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

by David Niall Wilson

  “I have had—visions.” The voice that followed de Molay’s was slippery, almost too soft to be heard, but Ferdinand concentrated, and he found that, soft as they were, the words were clear and sharp. “I have seen this keep in ruins, the skeletons of your followers strewn throughout, and a great scorched patch of earth in the main courtyard, surrounding the remains of a wooden stake. There is less time to spare than you think, Jacques de Molay. The time to act is now. Our faith must carry us through the moment—nothing less will suffice.”

  “How do we know you have seen any vision?” a third voice cut in angrily. It was Louis de Chaunvier. Ferdinand recognized the harsh tones of the big knight’s voice instantly.

  “You are not the only late-night visitor we’ve had these past nights,” de Chaunvier continued. “A priest—though for the life of me I can’t think him such, came to us and told us others were approaching. He said that powers from our past would return—do you believe that, Santos? Do you believe the past can return to make itself known in the present?”

  “Montrovant.” The word was out of Santos’s mouth before he could bite down on it, and the reaction that one word brought to the two knights’ faces confirmed his suspicion.

  “You knew?” de Molay breathed. “He is truly coming, and you knew, and you did not speak—told us nothing?”

  “The Dark One may indeed come,” Santos said at last, his voice carefully even and controlled. “There is nothing he can do for you except to watch you burn and to sift through the ashes Philip leaves behind. He is but one man.”

  “As are you,” de Chaunvier cut in.

  Ferdinand’s heart caught in his throat as he considered the reaction such a statement might draw. Santos was no ordinary man to be spoken to in such tones.

  The expected explosion did not come. There was a long moment of silence, then Santos continued as if he’d not heard the last outburst at all.

  “You have no idea what you face, or what you have in your favor. There are other powers at work here than those we seek to invoke—ancient, powerful beings who will grind you beneath their boots to serve their own ends, or for the sheer enjoyment of it. To them, you are less than dust. If you choose to trust them, that is what you will become. You have but one chance, and that chance lies with the power of the oracle that awaits below.”

  “And you?” de Chaunvier insisted. “Among these ancient powers, serving only themselves, what master do you serve?”

  Only silence followed for a matter of several moments, and Ferdinand was certain that the Templar lord had gone too far. Miraculously, there were no screams of horror or pain.

  “I am not here to debate with you,” Santos answered softly. Though his voice was low and subdued, the venom was apparent in his tone, and the words carried with a power that went beyond mere sound. “I am here to warn you, and to offer you a way to continue your pitiful existence. If the situation were not so dire, and if it did not threaten my own safety as well as yours, I’d kill you very slowly, my friend, and as you died I’d remind you that you are a pitiful, weak mortal man—and that I am not. You may believe that, or not, as you choose. Do as you will in what is to come, just believe this—I will survive.”

  Ferdinand backed away from the door. Something told him the interview was over, and he did not want to face whoever might be the first to depart the chamber. He had nearly backed into the shadows when the door suddenly slammed open and Santos emerged.

  Miraculously, Ferdinand had slid into the shadows in time once more. Santos was angry, and he spun away with a short step moved down the passage quickly.

  De Molay’s voice floated after him from within the chamber. “We will be ready. We will come tomorrow after the sun has set.”

  Ferdinand had grown brave from his success at evading Santos twice, and he did not hesitate as long before following as he had on the lower levels. He wanted to know if there would be other stops, or if Santos would disappear into the dungeons again. He wanted a full report to give him reason enough to see Father Kodesh.

  He slipped along the stone wall, keeping back far enough that Santos’s shadow would just turn a corner before he would follow, keeping his eyes peeled for any turn that might divert the shorter man from his return to the shadows below.

  He saw Santos round the final corner and he hurried his steps, wanting to be certain he caught the last glimpse of the dark, mysterious stranger as he ducked out of sight. It was that haste that was Ferdinand’s undoing.

  As he rounded the last corner, a strong hand whipped suddenly out of the shadows, taking him by the throat and pinning him roughly to the wall. He tried to cry out, but his air was cut off.

