The Templar Chronicles Omnibus

by Joseph Nassise

  Wide-eyed, he stared for a moment at the nearest wall, his senses on high alert. He was overcome with the unmistakable feeling that there was someone in the room with him, close, very close; the hair on his back was standing stiffly upright as if charged by a massive amount of static electricity.

  Yet his danger sense had not kicked in. He did not feel the need to reach for his gun or get out of the way of an impending blow; in fact, what he felt was more a rising sense of curiosity than anything else.

  Slowly, ever so slowly, he rolled over.

  Even in the dim lighting he could clearly see the woman who was standing in his doorway only a few feet away.

  Gabrielle.

  “Hello, Cade,” she said, softly.

  She wore the same robe she’d worn in the Beyond, the hood pulled up to partially obscure her face, but Cade knew without a doubt that it was truly her.

  He scrambled to his feet. “Gabbi? Gabbi!” he exclaimed, rushing closer, his arms outstretched as if to hold her.

  “No!” she shouted, stepping back, one hand upraised to stop him. “Don’t touch me!”

  Cade pulled up short, only steps away, pain and confusion chasing each other across his face.

  In response, she reached up and withdrew her hood, revealing her face. Her soft skin, her rich full lips, the elegant curve of her throat — Cade could only stare in stunned amazement.

  But before he could ask how the transformation had occurred, Gabrielle’s face began to shift. Like a mirage wavering in the heat, the phantom mask behind which she had hidden herself faded away.

  Cade was left staring at the same sight he had seen on that summer night seven years ago, her face stripped of its skin, her beautiful eyes staring out at him through a sea of bloodied flesh.

  The mask returned as swiftly as it had faded, but the point had been made.

  Without a word, she pointed to his hands.

  Cade glanced down at his bare skin and suddenly understood.

  He’d removed his gloves when he’d lain down to sleep. With his hands bare, his Gift was ready for use whether he wanted it or not. Gabrielle, in turn, appeared as solid as she had in life. This was no ghost or shade, intruding where it didn’t belong, but his wife, brought back and seemingly whole again. Touching her would have been like touching one of the living, he would have been bombarded with her thoughts, emotions, and memories.

  Gabrielle took a step closer to him. “You must hurry, my love. While you wait, the Enemy has already breached your defenses. They’re inside the walls, getting closer every minute to what they came for.”

  “What?” Cade replied, confused. He couldn’t seem to focus, his emotions flaring like a storm-swept sea; his soul ached at the knowledge of her loss, while his heart shouted with joy to see her standing before him.

  Her voice grew stern. “There’s no time. You must get to the Reliquary. You must protect the Spear!”

  “How did you get here? Where have you been? What’s happened to you, Gabbi?” Cade was suddenly frantic with a need for information. He had to know that he had not failed her.

  But Gabrielle would have none of it. “Listen to me!” she cried, startling Cade into silence. “You’ve got to act, before it’s too late. Hurry! If the Spear falls into his hands, all will be lost. Go, go!”

  With her final shout still ringing in the air, Gabrielle vanished.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Cade headed for the Reliquary at a dead run. On his way he used his radio to raise the alarm, so that by the time he reached the entrance to the lower levels he found Riley and Olsen waiting for him, weapons in hand. Duncan appeared out of an adjoining corridor seconds later.

  Cade wasted no time with long explanations. “We’re under attack, and I suspect our defenses have already been breached. Olsen, get us some backup. We’ll meet you in the Reliquary, unless we run into serious resistance before we get there.” Nodding at Riley and Duncan, he said, “You two are with me. Watch your backs.”

  As Olsen disappeared back the way he had come, the other three cautiously descended the stairs leading to the hidden corridor Michaels had revealed to them earlier that morning.

  They moved forward quickly, knowing that every moment might be the difference between success and failure, between saving a life and ending one. They passed through the outer rooms, and then through the final tunnel that led to the Reliquary.

  It was there that they received their first confirmation of what Gabbi had foretold. Both guards were missing from their stations, and the reinforced vault door to the Reliquary was standing wide open.

  The sound of Cade chambering a round into his weapon was surprisingly loud in the still tunnel.

  “Keep your eyes open,” he said, moving through the door with the other two at his heels.

  The scene that met their eyes was incomprehensible.

  Earthquake. That was Cade’s initial thought. And, indeed, it was easy to imagine that an earthquake had occurred, considering the devastation before them.

  But Cade knew the answer wouldn’t prove that benign.

  The monitoring room was a disaster. Computerized monitoring stations lay strewn across the floor. So, too, did the filing cabinets and desk drawers. Looking through the viewing window they could see that the Reliquary chamber itself had been ransacked. One section of the room seemed to have been consumed in a great fire. Scorch marks covered the walls, floor, and even the ceiling. The fire response system must have gone off, for water still rained down throughout the room, and puddles pooled here and there on the floor. The glass chambers that had once housed the precious artifacts had been destroyed where they stood, the glass shattered across the floor and pedestals. The relics themselves were either missing, destroyed, or buried among the rubble. The great steel doors that had led to the secondary vault where the Spear itself had been stored had been torn off their hinges and lay haphazardly against other debris. Oddly, their smooth, polished surfaces seemed unsullied by the dust and soot that coated most of the rest of the room.

