Spellwright

“Do you doubt it, Kale? Think of the disorder that has spread across Starhaven. Think of the murders, the deaths, the corruption. Think of the scar-an Inconjunct breaking the Braid. The boy seems destined to spread chaos.”

Kale took a long breath. “We cannot be certain the counter-prophecy is coming to pass.”

“Cannot be certain, but we now have enough evidence that we must act.”

She made for the door. “I will question the librarians. I want to learn more about this artifact. You will go to the Erasmine Tower and tell the on-duty officers what has happened. If we don’t catch the boy, his mind will rot the pages from our books as a tumor rots flesh. They must wake the provost and tell him that most likely we’ve found the Storm Petrel.”

FELLWROTH, MORE COMFORTABLE now in a new clay golem, stole through the forest south of Starhaven. Two hours until dawn. The air was cold, the sky black. The strengthening wind roared through the woods.

Roughly an hour ago, the signaling texts from Nicodemus’s keloid had ceased entirely. At the time, Fellwroth had still been forming a new golem and so had missed the chance to determine the boy’s location more precisely.

However, it was clear that the last signal had come from somewhere in this forest-hence Fellwroth’s current, systematic combing of the mountainside. Presently, he followed a deer trail into an elm thicket. He had hoped the keloid’s signal texts would recommence, but now it seemed the boy’s new protector was blocking them indefinitely.

Here the wind was producing a continuous snow of falling leaves. Fellwroth scowled; without another keloid signal, his current search was unlikely to reveal anything other than more autumnal foliage.

A few hours ago he had spoken to a subtextualized Nicodemus on the road to Gray’s Crossing. Had his words convinced the boy? Likely not. If Nicodemus meant to surrender, the whelp should have returned to Starhaven by now, and none of Fellwroth’s rewritten gargoyles had reported such.

Fellwroth snatched a falling leaf out of the air and wondered why Nicodemus had not accepted his offer.

Only two possibilities suggested themselves: first, threats against Nicodemus’s life might be insufficient to win the boy’s surrender; or second, the whelp might feel safe now that he had a protector to block the keloid’s signals.

Fellwroth crushed the leaf and considered who might be concealing Nicodemus. Not a deity; he would have sensed another divine presence by now. Nor could it be the girl druid acting alone.

Perhaps it did not matter who was hiding Nicodemus. Perhaps he could threaten something other than the boy’s life.

He looked toward Starhaven. The dark elm trees blocked everything from view but the lofty Erasmine Spire. A slow smile pulled on his pale lips as a plan formed in his mind.

He would need to use his true body, and it would take a day to move everything into place. Even so, the plan was perfect.

The leaves were falling faster now. Fellwroth laughed. He knew of at least one thing Nicodemus valued more than his life.

“YOU GAVE HIM access to the Index?” Amadi squawked.

Shannon was sitting calmly on his prison cell cot. The guards had written a weblike censoring spell around the old man’s head, blocking him from all magical language. Now his blindness would be complete.

Though he must have been exhausted, the old wizard wore a calm expression. “Without my anti-golem spell, Nicodemus would have been helpless.”

“Magister, the provost himself suspects Nicodemus is the Storm Petrel, the champion of chaotic language. I can have no more stories of your clay-”

Shannon learned forward. Thick Magnus texts kept his wrists and legs spellbound to the wall, but there was enough slack on the fettering spells to make Amadi step backward.

“Do you find anything strange in the Drum Tower?” he asked. “Maybe not clay, but any earthen metal, granite or steel or-”

“Dust,” she said automatically. “There was a smaller mound of splinters, but dust was all about the common room and especially in a pile with a torn white sheet.”

Shannon’s blank eyes widened. “The arm I cut off the clay golem had a white sleeve.”

Amadi shook her head. “Magister, this tale of golems is too much to swallow. Texts from the ancient continent?”

“Amadi, by naming him the Storm Petrel, you admit that the bonds holding the demons to the ancient continent are loosening. And yet you refuse to accept the possibility that magic from the ancient continent has already crossed the ocean.”

Amadi said nothing.

“If you had guarded the boy properly, none of this would have happened,” Shannon said sternly. “The least you can do now is-”

“Enough,” Amadi snapped. “I did guard the boy properly given the bookworm infestation. You slipped him the key needed to escape the Drum Tower. It is you who must clear his name. And there’s only one way to do that: help us find the boy. Magister, please. Help us recover the Index and capture the Storm Petrel.”

He scowled.