The Heretic: Templar Chronicles Book 1 (16 page)

At the end of a long hallway was a study.

It was there that they found Stone.

He was naked, tied to a straight-backed chair in the center of the room. Wide gaping holes had been gouged into his chest, legs, and arms. He hadn’t been dead for long.

“Shit!” Cade swore.

Duncan could only stare in stunned disbelief. To have come so close…

But Cade was not to be deterred. “Fuck this!” he exclaimed loudly and stepped up close to the corpse, pulling off his gloves as he did so.

Divining his commander’s intentions, Duncan said, “I’m not certain that’s such a good idea.” The memory of Cade’s teeth clamped leechlike on his right arm was still very much in the forefront of his mind.

“We don’t have any other choice. If we know what happened, we have a chance of staying ahead of the game. This is the only way of getting that information.”

“But what happens if you lose control, like you did in the cemetery?”

Cade’s answer was matter-of-fact. “Shoot me.”

Duncan struggled to come up with a response.

Without waiting for his answer, Cade grasped the hands of the corpse on the chair before him.

A fireplace, then a small watercolor of snowcapped mountains.

The painting is lifted off the wall, and a small piece of paper is taped to its back.

Darkness.

A face hidden in the shadows of a cowled robe.

“Where is the Spear?” it asks.

Something small and vicious is half-hidden in the robed one’s cupped hands.

The pair move closer and the beast, all teeth, claws, and glistening yellow eyes, is deposited on the bare skin of Stone’s stomach.

As if on cue, the creature begins tunneling into his flesh.

Another set of teeth join the first. They tear at the hole the first creature made, widening it.

His vision wavering in the pain, he forces himself to look down.

His daughter, dead and buried for more than eleven years, grins up at him as her teeth find the edge of his exposed intestine, and she begins to devour it.

*** ***

Cade staggered away from the corpse, his stomach churning. The sensations and memories he’d just witnessed surged in the forefront of his mind, seeking to swamp his hold on reality, but he fought them back down and buried them in their own little dark corner in the cellar of his mind. He let his anger at what the Enemy had done to his brother Knight cleanse the fog away, let it focus his attention on what needed to be done.

The clock was ticking, and the Enemy was still out there.

“Anything?” Duncan asked, from a safe position on the other side of the room.

Cade nodded. “He left us a note.” He proceeded to describe the painting, but left out the rest of the horrific scene he’d witnessed. There were some things that only the dead should know.

They did a quick search of the house, finally locating the watercolor in a small storage room on the lower floor. Cade lifted it off the wall and removed the small slip of paper that had been jammed into the edge of the frame.

Written on it in pencil were a series of letters and numbers: B27 31 8 16.

“What do you think? Map coordinates?”

“Might also be the combination to a safe,” Cade replied, “or the catalog number to a library book.”

“There was a safe in the study.”

When they checked, they found that the safe had already been opened, however, and whatever it might have contained was long gone. Cade closed the door and spun the dial, then checked the numbers from the paper against it.

The door remained firmly shut.

“Okay, that’s one possibility down. Only a couple thousand more to go,” he said, with a rueful grin. Moving to the telephone sitting on a stand across the room, he called Riley and filled him in on what had occurred. He asked him to report Stone’s death to Major Barnes and request that a recovery team be sent to the house as soon as possible. After agreeing to meet back at the hotel in twenty minutes, he hung up.

“All right. We’ve done all we can here. Let’s regroup with the others.”

The two men descended to the ground floor and headed for the front door.

Just outside, they found five black-robed figures standing between them and their vehicle.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“In the name of the Lord Almighty, I call upon you to relinquish your weapons and receive the mercy of Christ the King.”

Since the time of the Crusades, the Templar Rule has required that all enemies be given the chance to surrender and accept the divine grace of the Lord before hostilities can commence. Knowing what a stickler for such things Duncan seemed to be, Cade was not surprised to hear him give voice to the ritual challenge.

