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BOOK 3 SYNOPSIS
ALL IS NOT QUIET IN AVALON, MN
Lord Sumner has unlocked the secrets to the Spear of Ragnarok, unleashing a power that threatens to bring a second Ice Age. All hope seems lost until the Templar Knights discover clues that may lead them to a relic with the power to stand against the Spear.
Now Max Sumner and the Grey Griffins must join the Templar in a treacherous journey into the Underworld as they hunt for that lost relic and try and save the planet from extinction. But even if they make it through the underground labyrinth, an ageless dragon awaits at the end of their quest. Are they up to the challenge? Find out in the gripping legend of The Fall of the Templar...
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CHAPTER 1: LORD SAXON'S DIARY
Iceland . . .
"We can't last much longer in this storm," a soldier shouted above howling mountain winds. His beard and brows were thick with ice. Like his six comrades, he was dressed in arctic gear, standing on a narrow ledge. Above towered the high peak of a frozen volcano. Thousands of feet below lay swirling mists.
"We leave when I say we leave," the unit leader yelled back. Dark sunglasses shielded his piercing eyes, and his grim face was covered in stubble. His name was Logan, and he was one of the most dangerous men alive. Standing like an immovable stone amidst the raging winds, the Scotsman studied the rock face, deep in thought. He'd been there for almost an hour, silent as death as the temperature continued to drop.
"You sure this is the place?" shouted another soldier, before clearing the frost from his goggles.
"How 'bout a bit of quiet, eh?" Logan requested. Without further question, the soldier returned to his post. Besides, even if they were wrong, it was too late to go back and they knew it. Either the map was right, or soon they'd become a frozen part of the landscape themselves.
Soon, as if the answer had suddenly become clear, Logan pulled out his ice ax and drove it into the wall with an explosion of frost and rime. As he stared silently at the newly exposed rock, a knowing smile crept across his face. The Scotsman brought out a tattered map from his parka and checked it twice, comparing it with what he saw on the wall. He reached out to where the three concentric circles lay inscribed on the rock, then he made several signs in the air. Almost immediately, shimmering light pooled in the circles like molten lava, and the rock face swung open, revealing a long tunnel that led down into the volcano. He waved to his men, and the adventurers ditched their climbing gear and ducked into the mysterious tunnel, leaving the howling wind far behind.
* * * * *
"So this is it," Logan murmured to himself, throwing back his hood. The trail had led them to a stony chamber layered in shadow.
One of the soldiers lit a torch, holding it aloft as they all looked around. The room was perfectly square, with a stone sarcophagus positioned in the center, strange runes etched across its surface.
"Looks like the competition got here first," noted Søren, Logan's second-in-command. A ski mask covering all but his wary eyes, Søren was a lean man with a cold, calculating voice that made him sound more like a machine than a man. He was pointing toward the base of the tomb, where several bodies dressed in black leather lay scattered. They were frozen solid. At first glance they might have appeared human, but their faces were covered in bristling fur and their canine jaws were lined with yellow teeth. "Werewolves," he confirmed.
"But they didn't come in through the front door," Logan noted, looking back up the long passage from where they'd come. "We'd have picked up their trail before now. Must have used portals." Logan signaled for everyone to stay where he was. Whatever had finished off the werewolves was probably still around.
"How'd the Black Wolf Society know where to find Lord Saxon's tomb?" asked another soldier. Like the famed Lord Saxon, Logan and his men were adventurers. The difference was that Lord Saxon had come to protect the secret that lay in this cave, while Logan and his men had come to steal it.
"Don't know," Logan replied, his eyes skittering about the room, looking for traps or trick doors. "Just keep sharp. This is a hit and run. I want out of here quick as can be, understand?"
Søren nodded and slid on a pair of strange goggles, hitting a few buttons on the side before sweeping the room with a visual scan. "Low-level magic signature on the floor," he explained. "Looks like a trap was triggered by some kind of motion detector that picked up activity near the tomb."
"Tundra Trolls . . . ," Logan said with a half smile. It made all the sense in the world. Not many creatures, even from the faerie world, could survive a godforsaken hell like this. "The Black Wolves portal'd in and landed themselves in a nasty nest of trolls, eh? Serves those dogs right." The other soldiers nodded. Werewolves were nasty business, but they were no match for a Tundra Troll.
"Looks like they didn't make it to the tomb," Søren noted.
Logan shook his head and grinned. "That they didn't. Which means we're in luck. That the only trap your scanner picked up?"
Søren nodded. "You're clear to move in."
"Good," Logan replied, taking off his sunglasses to brush away the frost. "I want you to fan out . . . secure the room. And stay clear of that trap if you'd be so kind, gents. I don't want any trolls dropping on my head."
The soldiers moved briskly through the tomb. In the blink of an eye, all entrances were secured. If any more werewolves were on the way, they'd regret it. No Tundra Troll would be making a surprise attack, either. These men were agents of T.H.O.R., the vaunted Special Forces of the Templar. They'd seen everything, done everything, and survived the impossible. It would take more than a creepy tomb or an oversized yeti to stop them. . . .
