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SampleSunday ~ Chapter
The Red Cross of Gold XXI:. The Dead Confess No Sins ~ Assassin Chronicles
Chapter Six of Eighteen
Excellent speech becometh not a fool:
much less do lying lips a prince
“Where do you suppose he is?” Montague paced the floor in the Grand Master’s bedchamber.
“Simon said he left him in the meadow,” the Grand Master answered.
He sat on the edge of the bed and laboriously pulled off one boot. He tossed it in the corner of the near bare room and went after the other one.
“Don’t you think it a bit strange that he did not come home for supper?” The Seneschal frowned. Each time he began to think that Luke Matthew was not responsible for their plight, the Knight of the Orient would do something new that brought suspicion upon him. Only that morning, Montague had spied him having a heated argument with the one called Bombarik. Luke had yet to explain this creature sufficiently as far as Montague was concerned. The Ifrit as Luke called him, was another of the Djinni race and Montague wanted nothing to do with him. He well remembered how Lemarik had come to be entangled in their business. Now here was another one. “I saw him arguing with that yellow Djinni this morning! I don’t trust that one. He is not of the same ilk as the purple wizard.” William stopped to stare at d’Brouchart. “Your Grace! You don’t suppose that Luke Matthew might be this one’s father as Mark Ramsay is Lemarik’s father?”
“Oh, I doubt that.” The Grand Master fluffed up his two small pillows, frowned at them and then leaned back against the heavy wooden headboard. It was great to get off his feet for a while. “Luke Matthew is not nearly as old as his brother. You know that!”
“Of course.” Montague went back to his pacing. This was another fact that bothered him about the so-called ‘twin brothers’. “But I believe that we should watch that relationship closely. They are not on the best of terms and the Djinni could be dangerous. He has a… look about him.”
“And so we shall.” D’Brouchart closed his eyes. He had not spent so much time on horseback in ages. He was extremely glad that the preparations were made and for better or worse, they were ready for the dragon. What concerned him was how they would get back to Scotland or anywhere else afterwards. Snaring or slaying the dragon in no way meant that a path would be opened for them to leave this place. He missed his daily swims.
“But Luke has been very worried about his wife!” Montague continued. “He has expressed his concerns to Simon on several occasions. She is advanced in her pregnancy. Much more so than I would like to see. It can only mean that we have been here much longer than it seems. She looks about to burst at any second and I am not happy with this situation. What will we do if she has problems? I would hate to have to deal with the Knight if something went awry with the woman.”
“He would be a problem. That much is certain. Without his brother here to temper him,” d’Brouchart agreed.
“I have looked about the properties and the yellow Djinni is not here. Neither is Lemarik. The Knight mentioned that he needed to… what was his word? Negotiate? Bargain? That he had to speak with the dragon about helping us. I do not see the need to bring another of these beasts from the Abyss. Surely we can think of some other way. Does not your mystery or perhaps that of Lavon de Bleu provide some means for luring the dragon where we want her?”
“I do not think so. If you will remember, a great deal went into luring her to the stone in Lothian the first time we encountered her. What we need is Mark Andrew’s magick or perhaps even Luke Andrew’s. I have very little knowledge of either of their capabilities. But Lavon’s magick contains no conjurations for dragons and these little folk have only dragon lore, as it were, to go on. They are sore afraid of the beasts. They would not have anything to bring one up. Even Sister Meredith’s primitive magick might have been more useful. I miss her.”
“We all miss her.” Montague crossed himself. He did not like to think about what happened to Meredith Sinclair-Ramsay. Her disappearance and the evidence of her ‘death’ bothered him a great deal. There had been no one there to release her soul. “But these Djinn! They are a different matter altogether. Lemarik had the serpent under his control at one time, if you will remember. It is possible that this Bombarik has the same power.”
“Possibly,” d’Brouchart agreed. He just wanted to take a nap, but Montague was beside himself.
“And what about Lucio Dambretti? Corrigan told me that he was seen in the woods! Did you not hear him? What does it mean? As you well know, Nicole Ramsay was a formidable witch in her own regard. If he is under her sway as we believe, then he may have turned on us as well. He and Luke Matthew and this Djinni could easily team up and give a great deal of trouble. Why did he not come to the keep to see us? He is hiding something! You would think that he would have been glad to see us here. What is he up to? I have a bad feeling about this, your Grace. If he should come here, I believe that we should be very careful. Very careful.”
“We must always be careful, Brother.”
“If he comes here, I say we take him in hand and demand some answers.” Montague stopped pacing and waited for an answer.
“And on what charges would you hold him?” D’Brouchart raised his head to frown at the man. “What questions would you ask?”
“It is his duty as a member of the Council of Twelve to remain with us or, at least, in contact with us. It is not proper that he should be skulking about in the woods, spying on us with that woman.”
“Hmmph,” d’Brouchart eschewed this remark.
“He is very close to treason, your Grace. He has much explaining to do. Where has he been? What has he been up to? Why is still with Nicole Ramsay? He knows very well how she feels about this Order!” Montague’s temper began to escalate. “She was Omar’s wife for many years. She bore him a child. She almost killed her own father. She drove her mother to the brink of insanity. She is not healthy company. There is no telling what manner of sorcery she has worked on the Golden Eagle. He has always had a weakness for pretty faces and you know very well how he felt about her mother. She looks very much like her mother, if you get my meaning, sir. He would be easy prey for her.”
“He may not be so easy as you imagine.” The Grand Master closed his eyes. Lucio had always been a problem, but no more so than many of his Knights, past and present. “I do hope that he will come around before we engage the dragon. We can use his help, but your words have some measure of credence. If he comes to us, then, yes, we should use the utmost caution, especially if she is with him.”
“I will pass the word to de Lyons, de Bleu, Champlain and Simon to be on the lookout for him. I do not think that Konrad would be interested in my concerns regarding his beloved father-in-law. He has too much respect for Lucia’s father, God rest her soul!” Montague crossed himself again and left the Grand Master to his nap.
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“I was quite surprised to hear your call. I had not expected you at all. At least not so very soon. You’ve changed your face but not your tune. Are you still in need of me? Or was it just my face to see that brought you back without your sack?”
The black dragon was perched on an overhanging ledge of rock above a small cave in the rocky slope. Her forelegs hung over the edge of the bluff and her head and neck stretched down between them as she perused the figure of the mounted Knight below her. Luke had donned Barry’s Templar uniform and decked himself out in silver plated armor borrowed from the King’s armory. He cut a fine figure, glittering in the sunlight, sitting ramrod stiff in the elaborate trappings of the Tuathan saddle. Had it only been a dream, one might have thought this the legendary meeting between Saint George and the Dragon, but this was no dream and no one was there to witness the mystical scene straight out of a fairy tale. Luke had not come here to slay the dragon; he had reluctantly come here expecting to be slain. The leather saddle squeaked and his armor jingled as the horse snorted nervously and pawed the ground in anticipation of sudden flight.
“You speak in riddles and rhymes, great Inanna.” Luke did his best to smile at the formidable beast. She could have crushed him and his horse with one swipe of her foreclaw. His horse stamped and jerked his head up and down, protesting this confrontation with death. It seemed hours had passed since he had come to this lonely place and tried to summon her. He had already given up hope of her coming, mounted up, ready to ride back to the keep, but when he had turned about, there she had been, on the ledge above his head, as if she had been there all along. Luke knew that it might very well be so. That she may have been there when he’d arrived. Dragons were well known for their ability to mimic their surroundings. If they did not want to be seen, it was virtually impossible to discern them without magickal help. A dragon could be anywhere, anytime and one may not be aware of them until it was too late. “I have come to ask a favor of you, yes. We are in need of your help.”
“Where is your Brother? Or has he eloped with another?” The dragon rumbled and Luke did not know if she was laughing or belching. He had no idea what brother she was referring to. Did she perhaps recognize him now as Mark’s brother? Or was she actually asking about him, still thinking that he was Mark? He shook his head slightly and tried to focus on the task at hand.
“I am alone,” he assured her. “I would hear what you would ask to help us lure the red serpent into a trap. We would take her away from these lands. She is wreaking havoc on the inhabitants here. We have constructed a pit and we need to get the beast into it. It was thought that you might be able to accomplish such a deed.”
“Oh, that would be a deed, indeed. Yes, yes a deed. Yes, you are in most perilous need! You are willing to concede that from this beast you must be freed. Beast, beast you refer to her. Feast, feast you would be to her. Do you see an infernal beast when on me your eyes you feast?” The dragon nodded her head and a puff of steam rose from her nostrils. “But is there nothing under the sun that we have not already done? I once heard a marvelous tale of two fighting dragons, hearty and hale, who were led into a trap such as this one you plan to snap. A sorcerer great did lead them there; a great stone box for them to share. And upon the box was built a tower, but he did reveal them at eleventh hour. The tyrant Vortigern did want his blood, but the sorcerer this plot withstood. Yes. Yes. It may be so there may be something that I know, but what would you offer in return if my help you wish to earn? Dare I name the price to pay? What is it worth this beast to slay? Is it worth some few short hours spent alone within my bowers? Is it worth a hoard of gold taken from the kings of old? Is it worth a virgin’s kiss or would you from my love resist? Oh, tell me, tell me, brave Knight and true, what is it really worth to you?” She lowered her head just a bit more and he could see what appeared to be laughter in her emerald eyes.
