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PART ONE
5
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
PART TWO
FIVE
SIX
Those walls were eaten away from the top and cov-
ered in clinging vines. There were places where
windows and doors still opened onto shadowed se-
crets. Not much of interest to a man, but for a boy
it was a treasure trove of adventure.
“I made my way to the largest of the structures
that remained erect. It must have been the main
building, for there were stairs stretching beneath it
and many of the rooms had kept at least three of
their walls, providing some shelter. I found a nook
that was particularly well-preserved. There was a
fireplace that had not seen use in many years, and
a section of roof still remained to break the worst
of the wind and to provide shelter if it was to rain.
Perfect.
“While the daylight remained, there was little to
fear. I placed what supplies and equipment I carried
within my chosen camp and gathered wood quickly.
This done, I set out to do the hunting that had
been my original purpose. It was not late, and the
area was well populated with deer. I remember very
clearly the buck I brought down that evening.
Somehow the taking of that magnificent beast’s life
touched me. I dragged it back to the clearing—the
light fading rapidly around me—and managed to
hang it from a tree near my camp. I gutted it
quickly and left it to drain as I started a fire among
the twigs and logs I’d gathered, thinking back on
it’s death.
“I still carry that image embedded in my mind. I
SEVEN
you don’t put that fool’s toy away and let it go. If
he doesn’t, I most certainly will.”
One-eye had had enough. He turned, glanced at
his companions, who had stood a few paces behind
him until le Duc grabbed his arm and who now had
moved a safe distance back. They turned their
heads as if they’d never seen him before, and he
bolted for the door. Laughter followed on his heels:
loud, derisive laughter. It seemed that the mood
had shifted. Those who’d so recently wanted
Jeanne’s blood to drench the floor had turned their
amusement on his assailant.
Montrovant grabbed Jeanne’s arm and dragged
him to a booth in the back of the room, trying to
slide out of the center of the tavern without further
incident, but the damage was done. Gwendolyn
nodded toward the back entrance and Jeanne noted
the passing of a darker patch of shadow into the
night. Any hope they’d had of a quick, silent en-
trance to the city had been shattered.
“What did you imagine you were doing, you
fool?” Montrovant hissed, holding his lips very near
to Jeanne’s ear so no other would hear. “You have
made a spectacle of yourself that these men will not
easily forget. What were you thinking, that you’d
kill and feed on the man right in the middle of the
tavern?”
Jeanne shook his head. In truth, he had no idea
what he’d thought he would do. He had no memory
of any thoughts at all. One thing was certain: what-
evenly. “She did not beg me, but her father did me
a disservice. She was beautiful, and young, and vi-
tal, and she was there when I hungered. A very
convenient way to even an old and tiring score.”
Gwendolyn didn’t respond, but it was clear that
the issue was far from resolved.
“Sondra came back almost a year to the day of
her own—transformation” Michel continued, tak-
ing up the story again eagerly when Montrovant
hesitated. His eyes were animated, amused and the
dim light glittered off them brightly. It was obvi-
ous that he’d caught the interchange between
Montrovant and Gwendolyn and put two and two
very quickly into four.
“She visited her father first. He was sick for
weeks. Every time the doctors thought he was on
the road to recovery, he’d grow pale and weak.”
“She killed him?” Jeanne asked, unable to con-
tain his curiosity.
“No,” Michel said, grinning, “the doctors did.
They determined that he had a poison within him
and that they needed to bleed it out. They did that.
They bled everything out of him. The physicians
were found dead the day after he died, and I suspect
that Sondra did that out of anger over the waste.”
“She is still here, then?” Montrovant asked.
“Sondra, I mean.”
Gwendolyn moved closer, as if she would protest
his interest, but suddenly all humor had drained
from Michel’s face, and she held herself back.
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
“How soon?”
“They didn’t say, exactly, but de Molay men-
tioned that Philip couldn’t be more than three days
away. He also said that he meant for this—thing—
to happen before then.”
“That is not such a surprise,” Kli Kodesh
frowned. “When else would they attempt it? I don’t
think Philip or his priests are going to want to join
them.”
“There is more,” Ferdinand whispered urgently.
“Santos showed him a head—some kind of disem-
bodied thing. He told de Molay of its powers, and
now our lord is more determined than ever that this
is the way to save the keep. He is a man possessed,
and somehow it rubbed off on de Chaunvier. They
will gather again tonight.”
