Infernal Games (Templar Chronicles Urban Fantasy Series) (6 page)

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D
arkness.

A
sense of gentle languidness, like a leaf floating in the water, waiting for
what was to come next, whatever that might be.

Peace.

Acceptance.

Nothing
to worry about. Nothing to fear.

Something
cold pressed against his lips and the edge of a glass bumped his lips.

Drink
this, a voice says, drink.

Now
rest.

Rest.

Cade pulled his hand away, breaking the
connection before following the man’s last moments too deeply. It was clear
that the victim had not had any idea what was going on in the moments before
his death, which made Cade suspect that the victim had been drugged, perhaps
even poisoned. There was definitely no doubt that the victim hadn’t been
conscious, perhaps not even alive, for the final coup-de-grace.

Cade
stood, pulling his glove back on as he did so. He was standing there, staring
down at the body, thinking, when Riley walked over.

“Well?”

Cade
gestured at the corpse at their feet. “He was dead before they slit his
throat. My guess is that others were as well.”

Now
it was Riley’s turn to frown. “What’s the point of that?”

“That’s
just it; there isn’t one. You can’t use corpses to power a summoning or any
other kind of major ritual that I know of; even a necromancer – especially a
necromancer – needs a living sacrifice.”

While
Riley was thinking that over, Cade turned and looked across the room at the
corpse still hanging in the frame. The only corpse with blood cascaded across
its chest. The one his Sight had shown still pulling forth residual power from
the bodies in formation around it.

Could
that be...

Cade
abruptly strode over to the sixth and final corpse. Like all the others, this
victim was male and relatively young but was stripped nude where the others were
still dressed. The reason for the difference was obvious in the hundreds, if
not thousands, of slashes cut into his bare flesh. The others might have died
peacefully but this one...this one had died very slowly and had no doubt been
aware for much, if not all, of it.

A
wave of blood had splashed across his chest and dried at some point before
their arrival, suggesting that the killing blow had been struck after the victim
had been placed on the rack and not before.

The
man’s head hung forward on his chest and his long hair obscured his face and
neck. Cade reached up and gently pushed the man’s head back, wanting to see
the wound that had killed him, only to jump back in stunned amazement.

Riley
must have seen Cade’s reaction, for he was suddenly there at his side, his HK
Mark 23 pistol in hand pointing at the man on the rack. The Templars knew all
too well that just because the target was dead didn’t mean that it was no
longer dangerous.

“I’m
good, I’m good,” Cade said quickly, holding up his hands in a calming gesture.
“Just surprised, that’s all.”

Riley
nodded. A bit sheepishly, in fact. “Probably should have warned you about
that, huh?”

Cade
glared at him. “You think? No harm done.”

The
former Knight Commander reached up and lifted the man’s head back up a second
time, taking a good look at what awaited him there.

Someone
had taken a blowtorch to the right side of the man’s face, torching his eye
socket and the flesh surrounding it in a savage attack that led from the man’s
eye socket around to behind his ear...

Almost
subconsciously Cade reached up and ran his fingers along his own stretch of
scar tissue.

The
Necromancer was mocking him.

That
was the reason for all this; the dead victims, the false ceremony, even the
lights shining on the dead man in front of him like some kind of museum
display. The Necromancer had wanted him to find this place. Find this body.

But
why?

Cade gently lowered the man’s head back down and stepped back, trying
to put aside his emotion and view the body dispassionately again. The man was
about his height and weight, though younger, and had his face disfigured to
match Cade’s own. From all appearances a proxy for Cade himself.

He’d
been handcuffed to a metal frame that held him suspended and on display while
the lights shining upon him illuminated his torture and suffering for all to
see.

So
where had he seen something like this before?

It
only took him a moment to come up with the answer. Death by a thousand cuts,
or death by slow slicing, was an old Chinese method of execution that had been
outlawed around the turn of the twentieth century. The victim was strung up in
a public place, stripped of his clothes, and then cut with a sharp knife until
dead. It was a hideous punishment and one that was reserved for what the
Chinese had considered rather severe crimes, such as treason or killing one’s
own parents. It was also used as a lesson of deterrence for others who might
be considering the same. The victim would suffer a long time before dying and
most importantly, would be aware of their pain for most, if not all, of their
suffering.

Cade
didn’t like the implications that the tableau spread before him was making. If
he was reading the signs correctly, it meant that he was going to suffer
harshly and publically for some sin he had committed against the Necromancer in
the past. Nor did it take much to figure out what that sin might be. Cade was,
after all, instrumental in capturing Logan. If he hadn’t done so, then Logan
never would have been imprisoned.

