To Speak in Lifeless Tongues: Book 2 of the Grails Covenant Trilogy (The Grails Covenant Triloty)

by David Niall Wilson

  Montrovant would not be drawn into their banter. He was deep in thought, and his gaze followed the movements of the squat man behind the bar. After a few moments Montrovant leaned close between Jeanne and Gwendolyn, the incident of moments before seemingly forgotten, and whispered to them hoarsely.

  “That is Bertrand. He serves Bastian, and he has been running this tavern, in one form or another, for as long as there has been a Holywell. They are Brujah, and Bastian is very old. He will not take well to your little display, Jeanne, once Bertrand reports it. He works very hard to keep this place neutral.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jeanne said simply. “I have never experienced anything so—overpowering. You could have warned me.”

  Montrovant spun on him, nearly raising an arm to cuff him on the side of the head, then stopped. He stared at Jeanne for a long moment, then suddenly his face transformed and he burst into raucous laughter. He clapped Jeanne on the back hard enough to make the smaller man stagger, then turned back to the bar.

  “That I could—that I could. Sometimes I forget myself. Another round for my friend,” he called out more loudly, waving to the bartender who glared at him darkly.

  Bertrand moved down the bar toward them, a flagon of wine in his hand. He moved slowly and precisely, as if each motion had been thought through carefully. He leaned over the bar as Montrovant passed him the necessary payment.

  “Another incident like the one earlier, and you’ll never leave this city. Am I understood?”

  Montrovant was not intimidated, but he nodded without speaking.

  “At dawn be in the stables. There will be safe lodging and we will find a moment to talk, I think. There is more than just a social call involved here, and I will have no business transacted on these premises without my knowledge.”

  “Of course,” Montrovant agreed, extending one huge hand across the bar. Bertrand took it reluctantly, studying Montrovant carefully. There was a tension in the air that even the more mundane customers must have witnessed, but it passed, and the bartender actually smiled.

  He didn’t speak, but the tension was broken. As the shorter man turned away, Montrovant did so as well. He nodded toward the back of the bar and headed for the door where they’d seen the shadowy figure exit earlier. Jeanne breathed a sigh of relief as they came out into the fresh night air.

  They stood in a narrow alley. At one end, a few feet away, was the street through which they’d entered on. The alley extended in the other direction until it curved between two ancient stone buildings. Debris littered the ground, and there was a prone figure propped against the wall just beyond the fringe of shadow.

  Montrovant moved easily into the shadows, Jeanne and Gwendolyn at his heels. The figure leaning on the wall didn’t move or acknowledge their presence, but Jeanne sensed that the man—it was a man—was alive and awake.

  “So, the wandering cub returns to civilization,” a gravelly voice rose, echoing eerily in the confined space. “Has Eugenio tightened the leash, or are you sniffing about on your own?”

  Montrovant lunged forward suddenly, and seconds later he had the man dangling from one huge hand, held aloft by the throat. Their faces were very close, and yet the man showed no real fear. Jeanne decided he was either dangerously insane or blind.

  “It will be a cold day in your master’s afterworld when I answer to the likes of you,” Montrovant said at last, letting the man slip from his grip to fall in a heap at his feet. “I trust that you’ve informed all those who need to know of my presence—along with those who do not?”

  “I tell no one a thing without a price being paid,” the man replied, rising and dusting himself off carefully. He was slender, not young, but not exactly old, either. There was a gray, timeless quality about him that told Jeanne there was more to him than met the eye. “I waited here to see if your price might be better than the others,” he continued.

  Montrovant stared at him for a moment, then shook his head, grinning ruefully. “I know you too well to pay you not to talk, Michel,” he said softly. “I might as well pay you not to breathe—I would get equal value for my coin.”

  “You do me injustice,” Michel replied, also grinning. “It is good to see you again, Dark One. The city has not been as entertaining since your last, shall we say, overly hasty departure.”

  Jeanne was truly confused now. Montrovant must have known the man would be waiting for them.

  Now, after nearly taking the fool’s head off by way of greeting, he was carrying on a conversation like they were the best of friends.

