“It might do that,” Kyran agreed. “Or it might kill him.”

AS SHANNON LABORED up steps of the Alacran Tower, Azure gazed through the stairwell’s geometric window screens. Outside lay Starhaven’s northwest quarter. Its many Spirish towers boasted pyriform brass domes. They stood as bold intermediates to the gray Lornish steeples to the south and the white hemispheres that topped the towers in the northeastern Imperial Quarter.

At times, Azure could glimpse the Bolide Garden far below. At this height, it seemed only a small brown square. Last summer Shannon had taken new quarters overlooking the garden. Ongoing renovations had filled the place with stone heaps and dirt piles.

Inside the stairwell, Azure examined the indigo wall tiles and the ceiling’s geometric mosaics.

Shannon, however, couldn’t appreciate what his familiar saw. He was too busy wondering if he had successfully covered his tracks. Earlier, while pretending to research several gargoyles, he had used a knifelike spell to cut into their executive texts. That done, he had written into the constructs memories of talking to him until an hour past midday. Then had come the task of eluding the sentinels Amadi had sent to guard him. Hopefully the two fools were still waiting for him to come out of a privy in the Marfil Tower.

Abruptly, a narrow hallway branched off to the right. When Shannon stopped to regain his breath, Azure wrote teasingly about his age and weakening legs. Shannon affected fatigue and dropped his shoulder so quickly the parrot was left flapping and dashing off laughing accusations of betrayal.

After Azure glanced up and down the stairwell, Shannon crept down the dark hallway and up a ladder to a small metal door. For centuries, Starhaven’s janitorial records had listed the door as broken: “Corrupted tumbler spell: unfrangible.” Janitorial saw no need to fix the door; it opened onto an insignificant gargoyle perch that overlooked the northern walls.

In truth, the door and the landing beyond were the fiercely guarded secret of Ejindu’s Sons-a political faction to which Shannon had once belonged.

Azure bobbed her head. She didn’t like the dark, claustrophobic space.

“A moment longer, old friend,” Shannon cooed while flicking a glowing mass of Numinous passwords into the door’s lock. It sprang open with an iron shriek.

Shannon carefully stepped out onto a narrow landing and beheld the bright landscape. To his left lay the vast, grassy coastal plain. Before him the western slopes of the Pinnacle Mountains stretched away to the horizon. Green alpine forests, spotted with scarlet or gold aspen thickets, covered the steep slopes.

He could make out the skeletons of several dead trees. It made him think of what Deirdre had said about the Silent Blight and trees dying across the continent.

A chill wind tugged at Shannon’s robes and set Azure flapping to keep her balance.

The landing itself was a narrow slab of gray stone surrounded by a crenellated barricade. To the right of the door, inside a small stone nook, slept an eyeless gargoyle with a bat’s face and a pudgy infant’s body. Shannon shook its shoulder.

The spell woke with a twitch. “My father has no ears,” it croaked. “My father taught me to hear. My father has no eyes; he taught me to see. My father is covered with cowhide.”

“Construct, you were fathered from a spellbook,” Shannon answered the verification riddle. “And my wisdom was fathered from a codex of Ejindu’s teachings. My name is Agwu Shannon.”

The gargoyle reached under its feet, into a stone recess that held its white-marble eyes. Other, heavier gargoyles would steal the eyes if it slept with them in.

The gargoyle inserted each marble sphere into its socket, then studied Shannon. “I siphoned a message for you from the last colaboris.” It drew from its belly a glowing, golden rectangle.

Shannon took the paragraph. The Numinous runes felt glassy smooth in his hands. He translated:

Ejindu’s Sons greet our Brother-in-Exile. We feared he had forsaken us. Since the attack on Trillinon and the horrible fire it unleashed, Astrophell has been in chaos. We gladly accept the information our Brother-in-Exile has offered. We do not know if the events in Starhaven pertain to the Erasmine Prophecies. We think it unlikely that Nicodemus Weal is the Halcyon. However, we gladly provide what answers and assistance we can. ANSWER: We know of no faction wishing our Brother or his students harm. ANSWER: We have no knowledge of Mg. Nora Finn’s briber or murderer. No Language Prime revival is known to us. ANSWER: We know little of Mg. Amadi Okeke other than that she has secretly sworn allegiance to the counter-prophecy faction. ANSWER: In exchange for our Brother’s public pledge of support, we shall grant him full use of our Starhaven constructs; however, at this time, we are unwilling to endanger any of our few Starhaven spellwrights by assigning them to your cause. We hope this generous support convinces our Brother to rejoin the Sons in our struggle for a united and peaceful Numinous Order.

Shannon let out a long, relieved breath. This response to his original message, sent earlier that morning, was better than expected. He ripped the sentences apart and began mulling over the answers.

The Sons were always well informed of academic politics. If they did not know of a plot against him, then he was sure none existed. That, taken with their ignorance of Nora Finn’s briber and murderer, provided strong evidence that the creature Shannon had encountered was not connected to the academy.

Amadi’s allegiance to the counter-prophecy factions was more troubling. Sentinels were prohibited from wizardly politics: a fact that did not stop many sentinels from covertly advancing a faction’s interests.

More important, Amadi’s allegiance explained why the provost-a counter-prophecy supporter-had appointed her to lead the investigation. It also explained her interest in Nicodemus’s scar shaped like an Inconjunct and why she had wanted to know what the provost had thought of it. Amadi had also asked the boy if he noticed that chaos increased around him. She must suspect that Nicodemus was not the Halcyon, but the Storm Petrel-a destroyer predicted by the counter-prophecy to oppose the Halcyon.

“Magister, how do you answer?” the bat-faced gargoyle croaked.

Shannon started; he had forgotten about the Sons’ offer of assistance. “Construct, have you read the message?”

The spell wrinkled its bat nose. “I have, as my author intended me to.”

“I do not accuse you, gargoyle, I simply need some answers. How many constructs do the Sons command? Do they still control the compluvium?”

The gargoyle lifted a chubby hand to stroke a long, batlike ear. “We do still hold that portion of the roofworld. As well as two Lornish towers and five Spirish ones. We number fifty-four light- and middle-weight gargoyles; twelve war-weight brutes-only two of quickness. There are also three guardian spells.”

Shannon idly scratched Azure’s neck and thought about this. “I would require both war-quick gargoyles to reside in the compluvium. There must also be enough middle-weight gargoyles to work the Fool’s Ladder.”

The bat-faced construct began stroking his other ear. “Your purpose?”

“I may need the war texts to guard and perhaps evacuate nine cacographic boys.”

The gargoyle blinked. “Their value?”

“They are living, breathing boys,” Shannon snapped.

The bat-faced thing shrugged. “The brutes can be edited immediately, but the Fool’s Ladder will take at least three hours to assemble.”

Shannon took a long breath. It would have been better if the Sons had committed some of their members. Powerful as war-quick gargoyles were, they were no substitute for living authors. Worse was the asking price. Publicly pledging his support to the Sons would end Shannon’s freedom from politics. He would have to commit himself to any cause the faction chose. It would make him, once again, a game piece on a bloody board.