Midnight Crusader Read online

  * * *

  ImaJinn Books

  www.imajinnbooks.com

  Copyright ©2002 by Nancy Gideon

  * * *

  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

  * * *

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  * * * *

  Midnight Crusader

  By Nancy Gideon

  Prologue

  Jungles of Peru, two years ago

  At last.

  He'd almost given up hope. With the dawn chopping through the tangled jungle in its approach toward the ancient temple, he knew he only had moments before it would be too dangerous to remain.

  And then he heard it, the soft snuffling sound of his scent being tested, tasted and weighed for its level of threat. Or potential.

  He waited, wishing the daylight away for just a few more precious minutes, but there was only silence lying as heavy and as thick as the humidity upon the fetid air.

  He had hoped this would be the night when promises would be kept.

  "Damn."

  Regret sank like the echo of his curse, without a ripple. There was always tomorrow night. After all, he had nothing but time, and his benefactor wasn't going anywhere.

  "Do you have it?"

  The words rasped against the stillness of the tomb, as unsettling as the dragging footsteps of the undead from an old B movie. He started. Not because the voice, with its gravelly timbre like the pulling of coffin nails, came from right behind him but because with all his newly returned superior senses, he had failed to detect the approach.

  But urgency quickly overcame Quinton Alexander's fear.

  "Yes, of course. Now, what about what you promised to give me?"

  "Patience, my greedy friend. When you have waited centuries, what are a few more minutes?"

  "For you perhaps, but I didn't choose to be shut in here by those who betrayed me.” His bitterness and fury still simmered, cooking up the suitable revenge he'd seek once this bargain was fulfilled. He'd been outsmarted by his enemies. They'd found a way to make him mortal and had shut him away in this tomb, thinking to seal his fate. Wouldn't they be surprised to see him again. For he hadn't found death in the dank temple. He'd found renewal. And a new alliance, one so surprisingly powerful that even the most clever and capable of his nemeses wouldn't be able to defeat him. But with this new partnership came an annoying allegiance to the other being's agenda. He'd done his part. His obligations were now satisfied, and as soon as he received his reward, he could get on about his business under some new name, some new identity. And this time, he'd make them all sorry. He hadn't been a merciful man when he was alive a century before. His twisted mind would have provided a field day for modern psychoanalysis. Time had taught him a reluctant patience. He was willing to wait for what he wanted. But not forever.

  "What do you know of betrayal?” came the harsh response to his whining. “Your own avarice brought you to this place."

  Daring to be bolder with the knowledge he held still unspoken, he challenged, “And you were any different?

  A taloned hand caught him by the throat, shutting off his insolent suggestion, lifting him off the tomb floor and drawing him close to the pant of stale breath.

  "You know nothing of me. We are not alike. I did not come for riches. I came for knowledge, for power."

  Forcing a swallow, the dangling man whimpered, “And doesn't one beget the other?"

  A hoarse chuckle. “Yes, of course. What good does knowledge do me, or riches, if I cannot escape this prison?"

  "I could open the door."

  A regretful sigh. “No. What I am is held here by legend and by the curse of superstition. I can only be unleashed by the chosen. And I fear with your bungling, that chance has escaped me. I will never leave this prison of rock. Now I have only you through which to implement my plans. You will have to do. The first drink of you has awakened me to a higher level. I had almost forgotten over the years what it was like to think as a man, to speak as a man. For that, I suppose I should be grateful."

  He didn't sound grateful. Feeling a nudge of panic, his greedy visitor asked, “If you can't get out, then how is our bargain going to be fulfilled? You said you would give me riches in exchange for your freedom."

  "And I will, impatient one. You will have all you desire. But first, tell me what you have learned."

  Realizing there was no way to postpone the moment, he said, “She's in Las Vegas, as you requested. I made all the arrangements."

  "You're sure it's she?"

  "Yes.” Restlessness edged his tone. Dawn was close, and he was no closer to his reward. “Who is this woman who's worth so much trouble to you and to me?"

  "She is the past ... and the future."

  Growing tired of the word games, he grumbled, “But what good does it do for her to be there and you to be here?"

  "Oh, I don't plan to remain here for long. At least, not all of me."

  Quinton Alexander sighed in frustration. “Everything with you is a puzzle."

  "I thought you liked puzzles."

  "Ones I can eventually solve."

  "Oh, believe me, you will figure it out soon. You are an important piece in this one. You are my link to this century. I could not do what I plan without the knowledge you possess. You are the doorway through which I will pass."

  "Yeah, right,” Quinn mumbled, not even pretending to understand or to care. “Now, what about your promise?"

  "Oh, I always keep my promises. You will be wealthy beyond your wildest dreams. You will have power unlike anything you can imagine."

  "I can imagine a lot, and I have very vivid dreams.” He smiled, his eyes glittering with anticipation. “Give them to me."

  "But there is a catch."

