Jack Templar and the Monster Hunter Academy: The Templar Chronicles: Book 2

by Gunhus, Jeff

  I squinted, relieved that nothing had thrown itself at the door the second I opened it, and sought out the source of the scratching sound. It was louder now, clearly coming from the mouth of the short tunnel. I kept my hand on the door, ready to slam it shut again if something charged from outside.

  A long black shadow crossed the beam of light. Then a second one. I almost panicked and closed the door. Then I heard the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard. The low, throaty rumble of a horse. The long shadows were legs. I opened the door wider. The scratching sound was a hoof pawing the snow away from the ground, followed by a massive head lowering to munch on the soft grass.

  Saladin.

  I couldn’t believe it. I had already mourned the horse’s death at the hands of either the shriekers or the wolves, but there he was, peacefully eating without a care in the world.

  I gave a low whistle and his nearest ear rotated toward me. He quickly stood, stamped the ground and whinnied as if saying it was about time I’d gotten my lazy behind out of bed. I opened the door wider and carefully walked through the tunnel, my eyes slowly adjusting to the bright light.

  Saladin stood in front of the mouth of the cave, his head bobbing up and down, shaking the hair of his mane. Seconds later, I understood what he was trying to tell me.

  Arrayed in a semi-circle in the clearing around the cave was the entire pack of wolves.

  I froze.

  It was exactly how I imagined Daniel’s descriptions on that deadly day when he had lost his family. I doubted I had time to make it back inside the cave before the nearest wolf could reach me. Saladin whinnied softly, but I noticed there was no panic in the sound. Certainly, the wolves had been there while Saladin munched on the grass. I moved toward him cautiously and put my hand on his muscled neck. He felt relaxed and calm, even ducking his head for another quick bite of food. I wished I could say I was as calm as he was but my heart was pounding like it might explode from my chest.

  From behind the wolves, at the apex of the semi-circle, walked Tiberon. Even next to the other wolves, he looked massive. His jet-black coat seemed unnatural in the pale, winter sun; the white cross on his chest was too perfectly formed, almost as if it had been stitched onto him.

  It took everything I had not to turn and run back into the cave, but I stood my ground as the massive wolf crossed the distance between us. Saladin shifted his weight nervously at the new arrival, but I gripped his mane and he became still.

  The wolves around us lifted their heads to the sky and howled into the winter air. Tiberon approached me, his head nearly level with my own. His dark brown eyes never left mine. He stopped only a few feet from me, so close that the white plumes of his hot breath in the cold air rolled up into my chest and face.

  “My friend is injured,” I said, my voice cracking. “I need to get him help or he will die.”

  Tiberon looked past me into the tunnel and then back to my eyes. He raised a massive paw and I couldn’t help but notice each claw was nearly the length of my hand. Slowly, almost as if he too were afraid he might injure me, Tiberon laid a paw on my shoulder.

  A flood of images entered my mind. Fractured and disjointed, like seeing snippets of a newsreel. A wolf caught in a steel trap. A wolf shot with an arrow. A hunter chasing wolves on horseback through the woods. Daniel.

  I realized that these images were somehow coming from Tiberon.

  I nodded. “Yes, my friend has hunted you in the past. But haven’t you hunted him as well?”

  Tiberon growled and the pack around the perimeter answered with a chorus of snarls.

  I closed my eyes and recalled the story Daniel had shared with me the night before, filling in as much detail as I could from my imagination. I hoped my guess was right and that Tiberon could somehow see these same images. When I opened my eyes, Tiberon was staring into the cave behind me. I could tell he understood.

  “So, there has been death on both sides,” I said. “And too much fear and hate. We can continue to kill one another if you want. Or we can find another way.”

  I swallowed hard, knowing full well one swipe of the wolf’s giant paw could send me reeling, probably killing me before I even realized anything had happened. This was the moment of truth. Even if Tiberon didn’t kill me on the spot, I still needed to convince him to let us go. With Daniel getting worse, he needed medical help soon if he was to survive his injuries.

