Steve Berry - The Templar legacy

He could only hope that his life had meant something and that others would remember him by that meaning.

He sucked a breath.

And tossed the book at Malone, who caught it.

"Why did you do that?" de Roquefort asked.

Mark saw that Malone knew what he was about to do.

And suddenly so did his mother.

He spotted it in her eyes as they shimmered with tears. He wanted to tell her that he was sorry, that he was wrong, that he shouldn't have judged her. She seemed to read his thoughts and took a step forward, which Malone blocked with his arm.

"Get out of the way, Cotton," she said.

Mark used that moment to inch forward, the ground still hard.

"Go," de Roquefort said to him. "Get the book back."

"Certainly."

Another step.

Still hard.

But instead of walking toward Malone as de Roquefort ordered, he ducked to avoid the gun barrel at his head and whirled, ramming his elbow into de Roquefort's ribs. The man's muscular abdomen was hard and he knew he was no match for the older warrior. But he owned an advantage. Where de Roquefort was readying himself for a fight, he simply wrapped his arms around the other man's chest and revolved them both forward, propelling his feet off the ground and sending them down to the floor that he knew would not hold.

He heard his mother scream no, then de Roquefort's gun exploded.

He'd shoved the hand holding the weapon outward, but there was no telling where the bullet had gone. They crashed into the false floor, their combined weight enough to obliterate the covering. De Roquefort had surely expected to hit hard earth, ready to spring into action. But as they slammed into the hole, Mark released his grip from around de Roquefort's body and freed his arms, which allowed the full force of the stakes to grind into his enemy's spine.

A groan seeped from de Roquefort's lips as he opened his mouth to speak. Only blood gurgled out.

"I told you the day you challenged the master that you'd regret what you did," Mark whispered. "Your tenure is over."

De Roquefort tried to speak, but the breath left him as blood spilled from his lips.

Then the body went limp.

"You okay?" Malone asked from above.

He raised up. His shifting weight caused de Roquefort to settle farther onto the stakes. Grit and gravel covered him. He leveraged himself out of the cavity, then swiped away the grime. "I just killed another man."

"He would have killed you," Stephanie said.

"Not a good reason, but it's all I've got."

Tears streamed down his mother's face. "I thought you were gone again."

"I was hoping to avoid those stakes, but I didn't know if de Roquefort would cooperate."

"You had to kill him," Malone said. "He never would have stopped."

"What about the gunshot?" Mark asked.

"Whizzed by close," Malone said. He motioned with the book. "This what you're after?"

Mark nodded. "And there's more."

"I asked before. Was it worth it?"

He pointed back down the passage. "Let's go have a look and you tell me."

MARK STARED OUT ACROSS THE CIRCULAR HALL. THE BROTHERS were once again adorned in their formal dress, convened in conclave, about to select a master. De Roquefort was dead, laid in the Hall of Fathers last night. At the funeral the chaplain had challenged de Roquefort's memory, and the vote had been unanimous that he be denied. As he'd listened to the chaplain's speech, Mark had realized that what happened over the past few days was all necessary. Unfortunately, he'd killed two men, one with regret, the other without relish. He'd begged the Lord's forgiveness for the first death, but felt only relief that de Roquefort was gone.

Now the chaplain was speaking again, to the conclave.

"I tell you brothers. Destiny has been at work, but not in the manner in which our most recent master contemplated. His was the wrong way. Our Great Devise is back because of the seneschal. He was the former master's chosen successor. He was the one sent on the quest. He faced down his enemy, placed our well-being above his own, and fulfilled what masters have attempted for centuries."

Mark saw hundreds of heads bobbing in agreement. Never had he moved men in such a way before. His had been a solitary existence in academia, his weekend forays with his father, then alone, the only adventure he'd ever known until the past few days.

The Great Devise had been quietly taken from the earth yesterday morning and returned to the abbey. He and Malone had personally removed the ossuary, along with its testimony. He'd shown the chaplain what they'd found and it was agreed that the new master would decide what to do next.

Now that decision was at hand.

This time Mark did not stand with the Order's officers. He was merely a brother, so he'd taken his place among the somber mass of men. He'd not been selected as one for the conclave, so he watched with all the others as the twelve went about their task.

"There is no question what must be done," one of the conclave members said. "The former seneschal should be our master. Let it be."

Silence gripped the room.

Mark wanted to speak in protest. But Rule forbid it, and he'd broken enough for a lifetime.

"I agree," another conclave member said.

The remaining ten all nodded.

"Then it shall be," the nominator said. "He that was our seneschal shall now be our master."

Applause erupted as more than four hundred brothers signaled their approval.

Chanting started.

Beauseant.

He was no longer Mark Nelle.

He was master.

All eyes focused on him. He emerged from the brothers and entered the circle formed by the conclave. He stared at men he admired. He'd joined the Order simply as a means to fulfill what his father had dreamed and to escape his mother. He'd stayed because he'd come to love both the Order and its master.

Words from John came to mind.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. Through him all things were made. In him was life, and that life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it. He was in the world, and though the world was made through him, the world did not recognize him. He came to that which was his own, but his own did not receive him. Yet to all who received him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God.

Simon Peter recognized and received Him, as had all who came after Simon, and their darkness became light. Perhaps thanks to Simon's singular realization, they were all now children of God.

The shouts subsided.

He waited until the hall went silent.

"I had thought perhaps that it was time for me to leave this place," he softly said. "The past few days have brought many difficult decisions. Because of the choices I made, I believed my life as a brother over. I killed one of our number and for that I am sorry. But I was given no choice. I killed the master, but for that I feel nothing." His voice rose. "He challenged all that we believe. His greed and recklessness would have been our downfall. He was concerned with his needs, his wants, not ours. " A strength surged through him as he again heard the words of his mentor. Remember all that I taught you. "As your leader, I'll chart a new course. We'll come from the shadows, but not for revenge or justice, but to claim a place in this world as the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and the Temple of Solomon. That's who we are. That's what we shall be. There are great things for us to do. The poor and downtrodden need a champion. We can be their savior."

Something Simon wrote came to mind. All of us bear God's image, all are worthy to be loved, all can grow in the spirit of God. He was the first master in seven hundred years to be guided by those words.