The Twelfth Ring (Noah Larsson Book 1)

by Sam Clarke

  I swallowed, but my mouth was dry. ‘Fifteen.’

  ‘Are you enjoying your training?’

  I gaped, a potato fell off my fork and landed on the roast-beef, splattering gravy on my already dirty t-shirt. The reptilian eyes looked momentarily puzzled. ‘You haven’t started yet?’

  I hung my head. Dragomirov turned to my father, the creepy eyes briefly inhabited by sheer shock. ‘Isn’t this boy your first born?’

  He took a sip of his wine. ‘I think so.’

  ‘You think so?’ I gasped.

  He dished some more potatoes and avoided my gaze. ‘I’ve had a chequered life.’

  Dragomirov pursed his lips. ‘Is he your first born or not?’

  My father’s shrug wasn’t exactly reassuring.

  ‘Yuri?’ said Dragomirov, hardly opening his mouth. He would have made a great ventriloquist.

  Yuri put on his genealogist hat. ‘According to official records, the boy is his firstborn. My investigator didn’t uncover any prior or subsequent sons.’

  Dragomirov was perplexed. ‘Then why hasn’t he started his training? I understand that firstborns are groomed from the age of thirteen.’

  The drinkable wine was beginning to grow on my father. He reached for his chalice and didn’t offer any explanations. Dragomirov pressed on. ‘Don’t you want your son to be a part of history? Don’t you want him to carry on the centuries old tradition? Don’t you want him to follow in your footsteps, like you followed in your father’s?’

  My father’s apparent calm was annihilated by a fit of rage. ‘He will follow whichever path he chooses,’ he roared, ‘regardless of an ancient curse he never signed up for in the first place.’

  The vitreous eyes danced in their sockets. ‘Ancient curse? Is that how you define being part of the brotherhood? Are you truly stripping your firstborn of the opportunity to become a Knight Templar and continue the family tradition?’

  The room went silent. I dropped another potato. How could a potato make so much noise? I looked at my father, somewhat expectantly, but he looked away. Dragomirov noticed. And sneered. ‘Oh, I see… the boy doesn’t know, does he? I knew you were unpredictable, Magnus, but I never expected this. You never told him what’s in store for him?’

  Deep inside, I was more excited than nervous. ‘What is he talking about?’ I asked my father.

  He didn’t answer, but he held my gaze. And his eyes were filled with immeasurable sadness.

  ‘You are Templar royalty, Noah,’ announced Dragomirov. ‘The Larsson family has been in the inner circle of the order for centuries. Your destiny is pre-ordained.’

  CHAPTER 45

  Dragomirov leaned towards me. ‘Tell me, young Noah, what do you know about the Templar Knights?’

  My academic reputation had never been something to be proud of, I decided to uphold it. ‘Not much.’

  ‘Surely you must have heard of them. Everybody has.’

  ‘Um… yes. They were a medieval order of warrior-monks.’

  ‘They were until 1307, when they were attacked by King Philip IV.’ Dragomirov kept on playing with the butter knife, at least he had opted for a blunt piece of cutlery. ‘It was the order’s darkest hour and one of your ancestors played an instrumental role in keeping the brotherhood alive. Were you truly never told about it?’

  I shook my head. I had only recently discovered who my grandfather was. Family history, together with algebra, was clearly one of my weakest points. My father was holding his knife at a funny angle. It took me a few seconds to realise that he was using it as a mirror to check on the Duct-Taper. He tightened his grip and his blue eyes briefly turned to ice. For a moment, I thought he was going to take the Duct-Taper out, then I remembered about Yuri standing behind me with a loaded weapon. If the Duct-Taper was despatched to Saint Peter’s gates, I would be right behind him. My father must have come to the same conclusion, because he blinked, loosened his grip and rested his knife on the plate. I didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. The night guard walking past the window distracted me. It was the van driver. The Duct-Taper nodded to him and he nodded back. As quickly as he had come, he was gone. ‘I think it’s time for a history lesson, young man,’ Dragomirov’s voice brought me back to the room. ‘Make yourself comfortable.’

  I would have but, tension aside, the chair was very hard.

