The Templar Chronicles Omnibus

by Joseph Nassise

  There were no visible wounds on Cade’s body, but he was clearly in bad shape. He’d lost an incredible amount of weight, so much so that his clothing hung off of him. His skin was a nasty shade of yellow and was stretched tight across his bones, as if his skeleton was trying to force itself through to the other side. Riley was reminded of the mummified remains he’d once seen in the Natural History Museum.

  No one alive should ever look like this.

  Knowing Cade was beyond the limited medical assistance that was his to give, Riley pulled out his cell phone. He dialed a ten digit number from memory and when the phone was answered on the other end he identified himself, gave his location, and indicated the need for immediate medical extraction for a senior commander.

  After hanging up, he gently gathered Cade in his arms and lifted him, dismayed at how light he was. He made his way out of the workshop, across the lawn, and back inside the house, taking up a position in the living room by the front window, listening and waiting for the helicopter he knew was on its way. He tried not to think about Cade’s condition or the minutes slipping quickly past. The medical team would get here in time or it would not. It was all in the Lord’s hands.

  Riley bowed his head in prayer.

  As the first faint sounds of the approaching chopper finally reached him, he felt Cade shift in his arms. He looked down and was surprised to find his commanding officer looking up at him through his one good eye.

  “I’ve got to find her, Matt. I’ve got to find her.”

  The sound of his voice, so full of pain and desperate need, filled the big man’s heart with sorrow. He struggled to speak past the sudden lump in his throat and finally settled for a short, “I know, boss.”

  Cade slipped back into unconsciousness, which was fine with Riley. He didn’t need any further explanation anyway; Cade could only be speaking of one person.

  His dead wife.

  Gabrielle.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Riley was waiting in the corridor outside of Cade’s hospital room when his teammates arrived. After returning the charter boat, the two men had taken a puddle jumper flight into Miami. There they had changed planes and flown directly to Boston, where an initiate brother had met them with a car and driven them the last fifty miles to the commandery.

  “How is he?” Olsen asked.

  Riley shook his head. “Not good. He’s so malnourished and dehydrated that his body is basically eating itself from the inside out. The doc said it was pretty touch-and-go there for awhile. Another day and he wouldn’t have made it, hospital or not. For now, it’s wait and see.”

  The big sergeant went on to explain how he and Cade had been picked up by helicopter and flown to the nearest Connecticut commandery, only to have the medical officer there decide Cade’s condition was dire enough to transfer him to the Order’s primary hospital on the grounds of the Newport facility in Rhode Island.

  Which was where all four of them were now.

  Duncan glanced in through the open doorway to where Cade lay surrounded by a maze of life-support equipment. He was sleeping peacefully, but the sight of such a strong man laid so low was disquieting, to say the least.

  “Just what in heaven’s name did he think he was doing?” Olsen asked, clearly frustrated over the inability to do anything to help their friend.

  “He was looking for his wife,” Duncan answered absently, still staring at the Knight Commander.

  Silence fell and when he turned away from the doorway to face the others he found them staring at him.

  “What do you know about that?” Riley asked, and with his tone Duncan was abruptly reminded that he was still the outsider here. There was curiosity, but also more than a hint of protective anger in the big sergeant’s voice.

  Duncan answered without flinching. “I saw her. Or at least think I did.”

  “What? When?”

  “That night we found Stones’ body, at the safe house outside of Otter Lake.”

  Duncan remembered that evening with no small amount of trepidation. He and Cade had gone to see the head of the Custodes Veritatis, a secret faction within the Templar hierarchy that was responsible for defending the holy relics placed under the Order’s control, while Riley and Olsen had played rear guard, hoping to spot anyone who might be following them. They’d found Stone dead at the scene, an obvious victim of torture, and had then been ambushed by members of the necromantic Council of Nine that were intent on wresting the Spear of Longinus from the Order’s control. Unable to call for back-up, they had escaped with their lives only by using Cade’s strange power to travel into the Beyond.

  The trip had only pulled them out of the frying pan and into the fire, however, for no sooner had they regained consciousness in that eerie mirror of reality than they had been set upon by ravenous packs of spectres. With their backs to a dark and unwelcoming sea, they’d had no choice but to stand and fight, despite being outnumbered significantly.

  In the end, it had been Cade’s dead wife that had saved them. Or so Cade believed.

  Duncan explained what he knew to the others.

  “Why didn’t you say something about this earlier?” Olsen pressed.

  Duncan snorted in disbelief. “Yeah, right. What did you want me to say? By the way guys, our illustrious commander thinks the ghost of his dead wife saved our asses while we were stuck on the other side of reality. Just thought you should know.”

  Riley and Olsen simply stared, not saying anything. Their silence made it obvious that, yes, that was exactly what they had expected him to do.

  Flabbergasted, Duncan opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by the arrival of an initiate carrying a message for Riley. The Echo Team exec read the note and cursed once, softly.

  “What is it?” Olsen asked.

  “They’ve recalled the unit. Echo has a new assignment. We’re to assemble in the briefing room in thirty minutes.”

