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beneath their heavy mantles, and each had a helm at his knee. Summoned by secret signs and coded
messages, often relayed by unsuspecting couriers, they had come from scattered refuges throughout
France, making their way individually to the rendezvous point: a forest camp now two days' journey
behind them.
Now they rode forth as a military company. Since breaking camp early that morning, they had adopted
the stealthy secrecy of a skirmish force advancing through hostile territory. Breville had acquainted them
with the particular details of their mission the night before. Given the danger, not only of their mission but
of being in France at all, it was no time to be circumspect with the truth concerning the issues at stake,
though he had spared them needless details that would only frighten some of them.
"Since the founding of our Order, we of the Temple have always been guardians of a higher wisdom," he
had informed them. "We worship and serve God according to these higher mysteries. The responsibility
for guiding the Order in such matters has secretly been vested in an Inner Circle charged to carry forward
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this wisdom. If some of you have not been made aware of these facts before now, it was as much for
your own safety as for the safety of the future."
He had told them as much as he dared, and Christoph had confessed those who wished it, likewise
fortifying all of them with Holy Communion in the silent, predawn darkness before they set out. Although
most of the men had not previously been introduced to the esoteric trusts of the Order, all had professed
themselves willing to place themselves unreservedly at the service of those who had summoned them. In
Christoph, they recognized a senior in the Order, now an ordained priest as well as a knight, though he
rode as a knight today, mailed and armed like the rest of them. To those who survived the assault on
Montaigre, more yet might be revealed.
On Breville's advice, they had elected to approach Castle Montaigre from the north. It had been one of
the hardest marches Torquil could remember, saving only their experiences in the Holy Land. No clear
trail marked the way through this wasteland of scree and boulders; and so close to the castle, nothing
lived or moved except noxious insects, toads, and poisonous reptiles. All other creatures had long ago
?ed the area, driven off by the region's prevailing aura of malignancy.
Men of lesser fortitude would have turned back many hours ago, defeated by the air of desolation
hanging over this region, but grief and hardship had so tempered the natures of these surviving Templar
Knights that their hearts and souls were armored against the weapons of their enemy. More than once
they had fetched up against unseen walls of power, erected to repel all intruders; but each time, the
barricades had melted away in the presence of the Shard.
Now the company advanced in determined silence, ever watchful, ever mindful of the sufferings in?icted
on their brethren by the man who had taken refuge in this place. All knew that even greater dangers
remained still in store, but they also knew that the only route to saving the Order lay ahead of them, not
behind.
Below them to their right, they began to catch glimpses of a well-de?ned road running level along the
valley ?oor. The previous night, Breville had pointed it out on the map he had drawn to brief them.
"The road from Aurillac to Bezier passes within a mile of the castle," he had said. "Nogaret's men use it
regularly to bring in supplies, but they never approach the castle directly. Instead, they've made a secret
entrance for themselves around the back of the hill, well out of sight of any chance travelers along the
main route. We believe that any esoteric defenses at that point may also be reduced, precisely because
they do use it with such regularity.
"But we won't know until we get there," Breville had warned his listeners. "What I do know is that this
represents the only chink in the castle's defenses I've been able to detect. So be on your guard, and keep
saying your prayers."
The afternoon wore on. Chill shadows began to creep across the ground. The Templar party crested the
top of a shoulder of high ground as the sun was sinking out of sight behind the western hills. And beyond,
perched in a saddle of higher ground, they caught their ?rst distant glimpse of Castle Montaigre. Bathed
in the glow of an ominous sunset, its squat turrets looked as if they had been dyed red with blood.
Pausing not at all, Breville led the company on, over the crest of the rise and down into a trough of stony
ground, where they came upon a pathway worn smooth with frequent usage. The trail bed was too
unyielding to register footprints, but animal droppings along the way marked it as well traf?cked.
Breville glanced right and left, gauged the failing light, then motioned the company off the trail and into a
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small clearing some little way from the trail.
"From here, we go on foot," he said, dismounting and removing his mantle. "What we seek is perhaps a
mile ahead. Leave anything that will hamper your movement or make a sound, and be ready for anything.
It's been several weeks since I was here."
Leaving one of the older knights to stay with the horses, the rest of the Templar party shed their mantles
and set off along the beaten track, into what seemed a vale of gloom far deeper than ordinary night.
Presently they came upon a pair of tall boulders that straddled the path like the piers of a gateway.
Ahead, low voices and harness clinks and a dusky ?re-glow warned that they were approaching the end
of the trail. At a signal from Christoph, the main Templar company fanned out to take cover among the
rocks while Breville, Arnault, and Torquil edged stealthily forward to investigate.
Near at hand, several dozen lean horses and mules milled about within the compass of a stout wooden
paddock. A stone's throw farther off, the tumbledown foundations of a long-deserted village lay
scattered along the base of a low cliff. In the midst of these ruins, set solidly against the cliff, stood what
appeared to be a new, strongly built edi?ce the size of a gatehouse, its front pierced by a stoutly
reinforced gate. Outside, a trio of sentries in leather and steel could be seen leaning indolently on their
spears.
The three scouts rejoined the rest of their party, relaying their ?ndings to Christoph in whispers.
"The sentries are the least of our worries," Arnault warned. "The gate looks strong enough to resist
anything less than a battering ram, even if it hasn't been magically reinforced. But the building does
connect directly to the cliff face-which must be where the tunnel system goes into the mountain."
"It seems that we must force the gate, then," Christoph said.
"Maybe not," Torquil replied. "Maybe a diversion would trick them into opening the gate themselves."
"Precisely my thought," Breville agreed, with one of his tight smiles. "Brother Arnault, Brother Torquil, if
you are with me, I believe I have an idea."
***
The three members of the Decuria chosen to assist Nogaret in the planned night's work waited in his
tower sanctum with ill-concealed expectancy, black-robed and ceremonially prepared by weeks of
divers disciplines. Nor was it the ?rst time they had made such preparations; for thus far, the High Priest's
Breastplate had refused to yield up its secrets.
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