Guardian of the Stone Read online

  Cover

  Title Page

  Guardian of the Stone

  ...

  Amity Grays

  ...

  Omnific Publishing

  Los Angeles

  Copyright Information

  Guardian of the Stone, Copyright © 2015 by Amity Grays

  All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

  ...

  Omnific Publishing

  1901 Avenue of the Stars, 2nd Floor

  Los Angeles, California 90067

  www.omnificpublishing.com

  ...

  First Omnific eBook edition, September 2015

  First Omnific trade paperback edition, September 2015

  ...

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  ...

  Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

  ...

  Grays, Amity.

  Guardian of the Stone / Amity Grays – 1st ed

  ISBN: 978-1-623421-75-5

  1. Romance—Fiction. 2. Time Travel—Fiction. 3. Knights Templar—Fiction. 4. Los Angeles—Fiction. I. Title

  ...

  Cover Design by Micha Stone and Amy Brokaw

  Interior Book Design by Coreen Montagna

  Dedication

  To Lindsay, Shelley and Stephanie,

  my friends and coaches:

  To my family,

  for having the pompoms out and ready

  all the time and regardless:

  Thank you. I love you all.

  Intro

  The Knights Templar was a Christian military order, existing from approximately 1118 to 1312. They are considered by many to be the greatest warriors of all time. In 1307, King Philip IV of France, who was greatly indebted to the order, had many of the Templars arrested. They were charged with various crimes against the church, and their confessions, drawn through torture, were used against them and the order which they served. On May 12, 1310, after recanting their confessions, fifty-four men were taken to the fields outside of Paris and burned at the stake.

  Chapter One

  Realm: Paris, France, May 12, 1310

  HUNDREDS GATHERED IN THE COURTYARD outside the palace, anxiously awaiting a look at the condemned men. Whether it was morbid curiosity, despair, or disbelief that brought them, it didn’t really matter. Their presence would bring neither comfort nor pain to the poor men who had already suffered the unthinkable. Betrayed by a king they had served with honor and in faith, they’d been accused of horrendous atrocities and, based on false witness drawn through unmerciful torture, sentenced to die.

  Omont Montague stood near the back of the gathering, waiting for the perfect moment, praying for the Lord to give him both courage and guidance.

  “Pa Pa, Fan.” His small daughter turned in his arms, pointing her tiny finger toward another small child.

  “No, Edeline, not Fran,” Omont said, pulling the two-year-old tight against his chest, kissing the top of her head and breathing in her sweet smell. She was so young, so innocent. He prayed the fierce hatred burning wild in his soul would not somehow seep through to the purity which was hers.

  As she cuddled against him, he studied the looming stone walls surrounding the fortress. Flanked with manned watch towers above narrow gates, they assured no one was getting in unannounced. Not that anyone would even try, as beyond the gates sat more of the king’s army waiting to escort the prisoners to a readied field outside of Paris. The knights’ fates were sealed. There would be no rescue. And although there was no true crime for the damned to bear shame, they would be shown no mercy.

  Omont turned to the man at his right. “I need your word,” he said, holding the man’s somber gaze. “If I am taken, you will see it through.”

  Dressed like a merchant, his features well-hidden behind hood and muck, Federic nodded. “With God as my witness, I give you my word.”

  And there was no word Omont would grant more faith. He had fought beside the knight countless times and knew, without question, there was no braver or more righteous man than he.

  The sound of opening doors groaned throughout the courtyard. The crowd, still mingling in multiple independent gatherings, quickly silenced and drew together. From the cylindrical tower sitting in the center of the fortress, eight men, bound by chains, were transferred from the keep to the first of seven barred carts.

  “Be careful, my friend,” Omont said to Federic, sensing his outrage and urge to respond. “If they realize who you are, you will burn beside the others.”

  “I would gladly burn in their place, if given the choice.” The warrior’s nostrils flared as his lips flattened and curled, but as suddenly as his fury had risen, despair stepped forward to dampen its fire. He took a calming breath. “I will be careful, but I will be sure they know their sacrifice was not in vain.”

  Omont nodded in understanding. It was a brave thing the knight would do, following the men to the field, standing close by so they might see his face and know the others survived. “Praise be to God,” he said, placing one hand on the other man’s shoulder. “May He bless them and take their souls quickly.”

  “Praise be to God,” Federic said, momentarily covering Omont’s hand with his own before breaking free and disappearing into the throng.

  Now was the perfect time. Omont dare wait no longer. Sheltering the squirming Edeline in his arms, he pushed his way through the milling crowd and headed toward the tower.

  The king’s soldiers were everywhere, inside the keep and out. Omont stopped. He was not a man to cower, but he had everything to lose.

  Standing to the side of the heavy tower doors, he waited as eight more men were brought out. Not one set of eyes looked up as they were marched single file toward the carts. They would face death as they had faced life, with honor, courage, and absolute faith in the Lord. These were remarkable men, a fact which had surely sealed their fate.