  ‘In October 1307,’ began Dragomirov, ‘the Templars got wind of their imminent demise. They assigned twelve knights the task of delivering the Templar treasure to secret locations scattered across the known world. The chosen knights had proven themselves to be humble servants and excellent warriors. Their devotion was absolute, their intentions pure and they could be trusted to be true to their oath until the very end. Each of the Chosen Twelve was issued with an identical seal ring. The knights were also provided with new, streamlined rules which had to be implemented immediately. One of the most drastic changes was that they would no longer be a monastic order. The new articles also stipulated that the privilege to serve the order, as well as the honour to bear the ring, could be passed down from generation to generation. Each firstborn son would bestow it upon his firstborn son, and so forth. If a knight failed to produce a son, or if his son wasn’t deemed worthy or able, the honour would be bestowed upon the second born or a carefully chosen cadet. Upon your grandfather’s death, his ring will be passed to your father. Isn’t that right, Magnus?’

  My father bit what was left of his thumbnail and continued to remain silent.

  ‘Every year,’ continued Dragomirov, ‘the Chosen Twelve would hold a secret council to review the order’s strategy. At the end of each meeting, they would choose the date and location of the next council. This information was highly classified and only the Chosen Twelve were privy to it.’ He dusted some imaginary dirt off the crisp tablecloth. ‘To be admitted to the secret council, each knight had to produce his ring. Those were hard times; each time they parted, the knights knew they may not see each other again. They had no way of being pre-introduced to each other’s successors, so the rings were the only proof of their legitimacy. Luckily, for me at least, one of them went missing in 1318. It belonged to a French knight named Godefroi de Carignan. He was last seen in the port of Valencia, boarding the Nuestra Señora, one of the ships of the Templar fleet. Sadly,’ he added with a gleeful smile, ‘Godefroi and his ring vanished somewhere along the way to Cyprus. When he failed to attend the next council, or send someone in his place, a stand-in knight was elected in accordance with the rules. The stand-in knight agreed to renounce his position if Godefroi, his bloodline, his chosen cadet or his chosen cadet’s bloodline ever returned to claim their rightful place.’

  ‘Godefroi, his chosen cadet or their bloodlines?’ I asked incredulously. ‘But… if Godefroi died and his bloodline ended, anyone who happens to find the ring could claim to be a descendant of his unknown chosen cadet and demand to join the inner circle. The order would have no way to disprove his claim. How could they agree to such a stupid rule?’

  Dragomirov let out a soft chuckle. ‘In their eyes, it wasn’t stupid at all. Officially, they no longer existed, therefore the risk of outside infiltration was minimal. As far as they were concerned, only a legitimate descendant could have been aware of the ring’s significance and such knowledge could only have been passed on by a member of the Chosen Twelve.’ He paused. ‘According to the existing Templar code, Godefroi’s ring entitles me to his place amongst the Chosen Twelve, therefore the order will have no choice but to allow me into the brotherhood as a fully-fledged member. The rules are clear.’

  ‘Surely these rules can be amended…’

  Dragomirov laughed. ‘You would have to speak to your grandfather about that. Unfortunately, as Grand Master, he has sworn to abide by and enforce the original rules. He cannot change them to suit a purpose, no matter how noble such purpose may be. Creating a precedent of that sort would be very risky.’

  ‘How did you come by this information?’ asked
my father, breaking his wall of silence. He bit his thumbnail again, he was nervous.

  ‘Don’t worry, your systems haven’t been hacked and your security measures are as sound as they could be,’ replied Dragomirov, before curling his lips into a victorious smile. ‘I have someone on the inside.’

  Blood drained from my father’s face. ‘That’s impossible.’

  ‘Not all brothers are as virtuous as you are, Magnus. There are a few disgruntled members among the brotherhood. The order’s strategy is no longer to everyone’s taste.’

  ‘Which strategy?’ I blurted.

  Dragomirov seemed to appreciate my interest. ‘The order’s tentacles reach everywhere. Politics, finance, science, religion, the arts… The senior members rub shoulders with the world’s most influential people. They keep track of everything, from political developments to medical discoveries, from experimental research to obscure archaeological digs. Nothing gets past them. They could control the world if they wanted to, and yet they will only use their power for what they perceive as a greater good. Having that much power and not exploiting it to its full potential is a crime. Under my leadership, the order will no longer hide in the shadows. We will become the richest, strongest, most powerful brotherhood in the world.’

