The Templar Chronicles (67 page)

It was just after midday when they entered a narrow chasm that seemed to have been cut from the living rock around them by a giant blade. It was so narrow that at times they were forced to remove their packs and walk sideways, the stone pushing against their chests and backs, but each time they made it through.

As they emerged from the tight channel through which they’d been passing, they found themselves standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down toward the sea. At the base of the cliff loomed a city, but a city the likes of which they had never seen. Great spires of crystal rose high into the sky, but at angles that hurt the eyes, like the freakish and twisted playthings of a giant, playthings that had gone horrible wrong somewhere between inception and culmination. Dark monoliths of squat stone stood around and between them, a sharp contrast not only in their size and shape but in the simple lines of their design. What appeared to be factories of some kind belched dark smoke into the sky, but the smoke seemed to have a life of its own as it twisted and turned under its own design and often against the wind. A wall rose around the city and a road led from the cliff face somewhere below them right up to the massive gate that barred entrance to the place.

It was like something out of a nightmare, a haven for the damned.

Just beyond the city was a sea of wine-dark waves that crashed against the base of the plateau on which it stood, sending spray hundreds of feet into the air. The water extended out in every direction and looking at it, Cade suddenly felt as if they’d come to the very end of the earth.

Exhausted and hungry, the two Templar knights stared down at this unearthly marvel in sheer amazement, both of them wondering the same thing.

Is this where Bishop had been headed?

As if in answer to their question, two figures appeared on the road far below. One strode forward unhindered, while the other constantly stumbled and fell. Each time it happened the individual in the lead would haul on the rope that bound them together until the second individual climbed wearily to his feet.

The newcomers were too far away to see clearly, but Cade didn’t have to see them to know who they were. Something deep inside told him what he needed to know.

He turned to Riley with a smile, pointing them out as he did so.

There was no question in his mind that they had done it.

They had caught up with Duncan.

Now all they had to do was rescue him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Duncan stared up at the city walls before him in numb amazement. Nothing he’d seen so far could have prepared him for this. Discovering that a place like the Beyond existed at all had been disconcerting enough, but to find a city of this size and scale here in the midst of it defied all logical explanation. It was more than he could take.

He was exhausted, both mentally and physically. His body was battered and bruised from the beatings he’d taken and his broken ribs screamed in pain every time his upper body moved. The fever from the infection in his shoulder wasn’t helping either. Or at least that’s what he thought it was, though it was unlike any infection he’d ever seen. Thick, black pus was leaking from the center of the wound while the skin surrounding it had been leeched completely of color. But it was the fact that it pulsed completely out of sync with his heartbeat that really unnerved him.

Like it had a heartbeat of its own.

He didn’t want to think about the implications that thought brought along with it.

Bishop passed something to the guards at the gate and then pushed his way through the crowd into the city proper, dragging Duncan along with him. His captor had apparently been here before, for he moved swiftly and surely through the crowded city streets, intent on some destination only he knew.

Weary from their forced march and the pain of his injuries, Duncan was reduced to stumbling along behind him. He knew he should be concentrating on where they were going just in case he managed to find a way to free himself, but the streets all looked the same to his fever-addled mind and it was all he could do to keep himself upright. Bishop wouldn’t stop if Duncan lost his footing; he knew that from previous experience.

After what seemed like hours of wandering up one street and down another, Bishop entered a large outdoor marketplace and stopped at a stall near the far end. A noxious smell hung over the place and Duncan found it difficult to breathe through the fumes.

The proprietor was a large man in dark clothing and a rubber apron that stretched from his chest to just above his feet. He grunted a welcome at Bishop, giving Duncan the sense that the two of them had done business together before, and then gave a sharp call toward the rear of his shop.

Duncan glanced around, taking in the open furnaces in which green-grey flames burned with cold light, the anvils, and the barrels of iron tools scattered throughout the place. Even to his fever-addled mind it was enough to suggest that he stood in some kind of smithy.