  “What did he do?” Gwendolyn had moved forward, eyes shining with interest. Jeanne watched in amazement.

  “Tell her nothing,” Montrovant said quickly. “Those days are behind me.”

  “That isn’t all that was behind him,” Michel grinned. “Half the Duke’s private guard was behind him as he rode out of town. They were bitter, too. It has taken fifteen years to raise a new princess…

  Princess?” Gwendolyn’s eyebrow arched, and

  Jeanne turned to Montrovant with a grin.

  “Enough,” Montrovant said. “We have more important things to do here than the recounting of my past mistakes.”

  “Oh, they have been recounted many times since you left,” Michel added, his grin still wider. “Sondra came back, you know. Quite the event that was.”

  “Sondra?” Jeanne asked.

  “The princess, of course,” Michel laughed. “Or, she was the princess when our friend here met her. She was somewhat more than that when she returned, and she was not happy to see how her father had forgotten her and elevated her younger, bastard sister to legitimacy.”

  “He recognized Seline?” Montrovant asked, suddenly interested. “Despite my warning?”

  “No one paid much attention to your warnings after you’d been gone a year or so, my friend,” Michel said ruefully. “They might be frightened of you, but they are certainly not long of memory. Once things calmed down, they were pretty quick to start chasing their own interests again.”

  “But Seline?”

  “Yes, Seline, and you can imagine the stir that raised. He was without an heir, and she was the only remaining hope with the bloodlines to keep the house intact.”

  “And did she?” Montrovant asked.

  Jeanne was fascinated, watching the interaction between the two and trying to piece together the fragments of what they said into a decipherable whole. Montrovant was getting caught up in the story, and that in itself was entertaining.

  “Of course not,” Michel laughed out loud. “She might have pulled it off, though. She was one of the finer wenches of the palace, as you will recall. If Sondra hadn’t come back—who knows?”

  Turning to Jeanne and Gwendolyn, his expression apologetic, Montrovant explained. “Sondra was the daughter of a man I had a—problem—with. She was infatuated with me, and I’m afraid I might have let the passion of the moment carry me away.”

  “You Embraced her?” Gwendolyn’s voice was sharp, and Jeanne moved a step back.

  “I did it for revenge.” Montrovant met her stare evenly. “She did not beg me, but her father did me a disservice. She was beautiful, and young, and vital, and she was there when I hungered. A very convenient way to even an old and tiring score.”

  Gwendolyn didn’t respond, but it was clear that the issue was far from resolved.

  “Sondra came back almost a year to the day of her own—transformation” Michel continued, taking up the story again eagerly when Montrovant hesitated. His eyes were animated, amused and the dim light glittered off them brightly. It was obvious that he’d caught the interchange between Montrovant and Gwendolyn and put two and two very quickly into four.

  “She visited her father first. He was sick for weeks. Every time the doctors thought he was on the road to recovery, he’d grow pale and weak.”

  “She killed him?” Jeanne asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

  “No,” Michel said, grinning, “the doctors did. They deter
mined that he had a poison within him and that they needed to bleed it out. They did that. They bled everything out of him. The physicians were found dead the day after he died, and I suspect that Sondra did that out of anger over the waste.

  She is still here, then?” Montrovant asked.

  “Sondra, I mean.”

  Gwendolyn moved closer, as if she would protest his interest, but suddenly all humor had drained from Michel’s face, and she held herself back.

  “No. She is dead, and that is why I must warn you. The Brujah, they have taken this city for their own. There are those of other blood-lines who come here, but only with Bastian’s approval.”

  “Then Syd is no longer here?” Montrovant demanded. “I have come a long way to speak with him.

  Oh, he is here,” Michel answered quickly. “He has always been here. Even Bastian hasn’t made any sort of move in that direction. Syd leaves Bastian alone, Bastian pretends Syd couldn’t kill him whenever he might decide. Pretty precarious, but somehow it works.”

