Spellbound by Blake Charlton Read Free Book Online Page B

and sinking a few inches into the floor. Behind him the door buckled. He turned to see a white sheet emerging from the crack below the door. Other bits of cloth were sliding
between the door’s boards. “Creator!” Shannon silently swore. The kite had cut itself into strips.
    Shannon spun around, looking for an open book he might dive into. But they were all closed. The only exposed paper in the room was the note that read “our memories are in her” and that was splattered with blood.
    As he stared at the note, a sudden wind blew it from the table. Shannon turned to see the fully formed warkite snaking toward him. He dove right, but a talon caught his right shoulder and tore raw pain down his arm. Suddenly, Shannon found himself lying on the floorboards.
    The kite tried to turn around but slammed into the table covered with books. There was a crack of splintering wood, a blast of wind, and the fluttering of pages.
    Something landed next to Shannon. He turned to see an open codex. A gust of wind was making the pages flip rapidly. The warkite stretched out above him. In desperation, Shannon threw his hand into the codex’s flipping pages. The paper struck his fingers, knocked them into golden prose, and then absorbed that prose. The pages were turning so fast they unraveled his arm into a cloud of runes and drew them onto its pages.
    Then the warkite fell on Shannon, piercing his legs with its talons. He tried to scream, but the flipping pages yanked him with violent force into the book.
    Â 
    NICODEMUS CROUCHED WITH three of his students in a dark hallway. Young Jasp sat on his right, and the brothers Dross and Slag on his left. No one spoke. No one needed to.
    They had fled Typhon’s private library. Then, while hurrying down the staircases, Nicodemus realized that the wailing was coming not from the sanctuary but from the infirmary.
    The Savanna Walker was not hunting Nicodemus. Or, rather, was not hunting him yet. They still couldn’t risk a chance at the emerald; someone would soon discover the trail of bodies and disspelled warkites they had left behind. Alarms would soon sound, drawing the Walker. But before then, perhaps Nicodemus could learn what the beast was about. He had stationed several of his party members at windows, where they might observe the infirmary.
    While waiting, Nicodemus tried not to think about how close he had come to a vulnerable Typhon. He tried to imagine the emerald shining so brightly that it burnt away his doubt and anger.
    But his concentration faltered and he found himself thinking about James Berr, the ancient cacographer who had murdered several wizards. Like Nicodemus, Berr had been of imperial heritage and had learned Language Prime.
In times of frustration, Nicodemus often fixated on his infamous distant cousin.
    Thankfully, footsteps pulled him back into the present. One of his students was trotting down the hall, blond hair glinting even in shadow. As the kobold drew closer, Nicodemus could see the pale scar that ran down his student’s cheek like a vein of silver. That scar was what prompted Nicodemus to nickname him Vein.
    Kobolds refused to reveal their true names to humans, so Nicodemus had nicknamed his students using physical features or family history. Jasp had come from a sept called the Jasper Kobolds; Flint, from the Flint Kobolds. The brothers Slag and Dross had learned to fight in their family’s feud against the Iron Kobolds. When Nicodemus had explained that slag and dross were the ruined by-products of mining metals like iron the two had laughed heartily and nodded.
    Presently, Vein crouched next to Nicodemus. “What did you see?” Nicodemus asked in the kobold’s native language.
    Vein reported that a kite had jumped from the infirmary’s roof with two pilots and that the Walker was now pulling them down.
    Nicodemus grunted as he tried to imagine what the beast was after. Perhaps Deirdre had died again? But she