This last startled Nicodemus out of his paralysis. “In a dream I was your dragon. I’d rather cut my own throat than help you create such a monster.”
Typhon shook his massive head. “You were not my dragon; you were Fellwroth’s dragon. That slave turned my draft into a cliched, fire-breathing lizard. Fellwroth never understood what a true dragon is. Nicodemus, they are texts more glorious than you can now imagine. I could give you the spells needed to understand how glorious dragons are and how glorious you and I shall become.”
Rather than answer, Nicodemus looked around for an escape or a weapon. He saw only Deirdre, frozen still as a statue.
“She can’t help you yet,” Typhon rumbled. “She is my avatar now and possesses most of my soul. It will take time to win her over, but you and I will win her.”
When Nicodemus took a step back, Typhon flicked his hand out as if casting a spell. Nicodemus flinched, but nothing happened.
The demon frowned. “Curious,” he said. “The censoring text I just cast around your mind misspelled and deconstructed. Does your cacography influence language unknown to you?”
Nicodemus’s mind filled with images of the night terrors that had hidden him from Fellwroth. He took another step back.
Typhon flapped his wings once. “I do not want to restrain you. We are not enemies.”
He held out a massive obsidian hand, in the center of which sparkled the Emerald of Arahest. “When I trust you, you shall have this back. You shall survive the War of Disjunction and live with Deirdre. You two will become the first dragon lords. From your children shall come a race to replace humanity. Demonkind will reward-”
“You crippled John!” Nicodemus heard himself shout. “You crippled me! You and I shall only and ever be enemies!”
The demon sighed. “Fathers and sons, authors and texts, they often clash before reconciling. I am going to restrain you now. If you struggle-”
Typhon’s next words were drowned out by an earsplitting thunderclap. A brilliant spray of Magnus flew up from the demon’s back to splash against the ceiling. Someone had dashed a wartext against the malicious deity.
Nicodemus spun around and ran for the kobold caves at the back of the cavern. Behind him, Magistra Amadi Okeke’s voice rang out. There was a brief silence, which was broken by a blast of sound so low and loud that it vibrated Nicodemus’s chest like a drum.
He looked back. Typhon roared at a dozen sentinels as they came swarming down from the Spindle Bridge. A storm of silver and gold spells flew from the spellwrights. Typhon pulled back his wings and-
Nicodemus slammed into something and suddenly was on his back. Groaning, he sat up. In front of him, he could feel a solid but invisible barrier. His cheeks burned hot. Typhon must have cast some textual wall at the cavern’s end, and Nicodemus must have run straight into it.
Dazed, Nicodemus wondered how his mind had unknowingly disspelled the censoring text Typhon had cast about him when his body had smashed so painfully into this text.
The barrier must have been written in a different language. One like the Chthonic languages, that used logical spellings. His mind quickly distorted those languages with illogical spellings. That would mean that he could misspell the barrier only slowly.
But slowly was better than not at all. He pushed his hand into the barrier and felt his cacography begin to corrupt the prose.
Another roar rolled through the cavern.
Nicodemus looked back to see Typhon lunge forward and grab a sentinel by the robes. With a one-handed heave, the demon flung the man upward, crushing his head into the low ceiling.
On the cavern’s other side, a sentinel lifted a silver hammer-a tundern wand-and struck it against the ground. A subterranean lightning bolt flew out of the artifact and erupted beneath Typhon’s feet into a spray of jagged Magnus sentences and rock fragments.
But neither words nor stone pierced the demon’s obsidian skin. With a backhanded lash, Typhon cast a blade of red light that flew across the cavern and cut the tundern wielder in two.
The surviving sentinels, Magistra Okeke at their front, were retreating into the tunnel.
Nicodemus turned to the textual barrier before him. It continued to shift under his hands but felt no weaker. This was taking too long. He’d never break through in time.
“Nicodemus,” Typhon bellowed behind him. “We must get you away from here. These humans will kill you. I’ve been imprisoned for too long, and too much of my soul is locked into Deirdre. I’m not strong enough to kill them all at once.”
The five sentinels had fallen far back into the tunnel. Typhon raised a massive hand and struck the tunnel floor. A burst of glowing red streamers erupted from the demon’s fist and then blasted down. The cavern trembled as part of the Spindle’s floor fell into blackness.
With cries of shock, the sentinels ran deeper into the tunnel. Typhon cast an unseen spell that knocked free another bit of the floor. Through the growing hole Nicodemus could see the moonlit forest far below.
A sentinel who had not retreated fast enough shouted as the stones beneath him gave way. There was a silver flash as he tried to textually stop his fall-then nothing.
Typhon roared.
