Voices whispering through the walls? Or merely wind howling through the cracks?

Giradin awoke in the cold night with the feeling that someone was watching him. When his eyes beheld rafters over his head, he took a moment to recall where they were. After three blinks, the memories came back to him.

They'd stopped in the town of Salasa and paid for a room at the inn. The snoring all around reminded Giradin that all five of them lay in bedrolls together. On the far end of the room, under the window, lay Sir Cristoff. Sir Philip lay in front of the door. Shlomo lay perpendicular with Giradin's feet, and Sir Emeric lay close by Giradin's side.

Or, at least, he had been there. When Giradin turned to look at Sir Emeric he saw only the Templar's empty bedroll. A quick look around the room told Giradin that Sir Emeric was no longer there with them, and Giradin grew curious. The only ways out of this room were through the door, which Sir Philip guarded, and through the window, under which Sir Cristoff slept. If Sir Emeric had gotten up and left without waking either of them, as it seemed, Giradin felt less confident about these Templars' protection.

Giradin arose from his bed, the cold night air creeping up his sleeping gown and chilling his thighs.The inn creaked in another blast of wind, and Giradin glanced out the window to see the branches bowing to the wind, as if begging that they would not be broken in its fury.

Determined to discover what had happened to Sir Emeric, Giradin tiptoed across the room toward the door. He gingerly stepped over Sir Philip and lightly pressed his palm on the handle to push the door open as quietly as he could.

Sir Philip snorted in his sleep.

Giradin's heart stopped, and he held his breath.

But the Templar merely turned over onto his side and sputtered for a few moments, the cloth mask he wore fluttering.

Relieved, Giradin pushed on the door again, until it opened enough for him to slip through.

Down the hall from their room, Giradin spotted Sir Emeric in the dining area of the inn, sitting at one of the tables. The red-haired knight had both his hands folded on the table in front of him, and his eyes were glassy.

When Giradin drew near, Sir Emeric looked up and smiled. "Having trouble sleeping?" the Templar asked.

Giradin shook his head. "No. Well, yes, but... not really."

Sir Emeric chuckled. "Yes, no, not really. Well, which is it, my friend?"

Giradin took a seat across from Sir Emeric. "I woke up and you weren't there, so I... well, I was worried."

"Worried? About me?" Sir Emeric raised an eyebrow. "Thank you, Giradin. It's good to know someone cares."

"What are you doing up?"

Sir Emeric bit his lower lip and furrowed his brow. His eyes averted themselves, as if his own hands had suddenly become the most interesting things in the room. "There are... certain things which keep me awake some nights."

"Nightmares?" Giradin asked.

Sir Emeric's emerald eyes met Giradin's face and he nodded.

"I'm here if you want to talk," said Giradin with a sympathetic pat on Sir Emeric's hands.

"How is it that you've not had nightmares, after all you've been through?" Sir Emeric asked. "You've purged towns infected with plague. You've fought monsters. You've encountered witches. Didn't you tell me you saw a priest torn limb from limb by vicious dogs? How is your mind any less troubled than mine?"

"It's not," said Giradin with a shake of his head. "I've had many nightmares since I joined the Crows."

"But none of them have kept you up at night?" Sir Emeric asked.

"They have," said Giradin. "Just... not since I met you."

The two stared in silence for a moment, the Templar's gaze softening the longer they remained quiet. Finally, Sir Emeric scratched the back of his head, his red locks rolling between his fingers. "I guess... I'm glad I make you feel safe."

"I'd like to return the favor," said Giradin. "Please, tell me what's troubling you. If I can heal the body, maybe I can heal the soul too."

Sir Emeric smirked. "My burdens are heavy, my friend. Are you sure you want them?"

"Absolutely."

"Very well," Sir Emeric shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. "When I fought in the crusades, there was a young priest I knew named Father Baynard. It was... well, it was strange calling someone five years my junior 'father.' But he was one of the priests in the chuch in Jerusalem, and I always went to him for confession because his words were always comforting. We became friends... best friends..."

