Spellwright

Deirdre looked at him. “Then that must be how my goddess knew of you. She is the sovereign of Highland rivers; she must have seen Fellwroth betray his master. Somehow she must have extracted knowledge of you from the dead demon. That must be why she sends the visions to me. She has invested so much of her soul in me that she cannot express herself outside of her ark. She has no direct way of communicating with me, except by controlling”-she looked down at her lap-“this body.”

Again Nicodemus thought about how she had been disabled by love. He thought about John who, out of love, had sought to protect Nicodemus and who now suffered unimaginably because he had loved Devin. He thought also about what Deirdre had done to Kyran and what Kyran had done to himself.

Gently, he placed a hand on Deirdre’s shoulder. “What you did, you did out of love.”

She laughed cruelly. “Don’t be a romantic fool. There’s no force more savage. My love for Boann destroyed my love for Kyran, then destroyed the man himself.”

“He chose his path.”

Again, the hard laugh. “In that, then, he and I were alike; we loved too well. We all love too well.” She closed her eyes. “Will you read me Kyran’s last message now?”

He looked down at the dim green sentence in his left hand. It was so simple that even his cacographic mind had not misspelled the translation: “I loved you always; I love you still.”

He read it aloud.

Deirdre bent forward, her chin on her chest. Again she wore the half-smile, but it no longer held wry amusement. It pulled her face down into a gruesome mask. She shook silently.

When Nicodemus squeezed her hand, she pulled him into an embrace.

HOURS LATER NICODEMUS woke to find the sunbeam gone from the steps. Only the fading light of dusk came down the stairs.

They were-all three of them-sleeping against the far wall. The Index lay beside Nicodemus, and John was looking at him with frightened eyes.

“Nico,” the big man whispered, “you know it was what Typhon made me do?”

When Nicodemus said that he did, the big man closed his eyes and let out a long breath.

“Are you all right, John?”

The other man pressed his lips together and shook his head. “No,” he said as tears came to his eyes. Nicodemus reached out and took his hand. John said nothing.

In the silence, Nicodemus could hear the wind whistling through the trees. Somewhere far away, a rook called.

John studied him with wet brown eyes. “Are you all right, Nico?”

Nicodemus didn’t look away when his own tears came. “No,” he said. “No.”

CHAPTER

Thirty-seven

Outside Shannon’s cell, a man cried out as if dying.

The old wizard tried to hurry out of his bed but the Magnus chains wrapped around his wrists jerked him back.

He was still spellbound.

Worse, the censoring text locked around his mind kept him from seeing magical language and made the resulting blackness seem to spin.

He was truly blind now.

The cry came again. Moving more slowly, Shannon put his legs over the side of the bed and arranged his robes. He would face the end with dignity.

A thud sounded from the direction of the door. He did not flinch. The thud came again, accompanied by the crack of breaking Magnus sentences.

Shannon straightened his dreadlocks, smoothed his beard. Another thud and the door gave way with a metallic squeal.

Silence, then the clicking of leather boot heels on stone.

“Rash of you to come in your true body,” Shannon said as calmly as he could. “The sentinels will know of your existence after you kill me.”

“Kill you?” Fellwroth asked with amusement. Something stirred the air beside Shannon. “Nothing so simple, Magister. Come.”

Suddenly Shannon was on his feet, hands stretched out before him as Fellwroth pulled him along by his chains.

“I’m no use to you,” Shannon called. “The boy’s gone. You’ll never find out who he is now that-”

“Nicodemus Weal is in the forest south of here,” Fellwroth rasped. “Yes, I know his name. And, yes, I could flush him out of hiding. But at best that would start a time-consuming chase; at worst, it would kill the whelp.” They were hurrying down a long hallway. “You will carry a message to him.”

They turned and suddenly Shannon was stumbling up stairs. “I don’t know how to find him,” the old wizard said, fighting the dizziness caused by the censoring text.

“Magister, you’re a miserable liar,” Fellwroth rasped. “I’m going to release you, and you’re going to carry my message to the boy.”

Shannon shook his head. “Even if I could find him, I would never do so.” The stairs ended and again Shannon was walking down a hallway.

Fellwroth snorted. “You insult my understanding of human motivation. I know you’d never go to him if I tracked you. I will not follow. Double back five times over. Romp around in the forests all night looking for a subtextual tracker. You’ll find nothing. When you’re satisfied, take my message to the boy.”

Cold wind blew across Shannon’s face. They had left the hallway and were walking in the open air.