Was
the Necromancer threatening to execute him in such a fashion? Was that what
this was – a warning of some kind? And what about that weird flow of power
between the corpses? What was the story with that?

There
seemed to be more questions than answers here and Cade didn’t like it.

He
needed more information.

Thankfully,
he had a way to get it.

Cade
stripped his glove off again, tried to find a spot that wasn’t covered in blood
on the man’s body, and was finally forced to select the top of the man’s head
as the only reasonable place to use. He braced himself for what he was certain
to be nearly overwhelming pain and then reached out and put his hand atop the
man’s head like a benediction.

Darkness,
and then...

More
darkness. Complete, utter darkness, darkness that surrounded him and held him
in place as securely as iron shackles and chains, darkness that he could feel
but not see, taste but not touch, like an invisible presence that had swallowed
him whole and now refused to let him go free. Darkness like a malignant,
living thing. Darkness like the rot at the center of the Necromancer’s soul.

And
then a voice from the depths of that darkness.

A
voice he recognized all too well.

“Hello, Cade.”

Logan.

“What’s the matter? Demon got your tongue?”

Cade
tried to pull free, to return to the living world around him, to break the link
with the dead that his Gift had created, only to find that he no longer had a
reference for doing so. How do you push when there is nothing for you to push
against? How do you break yourself free when there is nothing and no body with
which to do it in the first place?

“Did
you think we were finished, you and I? Did you think I would forget what you
had done?”

What
I
had done? Cade tried to
shout back, only to discover that he couldn’t do that either, shout that is, for
he had no lungs with which to give the statement voice.

He
was in trouble and he knew it.

“You meddled where you did not belong,
Templar, and took from me something of value. Now, I shall do the same in
return.”

Cade
tried to ignore the Necromancer’s mocking voice, tried to shut out that horrid
laugh, and concentrate on the task before him. He understood now that the
power the Necromancer had gathered with his ritual had not been intended to
summon anything at all, but had instead been used to build the cage he now
found himself in. A cage in which he would remain lest he marshall the
strength necessary to break free.

But
as he mentally pushed and pulled and did everything he could to find a way free
of the metaphysical chains that bound him, he found himself growing weaker.
Found the chains that held him growing stronger. Slowly, bit by bit, he began
to lose himself to the nothingness that surrounded him.

He
might have stayed there, might have truly fallen victim to the trap that the
Necromancer had set for him if his opponent had been content to leave it at
that.

Fortunately
for Cade, Logan had to gloat and in doing so gave Cade the key to his prison.

“Know this, Templar. While you struggle to
escape the prison cell I have constructed for you, I will be taking from you
that which you admire most. And I shall not be as lenient as the Adversary has
been.”

The
Necromancer’s words cut like a knife through Cade’s growing confusion. They
gave him the focus he needed, the rock upon which to mount his defense, and he
gathered the pieces of himself back together. With one great incoherent shout
of rage, he flung himself back from the precipice...

Cade
stumbled away from the corpse, his heart sick with fear. He knew what the
Necromancer wanted, knew he’d been played the fool and if he didn’t do
something about it quickly he was likely to regret it for the rest of his life.

Hands
were on him, holding him, and he shoved them violently away, looking up only
long enough to see the pain and confusion on Riley’s face as Cade went reeling
away from him in surprise as Cade’s shove caused him to lose his balance and
fall to the floor.

Cade
barely noticed, his attention solely on getting out of there as fast as he could.

Gabbi!
his mind screamed and he had to clamp his mouth shut with iron determination to
keep from echoing that cry aloud. If he gave voice to it there would be
questions and he would not betray the fact of her resurrection like that. Not
yet. Not without him there to protect her.

If
she even survived that long.

With
his heart in his throat and fear in his eyes, Cade Williams charged passed the
bewildered Templars and headed for the door.

Behind
him, he heard Riley cry out, “Cade! Wait!” but Cade ignored him.

He
had little enough time as it was.

As
Cade rushed out of the warehouse, his gaze fell upon the three SUVs parked in
the lot and the soldier from 2
^nd
Squad who stood near them. Cade
didn’t waste any time, just ran to the man’s side.

“Give
me the keys,” he demanded.

The
guard took a step back, confused. “What? Why do you want the keys?”

