He sensed he was being followed, the sudden voice came only as a confirmation. ?Ye have no cause to trust me, Connar,? a voice from the darkness called out as he moved along the forest trail, ?But I pray ye will give heed to my words and judge, then, accordingly.?

Connar turned to face the source of the voice as Pierre emerged from the shadows, his head bowed, covered by the hood of the simple brown monk?s robe. Connar?s cloak was pushed back over his shoulder, his hand resting on the hilt at his side. His command succinct, ?Out with it, then, Pierre.?

The friar raised his head, looking up at the larger man facing him, the brown hood was far enough back that Connar could see the beads of sweat clinging to Pierre?s portly visage. ?Guillaume and the brotherhood of Montesoire sent me to retrieve ye?to bid ye to come to their aid.? His voice falling off as the words struggled from his throat. He feared, given his treacherous past, that Connar might not hesitate to separate his head from his body.

Connar glanced slowly around the quieted forest, the recent snowfall having dampened the sound all about. He stared back at the cleric, his tone unchanged, ?They need my aid?for what purpose? Has the library finally grown too vast for even monks to control?? His final words laced with heavy sarcasm.

?In a manner of speaking, the library is at the heart of their troubles, Connar.? The friar looked at Connar, his voice gaining confidence. ?Guillaume and the brotherhood have finally fallen out of favor with the Church?Guillaume?s refusal to transcribe scripture and ancient writ to fit newly declared doctrine has finally reached its boiling point. Even now an army from Rome marches toward Montesoire.?

His posture and tone remained yet in check as he spoke, ?I saw Guillaume?s armory, Pierre, and I have seen his brotherhood assembled in action, they should be able to handle whatever rabble Rome can gather.?

Pierre shook his head fervently, his voice stressing the urgency of the situation, ?Rome has made allegiances with many parties of late, Connar, to further its own causes and lengthen its power over the land and people. The army that advances even now toward Montesoire is gilded in black armor and comprised mostly of unscrupulous Templars who have fallen out favor with the Knights.?

?I still don?t see why there would be?? Connar began, but was cut off as Pierre continued.

?This army marches under a black banner with a crimson dragon. Tis more than just a symbol or crest - darkness and wizardry are at the helm.? Pierre hesitated a moment, drawing in a breath, hesitating to utter final part, ?Their intention is to destroy Montesoire and all within its walls?including the Hammer of God.?

Light streamed through the thick forest of trees like brilliant shards of thin glass. Connar stepped from the veil of trees shielding his eyes in a squint against the hazy sunshine, having stepped from the moonless Rhydin night into the light of a medieval morning.

His progress came to a halt as the distinctive click of a crossbow met his ears. His eyes came to focus on two armed guards standing watch over the area, one of them lowering a crossbow?s aim at Connar?s chest. The white double-cross emblems stood out boldly on their black tunics announcing to all their Templar allegiance.

One of the guards spoke out, while the other kept the arrow aimed at Connar, ?Ye will state your name and your business here. And ye will do it quick or die.?

Connar looked from the crossbow to the knight addressing him, narrowing his eyes on the man as he spoke, ?Is this how Templars now make their living, selling their services and their souls to the highest bidder??

The guard was growing more agitated with each passing moment. Even though Connar could not see either of their faces through their steel helmets, he could sense their eagerness to get on with the kill they were hired to perform. ?Our souls have no price. We serve a higher calling, one from the seat of Rome itself. Now ye will tell us what we desire to know or ye shall die.?

?I am he that ye seek,? Connar began, his hand dropping to the hilt of his sword. ?And when ye meet God, ye can ask him if ye received a fair price for your souls.? As the sword slid from the sheath, the crossbow fired, the corded string snapping the arrow violently in Connar?s direction, but only grazing his shoulder as the torn fletching caused it to err to the side.

Another arrow was quickly knocked and drawn back and fired, heading straightway at Connar?s chest. A blur of brown fur and fangs erupted behind Connar, shooting directly into the path of the arrow which struck the animal.

In spite of the shaft protruding from its chest, its advance was not slowed as claws and fangs ripped into the guard before another arrow could be loaded. Blood streaked the ground red as the wolf tore out the throat of the soldier, continuing to rip and tear as the body fell to the ground under the weight of the growling beast.

The second Templar moved quickly to the aid of his fallen companion, raising his own sword above his head to strike down at the ravaging wolf. The animal lept away from the first descending blow, snarling back at the attacking knight with blood-soaked muzzle. The soldier swung again, this time his blade was met by Connar?s, the clash of steel ringing out in the forest. Connar spun to a high guarded position, driving back the Templar?s sword with parying exchanges.

