Brendan Carroll's Blog: Working my way back - Posts Tagged "alchemy"

Sometimes when talking about the Assassin Chronicles, I tend to forget that the main character is truly a man with a problem (actually several of them). He drinks too much Scotch. He's grumpy, impatient, intolerant, dangerous, brooding. He not only has one nasty job as Assassin for a clandestine organization known as the Red Cross of Gold Order of the Poor Knights of Solomon's Temple, he also has a long title and an equally long name (that unfolds as the series goes) to bear up under. He doesn't like strawberries or kiwis and he doesn't like to think much if he can help it. Since his reclusive personality keeps him deep in the heart of Scotland and far from the Temple's HQ in sunny, southern Italy, he also has a secondary job in his dungeon-like basement where he makes gold out of base metals for the Order's financial needs. Top it all off with the fact that he is extremely old and doesn't get along very well with women. His weapon of choice is an ancient sword made of braided gold called the Golden Sword of the Cherubim. He likes things simple, but a deep, dark secret he has held for over eight centuries brings him a great deal of grief when it finally comes to light. Yes, there is blood and a bit of guts and glory in the Assassin's Chronicles, so if you see me writing about faeries and knights and mystic horses, don't forget to keep your guard up, your armor on and your helmet within reach.
I don't know if I would call the series a dark fantasy like David Dalglish's Half-Orc series, but they are not exactly light romance. There's plenty of darkness, evil and mayhem for the fans, but maybe not so much graphic blood and sex. Enough for me. I do wish my fans and readers would let me know if they want more blood and guts or sex or what. I guess they are OK with them the way they are.

In the sixth book of the Assassin Chronicles, the Dragonslayer, the Knights of the Temple find themselves pitted against a dragon surrounded by an evil fairie horde. Time seems to be dragging as they wait for the battle to start. $2.99 at Amazon.

Mark Andrew laid back on the grass and wondered how many creatures he was crushing beneath him, but didn’t care. He was tired of waiting. The sun was slowly, inexorably sinking toward the tops of the trees. Lucio sat cross-legged in the grass perusing the edge of his sword.

“This dragon…” the Italian said off-handedly. “Where did it come from?”

“The dragon was brought here by the magician,” Sam told him from his perch on the white horse. The elf had rearranged himself from time to time, but had never dismounted. He now lay on his stomach across the saddle with his hands and his head hanging down one side of the horse. “There have been no dragons hereabouts in ages. None except for Adar and Marduk, of course.”

Lucio glanced at Mark Andrew. Adar, the dragon. Of course.

“So Marduk brought this dragon. Why? What for? Where did he get a dragon?” Lucio perked up.

“He created the dragon.” Sam raised his head and looked at the Knight of the Golden Eagle. “Dragons do not just… exist. They are made. Created. Conjured. Built. Manufactured. Constructed. Fashioned. Formed. Shaped. Reconstituted. Invented. You have to have a recipe.”

“I see,” Lucio shook his head. The elf was like a dictionary and a thesaurus combined. “And to what purpose has this dragon been… prepared.” The Knight was hard-pressed to find a different word to use.

“That I don’t know,” Sam sighed and pushed himself up and then sat cross-legged on the horse’s back facing its tail. “I’m sure it has a purpose, but I am not privy to it. In fact, I don’t want to know. I just want it gone. I believe that once we have defeated these creatures, the dragon will leave. It will have no other choice.”

“I see,” Lucio nodded. At least the elf had made no mention that they might have to fight this dragon. “What do you say, Brother?” He poked at Mark’s side with the hilt of his sword.

“I say this is the longest day I have ever lived,” Mark muttered and closed his eyes. “Will the sun never set?”

“Oh, it will set,” Sam told him confidently. “It always sets… over there.” He pointed with his arm to the left. “… and it always rises… over there.” He pointed with his other arm straight out in front of him and Lucio was puzzled by the 90 degree angle that should have been 180 degrees. The Knight glanced at Mark, but his eyes were closed. “What it rises upon is the question, not when. If we see it rise tomorrow, then it will be good. If not, well…we’ll never know.”

