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

by David Niall Wilson

  Jeanne moved without thinking. He was young to the Blood, but his mind was the mind of a warrior. The red haze had not abandoned him in his Embrace. The world slowed, and his blade was suddenly in his hand as he backed toward the wall. It was an instinctive motion, protecting his back as he swept the blade in a quick arc to clear the area near him.

  He noted that Gwendolyn was gone. He’d not seen her go, nor did he believe she’d been taken down so swiftly. Another question for later, assuming that later existed.

  They were surrounded, but there weren’t as many as he’d originally thought. Syd’s followers had melted from the shadows at the first sign of trouble, and Montrovant had entered the battle like an avenging angel. The odds had evened and turned in the blink of an eye. A short, squat form leaped from the shadows, moving in an odd, sidewise gait toward Montrovant’s back. Jeanne levered himself off of the wall without thought, leaping at the shorter vampire and swinging his blade in a vicious arc.

  His target moved in odd, disjointed motions. Jeanne adjusted mid-leap, angling the blade lower and tighter. There was a snarl as he was spotted, and he felt the air rush past his throat as long, knife-sharp nails raked upward, barely grazing his skin. He saw feral, yellowed eyes glowing brightly, then spinning away at a crazy angle as his blade separated head from neck. Montrovant whirled, ducked as Jeanne flew past, and grinned ferociously. It was over moments later.

  Jeanne came back to the reality of the moment slowly. He was aware that the battle had ended. He was aware that there were others moving about him, speaking in low, hurried tones. He leaned against the wall and waited for the haze to clear. He prayed that no one would come to him, that none would touch him. He’d kill them, and it would be a shame to waste the second life offered in a single existence. The red slipped from his eyes. The voices became coherent. He felt someone drawing near and steeled himself for the touch that never came.

  “You fought well.” It was Gwendolyn. He turned slowly, staggering slightly as he removed himself from the protective surface of the stone wall. He was surprised once more.

  “Where did you go?” he managed to reply. “They came, and you were gone. Where did you go?”

  “I was here,” she said, smiling enigmatically. “There are a few tricks you don’t know yet, my friend. I didn’t know who or what they were. I thought it might be better if one of us were—less obvious.”

  Jeanne stared at her for a long moment, assessing the emotions he saw warring in her eyes. Trying to decide whether to call her a coward or applaud her ingenuity. Neither option was available a second later when Syd appeared at their side.

  His eyes were brighter than when they’d first seen him. His motions were quicker, more certain. He was smiling, and the transformation of his features was amazing.

  “You are all right?” Syd asked. Though the words were friendly, there was a bright glitter in the elder vampire’s eyes that made Jeanne wonder if there were any point in answering.

  “I’m fine,” Gwendolyn answered immediately. Jeanne was only able to nod. His mind still lingered on that fine edge between red and reality. It had been a long time since he’d been caught up in a moment of battle. It had never been like this. More lessons. More that Montrovant might have told him, but hadn’t. Had he known?

  “We must move,” Syd was saying. “We must get out of sight before Bastian realizes you weren’t alone. These were sent after you, not me. Not enough of them—not by a long shot.”

  He turned and Jeanne followed. Gwendolyn had insinuated herself close against his side, and he allowed her to support him slightly for the first few steps, aiming him in the right direction.

  “You will have to tell me about this place inside your mind, the place you go when you fight,” she whispered as they began to move through the door into the stables. “There are many things you can tell me, I think.”

  He didn’t reply, but he knew the conversation was far from over. Syd led them into the stables quickly. Montrovant had entered well ahead of them, not even bothering to turn and offer reassurances. The door closed behind them with a decisive, final thud.

  They moved through the center aisle of the stable in a silent, single-file column. The animals shied away, snorting and stamping in disapproval, but did not raise more of a disturbance than that. It was apparent that this wasn’t the first such late-night, blood-scented entourage to pass this way. Most animals would have been in a frenzy.

