Read Online Spellbreaker by Blake Charlton - Free Book Online Page A

began to churn faster and their luminosity grew. No doubt the water was laced with the River Thief’s godspells. So long as his disspells lasted, Nicodemus would burn through such texts. The River Thief would now be aware of Nicodemus’s approach but unable to stop him.
    Or so Nicodemus had thought. Not two strokes from the boat, Nicodemus felt his disspells deconstruct. Paragraphs snapped with audible cracks and flaked off like old paint. In moments, he was swimming linguistically naked. He took one more stroke and was reaching for the barge when the currents around him erupted into a fury of force and foam.
    The water became gelatinous. Somewhere on the boat sounded three detonations. Something hard locked around Nicodemus’s feet and yanked him underwater.
    Pulled down through ten feet of limpid river, Nicodemus stretched his arms up toward the vanishing light and wondered if he were, after all, a fool for testing his first rule of fighting with a water god.
    Or, for that matter, his second rule.
    A geyser of light erupted from somewhere above water. Nicodemus’s ears rang with the sound of his own voice. When an envoy first joined his party, he would sometimes test the newcomer about different types of neodemons. “What,” he would ask, “is first rule of bringing down any water god?”
    When the envoy did not know the answer, John and Doria—who had heard his lectures many times—would reply in monotone, “Don’t get in the God-of-god’s damned water.”
    Nicodemus would nod and ask, “And what is the second rule of bringing down any water god?”
    His followers would flatly reply, “Don’t get into the God-of-god’s damned water.”
    As Nicodemus’s world dissolved into blackness, he prayed for an exception to prove his rules.

 
    CHAPTER FIVE
    Nicodemus thought he was still drowning in the river when he found himself hanging upside down on his stolen barge. Water dripped into his eyes, blurred his vision, plastered his long hair to his face. A soft green light shone behind him.
    Inversion filled Nicodemus’s head with pressure while strange texts blunted his thoughts, preventing him from spellwrighting. It seemed the neodemon had cast several censoring spells around his mind—several because Nicodemus’s cacography was slowly dispelling the texts in direct contact with him. If he focused on misspelling, he could accelerate their deconstruction. But for the moment, it served his purposes to appear harmless.
    â€œYou are censored and bound by the feet,” announced a calm female voice. “I wouldn’t attempt to free your body or mind unless you’d like to be formally introduced to excruciating pain.”
    â€œThank you, but we’re old acquaintances,” Nicodemus croaked while spitting the hair away from his mouth. “No need for formalities.” He held his arms up, trying to push down on the deck and release the pain in his ankles. But the boards were nearly half a foot out of reach.
    â€œThat you are a spellwright is obvious,” the calm voice said. “An adept at disspells, nonetheless. What I cannot surmise is in what languages you spellwright. Enlighten me on that subject.”
    Nicodemus coughed a few more times and gathered his wits. He had to lie as little as possible; it would keep his story straight and make things smoother if the deity converted. “I studied with the kobold skinmages of the Pinnacle Mountains. Touching my skin could be dangerous.”
    â€œI have never heard of skinmages. Are there many of you in the South?”
    â€œNot many who are human. I may be the only one.” At last Nicodemus cleared the water and hair from his face and discovered a swaying view of the ship’s deck, its gunnel, the jungled riverbanks of the Matrunda sliding past. Apparently the River Thief had believed his Papa to the Rescue routine and was fleeing downriver with a new