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rattled when he shook it. Turning it up, Lukasz saw, glinting in the
candlelight, a key. He dumped the key into his hand, then put it in his
pocket.
"How can three be ten?" Lukasz scanned the room. "Find something that has
three and on the three is ten."
His heart nearly jumped out of his throat. On one wall hung three battle
standards.
"Three!"
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Lukasz pulled the standards down and tossed them on his uncle's bed, which
revealed all of the gray stone behind it.
There was a pattern of ten cut stones at the top and ten at the bottom, with
half stones along some of the edges on the section of wall where the standards
had been hanging.
"Gray," he gasped, his heart hammering so hard that he felt like there was a
blacksmith in his chest using his ribs as an anvil.
The boy went to the wall, aligned himself as perfectly in the middle as he
could, and put his nose against the cold stone, then he took two steps back.
Being this close made the stones look blurry and for a moment, Lukasz could
not figure out what to do next.
"One at the top and one at the bottom are darkest."
Lukasz blinked and then rubbed his eyes, trying to clear them. The stones
appeared to be all the exact same shade of gray. He looked again, studying
them closer and noticed a thin pattern of black in a single stone at the top
and ... Yes!
Directly at the bottom beneath it was a matching stone.
But there was no key hole. Lukasz' eyes roved up and down that line of stone.
"Much in life is illusion. Sometimes you have to find it with your heart and
not your head. Sometimes you must use your fingers and not your eyes. Clickety
click. Clickety click."
"My fingers."
Lukasz stood on tiptoe to reach as high as he could.
Painstakingly, he searched each stone in that line. His hands came lower and
lower, and Lukasz began to worry that he had gotten it wrong, looked at the
stones wrong. Just as tears
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of frustration began in the corners of his eyes, his fingers found a keyhole
shaped indentation. The boy peered around his fingers, trying to see it, but
it was as if nothing was there.
Holding one finger over the keyhole, he brought out the key and carefully
slipped it into the invisible hole. Lukasz turned it and heard clickety-click,
clickety-click, followed by a grinding of stone.
The mantel of the hearth had slid back. Lukasz gasped sharply, released the
key, and went to examine the hearth.
The movement of the mantel had revealed an opening on the left side. It must
have been a tight squeeze for a grown man, but Lukasz was small for his age
and slender by Beltrian standards. He slipped through with ease and then a
sudden worry seized him. Before looking around, he ran back out to the outer
door to his uncle's suite and dropped the bar across the door. It was best
that no one surprise him while the secret room was open.
He returned to the secret room to look around, wondering why Uncle Stefan had
never told him about it. A desk sat to one side, and a chifferobe to the
other. He went to the desk first, sat down in the little chair in front of it,
and opened the middle drawer. Lukasz licked his lips nervously, worrying about
someone finding him here, and yet intensely curious. A
journal lay in the drawer with the year written across the cover: 1068
"That's this year," Lukasz gasped. "God, I shouldn't. But he gave me the clue.
He must have known I would."
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Although that thought salved his conscience a bit, he wavered until his
curiosity overcame him and he flipped through to the last entry in the book.
Lukasz, Your greatest fault is frequently your greatest virtue.
Lukasz nearly jumped out of his chair when he saw that the entry was headed up
like a letter to him. Then he thumbed back and found that they were all that
way. He took that as permission to read and returned to the last entry.
I left the clues, counting on your curiosity. I know that I
ride to my death, for I sent to the Oracle of Badonth and was told that when I
rode to the aid of Angrim I would die. Before you condemn me for a heretic,
read on.
Lukasz gasped and began to sob. The Oracle of Badonth was legendary for its
accuracy concerning wars. Uncle Stefan was not coming back. He was going to
die and then Lukasz would have no one to love him. Lukasz knew he would never
be happy again, but he vowed to be a man about it. He would have his cry now,
then he would never, ever cry again.
Lukasz forced himself to keep reading.
The oracle was not destroyed, I merely hid it. I could not risk the Kyser
discovering that I still harbored it. Not even a
Duke of so large a realm as Beltria would be safe were he known to worship the
native gods of this world. However, there will come a time when only those
gods can save you.
You will not find your mother's name in my journals, only her initials. You
must go to the Hermit of Jasmine Falls to learn her name. I believe that in
your time of direst need,
Blood Harvest [Dark Brothers of the Light Book VII]
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92
your mother's people will come to your aid, for she was great among them.
Lukasz closed the journal, tucked it under his arm, and after retrieving the
key and closing the secret room, he returned to his suite where he curled up
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on his bed and read until he fell asleep.
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93
CHAPTER FOUR
BIRTHDAY PARTY
"Are you out of your mind?" Nevin snarled, leaning across the table in
Isranon's face, scattering the maps. "The boy's looking for a chance to stick
a knife in your back ... and you're going to give him a birthday party?"
Isranon regarded Nevin calmly. Their relationship had changed drastically over
the past four years, and Isranon recognized that fact as they faced each
other. Nevin had been his boyhood mentor; but after Isranon had killed the
sa'necari named Troyes to rescue Merissa, Nevin had become his spirit-
brother, as had Nevin's cousin Olin. Gone were the days when
Nevin's outbursts could intimidate him.
"Yes." Isranon finally broke his silence, his gaze steady. "I
can't continue to punish him for the things he does wrong, unless I also [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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