“So you also solved the riddle,” Lukas said. “I didn’t think you could do it.” He sounded as defiant as Elsa.
Schönborn smiled. “Yes, the riddle, but we couldn’t find the hiding place. You knew something that your mother didn’t tell me, not even on the rack in my torture chamber, though she screamed like a stuck pig.”
Unspeakable anger consumed Lukas, and he reached for his sword. But he immediately put it back down again when Schönborn pointed at Elsa and his friends. “Careful, not so impetuous, young friend. You surely don’t want anything to happen to them.”
“We’ll make easy work of your mindless henchmen here,” said Jerome, advancing a pace. “It would be best for you to leave, monsieur, before an even greater misfortune occurs. Or have you forgotten that we are Black Musketeers?”
Schönborn laughed. “So young, and already such a fresh mouth. I certainly don’t doubt that you young fellows can strike a few blows on my men. But as you surely know, the frozen can’t be killed with weapons, and sooner or later you’ll get tired or inattentive in your fight, and that will be your downfall. Is that what you want?”
When there was no answer, Schönborn nodded. “Precisely. Do you see? You have your whole life still ahead of you, so don’t throw it away frivolously.” Then he pulled a dagger out from beneath his cloak, picked up the rusted lock, and broke it open. He lifted the moldy cover, and a smile of relief spread across his face.
“Finally!” he exclaimed. “The Grimorium Nocturnum, the Book of the Night. Now it is finally mine.”
He took out an unassuming book about the size of his palm and bound in black leather. For a moment, Lukas felt sure that Schönborn was mistaken. That was the most powerful book of magic in the world? He’d imagined something much larger and more illustrious, a heavy tome bound in gold leaf with colorful letters. This looked more like a cheap, old prayer book that could be found in any village church.
Schönborn cast the empty box aside and ran his hands reverently over the worn leather.
“So many wars, so many dead, so much sorrow because of a book,” he murmured. “Imagine everything the Grimorium Nocturnum has seen—the bloody battles of the Romans and the Gauls, the fall and the burning of Rome, Attila the king of the Huns, princes, kings, emperors . . . Now all its wisdom will be mine. Oh, Book of the Night, reveal your secrets to me!”
Schönborn closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath.
Then he opened the book.
Lukas thought he heard the faint sound of a bell somewhere. At the same time, an icy wind began to blow, rustling through the pages of the book, and there was a scraping and squeaking as if somewhere nearby a huge, invisible door were opening. Startled, Schönborn attempted to close the book again, but he could not.
The Grimorium Nocturnum . . . It’s like a living creature, Lukas thought. It’s fighting back!
Lukas thought of the unnatural cold in the garden, and he was sure it had gotten even colder since Schönborn had picked up the little box.
For heaven’s sake, what powers have been awakened in this book?
Waldemar von Schönborn also seemed to sense that he was in trouble. Desperately, he struggled with the pages that flew back and forth, faster and faster, making a hissing sound like a snake. Suddenly, Schönborn screamed as if something had bitten him. The book slipped from his hands and fell to the ground.
Now several things happened all at once. Giovanni, Paulus, and Jerome drew their swords, attacking two of the Spanish mercenaries. Lukas lunged forward, toward the inquisitor, who screamed again as he looked at his hands that were glowing red, as if they’d been burned by fire. And Elsa made use of the confusion to escape the grip of the third mercenary.
Then she reached for the book.
It was lying right in front of her, and later, no one could say how it had gotten there. Had it flown through the air? Had it simply slipped a few paces in the confusion of the fight? Whatever the explanation, Elsa’s fingers closed around the book, and immediately the wind died down.
Then she ran back toward the labyrinth with the Grimorium.
“Elsa, wait!” Lukas shouted. “Don’t go in there alone.”
Just a moment ago, he was about to attack Schönborn, the murderer of his parents, but now he saw Elsa disappearing between the hedges and was overcome by an unspeakable fear of losing her again. He backed away from Schönborn and followed Elsa into the labyrinth.
At once, he found himself surrounded again by the high evergreen walls of boxwood trees. On his left he heard hurried footsteps, so he turned that way at the next opening, but no one was there—just paths leading off in different directions.
