David Wilson - Vampire Book 3 - To Dream of Dreamers Lost

DAVID NI A L L WILSON

™

To Dream of Dreamers Lost is a product of White Wolf

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Disclaimer: The characters and events described in

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Because of the mature themes presented within,

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First Printing August 1998

Printed in Canada.

White Wolf Publishing

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PART ONE

5

DAVID NIALL WILSON

ONE

“You disappoint me, Antonio,” Montrovant said,

placing his empty brandy snifter on the polished

wood of his desk. He sat back and steepled his fingers.

Peering over the small temple he’d made of his

hands, he added, “truly.”

Bishop Antonio Santorini’s face approached the

hue of a ripe beet, and his huge frame shook with rage,

but he kept his silence. He might hate the man who

sat across from him more with every beat of his heart,

but he feared him equally. Antonio wanted to reach

a ripe old age and retire to a monastery…a pleasant

dream. Montrovant didn’t care about Antonio’s

dreams; Montrovant dealt in nightmares.

“I speak for the Church in this,” Santorini grated

TO DREAM OF DREAMERS LOST

6

finally. “The bargain was not met—the alliance has

been broken. Surely you can see our position.”

“Has it now?” Montrovant’s eyes gleamed wickedly.

“I hope that you and I still consider ourselves

allies, Antonio, truly I do.”

“Of course,” Santorini cut in quickly. “That is

why I am here. You and I must forge a new alliance,

and quickly. It is clearly the Order which has broken

the trust. We must find a way to return what

they have taken before Rome grows impatient with

us both.”

Montrovant laughed mirthlessly, reaching for the

decanter on his desk and refilling both of their

glasses. “You think I give a damn about Rome,

Antonio? I do not. Your Church, and your Pope,

can rot and fall to dust tomorrow and it is the same

to me. You have known this from the start. Our

alliance has nothing at all to do with faith. Those

of my brotherhood may share your belief, but be

certain of this, I believe only in the darkness, and

in myself.”

“There will come a time when you will regret

that,” Santorini replied, his voice little more than

a whisper. “For all who walk the Earth, there is a

judgment.”

“When, and if, I am judged, my friend,”

Montrovant chuckled, “you will not exist, even in

memory. Now, we have business to attend to, and

I suggest that we get started. I have kept my end of

the agreement. I have brought you proof. The vault

7

DAVID NIALL WILSON

is empty, as I suspect it has been all along, and the

Order has vanished. I have provided a witness.”

Montrovant’s gaze slipped to the side, coming to

rest on a sealed chest of the same dark polished

mahogany as his desk. He stood, his tall, lean frame

dramatic in a long, sweeping cloak and coal-black

suit. The cross of the Templars was embroidered

into the material, catching the light and glittering

hypnotically. The Templars had been disbanded,

officially, but Montrovant did not fear the wrath of

kings, or God. He might have been a shadow, but

somehow he made the simple act of standing seem

elegant and fascinating. Santorini shook his head,

trying to clear his momentary lapse of concentration,

but all he achieved was to increase the

pounding pressure of his headache.

Montrovant made his way across to the chest and

stood with his hands pressed gently onto its surface.

It was large, the length of a grown man and easily

twice the width. The bishop could not remove the

image of an elaborate sarcophagus from his mind.

The chest was bound in straps of polished metal,

ornate but functional. No brass or copper here, but

strong steel, and carefully worked. The sides of the

case appeared seamless, but the bishop knew it had

been opened at least once.

“Put your ear to the surface, my friend,”

Montrovant leered, his eyes flashing even more

brightly. “You may hear something interesting.”

Santorini’s throat went dry, and he didn’t at-

TO DREAM OF DREAMERS LOST

8

tempt to reply. He kept his distance from the case.

He also kept his distance from Montrovant. In all

the years he’d been Rome’s liaison with

Montrovant’s sect, he’d never felt such menace as

he did in that instant. It passed quickly, but the

memory lingered, cold and vast, and empty.

“Shall I let him out, Excellency?” Montrovant

whispered, the sound carrying with unbelievable

clarity though his lips barely moved. “Shall I introduce

the two of you? A little first-hand experience?

Perhaps you would like to chastise him for his failure,

for the failure of the Order? He was not one of

them, but he served them. No? A shame. It might

prove an interesting diversion.”

The man moved closer, holding Santorini’s gaze

with his own, a viper mesmerizing its victim before

the strike. “You don’t know, Antonio, how I thrive

on diversion. I’m afraid I don’t get out like I used

to.”

