He couldn't catch his breath enough to curse aloud. Keeper take it. That hurt!
Again he tried to push himself up, but his left arm had dislocated with the fall. Levering himself up with his right hand, he struggled to his knees, then to his feet. His shoulder ached, adding its protests to the symphony of pain coursing through him. He scooped up the book, which had slipped from his belt.
The peal of a bell shattered the silence of the night. Torches flickered in the courtyard and the sounds of shouts echoed from within the house.
I have to get out of here now, before they think to search the gardens.
A scream tore from his lips as he reset his shoulder. He could handle the dull, throbbing ache, and he needed use of the arm if he was to escape. He fled into the thicket on unsteady legs, pulling his hood over his face. The dark fabric blended with the shadows of the garden.
I believe I've worn out my welcome at Lord Apus' mansion. A pity, really. I would have loved to read a few of those volumes stored there.
He glanced at the ancient tome clutched in his left hand.
At least I managed to find some reward for my trouble.
He could only hope the book held some of the answers he sought.
Chapter Fifteen
Trembling fingers gripped a makeshift weapon. Human eyes locked onto beast's. Intelligence no longer burned in the bear's eyes; only maddening need remained.
Fear flashed through the man. The brute towered over him, weighed four times as much, with strength enough to tear limb from limb.
Animal instinct fought for survival. 'Flee!'
Racing thoughts filled with panic, he sprinted across rocky terrain. 'Must find safety.'
He fled the death hunting him, running toward death of a different sort.
A rock twisted underfoot, throwing him to the floor. He scrambled onward in desperation. Two legs carried him slower than four.
The monstrous creature blocked out the sunlight with its bulk. Vicious claws ripped into the man, taking with it skin, bone, and eye. Blood streamed from the man's face. Ear-shattering roars drowned out his screams of agony.
Somehow, he stumbled on. The pain of his torn face lent wings to his feet. The creature—once companion, now monstrous foe—gave chase.
Through the reek of fear, the man's questing senses found what he sought: the sweet scent of flowers the color of the bright sky far, far above.
The bear feared the blue blossoms. The man would use that to his advantage.
Blood dripped down his face, arms, and neck, but he ignored it. Sharpened bone cut through the flowers around him. Sap dripped onto the makeshift weapon.
Roars echoed behind him, growing louder with every beat of his panicked heart.
'Fight or die.'
* * *
The Hunter jerked upright, breathing hard. For one heart-rending moment, he could feel the agony, his fingers white-knuckled around the makeshift weapon. Blood trickled from his guts, he—
No. It's just a dream!
He was awake. Only the phantom of pain remained.
The sound of choking reached him. Bardin's eyes were wide in terror; the Hunter's fingers gripped his throat.
"Bloody hell!" He wrenched his hand away from Bardin's neck and retreated as far as the small shelter permitted.
Bardin coughed and gasped. The Hunter stared down at his right hand, still twisted into a claw, as if it gripped the bone weapon from his dream. No, from his memory. The left side of his face throbbed in remembrance.
"That," Bardin rasped, "was not pleasant." He rubbed his throat.
Red welts showed on Bardin's throat. The man would carry the bruises for days.
Shame and horror burned in the Hunter's stomach. "I-I'm sorry," was all he could stammer out.
Bardin's hoarse, wheezing cough sounded awful. The Hunter moved closer to the bald man and placed a hand on his shoulder. Bardin flinched at the Hunter's touch, a hint of unease in his eyes.
The Hunter retreated to his blankets and sat hugging his knees, unsure of himself or what Bardin would do. "I-I don't know what came over me."
Bardin gave the Hunter a rueful grin and rubbed his throat. "I do. Night terrors, a very powerful sort. That, young Rell, is a fear I have not seen in a long time. Not since…" Bardin trailed off, his face an expressionless mask. He withdrew into himself, and his hand caressed the pendant around his neck.
"I…" The Hunter couldn't think of what to say.
