Darkness Reigns

by Joseph Nassise

  "Are you fucking serious?" she asked, her voice dripping disdain. "Do you really think one of the Adversary's demonic allies would be able to just waltz in here past the wards you've got covering that door?" she asked, pointing at the large iron barrier that had slammed shut in their wake.

  She has a point, Cade thought, and also made note of the fact that she'd recognized the presence of the wards in the first place. He hadn't known she was able to do that.

  The priest scowled, not happy with the disrespect he was being shown, but Cade didn't care. In his view, respect was earned and he wasn't about to kowtow to this guy just because he had a bit of power at his disposal. Cade had plenty of power of his own but he wasn't using it to lord himself over the others as he sensed this guy was used to doing. If he wanted respect, he'd need to do something worthy of it.

  To Cade's surprise, the priest stepped out from among the soldiers he'd been standing with and crossed the space between them. Addressing Major Hale, the priest said, "If the prisoner is willing, I can confirm his identity with just a touch."

  Cade felt himself bristle again when the priest used the word prisoner, but he held his tongue. He might not like it, but he was a prisoner, at least for the time being. If letting this guy touch him resolved that small problem, he was willing to do it.

  Before Hale could say anything, Cade said, "Fine. I've got no problem with that."

  Hale appeared surprised, but clearly wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Very well. Father Moynihan, proceed please."

  Moynihan stepped over to Cade and raised his right hand as he considered where to make the connection he sought on Cade's bare skin.

  In that moment, Cade felt that other side of his nature suddenly rise up, just as it had first with the holder demon and then again when confronting the Regent's patrol on the old road. If Moynihan wanted to verify his identity, he thought, why not remove any possible doubt? Let the priest see exactly what he'd been through, let him experience it for his own.

  Rather than wait for the other man to choose a place to touch him, Cade quickly slipped the glove off his left hand and grasped Moynihan's with his own, as if they were dance partners about to swing.

  In the past, touching anything with his bare skin would have immediately sent a series of images and feelings racing through Cade's mind and body as he relived whatever the other person had most recently experienced. Dead or alive, it didn't matter; he'd see whatever there was to be seen. The same held true for inanimate objects as well; his Gift didn't discern between animate and inanimate objects, between a person and a thing.

  For whatever reason, this time Cade was able to control the flow of information. Rather than Moynihan's past flooding his sense and overwhelming him, he called up his own memories and sent them coursing down the link between him and the other man. The sight of the body of the Dorchester Demon suddenly splitting down the center like a chrysalis, releasing the physical form of the Adversary to strike out and kill his wife, Gabrielle; the fear and disgust he'd felt the first time he'd crossed the Veil and entered the Beyond; the love and despair that had overwhelmed him whenever Gabrielle would appear to him during those years when he'd been convinced she was dead; all the emotional detritus that he'd carried month after month, year after year, as he'd sought to revenge her death at the hands of the Adversary. And then, as the final piece de resistance, he shared just how it had felt to sacrifice all he had worked for, all he dreamed about, when he drove that knife deep into her heart to keep the Adversary and his scream from returning to Earth in physical form.

  Cade let him have it all.

  By the time it was over, by the time Cade unclenched his fingers and let go of Moynihan's hand, the priest was on his knees, staring up at him in horrified wonder with tears streaming down his face.

  For a long moment no one said anything and then the mystic turned to look at Hale.

  "It's him," he said. "It's Cade Williams."

  18

  The Lord Regent, Viceroy of New York, Conqueror of the Northern States and Grand Master of the Knights of the Iron Fist, was enjoying a rather sumptuous lunch in his private dining room when there was a knock on the door.

  "Come!" he shouted.

  His aide entered, closing the door behind him after doing so, but not before the Regent caught a glimpse of one of his patrol scouts standing uncomfortably in the hall just beyond, no doubt awaiting an audience.

  His suspicions were confirmed when his aide sketched a quick bow and then said, "Sorry to disturb you, sir, but I think you should hear this man's report first-hand."

  The Regent glanced down at the medallions of steak over mashed potatoes served with a thick mushroom demi-glaze that he'd just begun eating and then up at his aide.

  "Tell me, Benjamin, does it look like I'm doing something at the moment?"

  His aide gave the question a second's thought and then hung his head, no doubt realizing in that moment that he'd done the wrong thing by interrupting, no matter what the reason.

  Eyes downcast, he answered the question put to him.

  "Yes, sir."

  "And what is it that I'm doing, Benjamin?"

  "Eating, sir. You are eating."

  The Regent nodded. "That's correct. I'm eating. And what did I tell you about disturbing me when I am eating?"

  The aide's voice only trembled a little when he said, "Not to do it, sir. Not to disturb you."

  "And yet here you are."

  The aide tried to correct his mistake. "I'm sorry, sir. I shouldn't have disturbed you. I will send him away and let you finish your..."

  The Regent's voice was sharp. "You will do no such thing. I've already been disturbed once. I'll not have it happen a second time."

