“I sense that you are truthful in one thing: the Grail is near here. If the treasure you snatched from beneath my very nose in the Holy City was not near, then Santos would not be here either. If you won’t give me the location, what choice do I have but to seek that answer in the only other place I might find it?
“I will go after Santos, and, if it amuses me,” here he hesitated, taking a step closer and staring intently into Kli Kodesh’s ancient eyes, “I might release your servant. Make no mistake, I will eventually find what I seek. I will hold it in my hand, and I will drink from those depths, and I will feel that power. Your games and lies and trickery will not matter then more than leaves dropping in an autumn breeze.”
Kli Kodesh merely stood and watched him, expression unreadable. He did not look away, nor did he flinch at the insults. He watched Montrovant patiently, waiting for him to finish. Angry as Montrovant was, he was wasting his words. Kli Kodesh had come to them with a purpose in mind, and that purpose would be served. He was content to stand back now and watch to see what would transpire. Jeanne read it in the ancient’s stance, in the casual set of his shoulders. It reminded le Duc of a parent’s patience with a stubborn child.
“We must move now if we are to reach de Chaunvier before he leaves his chambers,” Gwendolyn cut in. “They will wait only until the moon has reached the center of the sky to start, and they will be in their places in Santos’s chamber before that.”
“I will need you with me.” Kli Kodesh spoke the words softly, but their impact on Gwendolyn was sudden and intense. She spun, her eyes wide and her mouth falling open. She backed up a step toward Montrovant, her arms raising from her sides. “But…I have come with them so far, to leave now…”
“Your place is with me. Have you forgotten this?” Gwendolyn’s head dropped to her chest and the fire left her voice. “No. Of course not. How could
I forget?”
“She has been a great help to us,” Jeanne cut in, aware as the words left his mouth that he was overstepping more boundaries than he could imagine. He pressed on. “She knows the inside of the keep better than we—would it not be better if she stayed with us until this was complete?”
“I cannot risk another so close to me with Santos,” Kli Kodesh replied with cold finality. “You must go on your own. We have other tasks to complete.”
“If I find,” Montrovant said, ignoring the exchange, except as it affected his own plans, “that you are spending the time while I am doing as you bid me in betraying me again, it will be a final mistake. There are things which you fear, and there are other powers on this Earth than yourself. I will track you, and I will destroy you. On that you have my word. Take the girl if it means so much to you, but remember your promise.”
Without another word, Montrovant turned and walked away through the shadows. He made no move toward the horses—there was no time. It was him and le Duc against the night, Santos, and whatever demons that ancient might possess. The time for worrying over being spotted doing something supernatural was past. If he failed in the moments and hours to come, then the knights would be nothing but a faded memory—whether it was Santos or Philip who made it so, it would happen. None who might see him this night was likely to see another.
Besides, if what Kli Kodesh had told them was the truth, they would not be looking for Montrovant the man, or Montrovant the knight. They would be looking for a dark savior, a power to flash from the shadows and drive Philip screaming into the night. He did not want to disappoint any who might actually be watching.
They flashed across the landscape, leaving Gwendolyn and Kli Kodesh to stand in the shadows and watch as they disappeared into the distance. Montrovant was the swifter, but le Duc managed to keep him in sight, following his sire by the sound and scent as much as the sight of his darting, shadowy form. They both knew the way to de Molay’s gates. The aroma of hot, fresh blood was in the air, drifting to them from the walls of the keep and the halls and chambers beyond.
Montrovant moved as if he were oblivious to that scent, but le Duc had no such strength. The hunger was eating at his concentration. He fought it back, focusing on his sire, and on the landscape before them. There would be time enough for the hunger and the blood when the night’s work was done.
