‘I …’ Annev’s mouth was dry. He coughed, licking his lips. ‘I …’
Despite Tosan’s warning, Annev found his gaze slowly rising once more to look upon Myjun’s face. He saw the girl’s beauty … and her loathing, horror and betrayal.
No, Annev thought. She can’t look at me that way. Not when I gave up everything for her … when I did nothing to hurt her.
Annev’s emotions were in a jumble and he felt the sharp sting of Myjun’s betrayal, the pang of losing Sodar and the rage at Tosan’s hypocrisy, all roiling inside him, aching to be let out. His left hand rose towards Myjun.
Tosan’s eyes bulged.
‘Do not look at my daughter!’ He snapped the wand at Annev. ‘Loisg!’
A jet of fire roared towards Annev. He ducked, pulling his hood and cloak over him, and felt an immense heat roll across his spine. He huddled on the ground beneath the cloak, his hand and feet pulled protectively beneath the garment as the fire pounded relentlessly against his back. Annev sensed the flames hadn’t caught hold of the cloak, but he could nevertheless feel the heat penetrating the thin scales. His back began to blister and the ground beneath him began to bake.
Annev instinctively opened his mind, concentrating on the dragon-scale cloak and shirt of regeneration. He magnified the power of both garments, wrapping himself in their magic, and felt the heat lessen, felt the skin on his scorched back try to heal itself.
But it was too much. If he did nothing, he was going to die. He needed help. He needed Sodar.
In the ache of loss for his mentor, Annev slipped his hand into Sodar’s bottomless sack, searching for something to aid him, anything that might protect him or help him to fight back.
Cold metal clamped down on Annev’s wrist, latching onto his arm and biting into his flesh. There was a sharp crack. Annev screamed and felt his arm break all over again.
Again? Annev thought, his mind cloudy beneath the pain. My arm … my left arm. It was only then he realised he had stuck his stump into the sack. A limb with no hand, searching for an item that would save him.
Annev slowly withdrew his arm from the bottomless bag. He vaguely remembered Sodar explaining about the enigmatic artifact. How it had found its way to Chaenbalu and the Vault of Damnation. How Sodar had broken into the Vault and reclaimed it. For those who knew what to look for, there were untold secrets hidden inside it.
As Annev’s elbow emerged from the pale green bag, he saw that the broken bone had reknit itself, merging seamlessly with a bright glimmer of gold that covered his forearm. At last, his hand and fingers emerged, revealing the magnificent golden arm that had fused itself to him.
The magic of Annev’s previous prosthetic had been in its modest nature, in the way it changed to match the shape, size and colour of the user’s limb. By contrast, this was a work of art: delicate filigrees and complex arabesques had been carved into the precious metal, filling every inch with minute detail; thick gold caps reinforced the knuckles and a dazzling white-gold bracelet encircled the wrist.
Annev stared in horror and awe at the magic artifact, flexing his fingers. In the middle of the palm, inscribed in arching cursive letters, were the words: MEMENTO SEMPER. NUMQUAM OBLIVISCI. He turned it over, fearing what he might find there, and saw the picture of an exotic hammer – a war falcon – floating above a smoking anvil.
‘Keos,’ Annev breathed, barely able to speak the name.
The flames pounding Annev’s head and back, momentarily forgotten, suddenly reasserted themselves. The cloak could not compete with the constancy of Tosan’s flames, and Annev felt the shirt of regeneration smouldering. He sobbed at the pain, clenching his teeth against a scream, and lifted the golden hand into the flames. A fiery blast slammed into his palm, enveloping his hand, and throwing him back. Annev pushed into it, his fingers numb beneath the searing fire, and finally looked up at Tosan.
The ancient’s arm shook with the power of the raging hellfire wand, barely keeping it under control. The orange and yellow flames poured from the dark rod, streaming towards Annev’s arm – and were stopped, contained by the magic of the golden hand.
Tosan trembled with rage as he poured his anger and energy into the dark rod. His brow furrowed, his face twisted in a silent snarl, unable to fathom how Annev was defeating the hellfire.
At the opposite end of the fiery jet, Annev was amazed that he was still standing. His new hand soaked up the heat and light from the flames, the filigree growing brighter and the metal aglow. He felt the power of Tosan’s magic, felt the anger that fuelled it. He sucked it in, let it fill his hand, and watched as a sphere of fiery yellow light blossomed from his palm. The orb continued to grow, a beacon of brilliant luminescence.
Across the square, Myjun stood at her father’s elbow.
‘Kill him!’ she urged, her wide eyes locked on the bright globe surging in Annev’s hand. ‘Kill the Son of Keos!’
Something inside Annev broke. The veil that covered part of his mind, separating him from his innate magic, was rent in two. Faded images flooded his mind, merging with the scene in front of him: instead of Tosan, Annev saw a tall man standing above him, holding a glowing silver staff; in place of Myjun, a young maiden with bright yellow hair, her eyes cast downward, full of sorrow. Annev looked at his hand once more and saw a superimposed vision of a golden prosthetic moving in coordination with a real hand made of flesh and bone.
Annev fought the images, trying to reseal the part of his mind that had come unravelled. His hand trembled, drawing the power from Tosan’s wand, feeding on the flames. The globe of fire surrounding his hand swelled further, growing to encompass his whole arm, yet his flesh did not burn. Instead, it glowed with light, drawing Annev’s own innate magic from deep inside him, causing the sphere to surge with power until it surrounded his whole body. Annev struggled to contain the magic, even as he battled with the images before him.
Burn them all.
The thought was not his. Yet Annev felt it as clearly as he had in Dorstal’s classroom when he clutched the ash wand: a hunger for destruction, a desire to release the pent-up energy within him.
Burn them. Break them. Kill them.
Annev shook his head, fighting it even as he felt his will slipping from him. He saw the ancients and masters behind Tosan scatter, anticipating the inevitable climax of this contest.
Myjun glared at Annev, seeing her father waver, and screamed, ‘I hate you!’
Burn them all.
Annev released the power, blasting it back at Tosan. The ancient had no time to react as the wave of immolating flames rushed for him, but Myjun shrieked, hurling herself away as the wall of fire crashed into Tosan, consuming him.
Gravel, Dorstal and Benifew were behind him, too slow or too witless to flee with the others, and were enveloped in liquid fire, blasting the flesh from their blackened bones.
Burn them all.