Spellwright by Blake Charlton

Prologue The grammarian was choking to death on her own words. And they were long sharp words, written in a magical language and crushed into a small, spiny ball. Her legs faltered. She fell onto her knees. Cold autumn wind surged across the tower bridge. The creature standing beside her covered his face with a voluminous white hood. “Censored already?” he rasped. “Disappointing.” The grammarian fought for breath. Her head felt as light as silk; her vision burned with gaudy color. The familiar world became foreign. She was kneeling on a stone bridge, seven hundred feet above Starhaven’s walls. Behind her, the academy’s towers stretched into the cold evening sky like a copse of giant trees. At various heights, ribbon-thin bridges spanned the airy gaps between neighboring spires. Before her loomed the dark Pinnacle Mountains. Dimly, she realized that her confused flight had brought her to the Spindle Bridge. Her heart began to kick. From here the Spindle Bridge arched a lofty half-mile away from Starhaven to terminate in a mountain’s sheer rock face. It led not
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