  “They can’t do this now! What about Cade?” Duncan asked.

  Riley looked pointedly through the doorway at Cade’s inert form. “As much as I hate to say it, it looks like we’re on our own for awhile.”

  The three men agreed to meet at the assigned time and went their separate ways. Riley followed the initiate back down the hallway, asking questions of the younger man in a quiet voice, trying to learn all he could about the Preceptor’s mood before having to go see him. Olsen headed for the barracks, intending to bring the rest of the men up to speed on Cade’s condition and let them know about the recall.

  Which left Duncan alone. As the newest member of the unit, he didn’t have any pressing assignments and so had nowhere in particular to be until the briefing commenced.

  He glanced up and down the hall. Seeing no one, he pulled open the door and slipped inside Cade’s room.

  The silence inside was broken only by the hiss of the ventilator and the occasional beep of the equipment monitoring Cade’s vital signs. Duncan spent several long moments standing next to Cade’s bed, staring down at him, his thoughts full of conflict. On more than one occasion he reached out to touch the injured man only to pull his hand back each time, remembering Cade’s admonition during their previous mission not to touch him under any circumstances.

  You could heal him.

  The thought came unbidden, but Duncan was honest enough to admit to himself that he’d certainly considered that fact once or twice since setting foot inside the room.

  Wouldn’t take much at all.

  And it wouldn’t; that was true. All he had to do was reach out and lay his hands on Cade’s body, to think about his injuries fading away as if they’d never been.

  You’ve done it before, for people you didn’t even know.

  True again. He’d healed hundreds of strangers while overseas a few years back. And since that time he’d vowed never to use his “gift” again.

  But you broke that vow, didn’t you? You healed Sgt. Olsen when he was injured in that helicopter crash. And this man certainly isn’t a st
ranger; he’s your commanding officer.

  Duncan began to pace back and forth in front of Cade’s bed, his indecision practically a physical torment. The voice in the back of his head had been silent for years. In the wake of his disgrace in China, he decided that his “gift” was more a curse than a blessing and had fervently made up his mind that he would never again call on the peculiar power that lived inside of him. For months that voice had pushed and cajoled, whined and complained, but he’d held strong to his conviction and eventually it had gone silent.

  Until now.

  Duncan sighed, knowing there was only one action to take.

  With the hiss of the ventilator and the beeping of the heart monitor for company, Duncan got down on his knees in the middle of the room and began to pray.

  “Heavenly Father, I come to you now with a heavy heart…”

  After some time, Duncan finally came to a decision.

  *** ***

  He dreamed.

  Dreamed of a cold, grey sea that lapped at the shore of a grey beach, while a grey sun sank slowly down through a grey sky. He stood near the water’s edge, looking out over that grey expanse, waiting; though he knew not for what. A sense of expectation rose in his heart, an emotion that was certainly out of place in a setting such as this, yet it was undeniable and one he couldn’t ignore. He’d come here, to this time and place, wherever here might be, to…meet someone? See something?

  He didn’t know.

  But whatever it was, it was coming.

  As surely as he knew his own name, he knew that.

  And so he stood on that strange shoreline, stood and stared and hoped, as the sun sank below the horizon and darkness claimed the sea in its inky grasp.

  Still he waited.

  Still he watched.

  And when a light shone out across those dark waters, a light that shone with a sense of living vitality that could not be denied, his heart leapt in recognition.

  Unfortunately, his time had run out.

  Behind him, a snarling cry rose up into the night air and it was quickly echoed by others. Dozens of others, so many that the night seemed filled with their cries.

  He spun around, reaching for the sword strapped to his back before he fully registered doing so on a conscious level.

  He knew that cry; had heard it often enough on his journeys here to recognize it as the hunting call of a pack of corpse hounds, one that had cornered their prey.

  He braced himself for the fight ahead.

  They came at him out of the fog, charging across the stony shoreline toward him. Now that the pack had been gathered, there was no need for their hunting cry and they swept forward in an eerie silence that had a weight all its own.

  Cade met the first one without hesitation, sidestepping and slashing its body in half as it leapt for his throat. He did the same with the second, then plunged his sword through the chest of the third, holding the carcass with his foot as he dragged his weapon free once it had expired.

  By then the rest of the pack was upon him.

  He twisted and turned, slashing with his sword at any hound that dared to get too close, keeping them at bay only through the sheer ferocity of his attack. The bodies began to pile up at his feet and still they came on, bounding over the corpses of their brethren to try to reach him.

  When the press of their numbers became too great, he had no choice but to retreat backward, out into the water. He kept his back to the ocean, his attention fixed on the ravenous horde that now covered the beach as far as he could see. He held his sword up before him like a talisman, waiting to taste the salty tang of his enemy’s blood once more.

  But the hounds refused to follow.

  They wandered back and forth at the water’s edge, howling in voices that ripped and pulled at his soul, but they would not enter the water. The edge of the surf became a barrier that they would not or could not pass and their frustration was clearly evident.