"Was he killed by the Saracens?" Giradin asked.

Sir Emeric shook his head. "No. I've had many friends killed by Saracens, and they still haunt my nightmares, but Baynard was not one of them. What happened to him was far worse. He..." Sir Emeric paused a moment, then reached out and clasped Giradin's hand. "This must stay between us." The Templar's gaze was intense, focused. There was a hint of a threat in it, but it was insincere. Clearly, Sir Emeric meant to make Giradin think he would do him harm, but the threat was empty. "If you breathe a word of this to anyone I will consider it the deepest of betrayals."

Giradin nodded vigorously. "You have my word. As a man and as a saint."

Sir Emeric released Giradin's hand and continued. "One day, I met with Father Baynard for supper, as we sometimes did. As usual, we talked and laughed... and then... he told me he was in love with me."

Giradin gasped at Sir Emeric's confession, but forced his mouth shut again.

Sir Emeric grunted and shook his head. "Such a foolish thing to say. We were both sworn to chastity. Nevermind what an abomination such a love is anyway... He asked me if I loved him too and... well... I don't like to lie, so I remained silent instead. He took my silence for a confession, and then suggested we leave Jerusalem and start a new life together, somewhere far away. Maybe as far as Hodu..."

"Hodu?" Giradin repeated and gave a confused look.

"It's a land east of the Saracen empire. South of China," said Sir Emeric.

"So, what did you do?" asked Giradin.

"I politely refused," said Sir Emeric. "Regardless of how we felt, it would be in defiance of God and everything we stood for were we to run away to be together. I told him that regardless of how I felt, I loved God and the Church more than I loved anyone else. He..." The Templar hesitated, his eyes leaving Giradin's face again to glance down at the table. "He started to beg and plead with me, said he couldn't live without me. I told him he wouldn't have to, we'd always be friends. But he wept and he... ugh... it was terrible." Sir Emeric shuddered. "I've never seen a man so broken before or since."

Giradin considered reaching out and holding Sir Emeric's hand for comfort, but, given the nature of the Templar's story, he decided it best not to touch him.

"That wasn't the end of it," said Sir Emeric. "After that, whenever he found an opportunity to catch me alone he brought up his proposal again, and each time I refused. Finally, I stopped meeting him for supper. Then I started confessing to a different priest. Then I started avoiding him. I'd see him drawing near and would immediately flee." The Templar gave a weak chuckle. "I've never fled from any foe, unless ordered to do so, but from that young, amorous priest I ran like a coward."

Giradin opened his mouth to speak when the Templar paused, but he could think of nothing to say to comfort him.

"One day, he caught me off-guard and cornered me. Alone." Sir Emeric bit his lip and hung his head. "I'd had enough, and I lied to him. I told him I didn't love him anymore. I said I hated him and never wanted to see him again. When he called me a liar, I... I slapped him in the face... twice."

The Templar leaned back on the bench and cast his eyes up at the rafters. "The next morning, they found him dead in the streets. As far as they could tell, he'd climbed to the top of one of the highest towers in Jerusalem and..."

When Sir Emeric fought with the words, but silence had prevailed over his tongue, Giradin said, "He jumped?"

Sir Emeric nodded. "And... and that's still not the worst of it. Baynard became... he was the first vampire I ever had to slay."

"My God!" Giradin breathed, his eyes wide with horror.

Sir Emeric hung his head and covered his eyes with his hand. "Such a cruel fate... Father Baynard was a good man, a virtuous man. But when I saw his corpse crouched over that beggar, drinking his blood... I knew his soul was... was in Hell!"

Giradin rose from his seat and rounded the table, pulling Sir Emeric into a gentle embrace while the Templar sobbed. Giradin held a hand to the back of Sir Emeric's head and gently rocked him.

There were no words of comfort to offer him. Nothing Giradin could think to say would have lessened this Templar's suffering. He'd kept these horrors bottled up inside so long that there wasn't a force on earth that could alleviate his heart.

So, Giradin prayed, "Holy Mary, Mother of God, please heal your loyal servant's wounded heart."