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Authors: Blake Charlton

BOOK: Spellbound
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But surrounding Nicodemus was a being larger still and even harder to perceive. She too was written in the deep red language, and initially he could see only the sentences in her long curving bones, her powerful muscles. The massive chambers of her heart contracted to a slow power rhythm. With every beat, her heart blazed with dazzling brightness.
Slowly, Nicodemus began to perceive the rest of her. For a moment he could see both her body and the sentences shining through sinew and scales, the text in the body.
Her scales glowed a deep auburn, almost brown, but on her face flashed flecks of coppery red in the same pattern that freckles had punctuated her human face. Her eyes, very dark brown, were fixed on the other dragon. She had protectively curled her body and long tail around Nicodemus. Her long black claws were splayed across the tile as she crouched.
The demon looked at her. “So you see, Francesca did not need to take your ability to create the second dragon”—he paused to smile at her as if she were his child—“because she is the second dragon.”
 
THE FLEET COMMANDER placed the
Queen's Lance
at the top of the vanguard along with the
Pike,
an Osprey-class cruiser written on cotton sails. Cyrus had expected this but still felt his stomach tighten as he and Izem held formation beside the
Pike
and waited as the two other Ospreys—the
Shark
and the
Kraken
—took up escort position beside the
Cyclone
and the
Thunder,
two Storm-class carriers. In Lurrikara, the
Queen's Lance
had refreshed its cloth and picked up two more crew members.
The two lines of battle were facing off. Cyrus's fleet, the monotheist fleet, boasted four cruisers and two carriers. The defending polytheistic
fleet had only three destroyers, all of them Eagle class. Larger and more durable, Eagles had made up most of the polytheist air forces during the Civil War. Though the polytheistic airships were both outnumbered and outclassed, they were escorted by two-score lofting kites.
As Cyrus watched, a wing of three black kites broke formation and glided with the wind to the other side of the enemy line of battle. Presently the polytheistic fleet flew just above the city's northern perimeter wall, waiting to strike out and force the attacking carriers to deploy their warkites as far from the sanctuary as possible, ensuring that the constructs spent most of their text reaching the sanctuary.
The
Queen's Lance
and the
Pike
would push a frontal attack, trying to rip up the wide lofting sails that billowed above each Eagle's hull and kept it flying. If that was not possible, they were to try to disperse the Eagles to allow the carriers to reach the sanctuary.
Because Cyrus knew the winds around Avel, Captain Izem had appointed him the primary pilot. “Remember,” Izem shouted, “few in the city fleet have flown against a Kestrel. They won't know how fast we are, but they'll quickly adapt.”
A cry sounded from the hull. Cyrus turned and saw the
Kraken,
as the flagship, had let fly the signal to attack.
“All crew to slip!” Cyrus yelled, weaving himself into the hull. He folded the
Queen's Lance
into the lancelike conformation and, with a textual burn, thrust the ship toward the easternmost enemy destroyer. The
Pike
moved to follow.
Three wings of enemy lofting kites cast out jumpchutes to pull themselves windward and intercept the
Queen's Lance.
Cyrus held course and within moments met the interceptors. The kite pilots converted their chutes into canopies and turned toward the
Queen's Lance
. But as Izem had guessed, the kite pilots misjudged their target's speed. Cyrus doubled thrust and shot past the would-be boarders.
The enemy destroyer before them unfurled more lofting sails and was climbing to present its better-defended underside. This time-honored tactic would have worked against most cruisers, but not a Kestrel. Cyrus burned on all aft sails, shooting them higher than their opponent. “Impact!” Izem bellowed the instant before their foresails punched through the Eagle's lofting sails.
A blast of air buffeted Cyrus as they loosed much of the enemy's text into the air. Then they were free and climbing into the sky.
Cyrus banked the ship to come around. But no sooner did he look down than he saw an eruption of jumpchutes flying up at him. Two lofting
kites struck the
Queen's Lance,
their canopies wrapping around her side sails, trying to cut into them. With sheets of blazing blue language, the two extra crew members were working to repel the kites.
Cyrus dropped the
Queen's Lance
into a dive. Below him, the enemy destroyer had closed the hole the
Queen's Lance
had punched into their lofting sails, but not before losing altitude. As Cyrus dove, the
Pike
struck the enemy, tearing through a side sail and ricocheting off the hull.
Izem cheered as the polytheistic destroyer twisted and its lofting sail began to spill wind. Cyrus slowed their descent so the
Pike
could fly clear, but then enemy lofting kites began swarming around the
Queen's Lance.
Some of the kites landed on their hull and began cutting into the silk. Cyrus threw the
Queen's Lance
into a barrel spin, throwing off a few boarders.
At last the
Pike
was clear. Cyrus engaged all aft sails, and they shot downward, jolting forward whenever the increased wind velocity pulled a boarder off his ship.
The enemy destroyer loomed in their vision. “Impact!” Cyrus yelled and pulled up hard so that the
Queen's Lance
struck the enemy's lofting sail at the bottom of her curving trajectory, slicing through a maximum amount of cloth. Deconstructing hierophantic language—vividly blue even against a blue sky—exploded around them.
They emerged into a chaos of lofting kites, all slamming their canopies into the
Queen's Lance.
Cyrus put the ship into another tight barrel roll. Cloth and sky and savanna—white, blue, and green—spun around until he felt the last boarder thrown off and leveled out the
Queen's Lance.
Izem cried out triumphantly, and Cyrus looked back to see the enemy destroyer breaking up as it fell toward the savanna. Her pilots were cutting free sections of sail to make emergency jumpchutes. The lycanthropes would be waiting below.
Izem's cry died, and he pointed down. The
Pike
was in a tight barrel roll, trying and failing to throw off boarders. She was losing altitude fast. Cyrus began to bring the
Queen's Lance
around, but Izem yelled, “We can't help her.” He pointed north. “Bigger problems.”
Cyrus followed his finger back to the remaining polytheist fleet, still holding a line of battle above the city walls. The monotheist fleet was advancing. The
Kraken
and the
Shark
had matched off against the two enemy destroyers. It would have been an advantageous position for the monotheist fleet, if the complement of enemy lofting kites hadn't increased.
Then Cyrus saw it: a flock of fresh lofting kites that had taken wing from the sanctuary. The polytheists had more pilots than they'd lofted. They'd been deliberately drawing the carriers into attack.
Cyrus engaged all aft sails. Unless they could quickly cut down the remaining
enemy destroyers, the kites would force the carriers to deploy too soon and the demon worshipers would escape almost unscathed.
 
