The Wolves of Solomon (Wolves of Solomon Book One)

by R. L. Blackhurst

  ****

  Catherine paced her quarters trying to quell the agony that was growing inside her. She knew Galeren was here, and not safely beyond the château walls but within its confines. She sensed him clearly and yet could not communicate with him. Her frustration was excruciating. Even De Floyran had not been back to torment her and so she remained in darkness about what had become of Galeren. She assured herself that he was not dead or even hurt. She remembered how she had felt when De Floyran had wounded him the last time they’d met. It was a pain that had not been physical, but had instead tormented her senses with spirit weakening despair until De Floyran had deadened her reaction with the sleeping potion.

  Maybe he was with De Molay. She knew now that De Floyran had left her in the dungeon for those days merely to frighten her, to show her the hopelessness and misery that was to face them. It was part of his sadistic game and he enjoyed the torture. Now servants brought her food and kept the fire roaring. She ate because she wanted to be strong and she tried to sleep for the same reason. However, she found herself lying awake through the night trying to speak to Galeren or listening to the approach and retreat of footsteps, fearing it was De Floyran coming to take what he wanted.

  She tried to imagine the outcome of the calamity they were in and if there was a possibility that they would all emerge unscathed. She could not and so instead wept. She was ashamed of her weakness but resolved that she would empty herself of tears now so as to remain dry for the trials ahead. She would not show De Floyran her tears for she knew he would relish them and she could not let Galeren see them, for he would despair in them. All she could do was wait and gather her strength.

  Galeren sat on the floor of the cold and damp oubliette, hugging his knees to his chest and drumming his fingers upon his arms. He was also in a place of frustration. He had not seen De Floyran yet. He had given himself in to one of the guards at the gate who, despite knowing exactly what to do with him, had told him nothing. He had been stuck in this pit since then, in virtual darkness. The only discernable light came from the pit’s roof cavity which was covered with an iron grill. There was activity above him and occasionally figures loomed, peering in at him.

  All he could do, however, was sit in the darkness, smelling the aftermath of the horrific deeds that had gone on before his arrival. He knew the dungeons were full of his brethren, some dead, some wishing to be. He did not know any of them personally but they were still of his race. He could sense his father and knew that he too was in this dungeon, concealed in one of the torture rooms. He did not sense that he was injured; only frustrated. He would find it hard to restrain his rage when finally faced with De Floyran.

  He had wanted to change in order to establish a strong connection with Catherine again, but dare not risk being seen. Their connection was stronger in wolf form, but he still should have been able to contact her while human. He knew she was not in the dungeon, for which he gave thanks but then wondered where she could be, and with whom.

  He stood up and slammed his fist into the wall of the pit. He knew De Floyran would leave him languishing in here for days so he could drive himself mad with scenarios of Catherine’s captivity. If only he could contact her again. What was it that prevented him? He wondered whether it had something to do with De Floyran’s mark. Did it block him somehow? He slumped back against the wall and sunk to the ground. Sleep. Perhaps he could get into her dreams. He closed his eyes and tried to find sleep.

  No sooner had he drifted off then his senses were flooded with the scent of De Floyran. His eyes shot open and he heard his voice from the entrance of the dungeon. The small side gate of the oubliette was opened and two of De Floyran’s men with swords at the ready, dropped down into the bottom of the pit, followed by De Floyran himself. Galeren did not bother to get up but merely eyed De Floyran coldly, repressing the hot anger that was eager to erupt.

  De Floyran smiled. “How is the leg?” he asked smugly, a glint in his eye.

  “Where is Catherine?” Galeren said, ignoring the question.

  “Ooohhh,” De Floyran grinned, “straight to the bone.” He looked at his men who risked a surreptitious glance at their master before locking their attention back on Galeren.

  “Safe.” De Floyran said glibly.

  “I want to see her,” Galeren snarled, “with my own eyes.”

  “How predictable,” De Floyran sighed, his tone was scathing.

  “Did you expect me here for anything else?” Galeren said, trying to contain his fury.

  “Your father is yonder,” De Floyran said, motioning to beyond the wall of the oubliette, “or are your senses dulled by our little novice?”

  Galeren clenched his jaw, “There is nothing wrong with my senses and I know my father is here. However, he is not under your authority but of that of the King. I should speak to him on the subject of my father. Catherine is a different matter.”

  “I hadn’t thought of it that way,” De Floyran said thoughtfully. “You may have a point. Then again you may not. Guillaume de Nogaret runs the King’s show and he thinks I will impart a gift to him. He acts on the King’s authority and the King has instructed him to do whatever is necessary. My advice is valuable to him.”

  Galeren’s lip curled in anger. “You wretched stray! What drives you to such lengths?”

  “You were sent to kill me. You killed three of my friends and left me bleeding in the dirt.”

  “You were monsters!” Galeren screamed.

  “That is a matter of opinion.” De Floyran smiled.

  “If, in that twisted head of yours, you believe you have some quarrel about what happened then it is with me, not these men and not with Catherine. I denounced you, I killed your men and God help me I failed to kill you.”

  “It was the Temple council that had final word. You were all responsible.”

  “Responsible?” Galeren shook his head incredulously, “because we did not allow you to rape and murder whenever you felt the need? You have no right for revenge, you sick bastard.”

