Читать книгу Spellbound: Book 2 of the Spellwright Trilogy - Blake Charlton - Страница 12

Francesca’s hands tingled. Whatever cloth Deirdre ripped must have loosed magical language unknown to her. She held her breath.

Nothing happened.

Outside, the wind snarled.

“Maybe the spells didn’t—” Deirdre started to say, and then something yanked Francesca upward with such violence that her chin slammed into her chest.

She screamed first, but Deirdre screamed louder. Something was pulling them upward with stomach-torturing acceleration. Icy wind blasted all about them. The shock of it cleared Francesca’s vision and in so doing revealed a world of velocity and color.

Above them, bright against the sapphire sky, billowed a yellow jumpchute full of unseen hierophantic language. From the hemispherical chute blew the furious wind that was buffeting both women as they dangled among the leather harnesses.

Below them stood the massive octagonal dome of Cala’s sanctuary, which held the stone ark containing the demigoddess’s soul. The sanctuary’s reddish-brown roof tiles, still wet from the last rainstorm, glistened with sunlight.

Surrounding the holy structures was the city of Avel—a maze of sandstone buildings, winding alleys, bright gardens. Massive, textually fortified walls divided the city into districts and then cordoned it off from the wilderness beyond.

East of the city, the land descended to the near-endless savanna. The wind made the tall grass sink and rise in long waves. On the horizon, a distant rainstorm was brooding over a cord of faint rainbow.

Francesca, still screaming, spun westward and looked out onto the rolling foothills. The wondrous Dam of Canonist Cala began at the city’s northwestern corner and then grew outward to span the deep canyon that formed the city’s western edge. Behind the dam, to the north, lay the reservoir. The dark water began as a wide lake but then ran into six twisting narrows as it snaked into the foothills. Beyond all this, the Auburn Mountains formed a dark skyline.

She and Deirdre flew upward until they rode the wind below a flock of ten or so lofting kites.

Abruptly the chain trailing them snapped taut, halting their climb. The force of the action flung both women upside down and then set them swinging wildly in their harnesses. Above, the jumpchute folded into a massive rectangular canopy.

The sudden halt had stopped the women’s screaming, but now their mouths reopened. The world became a whirling blur as they dangled and spun. Francesca thought she might never stop belting out terror, but Deirdre’s cry turned into triumphant laugher.

Finally they stopped swinging. The wind was strong and a portion of the kite’s canopy occasionally flapped, but otherwise it was surprisingly quiet in the air. “My lady, you said you’re semidivine,” Francesca said, “but you never mentioned you’re sometimes out of your bloody semidivine mind!”

Deirdre looked over with a smile brighter than any magical sentence. “Out of my bloody mind, but bloody alive and free!” She laughed.

Francesca caught her long braid to keep it from flying about. “My lady, that spell might have blasted us into pulp so fine it would pass through cheesecloth.”

Deirdre pointed down. “Look, there on the infirmary’s roof.”

Their course had taken them east; they now flew far above Avel. The wind was coming down off the Auburn Mountains and turning their kite west.

It took Francesca a moment to identify the sanctuary’s infirmary. When she did, she realized there was a small area of it that she could not see. The cloud of blindness seemed to be wandering around the roof. “I see blindness.”

Deirdre shook her head. “You see the Savanna Walker. He’s come to reclaim me for the demon.”

Francesca grabbed Deirdre’s shoulder. “All respect, my lady avatar, but holy loving heaven it is time for you to explain this demon. You think the War of Disjunction is coming?”

The other woman shook her head. “The war’s already begun. A demon named Typhon has crossed the ocean. He’s imprisoned Canonist Cala and compelled me to become his Regent of Spies—a ringleader for his in formants.”

Francesca opened her mouth, but the other woman took her arm. “With the Walker so close, the demon may repossess me any moment now,” Deirdre said quickly. “Listen, most hierophants in Avel think they serve Cala, but they actually serve Typhon. Once the demon realizes I put you into play, he will send all of his agents to bring you back. Don’t return to the sanctuary. You’ll be safe in the city for a day or so before they start to comb through it. You must find a man in hiding and take him a message. He used to be in the North Gate District, hiding among the tree worshipers. They call themselves the Canic people. Do you know who they are?”

“Of course.” The Canics were among Avel’s poorest citizens. Francesca, more than any other cleric, had treated their sick.

Deirdre continued. “The Canics were protecting this man. But we found them one night last year, killed a few of his students. Find him and tell him—”

“But who is he?”

“A rogue wizardling named Nicodemus Weal. He—”

“Nicodemus God-of-gods damned Weal!” Francesca squawked. “The cacographer who might be the anti-Halcyon, the Storm Petrel? The one who murdered the other cacographers in Starhaven ten years ago?”

Deirdre grimaced and her dangling legs jerked. “That’s not what happened.”

Francesca swore. “Damn it, I know I deserved punishment for killing you on my table, but this a bit much. Couldn’t you just pull out my tongue or break all my ribs or something quick?”

“This is no time for jokes.”

“You seriously want me to find the most notorious cacographer since James Berr?”

“James Berr?”

“He was the most infamous cacographer until Nicodemus caused all those deaths in Starhaven.”

“You have to find him.” Deirdre said and then grimaced. Again, her legs twitched. “Tell him the demon knows. Tell him there’s a trap.”

Suddenly Deirdre’s grip went slack and her eyes rolled upward. For a moment, Francesca thought the woman was about to fall into a seizure.

“Trap?” Francesca asked. “What do you mean? What trap?”

Deirdre moaned. “The demon’s trying to possess me again. We must separate before that happens.”

“Why?”

