cloak matched the aspen trunks. Below stretched a small clearing of knee-high grass.
As he waited, the creature thought about Shannon. The wizard had disappointed; this next counter-strike might cripple the old man.
The creature did not need to return to Trillinon now that the flawed dragon had flown. The other demon-worshipers had their orders. That left plenty of time to find the boy and replenish the emerald—a task so important, it had to be kept secret from the other demon-worshipers. The creature had wanted something like a challenge, but he couldn’t risk losing the cacographer.
To the north, a twig snapped. Moving among the trees was a short human in black robes. The plan had worked; the young were easily swayed by dreams.
But perhaps this boy was not the one he sought. Perhaps Shannon and he would play another round. Perhaps the old fool would put up a fight before the creature tore out his throat.
The black-robed human moved closer to the clearing’s edge.
The creature frowned and decided that he shouldn’t wish for a pro-longed match with Shannon. If the emerald were lost, he would have to start over.
The creature began to forge the long Language Prime sentences necessary to compose a canker curse. The War of Disjunction would come sooner if the text he was writing didn’t rip this child’s guts into bloody ribbons. The creature’s lips stretched into a long, lupine smile.
At the clearing’s edge—peering about with curious eyes for the beautiful meadow seen in a dream—was a young cacographic boy.
CHAPTER
Fifteen
Nicodemus stifled a yawn and opened the door to Shannon’s quarters. The front room was a wide, sunlit place with an expanse of Trillinonish carpet, a writing desk, two bookcases, and four scroll racks.
Nicodemus removed his boots and socks in the Northern fashion and padded over to the windows. Outside the midday sun poured dazzling light onto the Bolide Garden.
Once the square had been a lush patch of grass lined with trees. Nicodemus had played among them as a neophyte. But two years ago the elms had died of an unknown disease.
Since then janitorial had undertaken a renovation of the entire square. The recent need to prepare for the convocation had stopped all landscaping and left the garden full of pale dirt.
The mounds directly below Shannon’s quarters were muddy and dark. A fountain had once stood there. One of Starhaven’s underground aqueducts must have a poorly sealed outlet at that spot.
A sudden yawn made Nicodemus’s jaw crack. “Heaven, bless Magister for ordering me to nap,” he murmured. Fingering the hour bell he had taken from the classroom, he thought about what Shannon had said about the murderer, the dragon, and the possibility that Nicodemus was connected to prophecy. The old man’s words filled his heart with wild hope and fear. Then there was the druid. Could he trust her?
He fought another yawn and realized that he was too exhausted to think clearly. He turned for the bedroom.
Shannon was Trillinonish by birth, but his mother had been Dralish. Her influence on Shannon’s taste was seen in the four-post feather bed that had been hauled all the way from Highland.
Sitting on the bed’s edge, Nicodemus examined the spherical brass hour bell and the rectangular mouth cut into its bottom.
From his belt-purse, Nicodemus drew a folded page that he had taken from Shannon’s desk. It contained a one-hour tintinnabulum spell.
Though it was composed in a common language, the text had a complicated structure. Normally, if Nicodemus concentrated on keeping therunes from rearranging, he could briefly touch such spells without misspelling them. However, his exhaustion would increase his chances of misspelling. So he bit his lip in concentration and peeled the spell’s first paragraph from the page.
The white words leaped into the air around his pinched fingers and pulled the sequent sentences up with them. The paragraphs began folding into a rectangular cage.
Nicodemus redoubled his focus. He had only this one tintinnabulum; misspelling it would preclude his nap.
At last, the concluding paragraph jumped up and formed a ball that flew around within the tintinnabulum cage. Each time it struck a textual wall, the ball silently deconstructed a rune segment. The spell’s cage could with-stand the ball for one hour; after that, the ball would break free and ring the bell.
Nicodemus inserted the spell into the bell’s mouth, set the device on the bedside table, and fell back onto the feather bed.
He felt his head meet the pillow; he felt his breathing slow; he felt his legs jerk as they sometimes did before sleep. But