“Elsa!” he cried in despair. “Elsa! Where are you?”
It was so cold that Lukas, wearing thin leather shoes, could hardly feel his feet anymore. Now he realized he’d run off without Giovanni’s map. If he got lost, he’d surely freeze to death.
Something reached out and grabbed his leg, and he stumbled. As he fell, Lukas could see a slender branch wrapped around his ankle. He tried to pull himself loose, but a second branch shot out and wrapped itself around his neck. Lukas gasped and choked, and colored dots appeared before his eyes.
Schönborn! he thought. This is his doing!
With the last of his strength, Lukas drew his sword and slashed at the branch wrapped around his neck. It wriggled and twitched like a worm and finally fell to the ground. With another well-aimed blow, he cut through the branch on his leg, jumped up, breathing heavily, and ran away. Behind him, he could hear a rustling of dry leaves that sounded like the whispering of a hundred voices.
Lukassss . . . Stay, Lukassss . . . You cannnnot esssscape ussss!
Other branches reached out to grab him, but Lukas had been warned. He dodged them and ducked beneath them, waving his sword back and forth. He danced through the dark passageway like he’d never danced before. Prime, seconde, tierce . . . As he slashed left and right, the branches fell to the ground. All the exercises of the last year came back to him as he hacked his way like a whirling shadow through the thicket of branches while the voices around him continued rustling like dry leaves.
Lukassss . . . Lukassss . . . Lukassss . . .
He heard a weak cry.
It was Elsa, and she was crying for help!
Lukas ran on and on, but he had completely lost his bearings, and all the hedges and pathways looked alike. When he came to a fork, he was sure he’d been there just a moment ago.
I’m lost! He panicked. I never should have run off without Giovanni’s map. I should have—
“Lukas!”
This time, the cry seemed to come from close by. Maybe Elsa was just behind the next hedge. He thought he saw a shadow through the thicket of branches with little icicles hanging on them. Was it Elsa? Desperately he sought a way over to the other side. There . . . between the hedges . . . was a small passage. He forced his way through and entered another narrow, shadowy pathway smelling strongly of molding foliage.
Just a few steps away stood Elsa, clenching the book in her hands—but between him and Elsa, one of the three Spanish mercenaries rose up like a mighty tower, his back turned to Lukas, pointing his sword at Elsa’s throat, with the other hand reaching out for the Grimorium.
“El libro,” he demanded in a monotone, “dámelo.” When Elsa did not respond, the sword nicked her throat, and a thin stream of blood trickled down her neck. Only now did Elsa see Lukas, and her eyes widened with surprise and joy. The mercenary, noticing her gaze, hesitated.
“¿Qué pasa?” he growled. “¿Qué—”
Without hesitation, Lukas drew his sword and rushed at the broad-shouldered man, who was at least three heads taller than himself. The mercenary seemed to have expected the attack and spun around in one fluid movement. As the two blades clashed, Lukas noticed the scar on the man’s face.
Before him stood the murderer of his father!
The mercenary had enormous strength, and his sword swept Lukas’s o
wn weapon aside like a twig. Suddenly, the man lowered his sword, then pulled it back, waving it in a semicircle. The razor-sharp blade would have sliced Lukas in two had he not leaped to the side at the last moment. As he jumped, he lunged forward, striking the mercenary right in the crook of the elbow.
It was a perfect blow. The blade slipped past the cuirass, cut through the skin and muscle, and remained stuck inside.
But the man just grinned.
He stepped back a pace, and the blood-smeared blade slid out of the wound, as if nothing had happened.
By now, Lukas knew this would be the hardest battle of his life. The man before him was not only an excellent fighter, he was practically invulnerable, imbued with demonic powers. But Lukas remembered that in Nürnberg, Giovanni had driven away this very warrior with fire. How could he quickly light such a fire here?
The frozen one prepared to strike again, and Lukas kept moving backward until he stood with his back to one of the hedges, the thorns piercing him like little daggers. Elsa, who was behind the mercenary, had sunk to the ground, her hands still clutching the book, staring wide-eyed in terror at her brother. It seemed as if all her strength had failed her.