Nicodemus’s head felt light. His lips were numb. He couldn’t deconstruct the barrier fast enough.
One of the sentinels threw a Numinous spell that exploded against Typhon’s shoulder. The flash briefly illuminated Shannon’s unmoving form. “Magister!” Nicodemus exclaimed. He could not leave Shannon behind.
But how to retrieve the old man? Without the emerald he stood no chance of injuring the demon. If only he had time to write out a subtext to hide himself, he could…
“Fiery blood!” he swore and pulled back the sleeves of his robes. “Of course.” He began to pinch the Chthonic sentences tattooed on his right hand.
At first the sentences were recalcitrant and kept inscribing themselves back into his skin. But with a fury of yanking, he managed to disengage the spell.
The Chthonic ghost had warned him that Wrixlan and Pithan sentences would score his skin. But even so, Nicodemus was shocked by the searing agony that consumed his arms as the sentences unwound.
Once free of his arm, the purple language spun itself into Garkex, the firetroll.
Previously the construct had been no bigger than a child. Now the three-horned spell stood six feet tall and possessed arms so muscular they bulged like flour sacks stuffed with river stones.
Initially Garkex wore a grumpy why-did-you-wake-me expression, but the instant the troll’s eyes fell upon Typhon they bulged with fear. With a snort, the construct scooped up Nicodemus and began to tear the other Wrixlan constructs from his skin.
Every inch of Nicodemus’s arms and forearms burned with pain as the purple prose was ripped from him. He fought the urge to cry out as Garkex rolled him over and over and peeled off more fantasies.
After what felt like an infinity of agony, the troll set Nicodemus down.
All of the night terrors now stood around them: Fael the lycanthrope, Tamelkan the eyeless dragon, Uro the nightmare insect, and many others. Because the constructs had absorbed some of Nicodemus’s strength by storing themselves on his skin, each one had grown.
In the next instant the fantasies scooped up Nicodemus, placed him on Tamelkan’s back, and surrounded him with their concealing dark blue skin.
Typhon tossed a last spell at the sentinels. The Spindle had not fallen, but for fifty feet the tunnel’s bottom had been ripped out.
“Nicodemus, they are far enough back,” the demon called. “They can’t hurt you now. Nicodemus?” He had turned and was peering into the cavern.
“Magister Shannon,” Nicodemus whispered to Garkex. “The body there. We need to retrieve the body and escape.”
The troll nodded.
“Nicodemus, this is not the time to hide,” Typhon rumbled. “Wizards are finicky authors.” The demon began searching the cavern’s northern edge.
The huddle
of night terrors-Nicodemus suspended in the middle-crept away in the opposite direction.
“The wizards believe in a false prophecy and think you are the Petrel,” Typhon said. “They’ll censor and kill you.”
The pack of invisible monsters approached Deirdre. Most of her body was still frozen, but she had managed to drop her sword. Her head hung forward and her chest heaved.
A sudden volley of Magnus spells filled the cave and smashed against Typhon’s side. The sentinels hadn’t given up. Roaring furiously, the demon ran to the cavern’s mouth to return the attack.
Seizing the chance, Garkex darted out to grab Shannon and slung the old man over his shoulder. With the troll gone, Nicodemus’s left shoulder had become visible. Typhon was still preoccupied by the sentinels, but Deirdre-standing not five feet away-turned her eyes on him.
Panic flashed hot in Nicodemus’s mind. How complete was Typhon’s control over her? For a moment he considered attacking her to keep her from raising the alarm. But the idea died almost as soon as it formed. Instead he pleaded with his eyes and brought a finger up to his lips. Garkex returned with Shannon and plopped the old man onto Tamelkan’s back.
Slowly Deirdre’s chest filled with air as if she might scream.
Nicodemus shook his head vehemently.
Her chest contracted. “Please,” she croaked, “kill me.”
“Please,” Deirdre whispered. “I hold most of his soul.”
Nicodemus felt his blood go cold. “I can’t-”
“You must,” she hissed. “If I die, so will he.”
The cavern shook again with Typhon’s roar. A red glow grew around the demon and then flashed. All was silent for a moment and then a distant sentinel screamed.
“Nicodemus,” Typhon called in an anxious voice. “More wizards will come soon.” The demon had turned around and was striding into the cavern. “We must…” his voice died as he looked down to where Shannon had once lain. “The old one,” he rumbled.
“Please!” Deirdre whispered.
Suddenly Nicodemus had to look away from an intense white blaze. It was Typhon. The demon had held up his right hand to cast a spell that shed pure physical light. It glared brighter than sunshine.
All around Nicodemus the constructs screamed. Physical light deconstructed Wrixlan and Pithan, and each of the night terrors was written in purple prose.