“Because once possessed, I’ll snap your neck like a twig.”

“All right,” Francesca replied flatly, “you’ve convinced me. But how in the burning hells are we supposed to separate while in a kite that neither of us can control?”

Deirdre gestured to the other kites. “One of the hierophants.”

Francesca looked up at the flock of lofting kites, each one a colorful rectangular canopy suspending lines and harnesses. There were perhaps ten kites aloft, but less than half held green-robed hierophants. From here, pilots watched for signs of grass fires or lycanthrope migration. Similarly, four or five pilots would be flying over city walls to help the watchmen spot approaching lycanthropes.

Most of the pilots seemed preoccupied with their rigs, moving hands along the suspension lines. But one red kite emblazoned with a golden sunburst was moving down toward them.

“When you find Nicodemus,” Deirdre said, “don’t touch him, not even for an instant. He’s cursed.”

Francesca looked at the other woman. “Blood and damnation, I don’t even want to see him. Look, if I’m really going to do this, I need to know more about this demon and this trap.”

The other woman pressed a shaking hand to her cheek. “I did some … you might have help from … I don’t know if he survived to … I’m not a spellwright …” Her hand shook more violently. She was having trouble speaking. “Typhon’s trying to possess ….”

Suddenly a loud voice boomed, “Ahoy to the last kite aloft!”

Francesca turned to see that the red kite had flown within thirty feet. Its pilot was a short man wrapped in heavy green robes. His head and face were covered by a hierophant’s turban and veil. As she watched, he pulled down the veil to reveal a handsome face, with light brown skin and a kempt black beard. Even at a distance, Francesca recognized the spellwright and felt her throat tighten.

“Creator,” she whispered, “God-of-gods, your ability to punish me for my failures is proving more awesome every passing moment. Must it be him of all people?”

Beside her, Deirdre looked more composed. Her arms had stopped shaking. She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, “Ahoy to the air warden! We are in crisis!”

A booming laugh replied. “I can see that. How’d you jump without a hierophant?”

“Warden, I do not jest. I am an officer of Canonist Cala. The sanctuary and infirmary are under attack.”

The red kite swerved closer. “Speak today’s passwords.”

“Granite fire south,” Deirdre replied, and waited for the man to nod. “I charge you in the name of the Celestial Canon to personally evacuate my passenger to the wind garden. Don’t bring her back to the city until you have gotten word that the sanctuary is safe again. Trust no other wind mage. Tell no one what I have said or even that you spoke to me.”

Francesca grabbed the other woman’s shoulder. “Not him!” she said. “Any other hierophant. Please, not him.”

Deirdre pushed her hand away. “No, he’s the new air warden, newly arrived. Typhon brought him back because he’s unaware of the canonist’s situation. He’s a screen.”

Francesca had no idea what the other woman was talking about. She was about to say so as colorfully as she possibly could when a sudden jerk on their chain yanked their kite down five feet.

Francesca’s stomach seemed to leap into her throat. “What’s happening?” She looked down at the infirmary roof. The Savanna Walker’s cloud of blindness now hung over the minaret to which their kite was tethered.

Deirdre swore. “He’s pulling us in!”

“He’s pulling you in,” the air warden called. “I can’t take your passenger if the tower is hauling you down.”

Another jerk pulled their kite down ten more feet. “The Walker’s figured out which chain connects to our kite,” Deirdre said.

Again they sank with sickening speed. The air warden lowered his kite to keep company. Francesca asked, “What happens if the Savanna Walker pulls us in?”

“The Walker devours you, the demon enslaves me forever, Nicodemus walks into his trap, and the dread god Los is reborn.”

“Can we fight?”

The avatar shook her head. “Not a chance. I’m too near being possessed again, and I don’t know the Walker’s name. You must go now. Here’s my message to Nicodemus about the trap. Are you listening?”

She nodded.

“Tell him there are two dragons.”

“Two WHAT? You’re—”

Deirdre cut her off. “The demon said your function will be to keep Nicodemus alive during his forced conversion. I think the demon means to wound Nico in some way that only you can cure.”

“I don’t know—”

“Typhon has been holding something back. Over the years, pretending to work as his Regent of Spies, I went through his letters. I learned that Typhon started to make the Savanna Walker into the first dragon, but then the power of the emerald wore out. So the Walker is stuck as a half monster, half dragon.”

“A God-of-gods damned dragon? With scales and wings and fiery breath?”

Deirdre shook her head. “They look that way only under certain conditions. Dragons are more like potentials or forces. And the Walker is now something grotesque and incomprehensible.”

Abruptly, Deirdre shuddered. Then she squeezed her eyes shut as if in concentration. “Listen, in one of the demon’s letters you are named as the only one who can stop the second dragon from destroying Nicodemus. I don’t know any more than that. As the Regent of Spies, I had some of my agents magically wound me when the lycanthropes attacked so that I would be taken to you in the infirmary. I had to put you into play.”

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

“When I broke your anklet, I broke his hold on you. You can leave the city now without his knowing. You have to stop the second dragon.”

“But why me?” Francesca squawked. “And what in burning heaven do I know about demons or dragons?”

Deirdre shook her head. “No time. Go!”

“Go where, damn it?”

Instead of answering, the other woman turned to face the air warden and bellowed, “FALLING PILOT!”

Francesca turned to see which hierophant had fallen from a lofting kite. But as she did so, Deirdre reached up and—as easily as if she were snapping threads—broke the straps of Francesca’s harness.

With a scream, Francesca threw her arms around Deirdre.

But the immortal woman grabbed hold of Francesca’s shoulders and, with inhuman strength, shoved her into the churning air.