righted the tables while the other two shifted chairs and retrieved the pages strewn about the floor. Twice Nicodemus saw Devin and Simple John smirking at each other, but when they noticed him watching they jumped back to work.
When finished, Nicodemus snuffed the tapers and trudged into his bedroom. It was cold for the first time since last spring. Autumn was growing old.
He forged the ignition words and tossed them into the small fireplace. A spark spell caught the text and then set the kindling aflame. Light flickeredacross the modest chamber and Nicodemus’s few possessions: a sleeping cot, a desk, two chests, a washstand, a chamber pot.
Under the bed sat a stack of mundane books. Among them was a knightly romance he had bought from a Lornish peddler. The fellow had promised that this particular romance, The Silver Shield, was the best one yet.
Nicodemus’s love for knightly romances sometimes followed him into his sleep. Since he had arrived in Starhaven, Nicodemus had spent countless hours imagining night terrors to populate the nearby forest. In both his dreams at night and daydreams, he would venture out to vanquish the imagined monsters.
He smiled now, thinking of the strange antagonists his young mind had imagined. Uro was a giant insect with a spiked carapace and scythelike hands. Tamelkan, the sightless dragon, possessed tentacles that grew from his chin. And of course there was Garkex, the firetroll, who spouted flame from his three horns and fiery curses from his mouth.
Dreaming of monsters and battles was a childish pleasure, Nicodemus knew, but it was one of the few he had known.
Looking at the book again, he sighed. His eyes were too weary to read.
He flopped onto his cot and began to untie his robe at the back of his neck. His hair could use brushing.
He was looking around for his comb when the sound of flapping wings came to his window. He turned to regard a large bird with vivid blue plumage. Bright yellow skin shone around her black eyes and hooked beak. “Corn,” croaked the bird in her scratchy parrot voice.
“Hello, Azure. I don’t keep corn in my room. Did Magister Shannon give you a message for me?”
The bird cocked her head to one side. “Scratch.”
“All right, but the message?”
The bird hopped onto the cot and waddled over to Nicodemus. Using her beak to grab onto his robes, the familiar pulled herself onto his lap and presented the top of her head to be scratched; Nicodemus obliged.
“Azure, the message from Magister is important.”
The bird whistled two notes before casting a barrage of golden sentences from her head to Nicodemus’s.
Languages like Numinous, which could manipulate light and other text, were often used to encode written messages. The spell that Azure had just cast was one such.
The problem was that Numinous had a complex structure, and so a cacographer’s touch misspelled all but the simplest Numinous sentences. That is why Nicodemus had to work quickly to translate Shannon’s message.The longer he held the text in his mind, the faster his disability would distort its spelling.
Numinous runes possessed fluid shapes resembling tendrils of smoke or threads of spun glass. Translating them made a spellwright’s fingers feel as if they were touching smooth glass. As he worked, Nicodemus’s fingers twitched with phantom sensation.
Shannon’s message was complicated, and when Nicodemus finished translating, it was garbled:
Nicodemus—
Do n’t discuss tonight’s conversaton w/ anyone, incldng roomates. V. important to atract littel attn. As planed, come to my study direclty after brecfast. You are excused from aprentice duty four the day.
—Mg. Shannon
Azure presented the back of her head again. “Scratch?”
Nicodemus absently stroked the bird’s feathers. Shannon’s instruction to avoid attention was worrisome. Nicodemus did not know what was prompting the old man’s vigilance, but he had no doubt that it was serious.
“Sweet heaven, the druids,” Nicodemus whispered, remembering how his attempt to impress Deirdre had elicited a barrage of questions about prophecy and his disability. “Magister is going to kill me.”
“Scratch?” Azure repeated.
Nicodemus looked down and realized that in his distraction he had stopped petting the familiar. “I’m sorry, Azure. I’m exhausted.” It was true—his eyes stung, his bones ached, his thoughts seemed slow as pine sap. “I’d better sleep if I’m going to help Magister tomorrow.”
“Scratch?”
“Maybe tomorrow.”
Finally convinced that she was not going to be petted, Azure hopped over to the window. She made her two-note whistle and flapped away into the night.
Blinking his weary eyes, Nicodemus went to the washstand and, rubbing his hands together, forged the small white runes wizards