  Cade was just wondering what the dark waters might hide, what would keep the blood-thirsty pack from daring their depths when a pair of hands wrapped around his ankles and pulled him off his feet.

  He went under, spluttering in surprise and swallowing a mouthful of water in the process. Before he could do anything he felt himself being pulled through the water at an incredible speed, moving deeper out to sea with every second.

  He frantically began to kick his feet and twist his frame, doing what he could to fight his way free, knowing he had only seconds before his lack of oxygen would doom him.

  The second he felt the hands on his feet let go he shot for the surface, sucking in great whooping lungfuls of air once his head had broken clear of the water. He glanced around frantically, noting that he’d been dragged dozens of yards from shore. His sword was gone and the hounds still paced the shoreline in the distance, but he didn’t have any choice; he’d have to swim for it and deal with each issue one and a time. Remaining in the water was out of the question.

  He took a deep breath, preparing for the swim ahead, but before he could set out the hands returned.

  This time there was more than one pair of whatever they were. He felt their rock-hard grip take hold of his lower legs, cold, clammy hands that grasped his feet and ankles and calves while others tried to lock his legs together at the knees.

  They yanked him downward for a second time.

  This time however, as he sank beneath the waves, he could hear a voice calling him, shouting his name, but he couldn’t respond, couldn’t open his mouth without filling it with the brackish water that surrounded him, and he was certain that doing so would be the death of him. His mind screamed at him to breathe but he fought against it, clamping his jaws tightly shut as the hands below dragged at him, pulling him deeper, fingers wrapped tight about his ankles, his calves, his thighs.

  A shadow passed overhead, obscuring what little light there was, and in his mind he screamed I’m here, I’m here, but only the greedy voices of the dead answered him as they dragged him deeper still, whispering that he would be here, with them, for eternity. His arms flailed above his head, frantic now, as he felt himself dragged down into the darker depths where hope was replaced by despair and the light never shone.

  A hand grasped his wrist.

  His heart pounded in his chest and his pulse throbbed in his head, starving for oxygen, but he had enough awareness left to understand that the hand came from above, rather than below.

  As the darkness closed in he felt himself being drawn upwards, his ascent shocking, violent even. He was hauled from the grasp of the dead with seeming effortless ease. A moment later he was pulled from the water, but his body was telling him it was too little, too late. He’d swallowed too much of that vile liquid, had pulled too much of its poison into his system, and now he would have to pay the price.

  The voice continued calling to him, shouting his name, but he knew he was fighting a losing battle and he gave in to it at last, too tired and worn out to fight any longer. A figure bent over him, a dark, hooded figure that should have scared him witless but only vaguely registered on his conscious mind as his sight tunneled down to a narrow window and the darkness came to claim him.

  In that last moment, before the world fell away and he tumbled down into oblivion, there was a sudden flash of light and in its glow he caught a last, fleeting glimpse of his rescuer.

  Inside the hood of the long robe she wore, his dead wife, Gabrielle, smiled her grim reaper’s smile at him and mouthed his name, the white of bone gleaming through the ravaged side of her face a harsh contrast to the smooth skin on the other…

  Cade awoke.

  A soft voice echoed in the back of his mind and a hauntingly familiar scent lingered in the air, but both were gone by the time he struggled back into awareness of his surroundings.

  He was in a hospital bed.

  His body ached as if he’d been laid out and beaten for hours with a broom handle, but his thoughts were clear. He remembered his repeated trips across the Veil, his frui
tless search for Gabbi’s spirit, his growing despair as he came up empty with each and every crossing. How he got here, wherever here was, he didn’t know, but he could make an educated guess or two.

  The room around him was stark, austere, and he knew it wasn’t a public hospital by the fact that he had the room all to himself. Which meant he was probably in the hands of the Order. Exactly where was still up for grabs, though. Maybe the view from the window on the other side of the room might tell him something.

  Pulling back the covers, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. He did it slowly, gingerly, not expecting to succeed, and so was surprised when he did so. Despite the soreness, his body responded without any problems.

  He glanced down, remembering the sight of his wasted body as he’d gazed at himself in the mirror just before his last trip, and was astounded by what he saw.

  It only took him a moment or two to come up with an explanation, however.

  Duncan.

  His teammate had healed him.

  Confident that he was now medically out of danger, he reached down and pulled several sensors off his chest, knowing as he did so that it would likely bring several nurses running, but he didn’t care. He’d been in bed long enough; it was time to get moving again. Last but not least, he carefully pulled the IV out of his right wrist, knowing the small drip of blood would clot in a moment. He tossed the sensors and the IV tube onto the bed behind him.

  Forgetting the window, he crossed to the small wardrobe and found a change of clothing inside.

  He was in the midst of getting dressed when the first of the doctors burst in through the doorway to his room.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Just before Vespers the three sergeants from Echo reassembled together in a secure conference room awaiting the arrival of Preceptor Willem Johannson, the man who had taken over after Michaels had perished in the commandery assaults three weeks before.