It was a healthy tale, one with no danger that Le Duc could foresee, so he ignored it. When questioned, he merely watched the eyes of whoever asked until they were forced to look away, neither confirming nor denying their theory. He knew that his silence was tantamount to agreement, but was careful to leave it at that. It might come in useful if they needed a rallying point, a standard against which to call loyalty beyond that they already held.

Save Montrovant's soul. Find the Grail and make him a man among men once more...bring him back to the sunlight.

Under other circ.u.mstances it might have been funny. Montrovant sought a great many things, but a return to mortality was not among them. Jeanne himself had contemplated that subject more than once.

He remember riding to battle in daylight, the sun glistening off the armor and weapons of a thousand men. He recalled the subtle pleasures of the flesh, the sweet hot bite of wine and the cool, swiftly heating flesh of a woman. Nothing in all the years since his Embrace had been able to wipe away the memories of those sensations.

It meant nothing. When laid beside the hunt, and the sensation of hot, red blood flowing down the throat, it paled. When the brightness of the day, coupled with its discomfort, sweat, and toil was held to the mirror of cool nights, bright moonlight, and stamina and strength beyond human reckoning, it reflected poorly. Though the images of his life, and the things and people he'd left behind crept into his dreams at times, there were no real regrets. There was nothing to draw them back toward the world of humanity and mortality save the off-kilter promise of salvation and redemption, hard to believe in on the best of nights, and certainly nothing to die for. Not any longer.

No, Montrovant did not seek that. He sought to rule, to gain more power, to set himself above his own and others and have them acknowledge him as superior. He sought entertainment in all its forms.

He had told Eugenio, his own sire, that it was for the "family," the Lasombra. Le Duc knew better. They had left the dark one on his own for so long that he had become quite the renegade, bending his will and energy to abilities not strictly inherent in his blood. Making his own way. Trafficking with Nosferatu and Ventrue alike, sitting late under the moonlight with the gypsy-blooded Gangrel. He knew no boundaries of family, and if it were not for the Blood Oath, he would not bother to acknowledge Eugenio. With the Grail in hand, Le Duc was uncertain that even that bond would hold him.

Now they moved into a city none of them had seen in over a hundred years. Too much could change in such a span of time. Those in power once, even among the d.a.m.ned, were not so likely to be the same. And there was a banding together among those of like blood; the powers in a city were not as accepting of outsiders. The older one became in the blood-and Montrovant was old-the more valuable they became to those who came after.

France was home to both Montrovant and Le Duc, but they had been away too long to expect a cordial welcome.

They entered the narrow streets of the city only about an hour after sunset, walking their horses slowly down the streets, eyes sweeping right and left, taking in businesses and homes, markets and scurrying peasants. None approached them, but all were watching. They moved in silence until at last Montrovant turned down an even narrower side street, almost an alley, and led them to the very end. The road ended at a sheer wall of brick with an alley turning right, and another left.

Montrovant swung his mount around to the left and led them into deeper shadows until they reached the rear of the row of dilapidated homes.

Montrovant dismounted, taking the reins of his horse and making it fast to a rail. The others followed more slowly as the dark one mounted the back stairs of the building, produced a key from some dark fold of his cloak, and pressed the door inward, disappearing from view.

They followed him quickly, glancing at one another in consternation.

They had been looking forward to a night or two spent in one of the many inns Gren.o.ble boasted. They had dreamed of women, roasted meat and wine. He brought them to cobwebs and dust. The building had obviously housed no one in a number of years.

"We will make this our base," Montrovant said as they joined him inside. "You may move about by day and bring the provisions you will need, but you will at all costs remain absolutely silent about our mission. Leave the questioning to myself, and to Jeanne. I want it to appear in every way as if we are a band of knights, weary of the road, ready to make our home here for an indefinite period of time.

When we have all that we need, we will disappear the same way we entered. If I have my way, that will be tomorrow night. Silently and quickly."

There was a moment of silence, but no complaints.

The inns would still be there, and he had not forbidden them access.

Silence was a small price to pay. Once the initial disappointment wore off, the wisdom of his choice became apparent.

They were at the very back end of a street where, if there were any inhabitants at all, they were not showing themselves.

