The Templar Chronicles (9 page)

Riley spoke up from the front seat. “There were eighty-eight men stationed at Templeton.”

Olsen caught his eye in the rearview mirror.

“Yes. There were,” he replied, with the emphasis on
were.

*** ***

They were met at the gate by several soldiers from the commandery in Folkenberg, some seventy-five miles to the north. It was the same unit that had been sent to investigate after Templeton’s personnel failed to report in following the alert the night before.

Cade interviewed them at some length, but they didn’t know anything more than they’d already reported; when they arrived, they’d discovered evidence of a firefight but found the commandery empty, abandoned.

Leaving the Folkenberg troops stationed at the gates, Echo Team made its own swift search of the manor house, confirming what they had been told. The evening meal lay cold in the communal dining hall, half-eaten. The armory had been opened, its weapons distributed. Bullet casings and bloodstains littered the floor behind makeshift barricades.

But there were no bodies.

No survivors.

They spent two hours in the house, then turned their attention to the cemetery.

It had been ransacked.

Desecrated.

Graves had been dug open, the dirt stark against the lush green grass. The unearthed coffins had been ripped apart, their contents spilled across the lawn. A rib cage was jammed between the branches of a newly planted rosebush. An age-yellowed skull with its lower jaw missing and one eye socket stuffed with mud lay in the middle of a pedestrian walkway.

This was the intentional destruction of hallowed ground, a vile disturbance of sanctified remains that appeared to have no legitimate purpose behind it. Anger stirred in Cade’s gut at the sight.

A quick examination showed that while most of the graves had been torn up haphazardly, one of them had been carefully excavated. He decided to start there.

Duncan stood next to that open grave, ready to assist him if he needed it. Riley and Olsen were several yards away, but facing in the other direction, guarding the approaches in anticipation of trouble. Things weren’t right there, and Cade had no intention of being caught unawares.

He removed his gloves and placed them in his pocket before kneeling in the earth next to the open grave. The smell of freshly turned earth, moldering death, and stale air met his nostrils; but he barely noticed the stench as he mentally prepared himself to do what must be done.

The parapsychologists and those who studied psychic phenomena had a formal name for what he did. Psychometry, they called it, the ability to divine facts about an object or its owner through physical contact.

Cade had an easier name for it.

He simply called it his Gift.

It had been seven years since the Gift was thrust upon him, but in that time he still had not grown comfortable using it. He wondered if he ever would.

It wasn’t the loss of tactile sensation that bothered him so much. He’d become accustomed to how things felt through the thin material of his gloves. And it wasn’t as if he was unable to touch things at all. When he was at home safely surrounded by his own possessions, he would often move about the house without his gloves on, doing just that for hours at a time. Remembering what it felt like to run his fingers over cut stone. Feeling the velvety touch of flour as it sifted between his fingers. Holding a book in his hands and testing the quality of the paper between his thumb and forefinger. His home was his sanctuary; no one else was allowed inside, in order to limit the psychic latencies that might be left behind.

Only the intimate touch of another human being was unavailable; that level of sustained contact would bring with it such an overwhelming rush of emotional residue that he would be hard-pressed to understand where he ended and his partner began. Had Gabbi lived, things might have been different, but, in the aftermath of her death, Cade had ceased to care about human contact, at least in that fashion, and so this troubled him far less than others might expect.

It was possible that his discomfort with his Gift grew from the fact that using it brought a degree of physical danger, though he was never one to shy away from the possibility of physical injury. On past occasions he had emerged from a session confused, disoriented, at times even uncertain of his own identity. Once, during a particularly violent viewing, he regained consciousness with knife slashes across his chest.

He suspected the true reason for his discomfort lay in the way the Gift had come to him. There was little doubt that the Adversary meant to kill him on that summer night and had only failed by the smallest of margins. But something had been left behind, some kind of residue or catalyst that resulted in his Gift, his Sight.

He glanced around, making certain his men were in their proper places. Riley, standing off to his right, returned his look with a somber nod. Olsen, stationed behind him, smiled ruefully, as if to say, “Don’t worry, boss, I’ve got your back.” Cade had no doubt that he did. It was the newcomer he questioned; how he reacted about what Cade was going to do would say a lot about his future with the unit. He checked to be certain that Duncan was where he should be, on the opposite side of the grave, out of immediate reach if he objected to what Cade was doing but close enough to help if things got hairy.

The top had been split into several sections though the bottom remained intact. A large section of the lid rested in front of Cade, its silk lining torn and stained from contact with the mud and debris around it.

Reaching out, Cade placed his right hand palm down against the outer surface of a torn and discarded portion of the coffin lid.

Darkness.

A light breeze rustling the edges of his cowl.

The steady motion of the shovel as it went up and down.

He was falling behind, and that would never do. He could be punished for that. He needed to hurry up!

Anticipation.

Excitement.

A glimpse of several robed and hooded men, staring down into the hole as he worked to complete his task.

Would the Council get its answer tonight or would it need to raise another one?

He hoped it was the latter; he liked playing God.

The images and rush of the other’s feelings came and went, there and gone again before Cade could focus on them. In mere seconds they had faded from view.

Cade removed his hand and shook his head to clear it.

“You all right, boss?” Riley asked, his deep voice breaking the silence that had settled over the group.

“Fine,” Cade replied, without looking up. He tested several other places near where he had touched the lid the first time, but any remaining impressions proved elusive.

With Duncan looking on curiously, Cade pushed aside the remains of the lid and turned his attention to the casket. The interior lining was stained with mold and other substances that Cade was in no real hurry to identify. The silk itself was faded and dull, evidence that the interment was not a recent one. He found a clear spot large enough to accommodate his hand and reached out to touch the lining.

Darkness.

Peace.

Serenity.

Pain.