  Nearly three years prior, while under service to the King, they had learned of his intent to arrest the Templars, charge them with heresy, and extract confessions from them using any means necessary. They sent warning. For the sake of their fellow knights and the secrets they guarded, they had held their posts at the castle, keeping up the pretense of normality while allowing their brothers to escape.

  Few would ever know the sacrifice they had made, but their sufferings were plain for everyone to see. Their faces were beaten, and beneath their light covers, their bodies had, no doubt, suffered the same. Omont wanted to scream at the injustice, to curse the earthly powers who would allow such an atrocity. His hand itched for the sword not currently at his side. It would have done him no good. He was only one man, and to save them would take an army. But the only army that could save these men of honor, these soldiers of Christ, had, by the courageous cover of these now condemned men, made for the sea.

  Their immense sacrifice renewed his faith. He moved inside.

  Two guards, one on each side of the entry, drew their swords and stepped forward. His daughter’s small fingers grasped hold of his tunic as she buried her face deep within its cover.

  Omont pulled the letter from his pouch and held it out in front of him.

  Taking the letter and carefully studying the seal, the guard to his left nodded to the other before breaking it open. Permission for passage was being granted by Louis d’Artois, a dignitary within the Ecumenical Council. It was written by Omont’s cousin and was as fra
udulent as the seal which had held it secure.

  The first guard turned and called to yet another standing further in from the entrance.

  Omont breathed a sigh of relief as the guard stepped forward, ready to escort him down the long narrow passage. The next thing he knew, he was being led through and up an uneven maze of brick and mortar. Flames from the burning candles lining the narrow walkway danced with the slight draft coming from behind. Their slender images, cast in long shadows, leaned forward like arrows pointing the way.

  Cold and dreary, the passage housed several barred doors. Though no sound came from behind them, he knew they held the last of those to be taken. All were his friends, men he’d fought with countless times, men who shared his beliefs and who once had shared his dreams.

  As they rounded another turn, the sounds of heavy chains echoed from an open chamber. A simple glance and he caught the hollow stare of Rupert Dupuy.

  Guarded by two as one knelt at his feet, the once unstoppable warrior looked out through the door as though looking into a fog.

  Edeline bounced in Omont’s arms. “Oh,” she gasped, enchanted by the dancing flames.

  It was a second in time, yet it felt as though time stood still. Hopeless eyes caught sight of Omont and then moved, but for a moment, to the babe in his arms. Understanding flashed quickly across his face. In the very next instant, the expression cleared, and all evidence of their significance had vanished.

  Theirs would be yet another secret the knight would carry to his grave.

  At the end of the next corridor, they stopped. The guard unlocked the door and pushed it open. “There will be little time,” he warned, stepping back and allowing them to pass into the chamber.

  Omont moved inside and silently waited for the door to close behind him.

  In a dimly lit corner of the small stone room, his feet chained to the bench where he sat, was the greatest man Omont had ever known, his brother by blood as well as spirit, a Templar priest and blessed man of visions, Nicolas Montague.

  The priest raised his head. “Brother!” His drawn face lit with a mixture of joy and relief. He spread his arms, welcoming Omont into his embrace.

  As the front of strength he’d held so tight shattered into a well of agony, Omont flew across the short distance and fell to his knees. Burying his face against his brother’s starved chest, he wept with despair.

  Edeline wiggled from his arms to the ground as Nicolas ran his hands comfortingly over Omont’s bent head.

  “We have not the time, dear brother,” Nicolas said with a gentle voice both sure and unshaken.

  Pushing himself away, Omont wiped the tears from under his eyes. With a weary sigh, he turned his head and kissed his daughter’s troubled brow.

  Wide blue eyes, so like her mother’s, looked back at him uncertainly.

  “It is all right, sweet child,” he said, moving her to stand before her uncle.

  Reaching inside his pouch, Omont pulled out the stone. Looking over his shoulder toward the door’s peephole, he made certain no eyes watched. His hands shook as he placed the marble’s chain around his brother’s neck. It fell against the priest’s chest, and a brilliant light instantly transformed the simple stone into an extraordinary gem.

  Nicolas’s frail hands wrapped around his, taking possession and hiding its glory. “We must move quickly.”

  Omont nodded and let go.

  Running his hand lovingly down Edeline’s soft cheek, the priest looked past the small child toward the chamber’s door. He removed the necklace from around his neck, and the magnificent gem turned back to stone. With a heavy sigh, he lowered it over his young niece’s head.

  “A single stone shall guard men’s souls. But only the purest of souls shall guard the stone.”

  Edeline smiled with delight as her tiny fingers lifted the marble. At two years of age, she had no idea the course of her days was now and forever changed.

  The priest looked upon his brother with tired, sorrowful eyes. “I do not know if it be a blessing or a curse which I bestow.”

  “Nor do I,” Omont replied, his own heart heavy with the weight of despair. “You are sure it was her in your vision?”

