Spellwright

Strangely, the complex Numinous sentences misspelled exactly the way he wanted them to. Most of the time, Nicodemus’s touch had made magical text dangerously uncontrollable. The opposite now seemed to be true. But he didn’t have time to dwell on this phenomenon; he had to get Shannon away from Smallwood.

“I can’t let go!” he lied. “I’m stuck!” A second dark line spread down from his hand. Together, the strata of corruption pulled a deep furrow into the spherical shield. “Magister, use the other shield!” Nicodemus hissed to Shannon. “Form another sphere.”

Just then a deconstructing Magnus line punched through the furrow. The silvery fragment struck Nicodemus in the face, cutting him from cheekbone to jaw.

“Nicodemus!” Shannon called as a spray of blood filled the air.

Nicodemus clapped his free hand against the wound. The contracting ring of misspells now encircled the shield and was pinching the text down on top of him. “Magister Smallwood,” he called. “Help!”

The shielding spell was now nearly two spheres joined by a furrow. It looked something like two fused soap bubbles.

Smallwood had been tottering to his feet. Now Nicodemus’s cries turned his eyes up to where the apprentice’s hand was contextualized into the shield. With a squawk, the pale wizard jumped up and began parsing the corrupted Numinous sentences enmeshing Nicodemus’s hand.

When Shannon moved to help, Nicodemus shook his head. “Magister, go! Use the other spell.”

Reluctantly, Shannon withdrew a small scroll from his belt-purse. With practiced motions, he peeled the Numinous text from the parchment and edited it into the shield’s wall closest to him. The increased textual area in Shannon’s sphere reduced the restraining tension on the misspelling furrow; it closed into a tight knot, effectively separating the shield’s two spheres.

Nicodemus released the text and withdrew the cacographic force he had been exerting on the shield. Smallwood frantically set to cutting out the corrupted sentences.

Shannon, now standing in a separate protective spell, nodded to Nicodemus and rolled his shield toward the chamber’s other side. Just before the wizard disappeared into the storm of deconstruction, Nicodemus saw him cradle the Index in his right arm and open its cover.

“Nicodemus, how could you have been so careless?” Smallwood squawked, finishing the seal on their protecting spell.

The shield had shrunk. Nicodemus had to crouch, his head tilting to one side as he pressed a hand to his cheek to stop the bleeding.

“Shannon trusts you cacographers too much,” Smallwood said in the harshest tone Nicodemus had ever heard him use. “You could have killed us. Could have killed us and deconstructed the Index!”

Nicodemus mumbled an apology.

“Well… show me that cut,” Smallwood said, his tone softening. “I’ll do what I can until Shannon can stitch you up with Magnus.”

Nicodemus dropped his hand and looked away. Spikes of pain lanced into his head as Smallwood scrubbed the wound with his sleeve; nevertheless, Nicodemus couldn’t suppress a small, self-satisfied smile.

“THAT STUNT WITH the shield was exceedingly foolish and…” Shannon muttered to Nicodemus.

Four sentinels were accompanying them back to the Drum Tower, and one of the Northern spellwrights was now frowning at the old man.

Shannon waited for the Northerner to look away before finishing his sentence. “Exceedingly foolish, Nicodemus, and exceedingly brave.”

Nicodemus started to smile but agony lanced across his wounded cheek. Despite being placed with care, Shannon’s Magnus stitches were extraordinarily painful. “What did you learn?” he asked.

Sitting on Shannon’s shoulder, Azure raised her head to inspect the nearby sentinels. The party was now marching along a wide Spirish arcade in Starhaven’s northern quarter. Presently none of the sentinels was close enough to overhear.

“Nothing about a gem or emerald and Language Prime. And nothing about the Chthonics, ivy, or turtle shells.” Shannon paused. “I am sorry, Nicodemus; I just realized I forgot to search for remedies for cacography.”

A sinking sensation filled Nicodemus. “That’s not important right now. What of our enemy?”

A smile formed beneath the wizard’s short beard. “I discovered what manner of creature we face.”

Nicodemus turned to the grand wizard. “Magister!” he whispered before remembering himself and returning his gaze to the ground. “What is our enemy?” he asked more quietly.

“We face a golem,” the wizard whispered. “They are spells of the ancient world. According to the literature, no one has encountered or created one on this side of the ocean.”

“Los in hell,” Nicodemus quietly swore. “So we face an author with knowledge of the ancient texts. Perhaps a demon-worshiper after all. What else, Magister? What kind of construct is a golem?”