Brendan Carroll's Blog: Working my way back, page 4

Free Book at Amazon, B&N, etc.

Recently, I allowed the first book in my Assassin Chronicles series to go free for a while. I was very nervous about doing so for awhile and had been thinking of doing it for over a year.
I thought that it would be counter-productive to give away a book that I had hoped to make money from sales enough for vacations and other hobbies. However, since I made it free, I have had an amazing number of downloads and this can only be good for my series in the long run. If the readers who down-loaded the free version enjoy the book and want to read more, they will surely return for the second and third books. That would be very gratifying indeed.
Of course, I also hoping for more reviews for the series, but sometimes we get what we ask for and reviewers are not always kind... even for free books.
Although I am confidently reinforced on a daily basis by my fans that the series is worth reading, I still bite my nails at the thought of receiving a new review. It is a shame that they cannot be standardized and a bit less subjective, but then they would not be so interesting, colorful and personal in content. So it is a hard call wishing for more reviews and scary. Ask any author with mixed reviews such as mine. I have 5's and I have 1's and each time I discover a new one posted somewhere, my heart beats a little faster and my blood pressure go up slightly before I read it.
Sometimes the BP soars AFTER reading one.
So I will keep my book free for awhile and see what happens.

Sample Sunday for 24 July

The Red Cross of Gold I:. The Knight of Death is Book I of the Assassin Chronicles by Brendan Carroll. Genre: Paranormal Epic Fantasy with Romance for spice. The story begins when the 800 year old warrior monk assassin is sent by his Order to Texas to either capture or kill a defector. Before he has the chance to apprehend his quarry, he is set upon by a woman and her unscrupulous bodyguard and given an alchemical compound that destroys his memory long enough to get him into incredibly hot water. Now his Brothers of the Order are coming after him and they will take him back... dead or alive.


"They will be back," he made an empty threat, but knew it was probably true and it would be to his detriment if they came back and found him tied in a chair for their convenience.
"Why were they fighting over you?" Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You know why. Tell me."
"Do you think you are the only one who would steal my secrets?" he asked cryptically. "Do you really want to leave me here like this so just anyone can find me?"
"Oh, now you are playing games with me," she laughed. "Yes, I'm going to leave you here alllll alone. Don't worry. I'll do my best to protect you from your Brothers."
Mark swallowed hard at that thought. If she thought she and her miserable Maxie were a match for what he knew was coming, she was sadly mistaken. His situation was not very hopeful. He had lost too much time regaining his senses and he had allowed his arrogance and his lust for the Pixie to get the best of him. Now he had really gotten himself into trouble. The gravity of the situation was totally beyond her comprehension.
"Pride goeth before the fall," he muttered to himself in a brief moment of self-deprecation.
"You are in no position to sit and quote scriptures to me," she retorted hotly, thinking his remark was aimed at her. "If I were you, I'd pray for a miracle instead."
With that final declaration she left him and Maxie followed her out. He heard the precious key turn in the lock. The key that had been within his grasp so many times. He shook his head at his own stupidity.
"I was talking to myself," he spoke to the empty room in frustration.
"And yet she was right, Brother Ramsay," a deep voice from behind him, made his heart almost stop. He twisted his head to see who was coming to kill him now. The closet door stood open and one of the dark figures from his dream stood looking down his long nose at him. The man wore black from head to toe and tall black boots. A broadsword encased in a black leather scabbard hung from his belt and he wore a long cloak on his shoulders. His craggy face was dark of demeanor and his eyes seemed to gleam from deep sockets. His long, dark hair was streaked with silver. He looked like a vampire or an ancient sorcerer. Konrad von Hetz. Knight of the Apocalypse. An unforgiving, brooding man with little to offer in the way of hope. "Pray you should, before it is too late."
Ramsay sat perfectly still, awaiting his fate, waiting for his heart to start beating again. The man drew the sword and he winced at the sound the blade made as it exited the scabbard. A disturbingly familiar, zinging sound. The bell-shaped hilt was configured in the likeness of a coiled black dragon with red eyes. He drew what he thought would be his last breath with his head still attached to his body and instinctively closed his eyes, waiting for the blow to fall.
Instead of finding his head on the floor, he felt pressure on the ropes at his bare ankles. He opened his eyes and saw the dark Knight kneeling in front of him, cutting the ropes with the blade. The man stood up and bent over the handcuff attached to his right wrist, inspecting the device briefly, before pulling a chain with a number of small metal devices attached to it from under his collar. Mark watched in silence as the man worked on the handcuff lock. Within a few seconds he was free.
The man backed off quickly and pointed the sword at him. "Get your boots and your shirt."
Mark hurriedly followed the instructions, noticing that his boots were remarkably similar to the pair his 'rescuer' wore. "I thought you were going to kill me," he commented dryly as he sat on the bed, pulling them on.
"That could be in the offing, Brother," the dark man told him solemnly.
"How long have you been in my closet?" Mark had to ask as he searched in his bag for a clean shirt.
"Since before breakfast. I came while you were enjoying your shower."
"That long?" Ramsay felt his temper rising. "Who are you? What do you want?"
"You know who I am, Brother Ramsay," the man shrugged slightly and then placed the point of the blade under his chin and knelt on one knee in front of him. "I have come to offer my help. You are in grave danger here and I believe that you are well aware of it."
Mark raised his eyebrows. This was an odd bit of irony coming from a man pressing a wicked blade against his throat.
"So I see," Mark said quietly trying not to move his head.
"Come with me. We have to hurry."
The man stood up and turned on his heel toward the door.
"What about John Tellman?" Mark asked as he joined him at the door and then wondered why. John Tellman was Cecile's accomplice. Nothing more. He had to get these things straight in his mind. John Tellman was not a Templar, but Konrad von Hetz was.
"Who is John Tellman?" The man frowned down at him as he tried the door knob. He bent in front of the door and used the same probe that he had used on the handcuffs to open the door. So simple! He had to learn how to do that.
"Another who calls himself my brother," he continued in the same vein simply to have something to say. An attempt to distract the Knight from his purpose. When lost, stay lost until someone finds you. That was his motto.
"Where is your sword? Still in the basement?" the man asked as he opened the door wider and peered cautiously into the hallway. He seemed totally unconcerned about John Tellman.
"I suppose so," Mark leaned out the door to look as well. "I don't know. I thought I had it… at one time, but I … lost it."
"We will go back to the cellar to get it," the man told him and stepped into the hall.
A few moments earlier, he would have agreed wholeheartedly. He wanted the sword, but he did not want to accompany this dark fellow down to the basement. Besides, Maxie was probably watching them or already on his way up with his trusty shotgun.
"Why don't we just leave it there and buy another one?" Mark offered hopefully. He only wanted to get away from the house… Now!
"Do not trifle with me, Brother," the tall man turned on him, still holding the sword at a dangerous angle. Mark took a deep breath and followed the man down the hall.

