"Good. Now move to the side."
The Hunter gave the man a helping hand, shoving him to the left of the counter. He reached up, gripped the inner edge of the paneled wall, and swung his legs over the counter and through the opening. With a quick whipping motion of his upper body, he lowered his head and threw himself into a forward leap. His shoulders barely fit through the window and his forehead missed the upper lip by a finger's breadth, but he landed on his feet inside the room beside the priest.
All this happened so fast the Lectern barely had time to react. His eyes went wide as the Hunter ripped the dagger free of the wooden countertop and waved it beneath his nose.
"Please, sir!" The priest’s voice held a note of abject terror. "I have a family, two sons who—"
"Shut up, Priest," the Hunter snapped. "So long as you cooperate, you'll walk out of here alive."
"Of course, of course," the man gibbered. "Just tell me what you want and I will be happy to provide it."
The Hunter hid a grin. Lecterns were men of learning, not warriors like the Swordsman Adepts or the Warrior Priests of Derelana. They relied on the sanctity of their temple and the men guarding their entrances to keep them safe. The concept of personal danger had to be very alien to this man. Of course he'd be pissing his breeches in fear for his life. The closest he'd come to real combat had to be wielding a letter opener to avoid paper cuts.
The Hunter fixed him with a stern glare. "I have come for a book."
"A book?" The Lectern's eyebrows shot up, but the tension drained from his shoulders. "Is that all? You could have simply gone to the Royal Library and--"
"I tried, but they didn't have it."
"So it's a rare volume, is it?" The Lectern's lips pressed together. "Something too esoteric to be found on their shelves?"
"Correct." The Hunter hesitated for a moment before speaking. "It's one of the works of Karannos Taivoro."
The Lectern's jaw dropped. "T-Tai…?" He blinked in surprise, and his nose wrinkled up. "Y-You've come here…broken into the Master's Temple and threatened a priest…for a Taivoro?"
By the look in the priest’s eyes, the Hunter knew exactly what went through his head. Everyone on Einan linked the name Taivoro to the mad playwright’s erotic fiction and ribald tales of seduction, intrigue, and pleasure. Few knew the truth: the man known as Karannos Taivoro had founded the Illusionist Cleric priesthood.
The Hunter clenched his jaw. "A very specific Taivoro, one about a journeyman bard."
"Ah, of course." The man nodded, though his face was still wrinkled in confusion. "You'll want The Singer and His Muse."
That was the same name the scribe in the Royal Library had mentioned.
"Do you have it?" the Hunter demanded.
"Of course we do." The priest seemed almost offended by the question. "The Vault of Stars is home to the oldest works on Einan, with texts dating as far back as—"
"Wonderful." The Hunter made no attempt to hide his sarcasm. "Take me to it."
The Lectern stared at him, curiosity burning in his eyes. "Th-That way," he said and pointed behind the Hunter.
The Hunter stepped aside and motioned for him to lead the way. He walked a single step behind and to the left of the Lectern, his dagger hovering threateningly just within the priest's eyesight.
The Vault of Stars far surpassed anything the Hunter had imagined. The vault of the Cambionari in Malandria had stretched a hundred paces wide and two hundred long, with a ceiling nearly twenty paces above his head. The high-ceilinged stone cavern before him seemed to continue on forever. He could not see where the walls ended to his right or left, and row after row of shelves stretched into what looked like infinity. A spiral staircase descended deeper into the earth for more floors than he could count at a glance. If each level of the Vault of Stars matched the breadth and width of this, the uppermost level, it truly could be endless.
The stone ceiling towered too high for the light of the alchemical lamps to illuminate. Thousands of precise rows of shelves filled the Vault of Stars, each burdened by wooden boxes and crates, small barrels, padlocked chests bearing cabalistic symbols, glass jars filled with all manner of creatures hideous and beautiful alike, and a hundred thousand other oddities.
