Spellwright

She shrugged. “You would have invented an explanation. To him I seem human.” She looked at the tower into which Nicodemus had disappeared. “He’s been cursed, you know.”

“You see it, too?”

“Feel it.”

A rook called from high above the fastness. They looked up.

“The boy looks like you,” Kyran said.

“Yes. Interesting to find so much Imperial blood in an obscure, minor noble.”

“Hiding him from the other druids won’t be easy. Nor will be taking him.”

“Goddess below, Ky!” Deirdre swore. “Stop thinking like a rabid lycanthrope. We can’t ‘take’ the boy. True, he must go to our goddess’s ark without delay, but there are complications. You must think of our escape and how the wizards will react. He must go willingly.”

Her protector was silent for a long moment. “He intrigues you,” Kyran repeated at last.

“He’s a child.”

A new subtext was weaving darkness around Kyran’s waist, returning him to invisibility. He stared at her silently as the subtext continued up to his shoulders.

She scowled. “You’re jealous?”

“Far from it.” The subtext covered his chin. “I remember when I intrigued you, so I don’t envy the boy.” His eyes became soft and then disappeared. “I pity him.”

FROM AN EMPTY gargoyle’s stoop high up on an abandoned tower, the creature looked down into the moonlit Stone Court. A boy dressed in black was making for the Drum Tower. Two figures robed in white stood among standing stones.

“Druids,” the creature muttered. “I hate druids.”

The two white-robes below had spoiled his chance to catch the boy. Had he acted immediately, he could have charged into the courtyard, killed them, and censored the boy. But their unexpected presence had delayed him too long; a moment ago he had spotted a wizard in a nearby courtyard casting two new guardian spells. Now was the time for retreat.

Worse than ruining this particular opportunity, the white-robes could create much larger problems. Long ago, on the ancient continent, the creature had faced the druids when their magical school was at the height of its power. The mille

A cold autumn wind whipped about the creature’s robes, making them flutter. When he crept away from the ledge, his legs ached and a dull pain throbbed across his forearms.

This body would not last much longer.

“No matter,” he muttered, turning away from the Stone Court. Perhaps an important wizard or druid would wander away from the inhabited buildings. In the meantime, he could write a few nightmares.

CHAPTER Six

Where Amadi sat, Sha

“You believe,” he said, forcing his voice to be calm, “I pushed Nora Fi

“I seek the truth in all places,” Amadi answered evenly.

Sha

“What you’re saying is absurd; I have no co

Amadi’s chair squeaked in a way that told him she was standing. “Magister, the body was discovered five hours ago. The villain has had ample time to conceal evidence. And you are co

“So I killed Nora to steal her honors?” He faced the window. “Fiery blood! Do you think-”

“Secondly,” Amadi broke in, “Magistra Fi

“I am a linguist researching textual intelligence. Of course I study textual corruption and repair.”

He heard Amadi’s boot heels click against the floor. She was coming toward him. “I wasn’t thinking of your research-although that provides a third co

So there it was, the Northern fear of cacographers. He turned his head to show her his profile. “My students aren’t damaged,” he said in a low tone.

“I believe you’re i

He turned back to the window.

“Magister, if you help me, I can clear your name. But I must know everything you know about misspells and misspellers.” She paused. “Your reputation makes this a perilous situation. If you’re seen as resisting my investigation, it will go poorly.”

“My reputation?”

“Every spellwright in this academy knows how important you were in Astrophell. More than a few think you are bitter, perhaps paranoid. Everyone saw how fiercely you competed with Fi

“I might be competitive, Amadi, but you know I would never murder.”

“To prove that, I need your cooperation.”

Sha

Now, even more so than before, he had to show that he had become an i

“Yes.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Let’s begin with the misspellers. Why are they here?” Receding footsteps told Sha

“In Starhaven,” he said, “as in other wizardly academies, a spellwright must achieve fluency in one of our higher languages to earn a wizard’s hood, fluency in both higher languages to earn a grand wizard’s staff. Spellwrights who ca

Amadi grunted. “It’s the same in the North. We simply do not name dangerous spellwrights so.”

“In Starhaven, we do not believe such students are dangerous. We do not permanently censor magical language from cacographers’ minds; we permit them to fulfill what roles they can. At present there are maybe fifteen living in the Drum Tower. All but three are under the age of twelve.”

“Why so many squeakers?”

“Most of the older ones integrate themselves into the academy as lesser wizards.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Dangerous?” Sha

Sha

He planted a hand on either side of the windowsill. “I taught you long ago.”

She clicked her tongue in frustration. “But I’ve read of these misspellers-cacographers, as you call them. Many witches and rogue wizards come from their stock. In fact, one such misspeller was an infamous killer. He was a Southerner, lived in this academy in fact. Now, why can’t I think of his name?”

“James Berr,” Sha