To Dream of Dreamers Lost: Book 3 of The Grails Covenant Trilogy

by David Niall Wilson

  Odd as it seemed, Kli Kodesh was their one hope for success. The ancient had created the Order of the Bitter Ash with his own blood, but he could not be trusted to back them completely. He had lived too long, seen too many born and ground to dust. Very little in the world could hold his interest for any length of time, and Montrovant, for all his faults, had proven to be one of those things that could.

  Kodesh might not ever allow the dark one close enough to truly get his hands on the Grail, but he would certainly make it possible for him to try. It was more entertaining that way, and Kodesh lived for entertainment. Without his little intrigues and games, Jeanne was certain that the ancient would have sunk to the earth and never risen long before.

  The one constant in all their dealings with Kli Kodesh was that none involved could trust him. He would send one group one way, another the opposite, stand in the middle and laugh as a third group neither of the others suspected marched up the center and tilted the odds. The thing to do, then, was not to look for a way through to the treasures. Not to try to beat the puzzle the old one would pose, or to fall into the game he would begin. The secret was to try to anticipate which were the pieces of this game, and to avoid them altogether, while appearing to fall into the trap.

  They had never succeeded in getting within hand’s reach of the treasures the Order guarded, but they had come much closer than Kodesh and Santos, now apparently destroyed, would have cared to see them. This time had to be different. This time they would need intrigue of their own, and a good measure of luck, because Jeanne knew that, for good or ill, Montrovant had set his mind on this. He had decided it was to end, and here. That meant the stakes, and the risks, would be going up.

  As they walked their horses into town, they noted that St. Fond had worked quickly. He stood beside his mount in front of the one inn in the town, two local boys beside him, staring up at the approaching knights as if God Himself had come to call.

  Montrovant smiled, slipping from the saddle and handing over his reins to the first of them. “Food, and water,” he told the boy, “plenty of it. I expect each horse to be brushed and cared for properly, and the bridles and saddles oiled.”

  The boy nodded dumbly.

  His partner, a bit bolder, chimed in, “Yes sir. We’ll take good care of them for you, sir. You’ll have no complaints with us.”

  “That I am sure of,” Montrovant replied, almost smiling. “I am not a man you want to displease.”

  Both boys gulped at this, taking in the tall, imposing figure that towered over them, then nodded. “Yes sir.”

  Montrovant did laugh then, and turned toward the inn. The others dismounted behind him, dropping the reins of their mounts and following their leader. The horses, trained for battle and camp alike, did not move once their reins touched the ground, but the animals watched, eyes rolling in hunger, as their companions were led off to the stables.

  The two stable hands scurried back and forth as if possessed, struggling to get the animals sheltered quickly so they could be about their work. To tend five such magnificent animals in one night was surely the highlight of their past year, but with the threat of Montrovant’s anger hovering over them, and the thought of the recompense such a man might offer if he were pleased growing in their minds, they hurried quickly about their tasks.

  Montrovant entered the inn with the others close behind. The interior was cheery, a large warm fire centered on the far wall of one large room, several rough wooden tables with matching chairs, and a series of sleeping furs near the fire.

  St. Fond had arranged for the only two rooms, both large and spacious, to be readied for them, and Jeanne moved off with the innkeeper’s son, who was seeing to the preparations, to modify the one he and Montrovant would share. Du Puy would join them, as guardian, but it was important to know how they would spend the coming day before taking any time to decide what to do with the night.

  The room was low-ceilinged, and there was only a single window, heavily shuttered. Thick curtains lined the portal’s sides, and Jeanne moved to it, sliding them closed in the center with a quick shrug of his shoulders. He turned, catching the innkeeper’s son’s eye over his shoulder, and grinned.

  “You can go, boy, we will handle it from here. If we need anything, be certain you will be the first to know.”

  The boy hesitated. It was obvious he’d expected to leave with more information on their magnificent guests. Jeanne watched him for a moment, then turned, taking a step toward the door, and the boy fled. Laughing, Le Duc turned next to the closet. As he’d hoped, it was large. The room was designed to house a group of travelers, as the inn was too small to offer individual quarters, and the closet was large enough for the belongings of several. It was sealed from the room by a very solid oak door, and Jeanne stepped inside, closing this, testing the cracks above and below. There was so little space that as he closed it he could feel the pressure in the small space resisting.

  He stepped out, nodding to himself. It would do nicely. This taken care of, he closed the door behind himself and headed back to the main room of the inn. He knew that, with du Puy stationed outside the closet, and the room’s door and window closed tightly, they were as safe as they were likely to be in a public, mortal dwelling. Unless the innkeeper was abnormally curious, or some other mishap befell, it would be a smooth visit.

  He wanted to get outside. He wanted to get beyond the confines of the city, to the outlying homes, the hunters and farmers. He needed to feel the scent of the hunt, the fear of a victim, needed the hot coppery taste of life sliding over his lips and down his throat; the warmth of another’s life.

  Montrovant was seated at a table positioned by a shuttered window, as far from the blazing fire as possible. St. Fond and the others were gathered about that fire, with a small group of locals, working on what must have been, from the empty mugs arrayed before them, their third ale apiece.

