The Red Cross of Gold XXVI:.
“All That Is Fallen”
Assassin Chronicles
By
Brendan Carroll
Copyright 2012
The Red Cross of Gold XXVII:. All That Is Fallen
Published by Brendan Carroll
Copyright 2012 Brendan Carroll
All That is Fallen is dedicated to everyone who is looking forward to the Mayan Apocalypse.
And it is also dedicated to my good friend Sue Guerth who has given so much time in return for a few laughs.
The characters are fictional and any resemblance to real persons alive or dead is unintentional and coincidental.
Brendan Carroll can be reached at [email protected] for comments and/or questions.
Warning copyrighted material:
No part of the contents of this publication may be copied, printed or sold without permission of the author.
Prologue
Jozsef Daniel was caught off guard when Bari grabbed him, spun him around and slammed him against the bookcase in his study.
“What did you do to her?!” Bari shouted in his face.
“What are you talking about?” Jozsef took hold of the Emperor’s wrists and pushed him away easily. “You wanted her back! You have her! What more do you want?”
Bari pressed both fists to his eyes and gritted his teeth.
“It’s not right!” He turned around and stood with his back to Jozsef.
Jozsef smiled slightly, and then went to pour them some brandy at the bar.
“Here, you need a drink.” He said and slid the heavy tumbler across the bar. Bari caught up the glass before collapsing in one of the leather chairs. “Now tell me what is wrong with her?” Jozsef’s voice was smooth… soothing.
“I didn’t expect her to be so… friendly!” Bari shook his head and downed the brandy in one gulp.
“She missed you.” Jozsef shrugged and leaned on the bar. “She is a beautiful woman, Bari. She is lonely and confused. You have to understand that.”
“I understand that, I don’t understand this.” He pulled on the high collar of his shirt and exposed several red marks on his neck. “She was like a… she was… she practically raped me, Jozsef! I am her son! It’s not right.”
“Who said it’s not right?” Jozsef asked him. “Who told you that?”
“Everyone!” Bari got up and brought his glass back for more brandy and Jozsef obliged him.
“Who? The Templars? The ones who caused all of this?” Jozsef waved one hand about the darkly gleaming library. “You are not a man, Bari Kadif. And your mother is not your mother.”
“I don’t understand!” Bari shook his head and pulled the kaffiyeh from his head and let it slip to the floor. He didn’t want to play emperor any more. He actually had the overwhelming urge to call Scotland. Contact his father or his grandfather, perhaps.
“You love her, don’t you?” Jozsef asked him.
“Of course! I love her. Of course!” Bari went back to the chair again and pressed one hand against his forehead.
“And she loves you?”
“She said she did.”
“And so, what is the problem? Do you really care what the Templars think? You are a god, Bari. The Emperor of New Persia! You don’t answer to anyone, but yourself. You don’t need their approval. You can do whatever you like. Your father was… is a god and your grandfathers are both very powerful creatures. You simply have to accept that and you will feel better. Gods are not subject to the same petty rules as men. We can do whatever we want to do. Remember that!”
“She asked me about the child.” Bari calmed down a bit.
“And?” Jozsef came around to sit beside him in another chair.
“I told her I would try to get it for her.” He said in a low voice. “Do you think it is wise?”
“I thought you wanted it as well.” Jozsef shrugged. “We know they took it to Scotland from Switzerland. I would not be surprised to learn that it is in Germany even as we speak. We can get it back. What would she have you do?”
“She wants it alive. She wants to raise our son.” Bari shuddered.
“You are having second thoughts?” Jozsef leaned over to look at him closely.
“No. Yes! Perhaps we should forget the dead child and have another.” He said thoughtfully.
“That is up to you. You are the Emperor.” Jozsef laughed and leaned back in the chair.
“Good. I’ll think about it then.” Bari stood up. “I have some people to see downstairs. I should go and change clothes.”
“Of course.” Jozsef sipped his brandy. “I’ll see you at dinner then. Would you have me bring your mother?”
“Don’t call her that. Call her Naomi.” Bari headed for the door. “Yes. Bring her to dinner.”
“As you wish.” Jozsef said quietly as Bari slammed the door behind him. He looked up at the ceiling and then got up and went out on the balcony. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked along the balcony until he reached ‘Naomi’s’ room where he tapped lightly on the glass door.
Ruth opened the door and he stepped inside.
“You certainly frightened him!” Jozsef wrapped his arms around her waist and hugged her close to him.
“Did I?” She asked.
“I think so.” He kissed her cheek lightly and took a handful of her dark hair pressing it to his face, breathing in the fragrance.
“Was he pleased?” She asked.
“He was shocked, but he’ll get over it.”
“He promised to make me his queen.” She smiled at him.
“Oh, did he, now?” Jozsef’s eyes narrowed sharply.
“Are you jealous?”
“Madly.” He smiled. “You won’t forget me when you are Empress of New Persia?”
“I will never forget you, my love… my Lord.” She bowed slightly to him and he picked her up in his arms.
“Let’s get you a nice bath, Naomi.” He said lightly and kissed her neck. “We have a bit of time before dinner, and you can tell me all about it.”