He reached deep inside for the familiar red haze, felt the world slowing, his motions becoming smooth and fluid. He did not so much hear and see the landscape as it passed as he felt it—became one with it. He remembered the haze from his mortal days in battle, remembered the sensation of seeking and ending the lives of others. He felt it in the air, sensed it in his sire as he flashed across the land in the Dark One’s wake. It would be a night to remember. He moved to the laughter of the fates, and de Molay’s keep loomed above them, tall and imposing, entrapping them like a huge spider’s web.
As Montrovant and le Duc sped off into the darkness, Kli Kodesh stood watching, as though his will could drive them more swiftly to their goal. At last he turned to Gwendolyn, whose eyes were still focused on the ground at her feet, her shoulders drooping in despair.
“Come,” he said softly. “You will see them again soon enough. For now we have others to meet. There are more things afoot tonight than de Molay and Santos know—more than Montrovant suspects. We must not hesitate, or it will be too late.” Gwendolyn nodded. She did not appear cheered by his promises, but neither did she hesitate to do as he bid. If she opposed him, it was certain she’d never see Montrovant again, and that was not a thing her heart could bear.
Kli Kodesh and Gwendolyn streaked into the darkness, moving on a line parallel to the keep. The night returned to its silence—the moon watching them all with her solitary, glowing eye. In the darkness ahead, Gwendolyn suddenly sensed a group of others—all Damned. She nearly pulled back, certain that it was a trap, but Kli Kodesh only quickened his pace. With a small cry she followed, wondering what deception she’d be dragged into next. Wondering if Montrovant would believe that she’d known nothing about it. Wondering. Suddenly the night that had seemed so short loomed like an endless, painful dream.
SIXTEEN
Gwendolyn quickly became aware that Kli Kodesh was not heading for the keep, as she’d supposed. Despite his brave words to Montrovant, it appeared that perhaps he did fear Santos. At least he seemed not to wish a direct encounter. It wasn’t until she sensed the presence of others that she truly understood.
It had all been planned. Down to Montrovant’s dramatic departure, the speeches and call for aid—none of it was true. Not completely. Kli Kodesh had led them all down trails of falsehood carefully laid for the purpose of diverting their attention from his true purpose. She should have suspected. Ferdinand was only a servant. He might well have more knowledge of her sire than he’d had before
Gwendolyn left, but that did not mean he was a danger. He did not have the Blood, and he did not have Kli Kodesh’s true name—without one or the other of those things there was no particular danger that Santos could pose without being face to face with Kli Kodesh. At least that was the way she understood it.
The two of them moved around a small copse of trees and she saw another waiting for them. He stared straight into her eyes from a very long distance, and she knew him in that instant. Nosferatu. Gustav. She’d met him only once before, but the experience had been so intense that she’d never shaken his image from her mind. He was powerful, not so much older than she, but a leader where she preferred to be led.
Gustav’s own followers spread around him, shadowed by the darkness, a circle of red glowing eyes. Those eyes traced the progress she and Kli Kodesh made, progress that was much slower than it had to be—as if for effect.
“You have called, and we have come,” Gustav said without hesitation. “What is it that you would have us do—where are the treasures?”
“They are safe enough, for the moment,” Kli Kodesh said, reaching out a hand to place it on the Nosferatu lord’s slender shoulder.
Gwendolyn was amazed again by the transluce
nt quality of the vampire’s skin—the way that her sire’s blood had twisted even the horror of the
Nosferatu to a thing very akin to beauty. Gustav was tall, emaciated, his head completely bald and his nose resembling a beak more than any appendage born to a human face, and yet he was not ugly. He glowed from within, a light that could not be extinguished, and it shone on certain hidden angles of his face, enhanced the expressive quality of his eyes, until features that would have seemed hideous under any other circumstances transformed themselves into a thing of power.
“You have done well,” Kli Kodesh continued. “Montrovant has charged ahead, as I knew he would, to launch himself into the jaws of the demon. He was never one for the waiting game. We have a full day until Philip arrives, and with the confusion that will soon take place within the keep, we should be able to be in and out of the tomb without causing a stir. We must be gone before the dawn.”
