“Yes. But there’s something the prophecies didn’t talk about.”
Simon waited, glancing over his shoulder as Giselle slid another piece of nylon into the eye of the curved suture needle.
“They’re changing the land,” Giselle said. “Starting at the Hellgates—”
“Hellgates?” Simon hadn’t heard the word before.
“That’s what Lord Sumerisle calls the nexus points that vomited the demons into our world.”
“The name fits.”
“Yes. Anyway, starting at the Hellgates, the demons have unleashed some kind of force—we still don’t know if it’s technology-based or magic-based, or some combination of the two—that is morphing the land. Buildings and roads are slagging down, becoming bleak, burned lands filled with lethal chemical pools and acid rain. The general consensus is that they’re turning our world into something that resembles theirs.”
“Terraforming?”
“That’s a term that works as well as any other.”
“That would tell us something about them.” Simon considered the problem. “Does Lord Sumerisle have any scouts in that area?”
“Yes, but they run a high risk of discovery.”
“The demons must already know they didn’t kill all the Templar.”
“They do. But the Templar who go there often get caught and killed. And we don’t have a means of understanding what we’ve found there. Whatever we learn, it’s going to be learned slowly. At great cost. I’ve no doubts about that.”
Simon didn’t, either.
“Have you decided?” Giselle asked as she put the medical equipment away.
“Decided what?”
“What you’re going to do. Whether you’re going to stay or go.”
Simon thought about not answering, but he knew that was only due to the rebellious side of him even his father hadn’t been able to control. “I’m going to stay.”
Giselle’s helmet flared open. She gave him a tired smile. “Your father’s House will have to agree to that, Simon. And, to be truthful, they may not.”
That hurt. Simon tried not to show it. “They would be stupid not to let me stay.”
“You already deserted them once.” Giselle’s voice was soft and held no accusation.
“I didn’t desert.”
“In their eyes, you did.”
Simon knew that was true, and he knew arguing with Giselle wouldn’t do any good. He’d have to make his case to his House when he got back to London.
“Why would you stay?” Giselle asked.
To avenge my father, Simon thought bitterly. Then, just as quickly, Because I don’t know anything else to do. But what he said was, “I was trained to be a Templar, Giselle. Maybe I never believed in the demons until the last week or so, but I’ve always believed in what the Templar stood for.”
Giselle gave him a wan smile. “That’s very good. I almost believe you. Keep working on it, though. Master Booth is High Seat of the House of Rorke and won’t be as easy to convince. He didn’t much care for you before you left.”
Terrence Booth was four years older than Simon. When they’d been boys, they hadn’t liked each other. There had always been competition between them. When Simon had been fourteen, they’d fought. Simon had beaten Booth even though Booth had had his full growth. It was something that people had talked about for ten years.
“I’ll convince him.”
“I hope that you do. But he likes you less now than when you broke his nose.” Giselle leaned in and kissed Simon’s cheek. “Get some sleep. We’re heading back to London tomorrow night.”
Simon pulled his shirt and coat on. The cold had been so severe that he’d started to go numb, which hadn’t been a bad thing considering the wound. Once he was covered and his body started to warm, the pain returned.
“It seems the two of you have made up.” Leah stood behind Simon only a short distance away. She leaned a hip against a tree. Dirt stained her face and matted her hair. Scratches scribed one cheek. She’d helped out in some of the battles, choosing to stay back and snipe targets. She had great skill with a rifle, and Giselle had grudgingly made use of that talent.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Simon said. He gathered his gear and retreated to the lean-to, which was four inches deep in snow. “Get some rest.”
“Why?”
“We’re going to London tomorrow night.” As Simon crawled under the thermo-blanket, he couldn’t help wondering what the city looked like. Nightmares twisted through his mind all night, and he kept imagining the black rot that crept through London. When he got up the next day he felt more tired than when he’d gone to bed.
Nineteen
BRIXTON MARKET
LONDON, ENGLAND
T he Templar traveled to London by two specially modified Land Rovers that could have doubled as tanks with all the extra armor and guns that had been mounted on them. Getting back to the city took two days. Luckily they missed any demon patrols that might have been in the area.
Coming from the south, they arrived first at Brixton Market. The market was devoid of life. A few campfires burned in the distance. Wrecked cars, some overturned and some smashed and ripped by missiles and beam weapons, filled the streets and created an obstacle course between the buildings. The torn wreckage of a double-decker bus had been shoved through the front of a florist shop.
Seeing the wanton destruction in all directions, seeing buildings lying in ruin that had been so vivid in his mind from when he’d last seen them, shook Simon. It had been one thing to hear about all the carnage that had been unleashed, but it was quite another to view it.
“It gets worse,” Giselle said. She sat at the Land Rover’s wheel in her armor. She used the armor’s imaging system as she drove rather than the vehicle’s headlights. “In many parts of the city you’ll find the bones of the dead, tossed there by whatever scavenger had finished with them. Most of the buildings in Greater London are damaged in some way, if not outright destroyed.”
Guilt coiled tightly within Simon.