They moved about the large home, poking into closets and shadowed corners, finding some wood still stacked beside the fireplace, which had not been cleaned out in years, and set about making a makeshift camp inside. They knew it was best not to change too much that was visible.

The smoke alone would attract some attention, and the idea of slipping into this uninhabited little corner of the city was to attract none. Still, when St. Fond struck a spark and brought a small pile of tinder to a quick blaze, Montrovant said nothing. He turned to the door, Le Duc close behind, and moved into the streets.

_.

Jeanne and Montrovant moved very quickly once they left the others behind. Le Duc watched their back, carefully scanning the streets for any paying too much attention to their pa.s.sing.

Montrovant moved through streets and back alleys as if they were his backyard. They were on the far side of town before he finally slowed and stopped before the doors of a huge, ancient building. The edifice had once been a magnificent place, spanning four streets across and two back. Later days had cost it much of its glory. The lower floors had become a catacombed conglomeration of taverns, vendors, and shadowed alcoves.

Montrovant swept his gaze up and down the building's face, then stepped quickly through a doorway. Soft light leaked out from the interior, firelight dancing merrily. Above the door, hanging crookedly on a bent nail, a sign proclaimed "La Flambeau." The low hum of voices joined with the soft throb of heartbeats to draw Jeanne in his sire's wake.

The scent of roasting meat and that of sweet red wine drifted to Jeanne, but the blood drowned it, diluting it to a background haze. He heard the voices and could make out some of the words, but that first instant, melting into that moving ma.s.s of life and heat, was always dizzying for him. Jeanne had spent the earlier years after Montrovant had Embraced him traveling, secluded. He had never quite gotten used to the crowds.

Montrovant moved quickly ahead, and Jeanne concentrated, following as his sire led him toward the back of the tavern to a table in the shadows.

Here they slid onto benches on opposite sides of a rough-hewn table and leaned against the wall, watching the activity in the room.

Jeanne had no idea what they were looking for, so he let his senses range as widely as possible, feeling he could do the most good by missing nothing.

He mentally noted each face, tried to catch the tones of each voice. It distracted him from the growing hunger. Montrovant showed no signs of such an inner struggle. His eyes were clear and deep, sweeping the room with purpose.The ceiling was high, but hung with nets, the sort you would find on fishing vessels. Lamps were mounted on the walls, soaking the room in mellow, golden light. It was surprisingly busy for such a late hour. It was not a prosperous area of the city, and the surrounding buildings and shops had shown nothing similar in the way of activity.

"Why do they come here?" Jeanne said softly.

"What is this place?"

Montrovant turned slowly, eyes still staring across the tavern. "It is an old place, Jeanne. The rest of the city has moved away, but this one tavern remains of the old city. When the Crusaders came through, they drank here. Templars were closeted in the bas.e.m.e.nts and transported safely from these walls when Philip decreed them disbanded.

I believe that, should the rest of the city crumble to dust around it, this one place would have light, and music."

Jeanne watched Montrovant carefully as he listened.

Such poetic discourse was hardly the dark one's habit.

"You know this place, then," Jeanne prompted.

"I have been here many times. It is a good place to find secrets, my friend. Sometimes one finds secrets that others do not even know are secrets. So many pa.s.s through here, it is easy to forget those who stay.

Those with eyes and quick wits. These are the ones I seek. If the Order pa.s.sed through Gren.o.ble, or near the city, information about that pa.s.sing also pa.s.sed through here. You may count on that."

Jeanne looked about again, this time watching for those most comfortable...larger groups not attired for travel, or the road.

Eventually one of the serving girls made her way to the table and Montrovant ordered mulled wine for them both.

The warm, scented drinks filled their senses, the heat enticing, but the aroma fell so far short of blood that it nearly nauseated Jeanne, who was less used to such masquerades.

"There," Montrovant said at last. He nodded toward a man leaning against the far wall, his fist gripping a tall mug of ale tightly. The man's eyes were never still, and each time he shifted his gaze in another direction, his head c.o.c.ked, as though he listened for sounds on the wind. "He will know, if any do. If not, he will know who does."

The dark one rose, and Jeanne followed. They moved along the wall of the room, carefully averting their eyes from the one they sought. As they turned toward the bar, their paths running directly before the man, Montrovant raised his eyes and caught the man's attention. At first it seemed the other would flee, or turn away. His mistake was meeting the eyes.

