Read Online The Heretic: Templar Chronicles Book 1 by Joseph Nassise - Free Book Online
Authors: Joseph Nassise
Tags: Horror, Contemporary Fantasy, urban fantasy series, templar knights, dark fantasy series, supernatural thrillers
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as detail command three years ago.
A series of photographs were included as scanned images embedded into the report, and Cade took the time to study each of them in turn, hunting for evidence that his hunch had been right, that the flash of Power he’d seen centered on Duncan’s hands in the Preceptor’s office was an earthly indicator of his ability to heal with just a touch.
He stopped to look more closely at one of the older photographs. The image was creased and worn; whoever had scanned the photo did not bother to clean it up. It was clear enough, however, to show a young Sean Duncan standing unhappily in front of an older man dressed in a suit. Duncan looked to be around ten or eleven years old. The man, looking stern and serious, rested his hands on young Sean’s shoulders. The pair stood beneath the entrance to a revivalist tent, the sign marking the doorway partially obscured by the older man’s arm.
Special Engagement
Tonight and tonight only
Pastor Patrick Duncan
Faith Hea…
Now we’re getting somewhere, thought Cade.
He printed a hard copy of the photo and settled back in his chair, staring at the photo as if it might suddenly reveal some long-lost secret that only Cade would understand.
Perhaps, in a way, it did.
*** ***
Duncan was startled out of a light sleep by a hand on his shoulder.
It was Nick. “Boss wants to see you,” he said, gesturing to the smaller cabin at the back of the plane, where Cade had been sequestered since the fight began.
Nick returned to his seat. Duncan unbuckled his seat belt, walked down the aisle, and drew aside the curtain hanging at the end of the forward cabin.
The lights were on low but provided enough illumination that Duncan could see the area served as a functional work space. The standard aircraft seats, like those in the forward cabin, had been taken out. In their places were two reclining chairs with a table between them and a large drafting-style worktable. The lights were on over the worktable, shining down on several stacks of papers, a few open reference books, and a long black case.
Williams was nowhere in sight.
Noting that the lavatory lights on the rear wall were illuminated, Duncan guessed that Cade would be back momentarily. His curiosity getting the better of him, he made his way over to the worktable.
The books were old, centuries so, if the fine calligraphic script and the carefully drawn illustrations in the margins were any indication. A glance at the text revealed it to be Latin, a confirmation of the authenticity and age of the volumes. Judging by the images and the few snatches of text he quickly translated, each of the books dealt in some fashion with angels and demons.
His personnel file lay closed on the table nearby.
Resisting the urge to peek inside it, he turned his attention instead to the long, narrow case that rested on the table beside them.
It was a sword case. Duncan had no difficulty identifying it, for he had one of his own; every Knight in the Order did. They were given out by the Seneschal during the investment ceremonies, a symbol of the oath of fealty that each man gave as he joined the Order.
But Cade’s was different.
Where Duncan’s case was made from simple black fiberglass without ornamentation, Cade’s was covered with a soft supple skin of dark leather and held shut with three simple silver clasps. In the center of the lid, a word had been branded into the covering, its harsh, rough edges providing a stark contrast to the rest of the case’s beauty.
The word was in a language Duncan did not recognize.
Duncan glanced up at the lavatory lights, saw that they were still lit, and gave in to a sudden impulse. He reached down and opened the case.
Inside, lying on a bed of smooth, white silk was Cade’s sword, as Duncan had expected.
The weapon itself was an unadorned English longsword. Along the length of the blade that was facing upright in the case, the word Defensor had been inscribed in
A series of photographs were included as scanned images embedded into the report, and Cade took the time to study each of them in turn, hunting for evidence that his hunch had been right, that the flash of Power he’d seen centered on Duncan’s hands in the Preceptor’s office was an earthly indicator of his ability to heal with just a touch.
He stopped to look more closely at one of the older photographs. The image was creased and worn; whoever had scanned the photo did not bother to clean it up. It was clear enough, however, to show a young Sean Duncan standing unhappily in front of an older man dressed in a suit. Duncan looked to be around ten or eleven years old. The man, looking stern and serious, rested his hands on young Sean’s shoulders. The pair stood beneath the entrance to a revivalist tent, the sign marking the doorway partially obscured by the older man’s arm.
Special Engagement
Tonight and tonight only
Pastor Patrick Duncan
Faith Hea…
Now we’re getting somewhere, thought Cade.
He printed a hard copy of the photo and settled back in his chair, staring at the photo as if it might suddenly reveal some long-lost secret that only Cade would understand.
Perhaps, in a way, it did.
*** ***
Duncan was startled out of a light sleep by a hand on his shoulder.
It was Nick. “Boss wants to see you,” he said, gesturing to the smaller cabin at the back of the plane, where Cade had been sequestered since the fight began.
Nick returned to his seat. Duncan unbuckled his seat belt, walked down the aisle, and drew aside the curtain hanging at the end of the forward cabin.
The lights were on low but provided enough illumination that Duncan could see the area served as a functional work space. The standard aircraft seats, like those in the forward cabin, had been taken out. In their places were two reclining chairs with a table between them and a large drafting-style worktable. The lights were on over the worktable, shining down on several stacks of papers, a few open reference books, and a long black case.
Williams was nowhere in sight.
Noting that the lavatory lights on the rear wall were illuminated, Duncan guessed that Cade would be back momentarily. His curiosity getting the better of him, he made his way over to the worktable.
The books were old, centuries so, if the fine calligraphic script and the carefully drawn illustrations in the margins were any indication. A glance at the text revealed it to be Latin, a confirmation of the authenticity and age of the volumes. Judging by the images and the few snatches of text he quickly translated, each of the books dealt in some fashion with angels and demons.
His personnel file lay closed on the table nearby.
Resisting the urge to peek inside it, he turned his attention instead to the long, narrow case that rested on the table beside them.
It was a sword case. Duncan had no difficulty identifying it, for he had one of his own; every Knight in the Order did. They were given out by the Seneschal during the investment ceremonies, a symbol of the oath of fealty that each man gave as he joined the Order.
But Cade’s was different.
Where Duncan’s case was made from simple black fiberglass without ornamentation, Cade’s was covered with a soft supple skin of dark leather and held shut with three simple silver clasps. In the center of the lid, a word had been branded into the covering, its harsh, rough edges providing a stark contrast to the rest of the case’s beauty.
The word was in a language Duncan did not recognize.
Duncan glanced up at the lavatory lights, saw that they were still lit, and gave in to a sudden impulse. He reached down and opened the case.
Inside, lying on a bed of smooth, white silk was Cade’s sword, as Duncan had expected.
The weapon itself was an unadorned English longsword. Along the length of the blade that was facing upright in the case, the word Defensor had been inscribed in
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