droppdf1.droppdf.com/files/oa8h0/spellwright-charlton-blake.pdffeet above starhaven’s walls....

Spellwright

BlakeCharlton

Tothememoryofmygrandmother,

JaneBrydenBuck(1912-2002),

forlongstoriesandlessonsinkindness

Ifonebelievesthatwordsareacts, as I do, then one musthold writers responsible forwhattheirwordsdo.

—URSULAK.LEGUINDancingattheEdgeofthe

World:ThoughtsonWords,Women,

Places

TableofContents

CoverPageTitlePageDedicationEpigraphMapPrologueCHAPTEROne

CHAPTERTwoCHAPTERThreeCHAPTERFourCHAPTERFiveCHAPTERSixCHAPTERSevenCHAPTEREightCHAPTERNineCHAPTERTenCHAPTERElevenCHAPTERTwelveCHAPTERThirteenCHAPTERFourteenCHAPTERFifteen

CHAPTERSixteenCHAPTERSeventeenCHAPTEREighteenCHAPTERNineteenCHAPTERTwentyCHAPTERTwenty-oneCHAPTERTwenty-twoCHAPTERTwenty-threeCHAPTERTwenty-fourCHAPTERTwenty-fiveCHAPTERTwenty-sixCHAPTERTwenty-sevenCHAPTERTwenty-eightCHAPTERTwenty-nine

CHAPTERThirtyCHAPTERThirty-oneCHAPTERThirty-twoCHAPTERThirty-threeCHAPTERThirty-fourCHAPTERThirty-fiveCHAPTERThirty-sixCHAPTERThirty-sevenCHAPTERThirty-eightCHAPTERThirty-nineCHAPTERFortyCHAPTERForty-oneCHAPTERForty-twoCHAPTERForty-three

CHAPTERForty-fourCHAPTERForty-fiveCHAPTERForty-sixEpilogueACKNOWLEDGMENTSABOUTTHEAUTHORCopyrightAboutthePublisher

Map

PrologueThegrammarianwaschokingtodeathonherownwords.

And they were longsharp words, written in amagicallanguageandcrushedinto a small, spiny ball. Herlegsfaltered.Shefellontoherknees.

Cold autumn windsurged across the tower

bridge.The creature standing

beside her covered his facewith a voluminous whitehood.“Censoredalready?”herasped.“Disappointing.”

The grammarian foughtfor breath. Her head felt aslight as silk; her visionburnedwithgaudycolor.Thefamiliar world becameforeign.

She was kneeling on astone bridge, seven hundred

feet aboveStarhaven’swalls.Behind her, the academy’stowersstretchedintothecoldevening sky like a copse ofgiant trees. At variousheights, ribbon-thin bridgesspanned the airy gapsbetween neighboring spires.Before her loomed the darkPinnacleMountains.

Dimly, she realized thather confused flight hadbrought her to the SpindleBridge.

Herheartbegan tokick.FromheretheSpindleBridgearchedaloftyhalf-mileawayfrom Starhaven to terminatein a mountain’s sheer rockface. It lednot toapathoracave, but to blank stone. Itwas a bridge to nowhere,offering no chance of rescueorescape.

She tried to scream, butgagged on the words caughtinherthroat.

To the west, above the

coastal plain, the setting sunwasstainingtheskyamoltenshadeofincarnadine.

The creature robed inwhite sniffed with disgust.“Pitiful what passes forimaginative prose in thisage.” He lifted a pale arm.Twogoldensentencesglowedwithinhiswrist.

“You areMagistraNoraFinn, Dean of the DrumTower,” he said. “Do notdeny it again, and do not

refuse my offer again.” HeflickedtheglowingsentencesintoNora’schest.

Shecoulddonothingbutchoke.

“What’s this?” he askedwith cold amusement.“Seems my attack stoppedthatcurseinyourmouth.”Hepaused before laughing, lowand breathy. “I could makeyoueatyourwords.”

Pain ripped down herthroat.Shetriedtogasp.

The creature cocked hishead to one side. “Butperhapsyou’vechangedyourmind?”

With five small cracks,the sentences in her throatdeconstructedandspilledintoher mouth. She fell onto herhands and spat out the silverwords.They shatteredon thecobblestones. Cold airfloodedintohergreedylungs.

“Anddonotrenewyourfight,”thecreaturewarned.“I

can censor your every spellwiththistext.”

She looked up and sawthat the figure was nowholding the golden sentencethat ran into her chest.“Which of your students istheoneIseek?”

Sheshookherhead.The creature laughed.

“You tookourmaster’scoin,playedthespyforhim.”

Again, she shook herhead.

“Doyouneedmorethangold?” He stepped closer. “Inowpossess theemeraldandso Language Prime. I couldtell you the Creator’s firstwords. You’d find them…amusing.”

“No payment could buyme for you,” Nora saidbetween breaths. “It wasdifferentwithmaster;hewasaman.”

Thecreaturecackled.“Isthatwhatyou think?Thathe

washuman?”The monster’s arm

whipped back, snapping thegolden sentence taut. Theforce of the action yankedNora forward onto her face.Again pain flared down herthroat.“No,youstupidsow,”he snarled. “Your formermasterwasnothuman!”

Something pulled up onNora’s hair, forcing her tolook at her tormentor. Abreeze was making his hood

ruffle and snap. “Whichcacographer do I seek?” heasked.

She clenched her fists.“What do you want withhim?”

Therewasapause.Onlythe wind dared make noise.Then the creature spoke.“Him?”

Involuntarily, Norasuckedinabreath.“No,”shesaid, fighting to make hervoicecalm.“No, Isaid ‘with

them.’”The cloaked figure

remainedsilent.“I said,” Nora insisted,

“‘What do you want withthem?’Nothim.Withthem.”

Another pause. “Agrammariandoesnotfaultonherpronouns.Letusspeakof‘him.’”

“You misheard; I—”The creature disengaged thespell that was holding herhead up. She collapsed. “It

wasdifferent in thedreams,”she murmured into thecobblestones.

The creature growled.“DifferentbecauseIsentyouthose dreams. Your studentswillreceivethesame:visionsofasunsetseenfromatowerbridge,dreamsofamountainvista. Eventually they willbecome curious andinvestigate.”

Noraletoutatremulousbreath. The prophecy had

cometopass.Howcouldshehave been so blind? Whatgrotesqueforceshadshebeenserving?

“Perhaps you thinkStarhaven’s metaspells willprotect your students,” thecreature said. “They won’t.They might keep me fromspellwriting within yourwalls, but I can lure thewhelpsintothewoodsorontothese bridges. It won’t behard to do now that the

convocation has begun. If Imust, I’ll snuff out yourstudents one by one. Youcouldpreventallthesedeathsbyspeakingonename.”

Shedidnotmove.“Tellme his name,” the

white figure hissed, “and Iwillletyoudiequickly.”

Nora glanced at therailing. An idea bled acrosshermind like an ink stain. Itmight work if she movedquicklyenough.

“No answer?” Thecreaturesteppedaway.“Thenyourswillbeaslowdeath.”

Nora felt a tug on themagical sentence runningthroughherchest.

“I’ve just infected youwithacankerspell.Itforcesaportion of a spellwright’sbody to forge misspelledrunes. Aswe speak, the firstcanker is forming in yourlungs.Soonitwillspreadintoyourmuscles,compellingyou

to forge dangerous amountsoftext.Anhourwillseeyourbody convulsing, yourarteries bleeding, yourstomachruptured.”

Nora pressed her palmsagainstthecoldcobblestones.

“But the strongest ofyour cacographers willsurvive such an infection,”the creature sneered. “That’show I’ll find him. He’llsurvive the cankers; theotherswilldiescreaming.I’ll

spare you this torture if youtellme—”

ButNoradidnotwaittoheartherest.Soundlesslyshepushedherselfupand leapedover the railing. For amoment, she feared a swarmof silvery paragraphs wouldwrap about her ankles andhoist her back up to thebridge.

But the force of her fallsnapped the golden sentencerunning through her chest…

andshewasfree.She closed her eyes and

discovered that her fear ofdeathhadbecomestrangeanddistant, more like a memorythananemotion.

The prophecy had cometo pass. The knowledgewould perish with her, butthatwas theprice shehad topay: her death would keep asmall,flickeringhopealive.

Still falling, she openedher eyes. In the east, the

crimson sky shone above themountain’s dark silhouette.The setting sun had shot thepeaks full of red-gold lightand, by contrast, stained thealpine forests below a deep,hungryblack.

CHAPTEROneNicodemus waited for thelibrary to empty before hesuggestedcommittingacrimepunishablebyexpulsion.

“If I edit you, we canbothbeasleepinanhour,”he

said to his text in what hehopedwasacasualtone.

At twenty-five,Nicodemus Weal was youngfor a spellwright, old for anapprentice. He stood an inchover six feet and neverslouched.Hislonghairshonejetblack,hiscomplexiondarkolive—two colors that madehisgreeneyesseemgreener.

Thetexttowhomhewasspeaking was a commonlibrary gargoyle. She was a

construct, an animated beingcomposed of magicallanguage. And as Starhavenconstructs went, she was averyplainspell.

More advancedgargoyles were animalisticmishmashes: the head of asnake on the body of a pig,limbsprofusewithtalonsandtentacles or fangs andfeathers.Thatsortofthing.

But the gargoylesquatting on the table before

Nicodemus took theshapeofonly one animal: an adultsnow monkey. Her slenderstone torso and limbs werecovered with stylizedcarvingsrepresentingfur.Herbare face presented heavycheeksandwearyeyes.

Herauthorhadgivenheronly one augmentation: ashort tail from whichprotruded three hookedparagraphs of silvery prose.As Nicodemus watched the

spell, she picked up threebooksand,usingtheirclasps,hung them on her tailparagraphs.

“You edit me? Notlikely,” she retorted and thenslowly climbed onto abookshelf. “Besides, I waswritten so that I can’t fallasleepuntildaylight.”

“But you have betterthings to do than reshelvebooks all night,” Nicodemuscountered, smoothing out his

blackapprentice’srobes.“I might,” the spell

admitted, now climbinglaterallyalongtheshelf.

Nicodemus cradled alarge codex in his left arm.“And you’ve let apprenticesedityoubefore.”

“Rarely,” she grunted,climbing up two shelves.“And certainly never acacographer.” She pulled abookfromhertailandslippedit onto the shelf.“You are a

cacographer,aren’tyou?Youmisspellmagicaltextssimplyby touching them?” Shelooked back at him withnarrowedstoneeyes.

Nicodemus hadanticipated such a question;still, it felt like a kick in thestomach. “I am,” he saidflatly.

The gargoyle climbedanother shelf. “Then it’sagainst library rules:constructs aren’t to let

cacographers touch them.Besides, the wizards mightexpelyouforeditingme.”

Nicodemus took a slowbreath.

To either side of themstretchedrowsofbookshelvesandscrollracks.Theywereonthe tenthand top floorof thelibraryknownastheStacks—asquarebuildingthathousedmany of Starhaven’smanuscripts.

Presently the building

was empty save forNicodemusand thegargoyle.Some light came frommoonbeams falling on thepaper window screens, morefrom the incandescentflamefly paragraphs flittingaboutaboveNicodemus.

Hesteppedcloser to thegargoyle. “We’ve beenreshelving so long thatyou’ve slowed down. So it’sonlyyourenergeticprosethatneeds rewriting. I don’t have

to touch you to do that. Allthe other apprentices editedtheir constructs; that’s whythey and their gargoylesfinishedhoursago.”

“All the otherapprentices weren’tcacographers,” the spellreplied, reshelving anotherbook. “Don’t cacographersalways have to stay this lateforStacksduty?”

Trying not to scowl,Nicodemus laid his books

backdownonthetable.“No,usually we don’t need torejuvenateourgargoyles. It’sthis damn convocation; thewizards are pulling everymanuscript they can think oftoimpresstheirguests.”

The gargoyle grimacedat their pile of unshelvedbooks. “So that’swhywe’vefour times as much worktonight.”

Nicodemus gave theconstruct his most haggard

look. “It’s worse than youknow. I’ve still got ananatomy text to review andtwo spelling drills tocomplete before morningclass.”

The gargoyle laughed.“You want empathy from aprimary construct? Ha! Youmight be a cacographer, butyoucanstillthinkfreely.”

Nicodemus closed hiseyes and realized that theystungfromlackofsleep.Half

an hour had already passedsincemidnight,andhehadtowakewiththedawnbell.

He looked at thegargoyle. “If you let merejuvenate your energeticprose tonight, I’ll find you amodificationscrolltomorrow.Thenyoucanchangeyourselfhowever you like—wings,claws,whatever.”

The textual constructbegan to climb back towardthe table. “Wonderful, wings

from a cacographer. Whatgood would a scroll writtenbyaretarded—”

“No,youpileofclichédprose!” Nicodemus snapped.“I didn’t say ‘write.’ I said‘find,’whichmeans‘steal.’”

“Ho ho, the boy hassome spirit after all.” Thegargoyle chuckled. Shestopped climbing to lookback at him. “Steal a scrollfromwhom?”

Nicodemuspulledalock

of black hair away from hisface. Bribing constructs wasan illegal but commonpractice in Starhaven. Hedislikedit,buthedislikedtheidea of another sleeplessnight even more. “I amMagister Shannon’sapprentice,”hesaid.

“Magister AgwuShannon, the famouslinguist?” the gargoyle askedexcitedly. “The expert ontextualintelligence?”

“Thesame.”A slow stone smile

spread across the gargoyle’sface. “Then you’re the boywho failed to live up toprophecy? The one theythoughtwastheHalcyonuntilheturnedouttoberetarded?”

“Do we have a deal ornot?” Nicodemus retortedhotly,hishandsclenched.

Still smiling, thegargoyle climbed onto thetable. “Are the rumors about

Shannontrue?”“I wouldn’t know; I

don’t listen to hearsay,”Nicodemus growled. “And ifyou speak one word againstMagister,heavenhelpmebutI’ll knock you into sentencefragments.”

The gargoyle snickered.“Such a loyal apprentice,consideringyou’reofferingtosteal one of Shannon’sscrolls.”

Nicodemus clenched his

jaw and reminded himselfthat, at some point, virtuallyall apprentices bribedconstructswiththeirmentor’swork. “Gargoyle, what doyouwant?”

She answered instantly:“Two stone more weight, sothemedium-weightgargoylescan’t push me off mysleeping perch. Andquaternarycognition.”

Nicodemus resisted theurge to roll his eyes. “Don’t

be ignorant; most humanscan’t reach quaternarycognition.”

The gargoyle frownedand attached a book to hertail.“Tertiary,then.”

Nicodemus shook hishead. “With your executivetext, we can’t do better thansecondarycognition.”

She crossed her arms.“Tertiary.”

“You might as wellbargain for the white moon.

You’re asking for somethingIcan’tgive.”

“And you’re asking metobeeditedbyacacographer.Aren’t cacographersincapable of concentratinglong enough to finish aspell?”

“No,” he said curtly.“Some of us have thatproblem, but I don’t. Theonly thing that defines acacographer is a tendency tomisspellacomplextextwhen

touching it. And I wouldn’thavetotouchyou.”

The stone monkeyfolded her arms. “But you’reasking me to deliberatelyviolatelibraryrules.”

This time Nicodemusdid roll his eyes. “You can’tviolate library rules,gargoyle; you’ve only gotprimarycognition.Yourrulesonlyforbidmytouchingyou.All I need do tonight is addmore energetic language to

your body. I can do thatwithout touching you. I’vedone this before and thegargoyle didn’t lose a singlerune.”

Thespellleanedforwardand searched his face withblankstoneeyes.“Twostonemore weight and secondarycognition.”

“Deal,” Nicodemusgrunted.“Nowturnaround.”

The gargoyle’s tail wasstill attached to a large

spellbook. But rather thanunfasten it, she stepped ontopofthecodexandturnedtopresentherback.

Nicodemus’s blackapprentice robes had slitssewn into the top of thesleeves,neartheshoulder.Heslipped his arms out of theseand lookeddown at his rightelbow.

Magical runes weremadenotwithpenandpaper,but within muscle.

Nicodemus, like allspellwrights, had been bornwith the ability to transformhis physical strength intorunes made of pure magicalenergy.

By tensinghis bicep, heforged several runes withinhis arm. He could see thesilvery language shinethrough skin and sinew.Tensing his bicep again, hejoined the letters into asentence, which he let spill

intohisforearm.With a wrist flick, he

cast the simple spell into theair, where it twisted like atendril of glittering smoke.Heextendedhisarmandcastthesentenceontothenapeofthemonkey’sneck.

The spell contained adisassemble command;therefore, where it touchedthe construct, she began toshine with a silver glow.Nicodemus wrote a second

sentencewithhisleftarmandcast it next to his first. Aseamoflightrandowntothegargoyle’s tail, and the twosidesofherbackswungopenasifonhinges.

A coiling profusion ofincandescent prose shonebeforehim.

Different magicallanguages had differentproperties, and this gargoylewasmadeof two:Magnus, arobust silvery language that

affected the physical world,and Numinous, an elegantgolden language that alteredlight and other magical text.The gargoyle thought withher Numinous passages,movedwithherMagnus.

Nicodemus’staskwastoadd more energetic Magnussentences. Fortunately, thestructure of these energeticsentences was so simple thateven a cacographer couldcomposethemwithouterror.

Careful not to touch thegargoyle, Nicodemus beganto forge runes inhis bicepsand cast them into thegargoyle. Soon the Magnussentencesappearedasathickrope of silvery light thatcoursed from his arms intotheconstruct.

Though Nicodemus wasa horrible speller, he couldwrite faster thanmany grandwizards. Therefore hedecided to provide the

gargoylewith extra energetictext now; she might notsubmittoanothereditlater.

After moving his handscloser, Nicodemus tensedevery muscle in his arms,from the tiny lumbricalsbetweenhishandbonestotherounded deltoid atop hisshoulder.Withinmoments,heproduced a dazzling flood ofspells that flowed into thegargoyle’sback.

Theblazegrewsobright

thathebegan toworry aboutbringing un-wanted attentionto the library. He wasstandingyardsawayfromthenearestwindow,butawizardworking latemightwalkpastthe Stacks and see the glow.If caught, he would beexpelled, perhaps evencensoredpermanently.

Just then a loud thudsounded toNicodemus’s left.Terrified, he stopped writingand turned, expecting to find

an enraged librarian bearingdownonhim.

But he saw onlydarkened bookshelves andscrollracks. Beyond thosewasarowofnarrow,moonlitwindows.

A second thud madeNicodemus jump. It soundedasifitwerecomingfromthelibrary’sroof.

He looked up but sawonly ceiling. Then thedarkness was filled by a

repetitive clomping, as ifsomeone were running. Thefootstepspasseddirectlyoverhim and then sped away tothe opposite side of thelibrary.

Nicodemus turned tofollow the sound with hiseyes. When the footstepsreached the roof’s edge, theyceased. A moon-shadowflickered across two of thepaperscreens.

Then came a low

muttering beside him: “Ba,ball, balloon, ballistic.”Something snickered.“Symbolic ballistics. Ha!Symbolic, diabolic. Diabolic,symbolic. Sym…bolic is theopposite of dia…bolic. Haha.”

Nicodemuslookeddownand, to his horror, saw hishand enmeshed in the silverand gold coils of thegargoyle’s text. Hiscacographic touch was

causing the once stablesentences to misspell. Hemust have accidentally laidhis hand on the constructwhen startled by thefootsteps.

“Oh, hell!” hewhispered, pulling his handback.

Whenhisfingersleftthegargoyle,thetwosidesofherback snapped shut. Instantly,she was on her feet andstaring at him with one eye

that blazed golden andanother that throbbed withsilver light. “Vertex, vortex,university,”shemutteredandlaughedinawaythatshowedher sharp primate teeth.“Invert, extravert. Ha ha!Aversion,aveeeeersion.”

“Ohhhhh hell,” a wide-eyed Nicodemus whispered,tooshockedandfrightenedtomove.

A sudden nauseatingwaveofguiltwashedthrough

him. He might haveirreversibly damaged thegargoyle’sexecutivetext.

Then the construct wasoff,dashingdowntheaisle.Aspellbookwasstillhooked toher tail. Now, draggingbehind her, the book openedandbegan to loseparagraphswritten in several magicallanguages. Falling from thetorturedpages,theparagraphssquirmed as if alive. Twoexplodedintosmallcloudsof

white runes; others slowlydeconstructedintonothing.

“Wait!” Nicodemusyelled, sprinting after themisspelled gargoyle.“Gargoyle,stop!”

The construct either didnot hear or did not care. Sheleaped up at a window andexploded through its paperscreen.

Nicodemus reached thesill in time to watch her falldown ten stories into a dark

courtyard filled with elmtrees,grass,andivy.

As the gargoyledropped, stray paragraphscontinued to fall from thespellbookattachedtohertail.Radiantwordsofgold,green,silver, and white fluttereddownward and in so doingformed a comet’s tail ofradiantlanguage.

“Please, heaven, pleasedon’t let Magister Shannonfind out about this,”

Nicodemusprayed.“Please!”The gargoyle hit the

ground and scampered away,but the still-fallingcoruscation of paragraphsbegan to illuminate the stonespires,arches,andarcadesofthe surrounding buildings.Nicodemus turned to sprintafterhismistake.

But as he did so,something caught his eye.What exactly, he couldn’tsay. For when he looked

back, it had disappeared,leaving only the vagueimpressionthathehadseen—standingatopanornatestonebuttress—a hooded figurecloakedentirelyinwhite.

CHAPTERTwoThe creature, now crouchingbeside a stone chimney,watched the gargoylescamper through thecourtyard.

The construct’s speed

implied excessive energeticlanguage; itserraticcourse,amisspelled executive text.Only a powerful cacographerwas likely to produce such aconstruct.

“Meaning my boy is inthat librarythisveryinstant,”the creature muttered whileglaringat theStacks.Hehadglimpsed his quarry in thelibrary window, but the rainof paragraphs loosed by thegargoyle had obscured

everything but the boy’ssilhouette.

Suddenly the nightresoundedwithasharpcrack.

The creature turned andsaw a silver spell shoot outfrom behind a stone spire.ThesphericaltextwaswritteninMagnusandsowouldhavea powerful effect on thephysical world. Indeed, itsblazing sentences seemeddesigned to blast a humanbody into a cloud of bone

fragments and vaporizedblood.

More important, thespell was flying straight forthecreature’shead.

He dove right, rollingdown the slate roof. Therewas a crash and needles ofpain flewdownhisback.Nodoubt the Magnus spell hadshattered the chimney intostonesplinters.

At the roof’s edge, thecreature came out of its roll

and crouched. A flyingbuttress to another buildingstood roughly ten feet away.Helookedbackbuttherewasno sign of the guardian spellthat must have cast theMagnusattack.

His body was not indanger; guardian spells wereslow on rooftops. But theywere lightning quick incourtyards and hallways andso could prevent him fromretrievingtheboy.

“So the guardians mustberemoved,”hegrunted.

Withapowerfulleapthecreature flew into the air,white robes billowing, andlanded neatly on the arc oftheflyingbuttress.Withcare,he ran up the arc to anotherroof; this one abutted one ofthe aqueducts that criss-crossedStarhaven.He scaledthe aqueduct, and finding itdry,raneastward.

All three moons were

out, gibbous, and gloriouslybright. They illuminatedStarhaven’smany towersandbridges from three differentangles, transforming thelower levels into a maze ofoverlappingshadows.

The wizards, in theirarrogance, referred toStarhaven as one of their“academies.” In truth, theplace was an ancient city,built by the Chthonic peoplelong before any human had

laid eyes on this continent.Though the wizards claimedtheentiretyofStarhaven,theyoccupied only thewesternmostthirdofthecity.

Thecreature’scourseledhim away from the inhabitedbuildings. Here stood darktowers, cracked domes, andcobbled streets pocked byweeds.

He waited until theabandoned building echoedwiththeheavyfootfallsofthe

guardians.Thenheracedupatower’s spiral staircase andsprinted north on an upper-levelwalkway.

Once certain theguardians were far behind,the creature turned westwardandfocusedhiseverybloodythought onhuntingdown thecacographicboy.

NICODEMUS PUSHED THE doorlatchwithhiselbow,thedooritselfwithhisbackside.When

it swung open, he steppedbackward into MagisterShannon’sstudyandfelloversideways.

His arms encircled atapestry wrapped into a balland bound by twine. Itwrithedcontinuouslyandinamuffled voice blathered:“Corpulent, en-couragement,incorporeal. Ha! Incorporealencooooouragment!”

Nicodemus rolled awayfrom the tapestry. “Celeste,

goddess of the sky, pleasemakeher shutup. I’ll light acandle for you every night ifyoujustmakehershutup.”

Unimpressed, Celestedeclinedtointervene.

“Empathy, apathy,sympathy,hoohoo!”saidthebundledtapestry.

“Two candles?”Nicodemus offered theunseensky.

“Euphony, cacophony,hoo hoo! Calligraphy,

cacography, ha ha!” said thebundle.

Groaning, Nicodemusgottohisfeet.Thestudywasdark, but both the blue andwhite moons shone throughtheopenarchedwindows.

It was a rectangularroom lined with oakbookshelves.Abroadwritingdesksatatoneend,ahuddleofchairsinthemiddle.

Nicodemus went to thenearest bookshelf and pulled

outalargecodexongargoylerepair and maintenance. Theneededspellwasonthetenthpage. He laid the open bookon thedesk,slippedhisarmsfromhissleeves,andwroteashort Numinous spell in hisright hand. Bending thegolden sentence into a hook,hedippeditintothepageandpeeled off a tangle ofNuminous paragraphs thatfolded into a rectangularcrystalline lattice.Careful not

to touch the text, he walkedback to thesquirmingbundleand, with a sharp word, cutthetwinecords.

Thegargoylesprangfreewithajoyfulcry.

Nicodemus struck herover the head with theNuminous lattice. Thecrystalline spell lockedaround the gargoyle’s mind,causing her to freeze in anunlikely pose—one knee andone foot on the floor, both

hands reaching skyward. Shebegantofallforward.

Uttering an oath,Nicodemus extemporized asimple Magnus sentence tocatch her. With a few moresentences, he lifted her upand then leaned her againstthebookshelf.

As far as he knew, noonehadseenhimchasingthegargoylearoundthecourtyardwith a tapestry. For that, hesaidaprayerof thanksto the

Creator.Then he looked at the

gargoyle and said in a voicethat was soft and sincere,“You stupid, sufferingconstruct. What have I donetoyou?”

“Fused her Numinouscortices,” a rumbling voicereplied.

Nicodemus’s bloodfroze. “Magister!” hewhispered as a figuremovedoutofadarkcorner.

Grand Wizard AgwuShannonsteppedintoabarofblue moonlight. The glowilluminatedwhitedreadlocks,a short beard and mustache,tawny skin. His nose waslargeandhooked,histhinlipspressedflatindisapproval.

However, Shannon’seyes commanded the mostattention. They presentedneitheririsnorpupilbutwereeverywherepurewhite.Thesewere eyes blind to the

mundane world butextraordinarily perceptive ofmagicaltext.

Nicodemus sputtered.“Magister, I didn’t thinkyou’d be working so late. Iwasjustgoing—”

The grand wizardstopped him by nodding tothe gargoyle. “Who elseknows?”

“No one. I wasreshelving in the Stacksalone.Iwasjustgoingtoedit

her.”Shannon grunted and

then looked in Nicodemus’sdirection. “She shouldn’thave letyou touchher.Whatwasyourbribe?”

Nicodemus felt as if hewere breathing through areed. “Two stone moreweight and secondarycognition.”

The grand wizardwalked to the gargoyle andsquatted beside her. “She

already has secondarycognition.”

“But that’s impossible; Inever used a modificationscrollonher.”

“Look at this frontalcortex.” The grand wizardpointed.

Nicodemus went toShannon’s side, but lackinghis teacher’s vision, he sawonly the monkey’s stoneforehead.

“There’s some

inappropriate fusion, but…”Shannon muttered. Usingonly themuscles in his righthand, the grand wizardproduced a tiny storm ofgolden sentences.Faster thanNicodemus could follow, thespellsplitthegargoyle’sheadand began to rearrange herexecutivesubspells.

Nicodemus pursed hislips. “She said she wasprimary, and the librariansassigned her to reshelving;

they only use primarygargoylesforthat.”

Shannonbroughthislefthand up to assist hismanipulation of thegargoyle’s Numinouspassages.“Howlongdidyoutouchher?”

“No more than a fewmoments,” Nicodemusinsisted.Hewasabout tosaymore when Shannon clappedthe monkey’s head togetherand pulled the Numinous

lattice from her head as if itwereatablecloth.

Thegargoylesank toallfours and looked up atShannon. Her blank stoneeyes searched his face. “Icouldhaveanamenow,”shesaid in a quick, childlikevoice.

Shannon’s nod sent hiswhite dreadlocks swaying.“ButIwouldn’tpickonejustyet. Get used to your newthoughtsfirst.”

She smiled and then,dreamily,nodded.

Shannon stood andlooked toward Nicodemus.“What was it you wrappedherin?”

“Atapestry,”Nicodemussaid weakly. “From theStacks.”

Shannon sighed andturned back to the gargoyle.“Please re-hang that tapestryandfinishreshelving.Usetherest of the night to name

yourself.”The energized gargoyle

nodded eagerly then scoopedup the tapestry andscamperedoutthedoor.

“Magister, I—”Nicodemus stopped asShannonturnedtofacehim.

The old man wasdressedinthebillowingblackrobesofagrandwizard.Evenin the dim moonlight, theliningofhislargehoodshonewhite, indicating that hewas

a linguist. Silver and goldbuttonsrandownhissleeves,signifying his fluency inNuminousandMagnus.

Shannon’s blind gazewasturnedslightlyaway,butwhen he spoke, Nicodemusfelt as if the old man wasstaring through his body tohissoul.

“My boy, you surpriseme.Asayoungerspellwright,I bribed a few constructs,even got into hot water with

overly ambitious texts. Butyour disability places aspecial burden on us both. Ikeenly want you to earn alesser hood, but if anotherwizard had seen thatmisspelled gargoyle…well, itwouldhaveendedyourhopesof escaping apprenticeshipand made life harder for theothercacographers.”

“Yes,Magister.”Shannon sighed. “I will

continue fighting for your

hood,butonly if therewon’tbe a repetition of such…carelessness.”

Nicodemuslookedathisboots. “There won’t be,Magister.”

The old man began towalk back to his desk. “Andwhy in the Creator’s namedidyoutouchthegargoyle?”

“Ididn’tmean to. Iwasediting text into her whenthere was a crash. Then itsounded like someone was

running on the roof. It mademe accidentally touch thegargoyle.”

Shannon stopped.“Whenwasthis?”

“Maybe half an hourago.”

Thegrandwizardturnedto face him. “Tell meeverything.”

AsNicodemusdescribedthe strange sounds,Shannon’s lips again pressedinto a thin line. “Magister, is

somethingwrong?”Shannon went to his

desk. “Light two of mycandles; leave one here, takeone yourself. Then run up toMagister Smallwood’s study.He always works late. Askhimtojoinme.”

Nicodemus started forthecandledrawer.

“Then you’re to gostraight back to the DrumTower—no detours, nodillydally.” Shannon sat

downbehindhisdesk.“Iwillsend Azure to your quarterswithamessage.AmIclear?”

“Yes, Magister.”Nicodemus set up and lit thecandles.

Shannon began sortingthrough the manuscripts onhis desk. “You’ll spendtomorrow with me. I’vereceived permission to begincasting a primary researchspell and will need yourassistance. And then there’s

mynewcompositionclass toteach. I’ll have you excusedfromapprenticeduty.”

“Truly?” Nicodemussmiled in surprise. “Might Iteach? I’ve practiced theintroductorylecture.”

“Perhaps,”Shannonsaidwithout looking up from themanuscript he was reading.“Now run up to MagisterSmallwood and then straightto theDrumTower,nowhereelse.”

“Yes, Magister.”Nicodemuseagerlypickedupacandleandmadehiswaytothedoor.

But when he put hishand on the latch, an ideastopped him. “Magister,” heasked slowly, “did thatgargoyle have secondarycognitionallalong?”

Shannon paused andthenputdownhismanuscript.“My boy, I don’t want toraise false expectations

again.”Nicodemus frowned.

“Expectationsaboutwhat?”“The gargoyle had

primary cognition until youmisspelledher.”

“But how is thatpossible?”

“It shouldn’t be,”Shannon said before rubbinghiseyes.“Nicodemus,forthisconvocation we are hostingdelegates from the North:Astrophell wizards, some of

my former colleagues. Someof them belong to thecounter-prophecy faction andso will distrust cacographerseven more than otherNortherners do. It would beexceedinglydangerousiftheylearnedthat your touch bothmisspelled a gargoyle andelevated her freedom ofthought.”

“Dangerous becausethey would want mecensored?”

Shannonshookhishead.“Dangerous because theywouldwantyoukilled.”

CHAPTERThreeOn the way to MagisterSmallwood’s study,Nicodemus looked at hiscandle. It was quavering intime to his hand’s finetremble.

He had never knownShannontobetrayevenahintof anxiety.Butwhen the oldman had mentioned theAstrophelldelegates,histonehad been strained, his wordsclipped. The danger theNortherners posed must berealindeed.

Worse had beenShannon’s statement aboutnot raising “falseexpectations.” Nicodemusshivered; the old man could

only have been referring toNicodemus’s lost hope offulfilling the ErasmineProphecy.

“Fiery heaven, don’tthink on it,” Nicodemusmutteredtohimself,ashehaddonecountlesstimesbefore.

A row of archedwindows, all filled withornate tracery, ran along thehallway. Nicodemus stoppedto peer between the flowingstonebeams to thestarrysky

beyond. He slowed hisbreathing and tried to soothehisfrayednerves.

But his hands stilltrembled, and it wasn’tNorthern delegates or unful-filled prophecies that madethemdoso.

It was the memory ofShannon’s facewhen the oldman had stepped into themoonlight—his whiteeyebrowsknitting together indisapproval, his lips

narrowingindisappointment.The memory made

Nicodemus feel as ifsomething were tighteningaroundhisheart.“I’llmakeitup to the old man,” hewhispered.“Iwill.”

He turned from thewindowandhurrieddownthehall to an open door spillingcandlelight into the hallway.“Magister Smallwood?” Heknocked on the doorjamb.The grand wizard looked up

fromhisdesk.Smallwood was a thin,

pale spellwright with atousled wreath of gray hair.Hiseyes,thoughbeginningtocloud over, still held blackpupilswithinbrownirises.

Nicodemus cleared histhroat. “Magister Shannonsends his compliments andasks that you join him in hisstudy.”

“Ah,good,good,alwayshappy to see Shannon,”

Smallwood said with anabsent smile. He closed hisbook.“Andwhoareyou?”

“Nicodemus Weal,Magister Shannon’sapprentice.”

Smallwood leanedforward and squinted. “Ah,Shannon’s next cacographicproject?”

“I’msorry?”“I don’t remember the

last boy’s name. And I’veneverseenyoubefore.”

In fact, Nicodemus hadbeen bringing Smallwoodwritten messages for nearlytwoyears.However,thiswasthe first timeNicodemushadspoken directly to him. “I’msorry, Magister, but I don’tunderstand about thecacographicproject.”

Smallwood stretchedhisarms and adjusted his hood,which like Shannon’s waslined with white. “Oh, youknow, Shannon takes his

work with the Drum Towerboys so seriously. And he’salwaysgotapetcacographer.It’sridiculoustherumorsthatgo round about him; he’s soproudwhenoneofyouearnsalesserhood.”

“Yes, Magister,”Nicodemussaid,tryingnottofrown. He had heard rumorsabout Shannon’s formercareerinAstrophellbutnevera rumor about the oldman’scurrent position asMaster of

theDrumTower.“So, what exactly does

Shannon have you doing toearn that hood?” Smallwoodasked.

“He’swrittenaspellthatallows him to pull my runesinto his body. It helps himspellwritelongertexts.We’rehoping that if enoughlinguists feel I’m helpful,they’llgivemea lesserhoodlinedwithwhite.”

“Ah, yes, and I’m to be

the first who finds youuseful.” Smallwood’s smileseemed genuine. “I believeyou’ll be assisting Shannonand me tomorrow. Veryexciting, very promisingresearch spell we’ll beattempting.”

“I’m honored to be partofit,Magister.”

“And are you teachingyet?”

Nicodemus tried tosound confident. “Anatomy

dissections, but not aspellwriting class yet. I’mverymuchlookingforwardtoit.”

“Yes, well, keeppesteringShannonaboutthat;theacademywillkeepahoodaway from you until you’refifty unless you teachcomposition.” The linguist’sgaze wandered to the bookson his desk. “Did Shannonwantmerightaway?”

“Ibelieveso,Magister.”

Smallwoodstood.“Verywell, very well. Thank you,Nicolas; it is good to meetyou.Youmaygo.”

“Nicodemus,Magister.”“Yes, yes, Nicodemus,

of course.” He paused.“Pardonme, but did you sayNicodemusWeal?”

“Yes,Magister.”Smallwood studied

Nicodemus with a focusedintensity. “Of course,”thegrand wizard said at last,

suddenlyearnest. “Foolishofmetoforgetyou,Nicodemus.Thank you for the message.Youmaygo.”

Nicodemus bobbed hishead and retreated. Hehurried to the hallway’s endand then ducked into anarrow spiral staircase.Shannon had instructed himto go straight back to theDrum Tower, so he joggeddowntothegroundlevelandout into a torch-lit hallway.

Walking eastward, he passedLornish tapestries and gildedstonearcades.

Buthewasblindtotheirbeauty.

His thoughts weretroubled by what Smallwoodhad said about Shannon. Allthe apprentices knew thatShannon had suffered somekind of fall from grace backinAstrophell,butSmallwoodhad implied thereweremorerecent rumors involving

Shannonandcacographers.Nicodemus bit his lip.

Smallwood was famouslyabsentminded;itwaspossiblethat he was mistaking oldrumorsfornew.

But if thatwas thecase,what exactly had Smallwoodbeen misremem-bering whenhe mentioned Shannon’s“next cacographic project”and his new “petcacographer”?

Nicodemus turned to

mountanarrowstaircase.Shannon had begun

teaching cacographers onlyfifty years ago, when hearrived at Starhaven. So thesourceofSmallwood’srumormust have occurred sincethen.

Reaching the oak doorsat the top of the stairs,Nicodemuspushedthemopenand looked out on the grayslate tiles thatpavedtheyardoftheStoneCourt.

Centuries ago, theNeosolar Empire hadrenovated the courtyard aftertaking Starhaven from theChthonic people. However,none of the succeedingoccupying kingdoms hadbuilt over this aspect of thestronghold.

Consequently, the StoneCourt demonstrated theclassical architecture socommon to Starhaven’sImperial Quarter: walls

decorated by molded whiteplaster, arched doorways,wide windows. Eachentryway was flanked by apairofstoneobelisks.

However,becauseoftheStone Court’s remotelocation, the wizards hadfilled it with several objectstoo unsightly to reside inStarhaven’s more populousquarters.

A forest of Dralishstanding stones stood in the

courtyard’s center. On itseastern edge loitered twomarble statues of ErasmusandoneofUrielBolide.Andeverywhere—curled up,sprawledout,orlyingonanyavailable stone ledge—weresleepingjanitorialgargoyles.

Nicodemus started forthe Drum Tower, whichabutted the court’s easternlimit.Butashewent,hesawsomething move within thestoneforest.

Hestopped.Themovementhadbeen

too quick to be that of ajanitorial gargoyle. And noneophyteshouldbeawakesolate. Perhaps it was a feralcat?

It came again: a paleblur between two standingstones.ApprehensiongrippedNicodemus. Wizards woreonlyblack.Clothofanyothercolor signified an outsider…oranintruder.

Starhaven’s manytowershidtheblueandblackmoons,butthegibbouswhitemoonhungdirectlyoverheadand flooded the court withmilky light. As Nicodemussnuck among the standingstones, a crocodile-likegargoyle sleeping on theground rolled over to regardhimwithahalf-openedeye.

Someone waswhispering behind themegalithtoNicodemus’sleft.

“Who’s there?” he asked inhisboldestvoiceandsteppedaroundthemegalith.

Beforehimstoodashortfigurerobedinwhitecloth.Itspun around with inhumanspeed.

CHAPTERFourMagister Shannon, sittingbehindhisdesk,lookedinthedirection of Smallwood’svoice.“Thankyouforcomingsolate,Timothy.”

“Quite all right; I’m

always up,” Smallwood saidwith his usual warmth.Shannon could not see theother wizard, but judging byhisvoice,hewasstandingbythebookshelves.

“But I’m surprisedyou’re awake,” Smallwoodadded. “I didn’t think youwereanightowl.”

Shannon grunted. “I’mnot.Twohoursago, Iwas inbed.Arelaytextfromoneofmy research projects woke

me with a report of unusualguardian activity around theDrum Tower. Seems they’vebeen chasing somethingaroundontheroofs.”

“Guardian spells,”Smallwood said with adisdainful sniff. “Sloppyprose, if you askme,writtenwith too much sensitivity.Likely they were chasing aferal cat that wandered infrom the uninhabitedquarters.”

“That was my firstthought. I came here to lookupafewthingsabouteditingtheguardians’sensitivity.Butthenmyapprenticeappeared;seems he heard someonerunningacrosstheroofoftheStacks.”

WhenShannonlookedathis bookshelf, his eyes sawthrough the leather bindingsto the radiant paragraphscontained within the books.Ashewatched,arectangleof

green textseparatedfromtherest and unfolded into twosmaller rectangles.Smallwoodhadpulledabookandwasbrowsing through it.“Timothy,areyoulistening?”

“What? Yes, yes, ofcourse,” Smallwood repliedand clapped the greenrectangles together. “So youthink one of the delegatesmight be sneaking about theroofs?”

Shannon shrugged.

“Could be a foreignspellwright. Could be awizard.”

“But spying on theDrum Tower? I know thecacographers are close toyour heart, but shouldn’tintriguefocuselsewhere?TheMain Library, say, or theprovost’squarters?”

“Precisely what worriesme.”

Smallwood coughed.“Agwu, might you be

overreacting? I know youwere more…involved inAstrophell, but this isStarhaven.”

Shannon rubbed hismustachetohidehisfrown.

Smallwood continued.“Perhaps the Astrophelldelegates have put you onedge? Brought back the oldinstincts?”

“Perhaps but unlikely,”Shannon insisted. “I’ve twoguardian spells in the

linguistics library. I’d likethemcasttopatrolaroundtheStoneCourt. But first I needyou to rewrite theirprotocolsto communicate with thegargoylessleepingthere.”

It sounded as ifSmallwoodwereshufflinghisfeet.“Tonight?”

Shannon crossed hisarms and looked where hethought his colleague’s facemight be. “It would helpmefocus on our research spell

tomorrow.”“Tonightitis,then.Iam

grateful you’ve included meinthisresearch.”

Shannonletoutabreathhe had not known he washolding.

The rectangle of greenprose floated back up to itsproperplace:Smallwoodwasreshelving the book. “IsAzureabout?”

Shannonshookhishead.“She’s delivering a message

forme.”He did notmentionthatshewasalsoflyingaboutthe rooftops searching foranythingunusual.

“Pity,” Smallwood said,his voice heading for thedoor. “I wanted to see herNuminous dialect again.Agwu, before I go…do Iremember correctly that yourapprenticewas thought to betheHalcyon?”

“Youdo.”Smallwood continued

hesitantly.“Yourfear that…Imean, perhaps you’rejumping to conclusions.” Hepaused. “Let me ask it thisway: Do you thinkNicodemus is the one ofprophecy?”

“Absolutelynot.”“Good,good,ofcourse.”

The door latch clicked. “I’llhave the guardian spells castwithin an hour. I’ll see youtomorrowaftermidday?”

“Indeed,” Shannon said

and thenwaited for the doorhingestocreakbeforeadding,“Timothy,truly,thankyou.”

“Quite welcome, Agwu.Quite welcome.” The doorclickedshut.

Puffing out his cheeks,Shannon retrieved hisresearch journal from hisdesk. It was a leather-boundcodex about two hands tall.Its spine and face were eachembossed with threeasterisks, allowing him to

identify the book by touch.He opened it and began towrite a few notes about theday.Heworked foraquarterhour before an unexpectedlightmadehimlookup.

He could not see hisdoor physically, but heknewexactly where it was. Itusually formed a darkrectangle amid the glow ofhis bookshelves. Where thedarkness should have been,there now shone a cloud of

goldenparagraphs.ExperiencetoldShannon

that he was looking throughthe door to an incandescentflamefly spell being cast inthehallway.

His first thought wasthatSmallwoodhadreturned.But Timothy knew thehallways; he rarely cast asingle flamefly paragraph,much less a swarm. Theauthor of this spell wanted agood deal of light when

navigating Starhaven’shallways.

Mostlikelyaforeigner.Shannon squinted at the

text. Itwaswrittenwithboldwords and complexsentences.Theauthorfavoredcompound appositives, anunusualstructure.

Shannon grimaced inrecognition. It had been along time since he had seenthis spellwright. “Creatorsaveme,whatelseisgoingto

happen tonight?” hemuttered, waiting for theauthortoknock.

But she did not knock.He closed his researchjournal.Moments passed.Hecould see her prose but nother body. Strangely, she letthe flamefly paragraphsdeconstruct into heatlesscinders that snowed down tothe floor. What was shewaitingfor?

Affecting his warmest

tone,hecalledout,“Youmaycomein,Amadi.”

Slowly the door hingessqueaked. A woman’s calmvoice said, “I see that oldMagister Shannon isn’t asblind as rumor claims.” Thedoorclickedshut.

Shannon smiled as hestood. “Old? I’m not soantique as to forget yoursharp tongue. Come andembrace your ancientteacher.”

Memory guided himaround the desk. Amadi’sapproaching footsteps werelight, hesitant. But herembrace was strong andquick.He had forgotten howtallshewas.“Buttherumorsare true,” he said whilestepping back: “I’m as blindasacavefish.”

She paused. “You don’tlook old enough to have lostsight.”

He chuckled dryly.

“Then it’s your eyes weshould worry about. I’mnearly done with my secondcentury.”

“Magister, I’ll be sorelydisappointed if it’s only agethatstoleyourvision,”Amadisaid in the same teasing toneshe had used as a girl. “I’veheard stories, legends even,about how you blindedyourselfbyreadingforbiddentextsintheSpirishCivilWaror by combating twenty

mercenaryauthorswhileyourbeardwasonfire.”

Shannon had beencounterfeiting good humor,but now a genuine laughescapedhislips.“Thetruthisnothingsoscintillating.”

“Butyoudon’tseemthatold.”

“You always were astubborn one.” He laughedagainandshookhishead.