Guest Blog

I have been included on Marsha Canham's blogsite today with a guest blog and a sample of my work. Please take a look at:

http://marshacanham.wordpress.com/201...
3/sample-sunday-all-about-fantasy-knights-or-nights-or-both-s/

Sample Sunday ~ July 3

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

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

Sample Sunday ~ June 19

This sample is from Tempo Rubato, my tribute to Wolfgang Mozart and one of my first attempts at writing a full-length novel. Tempo Rubato is a musical term meaning "stolen time". The novel is essentially a paranormal romance with adventure, a little sci-fi and humor thrown in for good measure (pardon the pun). Currently, it is available at Amazon for $.99.

“Aha.” He said. “Here we go. This will make you feel better.”
He brought her shoes and her underwear from the drawer along with his own shoes and vest. He stood holding her bra and panties delicately between two fingers.
“I know they aren’t much,” He frowned at her. “But...”
She snatched her things from him and hurried to the small bathroom to put them on. He was right, her tears dried up and she did feel better. When she came out, he was fully dressed again with everything but the missing sword.
He raised his eyebrows at her playfully. “Do you still love me?” She nodded, close to tears again. How could he be so calm?
“At least we will be ready for whatever comes.” He said taking her hands. “There is no use worrying. Smile for me, Lisserl. I’ve seen worse days.”
She smiled in spite of herself and he danced her around the room to music she could not hear. He hummed softly as he held her close and she felt like a child he was attempting to console.
He kissed her again and laughed. “I am living Tempo Rubato. Stolen time.” He told her. “If I die today, I will have lived three years longer than my enemies wished so long ago. And if I die holding you, then I will die happy. What more could I ask?”
She believed he truly meant what he said and was about to comment on it when they heard two small pops from the other room. He froze and frowned slightly at her.
They turned slowly together in unison to face the door. He put one arm around her shoulders and she clutched the front of his coat. The doorknob turned and the door opened quietly on its hinges.
Tempo Rubato

Six Sentence Sunday for May 29, 2011

The Assassin Chronicles follows the adventures of a grumpy Scottish Knight who happens to be the alchemist and assassin for the only remaining Order of the Poor Knights of Solomon's Temple. He is one of twelve semi-immortal members of the Ruling Council. On an ill-fated assassination assignment that took him to Central Texas, he meets and falls in love with a rather gullible young lady while suffering from the effects of a powerful alchemical concoction. He then becomes a target rather than an operative as his Brothers of the Order come after him after assuming him to be a traitor. This six sentence sample comes from near the beginning of the first novel wherein he is trying to understand what has happened to him.

