The Codex Lacrimae: The Book of Tears

Chapter 12: The Return (and Departure) of Ríg

Sometime before Brother Nicholas became Sister Nikola and discovered that the Codex Regius still existed (after being thought lost for over half a millennium) and was guarded now by an Arthurian knight, and before the fire erupted in the library that became a conflagration within minutes of ignition, Ríg awakened abruptly in Ibn-Khaldun's quarters.

It wasn't a pleasant return to consciousness. Water rushed into his nose and mouth, and he gagged, coming into wakefulness with a sputtering sound as he tried to breathe. In an automatic reflex, Ríg threw himself from the cot and onto the floor. Only then did he inhale freely again. Black motes swarmed across his vision, and strong hands pulled him upward.

"By Jesu, Brother Nicholas," Brother Bernard Perdieu exclaimed, "it's good to see that some things do still work without resorting to sorcery."

"I'm so pleased that you listened to my advice, Brother Perdieu," Brother Nicholas replied, his aged voice shaking. "Thank you for bringing that bucket. Let him sit on the floor for a minute. Things have been moving quickly, and he's still probably suffering a bit of shock from that battle at the gate. Just a moment, though. We need to get some of this medication into him to offset the poison from the assassins'blades."

Ríg shook his head, and the water cleared from his eyes. AHospitaller he didn't recognize — a Brother Nicholas? — was giving directions to somebody behind him. He tried to turn his head and see the lead physician of the Krak. "Demetrius?" His voice faltered, confusion blurring his thoughts.

How could his last memory be of Jormungand in a stormy sea, and now he was in the calm, dry antechamber of the library? He saw Brother Adelbert, the keeper of the stores, push his way through three of the younger guards who stood near the entrance to the room.

"Father Arcadian," Adelbert said with irritation, "I really must protest this constant stream of people coming into the Krak — I know we're under siege, but couldn't we put limits on to whom we give refuge? We have Arabs coming in with coffins, for goodness sake—oh," the blond-bearded man grumbled, looking around, "where's Father Arcadian? I was told he'd be here."

The stranger, Brother Nicholas, knelt beside Ríg and slapped him on the shoulder in relieved camaraderie. Why did the name Nicholas cause a twinge of dread?

"He's not here, Adelbert. See, Perdieu? Your squire will be back to normal before you know it," Nicholas said exuberantly. "He's had enough time to get his breath. Sister Helene and Brother Demetrius, do you mind helping young Ríg back to the pallet?"

Two sets of arms lifted Ríg up. He coughed again, feeling nauseous and disoriented. The cold water used to revive him had refreshed him somewhat, but he needed a few moments to think. He'd been away for so long, wandering in places far from this familiar environment; it was hard to believe he'd finally returned. Apparently, all of it, whatever it was—the memories were fragmenting—all of it had been only a dream.

He looked wearily at Nicholas, then to Demetrius, who came around the bed with a peculiar smirk on his face. The elderly monk moved forward and told him to drink something in a vial that Perdieu was holding out for him, but Ríg pulled away. He smelled something metallic in the liquid.

"Brother Perdieu," Demetrius said, with narrowing eyes, "could you have the guards wait outside? We really should give your squire some breathing space ..."

When Perdieu turned his head to comply, Nicholas took the vial from Perdieu and handed it to Demetrius. The physician leaned forward, smiling reassuringly, then cracked an elbow across Ríg's jaw! The abrupt action opened the young knight's mouth, and most of the vial's contents streamed down his throat before he could react.

"Hei-aaackkk!" Ríg gurgled, spitting out as much of the liquid as he could, and then Demetrius's broad hand clamped on his forehead with a palm strike that should have knocked Ríg unconscious.

"What's wrong with him now?" Perdieu asked as the guards left and he returned to the side of the bed.

"Perdieu," Ríg gasped, "they're not—"

Demetrius stuffed a wooden rod between Ríg's teeth, one hand holding it while the other remained pressing against the youth's forehead. "I'm afraid he's having a bad reaction to whatever poison was in those arrows and blades at the gate," Demetrius said as something apparently painful coursed through Ríg's body.

The young man heaved upward, struggling against the doctor restraining him.

"Come ... help me ... would you ... Brother Perdieu?" the physician asked as he pushed Ríg onto the bed.

"Of course, of course!" Perdieu jumped on the other side of the pallet and held down his squire. "It'll be all right, lad! Hold fast, and we'll see you through!" The Burgundian looked up at the impassive features of Brother Nicholas and Sister Helene. "Do you want to hold his legs until this fit passes?"

Nicholas shook his head. "I apologize, Brother—it's against the vows of each of our respective houses. No direct interference. I need to leave, anyway, because I promised a boy that I'd check on his mother, and I need to see Jeremiah in the scriptorium. My job's done here, anyway. I was able to make good on an earlier promise and deliver the elixir to you." Brother Nicholas glanced around the room, nodding at Demetrius and Helene. "After I speak with Brother Jeremiah in the library, I'll meet you near the pilgrim cells."

"Oui, oui," Perdieu said in his gruff manner, not understanding how some of the more ascetic Christian orders could be so passive when a crisis arose. "Off you go, then, and if anyone needs you, they'll know where to find you."

Brother Nicholas bowed and left the chamber. Sister Helene stood off to one side, watching Ríg intently. "Whatever poison it was seems very ... painful," she commented. "Do you think he's suffering much?"

"Well, you know these Saracens," Brother Demetrius said, still holding his hand tightly over Ríg's mouth and forehead. "They can be devious if they set their mind to it, and the Assassins are the slyest sect of all."

"I thought the traitor who Marcus killed was Frankish," Perdieu said, feeling Ríg becoming still below him as sleep overtook the squire. He glanced across at Demetrius, who still seemed to be straining against the youth. "There now, Brother Demetrius, I think that's enough. The fight's gone out of him. We can probably let him go and get some rest, eh?"

Demetrius glanced savagely at the Burgundian, and then seeming to recall where he was, collected himself and resumed speaking in a quiet, professional demeanor. "You're correct, of course," he said, withdrawing his hand from the unconscious teenager. He gazed at Perdieu. "Brother, I think that we've got this situation handled—why don't you go ahead to the meeting that Arcadian's calling in the chapel, and I'll be there when I'm sure that Ríg's stable?"

"Oui," Brother Adelbert said, "the assembly should meet within the hour."

"I'll leave a few of the guards outside the door," Perdieu said, "in case you need them, and they can also let Master Khaldun know where we've gone."

"Master Ibn-Khaldun?" Adelbert repeated with a slight sneer. "Why would we want to include him in an emergency meeting?"

"Come now, Adelbert," Perdieu growled as they headed out the door, "you don't have to like the old man, but youdohave to respect him. I won't hear of anything else while I'm around ..."

When the two men departed, Demetrius returned his attention to Ríg. The Huntsman's hand pressed one final time onto the young knight's forehead. Emerald and orange fire coruscated around it. "Now, Santini," Farbauti growled, "away with you. I imagine you'll not fare so well now, with no memory of your time in the Nine Worlds, nor of the Codex Lacrimae. Morpeth awaits you at the Sviddengen! "