  Jeanne shook his head in silent laughter and joined his sire at the table.

  “I need to go out,” he said at last.

  Montrovant nodded. “I will wait until you have been gone for a while, then follow. We will need our wits, and our full strength. I can’t shake the feeling that he has done it again, that Kli Kodesh has manipulated us across the country to this spot like unsuspecting children.”

  “Not unsuspecting, then,” Jeanne grinned. “If he did, what is the difference? We are here, they are here, and the old game has begun again. It is good to be back in the fire,” he added. “I have missed the excitement.”

  Montrovant laughed softly. “Go. You begin now to sound like Kli Kodesh himself. Next you will tell me how it is so much more entertaining.”

  Jeanne laughed too, then rose and turned toward the door. The night was still young, but he knew he’d need to get far away from that inn not to bring suspicion upon himself, or the others. That meant a quick start, and swift travel. He was aching to begin.

  As Jeanne slipped silently away from the inn, and Montrovant turned back to watch the group at the fire, lost in thought, two other travelers reached the crossroads beneath the mountain. They shared a single mount, and Abraham stared longingly up the mountain as his companion, leaning up behind him, clung to his back, dark eyes scanning the road in both directions.

  Fleurette had not said a word since awakening. He had fed and shared the blood with her the night after her Embrace, and she’d not questioned it, or struggled. Now she was silent, watching everything with her new sight, taking in every nuance of the landscape, and clinging to him for support, though at the same time Abraham could feel her pushing him away.

  He knew they weren’t too far behind Montrovant, despite the delay, but what worried him the most was the others. He’d seen no evidence of Lacroix or Noirceuil, and that meant one of two things. Either the two had lost the scent, or they knew exactly where he was, and his time before that confrontation was limited. If the latter were true, then there were choices to be made.

  He stared down at the curling smok
e from the village, then up the mountain. He could feel them. The Order was up there, waiting, watching. Below, who knew? He could question the locals on Montrovant’s passing, but there was little point. The dark one would be going up the mountain. If he was not already there, he would go soon. Abraham only needed to go, and to watch. If he arrived first, then perhaps he could renew his old acquaintances. At the very least he might find some answers about why he’d been left behind.

  He turned his mount upward, mounting the trail at a slow walk. The way was shadowed and curved around to the left quickly. He rounded that curve and disappeared from the crossroad. The moon was only just rising, and there was plenty of time to scout the hillside above, then make his plans. He wanted to make Fleurette understand as well. He had drawn her into his dark world; that was enough to make her hate him eternally, once the significance of it hit her. Now he was riding into the face of almost certain destruction, either from Lacroix and Noirceuil, Montrovant, or the Order itself…a second death, much more painful and final than the first, and without the promise of salvation.

  He planned to offer her freedom, such as it was. He could force her to do as he wished. She was so young to the Blood, and his childe. He had never created another of his kind, and the responsibility was an unfamiliar, uncomfortable weight on his shoulders. She was not going to be much use against Noirceuil except possibly as a momentary distraction. She did not know how to hunt, or what to expect when they reached whatever stronghold the Order had created. She was a burden, and an enigma, with her dark eyes and her silence. Not for the first time, Abraham cursed himself as a fool for not killing her and being done with it when he had the chance. He still didn’t know exactly why he had not, except that something deep inside had not allowed him to betray her. It was one thing to feed from those who didn’t matter, or who hated you; quite another to end the existence of the only one to care about your own.

  He continued up the sloping trail for a few hundred yards, then glanced back down and made a decision. The road was open as far as he could see upward, and below it stretched around that one bend, but was otherwise bare. If any were following, they would spot him and his companion in seconds after rounding that bend.

  He turned off the trail to the left, where it was only about twenty yards to where the tree line rose beside them, cutting off their view of the road ahead, but shielding them from prying eyes. The way became steeper and more rocky soon after he veered to the side, but a bit more effort in climbing was a small price to pay for possibly protecting of their lives.

  He climbed steadily, shifting from side to side, slipping around rocky outcrops and avoiding stands of trees and overgrown brush. It slowed them to a walk, eventually bringing them to a nearly sheer cliff face. He noted that there was a very dark patch to his right, at the base of that cliff, and he turned his mount toward it curiously.

  It was a shallow cave. The hole sank deep into the earth, but was no taller than a small child. He stared at it for a long moment, glanced to the sky, and sighed. It would do. There was still over an hour until the sun would rise, but he needed time to go back over their tracks and be certain they’d not left a trail, and he needed time to talk with his silent progeny.

  He turned, pressing her to one side gently and indicating that she should dismount, then joined her, tying the horse loosely to a nearby tree. No way to hide it, or their location. The only hope lay in keeping any from following them to that dark hole. He thought of Noirceuil for a moment, and he shivered. Laying his hands on Fleurette’s shoulders, he led her to a small cleared space before the cavern, pressing her down so that she sat opposite him.

  “You have to listen to me,” he said softly. “Things will never be the same for you. There is no way back from what has been done. You are like I am now, your hunger will follow you and haunt you, the sun is denied you, and you are bound to do as I ask.”

