no sign of a watch. Even such a remote area as the mountain was not without its bandits, and the Church had its share of enemies as well.

There was a huge, ornate iron knocker on the door, and he lifted it with a quick flip of his wrist, smacking it into the solid wood with a resounding thud. He waited impatiently, and moments later struck the door again. He had pulled the knocker back a third time and was about to let it drop when a loud sc.r.a.ping sound echoed from within and he hesitated. Moments later the door swung open wide.

They had been prepared for trouble, but not for the sight that met their eyes. The man was short, perhaps four feet tall, and was cowled so that only his eyes caught the moonlight. One seemed abnormally large, but upon closer examination Montrovant realized the second eye was squinting, nearly closed.

Given the uneven curve of his back, they appeared to be facing a gnome, rather than a man.

"Greetings," the short monk said, "I am Maison."

His voice was deep, rich, and resonant.

Montrovant stepped forward without hesitation.

"We are travelers on the road to France, in the service of the Church.

I seek a place for myself, and my men, to rest. We are traveling by night to avoid detection."

Maison looked up at him with the one open eye, tilting his head almost comically to take in Montrovant's tall, lean frame. Then he glanced at the others...head bobbing as he counted, before turning back with a smile.

"We would be pleased to provide shelter, and food. It is not often enough we receive visitors, and even more seldom such distinguished travelers as yourselves...on such dark, mysterious errands..."

The man smiled, the open eye twinkling strangely in the moonlight.

"The others are at late devotion," he continued, turning and gesturing for Montrovant to follow him inside.

"In that case," Montrovant replied, "my men will see to the horses before joining me."

Maison nodded. "I will send one of the brothers to fetch them in a bit. The stables are around be- side the base of the mountain. They will find everything they need. We keep few animals ourselves, but have facilities available for just such an occasion as this."

Du Puy and another, St. Fond, headed around the side of the building with their mounts, and Montrovant led the others inside slowly. Their host had turned and scuttled off down a long, stonewalled pa.s.sage that slipped away into shadowed darkness.

Le Duc stayed close to Montrovant's side, and Montrovant knew that his progeny sensed something, as did he. It was nothing he could name, or describe, more a sense of imminent danger. A p.r.i.c.kling memory was dancing just beyond his reach. There was more to this place than a monastery, perhaps more to Maison than there appeared, as well, though the man was certainly not d.a.m.ned.

That had been Montrovant's first thought upon hearing the rumors about the monastery. His own sire, Eugenio, had resided in a monastery for years, under the very noses of the Church. Such a location as this fairly screamed "safe." The only problem would have been the lack of...food.

The pa.s.sage continued deep into the building, ending in a set of double doors nearly the size of those at the building's front. Here Maison stopped, turning to them with a grin. "You will have to make your own fire in the dining hall. We have long since finished our own meal, and things have been cleaned and prepared for tomorrow."

Montrovant nodded impatiently. The night was still young, but not endless, and he needed to be certain that whatever arrangements they made were secure, and private.

Maison did not seem to present much of a threat, and if the others of the Order resembled him in any way, it would not prove to be a horribly difficult task to hide himself away, rise, feed, and be gone.

The others were an unanswered question though.

How many? How bright? Most important of all...what was that nagging, bothersome warning bell tolling in his head?

Maison pushed the doors to the dining hall open and they all stepped through at once. It was a large room, the ceiling a bit higher than that in the hall, but not a lot. It was criss-crossed by heavy beams, and these were supported by wide stone columns that lined the center of the room.

Between the columns rested long tables and row upon row of chairs, and beyond these tables, near the door that exited on the far side of the room, was a huge fireplace. A kettle hung over the fire pit, and metal frames held a spit and other utensils, as well as a large flat bit of metal that might once have been a shield, now obviously a surface for heating water, or keeping a meal warm.The hall was crude, but serviceable, and nothing in the layout or furnishings provided a clue to Montrovant's sense of impending danger. Every- thing was just as it should be in a house of G.o.d...simple and orderly.

Le Duc began to wander about the room immediately, and two of the others made their way to the hearth, grabbing wood from the pile just inside the door and stacking it carefully in the fireplace.

Maison watched their activity with mild interest, his one open eye shifting about the room curiously, then he turned at last to Montrovant and spoke: "All that we have is yours, sir. I must return to my brethren for the moment, but when prayers have been offered for the safety and success of your journey, and your time with us, we will return."

Montrovant nodded. "We can find what we need, and if you will see to guiding my men in from the stables, we will be comfortable enough."

Maison nodded. "Of course. I will have them brought directly here, and once you have made a meal for yourselves, I will personally show you to your quarters. I know if as you say you are traveling by night, you will not want to wait long to rest."

