Spellwright

The world dissolved into blackness as his spirit-which had been animating the golem-leaped into the air and then shot down to Starhaven’s Spirish Quarter. Though subtextualized, Fellwroth needed to avoid even the remotest chance of detection; without a body, a spirit was exceedingly vulnerable.

The spirit floated among the towers to descend into an abandoned alleyway. Earlier that day, Fellwroth had commanded a gargoyle to place a bag of sand there.

The spirit found the bag lying under several weather-worn boards. Inside the sack sat three golem scrolls. The spirit slipped its narrow sentences into the sand and pulled the spells free.

The new body began as a speck of pain that blossomed into a beating heart, a breathing chest, a head, two legs, two arms. The bag split and with a long sigh spilled its excess sand onto the cobblestones.

Fellwroth struggled to sit up in the new, brittle body. Vision was always the last sense a golem acquired. At first the world appeared only as fuzzy blotches.

For this reason Fellwroth always placed a white cloak or sheet near the incarnation site. It was vital to cover a golem with cloth while it was still fresh; otherwise bits of the body would rub off on the surrounding environment.

With some fumbling, Fellwroth found the white cloak. Old tattered boots sat under it.

Once his golem was dressed, Fellwroth trotted off toward the Spirish stables. There was no time to lose.

His vision had returned completely by the time the Spirish stables came into view. The black-robed fools were protecting the place with only four guards-all male, only one with a grand wizard’s hood. In one of the stalls gleamed a silvery Magnus column. That would be the stasis spell holding Nicodemus.

Fellwroth wrote four quick, subtextualized censor spells. “Hold, druid,” the hooded guard called upon seeing Fellwroth’s white robes. “These stables are now out of bounds, we’ve-”

Fellwroth threw a censor spell into the man’s face. The netlike text dug into the man’s mind and set his eyes rolling back as he fainted.

The other three guards called out, but it was too late. Fellwroth caught them with the remaining censor spells.

“Nicodemus Weal,” Fellwroth said with a laugh, and stepped into the stables. “You are not as foolish as I thought.”

The stasis spell manifested itself as a column of slowly rising Magnus passages that entrapped a man as firmly as tree sap imprisoned a bug; something Nicodemus seemed to be discovering. The upward current of sticky words had lifted the boy four feet into the air and was slowly rotating him. Currently a black-robed back faced Fellwroth.

Fellwroth began to write a Numinous disspell down the sand golem’s right leg. “I will edit you from the stasis, boy, so don’t squirm-” He jerked back in shock. “You!”

Staring down with a lopsided smirk was the big male cacographer whose mind Typhon had distorted.

“What is meant by this?” Fellwroth growled.

The big man’s mouth quivered. “Siii… Simple John show himself to north sentinels on road. T-th-they never have see Nico, so they believe John when he says he is Nico.” The big man exhaled as if saying so much exhausted him.

Fellwroth resisted the urge to grind the golem’s sandy teeth. “Don’t waste my time, oaf. If the sentinels come before I have answers, I’ll rip you in half.”

The cacographer started to stutter and struggle, but the stasis text kept the oaf spellbound. Fellwroth waited impatiently for what felt like a quarter hour before speaking. “All right, calm down. I won’t hurt you if you tell me what I need to know.”

The big man swallowed. “Nnnn… Nico sends John as messenger. Nnnn… Nico wants to have proof that red-eyes man is… t-t-telling the truth. Then Nico submit to… submit-t-t… to red-eyes man.” The oaf stopped to pant.

A soft crunch in his jaw filled the golem’s mouth with sand. “Blood and damnation,” he cursed and spat the sand out. He had been unconsciously grinding the golem’s teeth. “So what does the boy want?”

The oaf took a few breaths. “Red-eyes man is to go t-t-to place in Gray’s Town… no, Gray’s Village… no, Gray’s Crowing…”

“Gray’s Crossing,” Fellwroth snarled. “Hurry!”

The cacographer nodded. “Red-eyes-man is to find Mag-g-gister Shannon and is to fix broken person part of Shhhh… Shannon. Nico will be-”

A ratlike gargoyle scurried into the stable. “Fear! Fear! Took too long to reach you. Had to ask other gargoyles where to reach you.”

Fellwroth glared at the construct. “What is it? What did you hear?”

“Fighting in the Spindle!” the thing yelped. “Our protections torn apart! Living body under threat!”

Suddenly the stables rang with loud, hearty laughter.

Fellwroth looked up at the big man’s smiling face. “Fool! So willing to believe in my disability? You truly think I talk that slowly?”

A wordless, animal shriek escaped from Fellwroth’s sandy throat. The monster lashed out with the half-written disspell. But the unfinished text was too dull. It bounced off the stasis spell. Worse, the force of the rebound snapped the sand arm off at the shoulder.