Chapter 10

A short time later, Siroc emerged from the cell, his naked torso and face streaked with blood, making him resemble one of those painted warriors from ages past. D'Artagnan was right behind him, also bloodied, wiping his blade with a piece of black cloth that had once been part of someone's robe.

"Well?" Siroc looked over at Duval, an almost manic grin crossing his features.

"I know where Mazarin's sanctum is."

"G-good," Louis stuttered, obviously disturbed at the sight of so much blood. "A-and the prisoner?"

"He won't be a problem any longer." D'Artagnan nodded in confirmation, and the King, looking a bit pale, returned the gesture.

"I-I see…"

"If it pleases your Majesty," Siroc continued, giving a slight bow, "I would humbly suggest that Ramon and I scout ahead…make sure the path into the sanctum is clear. The rest of you could follow a short distance behind. D'Artagnan also bore witness to the duc's confession, so he should be able to lead you there without any problem." Louis thought about the proposal for a few moments, then nodded his approval. Siroc bowed a second time before turning and heading for the prison entrance, gesturing for Ramon to follow.

"Wait," Ramon called out, catching up with the blonde just inside the main gate. "Before we go anywhere, I found these stashed in one of the guard stations…did a bit of snooping while you and D'Artagnan were…busy." He thrust a bundle into Siroc's hands, which, as the inventor quickly discovered, contained his jacket, shirt, boots, baldric, and rapier.

"Thanks," he said, setting most of the stuff aside as he sat down to pull on his boots. "Were Jacqueline's things there too?"

"Si. I gave them to the capitan for safekeeping."

"Good idea." Boots on, he picked up the shirt and, on noticing the condition it was in, immediately discarded it. Climbing to his feet, he slipped the jacket on over his bare torso, followed by the baldric. "There. Much better."

"Oh…I did find one more thing, amigo." Reaching inside his own jacket, Ramon produced a familiar-looking blade, handing it right over to the awe-struck immortal.

"T-this was there too?" The Spaniard nodded. "I don't know what to say…I mean…this was my first sword, you know. Been with me almost as far back as I can remember. I thought for sure Bernard would've taken it as a trophy….Thank you, Ramon."

"De nada. So…what now?"

"Now," Siroc said, returning the gladius to its customary hiding spot, "We head to the sanctum."

"Yeah…about that…wouldn't it be much easier to just use the entrance that, I presume, is somewhere inside the prison?"

"Not really. That one, as well as the one inside Mazarin's chambers, will be the most closely guarded. We use either of those, and we lose the element of surprise. Our best chance of rescuing Jacqueline would be to use one of the more public entrances…slip in behind the rank-and-file as they gather for their damned ceremony."

"I see your point. So what are we waiting for?"

"I was about to ask you the same question."

"Well, let's go then. Don't worry, we brought horses."

"Oh, good…I really wasn't looking forward to walking."

"Me neither." With that, the pair walked outside the gates to where the musketeer horses had all been tethered, including Siroc and Jacqueline's own favored mounts, which must've been left there by their captors. For Siroc, the sight of the white horse was a grim reminder of what he was heading into, making him even more determined as he and Ramon climbed into their saddles and headed out. The inventor quickly took the lead, with his Spanish comrade only a few paces behind. "What's this all about, anyway," Ramon asked as the prison disappeared from view. "What does Bernard want with our amiga?"

Siroc shook his head. "According to the late duc, the Order's planning some ritual that's supposed to grant immortality. And Jacqueline's supposed to be the source they're going to use to get it."

"I don't understand…Bernard's already immortal, isn't he?" The inventor nodded. "So why bother with this ritual?"

"Think about it, Ramon. I mean, he's obviously not going to use it on himself, but if it works…if whoever he chooses does, in fact, gain immortality from this little venture of theirs…it could change everything."

"How so?"

"See, for as long as immortals have been around, the granting of said immortality has been…well…a random occurrence. None of us really have a choice in the matter…never have. But if this…experiment…of Bernard's works, he could easily set himself up as a god among our kind…able to pick and choose who gets to live forever and who doesn't…surround himself with an army of immortals loyal to him. He could easily eliminate any competition from us older immortals, as I'd imagine any who would dare try to stop him would be cut to pieces in minutes, and eventually set himself up as the unquestioned ruler of the world."

Ramon arched an eyebrow. "I don't know, amigo…sounds pretty farfetched to me."

"Perhaps, but I'd lay odds that it's exactly what Bernard's shooting for. Which is exactly why we have to put a stop to this ritual. No man should ever possess that kind of power."

