The Path of the Templar

by W. Peever

  Colin pointed to a tiny pinprick of light at the far end of the sacred circle chamber, thinking it was still visible only because he had memorized its location. "See the light stick I dropped over there?" The others nodded vacantly. "I think I found a door over there…a Dwarf door. The Dwarves were fast friends with the Templar—respected each other's business and exchanged favors. They're fierce fighters but don't have any time for that. They stick to their stone and metal crafting, creating inventions and living out their long—very long—lives…"

  "Comes from pure living," Mick interrupted.

  "No, they enjoy the finer things in life—the quiet life. And when there was a Troll infestation or if teenage Goblins held rave-up parties too close to their sanctuaries they'd call the Templar to clear them out. In turn the Dwarven people made beautiful temples like Roslyn in Scotland, and secret chambers in the rock for hiding Templar treasure. I can't be certain, but my hunch is they blocked the exit chamber the Vikings made here and locked it with whatever's in this box."

  Colin handed his dagger to Charlie. "I think you should do the honors." Charlie just looked at the weapon at first as if wondering which way was up.

  "Open it," urged Colin. "You could bludgeon the box open with the butt of the dagger," he added, trying to take the edge off Charlie's innocent bumbling. "But I suggest prying open the lock with the blade. It's so corroded it should pop right off."

  Colin held the dagger by the blade until Charlie had full grip of the handle, first gingerly between thumb and forefinger, worried more than anything that he might slice Colin's fingers if acting too quickly. He paused a moment until Colin let go, then his fingers found their resting places. Grasping the dagger's grip firmly, his heart seemed to stop, and his breath froze—but his thoughts were divided. Then he exhaled, and taking a fresh breath to make his decision, even while his stomach lurched, he pressed the tip of the blade to the lock. The world became still and silent about him, and the box lid flipped open. There was a great hiss and a sound of shattering glass. Instinctively, on impulse, Charlie had reached in with his free hand, clutched something, then pulled back just as the box began to fall apart. The remains of the box were spitting, popping and smoking next to its lid, and Charlie was feeling very lucky to still be in one piece, let alone have all his fingers.

  "What the heck just happened?" Charlie gasped between heavy breaths.

  "Acid. As soon as the glass broke I knew," Colin said, staring down at the remains. "The sizzling confirmed it."

  "I thought that was my hand."

  "You're lucky. Exactly as my grandfather used to tell me, that's to destroy what's inside so the wrong side doesn't get hold of it. I'm sure we were supposed to know about the trap—I'm betting our guide that was killed in Newport went to his death with that knowledge. I wonder what else…?"

  "You're very brave, Charlie." Tillie looked at him sadly.

  "That's my best friend, you know." Bailey said proudly.

  "Yeah, me too." said Mick, not to be left out.

  "Yeah, you showed a lot of courage, just reaching in there." For the first-time Colin was speaking out of real personal respect, not from his sense of duty as the expedition leader.

  At a loss, heroic speeches didn't come easily to Charlie. "Well, nothing to it really," was all he could manage as he gazed self-consciously down at his hand.

  "So what is it you have there?" Colin asked as the last of the smoke cleared.

  "It's whatever came out with my hand," Charlie said modestly.

  He raised his hand, and perched in his fingertips was an object badly worn on one side by the acid, still dripping. Charlie intuitively rubbed the wet side deep into the dirt to stop whatever corrosion was still occurring. Feeling his fingertips on fire, he made sure he got a decent coating of dirt on them without letting the others see he was doing it deliberately.

  Bailey, who knew him best, asked, "Are you okay, Charlie?"

  "Course," was all Charlie said to she whom, he knew, he loved most deep down. Of all people, he wouldn't want to hurt her. Bailey gave him a warm smile.

  Charlie held his hand up and turned it round in a full circle for all to see. In the tips of Charlie's fingers was something silver, shaped distinctly like a lightning bolt. It was beautiful in its simplicity, and if stumbled across by a layperson could easily have been overlooked or left as a fragment of a shattered sword or helmet from any recent period of history. But there on one side were the familiar runic engravings in fine detail, crafted with all the skill of antiquity—for all anyone knew from ancient Greek artisans or scientists. It was likely they originated from a people very different, as all five friends expected.

