To Speak in Lifeless Tongues: Book 2 of the Grails Covenant Trilogy (The Grails Covenant Triloty)

by David Niall Wilson

  Jeanne hadn’t asked what their plans were. It had seemed a bit too obvious for that. Get their things and get out without Bastian ending their unlives. Possibly not an easy task, but not complex, either.

  He couldn’t make out much of their surroundings as they passed—they moved far too swiftly. Montrovant was taking a great chance so early after dark, moving openly with such speed. If mortals saw them there would be an uproar. If Bastian, or even Syd, were to catch wind of it, they would be furious at the risk to their own security. It bothered Montrovant not at all. They slid across the last of the buildings like a shadow and dropped into the alley behind the inn in silence.

  Again there was no hesitation. Jeanne would have liked a moment to collect his thoughts, and to ask what they planned to do once inside, but Montrovant was not in any mood for caution. They entered so quickly that their sudden appearance from the back brought the room to a complete and uncomfortably heavy silence. All eyes turned in their direction, then slowly back to whatever had amused them moments before. All but Bernard’s.

  “You did not sleep?” he asked softly, polishing the wood of his bar with an old rag. “I sent someone to wake you, but you were nowhere to be found.”

  “Visiting old friends,” Montrovant answered smoothly. “Sorry if it caused you any—inconvenience. We will be leaving tonight. I will pay for the room, of course, though we did not use it.”

  “Of course,” Bernard replied.

  “If you could be so kind as to have someone fetch our things,” Montrovant continued, “we would be most grateful. I have a sudden aversion to closed-in places. I suppose I’ve been too long on the road.

  That much is certain,” Bernard replied, his control nearly cracking. “You know too little of the ways of this world, I think. I will have your things brought in, and you will leave. If you so much as look back over your shoulder, you will leave more than my inn—you will leave the Earth.”

  Montrovant’s smile broadened. “We understand one another well enough, then,” he replied. “There is little here to look back to, and I for one will be happy to be back on the road.”

  They glared at one another for a few more moments, but neither could think of anything more to say. Bernard broke the stare first, motioning for one of the girls waiting tables to come closer. He sent her for their supplies and baggage, then turned away without a further word. Jeanne watched him carefully, but with the exception of the tension in the innkeeper’s muscles, there was no indication that he even remembered Montrovant and his companions were present.

  “We will have to watch our backs, I think,” Gwendolyn whispered, drawing Jeanne and Montrovant closer. “The girl went for our packs, but two others left as well—Cainites, and with Bastian’s stink oozing from them. I sensed them the moment we came in. I doubt it is coincidence they left the moment he sent her out.”

  “I saw them,” Montrovant replied. “Probably just to make certain we leave as promised, but you are right. Nothing can be left to chance now. It would appear that I have a lot to learn about the world I’m about to enter, despite the fact that I have walked its roads for centuries.”

  “There is nothing constant but change,” Jeanne commented dryly. “Here comes our girl now.”

  They looked up and saw that he was right. The girl had returned, staggering under the weight of all of their possessions. Montrovant took a small pile of coins from his pouch and laid them on the bar without a word. Turning to Jeanne, he nodded in the direction of the girl and they started moving. Bastian never turned once, not even to be certain the correct amount had been paid.

  Jeanne grabbed his things, smiling brightly at the girl as he took them in hand. She was trembling, a human girl who sensed herself on the verge of knowledge she did not wish for. Then they were moving again, and Jeanne followed Montrovant toward the door. Gwendolyn was bringing up the rear this time, and she looked even more nervous than Jeanne felt. If this was what city life was like these days, then he wished they’d never left the mountains. If he’d wanted this kind of intrigue he never would have left home for the holy land in the first place.

  Their mounts were waiting for them at the stable and they were in the saddle and riding hard for the city gates before the stable-master was fully aware of their presence. There was no sign of movement in the darkness surrounding them, and Jeanne spread his senses as wide and thin as possible, but came up empty. Odd, but it seemed that the city’s inhabitants had cleared out to make way for them. Did they sense danger, or had Bernard spread the word?

