A few of the night terrors covering Nicodemus shifted uneasily.

“But I can sense your general proximity. I know you’re close enough to hear me. And I might find you yet.”

Gravelly footsteps sounded again. “But if I don’t catch you with this golem, I will with another. No matter where you run, the emerald will find you. It is part of you.”

Again came the eerie, echoing laugh. “Fitting that you will always find yourself.”

The footsteps were growing louder. “So there is no use running, whelp. You are one of us. Your mother too was a demon-worshiper. Typhon created you by bringing them together. Your family is vital to the Disjunction.”

The monster sniffed as if annoyed. “Ah, yes, you must understand about your family. No doubt you know an Imperial clan ruled the ancient continent. No doubt you know you are an Imperial, one who possesses royal characteristics. But you cannot know that the Imperial family mastered Language Prime. Only those of full Imperial blood could comprehend and compose primal texts. So the Imperials bred themselves carefully to keep the talent. When humanity fled across the ocean, your family was scattered. The blood ran thin and the talent was lost.”

Fellwroth’s boots came back into Nicodemus’s view as the golem hobbled back toward his horse. “Since then, there have been a few others like you, gifted in Language Prime. Typhon has been breeding Imperials since he and I crossed the ocean two hundred years ago. You are one of the products of this breeding.”

Fellwroth’s legs wobbled, causing the nearby horse to shift its feet. “Why are the demons breeding Language Prime spellwrights? Because Typhon discovered how to use Language Prime to compose a dragon. No doubt you’ve heard what the first dragon has done to Trillinon. Typhon and I wrote that wyrm using your Language Prime fluency via the emerald. It took ten long years.”

Fellwroth’s feet shuffled as if the golem was having trouble staying balanced. “But that dragon, being my first attempt, was flawed. So I set it loose on Trillinon to weaken humanity. Now I must replenish the emerald so I can compose another dragon to be stronger and more intelligent. When I have a wyrm powerful enough, I will fly across the ocean to the ancient continent. There I will revive Los and help him to initiate the War of Disjunction.”

Somewhere an owl hooted.

“When the demons enslave humanity, they will want captains among the men. If you serve me, Nicodemus, they will give back the missing part of your mind. You will be complete. You will know power, wealth, happiness beyond your ability to imagine.”

When Fellwroth spoke again, the words came out clipped, as if the creature were in pain. “So you see your choices. You can serve me and know vast reward, or you can run. I won’t kill you when I catch you. I’ve never wanted you dead. If you perish, I cannot replenish the emerald.”

The owl hooted again.

“I will distort your mind, make you more disabled than Typhon made that giant oaf. You will be a slobbering fool. The emerald will replenish itself more slowly, but I will not have to worry about your slipping from my grasp. That has been my goal all along-to find you and further cripple your mind. But now that you are free in the world, I am willing to bargain. Your resourcefulness has impressed me. Join me.”

Fellwroth drew another long, whistling breath and waited as if for Nicodemus to call out an acceptance.

“No response? Perhaps thoughts of prophecy cloud your thinking. Perhaps you think fate will save you. I must tell you then that the human prophecies are nonsense. After the Exodus, humanity longed for the return of a full-blooded Imperial so profoundly they fabricated these prophecies. They mixed facts about your family with legend and myth.”

Fellwroth began to cough-it sounded like someone striking a pot with a metal spoon. When the racket finally ended, the creature spoke again.

“Some prophecies predict only one full-blooded Imperial will arise to become a savior. The druidic nonsense about the Peregrine is an example. In the same way, the highsmiths prophesied the coming of the Oriflamme, the hierophants the coming of the Cynosure. But other magical societies imagine two Imperials will arise, one a savior, one a destroyer. Wizards are this way with their rot about the Halcyon versus the Storm Petrel. But it’s all drivel. All prophecies are equally false.”

Again Fellwroth made the clanging cough.

“The truth is that full-blood Imperials like you are only tools. Tools that might be used to impede or empower the Disjunction. And you, Nicodemus, are a tool made by demons for the Disjunction.”

Nicodemus screwed his eyes shut. He still felt dazed and numb. He could understand everything the monster was saying, but none of it seemed real.

Fellwroth was making a low, echoing growl. “If you run from me, you will face dangers about which you know nothing.”

The monster paused as if considering something. “Only a few human deities were aware of Typhon’s presence. The great gods and goddesses are too busy governing their kingdoms to notice. But a handful of lesser deities have discovered Typhon’s presence and formed an alliance to oppose him. They call themselves the Alliance of Divine Heretics, and they too have been trying to breed a Language Prime spellwright. But none of your relatives have lived past infancy.”

Fellwroth laughed once. “The ongoing war between the Disjunction and the Alliance of Heretics is a pathetic one. We slaughter all Imperials born to the Alliance, and they kill every one born to the Disjunction… everyone but you, that is. And I must give Typhon his due; it was brilliant to steal your talent rather than raise you to use it for us. And then he disguised you as a cacographer. Not in a thousand years would the Alliance suspect a retarded boy of being our Imperial.”

Fellwroth’s legs began to quake. “I’m telling you this because the instant the Alliance learns of your existence, they will assassinate you. Think on it: by killing you they would deprive the emerald of its power and hence deprive us of our Language Prime and so our ability to compose a second dragon.”

The monster’s legs now shook enough to make him stagger. “You are in more danger than you realize. No doubt the Alliance of Heretics is already aware of you. Who do you think sent Deirdre, that would-be-druid of a girl? She will kill you the instant she has the opportunity to do so without ruining the druids’ standing at the convocation. Surely you must understand now, whelp. I am your only chance at survival. You must join me.”

Suddenly Nicodemus’s keloid started to burn.

The golem’s legs quit their tremor. “I think…” the monster wheezed as he started to limp toward Nicodemus. “I think I feel your presence.”

But walking proved too difficult for Fellwroth; a white hand sank to steady the creature against the ground.

“If I could only see you,” Fellwroth grunted. “What is this mysterious language that conceals you?”

Slowly Fellwroth managed to stand. The monster’s breathing was more labored now. “Perhaps you hate the Disjunction so much, hate those who created you so much, that you would consider suicide to deprive us of the emerald. It won’t make a difference. I have already set the wheels in motion to give you a cousin. In time I will breed another Imperial. Do not sacrifice yourself for nothing.”

The monster shuffled closer; his boots were now a foot away. One of the nightblue terrors covering Nicodemus whimpered.

“Nicodemus,” Fellwroth wheezed, “bind yourself to our cause and you shall be rewarded beyond your imagination. All you need do is return to Starhaven. I will collect you there.”

The monster took another faltering half-step. His toe landed an inch from Nicodemus’s face. Two night terrors cringed.

Fellwroth started to take another step, but a night terror threw out a tentacle to strike the golem’s shin. The murderer faltered, stumbled backward and then fell to his knees.