Gustav nodded, but the questions in his eyes remained.
“Why now?” he asked quietly. “Why not wait until Philip has his way with de Molay, and the area has returned to peace? Why take the chance of being seen, caught, or worse? Why draw the attention of others, of Santos or Montrovant, when there is no need?”
“Need?” Kli Kodesh replied, grinning slyly. “There are a great many levels and intensities to such a thing as need. We will act as I’ve said we will because it pleases me. There would be no point to this if it did not complicate—have you learned so little of me over the years, Gustav?”
He hesitated for a long moment, studying the elder Nosferatu’s features carefully.
“Surely you know that the only purpose to such actions is the value of the entertainment?”
Gustav didn’t reply, but Gwendolyn detected no amusement in those cold, gray eyes. He merely nodded and waited. She waited as well. She had no real idea of what was to come—this was the closest her sire had ever come to revealing intimate information in her presence. She knew that Gustav and his followers had played an important role in the ancient’s past—a role that somehow continued into the present and expanded with the events of the time.
She couldn’t imagine what could have brought the thin, aristocratic Kli Kodesh into partnership with such horrors as the Nosferatu, but it was obvious that there were a great many things she could not imagine that it might be better if she could. She had to wonder, knowing what she did of the various families of the Damned, if her sire were not Nosferatu himself, prior to the curse…if she did not have that twisted blood in her own veins…held at bay by his own special taint.
Too much depended on what would take place in the next few hours. She needed to listen, to concentrate, and when the opportunity arose, she needed to get away and take that information to Montrovant. She knew that the Dark One did not trust Kli Kodesh, that he had probably anticipated the treachery, but still she had to do what she could.
She could barely restrain herself from glancing to the skies…Montrovant had his own ways of following. There was no reason to believe he would take her sire at face value, though the ancient would no doubt detect such surveillance…and would it matter? The runes had been cast…what remained was to determine their meaning, and to act accordingly. It would not be easy. Kli Kodesh’s control was masterful and complete, and he was not alone. All it would take, once she made her break, was for one of his followers to casually mention her absence, and it would be over. He would summon her back and she would obey. No matter the call of her heart, the call of the blood would win the battle, and there was no way of knowing how he would react after such treachery.
The Nosferatu gathered more closely about Kli Kodesh and Gustav, and she drew herself into the shadows, watching. They were speaking in very low tones, and though she could catch small snatches of words, half-sentences and slightly raised tones, she could not put enough of it together to make sense. They continued to mention a tomb, and treasures, but nothing specific that she could grasp. Whatever it was that consumed their attention, it was not her. She continued to pull herself farther back into the darkness, not letting her gaze waver from the small circle that surrounded Kli Kodesh. If one of them turned, or if her sire shifted his attention toward her for even an instant, she would fail. If she failed, she would not get a second chance.
Her nerves fluttered but she held them in check with every bit of her will. If she bolted, they would see her. She needed to be far enough away before she made her break that none would catch the motion in the periphery of their senses or vision. She kept moving, thinking all the while that it was happening too easily, that it was as though they were letting her go, but unable to stop now that she’d committed herself. She wondered briefly if Montrovant would trust her even if she did manage to break away.
When she could only just make out the group standing in the distance, she turned and let herself stretch out—moving so quickly across the landscape that she blurred to a shadow. She moved in tense anticipation of the rude jerk that Kli Kodesh’s control could apply, but it did not come. She disappeared around the far side of the keep and made directly for the wall, not hesitating as she reached its base, but leaping against the stone, moving so quickly she seemed to glide upward. She scaled the wall as if there were steps and handholds cut into the stone and slipped over onto the top of the wall gracefully.
