The Dark Thorn (54 page)

“McAllister,” the Pope whispered. “The Holy Grail.”

“It matches up with the death of the Cardinal Seer,” Cormac admitted. “Philip would not want the Vatican peering into Annwn while he moves an army toward the Rome gateway. Maintaining his element of surprise would be one of his foremost strategies.”

“It almost worked,” Cardinal Smith-Johnson said. “If McAllister had not abdicated his duty in Seattle to enter Annwn, we may
still
not have known of this threat.”

The other Cardinals nodded their agreement.

“What of the other knights, Ennio?” Cardinal Tucci said. “Will they aid the Vatican?”

“They lack the time to travel to Rome,” Ennio replied. “And each of their portals are too far away to join Richard and the Tuatha de Dannan at the portal in the Forest of Dean.”

“So knowing has not improved our situation much,” Clement said.

“Ennio will be prepared,” Cormac said. “Swiss Guard too.”

“You mentioned the Tuatha de Dannan,” Cardinal Villenza interrupted. “What role are the fey folk playing in this?”

“The Queen of the Seelie Court has brought together her lords and a massive army of her own. They are poised near the portal, waiting. The Queen apparently knows if Philip enters this world, the destruction of Annwn will be assured. The ultimate plunder at the expense of the fey. The Seelie Court desires the defeat of Philip as much as the Church does.”

“Two armies then,” the Pope pondered. “All too near.”

Ennio shifted his gaze away from the Pope. Cormac was proud of the boy. The scrutiny being sent him by the Vigilo would have wilted lesser men.

“And what of Ardall?” Clement asked.

“He is near my age, I think,” Ennio answered, standing straighter. “He was quiet but nodded and gave his agreement with Richard when others of the Seven pressed him. He lost his left hand but has gained a magical gauntlet. Richard had confidence in him, although I do not know how much aid he will be able to give. Sal pointed out Ardall is untrained and virtually useless.”

“It is true then,” Clement said. “The boy has taken up a knight’s mantle.”

“He has. For him to be there, with us, makes it certain.”

“Myrddin Emrys,” Cardinal Villenza hissed.

Pope Clement looked hard at Cormac. He had failed in gaining the power of the Heliwr. Now, it seemed, the Pope blamed him for not gaining
two
knights for the Church.

“It is settled then,” Cardinal Smith-Johnson said. “The facts of the matter do not lie. It is time to leave St. Peter’s. Time to bolster our defense here in the warrens. Too many souls work and pray and visit the hallways and buildings above, the
city
above. It is our role to protect them. It is our role to do what must be done.”

The Pope looked into the blazing hearth. He did so for long moments. No one interrupted him. The group waited for Clement, the pontiff having the final say in what was to come.

The call to evacuate St. Peter’s would soon come.

“How will this be done?” Clement murmured.

“One of the foremost reasons Pope Gregory IV called for the current placement of the portal beneath the Basilica was to ensure sufficient defense could be brought to bear against such an invasion from Annwn. We do have options, Your Eminence.”

“No such invasion has ever occurred in our history.”

“True,” Cormac confessed. “But as the Cardinal Seer was fond of saying, time comes for all things.”

“Bolstering our defense is paramount then,” Cardinal Tucci said.

Cardinal Villenza nodded. “What has become of Captain Arne?”

The Pope returned his hot gaze at Cormac.

“No word,” Cormac divulged. “Still in Annwn.”

“On a fool’s errand,” Clement said. “He who possesses the Shield of Arthur was ever meant to protect the Church and the Vatican.”

“I felt it more wise to send him to Annwn and gain the Heliwr before Myrddin Emrys could complete his plans, Your Eminence,” Cormac argued. “I could not have known the intentions of Philip or how they would enter our lives here.”

“Wisdom!? You know not the word!” Clement thundered.

The room fell silent. The anger of the Pope infused the air. Cormac had never seen the pontiff so enraged—and he understood, to a point. Clement felt trapped by circumstance that he had no control over. Events he was barely privy to were directly threatening all he had come to shelter and grow. Few courses of action were available to him. Cormac could deflect the fury of Clement; the Cardinal Vicar only hoped the Pope would choose to fight back.