Lukas remembered how Elsa had blinded the Swedish soldier recently with her magic. A similar trick now would be their salvation, but she appeared too terrified to act. Or was it something else that sapped her of all her power? At that moment, she was not a mighty sorceress, but only a little ten-year-old girl who was terribly afraid.
And Lukas could not protect her.
“Run, Elsa!” Lukas shouted. “Run! I’ll hold off this monster in the meantime.”
But Elsa just shook her head. “Not without you,” she whispered, “not this time. This time we’ll stay together.”
Elsa’s words awakened new, unimagined strength in Lukas. He thrust his sword with lightning speed, delivering attacks, ripostes, thrusts, and blows. It became clear what good teachers he’d had—first his father, later the sword master Dietmar von Scherendingen, and finally Zoltan, the commander of the Black Musketeers. Each had taught him something he could use now in this fight to the death. From his father, strength and speed; from Scherendingen, tricks and feints; and from Zoltan, courage and the indomitable will to overcome any situation, no matter how hopeless.
And God knows, this was a hopeless situation.
Lukas swung a high cut, then riposted, jumped back, and prepared a thwart cut that sent the mercenary tumbling backward. As Lukas advanced, his blade struck the sword arm of his opponent, but once again, the frozen one didn’t even flinch. A wide grin spread across his face as blood dripped from his wound onto the ground.
Then came the next attack.
The two opponents had continued moving backward as they fought and were now standing beneath a latticework bower made of rusty iron bars intertwined with climbing vines and a few withered rosebushes with long icicles hanging down.
Lukas was hot from the fighting, and despite the biting cold, sweat poured down his forehead. Gasping and red faced, he awaited the next attack. His opponent, on the other hand, didn’t appear at all tired. As if savoring his advantage, he took his time, approaching Lukas slowly, sword raised.
Lukas used the slight pause to look around. Where was Elsa? He couldn’t see her anywhere. But he did see something else. Some of the icicles above him were unnaturally thick and long, as if some magic power had formed them into deadly weapons. They looked almost like spears.
Spears . . .
A thought stirred in Lukas’s mind. The frozen man might be invulnerable, but he wasn’t made of iron. He could be stopped . . . at least for a short while.
Lukas acted as if he were exhausted, staggering a few steps back and luring the mercenary farther into the dark arbor. Grinning and showing his teeth, the mercenary approached closer and closer, with a vacant, glassy look in his eyes, like a puppet.
“¡Pequeño bastardo!” he growled. “Vete al diablo.”
Now the man stood directly beneath the icicles. Lukas lowered his sword, as if surrendering, closed his eyes, and knelt down.
The mercenary raised his sword for the final, fatal blow.
“Vete al . . .”
At the same time, Lukas jumped up like a tightly wound spring suddenly released and swung his sword in a half circle, so the icicles in front of him came clattering down like sharp arrows on the frozen one, who reacted too late. His grin turned into a grimace of horror as dozens of icicles rained down. As they bored into his arms, legs, back, and neck, he stumbled, dropped his sword, and fell to the ground, riddled with icy daggers.
“This is for my father,” Lukas declared as he shoved his sword back into its sheath. “Think about that the next time you confront a Lohenfels.”
He knew he didn’t have much time. No doubt the man would get back on his feet soon. Without looking around, Lukas ran down the pathway until he stood between the hedges again, where he’d last seen Elsa.
“Elsa!” he cried. “Where are you? We have to get out of here!”
He heard a whimpering and looked down to see his little sister lying between two withered rosebushes, trembling and looking very small. Gasping, he bent down to her.
“We must go,” he implored her, “fast, before this monster gets up again.”
Elsa stared at him with empty eyes, still clenching the book tightly as if she was afraid it might open by itself.
“The Grimorium Nocturnum,” she whispered. “Its words have been echoing in my mind, as if it wanted to crawl inside me like a viper into its den.”
Lukas pulled his sister to her feet. “Listen, we must flee! Leave this accursed book here, and then—”
Elsa shook her head. “I cannot. I am . . . the last.”
“The last what?” Lukas asked.
