Night's Templar Read online

  He put that aside. Complicating the questions didn't make the answer any less simple, or the consequences less severe. He brought himself back to why he'd approached Brian.

  "Lord Brian, I wish to break the third mark bond with my servant. As soon as possible."

  Brian's gaze snapped from his absorption with the Fae to Uthe's face. "My lord? Are you unhappy with Mariela? She seems quite devoted to you and you have seemed content with her service." He paused at Uthe's expression. "My apologies. I know I have no standing to question you, and I certainly didn't mean to pry. For...non-Council vampires, I am required to determine the reasons. You do not have to give me yours, but if you are willing to volunteer that information, it does help me hone my current efforts to develop compatibility guidelines between vampires and servants on the front end, so we have less reasons to use the separation serum."

  Uthe respected the scientist's thoroughness, so allowed his expression to relax. "I have been very happy with her service, Lord Brian. So much so, I would owe you a debt if you would share that with your servant when the time comes, so it may be spread throughout their ranks and Mariela suffers no censure for it. I must regretfully request the separation for personal reasons, which I must address with Lady Lyssa as soon as feasible. How quickly does it take effect?"

  "Once administered, it is a matter of minutes now, my lord. But it's best to do it during the early afternoon hours, when the vampire is in his or her deepest sleep. It is less difficult on you both."

  Uthe regretted hearing that. He would have preferred to be at Mariela's side while it was done. As if detecting his concern about that, Brian continued with an assurance. "Debra is experienced with the process. You should have no lasting physical effects, but even without the memory wipe we do on Randoms, your servant will have a period of weakness and lethargy that lasts a few days. We will monitor and help her through the initial disorientation."

  "Thank you for that. I've not yet spoken of this to Mariela, so I do not wish it shared with anyone else, until I indicate to you that it is all right to do so."

  "Of course." Brian glanced across the ballroom. Following his gaze, Uthe saw Mariela had been called upon to dance with Lord Belizar. While vampires had no reservations about orientation, such that it would not be unusual to see same-sex pairings on the ballroom floor, Belizar liked to dance with a woman when he wanted to dance. Uthe had suspected for some time that Belizar preferred male servants primarily because it was easier for them to tolerate and interpret his bullish nature. Glancing toward Brian again, he saw the young vampire's focus shift from Mariela to Debra, his handsome expression softening.

  "Something amiss, Lord Brian?"

  "No, my lord. It's simply... I hope you won't interpret this the wrong way." He lifted a shoulder. "With the proposed changes for servants currently under consideration by Council, and the research I've done of late about fertility, and...some changes that have occurred between me and my servant, I have a heightened sensitivity to their feelings."

  His green eyes reflected his personal struggle with that. "Detachment is important not only in science, but in the vampire-servant structure of our world. However, I admit I am wrestling more often of late with the moral implications of too much objectivity."

  "You think me cruel."

  "No, my lord. We are not a compassionate species, but you are the least sadistic of those in the upper ranks of our kind. There are those in our world who would take that as a near insult, and I hope you will know that is not how I intended it." Brian offered a half smile. "You do not flinch at making tough decisions, ones that might be seen as cruel, but are for the greater good of our species. I respect that."

  "But?"

  Brian grimaced. His father was a well-respected Region Master in the UK, so Brian had no difficulty balancing deference with honesty. It was part of what had helped him make his case with the Vampire Council. An audience with even a single Council member could catapult most lower-ranking vampires into stammering silence. "I am sorry for Mariela, my lord," Brian said simply. "I think she loves you well. I know you will care for her feelings in this matter, though, and I am glad of that."

  "Do you love her, Lord Brian?"

  Brian looked startled. "Mariela?"

  "No. Debra. Your servant. Do you love her?"

  Not very long ago, the question would have been taboo. It was still unthinkable in much of the vampire world. The changes happening at the Council level had not left that level officially, because the Council didn't have a majority resolve on the matter. But two sitting Council members, Lyssa and Mason, had openly declared their devotion to their servants. Being two of the most powerful vampires made it difficult to castigate them for something that had always been considered forbidden. On top of that, Lyssa had given birth to Kane, and Mason and Jessica had recently celebrated the arrival of their daughter Farida. It was visible and well-timed proof of Lord Brian's fertility findings, that birthrate might be related to the depth of emotional connection between vampire and servant.