  Such intrigue. Jeanne had been used to this sort of thing in mortal life—it was the way of noble blood. This was different, somehow—deeper. The powers involved had been there for so long, and the roots of the “families” had had time to grow very deep. There was more involved than a younger son putting his sibling to death, or a duke poisoning the legal heir.

  “This Sondra,” le Duc cut in. “You say she is dead—she was killed by another Damned?”

  “You sound surprised,” Michel observed. “The Dark One must truly have kept you sheltered. A hundred years ago a question like yours might have brought a frown to my grandfather’s face, as well. Now it is common. The Brujah breach no challenge to their supremacy here without a confrontation. Bastian has all but proclaimed himself ruler of this city, and he is no slouch at tactics.

  “Only those who are truly old stand against him, and, as I said, those he leaves alone.”

  “I must see Syd,” Montrovant repeated. “Michel, can you lead me to him?”

  “You know the price that would put on my head,” Michel countered, meeting Montrovant’s gaze levelly.

  “I will make it worth your while,” Montrovant continued. “I will also offer what protection the three of us can offer. I may not have Syd’s age, but I know a few tricks. Bastian is not so old he couldn’t be brought down a notch.”

  Michel hesitated. He seemed to be weighing the consequences against the entertainment value, and Jeanne thought suddenly of Kli Kodesh, waiting somewhere ahead on a road they’d only begun to travel. Who was this Michel, and how was it that he spoke so freely and with such knowledge? It was becoming painfully clear that Montrovant had kept certain things from him very carefully. Another thing to concentrate on. Jeanne almost wished they were back on the road where things were much simpler. Almost.

  “You may be right, my friend,” Michel said at last, nodding curtly. “I will take you as close as I dare, and I will direct you the rest of the way in. I’m not certain how Syd will feel about seeing you again—it will draw attention to him, as well.”

  “That is a road I will travel when I reach it,” Montrovant replied. “Syd will see me. There is no way he could not. If he is not happy to see me, well, I will have to find a way to cheer him up, won’t I?

  You have worked that magic on me,” Michel said, grinning. “I can’t remember the last night that promised so much of interest. It is good to see you, old friend. You spend far too much time roaming around. One like yourself could make things very hot for Bastian and his minions.”

  “You know that, of my kind, I am the only one for whom the city is not home. The Dark One…called by the hunt, the wolves…something not quite right in my blood,” Montrovant countered. “I have my own roads to travel. I will leave Bastian to his sedentary life. Eugenio as well.”

  As Montrovant spoke, Michel turned away and trotted quickly up the alley away from the street. Jeanne was just about to voice a question as to their destination when the man took a miraculous leap, clearing a fifteen-foot stone wall to his left and taking to the rooftops without a slip.

  Montrovant followed easily, as though he’d expected the move, and Gwendolyn wasn’t far behind, though Jeanne heard her cursing softly as she corrected her balance and scaled the wall clumsily. Again he was several steps down the alley before his mind completely registered that the others were gone.

  Another lesson. Michel might be human, but he was not one to be trifled with. Jeanne let out a soft growl and leaped to the rooftop, taking off as swiftly as possible in pursuit of the three shadows disappearing in the distance. As he caught up with his companions, a cloud slid across the moon, plunging the city into total darkness. A darkness that swallowed them without a ripple.

  EIGHT

  Michel led them quickly over several rooftops, down through a second alley, and came up short at the rear entrance to a stable on the southern border of the city. Montrovant didn’t bother with questions, and they moved with such speed and purpose that le Duc was hard-pressed just to keep up. He trailed along behind Montrovant, at Gwendolyn’s side, lost in his own thoughts. He knew he’d need to ask some questions about Michel at a later time. For the moment he focused on their breakneck journey across Holywell, and on watching their backs as best he could.