Lucio sat up taller and looked toward the cottage. Here they were about to die and Mark Andrew was bored! How so very typical of the Scot.

“Look, Brother. Our priest.” He nudged Mark again with the sword, this time with the pointed end and received a disgruntled glare for his intrusion.

Mark Andrew sat up and looked to where Lucio pointed. Simon had emerged from the house again. This time with Merry. They left the yard and set off across the meadow toward the woods. Merry carried one of the willow baskets under her arm.

“Where are they going?” Mark asked the elf.

“To look,” Sam yawned. “They always go out and look. Every day. They are looking for something.”

“A way out no doubt,” Lucio mused. “That’s what I would be doing.”

“Would it?” Mark looked at the Italian doubtfully. Lucio would have been doing much more than looking, Mark thought to himself ruefully. At least Simon had more control than the Knight of the Golden Eagle. Or at least Simon used to have more control. Who could know now?











Merry could not help but shoot curious glances at her companion from time to time. She was proud of her work. It had been a terrible ordeal. Simon would not stand still while she painted him and kept grabbing her arm and then letting go of her and grabbing her again. But she had finally accomplished the task and now he had his symbols on his face. He looked like a barbarian for sure, but no worse than herself with her white markings. He had immediately set about to wash it off once he’d seen it in the mirror, but it wouldn’t come off. Then there had been the terrible argument and then she had relented. She had tried to get the markings off him. It was useless. They were stuck with them now, like it or not.

“Do you think we will ever find the stairs?” she asked as they walked along. She looked for more herbs and grasses and leaves and flowers to put in her kettle and stopped occasionally to pick something from this bush or that plant.

“They must be here somewhere,” he said. “I don’t think we had those visions without purpose.”

“I never saw any of this in my dreams,” she told him as she pulled up a yellow flower by the roots, whispering a quick apology for killing it. “I don’t even know if this is the right place for that vision.”

“I don’t know either,” he said. “But we have to keep looking.”

“I have been wondering about the other powders.” She straightened up. “The red and the black.”

“They are nothing, I tell you. Some trick of the… the…” he grumbled as they started off again. He was still angry about the blue markings on his face and his hands. He was damned for sure now and they were walking very near the cave of the dragon. They needed to move on.

He could hear it singing even here.

“Let’s go to the dragon’s lair,” she suggested.

“What the Jiminy Bejesus…Why?!” he sputtered and turned to gape at her. “We’ve been there before. There are no stairs there.”

“We haven’t been in the cave,” she said. “Surely you don’t think the stairs would be out in the open?”

“No! And no.” He shook his head. “We’re going in the opposite direction.”

“All right,” she sighed. He was already mad at her and was just beginning to get over it. She didn’t want to provoke him again. At least she had gotten her way and tonight they would see if her magick had done any good. The runes and symbols on their faces should provide a measure of protection against the baneful faeries.

It's obvious that Meredith and Simon, the Healer, should not be mucking about in Mark's alchemy lab with Paddy Puffingtowne. And it probably is illegal!!