"Thank you," Montrovant answered. His eyes narrowed a bit, and he watched the little man closely. The ready familiarity with moving about by night itched at his mind. Then his gaze focused on the door opposite the one they'd entered through.

Most of the squat structure lay beyond that wooden portal. The answers to his questions were there as well.

Maison scooted past him and headed for that door, and Montrovant watched the short man pull the portal wide, slide through, and close it again behind him. Beyond the doorway, for just a moment, the dark one thought he saw a flicker of candle flame, and for that same instant he thought he heard the sound of voices chanting...but then the door was closed once more and he was alone with his men, and his thoughts.

The fire was going, flames crackling and popping briskly, and the others were moving about the small kitchen, locating a pantry and digging through their own bags to sc.r.a.pe together a meal. What they found were surprisingly meager rations for such a remote site.

Again the nagging warning. Montrovant moved over to where Le Duc was walking along a blank wall, nervously glancing toward the ceiling, then the floor, then pacing the length of the wall and starting again. He reached out to touch Jeanne's shoulder, but before he could make contact the door opened again, and he turned.

They all stood, shocked to silence, as a woman entered. She was young of face and dark of hair, but somehow this seemed wrong. The deep glitter of her eyes and the quick, sure-footed stride spoke of age, power, and wisdom. She was robed, as Maison had been, though hers were more well-tailored, and shimmered with hints of many colored thread, woven deeply into the material. She was taller thanMaison, but only a little. Her slender legs and soft b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressed curves to the robes that were blasphemously out of place in a monastery.

Montrovant stepped forward-began to speak- and stopped.

Eyes dancing, she broke the silence for him.

"Greetings," she said with a soft, lilting voice. "I am Rachel. I believe you have met my brother?"

Montrovant and Le Duc exchanged a startled glance, then turned back to her as if their heads were joined on a rope as the door opened once again. Figure after cowled figure filed into the room, forming ranks beside and behind the woman's slight form. Maison appeared at her side, grinning widely, but none of the others raised their heads to allow sight of their eyes.

The sensation he'd felt earlier had intensified the second the woman's voice broke the silence, but still it was not exactly clear...not what he remembered.

"Who are you?" he asked softly.

Her eyebrow c.o.c.ked, and her smile broadened.

"I am your hostess, it would seem. Is that so odd?

My brother has served in the monastery for years.

I am visiting."

Montrovant watched the monks forming tight ranks. His eyes shifted back to hers. "You will forgive me if I do not believe that is the extent of it?

It has been a long ride, and perhaps my senses are dulled, but I have weathered many nights in the houses of the brothers of G.o.d...and you are the first woman I have encountered in all those years."

"You may find a great number of things about me that will differ from your experience, sir," she replied softly. "I a.s.sure you I am as safe here as I would be in the home of my parents."

Le Duc moved as if to step toward the woman...then stopped, shaking his head slowly back and forth.

"Jeanne," Montrovant said softly, "what is it?"

"Santos." Le Duc backed warily toward his sire, eyes locked on the woman, Rachel. "I sense Santos."

Montrovant's mind whirled and in that instant he knew it was both true, and not at all true.

Santos, and not-so, what?

Turning to the woman once more, he asked again, "Who are you...or what?"

As the monks began to move forward slowly and steadily, eyes still aimed at the ground, Le Duc moved closer to Montrovant, and the other knights slid quickly around from the hearth and the servery, eyes wary.

The woman did not answer, but her laughter rang out loud, long, and devoid of emotion. Then du Puy and the others burst in from behind the monks, and chaos claimed the room.

FIVE.

Several things happened at once as du Puy and St. Fond arrived in the dining hall. They burst through the rear ranks of monks, bellowing loudly and cursing. Montrovant did not wait for their would-be captors to react, preferring as always direct action.

He leaped into the first rank of monks, scattering them like so many leaves in the wind.

Only the woman, Rachel, stood her ground...eyes dancing with angry light, but not with fear. The alarm bells were tolling louder, but there was nothing to be done. He had no intention of just sitting back and allowing anyone to a.s.sume control of him or his men.

He did not hesitate to kill. The first two unlucky a.s.sailants who met his a.s.sault fell instantly with broken necks, the third was sent flying into a stone wall, his head crushed instantly by the impact. It was not until he was face to face with the fourth, reaching for the man's throat, when he sensed the truth. The front rank was a decoy. The second were d.a.m.ned, and they were not young. The cloaks were tossed back, and dark, twisted features, long, sharp, talon-like nails, and sharp, glittering fangs were revealed.

With a sharp cry, Montrovant called a warning to the others- "Nosferatu!"