In Astrophell, Shannonhad made several powerful

enemies who might haveplanted an agent in theNorthern delegation. For thisreason,anyAstrophellwizardwas a potential threat; andyet,despitethedanger,heen-joyed talking to his formerstudent and remembering apastlife.

“Amadi, I plan to beginghostwriting in five years,”he said in a more playfultone. “So don’t bother withflattery about how young I

might seem; it only remindsme of your advantage. Myfamiliar is not about to lookat you for me. And I’mcurioustoseeyouafter…howlong has it been? Fiftyyears?”

Amadi’s leather soleswhispered against the floor.“Yourfingersmaylook,”shesaid,suddenlycloser.

This was unexpected.“That…” His voice died asshetookhishandsandplaced

themonherbrow.Anuncomfortablepause.Then his fingertips

flowed onto her briefeyebrowridge;downoverherdeep-set eyes; up the sharpnasalpromontory;softlyoverthetwopursedlips;alongthedelicatechin.

His memory providedcolor: ivory for her skin,sableforherhair,waterybluefor her eyes. Imaginationmixedtouchwithrecollection

to produce the image of apale wizard with finedreadlocks and an impassiveexpression.

Shannon swallowed. Hehadn’t thought seeing an oldstudent would be like this.“Yourhairmustshowalittlewhitebynow,”he saidmorequickly than he would haveliked.

“More thana little,” shesaid, stepping away. “Willyou tell me how you

recognized me through yourdoor?”

“With my natural sightgone,myspellwright’svisionnow pierces the mundaneworld to see magical text.Through the door, Irecognized your compoundappositives.”

“You still remembermyprosestyle?”

He shrugged. “I alsoheard your name among theAstrophell delegates; I was

expecting to run into yousoonerorlater.Thisturnsouttobesoonerindeed.”

“Magister,Iwanttotalkabout—”

“Please,callmeAgwu,”he interrupted. “Or Shannon—it’s what my friends usewhentheyhavetroublewithaNorthernfirstname.”

“Idon’tthinkIcan,”shesaid and then giggled. “Doyou remember catching meand the other acolytes out of

bed? How can I call youShannonrememberingthat?”

He joined his laugh tohers and walked back to hischair.“Ihadnearlyforgotten.Whatwereyoulittlemonsterssneakingintotheacademy?Apair of muddy pigs? Please,takeaseat.”

“Pigs? In Astrophell?”sheasked.Herchaircreaked.“Itwasonlyone, very clean,goat.”

“Whatever it was, you

certainlycancallmeShannonnow that you may carry agrand wizard’s staff.” Hesettledintohischair.

“Well then, Shannon, Ibring word of yourgranddaughter.”

Shannon’s stomachtightened. Her tone was stillplayful,butherwordsmarkedthe end of pleasantries, thebeginningofpolitics.

“You do?” he said,forcing his smile to neither

broadennorwilt.Amadi cleared her

throat. “She married awealthyIxonianmerchantlastyear.”

“Wonderful,” he heardhimself say. “What else canyoutellme?”

“Littlemore, I’m afraid.I’ve the merchant’s namewritten down somewhere.”She paused. “Forgive me. Itmust be difficult discussingthelifeexiletookaway.”

Shannon waved awayhercomment.“Bah,itwasnoexile;Iacceptedthisposition.Besides, wizards swear offfamily for a reason. In thebeginning, it was difficultgettingonlyfragmentednewsof my son. But now I’vepromising research anddedicated students. We arediscovering such fascinatingthings. Just this morning Ireceived permission to begincasting my primary research

spell.”Amadi’s chair creaked.

“And you’re content withsucha…calmlife?”

Shannon raised hiseyebrows. So she suspectedthathestillharboredpoliticalambitions? That might bedangerous, especially if shewere reporting back toAstrophell.

“Amadi, sometimes itfeels as if another authorlived that bustling career in

the North. Starhaven is asmaller academy, and we’reso very far from civilization.Buthere…”Hemadeashowofrunninghisgazeacrosshisbooks.“HereIenjoyaslowerlife.”

When shedidnot reply,hechangedthesubject.“Ijustmoved into new quartersabove the Bolide Garden.Janitorial is renovating thegardens; it’s not much now,heaps of dirt and clay, but it

will be beautiful. I couldshowyou.”

Amadi’s chair creakedagain. “Some Astrophellwizards have been quotingyour ‘Complaint to the LongCouncil.’”

His grin faded. “It wasmybestspeech.”

“Many still find itinspiring.”

“Iamgladtohearit,butthat life is over. There’s nousebaitingmyappetiteforit.

I stay clear of Starhaven’sintrigue. As a researcher, Ican’tbecompletelyapolitical.But because of my past, theprovost and his officers arehappy to leave me out ofmostentanglements.”

Amadisaidnothing.Theparchmentonthetablebeganto crinkle, likely from abreeze coming through thewindow.

“But never mind me,”Shannon said. “How have

you spent the past fourdecades?Studyingdiplomacyperhaps? Is that where thistalkofmypastcomesfrom?”

“My hood has a purplelining.”

“A sentinel? Yes, youmustbewonderful.”

She cleared her throatimportantly. “I commandAstrophell’s lead sentinelexpeditions. In fact, I led thedelegationdownhere. I evenhave a personal secretary: a

youngIxoniannamedKale—only a lesser wizard, butbrightandcapable.”

“Pardontheobservation,but it seems odd thatAstrophell should sendsentinelstoourconvocation.”

“The journey from theNorthwas long.And heavenonly knows why our ordereveroccupiedthisgargantuanstronghold out in the middleof nowhere. Granted, itmakes a fine sight from the

Westernmost Road—thehighesttowerspiringupfromthemountainsidetodwarfthepeaksbehind.”

Shannon rested hiselbows on the table andsteepled his fingers. “ButAmadi, why shouldAstrophellsendsentinelswithitsdelegation?”

“The diplomats neededprotection.”

“Isee.”“Shannon, is this room

safefrompryingears?”He nodded. “Quite safe.

Do you bring news fromabroad?”

“Newsfromwithin.”Shannonleanedforward.

“Goon.”Amadishiftedinherseat

and half-whispered: “MurderinStarhaven.”

Shannon’s heart begantostrike.“Who?”

“Thisisasensitiveissue,onethatmustbehiddenuntil

the convocation is over. Thedelegates must renew thetreaties.”

“I’mawareofthat.Nowwillyoutellmewhohasbeenkilled?”

“Bear with me,Magister. Five hours ago ajanitorial gargoyle workingbeneath the Spindle Bridgediscoveredwhathethoughttobeadyingwoman.”

“Whathe thoughtwasadyingwoman?”

“She was already dead,but her bodywas still fillingitself with a virulentNuminous misspell. Thegargoyle, having secondarycognition, assumed she wasstill aliveand tookher to thedeputy provost of libraries.She, in turn, reported to theprovost, who related theinformationtome.”

Shannon paused. “YousaidthiswomanfellfromtheSpindle?”

“So it seems. What canyoutellmeofthebridge?”

Shannon wondered howmuch information he shouldshare. Amadi had leaped tothe top of the sentinel ranks,and such a feat would beimpossiblewithout thesupport of several factionsthat despised Shannon. Hedecided to share onlycommon knowledge until heknewmore.

“You seem troubled,”

Amadi said. “Is it odd thatthis woman was on theSpindle?”

“Surpassingly odd,” hesaidatlast.“Accordingtothehistorians, the Chthonicpeople built the bridge notlong after they finishedStarhaven. But it leadsnowhere.Spansnearlyamileofaironly torunintoacliff.The Chthonics did cutbeautiful designs into therock. Just north of the

bridge’s end is a foliatepattern—ivy leaves, Ibelieve—and south is a hexagonalpattern.”

“Anyexplanationforthecarvings? Or the bridgeitself?”

Shannon shrugged.“Folktales about theChthonicsbuildingaroadtoaparadise called Heaven TreeValley.Supposedlywhen theNeosolar Empire began tomassacre theChthonics, their

goddess led them to theHeaven Tree and dropped amountain on the road. Somesay the Spindle once led tothatroad.”

“Any evidence tosupportsuchatale?”

“None. But every sooften,thehistoriansprobethemountainsidewithtext,tryingto open the way to theHeaven Tree. They’ve foundonly rock.” He paused. “Doyou think the murder is

connectedtoanyofthis?”The soft swish of

moving cloth told Shannonthat Amadi was shifting inherseatagain.“NotthatIcansee,” she said and thensighed.

Shannon paused beforehespokeagain.“Amadi,Iamshocked and grieved by thistragedy. And yet…pleasedon’tthinkmeheartless,butIdon’t want to becomeinvolved. Imust think ofmy

research and my students.Helping you might drag meinto political situations. As Isaid, I am a different manthanIwasintheNorth.Butifyou refrain from mentioningmy name, I’ll give whateveradviceIcan.ButI’dstillneedtoknowthevictim’sname.”

A long pause. Shespoke: “Nora Finn, thegrammarian.”

“Sweet heaven!”Shannonwhispered in shock.

Nora had been the DrumTower’sdeanandhisfiercestacademicrival.

Instantly his mind spunwiththepossibleimplicationsof themurder.Itmightbeanindirect attack by oldenemies. It might also beconnected to the restlessguardian spells andNicodemus’s prowler on topof the Stacks. That wouldmake the Drum Tower thefocusoftheintrigue.

Shannon fingered theasterisks on the spine of hisjournal. His enemies mighthope to exact revenge byharming his students. Histhoughts jumped toNicodemus. The boy’scacography had proven hewas not the Halcyon, butShannon’s enemies inAstrophell might have heardhisnameand somarkedhimastheirtarget.

Or, far less likely but

more frightening, the boymight have some unknownconnection to the ErasmineProphecy. If that were so,then the fate of all humanlanguage would be injeopardy.

“DidyouknowMagistraFinn?”Amadiasked.

Shannon started. “I’msorry?”

“Did you know Finn?”Amadirepeatedpatiently.

Shannon nodded. “Nora

and I both took care of theDrum Tower’s students. Asthe Drum Tower’s master, Isee to our students’residential matters. As thedean, Nora governed theiracademics.Butthesestudentsdon’t often study. I end upcounseling the few who doadvance to lesser wizards.Nora had little contact withthem. Nora and I were bothbeingconsideredforthesameChair. Rivals for it, I

suppose.”“Goon.”Shannon paused. He

dared not share moreinformationwithAmadiuntilhe was certain of herallegiances.

So he did whatacademics do best: he threwhishandsintheairandbeganto whine. “This couldn’tcome at a worse time, whatwith the convocation. Howcan the murderer be caught

when everything’s in chaos?Andmypoorresearch!Ican’tstop it now; I just sent amessagetomyapprentice.”

Amadi exhaled slowly.“As I said, we hope theinvestigation will not disrupttheconvocation.”

“We? Amadi, shouldn’tthe provost’s officers beconducting thisinvestigation?”

She cleared her throat.“Provost Montserrat himself

instructed me to lead thisinvestigation.”

Shannon fingered thebuttonsonhis sleeves. “WhyshouldtheprovostappointanAstrophell wizard to lead aStarhaveninvestigation?”

“I carry a letter ofrecommendation from thearch-chancellor.”

“I don’t doubt yourqualification,”hesaid,thoughhediddoubtherintentions.

Amadi continued, “We

must conceal thisinvestigation from thedelegates. They won’t beinclined to renew the treatiesiftheythinkamurdereris—”

“Yes, Amadi, as yousaid. But why come to me?No doubt the provost’sofficers could have told youabouttheSpindleBridge.”

A creaking came fromAmadi’s chair once more.“Doyouhaveafamiliar?”

“IalreadytoldyouthatI

do.”“I would like to see the

creature.”Shannon nodded.

“Certainly.She’llsoonreturnfromdeliveringamessage tomy apprentice. But Amadi,you’re investigating amurder;why do youwant toseemyfamiliar?”

A long silence stretchedoutbetweenthem.Atlastthesentinel spoke in a low,controlledtone:“Becauseyou

areourprimarysuspect.”

CHAPTERFiveThe figure robed in whitejumped back nearly five feetandcrouched.

The speedwithwhich itmoved shocked Nicodemus.Hewasabouttocryoutwhen

it stoodand lowered itscowltorevealawoman’stanface.

Her wide eyes gleamedgreen even in the bleachingwhitemoonlight.Hersmootholive skin and narrow chinresembled those of a twenty-year-old girl, yet she heldthese youthful features in acalm expression of matureconfidence.Thewavesofherraven hair spilled downaround her face to disappearunderherpalecloak.

To Nicodemus, sheseemedoddlyfamiliar.

“Whatisthemeaningofthis?” the woman askedsternly. “I am Deirdre, anindependent emissary fromthedruidsofDral.IwastoldI had license throughout thefastness during theconvocation.”

“Your pardon, MagistraDeirdre. I didn’t know youwereadruid.”Hebowed.

“Do not call me

Magistra. Druids hold notitles.” Her voice was calm,but her eyes flicked up anddownNicodemus like flameslapping at a dry log. Shewalkedtowardhim.“Areyouawizard?”

To her right, the airshimmered. A warm blushspread across Nicodemus’scheeks. “Hoping to becomeonesoon,”hereplied.

“An apprentice, then.Whoisyourmentor?”

“Magister Shannon, thewell-knownlinguist.”

The druid seemed toconsider this. “I have onlyrecently become aware ofShannon.”

Nicodemus nodded andthen smiled. If he couldimpress thiswoman, itmighthelp Shannon’s status in theconvocation. It was a smallthing, but perhaps thenMagisterwouldsoonerforgetthemisspelledgargoyle.

“May I assist you?”Nicodemus asked the druidand then bowed to theshadow on the druid’s right.“Oryourcompanion?”

Deirdre’s full lips roseinto a sly half-smile. Sheexamined Nicodemus, thennodded. “Forgive thesubtext,” she said. “Kyran ismyprotector.”

The shadow beside herwelled up out of the groundand coalesced intoa human

figurewhosecloakingsubtextfell away, causing themoonlighttoshimmer.

Nicodemus nodded tothe newcomer. Standingseveral inches over six feet,the man cut an imposingfigure. He had undone thewooden buttons runningdown his white sleeves tobetter expose his musculararms for spellwriting. Hiscomplexionwas fair, his lipsthin,hislonghairgolden.No

wrinkles creased hishandsome face; however,among spellwrights, thatwasnot necessarily an indicationofyouth.

Inhis right hand,Kyranheld a thick oak staff.Nicodemus eyed the object;supposedlythedruid’shigherlanguages gained specialabilitieswhencastintowood.

Deirdre was gazingabout the Stone Court. “Wewishtomakedevotionstoour

goddess. A wizard told usthere were standing stoneshere, but these rocks arearrangedneither incirclenorgrid.”

A nearby crocodile-likegargoyle crawled away,perhaps to find a quietersleepingspot.

“And you wizards havecoveredthestoneswiththesestrangestonelizards.”

Nicodemus bowed.“Please excuse the disorder.

The standing stones were agiftfromaHighlandlord.Wedonotknowhowtheyshouldbe arranged. As for thegargoyles, they’re not lizardsbut advanced spells we calltextual constructs. You see,Magnus, one of thewizardlyhighlanguages,cantransformitstextualenergyintostone.”

Thedruidsmiledslightlyas if he had just saidsomethingamusing.

Unsure what to do,

Nicodemus offered moreinformation: “These arejanitorial gargoyles. We’vewrittenanaffection for stoneinto their minds. So theyclimb all over the occupiedtowers, tending to the roofs,searching for crumblingmortar,andkeepingthebirdsaway.”

Deirdre continued towatchhiminsmilingsilence.

“But if you want tomake devotions,”Nicodemus

added awkwardly, “youmight feel more comfortablein one of our gardens.Magister Shannon has justtaken quarters above theBolide Garden, but it’s stillbeingrenovated.”

The male druid spoke.“Whyisthisplacesoempty?Where are the otherwizards?”

Nicodemus smiled; herewas a question he couldanswer authoritatively.

“We’reallpresent.Starhavenonly seems empty because itis so large. Once it housedsixty thousand Chthonicpeople. Now only fourthousandwizards and half asmany students live here.Weare still exploring theuninhabited ChthonicQuarter. There is much tolearn. The NeosolarEmpire,the Kingdom ofSpires, and the Kingdom ofLorn all occupied Starhaven.

Each settlement left adistinctivemarkon—”

Deirdre interrupted.“Whatisyourname?”

Nicodemus froze. Hadhe been talking too much?“Nicodemus Weal,” he said,bowing.

“Tell me of yourparentage.”

“Myparents?”Thiswasunexpected. Had heoffended?“Ia-amthebastardsonofthelateLordSevern,a

minor noble of northernSpires.”

The druid nodded.“Your family provides foryoustill?”

“N-no. Wizards abjurealltiestofamilyandkingdomwhentheybecomeneophytes.Andmyyoungerbrother, thenewLordSevern,seesmeassomethingofathreat.”

“Whatofyourmother?”“Ineverknewher.”“A bastard who doesn’t

knowhismother?”Sheraisedadisbelievingeyebrow.

“One year my fatherreturnedfromapilgrimagetoMount Spireswithmy infantself in his arms. He neverspokeofmymother.Hediedshortly after I came toStarhaven.”

The woman nodded.“You are the one who canforge runes in both of thehigh wizardly languages butcan only touch simple

spells?”Nicodemus’s mouth

wentdry.“Iam.”“I believe your name

wasmentionedalongwiththewizardlyprophecy.”

“But I am not the onetheypredict.”

Deirdre’s mouth wentflat as a table edge. “I mustask you an importantquestion. On some people,somewoundsdonothealintosmooth scars. They form

dark,bulgingscarscalled—”“Keloids,” Nicodemus

said flinching. “I knowwhatthey are. I have one. Onmyback.”

“Acongenitalkeloid?”Nicodemusblinked.The druid’s expression

remained unchanged. “It’scongenital if you were bornwithit.

“My father passed awaybefore the wizards couldinquireaboutit.”

Deirdre did not move.“Soitmightbecongenital.”

“But thekeloid isnot inthe shape of the Braid,” headdednervously,prayingthatshe would not ask to see it.“Or at least, not perfectly.There’sanotherkeloidnearit.MykeloidisnottheBraidtheHalcyonwillwear.”

“Isee.”Deirdreregardedhim for another silentmoment. Slowly her half-smile crept back across her

full lips. “You may go,NicodemusWeal.”

Nicodemus exhaled inrelief and bowed. Neitherdruid moved. “Good-night,Deirdre,Kyran,”hesaid,andturnedfortheDrumTower.

“IRONIC.” DEIRDRE LAUGHEDastheboy’srobemergedwiththe shadows. “Wrapped inblack literally, notmetaphorically.” She liftedhercowl.

“Why didn’t you makehim show us the keloid?”Kyranmoved tostandbesideher. He limped slightly,favoringhisleftlegandusinghiswalkingstaffforbalance.

She smiled and idlyfingeredoneofthebuttonsonhersleeve.“Doyouhaveanydoubtwhatwewillsee?”

“No.No,Idon’t.”“Itisasourgoddesssaid

it would be.” Deirdre closedhereyestorelishthemoment.

“Heintriguesyou.”Sheopenedhereyesand

looked at him. “You weresupposed to write somewarningmagic.”

This made him scowl.“You mustn’t say ‘warningmagic.’ A spellwright wouldsay‘awarningspell’oruseaspell’sspecificname.”

“You’re changing thesubject.”

Kyran continued toscowl. “I did set a warning

spell. The boy walked rightthrough it. Wherever hetouched the text, the runesequences reversed ortwisted. He corrupted thespell without even knowingit.”

“And he gleaned yoursubtext.”

“He did.” Kyran glaredat her with beautiful browneyes. “You shouldn’t havetalked to him for so long.What if you had another

seizure?”She shrugged. “You

would have invented anexplanation. To him I seemhuman.” She looked at thetower into which Nicodemushad disappeared. “He’s beencursed,youknow.”

“Youseeit,too?”“Feelit.”Arookcalledfromhigh

above the fastness. Theylookedup.

“The boy looks like

you,”Kyransaid.“Yes. Interesting to find

somuchImperialbloodinanobscure,minornoble.”

“Hiding him from theother druids won’t be easy.Norwillbetakinghim.”

“Goddess below, Ky!”Deirdreswore.“Stopthinkinglike a rabid lycanthrope.Wecan’t‘take’ theboy.True,hemustgo toourgoddess’sarkwithout delay, but there arecomplications. You must

think of our escape and howthe wizards will react. Hemustgowillingly.”

Her protector was silentfor a long moment. “Heintrigues you,” Kyranrepeatedatlast.

“He’sachild.”A new subtext was

weaving darkness aroundKyran’s waist, returning himto invisibility. He stared ather silently as the subtextcontinueduptohisshoulders.

She scowled. “You’rejealous?”

“Far from it.” Thesubtext covered his chin. “Iremember when I intriguedyou,soIdon’tenvytheboy.”His eyes became soft andthen disappeared. “I pityhim.”

FROM AN EMPTY gargoyle’sstoop high up on anabandonedtower,thecreaturelookeddownintothemoonlit

StoneCourt.Aboydressedinblack was making for theDrum Tower. Two figuresrobed in white stood amongstandingstones.

“Druids,” the creaturemuttered.“Ihatedruids.”

The two white-robesbelowhadspoiledhischancetocatchtheboy.Hadheactedimmediately, he could havecharged into the courtyard,killedthem,andcensoredtheboy. But their unexpected

presencehaddelayedhimtoolong; a moment ago he hadspotted a wizard in a nearbycourtyard casting two newguardianspells.Nowwasthetimeforretreat.

Worse than ruining thisparticular opportunity, thewhite-robes could createmuch larger problems. Longago,ontheancientcontinent,the creature had faced thedruids when their magicalschoolwasattheheightofits

power.Themillenniathathadpassedsincethenhadreducedmodern druids to little morethan gardeners andcarpenters. Even so, thewhite-robesknewmoreoftheancient magics than thewizards. Unless handledcarefully, the druids couldmake it all but impossible toreachtheboy.

A cold autumn windwhipped about the creature’srobes, making them flutter.

Whenhecreptawayfromtheledge, his legs ached and adull pain throbbed across hisforearms.

Thisbodywouldnotlastmuchlonger.

“No matter,” hemuttered, turning away fromthe Stone Court. Perhaps animportant wizard or druidwouldwanderawayfromtheinhabited buildings. In themeantime, he could write afewnightmares.

CHAPTERSixWhere Amadi sat, Shannonsaw only darkness. Now,more than ever before, hisblindnessbothfrightenedandinfuriatedhim.

“You believe,” he said,

forcing his voice to be calm,“IpushedNoraFinnfromtheSpindleBridge?”

“I seek the truth in allplaces,” Amadi answeredevenly.

Shannon grasped thearms of his chair so hard hisfingers ached. Was heraccusation a disguised attackor an earnest attempt todiscover themurderer?Therewasnowayofknowing.

“What you’re saying is

absurd; I have no connectionto Nora’s death.” He stoodand walked to the window.“Wouldn’t I have blood onme?Nora’sormyown?”

Amadi’s chair squeakedin a way that told him shewas standing. “Magister, thebody was discovered fivehoursago.Thevillainhashadample time to concealevidence. And you areconnected to the murder—twice connected. Four days

ago, Astrophell sent acolaboris spell awardingMagistra Finn the Chair forwhich you two werecompeting.”

“SoIkilledNoratostealher honors?” He faced thewindow. “Fiery blood! Doyouthink—”

“Secondly,” Amadibroke in, “Magistra Finn’sbody was riddled with amisspell, and you are theacademy’s authority on

misspells.”“I am a linguist

researching textualintelligence.OfcourseIstudytextual corruption andrepair.”

He heard Amadi’s bootheels click against the floor.Shewascoming towardhim.“I wasn’t thinking of yourresearch—although thatprovidesathirdconnection.Iwasthinkingofyourmentallydamaged students who

misspell texts simply bytouchingthem.”

So there it was, theNorthern fear ofcacographers. He turned hishead to show her his profile.“My students aren’tdamaged,” he said in a lowtone.

“I believe you’reinnocent.”

He turned back to thewindow.

“Magister, if you help

me, I can clear your name.But I must know everythingyou know about misspellsandmisspellers.”Shepaused.“Yourreputationmakes this aperilous situation. If you’reseen as resisting myinvestigation, it will gopoorly.”

“Myreputation?”“Every spellwright in

this academy knows howimportant you were inAstrophell. More than a few

think you are bitter, perhapsparanoid. Everyone saw howfiercely you competed withFinn for academicappointments.”

“Imightbecompetitive,Amadi,butyouknowIwouldnevermurder.”

“To prove that, I needyourcooperation.”

Shannon took a deepbreath in through his nose.She was right. Resistingmight paint him with shades

ofguilt.Now,evenmoresothan

before,hehadtoshowthathehad become an innocentresearcher without politicalambition. “If I cooperate,may I continue my researchduringyourinvestigation?”

“Yes.”“What do you want to

know?”“Let’s begin with the

misspellers. Why are theyhere?” Receding footsteps

told Shannon she waswalking back to her chair.Likelyshewantedtositdownagain. He didn’t follow. Asthe junior wizard, she couldnot politely sit while hestood. He remained by thewindow.

“In Starhaven,” he said,“as in other wizardlyacademies,aspellwrightmustachievefluencyinoneofourhigher languages to earn awizard’s hood, fluency in

bothhigherlanguagestoearna grand wizard’s staff.Spellwrights who cannotlearn either may still earn alesser wizard’s hood bymastering the commonlanguages. But a few faileven this. Their touchmisspellsallbutsimpletexts.Here, in the South, we callsuch unfortunate soulscacographers.”

Amadigrunted.“It’s thesameintheNorth.Wesimply

do not name dangerousspellwrightsso.”

“InStarhaven,wedonotbelieve such students aredangerous. We do notpermanently censor magicallanguage from cacographers’minds; we permit them tofulfillwhatrolestheycan.Atpresent there are maybefifteen living in the DrumTower. All but three areundertheageoftwelve.”

“Why so many

squeakers?”“Most of the older ones

integrate themselves into theacademyaslesserwizards.”

“Isn’tthatdangerous?”“Dangerous?”

Shannon’s voice rose.“Dangerous to thecacographers? Possibly.Every so often, a text reactspoorly to their touch. Still,I’ve never seen an incidentresultinmorethanbruisesora misspelled construct. But

are cacographers dangerousto wizards? Dangerous tospellwrights fluent in one orboth of the world’s mostpowerful magicallanguages?”Hesnorted.

Shannon heard Amadi’sfeet shuffle and guessed thatshe was shiftingher weightand wishing to sit down.“Magister, this goes againstwhat I was taught, againstwhatyoutaughtme.”

He planted a hand on

either sideof thewindowsill.“Itaughtyoulongago.”

She clicked her tonguein frustration. “But I’ve readof these misspellers—cacographers, as you callthem. Many witches androgue wizards come fromtheir stock. In fact, one suchmisspeller was an infamouskiller. He was a Southerner,lived in thisacademy in fact.Now,whycan’tIthinkofhisname?”

“James Berr,” Shannonsaidsoftly.“YouarethinkingofJamesBerr.”

“Yes!”Shannon turned toward

hisformerstudent.“Berrdiedthreehundredyearsago.Youdo know at least that, don’tyou?”

Silence filled the roomfor a moment, then Amadi’schair creaked a loudcomplaintasshesatheavily.

Shannonstiffened.

“Please continue,Magister,” she saidacerbically. “What have Imisunderstood?Whatwas soterribly benign about thatmisspellingmurderer?”

Shannon turned awayand spoke in short, clippedwords. “It was an accident.OneofBerr’smisspellskilleda handful of acolytes. Headmitted guilt and theyallowed him to stay on as alow-ranking librarian. The

boywasonly trying to learn.No one would teach him, sohe experimented.Unfortunately, two yearslater,amisspellkilledseveralwizards. Berr fled into thedeep Spirish savanna anddied.”

“So cacographers aredangerous,then?”

“Not once in the threehundred years followingJames Berr has there beensuch a dangerous

cacographer. It is theNorthern fascination withmisspelling that makes yoususpect that everycacographer is a viper in thebush. A fascination, I mightadd, that has beenchampioned by the counter-prophecyfaction,muchtothedetrimentofouracademies.”

“Magister, I know youhave tangled with thecounter-prophecy leader-ship.But I would be careful what

you say. Your own provosthasspokensympatheticallyoftheir interpretation ofprophecy.”

Shannon pushed a straydreadlock from his face.“And you, Amadi, wheredoesyourallegiancelie?”

“I am a sentinel,” shereplied. “We do not play thegameoffactions.”

“Of course you don’t,”Shannonsaidcoldly.

“I did not come here to

be insulted,Magister. I cameforinformation.”Shepaused.“So, tell me, are there anyStarhaven cacographers withparticularstrengths?”

Shannon exhaledthroughhis nose and tried tocalm down. “A few.”“Andhas any cacographer learnedto spellwrite in the higherwizardlylanguages?”

Shannon turned. “Whatareyouimplying?”

“Themisspellthatkilled

Magistra Finnwaswritten inNuminous.”

Shannon stood upstraighter. “I’ll not have youtryingtoblameacacographersimply because you’ve beenfrightened by a villain whousedamisspell.”

“You were never soprotectiveofyourstudentsinAstrophell.”

He laughed dryly. “Youdidn’t need protection,Amadi. These children are

different.”“Different or not, you

can’tprotectthemfromajustinvestigation.Iaskagain:Doyou have a cacographer whocan write in the higherlanguages?”

“There is one. But hewouldnever—”

“And who,” Amadiinterrupted,“isthisboy?”

“Myapprentice.”

CHAPTERSevenBeforeNicodemus had takenfive steps away from thedruids, he began forging theDrumTower’spasswords.

Elsewhere in Starhavenstood doors that would not

open unless fed hundreds ofelaborate sentences. But theDrum Tower’s door requiredonlyonesentencewritteninacommonlanguage.

Even so, it tookNicodemus an eternity toforgethenecessarydimgreenrunes.Theyhadatexturelikecoarse, stiff cloth. As heworked, he could almost feelDeirdre’s stare jabbing intohisback.

As soon as the

passwordswerecomplete,hedropped them on the blackdoor handles. A tongue ofwhite runes flicked from thekeyhole topull them into thelock. Nicodemus waitedimpatiently for the tumblerspell todisengagethedevice.As soon as the iron boltclicked, he slipped into theentrywayandheavedthedoorshut.

“Bloodyawfulwoman!”he swore. It was a relief to

escape the druid’s questionsabout how he had failed tofulfilltheErasmineProphecy.Hopefully she wouldn’t askanywizardsabouthim.GivenwhatShannonhadsaidaboutthe Astrophell delegates,renewed wizardly interest inhiskeloidmightbemorethanembarrassing; it might bedangerous.

Heturnedandhurriedupthestairs.

The Drum Tower had

long been used to store thestronghold’semergencygraincache,heldagainstapossiblesiege.But becauseStarhavenwas too far from civilizationtotemptagreedykingdom,ithadneverneededthissurplus.Therefore no complexsecurityspellslinedtheDrumTower’s halls, and nocomplex passwords wereneededtoopenitsdoors.

For these reasons, thetower’s top floors made an

idealhomefortheacademy’smost severe cacographers,who could not spell thepasswords for the mainresidentialtowers.

However,unliketherestof Starhaven, the DrumTower had limited space.This forced the tower’smaster,MagisterShannon, tolive elsewhere and requiredthe older misspellers togovern the younger.Nicodemus shared such

caretakingdutieswithhistwofloormates.

The oldest among themwasSimple John,who as faras anyone knewcould sayonly three things: “no,”“Simple John,” and“splattering splud.” This lastwasJohn’sfavorite,whichheoften used when casting hismanysoapyjanitorialspells.

Most people wereterrified when they firstencountered John. He stood

over seven feet tall andpossessedlarge,meatyhands.Hisrednosewastoobulbous,hisbrowneyestoobeady,hishorsey teeth too big. Butanyone who looked pastJohn’s appearance could nothelp but love his gentlemannerandlopsidedsmile.

Devin Dorshear,Nicodemus’s othercacographic floormate, waslesswell loved. The acolyteshad nicknamed her

“DemonscreamDevin”.When shewas focusing,

little separated Devin from alesser wizard. However, shewouldoften stop spellwritinghalfwaythroughatexttocon-template an open window, acreaking board, a handsomewizard. This had gotten herinto many unfortunatesituations,nonehelpedbyhergift for screaming unlikelyobscenities—a talent sheeffectively wielded against

leaking inkwells, tornparchments,andthegenerallyrude.

Wizards were lessimpressed by her effusiveobscenities,andsoDevinhadlearned to curb her foulmoutharoundsuperiors.

This ishowNicodemus,as he climbed the last fewsteps, knew no one withauthoritywaspresent in theircommon room. “Ooo, youdirty son of a rat-eating butt

dog!”Devinscreamed.Therefollowedaloudcrash.

“Splattering splud!”Simple John called, laughingheartily.Another crash,moreobscenities.

Nicodemuslookeduptoheaven and said, “Not sinceLos became the first demonhastherebeensomuchchaosas now exists on the otherside of this door. Celeste,goddess, haven’t I hadenough tribulations for one

night?Perhapsyoucouldputthem to sleep. I promise toclean up whatever they’vedone.”

Crash, laughter, crash.“Drink goat piss, you slimypigeonpenis!”

Nicodemus frowned atthe closed door. “Dev, dopigeonsevenhavepenises?”

Simple John bellowed abattle cry of “SIIIIMPLEJOHN!”

Sighing, Nicodemus

opened the door and steppedinside. Immediately, hejumped back to avoid aJejunuscursethatshotpastinapinkblur.

Of the commonmagicallanguages, Jejunus was theweakest—so weak, in fact,that it was used only forteaching. It had a simplesyntax and its large pinkrunes were identical tomundane letters; this meantthat itwasalmost impossible

tomisspellandhencesafeforcacographers. Perhaps moreimportant, their soft, muddytexture made them safe tohandle.

The curse that hadmissedNicodemus’s nose byinches had read, “FIND[John’s left butt cheek] andLABELwith(I’magelatinouspoop sucker).”Nicodemusgroaned.

“Simple John!”trumpeted Simple John.

Anothercrash.Peering into the room,

NicodemussawaproudJohnholding up several sentencesthat read “ERASE [Devin’sspell].”

Thebigmanhadslippedhisarmsoutoftheslitssewnintothetopsofhissleevessoas to better see the languageforming inhisgiantmuscles.All around John layoverturned chairs andscatteredpages.

The big man forgedanother Jejunus sentence inhisbicepandslippeditdowninto his balled fist. Laughinguncontrollably,hecockedhismassive arm and with anoverhand throw cast “FINDand HIT [Devin’s right buttcheek].”

Almost faster thanNicodemus’s eyes couldfollow, the gooey pink ballshotacrosstheroom.

Devin dove behind an

overturned table, but John’scurse flewover thebarricadeand dropped into a diveattack. Devin screamedsomething—likely obscene—and popped up from behindthetable.

Like John, she hadslipped her arms out of hersleeves. From her right handextended an octopus-likespell, each tentacle of whichread, “Edit [Simple John’sincomingspell].”

John’s obscenity wascaught among the tentaclesandstruggled likeaminnow.Devincackledasshebegantoeditthecurse.

As a boy, Nicodemushad loved Jejunus cursingmatches. He had hurledhandfuls of dirty words withhis classmates, had relishedflicking obscenities intorivals’ faces, had giggleduncontrollably when filthylanguage had splattered onto

anotherchild’sback.But that had been long

ago, before the wizards hadmoved him into the DrumTower.

“HEY!” he boomed.Both combatants looked athim. “WHAT IN THEBURNING HELLS ISGOINGONHERE?”

Even thoughNicodemuswastheyoungestofthethreeby thirty years, he had longago assumed the roles of

housekeeper anddisciplinarian.

Perhaps mistakingNicodemus’s anger forirritation at being excluded,Simple John cast “FIND[Nicodemus’s ear] andSOUND (a sick donkeyfarting).”

Nicodemus quicklywrote “FIND and ERASE[anyspell]”inthebackofhishandandflickedthespellintothe air. It careened into

John’s curse and knockedboth texts out of existencewith a wet pop. If needed,Nicodemus could flood theroom with similar censoringtexts.

“What do you thinkyou’re doing?” Nicodemusbarked. “What if one of theyounger cacographers hadwalkedinjustnow?We’dbein a fine state then. There’dbe cursing matches up anddown the tower until spring.

Orwhat if a wizard hadstopped by? With theconvocationon,therepercus-sionswouldbehorrible.”

The other cacographersfell silent. Simple Johnswallowedhissmileandhunghishead.

“What’s it to you,Nico?” Devin sneered.“Afraid Shannon’ll find out?Afraid the oldmanwon’t letyou teach your preciousclass?”

“Devin,” Nicodemussaid, leveling his gaze at theshort redhead, “how manypenitences do you have leftforthefloodedprivyprank?”

Sheglaredathim.“Don’t you see that our

place in Starhaven is notsecure?AsMagisterShannonjust reminded me, ourdisability puts an extraburden on us. And we allknowthat inotheracademiescacographersaren’ttreatedso

well. Astrophell censorsmagical languageoutoftheircacographers.”

“As if that would be sobad, to leave this place,”Devingroused.

“Well excuse me, mylady. I was unaware of yournoble blood.” Nicodemusdipped into a mock bow.“Becausethat’swhatit’dtaketo find a life as comfortableandsafeaswehavehere.Asanilliterate,youmightendup

a scullerymaid, but think ofJohn.Howwouldhegetby?”

“No,” Simple Johnprotestedsoftly.

Devin lowered her eyesand dropped her spell. Anuncomfortable momentpassed.

In the awkward silence,Nicodemus felt a slowsinking sensation. Could hecall his floormates recklesswhen, only an hour ago, hehad misspelled a library

gargoyle? If caught, hismistakewouldhavedamagedthe reputation ofcacographers far more thanthe discovery of a simplecursingmatch.

“Dev, John, I’m sorry,”hesaidinasoftertone.“Ihada rough night in the libraryand disappointed Shannon.He’s worried about some ofthe convocation’s delegates.It might even be dangerousfor us to be seen

misspelling.”Neither of the other

cacographersspoke.Johnwaslooking at his boots, Devinscowlingattheceiling.

“I’ll help clean up,”Nicodemussaidwearily.

They worked silently.Simple John righted thetables while the other twoshifted chairs and retrievedthe pages strewn about thefloor. Twice Nicodemus sawDevin and Simple John

smirking at each other, butwhen they noticed himwatchingtheyjumpedbacktowork.

When finished,Nicodemussnuffedthetapersandtrudgedintohisbedroom.Itwas cold for the first timesincelastspring.Autumnwasgrowingold.

He forged the ignitionwords and tossed them intothe small fireplace. A sparkspellcaughtthetextandthen

setthekindlingaflame.Lightflickeredacross the modestchamber and Nicodemus’sfew possessions: a sleepingcot, a desk, two chests, awashstand,achamberpot.

Underthebedsatastackof mundane books. AmongthemwasaknightlyromancehehadboughtfromaLornishpeddler. The fellow hadpromised that this particularromance, The Silver Shield,wasthebestoneyet.

Nicodemus’s love forknightlyromancessometimesfollowed him into his sleep.Since he had arrived inStarhaven, Nicodemus hadspent countless hoursimagining night terrors topopulatethenearbyforest.Inboth his dreams at night anddaydreams,hewouldventureout tovanquish the imaginedmonsters.

Hesmilednow,thinkingof the strangeantagonistshis

young mind had imagined.Urowasagiantinsectwithaspiked carapace andscythelike hands. Tamelkan,the sightless dragon,possessed tentacles that grewfromhis chin.Andof coursethere was Garkex, thefiretroll, who spouted flamefromhisthreehornsandfierycursesfromhismouth.

Dreaming of monstersand battles was a childishpleasure, Nicodemus knew,

but itwas one of the few hehadknown.

Looking at the bookagain, he sighed. His eyesweretoowearytoread.

He flopped onto his cotandbegantountiehisrobeatthebackofhisneck.Hishaircouldusebrushing.

He was looking aroundforhiscombwhen thesoundofflappingwingscametohiswindow.He turned to regarda large bird with vivid blue

plumage. Bright yellow skinshone around her black eyesand hooked beak. “Corn,”croaked the bird in herscratchyparrotvoice.

“Hello, Azure. I don’tkeep corn in my room. DidMagisterShannongiveyouamessageforme?”

The bird cocked herheadtooneside.“Scratch.”

“All right, but themessage?”

The bird hopped onto

the cot and waddled over toNicodemus. Using her beakto grab onto his robes, thefamiliar pulled herself ontohis lap and presented the topof her head to be scratched;Nicodemusobliged.

“Azure, the messagefromMagisterisimportant.”

The bird whistled twonotesbeforecastingabarrageofgolden sentences fromherheadtoNicodemus’s.

Languages like

Numinous, which couldmanipulate light and othertext, were often used toencodewrittenmessages.Thespell thatAzurehad justcastwasonesuch.

The problem was thatNuminous had a complexstructure, and so acacographer’s touchmisspelled all but thesimplestNuminoussentences.That is why Nicodemus hadto work quickly to translate

Shannon’s message.Thelongerheheld the text inhismind, the fasterhisdisabilitywoulddistortitsspelling.

Numinous runespossessed fluid shapesresembling tendrils of smokeor threads of spun glass.Translating them made aspellwright’sfingersfeelasifthey were touching smoothglass. As he worked,Nicodemus’sfingerstwitchedwithphantomsensation.

Shannon’s message wascomplicated, and whenNicodemus finishedtranslating,itwasgarbled:

Nicodemus—Do n’t discuss

tonight’s conversaton w/anyone, incldngroomates.V.importanttoatractlittelattn. As planed, come tomy study direclty afterbrecfast. You are excusedfrom aprentice duty four

theday.—Mg.Shannon

Azure presented theback of her head again.“Scratch?”

Nicodemus absentlystroked the bird’s feathers.Shannon’s instruction toavoid attention wasworrisome. Nicodemus didnot know what wasprompting the old man’svigilance, but he had no

doubtthatitwasserious.“Sweet heaven, the

druids,” Nicodemuswhispered,rememberinghowhis attempt to impressDeirdrehadelicitedabarrageof questions about prophecyand his disability. “Magisterisgoingtokillme.”

“Scratch?” Azurerepeated.

Nicodemuslookeddownand realized that in hisdistraction he had stopped

petting the familiar. “I’msorry,Azure.I’mexhausted.”It was true—his eyes stung,hisbonesached,his thoughtsseemedslowaspinesap.“I’dbetter sleep if I’m going tohelpMagistertomorrow.”

“Scratch?”“Maybetomorrow.”Finally convinced that

she was not going to bepetted,Azurehoppedover tothe window. She made hertwo-notewhistle and flapped

awayintothenight.Blinkinghiswearyeyes,

Nicodemus went to thewashstand and, rubbing hishands together, forged thesmall white runes wizardsused for soap. Looking intohis polished-metalmirror, hewas shocked to see twopinksentences written across hisforehead.

Atfirstascowldarkenedhisface,butthenhelaughed.

She must have written

some witty prose indeed tosneak the Jejunus curse ontohimwithouthisnoticing.

Carefulnottotripinthedim firelight, Nicodemusstepped through thecommonroomtoDevin’sdoor.Mutedvoices came from the otherside.Heknockedandwalkedin.

Simple John and Devinwere sitting on her bedplaying cat’s cradle, John’sfavorite.Theylookedup.

“This was well done,”Nicodemus said whilegesturing tohis foreheadandthepinkwordsthatread:

IHateFun.ButILOVEDonkeyPiss!

AFTER DEVIN HAD disspelledthe curse from Nicodemus’sforehead,thethreefloormatesgossiped about othercacographersandapprentices:

whomightbepromoted,whowassneakingintowhosebed,thatsortofthing.

Though still exhausted,Nicodemuswashappytostayupwithhisfriendsandforgetabout druids and Astrophelldelegates and the othernebulous dangers the nighthadpresented.

Astheytalked,JohnandNicodemus played cat’scradle while Devin brushedout Nicodemus’s long raven

hair.“Why in heaven’s

name,” she grumbled, “didthe Creator waste such soft,glossystuffonaman.”

Afterward she started tobraid her own wiry red hair.“You know,” she said, “I’venever been sure why all themagical societies have tosend delegates to theseconvocations.”

“There’sneverbeenonein Starhaven before?”

Nicodemus asked withoutlookingup from thegameofcat’scradle.

“Not since I’ve beenhere.Theyonlyhappenonceevery thirty years, and theyhave to rotate throughall theother libraries andmonasteriesorwhatever.”

Nicodemus chewed hislip. “Well, I don’t know allthe details about why theconvocationshappen,but—”

“—but you’ve

memorized everythingShannon’s ever said aboutthem,”Devininterjectedwithaleer.

He stuck his tongue outat her and continued. “So,backduringtheDialectWars—when theNeosolarEmpirewas falling and the newkingdoms were forming—spellwrights would join thefighting. The result was sobloody that the peoplecouldn’t protect themselves

from the lycanthropes orkobolds or whatever. For awhile, it seemed there mightnotbeanyhumansleft,soallthe magical societies signedtreaties agreeing never againto take part in the wars thatkingdomsfought.”

Devin grunted. “And sonow all magical societieshavetorenewtheirtreatiesattheseconventionsorwe’llallend up in lycanthropebellies?”

Nicodemus shrugged.“Something like that. It’scomplicated. Some societiescheat. I think MagisterShannon was involved instopping the wizards andhierophants from clashing inthe Spirish Civil War. ButI’m not sure; he never talksaboutthewar.”

SimpleJohn tried tosay“Simple John” but yawnedinstead.Nicodemusendedthegameofcat’scradleandsent

thebigman lumberingoff tobed.

Nicodemus started forhis own room but thenstopped at Devin’s door.“Dev, when should I askShannon about teachingagain? With the convocationhappening, things areprobablytoobusy.”

Shewastappingherchinwith the end of her braid.“Actually, the busierwizardsare, the more they want to

unload their teaching dutiesonto apprentices.But it’s notMagister you need toconvince. It’s the otherwizards who gripe when acacographergetsinfrontofaclassroom.”

Nicodemus nodded andthought about what it wouldfeel like to finally earn ahood. Then he rememberedsomething. “Dev, have youever worked with MagisterSmallwood?”

“That sweet old linguistwho’sgotlesscommonsensethan a drunken chicken?Yeah, I used to runShannon’s messages to himback when you were stilltrying to undress that AmyHern girl. Do you ever hearfromher?”

Nicodemus folded hisarms. “I don’t, but nevermind that. I had aconversationwithSmallwoodtoday.Nothingimportant.But

hesaidIwasShannon’s‘newcacographic project’ or hisnew ‘pet cacographer.’ Doyouknowif therearecurrentrumors going around aboutMagister?”

