Spellwright - By Blake Charlton Page 0,150

Deirdre’s hands. One of the sentinels remaining in the Spindle had renewed the attack.

With a cry, Deirdre ran for the cavern’s entrance. Nicodemus struggled to his feet in time to see her leap out into the tunnel.

He ran forward and saw her drop out of the tunnel’s decimated floor and spread her wings.

She was too heavy to fly, but by flapping hard she turned south and began a slow descent to the forest. Occasionally her arms swung out with the effort. Once, before she had fallen too far, Nicodemus glimpsed in her hand the small, glinting emerald.

CHAPTER

Forty-five

Nicodemus watched until Deirdre disappeared into the forest far below. The wind set his long black hair fluttering. The cold autumn night smelled of coming rain.

“She will survive the demon,” a soft voice said behind him.

Nicodemus turned to see a short, transparent figure that at first seemed to be a ghost. She stared at him with lapis eyes and pressed her wide lips into a solemn line. Her hair was not hair at all but a slow, white torrent: a miniature white river that tumbled down her back to splash against her ankles. Thick green robes floated all about her as if underwater.

“Boann,” Nicodemus said with a nod and a backward step.

“What is left of her,” the figure said, returning the nod. “I have escaped the prison Typhon made for me in my own ark, but I am now too weak to manifest myself physically.”

“Can you save Deirdre?” Nicodemus asked, taking another step away.

The goddess looked past him to the forest in which Deirdre had vanished.

“No.” She studied Nicodemus. “But one day you might. I have watched you, Nicodemus Weal. And when Deirdre touched the ark, I learned all that she knew. I would swear on the Creator’s name to protect and help you in your struggle against the demons. Do you know what that means? For a deity to swear on the Creator’s name?”

Nicodemus had been backing away. Now he stopped. “It means you would be bound to your oath, that you could never break it.”

The young goddess nodded and held out her transparent hand. “Will you exchange oaths? I will pledge myself to you if you pledge yourself to freeing Deirdre.”

Nicodemus studied the goddess. Deities sometimes swore fealty to each other, but never to mortals. “Why would you offer such a thing? Being human, I could break my vow; you could not.”

Boann’s hand did not waver. “I am little more than a wraith now, unable to affect the physical world. I will remain so until reunited with Deirdre.Unless you take me under your protection, Typhon’s followers will find me and tear me apart.”

Her voice grew urgent. “If you refuse, Deirdre will languish under the demon’s control. It is only through you that I might regain her.”

“Then I accept,” Nicodemus said firmly. Together they kneeled and swore on the Creator’s name—he to rescue Deirdre, she to protect and serve him.

Slowly they stood. She nodded and sent her waterfall-hair cascading over her shoulders. “The human deities resisting Typhon call themselves The Alliance of Divine Heretics. My mother, the rain goddess Sian, is a Heretic. Long ago I sought to join the Alliance, but they declined. They felt my political involvement in the Highlands made me too visible to the demon-worshipers.”

The goddess sighed. “And it seems they were right. My scheming somehow alerted Typhon of my connection to the Alliance. He sought to infect me in hopes of gaining a spy among his enemies. But Fellwroth attacked him during the infection, and so the demon won control of my ark but never of me. In time, he learned to manipulate Deirdre, though she fought him with all her will.”

Boann shook her head. “Because of Deirdre’s strength, and yours, Fellwroth failed to replace Typhon as the leader of the Disjunction. But now the demon is free again. If you accept my guidance, Nicodemus, I will help you convince the Alliance that we can help fight the Disjunction. Will you accept my counsel?”

Nicodemus looked around the dark cavern. Nothing moved. In the other direction there was open air and distant Starhaven. Sparks of gold and silver glinted in the Spindle. Some of Magistra Okeke’s sentinels had survived.

“Goddess, I will,” he said. “I find myself without allies or direction.”

A half-smile spread across Boann’s lips.

Nicodemus’s heart ached. For a moment, she seemed the very image of Deirdre.

The goddess nodded. “It won’t be easy. The Alliance deities, even my own mother, will distrust me now that Typhon has invaded my

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