"I agree," the Spaniard nodded, muttering a few scathing curses in his native tongue. When his tirade ended, the pair rode in silence until Siroc suddenly pulled his own mount to a halt.

"Look," he said, gesturing to a spot just past the trees. Ramon followed his comrade's gaze and sure enough, there were black-robed figures heading into what looked to be some sort of cavern.

"It seems the duc was telling the truth."

"Men facing death usually do."

"Of course…" Ramon said, growing a bit pale. He wasn't used to seeing this side of his amigo, and probably never would be. Shaking his head, the Spaniard quickly changed the subject. "So what now? Time to swoop in, slay the bad guys and rescue the fair maiden?"

"First off," Siroc chuckled, "I'm pretty sure Jacqueline would have your hide if she heard you calling her a 'fair maiden.' And secondly, it's not a good idea to go rushing in just yet."

"But the ritual…"

"It won't be taking place until dawn, so she should be relatively 'safe' until then. And we really shouldn't be going in without back-up anyway."

"True."

"Besides, even if we didn't wait for the others, I wouldn't be able to go in with you."

"Why not?"

"This," Siroc said, tapping the side of his head. "Immortals can sense each other, remember? If I get anywhere near the sanctum, he'll know I'm coming and we'll lose the element of surprise."

"So you're not going to be part of this mission at all?"

"Oh, I'll be there…I just have to be a little more creative about getting inside." Sliding from the saddle, he walked over to the nearest tree and placed his hand on the trunk, leaning on it as he stared at the gathering cultists. The other hand found its way inside his jacket, unconsciously fingering the hilt of his ancient blade. A moment later, he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see his Spanish comrade standing there.

"Something wrong, amigo?"

"Just thinking…." He sighed, then turned around and grasped his comrade's arm. "Ramon…mi amigo…mi hermano…when was the last time I told you just how much your friendship meant to me?"

"Uh…." Ramon stuttered, gently extricating himself from Siroc's grasp and backing off. "I don't know why you're getting sentimental all of a sudden but, frankly, you're starting to scare me."

"Sorry," he muttered. "I'm scared too, you know. There's a good chance that this could be my last mission."

"What are you talking about, Siroc? You're not planning on quitting, are you?"

Siroc shook his head. "Believe me, I have no intention of doing that anytime soon."

"Then what…oh no…you can't be serious. You're actually going to fight that demente?"

"It's not like I have much of a choice….Time was, the second that madman waltzed into town I would've packed up and moved to another country…worked pretty well for the past several centuries."

"Why haven't you?"

"I know this is going to sound kind of sappy, but…well…the truth is, you, D'Artagnan, and Jacqueline are the closest thing I've had to a real family in a very long time. And if something happened to any one of you guys because I was too much of a goddamned coward to stand up to Bernard, I wouldn't be able to live with myself."

"So this is about you trying to be some kind of hero…protecting us poor, defenseless mortals from the big, bad immortal?"

The blonde shrugged. "Something like that."

Ramon shook his head. "I don't need your protection, Siroc. Bernard is old, evil, and dangerous…I get that. But if he goes after any of us, he might as well be attacking the rest as well. All for one and one for all, remember?"

"Really?" Siroc chuckled. "I thought our motto was 'brothers in arms.'"

"That's beside the point," Ramon snapped, not looking amused. "If you think that I'm just going to stand idly by while you give that lunatic a chance to chop off your head, then you're even crazier than he is…." He trailed off, muttering a few unrepeatable words in Spanish while pacing between the trees. Siroc let him vent for a bit before grabbing his collar and pulling him to one side.

"Alright, alright…Look, Ramon…if—when—I fight Bernard, you can't get involved. Trust me, this is something that I have to do on my own. But there is one way you can help me."

"What?"

"If the worst should happen, and I don't walk away from this one, I need you to make sure Jacqueline is safe. Remember that abbey I showed you the last time we both had leave?"

"Si…why?"

"Well, that abbey happens to be run by one of my oldest and dearest friends."

"Another immortal, you mean."

"Yes. Her name is Rebecca Horne…this century, anyway. If Bernard should win, I need you to make sure Jacqueline gets to that abbey. Rebecca will take care of her."

"Are you sure about that, amigo?"

Siroc grinned. "Positive. She has a…habit…of taking in strays, so to speak. Jacqueline will be more than welcome there."

"But you're not going to lose, Siroc. You can't."