Devindroppedherbraidand hopped out of bed.“Ignore it. Smallwood’s justbeing a ninny.” She went toher washstand and began toscrubherface.“Sowhatclassdoyouwanttoteach?”

“Anything to do with

composition. But you’reavoiding my question. WhataretherumorsaboutShannonand‘petcacographers’?”

Devin toweled her face.“Just academics gossipingandbeingpetty.”

“Dev, not once in thepastnineyearshaveIknownyou to refrain fromgossiping.”

“So let’s gossip. I’dforgotten about Amy Hern.She left for Starfall, right?

Why don’t you write her onthenextcolaborisspell?”

Nicodemus waited forDevin to finish drying herface.“Dev,therumors.”

She examined his face.“Notnow,Nico;it’slate.”

“I’m not going toforget.”

“No.” She sighed. “Youwon’t.”

CHAPTEREightTheGimhurstTowerstoodatthe southern edge ofStarhaven’s inhabitedquarters. Long ago, duringtheLornishoccupation,ithadhosted the Lord Governor’s

court. Now, save for thescriptorium at its top, theplacewasabandoned.

With Azure perched onhis shoulder, Shannon stoledown the tenth floor’s outerhallway.Throughtheparrot’seyes, he regarded the palemoonbeams that slantedthrough the windows andsplashed against the slatefloors. The reflected glow litthe hallway’s opposite wallanditsmanysculptedpanels.

The low-relief carvingspresented typical Lornishsensibility—bold andgraceful figures without finedetail.

Slowly Shannon passedcarved knights, serpents, andseraphs—these last wreathedwithtatteredgoldleafhalos.

A half hour before,Azure had returned to hisstudy after delivering hismessage to Nicodemus. Shehad seen nothing unusual on

the rooftops. This had onlyincreased Shannon’s anxietyfor information and soprompted his currentexpedition.

To his left a spacebetweentwopanelspresenteda short, wooden door.Shannon placed Azure on awindowsill opposite andinstructed her to send awarning if anyone appeared.Arook’scroakingvoicecamefrom somewhere out in the

night. He turned back to thedoor. Behind it lay NoraFinn’s“privatelibrary.”

Manyacademics,rightlydistrustful of their peers, hidtheir most importantmanuscripts inwell-defendedsecret archives. Maintainingsuch “private libraries”violated scores of academybylaws, but the practice wassowidespreadthatnodeanorprovost dared enforce any ofthoselaws.

Fiftyyearsago, anewlyarrived Shannon hadsuspected Nora of spying onhim for his enemies in theNorth. He had been brashthen, still accustomed toAstrophell’s infighting, andso had secretly pried intoevery aspect of Nora’s life.His search had disproved hissuspicionsanduncovered thelocation of this privatelibrary.

Slowly Shannon ran his

finger down the door beforehim.Blindnesspreventedhimfrom seeing the pine boardsthat felt so hard under hisfingers.

Thiswasjustaswell;theboards weren’t really there.They were subtexts—prosecrafted to elude even thetrained eye. Mostspellwrights struggled togleansubtextsifonlybecausethey believed their eyes.When encountering a door’s

texture or image, a humanmind rarely accepted anyconclusionotherthanthatthedoor existed. Only withknowledge of the author’spurpose could a reader hopeto see past a subtext’ssemblance to its truemeaning.

Shannon, however, wasfree of vision’s tyranny. Hestared into the dark beforehimandconsideredhowNorawould have written the

subtext.Firstshewouldhavechosen a primary language.Numinous was the obviouschoice—it possessed theability to create illusions bybending light. To the spell’scentral passages, Nora musthave added a few Magnusparagraphs to provide aphysical barrier and givetexturetotheillusion.

After choosing herlanguages, Nora would havechosen particular sentence

structuresanddiction tohelpherhidethespell.

Shannon ruminated onNora’sprosestyle.Ashedidso,hesawfaintgoldenrunesfloat downward in orderedcolumns. Now he deducedwhatmustbewrittenbetweenthe lines.The faint sentencesbrightened. Slowly the text’scentral argument revealeditself, and Shannon gazedupon a door-shapedwaterfallof golden prose interlaced

withsilversentences.Out of habit, he undid

the silver and gold buttonsthatrandownhissleeves.Hiseyes could now see throughcloth, but it still felt morenatural to spellwrite witharmsbare.

Once ready, he wrote ashort disspell in his rightforearmandslippeditintohishand. This disspell, thoughcomposed of powerfulNuminous runes, was thin

and delicate. Lesser authorswouldhavecraftedtheirmostpowerful disspell and hackedthrough the door-subtext likea peasant chopping a treetrunk. Such a crude stylewould have produced amangledsubtext.

Shannon had spent toomany decades sharpening hisprose to leave behind suchobviousevidence.

With the disspellcomplete, Shannon drew the

textfromhispalmsoitcouldfold into its properconformation. This done, hewroteabriefhandleonto theblade.

Then, holding thedisspell as if it were apaintbrush,heleanedforwardand chivvied its cutting edgebetween two of the door’ssentences.With slow, patientpressure he teased apart thesubtext’s outer sentences toreveal its knotted central

passage. Two quick strokessplitoneofitsparagraphs.

With a high grindingwhine, the door’s goldensentences began to churn asthey detected the intrusionandsoughttoclampdownonShannon’shand.

But with calmdetermination, he edited twonewNuminoussentencesintothe split paragraph. Thegrinding sound died and thesubtextquieted.

With steady pinchingmotions,hedarnedthecentralpassage. As his hand slowlywithdrew, the glassysentences flowed back intotheiroriginalconformation.

A smile curledShannon’s lips. The arch-chancellor himself wouldn’tknow the subtext had beenedited. The door clickedsoftly as it unlocked andswung open. Behind it stooda small space filled with the

multichromatic gleam of amagicallibrary.

Shannon cast a quickspell to Azure asking if shehadseenanything.Theparrotanswered negatively andcomplained of the late hour.Smiling at her snappishness,Shannon left her on thewindowsill to keep lookoutand then stepped intoNora’sprivate library.Hewouldnotneedmundanevision in suchatextualenvironment.

Itwasasmallspace:fivefeet wide, ten deep. ThoughShannon could not see thebookshelves that lined thewalls,herecognizedmanyofthe texts theyheld.Norahadbeen studying textualexchanges betweenStarhaven’s gargoyles—asubject that provided insightinto how magical constructslearned and thought.Shannon’s research alsofocused on textual

intelligence; as a result, hepossessed many of the samebooks that Nora had in herprivatelibrary.

One unfamiliar codexattractedhis eye. It lay aloneat the back of the room,apparently on a low shelf orchest.Carefullyhesteppedtothelibrary’sendandretrievedthemanuscript.ItwasNora’spersonalresearchjournal.

He flipped through thefirst few pages. Here lay a

detailed study of howgargoyles selectedinformation to share witheach other. If he could takethisbooktohisstudyforjustone hour, his own researchwould leap forward. He hadmadeanynumberofoffhandremarks to other wizardsabout how much he shouldliketoperuseNora’snotes.

Virtue briefly foughtambition in his heart. “I’llregret this tomorrow,” he

grumbled as morality forcedhim to continue to flipthrough the book rather thantake itaway.Toward itsend,he found a personal journalwithdatedentries.

The majority werecomplaints about librarians,apprentices, colleagues.Twice he scowled atdisparaging remarks about“thatblusteringShannon.”

It wasn’t until hereached a date eleven years

past that an entry lifted hiseyebrows: “Missive fromSpirishnoble.Wanted‘toseehissleepingboy.’Hisfather?Boy new to D.Tower.Paymentingoldsovereigns.”

The next winter, Norahad written, “Spirish masterto see sleeping boy inD.Tower.” Two days later,“Spirishpayment.”

“Los’sfieryblood!Norawas in a noble’s purse?”Shannon whispered. The

bribing of wizards wasrampant in Astrophell andStarfallKeep.ButStarhaven,astheonlyacademyremovedfrom the human kingdoms,had known little of suchcorruption.

Shannon wondered ifhe’d become soft. Despitecompeting academicallywithNora, he had stoppedinvestigating her privateaffairs—something he wouldhave found unthinkable in

Astrophell.He reread the journal

entries. The “D.Tower”clearlywas theDrumTower.Butwhywouldsomeonepayto see a sleeping boy? Itseemed that Nora hadsupposed the man to be hisfather.

Shannon frowned at thephrase “Boy new toD.Tower” and thought aboutwhich cacographers hadmoved into the Drum Tower

elevenyearsago.A sudden chill ran

throughhisveins.Nicodemuswastheonlyone.

Worse,thatwastheyearthe academy had judgedNicodemus’s cacography tobe proof that he wasn’t theHalcyon.

“Creator be merciful,”Shannon whispered. Perhapsthe academy had misjudgedNicodemus’s connection totheErasmineProphecy.Ifso,

then thesewere the last daysbeforetheWarofDisjunction—the final battle to savehuman language fromdemoniccorruption.

Shannon continued toflip through the book. Twomore entries, each four yearsapart, read “Master to seeboy” and were followed by“SpirishPayment.”Thefinalentry, dated two days ago,read “Master’s msgconfused? No meeting but

StrangeDreamsaboutsuch.”Whoever had been

bribing Nora had changedhowhewastomeether.Hadhe then pushed her off theSpindleBridge?

Shannonturnedthefinalpage and drew a suddenbreath.Writtenhastily acrossthe page was a sharplyworded spell. The dangeroustext shone with the brilliantsilverylightofMagnus.

On their flat sides,

Magnusruneswereashardassteel;ontheiredges,sharpasrazors. Depending on theirconformation, a Magnussentence could become anearly unbreakable rope or adeadly blade. Even a casualMagnus attack spell couldkill, and the one beforeShannonwasfarfromcasual.He had not seen suchlinguisticweaponry since theSpirishCivilWar.

“Burningheaven,Nora,”

he swore while closing thejournal. “What viper’s nestdidyouwanderinto?”

He reached down totouch the wood that theresearch journal had lainupon. Itwasabedchest.Hishands felt around the objectandfounditunlocked.

The hinges creaked asthe lid opened. His fingersfelt for the chest’scontentsand found coins of anunmistakable weight. There

was enough gold to buy aLornishcastle.

After closing the chest,he stood and tried to thinksystematically. Nora hadattached herself to anexceedingly wealthynonacademic, one whowanted to see a sleepingDrum Tower boy, beginningjust when Nicodemus hadbeen declared a cacographer.That implied, but did notprove, that Nicodemus was

the one Nora’s masterwanted.

Shannon also knew thatNora’s master was either aSpirish noble or hadconvincedNorathathewas.

Shannon blinked. Theonly Drum Tower boydescended from SpirishnobilitywasNicodemus.

This still did not provethat Nora had been sellingaccess to Nicodemus, but itmadeithighlyprobable.And

if the academy had beenwrong and Nicodemus wasindeed connected to theErasmineProphecy…

“Heaven defend us all,”Shannon whispered andturned to leave the library,butashemovedsomeinstinctstoppedhim.

As before, the corridorof spellbooks appeared as awall of multicolored light tohis magically sensitive eyes,whilethemundaneworldwas

blacktohim.Hehadreceivedno warning from Azure, norhad he heard anythingunusual. But somehow, heknew.

“Who’s there?” hewhispered.

At first only silenceansweredhim.Butthencameaslowintakeofbreathandalow, crackling voice: “Writenot a sentence,” it raspedbefore drawing anotherbreath, “or you’ll eat your

words.”

SHANNON DID NOT move.Nora’s research journal wasstillinhishands.

“Lay the book down,”thevoicesaid,“slowly.”

Shannon bent over toobey,butjustbeforedroppingthecodexhelethishandsslipso thatheheldonly thebackcover.He set it on the floor.“You are Nora’s murderer?”heaskedandstraightened.

“The shrew killedherself before I had thechance.” A grunt. “It’s arecurring problem for me. Ikilled my master before henamedtheboy.Iwon’tmakethesamemistakewithyou.”

Shannon tried todiscernwhere the voice was comingfrom. “Your master was thenoble who paid to see thesleepingcacographer?”

There came anotherwhistling inhalation and a

short, dry laugh. “So the oldbeastreplenishedtheemeraldwhen the boy was asleep?Yes, it was he who had anagreement with MagistraFinn. One she didn’t renewwith me for…squeamishreasons.”

Shannon narrowed hiseyes. The room’s echomadeit difficult to guess themurderer’s location.“Squeamish because you’renothuman?”

“Howcouldyoutell?”“You inhale only before

speaking,” Shannon repliedas calmly as he could. “Therestofusfindthatdifficult.”

The creature laughed.“Full marks for acumen,Magister. I am not human,nor was master. Though hecould fool your kind intothinkingso.”

“The subtextualizationof your prose is impressive.Whichfactionwroteyou?”

The creature laughedlouder. “Perhaps I spoke toosoon about your acumen. Iam not a construct, nor do Icare a whit for the wizardlyfactions.”

“You’reademon,then?”“Notademoneither,but

I don’t have time for this.What matters now is yourname. My guess is that youareMagisterAgwuShannon,MasteroftheDrumTower.Ifso,Ihaveanofferforyou.”

“I am MagisterShannon,” he replied slowly.“AndI’mafraidImightshareNora’ssqueamishness.”

“I’d rather the boylived,” the voice croaked.“Thestrongerheis,themoreI gain from the emerald. I’mtelling you this so you canunderstand how…lucrative itwould be to align yourselfwith me. Tell me the boy’sname and you and I mightcontinue as master and Nora

Finndid.Letmevisittheboywhen he’s sleeping—as youputit—andI’llpayyoutwiceFinn’s wages. Refuse and Iwill kill you now. What’smore, I’ll cripple the boy orbe forced to kill himoutright.”

Shannon swallowedhard. He had not consideredthatNicodemus’slife,aswellashisown,mightendtonight.

“You care for the boy,”the voice observed wryly.

“More than I can say aboutthe grammarian. She caredforwhatheis,notwho.”

“And what is he? Is hethe one of the ErasmineProphecy?”

The murderer grunted.“Few things are moreannoyingthanignorance.”

Shannon laughed “Andyet you are ignorant of theboy’sname.”

“I might not know hisname, but I will kill every

male cacographer in thisacademy to find him. I canwield dreams as you mightwield a net. So unless youwant every boy in the DrumTower murdered, you’llacceptmyoffer.”

Shannon glanced downatNora’sresearchjournal.Itsback cover lay open. Thegrammarian’ssharplywordedspell glowed on the exposedpage.

“Do you need more

incentive?” the voice asked.“There are rewards brighterthangold.Withtheemerald,Iam master of LanguagePrime. I could tell you howtheCreatormade humanity.”There was a pause. “You doknow what Language Primeis,don’tyou?”

Shannon respondedautomatically. “LanguagePrimeisblasphemy.”

A dry laugh. “Magister,you lack conviction! You

must know that theoriginallanguage exists. Interesting.What might your connectionto the first language be? Icouldteachyoumore.”

Shannonshookhishead.“Villain, you have no spellwritten, no attack ready. Mysynaesthetic reaction is verysensitive. I would have feltyouforging.”

There came a shufflingnoise. “True; I haven’t a textready, nor can I spellwrite

withinStarhaven’swalls.TheChthonics filled this placewith too many metaspells.Butit’snotwordswithwhichIthreatenyou;it’sahalffootof sharpened iron I’ll drivethroughyourskullbeforeyoucanextemporizetwowords.”

Themurdererwas right.Shannoncouldnotdashoffaspellintime.

“Enough banter,” thecreature hissed. “You canaccept my offer or force me

tokilleveryboyin—”Shannon dove to the

floor. Something whistledabovehisheadandstruckthewallbehindhimwithaclang.He grabbed hold of theMagnus spell inNora’sbookandpulled.

Thewartextleapedfromthepageintoaneffulgenceofsilver runes.Shannondidnotknowthespell’snameorhowto wield it, so he blindlythrewhisarmout toward the

voice. The text uncoiled intoa long, liquid lashandstruckwithserpentinequickness.

The murderer cried outwith surprise as the silverytext struck a bookshelf. Thespell cut through severalleather-bound codices with aloudrippingsound.

Withablastofair, eachsevered spellbook explodedinto a blazing nimbus ofsentence fragments. Shannonflinched, the brilliance

dazzling his text-sensitiveeyes.

Then the murderer wason top of him. The universebecame a seething blacknessof elbows and knees as theyrolled over one another. Ahand was trying to pull theMagnusspellfromShannon’shand, and then a hard objectcut a line of pain across hisforehead.

Yawping savagely,Shannonjerkedhisrighthand

freeandwhippedtheMagnusspell around. It cut thoughsomethingwithasoftswish.

Instantly the weightlifted from Shannon’s chest.The room filled with a high,keening scream. WhenShannon sat up, a page ofgolden text shot toward him.He recognized the page asbelonging to Nora’s researchjournal the instant before itsmashed into his nose. Themurderer must have struck

himwiththebook.Suddenly he was on his

backandstrugglingtogetup.His head felt full of cottonand his ears were ringing.Deconstructing sentencefragments coated every inchof the private library’s floorand walls. The fragmentswere squirming, spinning,andleapingintotheair.

Beyond the chaos,ShannonsawNora’sresearchjournal flying away into a

patch of darkness that mustbe thehallway.The inhumanscreambegantofade.

Slowly he realizedwhathe was seeing: the murdererhad takenNora’s journal andfled.

All around Shannon thedeconstructing fragmentsbegan to burst. Each smallexplosion flung phrasesacross the room. The sharplanguage cut into his mindand body with hot shards of

pain.Desperately, Shannon

felt around the floor for anyclue as to why the murdererhad fled. His fingers foundsomething long and partiallysurrounded by cloth. Hepicked up the strange objectandranoutofthelibrary.

Behind him thedecomposingsentencesbeganto tear open the otherspellbooks. Soon they wouldspill their contents into the

growing textual storm.Shannon pulled thesubtextualizeddoorshut.

Thehallwaywentblack.Shannon could hear thedeconstructing literaturecrackle and hiss behind thesubtext.

But he was safe now.The chaotic language, left inthe private library, woulddeconstructintonothing.

Something wet and hotwas running down his face.

Blood.Hewas still holding the

mysterious cloth-coveredobject. Perhaps Azure couldlookatitforhim.

Azure!Fear tore into his gut.

What had themurderer donetohisfamiliar?

“Azure!” he calledhoarsely. “Azure!” He hadturned and was runningblindly, arm stretched out.Hishandstruckawallandhe

nearlyfell.Therecameafaintwhistlefrombehind.

Hespunaroundandsawwith intense relief a coil ofNuminous censoring textslying onwhat he assumed tobe the windowsill. Themurderer had bound the birdmagically but had not killedher. The villain must haveknown hurting Azure wouldhave made recruiting himimpossible.

Shannon hurried to pick

upthecensoredbird.Inherfear,Azurebithis

pinky hard enough to drawblood.ButShannonwouldn’thavecaredifshehadsnappedhis finger in two. Cooingsoftly, he unwound thecensoring texts from thebird’shead.

Oncehermindwasfree,Azurecasttohimadelugeofterrifiedtext:awhite-cloakedfigure appearing in thehallway and a blazing

Numinous spell that camefrom outside the tower toenvelophermind.

It seemed odd that themurderer had written thecensoring text to strike fromoutside the tower; thenShannon remembered thething’sclaimthatitcouldnotspellwrite within Starhaven’swalls.

“Los damn it, but whatcould the creature be?” hehissed while scooping Azure

up as if she were a loaf ofbread.

In his left hand, he stillgripped the strange cloth-coveredobjecthehadpickedupintheprivatelibrary.

On trembling legs andlooking through Azure’seyes, he hurried down theGimhurst Tower. His breathbecameraggedasheranintoStarhaven’sinhabitedquarter.

Twice, mangy catsscattered before him. He did

not slow until flickeringtorches appeared along thewalkways. Only then did hetake the time to look athimselfthroughAzure’seyes.

The deconstructingsentence fragments had tornholes in his robes and cutsmall bloody lines into hishands and face. Moreshocking was the gash thatslanted down his left brow.Twoofhissilverydreadlockshad been cut by whatever

bladehadmadethatwound.After hurrying through

several buildings and acrossthe Grand Courtyard,Shannon reached theErasmine Spire. Thankfullythere were no other wizardsabout to see him trot up thestairsandintohisstudy.

Still panting, he setAzureonthebackofhischairand thestrangecloth-coveredobject on his writing desk.Though she still sent him

frightened memories of theattack, Azure was beginningtocalmdown.

Shannon cast a fewflameflyparagraphsabovehisdesk.Once therewasenoughlight, he coaxed Azure intostanding on his shoulder.Aftersayingabriefprayer tothe Creator, he turnedAzure’s eyes to the strangeobject he had taken fromNora’slibrary.

At first he could not

understand what he wasseeing.

It lay on his desk,wrappedinwhatwasleftofawhite sleeve. He must havecut it off with the Magnusspell.

Slowly, tentatively, heturnedthethingover.

Ithadbeendetachedjustabove the elbow joint. Therewas no blood. Its curledfingerswereperfect,downtothehairsgrowingontheback

ofthethumb.“Heaven defend us,”

Shannonwhispered in shock.“The days of prophecy areuponus!”

Patches of the objectseemed to be made of paleskin.Butevenashewatched,these slowly darkened intoclay.

Save for this strangefact, the thing was an exactreplica of a man’s severedforearm.

CHAPTERNineNicodemus mounted the lastfew steps to stand pantingbefore a tower door. It wasidentical to the one he hadseen in his dream thepreviousnight.

Contrary to hisexpectations of danger andintrigue, the day had beenlong and tiresome, full ofbusywork for MagisterShannon’sresearch.Momentsearlier he had wolfed downhis dinner so that he couldfind a view of the sunset hehad seen in his sleep. It hadbeen a strange dream—onethatdidnotfadeafterwakingbutgrewmorevivid.

Hepulled thedooropen

to reveal a narrow stonebridge and, beyond, theErasmine Spire. The sunsetbathedtheSpireinvermillionlight.

Nicodemus smiled andstepped outside; now hewouldhavetimetositonthebridge and read the knightlyromance tucked under hisarm. A warm breeze pickedupasheturnedwestward.

Starhaven was builthalfway up the Pinnacle

Mountains. From a distancethe stronghold’s crenellatedwalls and massive gatehousemadeitlooksomethinglikeagreat Lornish castle. Butunlike a castle, Starhavenpossessed a forest of towers,each an impossibility ofheight. The mightiest amongthem—the Erasmine Spire—stoodso tall that fromits topan observer could peer downonthePinnacleMountains.

Even fromNicodemus’s

present height, halfway up alessertower,hecouldseeformiles. Tan patchwork fieldsofsmallfarmsdottedthenearlandscape. Away from thesehomesteads,lushoaksavannaspreadouttothehorizon.

ToNicodemus, the longviewmadethebridgeanidealspot for dreaming andreading.

He smiled again as heopened his knightly romanceand heard the familiar creak

of a new spine. The pagessmelledlikechildhood.

Nicodemus’ssmilegrewsad. He would like to sit onthe bridge all evening. Butsoonhewouldhavetoreturnto his chores. He lookedeastward across Starhaven tothe abandoned ChthonicQuarter.Already the eveningair above the flat-toppedtowerswasfillingwithbats.

Whatastrangesight theChthonic people must have

been, Nicodemus thought.Some stories described themas childlike creatures withbulbous eyes and teeth likeneedles. Others spoke ofclawed monsters witharmoredplates covering theirskin.

Nicodemus lookedbeyondtheChthonicQuarter.Onlyafewsliversofsunlightfound their way throughStarhaven’s myriad towers.Most such columns of light

landedon themountains, butjust then one illuminated theSpindleBridge,whicharchedbetween the stronghold andthenearestcliffface.

All other Starhavenbridges were wafer-thintestaments to Chthonicstonework. But the Spindlewasathick,roundaffair,likethe bough of an enormoustree. Nicodemus leanedforward.

Even from his present

distance, he could see thedesigns the Chthonic peoplehad scored into themountain’s face. To the leftof the Spindle were outlinesof ivy leaves; to the right ageometric pattern—threesquat hexagons stacked oneatop another and flanked bytwotallerhexagons.

The carvings made himthink of the fabled HeavenTree Valley. Some storiessaid theChthonicpeoplehad

escaped theNeosolarEmpireby following the SpindleBridge to a valley where theflowers bloomed as large aswindmillsandthemushroomsgrew as wide as paviliontents.Withasigh,Nicodemuslookeddownathisbook.

Buthecouldnotfindthebook.

In his hands sat a lumpofbloodyclay.

With a cry, Nicodemusdropped the wet mass. It

struck the bridge stoneswitha plop.He tried to step backbut his legs wouldn’t move,nor would his arms. Theblood and clay blackeneduntilitseemedtobemadeofthenight’sstarrysky.

Slowly, the dark masscrept onto Nicodemus’s feet.Theoilcoatedhisanklesandmade them dissolve. He felllikeatoppledstatue.

Hisjawstruckthebridgestones, mashing his molars

down on his tongue. Saltybloodfilledhismouth.

He shrieked as he feltthe oil spreading up his legs,his torso, his neck. The skywent black and descendedlikeasheet.Hisskinbegantorotintolargegrayscales.Thebridge stones trembled andthendissolvedintowavesthatstretched out to the horizonandbecametheocean.

Blood seeped frombetween the patches of

Nicodemus’s skin. Boneseruptedfromhisbacktoformwings. His throat convulsedand then stretched out. Hisrotting skin hardened intorubicundscales.

And then Nicodemuswas aloft, pushing his wingsdownthroughthickoceanair.Before him flourished thedawn’s golden effulgence.Buthewassomethingbrighterstill. If others could see himnow, then all would bask in

the splendor of his broadchest, golden eyes, ivoryteeth. His tail shook like astreamerintheair.

On the horizon, a darkstrip of land emerged andbecame an urban silhouette.Nicodemus had never seenthe place before but knew itwell. The city encrusted ahalf-moon bay like a scabaround a sore.Further inlandstood five hills. Even fromthis distance, Nicodemus

could see the citadel’scrumbling marble walls.Behind and above thismemoryoftheancientworld,the Neosolar Palace toweredhigh, its magically polishedbrass reflecting the redsunrise.

Suddenly the worldfroze. Nicodemus, wingsoutstretched, hung perfectlystill in the air. Somehow hehad become more than oneperson. He was now an old

fisherman looking up fromthe harbor at the strangeflyingcreature.Hewasalsoabeggargirlgazingupfromanalley at a cube of solidblacknesshoveringinthesky.Andyethewasalsoayoungwizardlyapprentice,farawayand asleep in the DrumTower.

But then a blaze ofirrationalhatredignitedinsideof him. The world unfrozeand he was again a glory of

claws,wings,teeth.He dove. The air

screamed past as the cityrushed up at him. Themoment before impact, heflared out his wings andwhippedhishindlegsaroundandintothepalace.Hisclawsstruck theroof,makingstoneandmetal splash into the airlikewaterdrops.Workinghispowerfulwings,heexhaledaplumeoffireintothepalace’sopenwound.

Ittookeightmoredivingpasses to topple the centraltower. Now the sun was up,but the smoke from hisdestruction dimmed itsbrilliancetoaburninghaze.

The first attackers wereinsignificant beings, ashelpless as the ants theyresembled with their metalarmor and swarmingregiments. They camescreaming up from the city.Against his scales, arrows

produced only pinpricks ofpain. He climbed high intothe air, then stooped into asharp dive. The soldiersbristledwithspearsandpikes.But at the last moment, hefanned his wings and veeredright. With claws extended,hestruckawall.

The falling debriscrushed most and sent theothers fleeing. Perched atopthecrumblingwall,heendedeach remaining life with a

thinjetoffire.Whenhetookwingonce

more, an arc of silveryMagnus leaped up from thecitadel and struck him justabove his right foreleg. Theblow sent him plummetingtoward the ground. It wasonly with a desperateworking of wings that hestayedaloft.

Slowly, he regainedaltitudeandturnedtowardthecitadel. As he approached, a

second textual blast eruptedfrom the walls. Nowprepared, Nicodemus duckedunder the spell and dovetoward thehuddleofwizardswho had been casting theattackspells.

Afewoftheblack-robesfled, but most held theirground and cast up awall oftext. A single tail lashshattered the shield, leavingthewizardssus-ceptibletohisbreath.

Insavagecelebration,hetoppled another wall andloosed a roar that rattled histeeth.

But then the worldexplodedintostrangefire.Allaroundhim,goutsoforange-black flame gushed from thetoppled stones. Searing painawoke his instincts. Heleapedintotheair,butthefirerose with him. The undyingflames flickered and snarledinthewindofhiswing-beats.

Whatstrangemagicwasthis?Nicodemusbellowed.Then he saw them

peering from behind light-bending subtexts—a wholecaucus of pyromancers intheirorangerobes.

An ambush! He hadflown straight into a spellwritten in the fire-mages’pyrokinetic language. Nowthe malicious text wasburning into his scales,turninghisgloriousbodyinto

ash.Panicked, Nicodemus

worked his wings. To theeast,theoceangleamedinthemorning light. The sea!Perhaps it could quench thetextualfire.

With a few powerfulflaps, he was away from thecitadel and high above thecity’s mercantile heart. Butthespellwrightswouldnotlethim go so easily. A burninglanceofyellowlighttoreinto

his right wing. The spellshattered the fourthphalangealboneandopenedaholeinthewing’smembrane.A second spell smashed intohis belly and sent himfaltering down toward thecity.

He screamed out terrorand flame. Five excruciatingwing-strokes stopped his fallandrenewedhissprintforthesea.

Slowly he realized that

the ocean could no longersavehim.Eachpainfulstroketore a larger hole in his leftwing. Once in the sea, hewould not be able to regainflight. He would be an easytarget for the humanwarships. Worse, he mightnotreachtheocean;onemorespell would send himcrashingdownintothecity.

But the momentsstretched on; each wing-beatfloodedhismindwithagony.

He was not a mile from theestuarynow,andstillthefire-mages withheld the killingblast.

Arealizationtookshape:the spellwrights would notfinish him while he wasabove their precious city.They knew that his burningcarcass would loose a civicwildfire and destroy theirgleaming domes, theirprecioustowers.

His broad, serpentine

self shook with fury. Whyshould he die languishing inthewaves?Anger cooled hismind and sustainedhim longenough to turn back towardthebuildings.

Ifhehad todie, thensowouldthey.

Butthentheworldfrozeagain.Hehungmotionless inthe air. Again he becamemore than one person—abeggargirlhidinginanalley,a soldier’swife screaming at

the sight of the burningpalace, an aged fishermanprayingforsalvation.

Buthisanguishandpaingrew and the world leapedbackintomotion.

So down he fell withfolded wings to set the cityburning. The textual flamesroared and then gutteredwhile the city lay quietly inthelightofmorning.Soontheworld would see his terriblebeautyinallitsglory.

So down he fell andstruck with violent fury. Hisimpact shook the earth andset every city bell ringing…ringing…ringing…

CHAPTERTenRinging…ringing…ringing…

High above the DrumTower, in the belfry of theErasmineSpire,anapprenticehad spotted the first ray ofdaylightandbeguntollingthe

massivedawnbell.Nicodemus, still half-

asleep in his cot, came fullyawakewithastart.

Cold sweat covered hisbody and made him shiver.Hisraggedpillowdisplayedadark stain. He wiped hismouthandfounditencrustedwithdryblood.Hemusthavebitten his tongue during thenightmare.

In the wan light hefumbled around on the floor

for his clothes. The dreamhaunted him still; its everyimage, from bloody clay tothe burning city, flickeredbeforehiseyes.

After he pulled off hisshirtandwipedoffthesweat,the crisp autumn air madehim hurry to pull on a cleanshirt. From outside came theflapping of pigeon wings.Shaking his head, he tried todislodge the dream as hepulledasidehislonghairand

tightened his robe’s laces atthebackofhisneck.

“Only a nightmare,” hemuttered, pulling on hisboots.“Onlyanightmare,”herepeated as he washed hisface.

His eyes stung and hisbody would not quitshivering; the strange dreamhad prevented his sleep frombeing restful. Nothing for itbuttokeepmoving.

By the dawn bell’s last

ring, he was jogging downthe Drum Tower’s stepstowardbreakfast.

It was early still and,blessedly, the refectory wasnearly empty. Nicodemusneverknewwheretositwhenthe hall was crowded. Itusually came to a bleakchoice: eat with thecacographers and publicizehis disability, or eatwith theotherapprenticesandlistentoconversations about texts he

would never spellwrite. Buttoday he could sit alone andenjoy a breakfast of yo-gurtandtoastedbrownbread.

Severalseatstohisright,a huddle of young lesserwizards sat gossiping. Theorange lining of their hoodsidentified them as librarians.A fewwere debating how todisspell a bookworm curse,but most were whispering toeach other with an urgencythatsuggestedfreshintrigue.

Nicodemusleanedcloserand caught a few details: aseniorgrammarianhad failedtoattendhereveningseminar,and none of her studentscouldfindher.Somethoughtshehadbeensent toLornona secret quest, another thatshehadjumpedfromatowerbridge;afewthoughtshehadgonerogue.

Nicodemus wonderedwhich grammarian theyweretalkingaboutuntiloneof the

gossips noticed hiseavesdroppingandclearedhisthroat.Helookedaway.

To his left, two glassy-eyed apprentices werecorresponding in a commonmagicallanguage.Nicodemuswatched the dim green textflitbetweenthesweethearts.

Memories of long-agobreakfasts with Amy Herndrew a thin smile across hisface. She hadn’t minded hismisspelled correspondence.

They had often laughed atsome of the wildermalapropismshiscacographyhadproduced.

But his smile fadedwhen he thought aboutfinding another woman whowould want a lover whoseprose was nearlyindecipherable.

A moment later, Johnjoinedhimandbeganwolfingdown the first of his threebowls of oatmeal. “Good

morning, John. How do youfeel?”

The big man pretendedto nod off into his bowl.“You’re sleepy?”Nicodemusguessed. John flashed him alopsidedsmile.HeputahandonNicodemus’selbow.

“I’m sleepy, too,” theyoungermansaid.“IdreamedIturnedintoamonster.”

“No,” Simple John saidgently.

Nicodemus nodded. “I

hopenot.”He smiled. “John,does anyone else understandyouaswellasIdo?”

“Simple John!” SimpleJohn piped, brown eyesbeaming.

Nicodemus nodded.“Yes,ofcourse theydo.”Hepatted his friend’s shoulder.“Youcansaymorewithyourthree phrases than I couldmanage with the grandlibrary’sheaviestlexicon.”

Laughingly the bigman

said,“Nooooo-ooo.”With a chuckle,

Nicodemusstoodup. “Ihavetohurryoff to theoldman’sstudy; I’ll see you tonight.”After returning his plates tothe kitchen, Nicodemus leftthe refectory for the GrandCourtyard. It was a broad,grassy place covered withelm trees and slate-tiledwalkways.Everywhereblack-robed wizards strolled aloneor in pairs. To the west, a

horseshoe of blue-cladhydromancersstoodaroundastatue. Nicodemus spotted agaggle of snowy druid robesin the northeast corner. HehopedDeirdrewasn’t amongthem.

Cutting directly acrossthe courtyard, NicodemusgazedupattheairyheightsoftheErasmine Spire,which atthat moment was splitting ahaplesscloudintwo.

A lance of golden light

burst from the tower’s peakand shot over the easternmountains.Nicodemusstifleda yawn andwondered whichgrand wizard had cast thatcolaborisspell.Perhapsithadbeen a communication tosome distant monarch ormaybeeventoadeity.

Nicodemus hadnourishedsomanyadolescentdreams of becoming a grandwizard—almost as manydreams as he had of

becoming a knight errant.Howwonderfulitwouldhavebeen to spend a lifecounseling monarchs andcasting the resplendentcolaboris spells that instantlycarried information acrossvastdistances.He rubbedhissleep-deprived eyes andwondered if he would everearn even a lesser wizard’shood.

Another dazzlingcolaborisspellarcedoverthe

northeastern mountains andsilently struck the ErasmineSpire.An incomingmessage,he thought, and wonderedwhereitcamefrom.Abruptlya second colaboris spell flewinfromthenortheasttostrikethe Spire. Another goldenblastfollowedonitstail.

Shocked, Nicodemusstopped. An outgoing spellerupted from the tower, thisone heading north; it wasansweredinstantly.

“Blood of Los!” heswore. Throughout thecourtyard, all those fluent inNuminous stood amazed.Casting a colaboris spellrequired a vast amount ofintricate text and thereforewas done only with greatjustification. Usually thatjustification was gold; theOrder maintained its greatwealthbychargingmonarchsand deities exorbitant fees tocastthespellsontheirbehalf.

In fact, the Order hadestablished an academy inStarhaven solely because itssoaring towers and locationmade it an ideal relayingstation. But not once hadNicodemus seen so manycolaborisspellscastinsuchashort time. Somethingimportant must havehappened.

Suddenly a flurry of theNuminous-based spells cameraining in from several

directions. Nearby wizardscriedoutindismay.

The horizontal storm ofspells went on and on untilNicodemusthoughtthateveryscroll must have beenemptied and every grandwizard exhausted. But thegolden barrage continued.Moments passed like hours.Then, as abruptly as it hadbegun, the magic tempeststopped, leaving themorningskystrangelydim.

Nicodemus ran for theErasmine Spire. Somethingvery, very grave had justhappened.

“MAGISTER!” NICODEMUSCALLED,andpushedthestudydoor open. “There’s been acolaboriscorrespondencelikeyou’ve never seen. Theremusthavebeenthirtythat…”Hisvoicedied.

Shannon was standingnext to two strangers. The

first was a tall, fair-skinnedwoman with blue eyes anddark dreadlocks. Silver andgold buttons ran down thesleeves of her black robe,indicating her rank of grandwizard.

Thesecondstrangerwastawny-skinned, green-eyedDeirdre. Her robes weredruidic white with woodenbuttonsonthesleeves.

“Forgive me, Magister.I’ll wait in the hall…”

Nicodemus’s words trailedoffashesawthemyriadtinycuts raked across Shannon’sface.

“It’s all right, my boy,”Shannon said calmly. “Comein. We’ve been waiting foryou.” He held his researchjournal and was tracing theasterisks embossed on itsface. “Never mind thescrapes; I was working toolate and mishandled anancient spellbook. The blast

scuffed me up a bit.” Hemotionedtohisfacewiththejournal.

“Yes, Magister,”Nicodemus said uncertainly.Each year brought a fewreports of ancient codicesdeconstructing,butforsuchathing to happen to a grandwizardwasextraordinary.

The old man’s blankeyes pointed at Nicodemus’schest.“Andyou,lad,areyouall right?Was thereanything

amissintheDrumTowerlastnight?”

Nicodemus glancednervously at the strangers.“TherewasaJejunuscursingmatch. I’m sorry if wedisturbedanyone.”

Shannon’s expressionsoftened.“Nottoworryaboutthat.Pleasegreetourguests.”He gestured in the directionof the wizard. “MagistraAmadiOkeke,asentinelfromAstrophell.”

Nicodemus bowed andthewomannodded.

“AndDeirdre,amemberof the Silent Blightdelegation.”

“Your pardon,Magister,” the druidinterrupted. “But I do notspeak for Silent Blightconcerns.Myprotector and Iprovide independentcounsel.”

Nicodemus had to stophimself from staring. By

night Deirdre had seemedhandsome. But now that shewasstandinginthewindow’ssunlight her eyes seemedgreener, her skin darker, herloosehairmoreglossyblack.Now she was stunning andlookedevenmorefamiliar.

Shannon’s blind gazehad wandered up to theceiling. “Well then,Nicodemus, please greetDeirdre, an independentemissaryfromDral.”

Nicodemus began toworry.Shannonhadsaid thatthey had been waiting forhim. Had his conversationwith the druid last nightstirred up new interest in hiscacography?

HebowedtoDeirdre.“Scratch!” Azure said,

and launched herself fromShannon’s chair. Nicodemusraised his forearm in time tomake a perch for theincomingparrot.

“Tell me again aboutyour bird,” an amusedDeirdre said. “I thought shewas your familiar andcouldn’t communicate withanyoneelse.”

Shannon turned towardthe druid. He was silent amoment before replying.“Sometimes Azure flies amessage to Nicodemus, butonly I can understand herdialect of Numinous.” Agolden sentence flew from

Shannon’s brow to hisfamiliar’s. The bird bobbedherheadandflappedherwaybacktoShannon’sshoulder.

“For a fewwizards, ageor literary trauma steals ourability to see anything butmagical text.” Shannongesturedtohisall-whiteeyes.“Timedidsotome.Butthoselikemecanrapidlyexchangeinformation with animalfamiliars.”

Two Numinous streams

rushed between wizard andparrot.NowShannonpointedhis facedirectlyatDeirdre’s.“Through thisprotocol, I canseethroughAzure’seyes.I’mdoingsonow.”

Deirdrestudiedmanandbird. “Such strange practicesyouwizardshave.”

Again Shannon let asilence grow before heresponded.“Iheardruidsalsohave strange relationshipswith animals. But hopefully

thisconvocationwilldomorethanrenewtreaties;hopefullyit will make our differentsocieties less strange to oneanother.”

Nicodemus had neverheard the old man be sohesitant and so cautiouswithhiswords.

Azure, apparentlyhaving looked around theroom enough for Shannon,broke the Numinous streamandturnedtopreeningoneof

Shannon’ssilverdreadlocks.Magistra Okeke spoke.

“We should tell theboywhywearehere.”

Shannon’smouthtensed,and thenhemotioned towardthree chairs. “Then let us sit.This, Nicodemus, is afortuitous interview. Deirdrepassed me in the halls thismorning and inquired aboutyou. And Magistra Okekeappeared at my door onlymoments ago, quite

unexpectedly.”“Iwould like theboy to

talk about the ErasmineProphecy,” the sentinel said,coolly regarding firstShannonandthenDeirdre.

Nicodemus felt hischeeksgrowhot.

Shannon turned towardthe sentinel. “I see you’vebeen busy researchingStarhavenrumors.”

With a half-smile, thedruidlookedfromonewizard

to theotherbeforeadding,“Iam also interested in thisprophecy.”

The sentinel narrowedhereyesattheotherwoman.

Three grand authors inone room, each distrustful ofthe others—Nicodemuswould have felt safer if thestudy were full of starvinglycanthropes.

“Regarding prophecy,thereislittletotell,”Shannonsaid. “Nicodemus is not the

Halcyon.”“Why so certain?”

Deirdre’sgreeneyesfixedonthe old man. “Perhaps weshould start with what thefirstwizardsforesaw.”

Shannon started to replybut then paused. Prophecy,being closely related toreligion, was seldomdiscussed among differentmagical societies. Doing sowas considered impolite atbest,blasphemousatworst.

However, Shannoncould not refuse a guest’sdirect request. “Erasmusforesaw the War ofDisjunction:thefinalstrugglebetween demons andhumanity that will comewhen the fiends escape theancient continent and invadethis one. The propheciespredict that Los will bereborn and will lead thePandemonium—the greatdemonic army—across the

ocean to destroy all humanlanguage. Erasmus foundedtheNuminousOrder ofCivilWizardry to repel thePandemonium. His prophecypredicts that the Order willprevail only if it heeds theteachings of a masterspellwright known as ‘theHalcyon.’”

Deirdre shifted in herchair. “But how could anyforce destroy humanlanguage?”

Magistra Okekeanswered impatiently: “Thedemonswillusespecialspellscalledmetaspells todecouplethemeaningoflanguagefromitsform.”

The druid gave thesentinelablanklook.

“What Magistra Okekemeans,” Shannon explained,“is that the demons willdivorcethesignifierfromthesignified. Phrases and wordswill take on unexpected

meanings. Civilization willcrumble into animalbrutishness.”

“Idon’tunderstandyourjargon,” Deirdre said. “Butthis interests me. The druidshold to the Prophecy of thePeregrine,whichpredictsthatthe Pandemonium will burnour groves and crush ourstanding stones. Ourmundane and magical textsare stored within our sacredtreesandmegaliths.”

“I thought druidsbelieved the War ofDisjunction was imminent,”Magistra Okeke said.“Something about a funguskillingoffDralishtrees.”

Still smiling, Deirdreexaminedthesentinelasifforthefirsttime.“AmadiOkeke,yourefertotheSilentBlight.It is a complicated issue. Iwould prefer not to speak ofithere.”

The sentinel pursed her

lips. “But perhaps you couldelucidate some of yourorder’s beliefs, sinceMagisterShannonwassofreewith information aboutwizardlyprophecy.”

“There’s no need to—”Shannonstartedtosay.

“It is all right.” Deidreraised an open palm. “TheSilentBlightisa…‘change,’Isuppose I must name it tonon-druids.Yes,theBlightisaworldchangewedetecteda

few decades ago. It is not adisease,buta…conditionthatisaffectingallofnature.Theevidence comes from theobservation thatcertainkindsof trees are dying in each ofthehumankingdoms.Whatiscausingthedeathsisdebated.Some believe the Blightindicates that the War ofDisjunction will begin anyday now. Others think it isun-related to prophecy.However, all druids agreeon

oneandonlyonething:whenthe War of Disjunction doesbegin, a foreign spellwrightknown as the Peregrine willshow us how to protect oursacred places and hence ourlanguage.”

Shannonnodded.“Someofourscholars report thatallmagical societies believe theDisjunctionwilldestroy theirlanguages and that only onespellwrightmightpreventthisfate.”

Deirdre nodded toNicodemus without lookingat him. “And the wizardsoncethoughthemightbetheHalcyon?”

Magistra Okeke leanedforward, her eyes flittingbetween Shannon andDeirdre.

Though Shannon’s faceremainedimpassive,hecastabrief sentence to Azure. Theparrot lowered her head,allowing the old man to

stroke the feathers along herskinny neck. Nicodemusrecognized this as a habitcomforting for both bird andman.

At last Shannon spoke.“Our prophecy describes theHalcyonasbeingthechildofan unknown mother, ashaving a birth to magicpowerfulenoughtobefeltforhundredsofmiles,as forgingboth Numinous and Magnusbeforereachingtwenty.Allof

these things describeNicodemusperfectly.”

The pride ringing in theold man’s voice madeNicodemus’scheeksgrowhotagain.

“However,” Shannoncontinued, “Erasmus alsodescribed the Halcyon asbearing a congenital keloidscarintheshapeoftheBraidrune. Nicodemus’s mark isambiguous. More important,the prophecy predicted that

the Halcyon would mastermany styles and wieldlanguage with elegance andjustice. He foresaw theHalcyon destroying the feralkingdoms and forging a staffpowerful enough to slay therebornLos.”

“Andthat iswhyIcan’tbe the Halcyon,” Nicodemusinsisted. “My cacographyprevents me from masteringany style or producinganything close to elegant

prose. For a while, thewizards thought I wouldoutgrow my difficulty. Butwhenitbecameapparentthatmy touch would alwaysmisspell, they knew Iwasn’ttheHalcyon.”

