“Got it, boss,” said Riley, right on the heels of Duncan’s, “Understood.”
Cade dismissed them with a wave of his hand and turned back to study the maps for the fifth time that afternoon, wondering just what surprises the Necromancer, and possibly the Adversary, had in store for them.
After Mass, Riley, Flynn, and Duncan walked to the armory, where Cade had been waiting for them. It was the team’s habit of suiting up together and that day was no exception. They gathered in a small anteroom off the main chamber where the rest of Echo and Bravo Teams had assembled. They first pulled on a set of dark grey ceramic body armor that had been blessed by the Holy Father himself after its construction. Next were jumpsuits of black flame-retardant material that went over the body armor. In shoulder holsters, each man carried the standard issue HK Mark 23 .45 caliber handgun, complete with a twelve-round magazine, a flash suppressor, and a laser-targeting device. Two spare magazines for the pistols were affixed with Velcro to their left wrists. A combat knife was either affixed to their belts or in calf sheaths on the outside of their boots. Their swords, recently blessed again during Mass, were then slung across their backs, the hilts of the weapons extending just beyond their right shoulders for easy access. Lightweight Kevlar tactical helmets with built-in communications gear were worn on their heads.
Along with their pistols, each of the Knights also carried his weapons of choice.
For Riley, it was a Mossberg 590 12-gauge combat shotgun. He also carried a variety of plastic explosives and other detonation devices in the chest webbing he wore over his jumpsuit, ready for any demolition work needed during the assault.
Flynn had swapped his usual Barrett Light .50 caliber sniper rifle for something lighter. Stationed as he would be in the moving Blackhawk, the Barrett would be too awkward to use effectively, but a Marine-issue M40A3 would do the trick just fine. He also had a selection of throwing knives in a custom-made sheath strapped to his left arm between shoulder and elbow.
Cade and Duncan both carried Mk 17 SCAR-H rifles, with their 20-round box magazines and rail-mounted sights.
Outside, the sound of the approaching Blackhawks pierced the quiet with the rhythmic thump of their rotors. Cade ordered the sergeants to get the loading started and followed them out into the fading afternoon sunlight just as the Blackhawks touched down on the lawn nearby.
The sight of the choppers started Cade’s blood pumping. This had always been the time he liked best, when the op was getting under way and he knew that soon he would once again be put to the test.
He was headed for what would probably be the most dangerous assignment the Order had ever given him, and yet he felt a sense of calm, of peace, a feeling that this was what he had been born to do.
He stepped up onto the Blackhawk’s skid and signaled for the unit to get going.
As the chopper lifted into the air, the setting sun streamed out over the Lafayette commandery below him, and Cade found himself wondering idly if he would live to see its walls again.
Then, as the choppers turned as one to the west, Cade’s thoughts turned to the details of the mission before him.
The time for questions was over.
It was time for action.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Simon Logan stared down at the weapon in the carrying case before him with a mixture of fear, awe, and barely suppressed elation.
The final raid on the Templar commandery had been a smashing success. His men had acted with more skill than he’d expected, taking several other key artifacts from the Templar vaults, an act that would be lavishly rewarded. The Spear had been secured in the special carrying case designed for just that purpose, the other items packed away in whatever materials they had on hand, and the assault team had escaped as quickly and as silently as they had arrived.
The traitor had played his role well.
And apparently, he’d been justly rewarded for his treachery. The Necromancer had not been unhappy to hear that Donaldson been trapped in the room’s collapse as his men had made their exit.
It was one less pawn to deal with.
And now the legendary Spear of Longinus belonged to him.
Cautiously, the Necromancer reached out with one gnarled hand and ran a finger along the Spear’s shaft, a surge of power shooting up his arm. He’d been afraid the godly nature of the weapon would strike out against him and was pleased to discover his fears had been unfounded.
With considerably more confidence, he reached into the case, wrapped his fingers around the weapon, and pulled it free of the clasps that held it in place.
The Spear came to life.
Raw power flowed through the Necromancer, more power than he’d ever felt in his life. The grey haze through which he had begun to see the world was thrown back; vibrant colors and sounds assaulted his senses, as if a veil had been torn free, and he was seeing the world for the first time as it truly was. Possibilities unfolded before him, and he could see the righteousness of his path, knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was destined to hold this weapon in his hand, that it had traveled through the years just to arrive here, at this time, at this place, so that he might raise it up against his foes.
The boats moved smoothly through the water under the powerful strokes of the oars. All the men were under noise discipline, but Cade realized that it really wasn’t necessary. He could hardly hear the man next to him, never mind someone in one of the other boats, for all the din about them.
As darkness settled, the swamp came alive with sound.
The frogs had a chorus all their own, from the guttural belching of the bulls to the chirps of the smaller tree frogs. They were joined by the incessant buzz of the insects that swarmed around the Knights and the occasional hoot of a far-off owl, creating a cacophony that pressed against them on all sides.