  The dwindling birthrate for born vampires was a far greater concern to Council than even the relationship of human servants to vampires. It had weakened the arguments of dissenters like Belizar, Stewart and Carola who disliked the idea of emotional parity with servants.

  There was a third on the Council who, while not as open about it, was just as committed to her servant. Uthe located them now. Lady Daniela was dancing with Dev, him holding her close in his arms, her leaning into his body. Sex and intense intimacy was part of the vampire-servant relationship, but when intimacy became love, it was fairly evident, if one looked closely enough.

  "I am not trying to trap you, Lord Brian," Uthe said absently. "Are you in love with your servant?"

  "Yes, my lord. I am." Brian turned to face him. "From an objective standpoint, I'm not sure if that will skew my research results on matters related to the vampire-servant relationship, but Debra and I are working on ways to minimize subjectivity."

  "No one would expect any less of you, Lord Brian. As such, none of us have those concerns. Thank you for your honesty. If Lady Lyssa approves, I will have Mariela come to Debra for the procedure tomorrow."

  When Uthe turned away, he pivoted into Keldwyn, standing beside him. Uthe brought himself up just short of putting a hand on his chest to stop his forward momentum. It disturbed him that he hadn't noted the Fae's proximity. Keldwyn sketched an oddly formal bow, considering their earlier interaction on the stairwell. "Queen Rhoswen wishes to speak with you. She is in the gardens. I will take you."

  "All right."

  Keldwyn lifted a brow. "You look relieved, Lord Uthe. Afraid I was going to ask you to dance?"

  "If you do, you need to be wearing something other than those." Uthe glanced down at the Fae's soft-skinned boots. "I can do a passable waltz, but nothing else without breaking toes."

  "I shall teach you some of the dances we do in the Fae world. It's more like fighting than dancing." Keldwyn gestured toward the gardens. "The Queen does not like to be kept waiting."

  "None of them do." Uthe pushed down the sudden trepidation, recalling how it felt to take her hand. If he did it again, what else would he see or discover? Would she allow it?

  He was preoccupied with his thoughts and the walk was short. Keldwyn, either respecting that or lost in his own musings, didn't disturb him with conversation, but Uthe was aware of how closely he walked at Uthe's side, their arms occasionally brushing as they navigated the narrow walkways to where the Queen was.

  A low hedge and artfully arranged layers of fall mums made a circle around a cluster of stone benches, a rose bush the center feature. The ground beneath it was dotted with decorative stepping stones, stamped with Celtic knot designs. Sitting on one of the benches, Rhoswen looked like the moon come to rest. An ethereal light bathed everything around her in a silver glow. While Keldwyn was a creature of autumn and earth, his Queen was winter and water. Uthe remembered Lyssa explaining that the Queen was wont to express hersel
f through the combination of the two, and he saw that now. There was a limning of frost on the hedges nearest her, and a dusting of snow along the silver-grey concrete of the bench.

  He was relieved to see she'd restrained herself enough to spare the leaves of the rose bush, since Lyssa was protective of her roses. In winter, during the occasional frosts, they were covered with light blankets during the night. Viewed from inside the house, they looked like old people hunched against the cold.

  Cayden stood a few feet back from his Queen, watching over her, though Uthe wondered what the man thought a few vampires could do to a woman who put out a power signature like a nuclear explosion.

  "My lord Uthe." Her pale eyes fastened on him as he approached and bowed. She didn't offer her hand this time, though she did gesture to him to take the bench across from her. Keldwyn drifted away, though not far. He meandered along the garden path that spiraled around the low hedge circling this area, studying it as if he were planning a career in landscape design.

  A brief flash of irritation crossed Rhoswen's face as she glanced his way. "He never sits or stands in attendance on me. His way of making it clear he owes no one any allegiance."

  "Allegiance is earned day by day, Your Majesty," Keldwyn said absently, bending to examine a plant. "I have not yet stopped serving your wellbeing, so I'd say that is its own answer, is it not?"