“Nicodemus,” Deirdresaid, “howwere you born tomagic?”

He shifted in his seat.“In my sleep, when I wasthirteen.”

The druid’s mouth

curved almost imperceptiblyupward.Atthesametime,thesentinelnarrowedherlips.

Deirdre asked, “Do youremember what you weredreamingaboutthenightyouwereborntomagic?”

“No,”helied.The sentinel spoke. “As

a cacographer you causemisspells by handling text,but have you noticed if yourtouch makes other thingsmore chaotic? For example,

do those near you oftenbecome sick?Ordo the firesyou light tend to escape thefireplace?”

Nicodemuswasabouttosay that he had not noticedanything like that whenShannon interrupted ina lowtone. “Amadi, ProvostMontserrat has personallyobserved Nicodemus anddeterminedthatthatisnotthecase.”

An icy sensation—half-

thrill, half-fear—spreadthrough Nicodemus. TheProvost had observed him?Butwhenandhow?

MagistraOkekestaredatShannon for a longmoment.“I will see the boy’s keloidnow.”

Nicodemus touched alock of his long black hair.“There’s really no need,Magistra. The scars aremisshapen. And we don’tknowifIwasbornwithitor

not.”Thesentinelonlystared.

HelookedatShannon,buthisteacher’s expression was asblank as a snow field. Nohelp there. He looked atDeirdre. She only smiled herinfuriatinghalf-smile.

So with his heartgrowing cold, Nicodemusturnedhischairtopresenthisback to the sentinel, pulledhis hair over one shoulder,andbegantounlacehisrobes.

ASHEUNTIEDhiscollarattheback of his neck,Nicodemus’s fingers ranacrossthekeloid.

He had felt the scarscountlesstimesbefore,tracedtheir every inch with hisfingertips.Once he had evenarranged twobitsofpolishedbrass so that he could seetheirreflection.

Unlike most scars,which were pale and flat, a

keloid scar bulged out anddarkened. Nicodemus’scomplexion was a healthyolive hue, but the weals onhisneckshoneaglossyblue-black—like a colony ofparasitic mollusks growingintohisflesh.

He fussed over his hairevery night so that it wouldremain long enough to hidethekeloids.Hehadn’thad toreveal them for nearly fiveyears.

His face burned as hepushed his collar back toexpose his neck andshoulders.

“Goddess!” the druidswore.“Dotheyhurt?”

“No, Magistra,” he saidasevenlyaspossible.

He heard the sentinelwalk over to him. “I can seethe shape of theBraid in thescars.”

The “Braid” she wasreferring to was a rune in a

common language namedVulgate; it consisted of twovertical lines connected by aserpentine line that wovebetween them. By itself theBraid could mean “toorganize”or“tocombine.”

Nicodemus had nosensation along the keloid,buthecouldfeelthepressureofMagistraOkeke’sfingerasshetracedthescarsdownhisneck. She spoke. “Druid, isthe Peregrine prophesied to

bear a keloid in the shape oftheBraid?”

“Predicted to be bornwith such,” the druidanswered. “There have beenfalse Peregrines who havecreatedsuchakeloidthroughbranding. And, as Iunderstand it, we do notknowifNicodemus’smarkiscongenital.”

“But, Magistras, there’san error in themiddle of it,”Nicodemussaid,hisfacestill

hot.MagistraOkekegrunted.

“Child, you don’t know howrightyouare.”

He triednot to flinch asher finger traced the blotch.This second scar took theimperfect shape of a writtenletter “k” that had beenpushed over onto its legs—the same shape as theInconjunctrune.

By itself an Inconjunctmeant either “as far apart as

possible” or “as in-correct aspossible.” Therefore, a Braidpaired with an Inconjunctcouldmean“todisorganizetothe furthest extent” or “todeconstruct to the basiccomponents.”

Deirdre sworeunderherbreath:“Bridget,damnit!”

Shocked by the druid’sblasphemy against her owngoddess, Nicodemus turnedaround.Shehadlostherhalf-smileandwasfrowningathis

neck.“You are distressed,

Deirdre?” Magistra Okekeasked. “You thought perhapsNicodemus was thePeregrine?”

The druid sighed andreturned to her chair. “Yes,AmadiOkeke.Theanswertoboth of your questions isyes.”

“Well, druid, I agreewith your assessment,” thesentinel said. “If this scar is

fate’swork, then it is a clearsign that Nicodemus is nottheHalcyon.But Iwonder ifit might have anothermeaning.”

Shannon snorted.“You’regettingcarriedaway,Amadi.” His voice softened.“Thankyou,Nicodemus.Youmaycoveryournecknow.”

Dizzy with relief,Nicodemus began to tie hiscollar’slaces.

Deirdresatbackintoher

chair. “Agwu Shannon,Amadi Okeke, apologies foroccupyingyourtime.”

Returning to her seat,MagistraOkekeasked,“Whatdoes the provost think of theInconjunct?”

“Hedoesnotbelieveitisa rune,” Shannon answeredcurtly. “He believes it is theresultofhumanerror.”

Magistra Okeke’s eyesnarrowed. “I don’tunderstand.”

Shannon opened hismouth to speak, butNicodemus interrupted:“Magister is too kind to saythat most likely my parentsbranded me. It might beshameful,andmanymaylookdown on my family becauseof it. But I’d rather face theshame than have anyoneagain believe that I’minvolvedinprophecy.”

Shannon frowned.“Nicodemus, who told you

thatyouwerebranded?”Nicodemuslookeddown

at his boots. “No one,Magister. It’s what I figurepeoplemustsay.”

Deirdre gazed out thewindow, all sign of interestgone.

Meanwhile the sentinellooked Nicodemus up anddown. “You’vehad the scarsallyourlife?”

Nicodemus forcedhimself to meet her stare.

“When I was an infant, mystepmother gave me my lastnamebecauseofthem.”

Magistra Okeke raisedhereyebrows.

“The word ‘weal’ is asynonym for ‘welt,’”Nicodemus explained.“Hence Nicodemus-of-the-weals became NicodemusWeal.”

Shannon cleared histhroat. “But ‘weal’ hasanothermeaning.Itcanmean

‘the common good.’ It’s anantonymofwoe.”

Nicodemus put on hisbravest smile. “I’ve alwayssaid that that makes it acontranym.”

Deirdre looked atNicodemus so abruptly hestarted. “Whywouldyousaythat?”Thehalf-smilereturnedtoherlips.

“Oh-h,” Nicodemusstuttered. “W-well, acontranym is a word that

means the opposite of itselflike ‘dust’ or ‘bound.’ If I’mdusting the table, you don’tknow if I’m sweeping thedustoff itorsprinklingsomeonto it. And the weal is theopposite of woe, but woe tohimwithaweal.”

Shannon laughed softlyeventhoughhehadheardthisattempt at wit before.Nicodemus gave him agratefulglance.

Deirdre was nodding.

She seemed about to speakbut anurgent knock soundedatthedoor.

“Enter,”Shannoncalled.The door swung open toreveal Magister Smallwood.“Agwu! It’s that astoundingcolaboris correspondence.News most terrifying fromabroad!”

CHAPTEREleven“Nicodemus, please attendour druid guest while I hearthis news.” Shannon stood.“Deirdre, forgive us amoment.” Two Numinousarcs sprang between the old

wizardandAzureashemadefor the door. The sentinelfollowed.

Nicodemus stood andwatched them go. He wouldhavegivenanything toavoidbeing left alone with thedruid.

He looked back atDeirdre. Her wide eyes andsmoothskinmadeherseemednoolder than twenty,butherslight smile betrayed anancient,matronlyamusement.

“I think I handled that ratherwell,” she said. “Let us sit.There’smuchtodiscuss.”

Frowning in confusion,heretookhisseat.

“Nicodemus, do youknow that we’re distantcousins?”thedruidasked,hersmile growing. “I consultedStarhaven’s genealogylibrary. We share a pair ofgreat-great-grandparents.”

Nicodemus’s headbobbed backward. This was

unexpected. But then herealized why the druidseemedfamiliar:saveforhereyes, shewas a younger andmore beautiful copy of hisaunt. “Are you Spirish?” heasked.

She shook her head.“Dralish, but of Imperialdescent. Do you know whatthat means? The ancientcontinent was ruled by anImperial family whopossessed the same black

hair, green eyes, and oliveskinthatyouandIhave.”

Nicodemus felt an oldmemorystir.“Myfatheroncesaid he could trace hisancestry to the first SpirishLandfall.”

Deirdre nodded. “Justso. When humanity fled theancient continent, eachmember of the imperialfamily boarded a differentship. The Maelstromscatteredthehumanfleet;asa

result,ourrelativesarespreadacross the land in bothpowerful and humblefamilies.”

Shestudiedhim.“Ihavemany Imperial aspects, savefor my height, or rather, mylackofheight.Butyou seemto have all the Imperialfeatures.”

Nicodemus fought theurgetofidgetwithhissleeve.“It’sflatteringtohearyousayso.”

“It makes one wonderwho your mother might be,”shesaid.

He looked away at thewindow.

“I am sorry,” she said,touching his knee. “Forgivemyspeculation.”

“There is nothing toforgive,” he said withoutlookingather.

“Nicodemus, I must tellyou something.” She paused.“Please carefully consider

what I say next.” She leanedforward. Paused. “You havebeen crippled by a horriblecurse.”

Heblinked.“I’msorry?”“Youarecursed.”“Inwhichlanguage?”“Innomagical language

ofthisland.”“Forgivemyskepticism,

butifIhaven’tbeencursedina known magical language,thenhowcanyouseeit?”

Deirdre folded her dark

hands on her white lap.“There are many things thatcannot be seen by writers ofthenewmagics.”

“New magics?”Nicodemus frowned at herodddiction.

The druid nodded.“When our ancestors crossedthe ocean, most ancientmagics were lost. Only theDralish and Verdantianspreserved their ancestralways,whichevolved into the

old magics. All other magichas been invented sincethen.”

He knew that what shewas saying was true. “Butwhat does this have to dowith a curse? And shouldn’twe speak of old languages,notoldmagics?”

Deirdre’s mouth tensedforamomentbutthenrelaxedinto its usual half-smile.“Magics, languages, it’s allone. The point is that while

the new languages might bemore powerful, they restricttheir writers’ vision; theyprevent their writers fromknowing the wisdom of theancientcontinent.”

“And they prevent usfrom seeing curses?”Nicodemusaskedskeptically.“Forgiveme,but I did spendlast night disspelling a cursefrommyforehead.”

The druid waved hiswords away. “Wizards call

any malevolent text a curse.What infected you isdifferent. It was written in alanguage from the ancientcontinentandthereforeleftanaura dimly visible to thosefluent in the old languagesbut invisible to those fluentonlyinthenew.”

“All right, say I havebeen cursed. What infectedme? Is it some disease I’vegot?”

Deirdre was silent for a

moment. Then she leanedforward and said, “Isn’t itobvious, my friend, thatsomeone has stolen yourabilitytospell?”

Nicodemus blinked.“That’s impossible. Noknownspell—”

“This curse comes fromthe ancient world, whereknowledge of how languagecouldaffect thebodywasfargreater.Thehistoriesdescribemagicthat could regrow a

severed arm or restore thememories lost to a blow onthehead.”

Nicodemus could notdeny what she said; theancients had had an in-comprehensibly sophisticatedunderstanding of themundane world, includingmedicine.

The druid continued,“Your curse was one suchancient spell. It must haveinvadedyourmindandstolen

its growth or altered itsdevelopment. Whatever thecase, it removed the part ofyour mind needed tospellwritecorrectly.”

“Butwhowouldwanttocurseme?”

“There are men andwomen in every humankingdom who worshipdemons,” she replied. “Weknowlittleofthemotherthanthat they have formed aclandestine order. They call

themselves the Disjunctionbecause they wish to initiatethe War of Disjunction.Whoeverhascursedyoumustbeamongtheirnumber.

Nicodemus’s throattightened.“YouthinkI’mtheHalcyon.”

Deirdre eyed the door.“Last spring, my goddesscommanded me to travel toStarhaven, where I wouldfind a ‘treasure wrapped inblack and endangered by the

fallingnight.’”Shemotionedto Nicodemus’s black robe.“The Dralish prophecypredicts that the Peregrinewillbeanorphanedforeigner—one born to magic in thedreamworld.”

“But the keloid,”Nicodemus exclaimed. “Yousawthatit’snotatrueBraid.You swore, in fact. Youagreed with Magistra OkekethatIcan’t—”

She held up a finger.

“Amadi Okeke asked if Iwere distressed and if I hadthought you were thePeregrine. Both of thosethings were true. Sheassumed that your keloiddisqualifies you from beingthePeregrine.”

“Itdoesn’t?”Deirdre’s half-smile

returned. “We Dralish use adifferent dialect of thecommon magical languages;the common runes have

differentmeaningsforus.”“And my keloid means

somethingdifferenttoyou?”The druid’s smile

widened. “To us, the Braidmeans ‘to combine’ or ‘togrow.’ More important, thesecondmarkonyourneck isanexactcopyofarunecalledtheCrookedBranch.”

“Anditsmeaning?”“It describes something

thatiswildorunrestricted.SothecombinationofaCrooked

Branch with a Braid wouldmean ‘wild or unrestrainedgrowth.’”The druid laughed.“I swore when I saw yourkeloid, not because itexcludes you from ourprophecy, but because itdescribes you as difficult togovernorcontain.”

Nicodemus shook hishead. “But you still don’tknow if my keloid iscongenitalornot.”

The druid cocked her

head toone side. “Youdon’tlike the possibility that youmightfulfillourprophecy?”

Nicodemus stammeredbut couldn’t come up with areply.

She shrugged. “Well, Ineed no further convincing.Here you are, just as mygoddesssaidyouwouldbe—wrapped in black andendangered. Gravelyendangered. Someone hasmaneuvered you into this

haven of new magic, wheredruids almost never come.Our first task is to free youfromStarhaven.”

“But I’m notimprisoned.”

“NicodemusWeal,thinkofwhatyourkeloidandyourcurse mean. Someone hasstopped you from becomingthe Peregrine. It is not safehere.”

“But I’m surrounded bywizards.Whocouldharmme

here?”“Who? The one who

cursed you, of course.” Sheshookherhead.“Nicodemus,you were not meant to becrippled.”

Her words filledNicodemus with giddinessand confusion. What if shewas correct? What if hiscacography was a mistake?Everythingwouldchange.Hewouldchange.Hislifewouldbeginagain.

Deirdre’s eyes widened.“YourheartknowsIamright.Listen to me. Do you knowwhatanarkis?”

Nicodemus lookedaway. “Cacographers aren’tinstructedintheology.”

“An ark is a vessel thatcontains a deity’s soul andmuch of her power. WithKyran and a dozen devotees,I havebroughtmygoddess’sark to thisplace. Ifwecouldbring you to the ark, my

goddessmayliftyourcurse.”Nicodemus pursed his

lips.Wasitpossible?Deirdre continued

excitedly. “We could notbringthearkuptoStarhaven.This place is filled withancient Chthonic magic thatwoulddamagetheartifact.Soinstead we have placed itunder guard in that village…the one down on theWesternmost Road. I can’trememberthename.”

“Gray’sCrossing.”The druid smiled. “The

same. My party has takenrooms at the inn there. Andall of the devotees, two ofthem druids, now guard theark. We simply need to slipyou free from Starhaven andbring you down to Gray’sCrossing so that my goddesscan protect you. From therewe shall ride to the civilforests ofDral to begin yourdruidictraining.”

Something in the waythedruid spoke—perhaps thezealinhereyes,ormaybetheurgency in her tone—cooledNicodemus’s excitement.“But why should yourgoddess want to heal mycacography?”

“Because you’re thePeregrine!” she exclaimed,leaning forward. “Thedefenderofourcivilization!”

The woman’s brighteyes seemed free of deceit;

still Nicodemus did not trusther.“Ican’tgowithyou.”Heput his now trembling handsinhislap.

Deirdre’s smile faltered.Shestartedasifwakingfromadream.“Yes,” she said, theexcitement draining fromherface. “The Braid and theCrooked Branch. I couldn’texpectless.”

“Even if I trusted youcompletely, I couldn’t leaveStarhaven. Numinous and

Magnusspellwrightsmaynotforsake the Order. If I leftStarhaven, they’d sendsentinels to cast a censorshipspell on me to snuff out myliteracy.”

The druid tapped aforefinger against her pursedlips.“Itseemsyourjailerhasplanned well. You aretrapped.Wemustassumethatsuch a clever enemy hasplanted conspirators amongthewizards.”

“Conspirators?” he saidwith a laugh. “Look, theCreator knows I want whatyousaytobetrue,butthere’snoevidence for it.”Hestoodandwalkedtothewindow.

“Nicodemus, unless youtrust me now, there will beviolence,” Deirdre said, hervoicesuddenlyfullof fervor.“Theonewhocursedyouwilldiscovermypresenceandthepresence of my goddess.Blood will be shed in

Starhaven.”Despite the sunshine

coming through the window,Nicodemus shivered.Deirdre’s every expressionsuggested that she sincerelybelievedwhatshewassaying.However, there was adesperation in her tone, amaniacal excitement in hereye.

Nicodemus had seensuch passion before—seen itgrowandthenwitherinevery

youngcacographer that camethrough the Drum Tower.Likeacrippledchild,Deirdremust have hung her everydesireononehope.

“My apologies, druid,”he said, meeting her eyes,“but I cannot trust you soblindly. I will discuss thiswithMagisterShannon.”

Again the zealous glowmelted from the druid’sexpression and left only thewry half-smile. “Here I was

worrying that your keloidmarkedyouastooheadstrongto be controlled. I couldn’thave been more wrong. It isworse that you areuncontrollableinthisway.”

Nicodemusturnedtothewindowsill. “And what wayisthat?”

“You are frightened.Insecure, dependent on yourmaster,childish.”

Nicodemus closed hiseyes; her words felt like a

punchinthegut.Buthekepthis thoughts calm. He hadhad plenty of practicesurvivingbrutalhonesty.

“Deirdre, I won’t guessyourage.”Heturnedhisfaceup to feel the sunshine.“Despite your looks, youmust be decades older than Iam.NodoubtI’machildnextto you. I haven’t evenguessed what game you areplaying.ButatleastIseethatyou are a game-player and

would make me a game-piece.”

Deirdre spoke in a dry,accusing voice. “I have putmyself in great danger bywarningyouofyourcurse.”

Nicodemus took a longbreath.Shewasstillvyingforadvantage, still trying toconvince him. On unsteadylegs,hereturned tohischair.“Deirdre, I’m a cacographer,a cripple, a mooncalfapprentice.Idonotplan;Ido

not scheme. But twenty-fiveyears of retardation havetaught me how to tell thepainted from the plain, theguilefulfromthegenuine.”

Thedruid regardedhim.“And how to speakmasterfully.”

“Flattery.”Heclosedhiseyes and pressed fourtrembling fingers to hisforehead. “I know thatMagisterisplainandthatyouarepainted.Iwilltellhim.”

She shook her head.“Then listen to me, game-piece Nicodemus. One dayyouwill not have the luxuryof hiding behind yourdisability.One day soon youwill have to paint your faceandplaymygameordie.”

Hesaidnothing.“Before you tell

Shannon,” the druid saidcoolly, “consider that hemight, perhaps unknowingly,serveourenemy.”

Nicodemus started toprotest, but she held up herhand. “And perhaps he doesnot. But men speak withloose tongues. TellingShannonwhatItoldyoumaystartrumors.Atpresent,yourjailer doesn’t know that youare aware of him. InformingShannon may alert him toyour new knowledge.Informing Shannon mayignite a bloody strugglebeforeKyranand Iare ready

todefendyou.”Nicodemus frowned. “If

Shannon were a demon-worshiper, he never wouldhaveleftmealonewithyou.”

Deirdrecockedherheadto one side. “You care forhim.”

Nicodemusblinked.Her infuriating half-

smiledreturned.“Game-pieceNicodemus, beware ofShannon.Heisonlyaman.Ifhe is your jailer, then he

might be an imperfect one.Leaving you alone with memight have been simply amistake.”Shepaused.“Don’tyou wonder what causedthose unusual cuts across hisface?”

Nicodemus opened hismouthtodefendtheoldman,but before the words came,muffledvoicessoundedatthedoor.

“They’re coming back.”Deirdre leaned forward and

tookhishand.“Nicodemus,ifyou remember anything,rememberthatthewizardsaremore than they seem.Shannon is more than heseems.Wemustgetyoutomygoddess’s ark in Gray’sCrossing; you will be safethere.Untilthen,takethis.”

From the folds of herrobe, she withdrew a smallsphere of polishedwood andplaced it in Nicodemus’spalm. A root wound around

theobject.“It is called a Seed of

Finding,” she said softly. “Ifyou need me, break the rootthat encircles the Seed and Iwill come. I have anotherartifact thatwill allowme tofind you so long as you aretouchingtheSeed.”

She closed her handsaround his and knelt. “ByBridget’s love,” she said,hergreeneyesfixeduponhim,“Ihereby pledge myself to the

protection of NicodemusWeal, our belovedPeregrine.”

CHAPTERTwelveNicodemus stared down atthewoodenorb.Itdidn’tlooklike any seed he had everknown. A tingling warmthwas spreading down hisfingers. “Its power is quick,”

hewhispered.Deirdre released his

hand. “Keep it safe. Manywizards would pay theirweightingoldforthisspell.”

Nicodemus met hergaze. “If I gave this to awizardsothathecouldstudythe druidic languages in it,and the other druids learnedthatyougaveittome—”

“—they would stranglemebeforeourgoddess’saltar.Just as the wizards jealously

guard Numinous andMagnus, thedruidsguard thehigher druidic languages.”She stood. “You see how Iriskmylifeforyou.”

Across the room thedoor latch chirped.Nicodemus stood and stuffedthe druidic artifact into hisbelt-purse.

Deirdre stepped awayfrom him as the door swungopen to reveal an exhaustedShannon. Azure, perched on

the wizard’s right hand,bobbedherhead.

“My esteemed druid,”thegrandwizard rumbled, “Ihave just heard a report thatwill harrow your soul. Butmight I have amoment withmyapprenticefirst?”

“Of course,” Deirdresaidwithabow.

“Nicodemus.” Shannongesturedtothedoor.

The younger manfollowed the grand wizard

intothehallway.When the door clicked

shut behind him, Shannonheld a gnarled forefinger tohis lips and cast a miniatureriver of Numinous from hisbrow to Azure’s. The birdlooked over the old man’sshoulder and down the darkhall. A responding sentenceflewfrombirdtowizard.

It was then thatNicodemus noticed thesentinel, Magistra Amadi

Okeke, standing partwaydownthehall.Shehalffacedthemwhile talking to amalesentinel whose long blackhair was done up in anIxonianbun.

Unexpectedly, Azurebegan to flap and screech.“Help me calm her down,”Shannon said. “She’sabsorbed my anxiety aboutthenews.”

Nicodemus steppedforward to stroke Azure’s

dorsal feathers. Thoughshesubmitted to his reassuringfingers, the familiarcontinued to squawk.Shannon began cooing overthe bird. “Ohhh, Azure, oldfriend, Azzzure…therenow…Azzzure.”

Nicodemus frowned;usually Azure quieted whenreceivingsuchattention.

Suddenly he realizedthat Shannon wasn’t cooingat all; he was talking under

his mother-birdimpersonations. “Azure,ohhh…Amadi may belistening. No, don’t look atme…Azzzure, there now…that’s her private secretaryshe’s talking to; an IxonianmannamedKale.”

Azure wasn’t agitated;she was deliberately creatingenough noise to drown outtheirconversation.

“If I tell you somethingshocking,” Shannon

murmured, “can you keepyourfaceblank?”

Nicodemus noddedslightly.

“Oh, there now, Azure.DidyouknowMagistraNoraFinn?”

“Yes,butI’vespokentoher only a few times,”Nicodemuswhispered.

“She was murdered lastnight.”

All theair seemed tobepulled out of Nicodemus’s

lungs.“There now, Azure, old

friend. Don’t look surprised.Good. Oh Azzzzure. Keepyour expression neutral; itgets worse. The sentinelssuspect both you and me ofkilling Nora. Worse, Iencounteredthetruemurdererlastnight.Iamalmostcertainthevillainishuntingyou.Oh,Azzzzure. Ohhhh…don’tbreathesofast;you’llfaint.”

The ground seemed to

betippingunderNicodemus’sboots.Hehadtoworkhardtoslowhisbreath.

Shannon continued:“The murderer threatened toharmothercacographicboys.I’ve doubled the protectivelanguage around the DrumTower and ordered that nocacographer is to leaveStarhaven.”

The old man’s eyesnarrowed. “Problem is thesentinelsareinvestigatingme

for murder; they’ll distrustanything I say. If I ask themto protect the Drum Towerboysnow,theywillthinkitaploy and refuse. However, Imight be able to find someinformation that will forceMagistra Okeke to…Nicodemus, are you allright?”

Nicodemus wasbreathing slower, but theworld seemed to be slowlyspinning. “Who’s the

murderer?” he asked in awhisper.

Shannonpursedhis lips.“A creature that is neitherhumannor construct.Butwecan’tdiscussthiswhilebeingwatched. Two hours pastmidday, before our research,meetme in the compluvium.Doyouknowwherethatis?”

“Between the SataalLanding and the SpindleBridge.”

“Yes,Azure.Yes.That’s

agoodbird,”Shannoncooed,then lowered hisvoice again.“I’ll explain more in thecompluvium. From now on,thesentinelswillbewatchingyou.Theirpresencewillkeepthe murderer away, but ifthey decide you’re guilty ofNora’s murder, they’llinstantly conduct a witchtrial.”

Nicodemus clenched hishands.Towizards, a“witch”wasanyspellwrightwhoused

prose for unlawful ormalicious purposes. One ofthe duties entrusted to thesentinelswastheformationofwitchhuntsandtrialstobringsuch villains to justice.However, because thesentinels judged their owntrials, those accused wereoften condemned to deathwhether or not they wereguilty.

Shannonspokeagain.“Itwill be hard, but you must

appear innocent and calm.The sentinels will always bewatching.”

“Magister, you remindme—when you went away,the druid had strange wordsfor me.” He quickly relatedwhatDeirdrehadtoldhim.

Shannon chewed his lipfor amoment. “I can’t say ifDeirdre is correct about thecurseorthekeloid,butnowItoo suspect that you are tiedtoprophecy.”

“B-but the Provosthimself thought I wasbranded.”

“We can’t discuss thisnow. Listen, there’s anotherreason you need to appearinnocent.MagistraOkekeandother Astrophell delegatesmay belong to the counter-prophecy faction. Allmembers of that factionbelieve an anti-Halcyon, achampionofchaos,willarise.If they ever decide that you

could be this anti-Halcyon,youandIwillbedeadwithinan hour. We must convincethem that you are a normalcacographer.”

“Buthowcan—”“Shhhh.” Shannon

pretended to shush hisfamiliar. “You mustn’t tellanyone—not another wizard,not John, and especially notDevin.”

Thinking of Devin’stendency to gossip,

Nicodemusagreed.“Now, when Azure

quiets, we must discuss thenewsfromTrillinon;it’swhatAmadiexpects.”

On cue, the familiarceased her screeching.HookingherbillintoafoldofShannon’s robe, the birdhoisted herself onto the oldman’s shoulder and began topreen the down on her back.“That’s a good bird,”Shannon announced.

“Nicodemus, I’m afraid Ihavedistressingnews.”

The younger manglanced over Shannon’sshoulder at the sentinel; shehadquitherconversationandnowstoodstudyingthem.

“It seems a malevolentconstructhasbesetTrillinon,”Shannonsaid.“Fireanddeathnowreign in thecity.PartofAstrophell has burned andmany of our Northernwizardshavediedbecauseof

thismonstrousspell.”“Whatkindofspell?”“One we do not

comprehend.” Shannonfrowned. “The reports,theyspeak of—” Azureplucked a feather from herback, a sign of extremeanxiety. “Azure!” the grandwizard scolded even as hecast several soothingsentencestothebird.

“What do the reportsspeakof,Magister?”

“Of a massive constructthat tore into the NeosolarPalaceandsetthecityaflame.They say the spell took theshape…” Shannon shook hishead as if alreadydisbelievingthewordshewasabout to utter. “The shape ofareddragon.”

“ARE YOU ALL right?”Shannonasked.

Pressing a hand to hismouth, Nicodemus answered

faintly.“Magister,lastnightIdreamed I was a dragonattackingacity.Ididn’tknowwhichcity…certainlyitwasaNortherncity…”

Shannon coughed.“Nicodemus, your face isvery pale. Have you gottenenoughsleep?”

“No,but—”“I see you’re exhausted,

and this news has clearlygivenyouafright.”

“Magister, I dreamed

thatIchangedintoadra—”“Nicodemus! It’s

understandable that youshould find this news like anightmare. But it was only abad dream, nothing thatshouldexciteserious…”—hisvoice lowered meaningfully—“…investigation.”

Nicodemusstartedagainas he took the old man’smeaning.A glance down thehall showed him that AmadiOkeke was still watching

them. “Magister, I’m sorry. Ihad a nightmare last night,andIdidn’tgetenoughsleep.And this news…it’s all soconfusing.”

“Quite understandable,”Shannon said, resting a handon his student’s shoulder.Azure let out a low, gratingsquawk. “Damn it, notagain,” Shannon complainedloudly. “Nicodemus,helpmeagainwithAzure.”

As soon as he began to

preen the bird, the old manmumbled, “Tell me briefly.”Nicodemus described hisnightmare as quickly aspossible. When he hadfinished, Shannon muttered,“Inthedream,wereyouevertwopersonsatonce?”

“Yes!” he whispered.“Each time, right before thedragon attacked, I was notonly the dragon but also anold fisherman or a solder’swifeorabeggargirlwatching

the dragon. But the beggargirldidn’tseethedragon;shesaw a black cube hanging inthesky.”

Shannon grimaced.“Youwerehavingquaternarythoughts.”

Nicodemuslookedattheold man to see if he wasserious. “I thoughtspellwrights could reachquaternary cognition onlywithpowerfultextscastabouttheirminds.”

“The murderer claimedhecouldmanipulatedreams.Ithoughtitwasanemptyboast,but now I remember historytextsdescribingancientspellsthat could invest sleepingminds with quaternarythoughts. It seems thisnightmarewassenttoyou.”

“So,ifitwassenttome,I couldn’t have caused thedragontoattackthecity?”

“Correct,” Shannon saidwith a slight nod.

“Quaternary thoughts changeperception,nottheworld.It’svital that you know you didnotcausethis.”

Nicodemus let out abreath he did not know hehad been holding. “But whywould he send me such adream?”

“I don’t know. But itdoes imply there is aconnection between themurderer and this dragon.Damn it,what if the creature

issendingdreamstotheothercacographicboys?HowcanIprotect them from that?Regardless, tell no one ofthis.Wewilltalkmoreinthecompluvium.” He squeezedtheyoungerman’sshoulder.

Azure stopped hergrating roar, and Nicodemusfidgeted with his sleeve as athought occurred to him.“Your family, Magister, hasthe Trillinon fire affectedthem?”

Shannon smiled. “Anold friend sent a message inthe last colaboris spell. Myrelatives are safe. Thank youfor your concern. Now then,all of the deans and mastershave been called to anemergency council, which istroublingbecauseourlecturesmust continue. My boy, Ineedafavor.”

Nicodemus’s eyeswidened. “You want me toteach a class?Magister, I’ve

wanted…and I’vepracticed…but I don’t knowif I can do my best underthesecircumstances.”

Shannon nodded. “Iknow, you’ve waited for solong to teach and get thechance now of all times.Today’s news might makethis seem like a trivial task,but it is vital”—he squeezedNicodemus’s shouldermeaningfully—“vitalthatyoumake a good impression.Do

youunderstandme?”“Yes, Magister,”

Nicodemus said,remembering what the grandwizard had said about thesentinelswatchinghim.

“Good.” Shannonreleased Nicodemus’sshoulder. “Given today’snews, no one will object toyourteaching.Theneophytesare all squeakers; not a oneover thirteen.Your disabilitywon’t interfere. The

classroom is in Bolide Hall,third floor, western side.Outline thebasicconceptsofcomposition. After class, goto my quarters and get asmuchsleepasyoucanbeforethe midday meal. I keep anhour bell and the passwordsfor my door in theclassroom’s closet.Use both.You must be rested for ourworkthisafternoon.”

Though the terrifyingnews had fully awakened

Nicodemus, his eyes stillstung with exhaustion. “Yes,Magister.”

“When you wake, eatyour midday meal and findme.”

Nicodemus exhaled. Hereally was going to have toteachaclassdespitetheday’sterrifyingdiscoveries.

Shannon laughed softly.“I know it may seemimpossible, but you mustforget everything happening

todayandbecome lost in thelecture. If you enjoy theteaching, they’ll enjoy thelearning.Areyounervous?”

Nicodemusadmittedthathewas, though“shockedandoverwhelmed,” he said,“would be a betterdescription.”

Shannon grinned.“Understandablyso,butdon’tlet the students know orthey’lldevouryoulikeapackof lycanthropes. If anything,

youwanttoerronthesideofbeingcavalier.”Shannonwasfamous for his emphaticlecturestyle.

Nicodemus decided toemulate his mentor’s style.Thatmeantsomehowbottlingup his growing fears andhopesabouttheprophecy.

“Well then,” Shannonsaid with a nod. “Off withyou,then,oryou’llbelate.”

Nicodemus turned forthestairs.

“Oh, I justremembered,”Shannoncalledafterhim.“Youshouldknowthat one boy raises a bit oftrouble and…” The oldwizard’s voice died.Nicodemus stopped andlookedback.

Shannon was frowning.“You should know this boy,hemaybeacacographer.”

CHAPTERThirteenNicodemus jogged throughshaftsofsunlight thatpouredinfromrectangularwindows.Outside the hallway shone asky so blue it might havebeen enameled. The crisp

autumnair smelledof smokefromthebreakfastfires.

His first compositionclass andhewasgoing tobelate.

He tried to focus on theupcoming lecture but hismind wandered. The realworld did not seem real.Northern sentinels wereinvestigatinghimformurder.An inhuman killer washunting him for reasonsunknown. His lost hope of

fulfilling the ErasmineProphecywas returning.Andinresponse…

…in response, he wasgoing to teach introductoryspellwritingtosqueakers.

Itallseemedinsane.Magister knew what he

was doing, he told himselfwhile turning a corner anddashing up a broad staircase.After all, he was thecacographic apprentice,Shannon the grand wizard.

Clearly he should handle thethirteen-year-olds while theold man dealt with the trulyfearful forces of zealoussentinels, academic factions,andinhumanmurderers.

Just then he reached hisclassroom door and steppedinside.Theroomwasorderly,square, filled with rows ofdesks. Thewallswerewhite,thearchedwindowswide.

However, the twodozenstudents dressed in neophyte

robes were in chaos. Theboys huddled around thewindows.Somewereyelling,apparently to anotherunsupervisedclassinthenexttower over. Others werespitting out of the windows,undoubtedly trying to hit thesleeping gargoyles severalfloorsbelow.

The girls hadcongregated on the oppositesideof the room.Most satattheir desks, arguing or

laughing.Afewwereplayinga game that involved singingandclapping.

“Oh…” Nicodemusheardhimselfsay,“…hell.”

The room fell silent.Asone,twodozenchildishfacesturnedtowardhim.

It was then thatNicodemus realized he hadbeenwrong:Shannonwasnotdealingwiththetrulyfearful.The terror that sentinels andmurderersmight induce—

great though it might be—was nothing compared to thedread inspired by two dozenprepubescentstudents.

“You’re not MagisterShannon,” said a pale boywithamopofbrownhair.

Nicodemus mostcertainlywasn’t.Theoldmanwouldhavemarched into theroom, blustering with jokesand commands. He wouldhavehadthesqueakersracingfortheirseatsinanticipation.

“I’m NicodemusWeal,”he announced with aconfidence he did not feel.“Magister Shannon’sapprentice.I’llbegivingyourfirst lecture on composition,sotakeyourseats.”

Shockingly, theneophyteswenttotheirdesks.The boywith the brownhairraised his hand. WhenNicodemusnodded,heasked,“Why don’t we haveMagister Shannon? Where

areallthewizards?”Nicodemus cleared his

throat. “Magister, like theotherwizards,hasbeencalledtoanimportantcouncil.”

“Did he tell you thenewsfromtheNorth?”askeda tall girl with short blackhair.

Nicodemus started toreplybutthenrealizedhedidnot know how muchinformation hewas supposedto share.He took in a breath

andsaid,“I’mnotsureifI’mallowedtotellyou.”

“Or maybe you don’tknow,” thebrown-hairedboysaid in a tone so earnest it—just barely—diffused hisconfrontationalwords.

“Maybe I don’t,”Nicodemus admitted. “Butyou bring up an excellentpoint:Ididn’tsayifIactuallyhad heard the news; myphrase simply suggested Ihad.”

Theboyfrowned.“Thatmightseemtrivial,

but it’s a good place to startwhen talking aboutspellwriting.Why might thatbe?”

Silence.Morefrowns.“Why would I choose

wordsthatmakeitsoundasifIknowmorethanIdo?WhymightIwanttousesuchself-aggrandizinglanguage?”

“Becauseyoucan’tbeateacher without it?” the

brown-haired boy askedsnidely.

Though flushed withembarrassment, Nicodemuslaughed.Afewotherstudentsweresmiling.

“Perhaps,” he admitted.“I was thinking more thatsuch language en-couragesyoutostopthinkingaboutthenewsandstartthinkingaboutme,whichwouldhavehelpedfocus you on the lecturematerial. Regardless, you

muststartthinkingaboutsuchthings now; if you are tobecome wizards, you mustquestion how language istrying to manipulate you.What is it pushing you toassume?Howisitdistractingyou?”

Theboyraisedhishand.ButthistimeNicodemus

grinned at him. “Put yourhand down, lad. I’m notgoing to tellyou if Iactuallydid hear the news from the

North. That was going to beyour next question, wasn’tit?”

Theboynodded.“Goodlad.Persistenceis

spellwriting’smost importantingredient. What’s yourname?”“Derrick,Magister.”

Nicodemus widened hiseyes. “Derrick Magister?You’re awizard already?”Afew of the students laughed.Theboyfrowned.“I—”

Nicodemus put his hand

to his mouth in mocksurprise. “But you’re soyoung!”Afewmorestudentslaughed.

“Imeantyou,Magister,”Derrick said in a toneheatedenoughthatNicodemusknewheshouldstop.

“Well, I’m flattered,Derrick. But as I mentioned,I’m only an apprentice.” Heturnedtotheclass.“Thismaybehorribleforyou,buttodayyou’ll have to call someone

over twenty by his firstname!”

Afewamusedsmiles.“Let’s practice.” He

pointed to the girlwith shortblackhair.“Yourname?”

“Ingrid.”He pointed to himself.

“Myname?”She opened her mouth

but only blushed. Herneighbor leaned over, butNicodemus rushed in. “No,no, you’re ruining the

obnoxious-new-teachereffect.”

This won him a fewmorenervouslaughs.

The smiling girl onlygrewredder.

“Nnnn…” he started forher.“Nnnnicooo…”

She continuedexperimentally,“Nicodermis?”

He squawked, “I soundlikeaskindisease.”

Genuinelaugher.

“Sorry to pick on you,Ingrid, but it’s Nicodemus.”He turned to the class. “So,now all of you, my not-a-skin-disease-nameis?”

As the class laughinglysaid his name, Nicodemusnoticed the sunlight by thewindows began to shimmer.“Well then, let’s startproperly,” he said, movingtowardthewindow.“Thisisashort lecture, and I’ll try tomakeitlivelyif…”

He paused. Theshimmering air moved awayfrom him. Warmth spreadacross his cheeks. Only withan effort could he stop hissmilefromwilting.

“…make it lively if youpay close attention.”Hekepthis tone casual even thoughhe was now certain asubtextualized spellwright,most likelyasentinel,wasintheroom.

“So, how does one

acquire magic language?” heasked, turning to the class.“Reallyit’snodifferentfromlearning a verbal ormathematical language.First,we learn thesymbols.Verballanguages use letters,mathematical languagesnumbers, magical languagesrunes.However, anyonewitha quill and an inkhorn canforge mundane text. Anyonewith eyes can see mundanetext. But to see or forge

magical text, one must beborn with a magicallyreceptivemind.”

The boy with brownhair,Derrick,leanedoverandwhisperedloudlytoafriend.

Nicodemus walkedtoward the boys. “Note thatwhen spellwrights speak of‘literates,’ they are speakingof those who might achievemagical literacy.All of us inthis roomare literate;wearefortunateenoughtobeamong

the few born with magicallysensitiveminds.”

He stopped beforeDerrick,whowasnowforcedtostophiswhispering.

“Why are most humansbornmagically illiterate?” heasked rhetorically. “Someauthors—sadlyafewwizardsamongthem—believethattheCreator has privilegedspellwrights, that we areinherently better than theilliterates. Some authors feel

wearemeanttorulesociety.Iwillremindyou—asMagisterShannonremindedmewhenIwas a neophyte—that all ofour parents are illiterate.Without illiterates wewouldn’t exist. Indeed, weowe them a great debt. Wearen’t meant to rule, but toserve—”

Derrick spoke up. “Idon’t understand. Whywouldn’tweexist?”

Nicodemus studied him.

“Spellwrights can’t producechildren. Moreover, theilliterate life is harder thanours.”

“I’m sorry, Nicodemus,but I still don’t understand.”Derrick’s tone seemedearnest, but the boys aroundhimweresnickering.

Nicodemusnarrowedhiseyes “What don’t youunderstand?”

“Why we can’t producechildren.” This sponsored a

waveofnervoustittering.“Spellwrights are

sterile,” Nicodemusanswered, keeping theembarrassment from hisexpressiononlywithsupremeeffort.

“You mean we’reclean?” Derrick asked, hisvoice cracking withamusement. His neighborsbrokeintoopenlaugher.

“No, Derrick,”Nicodemus said, staring

straightattheboy.IfDerrickwas going to force the issue,best to get it over with. “Imean that spellwrights can’tconceive children when theyhavesex.”

Theroomnowrangwithlaughter. Nicodemuswondered if he could everregaintheclass.

“Sex?”Derricksaidwithcounterfeit shock and raisedhishands tohischeeks.“Oh,myvirginears!”

“Oh, your virgineverything else,” Nicodemusshotbackinadeadpantone.

The laughter rose to acrescendo.Derrick’spalefaceflushedscarlet.

Nicodemus hurried tothe front of the class. “Soback to learning magicallanguage. We’ve establishedthat you all have literateminds. So armed, you canlearn to forge runes withinyour muscles. And, as with

any language, you will needto build a vocabulary andunderstand the grammargoverning that vocabulary.Afterthat,youwilllearnhowto move the runes throughyour bodies, how to stringthem together in sentences,and finally how to cast themoutintotheworld.”

The laughter had died,and now two dozen smilingfaces were fixed on him.Encouraged, Nicodemus

pressedon:“Thatiswhyyouhave attended anatomylectures and why you willperformdissections.Learningthe muscles and bones isespecially important. Youmight want to wrap oneparagraph around yourhumerus and another aroundyour ulna, and so forth.Anyquestions?”

Derrick’shandshotup.Nicodemus rolled his

eyes. “Let me rephrase: any

questions aboutspellwriting?”

Smiling, the boydropped his hand, producinganotherroundoflaughter.

Nicodemus nodded. “Sothen,let’stalkaboutdifferentmagical languages.Threeareknown to all magicalsocieties and hence areknown as the commonlanguages.Jejunusis thefirstsuchlanguageyouwill learn.Common languages are

relatively weak but stillimportant. Anyone who isfluent inacommonlanguagecan teach it to anotherspellwright.”

He held up a finger.“However, being futurewizards,youwillspendmuchmoretimeworryingabouttheuncommon languages, whatwe call ‘higher languages.’All higher languages arecontrolledbyspecificmagicalsocieties. For instance, we

wizards control NuminousandMagnus.Unlikecommonlanguages, higher languagescannot be taught by justanyone. I can forge both theNuminous and the Magnusalphabets,butIcouldn’tteachthem to you without the aidof amagical artifact called atome.”

Nicodemus began topace,headingfirsttowardthedoor. “Tomes are beautiful,massive books. Through

contactwiththem,apowerfulauthor may acquire a higherlanguage.Currently there areonlythreeMagnustomesandthree Numinous tomes. Wehave a pair of them here inStarhaven. Now, theseartifacts are importantbecause…”

Heat spread acrossNicodemus’s cheeks. Hestopped.Itwasonlythenthathenoticedaslightshimmerinthe air a few paces from the

door.Another subtextualized

spellwright? He felt hisstomach knot. A secondsentinel? Or was someoneelsespyingonhim?

He forced thesequestions from his mind andturnedbacktotheclassroom.“Sorry. As I was saying,tomes are important becausethey protect a magicalsociety’s control of alanguage. Consider that even

if you attain fluency inNuminous or Magnus, youcan’t sneakoff and teach thehierophants or thehydromancershowtowriteinour high languages. You’dneed a tome to do that.However, you might stillwrite wizardly spells forthem; that’s why the Orderwould hunt you down if youranaway.”

He paused to slip hisarmsoutofhissleeves.“Now

for a demonstration. I havebegunforgingtherunesforasimpleMagnussentence. I’mformingtheruneshere,inmyforearm flexormuscles.Nowthe growing sentence spillsinto my closed fist. Spellsmust fold into a properconformation before theybecome active. I’m helpingthe sentence fold now. Whocanseetherunes?Raiseyourhands.”

A few hands went up;

Derrick’swasone.Nicodemus smiled and

shookhishead. “Tsk tsk tsk.Everyone who has raised ahandislying.Itisimpossibleto see the runesof amagicallanguage unless you arefluentinthatlanguage.”

The class laughed,Derrickloudestamongthem.

When they quieted,Nicodemus began again. “Inanycase,byflickingmyhandopen…thusly…I cast the

spellintotheair.Ifyouwerefluent inMagnus, youwouldsee a glowing line of silverrunesfloatingintheairlikearibbon caught in an upwardbreeze.”

He looked hard at hisstudents. “Now, when I castthe spell, some of youmighthave heard the ringing of adistant bell or felt slightlysick. Others may feel theroom isbecomingwarmerorbrighter. This is not a

coincidence.Youare sensingmy spell but not in anysystematic way. This isbecause the magicallysensitive mind displacesperception of unknown orhiddenmagicaltexttooneofthe mundane senses. Thisphenomenon is known assynaesthesia. It’s a difficultword, two terrible trochees. Iwant everyone to say it withme:SIN-es-THEE-zhaa.”