Father Kodesh stood very still for a moment, lost
in thought. If what Ferdinand said was true, then
perhaps there was more danger involved than he’d
imagined. He hadn’t thought Santos capable of
teaching so many followers so many intricate ritu-
als in such a short time. He’d forgotten that there
were adepts of other sorts among the Templars
…such a ritual was not beyond their scope. If the
head were animated none would be beyond its
power, not even Kli Kodesh himself. He had no fear
of dying, but there were fates worse than death,
even worse than a second death, and Santos would
not hesitate to force them upon him.
“You have done well to tell me this,” he said at
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
and that your plans will lead you to the glory and
dreams you’ve set aside for yourself.”
“And you are certain that the world is but a huge
entertainment set aside for your own amusement,”
Montrovant retorted. “At least I don’t slink
through the shadows while others carry out my
plans.”
Kli Kodesh stiffened, but again he didn’t reply.
Jeanne kept expecting the ancient to snap under
the barrage of insults and accusations, but he held
his ground.
“We have no time for this,” Kodesh said at last.
“For different reasons, we have come to the same
road once again. It might have been a thousand
others, but it was not.”
“Perhaps our roads have crossed by chance,”
Montrovant replied, “or perhaps you led us here.”
He was unable to let the antagonistic tone drop
from his voice. Jeanne had rarely seen his sire so
angry, and never in a situation where he could not
vent that anger without ending his existence.
“I admit that I brought you here,” Kli Kodesh
said softly. “I sent the message with Gwendolyn to
warn you of what was taking place, and to let you
know that what you seek is very near.”
“The Grail is in that keep?” Montrovant nodded
in the direction of de Molay’s grounds. “Is that
what you want me to believe? If de Molay has such
an item in his possession, then why would he need
help against Philip?”
SIXTEEN
she was, but in the end the reasons did not matter.
She slipped onto the stairs and melted into the shad-
ows along the walls. There was no movement below
save the three she followed, but she could sense that
something was growing—something deep and reso-
nant that shook the walls and vibrated through the
stone of the floor and up through her bones.
It had begun. She knew, somehow, that de
Chaunvier’s presence was necessary to the comple-
tion of the ritual, but they had not waited for him
to begin it. Santos was no fool. He would not hold
off his plans for one mortal—even if the lack of
that mortal might cause him to fail entirely. His life
was in little danger, comparatively. It was his new
followers who fought for their lives. It gave them
an energy and power that they would not otherwise
have had, and perhaps—despite de Chaunvier’s
treachery—it would be enough.
The chanting was loud enough to be heard
clearly from where she made her way along the
wall, but she could not make out the words. They
were in no language she was familiar with—not
even in a language that sounded remotely human.
The syllables were too rough—and at the same
time too complex—for human speech. Instead it
reminded her of an odd, rhythmic melody—a dirge.
There was no real tune to it, but the patterns of
sound were unmistakably musical in nature.
She felt a rift growing between Montrovant and
de Chaunvier. Apparently the Templar lord had
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
must go.”
She nodded suddenly and followed, and Jeanne
released her arm. Montrovant had already disap-
peared into the depths of the keep, and the two of
them rushed down the stairs like a strong burst of
wind, charging explosively onto the lower level.
Jeanne hesitated, but suddenly Gwendolyn grabbed
his arm and yanked him forward again. He might
have lost track of Montrovant, but she had not. He
followed her lead, and he found that they were re-
turning toward the lower levels.
Everyone they passed stared, but none ques-
tioned their passing. Montrovant dropped to the
lower level like a stone through water and wound
his way down the passages, passing the chambers
where Santos and the head had threatened to de-
stroy them all only moments before. The battle was
up and beyond the walls; none had the energy to
concentrate on a new threat from below.
Jeanne wondered what the purpose of returning
to those vault-like chambers might be. Santos was
dead, or gone for the time being—there was noth-
ing of value left below, unless Montrovant was after
the head, and that was difficult to understand. If
that had been the case, why leave it in the first
place?
They did not stop at the room where they’d en-
countered Santos, however. Montrovant flew past
that entrance without so much as a glance, running
full tilt down the passageway beyond. The floor had
NINETEEN
night. There was time. The sun was hours from the
horizon, and it had been too long since he’d walked
among men freely. Another foolish urge, he knew,
but another that made him smile as well.
Rising, fighting to maintain the inward concen-
tration that would allow him the control he needed
for the blank-faced, stoic guise he wore in mortal
company. It was his shield against detection, as
long as he was able to maintain it. He strode pur-
posefully to the front of the tent and pushed the
flap aside, stepping into the night beyond. The
monks at the door looked at him in surprise, then
returned to their silent vigils. There were other
matters within that required their attention.