"What do you know of Hattin?"

"Nothing!"

She looked up at him in surprise.

The mention mention of the ancient battle confused and confounded him. He could smell the burning brushfires and hear the screams of the soldiers as the enemy charged up the hillside, killing and hacking everything and everyone to bits, even the horses. Then the vision and the sounds were gone as suddenly as they had come.

The Knight of Death at Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B001J6ORUI

The Knight of Death at Smashwords:

Sample Sunday ~ The Wisdom of Solomon

This sample is taken from the Assassin Chronicles book #7, the Wisdom of Solomon. Meredith is attempting to conduct ritual magick in order to learn the whereabouts of her missing child and she is using three of her Brothers of the Order to be her disciples during the rite. It is not easy juggling the different volatile and diverse personalities long enough to make the magick work.

Simon d'Ornan arrived right on time for Merry's speech to Mark Andrew and Lucio. She had them sitting on the sofa in the library again like small boys at nursery school. They looked a bit flushed from their stay on the patio, but they were paying close attention to her... it seemed.
When Simon let himself into the library and stood looking at them silently, all three got up at once to greet him in the Templar fashion, hugging him and kissing him lightly on the lips. They hadn't heard him come in. He almost cringed when Merry touched him and did cringe when Lucio Dambretti greeted him, but there seemed to be no lingering malice in the Knight of the Golden Eagle and Simon was greatly relieved.
"Please sit down, Brother." Merry smiled and waved him over to sit by Mark Andrew. "I was just about to begin."
Simon sat stiffly on the sofa and clasped his hands over his stomach. He leaned back against the cool leather and almost closed his eyes. He was past exhaustion and his eyes drooped.
"Now…" Merry said and sat down on the footstool facing them. "There will be a circle and each of you will be responsible for certain items which I will give you to carry. I will instruct you in what you will do with the objects and you must do exactly… exactly as I command when I say. Is that clear?"
They nodded in unison. Simple.
"Before we commence the ceremony, there will be a cleansing bath and suffumigation. You know what that is?" she asked.
"Suffumigation," Simon repeated the word. "Incense."
"Yes. Exactly," Merry nodded. "No problem, right?"
They all shook their heads in unison.
"I will give each of you separate and individual instruction concerning your proper duties. Probably tomorrow. Today is the first day. Tomorrow is the second day. Thursday will be the third day and then on Friday morning, the first hour after sunrise, we will conduct the ceremony."
They all nodded. Lucio yawned and stretched. "You did fast, didn't you, Brother?" he asked Simon and the priest nodded.
"And you ate white food?" Mark asked him hopefully.
"White food?" Simon frowned and then looked at Merry. "I didn't eat anything."
"Nothing?" Lucio looked at him doubtfully.
"Fasting means not eating." Simon turned a surprised look on the Italian.
"You can't starve for three days, mon! Ye'll nae be able t' stand on yer feet!" Mark Andrew admonished him. "Merry, do ye still have some o' those beans out in th' kitchen?" Mark was truly concerned.
"It's no problem," Simon almost laughed. He had never been as fond of eating as his Brothers. Sometimes he even forgot to eat at all.
"I'll check on it. Tonight, I will see each of you in private. I want to know that there will be no problems. I don't want to get down to the last detail and then have one of you back out."
Mark Andrew sighed and shook his head slightly. What was the big deal? He had been through many things. Certainly, this would be no more taxing than living as a dragon for twenty-one years and drinking nothing but water. Merry was worried for nothing. He wished they could just get on with it without all this waiting. Just do the conjuring or whatever it was and be done with it. Simple.
Lucio crossed his legs and spread his arms along the back of the sofa before smiling at her. He had no intention of backing out. Anything Mark Andrew could do, he could do. He could tolerate it and then he would be gone. They would find out where Lucia Simone was and he would be off to retrieve his daughter. Simple.
Simon wore a worried frown. What was so disturbing about this thing that Merry had to keep warning them that they could not back out? What was she so concerned about? Just what did this ceremony entail? Sacrificing water buffaloes and chickens? He had just had a terrifying nightmare on the plane from Italy wherein he was in a dark place with thousands of rats and someone had thrown a chicken at him. A chicken! Of all things! It had almost been laughable after he had awakened, but it had been very frightening at the time. He'd never dreamed of chickens and he'd rarely dreamed of rats. That was more along the lines of something Mark Andrew would dream. Mark Andrew hated rats! The only encounter he'd had with rats was when he had been in the Inquisitor's dungeon and the rats had been the least of his worries there. He hoped that he would be able to get through this thing intact and then get back to France. He wanted to check on Orri and then plan his trip to America. Go to America. That was what his dreams told him to do. God was speaking to him surely, calling him out of this impossible situation and giving him a new direction. He would help Merry as he had promised and then he would be gone. Simple, except that he would have to try to speak to John Paul about the Ark before he left.