Bardin sat back on the pile of ragged blankets. His hand never left the filthy ornament at his throat. "Tell me about it, lad. Did it have something to do with that?" He thrust his chin at the Hunter's torn left eye.
"Aye."
"You said a wolf did it?" Bardin eyed him skeptically.
The Hunter hesitated. He didn't want to lie to Bardin, but could he tell the man the truth? He had already told Bardin more than he wanted to the previous night.
He shook his head. "No."
"Thought not." Bardin scratched his bald head. "I've seen wounds like that before. Too large to be a wolf. More like a bear." He eyed the Hunter askance.
"A bloodbear." The Hunter shuddered.
Bardin's jaw dropped. "Keeper's arse! Heard those bastards can be ferocious!"
The Hunter remained silent. The memory of his time spent in the canyon played over in his mind. The fear had been so real…
"It's why they're called that, you know." Bardin's voice cut into his thoughts.
"What?"
"Bloodbears. They get their name because they go blood-crazy during mating season. Most other animals know to avoid them when they're in heat. They've been known to rip wolves and catamounts to pieces in their lust-madness."
The bear's estrous scent filled the Hunter's nostrils. "Had I known that, I think I would have avoided the creature. Didn't have much of a choice at the time."
Bardin raised an eyebrow. "Oh? How did you run across one of those things? I read somewhere that they had been hunted nearly to extinction over the last centuries."
"I ran across one in the Chasm of the Lost." It felt odd to tell the truth. "Actually, the bear saved my life when I was near death. Then one day, the damned thing tried to rip me apart."
Bardin's other eyebrow shot up. "I'm surprised you survived the encounter."
"Almost didn't. Hardly managed to escape with my life. Came away with this to show for it." The Hunter pointed to the mangled left half of his face. "Well, this and a mess of injuries that have mostly healed by now."
Bardin reached beneath his blankets and produced a wine skin, which he offered to the Hunter. "Drink? You look as if you could use one after a nightmare like that."
"Thanks." The Hunter nodded, took the skin, and tipped it to his lips. A thought suddenly struck the Hunter: Bardin had just carried on a perfectly normal conversation, without a shred of muttering, mumbling, or nonsense. He had even released the pendant.
The stale reek of alcohol on Bardin's breath told the Hunter everything he needed to know.
"Seems the wine helps to bring things into focus, eh?"
Bardin smiled and nodded. "You noticed?" He removed the stopper and drained the last drops. "Drink tends to push away the chatter in my head. Drains away some of the worries. Almost makes things clear again. Almost."
"Makes sense. A friend of mine once told me wine turns off the part of your mind that creates the fears and anxieties."
"Wise man, your friend."
Bardin studied the Hunter, his eyes piercing, as if boring into the Hunter's thoughts in search of secrets.
The man's intense scrutiny made the Hunter uncomfortable. He's definitely sharper than he looks at first blush. A bit of drink brings out his shrewd nature. I'll have to remember that if I spend much more time around him. Can't have any more of my secrets getting out.
He shifted and sat up. "Well, I'm already awake, so I think I'll get some reading done."
Bardin gave the Hunter a sardonic smile. "Reading, eh? Figured you were a man of
letters. You don't have that witless look that marks you as illiterate."
The Hunter shrugged. "Aye, learned years ago. A useful skill for my trade. I've tried to keep in practice as often as I can, though in my current state"—he gestured toward the filthy shelter around him—"let's just say it's hard to find reading material. I did manage to get my hands on one book, though."
Before he realized what he was doing, he had pulled the tome from beneath his cloak and held it up to Bardin.
"Beautiful!" Bardin took it with reverence, stroking the stiff binding with delicate fingers. "What is it?"
"Not sure. I was in a bit of a hurry when I grabbed it, so I didn't have a chance to look over the contents."
Bardin handed back the book. The Hunter opened the cover, and excitement coursed through him at sight of the looping, elaborate lettering within.
"Romance of the Divine," he read the title aloud. "A tale of love immortal."
The words hung in the air for a moment. Reality sank in, and he slammed the book shut, stomach twisting in rage.
