Spellwright

Nicodemus was now half-walking, half-hauling the wizard toward the Spindle Tunnel. “The demon knew that if Fellwroth died near the ark, he could steal the creature’s power. So Typhon waited for me to arrive, and then cast a spell to tear the emerald from Fellwroth’s hand and give it to me. He knew I could defeat Fellwroth when the emerald completed my mind. But now he’s taken the emerald back. I can’t find it.”

Nicodemus stumbled and nearly fell. Warmth spread across his cheeks. “All the things that’ve happened in the past few days, they’ve all been part of Typhon’s plot to kill Fellwroth and recover the emerald.”

A slow clapping sound echoed through the cavern. Nicodemus stopped.

In the darkness before the Spindle’s entrance stood a man-seven feet tall with a silken mane of red hair and a beard to match.

Two amused all-white eyes stared down at Nicodemus. The newcomer’s obsidian skin was black and glossy, making it hard to see his narrow nose and high cheeks. The broad muscles on his torso bulged as he clapped, and out from his back spread two long wings, checkered with red and black feathers. A loincloth covered his groin but not his thick, powerful legs.

When the demon spoke, his voice rumbled. “Impressive that you managed to understand so much.” His calm laughter sounded like distant thunder. “Nicodemus Weal, you’ve grown.”

THE DEMON WORE a friendly, almost avuncular, grin. “You’ve gleaned my plan almost exactly, save for one thing.”

“Typhon,” Nicodemus said breathlessly.

The demon nodded. “Set the old one down. I’ve censored him.”

With a start Nicodemus realized that Shannon had gone slack in his arms. Careful not to touch the old man’s skin, he laid the old linguist on the ground.

“Have you ever seen a deity before?” Typhon rumbled, his checkered wings fluttering.

Nicodemus shook his head.

The demon nodded sympathetically. “It is overwhelming for most mortals. But my boy, I want you to overcome this. I want you to think for me. Think of when Fellwroth discovered you and Deirdre in the Drum Tower. What should I have done?”

“You could have sent Deirdre into a fit,” Nicodemus said automatically. “If she had given me to Fellwroth, the creature would have taken us here right away.”

Typhon’s crimson beard split into a smile. “Correct. After Fellwroth captured the ark, he enclosed it with a Numinous shield. I had not anticipated this. The spell almost completely blocked my control over Deirdre. That’s why she continued to execute my previous instructions-which were to seduce you and bring you to Gray’s Crossing.”

The demon paused. “Nicodemus, it is the shame of the world we had to meet this way. I am your creator. I brought your parents together, and I ensured that you would end up as a Starhaven cacographer.”

The demon’s black lips grimaced. “It hasn’t been the best home, I realize. For one of your talents, being a cacographer must have been difficult. But the alternative was to watch an Alliance assassin take you from me.” He shivered. “And I couldn’t watch another of my Imperial boys die.”

Nicodemus blinked.

The demon was studying him. “Fellwroth told you of the Alliance of Heretics, yes? About the clandestine human deities also trying to breed a Language Prime spellwright? They have been murdering your cousins for centuries. And they will kill you in a heartbeat. That is why you must let me protect you.”

Nicodemus stood paralyzed by shock. The demon’s tone was one of genuine concern.

Typhon took a step closer. “We are so close to our goal now that we no longer need to hide you in wretched Starhaven. Join me now and you will help me compose a new dragon. With Fellwroth dead and the emerald restored to its full power, we will need only seven or eight years to write a new wyrm. Then you will become the first dragon lord, a new kind of being invulnerable to the attacks of the Alliance.”

This last startled Nicodemus out of his paralysis. “In a dream I was your dragon. I’d rather cut my own throat than help you create such a monster.”

Typhon shook his massive head. “You were not my dragon; you were Fellwroth’s dragon. That slave turned my draft into a cliched, fire-breathing lizard. Fellwroth never understood what a true dragon is. Nicodemus, they are texts more glorious than you can now imagine. I could give you the spells needed to understand how glorious dragons are and how glorious you and I shall become.”

Rather than answer, Nicodemus looked around for an escape or a weapon. He saw only Deirdre, frozen still as a statue.

“She can’t help you yet,” Typhon rumbled. “She is my avatar now and possesses most of my soul. It will take time to win her over, but you and I will win her.”

When Nicodemus took a step back, Typhon flicked his hand out as if casting a spell. Nicodemus flinched, but nothing happened.

The demon frowned. “Curious,” he said. “The censoring text I just cast around your mind misspelled and deconstructed. Does your cacography influence language unknown to you?”