  A dark passage opened in the wall ahead, and Jeanne watched with interest as those ahead of him disappeared through it. When he and Gwendolyn reached that hole he hesitated for a long moment, adjusting his eyes to what lay beyond, then mounted the stairs that appeared before him and started down. Those behind made their way onto the stairs as well, and the portal was closed behind them.

  As they moved down the shadowed passageway, Jeanne felt the weight of eyes upon them. No one was visible, but there was no doubt that they were watched. There was no warmth in that surveillance.

  “Stick close,” Jeanne whispered, leaning forward to place his lips close to Gwendolyn’s ear. “Just because they’ve invited us in doesn’t mean they aren’t going to kill us.”

  She nodded almost imperceptibly in answer. She needed no warning from him, but it had made him feel better—more in control—to voice his concern. Almost immediately he began to wonder if anyone else had heard. Cursing himself under his breath he continued into the darkness.

  The first thing he saw when he returned to the light was Montrovant’s face, illuminated by flickering candle-flame. He stood before Syd, whose back was to the door, a thin, ethereal figure against the backdrop of Montrovant’s vast height and broad shoulders. The lines of Montrovant’s face were relaxed, and Jeanne breathed easier. They might not be completely safe, but if Montrovant was willing to take the chance, odds were he had reason to believe he could get them out of whatever was to come.

  “You were still wrong to come,” Syd was saying. “The more years pass, the more important it becomes that we hide our nature from mortals. We hide from one another now, and it won’t be so long before the younger ones start coveting your own blood. Things are different now.”

  “That is all the more reason to aid me,” Montrovant responded quickly. “What I’m doing, what I will be able to offer to you, and to the others—it is worth the risk.”

  “To you, everything is worth the risk,” Syd replied, shaking his head. He turned toward the wall, unwilling to meet Montrovant’s eyes.

  “There are stories,” Syd continued. “I will share what I know. I will offer you no aid, nor will I give you any sort of blessing, but after wrongly accusing you of leading Bastian’s filth to me—and after the—entertainment—they provided, I feel I owe you this. Besides, I know little of your knights beyond what you might hear on the street.”

  Montrovant took half a step forward, as though he’d protest, but stopped when Syd turned back to him.

  “Do not press it, Dark One,” he whispered. “I know of your ways…I know of your mind, more than you would believe. Be happy with what I offer. You are not so dark as all that.”

  For a long moment the two stood, facing off in silence, then Montrovant smiled. He didn’t drop his eyes, nor did he look back, but the smile carried all the answer he needed. Syd returned it.

  “It has been too long after all, Dark One.”

  They both broke into sudden laughter, some understanding passing through their taut gaze, and the tension in the room eased several notches. Others appeared from shadowed alcoves and dropped from perches nearer the ceiling of the cavern—for that was what it was: a huge, hollowed cathedral in the stomach of the mountain.

  Now that the boundaries of the encounter had been set by the leaders, Jeanne was able to take a moment to scan the room. It was an impressive sight. Tapestries lined the walls, and upon closer observation, dark passages branched out in all directions. It was a massive, labyrinthine maze of the damned. They swarmed around the small group in the center
of the room, forming in smaller groups and watching. Apparently they didn’t get many visitors. Not that moved under their own power and had an option of leaving, in any case.

  “So,” Syd said at last, after less formal greetings had been exchanged, “you chased that dog Santos from the Holy Land, and now you follow the Grail to the stronghold of these knights, knights whose very order is a result of your own machinations.

  What makes you believe they have found what you seek?”

  Montrovant reached beneath his cloak and pulled free the letter. He spoke no word, but handed the paper over to Syd and waited for the other’s reaction. It wasn’t long in coming.

  “Damn him,” Syd spat, scanning the letter quickly. “How can he continue to mock us like this?

  He is very old,” Montrovant replied, “and it would appear that he has the luck of the gods on his side.”

  “There are no gods,” Syd replied, handing the paper back. “If there were they could never stand by for such treachery.”

