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.

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.


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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.


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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

February 13 Sample Sunday: Assassin Chronicles

This excerpt is a small section of The Red Cross of Gold IX:. The Queen of the Abyss wherein the Chevalier du Morte is trying to stave off the dragon and her minions in the underworld after having been disenchanted with the way things were going in the overworld, but a previous injury will not heal and is getting the best of him in spite of his magickal abilities.

Elizabeth’s soft shoes slapped the stone floor of the great corridor as she hurried down the hall carrying a guttering silver candlestick in her hand. Another terrifying scream echoed through the empty passage around her and made her shudder through and through. These things were happening more and more frequently now and they were worse every time. She pushed open the heavy wooden door and rushed around the bed where she set the candlestick on the bedside table before she drew back the dark velvet draperies surrounding the bed.

“Mark Andrew!” she shouted at the man who thrashed uncontrollably in the tangled bed linens.

He could not hear her. He was having another of his fits. Kicking and screaming and clutching his stomach first and then his head as great pains and convulsions wracked his body. Sweat gleamed on his skin in the light of the candle. The young woman ran from the room and back down the hall to the head of the stairs.

“Hurry! Hurry!” she shouted to the two men who came rushing up the wide steps toward her.

The two Knights passed her without a word and she turned to follow after them as they headed for his bedroom at breakneck pace.

Sir Barry was first through the door and literally flung himself onto the bed to hold the ailing man down. Guy de Lyons skirted the foot of the bed and grabbed hold of his kicking feet. Barry sat back on his stomach, pushed Mark’s arms forcefully against the carved headboard and then quickly wrapped his wrists with a braided cord suspended there for just such a purpose. He remained sitting on the Knight’s stomach as he held up the small bottle he had retrieved from his pocket. The screaming was almost constant now. They had never seen it this bad before. The Knight of the Baldric was almost bucked completely off before he could remove the cap and take a tiny bit of the precious liquid on his right middle finger.

He leaned over the Knight and crushed him bodily as he fought to hold his head still long enough to make a cross on his forehead.

The fit lasted another several seconds before gradually subsiding, while Elizabeth fell back against the wall, watching in horror. How could he possibly survive these things much longer?

Armand de Bleu stumbled into the room sleepily and came around the bed.

“Where have you been?!” Barry shouted at the younger Knight.

Armand shot a dark look at his Brother and fell to his knees beside the bed and began to repeat the prayer Mark Andrew had taught him. As the prayer drew to a close, Barry released his hold on Mark Andrew and backed off the bed to stand breathlessly by Sir de Lyons.

“That was very close,” Sir Barry grumbled and turned to look at the woman. “Where were you?!”

“I went to…” She faltered and then stopped. These men frightened her. “He sent me for some wine,” she said quickly. “I never made it down stairs.”

“Just call me next time,” Barry told her gruffly and then bent over the bed to slap Mark’s face.

Mark Andrew opened his eyes slowly to look up at the worried face of his Master at Arms.

“Get the horses!” he told them in a hoarse voice. “Bring the horses. We have to go… now.”

“You need to rest a bit first, your Grace,” Barry objected and shook his head as he untied the king’s wrists.

“Make the horses ready and wait for me. Give me an hour,” Mark Andrew relented and pushed himself up in the bed, kicking at the tangled bed linens. Elizabeth dragged them to the floor.

Sir Barry of Sussex, Knight of the Baldric, snorted his disapproval and then turned to leave the room.

Guy de Lyons, Knight of the Sword and Armand de Bleu, Knight of the Throne, trailed after him, muttering to each other about his condition and the hour and the idea of going anywhere at this time of night.

Elizabeth approached the bedside and held one hand out toward his face. He closed his eyes briefly, but she did not touch him.

“I don’t have much time,” he said when he looked up into her dark green eyes.

“I know,” she nodded. “I’ll make you a bath.”

Mark Andrew sighed and stood up slowly, holding onto the tall bedpost for support.

“Thot wud be good, lassie,” he sighed and looked down at his damp clothes and shook his head. The silver earrings jangled in his hair. At least he would be able to spend a bit of time with her before they left. He had no idea what they would find when they went out. He had been putting it off too long and now he would have to go and take his chances.

Elizabeth came back shortly and stood watching him as he pulled fresh clothes from a big, iron-bound trunk.