  De Floyran’s eyes narrowed. “Right, perhaps not. Need,” he paused as if to ponder the fact and then said, “yes. And I will have it. I also have the opportunity to obtain wealth and land from this affair.”

  He smiled suggestively. “And then there is Catherine…well I didn’t expect her.” He looked at Galeren’s face as it twisted into a mask of rage and then continued merrily. “I went to England to find you and to tell you that the Temple was about to be undone. Of course, I wanted to kill you too and toyed on the journey as to whether I would, or let you witness the Temple’s destruction before doing so. But you know how easily I am distracted by a pretty face and there she was at the market, smiling, begging to be broken. She was meant to be a little treat on my way to see you but we both know what happened. Killing you would have been a short lived pleasure, but fate smiled on me and it has led us here.”

  He sighed dreamily as if remembering a sweet memory. “She is quite a prize and I feel very much drawn to her.” He noted the ever darkening look on Galeren’s face and continued heartily. “She remains untouched by my hand. Yet I find the longer I resist her, the more I am drawn to her. It is a delicious frustration and I will hold out for as long as I can, for I know the longer I do the sweeter she will taste.”

  Galeren lunged at De Floyran, taking both him and his men by surprise. De Floyran parried and Galeren failed to grab him but managed to knock him off his feet before his men had their sword tips poised at Galeren’s throat. Galeren raised his hands in surrender but afforded himself a smile as he watched De Floyran scramble to his feet.

  “Your reactions seem dull as ever,” Galeren said derisively and received a fist in the face for his remark.

  “Very clever.” De Floyran said fuming. He brushed down his tunic and continued with vitriolic sentiment, “You can have your brief moment of victory, but remember your situation. Templars are in dungeons all over France. They are being forced to confess to fictitious crimes throu
gh diabolical torture. Some have held out to their deaths, trying to defend the honour of their order, hoping the Pope will absolve them and the Temple.

  But I am going to make sure that that never happens. The King of France and Clement himself are on their way here as we speak. You and I are going to put on a little show for them that will shake the very foundations of their faith. They will know the true nature of the Temple and you will be destroyed for it.”

  Galeren’s face paled with disbelief as he took on De Floyran’s meaning. De Villiers had suspected that this could very well be part of De Floyran’s plan, but Galeren still could not believe it.

  “You would really do that?” he shook his head incredulously. “You would denounce your own race.”

  “I would.” De Floyran said resolutely. “I have, in fact. I merely need to provide proof.”

  “Why? So you can use your power for ill? So you can carry out your depraved existence with others who think like you?”

  “Yes.” De Floyran said simply. “It is only those in the Temple that will suffer. There are plenty of werewolf kind that did not choose that life and it is time for them to flourish. Our race will not be destroyed only those who took the Temple’s vow; a good number but not the whole. There will be a new race and in time they will dominate as the Temple should have.”

  “You really are crazy.” Galeren said. He felt a dark dread course through him but spoke with conviction, “You will not succeed. This will not succeed. You are a fool to underestimate the power of the union of the Temple.”

  “Ancient sentiment. Once perhaps, but you lost hold on what you were relied upon to keep. The King is looking for booty, De Nogaret glory and the Pope peace. Together they will end this.”

  Galeren shook his head but looked down towards the floor of the pit not wishing to witness the look of triumph on De Floyran’s face. He knew that the villain was capable of anything, being composed of neither pity nor mercy. He had managed to slip into a position of influence with Philip’s hound, De Nogaret, and was not going to waste the opportunity to have his twisted revenge. Reasoning with him was futile, he had explained his rationale and there was nothing to stop him.

  “What about you?” Galeren attempted vainly, “you think the Pope and King will allow you to remain free assuming they know what you are.”

  “I have been granted impunity,” De Floyran said, “I offer no threat to them and will go in peace to live out my days like a King.”

  “How selfless of you!” Galeren said sardonically, trying to swallow the distaste that overwhelmed his senses. “Werewolves will never be safe again. They will be hunted for all time by the Church’s minions. You have forthwith condemned your brethren to a lifetime of persecution and murder.”

  The corner of De Floyran’s left eye twitched as if piqued but he merely shrugged and said, “I care not, brother, for the future of others, only my own. Enjoy your last moments of solitude.” He snapped his fingers at his men and made to leave the pit.

  “Catherine!” Galeren called as De Floyran started to climb out. “I want to see her!”

  De Floyran turned. “You will see her soon and for the last time.”

  The words sent a chill through Galeren and he could do nothing but sink back down against the wall of the pit. He knew De Floyran had denounced the Templars, spinning tales of heresy and other crimes that would make the Church nervous. However, he never really imagined that he would betray his race. Yet it seemed to come with ease to him, he was secure and smug with the betrayal and would never be reasoned with.

  It was a pit of despair that he’d been thrown into, Galeren thought, and it was all fault of his own. De Floyran must have anticipated the guilt that would lay upon Galeren’s shoulders after he revealed his cruel plan; for if he had done his job properly and killed De Floyran, than it would not have come to this. The Temple may have had enough wind in its sails to push through the King’s storm, but nothing would save them if their true nature was revealed. The next step had been initiated; De Floyran held the whole deck and Galeren had to figure out whether he would be able to survive it and turn the tide.

  Chapter Eighteen