Merry was speaking again and he had missed what she was saying.
"Simon?" She held out her hand and he took it immediately, hoping that he had not missed too much. She pulled him up and he allowed her to escort him from the room. He glanced back at Mark Andrew and the Knight of Death smiled at him and raised both eyebrows. Mark Andrew did not understand what was happening here. Lucio sat gazing at him blandly.
Merry pulled Simon along the hallway to the backdoor and outside into the moonlight. She led him down the walk to the patio and he paused beside the flowerbeds he had tended with such care for so long. The amaranths, violets and lilies were gone now. They had been replaced by crocuses. Red crocuses. They were very dark, but the moonlight was so brilliant, he could see that they were red. He wondered vaguely why there would be red crocuses in his garden and then realized that it was not his garden, had never truly been his garden. Merry led him to the glass-topped table and pushed him into the chair.
"Thank you for coming, Brother," she said and smiled at him in the moonlight and he thought he would have to leave. He even started to get up and she pushed him back down. "Sit."
He sat down and looked about nervously, placing one hand over his mouth.
"Now I have to know that you will be suitable for this… experiment," she told him. "Now listen to what I have to say and then we'll see."
"We'll see?" He looked up at her and gave her a small smile.
"I am the master of this Art," she began. "I beseech thee, I beg thee, I cajole thee that thou now by thy consent of thy free will submit thyself to my will in all things pertaining to this Art and by submitting that thou shalt set thy trust in me to perform only those things which shall be necessary to accomplish the purpose of this experiment and this invocation and this conjuration before God Almighty and to all His angels and all His power and majesty that by putting aside thy selfish interests thou shalt adhere to thy promise wherein thou claimest no will other than mine. By placing your hand in mine thou shalt seal this pact with me before God."
She held out her hand and Simon sat looking at her, blinking rapidly. He raised his hand slowly and then put it in hers.
Merry had not expected anything to happen when she took his hand, but she began to see images immediately, as if his mind was emptying into hers. She saw an old black woman in a bed with a trickle of blood running from her nose and then she saw Mark Andrew lying in the cave after he had ignited the gas in the dragon's lair. After that, she saw Louis Champlain with an arrow through his arm and then the Ritter von Hetz suffering from a terrible slash across his ribs. The visions continued and with each changing scene, she saw a different person with some terrible wound or injury. Some of them she recognized as the Knights of the Council. Some of them were strangers to her. With each glimpse, she felt the pain of each man, very briefly. Each time, she jerked back slightly on his hand, but did not let go. The images passed like still frame photos or a rapidly paced slide show. There and then gone.
Simon was fascinated. He could not let go of her hand. He could see her thoughts about him. He could see how much she loved him and how much she respected him and trusted him and honored him and revered him, but he could see that there was nothing more than the love of a friend for a friend and a sister for a brother, but he had never expected her to care so much for him in any manner. It was most gratifying and very enlightening and, at the same time, disappointing in a selfish sort of way. Then he saw something he did not want to see. He saw her feelings for Mark Andrew and then her feelings for Lucio. She let go of his hand and it was over.
She stood staring at him in the moonlight, her expression like none he had ever seen. She looked as if she had seen a ghost… no, perhaps hundreds of them.
"Are you all right, Sister?" he asked. He wondered if she knew what he had seen and then wondered if she had been able to see his feelings for her. His face went deep red. "I'm sorry."
"For what?" she asked. "I had no idea, Simon. You really are a magnificent soul, a Healer."
"I am?" He looked about and then sighed in relief. It had not been a mutual sight and he was thankful.
"Yes. I believe you will do quite well for the experiment," she breathed and sat down in one of the chairs next to him to catch her breath. "Give me a minute."
Simon sat looking up at the moon. It looked like the same moon they had seen in the underworld and just for a moment he could almost imagine the sounds of the spirits' drums and the laughter of the elves. He longed to return there with her, but it was only a dream now, lost to history, but never lost to him.
"Would you please go and send Mark Andrew out?" She reached out hesitantly to touch his arm and he jumped.