“That’s preposterous!” Merry leaned back and crossed her arms over her stomach. “I don’t care who he’s sleeping with, Paddy, pardon my French. I still love him as a Brother, just I still love Simon and Lucio. After everything I have brought upon his head, surely he doesn’t expect me to hold him at fault for having sought someone else’s attentions. Even if it is Elizabeth. I am not as petty as he might think. I am a Poor Knight of Solomon’s Temple just as much as any of my Brothers and I don’t think he can afford to turn down my help. Not if the picture you paint is accurate.”
“Now, now, lassie, ye dunna understand,” Paddy tried to calm her down a bit. “It’s not wot ye think atoll. ’e ’as ’is reasons fur not wantin’ ye thair and they air not somethin’ thot Paddy is at liberty t’ divulge. Trust me, lassie. Ye’d best respect ’is wishes in this matter. If ye truly love th’ king as ye say ye do, then ye’ll ’ave t’ trust ’im.”
“You’ll have to do better than that, Paddy Puffingtowne,” Merry said stubbornly. “I’ll not be left out of the Order’s business and I have a mind of my own.”
“Aye, thot ye do,” Paddy agreed whole-heartedly. “Ye’ve ’ardly troied th’ leaf. ’ave a smoke and tell me wot ye think.”
Merry stuck the pipe between her lips and took a deep draw on the stem. The ember glowed in the bowl and blue smoke went up to the ceiling. She coughed once and then took another puff. Simon reached past her and took the pipe Paddy had made for him. He turned up the wine, finishing off the last of the bottle before taking a draw off the pipe. His eyes widened and then he coughed worse than Merry.
Merry stopped coughing long enough to sputter “This is bound to be illegal, Paddy.” She looked at the clurichaun in consternation, took a long draw and then giggled.
“It takes yer moind off yer tribbles fur a whoile and a bit as Sam wud say, but it’s ’armless. I told ye thot ye wud loike it.”
Simon puffed on the pipe in fascination. Everything in the room seemed to turn blue in front of his eyes and some of the equipment on the table began to move about, dancing it seemed on long, gangly legs. He blinked rapidly and then drank the down the last of the wine in the glass.
“Dragon’s Blood,” he said again softly. “Dragon’s Blood.”
“What about Dragon’s Blood?” Merry turned to look at him with her pipe still clutched between her perfect teeth.
“Brother Ramsay told me that the Mad Arab was trying to make Dragon’s Blood,” Simon told her and continued to watch as the tripod danced across the counter with a brass bowl following after it. The Erlenmeyer flask began to melt into a puddle. He reached out one finger cautiously to touch the glass. It appeared to cling to his finger in a long stringer of melted glass, but did not burn him. He held his finger up and looked at the crystal filament hanging from it.
“Stop thot!” Paddy laughed and admonished the Healer. He scooted across the counter and took the glass filament from Simon’s finger and laid it on the counter. “Ye’ve ruined th’ gloss now and Andy will be mad as an auld wet hen when ’e comes ’ome and foinds ’is equipment in a shambles.”
Merry turned to look at the melted flask and the dancing tripod.
“How did you do that, Brother?” she asked and took some of the glass up on her own finger.
“Ye’re goin’ t’ cut yerself,” Paddy warned her a bit too late as the thin glass snapped and poked her finger at the same time. A drop of blood emerged, bright red. “I shudna give ye th’ blue,” he said and slapped one hand against his forehead. “I didna realoize thot twud be so powerful in th’ overwarld.”
Merry watched the single drop of blood on her finger as it grew and then dripped slowly onto the table.
Simon focused on it and the blood expanded, forming itself into the shape of a tiny red dragon with black wings. It reared its head and spouted a tiny flash of fire before taking flight about the room.
“Stop it. Stop it.” Paddy reached to take the pipes from them. “Holy mackerel!” he said as he slid from the counter and went chasing after the miniature beast.
Merry giggled and laughed and pressed her hands over her mouth like a little girl.
Simon tried to suppress a laugh, wheezed and coughed and burst out laughing. A bright blue butterfly emerged from his mouth and fluttered about the room.
“Oll right. Thot does it!” Paddy came to take the Healer’s arm. “I’m takin’ ye up t’ yer woife.”
“Oh, noooo.” Simon shook his head. “Thot wudna do atoll.”

For the last Sample Sunday entry of 2012, I'll put up an excerpt from Book 30:. The Wayward GodKing since it is the last book in the Assassin Chronicles series.