“Will you take me with you?” she asked hopefully.

“If you… Yes!” he nodded his head vigorously. “I will. It may help our cause.”

“I love you, Mark Andrew!” she said brightly and then hurried away to prepare the bath. The bath was the only place they had together. And their time together seemed to be growing shorter and between each of these episodes wherein she thought she would lose him and if that happened… what would happen to her?

He watched her go and then set about finding his weapons and armor in the dimly lit room. Only an low-burning oil lamp on one of the tables provided any light. But the gray panes in the window showed the sun would be rising in the east, away across the ocean below the cliff. He could smell the scent of vanilla issuing from the arched doorway that led into the ‘bathroom’. It was not a modern bathroom with all the amenities, but it was the best he could do in this place with no plumbing and no electricity. Not bad work for an alchemist. He had built many baths, but they usually sat on lab tables and were not made of stone. He was thankful it never got cold here. But then… it never changed here. Perpetual summer. Midsummer, in fact. Yes, and now it was true summer even in the overworld. He calculated the days in his head. Summer or at least very close to the first day of summer, no doubt. Midsummer’s Eve they called it. If it was the first day of summer, then why call it Mid-summer? If things were just a bit different…

He took off his damp clothes and threw them on the floor. Someone or something would take care of them for him and he would find them clean and carefully folded in his trunk the next time he needed them. Elizabeth called to him from the bathroom and he tip-toed across the cold stone floor.

Six mounted Knights waited for him an hour and a half later when he emerged from the front doors of the keep and hurried down the wide stone steps to meet them. Elizabeth followed close behind him and received six disapproving glances as she waited on the cobbles for him to make room for her behind him on the back of the black horse. She wore her finest dress and all her gold and silver at his request. She certainly looked the part of his Queen. He said nothing to the men who waited on him and simply reined the big horse around and galloped away to the south, toward the caves with them following after him. Their mantels fluttered behind them in the moonlight as they rode along. Chain mail jangled and their swords and weapons clanked as they rode single file toward an unknown destination. They wouldn’t know where they were going until they got there and each one wondered why he was taking the girl with him this time. He’d never taken her before. The sun was rising in the east and the gulls and terns were beginning to make their daily racket on the sea cliff behind them and to the right as they entered the shadowy forest. By the time they left the trees for the open plain again, they had collected a host of faery creatures, following them on both flanks and in the rear.

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Chapter Two of Seventeen

that the soul be without knowledge, it is not good

“Planxty Grine!” Merry began again as she scrubbed at her apprentice’s face with a damp cloth. He was smudged black and green. “How many times do I have to tell you. One drop! One drop. You cannot hurry the sublimation with a hotter fire and you cannot make a hotter fire with more yellow.”

“But, Master…” Planxty’s grimy, freckled face was too comical for her to scold him as thoroughly as she should have. “I did only use one drop! It was not the yellow. It was the oven door. I forgot to open the door and the blast erupted upwards instead of being expelled from the side. I was unprepared.”

“Then you were leaning over the vent,” she scolded him anew. “I told you never to lean over the vent!”

“I know,” he pouted slightly. “But I think I have the hang of it now. I would like to…”

“You would like to go on now and get a shower and change clothes. It’s almost time for the banquet to start. Now, go on.” She pulled him up off the floor and then surveyed the mess on the counter. “I’ll straighten this up and then I’ll have to go change. You can clean it up tomorrow.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Planxty murmured and looked disappointed.

He loved to work with all the arcane equipment in the lab. She hardly had the heart to tell him that, if things ever got straightened out, she would not be the Alchemist anymore and that he would be expected to learn the Wisdom of Solomon instead. A shudder ran up her spine at the thought of Planxty Grine wielding the magick of King Solomon and then she smiled wanly at the memory of Mickey Mouse as the sorcerer’s apprentice and all the brooms trying to empty the flooding laboratory in Fantasia. It would be a challenge and one she would gladly have tackled if only Mark Andrew would come home again. She could not believe that she had lost him for the third time and working in his lab with his beloved equipment made her feel like crying every time she thought of him, but she had cried so much over the past several years, she could hardly have found more tears.