  Rhoswen's face was as cool as the ice on the hedges. "He does prove useful enough that freezing him into a permanent ice sculpture isn't an intelligent option," she said. "Though I keep warning him the day may come when I am not feeling quite so intelligent."

  "I've seen you on those days, my lady, and your acuity is still ten times sharper than most."

  Cayden shifted behind her. Uthe saw him and Keldwyn exchange a look. Cayden's contained an admonishment, an easy-to-read suggestion that Keldwyn try not to be such a pain in the ass. Keldwyn's expression showed bland puzzlement, as if he were unaware of any problem. Apparently, he could be as irritating to his own kind as he was to vampires.

  Rhoswen examined Uthe thoroughly from head to toe. "You have not changed so much. But then you are a vampire. Any changes would be in your eyes and more mature body language, not physical appearance. The sun gave you those handsome creases on your face, something a born vampire cannot experience. But you have."

  "God has given me a full and interesting life, Your Majesty."

  "Hmm. What do you remember of our last meeting?"

  "When I took your hand, I recalled some of it. But there are other things that are still shadowy. I think Lord Reghan, your father...I think he intended I shouldn't remember until it was important that I did."

  Curiously, that had captured Keldwyn's full attention. The Fae Lord gave him a sharp look and exchanged a glance with the Queen laden with meaning.

  "So you think the information has been spelled all this time, held away from you?" she asked Uthe, pulling her attention away from Keldwyn.

  "Yes, Your Majesty." He hoped. "It may be something your father and I agreed upon."

  "So why now? Why did my touch unlock it?"

  He thought of the postcard in his jacket. "Because the time has come for me to finish what was started." The moment he said it, he knew it as truth, which reassured him. He could feel Keldwyn's attention on him now, but he held the Queen's gaze. He needed to ask her permission to touch her again, and he despised the fear in him that made him want to hold his tongue. If he didn't know what had been lost to him, he would not have to mourn it. But that was a delaying tactic. He firmed his resolve and opened his mouth to speak.

  She extended her hand before he could. "Take my hand again, Lord Uthe, and revisit our first meeting. Make sure you see all you need to see."

  Did she know what was at stake? It was the only reason he could see her allowing him to take hold of her twice. Mindful of the honor, as well as his reaction last time, he slid off the bench onto both knees before her. Taking a steadying breath, closing his eyes, he bowed his head. Issuing a quick prayer for guidance and clarity, he closed his hand around hers.

  And was pulled back to the Crusades.

  * * *

  What the Grand Master had ordered was insane. They all knew Gerard de Ridefort's pride had overridden common sense. They were a few hundred men, facing thousands of Saladin's. They had no strategic advantage in terrain, for instead of waiting for Saladin to come to them, Gerard had marched across the desert in the heat of the day, depleting the men and the horses.

  Saladin must be considering his good fortune the blessings of Allah. Blessings of Allah, the stupidity of a man's ego...today it was difficult to tell the difference. When the word was passed down that Gerard said battles were not won by numbers but by faith in God, Leonard scoffed an expletive that needed no interpretation and earned no admonishment from any of them. He was merely echoing what they all felt.

  Uthe's destrier moved restlessly beneath his knees. Nexus became more aggressive before battle, but it wasn't anxiety. He'd never seen the horse cowed. Because of Uthe's abilities, Nexus had survived more cavalry charges than most of his equine brethren. Most of the horses that did survive the battles were only effective for a few of them before they began to fear the charge and had to be exchanged for different mounts. However, his steed became fiercer with each battle, as if Uthe's own bloodlust fueled him. He loved Nexus, caring for the blood bay stallion like a baby when they weren't on the field. Now, when the order came down the line to prepare for the charge, the horse pranced forward, arching his neck and shrieking a defiant whinny.

  The Templars around Uthe grinned, despite knowing they were all sweaty and doomed. Maybe because they knew they were doomed. Though St. Bernard had indicated dying in the service of the Lord's Will was a free pass into Heaven, Uthe wondered if many were thinking as he was. If the commander of the battle was directing them for his own interests, were any of them fighting for the Lord's Will?