  Tiberon stared at me, sizing me up. I clutched my hands to my sides so he wouldn’t see them trembling. He huffed out a burst of air and I felt my hair blow backward. But I forced myself to meet him eye-to-eye.

  You look like your father, said a deep rumbling voice in my head. Perhaps you have his strength too.

  It took me a second, but finally I stammered, “Th…that’s you, isn’t it? In my head? You knew my father?”

  I did, Tiberon said. A good man. Different than the rest.

  I tried to keep my wits about me. I had so many questions to ask, starting with how this wolf could possibly have known my father. But Daniel’s health had to come first.

  “My friend, he’s injured. I need to get him back to the Academy.”

  Tiberon emitted a low growl. You may go if you choose, but the wolf-killer can not leave.

  “Please,” I begged. “He’ll die if I don’t get him help.”

  Then the deaths of many of my brothers will be avenged , Tiberon said. The wolves around him howled eerily, as if calling to the memories of their fallen comrades.

  “You saw what happened to him,” I said. “You saw what made him the way he is.”

  Tiberon snarled and one of his claws dug into my shoulder. Does the world afford me leniency because of how I turned into this monster you see before you? No. Not even from the people who most ought give it to me.

  “What happened to you?” I asked. “Maybe I can help.”

  Your father once promised the same thing years ago. And then broke that promise when he left these woods, never to return.

  “Don’t you know?” I exclaimed. “He was captured by the Dark Lord Ren Lucre! He’s being held in his dungeon right now!”

  Tiberon growled and looked away into the distance. His shoulders sagged as if a weight had been placed on him. I know those dungeons well. Once you enter, you never leave. Even if you escape, that place stays with you forever.

  Something odd was happening. As Tiberon spoke, I felt strange emotions rise and fall inside of me, competing with my own. I not only heard his voice but sensed his emotions as well. Pangs of terrible fear coursed through me. I heard screams in the distance, the sound of fire. “You were a prisoner in those dungeons, weren’t you?” I asked. “You know where it is.”

  Tiberon nodded.

  “Tell me,” I said, my head spinning from the possibility that I was about to find out where my father was.

  Tiberon paused, as if considering his options. Finally, his voice rumbled in my head. If I tell you where he is, do you intend to go there?

  “Yes.”

  Then, I might as well just kill you myself and save you the trouble.

  I felt the excitement drain away. The giant wolf’s tone left no doubt he had no intention of telling me. Still, I had to try. “Let me be the judge of that,” I declared. “I faced Ren Lucre in battle once before and bested him. There’s more to me than you might think.”

  It is true that I see a fire inside you, young one , Tiberon said. But that fire will not be enough to survive the dungeons of Ren Lucre. There are terrors there beyond reckoning, beyond what you can imagine.

  “That’s why I can’t wait. I have to save my father before it’s too late,” I said.

  The minute he was put in the dungeon, it was already too late, Tiberon rumbled. I should never have told him where the Jerusalem Stones were hidden. He wasn’t ready to go after them, but he wouldn’t listen. He had many virtues, your father did, but patience was not one of them. And before you ask where the Stones are hidden, the answer is no. I will not make that mistake agai
n.

  The Jerusalem Stones. The location of the dungeons. Everything I had come to the Academy to discover was suddenly in front of me. But it felt like seeing the destination on the other side of an impossibly wide canyon with no way across. It seemed Tiberon had no intention of telling me anything. I racked my brain for some clever way to get him to tell me, but I had nothing. Besides, I had a feeling that he would sense any trickery. I decided just to speak my mind.

  “How can giving a son the chance to free his father be a mistake?” I asked.

  This is no longer my concern, Tiberon said.

  “How can you say that? You said it yourself, you told him where the Stones were.” I felt a surge of remorse come from Tiberon, so I kept at it. “He wouldn’t have been placed in harm’s way if it wasn’t for you. And you know it,” I said. “In a way, he’s only in those dungeons because of you. Don’t you feel any responsibility at all?”

  Tiberon roared at me, his open jaws wide enough to take off my head in one bite. I felt a bolt of anger from Tiberon stab through me, so intense that it took my breath away. The word ‘responsibility’ had hit a nerve and that nerve very well may have signed my death warrant.

