The Codex Lacrimae: The Book of Tears

Chapter 2: The Dhikr Gate of Ibn-Khaldun

"I'm down for now," Khajen ibn-Khaldun said quietly, feeling every one of his sixty-eight years bearing down on his shoulders. He nodded at the orderly who poured warm water over his soapy hands.

"There doesn't seem to be any sign of infection,"he continued, as he took the proffered linen broadsheet and dried. Ibn-Khaldun waited until the youth looked at him again. "Take him to the pilgrim cells along the eastern curtain wall, and let whomever's in charge know that I'll be down shortly."He frowned. "More than likely, Adelbert will be there. Let him know I think the boy's still too pale, and that he's to assign someone to watch him closely."

"Oui, monsieur." The young doctor directed four Hospitallers to raise the bier, then they moved off with Pellion's barely breathing form.

Ibn-Khaldun recalled that he'd been sternly reprimanding the boy less than an hour ago. His final words had been irritated ones, dismissing the child as he'd done hundreds of other students over the decades, but the teacher in him hadn't worried about hurting feelings—sensibilities didn't matter where learning was concerned. Just as a blacksmith honed steel by immersion into heat and cold, he had countless times to compliment and reprimand students as he forged their minds.

He closed his eyes and whispered a brief prayer. What kind of weapon could puncture a self-cauterizing, spear-sized hole through a person?

"That was a curious wound,"an elderly, raspy voice said from behind him. "It smelled of fire, and looked as if someone shoved a burning torch through the boy."

"Oui, I agree ... Brother Nicholas, is it?"Ibn-Khaldun rose to his feet and adjusted the leather satchel on his shoulder that contained the Codex Lacrimae.

"Oui,"the newcomer said, "and as I said earlier, it is a pleasure to finally meet you. Would you like me to hold your bag, Venerable One? It seems a heavy burden."

"No, that won't be necessary,"Ibn-Khaldun replied, glancing sidelong at the man before taking in the entire area near the lower kitchens. Marcus was nowhere in sight. He turned his full attention to Nicholas and Jacob.

Ibn-Khaldun had only recently met this Brother Nicholas—running into him and Jacob as they made their way down a hallway to Arcadian's quarters to tend to Mercedier—but he appreciated his apparent adaptability and quick responses in crises. Even as a newcomer to the castle, he'd taken new orders from the Muslim scholar about the prescribed treatment for the injured Mercedier.

Then the bier had appeared with Pellion's injured form.

Frowning, the elderly scholar glanced about him in the gloom. Something bothered him about the flagstones where the battle occurred. He retrieved a lantern and returned to the site where he gave a fleeting look at the smoking scorch and blood marks on the pavement, then inspected the unadorned wall behind it. The entire area bore the marks of intense heat.

Brother Nicholas continued speaking —how the man could prattle!—but Ibn-Khaldun ignored him, continuing his investigation. Only clumps of melted slag lay at the base of the walls nearby, the splatters were the color and consistency of iron, and still warm to the touch.

Ah. Those puddles of molten metal were lanterns. What power on Earth? No, not of Earth ...

He looked at the satchel. Pellion's injury couldn't be attributed to the Codex Lacrimae, could it? No. The Dark Book had been with him the entire time.

Ibn-Khaldun held no illusions that the Codex might wield power without him sensing it, but this immolation somehow seemed the work of another agency. The two men who'd pursued him for the past six months were the likely candidates for this kind of destruction, although their pursuit had been marked primarily by mundane, physical attacks rather than this kind of wizardry.