Suddenly control of his body returned, and the

bishop backed away a step, gasping. Montrovant

was laughing again, and the man’s nearness was at

last more than Santorini could handle.

“I will trust you in this,” the bishop said quickly,

nearly tripping over himself as he backed toward

the door. “The Church has authorized me to bargain

with you, and I will consider that bargain

sealed. Find the relic, and return it to the Church,

and we will provide whatever recompense you ask.”

“I doubt that, Antonio, truly I do,” Montrovant

9

DAVID NIALL WILSON

said, still laughing harshly. “I doubt you could even

comprehend my needs. Perhaps one day an opportunity

for—sharing—will arise.”

Santorini shuddered. Turning quickly, but keeping

his gaze locked on Montrovant’s tall, dark

figure, he bolted for the door. He felt, somehow,

that the danger of running into a wall or tripping

from lack of attention would be a small matter

compared to turning one’s back on Montrovant.

Some mistakes are eternal.

_

Montrovant stood watching as the portly,

bumbling idiot of a bishop made his way out the

door. Perhaps it had been indiscreet to push so

hard, but the man was contemptible, and

Montrovant was not one to withhold his contempt.

He turned his attention slowly back to the case on

the floor, his smile deepening and darkening at

once. He rapped on the wood once, sharply, then

returned to his desk to wait. The others would be

arriving shortly, and he had his thoughts to collect.

It was going to be an interesting night, and that

alone made it all worthwhile.

_

Inside the case, the hunger ate at Abraham like

acid, forcing its way through dry, empty veins and

shriveling his will. How long since he’d felt fresh

air on his skin? How long since he’d moved? Days?

Weeks? What remained of his mind told him days,

but the hunger screamed of eternity.

TO DREAM OF DREAMERS LOST

10

He fumbled weakly with the wire that bound

him, but it was futile. His full strength had been

unable to free him; now the effort was nothing

more than a focus for his mind, the only diversion

left to him. Soon, he knew, he’d begin to try to

gnaw at the wood of his prison, fighting toward the

blood mindlessly.

He heard Montrovant knocking on the wood,

sensed the other’s presence, but there was nothing

he could do. He called out, clawing at his captor’s

mind with talons formed of hatred and desperation,

but there was no answering thought, nothing but

an echoing laughter that reverberated through his

mind.

He concentrated on the events leading to his

capture, scanned the memories as if they were the

faded pages of a book, or a holy scroll, searching for

an answer that could free him. He had retreated

through those memories so many times since his

capture that they had blurred to a surreal haze, but

he had no recourse. He was trapped as surely by

those events as he had been by Montrovant’s

treachery.

The others had been long gone by the time

Montrovant arrived. The Order had vanished into

the dust of the road and the mist over the mountains.

It was not only the Grail that had been

taken. Abraham’s promise had dissolved as well,

the price of the service he’d offered and consummated.

Now it had become the price of his

11

DAVID NIALL WILSON

imprisonment. The Order had gone, and his hunger

remained.

Montrovant had slipped undetected into the

mountain the very night of Abraham’s betrayal.

When the sun dipped and Abraham awakened to

the darkness, he’d known instantly that something

was different. The mountain and its labyrinth of

passageways and vaults were usually filled with the

scent of the brotherhood—the wonder of their

blood, the magic of their auras, so full that

Abraham would be dizzied by the sudden onslaught

of it. This night he’d awakened to a void. They

were gone, and the promise of sharing that wondrous

blood, and the promise of the Grail, had been

gone as well.

He’d made his way to the vault—knowing in his

heart what he would find, but unwilling to sacrifice

the last moment of hope remaining to him.

The door to the vault had stood open, the cavern

within had loomed, empty and barren. The Grail

was gone. He’d never even seen it. None but those

of the Order had seen it, in fact. Only legend had

placed it in that vault. Still, there was an emptiness

about the vault that spoke of loss beyond price.

It was impossible to doubt that it had lain there, so

close, and yet so completely out of his reach.

Then Montrovant had fallen on him, and he remembered

little else. His captor was old, perhaps

as old as those in the Order, and certainly more

powerful than Abraham himself. His captivity was

TO DREAM OF DREAMERS LOST

12

proof enough of that. He’d been taken like a child,

bound and imprisoned without even the opportunity

to fight for his freedom.

Now that freedom seemed an unlikely future. His

best hope rested in swift destruction and in true

death, with the judgment to follow. Montrovant

was known for many things, legendary in his cruelty,

but mercy had never been a trait ascribed to

him. That the man would break Abraham’s mind

and spirit to get what he wanted was never in

doubt.