“It is worth everything I have. And what stands before you is the sum of my wealth. I have only myself to offer. If that is what you want, then it shall be yours.” Luke Matthew reined his horse about. “What is it you would wish me to do? I will take your demands back to the Master and tell them what you want.”
“The Master? Ahh, but you are the King! Of you praises all do sing! Why would you need to ask permission to send this beast into perdition? I would deal with you alone in my boudoir of comfortable stone.”
“But what can I give to you that you do not already have?” Luke asked with great trepidation.
“You made a vow to me to keep and I have not forgotten. In time we’ll find ourselves asleep in love’s deep dream begotten. The Golden Eagle’s soul in trade, a deal struck, a bargain made. But for this new deed I would demand, his son, be given into my hand. The boy would be great company and comfort in the dark for me. Have you no memory of our bargain made when you first petitioned for my aid?” She moved suddenly, causing a small landslide on the steep slope. Luke’s horse reared in fear as the small rocks and sand skittered past them.
“Wot?!” Luke’s brain was having a hard time keeping up with her strange rhetoric. “I cannot give my Brother’s child to you! He is like my own son! You cannot be serious.” He pulled on the reins and the horse backed away readily from the rocks.
Inanna drew her head back and raised her neck up above the ledge. A small gout of green flame erupted from her nose. She tossed her head and then lowered it again to study him closely and his heart froze as he thought she might have recognized the fact that he was not his brother. That there was something amiss with him.
“That is my offer,” she told him shortly. No rhyme. No room for further bargaining.
Luke sat speechless on his horse, staring up at her. He had not expected this, but what was she talking about when she spoke of another vow he had made to her. He had made no bargains, struck no deals with her. This had to be something his brother had done, but what did it have to do with Lucio’s soul? Luke Matthew did not like the sound of this at all.
“Please, hold, Great Inanna! Forgive me, I beg you. This other bargain that I have struck with you concerning the Golden Eagle… I have suffered much of late and my mind is foggy,” he said carefully. “I will soon be in a position to fulfill my part, but I have forgotten what I promised.
“Adar, Adar! I find that very hard to believe. Would you hope Inanna to deceive? You gave your word to visit me and take me to the rings to see, and if you break your word with me, the Golden Eagle, I’ll take from thee.”
“Oh! That bargain. Yes, I remember now.” He had no idea what she was talking about, but he had a terrible feeling that Lucio’s soul was in very grave danger now. He looked about, trying to think of some way to learn more without arousing suspicion, but nothing came to mind other than the fact that he needed to evacuate posthaste. “Time is slipping by, Great Inanna and I must be off. I will present your petition to the Master. I can’t make a decision like that without his approval. I’m quite sure that he will agree to give me leave to spend time with you, but I cannot say what he will decide concerning the Golden Eagle’s son.”
“The boy would not be a loss to you. And I would raise him strong and true. His mother’s wrath will not descend if he is found not among your men. She will blame the great Shammash, across the Gates of Hell the clash. He will burn her with a flash and in darkness teeth will gnash, but the boy with me safely kept. For him, this work I will accept.”
“I will tell them your words, Wondrous One.” Luke bowed his head to her slightly. This was not working. He would never give up Galen Zachary to this beast. Not for anything. He turned the horse and rode away at a slow pace, leaving her behind on the ledge above the cave. He reached the forest and then kicked the horse to a gallop under the trees. The Grand Master would never believe this. They would all think that he was lying to keep from using the dragon to help them. He kicked himself mentally for not bringing a witness to hear her out. He tried to go over her words as he rode, make sense of them, but it was hopeless his mind was filled with horror, fear and frustration. Surely his brother could have done better.
The yellow Ifrit watched from his perch high in the rocks as the Knight left the dragon. He was amazed to learn that his Master had such a fine, dangerous friend. He leaned his chin in his hand and considered the exchange he had just witnessed. The dragon drove hard bargains, but the Djinni did not see a problem with offering the boy for her help. There were many boys in the world. The mention of the great Shammash had made his blood run cold.
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Lucio dismounted and reached up to take the child from Andrea’s arms. He held the baby as she climbed down off the pale stallion and stood beside him. They had stopped just short of breaking from the cover of the trees. Across the plain, the castle keep could be seen rising up against the blue backdrop of the sky above the ocean cliff. Lucio held the baby’s face against his own for several seconds. He did not want to leave them here. He could not see them from the keep. Anything could be lurking in the woods and they had seen evidence of the dragon’s work here and there as they had ridden over from the cottage in the meadow. Long swaths of burned vegetation and blackened earth where her flames had scorched the ground, withering the trees and incinerating the shorter undergrowth to ashes dotted the area. He held the boy out again and looked at him closely.
“He has your colors, you know. A little more gold perhaps…” he told her, referring to the baby’s aura. “I want you to remain on your horse, ready to ride I’ve decided to take Lucky with me. If all goes well, I will leave him with someone at the keep when I come back for you. That way he will spend less time unprotected. If it does not work out, he will be with me until we are together again.”
“You feel you can protect him better than I can?” She frowned at him. “You will be exposed as you ride across. What will you do if the dragon comes?”
“Ride faster.” He smiled at her. “It really doesn’t matter what we do. It is in God’s hands now, but I would feel better if he were with me. If you have to run, he will not be a burden for you. He is as nothing to me, whereas he might be a bit hard for you to handle and ride at the same time.”
“That is a poor excuse, Lucio.” She shook her head. “But it’s as you say. God will have to look after us now.”
Lucio leaned to kiss her and then hugged her close with the baby between them. The boy kicked his feet inside the knotted cloth that served as a sort of sling for him. The Golden Eagle slipped the makeshift strap over his head and climbed back onto his horse adjusting the baby against his stomach in front of him. He looked down at the baby again and then at Andrea.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” he told her. “They will accept us. I know they will. Simon won’t turn us away. He has sons. He knows what it means.”
Andrea nodded. She didn’t expect them to turn Lucio away, but Lemarik’s words had been ominous. If they had any idea who the child’s mother was, they might turn the child out or kill it. But there were others among them of the same ilk. There was Oriel and Konrad, but now there was the problem of Jozsef. This boy was their brother. Another child of darkness. She could not believe it herself. It was no wonder that the wrath of God had come upon the heathens in the elder days. No wonder that the lesser gods had been thrown down into the pits of hell. And yet, how easily the cycle had begun again, encroaching upon them gradually, insinuating the sin into their lives with a finesse that almost made everything seem perfectly all right. How could one look upon the innocent face of a newborn child and see evil? Only one with the sight for seeing into the future and she could not see into the future. The past was bad enough.
She patted Lucio’s leg and then stopped as the sound of hoof beats caught her ear.
“Shhh.” She held up one hand. Someone was riding hard under the trees away to the south a bit. Lucio looked about under the trees for the source of the sound. They had picked a thick growth of young oaks behind a natural tangle of honeysuckle vines growing on fallen logs. They watched as Luke Matthew appeared from the depths of the forest on a white horse. He was headed home in a hurry and looked as if he had just come from a parade.
Lucio rose up a bit to see better if something might be chasing him.
“Perhaps I can ride in with an ally,” he told her quickly and kicked the red horse. He was off before Andrea could agree or protest.
She watched as the red horse flew after the white and she heard Lucio whistle to the Knight as they broke from the cover of the trees. Luke Matthew slowed his horse to a gallop and turned about in the saddle with some difficulty, hampered by the glittering armor beneath his white surcoat. When he saw Lucio, he turned his mount and rode back toward him. They stopped beside each other briefly and then rode on toward the keep side by side. Luke would not stand against Lucio. Luke would take his side. But Luke was not Montague, nor was he the Grand Master and there was trouble there.
((((((((((((()))))))))))))
By the time the two riders reached the outer battlements of the first wall, everyone at the keep knew they were coming. Word had spread like wildfire through the castle and the entire company had fallen out to greet them.
D’Brouchart stood inside the gate of the inner wall, waiting with Montague, Champlain, de Lyons and Barry. Armand, Lavon and a number of the others had hurried on to the outer wall and still more people stood about the steps of the keep. Michael and Galen had come up from the cellar with their bows and arrows slung over their backs when Planxty had shouted down to them that their father was returning and bringing someone with him. Luke’s absence had been the topic of conversation ever since he had failed to show up for Liam’s muttonless stew at suppertime. They had all been afraid that something terrible had befallen him and Barry had been consulting with the Master about whether they should mount a search party to look for him when Sim had come to announce his return. The two boys had caught up with Il Dolce Mio in the inner bailey, but Simon snagged them both when they tried to get past the inner gate. The two disappointed boys stood waiting with the Grand Master’s party as the elves hurried out to see who had come.
They heard shouts drifting back as Lucio was identified from the walls.
Montague looked at d’Brouchart in a meaningful way as if to say ‘I told you so’. This development only served to prove out his suspicions that a conspiracy was in the works. The Grand Master climbed the steps to the catwalk behind the wall and leaned on the parapets, watching as the two Knights rode through the broken down gate of the outer wall. They were surrounded by a crowd of Templars and faeries as they walked their horses toward the portcullis. His blue eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the bundle slung around the Golden Eagle’s neck.
“Is that what I think it is, your Grace?” Montague shaded his eyes against the lowering sun.
“A child,” d’Brouchart said softly. “Another liability.” He narrowed his watery blues thoughtfully and spoke in a whisper. “What has he done?”
