Spellwright

Amadi grunted. “You are trying to force me to protect the cacographic boys from your imaginary monster?”

He sat down. “We would both get what we want.”

“I don’t take well to threats, Magister. I’m not your student any longer. You can’t possibly connect me to any faction. Besides, I have precious few sentinels available to me as it is. With the convocation in progress, the provost’s officers are stealing my every free author to look after our guests. But what you say does make some sense.” She paused. “Very well, I’ll place two guards before the Drum Tower at night and two to follow Nicodemus. But I’m also assigning two to follow you.”

Shannon suppressed a smile. “I shall welcome the protection. But we have to make sure the endangered boys don’t leave Starhaven. I’ll reemphasize my orders that cacographers are not to be let out of doors. You had best seal the Drum Tower at night and write protective wards on the doors and windows. I’ll need passwords in case I have to reach the students.”

Amadi nodded slowly. “Very well.”

Shannon sighed in relief. “Amadi, you’ll be glad you took my advice. Now I must go to my field research in the compluvium. Nicodemus will meet me there; I will lead your sentinels over from here. They can watch over us both. Later we’ve more research in the Main Library.”

Amadi leaned forward and spoke earnestly: “Magister, I will go to the Gimhurst Tower and search for Finn’s private library. But, as I have said, there is no direct evidence that either of the boys was murdered. Please keep an open mind about the counter-prophecy. Consider that Nicodemus might be the Storm Petrel.” She paused. “I suspect we are dealing with a force far more dire than a simple murderer.”

“Magistra,” he said, “I suspect the same thing.”

DEIRDRE CALMLY REGARDED Amadi. A moment ago, the woman had appeared at her chamber door and demanded an interview.

“What is your interest in Nicodemus Weal?” the sentinel asked, sitting on Kyran’s sleeping cot.

Deirdre sat on the opposite cot. She had expected the question. “As you observed, Amadi Okeke, I had hoped the boy might be the Peregrine safely delivered to me. But his keloid dashed my hopes.” It was not truly a lie-the keloid had dashed her hopes… that Nicodemus would be easily won over.

Amadi nodded distractedly. “Druid, does your Order know of a counter-prophecy?”

“I have never heard of such a thing.”

“The Erasmine Counter-Prophecy is not common knowledge, even among wizards. It predicts that a malevolent spellwright will arise to become the Halcyon’s opposite, a champion of chaos referred to as the Petrel or the Storm Petrel.”

“And this champion,” Deirdre asked, “might slay the Halcyon and help the demons invade our land?”

The sentinel nodded. “The counter-prophecy predicts that unless we can stop it, the Petrel will begin a corruption of all language. The demons will complete it.”

Deirdre willed her face to be calm. “And Nicodemus’s unusual scar and his misspelling makes you suspect that he might be this destroyer?”

Amadi took a slow breath. “Doubtless you’ve heard rumors about… unrest in Starhaven. We have noticed a number of dangerous misspells, a few accidents, but nothing that should concern you as a delegate. As a sentinel, my first concern is maintaining safety throughout the convocation. To that end, I entertain all theories of what might be causing these odd events.” She paused. “If the druids also know of a counter-prophecy and could identify Nicodemus as-”

“We do not believe in a counter-prophecy,” Deirdre interrupted.

“But perhaps those concerned with the Silent Blight might think differently? Should I speak to the other druidic delegates?”

Deirdre shook her head. “We do not believe in a counter-prophecy of any kind. And the druids are not at all certain the Blight is connected to prophecy. I fear we cannot help you.”

“I see. Thank you, druid, for your time.” Amadi stood and stepped toward the door.

Deirdre rose with her. “If there is any other way I can help, you have only to ask.”

Amadi paused by the threshold. “Perhaps…” she said, turning back. “I wonder if you could tell me… do the druids know of a construct that appears to be made of flesh, but once deconstructed becomes clay?”

The strength seemed to drain from Deirdre’s legs. “Have you encountered such a creature?” she asked in what she hoped was a tone of disbelief, not shock.

The sentinel was studying her face. “I surprise you. Don’t think me mad for asking such a question. Magister Shannon and I were debating if such a thing was possible.”

Deidre forced her lips to smile. “I do not think it mad to wonder such things. We must always seek new understandings.” She paused. “What if Nicodemus truly is the dangerous spellwright of your counter-prophecy?”