((((((((((((()))))))))))))


Al Sajek al Hafiz dropped his water goblet on the table and spilled water into his lap. He stood up quickly and one of his servants came immediately to hand him a towel before cringing away from him as if expecting to be struck dead for allowing such a calamity to happen. He wiped at the water and then sat back down heavily. He had seen something unbidden. Flashes of things from somewhere else. Someone's mind. Whose mind? He had seen an old black woman, a man with an arrow in his arm and another man with a wound on his ribs and more and he had felt their pain briefly. What was this? Was someone now sending him their thoughts? Could it be possible? He wore the amulet of Nodens. He was protected from such things. His first thought was the prophet, John Paul. He was the only one capable of such a thing. He left his meal unfinished and went into his chambers and closed the doors.
He sat in the middle of the floor on a satin cushion filled with goose down and stretched out his arms on either side of his body. The golden cup from the chapel sat on a small pedestal in front of him. He focused his concentration on the prophet.
John Paul was lying on his bed in his father's house and his wife was sleeping next to him. The priest was not asleep. He was staring up at the underside of a canopy bed. His mind was full of turmoil. He was trying desperately not to sleep. More chaos. Good, but this was not what he expected. The images had not come from the priest. The Magician dropped his arms and frowned. This would take more work.


((((((((((((()))))))))))))


Merry stood up when Mark Andrew exited the back door of the house. He stopped on the steps and looked about before walking out the brick sidewalk toward the patio. He looked like a dream in the moonlight, but she had to shake off the thought of how much she simply wanted to go to him and take him back upstairs…
"Merry." He nodded to her when he drew near and smiled slightly.
He did not understand the gravity of the situation. In fact, he looked rather sheepish and nervous, as if they were having some sort of secret rendezvous. For once, she wished that his usual somber self would take over. It almost seemed as if he thought all this was some sort of joke.
"Sit down, please, Mark," she said a bit too curtly and his smile faded.
He took the chair vacated by Simon and frowned at her.
"I need to see if you can be serious about this. I want to know your true feelings. Would you like to back out now?"
"No." He shook his head and the silver earrings in his hair jingled. He reached up to place one hand on them subconsciously.
Merry began to repeat the same invocation she had said to Simon. As she spoke, he began to smile again. These were not baneful words. Not witchcraft. Not some horrible secret words of darkness. Just a request for his willingness to obey her. He had no problem with making a pact with her. He was planning, after all, to marry her very soon and was that not the ultimate pact? When she reached for his hand, he took hers readily. The shock of what he saw rocked him back in the chair.
The first thing he saw was Simon sitting on a great white horse looking down at him. "Why would you murder your Brother? Why would you murder your love? Why would I murder you, Brother?" He held his sword up in a salute before riding away. Then Lucio appeared on a dark horse. The Italian bowed his head slightly and then pulled his silver sword from its scabbard. "I am not the source of your pain, Brother. I have forgiven you. You must forgive yourself." He pressed the sword's hilt against his heart and looked away across the horizon. The Knight kicked the horse and also rode away.
The next image truly fascinated him. Another horse galloped toward him and on it sat a Templar Knight in full uniform and armor. At first, he thought it was Luke Matthew again and that he was about to hear more of his long-dead brother's prophetic words, but as the horse drew nearer, the Knight smiled at him and he saw the white braid in his long, dark hair and the silver earrings. He smiled up at his own image. He pulled in on the reins and drew up beside himself. It was an odd feeling, like being in two places at once. He reached under his surcoat and pulled out a single red rose and handed it down to himself. "Keep true to yourself, Mark Andrew Ramsay. Don't lose sight of your ultimate goal. What your Brothers do, they do for love." Mark Andrew took the rose and looked down at it. When he looked up, he saw himself riding away.
Merry thought she was prepared for what she would see, but nothing could have prepared her for what poured into her mind. These images came much faster than the one's from Simon's mind. They were briefer and more numerous and much more horrible than wounded or injured people. The first image was Sir Philip losing his head in Mark Andrew's entry hall. Then she saw many more such scenes so quickly she could hardly keep them in order. She saw Argonne, Champagne, Devereaux, the man in the blue turban in front of the chapel, Beaujold, the other Benedictine priest at Ian McShan's house, Maxie on the hillside in Texas, a soldier in a Nazi uniform, a beautiful blonde woman, another Knight in full uniform, a man dressed in army fatigues, and then more and more and more. Most were men. Some were women. The greater majority were men dressed in the far eastern garb with turbans and dark eyes and long beards. By the time she let go of Mark's hand she was crying uncontrollably. He pulled her close and held her head against his chest, stroking her hair and asking her again and again what was wrong. She wouldn't tell him. She couldn't speak. He led her over to one of the rockers and made her sit down. After a few moments, she wiped her eyes and frowned down at her hands.
"I'm sorry, Mark," she said and looked up at him. Did he really have all these things in his mind? How could he live with these memories?
"For what?" he asked and shook his head again. The earrings jangled in his hair. "What happened?"
"Nothing," she lied and then crossed herself.
"No lies," he reminded her and smiled, but the smile was sad somehow as if he could feel her pain. "I'm sorry that you have to put up with me, Meredith. I don't have much to offer."
"You're right. No lies," she cut him off and returned his smile. "Just don't ask me."
He kissed the back of her hand and then pressed it against his face.
"I need to see Lucio," she said quietly. "It's getting late and I'm in danger of losing control."
This was not going to be easy. She had thought that the hard part was yet to come. If it was any worse than this, she might not make it.
Mark dropped her hand and his shoulders drooped a bit. He scratched his head and then ran his fingers through his hair.
"I'll send him out," he said.
They still had to make their nightly confession according to the rite and repeat the required prayers before going to bed. The thought of the underworld came back to her and for a moment, she almost wished that she could go back there with Simon. Surely, it would be a wonderful place with the evil spirits gone and the serpent dead. She even missed the rich flavor of the fresh milk and the wonderful bread that had appeared on their doorstep everyday. What a simple life it could have been for them. And she could think of no better person than Simon to have been stranded with. Well, at least, the old Simon had been the perfect companion. She didn't know about the new Simon.


