Knights Templar - Temple And The Crown Part 36

"Let's go," Arnault urged, after only a moment's breather, not looking to see whether the others followed.

They resumed their climb, stepping warily over the downed guardsmen. Approaching the summit of the stair, they pa.s.sed another motionless body-and beyond, spied an arched doorway heavily painted across the lintel with arcane inscriptions that wavered and faded before the light of the Shard. Evil emanated from behind the closed door, coming in heavy, pulsing waves, leaving no doubt what sort of thing lay beyond.

"This is where it ends," Arnault whispered, gathering his strength to climb the last few steps.

The three of them halted on the landing before the door, Torquil and Christoph ?anking Arnault with drawn swords. Holding the Shard to his breast, to cup his hands around its light, Arnault drew himself erect.

"Guillaume de Nogaret, come forth!" he said in a loud voice. "The hour of your judgment is at hand!"

Only silence answered this command, though they could hear scurrying sounds beyond the door.

"Guillaume de Nogaret, come forth!" Arnault repeated.

"And who might it be who makes bold to challenge the master in his own house?" came a silky, de?ant voice from within.

"Fr?re Arnault de Saint Clair, Knight of the Temple," Arnault responded, lowering the Shard to his side.

"You are called to answer for the many heinous crimes you have committed against the laws of G.o.d and of man."

The door swung slowly open, spilling a lurid swath of crimson light onto the landing, along with the stench of sulfur and brimstone.

"Enter-if you dare," came the low, dangerous response from the shadows beyond.

Cautiously the Templars advanced across the threshold, Torquil and Christoph with swords in hands, Arnault holding the Shard along his thigh. Within, Nogaret stood facing them across the width of a black-draped table or altar surmounted by magical paraphernalia, garbed in the vestments of an alchemist-sorcerer. Three more black-robed men were ranged behind him. Around them, containing them within the protection of a series of magical squares, Arnault could not fail to notice the magical sigils chalked on the ?oor-fully charged and activated. The empty eye sockets of the skulls guarding the salients of the outermost square glowed with the ruby light of h.e.l.l?re.

"Your presumption is quite remarkable, if foolish," Nogaret said coldly, contempt in his voice. "By what authority do you claim the right to judge me?"

"It is not we who come to judge," Arnault replied. "We are here merely as witnesses and messengers.

G.o.d Himself is your judge. For the manifold perjuries and injustices which you have committed against the Order of the Temple of Jerusalem and others, contravening the Laws of G.o.d, you stand in peril of eternal d.a.m.nation. Will you confess your sins and commend yourself to the mercies of your Creator?"

"Confess to you?" A contemptuous laugh creaked from somewhere in Nogaret's chest. "Hardly likely.

Will I acknowledge my own success? Certainly. Will I be reconciled to G.o.d? Never! He and I are at war; and I will never bow to Him!"

He raised his left hand, where a baleful jewel blazed red like a demon's eye from the ma.s.sive ring on his index ?nger.

A grim smile curved at his lips as he laid his hand on the alembic before him and spoke a word of power, answered by a scarlet ?re sparking from ring to the curdling gases inside, which ignited and coalesced into the crouching form of a red-skinned manikin with the eyes of a goat, and a fanged mouth.

"You should have stayed cowering with the rest of your miserable Order," Nogaret said mildly, a dangerous smile lifting the corners of his mouth as he quickly backed away.

Growing almost too quickly to see, the demon Ialdabaeoth burst from the alembic in a shattering of gla.s.s and a sulfurous stench, already the size of a bear and still growing as it reared up, fanged jaws agape.

Instinctively, Torquil and Christoph raised their swords, but in that same instant, Arnault lifted the Shard to point it at the demon like the weapon it was, releasing a beam of cleansing sapphire that enveloped the creature in a blaze of celestial glory and a colossal boom.

The backlash of the ?ash left them all half-blind and staggering, ears ringing. Somehow Arnault managed to keep his feet under him. Torquil and Christoph likewise were still standing, albeit shakily. Clutching at the altar for support, an astonished Nogaret dragged himself upright. His minions had been bowled off their feet, and the demon was gone.

"No!" he cried, though they scarcely could hear him for the ringing in their ears. "I am master here! You will die where you stand, you pious wretches!"

With a ?ick of his wrist, he made a casting gesture with the hand that wore the ring. A gout of crimson ?ame belched forth from his opening palm, but the Shard in Arnault's hands now seemed to respond of its own volition. Cerulean light blazed from the Shard in a cleansing torrent, ?lling the room with a heavenly radiance that turned the tide of h.e.l.l?re back on itself with another cataclysmic boom.

Chapter Thirty-six.