A harsh, savage pain that ripped through his body with all the grace of a hot spear.

A voice was calling him, demanding his return, and he was too weak to stop himself from obeying.

The pain increased, the voice grew louder, until he could barely hear his own screams…

Cade yanked his hand away, ending the sensation, and looked up into the face of his new recruit, now kneeling close by, a concerned look on his face.

“Are you okay?” Duncan asked, though he made no move to touch the Echo Team leader.

Cade nodded.

“Just what, exactly, are you doing?” Duncan asked.

“He’s looking into the past,” Riley replied for him, as he watched his commander closely to be certain he wasn’t needed.

Duncan looked over at the other man. “The past?”

Riley nodded, turning his attention back to their surroundings now that he was satisfied that Cade was all right. “It’s one of the reasons those idiots call him the Heretic. He receives visions through his touch.”

“Is that true?” Duncan asked Cade.

In control once more, Cade replied, “It’s a simplification of what really happens, but, yes, it’s true. A more accurate description might be that I experience the final thoughts and emotions of the last person to come in contact with the object I’m handling, but Riley’s explanation works just as well. Except that he forgot to tell you I have no control over it, that it happens whenever I touch anything, whether I want it to or not.

“I’m going to try again, try to get a clearer picture of what I’m seeing. Something’s not right. If you see something unusual, if I start to shake, bleed, or otherwise look like I’m in danger, I want you to grab me by my shirt and pull me away from the casket. Understand?”

“Yes,” Duncan replied, even though it was obvious to Cade that he really didn’t.

Welcome to the big leagues, kid.

Taking a deep breath, Cade placed his hand on the remains of the coffin for a third time.

A searing hunger coursed through him as he climbed to his feet, a hunger so strong it felt like pain.

Ahead of him, he could see the dark-cloaked forms of several people gathered in a circle around another, taller figure. The one in the center was calling his name, demanding he come forth, demanding he respond to the summons.

He was filled with a strong compulsion to obey, but he did his best to ignore the voice. The smell of human flesh so close it made him dizzy with hunger, and all he wanted to do was feed. When he tried to move forward, however, he tripped over something in his path and fell heavily to the ground. Pulling himself back up, his gaze fell to the object on the ground.

It was a young woman, bound and gagged, left lying in the dirt at his feet. Her eyes gaped wide, and she was trying to scream, but the gag muffled the sound and caused her to choke on her own fear.

The scent of her sweet skin was strong and filled his nostrils, the fear rich and ripe.

He pounced, all other thoughts forgotten.

His teeth ripped into her tender flesh, and her hot blood flowed.

The struggles and muffled screams eventually stopped.

The voice soon returned, asking questions.

This time, his hunger satisfied for the moment, he didn’t mind answering.

With a jolt Cade came out of the trance only to find himself being held to the ground by Riley, the big man’s arm around his neck. The sharp taste of blood was strong in his mouth, and he could feel its wetness flowing down his chin.

On the ground a few feet away sat Duncan, his left arm cradling his right, blood flowing from a small wound on his forearm. Nick was kneeling beside him, trying to stop the flow of blood.

“He bit me,” Duncan said, incredulous.

Cade didn’t hear him. He pulled himself free of Riley’s hold and sat up, moving to face the other man. He now understood what they were facing and the knowledge filled him with fear.

“Revenants,” he said. “They’re raising revenants.”

As the others watched, horrified at what they had just seen and heard, Cade calmly turned and spit Duncan’s blood from his mouth.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Revenants.

Corpses reanimated through the use of dark magick, souls forced back into decomposing flesh and infused with a taste for living flesh. Abominations against the Lord.

After Cade’s revelation, the fact that the commandery was empty took on a deeper, more ominous meaning. The dead weren’t just missing, and Echo Team had to contend with the very real possibility that the bodies of their brethren had gotten up again under their own power. Being brought back in such a fashion would be terrible for anyone; it would be a particularly hellish experience for the devout Knights who had given their lives for the cause.

Duncan’s mind reeled.

Considering what they knew, none of them felt comfortable remaining at the site of the attack. The decision was made to spend the evening at the Folkenberg commandery, roughly an hour’s drive to the west.

Back in the truck, with Riley once more behind the wheel, Olsen did his best to bind Duncan’s wound while Cade got on the phone to let the others know they were on their way.

Turning to Olsen, Duncan asked, “Does this kind of thing happen a lot?”

“No, you’re the first subordinate he’s bitten.”

Duncan wasn’t amused. “That’s not what…”

Nick chuckled. “Relax, kid. I’m just trying to lighten the mood. Like I said before, the commander’s methods can sometimes be a little unorthodox, but he gets the job done. At least now we know what we’re up against.”

The sergeant pulled the bandage tight and the sharp stab of pain that accompanied the move caused Duncan’s retort to die stillborn in his throat.

*** ***

Their destination, a small commandery under the control of Knight Captain Noel Stanton, was situated in a heavily wooded and sparsely populated area of Folkenberg. Like many of the commanderies Cade had visited across the United States, this one had been established on the grounds of a large estate. It was separated from the surrounding properties by a large stone wall that encircled it.

The entrance lane ran parallel to that wall for some time before they came to the gate, giving Cade plenty of opportunity to scope out the cameras and security devices concealed along its length.

They were met at the gate by an armed guard wearing the insignia of a local security company, who questioned them about who they were there to see, then returned to his guard shack, apparently to ring the main desk to be certain they had an appointment.

Satisfied with the answer he received over the phone, he opened the gates and waved them through without leaving his shack a second time.

If it hadn’t been for the signet ring bearing the Templar cross on the guard’s right hand, Duncan never would have known he was a member of the Order. Hiding in plain sight was one of the Order’s greatest assets, and Duncan knew that the ruse would certainly fool the average passerby.