Two events occurred in rapid succession then. There was a strangled cry from her left, and she sprang. Even as she’d come to rest on the wall she’d sensed the guard—too close not to notice. She had no time to spare for worrying over who might see her. She was in the air again almost the second her feet touched the stone, and she snapped the man’s neck in the next instant, strong hands closing over him and smashing him down against the stone. The scent of his blood was pleasant, but it did not draw her. She let him fall, turned to check back the way he’d come, and followed the wall toward the nearest stair.
Now that she was in, she wanted to draw as little attention to herself as possible. She needed to reach Montrovant quickly, and she could not do that if she had a group of angry mortals chasing her, or any other such diversion.
She stretched her senses, seeking Montrovant’s mind—calling out to him. She knew such a call was dangerous. It might attract Kli Kodesh’s attention, if he were looking for her. She knew that if he truly wanted to find her, the effort would be less than that of a mortal swatting a gnat, but she wanted to believe she’d won freedom without his notice—at least for the moment. The thought that even this bid for freedom was tied to his devious plans was more than she could stand.
There was no immediate sign of Montrovant’s presence, so she scrambled down a curving stair to the courtyard of the keep and picked her way through the gardens, sliding from tree to tree, shadow to shadow, eyes and mind alert for any who might notice her passing. There was no movement outside the confines of the keep itself, and few lights burned within. Fewer than she would have expected.
There was an odd vibration in the earth beneath her—an energy that seeped up to caress her obscenely. She hurried her steps, not wanting to maintain contact with the ground beneath her—forcing motion. She felt the call of that energy, felt it searching her soul for—something. She drew her thoughts deeper into her own mind and concentrated.
She slipped along the inner wall until she came to a door, and thankfully it opened. Security, for the moment, seemed concentrated on the outer wall. That would change when Philip drew near. For the moment she took advantage, entering the dimly lit passage beyond the door and heading straight for the central passage of the keep. She knew the inner layout well enough after the time she’d spent there with Kli Kodesh before he’d sent her away. Those times had been less tense, Philip’s edict only a distant rumor, and she’d had free run of the keep.
She headed straight for de Chaunvier’s quarters. That was where her sire had sent Montrovant, and that was where she assumed he’d be, if she weren’t too late. Otherwise they would all be below, and Montrovant would be forced to follow, ho
ping to disrupt the ceremony before it was too late. If he failed, it would be too late for them all—Santos would have the answers he sought and there would be nothing to stop him. Nothing.
She reached the upper level and made the turn toward de Chaunvier’s quarters, stopping short as she rounded the corner and drawing herself quickly back around into the shadows. Voices floated down the corridor—the steady pounding of booted feet. She sensed Montrovant, le Duc and one other immediately. It had to be de Chaunvier. She’d met the man only once, and briefly, at mass. “Father” Kodesh had been speaking on the sin of pride—she’d not seen him look to the floor during the moment of silent prayer. He’d stared ahead, instead, fierce, proud eyes that bowed to no one.
She knew that Montrovant would know she was there, but at the same time she understood that it would not be a good thing for de Chaunvier to know. He would be caught up in the moment, walking in the presence of legend—of the sort of history one never expects to see validated. Montrovant had been instrumental in the formation of their order, even though the knights he’d known had predated the actual Templars by several years. The stories had grown from even the magical, unreal reality to mythic proportion. Now the myth walked the halls of Jacques de Molay—the only real question was whether he could prevent the mistakes of his predecessors from recurring, and the future from swallowing himself and the knights irrevocably.
Gwendolyn managed to find an alcove she could press herself into before the three passed. Their voices became clearer as they approached, then passed.
“Santos is a snake,” Montrovant was saying. “He seeks nothing that will not aid his own particular cause, and to believe for even a moment that he has your interests in mind as well is folly. He will spit on the ashes of this keep and worm his way into Philip’s confidence without the slightest guilt. He cares for nothing but revenge and the recovery of what he believes to be his own—treasures and powers that belong rightfully in the hands of the Church.”
To Speak in Lifeless Tongues: Book 2 of the Grails Covenant Trilogy (The Grails Covenant Triloty) Page 17