  Jeanne was surprised by the violence of Syd’s reaction. Kli Kodesh’s actions were difficult to understand—insane in some instances—but treachery? What could the old one possibly owe to Syd that would cause such depth of emotion?

  Gwendolyn had moved back to stand more closely by his side.

  “He doesn’t appear to be very fond of my sire,” she whispered.

  Jeanne nodded in agreement. Apparently Syd had heard her, as well, though she’d kept her voice subdued. He turned to face her then, studying her features intently, then returned his gaze to Montrovant.

  “She is not one of ours,” he said. “Why is she with you?”

  “She was sent to me,” Montrovant replied calmly. “The two of us have—a history. It was another message from Kli Kodesh.”

  “I thought I recognized the scent of that blood,” Syd nodded. He was trembling. “Why have you brought her here, Dark One? There can be nothing good between their kind and ours. Nothing. And look at her! It is his blood. She is Nosferatu, and yet she shows only small sign of the twisting, of the scarring. She is not for you.”

  “There is more between us than you understand,” Montrovant replied quickly. “She travels under my protection.”

  “None could protect any of you if it were not my will,” Syd said softly. “You will walk from these halls with my blessing, or not at all. It would serve you well to keep that in mind.”

  “I am well aware of the situation,” Montrovant replied, still smiling. “I wish that you could have spoken with the ancient one last time I was in his company. He had some interesting things to say about Eugenio—things that might change your opinion of what we all have in common.”

  Syd moved so quickly that Jeanne saw only a blur. The slender vampire took Montrovant’s throat in his grasp and actually began to lift Jeanne’s sire from the ground before it became clear that he had not been quite as quick as he’d thought. Montrovant’s own hand held a dagger poised over Syd’s heart.

  “You will not speak in that manner of our sire in my presence,” Syd said, trembling. It was obvious that he was fighting the urge to squeeze Montrovant with all his strength and take his chances. “I will speak at any time and any place in the manner that I wish,” Montrovant grated, forcing the words past Syd’s grip on his throat and pushing the blade forward, backing Syd away.

  Jeanne moved closer, and Gwendolyn followed, but Montrovant waved them back. “You have invited us into your safe-haven,” he continued. “You have offered me information, and for that I thank you. Do not mar that by foolish pride. Eugenio is no saint, and you yourself would not even know the name Kli Kodesh if you’d not heard him speak it first.”

  “I do not care for the truth,” Syd spat. “I care for family. That was not such an issue when you and I were young. I tell you again, these are different times.”

  “Different times have the same history, my friend,” Montrovant replied, easing back from the other’s grip and lowering his blade. “There is no better teacher than your past.”

  “You will find Philip’s army on the road,” Syd said softly. “They left to lay siege to de Molay several days ago. Many of the knights have given themselves up, renouncing their vows and returning to the safety of the Church. I doubt their sincerity, truly, but the renouncement of the order is all that is asked of them. Those in the temple are not so easily swayed. Another warning. They are not your knights. De Payen was their founder, but others joined him after you departed, and not all of them were exactly as they seemed.”

  “What do you mean?” Montrovant asked, suddenly serious.

  “There are rumors of three knights who came to the temple after you departed, knights with particular abilities. Magi, they called themselves, and if the stories are true they had abilities that would have come too close to those of your friend Santos for my taste. You will find a different sort of order upon your return. I don’t want you to ride in unaware.”

  “Suddenly you seem very concerned with my welfare,” Montrovant grinned. “I will have to learn what I can from those on the road, then, and change my approach appropriately. At the very least I will discard the notion of riding up in full Templar regalia.”

  “That would make for an interesting battle, if nothing else,” Syd replied, smiling back at him thinly. “No doubt Philip would be amused to find something outside the walls of the keep to vent his anger on.”

  “No doubt.” Montrovant began to pace. “Now we have to find our way out of this place safely—get our things and get back on the road without another incident with Bastian. If I’d known things were so bad here, I’d never have entered his inn.”