  Santos watched him as he might a bug he was contemplating bringing his heel down upon. He bored into Ferdinand’s mind and heart with eyes no more human than those of a stone statue. Ferdinand tried to struggle, but it was pointless—the strength of the man’s grip was incredible, and his feet barely reached far enough to brush the stone floor as he was lifted like a child.

  There was an odd, tingling sensation, and Santos eyes blazed with sudden light.

  “Kodesh,” he muttered. Nothing more, just that one word. Without further hesitation, the man dragged Ferdinand free of the wall and continued on toward the stairs. Ferdinand struggled, but it was pointless. He was dragged behind Santos like a child’s doll, banging painfully off the stone of the floor and stumbling down the steps. Santos continued as if he weren’t dragging a grown man behind him, paying no more attention to his captive’s efforts at escape than he might a recalcitrant puppy. As the darkness swallowed him, Ferdinand reached out with his mind—crying out to his master for help. He didn’t know if his message would get through, but he knew he had to try. As the two passed onto the stairs, the passageway returned to its silence, and all grew still. Only the muffled sound of feet on stone stairs indicated that anyone moved through the darkness, and that sound faded slowly into quiet.

  FIFTEEN

  As the horrible weight of the sun’s rays lifted from the Earth, Montrovant and le Duc rose from their safe-haven in the cellar of an abandoned home and moved toward the surface in silence. They were less than two hours’ ride from de Molay’s keep, and their silence reflected their tension. It was a moment of fates tilting, balanced on a thin wall of uncertain knowledge. Just before he mounted the final step into the growing shadows, Montrovant stopped, halting Jeanne with a hand hard against his chest.

  Jeanne shook off the last vestiges of lethargy that clouded his mind, willing his senses to become fully alert. He’d noted immediately that Gwendolyn was not with them, but this wasn’t a rare thing—she did not fear the sunlight as strongly as they did. Though it could burn her, and destroy her, she could bear it for longer periods than they. She seldom required rest.

  The sound of voices floated down from above and he strained to make out the words. One of the voices was Gwendolyn’s, and though she sounded agitated, he didn’t believe it was from fear. Nothing in her tone spoke of immediate danger, but who could she be talking to? The other voice was softer, but somehow more powerful. Jeanne could feel it shivering through him, carrying easily despite its subdued tone.

  Jeanne turned to Montrovant, but before he could form his question, the tall vampire was up and through the opening, diving to his right and coming to his feet in a crouch. Not knowing anything else to do, le Duc followed suit, taking the opposite direction and rolling to a halt behind a small bit of crumbling wall.

  The conversation beyond the door stopped, and the night fell to silence. Jeanne noted several things at once. Gwendolyn stood in the clearing beyond the cellar stairs. At her side a man stood, thin and gray, his hair whipping about him like a white mantle. Jeanne’s mind put the image to a name at the same instant Montrovant voiced it.

  “Kli Kodesh.”

  Nothing more was said for a long moment, then, with a suddenness that nearly caused Jeanne to launch backward into the shadows, the ancient threw back his head and began to roar with l
aughter. His frame shook, and he doubled over insanely. Montrovant stood, glaring coldly at his antics, and Gwendolyn stepped back a pace, but Jeanne could only watch in amazement.

  Montrovant moved slowly forward, but Kli Kodesh didn’t even acknowledge his advance. He was still doubled over, convulsing helplessly in gales of unchecked mirth. Jeanne searched his sire’s features and saw the anger building. He moved forward himself then, to intercept if necessary. Anger would not be enough to bridge the gap in power between the two.

  Montrovant spoke first.

  “Why have you come, to gloat?”

  Kli Kodesh raised up a bit, regaining control of himself slowly. Montrovant stood, waiting, as a parent might over a recalcitrant child. Looking up, seeing him towering above, Kli Kodesh reeled to one side, shrieking hysterically and falling into another fit of laughter.

