In his haze of elation, Annev almost didn’t see the crimson-clad figure hailing him from afar, and it wasn’t until Carbad physically planted himself in Annev’s path that Annev realised the Master of Operations was trying to get him to halt.
‘Master Ainnevog!’ Carbad barked, trying to catch his breath. ‘Elder Tosan needs you in his office right now.’ He frowned. ‘I’m afraid you’re going to miss tonight’s festivities.’
Chapter Forty-Eight
Annev reached the office with a thousand fears about why the headmaster had recalled him.
He’s going to take it all back, Annev thought. He’s found that earless monster’s body and means to question me again. Or Kelga’s corpse, and wants to know why he can’t find the merchant or his cart.
When Carbad opened the door to Tosan’s office, it was to an entirely unexpected scene: instead of Tosan waiting behind his desk, rage building in his eyes, the headmaster was anxiously pacing the room. When he saw Annev he looked relieved.
‘Excellent,’ the ancient said, looking him up and down. ‘Yes, you’ll do. Your greatest flaw may be our greatest asset.’ He pushed through the open door and left Annev standing in his study. ‘Carbad,’ he said to the Master of Operations, ‘fetch our prospective Master of Arms. I’ll get the other one myself.’ Carbad jogged away down the hall, leaving Annev alone with the headmaster.
‘I will return shortly,’ Tosan said. ‘Wait here – and don’t touch anything.’ He slammed the door behind him.
Annev stood in stunned silence. I’m not in trouble, he realised, but something bad has happened … some emergency. Tosan said I was an asset – no, he said my flaws were an asset. That’s different.
He waited a full minute before he felt relaxed enough to pace the room. His feet trod Tosan’s now familiar black-and-red carpet while his right hand idly traced the gold threading on his glove. Another minute passed before he grew bold enough to gaze out of the window and watch the farmers and shopkeepers bustle about the village. He saw the butcher’s three boys playing outside Nikum’s shop, then noticed the widow Alanna approach Sraon’s smithy with a broken kettle under one arm. The smith immediately put down his tools and came to see her, neglecting the fires he had just been stoking.
There’s another fire brewing there, Annev thought, remembering all the times he’d seen Sraon and Alanna chatting outside his smithy. That, or the woman goes through kettles and cook pots as fast as she does firewood. He smiled, happy for the two villagers, then turned away from the window.
A minute later, Annev was standing in front of Tosan’s bookshelf, reading the spines. He saw one shelf was dedicated to history and geography, and he noticed the large tome Tosan had shown him when discussing ring-snakes. Another shelf contained titles like Scroot and Black’s Art of Writing, The Signs and Symbols of Odar and The Old Tongue: Hw?t It Was and What It Has Become.
Annev grimaced, recalling that Tosan’s area of expertise was writing and languages. As a teacher he had compelled Gravel, Master of Forgery, to teach students their reading and letters, so Tosan could spend his own time copying texts and binding manuscripts. Annev thought it a dull task, but perhaps Tosan preferred the company of books to people.
He was turning away when a slim volume on the top shelf caught his eye. A larger tome sat on top of it, pinning it in place, yet Annev saw enough of the cover to recall seeing Tosan writing in it.
It was when he talked about those ring-snakes, Annev realised. He lectured and insulted me, and then he stopped mid-sentence so he could jot something down. Acted like I wasn’t even in the room … Annev stared at the half-hidden journal, his curiosity rising. What had captured the headmaster’s attention so completely? Tosan had only been gone for a few minutes, but Annev suspected he would be absent a while longer.
If he wrote something about me, I should know about it, he rationalised, and quickly. He stood on his toes, lifted the thick tome, and slid the journal from beneath it. The cover was blank, but as Annev turned the pages, it became clear he was holding Tosan’s diary. His heart beat faster as he flipped through, scanning dates and entries.
The narrative of Bron Gloir shows promise. I’ve sent Duvarek north to see if he can recover anything of value, but I don’t hold out much hope. Too much time has passed since the rite of Bron—
Annev flipped forward half a dozen pages.
But whom to choose? It must be someone rarely seen and seldom missed. A villager, perhaps, but it would be much easier if—
He flipped another dozen pages.
The man thinks me an idiot. Well, so much the better. He won’t realise I know the truth until he’s spun enough rope to hang himself. In the meantime, I’ll play along and—
Annev flipped again, but this time he went too far and found only blank paper. He leafed back and found the most recent journal entry, its page noted with that day’s date.
Kelga is dead. Ainnevog brought me the news on his return from the Brakewood. Seems she was hiding there this whole time, though I can’t say why or how. I’d send Brayan and another master to go and investigate – to find the corpse – but Ainnevog mentioned other monsters in the Brake. Creations of Kelga, it would seem, for she named them her feurog. The name is obscure. If Terran, then its root may come from ‘ferrous’, but I suspect it is arcane in nature.
Annev flipped back another page and found the date corresponding with his Test of Judgement. There was only one entry – a short one, hastily scrawled in Tosan’s spidery handwriting – and it didn’t reference Annev at all.
Ring-snake venom! Its properties are mutative. Arcane. Possibly keokum? Might be the catalyst to solving Bron Gloir’s immortality spell.
Needs testing.
Annev read it a second time, uncertain he had read it correctly. It pointed to one conclusion.
Tosan is practising magic? But that can’t be right. Tosan hates magic.
Footsteps sounded down the hall and Annev hastened to replace the journal on the bookshelf. As he did so, the battered tome that had sat atop it clattered to the floor.
Annev stared at the fallen book, horrified as he saw its plates had come loose and half a dozen pages were lying scattered across the carpet. He scrambled to reassemble the broken volume. Mercifully, the fallen papers were all from one sheaf, so they were easy to scoop up, reorder and carefully slide back into the cover. As he did so, he saw the title page of the shabby book.
The Secret Art: How to Identify and Harness Your Magical Ability.
Annev went cold as he saw Tosan’s handwritten notes scrawled at the top of the page. Strain of Luminerran blood talent: Soulshaper? He found additional notes at the bottom of the page: Ignis temperare – Loisg. Mentiri deprehendatur – Bhraitheann an bréag. Terra transfiguratio – Athrú carraig …
The footsteps halted in front of the headmaster’s door. Annev snapped the book shut and dropped it back on the bookshelf, covering Tosan’s journal. At almost the same moment, the door swung open and Annev turned to face it. When he saw who it was, he bit back a grin and forced a mask of perfect civility.