From time to time a loud splash could be heard, and each time it was, the men in the boats tensed. They watched the water, wary of gators, but other than an occasional glimpse of something moving off in the distance, they didn’t encounter any.
The going was slow; gator nests, currents, and submerged logs large enough to swamp their boats presented problems. Eventually their guide, a wizened old man who’d fished these parts for years and who believed he was leading law enforcement personnel on a drug raid, turned to Cade, and said, “Getting close. Ten, fifteen more minutes max.”
Cade nodded his understanding and signaled the men.
Weapons were quickly checked, safeties taken off. The men shifted their positions slightly, preparing for the need to evacuate the boats quickly and silently.
Slowly, they closed on their destination. Up ahead, a light could be seen cutting through the trees.
As they emerged from a narrow channel into a wider passage, they came upon an incongruous sight. Rising out of the water was the statue of a stone cherub, its wings spread wide, smiling in frozen joy. A few feet away, a moss-covered Celtic cross broke the surface. Several yards to their left, the remains of a small stone building could be seen on the nearby shore. The tall grass on either side gave glimpses of other forgotten monuments.
“What is this place?” Cade asked.
Their guide cast his gaze around uneasily. “It’s what’s left of the old Spanish mission. In the late-colonial days the local parish wouldn’t let the unsaved be buried in town, so most of them were carted out here. Plots full of thieves and murderers and unbaptized infants. Some say the place is haunted.”
“And you?” asked Cade.
The old man looked at him long and hard before answering. “I think there are things on this earth man ain’t supposed to bother with. This place is one of them. Let’s move along.”
They continued forward and soon found themselves over the center of the submerged cemetery. A few markers rose above the surface, and as they steered between them, several other forgotten graves could be seen beneath the waterline.
Cade felt a sudden burst of power across his entire body, a sensation n
ot unlike touching a live wire with a bare hand. It was so unexpected that he sat down abruptly, alarming those in the boat with him and forcing their guide to hold up his hand in the signal to stop.
The five boats coasted to a stop with Cade’s boat in the lead and the others spread out behind it in an inverted V.
As the feeling faded, Cade gave himself a quick once-over, confirming that he was physically uninjured, but that didn’t assuage the growing unease he felt. Riley asked if he was all right, but Cade ignored him for a moment, turning instead to gaze out into the growing darkness around them.
The cypress trees cast odd shadows across the water, their branches hanging down almost to the water’s edge like mourners with their heads bowed. A breeze came up, causing the saw grass to sway lazily about. He saw no cause for alarm around them, however.
“I’m fine,” he replied at last, deciding he’d wasted enough time. It was clear that whatever it had been, it was gone. “Get us moving again. I suddenly feel like a sitting duck.”
Riley raised an arm and gave the signal for them to get under way.
That’s when the trap was sprung.
Several forms surged out of the water around each boat, surprising the men inside them. Hands reached for the gunwales as the moss-covered faces of the corpses risen from the depths of the swamp screamed in silence at the men who faced them.
Cade didn’t even have time to draw his sword as a revenant swarmed over the side right on top of him. He went down beneath its form, his hands locked about its throat in an effort to keep its teeth from sinking into his neck. The creature pummeled him with its hands, its overgrown fingernails acting like claws as they slashed against his coveralls and armor.
The vessel farthest to the left was immediately overturned, the knights inside disappearing into the murky water below. They did not resurface.
The others were more fortunate, the action from the men onboard preventing further mishaps.
But the attack was on in earnest.
As Cade struggled to keep the revenant from biting into his neck, Riley jumped to his defense. The master sergeant’s boot shot forward and knocked the revenant’s head clear of its body while his sword shot out and lopped off the hands of another revenant trying to climb inside their boat.
Around him, other Knights were fighting back, falling on the attacking revenants with their swords and combat knifes.
The battle was swift and deadly.
By the time the assault team had destroyed the last of the revenants, they had five casualties and three wounded Knights.
It was not an auspicious beginning.
Knowing time was of the essence, Cade regrouped his team and got them headed toward the target again.
Three hundred yards later, they emerged from narrow, grassy channels into a wider lake-like area. Pulling out a pair of low-light binoculars, Cade surveyed their target. From here he could see that the bayou had taken to reclaiming the land on which the plantation house was built. The boathouse that had been prominent in the pictures from a few years ago was all but gone, with only its moss-shrouded peak still rising a few inches above the water. The swamp had not been content to stop there; almost a full third of the luxurious lawn had been swallowed up as well. It looked like Cade’s men could run their boats right up onto the edge of the lawn instead of having to tie off at the docks as they had planned.
The soft glow of some kind of natural light, most probably candles or gas lanterns, could be seen in a few windows on the second floor. Otherwise, the plantation house and the surrounding grounds were dark.
Which was just as Cade had hoped.
“TOC to Flynn, TOC to Flynn.”
Flynn, in the air inside one of the Blackhawks a few minutes away from the estate, answered the radio call immediately. “Go TOC.”