Bishop’s next request confirmed it.

“Put him in chains,” he said.

It was enough to rouse Duncan from his fog. He glanced wildly around, trying to gauge where the threat was going to come from, but by then it was too late. The blacksmith’s assistant, having quietly come up behind the trio, kicked Duncan’s legs out from under him and Duncan hit the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of him. As he struggled to suck air into his lungs, the assistant grabbed his arms and yanked them upward so that they lay across a nearby anvil.

The blacksmith worked quickly, grabbing a nearby barrel and dumping a thick grey substance from its depths onto Duncan’s wrists. The stuff was icy cold, so cold that his heart skipped a beat, but the blacksmith never hesitated, reaching in with his bare hands and sculpting the substance into the shape he wanted.

Before Duncan even had the chance to object it was over.

The blacksmith released Duncan’s hands with a satisfied grunt and they fell back into his lap, far heavier than before. In place of the rope a set of iron manacles now encircled each wrist, with a two foot piece of chain dangling between them. Duncan stared at them, repulsed and fascinated at the same time. The metal was cold and where it touched him it seemed to leech the warmth right from his flesh. Even more distressing where the faces in the surface of the metal, faces he kept seeing out of the corner of his eyes, faces with the lost and tortured expressions of the damned.

But it was the strange keening sound that the metal gave off, as if the dead themselves were bound up in his chains which bothered him the most.

After all he’d been through this last was too much for Duncan.

“Get them off!” he screamed in a high, shrill voice. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that wasn’t a good sign, but he didn’t care. He had to get these things off of him! He pushed frantically at the manacles, first with one hand and then the other, shoving with all his strength, trying to force them over the base of his palms, anything to get them off his skin. The others laughed at his antics, but he didn’t stop until the last of his meager strength was spent and his hands were bloody from his efforts.

The chains hadn’t budged.

Help me, Lord. Help me.

But only his enemy answered him. “On your feet!” Bishop demanded and punctuated his order with a sharp kick to Duncan’s leg.

The Templar knight climbed wearily to his feet, his morale shaken and his strength all but gone. He could only watch dully as Bishop hooked a longer piece of chain to the length that stretched between the manacles on his wrists. A leather handle had been attached to the other end of that chain. Bishop removed a gold ring from one finger, which the blacksmith accepted as payment, and the handle was given to Bishop, who used it like a leash to drag Duncan along behind him as they left the shop.

They only traveled a few blocks before Bishop knocked on the door of another establishment. A gruff voice answered and Bishop replied in the same tongue. Duncan couldn’t understand them, but from the tone and the quick responses it was clear that they were haggling over something. Eventually, the door opened and they were ushered inside.

They were being led down a dark hallway, past open rooms where a variety of creatures stared out at them as they passed. Here a man sat by the window, the decapitated head of his lover resting in his arms, the two of them conversing in low tones. There a woman sat cutting the inside of her thigh over and over again. Each time the blade slashed through her flesh it instantly healed again, which only seemed to drive her to new heights of frustration and deeper cuts of the knife. Each room held some different tableau and in his exhausted state, Duncan wasn’t certain if he what he was seeing was hallucination or reality.

They came to a rickety wooden staircase that led to the second story and he stumbled up it in Bishop’s wake. Their host, a skeletal old woman dressed in a ragged shawl, brought them to the second room on the right and ushered them inside. Aside from the washbin in the corner, the only furniture was a wooden bed in the center of the room.

Duncan barely made it over the threshold before he collapsed on the floor and immediately fell into a restless sleep.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“How are we going to get in there?” Riley asked, but Cade could only shake his head. He didn’t have an answer.

Not yet, at least.

They spent the next hour watching the traffic on the road below them. A good number of travelers came and went during that time and it quickly became obvious that this must not be the only city of its kind in the Beyond. The variety of travelers was staggering, from lone individuals on foot to long wagon-trains full of people and trade goods. More than a few didn’t look human.