Simon had gone and gotten married almost immediately after Mark Andrew’s disappearance and she still didn’t know how he had met Rachel. Lucio had waited around a bit. For what, she didn’t know. She thought perhaps that he might have been waiting for her to ask him to move back to Scotland with her, but she hadn’t and he hadn’t pursued it. He had come often to visit Marco and had brought Lucia to see her, but they had never really had any serious discussions, arguments or even deep conversations about anything since Mark Andrew had simply ridden away in the middle of the night.

Lucio had seemed almost as devastated as she had been when it became obvious that Mark was not coming back. They had both lost a Brother. She had lost the love of her life and he had lost his surrogate father and his best friend. Ramsay had practically raised him from the age of fourteen or so. Dambretti had idolized Ramsay and practically worshipped him as his apprentice and then called him Brother of the Order for almost a thousand years. Certainly his grief was no less heartfelt than hers, regardless of the strained relationship between the three of them for the past fifty years, give or take a few years. Now Lucio was a newly wed and Seneschal for the Order of the Red Cross of Gold and would be returning to Italy to resume the duties of that Office again after a short respite granted for his wedding and brief honeymoon.

“Jasmine!” she whispered the name aloud. She glanced at her watch. Surely they had arrived by now and she had missed them. What a great hostess she was and Lucia, her daughter, would be coming with him. She hadn’t seen Marco’s twin sister in three months!

Planxty! Damn it! She made sure the furnace was cold and all danger had passed before she hurried up the stairs to the kitchen and then on to the second floor to her bedroom to clean up and change clothes. She glanced out the window into the back yard. The caterers were lighting the patio torches and the stringed paper lanterns hanging about the tables already glowed with festive orange lights. She could see the Grand Master sitting with the Ritter at the main table and William Montague leaning across the table, speaking with him. Simon and Rachel were still at the pit, sitting in yard chairs, staring intently into the yawning black opening at something Louis Champlain was fighting with on the grill. Simon held one of his younger sons on his shoulder, while his wife bounced the baby on her knee. A tall, elegantly dressed woman was trying to help Louis with whatever it was that was giving him trouble.

She could hear the woman’s laughter and see Louis’ discomfiture. Mrs. Dambretti, no doubt. But where was Lucio? She didn’t see him anywhere. Turk, the old cook, was standing back with his big, muscular arms folded across his chest, shaking his head in apparent disgust, a watering bucket near his feet, ready to extinguish any flaming children or guests if necessary. The other young d’Ornans were chasing about the patio wreaking havoc on everything within reach. The older children were weaving in and out the tables, chasing each other with party horns and squeakers.

She turned away from the window and almost screamed at the sight of the Italian standing in the open doorway looking at her with his arms folded over his chest.

“Lucio!” she said and pressed one hand over her heart.

“Sister,” he said and flashed his winning smile briefly before crossing the room to give her the Templar kiss.

“What are you doing up here?” she asked and looked about as if she were lost.

“Louis told me that you don’t eat,” he said. “Simon told me that you don’t sleep. Konrad said that you spend all your time cooped up in our Brother’s dungeon, smelling fumes and making decoctions all day. You are a bag of nerves, Merry. You look awful. Did you know that?”

“I’ll have you know that Planxty Grine blew up the laboratory again and I had to clean it up… not to mention, clean him up as well!” she said defensively. “Did you come up here to insult me, Brother?”

“No. I came to say hello and see how you were doing for myself,” he told her and backed away as she began to tear about the room looking for the clothes she intended to wear. “I had thought you might come down to meet my beloved wife.”

“I am coming down to meet Jasmine!” she snapped. “Surely you don’t want me to come down like this?" She pulled out the hem of the smudged white blouse and looked at him incredulously from an equally smudged face.

“I’m sorry. You are always beautiful to me, Meredith. No matter what you are wearing or how filthy you are,” he told her in all seriousness.

“Gee, thanks. Graci, Signor.” She found the dress she was looking for and began to push him from the room. “Now go and see to your new bride before she finds you up here in my bedroom. Not wise, Golden Eagle. Not wise at all.”

Lucio kicked the door shut behind him and took her in his arms, pulling her close, kissing her as if they were the newlyweds, even against all her protests until she stopped beating on him and returned the kiss sincerely.