“We’ve reached the edge of the grounds and are starting our advance. No resistance in sight. Wait five, then come in.”
“Roger, TOC, Flynn out.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Logan stood in what was once the grand ballroom on the second floor of the decaying plantation house, looking out into the night through the open French doors. As always, he wore his hooded robe, his features all but lost in the shadows it created. Behind him, arrayed in a semicircle, were his six senior acolytes.
Together, they made up what was left of the famed Council of Nine.
Or famed it will be, the Necromancer thought, as he tightened his grip on the Spear of Longinus that he held in his right hand. Now I have the power. Now I am invincible. Now is the time for the world to know my name.
But first he had to deal with the Templars.
And after that… after that there was still one more confrontation facing him.
“Their advance unit triggered the wards ten minutes ago,” said his second-in-command. “We can expect the full force of their attack at any moment.”
“Very well. Release the corpse hounds and prepare yourselves for battle. I will call forth some special reinforcements and join you shortly.”
“It is done.”
One by one the acolytes filed out of the room, each with a specific task to perform. The Necromancer had known the Templars would come after them, he just hadn’t believed they would find them so quickly. The delay his men had experienced hadn’t helped; a problem in Tennessee had cost them several hours and had ended with six state troopers dead on the edge of some back-woods highway in the midst of the Cumberland Plateau. Still, even the little time he’d been left with had been more than enough for him to call forth the power of the weapon now in his grasp. He knew that in time there would be so much more he could do, but for now, what little he had learned should be more than enough to deal with the damned Knights once and for all.
He stepped through the French doors and outside onto the small balcony just beyond. The night air was redolent with the smell of the swamp and the decay of the house around him. He breathed it in deeply, loving it. Death and decay; those were his partners, and he reveled in their presence.
He looked to the south, where a large thundercloud sat fat and heavy on the horizon.
That will do nicely, he thought with pleasure.
Raising his arms out to his sides he called out in a tongue long since dead to the world at large, a tongue he’d only just learned at the foot of his new benefactor.
From the tip of the Spear, lightning shot suddenly skyward.
In the distance, the storm turned toward him in response.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The Blackhawks came swooping in over the trees like avenging angels, hovering over the front lawn just long enough to dispatch their cargo; and then, with the exception of the lead two birds, they retreated back out over the swamp to wait until they were needed.
Flynn and Duncan were in the first of the two choppers that had stayed behind. They circled above the property, using the high-intensity spotlight mounted under the nose of the bird to highlight threats for the ground force and communicating with them via radio. From their vantage point they could see Cade and his men join up with Bravo Team. Fanning out, the group began its advance on the nearby buildings.
“Look!” Duncan cried, pointing.
The door to the plantation house opened, and several individuals stepped out into the porch. Duncan got a good look at them through the binoculars, and what he saw made his blood run cold. He’d seen those hooded robes before, worn by the sorcerers he and Cade had faced at Stone’s; he knew what power they had at their disposal.
The battle was about to become bloody.
Flynn got on the radio to their commander. “Flynn to TOC.”
“Go, Flynn,” Cade’s gruff voice replied.
“I count five hostiles on the porch, repeat five hostiles.”
“Understood. Engage at will.”
At the same moment, one of the Council members raised his fingers to his lips. The men in the Blackhawk could not hear the resulting whistle over the sound of the rotors, but
the men on the ground clearly did.
For a moment, nothing moved on the battlefield.
And then, in a thundering rush, dark forms came pouring out from around the sides of the house and headed straight for the Templar formation.
The first of the corpse hounds ran through an area of the lawn illuminated by the chopper’s spotlight, and Duncan could hear the voice of the Bravo Team leader clearly over the radio in response. “What in the name of God?”
They were the size of Great Danes, but no living Dane ever looked like this. Their skin hung rotting on their frames, and their empty eye sockets seemed to blaze with an unholy light. They charged across the grounds with unnatural speed, moving unerringly toward the Knights who were advancing on the plantation house.
The Templars met the oncoming rush with brutal efficiency. They had positioned themselves in such a way as to deliver overlapping fields of fire, and their gunfire cut a swath through the enemy ranks.
Just as the Knights had discovered when fighting the revenants, these creatures were only minimally affected by the bullets that ripped through their already ravaged bodies. A few fell to lucky headshots, but the rest simply regained their feet or continued undeterred.
In seconds they would be among the Knights.
“Swords!” Cade called out over the communication’s equipment and the men of both units drew their holy blades and met the oncoming charge straight on.
Swords flashed, hounds bayed, and both men and dogs bled into the night air.
High above, Flynn and the sniper in the other Blackhawk finally entered the fray.
They targeted the Council members still standing on the porch, taking out two of them with their first shots. Before the rest could respond to the threat, Flynn fired again, striking a third. While he did not think the second shot had been a fatal one, at least there were two less sorcerers for them to worry about.
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