All Abraham could do was wait. He had not partaken

of the blood of the Order, and that might be

the thing to save him. He would be far too valuable,

had he done so, but the fact that they had

betrayed him, leaving him behind to take the

blame for their own breaking of faith with both the

Montrovant and the Church, might see him

through this. Even as his mind clutched at this

flimsy hope, his heart rejected it with a sneer. His

last memory would be hunger.

_

The first of the others began to arrive within an

hour of Santorini’s departure. Montrovant was

ready for them, having forsaken his dark cloak and

embroidered tunic for floor-length robes of velvet.

He still wore the cross of the temple on his breast,

but the ceremonial garb gave him the aspect of a

priest, or royalty. The finery did not overpower

him, but complemented the strength of his fea-

13

DAVID NIALL WILSON

tures, the beauty of his form and the strength of his

presence. He might have been a prophet.

The others, while none had Montrovant’s presence

or dark energy, were an impressive lot. There

was du Puy, long mustaches trailing down his

cheeks, nearly resting on his shoulders, and hair to

match—his eyes ice blue and ancient. There was

Jeanne Le Duc, rebel son of a Duke who couldn’t

bear the thought of being cooped up with a castle

and a crown, eyes dark with a hunger of his own.

Though traveling on his own now, there was a bond

between Le Duc and Montrovant that the rest

would never understand.

They were all men with no solid roots, men with

secrets and concerns of their own, but a heart that

beat with a single rhythm. The Knights Templar

had been a service to which few heard the true

calling, but for which men would die. While the

Templars had been disbanded, their spirit lived in

this group. Montrovant’s smile broadened as they

trickled in.

Montrovant was the worst and best of the lot.

None of the others knew a fraction of what there

was to know about Montrovant, though Le Duc

came close. They did not wish to know. It was

enough that his leadership was strong and his will

like iron. It was enough that he held the Church

and Rome at bay on one side and the people on the

other by the force of his presence. It was enough

that he led, and they followed, and that the road

TO DREAM OF DREAMERS LOST

14

was paved with blood and adventure. It was no

matter, or concern, that he was a thing already

dead. It was not spoken of. It was not acknowledged.

It was a fact known to all. He was God’s gift

to them, and he was their strength.

As they came, they stopped beside the large

wooden case within which Abraham clawed and

shriveled. Each gazed on the casket-shaped prison

with a mixture of reverence and awe. None showed

fear. If they had feared such a thing as that case

held, they would not have followed Montrovant.

They treated their prisoner as a holy relic, with

caution, and with concentration.

When the majority were in place, Montrovant

rose, raising his hands for silence, and began to

speak.

“We are faced with a dilemma, and a quest. Our

present bargain with the Holy Father appears to be

forfeit, though they will never act upon this. The

caverns are barren, the Order has flown. We are left

to sift through what remains and salvage what we

can.

“This,” he gestured at the case before him, “represents

the only knowledge we may claim. This is

the sole witness to the treachery of the Order. I

bring him before you as witness and as a sign of the

dedication we must all swear to the coming trials

of our spirits.”

Montrovant swept the room with his gaze, lighting

for a quick moment on each man present,

15

DAVID NIALL WILSON

waiting for reactions to his words. There was little

movement, but the light dancing in every eye was

all the answer he needed. They would follow him

to the very gates of Hell. If he told them that the

hierarchy of the Templars had fallen to corruption,

and it was their duty to purge it, they would follow

him in that, as well. He and they were a single unit,

a weapon of righteous vengeance. They lacked

nothing, he lacked only faith. The irony was not

lost on him.

They believed because he gave them strength.

He believed in nothing but himself, and yet he fed

off them in turn.

“We must follow. I don’t know how, or where, but

we must prepare ourselves for a journey that may

end in nothing but death and suffering. We have a

duty to the Church, a bond sealed in the blood of

our brothers and the faith of our fathers. We have

sworn to protect the Grail, and all other holy relics.

The Grail has disappeared.”

He didn’t mention that he had never believed

the damnable cup to be in those vaults. He didn’t

mention that the search for the Order of the Bitter

Ash was as ancient as that Order itself, and that

none before them had succeeded. He didn’t mention

that, when they completed their journey, it

was not the Grail he sought, but the blood of those

who held it. Montrovant had spent lifetimes seeking

the Grail, and he had learned a great many

truths along the way, as well as the reality behind

TO DREAM OF DREAMERS LOST

16

quite a number of lies.