They were beside him in seconds, and Montrovant's arm had snaked around the man's shoulders in a friendly gesture of camaraderie.

"You will come with us," the dark one whispered. The man had no chance. He was swept from his post by the wall, pressed through the crowd and out the door before he even had a chance to finish his ale, or set down the mug. None took any notice of their pa.s.sing, and they were in an alley moments later, their new companion pressed tightly to one stone wall.

"I wish only information," Montrovant said, voice steady and low.

"You will provide it, and then you will return to your drinking, a much wealthier man. The other possibility, of course, is that you will lie to me, or resist, in which case, you will not return at all."

The man twisted to one side, trying to make a break, and Montrovant slapped him hard, slamming his head back into the stone.

Trembling now, their prisoner waited, eyes wide.

"I...I have done nothing. I came only for a drink, please..."

"I am counting, my friend, on the fact that you very often 'come only for a drink,'" Montrovant said, smiling darkly. "Now, no more foolishness. I am seeking a strange group of men. They would have pa.s.sed through here in the last month, or near here. Probably they traveled in the guise of monks, moving only by night and transporting a cargo in one or two wagons."

The man's eyes shifted. Jeanne saw that the fear, which had ruled the fellow's face seconds before, was swept aside momentarily by greed, then again by a wary, sidelong expression that attempted to avoid Montrovant's eyes.

"I never saw such a group in my life, lord, but might be I've heard tell of such a thing."

The man waited, as if expecting something, and Montrovant lunged forward suddenly, his forearm pressing the man's throat to the wall. "I have no time to play games with you over this. Tell me what you know. If it is what I need, you will be rewarded; if not..."

The man tried to swallow, fought the panic as his air was cut off, then relaxed a bit as Montrovant pulled back. After a harsh coughing wheeze, and a quick rub of his throat, the story poured out quickly.

"I was in the bar, minding my own business as usual, having an ale with Jean Thomas, the bartender's boy, when three men came in looking as if the spirit of Lucifer himself was on their heels.

These were not timid men now," the man's eyes narrowed, as if testing to be certain Montrovant understood, "they had the look of bandits, and I've seen a few of them in my time."

"Get on with it," Montrovant grated.

"Well," the man cleared his throat, seeing that it was no time for lengthy tales, "they claimed they'd been with a larger group, on the road, when they'd met a small caravan coming the other way, skirting the edge of the city. They said it seemed odd to them, such a group traveling in the dead of night, so they hailed them."

The man stopped here, turning to include Jeanne in his gaze for a moment, then continued. "You ask me, the only greeting offered was a demand for their gold. These were up to no good, that much is certain.

"To make the story short, for they went on a long time, babbling about demons and death, they said it was a group of monks and that their companions had been killed. They only survived because they'd hung back. Me, I think they were cowards. In any case, no one paid much attention to them, except me.

"Not sure exactly why, but I just couldn't imagine them making up such a crazy story. It stuck with me, and now that you mention a group traveling like that, it comes back to me. I hear a lot in that tavern."

"Where might we find these gentlemen?"

Montrovant hissed. "Those who saw?"

The man's eyes widened for just a moment, then he met the dark one's gaze once more and spoke.

"I wouldn't know for certain, now," he coughed, still fighting for air, "but there's a forest just outside the city where it is said their like can be found.

A place to be avoided."

Montrovant released him suddenly, drawing back with a humorless smile.

"That is exactly what I needed to hear." He reached into his cloak and withdrew his pouch, counting out several gold coins and dropping them into the man's hand. The last of these he held for a moment. "You say you see a lot of things in that tavern," Montrovant's voice had gone very cold...very distant. "You did not see myself, or my companion.

Ever. We never asked you questions, and you never answered. Believe me when I tell you that if I find you have forgotten this last bit of information, you will die a very long, slow, painful death...at my own hand. Am I clear?"

The man nodded, gasping as Montrovant's arm pressed again into his throat. The dark one dropped the last gold coin, which bounced off the fellow's hand and into the dirt of the alley with a dull thud.

The informant dived after the coin, scrabbling around in the dark alley for a moment and letting out a soft cry as his hand wrapped around the smooth surface of the coin.

