched for a handle or a lock – the Vault might be a safe place to hide, or at least somewhere to find a weapon – but he saw nothing. The only thing that looked remotely promising was a tiny hole cut into the centre of the aqlumera symbol. Annev examined his key ring and saw that, amidst the collection of metal keys, there was a tiny ironwood rod. No millings or grooves had been cut into it, though. He turned back to the door, examining it once more, then cautiously slid the ironwood rod into the hole. Once he had inserted its full length, the door clicked and the wooden key locked into place. Annev jumped back, curious to see what would happen.
Nothing.
Annev returned to the door, gripped the key ring in his fist, and twisted, attempting to spin the rod in its socket.
Nothing.
What am I missing? he thought, ears keen for any approaching sound. The key belongs here, but it doesn’t turn. What kind of key doesn’t turn? He rubbed his face then stopped, a small smile appearing on his lips.
It’s not a key, he thought, placing the pad of his thumb on the base of the rod. It’s a common artifact … like the phoenix lantern. Still touching the rod, he concentrated on the door opening.