Authors: Blake Charlton
Shannon waved away her comment. “Bah, it was no exile; I accepted this position. Besides, wizards swear off family for a reason. In the beginning, it was difficult getting only fragmented news of my son. But now I’ve promising research and dedicated students. We are discovering such fascinating things. Just this morning I received permission to begin casting my primary research spell.”
Amadi’s chair creaked. “And you’re content with such a…calm life?”
Shannon raised his eyebrows. So she suspected that he still harbored political ambitions? That might be dangerous, especially if she were reporting back to Astrophell.
“Amadi, sometimes it feels as if another author lived that bustling career in the North. Starhaven is a smaller academy, and we’re so very far from civilization. But here…” He made a show of running his gaze across his books. “Here I enjoy a slower life.”
When she did not reply, he changed the subject. “I just moved into new quarters above the Bolide Garden. Janitorial is renovating the gardens; it’s not much now, heaps of dirt and clay, but it will be beautiful. I could show you.”
Amadi’s chair creaked again. “Some Astrophell wizards have been quoting your ‘Complaint to the Long Council.’”
His grin faded. “It was my best speech.”
“Many still find it inspiring.”
“I am glad to hear it, but that life is over. There’s no use baiting my appetite for it. I stay clear of Starhaven’s intrigue. As a researcher, I can’t be completely apolitical. But because of my past, the provost and his officers are happy to leave me out of most entanglements.”
Amadi said nothing. The parchment on the table began to crinkle, likely from a breeze coming through the window.
“But never mind me,” Shannon said. “How have you spent the past four decades? Studying diplomacy perhaps? Is that where this talk of my past comes from?”
“My hood has a purple lining.”
“A sentinel? Yes, you must be wonderful.”
She cleared her throat importantly. “I command Astrophell’s lead sentinel expeditions. In fact, I led the delegation down here. I even have a personal secretary: a young Ixonian named Kale—only a lesser wizard, but bright and capable.”
“Pardon the observation, but it seems odd that Astrophell should send sentinels to our convocation.”
“The journey from the North was long. And heaven only knows why our order ever occupied this gargantuan stronghold out in the middle of nowhere. Granted, it makes a fine sight from the Westernmost Road—the highest tower spiring up from the mountainside to dwarf the peaks behind.”
Shannon rested his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. “But Amadi, why should Astrophell send sentinels with its delegation?”
“The diplomats needed protection.”
“I see.”
“Shannon, is this room safe from prying ears?”
He nodded. “Quite safe. Do you bring news from abroad?”
“News from within.”
Shannon leaned forward. “Go on.”
Amadi shifted in her seat and half-whispered: “Murder in Starhaven.”
Shannon’s heart began to strike. “Who?”
“This is a sensitive issue, one that must be hidden until the convocation is over. The delegates must renew the treaties.”
“I’m aware of that. Now will you tell me who has been killed?”
“Bear with me, Magister. Five hours ago a janitorial gargoyle working beneath the Spindle Bridge discovered what he thought to be a dying woman.”
“What he thought was a dying woman?”
“She was already dead, but her body was still filling itself with a virulent Numinous misspell. The gargoyle, having secondary cognition, assumed she was still alive and took her to the deputy provost of libraries. She, in turn, reported to the provost, who related the information to me.”
Shannon paused. “You said this woman fell from the Spindle?”
“So it seems. What can you tell me of the bridge?”
Shannon wondered how much information he should share. Amadi had leaped to the top of the sentinel ranks, and such a feat would be impossiblewithout the support of several factions that despised Shannon. He decided to share only common knowledge until he knew more.
“You seem troubled,” Amadi said. “Is it odd that this woman was on the Spindle?”
“Surpassingly odd,” he said at last. “According to the historians, the Chthonic people built the bridge not long after they finished Starhaven. But it leads nowhere. Spans nearly a mile of air only to run into a cliff. The Chthonics did cut beautiful designs into the rock. Just north of the bridge’s end is a foliate pattern—ivy leaves, I believe—and south is a hexagonal pattern.”
“Any explanation for the carvings? Or the bridge itself?”