Theclassechoedhimin

monotone.He nodded. “Most

synaesthetic reactions gounnoticed unless thespellwright is watching forthem. They are also unique,meaning everyone has adifferent synaestheticsensation.”

The girl with the shorthairraisedherhand.“What’syourreaction?”

Nicodemus glanced atthewindow. “Around hidden

spells,warmthspreadsacrossmy cheeks. It’s a bit like ablush. Now, it takes moststudents years to identifytheir synaesthesias. So don’tfeelbadifyoudon’t—”

He stopped. Perhapsbecausehewas talkingabouthissynaestheticreaction,heatspread across his entire face.Hisheartbegantobeatfasteras his mind filled withthoughts of subtextualizedsentinels.

He looked back at thedoor and jumped when hesaw a man dressed in black.The newcomer nodded atNicodemus. “I’m to take thestudents back to their towerswhenyourlecture’sdone.”

“Oh,” an embarrassedNicodemus said as herecognizedthemanasoneofthe neophyte preceptors. “Ofcourse,wecanendnow.”

The warmth was slowlyfading from his cheeks and

his heart was slowing. Heturned to the class. “Well, Icongratulateyouonsurvivingmy first lecture. Now pleaseform a line heading out thedoor for your preceptor.Derrick,Iwillspeakwithyouprivately.”

AS THE EXCITEMENT ofteaching began to dissipate,Nicodemus rubbed his eyesand again felt the sting ofexhaustion. He wondered

who had been watching hislecture and what impressionhehadmade.

“Am I in trouble?” asullenvoiceasked.

Nicodemus looked up.The classroom was emptyexceptforDerrick,whostoodbefore him staring at thefloor,hisarmscrossed.

“Not in the least.”Nicodemus sat andwithdrewpaper and quill from one ofthe student desks. On one

side of the page he wrote“angel,”ontheother“angle.”

“Have a seat, Derrick,and read this.” He held outthepaper.

Derrick compliedwithout looking him in theface. “Angel,” he said afterglancingatthepaper.

Nicodemus turned thesheetover.“Andthis?”

“Angel,” Derrickrepeated.

Nicodemus handed

Derrick a blank piece ofpaper and the quill. “Nowwritetheword‘angle’onthispaper.”Theboyscrawledout“angel.”

Nicodemus exhaledslowly.“Derrick,stopmeifIamwrong, but you have notbeen doing well in yourstudies, even though youunderstand everything that’sgoingon.”

The boy’s facedarkened, but he did not

speak.Nicodemus continued in

asoftertone.“You’reasharplad.Itwasdifficulttokeepupwithyouasateacher,andI’msorryifIwashardonyou.”

“You weren’t—” theboystartedtosay.

“My guess is you useyour wit, your ability todisrupt a lecture, to distractothers from seeing that thereissomethingwrongwithyou.IsaythisbecauseIwasonce

inasimilarsituation.Doyouunderstand?”

The boy’s mouthsoftened. He glanced up.“No.”

Nicodemus held up thepaper. “This reads ‘angle.’”Heturneditover.“Thisreads‘angel.’ I can easilydistinguish between themonly because when I wrotethem down, I put a dot on acorner of the angel side. Ifsomeone else had written

them and asked me to readthem,asIdidtoyou,Iwouldhaveseenthedifferenceonlywith great concentration. Ihavetriedmywholelifetobedifferent and have failed. Istillmisreadandmisspell.Doyouunderstandnow?”

“Alittle.”“Good. Now listen to

me:thereissomethingwrongwith you, just as there issomething wrong with me.Half the world will tell you

that you’re worthless andstupid; theotherhalfwill tellyou that there’s nothingwrongwithyouatall.Afewmight even say yourdisabilityisagift.”

Nicodemuspausedasheconsidered how all thelisteners in the room mightinterpret his words. “Thetruth is that you are neitherbroken nor gifted; you areonlywhatyoumakeyourselfinto.Inthatregard,youandI

are no different than anyother student. No amount ofclassroom antics will protectyoufromtheworlduntilyourealizethis.”

“I…I don’t understand,Magister.”

“Don’tcallmeMagister.I’mnot awizard, andmaybethey’ll never let me becomeone. And it’s fine that youdon’t understand. I didn’tunderstanditmyselfuntiljustnowwhenIhad toexpress it

inwords.And at your age, Idon’t know if I could haveunderstood or cared.But canyourememberwhatIsaid?”

Theboynodded.“Repeatitforme.”He repeated

Nicodemus’swordsverbatim.“The fact that you can

remember my speech soprecisely means that you arenot without certain talents,which some of us have. Inany case, promise that you

will always keepwhat I saidinyourmind.”

The boy promised, andsuddenly Nicodemus had tostifle a yawn. Silently, hethankedShannonfororderinghimtonapbeforelunch.

“May I go now?” theboyaskedglumly.

Nicodemus nodded.“Yes,yes.Catchupwithyourclassmates.Youdon’thavetomention this conversation. Ifthe preceptor asks, tell him I

scolded you for beingdisrespectful.” He smiled attheboy.

Withoutaword,Derrickleaped up from his seat andhurriedaway.

Nicodemus yawnedagain and sat for a momentwith his elbows on the desk,resting his exhausted head.Hewasabouttostandwhenasound made him look uptowardthedoor.

Heexpectedtoseemore

evidence of subtextualizedsentinels. Insteadhe saw thatDerrick hadn’t left but wasstandinginthethreshold.

“Is something wrong?”heasked.

“No,” the boy said,lookingNicodemusintheeyefor the first time. “But…thankyou,Magister.”

CHAPTERFourteenWhen Deirdre regainedconsciousness, shewas lyingonthefloor,crying.

Kyran knelt beside her,runninghishandsthroughherhair and telling her that

everythingwouldbeallright.Above him stretched a

blank stone ceiling. Theywere back in their Starhavenquarters.

Slowly her eyes dried.“Whathappened?”sheasked.Her stomach ached and hermouthandthroatburned.

“Weweresubtextualizedand spying on the boy’slesson when anothersubtexualized spellwright,most likely Amadi Okeke,

arrived,” Kyran rumbled.“YoufellintoaseizureandIcarriedyouhere.”

She sat up. “Did thesentineldetectus?”

Heshookhishead.“Anddotheotherdruids

suspectanything?”Againaheadshake.“Thank Bridget and

Boann both,” she mumbledwhilewipinghermouth.Theback of her hand came awaycovered with soggy bits of

bread.She looked at her

protector.“Vomit. Came up when

you were seizing. Youinhaledsomeofit.Ihadtextson hand to clear your lungs.But I can’t promise yoursafetyifthefitsgrowworse.”

“Such is the divineillness,”Deirdre said, staringat the filth. “It is thegoddess’swill.”

He sniffed. “Is it the

goddess’s will that youshoulddie?”

“Fitting punishment forwhatIdid.”

Kyran’s hand appearedunderherchinandturnedherface to his. “For what wedid.”

She looked away. “Ky,let’snot argue again about ifI’mafoolor ifyou’rea foolor…”

He pulled her close. Hehad undone the wooden

buttons of his sleeve toexpose his arms forspellwriting, and now shepressedhercheekagainsthisbareskin.

“Ky,Idon’tknowwhoIam,” she mumbled into hisshoulder.“WhenIwasseizingthis time, I had horriblevisions.Iwasstandingonthebanks of a Highland riverwhen thiswolfwith aman’sheadandredeyesjumpedonme. And somehow I was

stabbed again and again. Imelted like oil and wentflowingdowntheriver.”

With gentle hands,Kyransmoothedherhairuntilshewascalmagain.

They both stood, hefavoring his left leg asalways. After a tremuloussigh, Deirdre looked aroundtheir austere room: a chest, awashstand, a chamber pot,two beds, Kyran’s oakwalking staff leaning against

thewallbythedoor.She sat down by her

pillow.As Kyran joined her, a

rat scurried within a nearbywall. “Tell me of yourinterviewwiththeboybeforehe taught,”Kyran saidwhilehandingheracleantunic.

“Frustrating.”Shewipedherface.“He’sfrightenedandresists manipulation. Likelyhe’ll tell Shannon. But atleast he understood what I

said.It’saseedthatwillgrowlater.”

Kyran’s eyes narrowed.“Growwhen?”

She sighed. “Thedemon-worshiperwhocursedhim can’t be far. I don’t likeit,butwhenthefightingstartshe’llseethatIwastellingthetruth.”

Kyran shook his headand began to button up hissleeves. “You’re courtingbattle with a demon-

worshiper merely tomanipulatethisboy?”

“I court nothing.” Shestood.“I’drathersmuggletheboyfromthefastnesstonight,buthe’stoofrightenedbyhisdisability to leave his lifehere.” She began to pace.“Don’t look at me like that,Ky. A clash would be goodfor him. It will strengthenhim for the comingstruggles.”

“Itmightdothat,”Kyran

agreed. “Or it might killhim.”

AS SHANNON LABORED upsteps of the Alacran Tower,Azure gazed through thestairwell’sgeometricwindowscreens. Outside layStarhaven’s northwestquarter. Its many Spirishtowersboastedpyriformbrassdomes. They stood as boldintermediates to the grayLornish steeples to the south

and the white hemispheresthat topped the towers in thenortheastern ImperialQuarter.

At times, Azure couldglimpse the Bolide Gardenfar below. At this height, itseemed only a small brownsquare.LastsummerShannonhad taken new quartersoverlooking the garden.Ongoing renovations hadfilled the place with stoneheapsanddirtpiles.

Inside the stairwell,Azure examined the indigowall tiles and the ceiling’sgeometricmosaics.

Shannon, however,couldn’t appreciate what hisfamiliar saw. He was toobusy wondering if he hadsuccessfully covered histracks. Earlier,whilepretending to researchseveral gargoyles, he hadused a knifelike spell to cutinto their executive texts.

Thatdone,hehadwrittenintothe constructs memories oftalking to him until an hourpastmidday.Then had comethe task of eluding thesentinels Amadi had sent toguardhim.Hopefullythetwofools were still waiting forhimtocomeoutofaprivyintheMarfilTower.

Abruptly, a narrowhallway branched off to theright.WhenShannonstoppedto regain his breath, Azure

wrote teasinglyabouthisageandweakeninglegs.Shannonaffected fatigue and droppedhis shoulder so quickly theparrot was left flapping anddashing off laughingaccusationsofbetrayal.

After Azure glanced upand down the stairwell,Shannoncreptdownthedarkhallway and up a ladder to asmall metal door. Forcenturies, Starhaven’sjanitorial records had listed

the door as broken:“Corrupted tumbler spell:unfrangible.” Janitorial sawno need to fix the door; itopened onto an insignificantgargoyle perch thatoverlooked the northernwalls.

Intruth,thedoorandthelanding beyond were thefiercely guarded secret ofEjindu’s Sons—a politicalfactiontowhichShannonhadoncebelonged.

Azure bobbed her head.She didn’t like the dark,claustrophobicspace.

“A moment longer, oldfriend,”Shannoncooedwhileflicking a glowing mass ofNuminouspasswordsintothedoor’s lock. It sprang openwithanironshriek.

Shannon carefullystepped out onto a narrowlandingandbeheldthebrightlandscape.Tohis left lay thevast, grassy coastal plain.

Before him the westernslopes of the PinnacleMountains stretched away tothe horizon. Green alpineforests,spottedwithscarletorgold aspen thickets, coveredthesteepslopes.

He could make out theskeletons of several deadtrees. It made him think ofwhat Deirdre had said aboutthe Silent Blight and treesdyingacrossthecontinent.

A chill wind tugged at

Shannon’s robes and setAzure flapping to keep herbalance.

The landing itselfwas anarrow slab of gray stonesurrounded by a crenellatedbarricade.To the rightof thedoor, inside a small stonenook, slept an eyelessgargoylewithabat’sfaceanda pudgy infant’s body.Shannonshookitsshoulder.

The spell woke with atwitch. “My father has no

ears,” it croaked. “My fathertaughtme to hear.My fatherhas no eyes; he taughtme tosee. My father is coveredwithcowhide.”

“Construct, you werefathered from a spellbook,”Shannon answered theverification riddle. “And mywisdom was fathered from acodex of Ejindu’s teachings.MynameisAgwuShannon.”

The gargoyle reachedunder its feet, into a stone

recess that held its white-marble eyes. Other, heaviergargoyles would steal theeyesifitsleptwiththemin.

The gargoyle insertedeach marble sphere into itssocket,thenstudiedShannon.“I siphoned a message foryou from the last colaboris.”It drew from its belly aglowing,goldenrectangle.

Shannon took theparagraph. The Numinousrunes felt glassy smooth in

hishands.Hetranslated:

Ejindu’s Sons greetour Brother-in-Exile. Wefearedhehadforsakenus.Since the attack onTrillinon and the horriblefire it unleashed,Astrophell has been inchaos.

We gladly accept theinformation our Brother-in-Exile has offered. Wedo not know if the events

inStarhavenpertaintotheErasmine Prophecies. Wethink it unlikely thatNicodemus Weal is theHalcyon. However, wegladly provide whatanswersandassistancewecan.

ANSWER:We know ofno faction wishing ourBrother or his studentsharm.

ANSWER:We have noknowledge of Mg. Nora

Finn’sbriberormurderer.No Language Primerevivalisknowntous.

ANSWER: We knowlittle ofMg.AmadiOkekeother than that she hassecretly sworn allegianceto the counter-prophecyfaction.

ANSWER: In exchangefor our Brother’s publicpledgeofsupport,weshallgrant him full use of ourStarhaven constructs;

however, at this time, weare unwilling to endangerany of our few Starhavenspellwrights by assigningthemtoyourcause.

We hope thisgenerous supportconvinces our Brother torejoin the Sons in ourstruggle for a united andpeacefulNuminousOrder.

Shannon let out a long,relievedbreath.Thisresponse

to his original message, sentearlier that morning, wasbetter than expected. Herippedthesentencesapartandbegan mulling over theanswers.

The Sons were alwayswell informed of academicpolitics.If theydidnotknowofaplotagainsthim,thenhewas sure none existed. That,takenwith their ignorance ofNora Finn’s briber andmurderer, provided strong

evidence that the creatureShannon had encounteredwas not connected to theacademy.

Amadi’s allegiance tothecounter-prophecyfactionswas more troubling.Sentinelswere prohibited fromwizardly politics: a fact thatdid not stop many sentinelsfrom covertly advancing afaction’sinterests.

More important,Amadi’sallegianceexplained

why the provost—a counter-prophecy supporter—hadappointed her to lead theinvestigation. It alsoexplained her interest inNicodemus’sscarshapedlikean Inconjunct and why shehadwantedtoknowwhattheprovost had thought of it.Amadihadalsoaskedtheboyif he noticed that chaosincreased around him. Shemust suspect thatNicodemuswas not theHalcyon, but the

Storm Petrel—a destroyerpredicted by the counter-prophecy to oppose theHalcyon.

“Magister, how do youanswer?” the bat-facedgargoylecroaked.

Shannon started; he hadforgotten about the Sons’offer of assistance.“Construct,haveyoureadthemessage?”

The spell wrinkled itsbat nose. “I have, as my

authorintendedmeto.”“I do not accuse you,

gargoyle,Isimplyneedsomeanswers. How manyconstructs do the Sonscommand? Do they stillcontrolthecompluvium?”

The gargoyle lifted achubbyhandtostrokealong,batlikeear. “Wedostillholdthatportionof theroofworld.As well as two Lornishtowers and fiveSpirishones.We number fifty-four light-

andmiddle-weightgargoyles;twelve war-weight brutes—only twoofquickness.Thereare also three guardianspells.”

Shannon idly scratchedAzure’s neck and thoughtabout this. “I would requireboth war-quick gargoyles toreside in the compluvium.There must also be enoughmiddle-weight gargoyles toworktheFool’sLadder.”

The bat-faced construct

began stroking his other ear.“Yourpurpose?”

“I may need the wartexts to guard and perhapsevacuate nine cacographicboys.”

The gargoyle blinked.“Theirvalue?”

“They are living,breathing boys,” Shannonsnapped.

The bat-faced thingshrugged.“Thebrutescanbeedited immediately, but the

Fool’s Ladder will take atleast three hours toassemble.”

Shannon took a longbreath. It would have beenbetter if the Sons hadcommitted some of theirmembers. Powerful as war-quick gargoyles were, theywere no substitute for livingauthors. Worse was theasking price. Publiclypledging his support to theSons would end Shannon’s

freedom from politics. Hewould have to commithimself to any cause thefaction chose. Itwouldmakehim,onceagain,agamepieceonabloodyboard.

Shannon slowly exhaledas he thought aboutNicodemus. Withoutwarning, his memory camealive with the image of hislong-dead wife, her darkeyes…

“I pledge myself to

Ejindu’s Sons,” Shannonannounced as he forged aNuminous proclamation ofhisallegiance.

The construct struggledup onto its infant feet toformallyaccepttheparagraphwithabow.

“One more thing,” thegrand wizard said, removinga long cloth-wrapped objectfromhisrobes,“doyouknowofacreatureorconstructthatforms flesh when vital but

once deconstructed becomesthis?” He unwrapped theobject.

The gargoyle made along, frowning study of thesevered clay arm. “No,Magister.”

Shannon grunted.“Thank you, gargoyle. Youhave served me well. I wishyou quiet dreams.” Hebowed.

Clumsily, the constructreturned the bow before

plucking out its eyes andsettling down on the roof tosleep.

Shannon walked backintothetower.Hewasn’tanycloser to discovering who orwhatthemurdererwas,butatleast he had taken steps toconfound the creature’s nextassault.

THINKING MURDER, thecreature stepped through theaspen thicket and grumbled

about Shannon’s failure tomountadefense.Alreadyonedire surprise awaited the oldgoat in Starhaven, and soonthecreaturewouldripanotherlifeawayfromhim.

Hewonderedwhatcouldbe keeping the fool fromresponding.True, themurderinvestigation would preventShannon from alerting thesentinels. And true, the oldhuman probably thought hehad won time by cutting off

thecreature’sarm.The memory of silver

text slicing through tendonand bone made the creatureflex his new hand. Maybehe’d wrench off Shannon’sarmandseeifitcameback.

The creature’s task inStarhaven, though ofparamount importance,wasadull one. And though helooked forward to killingShannon, he desired morepractice matching wits

againstahuman.Hissurvivalmight one day depend onunderstandingthebeasts.

All around the creaturestood white aspen trees. Thechill autumn nights hadlacquered their leaves withbrightyellow.Above,beyondthe brightly colored canopy,stretched a vivid blue skyinterrupted only byStarhaven’s many dark,incongruoustowers.

The creature stopped,

shifted his white cloak, andconsidered the ancient city.Different civilizations haddressed up the towers, butunderneath the humanfrippery stood stones stillChthonic. The flowing ofeach thin bridge into itstowers, the undulation of thewalls—they spoke of stonefluidity.How the humans hadslaughteredtheChthonicracewas a mystery beyond thecreature’scomprehension.

Indeed, the creaturefound human nature itselfmystifying. In groups, thebeasts delighted in codifyinglaws, religions, grammars.Andyet, thecreaturehadyetto encounter a human whodidnotdailycommitacrimeor a sin or both. Worse,humans spoke and wrotecarelessly, erratically—violating their owngrammars, yet easilyunderstanding their own

illogicallanguage.At times, the creature

was amazed he had learnedhuman communication at all.His former master hadallowed him little contactwiththebeasts.

Perhaps more intenseobservation would help. Hehadalreadyeditedagargoylenear the top of the ErasmineSpiresothatitwouldmonitorthewizard’s colaboris spells.Further infiltration of

Starhaven’s gargoyles mightbe useful. The creature hadthought of writing a small,rat-sized gargoyle withaugmented hearing. Such aconstruct could gatherinformation about how thehumanslived.

A scrub jay’s crybrought his gaze downward.Twenty feet ahead lay aclearing where the youngerwizards went to drink stolenwine or roll together in the

grass.The creature walked to

the trees’ edge. His whitecloak matched the aspentrunks. Below stretched asmall clearing of knee-highgrass.

As he waited, thecreature thought aboutShannon. The wizard haddisappointed; this nextcounter-strike might crippletheoldman.

The creature did not

need to return to Trillinonnow that the flawed dragonhadflown.Theotherdemon-worshipers had their orders.That left plenty of time tofindtheboyandreplenishtheemerald—atasksoimportant,it had to be kept secret fromthe other demon-worshipers.The creature had wantedsomething like a challenge,buthecouldn’trisklosingthecacographer.

To the north, a twig

snapped. Moving among thetrees was a short human inblack robes. The plan hadworked; the young wereeasilyswayedbydreams.

Butperhapsthisboywasnot the one he sought.Perhaps Shannon and hewould play another round.Perhaps the old fool wouldput up a fight before thecreaturetoreouthisthroat.

The black-robed humanmovedclosertotheclearing’s

edge.The creature frowned

anddecidedthatheshouldn’twish for a pro-longed matchwithShannon. If theemeraldwere lost, he would have tostartover.

The creature began toforge the long LanguagePrime sentences necessary tocompose a canker curse.TheWar of Disjunction wouldcome sooner if the text hewas writing didn’t rip this

child’s guts into bloodyribbons. The creature’s lipsstretched into a long, lupinesmile.

At theclearing’sedge—peering about with curiouseyes for the beautifulmeadow seen in a dream—wasayoungcacographicboy.

CHAPTERFifteenNicodemus stifled a yawnand opened the door toShannon’squarters.Thefrontroomwasawide,sunlitplacewith an expanse ofTrillinonish carpet, a writing

desk,twobookcases,andfourscrollracks.

Nicodemus removed hisboots and socks in theNorthern fashion and paddedovertothewindows.Outsidethe midday sun poureddazzlinglightontotheBolideGarden.

Once the square hadbeen a lush patch of grasslined with trees. Nicodemushad played among them as aneophyte. But two years ago

the elms had died of anunknowndisease.

Since then janitorialhadundertaken a renovation ofthe entire square. The recentneed to prepare for theconvocation had stopped alllandscaping and left thegardenfullofpaledirt.

The mounds directlybelow Shannon’s quarterswere muddy and dark. Afountainhadoncestoodthere.One of Starhaven’s

underground aqueducts musthaveapoorlysealedoutletatthatspot.

A sudden yawn madeNicodemus’s jaw crack.“Heaven, bless Magister forordering me to nap,” hemurmured. Fingering thehour bell he had taken fromthe classroom, he thoughtaboutwhatShannonhadsaidabout the murderer, thedragon, and the possibilitythat Nicodemus was

connected to prophecy. Theold man’s words filled hisheartwithwildhopeandfear.Then there was the druid.Couldhetrusther?

He fought another yawnand realized that he was tooexhaustedtothinkclearly.Heturnedforthebedroom.

Shannon wasTrillinonish by birth, but hismotherhadbeenDralish.Herinfluence on Shannon’s tastewas seen in the four-post

feather bed that had beenhauled all the way fromHighland.

Sitting on the bed’sedge, Nicodemus examinedthe spherical brass hour bellandtherectangularmouthcutintoitsbottom.

From his belt-purse,Nicodemus drew a foldedpage that he had taken fromShannon’s desk. It containeda one-hour tintinnabulumspell.

Thoughitwascomposedin a common language, thetext had a complicatedstructure. Normally, ifNicodemus concentrated onkeeping therunes fromrearranging, he could brieflytouch such spells withoutmisspelling them. However,hisexhaustionwouldincreasehischancesofmisspelling.Sohebithislipinconcentrationand peeled the spell’s firstparagraphfromthepage.

The white words leapedinto the air around hispinched fingers and pulledthesequentsentencesupwiththem. The paragraphs beganfolding into a rectangularcage.

Nicodemus redoubledhis focus. He had only thisone tintinnabulum;misspellingitwouldprecludehisnap.

At last, the concludingparagraph jumped up and

formed a ball that flewaround within thetintinnabulum cage. Eachtime it struck a textual wall,theballsilentlydeconstructeda rune segment. The spell’scagecouldwith-standtheballfor one hour; after that, theballwouldbreakfreeandringthebell.

Nicodemus inserted thespellintothebell’smouth,setthe device on the bedsidetable, and fell back onto the

featherbed.Hefelthisheadmeetthe

pillow; he felt his breathingslow; he felt his legs jerk asthey sometimes did beforesleep.Buthedidnotfeelasifhewerefallingasleep.Hefeltasifhewere…spinning?

Ascrubjaycried.Nicodemus opened his

eyesand foundhimself lyingin a meadow outsideStarhaven.Herecognized theplace as “the glen”—a

clearingwhere studentswenttodrinkliftedwineortolocklips.

HerehehadkissedAmyHern for the first time. Thathadbeenyearsago.

It had been a quietevening after a brief snowshower.Theireveryfoot-stephad produced a crunch, theirevery breath a plume offeathery vapor. Above themthe sky glowed a solemnwinter lavender that painted

all thebranchespurestblack.Her lips felt chapped againsthis lips; her tongue, hotagainst his tongue. They hadbeenonlyacolytes.

Remembering Amy,Nicodemus winced. She wasno longer Amy Hern butMagistra Amaryllis Hern—alesserwizardinStarfallKeep.Hehadnotseenhersinceherdeparturefouryearsago.Norhad he received any reply tohis messages other than an

impersonal note about hernewlifeinStarfall.

In a lucid moment,Nicodemus realized that hewas dreaming. He sat upexpecting to wake onShannon’s feather bed, butinsteadsatupintheglen.

A neophyte stood to hisright. The boy had his backturned and was lookingtowardtheaspentrees.

Something large wasmoving among the pale

trunks. Its footfalls sentvibrations through theground. Its breath was long,slow,bestial.

Nicodemustriedtostandbuthis legswereclumsy.Hefeltintoxicated.

Thecreaturesteppedoutfrom the trees. Nicodemustriedtolookatitbuthiseyeswould not focus on it. Thething’sbodybillowedupintoamass of blurry pallid flesh.Again he struggled to stand

butonlyfellforward.Hetriedto lookupat thecreaturebutagaincouldnotfocusonit.

The neophyte turned torun. Drunkenly, Nicodemusgotontohisknees.Justthenathin rod of flesh explodedfrom the monster. It shotacross the clearing to impalethe boy’s lower back. Thechildkeptrunning.

Nicodemus tried to cryout but fell forward. Dirtfilled his eyes. With clumsy

hands,heclearedhisvision.Then he was no longer

in the glen. He was in anundergroundcavern.

The ceiling glinted withquartz. The floor shoneuniformly gray. Before himstoodablackstonetablewitha body atop it. A pale cloakcovered the figure. In itsglovedhandslayasmallgemthat glowedgreen.The stonewaslacriform—tear-shaped.

Something twitched at

the light’s edge. It was asmall creature. Its oily blueback was sleek and armoredwith hexagonal plates—anightmarish land turtle. Ithissedas it stumpedforward.Dark tendrils sprouted fromthe creature’s footsteps andgrew into ivy vines withunctuousblackleaves.

A lance of red lightdropped from the ceiling tostrike the turtle’s back.Witha crack, the beast’s shell

shattered.Itscreamedasblueoil flowed out of its brokenshell. A second turtlematerializedandthenathird.

As the turtlesapproached, they trailedwakes of burgeoning blackivy vines. More and moreturtles came in from theblackness. Another lance ofred light shattered thehexagonal plates on acreature’s back. There cametwomoreblastsoflight,then

tenmore.On the table, the body

still lay covered by a whitecloak. Then a wind whippedthroughthecavernandtossedbackthefigure’swhitehood.

The face revealed wasNicodemus’s own. For adizzying instant Nicodemuswas not just himself but alsothe figure lying on the table.He was also the turtlescrawling on the floor and aterrified neophyte running

through the woods back toStarhaven.

As the figure on thetable, he sat up. His cheeksbulged and his lips parted toloose a deafening metallicclanging. A tiny ball wasflying around inside hismouth.

Suddenly Nicodemuswoke in Shannon’s featherbed. He had escaped thenightmare and was staringstraight at the vibrating hour

bellcryingoutitsearsplittingalarm.

CHAPTERSixteenWhen Shannon returned tohis study, he found Amadiransacking the place withthree of her Northernsentinels. Shannonrecognized the first—a

slender male Ixonian—asKale, Amadi’s personalsecretary.Theothertwowerethe fools she had sent tofollowhim.

Upon seeing him, thestrangers began forgingcensor spells—enmeshingtexts that could wrap aroundhis head and prevent himfromspellwriting.

Shannon, ignoring them,walked behind his desk andset Azure on his chair. He

removed several walnutsfroma jaronabookshelf. “Ibelieve an explanation isdue,”hesaidmildly.

Amadi answeredtensely: “Magister, youdeliberately deceived thesentinelsIsenttoguardyou.”

Shannon offered awalnut to Azure’soutstretched foot. “I wasbeing guarded? I didn’tnotice. Your sentinels mustwrite excellent subtexts. I

wonder how they lost me.”Hesmiledatthetwosentinelswhohadbeenfollowinghim.

They made a comicalpair.Onewastallandfatwithgoldenbuttonsonhis sleeve.The otherwas short and thinwithsilverbuttons.

Azure cracked thewalnutinherbeakandpickedoutthemeat.

Amadi looked at theshort sentinel. “In theMarfllTower,”themanblurted.“He

went into a privy and thenwrote a text to climb to abridgeabove.”

Shannon laughed andaccepted Azure’s emptywalnut shells. “You flatterme, Magister, to claim I’mcapable of such a feat atmyage.” He laughed again. “Infact, I left the privy by thebalcony so that I couldquestion the gargoyle thatempties the latrine. Surelyyourcompanionwatchingthe

balcony saw me.” He raisedhis eyebrows at the fatsentinel.

Themanlookedaway.“Oh, how

embarrassing,” Shannon saidthrough a half-smile. “Youdidn’t consider that theprivymight have more than oneexit. Well, no matter; youmay question the balconygargoyle. It will recall ourconversation.” He handedAzure another walnut. “I

examined other gargoylesafterward.”Helistedthem.

Amadi eyed herunderlings. “Go and verifywhatMagistersays.”

With a commotion ofbobbing heads, the twohurriedfromthestudy.

“AndKale,”Amadisaidto her secretary, “you maydeliver those messages now.Interruptmeonlywithurgentnews.”

The young Ixonian

nodded and left, closing thedoorbehindhim.

Amadi, pushing adreadlock from her face,turned back to Shannon.“Magister, I thought we hadanunderstanding.Iamtryingtoproveyourinnocence.”

“Amadi,Isimplydidnotknow I was being…guarded,asyouputit.”

“Magister, I’m not achild anymore.” A hint ofpainsoundedinherotherwise

controlled voice. “You knewyouwerebeingwatched.”

“Amadi,Idon’t—”“Very well.” Her tone

was testy. “So there will benofuturemisunder-standings,I tell you now that we’veplaced a watch on yourquarters above the BolideGardens. We did this afterfollowing Nicodemus there.Wedid not disturb his sleep,but after he left my authorssearched the place, taking

care not to disturb anything.If you persist in thissuspicious behavior, we willhave to search it morethoroughly.” She paused foreffect.“Alsowehavewrittenrobustwardsonthedoorsandwindows.”

Shannon raised aneyebrow.

“No author or text willbeabletoenterorleaveyourquarterswithoutdisspellingaward. Iwould advise against

such an action; anyoneattempting to sneak inoroutofyourquarterswillbecutintwo at the waist. Of course,the sentinels watching yourquarters will disarm thewards when you enter orleave.”

Shannon made noattempt to hide his irritation.“Your reaction seemsextreme considering that youhave no evidence ofmisconductonmypart.”

“None indeed? Do youcaretoexplainwhyyourfacelooks like a lion’s scratchingpost?”

Herolledhisblindeyes.“I told you a spellbookdeconstructed when I wasworking late last night. I canfetchwhat’s leftof thebook,severalbooks,actually.”

“Ofcourseyoucan.Andthe men I sent to confirmyour story about researchinggargoyles, no doubt the

constructswillexonerateyou.You’re a linguist studyingtextualintelligence.Nodoubtyouedited—”

“Magistra, you go toofar! I have answered yourevery question, allowed youtointerruptmyresearch,evengiven you access to mystudents. And how do yourepay my good will? Byspying onme, by ransackingmylibrary,byaccusingmeoftampering with academy

constructs.”Amadipursedherlips.“SoIwillsayagain,”he

continued, his voice calmer,“that you owe meanexplanation.” He held outanother nut for Azure.“Without one, I mustcomplainto—”

“Two of your studentshavedied.”

The walnut droppedfrom his hands. “What didyousay?”

“Two of your studentshave died. Adan ofRoundtower and EricEverson.Adanwas foundonthe smithy roof. It seems hejumped from the WeshurstBridge. His older brotherperished in the Astrophellfire. The other boy, Eric,came running in from theforestwithamisspell tearingup his insides. The curseworkedhimtoexhaustion.Inhis robes, the boy had a

Numinous scroll—seems hestole themanuscript andwasplayingwithitintheforest.”

“Blood of Los,”Shannon whispered and satheavily in his chair. Azureclimbedontohisshoulderandbegan preening hisdreadlocks.

Amadi took the seat infrontofhisdesk.“There’snosign that either death wasmurder. But in light of whathappened to Nora Finn, I

believesomethingisawry.SoI will ask you again:Magister, where have youbeenforthepasthour?”

“IspeakthetruthwhenIsay that I was talking togargoyles,” Shannon saidnumbly.

Themurdererhadstruckfaster than he had thoughtpossible. More terrifying,Shannonhadissuedorderstoall wizards supervisingcacographers that their

charges were not to leaveStarhaven. How could themurderer have induced theboys to disobey and escapetheirteachers?

The murderer had saidhe could wield dreams asothersmightwieldanet.Themonster must somehow beusing dreams to compel theboys to stray out ofStarhaven’s protective walls.“Creator forgive me!” hewhispered to himself. This

changedeverything.Amadi began to ask a

question about the two poorboys.

He stopped her andwithdrew the severed clayarmfromhisrobes.Thethingwas beginning to lose itsshape.Nevertheless,helaiditonthetable.

While Amadi stared atthe arm, he described NoraFinn’sprivate libraryandhisfightwiththemurderer.

Amadi stared at himwith a neutral expression.“Magister, you expect me tobelievethis?”

His tone grew moreurgent. “Go to the GimhurstTower; see Nora’s privatelibraryforyourself.”

“According toyour tale,thedeconstructingspellbookswill have destroyedeverything in the privatelibrary—even your attacker’sweapon. And you said the

creature ran off with Finn’sresearchjournal.Therewouldbenothingtofind.”

Shannonhadnotthoughtofthis.“Butthearm.”

Looking at the limb,Amadi tooka longbreath. “Ihaveneverheardofanything,living or magical, thatchanges from flesh to clay.Perhapssuchatransformationwas possible on the ancientcontinent. Perhaps a deitycould achieve such a thing

withagodspell.”Shannon felt his hands

go cold. Godspells wereimmensely powerful andornatetextswrittenbydeities.They were also exceedinglyrare.

Amadi was studyingShannon’s face. “Magister,do you believe you con-fronted a god last night?Surely other authors wouldhavedetectedthepresenceofadeityinStarhaven.”

She was right. “Perhapsnotagod,butagodspell,”hesaid quickly. “Amadi, youmust believe me. There areforces acting here beyondanything we’ve knownbefore.”

She paused and thenasked her next question in asofter tone: “Magister, haveyou ever had visions notrelated to quaternarythoughts?”

He blinked. “No, of

course not. You think I’mmad?”

“Tell me about yourrelationship to the druidDeirdre.”

“Druid?” he asked inconfusion. “Deirdre?Nothing, nothing. She askedfor an interview withNicodemus, and to help theconvocation I agreed to—”He stopped. “You think I’mmad and it has something todowiththedruid?”

Amadi shook her head.“With the boy. He has a…powerabouthim.Whydidn’tyoutellmeofhisrelationshipto prophecy during our firstinterview?”

“Because there is noprovenrelationship.”

Amaditiltedherheadtoone side. “It seems the boyunknowingly drawsspellwrights—you, possiblythe druid—to his cause.Consider that his peers are

dying of misspells. Perhapshe is responsible for…whatyouperceived.”

“What are youimplying?”

“Thinkoftheboy’sscar—a Braid broken by anInconjunct. The counter-prophecy predicts that theStorm Petrel will ‘untie theHalcyon’sweavings’andthathe will ‘break the braids theHalcyon ties between thehumankingdoms.’”

Shannon stood andbegan to pace. “Amadi, youquestion my sanity whilebelieving that a merecacographic apprentice is theAnti-Halcyon? That’smadness. How can youbelieve thatacrippledboy isthe Storm Petrel? Thechampion of the demon-worshipers?”

“I look for theories thatcanexplaintherecentdeaths.This theory is the only one

thatcanexplainthemall.”Shannon shook his head

vehemently.“ButI’vespokentotheprovost.HeagreesthatNicodemus’sscarsweremostlikelytheresultofafanaticalmotherwhobrandedhim.”

“I’ve since talked toProvost Montserrat. HebelievesweshouldreevaluateNicodemus.”

Shannon felt nauseated.“You thinkNicodemuskilledtheothercacographers?”

She shook her head.“Nicodemus was lecturingneophytes when the youngonesdied.Besides,thereisnoevidence that either boy wasmurdered. As I said, thecounter-prophecies teach usthat turmoil shall followwherever the Storm Petrelflies. If I am right,Nicodemus isunawareofhistrue nature but is drivingthesehorribleeventsbysomeunknownpower.”

Shannonstoppedpacing.Thingswouldbecomechaoticindeed if Amadi publiclydeclared that the counter-prophecywascomingtopass.He needed to stop her. Heneeded to protect the DrumTower.Ifhewerefreeforjustanother day, he could sneakthe cacographic boys to thecompluvium, where thegargoyles would protectthem.

“Magister,”Amadi said,

“you must admit thatNicodemusmight be the oneofcounter-prophecy.”

Suddenly Shannon sawhis opening. Itwould requirea bit of finesse, a bit of abluff. Hewalked back to hischair but did not sit. “Isuppose your faction will bepleased that you are stirringup excitement about thecounter-prophecy.”

Amadi’s eyes narrowed.“Sentinelsmaynotplayinthe

gameoffactions.”Time for his bluff.

“There are some who couldlink you to the counter-prophecy faction. And ifNicodemusisdangerous,thenit might seem that you areletting him run a little wild,letting the bodies stack up alittlehigher,collectingalittlemore blood to bolster yourclaims about the counter-prophecy.”

Amadi’s face became

blank.“Whatareyousaying,Magister?”

“I amsaying that if youintend to make claims aboutcounter-prophecy you hadbest keep a tight watch onNicodemusandtherestoftheDrum Tower. You had bestdoallthatyoucantopreventfurther deaths. If you don’t,maybe a rumor will implythat you shirked your dutiesso as to breed fear and sobuild support for your

faction.”Amadi grunted. “You

are trying to force me toprotect the cacographic boysfrom your imaginarymonster?”

Hesatdown.“Wewouldbothgetwhatwewant.”

“I don’t take well tothreats, Magister. I’m notyourstudentany longer.Youcan’t possibly connectme toany faction. Besides, I haveprecious few sentinels

available tomeas it is.Withthe convocation in progress,the provost’s officers arestealingmyeveryfreeauthorto look after our guests. Butwhat you say does makesome sense.” She paused.“Very well, I’ll placetwoguards before the DrumTower at night and two tofollow Nicodemus. But I’malso assigning two to followyou.”

Shannon suppressed a

smile. “I shall welcome theprotection. But we have tomake sure the endangeredboys don’t leave Starhaven.I’ll reem-phasize my ordersthat cacographers are not tobe let out of doors.You hadbest seal the Drum Tower atnight and write protectivewards on the doors andwindows.I’llneedpasswordsin case I have to reach thestudents.”

Amadi nodded slowly.

“Verywell.”Shannonsighedinrelief.

“Amadi, you’ll be glad youtookmy advice.Now Imustgotomyfieldresearchinthecompluvium.Nicodemuswillmeet me there; I will leadyoursentinelsoverfromhere.Theycanwatchoverusboth.Laterwe’vemoreresearchintheMainLibrary.”

Amadi leaned forwardand spoke earnestly:“Magister, I will go to the

Gimhurst Tower and searchfor Finn’s private library.But,asIhavesaid,thereisnodirect evidence that either ofthe boys was murdered.Please keep an open mindabout the counter-prophecy.Consider that Nicodemusmight be the Storm Petrel.”Shepaused.“Isuspectwearedealingwithaforcefarmoredirethanasimplemurderer.”

“Magistra,” he said, “Isuspectthesamething.”

DEIRDRE CALMLY REGARDEDAmadi. A moment ago, thewoman had appeared at herchamber door and demandedaninterview.

“WhatisyourinterestinNicodemus Weal?” thesentinel asked, sitting onKyran’ssleepingcot.

Deirdre sat on theopposite cot. She hadexpected the question. “Asyou observed,AmadiOkeke,

IhadhopedtheboymightbethePeregrinesafelydeliveredtome.But his keloid dashedmyhopes.”Itwasnottrulyalie—the keloid had dashedher hopes…that Nicodemuswouldbeeasilywonover.

Amadi noddeddistractedly. “Druid, doesyour Order know of acounter-prophecy?”

“I have never heard ofsuchathing.”

“TheErasmineCounter-

Prophecy is not commonknowledge, even amongwizards. It predicts that amalevolent spellwright willarise to become theHalcyon’s opposite, achampionofchaosreferredtoas the Petrel or the StormPetrel.”

“And this champion,”Deirdre asked, “might slaythe Halcyon and help thedemonsinvadeourland?”

The sentinel nodded.

“The counter-prophecypredicts that unless we canstopit,thePetrelwillbeginacorruption of all language.The demons will completeit.”

Deirdre willed her faceto be calm. “AndNicodemus’s unusual scarand his misspelling makesyou suspect that hemight bethisdestroyer?”

Amadi took a slowbreath. “Doubtless you’ve

heard rumors about…unrestin Starhaven. We havenoticed a number ofdangerous misspells, a fewaccidents, but nothing thatshould concern you as adelegate. As a sentinel, myfirst concern is maintainingsafety throughout theconvocation. To that end, Ientertain all theories of whatmight be causing these oddevents.” She paused. “If thedruids also know of a

counter-prophecy and couldidentifyNicodemusas—”

“Wedonotbelieve in acounter-prophecy,” Deirdreinterrupted.

“But perhaps thoseconcerned with the SilentBlight might thinkdifferently?ShouldIspeaktotheotherdruidicdelegates?”

Deirdre shook her head.“We do not believe in acounter-prophecy of anykind. And the druids are not

at all certain the Blight isconnected toprophecy. I fearwecannothelpyou.”

“Isee.Thankyou,druid,for your time.” Amadi stoodandsteppedtowardthedoor.

Deirdre rose with her.“If there is any other way Ican help, you have only toask.”

Amadi paused by thethreshold. “Perhaps…” shesaid, turningback.“Iwonderif you could tell me…do the

druids know of a constructthat appears to be made offlesh, but once deconstructedbecomesclay?”

The strength seemed todrain from Deirdre’s legs.“Have you encountered sucha creature?” she asked inwhatshehopedwasatoneofdisbelief,notshock.

The sentinel wasstudyingher face. “I surpriseyou.Don’t thinkmemad forasking such a question.

MagisterShannonandIweredebating if such a thing waspossible.”

Deidreforcedherlipstosmile. “I do not think itmadto wonder such things. Wemust always seek newunderstandings.” She paused.“What if Nicodemus truly isthe dangerous spellwright ofyourcounter-prophecy?”

The sentinel shook herhead.“Thereisnoneedtobealarmed.Inlessthanaquarter

hour, I will have two guardsfollowing the boy night andday. His tower will betextually sealed at night.Themoment we have evidencethat he is dangerous orconnected to the counter-prophecy, we’ll censor hismind and lock him up in acellbelowtheGateTowers.”

“Thank you for tellingme.”Deirdrebowed.

Amadi returned thegesture and left. Slowly the

sentinel’s footsteps fadeddownthehall.

“How much of that didyouhear?”Deirdreasked.

“Enough,” Kyran saidfrombehindher.“Soitseemsthe black-robeshaveencountered the demon-worshiper you guessed wasnearby.Do I need to explainabout the creature turningfromfleshtoclay?”

She turned and saw hissilhouette glimmer as he let

the invisibility subtextdeconstruct.“No,youbloodydon’t.”

The subtext fell fromKyran’s head, revealing asternexpression. “Weshouldtake the boy now. Ourgoddesscanprotecthimoncewegethimtotheark.”

Deirdrerubbedhereyes.“We can’t. You heard thesentinel;she’splacingguardsaroundtheboy.”Thepressureonhereyelidscausedfloating

orange-blacksplotchesacrosshervision.“Ky,doyouthinkwe could find the author’sbody, kill the demon-worshiper while the creatureissneakingabout?”

“No. The true bodycouldbeanywhere.”

Deirdre swore. “And ifAmadiOkekegets it intoherhead that Nicodemus is thisPetrel, she’ll censor him andsend him to his death in thatprisoncell.”

“He wouldn’t be safefrom the creature whenlockedup?”

She dropped her handsand gave him an exasperatedlook.“Whatwouldhappen ifyoutiedupalambandleftitinthesheeppen?”

He grimaced. “Thelycanthropeswouldcomeoutofthewoods.”

CHAPTERSeventeenNicodemus stared at theflecks of stew that spangledhisemptiedlunchbowl.

Midday sunlight wasstreamingintotherefectory—awideLornishhalllinedwith

tapestries and clear-glasswindows. Above, broadrafters marched across theceiling and provided hangingposts for the academy’sbanners. Farther down thetable, several librarianswhispered about the horriblenewsfromTrillinon.

Using his spoon,Nicodemus began to flattenthe drops of congealing stewon the inside of his bowl. Amash of conflicting emotions

seethedwithinhismind.Half an hour before, he

hadhurriedintotherefectory,heart pounding. Thenightmare had been as vividasthepreviousnight’sdragondream. He had been sure ithad also come from themurderer, but he couldn’timagine why the villainwould sendhimsuchstrangevisions.

He had mulled over thenightmare’s images while

fetchinghis stewand findinga private space to sit. Themore he thought about thedream, the more it seemedthat the episodes of theneophyteandtheturtleswereincongruous. That hadcalmed him somewhat.Mundane nightmares werefilledwithnonsensical shifts.Perhaps the bizarre sequencemeant that the dream wassimplyadream.

Whatever the case,

Nicodemus had told himself,Shannonwouldknowwhattodoabout it; therewasnouseinworryingnow.

He had tried to thinkabout his successful firstcompositionlecturebutendedupfrettingaboutthesentinelswhohadbeenspyingonhim.Did they still think himcapable of murder? Thequestionhadmadehim thinkabout James Berr, themurdering cacographer who

hadlivedsolongago.Didthesentinels think he was asecondJamesBerr?

