CHAPTER Twenty-two
As before, Deirdre regained consciousness and found herself on the ground, crying as Kyran kneeled over her. But this time he had no caresses or soft words. This time his eyes were wide with fear. “Los in hell, Deirdre! Why did you send me away? Are you hurt?”
“No,” she gasped between sobs. “No, I’m… I’m fine.”
Magical willowisps floated about the room, shedding a soft blue-green light. She was still in the Chthonic cell where the creature had caught her. “The vision!” she whispered. “The vision returned.”
Kyran wrapped his arms around her and murmured that if she was not hurt everything would be all right.
“In the visions,” she said tremulously, “I was on the riverbank again, in the Highlands, and the white wolf came. It had a man’s head with burning red eyes. He…” She gulped down air. “He stabbed me somehow… and I came apart and floated down the river.”
“It was only a vision,” Kyran murmured. “What happened here?”
Haltingly, she told him how the creature had chased her into the cell and how she had fallen into a seizure just as the creature forced the cell’s door open. “But, Ky, why am I still alive? How have you found me?”
“I followed the sentinels to the ground level then back up to the Spindle Bridge, where they met Shannon. They reported his trick to no one. Shannon, the boy, and the sentinels went into a library too well guarded for me to follow.” He glowered. “Deirdre, you should never have sent me away! I could have-”
“Ky, you’re not listening!” She pushed his hands away. “Why am I still alive? Why didn’t the beast kill me?”
“Our goddess must have manifested herself directly in you, so you could slay the beast.”
Deirdre sat up. “What are you saying? That Boann is controlling me during my seizures? Why would she do…”
Her voice died as her eyes fell on the body lying along one wall. It was covered with a ripped white cloak.
“Perhaps,” Kyran whispered, “we won’t need to find its true body? Perhaps you slew the construct before the author’s spirit could disengage?”
From her current angle, Deirdre could see nothing of the creature’s head save the clay neck, which a single sword stroke had cleaved in two.
STANDING ON A tower bridge in the Imperial Quarter, the creature looked down at the Stone Court and the wizards standing guard before the Drum Tower.
“Sentinels for guards, Shannon?” he asked the air. “And wards on the doors and windows?” That would stop him from luring the boys out of the academy with dreams.
Now bolder action was needed.
Perhaps a direct attack? In the Stone Court he could spellwrite. That would let him kill the guards, disspell the wards, and move into the Drum Tower with a blade. But the sentinels might raise an alarm, or a guarding construct might attack when he was inside.
It was too risky.
He thought again about rewriting more of Starhaven’s constructs. He had already rewritten a gargoyle on the Erasmine Spire to spy on the wizard’s colaboris spells. And he had drafted a ratlike gargoyle with a large ear on its back. Perhaps he could corrupt a war-weight construct?
No, that would take too long.
The creature thought again about Shannon and pulled the back of his hand across his lips. The old human had gone to the sentinels, gaining protection but sacrificing freedom; the sentinels would now watch everything Shannon did.
This was not the intriguing counterstroke the creature had hoped for.
He thought about attacking the Drum Tower with his true body; that would be less dangerous than using a golem. Still, it was too risky. He should be able to devise a safer plan, especially now that he had encountered that girl in the druid robes.
Somewhere among the towers, a raven began to cry. The creature remembered that he still had to run down to Gray’s Crossing. “Wretched village,” he grumbled.
Leaning on the bridge’s railing, he narrowed his eyes and began to think. It was time to remove Shannon from play.
DEIRDRE TURNED OVER the clay head with her boot. Its face had been squashed flat against the floor. No distinguishing feature remained. Long fragments of what looked to have been hair lay scattered around on the dusty ground.
Next to her, leaning on his wooden staff, Kyran grunted. “Perhaps you killed the author along with the body?”
She shook her head. “We must assume the fiend lives. We should take the Peregrine to our goddess’s ark as soon as possible. The creature is aware of my presence now and may become more desperate.”
“We can’t reach the boy now with the sentinels guarding him. But they will keep him safe for the night. We should sleep.”
Deirdre looked at her protector. “Do you really think he is safe?”
He regarded her for a moment, his brown eyes nearly black in the green light of his spells. “We must sleep.”
WHEN THE IDEA came, the creature laughed out loud.
A cold wind was blowing over the tower bridge. Far below, in the Stone Court, several torches fluttered and winked. The two guarding sentinels pulled their black cloaks more tightly about their frail bodies.
The creature laughed again; the plan was brilliant. By enlisting the sentinels, Shannon had forged the tool that would be his undoing.
During the creature’s first encounter with Shannon, he had fled with Nora Finn’s research journal, hoping to find the boy’s name inside. The woman had been prudent enough to avoid that. But the creature still had the journal, and now was the time to use it.
His new plan to trap Shannon would be a challenge; he could not spellwrite within the libraries. However, he could cast texts into the libraries from outside. Entering the old fool’s rooms would be more difficult. He would have to sacrifice his present golem to place the book. Worse was the issue of time: the creature had to run down to the miserable village and back.
Still, it would be possible if he cast the curses immediately.
The creature turned and started for the nearest tower. He did not need to remove Shannon; the sentinels would do that for him.
CHAPTER Twenty-three
When Nicodemus opened his common room door, the tapers were snuffed and the fire smoldering. Since leaving Shannon, his excitement and fear had faded. Now his empty stomach groaned, his wounded cheek throbbed, and his exhausted eyes stung.
“Fiery heaven,” he grumbled, picking his way across the darkened common room. What if he were not excused from apprentice duty in the morning? Would he have to avoid a golem while mopping-
His left shin slammed into something hard. Whatever it was clattered on the floor. “Blood of Los!” he swore. By feeling around with his hands, he discovered a chair’s square legs. The squeaking of a bed frame came from Simple John’s room.
Nicodemus righted the chair. “Bind those idiots for not cleaning up,” he growled. “When I-”
A door opened to spill a vertical beam of firelight into the darkness. “Simple John?” Simple John asked.
Nicodemus’s anger melted. “It’s all right, John. I just tripped.” The door swung wide to fill the common room with the shifting light of the big man’s fire. “John, I’m fine.”