“It might be best for Your Eminence to vacate the Vatican,” Cardinal Diaz suggested, breaking the silence. “The Lateran Palace on the other side of Rome, perhaps?”

“And present our faith to Plantagenet on a silver plate? No.”

“Your safety is more important than—”

“My safety is tied to that of the Church, Cardinal Diaz,” Clement said. “And the Church is in danger. Those of you here represent many souls around the world. It is you who must find sanctuary, weather the storm that comes into our home.”

The Cardinals spoke their protestations at once.

“I will not hear it,” Clement said loudly, raising his hand. The others fell silent. “You will leave St. Peter’s immediately and find safety from what comes. There is nothing any of you can do in the midst of this danger, but you must remain to keep the hope the Lord instilled in each of us alive.” He paused. “Cardinal Tucci, organize the Swiss Guard. Call all to arms and order them into the catacombs. They must be outfitted with the entirety of firepower the Vatican has at its disposal. Cardinal Villenza, make preparations as if the Vatican will be besieged—food caches, water, medical needs. You understand?”

The Cardinals nodded, but they were not pleased.

Clement turned to Ennio. “Do you have the power to destroy the portal?”

“I do not,” the young knight admitted, fidgeting under the scrutiny. “It takes a wizard of immense power to achieve an event of that magnitude. I can, however, bring the catacombs down upon the portal, closing it off for the time being.”

“It is settled,” Clement said firmly. “Carry out my wishes and then find sanctuary.” He turned to Cormac. “Cardinal Vicar, come with me.”

Cormac frowned. “Me, Your Grace?”

“You will remain by my side in this,” Clement said resolutely.

Ice filled his chest. Clement spoke a quick prayer, asking the Lord to watch over the Cardinals and keep all who required it safe. He then gave the members of the Vigilo his farewell before striding from the chamber with an urgency Cormac had never seen the Pope possess.

With the murmur of Cardinals discussing how events had unfolded and the choices the Pope had made fading behind, they both ascended the stairs into the upper levels of the Basilica.

Cormac wondered where he was being taken.

Once the two men had gained the upper corridors of St. Peter’s, Clement glanced over his shoulder.

“I know you desire the papacy, Cormac.”

Cormac walked a step behind Clement, unprepared for such a statement and unsure of how to reply. The two men made their way quietly, their soft boots barely making a sound on the polished granite floors. No one was about. The wing they were in was private, several rooms holding treasures from centuries past and housing the secondary suite of the Pope, offering a place of refreshment if he was uninterested to return to his primary Papal Palace apartments.

Cormac had rarely been here—few had—but Clement guided him with earnest purpose.

“I hope to serve the Lord in any capaci—

“No!” Clement cut him off and stopped, a finger raised like a sword. “When I say you desire it, I mean the darkest filament of desire possible runs through you. You wish the authority to protect the Church and all souls who comprise it, of that I have no doubt, but personal reasons guide you. I know of your past. The death of your family so long ago has never left you, and the revenge in your heart has been tempered over time into a driving force. The Seer knew it just as I do.” He paused. “You have done well in overseeing the spiritual needs of Vatican City during my tenure, but I fear for what you will do if given the chance.”

Old wounds opened for Cormac. “I have no reason to provoke anyone,” he said.

“I truly doubt that, Cardinal Vicar.”

Clement continued down the hall. Cormac did not know what to say. With a few pointed words, Clement had peeled back and exposed the lingering pain Cormac had carried with him for decades.

It would never die.

The two men eventually entered a suite, Clement locking the door behind them. Sunlight flooded multiple rooms through tall stained glass windows, casting various colors upon rugs, small statues, and ancient oak furniture that glowed as if newly waxed. Walls were adorned with large bookshelves laden with books; vases holding fresh flowers sat upon the tables. Several architectural maps of the former Basilica hung in encased glass. Marble, gold, silver, and other highly polished stones and metals flashed, artisanal perfection at every corner, but the beauty of the room felt sterile to Cormac. Cold. It was a suite for kings who flaunted their wealth.

Cormac looked around, drawing it all in. The suite would be his one day. If he survived whatever the Pope had in mind for him.