  The silence meant nothing, he knew. Montrovant was the one to watch, the one who would know. The problem was that Montrovant wouldn’t tell them until the last moment, because if he gave away what he knew—they would know as well. So they rode on in silence, the three horses side by side, tearing down the road at breakneck speed.

  Montrovant rode easily, his form bonded with that of his mount so closely that their silhouette against the bright light of the moon was that of a single dark entity. Such rhythm and power.

  They rounded a corner, and suddenly Jeanne sensed the others. They crouched beside the road in a small copse of shrubs and low-slung trees. Montrovant veered suddenly, riding straight at them, and with a shrug, Jeanne followed. Jeanne’s own instincts told him that the men were only there to watch them leave, but who was he to argue with Montrovant’s actions?

  There was an intense burst of fear from the direction of the shrubs, and two dark forms darted suddenly from the shadows beneath the trees. Montrovant drew his blade and rode in close to the first without allowing his mount to break stride. He swung his arm in a lazy arc, severing the vampire’s head from his shoulders cleanly before he had a chance to turn or defend himself.

  The other met an equally swift end. Gwendolyn rode him down, not hesitating as the hooves of her mount made contact with the man’s heels, then his head. She wheeled and returned, causing her horse to rear and bringing it down solidly on the vampire’s back. He lay, twitching and moaning wildly in the mud.

  Jeanne leaped from the saddle and drew his own blade. As Gwendolyn backed away, trying to calm her horse, he lashed out and removed the second head. It rolled a few feet away and stopped, dead eyes glaring back at him accusingly.

  “Do you think two such as these would have dared to attack us?” Jeanne asked softly. “It would not have been…prudent.”

  “They were only meant to make certain we left,” Montrovant said. “I want to send a message back to Bastian.”

  “This should serve,” Jeanne replied, sheathing his blade and leaping back into his own saddle. “Assuming these were the only ones he sent.”

  “There are no others.” There was no way to tell for certain how Montrovant knew this, but Jeanne shrugged and returned to his mount, swinging into the shadow.

  “Remind me to make no travel plans in this area,” Jeanne said with a grin. “Somehow I doubt we will be welcome here again.”

  “Don’t forget Syd so easily,” Montrovant replied grimly. “I think we may have given him just the taste of victory he needed to stir him to action. If we were to return, I think we would find a very different city indeed. Syd and I may not agree on many things, but the blood running through those veins is old and strong.”

  Montrovant turned away, and Jeanne could tell that memories were flashing through his sire’s mind. He yearned to share them, to ask the questions that seethed and snatched at his own thoughts, but he knew better than to push. Time was not a commodity they lacked. Montrovant would tell him what he needed to know when he was ready. He always had.

  Gwendolyn was not so easily put off.

  “How do you know him?” she asked, spurring her mount until she came up beside Montrovant. “I heard you say Eugenio was his sire?”

  “Eugenio is very old,” Montrovant said, brushing her off brusquely. “I am not the first he Embraced, or the last.”

  “Perhaps the most difficult, though…?” she persisted.

  Montrovant smiled gr
imly, but he didn’t answer.

  Gwendolyn finally caught the mood of the moment. They rode on in silence, more slowly, but still at a gallop. Holywell became a dim glow on the horizon, then faded completely from sight.

  Montrovant rode on without further comment, and Jeanne fell in behind him. Gwendolyn rode at the Dark One’s side for a while, then dropped back with Jeanne. They covered ground steadily but not with particular haste, and it was several hours before dawn when Montrovant pulled over and beckoned for them to follow.

  “Shouldn’t we get farther away before we stop?” Gwendolyn asked quickly. “You didn’t exactly send a friendly message back to Bastian…”

  “He won’t follow,” Montrovant stated, waving his hand in dismissal. “He doesn’t have the time to spare for such pursuits now that we’ve stirred up his own hornet’s nest. We have other matters to discuss.”