  Montrovant moved to follow, but Jeanne was at his side, and he held him back with a hand on one arm. The older vampire turned back swiftly, as if to strike his follower aside and continue, but when their eyes locked, he hesitated, then stopped. The anger did not dissipate, and he was clearly not pleased by Jeanne’s interference, but he made no further move after Kodesh.

  “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, turning to Gwendolyn instead.

  “I did not call him here,” she replied. “He would not have come had I done so. He does as he pleases.

  As do we all,” Kli Kodesh tossed in, choking on the effort to form the words. “As do we all. You in particular should understand that, Dark One. You will forgive my outburst, I hope.” He was still grinning inanely, but his voice was coming under control. “You were so dramatic, leaping from the shadows to catch me—doing what?”

  “I am trying to understand just that,” Montrovant grated. “I understand that you’ve dragged me across the miles once again. I understand that you sent me into the mosque of al Aqsa on a fool’s errand, full aware I would not come out with what I sought, and that I might not come out at all. I understand that you played me against Santos toward your own end without a second thought for how it would affect others. Am I missing something? Are there other reasons I should despise you, or have I covered my ground well?”

  The ancient’s laughter, as well as all traces of humor, dissipated like so much dust, swirling away in the wind. He stood straight and silent, his eyes boring into Montrovant’s, but the Dark One did not flinch.

  “You don’t know everything you believe you do,” Kli Kodesh said, finally breaking the silence. “You are so certain you have the answers, all of them, and that your plans will lead you to the glory and dreams you’ve set aside for yourself.”

  “And you are certain that the world is but a huge entertainment set aside for your own amusement,” Montrovant retorted. “At least I don’t slink through the shadows while others carry out my plans.”

  Kli Kodesh stiffened, but again he didn’t reply. Jeanne kept expecting the ancient to snap under the barrage of insults and accusations, but he held his ground.

  “We have no time for this,” Kodesh said at last. “For different reasons, we have come to the same road once again. It might have been a thousand others, but it was not.”

  “Perhaps our roads have crossed by chance,” Montrovant replied, “or perhaps you led us here.” He was unable to let the antagonistic tone drop from his voice. Jeanne had rarely seen his sire so angry, and never in a situation where he could not vent that anger without ending his existence.

  “I admit that I brought you here,” Kli Kodesh said softly. “I sent the message with Gwendolyn to warn you of what was taking place, and to let you know that what you seek is very near.”

  “The Grail is in that keep?” Montrovant nodded in the direction of de Molay’s grounds. “Is that what you want me to believe? If de Molay has such an item in his possession, then why would he need help against Philip?”

  “I did not say that de Molay was in possession of anything. I said that what you seek is very near.”

  “More riddles. Always the same, old one, your words, your actions…what will I do to amuse you now?”

  “I’m not asking for you to amuse me,” Kli Kodesh replied softly. “I’m asking for your help. Santos is here.”

  “Santos…” Montrovant’s already angry countenance darkened yet again. “Santos. I had hoped he’d returned to whatever dark little hole he crawled out of.”

  “It is not that simple,” Kli Kodesh replied. “Santos did not become what he is in the same way we have been Embraced. He was created, and that creation bore a purpose. He is the guardian, and he will stop at nothing to find that which has been entrusted to him. He seeks revenge, as well, but the thing that eats away at his mind and whatever blackness now represents his heart, is his failure to live up to his responsibilities.”

  Montrovant was not convinced. “What could I do for you that you could not do for yourself, old one? Die a second and final death?”

  “He has someone—close to me.” Kli Kodesh replied, averting his eyes. “He has a follower of mine, one with enough of my essence within him to give Santos power I cannot afford. I would go after him myself, but I fear he might have the advantage.”

  “So you want me to do it for you,” Montrovant replied, spitting violently. “You are afraid—you—and you want me to take the risk.”

  Kli Kodesh was standing across the clearing in one instant, and nose to nose with Montrovant in the next. Neither Jeanne nor Gwendolyn were aware of the motion until it had been completed, and even Montrovant was only able to move scant seconds before the ancient’s flesh would have contacted his own.

  “You presume too much,” Kli Kodesh hissed.