"Keeper's stones! Of all the books I could have taken, I grabbed a Watcher-damned work of romance. Who wrote this dross?"
He eyed the faded, cribbed lettering on the spine. "Kar…Kara…Karannos…T…Tai…"
"Karannos Taivoro?"
The Hunter studied the name more closely. "Aye, that could be it, though I can't be certain. This volume is old and faded, almost too much to read." The color drained from Bardin's face. "What is it, Bardin? What's wrong?"
"N-Nothing," Bardin said, hurriedly. "I've just got to…er…get b-back to work…" The bald man turned his back on the Hunter, and the sound of shuffling papers filled the tent.
"Bardin?"
No answer came. What in the bloody hell was that? Does he know something?
"Bardin—" he began.
"I said nothing!" the man snapped, without turning to face the Hunter. "Now leave me alone. I have work to do."
The abrupt change in Bardin's demeanor startled the Hunter. He stared at the back of the bald man's head, trying to make sense of it all.
From interested to angry to ignoring me all in the space of a few heartbeats. Crazy bastard!
He leaned back against a crate, wincing at the throbbing in his left arm. He had spent the entire day resting, but still the shoulder hadn't recovered from his fall in Lord Apus' garden.
The book in his hands intrigued him. He had heard of Karannos Taivoro—indeed, every good Einari was familiar with the works of the mad playwright. Regarded as one of the finest authors on Einan, the tragedies and comedies of Taivoro could be found in every library around the world.
What intrigued Bardin so? What could have been of such interest to draw him from his "important work"?
He turned the book over, studying it from every angle. There was nothing remarkable about it. The tome smelled faintly of dust and vellum, but he could see nothing out of the ordinary.
Perhaps the contents of the book interested him. But a romance?
With gentle hands, he cracked the book open to the first page.
'Herein lies the account of the immortal love shared by Kharna the Mighty and his consort, the fair Alzara.
In the days before Einan came to be…'
Stifling a snarl, the Hunter flipped through the book in search of any mention of demons, Abiarazi, Bucelarii, the Serenii—anything even remotely connected to his past. Page after page of romantic follies met his eye, as Taivoro the tragedian told of the budding romance between the two gods.
A growing desperation filled him. Had he wasted his one chance to find something of value in Lord Apus' vaults? The merchant-noble's mansion would be heavily guarded now. He had little chance of getting in undetected again, and, given his current condition, fighting his way in and out would be suicide.
He started from the beginning of the book, taking care to read every word. Hours passed, the candle burned low, his back ached from the awkward position, and still the Hunter searched for any scrap of information that could give him answers.
There has to be something. The tome had sat upon the shelf with the other volumes of ancient history, and it looked to be nearly as old as the others.
Yet, when he came to the final flowery word of the last page, he had found nothing.
Watcher take it! He fought down the overwhelming urge to hurl the book into the muck. Keeper-damned useless piece of—
"What are you looking for, Rell?" Bardin's quiet voice filtered through the Hunter's rage.
"What?" The Hunter looked up, and found Bardin staring at him with a curious expression.
Bardin stared at him through clear, focused eyes. "Clearly, you are searching for something in that volume. What are you not finding that is making you so angry?"
"Anything to tell me about…" The Hunter hesitated, not yet ready to tell Bardin the full truth. "…the early history of the world," he finished lamely.
"And you think that Taivoro in your hands will hold the answers?"
The Hunter knew how ridiculous it sounded to find insight into his past in the pages of a romance novel. But what choice did he have? He had just this one book, with little hope of finding more. "I have to try. I have nowhere else to search."
Bardin held his gaze for a long moment, then, with a sigh, put down the piece of parchment that had held his attention. "Child."
The Hunter's face burned and he balled his fists. "What in the fiery hell are you talking about? I get angry at coming up empty-handed in my search, and you call me a child?"
Bardin flinched beneath the tirade and held up his hands in a defensive gesture. "Whoa, lad, hold on there! Calm down and hear me out."
