Spellbound Read Online Free Page B

about thinking through a magical text?”
    â€œI believe so. There are stories about the other slave. The city people call him the Savanna Walker.”
    Francesca thought she misheard. “What?”
    â€œThe Savanna Walker—you know, the creature that drives men mad in the Deep Savanna.”
    â€œBut that’s an old wives’ tale!”
    â€œOh, dear,” she said with obvious enjoyment, “it seems old wives know something our learned cleric doesn’t.”
    Francesca muttered, “Then you should’ve gone to an old wife with your bloody cursed lungs and bloody monster chasing—” She stopped as the rung in her hand vibrated.
    Deirdre swore and began climbing faster. “The Walker’s closing in.”
    Francesca focused on putting one hand above the other and keeping her boots from slipping.
    They reached an octagonal room at the minaret’s crown. Eight broad windows opened onto upsloping ramps that blocked everything but the sky. Folded lofting kites sat before all but two windows. From both empty spaces, thick chains rose into the sky. The place echoed with the clicking and chirping of iron chain links.
    Deirdre hurried to one of the bundled kites while Francesca panted. Suddenly a man’s wailing voice sounded from farther down the minaret. Deirdre turned around. “It’s the beast’s devotee.”
    Francesca peered down the shaft and saw a dark figure climbing the ladder. He let out a ragged scream and started climbing faster. Something was in his hand. A knife?
    â€œGet back,” Deirdre ordered. “As soon as his head appears, hit it with your stunning spell.”
    Francesca stepped away from the shaft. Her heart racing, she examined the golden sentences in her forearm and then looked up. Deirdre had found a length of iron chain and had assumed a fighting stance.
    The man’s screams intensified. Deirdre spoke loudly, evenly. “The Savanna
Walker creates his devotees by spellbinding and destroying much of their minds. The poor soul in the shaft is already as good as dead. Once the Savanna Walker finishes an attack, he does something to his devotees, swallows them into his body or devours them or—”
    Just then the man emerged from the minaret’s shaft. He was in his thirties, skinny, wearing a ragged longvest. He was holding some kind of crude club. With a shriek, the man climbed into the room and lunged at Deirdre. She danced back, avoiding his club, and then brought her chain around. It struck his face and he stumbled backward.
    With a cry, Francesca cast her stunning spell. The net of golden sentences wrapped around the attacker’s head. Instantly he collapsed.
    Light-headed, Francesca sat heavily on the stone floor.
    Deirdre laughed in triumph. “Francesca, come here. We have to use one of these kites to get out …” Her voice died as she looked at the stunned man. “No, wait. I have an idea.” She nodded. “It’s perfect. We might still fool the demon. The Walker has consumed other artifacts in the past. Francesca, do you have that anklet—the one I took off of you?”
    â€œYes,” Francesca said firmly, even though she felt tremulous. “It’s in my belt purse.” Her hands were shaking.
    â€œQuickly, come here. We need to put that anklet into this poor bastard.”
    â€œI … d-don’t understand,” Francesca stammered as she got to her feet.
    â€œThe Walker has been known to steal and consume powerful objects; we’ll use that to weaken him. Come here. The anklet needs to be in this man’s body. It can’t be around his ankle or in his hands or clothes. It needs to be inside of him so the Savanna Walker won’t notice until it’s too late. Can you cut him open? Put the chain in his stomach and then sew him up?”
    Francesca now had the anklet in her hand. She shook her head. “It’d be simpler to textually pass