April, 1313 "TORQUIL! TORQUIL, WAKE UP.TORQUIL-SAY SOMETHING!" A familiar voice dimly penetrated the crimson-?ecked darkness that wrapped Torquil's mind and body in pain. It was the urgency of tone, more than the words, that began dragging him back to consciousness. Surfacing was like trying to swim through quicksand. As someone lifted his head, new pain stabbed behind his eyes and made him wince, groaning aloud.

"Torquil! I need your help!" the voice insisted, urging- pleading.

Groggily he made an effort to open his eyes, feeling nauseous. It took him several confused seconds to recognize Arnault's face swimming above him, looking at least as wretched as Torquil felt. He had a torch in his free hand.

"Sweet Jesus, stop shaking me; I'm awake! What happened?"

Arnault fairly sagged with relief. "We survived-just. Are you hurt?"

"I don't know."

Dazedly Torquil ran a dry tongue over dry lips and drew another cautious breath as he turned his head to look around him-which was a mistake, because the movement almost made him throw up. In his half-stunned condition, it took him a moment to retrieve his last conscious memory.

"Was there.an explosion?" he ventured.

"After a fas.h.i.+on. Let me help you up. We have to ?nd Christoph-and the Shard."

"The Shard? But you had-"

"I haven't got it now," Arnault said, hoisting him under one arm. "It's possible that someone revived before me, and made off with it. Or it may have been destroyed in the blast."

"Jesus G.o.d!"

As Torquil struggled painfully to his feet, he saw that the windows of the tower had been blown out by the force of the blast. Here and there, bits of debris were still burning. The room itself looked like a storm had swept through. A cold wind whistled through the jagged window gaps, but at least the air was clean.

A part of him marveled that he and Arnault had survived. Still woozy, he caught his balance against the edge of the black altar as Arnault edged around behind.

"Here's a body," Arnault announced, bending down. "But it isn't Christoph-or Nogaret."

"Thank G.o.d," Torquil murmured dully, "-at least about Christoph." Gaining strength, he let his eyes search the wind-battered remnants of the room. "What's that, over there?"

He started hobbling toward what looked like a mound of clothes, still ?ghting nausea, but Arnault was there ?rst, bending down and then shaking his head.

"Another of Nogaret's minions," he said. "But where the devil is Nogaret himself?"

"Maybe the devil has him," Torquil muttered. "That, or- you don't suppose he took the Shard, do you?"

Before Arnault could answer, they were both arrested by the sound of hurried footsteps mounting the stair outside the chamber door. Seconds later, several ragged ?gures materialized out of a pall of smoke: Breville leading three more knights.

"Thank G.o.d!" Breville exclaimed, when he spotted Torquil and Arnault.

"Thank Him, indeed!" Arnault returned, trading handclasps. "I take it that you managed to fend off the wraiths."

"Mostly," Breville replied. "We've four men dead, and several more injured, but it could have been far worse. The wraiths seem to have disappeared when the place went up." He cast another look around.

"Where's Christoph?"

"We haven't found him yet," Arnault said. "We're still looking."

With the help of Breville and the other knights, they resumed combing through the debris. Torquil, still shaky on his feet, stayed leaning against the altar, casting his inspection over what lay in his vicinity.

Behind the altar, it appeared that the man lying there had grabbed at the velvet covering as he fell, pulling it and its contents onto the ?oor. Spilled coals were scattered across the paving slabs and atop the rumpled velvet, burning holes in the rich pile, and the gla.s.s alembic was now a jagged splash of greenish shards. The skulls, he noted, had been smashed to powder. But amid this debris, as Torquil poked with his toe at the folds of ruined velvet, he suddenly spotted a glint of bright white and gemstones and gold.

"Arnault?" he called, as he crouched down for a closer look, careful not to touch it. "I've found the Breastplate."

The others came immediately, Arnault handing his torch to Torquil as he dropped to his knees to pick it up.

"The stones seem to be intact," he said after a few seconds, as he held the bank of gemstones to the light of Torquil's torch. "The linen is none too clean, but that can be-"

He broke off as he turned the breastplate to inspect the back, pinching at the twin pockets meant for the Urim and Thummin and then holding the backing closer, ramming his ?ngertips into pockets that were de?nitely empty.

"Christ," he breathed. "They're gone. The Urim and Thummin are gone!"

"Gone?" Breville echoed, coming to see for himself.

"They should be st.i.tched into these pockets," Arnault murmured, his ?ngers still feeling inside, though his eyes were roving unfocused over the ?oor before them. "They aren't here."

"What's that?" Torquil said, pointing toward a glint in the torchlight, just visible at one edge of the ruined altar cloth. "Could it be the Urim?"

Scuf?ng forward on his knees, Arnault pounced on what proved to be a shard of the shattered alembic, though a closer look under the cloth did, indeed, produce the Urim. He heaved a relieved sigh as he picked it up and polished it under his thumb.

"It isn't damaged," he whispered. "At least not physically. Look for the Thummin," he ordered, glancing at the others as well. "It's the same size as this, only made of polished onyx."