He sighed. "Yes, I can. I'm good, but Bernard has at least a thousand years on me. He's perfected techniques that I couldn't pull off in even my wildest fantasies…hell, he's probably even invented a few himself. I might win, but, then again, I might not. Just promise me that you'll do this. I won't be able to focus if I have to worry about her as well. Please, Ramon…."

"Fine…I promise that if anything should happen to you, I will get mi amiga to that abbey, even if I have to drag her kicking and screaming."

"Thank you." They shook hands, then Ramon pulled his comrade into a hug.

"Be careful, Siroc," the Spaniard said, before letting him go. "That's one promise I hope I'll never have to fulfill."

"You and me both, Ramon…." The immortal trailed off as something brushed against his senses.

"What is it, amigo?"

"I think I might have just found my way in."

Ramon nodded. "Go. I'll see you inside."

Returning the nod, Siroc slipped off towards whatever it was he had sensed. Just outside the sanctum's entrance, he caught up with a rather scrawny-looking figure in robes at least two sizes too large. Grabbing him before he could enter, Siroc dragged him into the trees and pulled off the mask to reveal an unfamiliar face. "What's your name, boy?"

"M-Maurice," he stammered, white as a sheet.

"I see you're pretty new at this…when did you die?"

"L-last night, when Captain Bernard and I went after the Roget boy."

"So you were the other body I saw. I was wondering what happened to it."

"A-are you going to kill me?"

"I don't kill children…though in your case, I may have to make an exception." He drew his gladius, and Maurice dropped to his knees, grabbing hold of Siroc's legs.

"P-please don't kill me…I'll do anything you say…anything at all…just spare me, please…"

"Alright, you pathetic little….get up." When Maurice didn't move, Siroc grabbed his collar and yanked him back to his feet. "You said you'd do anything, right?" He nodded. "Good. Take off your robe…and your shirt." The younger immortal started to open his mouth, as if to ask why, but quickly shut it again at the elder's menacing glare. Quickly, he removed the garments Siroc had indicated and handed them over. Sheathing his blade, the inventor pulled the robe on over his uniform, then started tearing the shirt into strips. Without warning, Maurice launched himself into Siroc's midsection, taking the ancient immortal to the ground. However, his victory was short-lived. Once the musketeer recovered from the surprise, he slammed his palm into the bridge of the youth's nose. Howling in pain, he rolled away, clutching the injured appendage. Siroc was on him immediately, rolling him over and straddling his back. Grabbing the cloth strips he'd made, he knotted one in the center, then shoved said knot into Maurice's mouth and tied the ends behind his head. That done, he swiftly pulled the boy's hands behind his back and bound them with a much longer strip, leaving enough extra to serve as a sort of leash.

"Nice try, boy," he remarked to his captive audience, "but, for future reference, it's generally a very bad idea to try and take on someone more than ten times your age. Comprenez-vous (do you understand)?" Maurice quickly nodded. "Good. Now…time for you to do something useful." With that, Siroc stood up, dragging his captive with him. He slipped Maurice's mask onto his face, pulled the hood up to cover his hair, then dragged the younger immortal inside the sanctum's entrance just as the sky was starting to lighten. At the end of the tunnel, he shoved the boy into a niche where he would be out of sight, tying the excess cloth to a nearby stalagmite. "If you even think about wriggling free and warning Bernard, your head is forfeit. And that's not a threat…it's a promise." Immediately, the younger immortal grew even paler and shrank back against the cavern wall. Shaking his head, Siroc turned and entered the sanctum itself. Bernard glared at him, obviously believing him to be Maurice, and he feigned a look of contrition as his eyes surreptitiously studied the room. The Order's members had formed a circle around what appeared to be some sort of altar at the center, with Bernard and Mazarin standing on either side. A blindfolded Jacqueline was bound to the gate that, presumably, led out to the prison, her arms stretched out to her sides in a manner eerily reminiscent of the many crucifixions he'd witnessed as a mortal. Suppressing a shudder at the unpleasant memories, he scanned the dark edges of the room. At first, he couldn't see anything, but a glint of steel in the dim candlelight was enough to tell him that the cavalry was ready and waiting.

Before he had a chance to signal back, someone pushed their way past him and headed down to the altar. It was Charles, who had shed his robe and was now naked from the waist up, save for a bloodied cloth around his bicep. On reaching it, he and Bernard briefly clasped forearms in what Siroc recognized as the traditional warrior's handshake, and then the Legend took his place behind the stone table. Bernard gave a slight nod to Mazarin, who immediately stepped forward to address the gathered throng.