  Fleurette did not answer, but, meeting his gaze, she nodded. Her gaze was wary. Her wits did not appear to have been dimmed, but she was guarded, turned deeply inward.

  “That is the good news,” he said softly. “I have to tell you why I am here, and who else will follow.”

  As he spoke, leaning in closer so that he could keep his voice very low, she watched him intently, listening. He did not stop talking for a very long time, and the night slipped away, stealing the time he had planned to spend on other things. The wind picked up some, and in the distance, a storm was brewing.

  Below, at the crossroads, that same wind was kicking leaves and sand up in small spiraling gusts, dancing it around and over Noirceuil’s boots as he dismounted and led his horse to where the roads up and down the mountain met.

  Lacroix sat on his horse, watching, and waiting. Noirceuil had calmed somewhat once they were back on the road, and things were nearly back to their usual level of comfort, such as it was. Noirceuil was controlled and silent as he hunted, it was his way, and now he had two trails to follow.

  The hunter spun slowly, and spoke in a low voice. “The new one has gone up the mountain,” he said softly. “I sense others there, a great number. I believe we are very near our goal, my friend.

  Montrovant?” Lacroix asked.

  Noirceuil watched his partner for a long moment, then shifted his gaze up the trail again. “I do not sense the dark one. There is a light trace, but the young one, Abraham, has gone up this mountain, and there is something waiting there. I don’t know what has distracted Montrovant, but the Order, and whatever they guard so jealously, is up the mountain.”

  Lacroix looked troubled for a moment. He knew that Montrovant would not easily turn from this quest. Something did not seem right, and he’d learned over the years to trust his instincts.

  “The other way,” Lacroix said at last. “There is a village below…”

  “The village is a diversion,” Noirceuil replied, eyes glittering. “We were to find the Order, my friend, and if possible, to put Montrovant out of the way at the same time. I agreed to this mission because it allows me the opportunity to do as I do best, and that is to hunt the Cainites, to send them to their final damnation. That mountain is crawling with them, and it is there that I will go. You are free to check the village below first, if you like.”

  Lacroix started to reply. He was nominally in charge of the mission, and while Noirceuil was, in a sense, correct that the Order and their secrets were the primary goal, to ignore Montrovant as if the dark one had faded from the world was just not wise. “I do not want the dark one behind us, is all,” he said at last.

  “He will not catch us if we continue up now,” Noirceuil said softly. “I can sense them not so far distant. Not tonight, but early tomorrow evening we can reach them. If Montrovant is in that village, he can’t get there before we do, and we will be able to watch the road below for his approach.

  “As far as we know, the dark one does not even know we follow him. There is no reason to fear that he will track us up the mountain, and if we can arrive ahead of him, we can scout the ground above and pick our battlefield. Make no mistake, my friend. This will be no slaying, but a battle. We may well never walk away from this mountain.”

  Lacroix shivered, then nodded. “I know that, Noirceuil. I have known that each and every time we have begun a hunt, and yet we walk, still. So many have gone the way of dust at our hands I can scarcely recall them all. It changes nothing when this moment arrives. I feel that chill breath on the back of my throat…have felt it since we left that city a while back.”

  Noirceuil nodded, whether merely in acknowledgment of Lacroix’s words or in agreement, it was impossible to tell. Turning away, the hunter leaped back into his saddle with incredible agility, and turned his mount up the trail, moving into the shadows.

  There was a quick bend, and Lacroix found himself dreading what might lay around it. He was so shaken he held his breath until they’d passed beyond the turn, but there was nothing to see. The trail stretched up and away into the darkness so far that his sight failed long bef
ore it reached either a turn or a goal. Noirceuil started up that trail slowly, and he followed, wondering if it would be the last time he followed that dark form into the unknown, or merely another chapter in an ongoing saga.

  He was just starting to relax when Noirceuil stopped again, his nose to the air, as if on a scent. The hunter closed his eyes, spun for just a moment to pass a white flash of smile to Lacroix, and turned his mount from the road. He started off through the trees to the left of the trail at a pace a bit faster than Lacroix would have set. Lacroix spurred his own mount so that he could come nearly abreast of his partner.

  “What is it?”

  Noirceuil turned to him again, eyes blazing. “They are near. Abraham, Santorini’s fool, and the young one. They are very close. I believe we can catch them tonight.”

  Lacroix’s eyes grew dark for a moment. “They are not our mission.”

  Noirceuil turned to him again, and those eye blazed now, afire with a burning, possessive drive that Lacroix would never understand. “They are my mission. All of them.”

  He turned away again, and headed off through the trees a bit more quickly.

  Abraham heard the hoofbeats pounding through the trees just in time. There was no time to prepare a defense, or to flee, so he did the one thing that occurred to him that might not spell immediate death. He grabbed Fleurette, drove her ahead of him, and dove for the small cave in the cliff. Scrambling under the rim, he pushed her ahead of him, whispering tersely.

  “Go. Don’t stop until you feel my touch on your ankle, or you are as far in as you can be.” She did not hesitate, sensing his agitation, and he slid in behind her, leaving his bags, his horse, everything he’d brought with him, to whoever was approaching.