Shannon shrugged. “Folktales about the Chthonics building a road to a paradise called Heaven Tree Valley. Supposedly when the Neosolar Empire began to massacre the Chthonics, their goddess led them to the Heaven Tree and dropped a mountain on the road. Some say the Spindle once led to that road.”
“Any evidence to support such a tale?”
“None. But every so often, the historians probe the mountainside with text, trying to open the way to the Heaven Tree. They’ve found only rock.” He paused. “Do you think the murder is connected to any of this?”
The soft swish of moving cloth told Shannon that Amadi was shifting in her seat again. “Not that I can see,” she said and then sighed.
Shannon paused before he spoke again. “Amadi, I am shocked and grieved by this tragedy. And yet…please don’t think me heartless, but I don’t want to become involved. I must think of my research and my students. Helping you might drag me into political situations. As I said, I am a different man than I was in the North. But if you refrain from mentioning my name, I’ll give whatever advice I can. But I’d still need to know the victim’s name.”
A long pause. She spoke: “Nora Finn, the grammarian.”
“Sweet heaven!” Shannon whispered in shock. Nora had been the Drum Tower’s dean and his fiercest academic rival.
Instantly his mind spun with the possible implications of the murder. It might be an indirect attack by old enemies. It might also be connected to the restless guardian spells and Nicodemus’s prowler on top of the Stacks. That would make the Drum Tower the focus of the intrigue.
Shannon fingered the asterisks on the spine of his journal. His enemies might hope to exact revenge by harming his students. His thoughts jumped to Nicodemus. The boy’s cacography had proven he was not the Halcyon, but Shannon’s enemies in Astrophell might have heard his name and so marked him as their target.
Or, far less likely but more frightening, the boy might have some unknown connection to the Erasmine Prophecy. If that were so, then the fate of all human language would be in jeopardy.
“Did you know Magistra Finn?” Amadi asked.
Shannon started. “I’m sorry?”
“Did you know Finn?” Amadi repeated patiently.
Shannon nodded. “Nora and I both took care of the Drum Tower’s students. As the Drum Tower’s master, I see to our students’ residential matters. As the dean, Nora governed their academics. But these students don’t often study. I end up counseling the few who do advance to lesser wizards. Nora had little contact with them. Nora and I were both being considered for the same Chair. Rivals for it, I suppose.”
“Go on.”
Shannon paused. He dared not share more information with Amadi until he was certain of her allegiances.
So he did what academics do best: he threw his hands in the air and began to whine. “This couldn’t come at a worse time, what with the convocation. How can the murderer be caught when everything’s in chaos? And my poor research! I can’t stop it now; I just sent a message to my apprentice.”
Amadi exhaled slowly. “As I said, we hope the investigation will not disrupt the convocation.”
“We? Amadi, shouldn’t the provost’s officers be conducting this investigation?”
She cleared her throat. “Provost Montserrat himself instructed me to lead this investigation.”
Shannon fingered the buttons on his sleeves. “Why should the provost appoint an Astrophell wizard to lead a Starhaven investigation?”
“I carry a letter of recommendation from the arch-chancellor.”
“I don’t doubt your qualification,” he said, though he did doubt her intentions.
Amadi continued, “We must conceal this investigation from the delegates. They won’t be inclined to renew the treaties if they think a murderer is—”
“Yes, Amadi, as you said. But why come to me? No doubt the provost’s officers could have told you about the Spindle Bridge.”
A creaking came from Amadi’s chair once more. “Do you have a familiar?”
“I already told you that I do.”
“I would like to see the creature.”
Shannon nodded. “Certainly. She’ll soon return from delivering a message to my apprentice. But Amadi, you’re investigating a murder; why do you want to see my familiar?”
A long silence stretched out between them. At last the sentinel spoke in a low, controlled tone: “Because you are our primary suspect.”
The figure robed in white jumped back nearly five feet and crouched.
The speed with which it moved shocked Nicodemus. He was about to cry out when it stood and lowered its cowl to reveal a woman’s tan face.
Her wide eyes gleamed green even in the bleaching white moonlight. Her smooth olive skin and narrow chin resembled those of a twenty-year-old girl, yet she held these youthful features in a calm expression of mature confidence. The waves of her raven hair spilled down around her face to disappear under her pale cloak.