  CHAPTER 46

  So it was true. The confirmation that Isabelle and I were not totally crazy, that our inklings were right, that our fathers were modern day Templar Knights, had come from a ruthless Russian man I had just met. ‘Amuse me,’ he was saying to my father, ‘because I do find this situation most peculiar. My understanding was that only special circumstances would absolve a firstborn from fulfilling his duty. Death, permanent injury, mental disorders or… repudiation.’

  My father’s jaw twitched slightly and Dragomirov appeared briefly disconcerted. ‘Repudiation? He is your son, is he not?’

  ‘Noah and I are not close, we’ve never been,’ replied my father, slicing a potato in half. I hoped there was a reason for his callousness, because his words hurt like hell. ‘His mother has sole custody. I’m his father on paper, but I don’t have any rights or responsibilities. And it suits me just fine.’

  Repudiated? Had he repudiated me? How could a father repudiate his legitimate son? Was it even possible in our day and age? Was it legal? Abandoned was bad enough, but… repudiated? The word implied absolute rejection and total lack of love. Dragomirov intertwined his long pianist fingers and rested them on the table. ‘Well,’ he said coldly, ‘if you are so disconnected from the boy, witnessing his demise will be a lot easier for you.’

  My father wet his lips. ‘Demise?’

  Dragomirov broke into a sly smile. ‘I wasn’t born yesterday, Magnus. For reasons which I cannot comprehend, you pulled out all the stops to ensure Noah won’t follow in your wake. Whether you want to recognise him as your heir or not, remains your choice, but I want the ring and you’re not being particularly forthcoming. If Noah means so little to you, then he is of no value to me. If, on the other hand, you would be willing to exchange his safety for the ring, it could be the beginning of a most successful venture. Did you know that, a long time ago, I asked your father to allow me into the order? I’m not used to asking, it wasn’t easy, but I wanted to prove my humbleness and—’

  ‘You wouldn’t recognise humbleness if it slapped you in the face. Spare me the details.’

  Dragomirov’s mounting rage made him look even more sinister. ‘As you wish. After dinner, we’ll find out if you are also willing to sacrifice your firstborn for the good of the order.’

  Dad raised an eyebrow. ‘Also?’

  ‘Oh, didn’t Knut tell you?’ Dragomirov feigned surprise. ‘When he turned me away, he underestimated my threats. Do not make the same mistake. Fredrik was lucky to survive his accident, but I’ll make sure that Noah isn’t granted the same blessing.’

  My father didn’t move; I wasn’t even sure he was breathing. ‘It was you?’

  ‘It was,’ said Dragomirov proudly.

  Wild rage, deep hatred, sheer pain and pure disbelief distorted my father’s features. ‘Fredrik was innocent,’ he yelled. ‘He was in the prime of his life! And so is Noah! Knut was just following protocol! You cannot expect centuries old rules to be amended for your benefit! That’s not how it works!’

  It was the closest he had ever come to admitting the order’s existence. Dragomirov waved his hand, as if my father’s remonstrations were nothing but an irritating buzz. ‘I will be part of the Templar Order with or without your help. The rules are clear, the ring entitles the bearer to a place at the Council of Twelve. Stop fighting me, side with me before it’s too late. If he could turn back time, I’m sure Knut would act differently.’

  Dad’s breath was shallower. ‘You know nothing about my father.’

  ‘I know enough.’ Dragomirov smirked. ‘I know that his dedication to the order surpasses everything else, including his family. I know that despite nearly losing a son to the brotherhood, he didn’t hesitate to surrender the other. I know that he expected you to come through for the order even if your life was going in a very different direction. And I know that even though Fredrik was the predestined one, he made you complete your training and kept you as a reserve, a perennial second best. How did that make you feel, Magnus? Don’t tell me that a part of you doesn’t hold some resentment towards your father. Side with me, help me pave the way for the Council of Twelve to welcome me with open arms and you have my word that your son will be unharmed. Whether he joins the order or not will be entirely up to you. As for Knut, you won’t have to answer to him anymore, he’s an old man, accidents happen… And then his ring will pass to you and you will sit at the Council of Twelve. And you will support my candidacy for Grand Master, of course.’

