The Codex Lacrimae: The Book of Tears

Chapter 19: The Knights Hospitaller

"I'd respectfully remind all assembled here that we're in a seriously compromised position with dawn less than eight hours away," Brother Bernard Perdieu said with authority, his burly features awash in the lantern and torch light of the great chapter hall.

The former baron, the top of his chain-mailed hauberk visible at the throat of his tight-fitting monastic robes, stood before the stone dais where Arcadian sat on a wooden, throne-like chair. His booming voice projected to the four hundred and fifty Hospitallers permanently stationed at the Krak des Chevaliers.

Ríg stood nearby, still feeling shaky from the potion that Alexander Stratioticus had given him a couple hours ago. To his left, Alex still kept a wary watch on him—the Greek hoplitarchleaned against the wall near the jeunes, or young warriors, who were the elite of the teenaged Hospitaller trainees.

Dietrich, remaining in his disguise as Apprentice Dieter, sat at the end of a pew closest to Ríg. He rose to his feet, whispered something to Jeremiah, then came close to Ríg. "I'll be back, Santini," he said, glaring upward. "A Sampo burns again, but this one isn't for me."

"What does that mean?" Ríg asked.

"It means I'm going to either kill the new owner, or, as with ... you, I'll try to learn this new Sampo's purpose."

"I still don't—"

"Bah! You talk too much. Look for me before the battle, or not at all."

With that, the disguised arch-mage bowed, appearing to all others as an apprentice receiving permission from the senior squire, and disappeared into the crowd of Hospitallers at the back of the gallery.

To Ríg's right, a deep-cowled Clarinda Trevisan snorted and gripped her quarterstaff. "I still don't trust him," she muttered.

"He's an Arch-Mage, Clare," Ríg said.

"Whose full name is Dietrich the Mad!"

"I don't think I should be the judge of anyone's sanity," he whispered.

"Nor do I," she agreed, still frowning. "I don't trust you, either."

He grimaced, but turned away as Brother Perdieu's volume increased. His master could still bellow when he wanted to.

From the shadows of her hood, Clarinda, too, shifted from keeping an eye on Santini to watching the knightly assemblage prepare for war.

"... and, to repeat," Perdieu said, reiterating a point he'd made ad nauseam during his ten-minute speech. "I can command men, Grand Master Arcadian." He glanced at his supporters in the pews closest to him. "Those gathered here, those friends who have fought beside me, they can testify to how I've quashed rebellions in southern Francia before coming to the Holy Land. I assure you that I'll get us through this siege intact."

Ríg didn't want to hear Perdieu speak any longer; instead, he wanted to go somewhere far from the castle, some distant place untouched by such things as the trickery of the Codex Lacrimae, or possession attempts by the Singing Sword. He frowned. He wanted to go back in time, to find a place where the Norns still lived, safe in their grottoes by their magic pool. His thoughts were still confused, but the deaths of the Norns loomed as the most horrible of his recent memories. He simply couldn't stop thinking about each of them.

Skuld, slain in the Sviddengen of Svartalfheim.

Verdandi, butchered in the hallway outside the scriptorium.

Urd, killed while dashing from the shadows in the library.

He opened his eyes and saw Clarinda looking at him. Buon Dio! She was so beautiful, and he felt that he could lose himself forever in her sea-green eyes. That thought made him pull away, not wanting her to see how much comfort he took in her presence. The guilt he felt over the Norns' deaths made it difficult to breathe, let alone be with any of the Sisters' successors.