The Blood Knight - J. Gregory Keyes [91]
“Indeed,” Elyoner said. “It’s riddled with them.”
“And Uncle Robert doesn’t know about them,” Anne mused. “An army could take the castle from inside.”
Elyoner smiled wanly. “You would have difficulty if the army were made up of men, I should think,” she said.
“I could lead them!” Anne said.
“Perhaps,” Elyoner said. “I’ll tell you what I know of them, of course.”
“Do any of them open outside the city?”
“Yes,” Elyoner replied. “There is one that I know of. And several emerge within the city, at various locations. I can tell you where they are, perhaps make a little map if my memory serves me.”
“Good,” Anne replied. “That’s good.”
Anne understood then that she was ready. Not because she knew what she was doing but because she had no choice.
Ten years of studying warcraft and building an army might make her better suited to the task, but in a few ninedays her mother would be married and she would have to fight not only what troops Robert could muster but Hansa and the Church, as well.
No, she was ready—because there was no other choice but to be.
THOUGH IT was made of lead, Stephen handled the manuscrift gently, as if it were the tiniest of babies, the sort born too early.
“It’s been cleaned,” he noted.
“Yes. Do you recognize the letters?”
Stephen nodded. “I’ve only seen them on a few tombstones, in Virgenya. Very, very old tombstones.”
“Exactly,” the fratrex said. “This is the ancient Virgenyan script.”
“Some of it,” Stephen cautioned, “but not entirely. This letter and this one here—both are from the Thiuda script, as adapted by the Cavari.” He tapped a square with a dot pressed into the center. “And this is a very primitive variant form from Vitellian, where it was sounded as ‘th’ or ‘dh,’ as in thaurn, or, ah, dreodh.”
“It’s a mixture of scripts, then.”
“Yes,” Stephen nodded. “It’s…” He trailed off, feeling the blood rush to his scalp and his heart clout like a marching drum.
“Brother Stephen, are you well?” Ehan asked, staring at him with concern.
“Where did you get this?” Stephen asked weakly.
“It was stolen, actually,” the fratrex said. “It was found in a crypt in Kaithbaurg-of-Shadows. A coven-trained recovered it for us.”
“Well, don’t keep the bag on my head,” Ehan said in an attempt to lighten the mood. “What do we have here, Brother Stephen?”
“It’s an epistle,” he answered, still not believing it himself.
The fratrex’s mouth formed a small “o.” Ehan merely lifted his shoulders in puzzlement.
“It’s a very old word in Virgenyan, no longer used in the king’s tongue,” Stephen explained. “It means a sort of letter. When they were planning their revolt, the Skasloi slaves passed these to one another. They were written in cipher so that if the epistles were intercepted by their enemies, the information, at least, remained safe.”
“If it’s in cipher, though, how can you read it?” Ehan wondered aloud.
“A cipher can be broken,” Stephen said, excitedly now. “But if I’m to do so, I’ll need some books from the scriftorium.”
“Whatever we have is at your disposal,” the fratrex said. “Which ones do you have in mind?”
“Yes, well,” Stephen mused, “the Tafliucum Eingadeicum, of course—the Caidex Comparakinum Prismum, the Deifteris Vetis, and the Runaboka Siniste, for a start.”
“I had guessed those already,” the fratrex responded. “They are packed and ready to go.”
“Packed?”
“Yes. Time is short, and you cannot remain here,” the fratrex said. “We’ve repelled one attack by the Hierovasi, but there will be more—either from them or from our other enemies. We remained here only to await you.”
“To await me?”
“Indeed. We knew you would need the resources of the library, but we can carry no more than a fraction. So we had to keep it safe until you returned, because I didn’t know everything you would need.”
“Yet surely I’m not the only scholar of languages—”
“You are our foremost surviving expert,” the fratrex said, “and the only one to have walked the faneway of Saint Decmanus.
“But there’s more to it than that, I’m afraid. I don’t want to burden you, but all auspex point to