  Montrovant slid from the saddle easily and led his mount to a small copse of trees off to one side of the road. At first it seemed only a good place for a moment’s rest, but as they drew closer, Jeanne saw that beyond the trees there was an opening into the side of the mountain itself. The trees grew around the opening of the cavern, disguising it from view. “You knew of this place.” Jeanne stated the obvious, not really questioning.

  “I have been here before,” Montrovant agreed. “Our people have traveled these roads for centuries. Do you think they have done it openly, walking in the daylight and waving to the crowds?” Jeanne didn’t answer. None was expected.

  “You could have mentioned this place,” Gwendolyn tossed off with her usual candor. “You may lord it over your progeny all you care to, Dark One, but do not presume so much with me. I am not so much your junior, and my sire is—ancient.” Montrovant stiffened and turned. The air in the small clearing dropped several degrees in temperature, and Jeanne cringed inside. Then the tension dissipated, and Montrovant actually laughed. “You make me forget the seriousness of the moment. Come. I have some questions for you, and I think it is time that I got my answers.”

  They secured their horses carefully outside the cave, tying them off with the best cover available. Jeanne brought up the rear, sending a final questing thought behind them. There was nothing, as Montrovant had said there would be. It just made him feel better to check.

  The cavern was deep and evenly cut. It was obvious after a few steps inside that it was not a natural cavern. The walls were too straight, too perfect. There were niches carved in the stone for torches, but Montrovant ignored them, plunging headlong into the gloom.

  They moved through a narrow corridor and entered a larger, darker chamber. Montrovant moved toward the center of this, then stopped in front of a series of stone benches.

  “I haven’t been here,” he mused, “since I came this way with Eugenio. I wasn’t certain that it would all be intact.”

  There were signs that they were not the first to use the chamber, but at the same time there was no indication that any earlier inhabitants had been through recently. Dust coated everything with a fine veneer, and the air had a stale, stagnant taste. It reminded Jeanne, not unpleasantly, of a tomb. He searched the shadows. There were small heaps of clothing piled in the corners, the remnants of a couple of fires—which seemed bit out of place—but most of all there was darkness and shadow.

  “This is a safe haven, one of the way-stations we set up in the old days. It is a place where the sunlight will never reach us. Did you notice the curves as we came in? They were cut so that the light would be trapped before it reached this chamber. We will be safe here until morning.”

  “Bastian doesn’t know of this place?” Jeanne asked quickly.

  “Of course he does,” Montrovant answered, gazing at his progeny steadily. “You doubt, then, my telling you that he will not follow?”

  There was a moment of silent tension, then Jeanne looked away. “Of course not,” he said softly. “I just worry.”

  “It is your nature,” Montrovant agreed. “He will not follow, Jeanne, there is nothing to be gained in it—that is why we have nothing to fear. There will be times in the days to come when we will not be safe, but we are now.”

  Jeanne nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Gwendolyn never questioned Montrovant’s word. She seemed content to unpack her things and pick one of the stone benches for her own. Jeanne suspected that she had known the cavern was there as well. It made him feel isolated and alone. He erased the sensation from his mind.

  Turning to Gwendolyn, Montrovant smiled again. “Now, my fine lady, you will tell us a bit more about just what in the name of the seven levels of Hell is going on at de Molay’s keep, why your sire wants me there, and we will see if we can form a useful plan.” She stared at him defiantly for a long moment, and Jeanne ducked back a step. She might have been talking out of place when she spoke of her own age, and that of Montrovant, or not. Certainly she was older than he, and the energy crackling through the chamber was ancient and potent. Had Montrovant presumed too much this time?

  “You will get your answers, Dark One, but not because you order it. I have not been instructed to withhold information from you, and so I shall not. You forget that I am not overly fond of Kli Kodesh, even though he granted me what you denied.”

  “Of course, the old one will know that, as well,” Jeanne noted bleakly.