  “Your things will be fine if you make it back to them,” Syd said softly. “The one rule that Bastian has created which even he abides by carefully is the neutrality of the inn. It is a way station, nothing more. If you make it there, and you intend to leave, you will be fine. I would not take him up on those quarters, if I were you. That is another matter altogether. You may stay here until the nightfall.”

  Montrovant reached out his hand and clasped Syd’s. “You won’t regret this, my friend,” he said. “I will do as I have set out to do, and Eugenio will know that he was right to put his trust in me—as will you.”

  “We do not put any trust in you, Dark One,” Syd said grinning more broadly. “We just hasten you along to get you as far away from us as possible before you bring the world down upon your shoulders.

  You will miss out on some very interesting times, then,” Montrovant concluded. “I manage to keep things entertaining.”

  Syd motioned to one of his followers, a dark woman in robes of deep green. Her eyes were deep-set and haunting, and she gestured for Montrovant, Gwendolyn, and Jeanne to follow. Montrovant exchanged a few more words with Syd, his voice lowered so that only the two of them knew what he said, then released the other’s hand and followed the woman’s lead.

  Jeanne looked hesitantly over at Gwendolyn, who watched Montrovant intently. She didn’t hesitate to follow, and Jeanne took up the rear once more, his mind reeling with all he’d seen and heard. New knights? Magi? Not words normally bandied about in casual conversation. What were they letting themselves in for, and how much did Kli Kodesh have to do with it? He was half-tempted to ask Gwendolyn, but he knew that she wouldn’t answer…not truthfully. No more than he could betray Montrovant.

  They wound through shadowy passageways until they came to a series of doorways opening off of the main corridor. The woman opened a door and beckoned for them to enter. They walked into a suite of two rooms. There was no light. Along one wall was a table with four crude chairs. There were, of course, no windows. A single cot hung from the wall by chains.

  Jeanne moved to the doorway leading to the second chamber. It was more lavish. There was a single sleeping surface in the center, large enough for a group if the need arose. There were books lining the walls, their spines showing from the shelves. There were musical instruments, covered in the dust of long disuse. />
  “We have other visitors occasionally,” the woman spoke for the first time. “This was the quarters of a traveling band of Damned musicians…a flame-haired woman and her followers. I hope you will find it comfortable.”

  “It will be perfect,” Montrovant assured her. She watched him a moment longer, sizing him up, then spun on her heel and departed, leaving the three of them alone for the first time since they’d burst into the alley behind the Weeping Violet.

  “You trust him?” Jeanne spoke up quickly.

  Montrovant looked at him for a long moment as though he might get angry, then grinned fiercely. “Of course not. We’ll be safe enough for the moment, though. He has nothing to gain by harming us, and he does owe us one for the help with Bastian.”

  “Well,” Gwendolyn chimed in, “I guess we’ll be here for the night—any thoughts on who will rest where?” She had moved a step closer to Montrovant, putting a hand possessively on his shoulder and letting her gaze slide to the large bed in the center of the second room.

  “I have it all worked out,” Montrovant replied.

  As Jeanne felt the sluggish hold of the sun seeping down through the earth to cloud his thoughts, he sensed Montrovant on the surface beside him. From the other room he imagined he could feel Gwendolyn fuming. Entertaining. Always.

  NINE

  As it turned out, Syd lived up to his word. When the sun began to set, the same dark-clad woman appeared at their door, and though they were ready for whatever form of treachery might occur, they were led back through the tunnels and deposited in exactly the same place they’d first found Syd.

  “I wouldn’t linger here long,” the woman advised. “Bastian will not take what happened last night lightly.”

  “Nor do I,” Montrovant agreed. “Let’s go.”

  He leaped to the rooftop nearest him and disappeared, leaving Jeanne and Gwendolyn to scramble after him. They had no trouble matching his pace once they recovered, but he’d robbed them of their opportunity to depart in grace. Ahead they heard his deep, throaty chuckle.