  "A key—yes, of sorts. It must be it," sighed Colin, and bowed his head. "We are almost there."

  Colin took the key from Charlie's grip as quickly as sanctity would allow and without another word began to make his way back to where he had dropped the light stick. The others, emboldened by his steady strides in what little light there was, followed at a decent pace to keep up, stumbling as they went. Right in his path appeared a huge gray boulder, ten feet tall and six feet wide. At its center was an immaculately chiseled indentation in the unmistakable shape of a lightning bolt: a keyhole.

  "Wow! Some lock!" Mick gushed, mightily impressed.

  Charlie was thinking ahead, his voice cracking in disbelief. "Even if this is the key, how does it open? How would we ever move this rock out of the way?"

  "I'm sure the Dwarves took care of that for us," said Colin as he gave the key back to Charlie to ensure the ceremony was performed validly, by the person of the proper rank.

  Charlie placed the silver key into the hole for an exact fit. The reaction was immediate. A deafening Crack! shook every stone in the cavern, reverberating to an intensity like that of a mountain breaking in half, knocking the kids off their feet to the ground. As they hugged the ground beneath them, unsure even of the earth's stability, a cloud of dust rose. For a little while it hid the progress of a huge door opening out of the wall, scraping the floor of a tunnel that was unveiled behind it. A gust of incoming air, stale with the stagnation of centuries, blew off Mick's explorers' hat and disheveled what was left of his friends' tweenie coiffs. For a moment, there was comparative silence apart from odd parts of wall rock tumbling and settling. Then…a sound that could only come from a humanoid source: a single pair of hands clapping—slow, derisory applause, meant sarcastically. All knew, dawning all at once, that such a cynical gesture could only come from one such entity.

  All five turned just as whoever was in the darkness stopped his malevolent mockery. It was the signal for a launch of hundreds of fireballs. They hung in the air above them, defying gravity above the cavern floor. Under those smokeless balls of white-hot light strutted a man in jet black leather armor trimmed in blue flames. For all the world he appeared as if being consumed by magic fire. Would that he had been. Instead, he lifted the hood of his cloak and bared his teeth, perfect in their brilliance but all filed down to sharp points—the effect being anything but a smile. He pointed a slender finger directly at Charlie, his elongated nail resembling the lethal talon of a bird of prey, and spoke.

  "Now."

  The word came out as a barely amplified whisper, yet carried the weight of all that was evil on earth behind it. From out of the darkness behind him strode twenty men cloaked similarly. The Vanari had found them.

  "Run!" Colin yelled. At a glance, the five young friends had seen all they could do was try to outpace them, down the dark unknown of the tunnel.

  Chapter Thirteen Bailey

  Flashlight beams bounced off walls like strobe lights at a rave, as the five tore down the secret passageway in full flight. Charlie could sense two things through the adrenaline rush consuming him: the first that the passageway was carved straight out of bedrock; the second, they were somehow descending further underground. Going where, he couldn't tell. Colin had told them the passageway would be their escape route. Constructed like a rabbit hole,
they came in one way and could get out the other. However, as the minutes mounted, and his lungs came to strain at bursting point, Charlie began to doubt Colin's conclusion. They weren't traveling out of the cave, they were running further under the earth into the domain of the creatures of the underworld.

  "The astrolabe!" Colin shouted back over his shoulder between gulps for breath. And if he was starting to draw on reserves of stamina they were going to be in trouble, Charlie thought. After all, he was in better shape than any of them. "Check it! We need to know if it's…okay."

  Charlie stumbled as he attempted to run at full tilt and remove the device from his backpack at the same time. But what would it matter what the astrolabe said was the right direction at the moment? Hell!—the only path was the one that led them away from the Vanari as fast as possible. To his surprise, Charlie felt the metal warm to the touch. He concentrated hard, holding the astrolabe as steady as he could as his feet pounded along on the unforgiving rock floor.

