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

by David Niall Wilson

  There was a rumble of whispered words, but the sound died away quickly when he continued to speak.

  “Philip stands outside our gates, the Church at his back, ready to put to death any who will not renounce the vows we have sworn to live by. He has proclaimed to the world that all that we are, all that we stand for, is darkness and evil. He has said that we are the servants of Satan, and for this he and his followers have declared that we must repent or die.”

  Here he paused, looking around at those gathered in silence, searching their faces carefully.

  “I would not make that choice for any man. Our order will not die here today. You know we stretch beyond the boundaries that Philip controls, beyond even the boundaries set forth by the Church. There are places you can go—ways to continue in the service we have set forth. These roads I open to you. You may go, renounce the order, renounce me—and save your lives. It was not your choice to risk them—but I will make it your choice to keep them.”

  “What of you?” a tall knight cried out from the very top of the stairs leading back into the keep.

  “What will you do?”

  “My time here is ended,” Jacques declared stoically. “Philip will not accept my repentance, even were I to offer it, and I shall not. I have lived too long as I am, too many bridges have burned behind me. I will not tell you all of the things I’ve done, nor the things I’ve seen,” He swept his gaze over them quickly, as if expecting them to challenge his words. “I will say only this—there is more to our world than meets Philip’s eyes, or even those of the Church. Do not let them close yours. Leave here as free men, and find your families—your homes. Keep our secrets alive in the world. Too many great men have come before me for you to allow me to end it here.”

  The murmuring rumble of voices rose quickly, and Louis de Chaunvier stepped up to stand at Jacques’s side.

  “I will remain, as well,” he cried. “Any among you who would stand with us as brothers may remain. We will send word this very day to Philip that he might let those who wish to repent leave in peace.

  “Know this—if you remain with us, your lives are forfeit. Philip will put us to the flame—he has no choice. The minions of Rome swarm around him like insects waiting for their turn at a rotting carcass. There will be torture, pain, and no easy deaths.”

  Small groups began to cut off from the main pack. Jacques stood quietly watching as many moved toward the keep, some to retrieve their belongings for a journey, others to retrieve their weapons in the hope of dying cleanly before Philip took them and burned their lives away. There was nothing more he could say. His future lay in the shadowy shapes flickering through the flames just visible as a glow above the walls of the keep. In the clashing of weapons and the cries of an enemy he’d once called brother.

  Louis clapped him on the back once more.

  “I will go now and organize those who will leave. They will need the provisions worse than we—and I think it will take some doing to get them out of here quietly.”

  Jacques nodded. He was nearly beyond words, but he managed to voice a final question.

  “Where is he, do you think, Louis?

  Philip?”

  “Montrovant. The Dark One. He was here when we needed him most, but now it is as though we dreamed it all. Do you think he watches us still? Do you think he approves?”

  Louis pondered the questions for a long moment, then shrugged. “He did not seem to judge us, Jacques, only to warn us. This is not his fight—not any longer. We should be thankful he returned in time to grant us our souls.”

  “Did he?” Jacques turned away and strode toward the stables, his shoulders squared and his steps strong and even. He did not turn back.

  Louis watched him go, then, turning to the nearest knight who’d remained at his side, he barked out orders for a messenger to be sent to Philip, and for others to gather what remained of the supplies. He would have to get them packed and distributed quickly, or it would be too late. Once Philip took the keep, all would be forfeit, and it was unlikely, though he might be willing to spare the lives of the “repentant,” that he was going to be generous with food, medicine or other supplies. His men had been too long on the road.

  In the distance he heard the clatter of hoofbeats and the cries of the awaiting army. It was, he decided, a good night to die.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Jeanne saw Kli Kodesh stare at the wagon for a long time, not meeting Gustav’s eyes. There was no defeat in his stance, no backing down or turning away. Jeanne’s mind began to work over the possibilities swiftly. What more could he have planned? The Nosferatu he had gathered about them, with Gustav in chains, were no match for Eugenio, nor for Montrovant, for that matter. Kli Kodesh might destroy them all himself, but not without a price, and not without the risk that he himself would be taken down. Protected as he might be from the final death by his curse, his blood was under no such protection. Jeanne could feel the draw of it himself, and he knew that the potential flowing through the ancient’s veins called out to Montrovant and the bishop even more strongly.