Then there were books. Hundreds of thousands, perhaps even millions of volumes bound in leather, ancient tomes with cracked spines and yellowing pages, ribbon-bound sheaves of parchment, and tightly rolled scrolls sitting in neat order on the shelves. Clay tablets sat beside wood-bound wax diptychs, while the brass shelves groaned beneath the weight of carved runestones. Staring at it all, the Hunter found it plausible that every written work in history truly could be stored here.
The smell of dust hung thick in the vault, underscored by the scent of aging books, the metal and wood of the shelving, and the terror-laced stink of the Lectern in his grasp. The sound of the priest’s ragged breathing seemed to echo off the high ceilings in time with the clack of their shoes on the grey stone floor.
The Lectern wended through the rows of shelving until they reached one of the spiral staircases. The Hunter kept a tight grip on the man’s collar, though he no longer waved the dagger around. The priest clearly understood the gravity of his situation, and though he cringed in fear, he seemed to have accepted it.
They descended two floors before the Lectern exited the staircase. The moment they stepped onto the landing, the Hunter's eyes went wide as he caught sight of the bas-relief etched into the stone wall facing the staircase.
A figure lay atop a stone altar, held in place by strong bonds, arms folded over his chest. Eleven radiant figures surrounded it, reaching out their arms to send threads of power into the man atop the altar. It was identical to the carving he had seen in Kara-ket.
He grabbed the priest's collar. "What is this image?" he asked, thrusting the dagger at the bas-relief.
"A-A depiction of the entombment of K-Kharna by the eleven gods after the Swordsman's fall," the man stammered out.
The Hunter studied the image. It matched the one he'd seen in Kara-ket, from the minute details of the eleven gods’ faces to the threads of power streaming from their hands. He got that same feeling of dire urgency from the image and it filled him with dread. Kharna’s face even bore the same serenity, his posture echoing peaceful repose rather than eternal damnation. The bas-relief even bore the ragged crack in the wall in the lower left corner.
"What happened here?" He tapped the black fissure.
"Nothing." The priest gave him a curious look. "It is a part of the original image."
The Hunter stared at it. The jagged line carved across an entire corner of the bas-relief, cutting through the landscape depicted there. Something about the blackness sent an unexplained shiver down his spine.
"What does it mean?" he asked. "Does it have something to do with the destruction of the world wrought by the War of Gods?"
The priest regarded him with surprise. "For a killer, you seem remarkably well-educated on ancient lore."
The Hunter's lip curled into a sneer. "Even killers have to have hobbies." He pointed at the crack in the image. "Explain."
The Lectern squinted at the bas-relief and scratched his angular nose. "Well, I must admit these ancient works of art are more Lectern Kariman's area of expertise. He would be better-suited to—"
"You're the one trapped in here with me," the Hunter growled. "You'll have to do."
The priest sucked in a breath and spoke quickly. "From what I understand, this work dates back to the War of Gods. This temple is built upon the ruins of a Serenii tower, and the Vault of Stars is believed to be of Serenii design, as is evidenced by the use of resonator stones instead of keys."
"What are resonator stones?" the Hunter asked.
"Stones that vibrate at a certain frequency." The priest's tone made it sound like the simplest thing in the world. "When it comes in contact with other stones that resonate at a specific frequency, there is a reaction."
The Hunter's struggled
to grasp the concept. "Like how the voice of an aria singer can shatter a glass goblet?"
"Precisely." The bespectacled man seemed surprised that the Hunter understood. "But the resonator stones harmonize. The Serenii used that harmony to create many marvelous devices, including the locks that seal the Vault of Stars."
The Hunter nodded. "But what do these stones have to do with the image?"
"Nothing." The Lectern shook his white-haired head. "But it is proof that the vault is of Serenii design, meaning the artwork has to date at least that far back. And, as we've seen in all the Serenii works of art and architecture, they never did anything without good reason." He pointed at the crack in the image. "Which means that crack was included in the image on purpose. But what that purpose was, I cannot truly say."
The Hunter stared at the bas-relief. Something about Kharna's pose had struck him as odd back in Kara-ket. The god, believed mad and bent on world destruction, seemed oddly peaceful as he lay on what appeared to be a sacrificial altar. The Hunter knew how he would react if he was being bound for eternity. So why would Kharna be so accepting of his endless damnation? Could it be because he knew he would one day be freed by the Abiarazi and Bucelarii still living on Einan? Or was there another reason?
