Knights Templar - Temple And The Crown Part 37

Christoph's ?ngers twitched under his, and a faint smile brie?y ?itted across the battered lips as he nodded, starting to lose focus.

"Your word." he whispered, "and His. His Word shall go before me. as a Pillar of Fire by night. and as a Pillar of Cloud shall I follow it by day."

"Christoph." Arnault began.

But the dying man's strength was nearly gone.

"Non n.o.bis, Domine." he managed to whisper, his voice trailing into a breathless sigh as he slipped into unconsciousness. But in that instant, Torquil suddenly seized Arnault's arm with his free hand.

"Arnault! Didn't Iskander say that the silk he gave us was a healing talisman?"

Arnault's hand ?ew to his breast, hand ?at against the bulge of the pouch that contained the silk.

"He said we must ask from the heart, if ever we needed to invoke its healing powers," he said, his eyes wide as he fumbled urgently in his tunic for the pouch and pulled it out, wrenching at the silk inside.

Breville had moved closer, and was urgently motioning for the others to join him.

"Brothers, come and lend us your prayers and your faith!" Arnault cried, as he shook out the silk.

"Torquil, lay him ?at. Keep pressure on his wound!"

Christoph moaned as Torquil s.h.i.+fted him onto the stairs, as horizontal as he could manage-still alive, at least. That part of Arnault that must always doubt noted that the healing talisman, with its angels and words of power, might well become Christoph's shroud; but he pushed those doubts from his mind as he spread the embellished silk over the dying man's rec.u.mbent form so that angel wings enfolded him, and the images of the holy nails lay over his hands and feet. The Shard of the Law still lay in one slack hand.

Now Arnault must ask from his heart, if he dared to hope for the grace that might still save Christoph, if only their faith was strong enough. The heart with its Crown of Thorns fell over Christoph's heart, and Arnault laid one hand atop it as he laid his other over his own heart, bowing his head in desperate prayer.

Under the silk, both Torquil's hands were pressed to the wound in Christoph's side, and his tears were falling onto Arnault's hand. The tears were welling in Arnault's eyes as well as he drew forth the words-inadequate, mere words-or, were they?

"G.o.d of Israel, Word Incarnate, Sacred Heart, Chief of chiefs. omit not this man from Thy covenant."

hewhispered. "Of Thy grace, O Lord, if it be Thy will, restore Thy servant Christoph to Thy service. Not to us, Lord, not to us but unto Thy Name be the glory."

He paused to swallow, searching for more words, but could ?nd none save for scripture. But they were words of the Word, that he had heard all his life, at the conclusion of every Ma.s.s; and with the Shard of the Law beneath his hand, the very Word of G.o.d, the words took on new meaning as he spoke them now.

"In principio erat Verb.u.m."

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with G.o.d, and the Word was G.o.d. The same was in the beginning with G.o.d. All things were made by Him; and without Him was not any thing made that was made. In Him was life; and the life was the light of men. And the light s.h.i.+neth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.

And suddenly, as the words whispered from Arnault's lips, light did, indeed, s.h.i.+ne in the darkness, coming from underneath the silken talisman that covered Christoph. Arnault heard the soft intake of breath from the others watching, saw Torquil slowly raise his head to gaze in wonder at the light streaming up his wrists from beneath the silk, where his hands were pressed to Christoph's wound.

Then Arnault felt Christoph's chest stir under his hand, rising and falling-once, again!-as the light slowly faded and Christoph's hand moved beneath the silk and drew it back from his face, wonder in his eyes.

"Christoph?" Arnault dared to breathe, as the pale eyes blinked away heavenly visions and then drifted to lock on Arnault's.

"I had the most extraordinary dream," Christoph said.

His other hand also stirred underneath the silk, to emerge with the Shard, now softly glowing. He smiled as he offered it to Arnault.

"This is your charge, I think," he said softly.

Speechless, Arnault held out his hand and let Christoph lay the Shard on his palm. The light faded, but he could feel the tingle of its power, now restored.

"You must use it to erect the Fifth Temple," Christoph said briskly, sitting up with no sign of lingering weakness. "There lies such survival as is ordained for the Order-in Scotland, with your Bruce.

"As for me, what has happened has made it clear that my work from this point lies here in France, doing what I can to ease the spirits of our incarcerated brethren, and serving That which I took to safety, as priest. I am soldier no longer-but you must be."

Nodding, still speechless, Arnault closed his hand around the Shard and watched Torquil begin methodically folding the silk of the talisman. As he did so, Breville and the other watching knights rose and came closer, the former according Arnault a sober salute.

"We await your orders, Matre," he said quietly.

Breville's use of the formal t.i.tle jarred Arnault to full awareness of what had just occurred, in addition to Christoph's healing. Torquil, too, was watching him through new eyes. Christoph himself was gently smiling, and gave an approving nod as Arnault squared his shoulders and drew a deep breath.