  Benjamin's anguish was all but palpable and the Regent breathed in deeply, relishing the exquisite taste of the man's fear. He didn't blame his aide for the mistake; Benjamin had only been promoted to the position yesterday and it took time to learn the various aspects of the job. Still, a little fear went a long way when it came to teaching the proper way of doing things and the Regent wasn't one to pass up the opportunity when it presented itself.

  He took another bite, savoring the taste, and then looked up to find his aide still standing there next to the table.

  "Well? What are you waiting for?" the Regent demanded. "Get the man in here!"

  Benjamin scrambled to comply, rushing across the room to the door, opening it, and gesturing at the man waiting on the other side. The Regent watched all this out of the corner of his eye, quietly amused.

  I say jump, they say how high. Just as it ought to be, he thought with no little satisfaction.

  The two men crossed to stand next to the Regent's table.

  Benjamin opened his mouth, but snapped it shut again when the Regent held up his hand in a clear signal to wait.

  Several long moments passed, with the two men standing there, watching and fidgeting nervously, as the Regent went on with his meal.

  Finally, he put his fork down, wiped his mouth with the linen napkin in his lap, and then turned to the two men. He waved dismissively at his aide, sending him away until he needed him again. Once he was gone, the Regent turned his attention to the man his aide had escorted into the room.

  "Report."

  The man took one step forward. "My apologies for disturbing your lunch, sir" he began. "Hal Beckett, Iron Fist Commander from Lesser York."

  The Regent snorted. "I don't give a damn who you are. What is it that you and my aide thought was so important?"

  Beckett swallowed nervously, then continued gamely on. "Two nights ago, one of my patrols failed to return from their regularly scheduled route. I gave them an extra twenty-four hours, believing they might have been forced to hole up for the night on account of the large storm that came through the area that evening."

  The Regent took a swig of his wine but didn't say anything.

  The soldier glanced at the Regent's aide, now standing off to one side, who gesture
d for him to continue.

  "When they failed to show the following afternoon, I sent another patrol out to locate them."

  "And?" said the Regent, still more interested in his wine than what the man was telling him. A waved hand suggested that the soldier get on with things.

  "And...and the second patrol found the bodies of the first tossed into a ravine, their motorbikes abandoned nearby."

  The man hesitated, as if afraid to say whatever else it was that he had to say.

  This time the Regent turned to look at him.

  "Out with it," he demanded irritably, not understanding why his aide would bother him with such trivial business.

  "One of the bodies was marked."

  "Marked?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "What do you mean marked?" the Regent asked.

  The aide stepped forward and put a cell phone down on the table in front of the Regent, then used his finger to begin paging through photos of the bodies of the missing patrol members and their abandoned motorbikes so the Regent wouldn't have to do it himself.

  Still damned useful devices, the Regent thought absently as the photos flipped past under his nose, even without the cellular network running. He made a mental note to raise their priority level on the asset recovery list.

  His aide reached the last photo in the set and stopped, interrupting the Regent's musings. The image was a close up of a man's face, showing the large cross that had been posthumously carved into his forehead.

  A large, Templar cross.

  Sudden fury spread through the Regent's frame.

  Before he could help himself, he raised his fist high above his head and brought it smashing back down an instant later, the flesh shifting and morphing in the final second before impact, growing a deadly array of spikes that struck the surface of the phone with shattering force and sent small pieces of plastic flying in several directions.

  Nor did it stop there. The Regent surged to his feet, snarling like a wild animal, and proceeded to hammer his lunch plate, serving platter, and wine glass into oblivion before sweeping the remains off the table and onto the floor. He then set to work on the table itself, smashing the hardened oak into pieces.

  When he was finished, he stood over the remains, panting heavily. Then, his anger apparently spent, he turned to face his visitor.

  To his credit, Commander Beckett hadn't moved – not even to flinch – during the Regent's outburst. He stood at attention, his gaze locked on something in the distance.

  The Regent noted the man's professionalism, filed it away for later reference. Perhaps this one might be worth something after all, he thought. Let's see how he follows orders.

  In a steady voice, one that failed to display even the slightest hint that just a moment before he'd violently "I've had enough of this rebellious behavior. One good deed deserves another, wouldn't you say, Commander?"

  "Yes, my Lord."

  "Good. You are to round up twenty villagers, males only, I don't care what age, and string them up to die outside the city where it will be impossible for the rebels to miss them. Is that understood?"

  "Yes, my Lord."

  "Good. Dismissed."

  The Regent watched Beckett cross the room and then called out to him just before he reached the door.

  "I don't need to tell you that I expect you to catch those responsible, do I, Commander?"

  It was a near-impossible task, the Regent knew. They'd been trying to root out this particular band of guerillas for months now, with little success. But to his surprise, Commander Beckett met his steely gaze with one of his own.

  "No, sir. I will find them," he answered confidently.

  The Regent nodded and watched Beckett slip out the door.

  Then and only then did the Regent turn his attention to his aide, still cowering nearby. He pointed at the demolished table on the floor in front of him.

  "Clean this up. Then bring me another bottle of wine."

  As his aide scrambled to do as he was told, the Regent walked over to the windows and looked out over this city, his city, as the sun set in the distance. An image of that cross carved into his warrior's forehead floated in his mind's eye.