“Merry," he said softly into her hair as he pressed her head against his shoulder and began to cry. “I know you miss Mark Andrew and so do I, but you have to come to grips with the fact that he may not return this time. I know he always came back before, but…”

“Lucio, stop…” Merry had managed not to cry in several weeks, but this was too much. Tears ran down her face and she became angry with him for causing it. “Please. Just go down stairs. I’ll be fine. Just leave me alone a bit and tell Jasmine that I’m sorry I missed her arrival. OK?”

Lucio let go of her and then opened the door.

“There’s one other thing, Sister.” He looked back at her. “Jasmine is… not like you. Not like you at all. I hope you won’t be too mad at me for marrying her.”

“Mad at you?" She frowned at him. “Why should I be mad at you? I don’t blame you for getting married again, Lucio. And if you think I’m jealous…”

“No, no. Not jealous. Just mad,” he said and looked confused. “She’s just... not like you. Not like you at all. I didn’t mean to find someone so different. I mean I wanted to apologize to you for…”

“OK, OK,” Merry nodded. “OK. So she’s not like me. Fine. Rachel is not like me either. That’s good. It wouldn’t do for a bunch of me’s to be wandering around in close proximity to me, now, would it?”

“I guess you have a point. I’ll see you downstairs, Sister,” he said, smiled again and pulled the door closed gently between them.

Merry burst into a flood of tears and rushed into the bathroom, slamming the door with a resounding boom.

How could he have married this woman? An outsider. She knew he still loved her and she still loved him and even if they could never be together, at least they had Paris… She frowned at herself in the mirror and began to laugh hysterically. Without thinking, she rearranged a vase of fresh flowers on the vanity.

What is it about Zombies...

...that people love? I recently watched a movie called "Zombieland". It was hilarious. I laughed out loud several times and was amazed that I enjoyed the ridiculous production. Surely, it was the humor, the actors' performances, (Bill Murray), and the utter foolishness that made it worthwhile. I felt the same way about "Super Troopers". Ridiculous, gutter humor that made me laugh and took me away from everything sane for a little while. There is a whole list of movies like these two: Police Squad, Airplane, Police Academy, Blues Brothers, Saturday the 14th, Scream.
But I'm not talking about those zombies. I'm talking about serious zombie movies. "The Living Dead"; "Resident Evil"; "Day of the Dead"; etc. Mutant disease runs rampant. People die, nasty corpses get reanimated, more people die, blood and gore get splattered, zombies get splattered, more people get infected, more zombies attack, more blood and gore, a handful of people escape. Same story, different scenery.
Just how many different ways can a zombie bite a person? How many different ways can a zombie be destroyed? How many zombies are there? How many zombie books can be written? Sold? Read? Re-read?
I thought of writing a zombie novel, but then thought that I would have to read a whole slough of current zombie novels in order to make sure that my zombies were different, hid in different places, made different noises, dressed differently and bit off body parts in novel ways that no other zombie novelist had thought of. After giving this some thought, I decided to stick with Templars... aha!
How many books about Templars can be written, you may ask. What do people like about Templars, etc? But my novels are not ABOUT Templars, it stars Templars in the modern age. Now there is a much smaller category.
The way I see it, if you are tired of zombies, read about Templers.

Hello Out There! Anyone Home?

I recently got a few of my books up and running in DTB (paperback) and a couple more at Smashwords which allows greater distribution and more e-format downloading options. However, Smashwords has stopped selling for me altogether. I've gotten no sales according to my reports since early May. I wrote to them because I keep seeing numbers of downloads change though I see no sales. The answer was that they were working on it.

Working on what? I wonder. Some of my fellow authors, Mr. Patterson, for example say that they have many sales on Smashwords. I cannot believe that I've not sold a single book there in over two months. Strange.

What is really strange is that my book sales on Amazon in both ebook and paperback have increased and that means people are reading my books and coming back and buying the series. This naturally makes me think: "Hey! Someone out there likes the books!" This is good, but total silence in the review section and few, if any, emails makes me wonder if the books are being bought by robots or maybe from passing ET's who have sent emails and reviews from millions of light years away and I simply haven't received their wonderous comments yet. Or perhaps they are being purchased by Time Travelers who have posted in the future. Hmmmm? Am I onto something? Could it be that we are being studied as a race through the Red Cross of Gold series? How would that change the destiny of the human race I wonder?