  “We will see what we do and do not have,” Eugenio said softly. He gestured to the monks gathered at his back, and they moved toward the cart. Gustav glared at them, but he was helpless to prevent them from searching the cart, and he knew it. Jeanne watched in fascination.

  Kli Kodesh made no move to prevent them from doing as the Bishop had bid them, and that was strange, as well. Something was itching at the back of Jeanne’s mind. Something they were forgetting. The monks pulled back the cloth coverings on the wagon to reveal the large wooden chest that lay beneath. Montrovant strode forward suddenly, leaping to the side of the wagon and pushing the monks out of his way. They didn’t resist, scurrying this way and that at his approach. Eugenio didn’t say a word, only watched.

  Montrovant didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the lid of the chest, and, though it was locked securely, ripped it back so that the wood around the hasp gave way and it slammed open with a thud. He stood that way for a long time, gazing at the contents of the chest. Jeanne wanted desperately to know what was in that box, but he knew better than to interrupt the moment.

  Suddenly Montrovant plunged one hand into the crate and drew it forth with a long, thick chain of pure gold dangling from his hand. Beneath his tightly gripped fingers an ornate cross spun lazily in the moonlight. It was old, and there was something more. Jeanne could sense a power emanating from it—a presence. Montrovant held it for a long moment, then threw it back into the box in disgust. Leaping back to the ground, he called out to Eugenio.

  “It isn’t here.”

  “Not here? What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” Montrovant replied, “that we have captured the wrong treasure. There are objects of power in that chest, things I doubt that mortal men have held or felt the magic of in hundreds of years, but there is no Grail.”

  Eugenio turned back to Kli Kodesh, who watched them with a mocking smile planted on his ancient features.

  “Did you truly believe that I would send such an object away protected by only one? Even one such as Gustav? Did you think I would hand it over to you so easily?”

  “Where is it?” Montrovant growled. “What have you done with it?”

  “What makes you think I ever had it?” Kli Kodesh replied shortly. “In fact, what makes you think that what you seek is a cup? What makes you believe that the vessel that contains the blood you seek has ever been something so simple?”

  “You speak in riddles,” Montrovant replied, his anger returning hot and sudden. He took a step toward the ancient before regaining control of his temper. “I am so very tired of playing that game.” Jeanne was listening to the exchange, but only with the periphery of his mind. There was something waiting to form that he knew would be important, and he had to shut out his surroundings enough to grasp it. Gwendolyn had noticed his frown, and she’d moved closer, shielding him from the ancient. He didn’t know why she would make such a pointless gesture, but in seeing i
t his last reservations about their new traveling companion slipped away. She might not be of any use against her sire, but it was not because she didn’t hate him. It hit him at last with the subtlety of a herd of wild stallions. The others. He had completely forgotten those who were scaling the walls of the cliff toward the ocean below. Both he and Montrovant had been so certain that the group was a decoy that they’d pushed them from their minds. The dawn wasn’t far away, and there was little time in which to act.

  “Boats!” He cried out the word before he could temper his reaction with caution. Montrovant spun on him, ready to take the frustration the ancient was building in his mind out on someone less powerful. Something in the word “boat” sank in. Jeanne saw the light of comprehension flash across his sire’s face, and the equally confused look that passed Eugenio’s at the same moment.

  “The cliffs. Damn you,” Montrovant spat at Kli Kodesh, “you sent it to the cliffs!”