Lucio looked up at them and then at the gate where the jagged spikes of the raised portcullis protruded from the slot in the stones. He did not want to be trapped inside the keep if things went wrong. He’d had very little time to explain anything to Luke Matthew. The Knight seemed highly agitated and almost hysterical and when Lucio had shown him the baby, he’d begun to speak in Gaelic. Lucio had picked up only a of his frantic words: dragon and hostages. Lucio stopped his horse below the wall and sat looking up at the Master.
“Golden Eagle!” D’Brouchart jerked his head at the Knight. “What is that you have there?” Not much of a greeting for a returning hero. His facial expression changed immediately to one of hostile arrogance that the Grand Master recognized instantly. The negotiations had failed before they had even started.
“I have come seeking sanctuary for myself, my wife and my child,” Lucio told him evenly and held up the baby a bit so that they could see him. Many of the faeries had followed him, but the main bulk had remained with Luke Matthew as he entered the second gate. Lucio was already aware of the fact that he would not be entering the castle. He would go through the motions, plead his case for the sake of the child and then go back to Andrea. The guilt of whatever befell them would lie on d’Brouchart’s conscience now and his desertion of the Order would be qualified by necessity.
“What manner of child is this?” D’Brouchart asked, directing this question to Armand de Bleu who stood near the mounted Knight.
“It is a boy child, your Grace!” Armand called up to him from where he stood near Lucio’s horse. “I see nothing amiss here.”
“Come inside and we will talk, Golden Eagle,” the Master offered one hand to him. “Why do you stop outside the gate?”
“I am not sure I am welcome here, your Grace,” Lucio told him. “I would prefer to remain here. Won’t you come down?”
“Where is this wife you speak of?” D’Brouchart raised his eyes to the empty plain.
“She is safe. I would know what manner of reception we might expect before I accept your invitation, your Grace. If we are no longer welcome here, then we would not impose on your hospitality.”
“This is my castle, Father!” Il Dolce Mio stepped in front of the horse. “You are always welcome here, but I wonder if the baby’s mother would be welcome. Surely you do not mean to bring her within these walls?”
Lucio lowered his eyes to the elven King.
“If my son’s mother is not welcome, then I cannot come in, your Highness,” Lucio shook his head. He had not expected this from the King. He wondered what had happened to the Royal Sister thing. Il Dolce Mio had always shown the greatest respect for Nicole Ramsay, whom he considered his sister. “This is her son and I would not be separated from them.”
“That is a sore problem, Father.” Il Dolce Mio’s eyes narrowed.
“I can offer you no more than the King,” d’Brouchart’s voice drifted down to him. “I am his guest as well. But can we not sit down and talk about this? We would welcome you back to the fold, Golden Eagle. Your place on the Council remains. You belong with us. Bring the babe inside and give him over to the women so that they may care for him properly.”
“I cannot accept.” Lucio shook his head and pulled on the reins of the horse. He kept his eyes on the elf. He did not understand what had happened here. In his heart, he had expected this from the Master, but the elf….
“Father!” Simon touched the Master’s arm. “We can’t turn them away! Surely there must be…”
“This hall does not belong to us, my son,” d’Brouchart told him in a low voice. “Montague has reason to suspect a conspiracy here. You saw who he rode in with.”
Luke Matthew had ridden on under the portcullis through the inner gate into the bailey. When he saw that Lucio had not followed him, he circled through the inner bailey and returned to the outer bailey in confusion. He reined up next to Lucio and looked up at the face of the Master and the others gathered there.
“Your Grace!” He shouted. “We have no time for this! I have important news. We must call a Council meeting at once. There are decisions to be made.”
“Your royal nephew has denied the child’s mother entrance to the keep.” D’Brouchart spread his hands in front of him. The murmur of voices from the people crowded about the gate and on the walls grew a bit louder. “The Golden Eagle will not enter. What do you suggest, Brother?”
“Dammit!” Luke cursed and kicked his horse and rode in a tight circle around Lucio, who sat frowning darkly with the baby clutched against him. Luke was beside himself. He did not understand. Here was his Brother, pleading for help for an innocent child. What was this?
“What is this?” Luke looked down at the elf. The diminutive king crossed his arms over his chest and stood his ground.
“My father wants to bring this child’s mother into my castle. I cannot allow it.” Il Dolce Mio shook his head and flower petals drifted to the ground. “She is evil beyond evil. My keep could not contain her. She would destroy us all.”
“Whattar ye talkin’ aboot?” Luke was flabbergasted.
“I cannot allow it!” The elf tossed his head again. A mixture of anger and sadness clouded his childlike beauty.
“Brother,” Luke addressed the Golden Eagle. “Come inside and let us hash this out over a glass of wine. There is some mistake here. Do not do anything rash. We have serious problems that cannot go unattended.”
“No,” Lucio refused. “I cannot leave my wife alone. The dragon. If I go in, I will not be allowed to leave again.”
“Then tell me where I can find you. I’ll speak on your behalf and then bring you word,” Luke lowered his voice. “There is something here that is not right. I will see what goes and come to you tonight.”
Lucio looked about nervously. Hundreds of eyes were turned on him.
“I can’t do that.” He pulled on the reins. “It is quite obvious that something is sorely amiss here and I see the problem standing on the wall!” He looked up again at the Grand Master. “This is d’Brouchart’s doings. He is afraid that we would stand against him in Council, Brother. Some of us may not be so agreeable concerning his appointment to replace your brother. Yes, I have heard this. He has perpetrated a coup. I will not be a party to his treacheries. He never forgave your brother for taking the Order from him. He never cared for Mark Ramsay and he does not care for you or me. Watch your back, Brother, or you will find a dagger there and your head in a box. He has even poisoned the King against his own sister.”
Lucio yanked on the reins and headed back toward the outer gate.
“Father!!” Galen broke away from Louis Champlain and began to run toward the outer gate after his father.
Lucio glanced back at him and hesitated. He stopped the horse and waited for the boy.
“We can’t let him go!” Montague cried urgently and grabbed d’Brouchart’s arm. “We don’t know what this is all about! Stop him!”
D’Brouchart frowned.
Lucio rode the horse in a tight circle as Galen rushed toward him, calling his name desperately.
The Master hurried down the steps after the Seneschal.
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Andrea knew something was wrong. She had ridden halfway across the plain in spite of the exposure and Lucio’s warnings. She could see many people on the walls. Paddy Puffingtowne came riding toward her on his small gray pony. He was waving frantically to her. She pulled up hard next to him and he pressed his hand over his heart.
“Lucky’s in tribble!” Was all he got out of his mouth before she was off again, slapping the reins against either side of the horse’s neck. “Wait!” Paddy shouted but it was too late. The great stallion put the pony in the dust, leaving the clurichaun far behind him.
She was close enough now to see Lucio as he swung down out of the saddle just inside the ruined gate in the outer ramparts of the keep. She could see Galen Zachary’s shining blonde hair as Lucio bent to hug his son to him. She could see beyond the Italian Knight to where several more people were running toward him.
“Lucio!” She shouted at the top of her lungs, but he could not hear her. She was too far from him.
Lucio rose up and looked back toward the second wall. Montague and de Lyons and three of the Templar soldiers were running toward him.
“Go on now, Galen. I’ll be back for you!” He told his son and quickly mounted up again, holding the baby in one arm. He turned the horse and kicked the stallion to a gallop. Precious time had been lost and he sensed the others pouring through the inner gate now. To his surprise, he saw Andrea riding full tilt toward him across the plain.
“Papa!” Galen shouted at him. He looked over his shoulder in time to see de Lyons pulling Galen’s bow from the boy’s shoulder. Lucio did not understand, at first, what was happening.
De Lyons grabbed a handful of arrows from the confused boy’s quiver and bounded up the stairs to the ramparts of the second wall. Lucio had cleared the gate and was riding toward Andrea as she shouted to him, pointing at something behind him.
Lucio turned slightly in the saddle and looked back at the wall. The Knight of the Sword was nocking an arrow in one of the long, elven bows. Were they really going to shoot him? He kicked the horse again and veered to the right. One of the arrows zinged past the horse and stuck in the ground. Yes, they were shooting at him! He couldn’t believe it!
He veered again to the left and felt the second arrow as it narrowly missed his leg, coming close enough to rip the fabric of his pants.
“Santa Maria! Go back!!” He shouted at Andrea. “Go back!!” He raised his free arm to wave her off and was amazed to see another arrow strike his forearm, passing completely through it. At first he felt no pain and things seemed to move in slow motion. Andrea was on a collision course with him now. If he fell from the horse with the baby, he would kill it and most likely himself as well. He lowered the injured arm, ignoring the burning pain that was beginning to make itself known and pulled on the reins, trying to stop the stallion as it thundered across the plain, throwing up great chunks of turf. Andrea had passed him and was coming about behind him.
The stallion slowed his pace very quickly, almost throwing the Italian over head, but the Golden Eagle managed to stay in the saddle as the pain from the arrow registered with alarming intensity on his brain. The horse stopped and he threw his leg over the horse’s neck. The pain seemed disproportionate to the wound. He’d been wounded before and much worse than this. Black suns circled in front of his eyes. He had to get down before he fell on his son. His one thought was to get the child to Andrea when she passed him again, but she was stopping her horse as well. She drew up beside him and the gray stallion reared on its hind legs pawing the air at the abrupt and violent halt. Lucio pulled the wailing child from the sling and handed him up to her. She reached for the boy, but never made the connection as he heard the whining zing of a fourth arrow. The arrow struck her with a sickening thud. Lucio was knocked onto his back as the woman fell from the horse, striking him a glancing blow on his left shoulder. He heard himself screaming ‘No! No!’ over and over as he climbed to his feet, still clutching the crying baby in his good arm. The pain from the arrow was almost unbearable, a hot searing streak ran up his arm and seemed to wrap itself about his heart. He could not feel his hand or his arm.