“I know you hoped to the gain the seed for yourself,” Clement said, moving through the vestibule into the rooms. “It explains the secrecy you employed. I am not daft. Controlling the Heliwr would make for the strongest of tools in whatever endeavor you made him embrace. You failed, however, and now the Heliwr has fallen to the wizard.”

“I did nothing but try to protect the Church and its interests.”

“If that is true, you did a terrible job of it.”

“And now you wish to castigate my good faith by putting me in harm’s way?” Cormac questioned.

“Maybe you aren’t as incompetent as you’ve demonstrated in recent days,” the Pope said.

Cormac let the rebuke fall aside.

“Then again,” Clement added. “Perhaps I am acknowledging your eventual rise.”

The Cardinal Vicar had no idea what the Pope meant. He followed Clement into an adjoining sitting room where six plush chairs surrounded a short round coffee table. The walls were draped in colorful tapestries depicting epic events from the history of the Church—the upside down crucifixion of Saint Peter upon a barren Vatican Hill, the Emperor Constantine with sword held high standing firm against paganism as he legalized Christianity with his other hand, the crowning of Charlemagne before Pope Leo III on Christmas day, and knights bearing the cross of the Crusades storming a fortress in the Middle East.

Clement walked to the bare wall beneath the Crusades tapestry.

He stopped.

“It is paramount that what I am about to show you remain between us,” the Pope said mysteriously. “You will either come to know it by way of the papacy or we both will die this day and another successor will come to the knowledge on his own. Will you bide my authority and keep this secret I am about to unveil?”

Cormac nodded, confused but curious.

The Pope grunted and stepped to the simple gray blocks comprising the wall. He ran his leathered fingers over the stone as if searching for something. After long moments had passed, he placed the palms of his hands flat to the rock and, pressing inward, closed his eyes and grew still. Sweat glistened on his wrinkled skin. Mumbling words Cormac thought were Welsh, Clement leaned in closer to the wall as if unable to hold his body up any longer.

Cormac was about to step in, worried despite his misgivings for the Pope, when yellow light began to emanate from the fingertips of the pontiff, first barely perceptible but growing in brightness. With the knights of the Crusade watching from above, the cold fire seeped into the stone as if it were porous, and shot outward in various directions like cracks in a broken pane of glass. The room became drenched in golden light. Soon the outline of a tall rectangle became visible, the fire in the wall changing, molten and alive, moving fluidly as if sentient.

Just when Cormac thought fire would engulf Clement entirely, a bright, soundless flash erupted from the wall and Clement disappeared. Cormac shielded his eyes but when he looked again the fire was gone. Replacing it was a tall rectangular doorway.

And beyond, a room shrouded in gloom.

Eyes still closed, Clement took a deep breath, standing in front of the doorway, and then looked to Cormac.

“What did you do?” Cormac asked, shocked. “How…? What happened…?”

“If the white smoke blows for you one day, you will learn it,” Clement replied tiredly. “It is a very old power, one of a few passed down from Pope to Pope for several centuries. The right words, a strong will, and need.”

“What is beyond?”

“Beyond? Our salvation, I pray.”

Clement strode into the dark recess without another look at Cormac. The Cardinal Vicar followed. Air grown stale from years of being trapped washed over them, and darkness met him with a terrible chill. Cormac barely felt it. Somewhere in the chamber an unidentifiable entity stirred, thrumming with life that raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Unsure suddenly about the intentions of Clement, Cormac paused, wondering if he should defy the Pope and leave.

Then he realized what he sensed. It was collected power unimaginable.

Clement struck a flame into existence in the depths of the dimness and lit a series of small torches placed in sconces at even intervals around the square perimeter of the room. The light revealed an armory of sorts. Clamps set in the wall held numerous swords, axes, spears, staves, lances, and various other weapons of war, each unique, most glimmering in the firelight as if alive. A series of shelves set in the left-hand wall stored folded blankets, robes, cloaks, and gloves, while another shelf on the right carried numerous leather-bound books and trinkets. A glass case in the middle of the chamber held the remains of hair, splinters of wood, urns, and a number of different bones, from fingers to legs to skulls. It was a macabre repository, one Cormac could not believe existed.

“What is this place?” he asked, mesmerized.