  The Dark One sprang for the shadows, but Kli Kodesh was faster. Jeanne knew they had guessed rightly in that instant. His plans undone, the ancient wasn’t ready to have them broken up by Montrovant, or anyone else. The two went down in a heap for the second time that night, but Eugenio was by their side in an instant, dragging them apart.

  “So,” Kli Kodesh spat, “you would challenge me?”

  Eugenio reached beneath his robes and pulled out a small pendant. It was an Egyptian symbol, an ankh. He held it up before him and began to chant in a language Jeanne couldn’t understand. The light in Kli Kodesh’s eyes flashed from anger to concern and he backed away slowly.

  Montrovant didn’t hesitate. He leapt toward the cliffs in the distance, and without a backward glance, Jeanne followed. He knew Gwendolyn was with them as well, but he couldn’t stop to look back and be certain she was keeping up. Behind them the chanting continued, and he could hear Kli Kodesh responding with curses and odd phrases of his own. The power that had flooded that area was astonishing—beyond anything Jeanne had ever experienced, even in the presence of Santos.

  He didn’t know how long Eugenio could hold the ancient at bay, but shortly it wouldn’t matter. They would either head off the Nosferatu at the cliffs, or they would be too late. There was little, at this point, that Kli Kodesh could do to stop them. He might follow and destroy them, but they would know whether they were right, or wrong.

  Jeanne didn’t truly care about the Grail in the way that Montrovant did, but he was beginning to get the fever. It had never seemed as real to him before as it did in that moment, and the implications, even to one not impressed by affairs of the Church, were staggering. He’d seen the power of other objects, and his heightened senses had granted the ability to perceive how much strength faith could lend to a mortal. How much more powerful, how much greater the aura, of an object like the Grail? And what had Kli Kodesh meant when he’d asked Montrovant how he knew it was a cup that held the blood he sought?

  Too many questions, and none of them as important as keeping up with Montrovant, who flew across the miles like a storm. He paid no heed to his followers, nor did he appear to take note of anything they passed. He angled straight for the cliffs, and Jeanne was beginning to fear that he would be over the cliff and out of sight before Gwendolyn and himself even reached the edge.

  When he reached the cliff’s edge, Montrovant didn’t hesitate. He leapt into the night sky, forcing the transformation, stretching his arms, even as they shriveled and re-formed, beating them wildly at the air until the leathery skin stretched out and drew him aloft once more. He circled once and dove.

  Jeanne had no such ability. He gazed down over the cliff at the pounding waves below. There was no sign of a ship, and nothing moved on the small, sandy coast at the foot of the rocky drop-off. Nothing.

  Gwendolyn appeared at his shoulder then, pulling him back from the cliff’s edge, and he pulled away from her angrily.

  “Montrovant is down there,” he grated, “and if we don’t find a way to follow, and quickly, he will be gone.”

  “He will not go far,” she said urgently. “Something is happening back at the keep—something important. Kli Kodesh has left the bishop and the others behind. They are leaving as well. All of them are headed for de Molay’s keep.”

  “What does it mean?” he asked her. “Why would they return to that place?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied, “but I sense none of the others—if the Nosferatu were here, they have found a way to escape from here long since. We cannot catch them before the light.”

  Jeanne leaned back over the cliff, but he still saw nothing. He stretched his senses, searching for the Dark One, and he detected nothing but a faint glimmer of his sire’s essence, high above and moving away rapidly.

  “I will wait here, and when he returns, we will go to the keep and see what has happened.”

  “I will wait with you, but the dawn will not be long in coming. You cannot wait beyond that. Montrovant will return, with or without that which he seeks, and he will find shelter. He has walked this Earth much longer than we, and we must trust him to watch out for his own safety.”

  “There is the tomb,” Jeanne replied. “We can return to the tomb and wait there, if he doesn’t return. He will certainly go there, if only to find out what transpired between Eugenio and Kli Kodesh.” Gwendolyn nodded. She turned, then, following his gaze out across the waves, and Jeanne glanced at her sidelong, wondering how much she knew—how much she could see and feel beyond his own abilities. She cocked her head, as if listening to a sound across a great distance, but she held her silence.