Logan walked across the room and stopped just short of the trap, the toe of his boot only millimeters from the trip line. He turned to Søren. "What level of trap?"
"Level six, sir."
Logan nodded and turned back to the tomb. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a metal cylinder, hollow in the middle. Then the Scotsman placed his right arm inside and tapped a button six times. It tightened around his forearm, and a humming sound filled the room. "See you blokes in a bit." He nodded curtly toward Søren, who saluted in return. A second later, the light around Logan seemed to flicker; then he dimmed from view, leaving an empty floor where the knight had once stood.
* * * * *
"Everybody out! Now!" Logan shouted as he suddenly reappeared in a flash of light. He was standing on top of the sarcophagus, its lid thrown to one side. From inside, a skeletal hand reached hungrily toward him. The Scotsman was carrying an ancient box as he leapt into the air, narrowly avoiding the bony fingers of the undead monster. "Cripes!" Logan shouted, as he hit the ground. Mistiming his landing, he didn't quite clear the trap. At the same moment, there was a terrible roar as three massive Tundra Trolls materialized in the room, leaving little space for the T.H.O.R. agents to maneuver. Huge, white, and covered in a shaggy coat of fur, the arctic beasts had massive horns that jutted from their heads and arms the size of bridge cables. With ear-shattering bellows, they launched at the Templar, who were now in a fight for their lives.
"You're a nasty one," Logan growled through clenched teeth as he fought off the fanatical skeleton, while trying to avoid the trolls. "Søren!" the Scotsman yelled over the roar of battle. "We need a way out. Now!"
Søren ducked beneath the arm of one of the trolls before leaping over another and finally somersaulting to the exit where their abandoned packs lay. Reaching in, he grabbed a handful of canisters, pulled the pins, and rolled them toward the trolls. Instantly, the room was awash in thick smoke.
The trolls roared and swung blindly at the air. With aid from their high-tech goggles, the knights quickly disengaged and made their way back to the exit. All that remained was Logan, who continued his struggle against his undead assailant. It pressed wildly with bony claws, looking for any opening. With a sweeping kick, Logan managed to break off the skeleton's legs at the knees, and the Crypt Sentinel was sent crashing to the ground.
Wasting no time, Logan shot through the exit, racing up the tunnel until he caught up with his men. Below, the Tundra Trolls were bellowing, blinded by the smoke. "We're safe . . . at least for the moment," he said, turning to his men as they stood in the narrow passage a safe distance from the trolls. "Those nasties are too big to fit through their own front door. They're stuck like sardines in a can."
Logan checked the box he'd taken from the crypt, but not before taking a visual roll call. Luckily, all knights were present and accounted for. They'd survived their encounter with only a few scratches, though all the treasure hunters before them had perished in their attempts to secure Lord Saxon's diary.
"So what went wrong back there?" Søren asked, looking over at Logan.
"The trap was a level six," replied Logan, brushing dust from his shoulder in irritation. "But the Skeleton Keeper was a level eight. You might have told me about that."
Søren nodded. "The sarcophagus must have been lined with iron. The MQH goggles can't see through that particular metal. Not yet anyway."
"Now you tell me," Logan said with a half smile. Then he looked down at the box he'd pilfered with grim satisfaction. The smile didn't remain for long, though. "Am I the only one who noticed it got very quiet all of a sudden?"
The T.H.O.R. agents looked around suspiciously until Logan turned and spied the skeletal Crypt Sentinel clawing its legless body toward them. The monster let out a terrible cry as its body started to flicker and spark, as if the enchantment that had held it together was about to unravel.
"It's gonna blow!" Logan shouted in horror. Like the wind, the Templar turned and raced up the passage. They were nearly halfway up when the explosion finally hit, sending a shower of dust and rock everywhere. Then came the fireball. It started as only a glimmer in the distance, but it grew . . . and grew . . . shaking the mountain as a deafening roar rocketed through the passage. When it hit, everything seemed to fall apart all at once. First, the ceiling. Then, the walls. Finally, the floor began to fall away.
"That's bad news, it is," Logan muttered, sarcasm lacing his voice as he watched their only exit disappear under the weight of the mountain. Everything went dark, and after a few more moments, it grew deathly quiet.
* * * * *
"At least we have what we came for," noted Søren. The wind was bitter as he and Logan scanned the entrance to Lord Saxon's tomb, which was now nothing more than a pile of impassable destruction. It had taken them hours to dig their way out, but somehow their entire party had managed to claw their way to freedom.
Logan looked down at the box in his hands. It was seemingly no worse for the wear. He clicked open the latch. Inside lay a book, bound in tattered leather. "This diary had better be worth it," he growled.
Søren wrapped three of his broken fingers together, but if he felt any pain, he never made a sign. "So, you never told me . . ."
"Told you what?" replied Logan, snapping the lid shut.
"What the devil is so important about that diary that we'd travel halfway across the world to find it?"
Logan turned back to Søren and smiled.
"Ever heard of the Eye of Odin?"
Back to Prologue
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