The monster paused as if considering something. “Only a few human deities were aware of Typhon’s presence. The great gods and goddesses are too busy governing their kingdoms to notice. But a handful of lesser deities have discovered Typhon’s presence and formed an alliance to oppose him. They call themselves the Alliance of Divine Heretics, and they too have been trying to breed a Language Prime spellwright. But none of your relatives have lived past infancy.”
Fellwroth laughed once. “The ongoing war between the Disjunction and the Alliance of Heretics is a pathetic one. We slaughter all Imperials born to the Alliance, and they kill every one born to the Disjunction…everyone but you, that is. And I must give Typhon his due; it was brilliant to steal your talent rather than raise you to use it for us. And then he disguised you as a cacographer. Not in a thousand years would the Alliance suspect a retarded boy of being our Imperial.”
Fellwroth’s legs began to quake. “I’m telling you this because the instant the Alliance learns of your existence, they will assassinate you. Think on it: by killing you they would deprive the emerald of its power and hence deprive us of our Language Prime and so our ability to compose a second dragon.”
The monster’s legs now shook enough to make him stagger. “You are in more danger than you realize. No doubt the Alliance of Heretics is already aware of you. Who do you think sent Deirdre, that would-be-druid of a girl? She will kill you the instant she has the opportunity to do so without ruining the druids’ standing at the convocation. Surely you must understand now, whelp. I am your only chance at survival. You must join me.”
Suddenly Nicodemus’s keloid started to burn.
The golem’s legs quit their tremor. “I think…” the monster wheezed as he started to limp toward Nicodemus. “I think I feel your presence.”
But walking proved too difficult for Fellwroth; a white hand sank to steady the creature against the ground.
“If I could only see you,” Fellwroth grunted. “What is this mysterious language that conceals you?”
Slowly Fellwroth managed to stand. The monster’s breathing was more labored now. “Perhaps you hate the Disjunction so much, hate those who created you so much, that you would consider suicide to deprive us of the emerald. It won’t make a difference. I have already set the wheels in motion to give you a cousin. In time I will breed another Imperial. Do not sacrifice yourself for nothing.”
The monster shuffled closer; his boots were now a foot away. One of the nightblue terrors covering Nicodemus whimpered.
“Nicodemus,” Fellwroth wheezed, “bind yourself to our cause and you shall be rewarded beyond your imagination. All you need do is return to Starhaven. I will collect you there.”
The monster took another faltering half-step. His toe landed an inch from Nicodemus’s face. Two night terrors cringed.
Fellwroth started to take another step, but a night terror threw out a tentacle to strike the golem’s shin. The murderer faltered, stumbled backward and then fell to his knees.
A hood covered the monster’s face, but his scarred left hand came up to press against a maggot-white throat.
“This golem fails,” he hissed. “I leave you, Nicodemus, with a choice. Surrender to me in Starhaven and know godlike power, or resist and die.”
A violent cough wracked the monster’s chest and threw his head back. His hood slid off to reveal a long mane of pallid hair. Where there should have been smooth forehead shone a bar of flowing Numinous text. His skin was as white as paper. The features of his handsome face were delicate—thin lips, a snub nose, wide eyes.
Another violent cough wracked the creature and he fell forward, his chin striking gravel not four inches from Nicodemus’s nose.
Patches of the golem’s skin began darkening into gray iron. The thing stared straight at Nicodemus with eyes that had neither white sclera nor dark pupil. They were everywhere blood-red flecked with black.
With a violent shudder, the golem pulled his hand up as if to strike out with a spell.
But a night terror leaped off Nicodemus and onto Fellwroth’s arm. It was the three-horned troll. The squat creature pinned the golem’s arm to the dirt road.
Suddenly Nicodemus realized that he had seen the troll before. Many times before.
Something was wrong. Horribly wrong.
Nicodemus’s heart beat frantically. He struggled to escape the pile of night terrors, but now bright orange flecks flew across his vision. The ground seemed to spin. He was