"Brothers, you all know why we are here, so I will spare you the long and tedious speech. Suffice it to say, today is the day we have dreamed of ever since the Order was re-formed during the reign of Cardinal Richelieu. If Brother Bernard's grand experiment—which Brother Charles has so nobly volunteered himself for—is a success, then soon we shall all be granted immortality...and with it, the power to finally take our rightful places as rulers of the world." The masked men all nodded in agreement. Siroc did as well, to keep up appearances. 'Idiots,' he thought, covertly reaching inside the borrowed robe for his gladius. But, before he could draw it, Bernard stepped forward, taking over for the cardinal.

"Bring forth the source!" At his command, Jacqueline was taken down from the gate and, still blindfolded, dragged over to the altar. She fought the men every step of the way, but her struggles proved useless. They positioned her in front of the altar, right across from Charles, and then backed away. Bernard immediately pulled his blade—the kopis, not the rapier—and placed the sharp edge on the back of her neck. Though he didn't say a word to her, the threat was obvious. Move, and you're dead. It took every ounce of self-control Siroc possessed not to pull his own blade and rush Bernard right then and there. The only thing that stayed his hand was the fear that doing so would turn the threat into reality. "Open the skylight!" the elder immortal commanded. His lackeys quickly complied and the obelisk, which was displayed prominently on a pedestal just underneath, was soon bathed in light. It began to glow blue with energy and, in moments, beams of that energy shot out in all directions, reflecting off of strategically placed mirrors and focusing on a point just above the altar. A tall cultist—Mazarin's replacement in the ritual, Siroc guessed, as the cardinal no longer seemed to be in the room—stepped forward with a long dagger. He stuck the blade right into the energy's focal point and, in seconds, the blue beams seemingly disappeared right into the steel. The tall man gestured to Charles, who immediately placed his right hand, palm down, in the center of the altar. Then, once the so-called Legend was in place, he grabbed Jacqueline's right hand, forcibly placed it on top of Charles', then rammed the dagger straight down through them both. Jacqueline cried out in pain, and Siroc could see his former comrade biting his lip to keep from doing so himself. With the pair pinned in place, the tall man began to chant in Latin. As he did, both dagger and obelisk began to radiate that strange blue energy. The energy around the dagger started to expand, threatening to engulf both Jacqueline and Charles. Then, all of a sudden, the chanting stopped and the energy disappeared. A moment later, the tall cultist fell dead, courtesy of a crossbow bolt in his back.

"I got one!" Instantaneously, all eyes turned to see what appeared to be an overeager young musketeer in the middle of celebrating his achievement. Siroc immediately recognized Louis, but, fortunately, no one else seemed to have caught on. Not that anyone really had time to look, since it was at that moment that all hell broke loose. Dozens of musketeers, lead by the young monarch, rushed from their hiding spots into the heart of the sanctum. About half the cultists ran for the exits, while the rest drew their weapons in preparation for the inevitable fight.

Jacqueline suddenly cried out, and Siroc turned in time to see Bernard yank the dagger from her hand and drag her off towards one of the exits. 'Oh no…you're not getting off that easy.' Ducking back into the entrance tunnel, the blonde cut Maurice free from the stalagmite, though he left his hands bound. "Alright, boy…show time." Taking the younger immortal's head under his left arm, Siroc drew his gladius and headed in the direction his nemesis had gone. His pursuit took him into a narrow tunnel that, based upon its location, he assumed led to Mazarin's chambers. Jacqueline had been doing everything she could to slow Bernard down, so Siroc was able to catch up to them about halfway up the passageway. Stepping into the dim torchlight, he tore off the mask and pushed the hood back to reveal his golden, bloodstained locks. For a moment, Bernard looked as if he'd seen a ghost.

"I-I thought I'd broken you, boy," he growled, trying unsuccessfully to hide his shock.

"You certainly tried, Beltranus. Nearly succeeded too. But it would take a far better man than you to finish the job."

"No matter. Now, if you don't mind, I'll be taking my leave."

Siroc laughed harshly. "I don't think so, Beltranus. Face it, it's over. Your precious Order is being dismantled as we speak, and I'm sure the captain has more men waiting upstairs in the palace to take you into custody. You might as well just give up now…make things easy on yourself."

He chuckled. "Oh no…you forget, I still have one bargaining chip." He pulled a still-blindfolded Jacqueline into the light, putting his blade against her throat. "Back off, boy, or I'll kill her."

