Annev winced, feeling directly responsible for that, but Sodar patted his hand.
‘It’s fine, Annev. My body will heal on its own, and my magic will replenish itself. I’ll just have to act my age for a bit.’
Annev smiled at that. ‘Can you stand?’
‘That I can manage.’ Sodar leaned back and picked up his bag of salt, tied it shut, then dropped it into his bottomless sack, watching it vanish into the depths of the green fabric. He folded the seemingly empty bag and returned it to the pocket of his robes.
Tosan and his train had reached the well. Fyn, Titus and Therin fell in behind, joining the ancients and masters. As the group drew closer, Annev could hear Titus telling Brayan his version of the events on the southern side of the Academy.
When Tosan came within fifty yards of Sodar’s ward, he halted the group. He stared at Sodar, Annev and Sraon, his lips pursed as he studied the glyph carved into the ground. He raised an eyebrow at the ambient light shining from it.
‘Who did this?’
Sraon and Annev both looked to Sodar, seeking guidance on how best to answer. The priest looked at no one but Tosan.
‘It’s mine, Tosan. Do you like it? It’s good at keeping the shadows away.’ Sodar nodded at Tosan’s wand. ‘I see you’ve found something else for that, though.’
Tosan’s eye twitched and he snapped his head towards Sraon. ‘Do you consort with these keokum, blacksmith?’ The headmaster’s controlled tone hinted at a rage that boiled beneath his cold exterior.
Sraon indicated the injured priest. ‘Is it a crime now to give someone healing?’
Tosan raised his hand and beckoned to someone at the back of the line.
‘Bring it.’
Master Carbad rushed forward with a bloody burlap sack in his hands. He placed the sack on the ground between Tosan and the perimeter of Sodar’s ward.
‘Open it.’
Carbad complied, opening the sack and pulling out a severed head by the roots of its tangled dirty-blonde hair. The head spun, turning as Carbad held it.
Blood covered the female’s sharpened teeth and tattered lips, and a long gash ran down the length of her face, but Annev could still make out the wooden pipe stem poking from her severed neck: it was the female feurog he and Crag had saved in the Brakewood.
Annev swallowed. The fear he’d felt while facing Tosan in the bowels of the Academy resurfaced, blossoming in his stomach.
Tosan pointed at the grisly trophy, growling through gritted teeth. ‘Someone has been helping these monsters. Someone brought them here, into our village.’ He swung his hand back to Annev, his finger shaking. ‘You! Bastard Son of Keos! You did this. You brought this on us.’ He pointed at the priest. ‘And you … you have been helping him. Teaching him. Hiding him!’
With a roar, the headmaster stepped forward and kicked the gruesome head from Carbad’s fist, sending it flying over Annev’s head and across the square. Tosan wheeled, lowering his arm and pointing the hellfire wand at Sraon.
‘So. I ask you again, blacksmith. Have you been consorting with these keokum?’
Sraon looked at Sodar, who gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. The blacksmith sighed.
‘No, Elder Tosan. I have not.’
‘Good.’ The headmaster flicked his wrist at Sraon, gesturing the blacksmith to join the avatars and ancients at his back. ‘Then get out of that infernal hex.’
Again, Sraon looked to the priest for guidance and Sodar shooed the blacksmith away. ‘I’ll be all right,’ he whispered.
Sraon nodded, releasing Sodar’s bandaged leg and pushing himself off the ground. Annev watched the man take up his halberd then noticed Sodar reaching inside his robes to pull out the bottomless sack. Sraon saw it as well and shifted to block Tosan’s view of the priest. ‘More tricks?’ he whispered.
Sodar nodded, retrieving the bag of salt. ‘We’ll see if it’s enough.’ The blacksmith went to join Tosan as Sodar handed the salt to Annev. ‘Listen carefully,’ he whispered. ‘When I tell you, I want you to pour this at the bottom of the lightfire glyph. Make a line, sealing it, forming a triangle. Understand?’
Annev nodded. ‘The shield glyph.’
‘Precisely. You’ll have to be quick.’
Sraon had reached Tosan and the rest of the group, and the headmaster eyed him with a mix of open disgust and hostility.
‘Give your weapon to Master Gravel,’ Tosan hissed. Sraon bowed his head in submission and handed his halberd to the portly Master of Forgery.
‘Priest – if you still dare to call yourself that – you have admitted to consorting with demons, to using magic, and to concealing a Son of Keos. Do you deny it?’
Sodar chuckled. ‘This is a farce, Tosan.’
‘Do you deny it!’
Sodar raised an eyebrow. ‘What if I did?’
‘Then I would call you a liar.’
Sodar nodded, sighing. ‘I have never had the occasion to consort with demons, nor have I ever hidden, harboured or concealed a Son of Keos. But if the charge is one of magic, then yes. I am a true priest of Odar. A Brother of the Order of the Dionachs Tobar, blessed with Odar’s gift – which I have been trained to use.’ He gestured at the light-imbued glyph carved into the earth. ‘I used it today, to save your avatars.’
‘The Son of Keos is guilty!’ Dorstal cried out from the back of the pack. The other ancients murmured their agreement. ‘Stone him!’ Denithal demanded. ‘Cast him down to hell!’ shouted another.
Tosan held up a finger for silence. ‘The laws of Chaenbalu are clear.’ A twisted sneer tugged at his mouth, almost but not quite a smile. ‘Masters, go among the rubble and the ruin, and gather stones.’
Masters Aog, Der, Ather and Murlach immediately left the crowd and walked to the nearest fallen building, filling their arms with rocks, broken bricks, and loose stone. After a nudge from Ancient Benifew, Master Gravel handed Sraon’s halberd to Edra and followed. Brayan hesitated. He looked over at Titus, Fyn and Therin, none of whom had moved, and swayed on his feet, glancing between Benifew, Tosan and the young men. After a long pause, he went to stand beside Titus, and when Ancient Benifew frowned at him, Brayan held his ground.
If Tosan noticed, he gave no sign. His gaze remained fixed on the two figures in the centre of the glowing glyph.