SHOCK FRACTURED NICODEMUS'S
every thought. He stared into a face that was draconic and yet still Francesca's. He tried to step backward, but his boot struck her hind claw.
“She is the second dragon,” Typhon repeated patiently. “Until last night, she was a half dragon like your cousin. She is a creature of intuitive language and Language Prime. She needed to touch an Imperial of intuitive and chaotic language before she could assume her full potential.”
Nicodemus looked at the demon. “I … I don't …”
“My plan was to wound you so that only she could heal you. That would bring you into physical contact, transforming both of you. All dragons induce quaternary cognition. She was written to change how you see life and language, to make you love her and the Disjunction that she represents.”
Nicodemus understood every idea the demon described and yet felt as if he hadn't heard the demon speak. “What?” he said. “I don't …” He looked at the dragon. “Fran …”
With alarming speed, Francesca more tightly encircled him. She snarled at the Savanna Walker.
“Our problem,” Typhon said, “is that I had never thought to complete both dragons. Ja Ambher, like you, is a cacographer. So even with the emerald, I could not complete his draconic transformation. You saw the grotesque shapes he took as a half-formed cacographic dragon. However, with Francesca I faced no such problem. While I was hunting you, it seemed impossible that both dragons should be realized.”
Nicodemus swallowed. “Vivian?”
The demon nodded. “When your half sister snuck into my city, I saw a shortcut. I didn't need to wait for Francesca and you to touch. I simply set the Savanna Walker on Vivian. Deirdre blocked the first attempt with her suicide. We shall miss her.”
Here the demon paused, his pale face slack as if in genuine regret. “But your cousin caught your half sister the same night that you devoted yourself to Francesca. Now your lover does not want your cousin to live. You see, the two dragons are the embodiment of different conceptions of the Disjunction. Your cousin represents Los's conception: replacing Language Prime with divine language. Your lover, my conception: interlacing Language Prime with demonic language until all intellects are divine.”
The demon sighed. “There shouldn't be a conflict between the two; they will both produce the same result.” His voice became weary, almost resigned. “We should send your cousin across the ocean to revive Los. Look
at his form now: wings, scales, claws, everything necessary to cross the ocean, to revive Los, to bring the demonic host to this continent.”
The demon looked from the Savanna Walker to Nicodemus. “We should send your cousin flying across the ocean and return Francesca to her human form. Then we could cart you and Francesca off to Starfall Island, where you can set about creating a new society.” He looked at Francesca. “But before that can happen, your lover has a few … stipulations.”
Francesca leaned forward and narrowed her eyes.
The demon continued to speak to Nicodemus, though he did not look away from the dragon. “She is my masterpiece. Greater even than you, Nicodemus. I could not stop her from killing the Savanna Walker without sacrificing myself.” His expression seemed to be trying to communicate something to Francesca. “I would pay any price to see that all of my creations coexist. Your lover has agreed to swear on the Creator's name that she will accept coexistence if you give your consent.”
Typhon turned to face Nicodemus. “The humans who unknowingly wrote the first deities created us so that our unerring nature would be exposed when we swear on the Creator's name. No god or goddess or demon has been able to break an oath sworn on the Creator's name.”
The demon turned to Nicodemus. “Humans, composed of erratic Language Prime, have no such trouble. Your kind can swear on the fount of divinity to never commit a sin again and then torture an entire kingdom. Nicodemus Weal, what is needed out of that chaotic mind of yours is grace.” He paused and looked to the Savanna Walker. “Grace to allow another form of the Disjunction to manifest itself. You and Francesca shall inherit the League of Starfall. You will bring in a new Age of Wonders, with multiplying gods and goddesses and demigods. Your lands will be safe from Los. The demons shall not threaten your society but allow you to grow over the centuries until you have evolved past death and can join them. That is what I offer, Nicodemus. Will you accept?”
Nicodemus stared uncomprehendingly at the demon. How could Typhon even ask such a question? A low rumble filled the air and made the floor vibrate. It took Nicodemus a moment to realize it was caused by Francesca's growl. She took a half step toward Typhon.
The demon sighed. “No,” he said to her. “I haven't forgotten. Nicodemus, your lover wants you to have this.” The demon held up his hand, and in it glinted a small tear-shaped emerald.
The missing part of his mind.
The emerald was the focal point of his every desire for the past ten years. And yet, if demons could not err and his disability filled the world around him with error, perhaps he should reconsider relinquishing it.
Typhon was studying him now. “It's a bribe, no denying that. Prove to me that you are devoted to Francesca, and I will return what I took from you so long ago. Will you accept?”
Francesca stared at Nicodemus. He remembered her words back in Coldlock Harbor, that she had not betrayed him, that he must accept Typhon's every offer.

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