Du Puy stood, glancing around the room. He

turned back regally to face Montrovant, eyes blazing.

“We will find this Order. Our arms are long. The

eyes and ears of our keeps are without limits in the

known world. No such group, with such a treasure

to guard, could remain hidden for long.”

Montrovant nodded.

“There is more,” he said at last. “We must question

this one, and then we must punish him. He is

not of the Order, but he has served it. While it is

for God to judge, it is for God’s hands to punish,

and though the Poor Knights of the Temple of

Solomon walk in the shadows now, still we are

those hands.”

All heads nodded. Everybody leaned closer, every

eye was locked on Montrovant’s hands. He

reached for the steel band that bound the center of

the wooden case. He did not have a hammer, or a

crowbar. He had no tool whatsoever, and yet none

in the room doubted that the steel would give way.

None was present who had not born witness to

their leader’s strength. The knights believed

Montrovant possessed a faith beyond their ken,

God’s power manifest. At least, that is what they

whispered to their hearts when the questions arose.

Angel or demon, they followed him to death and

beyond.

The first of the steel bands snapped easily, leav-

17

DAVID NIALL WILSON

ing only two circling the ends of the case. There

was a sudden banging from within, a hysterical,

scrabbling sound. Montrovant ignored it. He went

first to one end of the case, then to the other, snapping

the restraints as if they were paper.

“Behold our enemy,” he hissed. He grasped the

edge of the case, stepping back, and the lid came

away in a sudden motion, revealing the man—creature

—that lay inside.

Abraham shivered convulsively, wracked with

hunger. He fought to surge toward those who gaped

at him, fought to make his way to the blood that

pounded through their veins, but his struggles were

vain and pointless. The steel cords still bound him,

and now Montrovant stepped forward to take those

cords in his powerful hands, lifting Abraham as if

he were a child.

Staring into his captive’s wild, manic eyes,

Montrovant’s smile slipped to a sneer of contempt.

“You have made two grave mistakes, friend

Abraham. You chose to serve the wrong masters,

and you allowed me to catch you at it. Do you have

anything to tell me, or shall I put you back in your

little box—forever?”

Abraham twisted and squirmed, sobbing with his

need, and with the shame of his captivity.

“I…I know nothing. They…left me behind.

They…promised, but…”

Montrovant, his sneer becoming a snarl, shook

the rope savagely. The cords bit into Abraham’s

TO DREAM OF DREAMERS LOST

18

weakened flesh, and he cried out in agony.

“I don’t give a damn about their promises. I want

to know where they’ve gone.”

“I don’t know,” Abraham choked out. “I don’t

know. The night fell, and they were gone. I found

the vault open and empty, just as it was when you

took me. I don’t know any more than you…please

believe me. Please…”

Abraham swiveled his head, and his gaze locked

onto du Puy’s, the nearest source of warmth and

blood. He began to gibber meaninglessly, his eyes

rolling in on themselves, his lips drawing back to

reveal the fangs beneath. Even though Montrovant

held him as easily as before, this transformation

from coherent man to slavering beast set du Puy

back a pace. The tall knight muttered an oath under

his breath.

Montrovant threw back his head and laughed

uproariously.

“He will not harm you, my friend. He will harm

none of God’s children from this moment forth. Of

that you may be certain. He may not be able to

provide me with the information I require, but he

can provide entertainment, and you have no idea

how valuable that gift can be to one such as I.”

Jeanne Le Duc stepped forward with a chilly

smile, ignoring Abraham’s writhing, twisting form.

“My lord, we must act. This…child…he knows

nothing. We must take the trail before the scent

has vanished to the shadows.”

19

DAVID NIALL WILSON

“And so we shall,” Montrovant replied, tossing

Abraham contemptuously into the wooden case

and turning from him without even deigning to

glance downward. “We will leave at dawn. You

must set your affairs in order and be ready to ride,

all of you.

“Our honor, and our position with Mother

Church are at stake. The Order must be rooted out,

the treasures returned to the Church where we can

guard them properly, and this failure put to rest.”

There was no sound for a long moment when

Montrovant had finished speaking, but every eye

gleamed in anticipation. There was none among

them comfortable within a castle’s walls for long,

and this promised to be a long and treacherous

adventure indeed.

“Go,” Montrovant said finally, dismissing them.

“I will take care of this one, and I will meet you at

the temple gates before dawn. Ride, and may God

be by your side.”

“And also at yours,” they intoned as one, turning

and heading for the door.