"We have accomplished what we set out to do," he told them. "Nogaret will harry the Order no more-though I would it had been sooner that he was called to judgment. Gather up the bodies of our slain brethren and bring them with us. We will ?nd them an honorable resting place, once we are far from this accursed keep."

"What about Nogaret's men?" one of the knights asked. "Some of them are merely stunned."

A rare expression of anger crossed Arnault's pale face, but his answer was temperate.

"We cannot know if they were fully aware what their master was about," he said, tucking the Shard into the pouch Torquil handed him and then slipping that into his tunic with the Breastplate. "I'll not be responsible for slaying helpless and possibly innocent men-or helping the Devil's own. Leave them where they lie. And let G.o.d be the judge."

The explosion that rocked the turret of Castle Montaigre was audible from several miles away.

Approaching by torchlight, Rodolphe de Crevecoeur reined in his horse with a startled oath, as did Bartholeme de Challon. The sudden stop caused Bartholeme's dwarf, Mercurius, likewise to yank his pony to a sharp halt, with the men of their retinue strung out uncertainly behind them.

"Thunder?" Rodolphe ventured, though without conviction.

"I very much doubt it," Bartholeme said. "It's clear tonight. There isn't a cloud in the sky. At a guess, I would propose that de Vesey's fears may have been well-founded."

Rodolphe nodded dispa.s.sionately. "You may well be right. Could it be that our esteemed Magister has made a serious error in judgment?"

"Indeed," Bartholeme agreed, with a malicious ?icker of a smile. "With any luck, it will prove to be his last."

This observation elicited a bark of laughter from Mercurius.

"We won't know, of course, until we get there," Rodolphe said re?ectively, and added, "At this moment, I rather fancy that Nogaret is repenting his decision to exclude us from his secret works. Shall we press on, in case there's something to be salvaged from the situation?"

"Like the High Priest's Breastplate?" Bartholeme ?ashed his companion a rakish grin. "And perhaps that ring, as well. If Nogaret has inadvertently overstepped the proprieties of dealing with demons, I, for one, shall not be wasting many tears."

The dwarf laughed again-an evil chortle-and Rodolphe grimaced, but he refrained from comment as he signaled the company to move on, their pace now quicker despite the darkness. They were still half a mile from the castle gates when suddenly a tattered, wild-eyed ?gure staggered into the torchlight ahead of them, arms waving wildly.

The horses in front s.h.i.+ed. Mercurius uttered a vindictive hiss. The men-at-arms reached for weapons.

Both Rodolphe and Bartholeme took a closer look.

"Well, well, if it isn't de Vesey himself," Rodolphe said mildly.

With his clothing hanging in shreds and his face and hands a ma.s.s of cuts and bruises, Lord Valentin de Vesey was scarcely recognizable as the debonair young courtier they were accustomed to seeing. With a low groan, he lurched forward and seized Bartholeme's horse by the bridle.

"You're late!" he rasped. "It's all over."

"So it appears," Bartholeme agreed. "Allow me to congratulate you on making good your escape."

The escapee gave a hysterical crack of laughter. "If only you knew!"

"Get a grip on yourself, man," Rodolphe snapped. "Here, have some of this."

He tossed Valentin a ?ask and swung down from his horse. Trembling, the new arrival took a gulping swallow and sank down on a nearby boulder. Likewise dismounting, Bartholeme waved their men away out of close earshot, ?rst taking a torch from one of them. Valentin glared at them accusingly as he took another deep draught, sighing as he wiped the back of a hand across his mouth and let himself relax a little, like a wind bladder slowly de?ating.

"I gave you ample warning," he said sullenly. "Why didn't you come sooner?"

"Because that would have defeated the purpose," Bartholeme replied, in a voice like silk. "The plan, in case you've forgotten, was to give Magister Nogaret enough rope to hang himself."

"That shows how little you know!" Valentin sulked, after taking another swig. "He had success within his grasp. We had brought Ialdabaeoth to full power. We were ready to refocus the power of the Urim and Thummin. That would have given us full access to the Breastplate itself. We had even started the process.

But then Templars broke into the citadel and disrupted everything."

"Templars?" Rodolphe repeated. "You must have addled your wits."

"Don't you think I know what I saw?" Valentin snapped. "It's all their fault. If it weren't for their meddling, Nogaret would still be alive."

"So, he's dead?" Bartholeme interposed.

"Oh, yes. And if you want proof, have a look at this."

He tossed something small and metallic to Bartholeme, who caught it neatly. Holding it to the torchlight, Bartholeme raised an eyebrow as he recognized the demon-ring- except that its great ruby now was a dense, solid black, re?ecting no light whatsoever.