The Golden Eagle dropped to one knee beside Andrea, who lay face down in the grass. The arrow had struck her lower back. A dark stain marred the bright red surcoat she wore over her blue shirt and chain mail. The narrow tip had pierced the mail! An elven weapon of great strength. She reached one hand back, seeking feebly for the arrow and then lay still in the grass. The two horses pawed the ground as they circled the downed riders. Many people were converging on them now, but Lucio did not see them or hear them as he laid the baby on the grass and tried desperately to pull the arrow from her back. The pain in his own arm was unbearable. He saw stars circling the black suns in front of his eyes and then the face of Paddy Puffingtowne and nothing more. For a few moments, he heard his own heart pounding in his ears and then that, too, faded.
Luke Matthew made it to the scene on his white stallion just after the clurichaun. He surveyed the scene in shocked horror and then looked back at the keep where de Lyons was still standing on the wall with the bow in his hands. Paddy was on the ground with the two injured people. The baby’s cries were pitiful now as the clurichaun picked him up and cradled him against his shoulder. Paddy stood looking up at Luke Matthew in disbelief.
The Knight turned his horse and rode back toward the Grand Master with his sword drawn. D’Brouchart stopped at the menacing sight of Mark Andrew’s brother dressed in the full regalia of a battle ready warrior. Shouts of alarm went up around him and the small group began to disperse in all directions, running from the Knight bent on murder. Simon stepped in front of his father as the enraged Knight bore down on him. Luke brought his horse to the ground and tumbled off of him as he fell. He rolled away from the horse in the grass and came up in front of Montague. The Knight of the Holy City drew his own sword and squared off with the Knight.
Luke Matthew bellowed something at the Seneschal and charged him with the broadsword over his shoulder. Montague sidestepped the deadly blow aimed at his head and Luke’s momentum took him past the Seneschal. The blade of his sword struck the ground. He rose up again and turned, but he never had the chance to deliver a second blow as Barry and Louis Champlain tackled him from behind. Louis pinned him face down on the ground while Barry disarmed him. He lay with his face in the grass shouting curses at them and something about the dragon and Lucio’s soul.
Chapter Six of Eighteen
Excellent speech becometh not a fool:
much less do lying lips a prince
“Where do you suppose he is?” Montague paced the floor in the Grand Master’s bedchamber.
“Simon said he left him in the meadow,” the Grand Master answered.
He sat on the edge of the bed and laboriously pulled off one boot. He tossed it in the corner of the near bare room and went after the other one.
“Don’t you think it a bit strange that he did not come home for supper?” The Seneschal frowned. Each time he began to think that Luke Matthew was not responsible for their plight, the Knight of the Orient would do something new that brought suspicion upon him. Only that morning, Montague had spied him having a heated argument with the one called Bombarik. Luke had yet to explain this creature sufficiently as far as Montague was concerned. The Ifrit as Luke called him, was another of the Djinni race and Montague wanted nothing to do with him. He well remembered how Lemarik had come to be entangled in their business. Now here was another one. “I saw him arguing with that yellow Djinni this morning! I don’t trust that one. He is not of the same ilk as the purple wizard.” William stopped to stare at d’Brouchart. “Your Grace! You don’t suppose that Luke Matthew might be this one’s father as Mark Ramsay is Lemarik’s father?”
“Oh, I doubt that.” The Grand Master fluffed up his two small pillows, frowned at them and then leaned back against the heavy wooden headboard. It was great to get off his feet for a while. “Luke Matthew is not nearly as old as his brother. You know that!”
“Of course.” Montague went back to his pacing. This was another fact that bothered him about the so-called ‘twin brothers’. “But I believe that we should watch that relationship closely. They are not on the best of terms and the Djinni could be dangerous. He has a… look about him.”
“And so we shall.” D’Brouchart closed his eyes. He had not spent so much time on horseback in ages. He was extremely glad that the preparations were made and for better or worse, they were ready for the dragon. What concerned him was how they would get back to Scotland or anywhere else afterwards. Snaring or slaying the dragon in no way meant that a path would be opened for them to leave this place. He missed his daily swims.
“But Luke has been very worried about his wife!” Montague continued. “He has expressed his concerns to Simon on several occasions. She is advanced in her pregnancy. Much more so than I would like to see. It can only mean that we have been here much longer than it seems. She looks about to burst at any second and I am not happy with this situation. What will we do if she has problems? I would hate to have to deal with the Knight if something went awry with the woman.”
“He would be a problem. That much is certain. Without his brother here to temper him,” d’Brouchart agreed.
“I have looked about the properties and the yellow Djinni is not here. Neither is Lemarik. The Knight mentioned that he needed to… what was his word? Negotiate? Bargain? That he had to speak with the dragon about helping us. I do not see the need to bring another of these beasts from the Abyss. Surely we can think of some other way. Does not your mystery or perhaps that of Lavon de Bleu provide some means for luring the dragon where we want her?”
“I do not think so. If you will remember, a great deal went into luring her to the stone in Lothian the first time we encountered her. What we need is Mark Andrew’s magick or perhaps even Luke Andrew’s. I have very little knowledge of either of their capabilities. But Lavon’s magick contains no conjurations for dragons and these little folk have only dragon lore, as it were, to go on. They are sore afraid of the beasts. They would not have anything to bring one up. Even Sister Meredith’s primitive magick might have been more useful. I miss her.”
“We all miss her.” Montague crossed himself. He did not like to think about what happened to Meredith Sinclair-Ramsay. Her disappearance and the evidence of her ‘death’ bothered him a great deal. There had been no one there to release her soul. “But these Djinn! They are a different matter altogether. Lemarik had the serpent under his control at one time, if you will remember. It is possible that this Bombarik has the same power.”
“Possibly,” d’Brouchart agreed. He just wanted to take a nap, but Montague was beside himself.
“And what about Lucio Dambretti? Corrigan told me that he was seen in the woods! Did you not hear him? What does it mean? As you well know, Nicole Ramsay was a formidable witch in her own regard. If he is under her sway as we believe, then he may have turned on us as well. He and Luke Matthew and this Djinni could easily team up and give a great deal of trouble. Why did he not come to the keep to see us? He is hiding something! You would think that he would have been glad to see us here. What is he up to? I have a bad feeling about this, your Grace. If he should come here, I believe that we should be very careful. Very careful.”
“We must always be careful, Brother.”
“If he comes here, I say we take him in hand and demand some answers.” Montague stopped pacing and waited for an answer.
“And on what charges would you hold him?” D’Brouchart raised his head to frown at the man. “What questions would you ask?”
“It is his duty as a member of the Council of Twelve to remain with us or, at least, in contact with us. It is not proper that he should be skulking about in the woods, spying on us with that woman.”
“Hmmph,” d’Brouchart eschewed this remark.
“He is very close to treason, your Grace. He has much explaining to do. Where has he been? What has he been up to? Why is still with Nicole Ramsay? He knows very well how she feels about this Order!” Montague’s temper began to escalate. “She was Omar’s wife for many years. She bore him a child. She almost killed her own father. She drove her mother to the brink of insanity. She is not healthy company. There is no telling what manner of sorcery she has worked on the Golden Eagle. He has always had a weakness for pretty faces and you know very well how he felt about her mother. She looks very much like her mother, if you get my meaning, sir. He would be easy prey for her.”
“He may not be so easy as you imagine.” The Grand Master closed his eyes. Lucio had always been a problem, but no more so than many of his Knights, past and present. “I do hope that he will come around before we engage the dragon. We can use his help, but your words have some measure of credence. If he comes to us, then, yes, we should use the utmost caution, especially if she is with him.”
“I will pass the word to de Lyons, de Bleu, Champlain and Simon to be on the lookout for him. I do not think that Konrad would be interested in my concerns regarding his beloved father-in-law. He has too much respect for Lucia’s father, God rest her soul!” Montague crossed himself again and left the Grand Master to his nap.
((((((((((((()))))))))))))
“I was quite surprised to hear your call. I had not expected you at all. At least not so very soon. You’ve changed your face but not your tune. Are you still in need of me? Or was it just my face to see that brought you back without your sack?”
The black dragon was perched on an overhanging ledge of rock above a small cave in the rocky slope. Her forelegs hung over the edge of the bluff and her head and neck stretched down between them as she perused the figure of the mounted Knight below her. Luke had donned Barry’s Templar uniform and decked himself out in silver plated armor borrowed from the King’s armory. He cut a fine figure, glittering in the sunlight, sitting ramrod stiff in the elaborate trappings of the Tuathan saddle. Had it only been a dream, one might have thought this the legendary meeting between Saint George and the Dragon, but this was no dream and no one was there to witness the mystical scene straight out of a fairy tale. Luke had not come here to slay the dragon; he had reluctantly come here expecting to be slain. The leather saddle squeaked and his armor jingled as the horse snorted nervously and pawed the ground in anticipation of sudden flight.
