Giselle reached into a small compartment built into the armor and brought out a slap-patch.
“What’s that?” the man asked.
“A dreamie,” Giselle answered. “It’ll take away the pain.”
“That’s good.” The man’s eyes fluttered. “I don’t want to keep hurting.”
“You won’t.” Giselle placed the slap-patch on the man’s throat.
The narcotics filtered into the man’s bloodstream instantly. The pain and fear drained from his face. “Am I…am I going to be all right?”
Giselle smiled at him sweetly and touched his face soothingly. “You’re going to be fine.”
“I’m glad.” The man took in a breath, then let it all out. Every muscle in his body relaxed. His head lolled to the side.
Tears glittered in the moonlight on Giselle’s cheeks. Her helmet closed and hid her sorrow from Simon’s eyes, but he felt the weight of it in his heart.
Simon looked down at the seven dead humans they’d gathered and laid on the ground. Three of them were the men who’d been left behind to wait on the dinghy, but there were two more men, a woman, and a child that Simon had pulled in from the shallows. He didn’t know how many others had been lost to the sea.
“Does anyone know who they are?” one of the Templar asked.
Simon shook his head. Leah did too.
“Captain Patel was just picking up survivors along the coastline,” Simon added. “There aren’t any regular meeting places, and no communication between England and France. They were just…people.” Scared and frightened people.
“It would be better if we knew who they were. That way we could tell their families.” That was from Justin, one of the Templar whom Simon barely remembered from classes. He’d been from another Templar complex, but they had met twice a year in practice matches.
“Their families are probably already dead, too,” Devin said. She was a young brunette. She was three or four years younger than Simon and Giselle, and more slightly built. Her face was carved alabaster.
“There’s nothing we can do for them here,” Giselle said. “We’ll take images of them and post them when we can. Maybe their families will find out what happened to them soon enough.”
There is no soon enough, Simon thought bitterly. They’re dead. Nobody wants that kind of news.
In the end they decided to bury them all in shallow graves, along with the two Templar that had fallen to Darkspawn weapons. There was nothing else to be done.
“I need to know about my father, Giselle.” Simon tramped through the forest beside the Templar.
Simon had outfitted himself with weapons. He would have liked to have used the armor, but all of it was made for custom fit. However, if he’d found a core suit his size—and that would have been nearly impossible given his size—it could be added to, or plate could be replaced from other suits or pieces of armor. The other Templar had salvaged what they needed from their mates’ armor. None of it was to be left to fall into the hands of demons.
Giselle faced Simon. “Your father died at the battle of All Hallows’ Eve, Simon. I trust he died well.”
Even though he’d been expecting the answer, Simon still felt pole-axed. He stumbled for just a moment, then regained his footing.
“I’m sorry,” Giselle said. “I thought you knew.”
“No. How would I have known?”
“The media broadcasted the battle.”
Simon remembered all the footage he’d seen while in Cape Town. “I knew there had been horrible losses.”
“Yes. Most of the Templar are dead.”
Simon struggled to fathom that and couldn’t. All of his life there had been thousands of Templar, men and women, who lived among but separate from the inhabitants of London and England. In the city they lived in the Underground, tunnels that had been lost and forgotten, or built without the city management offices being any the wiser. In the countryside they lived in underground bunkers and complexes.
“Why?” he asked in a strained voice. “Seems pretty bloody stupid to go off and get themselves killed after hundreds of years of preparation. Did they go off like a lot of lemmings, then?”
“No!” Giselle’s voice was a whip crack of emotion. “That’s not how it was, Simon.”
Simon stopped, put a hand against her armor, and shoved. He knew that wasn’t what he’d intended, but it was what he did. None of what she was saying was making any sense. Beginning with his father’s death. He was angry, and the emotion was almost beyond his control.
“Then tell me how it was!” Simon demanded.
Two Templar started forward. Even though he’d been identified as one of them, he wasn’t in armor. Everyone outside the armor was potentially an enemy. Simon had been trained to think that way as well.
Giselle threw a hand up. The Templar stopped.
“Don’t you dishonor those Templar,” Giselle stated coldly, staring full into Simon’s eyes. “They weren’t stupid, or foolish, or full of themselves. What they did was the bravest thing they could do. They sacrificed themselves.”
“Sacrificed themselves?” Simon couldn’t believe it. “No. That’s not how we were brought up, Giselle. We were told that we weren’t supposed to die for our country. We were supposed to make the other guys die for theirs.”
“The American general said that. George Patton.”
Simon was breathing hard. He fought to keep a lid on the anger and pain and disbelief that crashed through him. It was almost impossible. “My father told me that. Over and over again. As I fought. As I learned strategy. That was the main lesson he taught me. For him to do something like what you’re suggesting, it’s…it’s…”Words failed him.
“They knew they couldn’t win,” Giselle said in a softer tone. “They had to accept that. The demons came with too many in their ranks. They’d already taken out the British military.” She opened her helmet.
Simon saw the pain etched into her features. It humbled him and hurt him in ways he didn’t expect. He suddenly felt like he’d swallowed glass, and he didn’t trust his voice.
“The demons knew the Templar were here,” Giselle went on. “The Templar