  He had a lot to learn about the politics of the city, but already he understood that they had inherent enemies. Best to keep his wits about him and his eyes and ears open in directions Montrovant’s were not. Michel huddled immediately against the rear wall of the stable, as if concentrating, and Montrovant stood silently beside him. Gwendolyn stood at Montrovant’s other elbow, watching. She paid no attention whatsoever to Michel, nor did she watch le Duc. Only Montrovant captivated her. Another reason to keep the watch—another responsibility. It seemed as though, youngest or not, he was the only one with any common sense left. Michel peeled himself away from the wall. Jeanne couldn’t tell if he’d been listening, or sensing by some other means, but he was apparently satisfied. He turned to face Montrovant once more. “The way is clear, for the moment. This is as far as I go, old friend.”

  “You will not take me to Syd?” Montrovant asked quickly.

  “I have done so, you just don’t know it yet,” Michel said softly. “I must go, Dark One, but I will see you again soon—you will owe me, you know.

  That may be true, my slippery friend, but what

  I will owe you remains to be seen,” Montrovant answered.

  Without a word, Michel leaped to the rooftops again and headed off at an angle from the way they’d come. Le Duc moved as if to follow, but Montrovant stayed him with a hand on his shoulder.

  “Wait,” he said softly. Jeanne was going to protest, but he saw Gwendolyn stiffen suddenly and back against the wall. It was only seconds later that he felt them. Not that it mattered. They were completely surrounded.

  “You have come a long way,” a sibilant voice floated out to them through the shadows.

  They stood alone, looking about themselves in alarm, and then he was there. Tall, slender to the point of emaciation, eyes glowing with a deep golden fire. Le Duc took a step back, but Montrovant held his ground.

  “Hello, Syd,” he said softly. “You seem to have been expecting us, despite the long journey.”

  “It isn’t a large city,” Syd replied. “Word travels quickly in certain circles. I, and mine, travel in all of those circles.”

  “So it would seem. You have saved us the trouble of finding you.”

  “You have made an error, Montrovant,” Syd replied quickly. “You were told to stay clear of all of us—not to drag us into your little game. You have chosen to ignore this, and you have chosen the wrong time and place to make that mistake.”

  “Is this any way to greet an old friend?” Montrovant replied smoothly.

  Le Duc caught the slight edge in his sire’s voice. The air was so charged with tension that every movement, every intake of breath and every word spoken was unnaturally immediate. They
were immortal, all of them, to a point. That point was a fine line they were walking, and the straight-edged blade of that point was sliding softly across Jeanne’s spine. “Friend.” Syd spoke the word as if it were unfamiliar, as if it were an unpleasant taste passing over his tongue. “Friends do not endanger one another,” he continued. “Friends do not travel hundreds of miles to drop their troubles in the lap of another. Friends do not ignore the instructions of their elders.”

  “I have ignored nothing,” Montrovant replied. “I have come to you for answers, but I have done nothing to endanger you.”

  “You have no understanding of how things are now,” Syd replied. “You come wandering in from Hell knows where, dragging a bitch and a pup behind, asking questions and leaping across buildings in the middle of the night, and you tell me you have done nothing to endanger me. Things are not as they were. The Damned are not all solitary powers any longer—clans have gathered in some of the great cities, and rumor carries of others. There are places where groups of our own have taken control. Do you know who is in control here, Montrovant? Do you care?”

  “I know more than you believe,” Montrovant said, taking a step forward. “I know that Bastian calls orders and others in this city jump, and it shames me. You are here. You are both older and stronger than he, and yet you cower in the shadows and threaten your own.”

  “You are not my own.”

  “You were Embraced by Eugenio, as was I,” Montrovant stated. “You are my brother. If you choose to deny this, that is your decision, but it is also a fact.”

  Le Duc felt the tension growing, and he knew that the next words spoken would not be as friendly. Montrovant was arrogant, and that wasn’t always the best way to approach a would-be ally. As it turned out, it didn’t matter. The air around them erupted in sudden sound, and dark shadows dropped from the walls and slipped from the streets and alleys. Bastian was upon them.

  “You have led them to me,” Syd gasped.

  “If you think that then you are a bigger fool than I had believed,” Montrovant spat, spinning toward the nearest of their attackers. He flipped his hand out in an almost careless gesture, and there was a howl of outrage and pain from the shadow.