“You speak in riddles and rhymes, great Inanna.” Luke did his best to smile at the formidable beast. She could have crushed him and his horse with one swipe of her foreclaw. His horse stamped and jerked his head up and down, protesting this confrontation with death. It seemed hours had passed since he had come to this lonely place and tried to summon her. He had already given up hope of her coming, mounted up, ready to ride back to the keep, but when he had turned about, there she had been, on the ledge above his head, as if she had been there all along. Luke knew that it might very well be so. That she may have been there when he’d arrived. Dragons were well known for their ability to mimic their surroundings. If they did not want to be seen, it was virtually impossible to discern them without magickal help. A dragon could be anywhere, anytime and one may not be aware of them until it was too late. “I have come to ask a favor of you, yes. We are in need of your help.”
“Where is your Brother? Or has he eloped with another?” The dragon rumbled and Luke did not know if she was laughing or belching. He had no idea what brother she was referring to. Did she perhaps recognize him now as Mark’s brother? Or was she actually asking about him, still thinking that he was Mark? He shook his head slightly and tried to focus on the task at hand.
“I am alone,” he assured her. “I would hear what you would ask to help us lure the red serpent into a trap. We would take her away from these lands. She is wreaking havoc on the inhabitants here. We have constructed a pit and we need to get the beast into it. It was thought that you might be able to accomplish such a deed.”
“Oh, that would be a deed, indeed. Yes, yes a deed. Yes, you are in most perilous need! You are willing to concede that from this beast you must be freed. Beast, beast you refer to her. Feast, feast you would be to her. Do you see an infernal beast when on me your eyes you feast?” The dragon nodded her head and a puff of steam rose from her nostrils. “But is there nothing under the sun that we have not already done? I once heard a marvelous tale of two fighting dragons, hearty and hale, who were led into a trap such as this one you plan to snap. A sorcerer great did lead them there; a great stone box for them to share. And upon the box was built a tower, but he did reveal them at eleventh hour. The tyrant Vortigern did want his blood, but the sorcerer this plot withstood. Yes. Yes. It may be so there may be something that I know, but what would you offer in return if my help you wish to earn? Dare I name the price to pay? What is it worth this beast to slay? Is it worth some few short hours spent alone within my bowers? Is it worth a hoard of gold taken from the kings of old? Is it worth a virgin’s kiss or would you from my love resist? Oh, tell me, tell me, brave Knight and true, what is it really worth to you?” She lowered her head just a bit more and he could see what appeared to be laughter in her emerald eyes.
“It is worth everything I have. And what stands before you is the sum of my wealth. I have only myself to offer. If that is what you want, then it shall be yours.” Luke Matthew reined his horse about. “What is it you would wish me to do? I will take your demands back to the Master and tell them what you want.”
“The Master? Ahh, but you are the King! Of you praises all do sing! Why would you need to ask permission to send this beast into perdition? I would deal with you alone in my boudoir of comfortable stone.”
“But what can I give to you that you do not already have?” Luke asked with great trepidation.
“You made a vow to me to keep and I have not forgotten. In time we’ll find ourselves asleep in love’s deep dream begotten. The Golden Eagle’s soul in trade, a deal struck, a bargain made. But for this new deed I would demand, his son, be given into my hand. The boy would be great company and comfort in the dark for me. Have you no memory of our bargain made when you first petitioned for my aid?” She moved suddenly, causing a small landslide on the steep slope. Luke’s horse reared in fear as the small rocks and sand skittered past them.
“Wot?!” Luke’s brain was having a hard time keeping up with her strange rhetoric. “I cannot give my Brother’s child to you! He is like my own son! You cannot be serious.” He pulled on the reins and the horse backed away readily from the rocks.
Inanna drew her head back and raised her neck up above the ledge. A small gout of green flame erupted from her nose. She tossed her head and then lowered it again to study him closely and his heart froze as he thought she might have recognized the fact that he was not his brother. That there was something amiss with him.
“That is my offer,” she told him shortly. No rhyme. No room for further bargaining.
Luke sat speechless on his horse, staring up at her. He had not expected this, but what was she talking about when she spoke of another vow he had made to her. He had made no bargains, struck no deals with her. This had to be something his brother had done, but what did it have to do with Lucio’s soul? Luke Matthew did not like the sound of this at all.
“Please, hold, Great Inanna! Forgive me, I beg you. This other bargain that I have struck with you concerning the Golden Eagle… I have suffered much of late and my mind is foggy,” he said carefully. “I will soon be in a position to fulfill my part, but I have forgotten what I promised.
“Adar, Adar! I find that very hard to believe. Would you hope Inanna to deceive? You gave your word to visit me and take me to the rings to see, and if you break your word with me, the Golden Eagle, I’ll take from thee.”
“Oh! That bargain. Yes, I remember now.” He had no idea what she was talking about, but he had a terrible feeling that Lucio’s soul was in very grave danger now. He looked about, trying to think of some way to learn more without arousing suspicion, but nothing came to mind other than the fact that he needed to evacuate posthaste. “Time is slipping by, Great Inanna and I must be off. I will present your petition to the Master. I can’t make a decision like that without his approval. I’m quite sure that he will agree to give me leave to spend time with you, but I cannot say what he will decide concerning the Golden Eagle’s son.”
“The boy would not be a loss to you. And I would raise him strong and true. His mother’s wrath will not descend if he is found not among your men. She will blame the great Shammash, across the Gates of Hell the clash. He will burn her with a flash and in darkness teeth will gnash, but the boy with me safely kept. For him, this work I will accept.”
“I will tell them your words, Wondrous One.” Luke bowed his head to her slightly. This was not working. He would never give up Galen Zachary to this beast. Not for anything. He turned the horse and rode away at a slow pace, leaving her behind on the ledge above the cave. He reached the forest and then kicked the horse to a gallop under the trees. The Grand Master would never believe this. They would all think that he was lying to keep from using the dragon to help them. He kicked himself mentally for not bringing a witness to hear her out. He tried to go over her words as he rode, make sense of them, but it was hopeless his mind was filled with horror, fear and frustration. Surely his brother could have done better.
The yellow Ifrit watched from his perch high in the rocks as the Knight left the dragon. He was amazed to learn that his Master had such a fine, dangerous friend. He leaned his chin in his hand and considered the exchange he had just witnessed. The dragon drove hard bargains, but the Djinni did not see a problem with offering the boy for her help. There were many boys in the world. The mention of the great Shammash had made his blood run cold.
((((((((((((()))))))))))))
Lucio dismounted and reached up to take the child from Andrea’s arms. He held the baby as she climbed down off the pale stallion and stood beside him. They had stopped just short of breaking from the cover of the trees. Across the plain, the castle keep could be seen rising up against the blue backdrop of the sky above the ocean cliff. Lucio held the baby’s face against his own for several seconds. He did not want to leave them here. He could not see them from the keep. Anything could be lurking in the woods and they had seen evidence of the dragon’s work here and there as they had ridden over from the cottage in the meadow. Long swaths of burned vegetation and blackened earth where her flames had scorched the ground, withering the trees and incinerating the shorter undergrowth to ashes dotted the area. He held the boy out again and looked at him closely.
“He has your colors, you know. A little more gold perhaps…” he told her, referring to the baby’s aura. “I want you to remain on your horse, ready to ride I’ve decided to take Lucky with me. If all goes well, I will leave him with someone at the keep when I come back for you. That way he will spend less time unprotected. If it does not work out, he will be with me until we are together again.”
“You feel you can protect him better than I can?” She frowned at him. “You will be exposed as you ride across. What will you do if the dragon comes?”
“Ride faster.” He smiled at her. “It really doesn’t matter what we do. It is in God’s hands now, but I would feel better if he were with me. If you have to run, he will not be a burden for you. He is as nothing to me, whereas he might be a bit hard for you to handle and ride at the same time.”
“That is a poor excuse, Lucio.” She shook her head. “But it’s as you say. God will have to look after us now.”
Lucio leaned to kiss her and then hugged her close with the baby between them. The boy kicked his feet inside the knotted cloth that served as a sort of sling for him. The Golden Eagle slipped the makeshift strap over his head and climbed back onto his horse adjusting the baby against his stomach in front of him. He looked down at the baby again and then at Andrea.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” he told her. “They will accept us. I know they will. Simon won’t turn us away. He has sons. He knows what it means.”
Andrea nodded. She didn’t expect them to turn Lucio away, but Lemarik’s words had been ominous. If they had any idea who the child’s mother was, they might turn the child out or kill it. But there were others among them of the same ilk. There was Oriel and Konrad, but now there was the problem of Jozsef. This boy was their brother. Another child of darkness. She could not believe it herself. It was no wonder that the wrath of God had come upon the heathens in the elder days. No wonder that the lesser gods had been thrown down into the pits of hell. And yet, how easily the cycle had begun again, encroaching upon them gradually, insinuating the sin into their lives with a finesse that almost made everything seem perfectly all right. How could one look upon the innocent face of a newborn child and see evil? Only one with the sight for seeing into the future and she could not see into the future. The past was bad enough.
She patted Lucio’s leg and then stopped as the sound of hoof beats caught her ear.
“Shhh.” She held up one hand. Someone was riding hard under the trees away to the south a bit. Lucio looked about under the trees for the source of the sound. They had picked a thick growth of young oaks behind a natural tangle of honeysuckle vines growing on fallen logs. They watched as Luke Matthew appeared from the depths of the forest on a white horse. He was headed home in a hurry and looked as if he had just come from a parade.