Typhon turned toward Nicodemus. In the piercing blaze, the night terrors had become visible. The demon’s all-white eyes opened wide.
Realizing that they could hide no longer, Garkex spouted flame from his horns and charged Typhon.
The other night terrors followed, shrieking out a caterwauling war cry.
Nicodemus grabbed hold of Shannon, just barely pulling the old man off Tamelkan before the eyeless dragon charged into battle.
Typhon meet Garkex with a blast of red light that deconstructed the construct’s left arm. But with a brutal right-handed slash, the troll raked his claws across Typhon’s cheek and knocked the demon’s head to one side. The rest of the nightmares rushed forward in a tide of scales, tentacles, and talons. They bowled into the demon and knocked him onto his back.
“Kill me!” Deirdre cried. “His control over me lessens.” Her arms had gone slack. She looked at Nicodemus with wide, pleading eyes.
“Deirdre, I c-can’t possibly-”
“The blade,” she said nodding to the greatsword she had dropped. “Pick it up.”
The cavern blazed brighter with Typhon’s white light. Garkex bellowed as Typhon crushed the troll’s chest with a blazing fist. The other night terrors were deconstructing as the light frayed their exterior sentences.
Nicodemus picked up the sword and stepped toward the brawl; he would rather die with a weapon in hand than hide in a corner.
“For pity’s sake!” Deirdre pleaded. “Typhon corrupted my goddess. He led me to endanger Kyran. Don’t let me live to serve the demon.” Tears filled her eyes. “He will twist my will. He will make me one of them!”
Nicodemus could not move.
Before him Typhon leaped to his feet with a deafening roar. The demon tore apart Fael, the night terror lycanthrope. Oily blood now seeped from small wounds across the demon’s head and chest. Only Tamelkan, the eyeless dragon, remained.
“Now!” Deirdre pleaded. “Nicodemus, before it is too late!”
Typhon lunged forward and caught the small dragon’s head. With a quick twist of the torso the demon snapped the wyrm’s neck and threw it aside.
Nicodemus raised his sword.
Typhon turned to him. “Nicodemus, stop. You will only harm yourself.”
“Nicodemus!” Deirdre cried. “I beg you!”
Typhon shook his head. “I have chosen the two of you to beget a new race after the War of Disjunction. You are to know unparalleled happiness. You must survive together!”
“Please,” Deirdre whispered. Her tear-bright face shone with torment and longing. Her trembling hand drew back her cloak to reveal the dirty white cloth above her left breast. “Save me if you bear me any love.”
“No!” Typhon bellowed as Nicodemus thrust the rusted blade through Deirdre’s heart.
Deirdre convulsed. Her hands came up to grasp the sword.
Typhon howled, a torrent of crimson blood spewing from his left breast. The demon fell to his knees, wings flapping wildly, arms trembling.
Deirdre collapsed into Nicodemus’s arms. They sank slowly to the floor. She looked up at him, struggling for breath. He could barely see through his own tears.
Without warning, a massive obsidian arm pulled them apart and tossed Nicodemus to the ground. Typhon lifted Deirdre up and pulled the sword from her chest. He hugged her close. “No!” she gasped. “No! Nicodemus, help! He’s healing-”
The demon had dissolved into a dark cloud that was imbuing itself into Deirdre’s body.
Confused relief flooded through Nicodemus. Deirdre wouldn’t die after all. The demon’s red and black wings now grew from her back. She held the greatsword in one hand.
Nicodemus struggled to his feet and grabbed her arm. Touching her sent a shock through his body and filled his mind with a vision of Deirdre as a girl running through a field of heather. He saw her holding a child. Then he was back in the present. She was holding him. Her once green eyes were now black as onyx.
She began to whisper, not with her own voice, but with Typhon’s rumbling one. “Lord Severn, April, James Berr,” she whispered. “You’ve always been mine. The next dragon will make you mine again.”
Nicodemus opened his mouth but could not speak.
“Kill the beast!” a woman’s voice bellowed as a Magnus wartext shot over Deirdre’s head. Suddenly Magistra Okeke and two sentinels rushed into the cavern casting violent language at Deirdre.
The sentinels must have magically spanned the distance from the fractured Spindle Tunnel to the cavern.
With a shove, Deirdre sent Nicodemus flying to slam against the cavern wall. Everything disappeared for a moment. Then he was slouched on the floor.
Deirdre leveled her greatsword at the sentinels. With blinding speed, she dodged around the spells to charge the black-robes. The first she slashed across the chest, the second across the throat. But when she lunged for Magistra Okeke, the woman leaped back in time to avoid the blade.
Another silver spell flashed through the cavern and knocked the sword from 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.”
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