Book XV:. the Skull of Sidon

The Red Cross of Gold XV:. the Skull of Sidon is now available on Kindle. Just in time for the Halloween Season!!

New Release: RCG XIII:. Children of the Temple

Announcing the publication on Kindle of the Red Cross of Gold XIII:. Children of the Temple... the saga continues.

Another Lazy Saturday

Just sitting around editing my next addition to my Kindle book list which I hope to release in this week, sooner than I expected. I might be able to do it tomorrow if all goes well and I don't get called in to work. I do hate working on my days off, but that is what happens when co-workers are not willing to pull their own weight. I suppose I must be in a rare somber mood today. Drinking Captain Morgan's rum and coke, looking at the bright sunshine through the windows. I'm hoping for a good thunderstorm later on and maybe a good movie. My editor/fan #1/critic/proofreader, Miss Mayellem Sockingfoot, has promised that we would actually try to finish the book off today and tomorrow and get it on line. My fans have requested that I hurry up and put it up there because they don't like to be left hanging, but really, I ask you... if I didn't leave some intrigue unfinished, why would anyone be prompted to read further? I'm currently reading a very interesting romance novel written by Maureen Miller and also available on Kindle. She has a real way with phrasing and description that makes the reader feel present in the scenes she describes. I haven't read a good romance in ages... well, I do enjoy a good romance from time to time... LOL. It's called "Widow's Tale" and it's set in Maine.

Anyway, the continuing saga of the Knight of Death's adventures will travel on in Book XII when he goes in search of the Djinni in the Mountains of the Moon. In the meantime, Happy Reading.

Newest Release: Ars Arabia

I just got my latest release up and running on Amazon Kindle book store. Unfortunately, I've been unable to pin the link to my link list on my blog page so I've pinned it on the bottom of this post. The Red Cross of Gold XI:. Ars Arabia is the latest adventure of the Chevalier du Morte, poor Knight of Solomon's Temple as he goes up against a powerful Djinn creature in the desert mountains of Arabia. He risks life and limb to preserve the Order of the Red Cross of Gold while his Brothers plot to assassinate him. Not only do they want to get rid of the Knight of Death, they want to do away with his lady, Miss Meredith and their children. The Brothers are torn between their age old loyalty to the Grand Master and their newfound respect for Mark Andrew. It is a game of wits, magick and mystery mixed with a little humor and a lot of intrigue.

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B002DYJXN6

Stormy Weather

You may have heard of the song "Stormy Weather"? All romantic, right? Well, I went off for two days to my bat cave and when I returned my gazebo had decided to go on an adventure all by itself and visit the neighbor's yard. That's the second gazebo in less than two years!! I don't know why they are like that... you love them and cherish them and then, what do you get? No goodbye, no adios, amigo, no nothing, just up and gone! I guess I'll get over it... someday. Sniff.

Poetry

One of my fellow authors at the Kindleboards.com recently opened a thread for me, he said, to display my limericks and rhymes. It is, of course, open to everyone, readers and writers alike and not limited to limericks. Any and all poetry is subject to enjoyment and/or ridicule from the readers/authors... all in fun naturally. An old friend and fan who dates from my very early writing career recently found me on the boards (actually, she was there before I was because she owned a Kindle and I still don't). Anyway, after posting a few rhymes in a friendly banter exchange, a strange thing seems to be happening. Another author/reader thinks that she is me! (Or I am she or is it her?) Anyway, I was absolutely thrilled to see that the readers of this bizaare little thread put enough thought into it to draw conclusions about the originators of the bawdy poems. I have since played it up that this particular fan is my stalker who follows me around, adoring me. This again, is done in fun and is absolutely not true, but rather another unabashed attempt at self-promotion on my part.
I have always loved to read and write limericks. A rather harmless habit, one must admit, although more brain-squeezing than chewing fingernails or twisting hair. I did talk my old fan into writing a limerick of her own and she showed surprising talent in this little-appreciated literary genre. In other words, I was quite pleased with her work.
If you want to read these terrible rhymes and judge for yourself have a looksee at the Kindleboards.com under the Book Bazaar and look for the thread on Limericks.
I have reduced my Red Cross of Gold II:. the King of Terrors to just $.99 for a while simply because it is undergoing a bit of typo correction and the corrected version will be a while in coming. By no means are the typos destructive to the storyline, they simply need to be corrected for aesthetic purposes and because I will soon be releasing the book in paper on Amazon.com and I want it as perfect as possible in case any of the major publishing houses, agents and/or film makers happen by... (crosses fingers).
Wish me luck. Happy reading and thanks for stopping by. Brendan