Lucio rose up a bit to see better if something might be chasing him.
“Perhaps I can ride in with an ally,” he told her quickly and kicked the red horse. He was off before Andrea could agree or protest.
She watched as the red horse flew after the white and she heard Lucio whistle to the Knight as they broke from the cover of the trees. Luke Matthew slowed his horse to a gallop and turned about in the saddle with some difficulty, hampered by the glittering armor beneath his white surcoat. When he saw Lucio, he turned his mount and rode back toward him. They stopped beside each other briefly and then rode on toward the keep side by side. Luke would not stand against Lucio. Luke would take his side. But Luke was not Montague, nor was he the Grand Master and there was trouble there.
((((((((((((()))))))))))))
By the time the two riders reached the outer battlements of the first wall, everyone at the keep knew they were coming. Word had spread like wildfire through the castle and the entire company had fallen out to greet them.
D’Brouchart stood inside the gate of the inner wall, waiting with Montague, Champlain, de Lyons and Barry. Armand, Lavon and a number of the others had hurried on to the outer wall and still more people stood about the steps of the keep. Michael and Galen had come up from the cellar with their bows and arrows slung over their backs when Planxty had shouted down to them that their father was returning and bringing someone with him. Luke’s absence had been the topic of conversation ever since he had failed to show up for Liam’s muttonless stew at suppertime. They had all been afraid that something terrible had befallen him and Barry had been consulting with the Master about whether they should mount a search party to look for him when Sim had come to announce his return. The two boys had caught up with Il Dolce Mio in the inner bailey, but Simon snagged them both when they tried to get past the inner gate. The two disappointed boys stood waiting with the Grand Master’s party as the elves hurried out to see who had come.
They heard shouts drifting back as Lucio was identified from the walls.
Montague looked at d’Brouchart in a meaningful way as if to say ‘I told you so’. This development only served to prove out his suspicions that a conspiracy was in the works. The Grand Master climbed the steps to the catwalk behind the wall and leaned on the parapets, watching as the two Knights rode through the broken down gate of the outer wall. They were surrounded by a crowd of Templars and faeries as they walked their horses toward the portcullis. His blue eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the bundle slung around the Golden Eagle’s neck.
“Is that what I think it is, your Grace?” Montague shaded his eyes against the lowering sun.
“A child,” d’Brouchart said softly. “Another liability.” He narrowed his watery blues thoughtfully and spoke in a whisper. “What has he done?”
Lucio looked up at them and then at the gate where the jagged spikes of the raised portcullis protruded from the slot in the stones. He did not want to be trapped inside the keep if things went wrong. He’d had very little time to explain anything to Luke Matthew. The Knight seemed highly agitated and almost hysterical and when Lucio had shown him the baby, he’d begun to speak in Gaelic. Lucio had picked up only a of his frantic words: dragon and hostages. Lucio stopped his horse below the wall and sat looking up at the Master.
“Golden Eagle!” D’Brouchart jerked his head at the Knight. “What is that you have there?” Not much of a greeting for a returning hero. His facial expression changed immediately to one of hostile arrogance that the Grand Master recognized instantly. The negotiations had failed before they had even started.
“I have come seeking sanctuary for myself, my wife and my child,” Lucio told him evenly and held up the baby a bit so that they could see him. Many of the faeries had followed him, but the main bulk had remained with Luke Matthew as he entered the second gate. Lucio was already aware of the fact that he would not be entering the castle. He would go through the motions, plead his case for the sake of the child and then go back to Andrea. The guilt of whatever befell them would lie on d’Brouchart’s conscience now and his desertion of the Order would be qualified by necessity.
“What manner of child is this?” D’Brouchart asked, directing this question to Armand de Bleu who stood near the mounted Knight.
“It is a boy child, your Grace!” Armand called up to him from where he stood near Lucio’s horse. “I see nothing amiss here.”
“Come inside and we will talk, Golden Eagle,” the Master offered one hand to him. “Why do you stop outside the gate?”
“I am not sure I am welcome here, your Grace,” Lucio told him. “I would prefer to remain here. Won’t you come down?”
“Where is this wife you speak of?” D’Brouchart raised his eyes to the empty plain.
“She is safe. I would know what manner of reception we might expect before I accept your invitation, your Grace. If we are no longer welcome here, then we would not impose on your hospitality.”
“This is my castle, Father!” Il Dolce Mio stepped in front of the horse. “You are always welcome here, but I wonder if the baby’s mother would be welcome. Surely you do not mean to bring her within these walls?”
Lucio lowered his eyes to the elven King.
“If my son’s mother is not welcome, then I cannot come in, your Highness,” Lucio shook his head. He had not expected this from the King. He wondered what had happened to the Royal Sister thing. Il Dolce Mio had always shown the greatest respect for Nicole Ramsay, whom he considered his sister. “This is her son and I would not be separated from them.”
“That is a sore problem, Father.” Il Dolce Mio’s eyes narrowed.
“I can offer you no more than the King,” d’Brouchart’s voice drifted down to him. “I am his guest as well. But can we not sit down and talk about this? We would welcome you back to the fold, Golden Eagle. Your place on the Council remains. You belong with us. Bring the babe inside and give him over to the women so that they may care for him properly.”
“I cannot accept.” Lucio shook his head and pulled on the reins of the horse. He kept his eyes on the elf. He did not understand what had happened here. In his heart, he had expected this from the Master, but the elf….
“Father!” Simon touched the Master’s arm. “We can’t turn them away! Surely there must be…”
“This hall does not belong to us, my son,” d’Brouchart told him in a low voice. “Montague has reason to suspect a conspiracy here. You saw who he rode in with.”
Luke Matthew had ridden on under the portcullis through the inner gate into the bailey. When he saw that Lucio had not followed him, he circled through the inner bailey and returned to the outer bailey in confusion. He reined up next to Lucio and looked up at the face of the Master and the others gathered there.
“Your Grace!” He shouted. “We have no time for this! I have important news. We must call a Council meeting at once. There are decisions to be made.”
“Your royal nephew has denied the child’s mother entrance to the keep.” D’Brouchart spread his hands in front of him. The murmur of voices from the people crowded about the gate and on the walls grew a bit louder. “The Golden Eagle will not enter. What do you suggest, Brother?”
“Dammit!” Luke cursed and kicked his horse and rode in a tight circle around Lucio, who sat frowning darkly with the baby clutched against him. Luke was beside himself. He did not understand. Here was his Brother, pleading for help for an innocent child. What was this?
“What is this?” Luke looked down at the elf. The diminutive king crossed his arms over his chest and stood his ground.
“My father wants to bring this child’s mother into my castle. I cannot allow it.” Il Dolce Mio shook his head and flower petals drifted to the ground. “She is evil beyond evil. My keep could not contain her. She would destroy us all.”
“Whattar ye talkin’ aboot?” Luke was flabbergasted.
“I cannot allow it!” The elf tossed his head again. A mixture of anger and sadness clouded his childlike beauty.
“Brother,” Luke addressed the Golden Eagle. “Come inside and let us hash this out over a glass of wine. There is some mistake here. Do not do anything rash. We have serious problems that cannot go unattended.”
“No,” Lucio refused. “I cannot leave my wife alone. The dragon. If I go in, I will not be allowed to leave again.”
“Then tell me where I can find you. I’ll speak on your behalf and then bring you word,” Luke lowered his voice. “There is something here that is not right. I will see what goes and come to you tonight.”
Lucio looked about nervously. Hundreds of eyes were turned on him.
“I can’t do that.” He pulled on the reins. “It is quite obvious that something is sorely amiss here and I see the problem standing on the wall!” He looked up again at the Grand Master. “This is d’Brouchart’s doings. He is afraid that we would stand against him in Council, Brother. Some of us may not be so agreeable concerning his appointment to replace your brother. Yes, I have heard this. He has perpetrated a coup. I will not be a party to his treacheries. He never forgave your brother for taking the Order from him. He never cared for Mark Ramsay and he does not care for you or me. Watch your back, Brother, or you will find a dagger there and your head in a box. He has even poisoned the King against his own sister.”
Lucio yanked on the reins and headed back toward the outer gate.
“Father!!” Galen broke away from Louis Champlain and began to run toward the outer gate after his father.
Lucio glanced back at him and hesitated. He stopped the horse and waited for the boy.
“We can’t let him go!” Montague cried urgently and grabbed d’Brouchart’s arm. “We don’t know what this is all about! Stop him!”
D’Brouchart frowned.
Lucio rode the horse in a tight circle as Galen rushed toward him, calling his name desperately.
The Master hurried down the steps after the Seneschal.
((((((((((((()))))))))))))
Andrea knew something was wrong. She had ridden halfway across the plain in spite of the exposure and Lucio’s warnings. She could see many people on the walls. Paddy Puffingtowne came riding toward her on his small gray pony. He was waving frantically to her. She pulled up hard next to him and he pressed his hand over his heart.
“Lucky’s in tribble!” Was all he got out of his mouth before she was off again, slapping the reins against either side of the horse’s neck. “Wait!” Paddy shouted but it was too late. The great stallion put the pony in the dust, leaving the clurichaun far behind him.