  Montrovant held himself steady, and Jeanne was amazed by his control. The tension in the air was thick enough to have sliced with a blade, but Montrovant would not back down.

  “You may destroy me, if it is your wish,” he replied coldly, “but I will speak my mind. For one coming in search of aid, you have a strange way of presenting yourself.”

  Kli Kodesh backed off a pace, but his eyes still blazed with cold fire.

  “Who does he hold?” Jeanne asked, trying to break the aura of anger and venom that poisoned the air.

  Both Montrovant and Kli Kodesh turned to him as if they’d been slapped. They’d apparently forgotten that they weren’t alone.

  “His name is Ferdinand,” Gwendolyn said at last. “He is a servant in de Molay’s service. Father Kodesh here has been using him as an informant.”

  “He is Embraced?” Montrovant asked.

  “No,” Kli Kodesh said, turning away, “but I have foolishly shared too much with him. Knowledge can be as dangerous as blood in the wrong hands.

  And so you fear Santos,” Montrovant replied incredulously. “After all that has happened, after we sent him scurrying into the shadows, you still fear him.”

  “Do not make the mistake of believing that because Santos was driven from Jerusalem he is not a great danger to you,” Kli Kodesh continued. “He still retains the head, and from the reports Ferdinand was able to bring to me before he was—taken—it is this very night that the oracle head will speak again. You and I both know the consequences that could bring.”

  “He knows you are here, obviously,” Montrovant mused, “but what danger is there to me? He has no idea I’m anywhere near here.”

  “You underestimate his anger and capacity for revenge. When the oracle speaks again, he will ask after you. If you were a thousand miles away, still he would ask about you. It was you who took away his purpose…his reason to exist. It was you that led de Payen to him, and the Church, and it was you who chased him from the Holy Land, his tail between his legs.”

  “So what can we do?” Jeanne cut in. “If what you say is true, we must act, and now. We have no access to that keep, and Santos is too powerful for a direct assault to do us any good.”

  “You have an advantage,” Kodesh replied. “I have spread the news of your arrival—you are somewhat of a legendary fi
gure, Dark One. At least one of de Molay’s close aids is awaiting your arrival. Louis de Chaunvier is his name, and he is de Molay’s closest confidant. He doesn’t trust Santos, though he’s agreed to support de Molay. If you can reach him before they move to the lower levels you might be able to find a way in—a way to disrupt what is to come. Once broken, the circle of power that Santos will use to reach the oracle cannot easily be restored. Not in time to do any of us harm.”

  “And what is in this for me?” Montrovant asked. “You have given me your usual riddles, but there must be more. If I am to ride to battle in your name,” he paused at this, sneering slightly, “then I must know what it is that I’m fighting for. When will you reveal the location of the Grail? As soon as your henchmen have had a chance to move it?”

  “You will have your answers,” Kli Kodesh replied.

  “I have no reason to withhold them—not after Ferdinand is freed.”

  Gwendolyn moved closer. “Freed, or killed? Why must we free him?”

  “He amuses me.” Kli Kodesh dismissed her with a toss of his thin, snow-white locks. Jeanne watched her eyes as they dropped to the ground and read the disappointment in her expression. She was the old toy now, it seemed. Kli Kodesh had already moved on to new amusements.

  “It would be safer to kill him,” Montrovant threw in. “Easier, as well. It is one thing to get in and strike swiftly at the source of the danger. Making it back out of that keep with a prisoner is another matter entirely.”

  “I’ve told you,” Kli Kodesh smiled thinly, “they nearly worship your memory. You will have all the assistance you require once Santos’s hold over them is broken.”

  Montrovant stared at him without speaking, trying to read the inscrutable lines of the ancient’s face. Kli Kodesh returned that stare until Montrovant, at last, looked away.

  “I have never been so tempted to risk my existence for the chance at another’s blood,” he said at last. “Your words entice me, but my heart tells me you serve no other but yourself—ever. You speak in riddles, telling each of those you meet what he wishes to hear, but all that is given in return are more riddles, and then betrayal. I do not want to help you, and yet that choice, as well, you have removed.