  Gwendolyn glared at him darkly, but did not reply. “There are dark powers at work in the keep of

  Jacques de Molay, Montrovant. There are things there that even Kli Kodesh himself cannot control, though he does not fear them.”

  “I would have thought that the knights would have had their fill of dark powers dealing with Santos and his ilk,” Jeanne cut in again.

  “Santos?” Gwendolyn spun to face him. “Where do you know that name from?”

  Jeanne stared at her, shocked by her sudden outburst, but Montrovant was on his feet and had her by the shoulders, turning her back to face him roughly.

  “Where is he?” The words dripped malice and poison. “If you know where that son of a dog has gone, I will have the answer.”

  “You will have that answer soon enough, in any case,” she replied, studying him intently. “He consorts with de Molay as we speak. It is Santos who led the Grand Master down the path that has led to Philip’s attack.”

  Montrovant released her, turning away quickly. “Does he still walk in the robes of a priest, groveling in underground tunnels with his cowled rats?

  He lives below, yes,” Gwendolyn replied. “But he is no priest. He walks in the shadows. He takes what he wants without asking, and de Molay brings him more. Others have complained, all but a few who are close to de Molay fear what is happening, but none has the courage or strength to challenge.

  Now it is too late.”

  “What do you mean?” Montrovant asked quickly. “It is never too late.”

  “It is too late for de Molay,” Gwendolyn replied, turning away. “He will not let go of his dark dreams. He and Santos have brought Philip’s wrath down on the heads of the Templars, and they will bring down the order before they are done. It is all or nothing with that one—I have felt it deep within him. I have fed from him, Dark One.” She spun to face him again, moved closer so that their faces were scant inches apart. “I know his heart. He believes that the only way through what is to come is a portal of darkness, and he means to open it.”

  Montrovant stared at her for long moments before he spoke. He searched her eyes—Jeanne wondered if he might be searching even deeper.

  “There was a head,” Montrovant said softly. “Have you heard anything about a disembodied head?”

  “They worship such an image,” Gwendolyn said softly. “They have painted symbols and diagrams of such a thing, and they claim that it will bring them answers. It is said that a head will lead them to the truth.”

  “He has them as he had his other followers in Jerusalem,” Montrovant said. “He will drive them toward the ritual, and they will get answers, but the answers will
be to Santos’s own questions. He seeks the same things that I seek, and he will stop at nothing to possess them.”

  “Then we must stop him,” Jeanne said.

  “You know as well as I how difficult that will be,” Montrovant said, turning to face his progeny with a dark, brooding expression painted across his face. “And Kli Kodesh knows as well. Santos is the only being I have faced that I believe might be more ancient. If the treasures I am led to believe are where your sire claims them to be,” Montrovant turned back to Gwendolyn, “then he has arranged for another round of entertainment. They are right under Santos’s nose.”

  Montrovant grew silent then, and Jeanne took the moment to study him. This was the moment they’d been waiting for since they’d left the Holy Land behind, but certainly not the situation they’d dreamed of. Santos and the Knights Templar were behind them, or so they’d thought. Now both loomed on their horizon, the one a faded memory, the other a recurring nightmare. So many miles, so many years, all of it to come full circle and face the same challenge they’d faced at the beginning. At least it had been the beginning for Jeanne.

  Montrovant’s memories were deeper. They carried generations and decades beyond Jeanne’s earliest recollection, and the bits and pieces he’d heard over the years had only made a sketchy backdrop against which to paint the coming encounter. “We will be prepared this time,” Montrovant said at last. “I have no power that can withstand Santos if he reaches his goal, but we have some time left to us, and we have Philip. The army on the horizon will distract de Molay. His followers will be in a panic. He will have to expend more energy than he wants to keep them in check. Santos will suck at his soul, but there is only so much that he can do to hurry things. He races against Philip, and now against us as well.”

  “At least we will have surprise on our side,” Jeanne said, not really believing his own words.