The Red Cross of Gold VII:. The Wisdom of Solomon: Assassin Chronicles

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.

5/13/2011 6:13:04 AM EBook Giveaway Assassin Chronicles I...

5/13/2011 6:13:04 AM EBook Giveaway Assassin Chronicles I am giving away 26 copies of the Assassin Chronicles in eBook form in a contest that runs through 9 PM your time tonight. Please send your answer to the question to BrendanCarroll7.gmail.com. The first 13 correct answers will receive copies of Books I and II of the Red Cross of Gold:. The Knight of Death and The King of Terrors. The second 13 correct answers will receive copies of The Knight of Death. Hint: I am a sucker for conspiracy theories. The Assassin Chronicles follows the adventures and misadventures of the Chevalier Mark Andrew Ramsay, a poor Knight of Solomon's Temple and one of twelve ruling council members of the Order of the Red Cross of Gold. The Order is the only remnant of the once great Order of Templar Knights and the council members are semi-immortal Knights who have been around since the Middle Ages, running the Order in the shadows, preparing to fight with Christ at the Battle of Armageddon. The series starts with Book I:. The Knight of Death and runs through 28 novels. Book I can be read as a stand-alone novel, but the rest are dependent upon the book before, so it is advisable to start with book one. The books can be found in ebook form on amazon.com for $2.99 for Kindle and also as paperbacks thru book #21. Currently, there are twenty-two books published with six to go. They are alos listed at the Ibook store and on Smashwords for several different eBook formats at a slightly higher price.

QUESTION IS: WHY IS FRIDAY 13TH CONSIDERED UNLUCKY?




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Free eBook Contest ~ Friday 13th

For the first 13 correct answers to the question below, I will give a free coupon for Books 1 & 2, Assassin Chronicles. And for the second 13 correct answers I will give a free coupon for Book 1, Assassin Chronicles, the Knight of Death.

Send your answers today BEFORE 9 PM to the question to BRENDANCARROLL7@GMAIL.COM :

WHY IS FRIDAY 13TH CONSIDERED BAD LUCK?