With bloody flesh yet hanging from his mouth, the wolf lept at the remaining knight, fangs and jaws clamping down on the sword-wielding arm. The Templar cried out in pain and he tried to shift the sword from one hand to the other. Before the exchange could be made, the hilt of Connar?s broadsword slammed into his helmet, breaking the nose guard and spraying the ground red.

The second smash to his head sent the Templar reeling backwards toward the ground, the helmet sailing into the brush some distance away, his right arm crushed and bleeding as the wolf bit through the chainmail sleeve. Blood flowed from his head into his eyes, burring his vision as the wolf and warrior hovered over him.

Connar bent down, grabbing the knight by the tunic, dragging him to his feet, and lifting his face just inches from his own, ?Ye will return and tell your master that the day of reckoning is at hand and that if he truly seeks the Hammer of God, he will find it at Montesoire.?

The invading army arrived before the first rays of morning could bid the blackened sky be gone. Hundreds and hundreds of torchlights canvassed the entire landscape lying below Montesoire, giving all those looking on from above an idea of the sheer number of the foe?s army.

At morning?s first light Guillaume and Connar would ride out to meet the mercenaries and hear their terms?it was a formality of warfare?the last act of civility to be observed before life and blood would soak the ground.

Connar was seated on the outermost wall surrounding Montesoire, having spent the better part of the night preparing himself for what lie ahead while watching the opposing forces steadily fill the valley below. The army camped in the open, as if taunting the small collection of soldiers, villagers and clerics now arming themselves as best they could.

The last drawstring of his gauntlet was pulled taunt against his forearm as Connar looked down upon the gathered host in the distance. He was girded in the white and gold tunic of Guillaume?s soldiers, the heavy fabric draped over a chainmail shirt hanging past his waist and secured in place by a wide belt from which hung his scabbards and sheaths.

He raised his head looking out over the horizon to the east, the sun peeking over the crest as he felt a hand press to his shoulder, ?It is time, Connar.? Guillaume?s words were short?but saying all that needed to be conveyed.

Connar lifted the crystal pendant dangling on his chest, holding it tightly in his hand as it was brought to his lips. He closed his eyes for the briefest of moments, thoughts drifting back to a different time and place. As he descended from the wall, the pendant was tucked inside the heavy maille shirt where it had been since the gift was first given him.

Guillaume was already waiting in the saddle of his horse, addressing his army, when Connar entered the courtyard. The entire area was filled with men, both young and old, dressed for the eminent battle. They looked at Connar, as if by his very word he could make the invading forces vanish. He regarded their faces, the fear many tried to hide, the uncertainty they all felt. He pulled himself up onto the saddle, taking the horse by the reins and turning the black steed about to face the main gate leading down to the valley below.

Any not fit to make war had been sent away to seek refuge in one of the many nearby coastal villages. Those that remained were prepared to die, if need be, to protect the monastery and the priceless treasures stacked upon its library walls, to shed their blood for the cause of truth and freedom.

As they neared the large archway gate, Connar turned to look back at the soldiers ? the men and boys watching his every move. He turned the horse about to face them, his fist lifted into the air as he called out to them, ?Courage!?

The courtyard erupted in the echoed shouts of the army as they cried out in unison, ?Marteau, Marteau, Marteau??

As he rode past his troops, Guillaume delivered his orders, ?Defenders of Montesoire, hold the line. Strike clean and true. Drive to their center and push them back from whence they came. God willing, we shall meet on the other side of this meadow, or at heaven?s gate.?

Guillaume smiled at the thought, turning his horse and drawing his sword from its scabbard, lowering the point at the opposing army across the meadow, ?Either way, victory shall be ours this day.?

The soldiers next looked to Connar, who was listening to Guillaume rally courage in the troops. Whether they looked to him to produce some sort of miracle or call for a legion from Heaven, he could not be sure. He would not, however, leave them to wonder, ?Soldiers of Montesoire?men of God?whenever an army assembles to push back evil, to defend those who cannot do so for themselves, to stand for truth and light, that army rises to a higher cause.? He scanned their faces as he shouted that all might hear, ?In this moment, ye are a weapon in Heaven?s arsenal. Ye are the Hammer of God!?

The calvary of gold-clad soldiers cheered, then spurred their horses forward following Guillaume?s lead, the thundering of hooves pounding the frozen ground. The soldiers on foot spilled out of Montesoire?s gate, churning up the earth under their feet as they advanced at a full run.

Connar sped his horse to the head of the army, keeping his gaze fixed upon the leaders of the dark Templar host. He drew the newly forged sword from its place at his side, the steel blade blazing in the sunlight, the medallion embedded in the hilt glowing white as it was lifted above his head.

As the armies collided, the clash of metal rang out as a loud chorus, muffling the anguished cries of the wounded and dying. Peace and deliverance would come at a heavy price, if they were to come at all.

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