  Cautiously, he took a step back. “Oh? What catch?"

  "You will have to enjoy them through me. Or rather, I will enjoy them within you."

  And the beast sprang, delivering his promise with the slashing of claws and fangs.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter One

  14th Century England

  Death, why must you elude me?

  The wail of inward pain echoed through a mind still roiling with drink and despair.

  Gabriel de Magnor wanted to die. His conscience demanded it. His broken heart begged for it. And he was doing his best to accommodate both.

  He'd charged recklessly down the lists after that evasive goal throughout the week, hoping that a fateful blow might end his misery. Too much of a Christian to seek that longed for demise overtly, he sought it through carelessness and a disdain for his own safety. Refusing to meet his opponent's lance with even a meager a
ttempt at defense, he was bruised but not yet broken. Not yet. But then the day was young, and the man he faced had much to prove.

  Unlike Gabriel, Sir Evingrade hadn't gone to embrace danger and glory on a foreign field. No, he'd continued courtly pursuits and competed successfully and safely on this mock-battle ground. Mock heroism was all he could claim, while Gabriel earned accolades in blood and hardship. Defeating a recognized warrior would go far toward erasing the stain of cowardice from his name. Evingrade would give no quarter, even when he could plainly see that the young noble was too intoxicated to sit his saddle straight. Nor had Gabriel yet completely healed from the wound that should have but didn't end the tragedy of his existence. That wouldn't matter when weighed against a win.

  And that's what Gabriel counted on as he spurred his big horse forward without securing his helmet or lowering its protective visor.

  He felt no fear, only a wild exhilaration. There was salvation to be found in an honorable death. Not like the lingering shame of living with his failure to protect the one he'd loved.

  Just one mercifully well-placed blow and all will be over.

  He watched it approach—the end of his misery in the blunted tip of his challenger's lance. He smiled in welcome. Let it come.

  But at the last moment, perhaps upon seeing the death wish in his opponent's eyes, Sir Evingrade lowered his lance tip. Impact shattered through Gabriel's chest, and the world went spinning. The fall took forever from saddle to sand. He hit with a world-blacking force. Then waited, praying for it to be over.

  Let me die. Let me die.

  "Enough."

  He heard the low, insistent voice above the ringing in his ears.

  "No more, Gabriel. None will put you out of your suffering today."

  Hoisted to his unsteady feet between his best friend Rollie and his anxious squire, Gabriel would have decried the unfairness of it, but the words wouldn't form over the swells of darkness engulfing him.

  Perhaps not today, was his last coherent thought.

  But there was always tomorrow.

  * * * *

  "Is this what she would have wanted?"

  Gabriel glanced up from his mug of bitter ale. Little emotion showing in his own, he met the concern in his friend's expression. Even though the question had him cringing inside.

  "If she had not meant for me suffer, she would still be alive to chastise me herself."

  He took another deep swallow, letting the brew curl dark and destructive within a belly that had held no food for ... how many days? He'd lost track. The name of the day, whether day, or indeed night, it no longer mattered. Nothing mattered beyond putting an end to the pain howling and raging against his shattered heart. For what difference was the day or the time when he had nothing with which to fill it? Nothing to propel him toward the next morning or even the next hour with any degree of anticipation. The moon and the stars had stopped the moment he heard the news.

  She was dead. And as soon as he could manage it, he would join her.

  How awful her fear, how tremendous her pain to have pressured her into making such a soul-damning gesture. How, at the end of her regrettably short life, she must have hated him to have wished such an agony of guilt upon him. Her unhappiness was over, gone the instant she hit jagged rock then icy water. But his. Oh, his went on and on, beating within the aching recesses of his mind where her memory yet taunted and tantalized with what would never be. Dear God, he'd loved her, wanted her, needed her. Still. Always. Hadn't she understood that? Hadn't that been enough to sustain her even when she feared the worst? His hand clutched reflexively about the token he wore at his neck. Its sentiment now lay as cold and unreachable as his beloved.

  Hadn't she believed his promise that their lives would forever be entwined? Her lack of faith wounded as piercingly as the sword tip that had slipped between layers of supposedly impervious armor to cut him to the quick. Each had laid him out with a near-mortal injury. He'd recovered from the latter. But the first, he would never survive. He'd fallen on the field in the name of her honor and now had forever damned her in the name of his pride.

  He glanced at his friend. Solid, steady Rolland watched him through anxious eyes, recognizing his sorrow yet unable to help heal it. Not the way the surgeons had hurriedly closed the wound in his shoulder. That ache would soon leave him, for his body was strong in defiance of his spirit, but the agony of loss would throb forever. Having never lost someone he loved, Rollie would never understand the sharp teeth of Gabriel's demon. His scholarly friend was blameless of the sin of self-importance. Pride goeth before a fall. How far must he fall before he reached a merciful end at the bottom of his well of grief? He took another long swallow, shuddering at its recriminating bite.