As he turned to rise, his jaw dropped, and his face grew pale. He was alone in the alley. There was no sign of Montrovant, or Jeanne, no sound had marked their pa.s.sing. He glanced down at the coin once more, shaking. It was real, very real, and the dark one's words slipped back in to haunt his mind as he returned to the bar in search of something stronger than ale.

_.

The two hors.e.m.e.n approached the rear wall of the cathedral shortly after midnight, drawing up short of the rear wall. Noirceuil remained mounted, staring at the huge edifice fixedly, but Lacroix slid easily from the saddle and approached. He'd been there many times before, and he knew his old friend, Cardinal du Pois, would be expecting them.

If they were to make their greetings and be properly welcomed, it was important that they make their way inside at a decent hour.

"We should search the city," Noirceuil said harshly. "If we wait, we will be left behind again."

"We have our orders, my friend," Lacroix reminded his partner with a stern glance. "If we are on the road another few days for the delay, what does it matter? His Eminence, Cardinal du Pois, is expecting us.

Who knows, maybe his men have learned something. You know that he is aware of the focus of our mission, if not the...details?"

Noirceuil nodded distractedly, then spoke again.

"They are not equipped as we to search. The dark one could slide through their fingers without their even being aware of his pa.s.sing. You know this, Alexis. I wish only to complete our mission, to rid the Earth of his evil. I burn to do this, and the delays do not sit well with my heart."

"They are necessary delays, Noirceuil," Lacroix answered, tying his horse off near the wall and climbing the stairs to pound on the rear door. "I wonder sometimes what has happened to you, my friend? You act as though h.e.l.l is going to rise and swallow you in a matter of hours and every blood sucker must be wiped from the Earth before it happens.

We have time."

The door opened quickly, and three cowled monks stepped out, exchanging polite greetings with Lacroix. Noirceuil watched them for another long moment, as if he might just turn and ride away, then he reluctantly dismounted, handing the reins over to one of the men who reached for them and following Lacroix into the cathedral.

"If he escapes us," Noirceuil said, as he stepped past Lacroix toward the door, his voice very low, "it will be on your head."

The echo of those words followed them down the vaulted pa.s.sage beyond the doors, and Lacroix let them die to a silence punctuated only by their footsteps.

He could feel the glaring intensity of his partner's eyes seeming to bore into his back, and for the first time since knowing the man, felt a small twinge of fear for himself. Shivering, he continued into the shadows.

NINE.

Abraham approached Gren.o.ble warily. He knew that it would be difficult for a party the size of Montrovant's to hide in the city, but the two agents of the Church were a different story altogether. If they came from Rome, they might know aboutAbraham, and from the looks of the d.a.m.ned one, Noirceuil, it would not matter if Abraham were on a mission from the Church or not. If they met, one of them would not walk away.

He kept to the shadows, using the roads only when necessary, and slipped into the city from one of the side roads. He'd visited Gren.o.ble once before, many years back. He knew which side the cathedral was located on, and he entered from the other side. He had his own letters of introduction from Rome, but Noirceuil and Lacroix had changed his perspective on their value. It seemed Abraham was on his own, more so than he'd thought.

It was possible that Santorini was not even alive.

The bishop had been in disfavor after Montrovant's departure; if word, somehow, had gotten to the Church that he had hired another of the d.a.m.ned to join in the hunt, it might have been too much for the venerable cardinals to accept. They weren't above executing their own to preserve their secrets.

There was to have been a communication for Abraham waiting along the road, anything pertinent, but now he decided he would do without it, and Santorini without his answer. He would find Montrovant on his own, and he would do what he could do, but he wouldn't risk being destroyed by those who had sent him.

Up until that night on mountain, the only one who brought fear to Abraham's heart had been Montrovant. Noirceuil had doubled that number.

He slipped out through the entrance of an alley and cantered down the empty street. It was still fairly early in the evening, families were in their homes eating, the day was over and it was still early for those who haunted the streets and taverns by night. He needed to be certain he had a safe haven for the coming day before he could begin his search. It was always the same, and particularly difficult in such a large city. He knew he could just ride out of the city and sink into the earth, but he would almost surely lose his mount doing that, unless he stabled it and walked. The city was no place for a vampire far from anything familiar to wander unannounced, and it was another delay.