  Philip had sent members of his personal guard in search of Bishop Eugenio Scarpocci as soon as the messengers arrived from the keep, but the bishop was not to be found. It didn’t matter. After so much time on the road, so many days of marching and sleeping in damp, chilly tents and eating slop, they were about to be vindicated. The Church was a part of this victory, and he wanted the bishop there to witness and bless his victory, but he would not wait indefinitely. There would be plenty of time the following evening, when the Bishop’s “condition” allowed him to exit his own quarters, for prayers and blessings. Perhaps it was proper that this night should be his alone.

  The messengers themselves, two young knights barely old enough to ride and carry a full-weight blade, sat atop their mounts, trembling in fear. He left them that way as he savored the moment. He had no intention of harming them, nor did he plan on a mass slaughter of those within the keep, but there was no reason to tell them this at such an early point. No doubt his reputation preceded him, and he rather enjoyed their squirming and posturing.

  Finally, he decided he’d waited long enough. He gestured to one of his guards, who led the two mounted men forward, and he stood, waiting for them to gather the courage to speak. They did not do so at once, instead keeping a close eye on the armed guards that flanked them. Finally, the older of the two raised his eyes to meet Philip’s.

  “Your highness,” he began, his voice shrill and ill-controlled, “Jacques de Molay, Grand Master of the Order of the Poor Knights of the Temple Solomon, has asked that I relay the following request to you. He wishes to open the doors of his keep, and to allow those who feel the need to repent, as you ask, to go. He further requests that, should this happen, no harm come to those he releases.”

  “No harm will come to any man who repents his sins in the name of God and swears allegiance to Mother Rome,” Philip answered grandly. “You must return with this answer, but you must add the following. Tell Jacques de Molay that the lives of all who repent will be spared, but that the lives of those who do not will be forfeit. Tell him that we will find the truth behind the tales of his evil, and that the Lord will have his retribution. We have come not in my name, but in the name of the one God, and no work of Satan will be allowed to flourish in any land where I have sovereignty.”

  The second lad’s head popped up at these words, and there was surprising courage etching the young lines of his face.

  “
Jacques de Molay serves no evil,” he said slowly. His companion had turned to regard him in what amounted to abject terror, but the boy paid him no heed.

  “The knights have supported the Church from these shores to the Holy Land and beyond. They have supported the monarchy in times of trouble, both financial and in battle. It is a sad day that we have come to this.”

  “Who are you, lad?” Philip asked.

  “My name is Antoine Cardin,” he replied proudly. “My father served in the order, and his father before him. My great-grandfather served under Hugues de Payen himself.”

  “That is a grand history,” Philip replied, “and one to be proud of. You are not a blind man, though, so you may see what has happened. The order you serve is not the order Hugues de Payen foresaw. Idol worship. Sorcery. Putting one’s self before the Church. These are sins that cannot be ignored, and all of these and more have been reported within these walls. I urge you, Antoine, to reconsider what it means to you to serve the Church, and to reconsider as well the value of your life. If you do not recant your vows, you will forfeit your life, and I will watch you burn before the sun rises tomorrow.” Cardin didn’t speak, but he wheeled his mount and started for the keep without looking back. His companion, nearly panicked, turned and followed the younger knight at a gallop. Philip stood and watched them leave, deep in thought.

  He wondered how a man like de Molay could inspire such fanatic loyalty. His own men, he knew, would abandon him in a second in the face of such a hopeless cause. He couldn’t blame them; no man wanted to die. He wondered what it would be like to care about something deeply enough to consider it worth his life. Shrugging, he turned back to the camp and began to bark orders to his commanders as he made his way to his tent. He could ask his questions of de Molay himself, once he’d rested and the keep was theirs.

  He disappeared between the flaps of his tent and the preparations began in earnest for the evacuation of the keep. The sun was just cresting the horizon.