She was close enough now to see Lucio as he swung down out of the saddle just inside the ruined gate in the outer ramparts of the keep. She could see Galen Zachary’s shining blonde hair as Lucio bent to hug his son to him. She could see beyond the Italian Knight to where several more people were running toward him.
“Lucio!” She shouted at the top of her lungs, but he could not hear her. She was too far from him.
Lucio rose up and looked back toward the second wall. Montague and de Lyons and three of the Templar soldiers were running toward him.
“Go on now, Galen. I’ll be back for you!” He told his son and quickly mounted up again, holding the baby in one arm. He turned the horse and kicked the stallion to a gallop. Precious time had been lost and he sensed the others pouring through the inner gate now. To his surprise, he saw Andrea riding full tilt toward him across the plain.
“Papa!” Galen shouted at him. He looked over his shoulder in time to see de Lyons pulling Galen’s bow from the boy’s shoulder. Lucio did not understand, at first, what was happening.
De Lyons grabbed a handful of arrows from the confused boy’s quiver and bounded up the stairs to the ramparts of the second wall. Lucio had cleared the gate and was riding toward Andrea as she shouted to him, pointing at something behind him.
Lucio turned slightly in the saddle and looked back at the wall. The Knight of the Sword was nocking an arrow in one of the long, elven bows. Were they really going to shoot him? He kicked the horse again and veered to the right. One of the arrows zinged past the horse and stuck in the ground. Yes, they were shooting at him! He couldn’t believe it!
He veered again to the left and felt the second arrow as it narrowly missed his leg, coming close enough to rip the fabric of his pants.
“Santa Maria! Go back!!” He shouted at Andrea. “Go back!!” He raised his free arm to wave her off and was amazed to see another arrow strike his forearm, passing completely through it. At first he felt no pain and things seemed to move in slow motion. Andrea was on a collision course with him now. If he fell from the horse with the baby, he would kill it and most likely himself as well. He lowered the injured arm, ignoring the burning pain that was beginning to make itself known and pulled on the reins, trying to stop the stallion as it thundered across the plain, throwing up great chunks of turf. Andrea had passed him and was coming about behind him.
The stallion slowed his pace very quickly, almost throwing the Italian over head, but the Golden Eagle managed to stay in the saddle as the pain from the arrow registered with alarming intensity on his brain. The horse stopped and he threw his leg over the horse’s neck. The pain seemed disproportionate to the wound. He’d been wounded before and much worse than this. Black suns circled in front of his eyes. He had to get down before he fell on his son. His one thought was to get the child to Andrea when she passed him again, but she was stopping her horse as well. She drew up beside him and the gray stallion reared on its hind legs pawing the air at the abrupt and violent halt. Lucio pulled the wailing child from the sling and handed him up to her. She reached for the boy, but never made the connection as he heard the whining zing of a fourth arrow. The arrow struck her with a sickening thud. Lucio was knocked onto his back as the woman fell from the horse, striking him a glancing blow on his left shoulder. He heard himself screaming ‘No! No!’ over and over as he climbed to his feet, still clutching the crying baby in his good arm. The pain from the arrow was almost unbearable, a hot searing streak ran up his arm and seemed to wrap itself about his heart. He could not feel his hand or his arm.
The Golden Eagle dropped to one knee beside Andrea, who lay face down in the grass. The arrow had struck her lower back. A dark stain marred the bright red surcoat she wore over her blue shirt and chain mail. The narrow tip had pierced the mail! An elven weapon of great strength. She reached one hand back, seeking feebly for the arrow and then lay still in the grass. The two horses pawed the ground as they circled the downed riders. Many people were converging on them now, but Lucio did not see them or hear them as he laid the baby on the grass and tried desperately to pull the arrow from her back. The pain in his own arm was unbearable. He saw stars circling the black suns in front of his eyes and then the face of Paddy Puffingtowne and nothing more. For a few moments, he heard his own heart pounding in his ears and then that, too, faded.
Luke Matthew made it to the scene on his white stallion just after the clurichaun. He surveyed the scene in shocked horror and then looked back at the keep where de Lyons was still standing on the wall with the bow in his hands. Paddy was on the ground with the two injured people. The baby’s cries were pitiful now as the clurichaun picked him up and cradled him against his shoulder. Paddy stood looking up at Luke Matthew in disbelief.
The Knight turned his horse and rode back toward the Grand Master with his sword drawn. D’Brouchart stopped at the menacing sight of Mark Andrew’s brother dressed in the full regalia of a battle ready warrior. Shouts of alarm went up around him and the small group began to disperse in all directions, running from the Knight bent on murder. Simon stepped in front of his father as the enraged Knight bore down on him. Luke brought his horse to the ground and tumbled off of him as he fell. He rolled away from the horse in the grass and came up in front of Montague. The Knight of the Holy City drew his own sword and squared off with the Knight.
Luke Matthew bellowed something at the Seneschal and charged him with the broadsword over his shoulder. Montague sidestepped the deadly blow aimed at his head and Luke’s momentum took him past the Seneschal. The blade of his sword struck the ground. He rose up again and turned, but he never had the chance to deliver a second blow as Barry and Louis Champlain tackled him from behind. Louis pinned him face down on the ground while Barry disarmed him. He lay with his face in the grass shouting curses at them and something about the dragon and Lucio’s soul.
Sample Sunday ~ May 22
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.
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.
Sample Sunday ~ April Fools
This should be an auspicious day for me. Starting a new month, a new sample and a day that matches my new avatar. I've decided to include an excerpt or sample of the YA/Companion book for the Red Cross of Gold, The Journey Begins, which is the first collaborative effort with D'Lani Elliott and also the first book in the Apprentice Diaries series.
"Ay! DJ!" Armand de Bleu called after the Spaniard who was rapidly walking toward the mess hall. "Save some for us!"
"Yeah! Don't let the wolves eat it all," Christopher chimed in the ribbing.
Baldemar or DJ as they called him, short for de Jesus among other less friendly names, was really going to catch it now since the Ramsay/wolf question in Sir Dambretti's class and his overt love of food and drink did little to help his cause. His stomach roiled and growled all day in class every day as if it were full of wolves indeed. The Academy was not treating de Jesus too kindly. Sir Barry of Sussex had him on a strict vegetarian diet, supplemented with fish and dairy, but without sugar, without fried foods and NO fast food. No fish and chips. No burgers. No pizza! The older boys made him run more laps at gym/rec and never cut him any slack for excess baggage. But one thing about DJ, he had money. Money of his own from a trust fund. The young student received a monthly stipend that kept him supplied with a trickle of crème filled snacks, which he hid in the springs under his mattress.
His fellow students actually liked him because he was not stingy with his reserves, but they could not pass up a chance to give him the blues for his mistakes and his appetite.
Baldemar glanced over his shoulder at them and made the sign of the cross, letting them know that he forgave them.
Armand used a new curse word that Christopher had taught him.
"I hate it when he does that," Armand said.
"Why? You have a guilty conscience?" Chris poked him in between his shoulder blades, making him bow up his shoulders.
"Please stop touching me, mon chere," Armand said and grinned back at him. "The others are starting to talk about you."
"Really?" Christopher ran ahead of him and took down a lanky boy with short brown hair. They rolled on the plush lawn until one of the lay brothers shouted for them to get off the grass. The two boys scrambled to their feet and were soon chasing each other down the walk toward supper and evening prayers.
Lucio Dambretti turned away from the window in the Grand Master's office.
"Boys will be boys," he muttered.
"That is as old as you are," d'Brouchart said. "And it does not excuse du Morte for bringing an undisciplined street urchin into our midst. What was he thinking?" He rubbed his temples.
"The Chevalier du Morte does not like to think, Sir," Dambretti said as he suppressed a smile.
"Yes, yes, I've heard that before as well. How much do they know? Does Angelo know about it?"
"That is hard to tell. Who can say what Angelo knows or does not know? Rumors abound in the academic setting. You know that. Boys need diversions. I was thinking of a field trip with your permission, Sir." The Italian turned his dark eyes on the Master.
"You are evading the subject, Golden Eagle. We have a security leak in this camp and I want to know who it is. How did the boys find out that du Morte was going after Anthony? I want to know who told them."
"You are not giving them any credit, Your Grace."
"How so?"
"Primo: Your apprentice disappears. He is not dead or ill or anywhere to be found. Secondo: The entire Villa is in an uproar for thirty-six hours and then all is gloomy. Tertio: Without warning, Chevalier Ramsay shows up and no Council meeting is in the offing? What do you think? The Knight of Death never comes from his den unless poked with a stick. It is pretty obvious that you summoned him. He mopes around the Villa for a day and then leaves."
"Well, I don't know," the Master said quietly. "It could be as you say, but I want these rumors quelled. I don't want to hear anything more about… about… Anthony." The big man leaned back in his chair and the springs squeaked in protest.
"Shall I take it down, Sir?" Dambretti asked and reached for a picture of Anthony Scalia hanging on the wall above the credenza.
"What? No!" The Grand Master stood up and then sat back down, waving one hand wearily at the Italian Knight. "Yes, please get it out of my sight."
"What about the field trip? I think a trip to the farmer's market in Naples would be a good exercise for the Survival Cooking class."
"I don't want anyone going anywhere, Golden Eagle. Not until du Morte returns."
Dambretti nodded curtly and turned to leave the office. He knew very well that the Grand Master had become very attached to Anthony, treating him more like a son than an apprentice. The Old Man was not taking the loss of the young man very well.