  ‘You haven’t even made it through the door and are already running for the top spot?’

  ‘I’m a man of vision.’

  ‘You’re a man of delusion.’

  Throughout their conversation, my father didn’t acknowledge me once. It was as if I didn’t exist. Right now his rejection was the last of my worries. The Duct-Taper had begun to clear the table and, if Dragomirov was a man of his word, my torture would soon begin. I reached for the Chateaux Marguax and gulped it down.

  Dragomirov delicately dabbed the sides of his mouth and threw his napkin on the table. ‘I would offer you coffee, but the sight of what Noah is about to endure should be enough to keep you awake.’

  CHAPTER 47

  The stables were long and well lit. A thick rope was dangling from the central wooden beam and I was pushed right underneath it. Dark blood stains smeared the unfinished cement floor. My father was ordered to sit next to Dragomirov, their chairs facing my direction. Yuri, Scarface and the Duct-Taper took position behind them. I felt like a gladiator in the arena, except my emperor had already pointed his thumb down. I couldn’t read my father. He was as still as a statue, as inscrutable as a sphinx, as impenetrable as Fort Knox. He was looking at me, but avoiding my gaze. My chest seemed far more interesting than my face. Sergei tied the rope around my wrists and hoisted me up. He secured the hauling line to a metal hook protruding from the floor. My feet no longer touched the ground and my shoulders felt like they were going to pop out of their sockets.

  ‘It doesn’t have to be like this, Magnus,’ said Dragomirov, in his best salesman tone.

  I waited for my father to see sense, to propose a solution, to fight my corner for God’s sake! He remained as silent as a tomb which, ironically, was going to be my final destination if he didn’t come up with anything.

  The first blow caught me completely unprepared. Sergei’s knuckles made contact with my stomach and pretty much rearranged my internal organs. My father closed his eyes. Sergei turned his head and waited for Dragomirov’s signal. The second blow was even harder than the first, but this time I remembered to tighten my core muscles. Sergei noticed and sneered. Viggo was right, this guy knew what he was doing. He hit me square in the jaw. I tasted blood and saw st
ars. I was still floating in the Milky Way when he sank a blow in my lower back. I wanted to scream, but I was in too much pain. Yuri held my father’s face up to force him to watch. A faint gesture from Dragomirov and my torturer took a break. ‘You can stop this at any time, Magnus,’ he said, ‘all you have to do is give me the ring.’

  ‘No.’

  Naturally, I resented his answer.

  ‘Sergei, continue,’ barked Dragomirov. Sergei raised the corners of his lips in a vicious smirk and knocked all the air out of me. I couldn’t breathe. It felt as if my lungs had been deflated and couldn’t fill up again. I think my father’s eyes were moist, or maybe it was a mirage caused by the pain. Sergei sank a hit into my solar plexus. The network of nerves sent raw shots of pain across my entire body. Dragomirov was getting more impatient by the second. ‘Where is the ring?’

  My father blinked, but didn’t speak.

  ‘Harder, Sergei.’

  Sergei hit me twice more. I wasn’t even bothering to keep my abs tight anymore, it was useless. Before my body could deal with the pain, the next surge was already coming. Sergei’s fist made contact with the side of my face and a trickle of warm blood ran down my temple. It joined the other stains on the cement floor in a sort of gruesome, abstract painting. ‘It’s getting messy,’ said Dragomirov to my father. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to cooperate?’

  ‘I’m sure,’ he said softly, staring at the emptiness in front of him.

  I was too hurt to cry. The only thing that kept me going was the realisation that I hadn’t seen the night guard in a while. I didn’t dare to raise my hopes.

  ‘You weren’t lying,’ said Dragomirov to my father, with misplaced admiration. ‘You don’t care much for the boy after all.’ He turned to Sergei. ‘Crush his throat, let’s get it over and done with.’

  Much to Sergei’s annoyance, my father sprung to his feet. ‘Wait!’