Then he had thoughtaboutwhatthedruidhadtoldhim. Her words hadawakened a dormant longinginhisheart.Couldheactuallybe the Halcyon? After allthese years of coming toterms with his disability,could his cacography beremoved?

Half of him wanted to

lose himself in dreams ofwhat life might be likeif thedruid were correct. But theotherhalfwaswaryandmorethan a little frightened.Whatifhedared tobelieve thathewas not crippled and then,onceagain,discovered that itwas all a lie? Could hesurvive a seconddisappointment?

Hefelthisbelt-purseforthe magical artifact Deirdrehad given him. A Seed of

Finding, she had called it.Eventhroughcloth,theobjectmadehisfingerstingle.

The artifact’s powerspoketothedruid’ssincerity.However, she was clearlyafter something more thancuring his cacography. Themore Nicodemus thoughtabout it, the more hequestionedhermotives.

“Fiery blood,” hegrumbled, flattening anotherdropofstewwithextraforce.

Then there was theadvice he had given to thesmart-mouthed cacographicboyinhisclass:“Acceptyourdisability and you will befree,”hadbeentheessenceofhis message. It had seemedtrue at the time, but here hewas,ferventlyhopingthathisown disability could beerased.

Did that make him ahypocrite? He brought thespoon to his lips and tapped

its tip against his front teeth.“Yes,”hegrunted,“itbloodywelldoes.”

Suddenly Nicodemuswishedeverythingwould justgo away. If only he couldcrawl back to his room andspend the rest of the dayreading theknightly romancestoredunderhisbed.

AbruptlyDevinthumpedher lunch bowl down on thetable and sat next to him.“Heardthenews?”sheasked.

“That why you look likeyou’ve seen Erasmus’sghost?”

Nicodemus dropped hisspoonwith awooden clatter.“Dev, thank heaven you’rehere! I need to tell…” hisvoicediedasherememberedhispromisetoShannonnottotrust anyone. “…need to tellyou that I taught my firstclass on spellwriting. Itwentwell. But the news was soshocking that…I don’t know

howtofeel.”“None of us does,” she

grumbled, sinking a batteredwooden spoon into her stew.“Nico, do you thinkStarhaventakescareofus?”

“Of course. Most likelywe’d have magical literacypermanently censored fromour minds if we were inAstrophell.”

“But maybe thatwouldn’t be so bad. Do youthink common folk are

distressed by a fire inTrillinon? What’s foreignnewstoapigfarmer?”

“But, Dev, you’d beilliterate.”

She shrugged. “I don’tread anything but janitorialtexts. Sometimes I feel likewe’re just ants in an anthill,crippledantsatthat.Andherecomes King Ant now.” Shenoddedat theraisedstageonthe far side of the hall.Several deans and foreign

spellwrights were standingaroundalongtable.

The provost, sitting in ahigh-backed wooden chair,floated onstage. Even fromhis present distance,Nicodemus could make outthe muris spell billowingunder the arch-wizard’s seat.If he had been closer, hewould have seen anobscenely old man who hadbeenhalffoldedoverbytime.He alsowould have seen the

grizzled old raccoon theprovostkeptasafamiliar.

“Behold,” Devinintoned, “Provost FerranMontserrat: the onlyindependent mind in thisstoneheap.Thatmandoesn’tanswer to anybody but ourgod and his avatar. The restof us are bound, antlike, tohiswill.”

Nicodemus watched theprovost float to the table’shead. With surprising

dexterity, the ancient arch-wizard landed his chair andpicked up a fork. The deansandtheirguestssatandbeganeating.

“Everything is so damncomplicated,” Nicodemusgrumbled before swearingsoftly,“bloodofLos.”

“Piss and blood in asilverbowl!”Devinhissed.“Iforgot!”

Nicodemus jumpedslightly in his seat. “Forgot

what?”Devin’s pale face

flushed red as she visiblystruggledtocontainasalvoofobscenity. “Two days agoMagistra Highsmith caughtmenappingonduty.Theoldhussyofahistorianismakingmegiveashort lectureaboutLostotherestofthegirlsonjanitorial. It’s her idea of apenance. The old shrewknows cacographers neverstudy theology. I was

supposed to look it up butdidn’t.”

Nicodemus raised hiseyebrows. “When do youlecture?”

“Inhalfanhour,”Devinsaid with a glare that daredhimtochideher.Fortunately,he knew enough to keep hismouth shut.When she spokeagain, it was in a calmervoice. “Nico, tell meeverything you know aboutLos.”

“I’m a cacographer too,you know. I never tooktheologyeither.”

“But you memorizeeverythingShannon says andfawn—”

“Allright,allright.Backontheancientcontinenttherewas a golden age when theSolarEmpire…and that’snotthe Neosolar Empire, whichformed on this continent.Anyway, the original SolarEmpireexisted inpeacewith

the gods. But someonecommitted a grave sin thatenabledLos, thenapowerfulearthgod,tobecomethefirstdemon.”

“Butwhatsin—”Nicodemus shrugged.

“Every religion has adifferentanswer.Probablynoone’s right; probably thatknowledgewaslostwhenourancestors crossed the ocean.As wizards we hold to nobeliefandsoarenotboundto

a religion or kingdom. AllyouneedtoknowisthatLostook a third of the deities toMountCalaxandturnedtheminto demons. He made anarmy of all the demons andcalled it the Pandemonium.That’swherethewordcomesfrom: Pan, all, demonium,demons.Sowhenwesay theclass was pandemoniumwe’reusinghyperboleto—”

“Blasted pisser—”Devin cut herself short and

calmeddown.“Nico,Iget it.Could you just give me thehistory without yourlinguisticramblings?”

Nicodemus grumbledabout history and linguisticramblings being the samething before continuing. “Soafter Los formed thePandemonium, there was awar between deities anddemons called theApocalypse.When it becameclear the demonswouldwin,

the human deities built hugeExodus ships to cross theocean. Somehow—no one’ssurehow—agroupofhumanheroes turnedLos into stone.Thisboughttheshipsenoughtime to get out to sea. Thedemons, being bound to theancient continent, couldn’tfollow.Thenapowerfulwindcalled the Maelstromscattered the Exodus ships.That’s why each of thecurrentlandfallkingdomshas

peopleofdifferentshapesandcolorings.”

Devin narrowed hereyes. “In ancient kingdomseveryonelookedthesame?”

“More or less.Certainlysomeone like me with blackhairandoliveskinwouldnothave come from the samekingdom as someone withyourredhairandfreckles.”

“There’s no need to besnotty, Nico. Cacographersaren’ttaughtthisstuff.AndI

don’t hang on Magister’severy miniature lecture likeyoudo.Whenwizardsgossip,I’lllisten.ButI’dratherchewgravel that listen to most oftheir academic babble.” Shesniffed. “Just another reasonwhy it’d be better if I wereilliterate.”

“I’msorry,Dev,Ididn’tmean…But don’t be sounhappy. Even if theypermanently censored you,it’s not as if you would be

free. You’ve told meyourself, magical illiteratesareboundtothelandortheirtrade. They have to work inthe fields for lords or baronsorwhatnot.”

She only shrugged andturned back to her stew.“Couldn’tbeworse than it ishere.”

Nicodemus leanedforward.“Dev,you’dhavenospells to wash your face orclean your teeth. No

constructs toempty thenightpot. And you’d be short-lived.”

Suddenly her browneyes burned with theircharacteristicfire.“Wellf—”Again she visibly suppressedan obscenity. “I don’t care afig for that!Not allofusareas strong as you, Nico. I’llbarelyseeacentury.AndI’mnearly fifty already. I mightnotlookit,butIam.IfIwereilliterate, at least I wouldn’t

outlivemyfamily.”Nicodemus started to

protest but then stopped.“You’dwanttogetmarried?”

“Oh, a bloody donkey’sass-crack on that!” shesnapped. “I damned welldon’t want to get married.”She began stirring her stewwithtremblinghands.

Nicodemus could notthinkofwhattosay,sohesatinsilenceandwaiteduntilsheappearedcalmer.

“Dev,” he said at last.“Lastnight I askedyouwhatSmallwood meant when hecalledmeShannon’snewpetcacographer.”

“Forget it. It’s nothingimportant.” She scowled.“Though it proves my pointaboutbeingilliterate.”

Nicodemus touched herelbow.“Tellme?Please?”

Devin looked at him.“It’sallhearsay.”

Henodded.

After laying her spoondown, she scooted aconspiratorialhalf-inchcloseron the bench. “Well, yearsagoMagisterwasarisingstarin Astrophell, both inresearchandpolitics.Hewasalso an oddity because hisfather came from Dral, buthis mother from Trillinon.That’s why his names soundsodifferent—AgwuShannon.Anyway, his faction, TheSons of Ejindu, wanted the

wizardstotakeamoreactiverole in keeping any roguespellwrights from joining theSpirish Civil War. Shannonwas their Long Councilspeaker. And…” Devinloweredhervoice.“And…hegot the provost’s grandniecepregnant!”

Nicodemus lookeddubious. “But spellwrightscan’t conceive. We’re allsterile.”

Devin smiled at him.

“Nico, sometimes I forgethow young you are. That’swhat we tell the acolytes.Togetherwe’reallbarren.Notwo spellwrights have everconceived. But every sooften, a spellwright and anilliterateproduceachild.”

“Shannon got anilliteratepregnant!”

“Shhhh!” She swattedhis shoulder. “Not so loud.Nowyouseewhyweauthorsswearofffamilies.Wewould

outlive them and have towatchthemdie.That’swhyitwas a huge scandal whenShannon got the provost’sgrandniecewithchild.”

Nicodemus could onlyshakehishead.

She continued, “SoShannon tried to hide thebaby, but his opponentsdiscovered the boy andstarted the scandal. Theprovost of Astrophell wasfurious and made Shannon

MasteroftheDrumTowerinStarhaven.Toget ridofhim,yousee.”

“Andthen?”“No one knows exactly.

Some say Magister didsomething desperatewith hisresearch, hoping abreakthroughwouldearnhimforgiveness. Some say he’sblind because his researchspellburnedouthismundanevision. But whateverhappenedMagister ended up

here at Starhaven. Hecouldn’t visit Astrophell fortwenty years or so. By thenhiswifehaddiedandhissonwasmarried.Magistertriedtopatch things up, butapparentlyhis son hated himfor abandoning the familyand denounced Magister inpublic.”

Nicodemus blew out alongbreath.

“SoMagistercamebackhereandbecameachampion

of cacographers.” Her wideeyesdartedupforamoment.“Hechoosesonecacographicboy from every generationand tries to help him earn ahood. Before you it wasTomasRylan.TomlivedwithJohnandme.Magisterhelpedhim become a lesser wizardinStarfallJanitorial.”

Nicodemus felt his faceburn. Had Shannon chosenhim as an apprentice onlybecausehewantedanewpet

cripple?Devin stirred the dregs

of her stew. “From themoment you came to theDrum Tower, you wereMagister’s favorite. Weweren’t surprised when hemovedyou into the top floorwith John and me yearsbeforeyouhadearnedit.”

“Oh”wasallNicodemuscouldbringhimselftosay.

Devin looked at him.“So that’s what Smallwood

meant.”Nicodemus’s mind

reeled. Shannon had takenhimasanapprenticeonlyoutof pity?He felt sick. “Thankyou,Dev,”hesaidquietly.

“Nico, you shouldn’thold it against Magister; heonlywantstohelp.”

Hestood.“Ishouldgo.”Devin caught his hand

and squeezed. “Nico,everyone loves you in theDrum Tower. John and I…

Don’tfeelbad.”“I have to meet the old

man in thecompluvium.”Hesqueezed her hand in return.“Idon’twanttobelate.”

“Okay.”He picked up his bowl

and cup. “See you tonight,”hesaidandwalkedaway.

CHAPTEREighteenSix of Starhaven’s twentyeasterntowersheldtheSataalLanding more than fourhundred feet above ground.Nicodemus tried not to thinkabouttheheightashewalked

eastwardalong the thinstoneconcourse.Everyfiftyfeetorso, he climbed a few broadstepstothenextplaza.

The surrounding towersand nearby mountainsblocked direct sunlight fromthe landing for all but a fewhours during the day. TheChthonicshadoncecultivateda shade garden here.Antiquarians wrote of tallmountain laurels and soilbeds bursting with angel

wings, fetterbush, andbarronwort.

Now the soil bedsnurturedonlyweedsand ivy.Moss bristled between thewall stones. Feral catsskulked about the placelooking for fresh water.Nicodemus couldn’t seeanyone following him butguessed a subtextualizedsentinelwasnear.

As he ventured farthereast, the towers crowded

closer.Ateachnewlevel,theplaza was smaller, thestairwaynarrower.

Finally the landingterminated in a small,mossycloister.Nicodemusfoundhisway blocked by the thirty-footwallthatranbetweentheabandoned Itan and KarkinTowers.Arowofmetalrungsclimbed halfway up the walltoanarrowwalkway.Voicesechoedfromabove.

Nicodemus scaled the

ladder and found its rungsspacedtoocloselyforhumancomfort.TheChthonicsmusthave had small hands, hedecided. Or maybe smallclaws? Or perhaps they hadhad no claws or hands at allbut had gripped the rungswiththeirteeth.

On top of the walkwaystood a smiling MagisterShannon with Azure on hisshoulder. The old man wascheerfully lecturing four

Northern sentinels: “…obvious reasons thecompluvium’s constructs arewritten aggressively. So wemustn’t—ah, Nicodemus,you’rehereatlast.”

Thesentinels,threemen,onewoman,allwereroughlysixty years in age andwearinggoldorsilverbuttonson their sleeves. Theyexamined Nicodemus withnarrowed eyes. Shannonlaughingly introduced them

ashispersonalguards.Nicodemus bowed. He

understood their confusedlooks. They had beensent toinvestigateShannonandweretakenabackbytheoldman’senthusiasm. Nicodemuscouldn’tblamethem.

Shannon grabbedNicodemus’s arm and pulledhim through the crowd. Theold wizard’s grip felt like avise.

The walkway on which

theywerestandingran intoacrevice where the KarkinTower met the wall. Here anarrow staircase climbed tothewall’s top.A seven-foot-tall gargoyle stood guard onthebottommoststep.

Its muscled body wouldhavebeenhumanoid,saveforthe two extra arms growingunder the expectedpair.Andthestonewingsbulgingfromits back would haveresembled birdwings but for

the two additional carpaljoints that allowed the limbsto fold into tight, fiddleheadspirals. Itsgianthawk’sheadglared at the spellwrightswithstonyeyes.

Shannon was againlecturing the sentinels.“Those of you who’ve dealtwith a war-weight gargoylewill remember that they aredangerous, valuable, andfractious. So use great carewhen presenting these

passwords.” The old manproduced a scroll from hissleeve and began pulling offNuminousparagraphs.

Nicodemus watched asShannon handed a set ofpasswords to each sentinel.The Northerners, however,were studying the massivegargoyle and glancing at oneanother.

Suddenly Nicodemusrealized that Shannon wasallowing the golden

paragraphs to fold intopleated and stacked sheets:this conformation stabilizedmuch of its language butstrained those sentences thatfolded the text. Such tensioncouldcauserearrangementorfragmentation.

Sure enough, whenShannonhandedacopyofthepasswords to the femalesentinel, two bendingsentencessnapped.

Nicodemus spoke up,

“Magister,hertexthas—”“Don’t worry, lad. I’ll

take you through myself.Excuseme, spellwrights.Myapprentice has not yetmasteredNuminous.”

He grabbed Nicodemusagainanddraggedhimtothemassive gargoyle.Nicodemus’s stomachknotted until the old manreleasedhisarmandheldouttwopasswordtexts.

The gargoyle extended

its four arms. Each pair ofhands took a paragraph andbegantofoldthem.Ifwrittencorrectly, the spells wouldfoldintoapre-setshape.

When the aquilinegargoyle had creased eachparagraph into a smallstarlike shape, it chirped andmovedaside.

Shannon put a hand onNicodemus’sbackandguidedhim onto the stairwaybetween the Karkin Tower

andthewall.Behind them, two

sentinels held out theirpasswords to the gargoyle’smanyarms.

“Bereadyforanything,”Shannonmuttered.

Confused, Nicodemusturned back just as the war-weight gargoyle beganshrieking. Two bulky stonearms struck the wall withpercussive force. A wingunfurledtoblockthepassage.

A chorus of shockedsentinelvoicescamefromtheotherside.

“Magisters,” Shannonscolded, “you let thepasswords fragment! Howcouldyoubesocarelesswitha pleated sheet? Check theothertwoparagraphs.”

An apologetic femalevoice replied that they toohaddeconstructed.

“Wonderful,” Shannonbarked. “I can’t cast

Numinous past this war-weight gargoyle withoutexcitingittoviolence.”

A dour male voicereplied, “Magister, we’veorders not to lose sight ofyou.”

Shannon laughed. “Afinejobyou’vemadeof that.Now Nicodemus and I lackthe protection we werepromised. Burning heaven!I’ve a mind to complain toAmadiofthis.”

The sentinels weresilent.

Shannoninstructedthemto hurry down to the groundlevel and then hike back upthe Itan Tower. From theretheymight reach the SpindleBridge. He and Nicodemuswould wait on the bridge.“MakeitbackinanhourandAmadi needn’t know,” hesaid and then turned to hikeupthestepstowardthetopofthewall.

The sentinels set off inthe opposite direction.Nicodemus hurried after theoldman.

“Now we may speakfreely,” Shannon said withsatisfaction. “Even thesubtextualized sentinelfollowing you can’t get pastthatbrute.”

Nicodemus frowned.“Magister, the passwordsweremisspelled?”

“Not in the least,”

Shannon said, turning backlong enough to wink a blindeye. “They couldn’t havebeenspelledmorecorrectly.”

IN THE ITAN Tower, Deirdrelaughed at what she sawthroughthewindowbars.

ShewasstandingnexttoKyran in an abandonedChthonic hallway—a darkplace with slate floors,cracked walls of deep-blueplaster,ablackceilingshaped

like roots or rocks.Everything was coated withcenturiesofdust.

Bright autumn sunlightslanted in through the barredwindows, illuminatingcloudsoflanguiddustmotes.Ahandmovingthroughthechillyairspun a few bright specks;Kyran’sbodypulledwithitamaelstrom of flying, sunlitdirt.

“Shannon’s used thehawk-headed construct to

fool the Northern wizards,”Deirdresaid.“Thesimpletonsarehurryingdowntowardtheground. Ky, go and followthem. Iwant toknow if theyreporthistrick.”

“Ishouldn’tleaveyou.”Sheturnedtolookather

protector. Though stoopedand leaning on his thickwalking staff, he still had tohold his head at an awkwardangle to avoid the lowceiling. It made him seem

likeagiant.“Are we having this

argument again?” she asked,smiling. “You know I neverlose.”

“Because you neverargueaboutwhatmatters.”

“Ky,thisisnotthetime.I need you to watch thosewizards.”

“There’s not anothersoulforahalfmile.Eventheblack-robes don’t comehere.”

Hersmilewilted.His dark eyes glared at

her. Then, with a barelyaudible grunt, he nodded.One long stride brought himto the barred window. Thesunlight turned his hair togleaming gold, his robes tosolar white. He watched thefour sentinels hurrying downthe stone platform, thenturnedandstrodeawaydownthe hall, his walking staffclicking against the stone

floor.Deirdre looked out the

window again. Shannon andNicodemus were hiking upthe steep stairway betweenthe wall and the tower. Shewouldneedtoclimbupafewmore floors to keep them inview. She set off in theopposite direction fromKyran.

For once, Deirdre wasnot irritated by her shortstature. She did not need to

stoop when stepping throughthe Chthonic doorways, nordidher small feet slipon theshortsteps.

A cloudof pigeons shotpast a nearby window.Deirdre found herselfthinkingaboutShannon.WasNicodemus’s trust in the oldwizardwellplaced?Daresheapproachhim?

Because she waspreoccupied with thesequestions, it wasn’t until she

had completed a circuitaround the tower, and soclimbedtothenextlevel,thatshenoticedthefootsteps.

Shestoppednearthetopofthestaircase.Thefootstepsceased as well. “Ky,” shecalled, “you’re to follow thesentinels, not follow mearoundlikeamotherhen.”

At first silence greetedher words. But then thefootstepsreturnedatasprint.

Deirdre’s heart began to

pound. The wizards had notallowed her to wear a blade.Instinctively, her eyessearched about for a weaponandfellonthehorizontalbarsthe Chthonics had built intotheir windows. She rushedover and grabbed two rodsthathadbeendrilled into thewindowframe.

No living man couldhave pulled them free. ButDeirdre needed only toputone foot on the wall and

heave. The bars explodedfrom the frame with smallcloudsofpulverizedstone.

The footstepswere loudand echoing now. Shecrouched and held the twosteel bars up in Spirishfightingfashion.

The figure that camerunningupthestaircaseworea tatteredwhite cloak—morea hastily sewn sheet than aproper garment. Avoluminoushoodcoveredhis

headandface.As Deirdre raised her

crude weapons, the creatureran through a squaresunbeam. An objectextending from his handbecameablazingrectangleofreflectedlight.

The glare momentarilydazzledhereyes,soitwasn’tuntil the creature was a fewstepsawaythatsheidentifiedthe steel object as an ancientLornishgreatsword.

“LISTEN CAREFULLY,”Shannon said, stepping ontothe wall at the end of theSataal Landing. “We don’thavemuchtime.”

Azurewas ridingon thewizard’s shoulder and usinghereyestoseeforhim.

“Ofcourse,Magis—”A few inches ahead, the

wall plummeted roughlyseventy feet to the shadedimpluvium: a deep rainwater

reservoir that provided waterto Starhaven’s inhabitedquarters through a series ofaqueducts. Beneath thesurface lay massive valvesand floodgates.Around themmoved what Nicodemus firsttook to be bulbous gray fish,butthenherealizedtheywerethe water gargoyles thatoperatedthevalves.

Beyond the impluviumstretched a mile-wide half-bowl of roofs, gables, and

gutters that funneled raindown to the reservoir. Thismeta-structure, composed ofthe southeast quarter’s manydifferent contiguousbuildings, was known as thecompluvium;andeverywhereon it—squatting, stooping,orcrawling—were the guttergargoyles. The constructswere busy mucking leavesout of the aqueducts, scaringoff birds, or mending leakyroofs.

“Amazing,” Nicodemushalf-whispered.

“All of these gargoylesarecontrolledbya faction towhich I once belonged,”Shannon explained, hurryingtoward a spiral staircase onthe wall’s opposite end. “Ifyou or the Drum Tower isever endangered, you mustbring all the malecacographershere.Thatbrutedown by the Sataal Landingwill obey your commands.

You’retobringtheboyshereto the compluvium and hidethem; it’s a large place andthe gargoyles know manysecretnooks.”

Nicodemus swallowed.“Endangered by what? Themurderer?Thesentinels?”

“I’ll answer in amoment,” Shannon huffed.“First let’s be clear aboutwhat you are to do. Come.”They reached the spiralstaircase and hurried down

the narrow steps. Azure hadto bob her head to keep aclearviewofwheretheyweregoing.

At the bottom of thestairs stood a gated tunnelleading into a buildingNicodemusdidn’trecognize.

Using a few Numinouspasswords, Shannon openedthe gate and pulled it wide.“If danger finds you even inthe compluvium, lead theboys through here.” Azure

whistled nervously as theystepped into the tunnel.“Watchyourhead.”

The tunnel proved to beboth dark and long. Buttogether master andapprentice trudged throughankle-deep water to anothergate.Shannonsprangthelockand led Nicodemus onto ashortwalkway that faced thesheer rock face of thePinnacleMountains.

They had come onto

Starhaven’seasternmostwall.Shannon hurried along

the walkway to the SpindleBridge’s landing. Standingbesidethebridgewasanotherof the four-armed, hawk-headedgargoyles.

Shannon stopped beforethegargoyleandturnedtohisapprentice.“Youare tobringtheboystothisconstruct.Heguardsasystemofconstructsand spellswe call the Fool’sLadder.It’s theonlywayout

of Starhaven beside the frontgate. If need be, you canescape into the forest andthen lead the boys down toGray’s Crossing.” Hewithdrew a pouch from hisrobes and tossed it toNicodemus.

When the younger mancaught the bag, it clinked.“Magister!” he exclaimedwhile peering inside.“There’senoughgoldheretobuythewholetownofGray’s

Crossing.”“Hopefully there’s

enough to buy escape orprotection.”

“Butshouldn’tIjustfindyouifthere’sdanger?”

“There might not betime to find me.” He closedhis blind eyes and rubbedthem. “Besides, if you trulyare in danger, it will bebecauseIamdead.”

THE BLADE FLASHING toward

Deirdre’s throat was spottedwithrust.

She leaped backward,gracefully finding newfooting on the narrow steps.Her opponent’s crude whitehood still covered his face.She wondered how thecreature saw. She alsowonderedwhy he had riskedan attack inside Starhaven,where he could not usemagic.

Thethingadvancedwith

a backhand stroke. She metthebladewith a parryof herright bar. The force of thecreature’s blow nearlyknocked thebar from herhand. The thing possessedstrengththatrivaledherown.She threw a quick overhandslashwithherleftbar.

The creature brought uphisleftarmintimetosavehishead.

The steel bar smashedinto the thing’s forearmwith

enough force to crack aboulder. But there was nocrunchofbone.Therodsanktwo inches into the arm andstuck.

The creature twistedaway. In her shock, Deirdrelosthergriponthebaranditslid from her fingers. Themonster lunged at her withanotherthrust.

Deirdredancedawaybutcaught her heel and toppledbackwardontothestairs.The

creature raised the swordoverhead; her bar was stillstuckinhisforearm.

Clay! she realized. Thedamned thing was made outofclay!

The greatsword flewdownward. Deirdre rolledright and heard the weaponcrash against the step besideher.Whenshelookedup,theblade was again flashingtowardher.

With both hands, she

threw up her remaining bar.Steel met steel with adeafening clang. She kickeddown,slammingherheelintothe thing’s knee.Any blood-and-bone joint would havesnapped, but she felt thecreature’sfleshgive.

Thethingcollapsedwitha whistling shriek, but shecould tell that the kick hadnotdonelastingdamage.

Somehow the creaturehadknownshehadnomagic

orblade.Beingmadeofclay,the monster faced no dangerfrombluntweaponsnomatterhow powerfully wielded.Only if she could find theauthor’s true body could shekillthecreature.

Wasting no timerenewing her attack, Deirdrestruggled to her feet and ranupthestairs.

“DEAD?” NICODEMUS SAID.“Magister,whywouldyoube

dead?”“Follow me onto the

Spindle Bridge,” Shannonsaid wearily. They walkedside by side. The clicking oftheirbootheelsonthebridgeechoedloudly.

Far below themstretched the alpine forest;ahead, the sheer mountainface. As they went, Shannonrelated everything he knewaboutNoraFinn’smurder,hisencounter with the inhuman

murderer, Amadi’ssuspicions, the counter-prophecy, and Eric’s andAdan’sdeaths.

“Sweet heaven!”Nicodemus exclaimed,stopping.“LittleEricEversonwiththelongbrownhair,he’sdead?Adantoo?”

He hadn’t known eitherboywell,buttheirdeathsstillcameasashock.

“Magister! During mynap, I dreamt of a monster

attacking a neophytein theglen.” He described the palemonster and then the cavernfilledwiththestrangeturtles.

Shannon made noimmediate reply. A gust ofcold wind set Nicodemus’srobes flapping and his hairfluttering.Theywerehalfwayacrossthebridge.

At last Shannon spoke:“This new nightmare—whenyou were both yourself andthe figure on the table—also

sounds to be a form ofquaternary thought. What doyouknowabout the levelsofcognition?”

“Only that humans havetertiary cognition,”Nicodemus answered. “Andthat constructs can havesecondary or primarycognition, which are liketertiary but with restrictionson what they can think orwantorremember.”

“And quaternary?”

Shannonasked.Nicodemus hesitated.

“Are thoughts that areunthinkable without certaintextscastaboutone’smind.”

“Quite right, but doyouknowwhatthatmeans?”

“Haven’t the faintest,”Nicodemus admitted with alaugh. “An unthinkablethought sounds like a silentnoise or illuminatingdarkness.”

Shannon smiled. “But

you’ve already thoughtunthinkablethoughts.Inyournightmares, you thought asboth yourself and as othercreatures. That phenomenon,what we call sharedconsciousness,isthesimplestformofquaternarycognition.At its most basic level,quaternarycognitioninvolvesthinking with at least twominds—oneinsideyourhead,another made of magicaltext.”

“So the murderer cast aspell on my sleeping mindthatallowedmetothinkwiththatspell?”

“Yes,butperhapsitwasnotthemurdererwhocastit,”Shannon replied slowly.“Given what the villain toldme,it’slikelyhemanipulatedthedreamsofAdanandEricto lure them out ofStarhaven’s walls. But yournightmares seem to warnratherthanlure.Thevisionof

the glen must have been avisionofpoorEric’sfate.Thefiend wouldn’t want you toknow how and where he’sattackingcacographers.”

“But thenwhere are thedreamscomingfrom?”

“We’ve no way ofknowing,” Shannon said,scratchinghisbeard.“Butwemightaskhowthenightmaresare related. You dreamed ofthedragonattackingTrillinonand the murderer attacking

Eric while both events werehappening. Whoever orwhateverissendingyouthesedreams wants you to knowabout these events. Thedream-sendermustwantustofind a connection betweenthem.Perhapsthemurdererisconnectedtothedragon.”

“Andwhatof the turtlesunderground?”

“That one is thestrangest of all. Perhapsfuture dreams will reveal

more.”Another gust ofwindset the old man’s whitedreadlocksswaying.

“But why send thesedreams to me?” Nicodemusasked, his voice growingstrained. “And Eric andAdan, what do theirdeaths…”

Shannon placed a handon his shoulder. “It ishorrifying,Iknow,butwe’veno time to panic or grieve.Wehavetothinklogically.”

Theoldmanblewout abreath, his cheeks bulging.“We know the murdererseeks you so that you mightreplenish some artifact, anemerald. I’m unsurewhat hemeantby‘replenish,’butI’mpositivethathewillattacktheDrum Tower boys in anattempttofindyou.Wemustprotect you and the othercacographers. That’s whywe’rehere.”

“Magister, the druid

spoke of a demon-worshiperbeing nearby. Perhaps weshouldconsulther.”

“Not until we knowmore about her and themurderer.” The wizardgrimaced. “And we knowalmostnothingforfact.”

Nicodemus blinked.“Weknowthemurdererstolemyabilitytospell.”

“That is the druid’sexplanation.”

Astrangeheat stirred in

Nicodemus’s chest. “Butyousaid thecreatureneedsme toreplenish some artifact. Yousaid the monster claimed hismasterhasbeenusing agemon me when I was sleeping.That must be why I’m acacographer.”

Nicodemus’s handsbegantotremble.Thathadtobe it! Hewas being crippledbymagic;therefore,hemightyetbemadewholebymagic.

“Magister! If I could

escapethiscreature,ormayberecover this gem, I wouldlosemycacography!MaybeItrulyamtheHalcyon.”

“Nicodemus, I do notlike to hear you talk likethis.”

“You think I’m the oneofthecounter-prophecy?TheStormPetrel?”

The wizard shook hishead. “Given what hashappened, you likely areconnected to the prophecy in

someway, but it is too earlytosayhowyou—”

“But in Magistra Finn’slibrary, the monster said theemerald gave him power inLanguage Prime. Magister,whatisLanguagePrime?”

A golden Numinous arcleaped between Azure andShannon. The parrot raisedher head to examineNicodemus.

“My boy, listencarefully. Language Prime is

a very dangerous, veryblasphemous idea. Youmustnever mention it in publichearing.”

“But why?” Nicodemusasked.Hehadtomaketheoldman see that he wasn’tsupposedtobecrippled.

“Only grand wizardsmayknowofit.”

“ButMagister,giventhesituation—”

The old man held up ahand. “You don’t need to

convinceme.But promise tokeepwhat I am about to tellyouinthestrictestsecrecy.”

Nicodemus swore onevery demigod in theCelestialCanon.

With a solemn nod, thewizard began: “Perhapsyou’ve learned that whentime began, there was onlylifeless dust. Into this barrenworld the Creator spoke thefirstwords.Thesewordswerein Language Prime, the first

magical language, thelanguagefromwhichallotherlanguagescome.”

Another gust of coldwind set Shannon’s silverylocks swaying again. “Thefirstwordscreatedthislivingworld and every creatureupon it. Modern scholarsbelieve that after that pointLanguage Prime ceased toexist. But long ago,immediatelyaftertheExodus,whenthedeitiesawokeonthe

new continent, they had nomemory and little sense.Many claimed to know theCreator’s own language.Some claimed to speakdirectly to the Creator. Intheir efforts to masterLanguage Prime and rule allof humanity, the awokendeities began the BloodCrusades.Theresultingchaosand war nearly destroyedhumanity. That is why thepursuitofLanguagePrime is

deemedblasphemy.”Shannon paused and

tookinalongbreath.“Thatiswhy it is so easy formodernscholars to believe thatLanguage Prime no longerexists. If they thoughtotherwise, it would sparkreligious wars that woulddestroy what peace thelandfall kingdoms haveknown.”

Nicodemus noddedeagerly. “But you think

differently, Magister? Youbelieve Language Primeexists?”

“Idon’tbelieveitexists;Iknowitdoes.”

“Buthow?”Shannon pinched the

bridge of his nose. “BecausethelastsightIeversaw—theimage that burned allmundane vision from myeyes—was of two sentenceswritteninLanguagePrime.”

DEIRDRE MADE IT halfwayaround the tower beforesomething hit her frombehind.

Painexplodedacrossherleft shoulder and sent hersprawling onto the dustyfloor. Next to her clatteredthe steel bar she had struckinto the creature’s forearm.The thing must have thrownit.

She rolled over andregainedher feet just in time

to meet the creature’soverhead slash with herremainingbar.Shecounteredwithaquickthrust.

The creature, stillwrapped in white, leapedback. His greatsword flickedout in a two-handed slash.Deirdre batted down theblade with the bar andstepped in to slamher elbowintothething’sface.

Something that felt likea nose flattened under her

blow.The thing cried out and

fell. A dust cloud explodedfromunderhisbackashehitthefloor.

Deirdre dove for thething’ssword.

Butthemonsterwasstilltoo quick; he squirmed backand away, holding theweapon above her shortreach.With a hiss, the thingslashedwiththeswordacrossherside.

As the blade raspedagainst her rib bones, theworld exploded intoblackness. Deirdre leapedaway onto her back. Thecreaturetriedtostand,butshekicked her boot toe into hisneck. With a strangled cry,the thing toppled backward.Deirdreregainedherfeetandslammedthebardownonthecreature’sshin.

Shefled.

NICODEMUS BLINKED. “Youwere blinded by LanguagePrime?”

Thegrandwizardrubbedhis eyes wearily. “The storystarts in Astrophell. I was aplayerinthegameoffactionsthen and a little arrogant. Ifellinlovewiththemagicallyilliterate grandniece ofAstrophell’s provost.When Igot her with child, wemarriedinsecret.”

Nicodemus nodded

mutely.The old man continued.

“My enemies discovered mypregnantwifeandusedhertocreate scandal. It became arallying point for themalcontent factions—mostlythosethatwantedtheOrdertoexertmoreinfluenceoverthekingdoms.Hopingtohidethescandal, the provostannounced his plan to sendmy wife and child away todifferentclandestinelocations

where neither I nor themalcontents could find them.I was terrified. I had to actbefore my wife gave birth,before the Provost couldseparate them. And so…Isoughtdivineintervention.”

“You found our god?YouspoketoHakeem?”

Shannonnodded.“But no one…you…”

Nicodemus stammered.“How?”

A slight smile stole

across thewizard’s lips. “It’ssomethingofalegendamongthose that seek to break intoliterary strongholds. Myresearch into textualintelligence gave me anadvantage. I wrote aquaternary cognition spellthat allowed me to think asthestronghold.”

“Asthestronghold?”The old man tapped his

forehead. “Impossible, Iknow, but remember

quaternary cognition allowsonetothinktheunthinkable.Icouldn’t explain it to youbetter without casting thespell on you. But regardless,the important part was thatarmedwith this text, I snuckinto the stronghold andfoughtitsdefensivelanguage.For half a mile, I cut andslashed and edited to reachourgod’stemple.”

Shannon’s smile grew.“Hakeem was reading at a

deskwhenIreachedhim.Hemanifests himself as a thin,tawny-skinned man withsilverhairandalongbeard.Itwas themostmundane sceneimaginable, and there Iwasstumbling into his temple,bristling with attack spellsandsoakedinmyownblood.Without even looking up,Hakeem raises a hand andsays, ‘A moment, my son,I’m near the end of achapter.’”

Nicodemus’s eyeswidened.“Andthen?”

“Then he finished thechapter, of course.” Shannonlaughed.“AndIthrewmyselfat his feet and begged formercy.I toldhimIwoulddoanything for my family—I’dundertake any task, performany labor; I’ddie for them…andHakeemdid indeedhaveataskforme.”

The wizard’s smile fellintoagrimline.“Amalicious

godspell from one ofHakeem’s enemies hadpenetrated his defenses andburrowed into his ark, thephysical seat of his soul.Allattempts to disspell thistraplike curse had failed. So,becausethetrapcouldnotbedisarmed, it had to besprung.”

“Hakeemmadeyoutakeonthecurse?”

“Made me? I embracedit. Itwaswritten todestroya

god, not aman.Therewas achanceitwoulddonothingatall tome; therewasachanceit would kill me outright. Ididn’t care.Withoutmywifeorson,Icouldn’tlive.”

“And the curse waswritten in Language Prime?Is that how you know itexists?”

The old wizardgrimaced. “The divine curseimbued knowledge into itsvictim’s mind and then tried

tousethatknowledgetoharmthe victim. Hakeem told meplainly that if I survived, hewould use his godspell toremove all my memories ofthetext.”

Shannon narrowed hiswhite eyes. “I rememberwalking into a small, darkroom. I remember Hakeem’sark—a tall crystal obeliskcovered with moving runes.Then the world became ablur; I was moving at a

tremendous speed but notmovingatall.Twosentencesappeared. Each one twistedaround the other, like twosnakes mating. The runesexploded and pain lancedthrough my eyes. Then,nothing.Noimage,novision,only…blindness.”

Nicodemus held hisbreath.

Shannonsighed.“Iwokein a caravan wagon headedfor Besh-Lo. Hakeem had

caused every Astrophellwizardtobecometerrifiedbythe idea of harmingmywifeand son. He even compelledthe merchants employed bythe Order to give my wife acomfortable position in oneof their trading houses.However, perhaps threatenedby my infiltration of histemple, he did not extendsuchprotectiontome.Hehadallowed the provost to seizemy research texts and exile

metoStarhaven.”Nicodemus paused for

what he hoped was asympathetic moment beforepushing on. “But the divinecurse,Magister, it taughtyouLanguagePrime?”

“It did, and Hakeemerasedallmymemoriesofit,except for the image of thetwo sentences. Until now,I’ve never told a single soul,living or textual, about thatmemory. I was always too

afraidofwhatHakeemmighthavetodotoremoveit.”

Nicodemusfelthisheartbegin to kick. “So it’s truethen:LanguagePrimeisreal.Then there might be someconnection between me andit.Themonstermustbeaftermebecauseofthat.Magister,don’t you see? I’m notsupposed to be acacographer.”

Shannonheldupahand.“Nicodemus, you’re jumping

to conclusions. The creaturesaid he needed you toreplenish an emerald.He didnotconnectyou toLanguagePrime. You must understandthat no human couldcomprehend LanguagePrime.”

“But how do you knowthat?”

“Because,” Shannonsaid, “Language Prime hasonlyfourrunes.”

AGUSTOFwindsweptacrossthe bridge. It sentNicodemus’s long black hairflying and blew Azure fromShannon’sshoulder.Thepoorbird had to flap hard just tostayoverthebridge.

“Four runes!”Nicodemus said whilestruggling to tame his hair.“Thelanguagefromwhichallother languages come hasonlyfourrunes?”

Shannonheldhisarmup

as a perch for Azure.“Strange but simplegeometric runes. Two werehexagons with a few radialstrokes; the other two werepentagons attached to similarhexagons.”

“But, Magister, thatcan’tberight.”

“It’s difficult tobelieve,” Shannon said asAzure landed on his arm.“The simplest commonlanguage possesses twenty-

two runes. And the mostcomplex, the shaman’s highlanguage, has over sixtythousandrunes.”

As the wind relented,Nicodemus tucked his hairinto his robes. “But alanguagewithonlyfourrunescould have only four single-runewords, sixteen two-runewords, sixty-four three-runewords,andsoon.”

“Exactly,”Shannonsaid,helping Azure climb back

onto his shoulder. “Primalwords must be very long.Consider that a commonlanguagepossessesahundredthousand words, Numinousthreetimesthat.So,assumingLanguage Prime has avocabulary of at least threehundred thousand, it wouldneed words up to…” Hepaused to calculate. “Ninerunes long to create all thosewords. But if it had twentyrunes, it would need words

only…” Another pause.“Onlyfiveruneslong.”

Nicodemus closed hiseyes and tried to figure outwhat calculations his teacherhadusedtodiscernthat.

Shannon let out a longsigh. “And with only fourrunes, those long wordswould be nearlyindistinguishable. Think oftryingtomemorizeathousandnine-digitnumbersconsistingof the numerals one through

four. Impossible. And thesentenceswouldbehundreds,maybe thousands of runeslong.Uttergibberish.”

Nicodemus stoppedcalculating and laughed.“Imagine trying to spell inthat language. Everyonewouldbeacacographer.”

Shannon started to saysomething and then paused.He frowned. His mouthopened,closed,openedagain.“Nicodemus…that is a

profoundidea.”“Itis?”A contrary breeze, this

one blowing fromStarhaven,flowed over the bridge. Itbrought with it the autumnalscents of moldy leaves andwoodsmoke.

Shannon was nodding.“What if cacography issimplyamismatchbetweenamind and a language? Ourlanguagesexpressmeaninginawayyourmind has trouble

reproducing consistently. Butyou do not structure themillogically.When I edit yourtexts, they work withouterror.”

Nicodemus nodded, hisearshotwithembarrassment.

“But could we composea language your mind couldeasilyprocess?Ifso,thenthereverse should be true: weshouldalsobeabletocreatealanguagesocomplexthatnoteventhemostpowerfulmind

couldspellitconsistently.”“Oh,” Nicodemus said,

realizing what Shannonmeant. “And maybe that’swhat the Creator did whenmaking Language Prime. Itcould be a language socomplex that any humanattempting to readorwrite itwouldbecacographic.”

“Morethancacographic,completelyincompetent.”

Nicodemus’s handsagain began to tremble with

excitement. “Magister, theremight be a connectionbetweenLanguagePrimeandmy cacography. Maybe thedruid is right. Maybe themonster stole part ofme andput it into the emerald.Maybe I’m not supposed tobecacographic!”

Rather than reply,Shannon began to walktoward the Spindle’s end.Before them loomed themountain’s rock faceand the

Chthonic engravings—ivyleaves to the left and thegeometricdesigntotheright.

Theoldmanspoke.“Myboy, we may be witnessingthe first days of prophecy.Thismorning’sdragonattackon Trillinon could mark thebeginning of a conflict thatwill engulf all kingdoms andthreaten human languageitself. But what frightensmejustnow is thechange Ihearinyourvoice.”

HestoppedandturnedtoNicodemus. “Do you believethatyouaretheHalcyon?”

“I—” Nicodemusstammered. “You think I’mbeing foolish to believe thatthedruidmightberightaboutprophecy?”

The old wizard shookhis head. “Not in the least.Besides the presentcircumstances linking you toprophecy, I have noted thestrange effect you have had

on some texts. Just last nightwhen you misspelled agargoyle, you elevated herfreedom of thought. Such aphenomenon is unheard of.Perhaps this happenedbecauseyouaretheHalcyon,perhaps because of anotherreason tied to prophecy. Butyou didn’t answer myquestion:DoyoubelieveyouaretheHalcyon?”

“I haven’t…I don’tknowifIamornot.Isuppose

you’reright,wecan’tjumptoconclusions. Butmy point isabout cacography. If themurderer magically stole myability to spell,perhaps Icanmagicallygetitback!”

Shannon folded hisarms. “Which matters more,fulfilling your role inprophecy or removing yourcacography?”

Nicodemus shook hishead. “If a demon-worshiperstolemyabilitytospell, they

mustbeconnected.Magister,don’t you see? Perhaps I amnotatruecacographer.”

“A true cacographer?”Shannon asked, eyebrowsrising. “Nicodemus, even ifwe erased your disabilitycompletely, it wouldn’t undowhathasalreadyhappenedtoyou.Regardingwhoyoutrulyare, regarding what trulymatters, ending yourcacography wouldn’t changeanything.”

Nicodemus could barelybelievewhat hewashearing.“It would changeeverything!”

Shannonstartedwalkingagain.“Perhapsthisisnotthetime.”

Nicodemus rushed afterthe old man. “Magister,woulditupsetyouifIlearnedtospell?”

Shannon kept walking.“Why would you ask such aquestion?”

“Yousquashanyhope Imight have of completingmyself.”

“There is no such thingas completing yourself. Youhave always been complete,andyouwon’t—”

For the first time hecould remember, Nicodemusdeliberately interrupted histeacher. “If I am alreadycomplete,ifallIwilleverbeis your pet cripple, then Idon’t know why we’re

botheringtokeepmealive!”Bothmenstopped.Suddenly Nicodemus

realized that he had nearlyshouted his last two words.Heturnedaway.

The bridge’s railingstoodbeforehim.Heputbothhandsonitandtriedtocatchhisbreath.

Farbelowthem,afalconcircled above the scatteredpines and boulders. Some ofthe trees had died and

withered into woodenskeletons.

“Pet cripple,” Shannonsaidslowly.“Isee.”

“Iknowhowyoupickaretarded boy out of everygeneration,” Nicodemusanswered.“Devinknows too.Fiery heaven, the wholeacademyknows!”

A silence grew until thebreeze picked up enough tomaketheirrobesluff.

Finally Shannon spoke

in a low, rough tone. “Exilefrom Astrophell nearlycrushedme. I lost everything—mywife,myson,mysight,my research. I couldhave letthelossrotmefromthehearttotheskin.”

Nicodemus looked backtowardhismentor.

Azure had laid her headdownnearShannon’schinsotheoldmancouldscratchherneck.

