‘Kill him, as a risk to the Academy, the Vault of Damnation, and the artifacts we safeguard. Death has always been the penalty for leaving the village. The merchant knows where our village is, so the same rule applies.’
‘So this purse … is just a prop?’
The headmaster frowned. ‘We are avatars, Ainnevog, not thieves – you will pay the man for his goods.’ Tosan stood. ‘If you wish to rob him once he is dead, that is your choice. Personally, I find it distasteful – a grave robber is still a thief, after all – but you can bring back spoils if you must. I will need proof you’ve accomplished your task, so I expect you to bring back the merchant’s ears as well.’
‘His ears?’
Tosan nodded, gesturing towards the door. ‘Before sunset tomorrow. I would normally give you permission to collect any tools you might need from the quartermaster … but you’re not an avatar, so you don’t get that privilege. I expect you’ll do fine, though. You’ve proved very resourceful thus far.’
Annev walked to the door in a daze. Just as he opened it, Tosan called him back.
‘Priests can afford to be pleasant, Ainnevog, but avatars don’t have that luxury. This is your last chance to decide which one you are. I’ve chosen this mission carefully to test you, so don’t disappoint me.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
Annev circled the courtyard and cut behind the Academy, heading towards Sodar’s chapel and the easternmost edge of Chaenbalu.
The task Tosan had assigned him left little room for interpretation. There was a man in the Brakewood – a stranger – and Annev was to interrogate and murder him. Under normal circumstances, he would never have agreed to such a mission.
But things were different now. Annev had tasted a despair so overwhelming that he would do anything to avoid feeling it again; including betray his friends, abandon his mentor and murder a stranger. He would do all of it if he could still become an avatar.
Once he’d crossed the dusty courtyard and entered Chaenbalu’s circular streets, Annev turned back to look at the Academy walls. The stained-glass image of the Battle of Vosgar stood out against the rest of the building’s dark stone relief, and Annev half imagined he saw Tosan standing there, hidden behind the red glare of the glass and the afternoon sun, watching.
There was a flicker behind the window-pane.
Perhaps I’m not imagining it.
Annev turned and ran towards the eastern gate. As he navigated the squat houses lining the streets, the composition of the buildings quickly changed from stone to wood, and then to wattle and daub. At the edge of the village, among the smaller homes of the farmers and sheep pedlars, he saw the chapel. He veered towards it for an instant – wanting to tell Sodar the price of failing the test – but the sense of Tosan’s eyes on his back pushed him on, towards the Brakewood and the watchtower that guarded the easternmost entrance to the village.
He passed the distant silhouette of the chapel, his attention on the task at hand. For a moment he wished he had his hunting knife, or Mercy, but when he considered what he was going to do, he decided he didn’t want to sully either blade with the act. In any case, Tosan had been right about his resourcefulness. He didn’t need a knife to kill someone. When the time came, Annev would find a way to do it.
He drew closer to the watchtower and piked wooden wall that formed the perimeter of Chaenbalu’s eastern gate. When he was within earshot of the cobblestone edifice, a large man in a red smock hailed him.
‘Ainnevog!’ said Folum, the Master of Customs. ‘Is Tosan sending children to do men’s work now, or did you forget your brown robes?’
Annev was in no mood to be teased. ‘Where is he?’ he said, breathing hard from his run.
‘The pedlar?’ Annev nodded. ‘He’s waiting at the edge of the wood, just past the standing stones.’
Annev turned to go.
‘If he’s crossed them, you must bring him back here!’ Folum shouted.
Annev waved in acknowledgement but did not slow or turn back. He passed Chaenbalu’s open gates and sprinted full out down the east road into the heart of the Brake.
When he finally reached the forest, he stopped and inhaled the strong scent of pine. A cold dampness filled his lungs, and he felt almost giddy. He wondered what kind of man he was about to kill – good or evil, father or bachelor – and whether the man would struggle.
Ahead of him were the standing stones and beyond them the path into the Brake. As he crossed between the two waist-high pillars, Annev’s bare hand traced the worn glyphs that had been inscribed there.
So far as he could tell, the runes weren’t magical – he didn’t recognise them, and Sodar had confirmed as much when he’d asked about them – yet Annev always felt a chill as he passed between them. He did so now and felt that same chill as he looked deeper into the forest: dry pine needles and the black remnants of last winter’s leaves padded the soil, but there was no sign of a merchant.
The sun was overhead and still visible above the Brakewood canopy, but the path through the trees lay in shadow. He peered into the dark depths of the forest and was reminded of the shadepools he’d seen the previous day. Annev rarely came this far south or east – once a year at most – and the forest here was unfamiliar, but even so he felt confident he would find the stranger before the man found him.
But it was not the case. Annev had crept into the woods like a hunting cat, but after ten minutes of searching he began to think the pedlar had already gone. He shuddered to think what Tosan would say if he had, and knew he would stalk the wood all night till he found the man.
‘Hello?’ Annev finally shouted, piercing the silence. ‘Anybody there?’
‘I’m here all right,’ came the reply, a bodiless voice emerging from the heart of the forest. ‘Saw you come down that road. Got nothin’ else to do, though, so I’ve been sittin’ here. Watchin’ you stumble round like your eyes are painted on.’
Annev bristled at the insult as he turned towards the source of the voice, but its owner remained hidden. He stepped deeper into the shadows of the wood, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dimmer light.
‘Where are you?’ Annev asked, not knowing where to address his question.
A low cackle came from the waggling limbs of a silver maple, its trunk obscured by the tall, thin frame of a black spruce. As Annev drew closer, he was surprised to see a small handcart hidden behind the wide base of the tree – an oddity he had somehow overlooked during his initial sweep of the area.