Watching them come and go gave Cade an idea. He explained his plan to Riley, who agreed it was their best chance at getting inside. The first step was to get down to the plain below without being seen.

A few minutes of searching helped locate a trail leading downward. It was more a goat path than anything else, just a thin, barely visible track, but it was all they had and it would have to do.

Thankfully it wasn’t too steep. Rather than taking the more direct route straight down, it wound its way around the mountain in a series of alternating switchbacks. They followed it at a slow and steady pace. Eventually they reached the bottom without incident.

The city was out of sight around the edge of the mountain itself, but the road was only a few yards away. The two of them took up position behind a large outcropping of rock that allowed them to see the approach to the city without themselves being seen by anyone on the road.

Then they settled down to wait.

It didn’t take long. About ten minutes after they’d settled into place they heard movement on the road. Cade snuck a glance around the boulder behind which he was hiding and saw three individuals headed toward them. They wore hooded robes and walked with their heads down, preventing Cade from seeing them clearly, but they were of roughly the right size and didn’t appear too imposing.

They would have to do.

As the trio came abreast of them, Cade gave the signal. He and Riley slipped from their hiding place and snuck up behind the newcomers. A brief scuffle ensued, but the newcomers were no match for the Templar soldiers and soon the three of them were lying unconscious on the ground.

The entire confrontation had taken place in silence and when Cade stripped the robe from the lead figure, he discovered why.

The newcomer had no face!

A blank visage confronted him, a smooth plane unbroken by mouth, nose or eyes. It was as if the Creator had gotten distracted and moved on to His next project before He’d finished with this one. The sight was strangely unnerving to Cade and he found he couldn’t look at the other for long without growing uncomfortable.

Thankfully, he wouldn’t have to. Turning away from the body, he donned the man’s robe while Riley did the same with one of the others. The robes covered their heads and hid their faces from casual view and that was exactly what Cade had wanted.

They dragged the bodies out of sight behind the rocks. Cade would have preferred to leave them bound and gagged, but he didn’t have anything with which to do so. Hopefully they would be inside the city before they revived or were discovered by other travelers.

Carefully, they made their way closer to the city gates, trying to keep behind cover and stay as low as possible, not wanting to be seen by any sentries that might be manning the walls. The sun was just setting and the rocks around them cast long shadows, which made their approach that much easier. When they had closed the distance to less than one hundred yards, Cade hunkered down at the base of a shallow gully and called a halt.

“Now what?” Riley whispered.

Cade grinned. “Now we wait for the right Trojan horse to come along.”

It didn’t take long. As the sun set the guards took longer in performing their duties and soon a crowd had gathered in front of the gate, waiting. One of the groups waiting consisted of several wagons and a small group of people. More than a few were dressed in dark robes, like those the Templars had confiscated. As the group began to pass inside the gates, Cade saw their opportunity.

“Come on!” he whispered to Riley and clambered up out of the ditch.

They strode swiftly out of the darkness and blended with the crowd. They kept their heads down and their hoods pulled low over their faces. The guards had already passed the group’s leaders through and were no longer examining individual members, so the Templars were able to slip inside as if they were part of the caravan.

They stayed with the group just until they were out of sight of the gate. As the caravan moved deeper into the city, Cade and Riley slipped down a side street and away from them.

They were inside the city. All they had to do now was find Duncan.

They took a moment to examine their surroundings. Cade was brought up short by the strange array of buildings before him. A seventeenth-century homestead stood between two gleaming towers of glass as dark as obsidian that looked as if they were blown rather than constructed. Further down the street a monolithic office building built in the blocky style favored by government contractors in the nineteen-fifties stood opposite a three story tenement that seemed to be straight out of a Dickens novel. And he’d be damned if that white church tower peeking through from the block beyond didn’t look like an exact duplicate of Boston’s Old North Church.