Leaving them behind, he strode through the
camp. His dark red robes glistened like black liq-
uid in the darkness, and the whisper of silk against
his thighs as he moved was rhythmic and hypnotic.
He moved with a grace that would have shamed a
dancer, and he moved directly toward Philip’s tent.
No time to waste, no reason to do otherwise.
He came to a halt just outside, and the guards were
already scrambling back through the door as they
sighted him striding from the shadows. In truth,
though they respected the Church very much,
Bishop Eugenio made them nervous. He could feel
their fear trailing behind them as they fought to be
the one who would enter the tent to announce his
arrival—and to not be the one left outside to greet
him as he arrived. He drank in their fear and was
TWENTY
thing.”
Montrovant paused for an instant. If Kli Kodesh
were distraught, then apparently there were others
whose plans had been complicated by this new
twist. Then the moment passed and he spun away,
disappearing so quickly into the night that he was
nearly out of sight before Jeanne was able to launch
himself in pursuit, cursing.
They moved along the edge of the cliff, heading
on a straight line away from the keep itself. The
fires on the other side shone around the edges of
the stone structure, silhouetting it in rose and ma-
genta against the deep ebony of the sky. De Molay
and the others could not hold out for long. The
Templars’ days were numbered, it seemed. They
would die, but the Dark One lingered.
As they passed beyond the cleared area that sur-
rounded the keep, a short, squat stone structure
loomed on their left. A church. Jeanne wasn’t cer-
tain exactly how he knew this, but there was a feel
to the old place that reached out to him. It left him
cold, cold and empty as the church itself must have
been for the last fifty or more years. Half the walls
had given way to time, and the windows were wide
open and overgrown with vines. The small tower
that had once housed the bell lay toppled to one side,
and the moon played off it in eerie, shadowed streaks.
Beyond the church was a gate that was no longer
attached to the fence decaying on either side of it,
and it was through this that Montrovant sped. He
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
and dove.
Jeanne had no such ability. He gazed down over
the cliff at the pounding waves below. There was no
sign of a ship, and nothing moved on the small, sandy
coast at the foot of the rocky drop-off. Nothing.
Gwendolyn appeared at his shoulder then, pull-
ing him back from the cliff ’s edge, and he pulled
away from her angrily.
“Montrovant is down there,” he grated, “and if
we don’t find a way to follow, and quickly, he will
be gone.”
“He will not go far,” she said urgently. “Some-
thing is happening back at the keep—something
important. Kli Kodesh has left the bishop and the
others behind. They are leaving as well. All of
them are headed for de Molay’s keep.”
“What does it mean?” he asked her. “Why would
they return to that place?”
“I don’t know,” she replied, “but I sense none of
the others—if the Nosferatu were here, they have
found a way to escape from here long since. We
cannot catch them before the light.”
Jeanne leaned back over the cliff, but he still saw
nothing. He stretched his senses, searching for the
Dark One, and he detected nothing but a faint
glimmer of his sire’s essence, high above and mov-
ing away rapidly.
“I will wait here, and when he returns, we will go
to the keep and see what has happened.”
“I will wait with you, but the dawn will not be
TWENTY-THREE
I could do no more.
“I barely made it back to the shore, and not near
here, before the light burned too brightly for me to
continue. I found a small cavern just above the
rocks, and I crawled as far back into it as I could.
There I stayed as the sunlight burned and the ship
moved farther and farther out to sea. When it grew
dark, I flew over the sea once more, but there was
nothing. Not a sign, not a glimpse. I came straight
here then, though I knew Kli Kodesh and the oth-
ers would be gone. I’d hoped to find you here.”
“What is that smoke?” Jeanne asked, not want-
ing to change the subject, but unable to contain his
curiosity.
“They will burn the heretics at the stake this
night,” Montrovant replied matter-of-factly.
“Those who have not repented their vows to the
Templars will die.”
“Who would be foolish enough to die for such a
cause?” Jeanne asked. “Why would they not pre-
tend to capitulate, then leave and regroup?”
“Because they do not think like you, my friend,”
Montrovant said, smiling for the first time since
he’d returned. “Jacques de Molay will die, and also
his friend, de Chaunvier, I believe. There are oth-
ers, some fanatics, others fools. All will die before
the Earth has fully cooled from the sun.”
Gwendolyn shivered, clutching her arms about
herself. To live after death did not mean that one
lost the fear of it—the acidic, heart-stopping ter-
TWENTY-FOUR
EPILOGUE