  Damned Templar vermin. You can't hide forever. And when I find you...

  19

  Major Hale stepped forward and extended a hand to Cade. Gabrielle watched her husband hesitate for a moment, then he slipped his glove back on and took the other's hand in his own.

  "Welcome to Moria," Hale said and then nodded in her direction, including her in the welcome as well.

  "Moria?" Cade echoed.

  "Yes, it's a name from Lord of the..."

  "I know what it is, Major. I'm just surprised you chose to name your refuge after a place that was overrun by the enemy not once, but twice, in Tolkien's epic tale."

  Hale shrugged. "My command staff are apparently a bit fatalistic in their outlook."

  And with that one comment, Gabrielle decided she liked this man.

  "It would seem we have a lot to talk about," Hale said to them, even as he helped Father Moynihan to his feet. "Perhaps we can do so in my office?"

  "Lead the way," Cade replied.

  And with that Major Hale led them down the hall, deeper into the Templar facility, with a handful of armed soldiers and Sergeant Dean accompanying them along the way.

  The original facility had consisted of the primary garage and a few rooms built off of that, but it was quickly clear that the Templars hadn't been satisfied with just that. They dug in and expanded the locale, burrowing deeper into the hillside like badgers in a warren. On just the first level, Gabrielle noted chambers being used for a variety of purposes, from equipment storage to food prep to planning and communication. They passed two large chambers full of cots lying in orderly rows and more than one individual stopped what they were doing to watch them go past.

  Large steel doors had been put in place at various points along the central corridor and she recognized them for what they were - chokepoints that could be used to seal off the rest of the base should it come under attack and the entrance be breached. The warrior in her approved.

  When they reached a stairwell at the end of the corridor, they descended three more levels and Gabrielle began to wonder just how big this place actually was. Eventually they found themselves in a narrow corridor with thick wooden doors set at equal intervals on either side. It felt like officer's quarters and Gabrielle wasn't surprised when Dean opened a door at the end of the corridor and ushered them inside.

  Like most of the others they'd seen so far, this room had been roughly hewn out of solid rock and occupied a space about twelve feet square. A bit on the small side, she thought, but certainly functional. From the looks of it, it served as the base's makeshift command center. Large maps, each decorated with multicolored pins, dominated one wall. A rack of semi-automatic weapons dominated another, with stacked magazines in boxes beneath. Crates of various shapes and sizes were stacked against the rear wall, hiding it from view. A scavenged wooden desk was situated in the middle of the room and Major Hale went directly to it, opening a drawer and removing a bottle of liquor and a trio of glasses.

  "Drink?" he asked.

  Given that there was no label on the bottle, Gabrielle was expecting some homemade rotgut but accepted anyway; it truly had been one of those days. To her surprise, the liquor was smooth and quite refined. It went down easy, its warmth spreading through her body like oil in a finely tuned machine.

  Hale must have noticed, for he smiled in her direction and raised his glass in a mini-salute. "It isn't every day I get to welcome a genuine Hero of the Order, never mind two of them. I figured the good stuff was the least I could do."

  He sat down heavily in his chair and waved his glass in the direction of the doorway they'd just entered. "Sorry about all that back there," he said. "I had to be certain. I hope you understand."

  Gabrielle did and she knew Cade did as well. If everything they'd heard about the present situat
ion was true, this man was carrying a tremendous responsibility on his shoulders, given the number of people that this facility seemed to be hiding from the established government.

  Hale wasn't quite finished with what he had to say, it seemed. He slammed back his first drink, picked up the bottle and poured himself another. He drank that one down just as quickly as the first and then addressed the again. "But now that we've determined that you are, in fact, who you claim to be, that raises a few more questions."

  "Such as?" Cade asked.

  Hale's tone didn't change when he said, "Why the fuck did you leave?"

  Cade nearly choked on his whiskey.

  "Excuse me?"

  "You heard me. Why the fuck did you wander off and leave us on our own? You, of all people, knew just how dangerous the Adversary was! You knew that he'd tear down the very walls of Hell itself to escape to wreak havoc on this world and yet you left us to the whim of the enemy! You deserted us when we needed you most!"

  For a moment there was silence, then Cade surged to his feet.

  "Deserted you?" he said, his anger twisting his face into an unfamiliar visage and Gabrielle's heart skipped a beat at the sight. Around them, she could feel a heavy pressure rising, filling the confines of the room, like a thunderclap poised to break.

  Cade went on, his fury growing with every word.

  "Is that what you think? That I deserted you? Johannson drove me out after years of faithful service, cast me aside like so much useless waste, made a mockery of all that I had endured in service to the Order and ignored the warnings I gave about the dangers of the Adversary and his growing power, and you think I deserted you?!"

  A wind kicked up, seemingly from nowhere, stirring the papers on Gale's desk and sending several items on the shelves behind him crashing to the ground. Hale glanced about, confusion on his face as he tried to figure out how wind could be blowing through his sanctuary this deep underground, and Gabrielle felt a moment of pity for him as it was clear that he had no idea just who or what he was dealing with.