Spellbound Read Online Free

both the lycanthrope attack and this brief hour of Typhon’s vulnerability.
    A faint light shone in the library. Nicodemus turned and saw the hydromancer had activated a vial of lucerin. The liquid glowed faintly blue. A second light began to shine: this one a thin, flickering flame. It seemed the spellwright that Nicodemus had hit with the hatchet was a Trillinonish pyromancer. Despite his wounds, the fire mage had cast a few flammable sentences in hopes of generating enough light to ward off the kobold’s spells.
    It was no matter. A dark object—a hatchet or maybe simply a book—struck the vial of lucerin, shattering the glass and splattering the glowing liquid onto the floor. Another projectile snuffed the pyromancer’s flame. Darkness was again complete, and Nicodemus’s students were climbing down the bookshelves. Their skin blazed with sentences of violet and indigo.
    A librarian called out for help, his voice quavering. But the man was a demon worshiper. This had to be done. The other two librarians began to yell. One begged for his life. The young kobold named Jasp replied with a murderous war cry.
    Nicodemus turned away. In the next instant, all voices stopped. The demon worshipers had been silenced perhaps by a sentence, perhaps by a hatchet. It didn’t matter.
    Nicodemus walked toward the emerald until he stood in front of the study’s large metal door. A demon and the missing part of himself lay on the other side. Once he brought this barrier down, a decade of fighting would be over. He raised his hand and was about to press on the door when the floorboards shook violently. Far below, many voices rose in a long, undulating cacophony.
    A chill of recognition moved through Nicodemus. He cursed and listened again. The voices grew louder, began to rise and fall.
    It was true then.
    The wailing meant that the sanctuary was now reverberating with a force more dire than any earthquake.
    Somehow the Savanna Walker had returned.
    Nicodemus swore. He had thought it impossible. The lycanthrope attack should have kept both the Walker and the canonist occupied for hours.
    Nicodemus put his hand against the door and felt a yard of protective spells. Hacking through it would take half an hour at least. No good. The
Walker was too close, and inside the sanctuary the beast would be too powerful to fight.
    Nicodemus, his blood heated by shame and anger, rewrote the tattooed sentences around his scar, breaking communication between the two parts of himself.
    Suddenly the raid was a failure. If the Walker caught them in the sanctuary, it would be a massacre. The building shook again and the wailing fell silent. Nicodemus turned and sprinted through the dark library. “Vein and Dross to me,” he called to his students. “The rest follow right behind. We run.”

CHAPTER Four
    With Deirdre in her arms, Francesca charged up the eastern stairs. Her ability to speak had returned, but orange spots still swam in her blurry vision.
    As she climbed another flight of steps, Francesca allowed herself to feel burning fear and confusion. Then she forced herself to relax. It was time to fall back on the oldest of physicians’ tricks: when inner composure was unattainable, its semblance must be worn like an actor’s costume and cosmetics.
    â€œYou know, my lady,” Francesca said as coolly as she could between breaths, “you might have found a way to improve medical training by making me run you up to the roof.”
    Deirdre frowned. “How’s that?”
    â€œWhen most clerics blunder, all they have to do is attend a funeral.”
    Deirdre grunted. “But if we made physicians carry their mistakes up six flights?”
    â€œWe’d enter a golden age of near immortality. Only the very skinny would be allowed to die.”
    The avatar sniffed with amusement. “Magistra, are you implying I’m fat?”
    â€œA tiny little thing like you? Never. I could fit