“The last of the white sorcerers. That is what the book told me. There are none after me, and it ordered me to guard the ancient wisdom. I cannot leave the Grimorium here, as I am its new guardian.”
“Then just bring it along,” Lukas replied impatiently. “I saw a bright spot back there between the hedges, and I believe there’s a way out. All we have to do . . .” He hesitated as he suddenly realized he’d forgotten his friends in all the excitement. Giovanni, Paulus, and Jerome had to still be there in the clearing with Waldemar von Schönborn and the two other frozen guards. He couldn’t abandon his sister, but the same held true for his friends who had saved his life so many times. He looked at Elsa. What should he do?
“Listen, first I’ll get you out of here,” he told her, “then I’ll go back to the clearing and help the others. If I don’t come back—”
“I’m coming with you,” Elsa said.
“It’s too dangerous. We can count ourselves lucky that we even found the way out.”
“Without me, you won’t find your way back to the clearing,” Elsa replied, defiant as always.
Lukas frowned. “If I couldn’t, then how could you? Remember we no longer have Giovanni’s map.”
“But we have the book, and the book will lead us. Come!”
Elsa turned and ran back toward the center of the labyrinth. Lukas followed, and soon they were again immersed in the gloomy thicket. But unlike Lukas, Elsa seemed quite sure of herself and which paths to take. She stopped from time to time to put the book to her forehead, and it almost looked as if the Grimorium were speaking to her. Then she headed off in another direction. Her exhaustion appeared to have given way to absolute concentration. Now and then, it seemed to Lukas that the twigs and branches were once again reaching out to seize them, but when Elsa ran past, they withdrew, scurrying like rats back into their holes.
After they had been running through the labyrinth for a while, Lukas again heard the sound of swords clashing, and he also thought he could hear Jerome or Giovanni calling for help. He ran faster. They had to be close to the center of the garden now, and he took Elsa by the hand and turned. At the end of the passage, they came to an ivy-covered archway with weathered stone colu
mns that he assumed faced the clearing.
Just as Lukas was about to run toward it, a black whirlwind emerged from between the columns—thousands of tiny dots, like a buzzing swarm of flies. The dots darted wildly in all directions, as if each was looking for its place. Slowly, an image formed, one that Lukas knew all too well.
The black wolf of his dreams.
It glared at him with fiery eyes, and a deep growl came from its wide-open jaws.
“You should not have returned. Who knows, perhaps the two of you would have had a small chance.” It was the voice of Waldemar von Schönborn, who now appeared from a side alley of the labyrinth. Confident of his victory, he smiled at Lukas and Elsa. “But I knew you would return to help your friends. Friendship is a firm bond, yet sometimes it can be a deadly shackle.” He approached them at a leisurely pace while drawing strange lines in the air with his right hand, like a painter with an invisible paintbrush.
He’s drawing the wolf, Lukas realized. He’s painting the wolf with his hand, and the monster is taking shape before our eyes!
“You recognize this wolf, don’t you, Lukas?” Schönborn continued. “A handsome beast, even if no one but you can see it. It feeds on your fear, and cherishes the nightmares it prowls through in order to find you. And sometimes, when your fear is greatest, this monster also takes shape, as it has now.”
Lukas tried in vain to suppress the shivers running though his body and stood there, paralyzed, staring at the apparition crouched on the ground between him and his friends. Clashing swords and cries could be heard in the distance. How long would his friends be able to hold out before the frozen ones finally crushed them? Lukas wanted to run to them, but his fear of the wolf was greater.
“If you so much as harm a hair on my brother’s head, I’ll tear your magic book into a thousand pieces!” cried Elsa, running between Lukas and Schönborn. “He told me what a monster you are.”
“And you believe him? How disappointing.” Schönborn’s face took on a saddened expression. “Have I not always cared for you, Elsa? Have I not taught you everything you need to be a true white sorceress? Before that, you were nothing, but I opened your eyes.” He extended his hand that was still dark red from the burns inflicted on him by the Grimorium. “Now be a good child and give me the book, will you? You know I’d never do anything to hurt you.”
Book of the Night Page 24