The shock of his discovery was nearly his last emotion as the "monk"

directly in front of him lashed out, impossibly long nails raking scant inches from Montrovant's throat. Rolling away, barely avoiding the blow, he spun low and brought his leg around in a long sweep, sending his a.s.sailant crashing hard to the ground. Montrovant dropped to the hissing thing's neck, knee making hard contact, crushing through bone...and then he was up again, spinning away, moving unerringly toward where Le Duc was engaged with two others.

Jeanne had managed to get his blade free in time to put it to use, and there was no hint of uncertainty in that strong arm. Montrovant moved to his progeny's side quickly, calling out to the others to do so as well. They were outnumbered, and now that it was less certain just what they faced, or how much danger they were in, he wanted his forces marshaled and focused.

They ended up backed near to the door through which they'd entered, and though one of his knights, a younger man named Louis, fell to the second wave of Cainites, the others held their own well. They had traveled long, dark roads at his side, and the notion they might be killing an enemy for the second time was not new or frightening to them.

They formed a rough semicircle, all with blades drawn now, except Montrovant, whose eyes sparkled with a dark light. He spun to meet the gaze of the woman, asking for a third time.

"Who are you?"

There was no laughter this time. Rachel met his gaze with her own, emotionless glare. Then she spun on Maison and slapped the little man hard, nearly knocking him across the room. The show of strength caught Montrovant off guard. He knew she was not d.a.m.ned, and yet such a blow was impossible from such a slight woman. Her voice crackled out loudly, and all motion in the room stopped.

"You fool!" she cried, anger rippling across her features, ringing loudly in the tones of her voice, so much softer moments before. "You said they were traveling knights. Nothing more, nothing less. You said 'mortal.'" She was quivering with rage.

Maison rose slowly from where he'd slammed into the wall, shaking his head groggily. He couldn't answer, but she wasn't really expecting a reply. Turning back to face Montrovant, she calmed suddenly.

"I might ask you the same question, it seems.

There appears to have been somewhat of a misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding?" Jeanne spoke out quickly, the red haze that filmed his eyes and mind in battle releasing him slowly and very reluctantly. "Misunderstanding?"

His gaze dropped to young Louis, dead and bleeding on the floor, and to the small mound of dead monks beside and around them. He did not drop his blade.

Montrovant was calmer, but the anger shone bright in his eyes. "I think mistake is the word. I think you have made a very grave error in judgment.

That is what I think."

"I agree," she nodded, turning back to Maison.

"I have done exactly that in trusting my 'brother' here to complete a task as simple as greeting you.

He is not d.a.m.ned, nor am I," she shifted her gaze back to meet his coolly, "but he has ways to know that you are. For some reason he didn't think to employ them."

Maison hung his head and shivered, leaving no doubt that his punishment for this transgression was far from over. Rachel continued to meet Montrovant's gaze, taking in his tall, muscled form.

Then she smiled slowly.

"If it is possible, I believe we would all be best served by beginning this again."

Montrovant hesitated. They were outnumbered, but he sensed that all of those they faced were notd.a.m.ned. There were mortals mixed in, making the odds a lot more even. There was also the anger.

Only Rachel's eyes, locked to his own gaze, old and young, beautiful and somehow rotten, held him from sneering at her words and leading his own attack.

"I'm not certain it is as simple as that, my lady, now that you have shown your first act of hospitality to be murder."

She smiled again, obviously unconcerned by the situation. "I can understand your feelings, my friend, but you of all people will understand the scarcity of...sustenance...for my followers. If I don't allow them to feed here, then they must hunt in the villages near the base of the mountains, and I don't want to draw more attention to this place than we already have."

"You kill everyone who comes here and think you won't attract attention?" Le Duc could hold in his anger no longer. "You must take us for fools."

"No," she replied calmly, "but I did take you for mortals. And no, I do not let them kill all who come here, but it has been a long time since any other has visited, and Maison led me to believe that you were a solitary group of knights, on Church business, but private Church business.

That meant to me that you would not be expected to appear publicly until you reached whatever you had been sent to do or retrieve. By then the trail would have been cold, and the monastery, while possibly attracting momentary notice from those who lived nearby, would not be suspected as the cause of your disappearance."

Montrovant laughed suddenly. "The Church would not miss us so much at the moment. We have been on better terms with His Eminence in the past."

Then his eyes darkened once more. "You have not told me who you truly are, lady, and if we are to continue this discussion, then I am going to insist.

Not a child of Cain, but you know me as I am.

You are served by Nosferatu and human alike. You live alone on a mountain, surrounded by stone, like a huge tomb, and yet you live."

Her soft laughter rippled out again. "Let's just say that I am no more truly alive, or mortal, than you yourself, and not as young as I seem.

Please," she moved forward toward Montrovant, eyes dancing, "accept my explanation, and my apologies."

Montrovant watched her approach warily, and Le Duc glared at her with barely concealed anger.