The Codex Lacrimae: The Book of Tears

Chapter 13: Descending the Irminsul

Ríg pushed a final time against the restraining hands, and this time they released him. He rolled, expecting to fall off the pallet in Ibn-Khaldun's quarters, but instead made it to a kneeling position on a circular stone surface.

Cold high winds keened about the place, and the squire realized that he and the two individuals who'd been holding him were elevated above a deep forest.

A dark-haired, slender person with pointed ears and arched eyebrows stared at him, while a blond-haired, athletically built woman clad in a skintight hunter's outfit smiled wearily but mischievously.

"Codex Wielder?" the male asked. "Hah — still not the Sampo, Skade, but perhaps he'll serve even better than that device if we intend to be freed. I'm ... glad to see you survived your flight from Mimir's Well."

"Where's Clarinda Trevisan, Santini?" the woman asked.

Ríg turned quickly aside, embarrassed, upon seeing the depth of her tunic's décolletage and the large, well-tanned curves of her breasts straining against torn laces.

Though irritated by his reaction, she ignored his shyness and patted down his waist and felt along his calf. "No weapons? You're completely unarmed and," she grabbed both of his forearms, "and no Codex." She dropped his hands in disgust. "That magic hatchet would have been something, at least."

"Pardonez-moi?" Ríg met her eyes again. He was well-practiced in concealing his emotions and, no matter how comely the speaker, he certainly wasn't going to reveal the identity he'd kept hidden for five years. "My name's Ríg. Where are we? This isn't the Krak des Chevaliers. Who are you, people? Are you with the pilgrims or the refugees?"

The elf's frown deepened. "I'm Rudyick, and this is Skade—you know us, Santini. As for where we're at, we're above the Sviddengen in Svartalfheim."

"The where?"

"The Scorched Meadow. The place we were heading before Verdandi took us to Glittertind."

Skade peered into the youth's eyes. "Santini, are you well?"

"He appeared here instead of the artifact Kullervo wanted," Rudyick said. "Perhaps the spell affected his mind somehow?"

"No." Skade frowned. "I, too, thought that summoning the Codex Lacrimae might be the one way to escape Kullervo, but I felt its presence only for a fleeting moment, and now this strange behavior from Santini."

She pushed back the hair whipping into his face and looked earnestly at him. "Santini. Look at me. Don't you know us I'm Skade. We traveled together; we've battled together against the Wilde Jagd ... twice, now. You stayed a night in my home." When she saw the youth shake his head, total confusion in his eyes, she looked at Rudyick. "This behavior is passing strange—you may be correct, Rudyick. Some sorcery's at work here."

"My name's Ríg," the youth insisted, removing himself from her soft touch. "You both seem ... unearthly. Are you with a caravan of entertainers? I didn't see you come in, but I've been busy with ... whoa!" He tried to rise to his feet, but the winds increased, and he returned to a bent knee, trying to maintain his precarious balance on the top of an enormous column. It jutted upward from a forest of red, yellow, and brown leaves in autumnal hues. Mountain ranges ringed the forest in the distance, and the sun's low position indicated that the day was about to end.

A dark, billowing plume of smoke rose into the clear air beside the pillar, its fumes rank and oily smelling with an odor that turned Ríg's stomach—burning flesh. The stench reminded him of the aftermath of Mecina, when the bonfires burned night and day to clear the bodies of the hundreds dead.