A soft knock sounded on the door and Sraon poked his head into the room.
‘Ah. I see you’ve found Sodar’s secret.’
Annev smiled, turning the unusual vambrace over in his hands. ‘Toothbreaker wasn’t a secret – at least not to me. Sodar showed it to me a handful of times. He wanted to come back for it before we left … but I made him stay. If I hadn’t, he’d still be alive.’
‘And the rest of us would be dead,’ Sraon said, stepping further into the room. ‘Sodar’s magic saved us, so there’s no point wishing it otherwise. I’m glad you found Toothbreaker, though. I think it was Sodar’s favourite possession. He loved it more than the Book of Odar. More even than his Speur Dún manuscripts, and that’s saying a lot. He’d have wanted you to have it.’
Annev’s eyebrows shot up. ‘The manuscripts!’ He set the vambrace down on the bed and rifled through what remained in Sodar’s clothes chest. When he had emptied it and still not found the papers, he got down on his hands and knees and began searching through the pile of clothes he’d scattered across the floor.
Sraon crossed his arms in front of his chest, tapping his foot. ‘And just what do you think you’re doing?’
‘The manuscripts,’ Annev repeated, not bothering to look up. ‘Sodar spent years translating those! I can’t leave them here. I need to find them.’
‘And where do you think Sodar would put something that precious?’
Annev dropped the pile of clothes he had been holding and sat back on his haunches. After half a second, he rolled his eyes and slipped the green sack from his tunic pocket. He reached inside the bag and withdrew a handful of messy parchment. He examined the papers and clutched them to his chest, relieved.
Sraon tossed a thick scrap of leather at Annev.
Annev snatched it out of the air and examined it, realising it was a sturdy, soot-blackened glove. Long, and flared at the elbow, it had been made to be worn on the left hand. Annev looked up at the blacksmith.
‘Is this from your forge?’
‘It is. I doubt I’ll be doing much smithing once we leave the village, and I figure that’ll keep you from having to stare at your Keos-be-damned hand.’
Annev cocked an eyebrow. ‘Keep me from staring at it, or you?’
Sraon licked his lips. ‘Both, I suppose.’ He nodded towards the kitchen door. ‘Come on. I’ve been waiting till you seemed strong enough to do this last bit.’
They buried what was left of Sodar where the woodshed had stood, clearing a spot among the ashes and planting the priest’s staff upright in the soil, marking his final resting place.
When they were done, Sraon nodded to Annev. ‘Well, you’re the Master of Sorrows – and the closest thing we’ve got to a priest. Would you mind saying the last words?’
‘Sure.’
Annev knelt in front of the freshly turned soil and placed his right hand on the ground, crushing the dirt and ash with his fingers, feeling its softness against his skin. Remembering.
‘Retribution,’ he said after a long moment. ‘You wanted to know if I named the sword – the flamberge. I thought I’d name it Retribution.’ He frowned, fighting the tears that threatened to streak his face. ‘I lost Mercy. I think you guessed that … but you were kind enough not to chide me for it.’ He swallowed. ‘Anyway, I said I’d tell you … if I named it.’
He choked back a sob, his eyes fixed on the staff buried in the ground. It wasn’t the silver staff the priest had carried during his Regaleus services, but the battered weapon Sodar had so often used during their sparring matches. It seemed fitting to Annev that they used it as his grave marker, for Sodar had been as much a warrior as a priest, a wizard, a scholar and a caretaker.
Sraon shifted behind Annev. Waiting. Annev cleared his throat, trying to control his emotions.
‘I’m still not sure I believe all your prophecies, Sodar. I know you believed them, though, and you dedicated your life to protecting my family. That has to count for something … so I’m going to find Reeve. I’ll talk to him. I’ll see if he has any solutions for outrunning gods and demons, and for removing this cursed hand, but that’s it. Even if Keos himself is hunting me, I’m not the god-killer Breathanas was and I won’t try to be.’ He looked down at the dark soil where Sodar’s bones lay.
‘I wish you were here, Sodar. I need help – I need answers – but you’re not here for either … so I guess I have to find my own way.’
Annev stood, kissed his fingers, and flicked them in the sign of Odar. ‘Go with God, old man. You saved the lives of many souls. You were a good priest.’ He swallowed. ‘You were a good friend, too. Like a father to me.’ The tears broke through then, but this time Annev let them come.
‘Goodbye, Sodar.’
Annev and Sraon returned to the worship hall just as the disparate members of their party started returning. Brayan and Therin came first, and Sraon immediately set to helping the quartermaster fix a wagon with a broken cartwheel. By the time a replacement was found, Fyn had returned with an armload of knives, a bow and quiver, and a few larger melee weapons. He divvied out the blades, keeping several throwing knives for himself, and gave the bow and arrows to Sraon. When Fyn came to Annev, he stared at the shield-bracer strapped to his back.
‘You going to fight with that?’
‘Yeah. It belonged to Sodar.’
Fyn nodded, approving. ‘Is it magical?’
‘No. Just ordinary steel.’
Fyn seemed to relax at hearing this. ‘That’s good. You need something less flashy than that sword of yours – and that shiny cloak doesn’t help.’ Annev laughed at that, unable to argue with his former adversary.
Titus arrived just as the cart was repaired. In addition to carrying a small sack filled with coins, he surprised everyone by towing a black mare behind him.
‘She was hiding near the mill pond,’ he said as Brayan hitched her to the cart.
About an hour later the party crested the tall western hill overlooking Chaenbalu. Without anyone needing to say a word, the group stopped and gazed upon the village for the last time.
Annev flexed his gloved left hand, finding comfort in the knowledge that the prosthetic’s arcane yellow glow lay hidden beneath the thick, soot-blackened leather. He stared out over the village one last time, squinting to see the dim outline of the chapel in the dusky light.
After a few minutes of silence, the group turned and trudged down the opposite side of the hill, their faces towards the western edge of the Brakewood and the capital city that lay beyond.
‘What do you think Luqura will be like?’ Titus asked as they entered the wood.
Annev thought about it. ‘I met a man who said that in Quiri the thieves all wore cassocks, but in Luqura they all wore hose.’
Titus scrunched up his face. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘For us? I think it means we have to adapt. We have to accept things will be different in Luqura and we may have to change if we’re going to survive.’