  Edeline looked up. Bright eyes shined from a face destined for beauty as her fine blond curls captured the dim light from the small window above and turned to gold.

  “I am sure,” the priest said. “Already I see signs of the woman she will become—the same woman I have seen in my dreams. But the dreams are only guides, my brother. If their paths are not followed, nothing is certain.”

  Omont nodded and looked down to his daughter. “I wish I could be sure.”

  “You must have faith,” said his brother, placing his hands on his shoulders and holding his troubled gaze. “For Edeline’s sake and for the sake of everything we know to be holy, you must be stronger than your doubts.”

  The chamber door moaned.

  “It is time,” said the guard as he and another entered the small dimly lit room. Covered with plain gray surcoats and heavy black cloaks, their chain armor clattered as they stepped across the hard stone floor.

  “I…” Omont began but lost his words to sorrow.

  Nicolas pulled him abruptly into his arms, holding him tight and kissing the top of his bowed head. “We will meet again, my dearest brother. Now you must go.”

  As the guard knelt to release the chains which bound the priest to his chamber, Omont looked one last time upon the man he so loved. With a heart too heavy to do anything but obey, he pulled his daughter into his arms and turned to go.

  In truth, he had little time to spare. It would not take long for the letter to travel and him to be found a fraud. The sooner he was away from the castle’s damning walls, the better off he would be.

  The guard met him outside the chamber’s door. With a single nod, he instructed Omont to follow. Thankfully, the passage was clear all the way to the door. Soon he and Edeline were making their way back through the crowds and out the heavily guarded gates.

  Right through his enemies’ fingers slipped the most precious of stones. Years they had pillaged, hunted, and tormented in search of the very treasure they now let walk right out their gates. And for years they had sought the identity of the innocent soul who held its power. How ironic that they should have it all and right under their watch—the stone and the guardian—caged for a moment in time in their own godless prison.

  With Edeline tucked securely in his arms, Omont rode hard and fast across the hills of France, eager for the distance from the horrors left behind and fearful of those which might still lie ahead.

  For soon the beasts would know, as it all would unfold—the fraudulent letter, the incredible risk—inevitably leading them to the innocent child.

  With the fury of the damned, they would come for her. They would do anything to gain her power, for Hell on Earth would be their prize.

  The late afternoon sun filtered through the thinning tips of the tall beech trees, capturing odd sprouts and folds of branches, casting them down as eerie shadows throughout the northern forest. Anxious and leery—it was with no small measure of relief that Omont saw his dear cousin awaiting them near the path’s second fork.

  Lucas de Villeroir was a man of great compassion and still greater faith. It was uncommon, even in these troubled times, to see the knight in anything other than his white cloak adorned with its bold red cross. Now a simple gray cape served as his cover, paling his skin and emphasizing a long, jagged scar running across the right side of his face.

  Today’s journey was not just of faith, it was also of transport. They would be carrying with them two precious treasures, simple and pure and far too valuable to be risked in any way.

  Lucas’s interest fell almost immediately to the stone dangling from the chain which circled Edeline’s neck. Taking a wary breath, he looked to Omont. “How was he, your brother?”

  “Even in his weakest hour, he is the strongest man I know.”

  “And Federic?
”

  “He was there, and still determined to show his face.”

  Lucas looked down as though ashamed. “My heart could not take their agony.”

  “Nor mine,” Omont confessed.

  Both men rode silently through the rolling hills toward the woods near Brines Castle.

  As they neared the road to Harfleur, Edeline leaned against Omont’s chest and lifted the stone lying flat against her belly. She had no idea what power she held in her tiny hands, even less would she understand the enormous responsibility such power would bring.

  If only there had been another way. But there was none. So many had already perished, so many more had fled, and those who remained behind grew bitter and uncertain. The only soul left unmarred by the evils of the times belonged to a child—his child. What could he do? Either way she’d be cursed, either to live in a world mastered by immorality or to be hunted by the men who would choose to see it rule.

  There was for him no choice, for God was his master. And though the task seemed overwhelming, he would put his trust in the Lord.

  Squealing with delight, Edeline pulled his attention back to the simple brown stone and the brilliant light now radiating from its surface. Her small fingers raised it high for her father to see. From one pure heart to another, the key to man’s greatest treasure had been passed, and with it, the responsibility of countless souls.

  Omont shook with grief.

  The magic of the moment was lost to its meaning. His brother, a man he had loved with all his heart, was dead. And his daughter, as pure as the need, but far too young to bear its weight, would carry his burden to her death.

  Removing the stone from around Edeline’s neck, he watched as its brilliance faded. Leaning down, he kissed his daughter’s precious face. “Please forgive me,” he whispered, as her fingers softly moved against his lips.

  “Omont,” Lucas said, tapping his shoulder and pointing to the trail behind them.

  Through his tears, he saw in the horizon a dense cloud of dust billowing down the path from which he had come.