Chapter One of Twenty-Two
You turn people back to dust, saying, “Return to dust, you mortals.”
Lucio met Luke Andrew and Catharine de Goth running up the stairs from the grand entry hall. They were both shouting at the same time and he could make out only a few individual words.
‘Angels’. ‘Demons’. ‘Tower’. ‘Basement’. ‘Sophia’. ‘Master’. ‘Father’. ‘Killing’. And one word that struck cold fear in his heart. ‘Vanni!’ He had no weapon, but went on down the staircase at a breakneck speed in the direction of the disturbance. Servants, soldiers and people he had never seen before were running to and fro. Some carried weapons and were also adding to the clamor with their own shouts, screams or shrieks. The rest of the members of both Orders clambered down the stairs behind him. He skidded barefoot around two bends in the hall and stopped short as his way was barred by a crush of bodies, vying for a view of what was going on further down the hall. He was shocked to see hundreds of blue orbs flitting about in the upper reaches of the hall way. No one would answer his frantic questions as he muscled his way through the soldiers and servants. He could feel someone dead on his heels, Barry, perhaps, or Louis, but he did not look back. He slipped from the crowd suddenly and found himself in a narrow opening in front of a niche in the wall that contained a lop-sided statue. The wall behind the statue at the rear of the niche was open, revealing a secret door in the panel. He could hear shouts from somewhere below. Someone grabbed his arm, trying to stop him, but he ran out of the unbuttoned shirt and plunged into the dim staircase beyond the opening. Again, he sensed someone following him as he stumbled down the stone steps.
Lucio f
ound his footing on the smooth, cold stone at the bottom of the steps and turned in the direction of the noise. He recognized Mark Andrew’s voice and was immediately struck by the all too familiar oppression of the magick of the Wisdom of Solomon. A distinctive humming filled his ears and then his head. Again he stopped short, and was almost run down by not one, but several of his Brothers, who had been close behind him. Before them, in the corridor, they saw Mark Andrew and Edgard d’Brouchart sitting side-by-side on the floor, both of them reciting ancient incantations in two different languages. Nicholas and Gregory Sinclair-Ramsay stood on either side of the two Knights with their swords drawn, looking at what appeared to be a blank wall.
Luke Andrew shoved his way through the Knights and apprentices crowded behind Lucio and stood staring at the spectacle.
“Che cosa e` esso?!” Lucio grabbed Mark’s son and spun him around.
“Sophia!” Luke Andrew was pale and obviously in terrible distress. “They took her and Michael and Galen! And the Tuathan healer!”
“Who did?” Louis Champlain grabbed his other arm and spun him around again.
“The angels.” Luke frowned into the light blue eyes.
Barry took Luke from Louis’ grasp, turning the beleaguered apprentice again.
“What angels?! What are you talking about?!” The Seneschal demanded.
Lucio watched in fascination as the wall began to crumble as a series of jagged cracks appeared in the plaster.
“The angels!” Luke continued and was suddenly caught up by his uncle, Luke Matthew and pushed against the wall.
“Ye’d best do bettar than thot!” The King of Britain shouted in his nephew’s face. “Who took me sons?! Whattar ye talkin’ aboot?!”
“There were angels here!” Luke told him. “Sophia brought them out of their sleep with magick, and then, one of them wanted to speak with the Master. Then he wouldn’t let them go, and said he would keep them until he made up his mind what we were about.”
“I don’t understand.” Luke Matthew frowned and was pushed aside by Barry again.
“And now they have Simon! He came down here with Father and the boys and….”
Louis was back in his face and Oriel, Philip and Zeb were with him, shouting about Simon.
Barry insinuated himself between Simon’s relatives and called for them to calm down and be quiet. They relented slightly, and Luke slumped against the wall in confusion as they all turned to watch the strange proceedings. The cracks in the wall continued to grow, the humming increased and a cloud of dust filled the corridor, choking them and obscuring the view. A rumbling, grating noise replaced the humming momentarily and then an eerie silence fell in the hall and they could hear each other breathing and coughing. The dust cleared and a dark opening appeared where the blank wall had been only a few seconds before. The Grand Master and Mark Andrew were on their feet. Everyone was covered with white dust. As they waited, the blue orbs that had been circulating in the hall on the ground floor, zinged over their heads and disappeared into the opening.
“Go!” Mark Andrew shouted and Gregory and his brother rushed into the chamber beyond with their swords in front of them. Mark Andrew and Edgard d’Brouchart followed them and then everyone was pressing forward again. They burst into the empty chamber beyond and stopped just inside the destroyed wall.
“Simon!” The Master’s voice boomed in the hollow room.
Simon was on his knees looking up at the ceiling. A figure dressed in crimson stood in front of him, holding up one gloved hand.
“He is unharmed, Nathanael” The beautiful angel spoke to them and everyone fell quite. “Uriel! So good to see you again, my friend!”
“Lucifer?” Mark’s voice seemed to echo endlessly from the rock walls.
“So you remember me, after all!” Lucifer smiled at the Knight of Death.
“What have you done to my son?!” D’Brouchart demanded.
