Sraon took the piece of slag and turned it over in his callused hands. ‘Looks like a knife. An anelace, maybe.’
Brayan nodded. ‘That’s what I thought, too.’ He looked at Annev. ‘I found this with Tosan’s remains, but I was withholding judgement until I found a way down to the basement. It wasn’t easy, but I finally found Narach’s body.’ He pointed to the melted anelace. ‘Tosan used it to kill the Master of Secrets. I’m sure of it.’
Annev shook his head, realising he had misplaced the blame for Narach’s death. He flexed his golden hand, looked around the destroyed chapel then back at Brayan. ‘You found a path to the basement?’ Brayan nodded. ‘Did you find Kenton down there?’
The quartermaster shook his head. ‘No. The survivors I did see were gathering on the south side of the Academy.’
‘Who? How many?’
‘Seven so far, including Masters Der, Murlach, Aog, Ather and Carbad. Ancients Edra and Denithal were with them.’
Annev chewed his lip, thinking. The Masters of Stealth, Engineering, Punishment, Lies and Operations … but no Master of Curses.
‘To tell you the truth, none of them look like they know what to do with themslves.’ Brayan scratched his thick beard. ‘Us masters … we’ve spent our whole lives in this village. We don’t know any other way.’
Sraon stood and clapped Brayan on the shoulder. ‘But I do, Master Brayan. I’ve lived outside Chaenbalu before, and it’s no harder than life in the village.’ He turned towards the group. ‘Let’s pack up, boys. Take whatever you need – whatever you can carry – and meet back here in an hour. Prioritise weapons, clothes, food, and coin. We’ll need all of that and then some for Luqura.’
The boys all nodded then hurried off in separate directions. Brayan clasped hands with Sraon, murmured his thanks, then he too departed. When they were all gone, Sraon turned to Annev. Annev waited, feeling self-conscious, rubbing the spot below his elbow where gold and flesh blended together.
‘If it bothers you so much, why don’t you take the bloody thing off?’
Annev stopped rubbing his arm, feeling the tears begin to well up behind his eyes, harder to control when he was shown a touch of sympathy. He squeezed his fists together and forced his mouth into a line, fighting hard not to cry, but the tears came anyway, hot and unwanted down his cheeks. The corners of his mouth tugged down, betraying him.
‘I can’t,’ he sobbed. ‘I’ve tried! I’ve been trying this whole time. It won’t come off. Sraon … I’m scared of it.’
Sraon pursed his lips and shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, lad. I didn’t know.’ He looked at the door behind the dais. ‘Maybe we can cover it, though, eh? That way you don’t have to look at it every second.’
Annev nodded, gratefully wiping his eyes.
‘Come on then. I’ve got my things ready and I’ve packed some clothes for you, but I expect there are things of Sodar’s you’ll want to take with you.’
Chapter Seventy-Four
Annev stared at the priest’s rumpled blankets and catalogued the items gathered atop the feather mattress: there was the phoenix lantern, the clothing he’d stolen from the Vault, the flamberge he’d given to Fyn, and Sodar’s drawstring sack, the magic of which had somehow protected it from Tosan’s flames.
Annev picked up the lantern and dropped it into the bottomless bag. He was about to do the same with the other items when panic struck him. He stuffed his right hand inside and fished around, feeling nothing except the bottom of the sack. His heart beat faster and he felt sick at the thought the lantern was lost for ever. He swallowed, forced himself to take a deep breath, and closed his eyes. As he let his breath out, he imagined his fingers wrapping around the carved block of wood.
As soon as Annev closed his hand, he felt the rough texture of the wooden lantern and pulled it from the sack, sighing in relief.
I can still use the artifacts, he thought, I just can’t work out how to take off this godsforsaken arm.
Annev checked the folded garments sitting atop the bed. He sniffed them and was unsurprised to find they still smelled of smoke, sweat and blood. I’ll need to do some laundry, he mused. I should have stolen a Rod of Washing from the Vault. Annev smiled then stopped, remembering the forgotten items he’d placed inside the dragon-scale cloak. He fished in the pocket and pulled out the wooden rod, the two rings, the white handkerchief and the red phoenix glove. He quickly stuffed the glove into the sack, unable to bear the sight of it, but he took his time studying the other artifacts before sweeping them all into the drawstring bag.
Riddles for another day, he thought. He rolled up the black trousers and slid them into the bag along with the boots and underwear he’d stolen. When he came to the Shirt of Regeneration, he paused: it was badly scorched, the back and sleeves so tattered it had been reduced to rags. He considered throwing it away, then thought better of it and tucked the cloth inside with the other magic items.
Might make a good bandage someday.
He picked up the blood-red cloak, but instead of stuffing it in the bag, he pulled it over his shoulders, the fine metallic scales glittering as he tied the collar in place. Finally, he flattened Sodar’s magic sack and tucked it into the tunic pocket where he normally kept his lock-picking tools. He looked around Sodar’s chambers, wondering if there was anything else he should take. Like Annev’s room, the bedroom was sparsely furnished with just a clothes chest, a small stained table and chair, and Sodar’s rumpled bed.
Annev walked to the table, which held an open copy of the Book of Odar. He traced the engravings on the metal leaves with the tip of his index finger then lifted the lacquered wood cover and shut the book. He walked back to Sodar’s clothes chest and flipped the lid open.
A variety of folded blue smocks sat inside it. He sorted through them until he found the midnight-blue robe Sodar used for Seventhday services. He threw it on the bed and pulled out more garments, tossing them atop the first, then felt something sharp prick him. Annev jerked his hand back, examining the injury, and saw a round drop of blood blossom on the pad of his finger. Curious, he tugged another robe out of the bottom of the chest and was rewarded with the sight of Sodar’s silver battle buckler.
Toothbreaker, Annev thought, pulling the rectangular vambrace from the chest. It had been a long time since he’d seen the weapon, but he remembered it well: instead of being round, like the traditional shield, Toothbreaker was long and narrow, about a foot wide and twice as long. A pair of narrow notches had been cut out of the top and bottom of the vambrace, framing the wearer’s wrist and elbow exactly in the centre. The four pointed corners, which were a few inches longer than the weapon’s core, had been sharpened on both sides. The way Sodar had explained it, anyone wearing the shield-bracer could use those points to stab and cut at the people he was fighting while still protecting his arm.