  "It's vibrating! Faintly, but it's there." Opening the golden lid, the arrow did indeed point to the path in front of them. But why did it change? Charlie thought. We haven't found a rune, so haven't changed the dials. Why has the arrow stopped spinning in circles? Charlie cleared away the mist that had collected on the glass, and saw that the distance gauge had also reset.

  "The arrow and kilometers are reset! We're on course, and five!" Between shouts, Charlie was very aware of the twenty pairs of trampling feet behind them. "What do you think it means?"

  Colin looked over his shoulder, more to check out the condition of his four younger friends than to reply. It wasn't the time to carry on a game of Twenty Questions with Charlie. From just a glimpse the impression was: scared and almost at the point of exhaustion; slowing down and about to give out. He, too, could only manage abbreviated messages to the others by this time, gasping as much air as he could as fast as he could. "Five football fields more—we'll be there…the exit might be hard…make a stand."

  Mick ripped his staff from his back in one fluid movement. "Bring it!" he shouted. He tried to shoot a smile round at Charlie, but it came out more of a breathless, humorless grimace as the effort tore at his lungs.

  Just as they felt the pains in their chests and sides couldn't get any worse, and they were passing the point of no return where disaster might strike at least one of them, a thin beam of daylight shone through a crack in the rock up ahead, about a hundred yards away. Colin and Bailey yelled out at the same time, giving all their legs that extra push of energy that springs from hope. There was a chance if they could get out and under the cover of some trees. The flash of light grew brighter and brighter, closer and closer, till Colin, blinded, hit the back wall with all the energy of his long sprint. The cumulative effect built in increments as Mick hit him a split second later, then Bailey, Tillie, Charlie in close formation. They stood for a moment in astonishment as the wall came crumbling down in front of them.

  Clambering over the rubble, they poured out into a small clearing on a hillock in the middle of a lush green forest, vibrant with life and completely isolated from any human help.

  The blinding white light of the mid-afternoon forced them to squint and rub their eyes.

  "Well at least we'll have the jump on them when they come out of that hole," Bailey said, her eyes tearing up.

  "There is that," said Mick. "I for one have no problem with taking a few cheap shots." He tightened his hands over the long wooden staff; the crystal at the end erupted in green light, channeling his energy into the weapon.

  Bailey fitted her black fingerless gloves over her hands, the blue sapphire in the center sparking violently. She ran back ten yards, so she could use her power as long as possible before resorting to melee. Tillie blipped out of sight, an arrow notched in her bow, a free agent left to roam. Colin released the leather straps that held his huge sword to his back, and took a defensive knee bending stance ready for what was shortly to come. Charlie drew Excalibur, the blue hilt gleaming and sparkling with energy. He and Colin placed themselves closest to the cave. Mick positioned himself as a middle line of defense.

  The thundering of feet down the tunnel grew closer by the second, to where the children could tell the difference between the foot falling and the echo it created. Then a sudden halt, and nothing. The cave was still, not one identifiable sound emanating from its darkened depths. A score of full grown, accomplished, renegade Manserian were about to attack from the pitch black…

  But when and how? Charlie wondered. Was it a waiting game to play on their nerves—a last cruel tactic of Lord Vali? Certainly he would want his friends dead; there was no need to keep them alive. However, maybe Vali believed there was still a chance Charlie was worth 'saving'. For what purpose, Charlie dreaded to think.

  And like that would ever happen. As if Charlie would allow himself to be taken in after Vali killed all of his friends. Then again, maybe he would keep Bailey alive, or Tillie, as a bargaining chip. Would Charlie be able to resist Vali if he held a knife to Tillie's throat? Or even worse, Bailey's?

  Not Bailey, who knew every scar on his body—who'd put most of them there in the first place. Bailey, who read to him every night when he was ten and who sat by his bed every day when he had the chickenpox. Losing her would be akin to waking up with half a soul. He would be lost, empty…it couldn't happen. Charlie wouldn't let it happen. If it came down to it, he'd turn himself over to Vali to save her.