With six men searching on their hands and knees, they soon located the missing stone, but Arnault's expression became perplexed as he balanced the two in his palms, then closed them in his hands, shaking his head.

"There's something wrong here," he murmured. "Nogaret must have done something to them."

"Done something to them?" Breville repeated.

Arnault nodded. "They're dead. I'm not picking up any of the resonances they should have."

Breville shuf?ed closer on his knees to look at the stones as Arnault opened his hands.

"What could he have done? How is that possible?"

"I don't know," Arnault said. "It may be that, in trying to appropriate their power, he did something to neutralize it. Or maybe this incident drained them," he added, gesturing around the room.

"Permanently?" Breville asked.

"I can't tell-at least not here, where the very air is tainted with evil."

Much disheartened, Arnault slipped the Urim and Thummin back into their pockets, then wrapped a piece of one of the ruined drapes around the Breastplate before slipping it down the front of his tunic next to the pouch that had carried the Shard.

"I'll have a better look when we've gotten away from here," he said, getting to his feet. "As long as there's some spark left, we might have some hope of restoring it. We've got to ?nd Christoph."

He and Breville found Nogaret ?rst, far at the other side of the room, under a heap of heavy drapes torn from the windows during the storm of power. Though his body appeared to be unmarked, his face was frozen in a rictus of such horror and malice that Arnault dropped the fold of drape he had lifted and hurriedly crossed himself before daring to kneel and turn the drape back fully. Closer inspection revealed that the left hand had been burned off at the wrist. It was nowhere to be seen.

"Interesting," Breville said coldly, as he crouched beside Arnault. "I would venture to surmise that perhaps Guillaume de Nogaret did, indeed, face the Supreme Judge."

"So one might suppose," Arnault replied. "And I think it's clear that he didn't take the Shard. But what has become of his hand, and the ring he was wearing? That seemed to be one of the vehicles of his power. He called a demon with it."

"Maybe it was taken by the same powers that overcame him," Breville ventured.

"Or maybe someone was here before we came around," Arnault said, rising to look around. "We've only found the bodies of two of his minions."

At that moment there came a cry from outside the door to the chamber-Torquil, sounding bereft.

Abandoning Nogaret's corpse, Arnault and Breville ran to investigate-and found Torquil kneeling at the head of the turnpike stair, cradling Christoph's broken body in his arms.

"Sweet Jesus!" Arnault breathed, stepping over a dead or unconscious guard and sinking to his knees.

Christoph was still alive, but only barely. His face was a battered mask of abrasions and bruises, his eyes closed, and his breathing had an ugly rasp to it. The b.l.o.o.d.y ?ngers of one hand were pressed to a terrible wound deep in his side, from which blood was seeping in an ever-growing blossom of scarlet. One of Torquil's hands was also pressed to that wound, but to little avail.

The bruised and broken ?ngers of Christoph's other hand were locked tight around a splinter-shaped fragment of stone. Only at second glance did Arnault realize that it was, in fact, the sacred Shard, its light quenched, its power apparently exhausted. Tears were runneling down Torquil's bearded cheeks as he held Christoph close, lips pressed to the dying man's forehead as he crooned soft sounds of comfort.

Behind him, other members of the Templar party had begun picking their way up the turnpike stair, swords in hands, dazed and cautious, only to recoil at the sight of their fallen leader. Wordlessly Breville herded them back a few paces to kneel in vigil as, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, Arnault gently laid one hand over Christoph's on the Shard.

"Dare we move him?" he asked Torquil.

Torquil shook his head, barely able to speak.

"Even if it weren't for the wound," he managed to choke out, "I doubt there's a bone in his body that isn't broken."

At that, Christoph's bruised eyelids ?uttered open, pain evident in the pale eyes; but when he saw Arnault's face above him, an expression of relief trans?gured his broken features.

"Praise. be to G.o.d," he murmured. "Le Cercle remains yet unbroken."

He made a struggling move as if to sit up, but both his benefactors gently restrained him, though their very touch obviously caused him further pain.

"Christoph, no," Arnault murmured. "Rest easy, old friend. Save your strength."

Christoph ceased trying to sit, but drew a labored breath, slowly shaking his head. "No need.now. I have. poured out my life as an oblation, Arnault. In its ending, I have been faithful." He paused to draw another raggedbreath.

"You lay senseless as one of Nogaret's minions took his ring," he went on. "That, I could not stop. but I gladly paid the price to prevent him taking this." Trembling with the effort, he made his broken ?ngers relax enough to let Arnault's hand cup over the Shard.

"For a last battle," he continued, his voice growing more threadlike as he spoke, "this was a worthy one, I think. You are senior now. Lead the Order to survival, Arnault. Promise me." His gaze sought Arnault's with a look of burning urgency.

"I will do my best," Arnault managed to whisper. "You have my word."