Meredith snapped her head around and glared at him.
“What right do you have coming here and making light of our sorrows?” She asked. “My daughter is gone and my son lies dead. The world is destroyed and we linger on and on! To what purpose? Answer me that, O Great and Magnificent Lord! And you taunt me with memories of Mark Andrew when you know perfectly well that we can never… never be together. It’s not fair and it’s not funny and I’m not here for your amusement.”
Anu crawled back to Luke’s side and ran his fingers through the streaked hair. He pulled the braid from its place on Luke’s head with ease and held it in his hand. Meredith gasped at the sight of it. Anu placed it against his own head and it remained there, just above his right ear.
“You also fought with the Italian. Your nature is very volatile. Much like Semiramis, no doubt. You would have made an excellent warrior queen. Your face would satisfy the desolate and wasted ground moreso than water. I know many things, Meredith,” he smiled slightly at her. “I have been there for my son and my grandson and even you. You do not hold exclusive rights to love, my daughter, though you would rival Venus’ radiance. My daughters have become many and lovely they are, but you must remain the crowning glory. Surely you know that it was not your brain that attracted my son? Nanna knew exactly what his uncle would want when he put his plan in action. Did he never explain to you what it was all about?”
“Of course, he did. You make it sound as if he used me,” Meredith was still highly perturbed. “John Paul wanted to save the world. He didn’t want the cataclysm to come. He said that it didn’t have to happen. That it was up to us, but we failed.”
“You failed because it is written in the stars that now is the time for a new beginning,” Anu tossed his hair over his shoulder and his earrings jingled in unison with her own silver ones entwined in the braid. “Some things can be changed or prevented while others cannot. Nanna made a good attempt. An honorable effort. I am quite pleased with his motives though his methods are a bit questionable. I think he must be punished. As for your defense of him, it is only natural for a mother to defend her son. That is how you still think of him, Meredith, as your son. He is not your son. He is your alter self. Your masculine half. You persist in these human delusions. I’m going to take you into the depths of the ocean and show you wonders you never dreamed of.”
“John Paul? Punished? Who could punish him? What has he done wrong?” she asked in alarm, ignoring his obvious romantic overture. “Who can condemn him?”
“Condemn him? No. Punish, yes,” Anu said. “He is an errant child. You know that and you… what of your antics, Meredith? Are you not a part of him? Does he not reprimand you for your transgressions?”
“I am responsible for my own actions, and John would never presume to redress me. He treats me with the greatest respect. Punish me, if you must,” she said defiantly. “Leave him alone.”
“I have left him alone too long, it seems, and I will truly leave him alone when I go,” the Lord of the Moon stood up “for I will take you with me, and he will appreciate more what he has done when he can no longer see you. If he has placed an attachment on you as you describe, then it needs to be eradicated. It is unnatural and unhealthy. He has a mother! And so do you, though you never knew her.”
Meredith’s mouth fell open in shock at his words. She would not go with him. She simply would not go with him. He held out his hand to her and she took it. She would not allow this creature to take her from her family. She could not allow it. She stepped up and out of the bed to stand beside him on the marble floor. If Mark Andrew were there, he would not let it happen, but this was his father. How could he oppose one as powerful as Anu? He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and kissed her lips. She would not kiss him! She would not go with him.
“John!” she shouted when he let go of her. “John Paul! Lucio!!”
“There is no need shouting for help, my daughter,” Anu spoke into her ear. “You will like where we are going. I give you my word. If you do not wish to stay, you can come back here anytime you wish it.”

Last post of the old year. In with the new and out with the old or vice versa. However you like, that is how it should be. Let us hope our new year surpasses all our hopes and dreams!

From the Wayward GodKing, Book 30, last of the Assassin Chronicles, where it seems some of the Assassin's antagonists have gotten themselves into serious trouble:

“Why do you suppose they didn’t kill all of us?” Sergei asked softly as he watched two men cut the bonds that held the bloodied body of the lieutenant.
“They are probably not gluttonous. One sin doesn’t always mean that others are practiced equally.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Sergei said and closed his eyes tightly as they began to dismember the corpse with the sharp bamboo knives. They cut off the arms and then went to work on the meatier parts of the legs.