Even less surprising was the response the call received.

As one, the five sorcerers, dressed identically to the one Major Barnes’ men had slain back at the Broadmoor commandery, raised their arms. Their leader began chanting in some ancient tongue, while the others began to weave their hands rhythmically through the air.

Duncan, apparently, had had enough for one day. “You have five seconds to surrender, or I’ll open fire.” His voice was steady, and he punctuated his statement by pointing his gun in their direction.

Watching all this, Cade knew Duncan’s efforts were in vain. The sorcerers had baited their trap; he and Duncan had unwittingly fallen into it. As he drew his own weapon, he triggered his Sight.

The sudden link to the Beyond allowed him to see the blue witchfire that sprang forth with each motion of the sorcerers’ hands, the power gathering in a rapidly growing sphere that shimmered just before them.

Cade watched as a rift appeared in the air between him and that spherical shield. It hung several feet off the ground, a small ball of incandescence that quickly began to grow and spread. From its silvery green surface a clawed hand appeared, a hand that was soon followed by an arm that grasped the edge of the opening like a physical thing and pulled the rest of its body through.

The spectre’s face was hideous, a twisted parody of a human visage, warped by whatever evil passions consumed the creature. As its eyes came to rest on Cade it grinned, revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth and a spiked tongue.

Behind it, several others began to pour forth to join their brethren.

Despite the fact that they didn’t have the same solidity of form that a revenant had, the spectres were actually more dangerous. Their wraithlike forms could cause just as much, if not more, harm than the rotting body of a revenant, and had the added advantage of being impervious to almost all ordinary weaponry. They were creatures of spirit and will, manifestations of pure evil, and so weapons unconnected to the emotion of the wielder could do them little harm. It took something blessed to really affect them, and, even then, several strikes were required before they were completely taken out of the picture.

Cade knew that Duncan couldn’t see the mystical shield the sorcerers had created to protect themselves, but the portal and its inhabitants were clearly visible. As Cade watched, Duncan sprung into action, opening fire with his MP5.

Unfortunately, Duncan didn’t have nearly the same level of experience with such beings as Cade did. He targeted the emerging spectres, and his bullets tore into the wraithlike creatures with no effect, simply passing through them to bounce off the arcane shield the sorcerers had erected.

Cade fired his own weapon, though not at the spectres. They were creatures of spirit and will, manifestations of the evil that once drove them in life, and so weapons unconnected to the emotion of the wielder could do them no harm. Instead he targeted the sorcerers summoning them, attempting to get past the barrier that they had erected to protect themselves.

His shots met the same fate as Duncan’s.

The spectres swarmed about in front of the sorcerers, but made no attempt to attack the two Knights.

Cade knew the situation wouldn’t remain that way for long.

Next to him, Duncan’s weapon ran dry and went silent.

“Move!” Cade cried, slinging his gun and drawing his sword in preparation for the onslaught he knew was to come.

As if on cue, the spectres charged.

Duncan and Cade made it as far as the steps before the spectres burst upon them like a cyclone. Shrieking in rage and hunger, the wraithlike creatures rushed the two Knights as they turned to face their attackers at the foot of the steps, swords in hand.

Cade fought like a demon himself, snarling his fury, directing every ounce of his anger down through the weapon at his attackers. All the anger and frustration he’d felt at the sight of Stone’s mutilated body poured out of him now that he had a target. His sword spun like a dervish, striking with deadly accuracy, neither giving nor receiving any quarter from his foes. Beside him, Duncan swung his weapon with equal ferocity.

The spectres swarmed around them, striving to pierce their defenses, to gain the opportunity to sink their fangs into their flesh or rake them with their claws. At the same time, the blessed blades of the Knights sought to pierce the unnatural forms of the spectres, sending them back across the portal with a shriek of pain and a flash of witchfire every time they connected. The combination of the Knights’ martial skill and the added protection of their ceramic body armor kept them from suffering any serious wounds, though they were both bleeding from half a dozen minor injuries by the time they beat back the first wave of the attack.