  Cade and his men quickly moved inside.

  The side gallery where the watch commander’s office had been was gone completely, buried under a mound of fallen earth, concrete, and steel.

  Similar piles of debris were scattered throughout the room.

  Cade stood at the center of the disaster, amazed at the destruction.

  How in God’s name did they do this? Why didn’t we hear anything up above? It seemed impossible that they could have accomplished so much in so short a time.

  Another question loomed.

  How did they get in?

  “Commander.”

  The voice was little more than a whisper, but it was enough. Cade bent down, peered into the pile of debris in front of him, and began digging through it furiously. Duncan and Riley jumped in to lend a hand. Olsen showed up seconds later with several other Templars, men Duncan recognized as members of the Preceptor’s security detail. They fanned out and began to search the place in more detail. Soon the badly wounded bodies of Preceptor Michaels and his aide, Jonathan Donaldson, were pulled free from the rubble. A medical team was sent for immediately.

  Donaldson was drifting in and out of consciousness, but didn’t appear to be mortally wounded. Michaels, however, was clearly in trouble. A wide gash split his forehead from just above his eye all the way back past his right ear. His left arm was bent at a strange angle below the elbow, and a wide bloodstain spread across the front of his shirt.

  Duncan and Cade carried him over to clear a spot on the floor and set him down gently. As Duncan tried to staunch the thin stream of blood from the Preceptor’s head wound, Cade tore open the man’s shirt to get a look at his injuries.

  A large gaping wound could be seen just below the left side of the man’s ribcage, the occasional flash of glistening pink revealing the damage to internal organs. Minor knife cuts and what appeared to be bite wounds covered his chest, arms, and legs. To make matters worse, the Preceptor was still losing blood
at a tremendous rate as his heart fought to keep it pumping through his damaged form.

  “Can you do anything for him?” Cade asked.

  “As soon as the medics get here, we can…”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it. We don’t have time to wait for the medics. He’ll be dead by then!”

  Duncan looked up defiantly. “Then no. No, I can’t do anything for him.” He’d vowed not to use his strange power. It was a vow he intended to keep, no matter what the circumstances.

  Cade had other ideas, though. His hand moved to the gun at his side. “I’m giving you an order, Sergeant. I don’t care what your personal problems might be; you’re going to do what you can to save this man.”

  The muzzle of the gun inched upward slightly.

  The two men stared at each other.

  *** ***

  In the end, it wasn’t the threat of the gun that caused Duncan to give in. He’d spent the last three years protecting this man day and night. He had the power to save him now. How could he not use it?

  Duncan gently lowered Michaels’s head to the floor and moved to the Preceptor’s side. “I’ll give it a try. He’s lost a lot of blood.”

  “Do what you can.”

  Duncan placed his hands on either side of the bloody gap in the injured man’s flesh. Bowing his head, he closed his eyes and called upon his power.

  To everyone else it looked like Duncan was simply praying over the older man, but thanks to his Sight, Cade could see the brilliant blue glow that suddenly burst from Duncan’s palms, bathing Michaels in its light. As Cade watched the outer edges of the wound began to knit together, flesh merging with flesh. The flow of blood slowed, but did not stop.

  Suddenly the light flared, spluttered, and died.

  Cade glanced anxiously at his teammate. “What happened?”

  “I’m… not sure.”

  Duncan’s hair was disheveled and rivers of sweat streamed down his face from the effort. He shook his head as if to clear it, shifted his hands slightly, and tried again. This time, the light merely flickered once before dying out. Duncan kept at it for several more minutes, to no avail.

  Finally, he slumped back on his heels, exhausted and confused. “I’ve never encountered anything like this before. It’s as if something is actively working to resist my efforts.”

  Despite all he had done, blood was still flowing from the chest wound. And there was very little else they could do for Michaels.

  Michaels must have understood his situation, for he suddenly tried to speak to them. Whatever he meant to say, however, was drowned in a fit of coughing.

  “Easy, Preceptor, easy. Help is on the way,” Duncan told him, holding his hand for reassurance.

  But the Preceptor would not be silenced. He tried again, but couldn’t get the words out around the sudden stream of blood that surged up out of his throat. His message dissolved into a fit of hacking as he sought to clear his airway and to draw another breath into his punctured lungs.

  Cade knew that the man had only moments left to live. Without Duncan’s attempt at healing, he wouldn’t have survived even this long. Whatever he was trying to tell them was about to be lost forever.

  Knowing he had no other choice, Cade made a decision. Stripping off his right glove, he seized Michaels’s bare hand in his own.

  Darkness.

  Chaos.

  Figures rushing about; the stench of decay heavy in the air; shouts of pain, of fear. He turns, determined to raise the alarm, to let the others know that the attack is under way.

  A figure is suddenly there before him, blocking the way to the exit.

  He pauses, and that is his mistake. A moment of chilling cold as something shoves its way into his flesh, then pain, terrible pain, the kind of pain that drowns out everything else in a great overwhelming curtain of white noise, cutting, tearing, savage pain.