Blowing through his nose, the Hunter forced his hands to relax. "Speak."
"I said 'child' not because you are acting childish." Bardin stared at the Hunter, the fear in his eyes mixing with surprise. "I was referring to what you have there in your hands."
"Huh? This?"
"A Child's Cipher," Bardin said, giving the Hunter an expectant look. Surprise showed on his face at the Hunter's blank expression. "You've never heard of it?"
"Can't say as I have," the Hunter growled. "Are you going to tell me what in the Keeper's loincloth you're talking about, or will you just keep insulting me?"
"Easy, friend Rell." Bardin chuckled and patted the Hunter on the shoulder. "Here, let me show you."
With careful movements, the bald man set the tiny candle on the floor between them.
"Allow me." He took the book from the Hunter and turned the yellowed pages with reverence. "Hmm," he mused. "Yes…yes…"
He read for a moment in silence, then nodded, as if finding what he sought.
"Look here," he pointed a grimy finger at the top of the page, holding the book in the light of the candle.
The Hunter bent to take a closer look at the series of lines etched into the parchment.
"The lines?" He raised his head to stare into Bardin's eyes. "I thought they were just illustrations left there by the scribe who wrote the book."
"That's what you're supposed to think!" Bardin smiled at the Hunter, triumphant. "But, if you look carefully, you'll see they are different on every page." He turned a few pages to illustrate his point.
The Hunter could make nothing of the lines scrawled on the page. "So you're telling me these are some sort of childish encoding?"
Bardin snorted. "Childish? Dear me, not at all." He chuckled and shook his head, giving the Hunter an enigmatic smile. "I tell you this, lad, the Child's Cipher is far from childish. Indeed, it's one of the most difficult codes on Einan, and nearly impossible to crack!"
Chapter Sixteen
The Hunter's heart sank. Well, so much for that.
Bardin, however, just grinned. "The name derives from the code's design."
He snatched up a piece of parchment from the pile spread around his blankets, and, using the stub of a leaden stylus produced from the mess, he scratched out a crude circle.
"Thi
s," he said, tapping the circle with the tip of the stylus, "is an innocuous circle, the shape a child would draw."
"Yes, I can see that. So what does a circle have to do with a secret code?"
"Simple!" Bardin made a few more marks on the parchment and again held it up to the Hunter, who eyed it closely. The bald man had scratched the first five letters of the Einari alphabet around and in the middle of the circle.
Bardin gave the Hunter a smile filled with pride. "It is called the 'Child's Cipher' because it uses simple geometric shapes—the sort all children learn from a young age."
With quick strokes, he drew more figures: a square, diamond, five-pointed star, and oval. Then he scribbled in the rest of the alphabet, save for the last two letters. He showed the Hunter the paper again.
"Missing a couple, aren't you?" the Hunter asked.
Bardin glared. "Well, lad, to write the 'Y' and 'Z', all you do is add a line to the 'I' and the 'S'. Like so." He proceeded to demonstrate. "Now do you see? Or should I explain it again?"
The Hunter couldn't miss the edge in Bardin's voice. "But I still don't understand how this artwork here"—he pointed to the lines atop the pages of his stolen book—"is anything like a hidden message."
"Be quiet for a moment, and I will tell you what it says." Bardin's glare silenced the Hunter. For a few moments, the only sound in the shelter was the skritch, skritch of the stylus' tip.
"There!" Bardin gave him a triumphant grin. "Take a look at that, young Rell."
The Hunter studied the parchment. Bardin had copied the scrawled artwork, dividing it into individual lines. The bald man's crude shapes indeed resembled the illustrations atop the pages of his stolen book, though they lacked the mastery.
"So what does it mean?" The Hunter couldn't control his excitement.
"Simple." Bardin spoke in the voice of a patient teacher lecturing a particularly dim-witted child. "All we need do is refer to this key, and we can discover that the word means…"
The Last Bucelarii Book 2: Lament of the Fallen Page 20