“My research became

futile,” the wizard saidsolemnly. “I had discoveredsuch wonderful things inAstrophell. But in thisacademic backwater, Icouldn’taccomplishaquarterof what I did before. InAstrophell, I had a cadre ofbrilliant apprentices workingtoadvancemystudies.HereItaughtcacographicneophyteshow to avoid hurtingthemselves.Politicsbecameaconstant reminder of my

sins.”The old wizard sniffed

inannoyance.“Iwastedyearslonging for what I had lost.Until,oneday,acacographicboy came to me in tears tothankme for all I had done.Intruth,Ihaddonelittlemorethanwhatwasrequired.ButIsaw how moved the childwas, how badly he neededkindness.Isawinhimawayto live again. His name wasAllen,aLornishboy.He’sin

Astrophell now. TheNortherners don’t have theslightest suspicion that he,now a hooded librarian, is acacographer.”

Shannon paused. “Youthink I made you myapprentice because I pityyou? Because I keep acacographer around to lordmyabilityoverhim?To feelas grand as I did whenspeaking before the LongCouncil? Well, if you think

so, Nicodemus Weal, you’reafool.”

The younger man wassilent for a long moment.“But why then did youchoose me for anapprentice?”

Shannon pointed to hismilky-white eyes. “I choseyoubecauseinthepastIhaveunderstood cacographers andthey have understood me. IchoseyoubecauseIthoughtIcould help you the most.

Besides, you are a usefulapprentice. When you castwordweave, I can completespellsinaquarteroftheusualdrafting time.” The old mangrunted. “Have we talkedaboutthisenoughforyou?”

When Nicodemus didnot answer, the old manstarted off toward themountainside. “Come then.The sentinels will catch upwithussoon.”

Theywalkedmostofthe

distance to the rock facewithout talking. Theirfootfalls echoed loudly,almost unnaturally so.Nicodemushadtotakeadeepbreath before he could breakthe silence: “I’m sorry,Magister. It’s just…with thepossibility of ending mycacography—”

“I quite understand,”Shannon said curtly as theystopped before themountain’s sheer rock face.

“Nowletusmoveon.Doyouknowwhywe’rewalking theSpindleBridge?”

“Because Magistra Finnwas murdered here?”Nicodemus stared at thecarved outlines of giant ivyleaves.

“Exactly. I wondered ifthere was a reason she diedon this bridge. I wanted tolookatthemountainsidewithmy blind eyes. I thoughtmaybeIcouldseethroughthe

stone to some hidden spell,someclue.”Hesighed.“Andmy vision pierces the stonebutseesnothingbeyond.”

He wrote a fewNuminous sentences andthrust them into themountainside. “And it seemsthat there’s nothing but rockbeforeus.”

Nicodemussteppedbackand looked at the hexagonaldesign on the bridge’s otherside. “Magister, you said the

Language Prime runes werehexagonal.Do they resemblethatChthonic pattern at all?”Hepointed.

Shannonshookhishead.“I’veexaminedthatcarvingathousand times since I firstarrived at Starhaven. But Icanfindnoresemblance.”

Nicodemus glanced athis teacher.Was theoldmanstillupset?“Magister,doyoubelieve the stories about theChthonics crossing this

bridgetoescapetheNeosolararmies? Do you think theyranaway to theHeavenTreeValley?”

“No, thehistorianswerecorrect: our ancestorsslaughtered every lastChthonic.” He turned backtoward Starhaven. “There’snothinghere.Let’sgo.”

Nicodemus waited amoment before following theold wizard. “Then what arewegoingtodo?”

“Research our enemy,”Shannonsaid. “Weknow themurderer’s made of fleshuntil we cut him; then heturnstoclay.Weneedtofinda mundane text about suchcreatures. Normallyresearching such an obscuretopic would take the rest ofthe autumn. But you and Imight modify the researchwe’re to complete thisafternoon with MagisterSmallwood.”

Nicodemus foundhimself looking back at thecarvings. “I don’tunderstand.”

“We’re researching apowerful artifact called theIndex. It allows one toquickly search throughmanytexts.NothingaspowerfulaswhattheyhaveinAstrophell,butstillimpressive.YourtaskwillbetodistractSmallwoodand the sentinels at theproject’s end so that I might

secretlypeekintotheIndex.”“But why don’t we

simply tell them what weneedtodo?”

Shannonshookhishead.“Neither Smallwood nor thesentinelswouldpermitit.Youwill see. After that we mustsleep.Thisdayhasbeen likeabaddream.”

“Bad dream,”Nicodemus echoed. Hestopped and turned to lookagain at the Chthonic

carvings.Thewizardalsostopped.

“What’sthematter?”Nicodemus opened his

mouth,tryingtoarticulatetheimages flashing through hismind.

“In my dream, the onewhen I napped,” he finallymanagedtosay,“Iwasinanunderground place and therewas a white-robed body thatheldagreengem.”Helookedat Shannon. “Magister, a

greengem!Andthemurderersaid he needed me toreplenishanemerald!”

Theoldmanfrowned.Nicodemus pointed to

the mountain’s ivy carvings.“In the dream, the floor wascoveredwith ivy.Andoutofthe darkness came strangeturtles. There were hundredsof them, hissing and dyinghorribly as their shellscracked.”

“I don’t understand.

Turtles?”“Look, that hexagonal

pattern,” Nicodemus said,pointingtotheotherChthoniccarving, “is the pattern of aturtleshell.”

DEIRDRE SPRINTED THROUGHthedarkhallway.Onher leftwere dark Chthonicdoorways; to her right, thebarredwindows.

Already she could hearfrantic footfalls. The thing

wasafterheragain.She raced around the

towerandupthestairsontheother side. Suddenly theceiling burst into a thousandflappingcreatures.

Bats! They had beennesting on the ceiling. Thefloor was soft with theirdroppings.

She ran on. The swordwound on her ribs wasshallowandmendingfast,butstill it sent agony lancing

down her side with everybreath.Herrobewaswetwithblood.

Behind her the creatureshrieked.

Redoubling her efforts,sheflewaroundthetowerandcharged up the next flight ofstairs—only to come to aslidinghalt.

Before her stood anopening to a tower bridge.The bright midday sun beatdown on the gray stones.

“No.” She couldn’t leave thetower;outsideofStarhaven’swallsthecreaturecouldwieldmagic. “No!” Frantically sheturnedaround.

Footsteps were echoingupfromthestairwell.

She ran to one of thesmall black doors that linedthe hallway’s inner wall. Itwasa thick,metalportal.Ontop sat a squat barredwindow.

Shepulled, but thedoor

would not budge. Sheheaved…and with a metallicscream the thing swung aquarterwaythroughitsarc.

SuddenlyDeirdre’sheadfelt light.“Goddess,no!”shewhispered, slipping into thedark chamber. “Not now!”Herhandsbegantotremble.

The room wasrectangular;theblackmassofanancientstonebedcrouchedbeside onewall.A chorus ofterrified rats chattered in one

corner. Deirdre yanked thedoor shut with another loudscreech.

Her handswere shakingnow. Her stomach feltdistended. “No, no,” shewhimpered, staggeringtoward the stone bed. Herheart was pounding out aslow,irregularrhythm.

Shewashavinganaura!Herfaceandneckbegan

to tingle as if a summerbreeze were blowing across

her skin.Her breath came inlong, involuntary gulps. Theworld seemed to be fillingwith beauty. She wanted tocry out with joy. Her legsfaltered and she fell onto thefloor.

A low, crackling laughsoundedbehindher.

With numb hands, shemanaged to push herselfaround.

All was blackness savefor the door’s small, barred

window. Through theopening streamed intensewhite light.Thecreaturewasstandingoutside.

Thedoorshriekedasthecreature pulled upon it. Avertical sliver of light grewalong the portal’s side. Thecreature heaved once more.Again the hinges screamed,and the sliver of light grewbrighter. He was laughingagain. Soon he would workthedoorallthewayopen.

Deirdre tried to scream,triedtostand.Butshewastoofar into her aura. Her handsshookviolentlyasanecstaticwarmth spread down herback.

“No, we can negotiate,”sheheardherselfgroan. “Wecannegotiate!”

Throughthewindowshesaw the creature pause. Hispale hands lifted his hood.She squinted, trying tomakeouthisface.

But the world explodedinto light and she fellunconscious—lost to theviolenceofherseizure.

CHAPTERNineteenNicodemus and Shannonstared at the Chthoniccarvings.

They were now certainthat Nicodemus’s secondnightmare was meant to

connect the murderer to theSpindle Bridge; however,neithermancouldguesshowthe twowere connected. Thebody wrapped in white, theemerald,theturtles,theivy—itwasalltoodisjointed.

Theirbootheelsechoingloudly on the bridge stones,they hurried back to theChthonic carvings toreexamine the rock face.Shannon fashioned severalNuminous texts to search the

mountainside for a hiddenspell or a magical door thatopenedintothemountain.

Butonceagainhefoundnothingbutsolidrock.

By this time, thesentinels had hiked back upfromgroundlevel.Allfourofthem began marching downthe Spindle, their feetclacking out a distant tattoo.“Here they come,” Shannonsaid. “We mustn’t talk ofyourdreamsor themurderer.

They’re from Amadi’s trainand will be looking forevidence of the counter-prophecy.”

Nicodemus took a deepbreath. If the sentinelsinterpreted one of hismisspells as evidence that hewas the Storm Petrel, theywould leave him bound andcensoredinsomeprison.Inacell, themurdererwouldfindhim easily; he’d be ashelplessasacagedbird.

“We will pretend to beinterested only in research,”Shannon whispered. “Followmylead.Wemustlearnmoreabout the creature made ofclay.SowhenIsignal,you’reto distract the sentinels andSmallwood long enough formetousetheIndex.”

“But,Magister,howcanI distract five wizards. AndwhatisthisIndexyou—”

Shannon cut him off,callingouttotheapproaching

sentinels. The old manlaunchedintoashowofangerand scholarly enthusiasm,scolding the sentinels fordawdling, threatening tocomplain to Amadi, andramblingabouthisresearch.

He hurried the partydown to ground level andback into Starhaven’sinhabited quarters, all thewhile griping about hisprimaryresearchspellandtheneed to hurry so as not to

keep Magister Smallwoodwaiting.

Sure enough, when theparty returned to Shannon’sstudy, Magister Smallwoodwas standing outside thedoor,amassof scrolls inhisarms. “Agwu, who are allthese people?” Smallwoodaskedinsurprise.

“Timothy, I broughtsome extra arms.” Shannonunlocked his door. “Come,Magisters, we’ve much to

carry.” Shannon shooed thesentinels into his study andbegan piling books into theirhands. One tried to protestbut was overpowered byShannon’s threat to tellAmadiof theiruncooperativeattitude.

After a few moments,everysentinelboreastackofbooks piled from elbows toeyeballs. Shannon loaded anavalanche of scrolls intoNicodemus’s arms. To keep

themanuscriptsfromtopplingover, Nicodemus had toclamphischindownuponthepile.

Meanwhile, Smallwoodwas gathering a stack ofbooks intohisownarmsandadvising the sentinels on thebestwaytoholdtheirstacks.

“Well then, we areready,” Shannon announcedwhenheheldhisownpileofscrolls. “Nicodemus, wouldyou use your young eyes to

openthedoor?”“Of course, Magister.”

Nicodemus wrote a simpleMagnus sentence along hisright forearm and used hisindex finger—his only freedigit—to flick the spellaround the door latch. Withsome shuffling, he workedthe latch and pulled. “It’sopen, Magisters. Where arewegoing?”

“To the Main Library,”Smallwood replied from

behind his stack of scrolls.“Shannon, I thought you hadtold your apprentice aboutourresearchspell.”

Led by Nicodemus, thetwo grand wizards steppedout into the hallway. Thesentinels followed closebehind.

Shannon clicked histongue in annoyance.“Timothy, it has been anunusual day. I haven’t hadtime.”

“There’s no need to bedefensive, Agwu,”Smallwood said. “I wasmerelyaskingaquestion.”

The party reached thestaircase and begannegotiatingthenarrowsteps.

“Well, Nicodemus andvisitors from the North, letmeexplain,”Smallwoodsaidwith his usual professorialenthusiasm. “Years ago,Magister Shannon and Iconceived of a research spell

to visualize the textssurroundingtheIndex,butwedidn’t receive permission toproceed until the other day,when—”

“Timothy,” Shannoninterrupted, “Nicodemusdoesn’t know what thatartifact is, and you mustremember to speakof itonlyinsecureenvironments.”

“Quite right,”Smallwoodsaid.“Forgivemyforgetfulness. Nicodemus,

would you cast a murmurspell so we may speakfreely?”

Traditionally,apprentices cast anycommonplace spells theirwizards required. Shannonusually excused Nicodemusfromthisduty.Smallwood,inhis typical fashion, hadforgottenthisfact.

With a deep breath,Nicodemusbeganforgingtheneeded runeswithinhis right

forearm.Thoughwritten in asimplecommonlanguage,themurmur spell called forcomplex sentence structuresandanelaborateconclusion.

When finished,Nicodemus disliked hisrendition, but there wasnothing todobutcast itwithanother flick of his indexfinger.

Rather than expandingintoasound-deadeningcloud,the glowing white misspell

fell to the ground andshattered. The sentencefragments danced upon thefloor stones like water beadsonahotskillet.Nicodemus’scheeks flushed with shame.“Myapologies,butI—”

“I believe an issue thissensitive requires a Magnuslanguage text, perhaps asubrosa spell,”Shannon said.A grateful Nicodemusglancedbackattheoldman.

The party continued

downwardasShannonwrote.The sentinels murmuredamong themselves. Thencame the wet sound ofShannon spitting out thesubrosa spell. Instantly asoundproof sphere ofinterlocking petals encasedthegroup.

Smallwood cleared histhroat. “So, Nicodemus,Magisters, as I was saying,we have many a codex inStarhavenbutonlyoneIndex.

To the naked eye, the Indexseems a mundane book ofusual size. But the spellscoursingwithinitscoversareextraordinary; they connectthe Index to every scroll,book, and tome withinStarhaven’swalls.”

Smallwood paused toshift the scrolls in his arms.“To search the Index formundanetext,alloneneeddoisthinkofasubjectandopenthebook.Simplypickup the

codexintendingtoreadaboutsynaesthesia or magicaladvantage or whatever, andthe artifact’s spells willreproduce all availableinformationonthesubject.”

Just then the partyenteredtheWomen’sAtrium,whose ceiling held mosaicdepictions of famous femalewizards.Nicodemusregardedthe dog-like guardian spellsthat flanked the MainLibrary’svaultedentrance.

The constructs’Numinous bodies stood eightfeet tall and possessed longcanine fangs, muscularshoulders, and burning eyes.Thick, curly fur covered thecreatures’fearsomeheadsbutnot their sleek bodies.Underher gatewardpaw, each spellcontrolled a large Magnusball.

Asthepartyapproached,the two constructs pulledback their lips, but Shannon

calmly began casting themthenecessarypasswords.

Smallwood continuedhis lecture unfazed.“Conversely, to conduct asearch for magical text withthe Index, you simply lay ahandonanyoftheilluminatedpages, and your mind isbrought into contactwith thebook’sspells.Justthinkingofwhatyouarelookingforwillcause the book to list allknown spells that fit your

criteria. Once you select aspell—and here is the trulyfantastic aspect—the bookinfusesknowledgeofthattextinto your mind. So you seewhytheIndexissovaluable:throughit,asearchthatmighthave taken weeks iscompletedinmoments.”

Appeased by thepasswords, each guardianstretched her paws forwardintoadogbow,signalingthatthewizardscouldpass.

As they walked in,NicodemuslookedupintothesplendoroftheMainLibrary;he had seen it only a fewtimes before. Beside him, asentinel murmuredamazement.

Floor upon floor ofornate wood paneling andleather-boundbooksstretchedup far as the eye could see.On every level, archingwindows allowed long shaftsofsunlighttofallthroughthe

warm and dusty air. Almostimpossibly far above them, afewwooden bridges spannedthelibrary’scavernousspace.

On the ground floor, atwo-story stone structure inthe room’s center acted as aheadquarters to the librarianswho tended the books at allhours. A maze of waist-highreferenceshelvesradiatedoutfrom this building andsurrounded ordered ranks oflong study tables. The

hundred or so studyingwizardsfilledtheairwiththesounds of turning pages andhushedconversations.

Smallwood lectured on.“Now,about the Index, thereistremendousdemandforthething. The Council onArtifact Use must approveeveryquery tomakesure thebook is never endangered. Itis a difficult job, especiallyconsideringthat,eventhoughwe know how to use the

Index, we don’t know whatmakes it work. Its operativespells are written in anunknown language.” Thewizard laughed. “There isalso the matter of privatelibraries. Because the Indexcan search any codex withinStarhaven’s walls, manygrand wizards who illegallykeep private libraries worrythat their secrets might bediscoveredbyrivalsusingtheIndex.”

ThepartycontinuedwithShannon and Smallwood inthe lead, Nicodemus in themiddle,andthefoursentinelstrailingbehind.

They reached thelibrary’s rear wall andventuredintooneofthemanyalcoves. Nicodemus hadnever noticed this particularinlet before. It stretched onfor at least a hundred yardsandseemedlikealong,book-linedcave.

“You see, Nicodemus,”Smallwood said as theywalked, “our research spellseeks to learn how the textaround the Index works, forclearly the artifact possessessome form of textualintelligence. It might tell usmuch about quaternarycognition—howcertainspellsallow us to think with text.Some speculate the Indexmight be a Chthoniccreation.”

Just then thepartycameto the cavern’s end andbeheld a guardian spellsleeping in front of a widemetal door. The goldenconstruct’s massive headrested upon her sphericalMagnus passage. Slowly asingle canine eyelid rose toreveal a burning eye.Suddenly the construct wason all fours, growlingfiercely. Shannon tossed athickstackofpasswordsatit.

The guardian snappedthe textoutof the air as if itwere a ham steak. After along distrustful stare, itbowed. Behind the spell, thedoor swung open to reveal awindowless room with stonewalls. At the chamber’scenter,amarblepodiumheldtheIndex.

Polished brown leathercoveredthebook’sface.Twobrass bands wrapped arounditsspine,securingthemselves

to the board with three steelstuds apiece. A single brassfore-edgeclaspheldthebookshut,andtrian-gularsteeltabsprotected its corners. AsNicodemus drew closer, hesaw innumerable sunburstsetched into the brass. Therewas no ornate boss upon theface or jewels encrusted inthemetalwork,butstillitwasoneof thehandsomestbookshehadeverseen.

After putting down his

stack of manuscripts,Smallwoodbegantoundothebuttons that ran down hissleeves, all the whileinstructing the sentinels tounload their books onto theempty shelves that lined thewalls.

Shannon had alreadyunbuttoned his sleeves toreveal arms that constantspellwriting had keptmuscular in spite of his age.“Our research spell is named

traseus,” he explained toNicodemus.“It’saNuminousandMagnus hybrid designedtovisualize themovementofthe artifact’s language as itsearches for amundane text.The only problem is thattraseus is an expansive spell;that is why we need yourassistance.”

Nicodemuscringedasheslipped his arms out of hisapprentice sleeves. IfShannon and Smallwood

requiredmore runes than thetwo could produce on theirown, it was going to be anonerous task indeed. Helooked back at the sentinels,who presentlywere sufferingone of Smallwood’s lectures.“Mightweaskthemtohelp?”Nicodemus asked Shannonsoftly.

“As fully investedwizards they would beoffended. Besides I’d ratherhave them lounging about. If

they become bored they’remore likely tobedistracted.”He cleared his throatmeaningfully.

Nicodemus nodded.“And howmuch of the spellhasbeenwritten?”Mostoftengrand wizards wrote longresearch spells over severaldays, storing subspells inscrolls or books. Then, atcasting, they would peel offthesubspellsandsplice themtogether.

“None,” Shannonadmitted.“We’veonlydrawnupoutlines.”

“And how many runeswillwerequire?”

“Several hundredthousand in each language,”Shannon said with asigh.“I’m sorry, my boy, but thismight tire you.” He steppedcloser, a green sentenceconspicuously draped acrosshisforearm.

Nicodemus took the

common language spell andtranslated it: “Don’t forget;your to distract Smlwd andwtch-hntrs.”

Nicodemus whispered,“Yes,Magister.Doyouhaveany ideas how to sidetrackthem?”

The old man shook hisheadslightly.“Doyou?”

Nicodemus’s heart beatfaster.“Notyet.”

CHAPTERTwentyThetraseusspellprovedtobeepic indeed. But Nicodemuscould not help parse oranalyze the text. The onlythinghecouldcontributewasstrength. And to harness his

strength, Shannon hadcomposed the wordweavespell: a text he hoped wouldendear Nicodemus to otherwizards.

To cast wordweave,Nicodemusarrangedboth theNuminous and Magnusalphabets into a grid ofcommon language sentences.The linguists then used thegrid to pull Nicodemus’srunesintotheirbodies.

As soon as a wizard

withdrew a rune, Nicodemusforged a replacement andmaneuvered it into position.Instantly a rune in theoppositealphabetdisappeared—Shannon was writing inMagnus, Smallwood inNuminous—and Nicodemuswould replace it, and then arune in the other alphabetwoulddisappearandsoonforhours.

The first to tire of thiswere the sentinels. They

paced or inspected the Indexor the bookshelves. Twostepped outside to examinethe guardian spell standingwatchbeforethedoor.

During this time,Nicodemusforgedinhisarmsandslippedtherunesdowntohis fingers. But after twohours of dropping runes intoplace, his wrists began toache.When he asked if theymight break, Smallwoodexplained that traseus would

bevolatileuntil itwasnearlycomplete; interrupting itscomposition early wouldmake the spell deconstruct.They worked in silence foranotherhour.

Though he never foundtime to look away fromwordweave, Nicodemuscould hear the sentinelspacing. At one point,Shannoncajoledoneof theminto writing shields aroundthe bookshelves—this to

prevent a chaindeconstruction if somethingwent wrong with traseus.Toward dinner, a new set ofNorthern wizards replacedthoseonduty.

To vary his routine,Nicodemus began forgingwithinhis forearm.He rolledthecharactersdown thebackofhishandtoacockedindexfinger and then flicked therunes into the grid. This sawhim through another hour.

But then, in a moment ofinspiration, he began forgingwithinhistongueandspittingthe runes into place.Unfortunately, MagisterSmallwood found thisdistracting, so Nicodemushad to return to forgingwithinhisarms.

One napping sentinelbegantosnore.

OccasionallySmallwoodorShannon stood andplacedacompletedsubspellnearthe

Index. But becauseNicodemus’s task was sodemanding, he did not lookupuntil the traseus spellwasnearly complete; by then hewas lightheaded andfamished.

But the sight of theresplendent text filled himwith so much wonder that iteasedhisdiscomfort.

Thousands of silver andgoldsentenceshadbeenspuninto a seven-foot-tall sphere.

Rubbing his sore armmuscles, Nicodemus walkedcloser to admire its stunningdetail: all across the spell’sglobelike surface, NuminousandMagnuspassagesformedminiaturestreamsthatflowedlikeoceancurrents.

The spellwas stablebutnot yet seamless; in twoplacesthetextparteddownavertical slit. Shannon pulledbackoneoftheseasifitwerea tent flap. Smallwood

climbed into the spell andbegan editing the slitstogether.

Meanwhile Shannonshooed the sentinels out intothe hallway. “Magisters, youarewelcometowatchfromadistance,” the old man said,“but we must have room towork.”

Nicodemus admired thetraseus spell for a fewmoments and then the Index.Retreating to a stool, he

discoveredthathisexhaustionand hunger had produced aheadache. “Magisters,” hesaid, kneading his temples,“mayIaskaquestion?”

“Of course,” Shannonsaid, now studying aluminescent passage he wasforming in his deltoid andbicep.

“What are we going tosearchtheIndexforwhenthetraseusspellisactive?”

“Something of known

location,”Shannonexplained,sending the finished passageinto his balled fist.“Specifically, Bolide’s‘Treatise on Staffs, Wands,andMagicalAdvantage.’Allcopiesofwhicharerestingonthatscrollrack.”

Nicodemus saw thewisdom in this. “Might wesearch for something elsewhenit’sfinished?”

“Such as?” Smallwoodasked. He was scrutinizing

several Numinous passageshehadfusedandhungabovethe spell’s surface like a tinycloud.

Nicodemus paused.“Such as possible remediesforcacography, researchedatinstitutions other thanStarhaven.”

“An excellent idea,”Smallwood said, plucking asentencefromatextualcloud.“But you must put it beforethe Council of Artifact Use.

Andthey’realwaysbusy.”“But might I conduct a

quick search once we’redone?”Nicodemusreplied.

Smallwoodchanged tworunes and looked up. “I’msorry,whatwas that?”WhenNicodemus repeated hisquestion, Smallwood smiledandshookhishead.“Ohdear,no. Rules are rules. And thecouncil might not want a…”He paused to consideranother sentence. “They

mightnotwantacacographerusingtheIndex.”

Nicodemuslookedatthefloor.

“I will apply for such asearch,” Shannon said, “ifyouwill searchallStarhaventexts on the matter, and ofcourse”—he coughedmeaningfully—“after allpressing matters have beenresolved.”

Nicodemus looked up.Shannon was scrutinizing a

passage with his all-whiteeyes.“Thankyou,Magister,Ican promise you that Ialready have scoured theStarhaven libraries ahundredtimes.”

“ThenIwillapply.”These words made

Nicodemus feel giddy andlightheaded.

“Well, Agwu,”Smallwood said, whilemassaginghisrighthandwithhis left, “all the Numinous

domainsarealigned.”Shannon smiled. “That

means I’m holding the onlytwo unconnected lines. Myfriends, let us pray toHakeem.” The three menbowed their heads to thepatron god of wizards.Outside the chamber, thesentinelslookedon.

“Timothy, begin thesearch on the Index now,”Shannon said.He bound twosentences and dropped them

intotheglobe.Smallwood unfastened

the Index’s fore-edge clasp.With a nod to Shannon, heopened the book, paused,then closed it, paused again,opened it again. He repeatedthisprocedureoverandover.

Each time he did this,the Indexmagically retrievedthe information Smallwoodsought. “Watch carefully,”Shannon said, sitting downnext to Nicodemus. “The

traseus spell should visualizetheIndex’slanguage.”

For a few momentstraseus swirled sluggishly.But then the textual currentsgainedawindlikefluidityandblewaroundthetextualglobein thousands of differentcurrents.Fasterandfasterthespell spun until Nicodemuscould no longer make outindividual sentences. WhenSmallwood next opened thebook, faint purple light

flashedaroundtheIndex.Thegrandwizardyippedinjoyasthe traseus spell gainedvelocity.

But then somethingcaught.

Several sentencesbecame rigid. Lines snaggedand split. Currents spun outof control and formed alinguistic hurricane in thespell’slowerhemisphere.Thetextual storm raged withpercussive force, sounding

miniaturethundercracksasitbrokethroughstiffsentences.The purple glimmers aroundtheIndexdisappeared.

“The text isdeconstructing!” Shannoncalled to the sentinels. “Shutthevault!”

They needed littleconvincing; in the nextinstant the chamber doorbegantoswingclosed.

Shannon withdrew ascrollfromhisbelt-purseand

peeled a Numinous spell offits parchment. “Whateverhappens, stay within thistext,” the wizard instructedNicodemus,castingagolden,spherical shield around him.As an afterthought, Shannonplaced Azure on hisapprentice’sshoulder.

A metallic clangreverberated through theroomasthevault’sdoorshut.All was silent for a momentand thenseveral traseus lines

brokewithadeafeningcrack.A feathery Numinous geyserspewed from the sphere’supper pole, making the spellwrinklelikeawinterapple.

Withabackhand stroke,Shannon cast a Magnus lashagainstthespellandcutopena man-sized rift. “Timothy!”hecalled.“Getoutnow.”

Smallwood didn’t needto be told twice; he scoopedup the Index and dashed outofthespell.

Together the linguistshurried back and editedthemselvesintotheprotectiveNuminous spell thatsurroundedNicodemus.

Outside the shield,traseus collapsed and beganto deconstruct violently.Decaying sentences flewabout,strikingthetranslucentshielding spell with jarringforce. The threemen silentlywatched the resplendentchaos.Allwereexhausted.

Unfortunately, theirprotectivespellwasnolargerthanabroomclosetand theyfound themselves standinguncomfortablyclose.

“Nicodemus,” Shannonasked, buttoning up hissleeves, “what did you seewhen the spell wasfunctioning?”

“Purple flashes aroundtheIndex.”

Shannon nodded. “Asdid I. What did you see,

Timothy?”“Nothing,”saidthepale-

faced wizard as he crouchedon a stool, which wascontained within theprotective spell’s limitedspace. Both Nicodemus andShannon stared at the Indexlyingintheman’slap.

Theairwascold,andsoNicodemus drew his armsbackintohissleeves.

With a little shuffling,Shannon managed to turn

back toward the vault.Ostensibly he was watchingthe deconstruction, but bypatting Nicodemus’sshoulder, he furtively cast acommon language sentenceintotheyoungerman’schest.

Translating the line,Nicodemus read: “Mst getIndex frm Smllwd while valtisclosed.Ideas?”

Nicodemus had beenstaring out at thedeconstruction with

unfocusedeyes.Themessagegavehimawildidea.

He handed Shannon areply: “Y have an othershield?Likethiswon?”

Shannonnodded.“Getitredy.”Shannon pretended to

cough. “When?” he gruntedbetweenhacks.

Nicodemusmadeashowof thumping Shannon’s backthen grabbed the grandwizard’s robes and yanked

down hard. Just before theold man fell sideways,Nicodemus cast an answerintohischest:“Now!”

CHAPTERTwenty-oneWith a cry, Shannon fell tohis left and knockedNicodemus toward Small-wood’s stool. To avoidlandingon thesittingwizard,Nicodemus threw his left

hand against the Numinousshield. Nevertheless, his hipcrashed into Smallwood’sface and sent the wizardsprawling back onto thetextualshield.AsNicodemushad hoped, the Index fell tothefloor.

Everyone was shouting.The spherical shield seemedabout to tip and send themtumblingovereachotherlikebugsinarollingglassbubble.

But Shannon leaned

back against the shield’sopposite wall, balancing it.Then, faster than Nicodemusthought the old man couldmove, he bent down andretrieved the Index from thefloor.

Nicodemusexhaledwithrelief. Now came the trickypart: getting Shannon sometime alonewith the Index sothat he could research theirenemy.

Since his first day in

Starhaven, Nicodemus hadworked on preventing histouch from misspellingmagical text.Hehad focusedon rune order, memorizedcomplex sentence structures,learned to block out everythought but those ofpreservingthespellathand.

Now, heart racing, hedidtheopposite.

“Magisters!”Nicodemuscried while nodding towardhis hand. His fingers were

jammed into the shield’sgolden sentences. “It’smisspelling!”

A dark line grew upfromNicodemus’shandashewilled his cacography tomisspell the previouslysmooth sentences intocrinkledzig-zags.

Strangely, the complexNuminous sentencesmisspelledexactlythewayhewanted them to.Most of thetime,Nicodemus’s touchhad

made magical textdangerously uncontrollable.The opposite now seemed tobe true. But he didn’t havetime to dwell on thisphenomenon; he had to getShannon away fromSmallwood.

“I can’t let go!”he lied.“I’m stuck!” A second darkline spread down from hishand. Together, the strata ofcorruption pulled a deepfurrow into the spherical

shield. “Magister, use theother shield!” Nicodemushissed to Shannon. “Formanothersphere.”

Just then adeconstructing Magnus linepunched through thefurrow.The silvery fragmentstruckNicodemusintheface,cutting him from cheekbonetojaw.

“Nicodemus!” Shannoncalled as a spray of bloodfilledtheair.

Nicodemus clapped hisfree hand against thewound.The contracting ring ofmisspells now encircled theshield and was pinching thetext down on top of him.“Magister Smallwood,” hecalled.“Help!”

The shielding spell wasnow nearly two spheresjoinedby a furrow. It lookedsomething like two fusedsoapbubbles.

Smallwood had been

tottering to his feet. NowNicodemus’s cries turned hiseyes up to where theapprentice’s hand wascontextualizedintotheshield.With a squawk, the palewizard jumped up and beganparsing the corruptedNuminous sentencesenmeshing Nicodemus’shand.

When Shannon movedtohelp,Nicodemusshookhishead. “Magister, go!Use the

otherspell.”Reluctantly, Shannon

withdrew a small scroll fromhisbelt-purse.Withpracticedmotions, he peeled theNuminous text from theparchment and edited it intothe shield’s wall closest tohim. The increased textualarea in Shannon’s spherereduced the restrainingtension on the misspellingfurrow; it closed into a tightknot, effectively separating

theshield’stwospheres.Nicodemus released the

text and withdrew thecacographic force he hadbeen exerting on the shield.Smallwood frantically set tocutting out the corruptedsentences.

Shannon, now standingina separateprotective spell,nodded to Nicodemus androlled his shield toward thechamber’s other side. Justbeforethewizarddisappeared

into the storm ofdeconstruction, Nicodemussaw him cradle the Index inhis right arm and open itscover.

“Nicodemus, how couldyou have been so careless?”Smallwood squawked,finishing the seal on theirprotectingspell.

The shield had shrunk.Nicodemushadtocrouch,hishead tilting toone sideashepressedahandtohischeekto

stopthebleeding.“Shannon trusts you

cacographers too much,”Smallwood said in theharshest toneNicodemushadever heard him use. “Youcould have killed us. Couldhave killed us anddeconstructedtheIndex!”

Nicodemusmumbled anapology.

“Well…show me thatcut,” Smallwood said, histonesoftening.“I’lldowhatI

can until Shannon can stitchyouupwithMagnus.”

Nicodemus dropped hishand and looked away.Spikesofpainlancedintohishead as Smallwood scrubbedthe wound with his sleeve;neverthe-less, Nicodemuscouldn’t suppress a small,self-satisfiedsmile.“THAT STUNTWITH the shieldwas exceedingly foolishand…” Shannon muttered toNicodemus.

Four sentinels wereaccompanying them back totheDrumTower, and one oftheNorthernspellwrightswasnowfrowningattheoldman.

Shannon waited for theNortherner to look awaybefore finishinghis sentence.“Exceedingly foolish,Nicodemus, and exceedinglybrave.”

Nicodemus started tosmilebutagonylancedacrosshis wounded cheek. Despite

being placed with care,Shannon’s Magnus stitcheswere extraordinarily painful.“What did you learn?” heasked.

Sitting on Shannon’sshoulder, Azure raised herhead to inspect the nearbysentinels.Thepartywasnowmarching along a wideSpirish arcade in Starhaven’snorthern quarter. Presentlynone of the sentinels wascloseenoughtooverhear.

“NothingaboutagemoremeraldandLanguagePrime.And nothing about theChthonics, ivy, or turtleshells.” Shannon paused. “Iam sorry, Nicodemus; I justrealizedIforgottosearchforremediesforcacography.”

A sinking sensationfilledNicodemus.“That’snotimportantrightnow.Whatofourenemy?”

A smile formed beneaththe wizard’s short beard. “I

discovered what manner ofcreatureweface.”

Nicodemusturnedtothegrandwizard. “Magister!”hewhispered beforeremembering himself andreturning his gaze to theground. “What is ourenemy?” he asked morequietly.

“We face a golem,” thewizard whispered. “They arespells of the ancient world.Accordingtotheliterature,no

one has encountered orcreatedoneonthissideoftheocean.”

“Los in hell,”Nicodemus quietly swore.“So we face an author withknowledge of the ancienttexts. Perhaps a demon-worshiperafterall.Whatelse,Magister? What kind ofconstructisagolem?”

Again Azure examinedthe sentinels; they were stilltoofartooverhear.“Tocreate

a golem text,” Shannonwhispered, “an ancientspellwrighthadtoconverthismindintocomplextextcalleda‘spirit,’whichcontainedallof an author’s magical andmental abilities. This spiritwas then invested into agolem bodymade of earth—mostwereclay,buttherewasmention of metal or rock.Whileanimate,agolemisnota construct but a livingcreature.Agolem’sdurability

dependedonitssubstance:aniron golem would outlive abrass golem, a brass golemwould outlive a mud golem,andsoon.Butthesturdierthegolem,themoretextandtimeitrequiredtoform.”

Nicodemus held histongueasaturninthearcadebrought a sentinel withinearshot. Only when the manhadmovedawaydidhereply:“And that’s why cutting offthe murderer’s arm didn’t

slowhimdown?”Shannon nodded. “The

author’s spirit simplydisengagedfromthewoundedbody and then formed a newone. But from what Iunderstand, any golementering Starhaven wouldsuffer from the stronghold’sChthonic metaspells. A claygolem shouldn’t last fivehours in this place. And onecouldn’tspellwritewithinourwalls.”

Nicodemus eyed thenearest sentinel. “So themaliciousauthorisnot in thestronghold. He could beanywhere.”

“Anywhere close by,”Shannoncorrected.

Fear began to coolNicodemus’s excitement.“We must find the authorhimself. We could slay themanorcreatureorwhateveritiswhileitsspiritisstillinthegolem.”

Shannonshookhishead.“If we knew where theauthor’sbodywashidden,wecoulddo just that.Butwe’venowayoffindingthefiend.”

“But then how can wefightit?”

Shannon started to replybut then stopped as thesentinels stepped in close.Ahead of the party stood theentrance to one of the longhalls that separated theSpirish Quarter from the

Imperial Quarter. The DrumTowerwasn’tfaroffnow.

Once inside thehall, thesentinels spread out, givingNicodemus and Shannonenoughroomtowhisper.

Shannon explained in amurmur: “If a golemdeconstructs before itsauthor’s spirit candisengage,then the author dies alongwith the body. Differentgolems have differentvulnerabilities. Clay golems,

being malleable, areimpervioustoallbutthemostsevere crushing and piercingattacks. However, as Idiscovered,theycanbeeasilycut.”

“But a golem made ofgranite?”

“Would be slower,stronger, and endangered byblunt attacks of sufficientforce.” The wizard tookAzure onto his hand.“Nicodemus,”hesaid loudly,

“wouldyouholdmyfamiliarfor a moment? I need toreadjustmyhood.”

Nicodemus held out hishand and was not surprisedwhen the parrot pressed ashortNuminoussentenceintohis palm. “Take a good lookat that sequence,” Shannonmurmured while pretendingto fuss over his hood. “Doyou think you couldrecognizeit?”

Nicodemus shifted

Azure to his other hand andsquinted down at the line. Iftranslated it would read,“nsohnannanhosn.”Nicodemusclearedhisthroat.“It’s your name writtenbackward and theninterdigitatedwithyournamewrittenforward?”

The old man chuckled.“You can’t spell out theingredientsforhamandeggs,butyoucangleanthat?”

Nicodemus shrugged.

“Order never mattered tome.”

“You may hand Azureback now,” Shannonannounced for the sentinels’benefit.

When Nicodemusobliged, the wizardwhispered. “That will bemycipher for any broadcast Isend. If anything shouldhappen we can find eachother using…what’s thematter?”

“I’m sorry, Magister, Iknow most apprentices cancast broadly, but I’ve never—”

“It’s a ball of shortmessages that’s cast into anever-expanding sphere.Spellwrightsusethemtofindeachotherwhenlost.They’reforbidden in Starhavenbecause of the confusionthey’dcause.However, inanemergency, I’ll begin castingmanyofthemsoyoucanfind

me. Some will have thecorrect cipher, some a decoycipher. Each one is anexpandingsphere.Youaretofollowonlythecorrectciphertoitssource.”

The party climbed ashort,widestairway.

“One more thing,” thewizard said: “that furrow inmyNuminousshieldbackbytheIndex,howdidyoumakeit?”

Nicodemus explained

howhehaddeliberatelyusedhis cacography to misspelltheshield’ssmoothsentencesinto crinkled conformations.Hedidn’tmentionthestrangesensationofincreasedcontrolhe had felt when corruptingthe text; that still confusedandtroubledhim.Soinstead,he focused on how hismisspelled sentences hadpulled the furrow down intothe shield and so distractedSmallwood.

Shannon raised hiseyebrows. “You did that bymisspelling?”

“No, Magister,”Nicodemus said, grinningdespitethepain.“WhenIdidthat, I couldn’t have spelledmorecorrectly.”

Shannon chuckled.“Welldone,myboy.”

The party filed outthrough a door and into theStoneCourt.Nicodemuswasshockedtoseethat theDrum

Tower’s main door and theground floor windows werecoveredbyblazingNuminousbars.

The old man explained:“The spells blocking thedoors and windows arewards. They can be lifted byapplying a key, much like adoor’s passwords. I’veconvincedAmadi to givemeakey. I’d like you to have acopy in case you need toleavethetower.Ifpossible,I

willsendAzurewithakeytoyour window tonight.Otherwise I’ll give you thekeytomorrow.”

Nicodemus nodded.“Thewards are to protect uscacographers from themurderer?”

“Iwantedmore, but theprovost doesn’t want theconvocation’s atten-dees toknow about the murderer. Idon’t know if thewardswillstop an author capable of

composingagolem.Buttherewillbetwosentinelsguardingthe tower.Therewill also betwo of them watching myquarters. So at least we willbesafetonight.”

Nicodemus glanced attheoldman.“Butwehaven’ttalkedabouteverythinginmylast nightmare. There’s thecaveIsawwiththebodyandthe strange turtles and thehexagonal pattern at the endof the Spindle Bridge.

Perhaps our enemy hassomething to do with theSpindle. Some door in themountainside or somethingabout moving themountain…”

Shannon motioned forNicodemus to quiet down.“I’vethoughtofthattoo.Butthere’s nothing we can dotonight.Nowweneed to restwhileit’sstillpossible.”

The old man paused.“Tonight I want you to pay

special attention to yourdreams.”

CHAPTERTwenty-twoAs before, Deirdre regainedconsciousness and foundherself on theground, cryingas Kyran kneeled over her.But this time he had nocaresses or soft words. This

timehiseyeswerewidewithfear. “Los in hell, Deirdre!Whydidyousendmeaway?Areyouhurt?”

“No,” she gaspedbetweensobs.“No,I’m…I’mfine.”

Magical willowispsfloated about the room,shedding a soft blue-greenlight. She was still in theChthonic cell where thecreaturehadcaughther.“Thevision!” shewhispered. “The

visionreturned.”Kyranwrappedhisarms

around her and murmuredthat if she was not hurteverythingwouldbeallright.

“Inthevisions,”shesaidtremulously, “I was on theriverbank again, in theHighlands,andthewhitewolfcame. It had a man’s headwithburningredeyes.He…”She gulped down air. “Hestabbedme somehow…and Icame apart and floated down

theriver.”“It was only a vision,”

Kyran murmured. “Whathappenedhere?”

Haltingly, she told himhow the creature had chasedher into thecellandhowshehad fallen into a seizure justas the creature forced thecell’s door open. “But, Ky,why am I still alive? Howhaveyoufoundme?”

“I followed thesentinelstothegroundlevel thenback

up to the Spindle Bridge,where they met Shannon.They reported his trick to noone. Shannon, the boy, andthe sentinels went into alibrary too well guarded forme to follow.” He glowered.“Deirdre, you should neverhave sent me away! I couldhave—”

“Ky, you’re notlistening!” She pushed hishands away. “Why am I stillalive? Why didn’t the beast

killme?”“Ourgoddessmusthave

manifested herself directly inyou, so you could slay thebeast.”

Deirdre sat up. “Whatare you saying? That Boannis controlling me during myseizures? Why would shedo…”

Her voice died as hereyes fell on the body lyingalong one wall. It wascovered with a ripped white

cloak.“Perhaps,” Kyran

whispered,“wewon’tneedtofind its true body? Perhapsyouslewtheconstructbeforethe author’s spirit coulddisengage?”

From her current angle,Deirdre could see nothing ofthe creature’s head save theclay neck, which a singlesword stroke had cleaved intwo.

STANDING ON A tower bridgein the Imperial Quarter, thecreature looked down at theStone Court and the wizardsstanding guard before theDrumTower.

“Sentinels for guards,Shannon?” he asked the air.“Andwardsonthedoorsandwindows?” That would stophimfrom luring theboysoutoftheacademywithdreams.

Now bolder action wasneeded.

Perhaps a direct attack?In the Stone Court he couldspellwrite.Thatwouldlethimkill the guards, disspell thewards, and move into theDrum Tower with a blade.But the sentinels might raisean alarm, or a guardingconstruct might attack whenhewasinside.

Itwastoorisky.He thought again about

rewritingmoreofStarhaven’sconstructs. He had already

rewritten a gargoyle on theErasmineSpire to spyon thewizard’s colaboris spells.And he had drafted a ratlikegargoyle with a large ear onits back. Perhaps he couldcorrupt a war-weightconstruct?

No, that would take toolong.

The creature thoughtagain about Shannon andpulled the back of his handacross his lips. The old

human had gone to thesentinels, gaining protectionbut sacrificing freedom; thesentinels would now watcheverythingShannondid.

This was not theintriguing counterstroke thecreaturehadhopedfor.

He thought aboutattacking the Drum Towerwithhistruebody;thatwouldbe less dangerous than usinga golem. Still, it was toorisky. He should be able to

deviseasaferplan,especiallynow that he had encounteredthatgirlinthedruidrobes.

Somewhere among thetowers,a ravenbegan tocry.Thecreaturerememberedthathe still had to run down toGray’s Crossing. “Wretchedvillage,”hegrumbled.

Leaning on the bridge’srailing, he narrowed his eyesand began to think. It wastimetoremoveShannonfromplay.

DEIRDRE TURNED OVER theclay head with her boot. Itsface had been squashed flatagainst the floor. Nodistinguishing featureremained.Long fragments ofwhatlookedtohavebeenhairlay scattered around on thedustyground.

Next to her, leaning onhis wooden staff, Kyrangrunted. “Perhaps you killedthe author along with the

body?”She shook her head.

“We must assume the fiendlives. We should take thePeregrine to our goddess’sark as soon as possible. Thecreature is aware of mypresence now and maybecomemoredesperate.”

“Wecan’treachtheboynow with the sentinelsguarding him. But they willkeep him safe for the night.Weshouldsleep.”

Deirdre looked at herprotector. “Do you reallythinkheissafe?”

He regarded her for amoment, his brown eyesnearlyblackinthegreenlightof his spells. “We mustsleep.”

WHEN THE IDEA came, thecreaturelaughedoutloud.

A cold wind wasblowing over the towerbridge. Far below, in the

Stone Court, several torchesflutteredandwinked.Thetwoguarding sentinels pulledtheir black cloaks moretightly about their frailbodies.

The creature laughedagain; the plan was brilliant.By enlisting the sentinels,Shannon had forged the toolthatwouldbehisundoing.

During the creature’sfirstencounterwithShannon,hehad fledwithNoraFinn’s

research journal, hoping tofind the boy’s name inside.Thewomanhadbeenprudentenoughtoavoidthat.But thecreature still had the journal,andnowwas the time to useit.

