Spellwright

“Exactly,” Nicodemus said. “And in one of my nightmares, I was moving through a tunnel that ended in the chamber with Fellwroth’s body. When I was going down that tunnel, I heard my own voice talking to Magister about the Chthonic carvings. I heard that voice pass above me.”

“So the Spindle Bridge-” Shannon started to say.

“Isn’t a bridge at all,” Nicodemus finished. “It’s a tunnel. The wizards haven’t found anything in the mountain face because they’re searching only the rock in front of them. Don’t you see? The tunnel covers the cave’s mouth.”

Deirdre was nodding, but Shannon and John still wore frowns.

“It makes perfect sense,” Nicodemus insisted. “The Chthonic languages deconstruct in sunlight. And while the Chthonic people could tolerate sunlight, their blueskinned ancestors could not. The Spindle Tunnel must have been a diplomatic structure-a place where the Chthonics could meet the blueskins in darkness.” He snatched the Index out of its orbit.

“Here, I’ll find a mundane text that…” He began to undo the book’s clasp.

“No, no,” Shannon said. “I don’t doubt your logic; I simply wonder what we do with the information.”

Deirdre spoke quickly. “We do exactly what the boy suggested. We cut our way into the Spindle and tear Fellwroth’s body to pieces while the fiend’s mind is still in the golem.”

“Is the Fool’s Ladder still in place?” Nicodemus asked. “If we hike around to the back of Starhaven, could it take us up to the Spindle’s landing?”

The grand wizard scowled. “It could, but this plan is too dangerous. What if Fellwroth is not in his golem?”

“Running wouldn’t be safer,” Nicodemus insisted. “Fellwroth can follow me because of my keloid scars. And, Magister, my dreams were sent to me by the emerald. It wants to be rescued.”

Shannon shook his head. “Nicodemus, you and I are linguists, not sentinels.”

Deirdre rested a hand on Shannon’s shoulder. “Only this plan will rescue my goddess’s ark. It is the only one I will accept.”

Nicodemus closed his eyes. “It is the only plan that will recover the emerald.” He opened his eyes and stared at Shannon. “And it is the only plan that will disspell your curse.”

“And me,” said John. “It is the only plan I will accept.”

All eyes turned to the big man.

“For decades, I lived under the demon’s curse. If I have a chance to end this monster, a chance for revenge, I will accept no other.”

Shannon started to say something but then stopped.

“Besides,” John said slowly, “I think I know how to reach Fellwroth.”

Shannon drew in a long breath and let it out through his nose. “You know how to reach the monster?”

“It depends, Magister,” John said with a solemn stare. “I need to know exactly what Fellwroth said when he set you free.”

CHAPTER

Forty-two

In a new clay golem, Fellwroth stood on a balcony near the top of the Erasmine Spire.

A squat gargoyle with a monkey’s body and goat’s head sat on the railing. Fellwroth had rewritten the construct to siphon encrypted messages from the wizards’ colaboris spells. The agents of the Disjunction had long ago learned how to tack their texts onto wizardly communications.

So far the goat-faced gargoyle had performed perfectly. In Fellwroth’s hands glowed several golden passages from other important demon-worshipers. “When were these received?”

The gargoyle’s reply was slow and monotone. “Two hours past the dawn bell.”

There were several emerging situations that would sour without attention. Dar in particular was concerning; the demon-worshipers there were becoming increasingly unresponsive. Likely they were hiding something.

“Reply to Dar,” Fellwroth commanded. “They are to expect my arrival within a twelve night. And they are-”

A rat gargoyle with a dog’s ear growing from its back scurried up the railing. Fellwroth smiled. “My newest creation, what have you overheard?”

The stony canine ear flattened against the rat’s back. “Three sentinels came to the gatehouse moments ago,” the small construct squeaked. “They were patrolling the road to Gray’s Crossing. They told the guards they have Nicodemus Weal.”

Fellwroth’s lips curled into a smile. This was expected. The emerald had known Nicodemus was on the move. “Did they say where they are taking him?”

“To the stasis spell in the stables,” the rat replied. “Until a prison cell is chosen.

He nodded. “Very good. Now I want-”

Another of the stone rats scurried onto the ledge. “Noises in the Spindle,” it squeaked.

“What kind of noises?”

The rat began to wash its whiskers. “Scraping noises. Grating noises. Like we make.”

Fellwroth grunted in annoyance. “Remind me to edit your sensitivity. I don’t want to be notified every time you overhear a rat’s nest. But we can deal with that in a moment. For now, all of you back to your functions. I have a Language Prime spellwright to collect.” With that Fellwroth let the clay golem deconstruct.