The round-faced boy nodded, cautiously sliding his arm beneath the belts and cinching it tight. ‘Thanks, Annev.’
‘You’re welcome. Grab that rapier, too.’ He turned to Fyn. ‘What’s the fastest way?’
Under Fyn’s direction the three boys navigated the cellars, passing a handful of dead feurog along the way.
‘Where do you think everyone’s gone?’ Titus asked as they reached the kitchens on the ground level.
‘Honestly,’ Fyn said, ‘I think most of them are dead.’
‘Why would you say that?’
Fyn shrugged. ‘The acolytes and avatars were in the dining hall when the attack happened, and I haven’t seen one of them since. Jasper was with me in the basement. We’d heard people calling you a Son of Keos, and wanted to know more. Kenton said they’d found your priest coming back from the Brakewood and were going to execute him, and then I ran into one of the witgirls who said something crazy about dead infants in the nursery … and the witwomen killing each other.’
‘They what?’ Annev said, shocked. ‘That’s insane.’
‘Didn’t sound right to me either. That’s when the screaming started and those monsters grabbed Jasper, so I figured it was the demons doing all the killing.’
‘That’s terrible,’ Titus whispered, biting his lip. ‘I hope Therin made it out – and Kenton and Master Brayan.’ He nudged Annev. ‘Kenton was with you and Elder Tosan, right?’
‘He was,’ Annev said, not wanting to explain where he had left the boy. ‘He’s still downstairs … protecting the Vault.’ The lie caught in Annev’s throat. ‘Tosan came back up,’ he said, changing the subject. ‘Did you see him?’
Titus shook his head. ‘Master Carbad ran past us. He was the one who told us to gather our weapons, to defend the Academy. We were attacked after that, but I’ve not seen Elder Tosan. I thought he was still downstairs with you and Kenton.’
That’s strange, Annev thought. I wonder where he went.
The trio quickly traversed the hallways to the front entrance. In spite of the carnage they had seen below, the tall double doors lay closed, untouched and unscarred. Fyn approached the portal, sheathed his mace beside its twin, and dropped his torch into an empty sconce near the entryway. Without bothering to ask for help, he braced his shoulders against the beam and heaved. The piling lurched out of its cradle, balanced squarely on his shoulders. Fyn shuffled a step forward, grunted, and rolled the massive beam off his back. Without missing a step, he jerked open the ironbound doors.
The light of midday flooded into the Academy, illuminating the entryway. Annev sheathed his sword, quenching its flames, and together they stepped out onto the landing overlooking the village. From their vantage point at the top of the Academy’s steps, they could see the full extent of the destruction that had been wrought upon Chaenbalu.
The old mill had been toppled into its pond, leaving a ruined stone foundation behind. Farther south and east, the village farms had been ransacked, their fields churned to mud by uncounted hosts of feurog and scattered with the broken bodies of farmers and their families.
At the centre of town, the destruction was even greater: scores of wild, knotted feurog roamed the streets, setting homes and shops ablaze. Packs of the twisted creatures had formed to hunt down villagers, dragging them from their homes to be torn apart and devoured.
A few pockets of resistance had formed around the bakery and smithy. Armed with a spear, bow and quiver of arrows, Lorn and Rafela led the nearest group – a cluster of twenty or so craftsmen and shopkeepers armed with farm implements.
A few streets over, the one-eyed blacksmith Sraon bellowed orders at a smaller band surrounding his forge, organising them into attack formations. When a pair of feurog approached, he led the charge, wielding his short-handled halberd with deadly efficiency. A handful of young avatars were fighting alongside him and, as Annev descended the Academy’s stairs, he recognised one of them.
‘There’s Therin!’ Titus shouted, pointing with his rapier. ‘We should help.’
‘Them first,’ Annev said, pointing to the closer knot of villagers who were attracting more feurog. ‘Sraon and the avatars can take care of themselves, but the baker and those craftsmen are getting slaughtered.’ As Annev spoke, he watched Elyas the tanner engage a feurog who had an iron maul in place of a hand. Elyas slashed out with his leather-cutting knife and scored a deep gash across the monster’s throat. At almost the same time, the feurog raised his heavy hand and struck the side of the tanner’s head, caving in his skull. Both fell to the ground, dead or dying, and while a new feurog replaced the one that had fallen, no one took up Elyas’s position in the circle. The noose surrounding the group of villagers was tightening.
‘Stick close!’ Annev shouted as he ran down the stairs. ‘Titus, watch our backs with that shield. Fyn, take the left side and we can clear a path to the villagers.’
‘Right!’ Titus said, falling in behind Annev. Fyn hesitated, then hastened to catch up with the pair.
‘Hey!’ Fyn shouted as he pulled even with Annev. ‘Why are you leading? This isn’t Banok.’
Annev gritted his teeth, consciously not using the magic of his boots to sprint ahead of Fyn and Titus. ‘You’re a warrior, Fyn, not a tactician. Let me worry about where to put you, and you worry about how to kill the things in front of you. Right now, I need you protecting my flank. My left arm is useless.’
The Master of Arms huffed but did as he was told. In a flash of movement, he pulled both maces free and edged to the left, engaging a feurog whose back was turned.
Annev unsheathed his sword and the blue-white flames rekindled. He glanced back, saw that Titus was dutifully guarding their rear, and returned his attention to the villagers.
Rafela stood in the front-centre of the group, firing arrow after arrow at the mass of monsters. The baker’s wife was wounding more often than killing, but she continued to strike her targets and the onslaught of feurog hesitated each time she raised her bow.