Looking back at the boy, Simon said, “I do agree. But you have to know that if you want this, it will be very hard. The training will be exhausting, and you won’t have much free time.”
“I know,” Chandler told him. “I’ve seen the Templar kids. They’re in school nearly all the time.”
“They are. There’s a lot to learn.”
Chandler smiled. “It’ll be okay. I’m a fast learner.”
Simon almost winced at that. Those who didn’t learn fast often died early. He thought about the funerals that would take place later. Even the good ones die.
“All right,” Simon said, hoping that he didn’t have to see the boy die in battle in a few years, “you can start training with the Templar children.”
Chandler smiled broadly and looked a little nervous. “Brill.” He hesitated. “Don’t I have to say an oath to you or something?”
“Not yet.”
Disappointment filled Chandler’s face. “Oh.”
Behind the boy’s back, Danielle held up one crooked pinky finger. Simon almost grinned at that and had trouble keeping a straight face. He held up his crooked pinky finger.
“Pinky swear,” Simon said.
Chandler grinned hugely and stuck out his own crooked pinky. “I pinky swear to be a loyal knight.”
“And I pinky swear to be a loyal and fair leader,” Simon said.
Chandler backed off hesitantly. “Will I see you in class?”
“Yes.” Simon still taught the classes—martial arts, sword fighting, and basic knowledge of demons—whenever he could.
The boy’s mother stood and came over to Simon as he got to his feet. Her mouth trembled as she looked at Simon.
“Mom,” Chandler said. “Why are you crying?”
She looked down at her son. “Because I’m so very proud of you, that’s why.” She tousled his hair, then looked back at Simon. “Please…please take care of him. He’s my boy. All that I have left.”
There had been a daughter as well, older, Simon remembered, but she hadn’t made it out of London.
“I will,” Simon said.
The woman nodded, got control of herself, then took her son by the hand and led him from the room. Silently, Simon watched them go.
“You okay?” Danielle asked. She removed her helmet as well and looked at him.
“Yeah.”
“The young ones are hard.”
“I know.”
“They trust too much.”
“I know.”
“Every time I tell one of them we’re accepting them into Templar training,” Danielle said, “I feel like I’m lying.”
“About accepting them?”
“They think that if they become Templar, they’ll be safe. That they can be heroes and everything will be fine.”
Simon nodded.
“That’s the lie,” Danielle said.
“This evening,” Simon said somberly, “should remind them that even being a Templar is dangerous.”
Simon stood in front of the polycarbonate caskets that contained the mortal remains of the fallen Templar. Orchestral music piped into the great room that held for general assembly. From the size of the crowd, all squeezed in tight on the bleachers and folding chairs, Simon felt certain that everyone at the redoubt who wasn’t too sick or too wounded to walk put in an appearance at the funeral.
After a time, they prayed. Simon led them. The words came easily to his lips. Too easily. He couldn’t remember how many funerals he’d presided over in the past four years. He could remember their names, though, and if he stopped to count the names, he’d have a number. He remembered people, but he didn’t like remembering the number of losses they’d had.
The caskets were simple affairs. The coat of arms for each House stood out in bas-relief. Tri-dee images of the individuals played over the tops of the caskets.
The Templar formed color guards of the different Houses, and some of them gave eulogies. Simon followed them and felt hollow inside while feeling brittle outside. Standing there with everyone watching was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. It always was.
He paused for a time when he came to an end of the memories he had of the fallen and why they should be remembered. Then he strengthened his voice.
“We’re burying brothers and sisters here today,” he said. “Husbands and wives and lovers. Fathers and mothers and sons and daughters. Most of all…we’re burying friends.”
Tears ran down even the gruffest of faces. There wasn’t a dry eye in the room.
“If these Templar were here today,” Simon said fiercely, “they would tell you that they died for one thing and one thing only.” He raised his sword. “They died so that the others might live on. For the living!”
The other Templar took up the chant as they lifted their weapons—swords and axes—toward the ceiling. “For the living! For the living!”
Even the civilians took up the chant. It was the Templar battle cry, the fierce promise they made to the demons and the Darkness.
In the back, Chandler—now outfitted in Templar novice robes—lifted his fist and joined in. Hope swelled in Simon’s heart when he saw the fierce determination in the boy’s eyes. They still had that hope. The demons had not yet managed to wrest that away.
SIXTEEN
Warren slept for hours among the dead.
Naomi wanted to move him, but every attempt she made was blocked by the zombies that stood protectively around him. The imps had finally started to slip from Warren’s control, though she wasn’t sure if that was because they’d gotten stronger or Warren had grown weaker. As a result, the zombies turned on the demons and slew them before they could defend themselves. More demon corpses added to the wall of dead flesh surrounding Warren.
At first, Naomi worried that he might die. She couldn’t tell how wounded he was. Blood covered him, but she knew from the quantity that not all of it could possibly be his. No one human could bleed so much.
No one human. The words echoed in Naomi’s thoughts. Warren wasn’t human anymore. Merihim’s machinations had twisted him to begin with. The strange book he was so careful about seemed to have been the catalyst that changed him now.
When she’d first met Warren, he’d been badly scarred from a fire. Now his skin was smooth and unblemished. He didn’t possess any demonic transplants or tattoos