  "Tell your fortune, sir?"

  A withered hand seized his, turning it palm up. It wasn't the hideousness of the old woman's features or the punch of her overpowering stench that had him reeling back on his stool. It was the strength with which she grasped his hand and the sudden shock of cold seeping right to bone. Alarm quickly became annoyance. He had no time for this childish folly. He wanted no interference in his self-destruction.

  "Be gone, hag. I have no future beyond the next few nights, and I'll not waste my coin to see what they might hold."

  He tried to shake her off, but as tenacious as a terrier, she refused to release him.

  "You are mistaken, sir. I see years beyond imagining."

  Aware now that the chill crept from palm to wrist to forearm, he began to pull more vigorously. “Unhand me, woman. I'll have none of your witchery."

  She leaned nearer, bringing her unwashed stink and the feverish brightness of her stare uncomfortably close. “I see a lady."

  Gabriel froze. His breathing trembled. “What lady?"

  Rolland stood, his mild temperament now darkening with displeasure and disgust. “Be gone, crone, before I have you beaten."

  Gabriel stayed his raised hand, though his attention never left the old woman. “What lady?"

  "One you believe lost to you, but this be as false as your sorrow. She calls out to you for justice. What would you risk to answer that cry?"

  He replied without hesitation.

  "Anything."

  "Then come with me, young sir, and we will hear what she has to say."

  "Gabriel, ‘tis just some rouse to lure you away and rob you blind,” Rolland cautioned, but Gabriel would have none of it. Too drunk for restraint, too intoxicated even by the meagerest hint of hope to show due care, he flung off his friend's warning.

  "Stay here if you like. I would not heed her wishes when she was alive, and I'll be doubly damned if I ignore them now."

  "'Tis not Naomi."

  He fixed his friend with an impassioned stare. “I do not know that, and until I do, I cannot ignore this last chance to set things right with her soul. And mine.” He searched the other's gaze intently, needing to find understanding. Or at least, support. And Rolland Tearlach didn't disappoint him.

  Rolland sighed and swallowed down the rest of his ale. “If you are intent upon this folly, I will watch your back. Lead on, crone."

  Once they were outside the noisy tavern, the ancient hag moved through a maze of narrow streets with amazing quickness. The two knights hurried to keep her in sight. They dodged between the poor huddled against the weeping stone walls and the refuse thrown down from rooms above. Focused on the bent figure ahead, Gabriel paid no mind to their destination until Rolland gripped his elbow to once again advise care.

  "Gabriel, she leads us on a dangerous hunt. We should break off lest we never find our way out of this rabbit warren."

  Gabriel shook him off. “You go."

  Uttering a curse, Rolland kept step with him.

  They turned a sharp corner, and Gabriel drew up in dismay. “Where did she go?"

  "Through there."

  A faded, threadbare tapestry hung across a doorway. It swayed slightly, though there was no breeze. Impatiently, Gabriel pushed it asi
de. And the two of them entered a room steeped in a darkness so complete they couldn't see one another while yet standing shoulder to shoulder.

  "What game be this?” Rollie growled to disguise his unease. His hand went to his sword.

  Slowly, a light crept into that solid blackness, spreading outward from the room's center. The hag crouched before that light that sprang from no discernible source. Her eyes gleamed with the same strange iridescence. Suddenly, she appeared more sinister than pitiful.

  "Come, Sir Knight. Sit by me and I will tell you what your heart needs to know."

  Moving with a bit more hesitation, Gabriel crossed the rush-strewn floor and knelt across from the old woman. “Before I give you any coin, I want a sign that you speak for Naomi."

  A rusty chuckle rattled up. “'Tis not your coin that interests me, lad. And as for proof ... be this your lady?"

  A trick of the unusual light. It had to be. For as he stared through its odd glow, the crone's features began to run together and reform ... into the image of his lost love. He heard Rollie's cry. Gabriel gasped as well, too swamped with emotion to feel fear. The dank space suddenly filled with a crisp floral scent.

  Violets.

  "Naomi.” Hope quivered in his tone, overcoming doubt and disbelief.

  "Help me, Gabriel,” said the illusion in Naomi's sweet voice. “My spirit knows no rest."

  Thinking of her eternal being wandering in the world of the damned, Gabriel pleaded, “Tell me how I can help you find peace."

  "Find me, Gabriel. Search me out. Hear my last confession, so I might know justice and sleep."

  "Where are you, my love? Where can I find you? You have no grave upon which I might kneel.” He swallowed down that awful truth. Her broken body had been taken by an angry sea. There had been nothing to bury, no form over which to mourn. That only deepened his anguish, a sorrow plunged into further darkness by the apparition's next words.

  "My restless soul will drift forever unless you absolve it. If not in this lifetime, then in the next."

  "I don't understand. Tell me more. What would you have me do?” Was there a means to escape his pain and atone for his sin?