Chapter Ten
The question nagged at him as he followed the priest through the Vault. He paid little heed to the titles on the bound volumes or the odd-looking assortment of items stacked on the shelves as he tried to understand the true meaning of the image.
The Lectern muttered to himself as he scanned the signs posted along each row of brass shelving. The Hunter didn't understand the odd glyphs—they reminded him of the Illusionist Cleric script, just more confusing—but the priest seemed to know his way around. He led the Hunter down one row and ran a finger across the metal plaques welded to the brass shelf frames.
"Tairadon, Taithan, Taius, Taivash, ah, here we are!" He tapped on one of the bronze plaques. "Taivoro, Karannos."
The Hunter scanned the books on the shelf and was surprised by the sheer number of volumes in the Taivoro section. He'd known the mad playwright was prolific, but there had to be at least fifty books to his name. His mind boggled at the thought of all the secrets Taivoro had concealed in that many pages.
With a triumphant grin, the priest lifted a book carefully from the shelf. "The Singer and His Muse. It is said to be one of the earliest works of Taivoro." He gave a sad shake of his head. "Sadly, also probably his absolute worst."
The Hunter raised an eyebrow.
The priest opened the book and cleared his throat. "I imagined the ribbed flesh, the supple rings of muscle, the soft warmth of her as I moved inside her," he read in a surprisingly strong voice. "Flowers of green and blue danced behind my closed eyelids, their delicate petals drifting downward to join our entwined bodies in our pursuit of pleasure." He shook his head. "Absolute rubbish, this. He's fortunate he got better over time, else he'd have been Einan's least successful playwright as well as its most insane."
The Hunter couldn't help rolling his eyes at the terrible writing. Lucky for me I don't care about the story.
He snatched the book from the priest, eliciting a cry of protest. A hard glare silenced the Lectern long enough for him to glance at the pages. His heart sank as he flipped through the book. It lacked the artwork he'd seen in the Taivoro he'd stolen from Lord Apus in Malandria—the artwork Bardin had used to decipher the hidden message.
He ground his teeth in frustration. What now? The Sage had mentioned finding the key to reaching Enarium within the pages of this book. Perhaps there was another Taivoro work about a journeyman bard.
"No, this is the one you're looking for," the Lectern replied to his question. The man's owlish face took on a curious expression. "Perhaps if you told me precisely why you were interested in this volume, I might be able to—"
The Hunter cut him off with a slashing gesture. "My business is none of your concern."
"I could beg to differ." The Lectern had found a modicum of courage at last. Well, indignation more than anything. "It's my life you're threatening, and if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not die because you don't give me the information I need to find what you're searching for."
The Hunter stifled a grin. The man's tone reminded him of Visibos, the apprentice Cambionari he'd met on the road to Malandria. Visibos had been far more of a warrior than this priest, but his scholar's curiosity had superseded everything else. Men like these tended to want to know the answers to everything—it was why they dedicated their lives to study and research.
"How much do you know about Taivoro?" the Hunter asked. "The truth of the man, not what is accepted as common knowledge."
"You mean the rumors that he was the founder of the Illusionist Clerics?" The Lectern raised an eyebrow, a movement that made his dark eyes appear even larger behind his spectacles.
The Hunter nodded. "Precisely. A…friend of mine told me that every work of Taivoro concealed ciphers and coded messages."
"Of course!" The Lectern nodded. "But many of the messages are lost in the copying of his manuscripts." He tapped the book in the Hunter's hand. "Every time the scribes copy the books for the purpose of preserving the originals, they make minor changes to the wording and syntax. For the sake of readability, of course."
"Indeed." The Hunter tried not to show his surprise at this new tidbit of information.
"So you need this book not for its words, but for the cipher it contains?" the priest asked. He seemed to take the Hunter's lack of response as an affirmative. "May I ask what message you are searching for?"
"You may, but you will have no answer from me."