His new plan to trapShannon would be achallenge; he could notspellwritewithinthelibraries.However, he could cast textsinto the libraries fromoutside. Entering the old

fool’s rooms would be moredifficult. He would have tosacrificehispresentgolemtoplace the book. Worse wastheissueoftime:thecreaturehad to run down to themiserablevillageandback.

Still, it would bepossible if he cast the cursesimmediately.

The creature turned andstarted for the nearest tower.He did not need to removeShannon; the sentinelswould

dothatforhim.

CHAPTERTwenty-threeWhenNicodemusopenedhiscommon room door, thetapers were snuffed and thefiresmoldering.SinceleavingShannon, his excitement andfear had faded. Now his

empty stomach groaned, hiswoundedcheekthrobbed,andhisexhaustedeyesstung.

“Fiery heaven,” hegrumbled, picking his wayacross the darkened commonroom. What if he were notexcusedfromapprenticedutyin the morning? Would hehave to avoid a golemwhilemopping—

His left shin slammedinto something hard.Whatever it was clattered on

thefloor.“BloodofLos!”heswore. By feeling aroundwithhishands,hediscovereda chair’s square legs. Thesqueaking of a bed framecame from Simple John’sroom.

Nicodemus righted thechair. “Bind those idiots fornotcleaningup,”hegrowled.“WhenI—”

Adooropenedtospillaverticalbeamoffirelightintothedarkness.“SimpleJohn?”

SimpleJohnasked.Nicodemus’s anger

melted.“It’sallright,John.Ijusttripped.”Thedoorswungwidetofillthecommonroomwith the shifting light of thebig man’s fire. “John, I’mfine.”

Simple John inspectedNicodemus’s face withconcern. “No,” he saidwhileplodding over to his fellowcacographer. A powerfulhand landed onNicodemus’s

shoulder.“Really, John, the cut

was just a research accident.There’snoneed—”

“No,” Simple John saidbeforeenvelopingNicodemusin a hug. “Simple John,”Simple John said whilemashing Nicodemus’s headintohischest.

At first Nicodemusleaned into the massive wallthatwasJohnandlethisarmshang limp. But after a

moment, he half-heartedlyreturnedthehug.SimpleJohnreleased him and said,“Splatteringsplud!”

“Splattering splud,”Nicodemus agreed. “Thatabout describes my life:splatteringsplud.”

They exchangedgoodnights and Nicodemusstumbled into his chamber.He’d forgotten to put thepaper screen in the windowandnowtheroomwascold.

“Oh, hang it all,” hesighedandtossedtheignitionwordsintothefireplace.Soona flame danced among thelogs and illuminated hisroom’s usual disarray. Heuntied his belt-purse andtosseditontohiscot.

Atthesoundofaknock,he turned to see Devinstanding in thedoorway.Shewaspinningacloakabouthershoulders and trying ondifferentfrowns.

“I heard you come in,”she grunted. “I’ve been puton nighttime janitorial duty.Thebloodyprovostwantstherefectory cleaned in the darkso thatnoneof the foreign—blood and fire! Whathappenedtoyourcheek?”

Nicodemus covered itwith his hand. “Nothing. Anaccident during Shannon’sresearch.”

“Nico, don’t be stupidabout wanting a linguist’s

hood. If Shannon’s givingyou work you can’t safelyhandleyoushould—”

“Dev,I’mfine.”She held her hands up.

“All right, all right.No needto be fussy. But it proveswhatIwassayingabouthowStarhaventreatsus.Youthinkilliterates get cut up whendoingtheirchores?”

Nicodemus sat heavilyin on his sleeping cot. “And,Dev, I’m sorry about what I

said today in the refectory—about your wanting to getmarried. I just assumed thatbecause you gossip so muchabout who’s fooling aroundwithwhom…well,that—”

“It proves you’ve gotdonkey dung for brains, Iagree,” Devin retorted. “Butyou’renotentirelyworthless;everythingyoutoldmeaboutLosbecomingthefirstdemonhelped with MagistraHighsmithtoday.”

Nicodemus opened hismouth, but before he couldmake a sound she said,“Anyway, like I said, I haveto go to janitorial in therefectory.I’llbebackatsomeunholy hour in the morning.It’s just you and John heretonight. The young ones areasleep despite all theexcitement the sentinelsoutsidecaused.”

She ticked off a fewobscenities about sentinels

writing wards on their door.“I have to call out and waitfor the guards to open thedoor.” She looked up. “Youknowwhythey’rebottlingusuporwhywe’renotallowedtoleaveStarhaven?”

Nicodemus shook hishead. He had promisedShannonhissilence.

“Well, if any of thecacographic girls get upsettonight they’ll be coming toyou. Think you can handle

that?”When Nicodemus said

thathecould,sheleftwithoutclosing the door. Tiredly herose and shut it himself.Whenheturnedback,hesawhis newest knightly romancelying under his cot. A weaksmilecreasedhislips.

After lighting a bedsidecandle and covering thewindowwithitspaperscreen,he sat on the bed andretrievedthebook.ItwasThe

SilverShield.ThepeddlerhadwantedsevenLornishpenniesfor the romance; Nicodemushadtalkedhimdowntofour.

It was a plain codex,leather-bound, withoutmetalwork, and clasped withasimplerawhidecord.

Lightly, he ran hisfingers down the spine andremembered the many longbetween-duties hours he hadspentreading.

As the logs in the fire

began to crackle,Nicodemusopened the cover and staredatthefirstline.Hepassedhiseyes over it four times, buteach time he saw the lettersand not the words. Hisattention wandered to theilluminations drawn in themargins. Two mountedknightschargedeachother.Aspear-wieldingsoldierbattleda black, scaly-tonguedmonster.

Helayback,proppedup

his head on a pillow, and herescanned the first line. Butstillhismindrefusedtoread.Slowly,carefully,hetracedafinger along theilluminations.

In the morning perhapshe would scold himself forsentimentality, but now hischest rose and fell with aslowsigh.

Asaboyhehadwantedtoescapeintosuchastory.Inhisdreams,hehadpopulated

the nearby woods withimaginary monsters that hecouldventureouttodefeat.

He had wanted to donarmor and clash withTamelkan, the eyelessdragon,orGarkex,thehornedfiretroll, or maybe a neo-demonwhodistortedmagicallanguage for its ownpurposes. He had wanted torestore the peace, save thekingdom,bethehero.

One of these boyhood

longings echoed through hisheartnow.Slowlyhelaidtheopen book on his chest. Heclosed his eyes and tried tofindthedreamsofyouth.

Hewantedtoseeaflockof birds, white as snow,flying high above bare stonepeaks that surrounded averdant valley. He wanted aswordonhishipandachancetowalkdownintothatvalleyat sunset. He wanted to findnight resting on the

waterfalls, golden firelighthalf-hidden in the humandwellings.

And so he fell slowly,gently into sleep. At first hedreamedof the thingshehadlonged for, and he knewpeace.

But then came thenightmare.

MAGISTRA AMADI OKEKEstifled a yawn as she begananother circuit around the

Dagan Courtyard with hersecretary.

“But what if neitherShannon nor Nicodemus isconnected to the recentdeaths?”Kale asked, rubbinghiseyes.

Itwas late and theyhadbeen discussing theirinvestigationforhours.

As Amadi consideredKale’s question, she lookedout into the courtyard. Thewide rectangular space was

illuminated by incandescentprose strewn along thesurrounding spires andvaultingarcades.

Walkways divided theyard into quarters, each ofwhich held flower gardenswith a few stone benchestucked into shrub-linedalcoves.Onsomeofthesesatgreen-robed hierophantsenjoying the crisp air after anight of treaty negotiation instuffylibraries.

In thecourtyard’scenterstood a copse of aspen trees,theiroutermostleavesalreadyautumngold.

Amadi turned back toKale. “It’s exceedinglyunlikelythatwewilldiscovera delegate or anotheracademic who wished Noraill.That’swhywemustfocusonShannon.”

Kale shook his head.“Magistra, you’ve alwayssaidasentinelcan’taffordto

ignore unlikely possibilities.Shouldn’t we question moreStarhaven wizards andforeigndelegates?”

“Kale, you’re upset thatI withdrew some authorsfromyour investigations.Butwe are terribly shorthanded,andwemustguardtheDrumTower and Shannon.” Sheexhaledinexasperation.“I’mstillamazedbyhisstoryofacreature turning from fleshintoclay.”

Kale shrugged. “Maybetheoldman’slosthiswits.”

“Or maybe he onlywantsustothinkhe’slosthiswits. Or maybe Nicodemustruly is the Storm Petrel andhas corrupted the old fool’smind. It’s all too dangerouswiththosetwo.”

Kalelookedather.“Andwhatof theprovost’s requesttopostmoresentinelsaroundthe delegates’ sleepingquarters?”

Amadi rubbed her eyes.“Sweetheaven,that’sright.Ifa delegate ends up dead, theprovostwillhavemeskinnedalive. But how canwe comeupwithanymoreauthors?”

“I’ve inspected thewards on the Drum Tower,”Kalesaidcarefully.“Itwouldtake a master spellwright todisspell them. Perhaps theguardsaresuperfluous?”

Amadichewedherlipasthey turned a corner.

“Tempting, but no; we’llleavetheguardsuntilIknowmore about Shannon’s story.There’s a chance he’s tellingthetruth.”

Kalesaidnothing.Amadi looked back at

the courtyard. “Starhavenmust be the strangest bit ofarchitecture humans haveeverinhabited.”

“Why’sthat?”She gestured first at the

courtyardingeneralandthen

attheaspentreesinitscenter.“Look at these interlacingarches, these brightly tiledfountains.We’d have to rideclear up to Dar for a betterexample of royal Spirisharchitecture. And yet at thecenter of all these minaretsare aspens.Aspens! Thereshould be palm frondsswaying in a sea breeze, notgold leaves quaking in thinmountainair.”

Kalesmiled.“Itisoddto

think of the royal Spirishcolonizing this place. Theymust have been miserablewhenitsnowed.”

Amadi nodded. “Threekingdomstriedtoremakethischunk of Chthonic rock intheir image. All failed, andnow we wizards play in theruins.”

Kale chuckled. Butbefore he could say what hefound funny, the sound ofrunning feet filled the

courtyard.Amadi turned around to

see a young Starhavenacolyte skid to a halt.“Magistra Okeke, you’re tocome to Engineer’s libraryimmediately!”

Amadi frowned. “Onwhosecommand?”

Theboyshookhishead.“Don’t know her name,Magistra. A grand wizard,shewears awhite badge andthreestripesonhersleeves.”

Amadi swore. Only adeputy provost could wearsuch marks. “Take us therequickly,”shesaid.

Theboy turned and ran.Amadihikedupherrobesandfollowed.

They pursued the youngpage through a blur ofhallways toanarchway largeenoughtoadmitsevenhorsesrunningabreast.

Beyond sat anextraordinarily wide library.

Long ago Starhavenengineershadfilledtheplacewith a row of limestonebridges that spanned thewidthoftheroom.

Along each archstretched wooden facadesdecorated in the ornateSpirish style and convertedintobookshelves.Alabyrinthof traditional bookshelvesflowed beneath the bridgeslike a river’s convolutedcurrents.

Theplacewasalivewithyelling librarians. Teams ofblack-robes rushed acrossbridges and among thebookshelves. A sudden,goldenjetofNuminousproseexplodedfromonebridgeandwas quickly followed by achorusofshouts.

“Mother ocean!” Kaleissued the Ixonian curse.“What’shappening?”

Suddenly a nearbybookshelfburst intoamolten

ball of silvery Magnus.Amadi had just enough timeto turn away and cover herface before a shockwave offragmented prose andmanuscriptsstruck.

When Amadi lookedback,shesawapileofrubblewhere the shelf had stood.“Firey blood of Los!” sheswore.Amidthedetritusnowwriggled four pale-skinnedconstructsthattooktheshapeofgiantwormsorgrubs.

Eachwasroughlyafootlong, possessing huge eyesand a segmented body. Justbelow each spell’s bulboushead sprouted three pairs oflegs that ended in childlikehuman hands. Moredistressing were the bulginghind portions; in thosesegments speckled bits ofhalf-digested text shonethrough their translucentcarapaces.

“Disspell them before

they reach a shelf!” Amadibarked and drew her armback. Within moments shehad filled her fist with alaceratedisspell.

Already the nightmareconstructswere scurrying fornearbybooks.Theirgrasping,childlike hands moved themoverthedebriswithalarmingspeed.

Beside her, Kaleextemporizedaspearmadeofcommon magical language.

Withanululatingwarcry,hecharged.

Amadi cast her disspellwithherbestoverhandthrow.The lacerate text—awhirlingmassofMagnusshards—shotthrough the air to slicethrough a monster’sabdomen.Thespellwailedasits carapace split open anddisgorgeditstextualviscera.

Kale leaped over thedeconstructing monster andgracefully thrust at the next

worm.Thethingjumpedbacktoavoidthespear’sblade.

Kale, like manyIxoanians, was an excellentspearman. The instant hisboots touched ground, heleapedandthrustagain.

The worm retreatedagain but too slowly. Kale’sspearhead plunged into itsabdomen.The thing shriekedand tried to pull away, butKale had twisted his spearand caught the thing’s

carapacewiththespearhead’sbarbs.

“Magistra,” he called,improvising a club of bluntpassages. “By the bridge!”With a powerful club stroke,he split the construct’s headwithacrack.

Amadi looked beyondthesecretaryandsawanotherconstruct scampering towardthe bridge. By this time, shehad composed anotherlacerate disspell. “Where’s

the fourth?” she shouted.“Findit.”

As she hadwritten it todo, her lacerate dispersedmidair and bom-barded theunfortunate monster with astorm of blades. The thingclicked and squealed as itbegan to writhe intodeconstruction.

“Ican’tfindthefourth!”Kale called. “I can’t find it!”He was turning aroundfrantically, looking for the

fourthmonster.Amadi’s heart went

cold. Not eight feet behindhim,oneof themonstershadreachedabookshelf.Itrearedup on its abdomen and usedits childish hands to pull aheavy codex from theshelves.

“Behind you!” Amadishouted.

As Kale spun around,the giant worm opened thebook.Itsheadunraveleditself

into a cloud of glowinggoldenprose.

Kalelunged.Butevenashisspearwhistledthroughtheair, the creature jammed itstextual head into the book.Instantly, the thing’s bodytextualized and dove into thepages.

Kale’s spear swungthrough empty air as thecodex fell to the floor andsnappedshut.

“Damnit!Getbackfrom

the book!” Amadi ordered.Kaledeftlyjumpedaway.Sheran in and covered theinfected codex in a thickMagnusshield.

“Magister, what’shappened?” a frightenedvoice asked. Amadi glanceduptoseetheboywhohadledthem to the library staring atKale. She returned toswaddling the book withMagnussheets.

“What were those

things?”theboyasked.Kale squatted down to

look in the boy’s eyes. “Areyouallright, lad?There’snodangeranymore,butweneedtostandfartheraway.”

TheboynoddedasKalepulledhimback.“Whatwerethey?”

“Bookworms,” Kaleexplainedgravely.“Maliciouslanguage that invadesmanuscripts. They eat all theprose in a text and use it to

make copies of themselves.When there are too manybookworms in a codex, itexplodes. They use theexplosion to spreadthemselvestootherbooks.”

“And one of them gotinto that book?” the boyasked.

“That’swhyMagistra iscasting a containing spellaroundit.Thatwillprotectusifitbursts.”

Amadi had never

encased an infected codexbefore, and so she wasrelievedwhensheglancedupand saw a small train oflibrariansrushingtowardher.At their head strode anancient grand wizard in adeputyprovost’srobe.

“Sentinel Amadi Okekeof Astrophell, I presume?”the deputy provost boomed.She was a short, fat woman.A thin halo of white hairwreathed her wrinkled face.

Her hood was lined withorange cloth signifying thatshewasalibrarian.Givenherrank, she was undoubtedlyStarhaven’s Dean ofLibraries.

“Yes,Magistra,” Amadiblurted, silently cursingherself for not learning thiswoman’sname.

The dean wasted notime.“Whatisthissituation?”

“A violentdeconstruction produced four

class-four bookwormconstructs,” Amadi reported.“Three curses weredeconstructed but the lastinfectedthiscodex.”

Theancientdeannoddedto a librarian behind her.“Hand that toMagister Lurohere. He’ll lift the curse ordestroythebook.”

Amadi handed theinfected codex to the younggrand wizard who steppedforward.

The deputy provoststudied her for a moment.“Magistra, we are facing abookworm infection unlikeany I have known.Starhaven’s protectivelanguage is among the mostrobust in the world, and yetthese curses have spread tofour libraries. They arerapidly destroying invaluablemanuscripts.”

The ancient womanshook her head. “They’ve

tertiary cognition and theirexecutive languageconfounds all but our mostdirect methods ofdeconstruction. Whoeverwrotethemhasanastoundingunderstanding of textualintelligence.”

“Textual intelligence?”Amadi repeated. That wasShannon’sspecialty.

“Indeed,” the deancontinued. “I must have allavailable sentinels under my

command until this infectionis contained. We cannot letthe foreign delegates see thischaos.Itwouldembarrasstheacademy.”

As if to punctuate herpoint, a massive silver ballblossomed on the farthestbridge. An instant later, athunder-like boom shook thelibrary.

Amadi flinched. “Yes,Magistra,rightaway.”

But the other woman

wasalreadystridingoffinthedirection of the blast. Hertrain of librarians hurriedafter.

Amadi turned to hersecretary.“Wakeoursleepingauthors and fetch those notfulfilling essential duties.They’re to report to herimmediately.”

Kale raised hiseyebrows. “Even thoseguarding the Drum TowerandMagisterShannon?”

Amadi took a deepbreath. “Leave the twofollowing Shannon, but pullthe guards from Shannon’squartersandtheDrumTower.We’ll put themback as soonastheinfection’scontained.”

“Right away,Magistra,”Kale said and was offrunning.

CHAPTERTwenty-fourStrangely, Nicodemus knewhewasdreaming.

Around him seethed atunnel of gray and blacklanguage—an endless,meaningless mash of written

words. He was travelingdown it.Magister Shannon’svoice sounded above him: “Idon’tunderstand.Turtles?”

Then his own voice:“Look, that hexagonalpattern…”—the wordsbecame faint—“…of a turtleshell.”

The voices died and intheir place sounded a longseries of rhythmic, echoingclacks.

And then Nicodemus

stood in the cavern of hisprevious nightmare—lowceiling, gray floors, a blackstone table. The body lyingupon itwas again covered inwhite. Again a teardropemerald lay in its glovedhands.

But new to the cavernwas a standing stone, as tallas a man and as broad as ahorse. It stood behind theblack table.Threeundulatinglines flowedfromthestone’s

topdowntoitsbase.White, vinelike stalks

erupted from the ground andswayed to an unfelt breeze.The stalks sprouted pale ivyleaves and began tointertwine. Within moments,a knee-high snarl of albinoivycoveredthefloor.

“I was the demon’sslave,” a low voice rumbled.It came from everywhere. “Icut him in the river.” Thevoicegrewlouder.“Icuthim

intheriver!”Nicodemus tried to run,

butthepaleivyentangledhislegs. He tried to scream, buthis throat produced only alongpainfulhiss.Hereacheddowntopullattheweedsbutfrozewhenhe sawhishandscovered by the hexagonalplatesofaturtle’sshell.

Suddenly he could notmove somuch as his eyelid.From toe to top hair he wasencasedinthickblackshell.

“I CUT HIM IN THERIVER!”

A blinding red lightenveloped Nicodemus.Agony lanced through hisevery fiber as his shellshattered.

Looking up, he saw theemerald produce a sphere oflight—wispy and sallow atthe edges, but blazing greenatitscore.

The small emerald’sradiance grew until it burned

the cavern and everything initintoairynothingness.

Above stretched a pale-bluesky,below,lushsavannagrass. Ancient oak treesdotted a hillside thatoverlooked the wide, greenwater of a reservoir.Nicodemus recognized theplace as a springtime Spirishmeadow near his father’sstronghold.

In themeadow’s center,a tattered blanket provided

seatingforayoungboyandawoman. She was a rarebeauty:paleskinwitha lightsprayoffreckles,brighthazeleyes set above a snub nose,thinlips,adelicatechin.

But her most stunningfeature was the long bronzehaircascadingdownherbackinslowcurlsthatglintedgoldinthesunlight.

A book, a knightlyromance, sat in thewoman’slap. Her lips moved as she

read from it but the dreamprovidednosound.

The boy had long blackhair and a dark olivecomplexion. He was perhapseight years old and gazed atthe womanwith fierce greeneyes. This was as much amemoryasitwasadream.

Thewoman’s namewasApril,theboy’sNicodemus.

Thiswasavisionoflongago when Lord Severn—Nicodemus’s father—had

seenfittoeducatehisbastard.The lord had brought Aprilinto his household ostensiblyto educate his son, but mosteveryone knew the lordvisitedherchamberatnight.

April had been a kindteacher but not a determinedone. After Nicodemus’s firstdozen futile reading lessons,she began reading herfavorite books aloud to him.Being Lornish, April hadbeen enamored of knightly

romances.And after the firsttaleofmaidensandmonsters,sowastheyoungNicodemus.

Thedreambecamefluid.The vision of April and hisyoung self began to flicker.NowNicodemus’simagewasten years old. There wereflashesofNicodemusreadingalone,butmoreoftenhewaswith April, begging her forsomething.

Memory provided thedetails the dream left out. In

what was perhaps the onlyshrewd act of her life, Aprilhad noticed Nicodemus’sinterest in knightly romanceandbeganreadingtohimlessand less.When possible, shestopped at a tale’s mostexciting point, claiming shewastootiredtocontinue.

The young Nicodemusyearned to learn whathappened next in each story,buthisprogresswasslow.Attimes he confused his

frustration regarding the textwith his frustration regardinghisgoverness’sbody.

Noticing hisimprovement, April ceasedreading to him entirely butsupplied more books. Nowthe dream showed onlyimagesofNicodemusreadingalone.

The dream worldshifted. Gone were themeadow andsunshine.Nicodemus now

watched his ten-year-old selflyingabedinhissmallSevernHold chamber. He wasreadingabooktitledSwordofFlame.

The bedside candlesdanced as several nightsflickered by—this was thetimewhen,inthreeagonizingmonths, Nicodemus hadtaughthimself toreadsothathemightfindoutifAelfgar,anoble paladin, could mendCailus, his broken sword,

with the Fire Stones ofTa’nak, and then wield it tofree the beautiful ShaharafromZade,anevilclericwhocommanded the snakelikeZadsernak.

Although the youthfulNicodemus had had troubleremembering the many sillyinvented names, he wasdelighted with the story’sinevitablecourseandeagertoread the next twenty-sevenbooksintheseries,thoughhe

doubted that theywere all asgood.

Time flickered again.Now Nicodemus saw thewarmnight onwhich he hadfinishedSwordofFlame.Hisyoung self laid the bookdown on his chest and fellasleep to the soundof springrain and the cries of a fullrobin’s nest outside hiswindow.

“No,” the adultNicodemus moaned. On this

night,inadreamaboutApril,he would be born to magic.The resulting magicaleffulgence would set theentirewesternwingofSevernHold on fire, killing a horseandmaimingtwostableboys.

“Wake!” Nicodemusshouted. “Wake up!”But hisboyish self slepton.He triedto move but found his adultlegs paralyzed. The windowabove young Nicodemuscreakedopen.

A thick arm of ghostlywhite ivy vines grew withjerky, nightmare speed ontothe window frame andsurroundedthebed.TheadultNicodemus yelled again,tryingtowakehimself.

The nightmare ivyhadn’t been there when hehad been a boy. But now itspaletentaclesleapedontothebed and within momentsblanketed the dreaming childwithashen leaves.Theworld

exploded with light.Everywhereflamesroared.Ahorse screamed its death asthe rafters came crashingdown around Nicodemus.The stone walls tottered andthenfellwithadeep,grindinggrowl.

Suddenly nothing hungabove Nicodemus but a too-low nightmare sky ofseething gray text. Next tohim stood April, untouchedby flames. “Run,

Nicodemus!” she cried. “Hehas your shadow!” Darknessradiatedfromher,blottingoutthenightmaresky.

“Thereisnosafeplace!”Her hair became trains ofstars and spread across thegrowingnightsky.

“The white beast willfind youunless you fly fromStarhaven! Flywith anythingyouhave!”

Her body faded intonothing and her face became

theglowingfaceofthewhitemoon.

“Fly and don’t lookback!”

There was a deafeningcrashandthen…blackness.

“Neverlookback!”

AMADI WAS SITTING in thehallway, using two Magnusclausestopicksplintersfromherforearm,whenKalefoundher.

“Magistra! What

happened?”She flinched as a clause

drew out a half inch ofbloody wood. “Bookwormsinfested both sides of abridge. We were containingthe first blast when thesecond went off in my ear.Thedeputyprovostwasright:thesewormshaveanuncannyintelligence. Every time itseems we’ve deconstructedthe last one, another violentdeconstruction pulls us back

intoafray.”She looked up at her

secretary. He had severalscrolls tucked under one armand a thick codex under theother. Behind him stood thetwo sentinels who had beenguardingShannon’squarters.

“And what in theburning hells took you solong?”sheasked.“TheDrumTower guards were here anhourago.”

Kale smiled. “News

mostwonderful!We found awounded bookwormresponding to a leftoverhomingpassage.”

He held out one of thescrolls. “Six minor librariesare fighting infestation now.But so far the Main Libraryhas remained free ofinfection,thankHakeem.AndStarhaven is doing aremarkable job of hiding thewholeaffair.Butstill,thereisfierce fighting in all of the

infected libraries. And itseemsthatinoneofthemthisbookwormwaswoundedinaveryfortuitousway.”

“Fortuitous?” Amadiacceptedthescroll.

“By chance, a disspelldestroyed most of thisbookworm’s executive text.So the construct resorted toan older, previously disabledprotocol about what to do ifwounded.” He held outanotherscroll.

Amadi took it and thenlooked at the two sentinelswhohadbeenonguardduty.Kale was only a lesserwizard, and the bookwormswere written in Numinousand Magnus. “You twosubdued the construct andthenparseditsstructure?”

Theynoddedvigorously.Kale piped up again.

“All the other woundedbookworms have beenreturning to another location.

But this one had beenwoundedinsuchawaythatitcouldn’t. However, we wereable to learnwhere it shouldhavegone.”

Amadi raised hereyebrows.

“The bookworms havebeen subtextualizingthemselvesandreturningtoaprivatelibraryinatowernearthe Bolide Garden,” heexplained. “There they’vebeen engulfing some text

stored there. Once recoveredthey head back out to infectotherlibraries.”

“So the author of thesebookwormssetupthisprivatelibrary as a base for thebookworms?”

Kaleheldout therestofhis scrolls and the codex.“Just so.And theworms cansubtextualizethemselveswellenough that we never wouldhavefounditifitweren’tforthis wounded worm. In any

case, when we found theplace, we disspelled thewormsand then investigated.That’s where we foundthese.”

Amadiset thescrollsonthe ground and turned herattention to the codex. “Andwhatarethey?”

“What you’re holdingnow is Nora Finn’s researchjournal.”

Amadi looked upsharply. “The journal

Shannon claimed the claymonsterranoffwith?”

Kale’s smile seemedwideenough to split his facein half. “Exactly! It seemsthat Nora Finn was takingbribesfromaSpirishnobletowatch a certain student. Andseems there still is anotherspy.Thatscrolltherecontainsnotesaboutacorrespondencewith a different Spirish dukeand an Ixoanian admiral.Wecouldn’t figure out why, but

thenoblesseemtobepayingthe author to disrupt thisconvocation.”

“We had two spies forSpirishnoblesinStarhaven?”Amadi half-squawked. “NoraFinn and the owner of theprivate library? And thissecondspy tookbribes to setthesebookwormsloose?”

“Worse than that,” thesecretary added. “The scrollsby your feet are drafts ofcurses written to infiltrate a

spellwright’s body and forceittooverexertitself!”

Amadi feltherhandsgonumb.“Likethemisspellthatkilled Nora Finn and theneophyte. Did you find anyevidence of the remainingspy’sidentity?”

Kaleshookhishead.“Ofcourse not. The author wastoo intelligent for that. ButMagistra, remember the firstbookworm we found; itshould have returned to this

private library, but it wasdamagedinsuchawaythatitaccidentally returned to apreviously designatedlocation. Well, we searchedthat location and found ahidden chest filled with anappalling number of Spirishand Ixonian coins. AndMagistra, you forgot to askwherethatlocationwas.”

Amadi looked at Kaleand then at the two sentinelsbehind him. “No, don’t tell

me,”shesaid,pressingahandto her forehead. “I alreadyknow.”

CHAPTERTwenty-fiveThough Shannon had beensincere when he toldNicodemus to rest while itwas still possible, the grandwizardfoundhimselfwalkingnot tohisquarters,but tohis

study.Neitherofthesentinelsfollowing him objected; theywould be up all night nomatter ifhewas lying inbedorsittingatadesk.

After leaving the guardsoutsideand locking thedoor,Shannon put Azure on aperch and assured her shecould sleep. He knew hisstudy well enough to moveabout without mundanevision.

Though he was

exhausted, the idea of agolem had roused hiscuriosity.Howcouldmagicallanguagecreatesuchabeing?Asheponderedthisquestion,habit prompted him toretrieve his research journaland absently finger the threeasterisks embossed on itsface.

As far as he knew, aspell could gain intelligenceonly from one of twoprocesses: “direction” and

“impression.”Authors creating

“direct” textual intelligencehad towrite clever prose.Atits simplest level, thisrequired strings ofinstructions: if this happens,thendo that; if that doesnothappen, then do this and soon. More complex methodsdirected constructs torecognizepatternsordevelopevolving webs of decision-makingsentences.

However, any “directly”intelligent spell fell short ofan “impressed” counterpart.Descended from an ancientspell that survived theExodus, “impression” usedtwoNuminousmatrices. Thefirstmatrixinhabitedalivingmind; the second, a spell’sexecutive language. Ifphysically close, animpressing matrix began tomimic the thought processesof a livingmind. In thisway

spellwrights could “impress”aspects of their ownintelligenceintotexts.

Shannon had givenAzure fluency in Numinousthroughimpression,andmostgargoyles and all ghostsrequired a living mind afterwhich to model theirthoughts.

What excited Shannonabout thegolemspellwas itsimplicit connection toimpression. To animate a

golem, a spellwright had toinvesthistextual“spirit”intoearthenbody.Toformaspiritspell,anauthorwouldhavetouse a radical form ofimpression that translated hismind into a text. Thatwouldleave the author’s body anempty husk until its spiritreturned.

So before investing hisspirit into a golem, aspellwright would have toplan for his spirit’s return to

his body.Therefore, a golemwould need an escapesubspell allowing a spirit toeject itself from a woundedgolem.

WhatShannonwantedtodo was write a linguisticattack that would hinder ordestroy a golem’s escapesubspell. If he could do that,he might slay the golem’sauthor without finding thefiend’slivingbody.

Shannonworkedwithan

excitementhehadnotknownfor a half century. Afterskimming the relevant texts,he had an idea of whatfunctions an escape subspellwould have to perform. Thatleft him the taskofdeducinghowatextmightfulfill thosefunctions and how an attackspell might interrupt thosesamefunctions.

In an hour, he had anoutline.

Writing the spellproved

more difficult. Heworked inNuminous and stored theearly drafts on older scrolls.The latter drafts he wroteonto his best parchment. Attimes his hands shook withexcitement and made itdifficulttoplacethelines.

After fourhours,hehadfinished a working draft. Atnearly eight thousandcharacters, it occupiedtwenty-four pages of hisresearch journal. His fingers

ached from gripping thesmooth runes. He set aboutputting in a few expositorynotes so that he wouldn’tforget how the trickierpassagesoperated.

“Shannon, you’re still alinguist,” he congratulatedhimself when the spell wasfinished. “But you’re gettingold.”He leaned back and lethimself feel the soreness inhis arms, the aching in hisknees.Theonlythingkeeping

him awake was theknowledgethat,ifhecasthisnew spell on the golem, itwould trap the author’s spritinsidetheclaybody.

Shannon sat back in hischair and listened to itsfamiliar wooden creaking.Justthenherealizedhehadtoget a copy of this spell toNicodemus immediately.Should he take it over to theDrum Tower now? It wasvital that the boy have the

spell.Buthowcouldhegetittohim?

Azuremadea low, two-notewhistle.Shannoncastaninquiring sentence toherandreceivedan instant reply:shehadheardsomethingunusual.

Shannon squinted at hisdoor.Noonewasspellwritingin the hallway, but fartheraway,inwhatmusthavebeena stairwell, shone a ten-foottrail of golden text. He hadseen such a thing before: it

was a train of a half dozenwizards, all casting flameflyspells to illuminate the darkstairs.

Something was wrong.Deadlywrong.

Shannon scooped upAzure and formed with herthe textual exchangethatallowed him to see throughhereyes.Backathisdesk,hestaredat thespellhehadjustwritten.

Hehadtogetthetextto

Nicodemus; the boy’s lifedepended on it. Even morefrightening, Nicodemus’sconnectiontoprophecymeantthat his survival might beessential for the fight againsttheDisjunctionandhenceforthe preservation of humanlanguage.

“Hakeem, help me!” hewhispered.

Glancingup,he saw thetrain of flamefly spells beginto wink out as their casters

camecloser.He looked back at his

spell. It was too long forAzure to carry in her body.And he didn’t have time totransferittoascrollandhaveAzure to fly it over. Heneeded something that wasalreadywritten.

After scanning his desk,hisblindeyesfellonfamiliarNuminous paragraphs. Azureprovidedamundaneimageofthe manuscript: it was the

scrollthathad,justadayanda half ago, granted himpermission to begin researchontheIndex.

Hushed voices soundedinthehallway.

With shaking hands,Shannon found an inkhornand a serviceable quill. Herarely wrote mundane lettersand he did not trust hisexhausted fingers to produceanything legible now. So hedipped the quill’s feathered

endininkandusedittopaintawide, sticky stripeover themundane writing which hadgranted permission for hisresearch.

Quickly he forged theNuminous paragraphs thatwould lift the ban on theDrum Tower’s door. Heslappedtheseontotheheadofthe scroll along with acommonlanguagenotewhichwhen translated would read“keyforwards.”

Knockingsoundedatthedoor. “Magister Shannon,”Amadi’svoicecalled.

“A moment!” Shannonreplied. He had to writesomething more toNicodemus about the otherpassages—hadtodoitbeforethe sentinels could interfere.Amadi would never allowNicodemus to have such apowerfultext.

“Shannon,” Amadicalled, “you must open this

door!”Shannon went blank

with fear. How could he letNicodemus know what hewasthinking?

Suddenly his mindleaped forwardwith thought.He forgeda fewphrases thatwhen translated would read“Research ***” and slappedit at the top of the scroll.Then he forged what wouldtranslate into the singleword“Dogfood,” copied it once,

and then thumbed one wordabove thefirstparagraphandtheotherabovethesecond.

A wall of silvery textshownfrom theother sideofthe door; doubtless thesentinels were preparing toknockitdown.

Shannon rolled up thescroll and bound it with aMagnus sentence. “ToNicodemus,” he whispered,binding theMagnus sentencetoAzure’sfoot.“Andbeware

of the sentinels guarding theDrum Tower.” He repeatedthese instructions inNuminous.

Behind him came acrash as a spell ripped hisdoorfromitshinges.

He leaped forward andpunched the wooden screenoutofhiswindow.

“Magister!” Amadicalled.“Donotmove!”

Azure made her hightwo-note whistle and with a

clatter of wings flew out thewindow.

SHANNON LET OUT a long,relievedbreath.Amadibeganshouting and rough handsgrabbed his shoulders andturnedhimaround.Theroomwas ablaze with censoringtexts. There must have beensevensentinelsintheroom.

“Amadi,”hesaidcoolly,“I hope you can justify thisbreachoflawandcustom.”

“Magister,” she repliedfrom somewhere to his left,“I’mafraidIcan.”

He looked in herdirection.“Andhowisthat?”

She told him about thebookworm infection and theprivate library filled withincriminating manuscripts.She then explained about awounded construct that hadbeen trying to return to hisquarters.

“You think I would be

foolish enough to write acursethatwouldreturntomyown quarters?” he askedincredulously.

A different voiceresponded. It took amomentforShannontorecognizeitasKale’s. “The chances of thebookwormbeingwounded injust that way—losing itsabilitytosubtextualizeanditshoming protocol—are veryslight.Youcouldhavesafelyassumedyouwouldneverbe

identified. But unfortunately,Magister, chance conspiredagainstyou.”

Shannon snorted. “Orthetruevillainhasfooledyouinto accusing me of hiscrimes.”

Amadi responded dryly.“We’ve searched yourquarters more thoroughlythan before. We swept theroomforsubtexts.”

Kalespoke.“Wefoundasubtextualized chest strapped

to your ceiling. It holds afortuneinSpirishgold.”

For a moment Shannoncouldnotunderstandwhathewas hearing. How could thegolemhavegotten thatmuchcoinintohisroom?Thethingcouldn’t spellwrite withinStarhaven’swalls.

“So who was it,Magister?” Kale asked.“What Spirish noble waspaying you to disrupt thisconvocationandwhy?”

“Amadi, you’re makinga grave error,” Shannon saidhoarsely.

His former student let amomentpassbeforereplying.“Did you know that NoraFinn was also taking bribesfromaSpirishnoble?”

Henodded. “I readof itinherjournal.”

“Why did you not tellme?”Amadiasked.

Shannon scowled.“Because I was more

concerned with convincingyou of the true villain’sexistence.”

Amadi let another silentmoment pass. “Or perhapsyouweregladtobefreeofacompeting spy. Tell me,Magister,howdidtheSpirishgold come to be in yourquarters?”

“Itwasputthere.”“By your clay monster?

Impossible. As I told you: Ihad a sentinelwatching your

quarters.What’smore,allthedoors and windows werewardedandthenprotectedbyrobust, bisecting texts. Evenifyourmonsterdidsneakpastmy guards, the thing wouldhave been cut in half at thewaist. It would have had tohide the chest and escapewithhalfabody.”

Shannon’s blind eyeswidened.Aclaygolemcoulddo just such a thing.“Amadi!” he blurted. “The

thing must have done itsspellwriting in the BolideGarden and then usedprewritten texts to sneak inandhidethechest.Searchthesurroundingarea.Somewhereyou’llfindadepositofclay.”

“Magister,” Amadi saidin a low tone, “the BolideGardensarebeing renovated.Do you want me to slopthrough all that mud for alumpofclaythatlookslikeamonster?”

Shannon took a deepbreath. The monster hadplanned well. After plantingthe research journal in hisquarters, itmusthave thrownitself down into the garden.There the golem could havedeconstructed amid the dirtpiles.

But Shannon couldn’tconvince Amadi of that. Nothereatleast.“SoyoususpectI’maspy,”hesaid,changingtactics.“DoyoualsobelieveI

killedEricandAdan,myownstudents?”

The room grew quiet.“Some remember howvicious a politician youwerebackinAstrophell;morethanone voice has suggested that—”

“That I murdered myown students to disrupt thisconvocation?” Shannongrowled.“ThatIsoldmysoulto some illiterate lord?Amadi, I have never heard

such a foul suggestion. AndI’ll swear under any poweryoulikethatI—”

“The witch trial hasn’tbegun yet,” her cold voiceinterrupted.“Donothingrash.Inthisroomstandseveryfreesentinelundermycommand.”

Shannon began torespond but then stopped.“You mean, every sentinelbut those you sent to guardthe Drum Tower andNicodemus?”

“Still trying to convinceme that the clayman is afteryour cacographers?” Amadiasked. “I think you’d betterhold your tongue, Magister.We have wards on thetower’s doors and windows.No one’s getting to acacographer tonight.Besides,I couldn’t spare thespellwrights to guard theplace ifmy life depended onit. The libraries need everyfree author to contain the

bookworm infection. Unlessofcourse,youcantellushowtoeradicatetheinfestation?”

“I have nothing to dowith the bookworms!”Shannon exclaimed. “Youcan’t leave the Drum Towerdefenseless!”

Noonereplied.Shannon was breathing

hard. “Amadi, listen to me!When researching the Indextoday,Ilearnedofanancientconstruct called a golem

which is made of clay butcontainsitsauthor’smind—”

“Magister, some of ushere will help decide yourwitch trial,” Kale said. “Itwouldhelpyourcauseifyourefrained from sayinganythingfoolish.”

Shannon realized thatthere would be no reasoningwith the sentinels.He leapedfor his bookcase, hoping toreachastunspellhekeptinahiddenscroll.

But before he had takentwo steps, a wave ofcensoring language flashedtoward him. Netlike textswrappedaroundhismind.

The world seemed tospin and then the lines ofglowing text disappeared.Everythingwentblack.

CHAPTERTwenty-sixA low, grating screech joltedNicodemusawake.Sweathadsoaked through his robes.“Who’s there?”He struggledout of bed. His candle hadburnttoadarkstub.

The screech came againalong with the flapping ofwings. A golden flash madehim look at the window.“Azure!” he exclaimed,pullingoutthepaperscreen.

The parrot flew into hischest. Squawking withsurprise, man and birdtumbledontothesleepingcot.“Shannon! Shannon!” Azurecalled in a terrified, pitifulvoice.“Shannon!”

The familiar was

standingonhis stomach.Hertiny chest heaved; her headbobbed. A small scroll wasboundtoherlegbyaMagnussentence. “It’s all right,”Nicodemuscooed,pullingthescrollfree.

Azure scrambled ontohisshoulder,andhesatuptoread the scroll. His browsknitted in confusion. “Azure,thismakes no sense. There’sakeyforthefrontdoorward.Magister said he’d send that.

But there’s ink all over themundanetextandtheseotherNuminous paragraphs aregibberish.”

He translated thecommon language wordsabove the gibberish:“Research ***” and“Dogfood.”

“Shannon!” the birdcalled and cast a Numinoussentence into Nicodemus’shead.

Shannon, having

impressed his linguisticabilities into the bird, couldhave made perfect sense ofthis sentence. ButNicodemus’s translationyielded “My-old-home-onesateShannon!”

Nicodemus’s palmsbegan to sweat. Azure hadhatched in Trillinon. Thosefromher“oldhome”mustbeNortherners.

Nicodemus went to thewindow and peered down

into the Stone Court. Thesentinels who had beenguardingitsdoorweregone.

“Ate” to Azure meantconsumed, enveloped. TheNorthern sentinelsmust haveseized Shannon. “DemigodsoftheCelestialCanondefendus!”Nicodemuswhispered.

Azure leaped from hisshoulderandflapped into thenight. No doubt she wasgoing in search ofwhere thesentinels were holding

Shannon.Nicodemus turned back

to his room and shivered ashe remembered his mostrecent nightmare. “Fly fromStarhaven!” April had said.“Flyanddon’tlookback!”

He took a cleanapprentice robe over to thefireplace’s clicking embers.With trembling fingers, hechanged out of his sweat-soaked night robe andthoughtaboutthenightmare.

Like the others, thisdream had made little sense.Thecavernandthebody, theepisodes from his childhood,April’s warning—none of itseemedtofittogether.

However, unlike theothers, this nightmareprovided a clear warning:“The white beast has yourshadow!”Aprilhadsaid.

No doubt the “whitebeast” was the pale monsterNicodemus had seen

attacking Eric. That monstermust have been themurderer’s golem.Therefore,it would make sense if theshrouded body in the cavernwastheirenemy’strue,livingbody.

But that still left thequestion of the cavern’slocation.

Nicodemus thought ofthe nightmare turtles he hadseen in his first cavernnightmare. Then he thought

about the hexagonal patterncarved at the end of theSpindle Bridge. The hiddenbody had to have somethingto do with the Spindle. Butwhat? Shannon’s texts hadfoundnothingbutrockinthemountain.

And who might besendinghimthedreams?Notthe murderer: all evidenceindicated the fiend did notknow Nicodemus’s identity,andevenifhedid,thevillain

wouldn’t want to reveal anyhintofhisbody’slocation.

Butthenagain,Shannonhadsaidthenightmarescamefrom special spells thatancient authors knew how towrite. Who else besides thegolem-wieldingmurdererhadknowledgeofancienttexts?

Perhapstherewasacluein the dream? April’s voicehad spoken directly to him.Noonehadspokentohiminpreviousdreams.

The wound onNicodemus’s cheek throbbedagain as he rememberedApril’s warning: “The whitebeastwillfindyouunlessyouflyfromStarhaven!”

Normally such anindication of danger wouldhave sent him running toShannon, but now the oldmanwaslockedup.

Nicodemus noticed thatthe scroll Azure had broughthad fallen to the floor. He

picked it up. “Dogfood,”Shannon had written aboveeach paragraph—and at thetop:“Research***.”

Hadtheoldmannothadtime to tell him what toresearch? Had he meant tocome back and edit thephrase? Perhaps Nicodemuswas supposed to researchthree stars. Or somethingabout Starhaven? But wherecould Nicodemus researchanything?

He began to pace. Hetried to breathe on his handsbut accidentally brushed theMagnusstitchesonhischeek.Painlancedintohisskullandbrought with it a suddenmemory of his nightmare:“Fly and don’t look back!”April had warned him.“Neverlookback!”

Nicodemuslookedatthedoor. He should run, hethought, taking a stepforward.But thenherealized

that even if he ran, themurderer would continuekillingmalecacographers.Heturned back to the fire. Hehadtostay.

But he couldn’t ignorethe dreams. He looked backatthedoor.Perhapsheshouldtake the other malecacographers up to thecompluvium?But ifShannonhadwantedhimtodothat,hewould have said so on thescroll.

AgainNicodemusraisedhishandstobreatheonthem,and again he brushed thewoundonhischeek.

“Fiery blasted blood!”he swore out loud, the painigniting his frustration andanger. “Iwas supposed tobetheHalcyon! Iwas supposedto be sure and decisive.Andnow I’m afraid to doanything!”

He sat before the fireandheldhishandstowardthe

coals.He must have been

cursed. He wasn’t supposedto be like this. The golem’sauthor must have stolen hisstrength and his ability tospell.

But if that were true, itwould mean that he couldrestore his ability to spell. Itwouldmeanhecouldendhiscacography.

Nicodemus focused allofhisattentiononthehopeof

completinghimself.Hefeditallofhisfearanduncertainty.Hisdesiregrewandbegantoradiateheat.Hewasn’tgoingtopaceabout likeaditheringboy. The monster had stolenpart of his mind. Hatredblazedwithinhim.Hewouldget the missing part ofhimselfback!

Hestoodupanddecidedthat he would take the malecacographers up to thecompluvium; from there he

could plan his next move.PerhapshewouldseektofreeShannon. Perhaps he wouldfind a way to strike backagainstthegolem.

Again the most recentnightmare returned to him.“The white beast will findyou unless you fly fromStarhaven,” April had said.“Fly with anything youhave!”