  I held my ground in the face of his fury, knowing there was nothing I could do if he decided to kill me, so I figured I might as well go out looking him in the eye. Even so, my legs turned wobbly as Tiberon raged.

  Don’t lecture me about responsibility, boy. You know nothing about it. You want to know what responsibility looks like? I’ll show you.

  The flood of images washed over me once again, too fast at first for me to make any sense of what I was seeing. I felt dizzy and had a sense of vertigo, as if I might fall into the pictures as I saw them. It was like watching a movie being rewound. Tiberon’s memories were on full display for me to see.

  Suddenly, the images stuttered to a halt and then the image played forward in real time. I felt disoriented as I was seeing everything from Tiberon’s point of view, as if I were actually looking through his eyes. Finally, the movement slowed as Tiberon, in whatever time and place the event occurred, focused on a man in armor who approached him holding a torch.

  The man was older, with lines around his eyes and flecks of grey in the heavy beard that hung down below his neck. Where blood and mud didn’t cover it, the man’s armor shone in a deep, gold luster as it reflected the torch’s fire. He carried a shield with a red Templar Cross on his left hand and I saw the insignia of the Templar Order, the emblem of two knights on one horse, stamped into his chest plate.

  “Tiberon,” the man called as he rushed forward. “Thank God we found you. How did you escape?” Screams erupted from somewhere nearby. “Tell me, do you know where he is? The Dark Lord?”

  The man pulled at Tiberon’s hand and the world shifted as he stood up. My focus trained on Tiberon’s hands. Human hands.

  “Master de Molay, you should not have come. Ren Lucre has used me as bait to get you to leave the Citadel.” It was Tiberon’s voice, weak and thin, but similar enough to the voice in my head for me to identify it. I also recognized the name. Aquinas had told me about Jacques de Molay, the last Grand Master of the Knights Templar, my namesake and ancestor who was burned at the stake on Friday the thirteenth. But that was over seven hundred years ago. How could Tiberon have been there?

  De Molay clutched Tiberon’s forearm. “Where is he? Even without the Jerusalem Stones, I must face him.”

  As I shared Tiberon’s memory, I could feel an echo of his emotions as well. Hot shame washed over me as Tiberon felt it.

  “I told him,” Tiberon whispered. “I…I…I’m so sorry. So sorry.”

  “Told him what?” de Molay asked.

  “Where the Stones were hidden,” Tiberon cried. “And with you here, they are not protected. I couldn’t take the pain. It was too much…too much…” De Molay’s face registered horror at the words. But it was more than just what Tiberon was saying. Something else was happening.

  “My God, what have you done?” de Molay asked, terrified.

  My view went down to Tiberon’s body, only it was no longer fully human. Hairless flesh bulged out from the clothes, ripping them apart at the seams. The legs stretched out long and sinewy as claws tore through his boots. Black hair grew from the skin, like thousands of black threads being pulled through by invisible needles. The hands were in my line of vision now and I watched as they transformed into the claws of a wolf.

  “I’m sorry, my Lord. I tried to resist. I swear I tried.” I heard the words in my head, but they came out from Tiberon as a guttural snarl. I realized that Tiberon had tried to say the words, but that his ability to speak was gone. De Molay had his sword in front of him and was backing away.

  “Are you still there, Tiberon?” de Molay asked. “Or just this beast? If you can hear me, show me a sign or so help me, I’ll run you through. I swear I will.”

  My point of view shifted to the clothes and armor scattered on the ground that Tiberon had been wearing before his transformation. A massive paw stabbed at a piece of cloth and pierced it with a single claw. Tiberon held it up. It was the part of his tunic with the red Templar Cross embroidered on it.

  De Molay lowered his sword. “You are still there. We will deal with your treason later. Until then, there may be a use for you. Come, Tiberon, and pray we are not too late.”

  The scene spun forward. I had the sense of vertigo again as images flashed past me. When it stopped, I was outside, standing in front of a stone wall next to a gate. I recognized it immediately. The Citadel. Nearby there was a sapling oak, barely as tall as a man, its trunk no thicker than my wrist. I marveled at it, knowing that over time it would become the great Templar Tree.