Rhythm, Rhyme and Harmony

If you travel around the web and you want to see something absolutely awful, go to Kindleboards.com and look at the Book Bazaar Forum under the Poetry thread and you'll find an original limerick that I was coerced into writing by my fellow author, Edward Patterson. You will also find a number of interesting comments and threads for bargain books on Kindle where most of my books are now published. I am currently trying to get the final edit on King of Terrors, the second book in the Red Cross of Gold Series so that I can publish on Amazon.com proper in the paperback section for those of you who want to hold a real book in your hands. I have also dropped the price on said Kindle book for a time while I am cutting the final edit. Thanks for stopping buy... I mean by and keep on reading until you find the answers because, trust me, they are out there.

Reviews

Reviews. What are these... really? I had always thought... in my feeble mind, that reviews as posted on sites such as Amazon.books and Amazon Kindle Boards concerned themselves with remarks and comments concerning the so-called readability of the book, i.e. were the characters believable? were the settings first rate or not so hot? was the action exciting? did it keep the reader's attention? would you recommend it to your friends?

I have given many reviews and have always spoken to the issues listed above. However, it has been brought to my attention lately that reviewers should base their reviews on something called "the rules", which apparently include a great deal of criticism directed at spelling, word usage, formatting, grammar, punctuation, so on and so forth. These topics, I believe are editing issues and should be addressed in forums and boards such as Kindle Boards "Book Bazaar" where I heartily agree that any opinions of readers is highly valuable input even if we might not want to hear it. These comments can be helpful when editing and correcting and when writing future epic giants.

I am still firmly convinced that Reviews should be recommendations/non-recommendations to other potential readers for the book in question... period (pardon the pun) and not comma-tary on grammar, which as aggravating as it is to some people of higher learning, is not as important to to the general populace as it should be.

Introduction

My name is Brendan Carroll. I'm a fulltime writer/author with a 40+ hour job working for the State of Texas as a hobby (to pay the bills). I'm an Indie author with a total of nine books now ready for your reading pleasure on Amazon.com at the Kindle Store.

My novels are a sort of super-series of 28 adventures centered on the adventures and misadventures of Chevalier Mark Andrew Ramsay, the only Scottish member of the Immortal Council of Twelve, Ordo Militi Templi, Red Cross of Gold. He is commonly called the Knight of Death or in French, which is the Order's formal language, l'Chevalier du Morte. He works as an assassin and alchemist for the thousand year old chapter and is about 837 years old at present. He makes the gold that the Order needs to operate its private army and when someone needs to be killed, he does that as his primary job. He holds the Secrety of the Key of Death for the semi-immortal members of the inner grand council and he also holds the divine Mystery of Alchemy which allows him to make gold from base metals.

Mark is a simple Scotsman who wants nothing more than to be left alone, but his life is turned upsidedown when an assassin's mission sends him to America to retrieve or eliminate a traitorous apprentice to the Order's Grand Master. The members of the inner circle cannot desert, nor can they simply leave the Order. It is a lifetime commitment and deviations will not be tolerated.

In America, Mark temporarily becomes disoriented after a vicious assault and he forgets who he is and what he is doing there. While he is trying to regain his memory, he meets and falls in love with one of his captors. Keeping company with women is strictly forbidden by the Primitive Rule of Order for the Templars which states "The company of women is a dangerous thing and has led many men from the path to paradise".

Needless to say, he suddenly finds himself embroiled in a life and death struggle as he attempts to fight off his captors who are bent on extracting the secret of immortality from him while his own Brothers of the Order come looking for him, considering him a traitor to the Order. An old enemy is determine to take his head back to Italy in a box, his new-found love wants him to stay with her and give up the Order and his loyal apprentice and friends are trying to help him, but he doesn't know which way to turn.

Things get pretty sticky for him and the outcome looks even bleaker when the Grand Master, himself, shows up in Texas, ready to do battle for the sake of the Order.

Happy reading. Brendan Carroll