"Oh, and by the way," the Grand Master stopped him short of the door. "Have you heard from Ramsay perchance?"
Dambretti shook his head thoughtfully. Ramsay hated checking in, hated using phones, hated using computers. Even hated escalators and trains. Ramsay hated everything. He was grumpy and anti-social, but he was the Italian's best and first friend.
“He’s only been gone a few hours, Sir,” Dambretti shrugged. “Probably still on the plane.”
"Do you think Angelo knows?" d'Brouchart asked again after a moment, as he watched the old gardener pulling out weeds in one of the annual beds, and frowned at the sight of Angelo's huge gray cat lying in the sun atop the three-wheeled cart, preening himself. The cat had been around forever! Just how long do cats live anyway?
Dambretti shrugged again and wondered why the Grand Master kept asking about Angelo. He had often wondered about Angelo Gamelli himself. It seemed that the old fellow had always been the gardener. He had to be over 90 years old by now. One thing for sure, as ornery as he could be sometimes, Angelo loved to talk. Lucio had seen him talking to the old padre one moment, laughing and smiling and the next moment, he had seen him deep in conversation with Mark Ramsay with one arm wrapped around the Knight's shoulders and the venerable Knight of Death never allowed anyone to get that close to him.
Dambretti left the office with the picture of Anthony under his arm and tossed it in the passenger seat of his car. A huge ball of iridescent soap bubbles drifted up over the Admin Building and floated on the breeze past his Audi. He turned and watched it disappear into the olive grove. Someone had put soap in the fountain… again.
"Boys will be boys," he muttered, smiled and started up the white Audi sedan. Amelia would be waiting for him in Naples and he did not want to be late.
http://www.amazon.com/The-Knights-Chr...
"Ay! DJ!" Armand de Bleu called after the Spaniard who was rapidly walking toward the mess hall. "Save some for us!"
"Yeah! Don't let the wolves eat it all," Christopher chimed in the ribbing.
Baldemar or DJ as they called him, short for de Jesus among other less friendly names, was really going to catch it now since the Ramsay/wolf question in Sir Dambretti's class and his overt love of food and drink did little to help his cause. His stomach roiled and growled all day in class every day as if it were full of wolves indeed. The Academy was not treating de Jesus too kindly. Sir Barry of Sussex had him on a strict vegetarian diet, supplemented with fish and dairy, but without sugar, without fried foods and NO fast food. No fish and chips. No burgers. No pizza! The older boys made him run more laps at gym/rec and never cut him any slack for excess baggage. But one thing about DJ, he had money. Money of his own from a trust fund. The young student received a monthly stipend that kept him supplied with a trickle of crème filled snacks, which he hid in the springs under his mattress.
His fellow students actually liked him because he was not stingy with his reserves, but they could not pass up a chance to give him the blues for his mistakes and his appetite.
Baldemar glanced over his shoulder at them and made the sign of the cross, letting them know that he forgave them.
Armand used a new curse word that Christopher had taught him.
"I hate it when he does that," Armand said.
"Why? You have a guilty conscience?" Chris poked him in between his shoulder blades, making him bow up his shoulders.
"Please stop touching me, mon chere," Armand said and grinned back at him. "The others are starting to talk about you."
"Really?" Christopher ran ahead of him and took down a lanky boy with short brown hair. They rolled on the plush lawn until one of the lay brothers shouted for them to get off the grass. The two boys scrambled to their feet and were soon chasing each other down the walk toward supper and evening prayers.
Lucio Dambretti turned away from the window in the Grand Master's office.
"Boys will be boys," he muttered.
"That is as old as you are," d'Brouchart said. "And it does not excuse du Morte for bringing an undisciplined street urchin into our midst. What was he thinking?" He rubbed his temples.
"The Chevalier du Morte does not like to think, Sir," Dambretti said as he suppressed a smile.
"Yes, yes, I've heard that before as well. How much do they know? Does Angelo know about it?"
"That is hard to tell. Who can say what Angelo knows or does not know? Rumors abound in the academic setting. You know that. Boys need diversions. I was thinking of a field trip with your permission, Sir." The Italian turned his dark eyes on the Master.
"You are evading the subject, Golden Eagle. We have a security leak in this camp and I want to know who it is. How did the boys find out that du Morte was going after Anthony? I want to know who told them."
"You are not giving them any credit, Your Grace."
"How so?"
"Primo: Your apprentice disappears. He is not dead or ill or anywhere to be found. Secondo: The entire Villa is in an uproar for thirty-six hours and then all is gloomy. Tertio: Without warning, Chevalier Ramsay shows up and no Council meeting is in the offing? What do you think? The Knight of Death never comes from his den unless poked with a stick. It is pretty obvious that you summoned him. He mopes around the Villa for a day and then leaves."
"Well, I don't know," the Master said quietly. "It could be as you say, but I want these rumors quelled. I don't want to hear anything more about… about… Anthony." The big man leaned back in his chair and the springs squeaked in protest.
"Shall I take it down, Sir?" Dambretti asked and reached for a picture of Anthony Scalia hanging on the wall above the credenza.
"What? No!" The Grand Master stood up and then sat back down, waving one hand wearily at the Italian Knight. "Yes, please get it out of my sight."
"What about the field trip? I think a trip to the farmer's market in Naples would be a good exercise for the Survival Cooking class."
"I don't want anyone going anywhere, Golden Eagle. Not until du Morte returns."
Dambretti nodded curtly and turned to leave the office. He knew very well that the Grand Master had become very attached to Anthony, treating him more like a son than an apprentice. The Old Man was not taking the loss of the young man very well.
"Oh, and by the way," the Grand Master stopped him short of the door. "Have you heard from Ramsay perchance?"
Dambretti shook his head thoughtfully. Ramsay hated checking in, hated using phones, hated using computers. Even hated escalators and trains. Ramsay hated everything. He was grumpy and anti-social, but he was the Italian's best and first friend.
“He’s only been gone a few hours, Sir,” Dambretti shrugged. “Probably still on the plane.”
"Do you think Angelo knows?" d'Brouchart asked again after a moment, as he watched the old gardener pulling out weeds in one of the annual beds, and frowned at the sight of Angelo's huge gray cat lying in the sun atop the three-wheeled cart, preening himself. The cat had been around forever! Just how long do cats live anyway?
Dambretti shrugged again and wondered why the Grand Master kept asking about Angelo. He had often wondered about Angelo Gamelli himself. It seemed that the old fellow had always been the gardener. He had to be over 90 years old by now. One thing for sure, as ornery as he could be sometimes, Angelo loved to talk. Lucio had seen him talking to the old padre one moment, laughing and smiling and the next moment, he had seen him deep in conversation with Mark Ramsay with one arm wrapped around the Knight's shoulders and the venerable Knight of Death never allowed anyone to get that close to him.
Dambretti left the office with the picture of Anthony under his arm and tossed it in the passenger seat of his car. A huge ball of iridescent soap bubbles drifted up over the Admin Building and floated on the breeze past his Audi. He turned and watched it disappear into the olive grove. Someone had put soap in the fountain… again.
"Boys will be boys," he muttered, smiled and started up the white Audi sedan. Amelia would be waiting for him in Naples and he did not want to be late.
http://www.amazon.com/The-Knights-Chr...
Templar Enthusiasts
A long time ago (I won't say how long because it disturbs me), when I first started writing about Templars, no one in the mainstream was interested in them. There were a few books out there about them, mostly non-fiction, historical accounts, very little historical fiction about them and there was very little to no speculative fiction about the subject. I started out writing just one, stand-alone novel about an errant Knight Templar who was semi-immortal and ridden with personal problems as an exercise in purgative writing. In other words, I wanted to write out some serious personal problems I had in story form, fictionalizing and dramatizing and romanticizing my own troubles in a larger than life plot.
I succeeded in doing this and felt much better when I wrote the final word: Finished at the end of the Knight of Death.
After much re-writing, editing, cutting, grumbling and rumbling, I final settled on a final edition of the thing and then decided that it was not finished after all. Since then, I have written 26 more novels for the Knight of Death to star in and have another four to go before I can even hope to say Fine. Fine. Fine.
Since those days after I first wrote the Knight of Death, a great deal of interest has been generated in the Templars and what happened to them, what happened to their vast treasure trove, their fleet of ships and their ranks. There are many, many speculations now about what happened to them. Fortunately, I have my own ideas about what happened to them. I say fortunately because it is fortunate that I have my own ideas or else the readers of the Assassin Chronicles might become very bored in short order.
I succeeded in doing this and felt much better when I wrote the final word: Finished at the end of the Knight of Death.
After much re-writing, editing, cutting, grumbling and rumbling, I final settled on a final edition of the thing and then decided that it was not finished after all. Since then, I have written 26 more novels for the Knight of Death to star in and have another four to go before I can even hope to say Fine. Fine. Fine.
Since those days after I first wrote the Knight of Death, a great deal of interest has been generated in the Templars and what happened to them, what happened to their vast treasure trove, their fleet of ships and their ranks. There are many, many speculations now about what happened to them. Fortunately, I have my own ideas about what happened to them. I say fortunately because it is fortunate that I have my own ideas or else the readers of the Assassin Chronicles might become very bored in short order.
Sample Sunday ~ 12.30.12
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.”
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.”
Working my way back
Fighting off depression and writer's block is tragic.
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