  De Molay was there, dressed now in a heavy fur-lined cloak, not too different from the ones worn by the instructors at the Academy today. He walked along the wall, followed by a group of six other men. I could tell I was looking through the eyes of Tiberon the wolf now. The world was sharp and crisp through his eyes. Even the colors appeared more brightly, as if every sense had been enhanced. I heard the low huffing of his breathing as he walked behind de Molay and saw the look of fear on the faces of the soldiers in the camp they passed.

  They walked under the gate with the jagged metal teeth and entered the darkness of the cave. They came to stop next to a bronze door embedded in the rock. The door to the Cave of Trials. De Molay turned and addressed Tiberon and the six hunters. “The end is near, my friends. Without the Jerusalem Stones, Ren Lucre grows bolder each day. He uses the greed of men to turn the Courts of Europe against us. Soon, they will come for us, and the Knights Templar will be no more.”

  Tiberon gave a low, lonely howl, full of grief and remorse. The six hunters glared at him, hatred in their eyes. Only de Molay showed him any kindness.

  “I know the burden of your guilt lies heavy on you, my old friend.” De Molay motioned for Tiberon to come close. “I cannot absolve you of it, but I can give you an opportunity to earn back your honor.” De Molay motioned to the door to the Cave of Trials and addressed the other hunters. “Today, we hide the Templar Ring from both Man and Monster. It is the last thing of magic we have from the Temple Mount in Jerusalem. The enemy must not be allowed to unite it with the Jerusalem Stones, for then he will become all-powerful and the Creach will rise again. Only this time, they will be unstoppable.”

  De Molay pulled out his sword and grasped the blade with his hand, holding it with the point to the ground. He lifted the hilt over his head. “One day, after years of darkness for our Order, a hunter of the Black Guard shall return to this place, pass the Trial of the Cave and be worthy of bearing the Templar Ring. He will take back the Jerusalem Stones, destroy Ren Lucre and avenge us all. This I pledge.”

  De Molay lowered his sword to his lips and kissed it. “May he be pure of heart and ready for the task. Only a true Templar will pass this test.” He turned to Tiberon. “The enemy has turned you into this terrible creature and perhaps the punishment is fitting fo
r your betrayal. There are others here who would see you slain.”

  As the other hunters stared at Tiberon, it wasn’t hard to gather that they all wanted him dead.

  “But I cannot forget our many years of friendship nor the countless times you have saved me in battle,” de Molay continued. “So I give you a chance to earn your honor back and serve the Black Guard one last time. You will be bound to this place, sworn to protect it, until one who bears the ring releases you of your oath. You will make this oath not only on the Templar Ring, but to the brothers who you betrayed. Do you accept this duty?”

  Tiberon bowed low and de Molay reached out and touched the ring to the wolf’s forehead. There was a bright light and I felt an electric energy pass through me. When Tiberon raised his head, the other hunters pointed at him and whispered among themselves.

  “The mark of the white cross on his chest.”

  “It wasn’t there before.”

  “What does it mean?”

  The voices faded away as the images spun forward. When it stopped, I was in the middle of a battle. Or what seemed like a battle at first. Then I realized there was no enemy, only members of the Black Guard who had Tiberon surrounded, thrusting spears at him, brandishing swords. Hatred on their faces.

  “Kill the beast!” one cried.

  “He’s responsible for de Molay’s death!” shouted another.

  I recognized some of the faces as the men who had been in the cave with de Molay when he honored Tiberon with his new duty. But these men led the charge against him.

  “Kill him! Kill the traitor!”

  Tiberon turned and ran. He plowed through a wall of soldiers, bounded up the stairs to the top of the wall and sailed over the edge with a graceful leap. I felt my stomach sink as Tiberon fell through the air and landed with a thump on the hard, frozen ground. He looked back and I felt a complicated mix of emotions run through him. Anger. Shame. Fear. Sadness. Betrayal. And, of all these, betrayal strongest of all.