Spellwright. Blake Charlton

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СКАЧАТЬ cacographers had walked in just now? We’d be in a fine state then. There’d be cursing matches up and down the tower until spring. Or what if a wizard had stopped by? With the convocation on, the repercus-sions would be horrible.”

      The other cacographers fell silent. Simple John swallowed his smile and hung his head.

      “What’s it to you, Nico?” Devin sneered. “Afraid Shannon’ll find out? Afraid the old man won’t let you teach your precious class?”

      “Devin,” Nicodemus said, leveling his gaze at the short redhead, “how many penitences do you have left for the flooded privy prank?”

      She glared at him.

      “Don’t you see that our place in Starhaven is not secure? As Magister Shannon just reminded me, our disability puts an extra burden on us. And we all know that in other academies cacographers aren’t treated so well. Astrophell censors magical language out of their cacographers.”

      “As if that would be so bad, to leave this place,” Devin groused.

      “Well excuse me, my lady. I was unaware of your noble blood.” Nicodemus dipped into a mock bow. “Because that’s what it’d take to find a life as comfortable and safe as we have here. As an illiterate, you might end up a scullery maid, but think of John. How would he get by?”

      “No,” Simple John protested softly.

      Devin lowered her eyes and dropped her spell. An uncomfortable moment passed.

      In the awkward silence, Nicodemus felt a slow sinking sensation. Could he call his floormates reckless when, only an hour ago, he had misspelled a library gargoyle? If caught, his mistake would have damaged the reputation of cacographers far more than the discovery of a simple cursing match.

      “Dev, John, I’m sorry,” he said in a softer tone. “I had a rough night in the library and disappointed Shannon. He’s worried about some of the convocation’s delegates. It might even be dangerous for us to be seen misspelling.”

      Neither of the other cacographers spoke. John was looking at his boots, Devin scowling at the ceiling.

      “I’ll help clean up,” Nicodemus said wearily.

      They worked silently. Simple John 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 flickered across 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 СКАЧАТЬ