Cade
didn’t hesitate, just threw a blistering right that connected cleanly with the
man’s chin. The soldier’s head snapped back with the sound of a mallet
striking a watermelon and he want down like a sack of cement. Cade bent,
searched through the man’s pockets, and came out with the keys. As he
straightened, he heard Riley shout from behind him.

“Cade!
What are you doing?”

Without
even a glance back, Cade threw himself into the vehicle, started the engine,
and stomped the accelerator. The SUV surged forward, narrowly missing the men
Riley had sent to block the gate, and raced off into the night.

––––––––

T
he
Necromancer stood at the end of the long drive, staring up its length at the
little house set back from the road and nestled among the oak trees.

Inside
that house was the prize he’d come to here to claim, the prize he needed in
order to carry out the grand plan he had conceived during his last few months
in captivity. Without it he would fail. But with it...ah, with it, he would
soon regain what he had lost when the Templars had broken the power of his
Circle and murdered his followers.

All
he had to do was seize it.

Hours
before he’d traded his prison jumpsuit for comfortable clothes and the long,
hooded robe that he preferred to wear to keep his disfigured face hidden from
view. Now, as he raised his hands and hooded face to the sky above and began
chanting, he looked like some Hollywood version of a medieval monk, casting
benedictions over his flock.

The
air around him went still, as if Nature itself understood there was a power to
be reckoned with within her midst, and the temperature seemed to drop an extra
ten degrees, making the cold night even colder.

The
Necromancer did not notice the cold, so intent was he on the power he was
summoning.

His
chant dipped and swayed as words that had not been spoken on this world for
thousands of years fell from his lips with perfect inflection and tone, calling
out to those whose assistance he needed.

On
the other side of the Veil, something heard his call.

The
ground in front of the Necromancer suddenly split open, as if a hot knife had
been drawn deep through its surface. Strange, haunting cries poured out of the
rift, cries filled with such sorrow and despair that they would have turned
even the hearts of the strongest men to fear, but the Necromancer barely
noticed, for pain, suffering and death were the tools by which he plied his
trade.

From
out of the door the Necromancer had opened, wraith-like forms began to rise.
They hovered in the air in front of their Master and waited for him to give the
command. Logan did not need to see them directly to know that their faces and
bodies would be twisted parodies of the human form; spectres had once been
human after all. They shrieked and screamed their hatred and disdain for the
living as they burst through the Veil and into this reality and Logan laughed
aloud at the hunger that poured from them in waves.

Once
he was finished with them, he would set them free to wreak further havoc. That
should tie up pursuit long enough to let him get away.

In
a very short time there were a dozen or so gathered in front of him, waiting
for his commands, and he sent them surging forward toward the house at the end
of the drive.

The
wards protecting Cade’s property had been specifically designed to keep out
anything with the taint of the unholy and the spectres surging forward across
the front lawn certainly fit the bill. Power flared as they reached the
barrier and for one long moment the Necromancer could actually see the
shimmering curtain of power that extended around and over the property, a giant
dome of protection erected to safeguard the one who lay within.

With
his target’s position locked firmly in his mind, he was then free to begin his
own assault.

The
spectres hit the ward with every bit of power at their disposal, crashing into
it with the concentrated force of a warhead. Arcane energy spit and crackled
like fat on a fire as the ward sought to repel the invaders and for the first
few times, it did, indeed, throw them back. But the spectres were thinking,
reasoning creatures where the ward was not, and they began to strike it in
alternating waves, sapping the magick inherent in the construct without giving
it a chance to recharge.

As
the strain of continual attacks began to take its toll on the effectiveness of
the barrier, the Necromancer at last entered the fray.

Stepping
forward, the Necromancer drew power from the rift to the netherworld that still
loomed open nearby, binding it with his hands into a twisting, turning ball of
energy which he then sent crashing into a point near the base of the ward’s
outer shell. No sooner had he released the first blow that he repeated the
process, dragging forth more power, bending it to his will and sending it
crashing into the same spot he’d struck with the first. Sparks flew and
thunder filled the air as the positive power of the ward crashed against the
negative force of the strikes.

Eventually,
something had to give.

One
moment the ward was intact, shrugging off each attempt to breach its integrity,
and in the next there was a blinding flash of power and the spectres were
charging across the lawn, their sinuous, wraithlike forms slipping through the
darkness with impunity.

They
smashed through the door and disappeared inside.

A
moment later, from somewhere deep in the house, a woman screamed.

The
Necromancer smiled, following in their wake.