The Codex Lacrimae: The Book of Tears

Chapter 6: Morpeth Strikes

The opponent with whom Marcus rolled down the grassy slope was dead by their second tumble—the boy had yanked as hard as he could on his attacker's head and broken the man's neck.

"Hurt, hurt—Orí! Orí! Orí!" Marcus muttered as he staggered to his feet, ignoring the horses that stamped nearby. He heard the alarmed cries of some members of the crowd of pilgrims below, people who were starting to realize there was a fight on the hill by the loggia and had moved toward the action. The incline of that hill prevented Marcus from seeing what had happened to Aurelius, but the boy saw the archer who'd wounded him running away.

Focusing on the archer, Marcus relaxed as he always did in battle, and waited for the moment when he'd see eight or ten duplicates of the enemy Hospitaller appear. The archer's image remained single, however, moving quickly toward the southwest castle courtyards.

Marcus frowned, uncomfortable about this new aspect of the Jeu de Bataille, or Battle Game. Except for Aurelius and himself, he'd never met anyone who could reduce their presence in his sight to just one version, and he wondered if this enemy's ability was why the archer's arrow had succeeded in nicking Aurelius back at the loggia. Marcus had thrown a dagger to intercept the projectile, yet it had still found its mark.

"Marcus—go find Brother Perdieu!" Squire Pellion shouted at him, trying to catch a group of Hospitallers that chased the archer. "I left him at the top of the hill, helping Ríg,"

"Bonjour, Pellion!" Marcus shouted, even as he shook his head. "Non, non, non. Nous devons obtenir l'homme mauvais. We have to get the bad man!"

Pellion slowed, and tried to shoo Marcus back up the hill. "No, Marcus! Laissez ici! Others are coming—" The boy stopped when he saw that Marcus continued to trot after the group of knights with sword at the ready.

"Nous devons obtenir l'homme mauvais. We have to get the bad man ..." Marcus kept repeating under his breath as he moved forward.

Pellion knew that look. Or, rather, he knew what it meant when Marcus wouldn't look at him. His friend wasn't going to relent. "Oh, for God's sake, get dressed, then!" Pellion groaned, sheathing his own sword quickly and whipping off his short cloak. He tossed it at the trotting boy.

Marcus grinned, and slipped his head through the hooded garment. Though now he appeared somewhat clothed, except that he still lacked shoes. "Nous devons obtenir—"

"Oui!" Pellion exclaimed. "Je sais, et nous le ferons! But, it's full on, Marcus. No mercy, and this isn't a game. They're a dangerous group, and the archer's the worst. Rig's alive, but que homme mauvais took him down."

"Non, Orí not hurt! Orí not hurt!"

Even in crisis, Pellion winced. Marcus looked stricken at the news, and his face had paled.

Both boys sprinted after the Hospitallers who chased the traitor. They needn't have hurried. As Pellion and Marcus rounded the corner and came into the entry hallway to the kitchen areas, the archer rose with a dagger in hand, having just slain the fifth and last of the pursuing knights.

He chuckled when he saw the two youths enter the corridor.

"Oh, das ist gut! Das ist sehr gut!" Morpeth said excitedly, beckoning with bloodstained hands. "Not one, but twoof Santini's friends! Come along, now—let's end this. Fulfill the damn prophecy and bring a Codex back into the Nine Worlds. We just need one of you dead, boys!"

"Bad man! Bad man!" Marcus shouted, raising his sword.

Something shifted in the air between the archer and him, and, thankfully, the boy now saw six Morpeths flash into sight, with a seventh and eighth shimmering in his peripheral vision.