  Charlie turned to Mick. "Protect Bailey." Mick raised his eyebrows in question. "I don't care what happens to me. Protect her!"

  He shook his head. "We're protecting you, mate."

  "We are already lost Mick. Wake up!" Charlie's knuckles were white around the hilt of his sword. "If I go down, you run with her! Do you hear me?!"

  There was no arguing the point. Mick nodded, looked to the ground and then up again, fire in his eyes. He backed up a few steps toward Bailey and held his staff ready for the onslaught. Charlie knew Mick would protect her with his life, and not just because Charlie had asked him to—but because they shared similar feelings for her.

  A low whistle came from inside the cave, not a human whistle…what was it? "Duck!" cried Charlie as a massive fireball, the size of a small car, erupted from the cave straight toward them. It had begun. The cloaked men poured out of the opening—fireballs and flying boulders all hurtling out with them. Bailey blocked them and fired back in reflex, not thinking to wait until she shook off the effects of the deafening explosions and gathered her senses. She sent six boulders shooting through the air at her enemies. Then she was on her back foot, deflecting missiles of every size and shape away from her friends.

  Colin and Charlie engaged the Elementalists, forcing them to fight with swords rather than use their full powers. For the older boy, it was more like a routine training exercise, overpowering and outmaneuvering the cloaked men and women, who had a fraction of his sword experience and skill. For Charlie, he was very glad he possessed a sword Merlin had blessed with powers of instant reaction, even anticipation. Excalibur almost moved on its own, fending off the blows of his opponent in myriad ways Charlie would never have been able accomplish on his own.

  Mick was sending green blots of lightning from his staff squarely into the chests of the oncoming horde. And Tillie was easily picking off opponents from her vantage point up a nearby tree, arrows whistling from out of nowhere.

  Suddenly, there was a popping from all over the woods, as if hundreds of people were stomping on giant bubble wrap at the same time, at a particularly evil bubble wrap festival. All at once they found themselves surrounded; the popping was the unmistakable sound of Qilters appearing. Before them materialized at least forty new Vanari assassins. The easily recognizable grating voice of the man in black projected from within the cave.

  "Well fought! Well fought! You were even able to get the drop on some of my men." The evil one they knew too well emerged from the cave, his pointed teeth glistening in the afternoon sun. "You did me a
favor by killing them, really. After all, why would I wish to have men working with me that could be brought down by children? A disgrace."

  "You five are brave, and valiant. I only wish that you were also wise, but I suppose that comes with age, and experience of the hard ways of the world. You are still under the illusion that The Order is here to protect you, that they have your best interests in mind, that all they are doing is keeping to the job the Gods charged them with so long ago. Complete lies, a bedtime story to tell your young —if you ever grow up to have them. The choice is entirely yours." A chorus of laughter encircled them from the trees as his followers agreed. "You don't believe me? Then allow me to introduce you to a friend of mine."

  Lord Vali held his hand out behind him, and three men in brilliant white robes lined in silver approached him from the cave. The one in the center lifted his cloak to reveal his face.

  "The Head of the Templar, Grandmaster Tyler Martin, Order of the Dragon."

  The elderly man bowed. "Lord Vali has conscientiously sought us out. And thank the Gods for that! He informs me that the Order has been hiding the truth about many matters for some time. It appears that the Order of the Griffon"—the old man glared down at Colin —"your Order, I believe, my boy, not only stole the Babel Tablets from the Templar, they also stole a chest of documents sealed when our people first allied themselves with the Druids of Britain all those centuries ago. Saint Clair was a thief and a traitor to us all. Somehow he learned what I now know: the real reason behind the Gods' sudden departure and their long absence."

  Grandmaster Martin paused, appearing to clear his throat but actually to let an inkling of the gravity of the children's misdeeds sink in. "You, Colin, your greatgrandfather was a man of firm opinions—and muddleheaded beliefs, I have to say. He believed the old stories of Merlin and the Great Order of Manserian. He believed the Templar should join with the Order to drive out the Vanari, to usher in a new era free of what he called tyranny."