"I think you'd better give us the tale in full," he recommended, closing the ring in his ?st as he sank down on a rock across from Valentin.

Dully Valentin recounted the events leading up to the explosion, interspersing his recital with gulps from the ?ask.

"Saint Clair had an artifact that was proof against the ring, the demon, the Breastplate, and even Nogaret himself," he concluded. "I don't know what it was. Peret and Baudoin died in the blast. I was nearest the door. If the back draft hadn't ?ung me down the stairs, I'd be dead, too."

"How did you come by the ring?" Rodolphe asked.

"I stripped it from Nogaret's hand," Valentin said. With another ragged bark of gallows laughter, he added, "It made it easier that the hand was lying in a separate place from the rest of his body. I'm not sure how that happened. Maybe the demon did it."

Behind Bartholeme, the dwarf sn.i.g.g.e.red, the whites of his eyes just visible at the edge of the torchlight.

"And what about the Breastplate?" Bartholeme pressed. "And that other artifact?"

Valentin's eyes wavered s.h.i.+ftily, and he hiccuped. "I don't know. I didn't stop to look for them. Everyone else was dead or unconscious. I was afraid some of them would come around. I just wanted to get out of there."

"So you turned tail and ran away."

"You weren't there!" Valentin retorted. "You don't know how it was. What would you have done in my place? I've told you the kind of power they wield. Are you suggesting that I should have attacked them single-handed, for the pleasure of getting myself killed?"

"That at least would have been heroic," Bartholeme said. "Not that it's dif?cult or brave to kill unconscious men. As it is, you leave me with a problem on my hands."

Valentin's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

"Simply that you haven't proved yourself a very trustworthy acolyte, have you?" Bartholeme replied.

"Your services, I think, are no longer required."

He snapped his ?ngers to the darkness behind him, and men emerged from the shadows. Valentin started up in alarm, only to be seized and pinioned from behind. Mercurius, too, had moved into the torchlight, stubby ?ngers fondling the ornate hilt of an oversize dagger at his belt.

"Have you gone mad?" the captive shrieked, struggling, as Bartholeme rose. "What are you doing?"

"What Nogaret would have done, should have done, if he hadn't been blinded by his own ambition,"

Bartholeme said.

He nodded to Mercurius. Grinning, the dwarf drew his dagger and, testing the blade against his thumb, advanced on the struggling Valentin. The captive uttered a piercing howl and tried even harder to break away, ?ghting for his life, but Bartholeme's men held him fast as, with merciless precision, the dwarf deftly slit his throat.

Eyes wide with disbelief, the dying man gave a bubbling moan, then slowly sagged in his captors' arms.

Mercurius was still grinning as he stepped back, and Rodolphe's dislike turned to distaste as the dwarf licked the blade clean with his tongue. Bartholeme was unmoved.

"Get rid of the carca.s.s," he ordered curtly.

"Wasn't that a tri?e drastic?" Rodolphe remarked, as the guards dragged Valentin's body into the rocks.

"This is war," Bartholeme responded with a shrug. "We can't afford to tolerate any further weakness or divisions in our ranks. Especially not now, when we know that at least some of the Templars are still a force to be reckoned with. Now let's see what more we can learn from this."

While Rodolphe held the torch, Bartholeme carefully polished the blackened stone against his sleeve and breathed on it, whispering a word of power. Most gratifyingly, it gave off a tiny ?icker of garnet ?ame.

"Well, would you look at that!" Rodolphe exclaimed.

Bartholeme nodded. His eyes were very cold and very bright.

"It seems there may still be some life in this little toy of Nogaret's," he mused. "Ialdabaeoth, are you there? Acknowledge your new master."

Nothing happened, but Bartholeme merely smiled and closed the ring in his hand.

"No matter," he said lightly. "I can sense its presence; it's sulking-and it was hurt somewhat by whatever happened. But at least we know that those accursed Templars didn't have it all their own way after all."

"Evidently not," Rodolphe agreed. "The question is, can we make use of the ring now that Nogaret is gone?"

"I'm quite certain I can bargain successfully for the use of its powers," Bartholeme said. "Unless, of course, you intend to challenge me for its possession?"

The question was accompanied by a predatory glare, before which Rodolphe shook his head and gave a mirthless laugh.

"Some other time, perhaps. I rather like being alive. If you feel you have it in you to lead the Decuria against the Templars, by all means take the helm. If you survive, you will be a.s.sured of your place. If not."

"If not, you will be waiting to a.s.sume the mantle of command," Bartholeme said. "I quite understand."

"Oh, I'm prepared to be led, for the present," Rodolphe said lightly. "Which reminds me: Valentin implied that some of the Templars survived-which means they may still be in the area. Have you any orders regarding them?"

"Let them go their way-for now," Bartholeme said. "We need time to consolidate our forces and rebuild our strength, to summon the rest of the Decuria."