To Nicodemus, she seemed oddly familiar.
“What is the meaning of this?” the woman asked sternly. “I am Deirdre, an independent emissary from the druids of Dral. I was told I had license throughout the fastness during the convocation.”
“Your pardon, Magistra Deirdre. I didn’t know you were a druid.” He bowed.
“Do not call me Magistra. Druids hold no titles.” Her voice was calm, but her eyes flicked up and down Nicodemus like flames lapping at a dry log. She walked toward him. “Are you a wizard?”
To her right, the air shimmered. A warm blush spread across Nicodemus’s cheeks. “Hoping to become one soon,” he replied.
“An apprentice, then. Who is your mentor?”
“Magister Shannon, the well-known linguist.”
The druid seemed to consider this. “I have only recently become aware of Shannon.”
Nicodemus nodded and then smiled. If he could impress this woman, it might help Shannon’s status in the convocation. It was a small thing, but perhaps then Magister would sooner forget the misspelled gargoyle.
“May I assist you?” Nicodemus asked the druid and then bowed to the shadow on the druid’s right. “Or your companion?”
Deirdre’s full lips rose into a sly half-smile. She examined Nicodemus, then nodded. “Forgive the subtext,” she said. “Kyran is my protector.”
The shadow beside her welled up out of the ground and coalesced intoa human figure whose cloaking subtext fell away, causing the moonlight to shimmer.
Nicodemus nodded to the newcomer. Standing several inches over six feet, the man cut an imposing figure. He had undone the wooden buttons running down his white sleeves to better expose his muscular arms for spellwriting. His complexion was fair, his lips thin, his long hair golden. No wrinkles creased his handsome face; however, among spellwrights, that was not necessarily an indication of youth.
In his right hand, Kyran held a thick oak staff. Nicodemus eyed the object; supposedly the druid’s higher languages gained special abilities when cast into wood.
Deirdre was gazing about the Stone Court. “We wish to make devotions to our goddess. A wizard told us there were standing stones here, but these rocks are arranged neither in circle nor grid.”
A nearby crocodile-like gargoyle crawled away, perhaps to find a quieter sleeping spot.
“And you wizards have covered the stones with these strange stone lizards.”
Nicodemus bowed. “Please excuse the disorder. The standing stones were a gift from a Highland lord. We do not know how they should be arranged. As for the gargoyles, they’re not lizards but advanced spells we call textual constructs. You see, Magnus, one of the wizardly high languages, can transform its textual energy into stone.”
The druid smiled slightly as if he had just said something amusing.
Unsure what to do, Nicodemus offered more information: “These are janitorial gargoyles. We’ve written an affection for stone into their minds. So they climb all over the occupied towers, tending to the roofs, searching for crumbling mortar, and keeping the birds away.”
Deirdre continued to watch him in smiling silence.
“But if you want to make devotions,” Nicodemus added awkwardly, “you might feel more comfortable in one of our gardens. Magister Shannon has just taken quarters above the Bolide Garden, but it’s still being renovated.”
The male druid spoke. “Why is this place so empty? Where are the other wizards?”
Nicodemus smiled; here was a question he could answer authoritatively. “We’re all present. Starhaven only seems empty because it is so large. Once it housed sixty thousand Chthonic people. Now only four thousand wizards and half as many students live here. We are still exploring the uninhabited Chthonic Quarter. There is much to learn. The Neosolar Empire,the Kingdom of Spires, and the Kingdom of Lorn all occupied Starhaven. Each settlement left a distinctive mark on—”
Deirdre interrupted. “What is your name?”
Nicodemus froze. Had he been talking too much? “Nicodemus Weal,” he said, bowing.
“Tell me of your parentage.”
“My parents?” This was unexpected. Had he offended? “I a-am the bastard son of the late Lord Severn, a minor noble of northern Spires.”
The druid nodded. “Your family provides for you still?”
“N-no. Wizards abjure all ties to family and kingdom when they become neophytes. And my younger brother, the new Lord Severn, sees me as something of a threat.”
“What of your mother?”
“I never knew her.”
“A bastard who doesn’t know his mother?” She raised a disbelieving eyebrow.