  Ah, well. Death was not something any of them feared. If it was time to meet the Maker, at least they could say they were following orders. As Bernard had said, God loved nothing so much as obedience.

  "Charge!"

  The roar reverberated through the line, cutting them loose. Nexus led the way toward the wave of Saracens, thick as the sea. As they thundered across the ground, Uthe was aware of every Templar with him, the pump of adrenaline, the pounding hearts, the rasping breath. Lord, we fight for the wrong thing today, but have mercy on us all.

  It twisted the fury in him, and he broke the Templar's traditional silence with a bloodcurdling yell. They picked it up, every one of them, and the cries were punctuated by an additional defiant scream from Nexus. They hurled themselves into that sea of humanity.

  From there forward, all was blood, the clash of metal, the horrifying screams of men and horses. He briefly glimpsed the beauseant flying and had no idea how it stayed aloft as long as it did. It wouldn't matter. Even if it fell, the only reason a Templar could retreat from the field, they were surrounded. There was nowhere to go. Too many. Uthe hacked, slashed. Despite Nexus's teeth and hooves, they pressed too close around him, and the horse threw up his head, shrieking. Uthe cried out as if he felt the knives going into his own unprotected belly. Nexus faltered beneath him. Uthe was dragged from his dying horse, dragged away from the loyal animal. His last glimpse of Nexus was the noble beast still doing his best to fight off his attackers, head thrashing and eyes rolling as he tried to see Uthe.

  Rage took the place of fury. A Templar was supposed to fight without bloodlust, taking no pleasure in the death of his enemies, all the will of God. He let go of all of that, and fought like the monster he knew he was, no thought or reason. He cut down foe after foe, until his sword was taken and he was fighting with his bare hands, unleashing his vampire strength to crack men like kindling, strike their heads from their bodies. As they became aware of the swathe of destruction he was creating around him, the Saracens started backing away from him. It wouldn't matter. Gerard's ego had killed t
hem all. Uthe wasn't leaving this field alive. Eventually someone's blade would take his head.

  A cry amid the cacophony pulled him out of his blood haze. Jacques, his squire, was fighting like a tiger. He'd taught him how to use the sword he was using so ably now, back when the boy could hardly lift it. Tears ran down the squire's face but Uthe doubted Jacques was even aware of them. Such things could happen in a fight, all emotions either shutting down or spinning into a tornado that fueled one's sword hand and reflexes with a manic energy.

  Another Saracen was coming up behind the squire fast, his blade flashing. Uthe drew the short dagger from his belt. He didn't use it for fighting--that wasn't its purpose. However, he couldn't imagine a situation that called for it more than this one. As if God agreed and showed him His Will, a clear path opened up between him and the Saracen bearing down on Jacques. It was a good way to die, perhaps the only righteous kill he'd made today.

  Uthe threw the dagger, straight and true.

  It buried itself into the Saracen's back, for the blade could penetrate any mail, any shield. Uthe had time for one spurt of grim satisfaction, then heat scorched him through his helm, his chain mail. His protection from the sun was gone, his body on fire. A scream of pain fought its way from his throat, but he turned it into a roar of defiance and tried to launch himself at another Saracen. He saw fear in the man's eyes, but it was no use. He never reached him. The sun drove him to the ground, took his strength. All he knew was pain and darkness.

  Until he woke.

  He was in a tower of silver stone, for he could see the sky outside a slit window and sensed he was far from the ground. Coolness had a smell, as did peace and quiet, the trinity forming a healing aroma that restored the soul. He expected to see his limbs blackened, but his bare body was under white sheets, and unmarked. He was startled to see the dagger, cleaned and sheathed in its scarred leather scabbard, on a side table next to his bed. Those two pieces of furniture were the only things in the round chamber.

  A male came into the room. Uthe stopped himself from reaching for the dagger, but the man's power signature pressed into every corner, took up all the space. His dark hair lay loose on his shoulders, and his eyes, a peculiar mix of green irises and silver sclera, studied Uthe with an impassive expression. While his clothing wasn't ornate, an embroidered tunic belted over leggings, the quality and the way he wore it told Uthe he was dealing with a person of authority.