The priest's face fell, as if disappointed at being left out of the discovery of some new mystery. Scholars lived for that sort of thing.
The Hunter tapped the book with the tip of his dagger. "But if, as you say, the messages are lost during the copying process, I will need the original manuscript of The Singer and His Muse."
The priest's face hardened, and he folded his arms across his slim chest. "You will not have it."
The Lectern's defiance came as a surprise. "You refuse me?" the Hunter asked, arching an eyebrow.
"I do." The man's face grew stubborn. "The Vault of Stars is the repository of all the knowledge on Einan. Some of the written works here date as far back as the vault itself, to the time of the Serenii and the War of Gods. These books," he thrust a finger toward the volume in the Hunter's hand, "are copies created for use by the Lecterns and the other priests. But fewer than a dozen souls are permitted to access the originals."
"Better make an exception for me." The Hunter hefted his dagger to emphasize the threat.
The priest's eyes filled with fear, but his expression was no less resolute. "Threaten me all you want, but it will do you no good. There are some things worth dying for. The knowledge our order has spent five thousand years collecting is far more valuable than my life."
The Hunter studied the man. He'd met enough religious fanatics to know that the Lectern really would lay down his life to protect the manuscripts. Everyone had a breaking point, but as the priest had said, there were things worth dying for. Even he, a half-demon assassin, had things he would sacrifice himself to protect.
The priest flinched from the fiery intensity of the Hunter's gaze. "That book in your hands is as close to the original manuscript as possible," he said, the words pouring out of his mouth in a fearful rush. "Whatever message is hidden within those texts should be sufficiently intact for you to decipher it."
The Hunter loomed over the man. "You are certain?"
"Yes!" The Lectern cringed. "I swear it on the Master's name!"
The Hunter glared at him for a long moment, then shrugged and nodded. "Fair enough."
The priest seemed to deflate, and he sagged in relief, leaning on the shelf and mopping at the sweat staining his brow.
As the Hunter tucked the book into a pocket inside his robes, an idea struck him. He was standin
g in the world's most comprehensive source of information. Surely he could find answers about the Bucelarii somewhere among these shelves.
"Tell me," he asked the Lectern, "where would I find information on the Abiarazi?"
The priest's expression went from relieved to confused in a moment. "Abiarazi? I've never heard that term before."
"Demons," the Hunter said. "From the time of the War of Gods." He hesitated. "Or their offspring with humans."
The Lectern's face went stark white. "O-Offspring…with humans?" He seemed utterly floored by the notion. "S-Surely you can't be serious. Such a thing would be profane, not to mention impossible."
The Hunter bit back a frustrated curse. Clearly the Vault of Stars didn't contain all the information floating around Einan. The Cambionari must not have shared their knowledge of the Bucelarii with the Master's priests.
He tried a new approach. "What of the War of Gods? Are there any writings of what transpired? Perhaps one of the works of Eshendun, or—"
"Eshendun?" The Lectern seemed to recover from his shock, and he shook his head. "No, you'll want the Prophet Mehmet. Eshendun was born some two hundred years after the War of Gods. The works of Mehmet are the only true eyewitness accounts of those days."
Now it was the Hunter's turn to be confused. "You are certain?" he asked. According to The Numeniad, the book of Eshendun, the historian had been transported by Kiro, the Master, to Khar'nath to watch the Bucelarii and their demon ancestors cast into the portal to the fiery hell.
"Absolutely." The priest nodded. "Eshendun was a disciple of the Prophet's teachings, but long after Mehmet had died. As far as we know, Mehmet was the only one to transcribe the events of the War of Gods."
"Then take me to the works of Mehmet," the Hunter said.
"We…do not have them." Shame flashed across the priest’s face as he dropped his eyes.
"I thought this was the largest collection of knowledge on Einan." The Hunter's words had a sardonic edge.
"It is," the Lectern snapped. "The works of Mehmet were destroyed a century after the War of Gods, and with them all knowledge of what truly transpired. Which is precisely why the Enclave is meeting." His eyes flew wide and he clapped a hand over his mouth, as if just realizing what he'd said.
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