‘Now, Annev!’ Sodar hissed.
Annev leapt forward and poured the salt into the line Sodar had carved in the ground. Before he could finish, Aog had thrown his clay brick and it smashed into his left elbow. The dragon-scale cloak offered no protection against the blunt trauma so his joint twisted and he heard a sharp crack.
‘Aaugh!’ He scrambled to control the bag of salt as a wave of pain washed over him – all too familiar – and was immediately followed by a queer tingling sensation as the shirt tried to mend the injury.
Tosan brandished the hellfire wand at the rest of the group. ‘Now! Throw your stones. All of you!’ Ancients Dorstal, Jerik and Denithal stepped forward along with Masters Gravel, Der, Ather and Murlach.
‘Hurry, Annev!’ Sodar shouted.
Annev ignored the pain, groaning as he felt the magic try – and fail – to reknit his bones. His eyes blurred as he managed to pour the rest of the salt into the final groove of the glyph. He finished just as the ancients and masters hurled their stones.
‘Sgiath-cruinn na áer!’ Sodar shouted.
A ripple went through the air and the flying stones collided with an invisible barrier, tumbling to the ground.
Tosan cursed, swinging the hellfire wand back towards Sodar and Annev. ‘Demon magic! Sons of Keos!’ He flicked the rod at them, frothing with anger. ‘Loisg!’
A jet of liquid fire spewed from the wand, slamming into the invisible sphere surrounding Annev and Sodar. The barrier trembled as flames pounded its surface. Waves of yellow, orange and amber poured over the shield, sheathing the bubble in liquid heat, and the air inside grew warmer.
Sodar coughed, struggling to breathe. ‘Annev,’ he wheezed, ‘I need water.’
Annev dropped the bag of salt and scurried over to his mentor. Sodar’s lips were cracked and bleeding, his face drawn and haggard. Annev used his good arm to ease the priest onto his back, but when he pulled his hand away, he found it covered with blood. Sodar’s wounds had reopened.
‘What do I do?’ Annev shouted over the roar of the flames. The air had become so hot breathing was painful.
‘The bag …’ Sodar gasped, patting the ground. ‘Water …’
Annev spied the green sack lying next to the edge of the ward and brought it to Sodar.
‘Water … inside …’
Annev opened the sack and stuck his right hand inside. He imagined a container filled with water – a glass bottle, an earthenware jug, a leather waterskin – but every time he pulled his hand out of the sack, it was empty.
‘It’s not working!’ Annev cried, tears forming beneath his eyes. He had used so many artifacts over the past few days, yet the bottomless bag still refused to yield to him. Flames continued to envelop the sphere, and the air within scorched with heat. Annev’s face felt flushed, dry and hot. He pulled the hood of the dragon-scale cloak over his head and the air seemed noticeably cooler.
‘Can’t breathe …’ Sodar moaned. ‘Can’t maintain … the ward … quaire depleted …’ He began to hyperventilate.
‘No!’ Annev covered him with the folds of his cloak and Sodar’s breathing began to regulate itself, but his voice was still ragged and parched.
‘Give me … the bag …’
Annev fumbled it up to Sodar’s hand and the priest slipped his hand inside. He closed his eyes. When he opened them, tears streamed down his cheeks. He shook his head.
‘No water.’
Annev felt terror for the first time. He glanced to the side and saw Brinden’s body baking in the infernal heat, his clothes smouldering, his skin smoking. Annev felt Sodar’s wrinkled hand brush his face and turned to look back at the priest. Sodar’s head was twitching. He gritted his teeth, his blistered lips cracking wide open.
‘Forgive me, Annev!’ He coughed. ‘Tuor … Aegen … Forgive me.’ His eyes rolled up and his body shook … and then he stilled.
The air trembled and Annev felt a great gush of wind release from the priest’s body. At almost the same time, an inward rush of heat filled the void between him and Sodar. Annev looked down and saw the priest’s robes had caught fire.
Instinctively, Annev rolled to the side, pulling the magic cloak tight around him. He heard a pop, and saw the invisible shield surrounding the glyph collapse. There was a shock of cool air as the heat inside the bubble rushed outward. A split second later, the flames from Tosan’s hellfire wand crashed into Sodar, consuming his body.
‘No!’ Annev cried, too late.
Sodar – the enigmatic priest, churlish guardian and stalwart friend – was gone.
Chapter Seventy-Two
Tears rolled down Annev’s cheeks as he cowered beneath the protection of his cloak, unable to move, unable to think. Less than five feet away, the priest’s blackened body burned beneath the concentrated fire of Tosan’s wand. A moment later, the flames stopped.
Bewildered by the sudden reprieve from the oppressive heat, Annev looked up and saw Tosan standing at the edge of the ward, the hellfire wand pointed directly at him.
‘Have you decided to confess the truth, keokum? Will you admit the pact you made with Keos?’
Annev blinked away tears, which ran down his red cheeks, and stared blankly at the Eldest of Ancients, unable to speak, barely able to think.
Sodar is dead. You killed Sodar.
Myjun was standing next to her father. Her high cheekbones and soft, full lips were flushed red and her pale green eyes sparkled with intensity. She scowled at Annev, yet she still looked lovely.
So beautiful, Annev thought, and so full of hate. She loved me once, and I traded Sodar’s counsel for her kisses. A sudden sob racked his frame. It was all his fault – the monsters, the deaths, the destruction – it would all have been avoided if he had left the village with Sodar. Even if he had refused to be a pawn in Sodar’s prophecies, he might have found a life for himself as a steward, like Titus and Markov.
But he had stayed and fought … for her.
Annev tightened his clutch on the bottomless bag in his right hand, afraid to let go of Sodar’s treasured sack. Unthinking, he lifted his broken left arm towards Myjun, voicelessly pleading with her, and she grimaced in open revulsion.
‘Lower your arm, monster!’ Tosan barked. Annev did so. ‘You will not touch, will not point, will not even look at my daughter!’
Annev nodded dumbly. He was alone and afraid, and when his eyes searched the crowd for friendly faces most were hostile, a few were wary. Among the handful that might have been sympathetic, Therin and Fyn stared at the ground while Titus, Brayan and Sraon looked pained. Not one moved to help.
‘Now,’ Tosan said, ‘tell me. Tell all of us. Who brought the monsters here? If you speak the truth, your death will be quick and painless. If you lie I will know.’
Annev was in a haze, barely able to process the ancient’s words. Who brought the feurog and the eidolons to Chaenbalu? Oyru brought them … but Annev had brought Oyru.