When the spectres pulled back to regroup, the two men quickly made their way up the steps and back inside the house, slamming the door behind them.

Cade moved to the nearest window and drew back the curtain, peering out into the front yard.

The sorcerers hadn’t moved, though more spectres had emerged from the portal to join the survivors from the first wave.

“Back door,” said Cade.

They ran through the lower floor, moving through the living and dining rooms, hoping they hadn’t yet been surrounded. From the far side of the kitchen they could see through the sliding glass doors that led out into the patio at the rear of the house, where a seething mass of spectres pressed up against the glass from the outside, trying to force their way in.

The glass was bulging inward, the weight of the spectres proving to be too much for it. Duncan was closest to the doors when the fragile material gave way with a loud crash.

The sergeant disappeared under the onslaught.

The creatures flowed over him, coming straight for Cade.

He met them head-on, his sword flashing in the dim light.

He slashed, hacked, and stabbed, until he was once again able to beat them off. Blood flowed over his the right side of his face from a large gash at the edge of his scalp He could still see through his good eye, and that was all that mattered.

The spectres had retreated to the backyard and he glanced at them, reassuring himself they remained at a distance, before moving to assess Duncan’s injuries. Cade feared the worst as he moved over to Duncan’s still form, but was relieved to find he’d been knocked unconscious but was still breathing.

Kneeling next to him, his eyes on the spectres just outside the doors, Cade pulled out his radio phone and tried to call Riley, with no success.

It wouldn’t be long before the spectres made another assault. He had only moments to figure a way out, or Barnes’s recovery team would have two more bodies to add to their load.

But he couldn’t think of a solution.

At least Riley would follow orders; when they didn’t make the rendezvous, he’d head for Bristol, Olsen in tow, and confront the Preceptor. There was some small measure of comfort in that.

Then it hit him. He didn’t know if it would work, but he was willing to give it a try.

“You’re probably not going to like this,” he said to his unconscious teammate, “but we’re all out of options.” Sheathing his own sword, he scooped Duncan’s still form over his shoulder and grabbed the man’s discarded weapon in one hand. He ran down the hall and up the steps to the second floor. He was already tired; there was no way he was going to be able to hold off another attack, not without Duncan’s help.

By the time Cade made it to the end of the hall, the spectres had rallied and were in the house, swarming at the foot of the stair and climbing toward them.

Cade raced down the corridor, making for the master study where he and Duncan had found Commander Stone’s remains.

The first of the spectres reached the second floor and let out a bone-chilling shriek as Cade burst into the study.

Behind him, the hallway filled with screaming wraiths.

The mirror, and the potential salvation it offered, was ten feet away.

A searing-cold hand clawed at his back, slashing partly through the back panel of his protective vest. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he dashed the final few steps across the room, planted one foot on the lip of the great mahogany desk that stood between him and the wall, and launched the two of them directly at the mirror covering the wall just beyond with one shove of his powerful legs.

If I’m wrong, we’re both dead,
he thought; and then he was gone.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The twenty minutes came and went.

No Cade.

Riley chalked it up to the bad weather and did his best to curb his impatience. He’d already called Major Barnes at the Broadmoor commandery and filled him in. A recovery team was on its way, with an extra squad of troops just to be safe.

Thirty minutes.

As Olsen sat watch by the window, Riley paced the small room, his frustration growing by the minute. Cade should have been here by now, rain or no rain. Something was wrong. He could feel it in his gut. He’d been Cade’s right-hand man for too long just to leave him out there on his own.

By the time forty-five minutes had passed since Cade’s phone call, Riley made his decision. Grabbing his shotgun off the couch, he headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Olsen asked, from his position by the window.

“To find Cade,” Riley replied, opening the door and stepping out into the darkened parking lot beyond.