Montrovant watched them leave in silence. Behind

him, Abraham flopped helplessly in the

casket-like wooden case. He was face down, and his

neck and back were bent at odd angles from the

position into which he’d fallen.

Montrovant turned back to him.

“So, my friend, you are as weak in spirit as you

are unwise in choosing your companions. I should

TO DREAM OF DREAMERS LOST

20

have expected as much. How could you believe,

after all the years they have hoarded their famous

‘Grail blood,’ that they would share it with such as

you? You cannot even control your own hunger.”

Abraham groaned, but he did not speak.

“I have a special treatment for what ails you. It

is more than you deserve. What I should do is drain

you dry myself, take what small strength you possess,

and leave your dust to be spread by the feet of

peasants. That would be fitting, and the memory of

it would amuse me.

“Unfortunately, I am to be denied that pleasure.

I need you to perform a service for me, a service

that will prove invaluable to my upcoming quest.

You will be my messenger to that bumbling fool

Santorini. The message I wish to send cannot be

carried by one of my own. They would not understand

it.”

With a supreme effort, Abraham lifted his head

from the floor of the wooden case, twisting his face

to the side. He spoke, slowly and barely coherently

—an icy calmness seeping into his voice.

Montrovant grinned widely, leaning closer to hear.

“You will never find them. They have left me,

and they will elude you.” He paused, collecting

more of his ebbing strength, then continued. “You

are a fool.”

Montrovant stared at Abraham for a long moment,

then threw back his head and laughed

uproariously. He shook with mirth until he nearly

21

DAVID NIALL WILSON

collapsed back across the polished mahogany surface

of his desk.

“Oh, truly, truly I have misjudged you,” he

choked. “You have more spirit than I would have

dreamed.

“Know this, though,” Montrovant regained control

of himself, “you know nothing of my motives,

or my dreams. I will find them, but not for the

Church, and not for those who follow me, whatever

they might believe. I will find them, and I will find

the Grail. I have nothing but time, you see, and it

is a worthy challenge.

“For now, the mantle of the Templars and the

shelter of the Church suit me. Tomorrow? Who can

say. The Templars have come and gone, and always

I have been there. If I leave them, they may fade,

but I will go on.”

Montrovant grabbed the steel ropes again, pulling

Abraham upright.

“Enough of this. It is nearly dawn, and I must be

gone soon, as you must soon do me the service of

which I spoke. Come.”

He began walking, half-leading, half-dragging

Abraham behind him like a dog on a leash. There

was nothing Abraham could do but try to keep

from falling and being dragged bodily. Montrovant

never once looked back.

They made their way slowly to the upper levels

of Montrovant’s keep and finally exited through a

huge wooden door onto the walls themselves.

TO DREAM OF DREAMERS LOST

22

Abraham felt a wave of giddiness wash through him

as he looked down from the height, unable to use

his arms for balance. He leaned as far from the precipitous

drop as possible.

“There,” Montrovant exclaimed, gesturing at the

horizon. “There is your fate. You will be given a

chance that you do not deserve, to live. It will be

a grand battle for your soul, if you are a believer.”

He searched Abraham’s eyes, looking for some

reaction. Shaking his head, satisfied, he turned

toward the mountains in the distance again. “Well,

then, without faith, it will purge you as well. A

cleansing. A rebirth of strength and spirit.

“Of course, if you fail the test, and I expect that

you shall, it will be a searing, blazing world of pain

that will extinguish your sanity and leave you a pile

of bitter ashes, making you a tribute to those you

would have served.”

Montrovant heaved his arm aloft suddenly, carrying

his captive helplessly into the air and holding

him as easily as he might a pint of ale.

“You will hang from this wall, and you will meet

the sunrise. If you can find a way to free yourself

while the ability to outrun our friend Death leaks

through your sorry frame, then you can begin to

rebuild your mind and soul. You will have the greatest

of motivations and purposes, things you do not

possess now. You will have revenge. You will have

my face, my voice, to draw you onward.

“I do not believe we will ever meet again, but I

23

DAVID NIALL WILSON

pray that we do. Some men crave women, others

crave wine and song. I crave diversion.”

He lowered Abraham over the side of the wall,

letting the rope settle onto a huge metal spike that

jutted out from the stone. Once his captive hung

freely, Montrovant released the cord and stepped

back.

Abraham swung like a pendulum, the steel cord

biting into his skin as the pull of gravity dragged

David Wilson - Vampire Book 3 - To Dream of Dreamers Lost

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