  A hand grasps the back of his neck, pulling him closer, driving whatever it is farther into his body, twisting, turning, the pain echoing, building, reverberating through his very soul.

  Hot breath in his ear, a familiar voice, “Die, you bastard!”

  Then falling, falling, the impact with the floor barely felt as the pain reaches up and engulfs him in its tender arms, nestling him in its horrifying embrace.

  As darkness threatens, a face looms before him.

  A familiar face.

  And then the voice again, a whispered, “Rot in hell, Fool.”

  Cade jerked his hand free, stopping the flow of images.

  Duncan opened his mouth to ask what Cade had seen, but the expression of rage on the commander’s face caused him to swallow his question unasked. He watched in amazement as Cade surged to his feet and stalked across the room to where the Preceptor’s aide, Donaldson, was being tended by two of the other soldiers. Pushing them aside, Cade reached down, seized the injured man by his lapels, and hauled him to his feet.

  “You son of a bitch!” Cade screamed at the other man, shaking him as he did. “Where are they?”

  Several of the other Knights rushed forward, intent on helping Donaldson, but Riley and Olsen swiftly interposed themselves between the injured man and his would-be rescuers, protecting their superior with guns drawn.

  Duncan could only kneel there, stunned, the tension in the room going from bad to worse as the men from the protective detail drew their own weapons in response.

  The room dissolved into chaos. Cade was yelling questions at Donaldson, who though obviously terrified, refused to answer. The local Knights were trying to edge closer in an attempt to pull the two men apart, while Cade’s men worked to keep them at bay. Threats and commands were flying left and right, no one listening to either.

  Finally, Duncan had had enough. He drew his pistol, pointed it across the room at a pile of debris, and pulled the trigger.

  The echoing gunshot brought everyone, including Cade, up short.

  Into the silence, Duncan said, “Preceptor Michaels is dead.”

  For a long moment, no one moved or spoke. Then, “And this piece of shit is the reason,” replied Cade. He tossed Donaldson to the floor in disgust and anger. “He lowered the wards and let the Enemy in through some kind of back door. When Michaels discovered his treachery, Donaldson killed him.”

  “How can you know that?” asked one of the locals.

  “Because the Preceptor told him,” Duncan replied quickly, cutting Cade off before he could answer himself. The last thing they needed at that moment was a discussion of the Heretic’s powers. He would deal with the Commander’s wrath later; right now they needed to defuse the situation. The men from the detail knew him. They’d be far more prone to believe a simple explanation from him than one from Williams.

  *** ***

  Cade stood back and watched as Duncan marched over to Donaldson and began questioning him under the watchful eyes of the locals.

  “You okay, boss?”

  Cade turned to find Riley at his elbow, watching him.

  “Yeah,” he said, spitting the taste of dust and debris out of his mouth. “That son of a bitch did this. He knows where that bastard Logan is. He might even know how to find the Adversary. He’s going to tell us what he knows. And I intend to make him pay for what he’s done here.”

  But it didn’t look like Duncan was getting anywhere. His questions were met with silence. Donaldson stared at the floor, ignoring everything that was said to him. From where he stood Cade could hear his teammate’s voice raised in anger at the prisoner’s indifference, but he knew that without any real threat, the traitor would simply keep his mouth shut. The longer he did so, the farther away his accomplices could get with the stolen relics and the less chance the Templars would have in recovering the Spear.

  Something needed to be done, and it needed to be done quickly.

  Cade glanced around, taking in the positions of the men in the room. His gaze fell upon the doors that had once guarded the entrance to the secondary vault.

 
; Duncan stepped over to his teammates. “We’re not getting anywhere. We’re going to take him upstairs to one of the interview rooms and let him stew for a while. Then we’ll take another shot at him. Don’t worry, we’ll get what we need out of him.”

  Cade ignored the statement. He’d already decided on another course of action, and it didn’t involve further delay. He remained standing between Olsen and Riley, waiting for his chance.

  Duncan took charge of the Knights, ordering two of them to get Donaldson on his feet and the others to begin searching the room for any other bodies or missing artifacts that might be uncovered.

  With Duncan in the lead, the small group made its way toward the exit.

  “The hell with this,” Cade said beneath his breath.

  He waited until the group had come abreast of him, then made his move. He stepped between his men, reached out, and grabbed Donaldson. He pulled him close, one arm around the man’s neck, the other holding the barrel of his pistol to Donaldson’s head.

  Everyone, including Riley and Olsen, were taken by surprise. They stepped toward him, but Cade had wasted as much time as he intended, and he let them know it.

  “Don’t even think about it,” he said, twisting the barrel of his gun sharply against the prisoner’s skull. “I’ll put a bullet through his brain faster than you think. I don’t need him alive to discover what he knows.”

  It was a bluff, pure and simple, designed to let his men know that he hadn’t completely lost it, at the same time using his reputation to keep the other Knights at bay.

  It worked, for the group froze where they stood, waiting to see what he would do.

  Cade had timed his move perfectly and stood with his back to the pile of debris on which the steel doors that once guarded the entrance to the secondary vault now rested.