The blonde shook his head. "No, you won't. The quickening would bring this whole cavern down on our heads, not to mention the buildings above it. I don't know about you, but I really don't fancy spending the next few decades digging myself out. Besides," he grinned, dragging Maurice into the light and laying his gladius on the back of the boy's neck. "You take my student, and I'll have to take yours."

"M-Maurice?" the ancient stammered, lowering his blade.

"Well, well, well….It would appear that the great Beltranus does have a heart. Or is that just lust I'm sensing? He certainly seems like your type…even if he is a little old."

"What do you want?"

"Let Jacqueline go and I'll tell you."

"Only if you let Maurice go as well."

"Done." Simultaneously, the two released their respective hostages. Pulling the blindfold off, Jacqueline rushed to Siroc's side as Maurice stumbled over to Beltranus, who quickly cut him free. "Good. Now that that's settled….I want it over between us, Beltranus. I weary of this cat-and-mouse game we've been playing for the past sixteen centuries."

"Are you challenging me, boy?"

"As a matter of fact, I am. And, because I'm in such a generous mood at the moment, I'll even let you set the terms."

"Oh really?"

"Absolutely. You just name the time and place, and I'll be there."

Beltranus nodded, taking a moment to consider the younger immortal's words. "How about the old tournament grounds in Rouen, in one month."

"Why a month?"

The elder immortal grinned. "You said I could set the terms, remember? I don't see any reason why Maurice can't get a quickening out of this as well. But it wouldn't be very sporting of me to force Mademoiselle Roget to go into such a fight unprepared, so I'm giving you a month to get her ready. What do you say, boy?"

"Fine by me," Jacqueline interjected, beating Siroc to the punch. The blonde looked at her quizzically.

"Are you sure about this, Jacqueline?"

"Positive. That little branleur was the one who stabbed me the other night. And you know what they say about payback…." She glared at Maurice, who paled and shrank back behind his teacher's robes.

"Well, I guess it's settled then." With a shrug, Siroc returned his gladius to its hiding spot. "The old tournament grounds in Rouen, in one month. And if you don't show up, Beltranus, I will hunt you down."

"Don't worry, boy. I'll be there. Now, if you'll excuse me…." Grabbing Maurice by the arm, Beltranus practically dragged his student the rest of the way up the passage. Once they'd disappeared into the darkness, Siroc turned to his own student.

"Are you alright?"

She sighed. "I'll live."

"Big surprise there," the inventor chuckled. A moment later, Jacqueline cracked a small smile of her own as she caught onto the joke. Then her expression turned serious once more.

"Not that I'm questioning your judgment or anything, Siroc, but what makes you so sure Bernard will keep his word?"

"Bernard is, first and foremost, a warrior. His sense of honor may be insanely warped, but it's there. Trust me, Jacqueline. He's not going to back down from this…and he'll make sure that his sniveling little coward of a student won't either."

"I see….Do you really think I can be ready in a month?"

Siroc gave a rather undignified snort. "A month? Hell, you're ready now. Don't let Bernard's little act fool you. Maurice has only been immortal for as long as you have, give or take a few hours. He's the one that needs the training….though that doesn't mean you're off the hook. Bernard's probably going to spend the next month teaching the brat every dirty trick in the book, so you need to learn how to deal with that."

"Yes, sir," she teased, tossing off a mock salute.

"Alright…laugh it up while you can. I doubt you'll find it so funny when you're running laps around the courtyard."

"You wouldn't…."

"Try me." He tried to feign a menacing glare, but couldn't keep a straight face for that long. "So….How's the hand?"

"It's healing…though not as fast as I'd have hoped." She held it up to the light so he could see. The hole from the dagger was still there, though it had gotten a bit smaller. Gently, Siroc took one of the extra cloth strips from Maurice's shirt and wrapped it around her palm to staunch the slight amount of blood that was still trickling from the wound.

"There…that should help it a bit. Hopefully, the effects of that damned obelisk will wear off soon."

"Yeah…stupid Bernard and his stupid ritual…."

"Well, it's over now. Bernard's living on borrowed time, and his pet cultists are being rounded up as we speak. I think Mazarin managed to slip away, but no matter. After today, he'll no longer have any power over Louis. All in all, I'd have to say mission accomplished."

"You're right." A genuine smile lit up Jacqueline's features, and she stood up a bit straighter—as if some great weight had finally been lifted. "It's not exactly what I hoped for, but still…."

"You aren't going to leave now, are you?"

"Of course not. The King still needs protection, doesn't he?" As soon as the words were out of her mouth, a very winded Ramon suddenly appeared in the passageway.

"Amigos…come quick….The King…he's been shot."