“Nothing.” Lucifer shrugged. “I am collecting information, brother. You have been quite busy. Both of you! I am sorry I missed all the festivities. It must have been glorious. I will leave your son, Nathanael, but I will take the others as I said, until we meet in Council.”
Lucifer swirled the red mantle about his head and was gone. A cacophony of voices erupted as Simon’s father and his children rushed toward him.
Konrad von Hetz grabbed Luke Andrew’s arm and pulled him off the wall.
“Did I hear right, Brother?” He asked in a low voice as the others rushed about them. “Did he say ‘Lucifer’?”
“He did!” Luke Andrew nodded. “That was Lucifer, the Light-Bringer!”
“God save us!” Konrad’s dark eyes widened. “He took Sophia?”
“He did! And the others.” Luke Andrew shook his head slightly. “I could do nothing. I tried to stop him.”
“Where is Lavon?” Konrad turned about suddenly and looked for the golden Knight. “We have to record his words!”
The Knight of the Apocalypse started back upstairs and Louis Champlain caught up with him.
“I had a vision, Brother!” Louis told him.
“We have all had a vision.” Konrad agreed and pushed his way through the people still trying to come down the stairs.
(((((((((((((
A heated, but brief debate brought quickly to light the shallowly disguised fears of the Knights and associated members of the Red Cross of Gold. They wanted to go home… at least they wanted to go to Scotland, and points beyond many of them had come to call home. Everyone except the Order of the Teutonic Knights of Jerusalem would return to Mark Andrew’s estate in Lothian. Eduord de Goth was to remain at Wewelsburg in Germany with the members of his Order to protect the treasure in the basement as best they could. Edgard d’Brouchart and Mark Andrew had agreed in private counsel Lucifer and his angelic warriors would not return there, since the angel apparently had no interest in the crystal skulls. Their mutually agreeable conclusion was based on memories dredged up from the long dead past about the activities of the angels in the times of the angel wars. Most likely Lucifer would simply resume his war with the ancient powers of evil… right where he had left off. It was highly unlikely that they would be interested in the skulls and even more unlikely they would want to destroy the powerful grid that had been set up when the skulls had been placed in the circular chamber built by the semi-informed Nazis.
The two caretakers of the Red Cross of Gold also agreed that the ‘magick’ surrounding the castle could not be breached by Jozsef Daniel or any of his minions. Even now, they were allowed entry into the underground chamber only with the full permission of its mysterious residents. In other words, even though they had placed the skulls in the chamber, they were now excluded from visiting the chamber by the skulls themselves. They had also agreed it would be better to go out and seek the Ancient Evil in his own lands rather than sit by and wait for him to come to them. They would return to Lothian, gather strength and intelligence, and then, make their plans.
Luke Matthew was scheduled to go back to London and meet again with them in Rome the following week for the coronation of Louis Champlain. Catharine would also be accompanying them to Lothian, as would Nicholas and Gregory. They would all travel under the auspices of the King of England. Fairly safe.
Catharine’s advisories, Lavon’s words and Louis’ vision were duly recorded and discussed in a private meeting between Lavon, Mark Andrew and the Grand Master.
They had come to the conclusion that Louis should go on with the coronation, but only if he wore the special mantel Barry had made for him, incorporating the golden bees from Mark’s chapel on St. Patrick’s Island. Lucio’s experiences in the Halls of Amenti were not recorded in the official archives. He related the story to Catharine and Mark Andrew listened to her retelling, but the Knight of Death would not allow Lucio to tell him the story firsthand, nor would he be persuaded to engage in a private meeting with the Italian. Lucio was devastated by the Scot’s rebuffs, but Catharine’s presence
mediated between them as best she could, and in the end, they made peace and agreed never to speak of what had passed between them.
Everything was settled, and the first two groups had been dispatched. Lucio was beside himself with grief. He had lost both of his sons in one terrible moment. His newfound wisdom and the serene mental state that had come with it were severely taxed, almost gone, at least temporarily while he grieved his losses. Simon had recovered almost immediately from his encounter with Lucifer, just as Lucifer had promised. The Healer would not discuss the incident with any of them, including his father, but had resumed his duties as Healer and spiritual advisor with renewed vigor, attempting to console the distraught Italian first and foremost.
Mark Andrew, Lucio and Simon were among the last Templars at the castle. The Knight of Death found his old friend and brother alone in the garden, sitting on a blanket, staring at the sky.
He sat down on the blanket beside him and looked up at the deep blue, cloudless expanse visible through the branches of the trees.
“Why?” Lucio asked him quietly.
“It can only be the will of God.” Mark Andrew told him.
“I thought things would be better now.” Lucio lowered his head and focused on his hands. “I thought I had finally learned something.”
“And so you have.” Mark nodded.
“I have certainly learned one thing, Brother.” Lucio told him and Mark turned his head slowly at the bitter tone in the Italian’s voice.
“What is that?”
“Suffering never ends! It is just as the Buddhists say: Everything arises from suffering. I swear on the grave of my mother, I will never bring another child into this world. I know exactly how Simon must have felt. The death of Lucia was terrible, but expected, and somehow the expectation does soften the blow, regardless of what people say. And Marco? He had very little love for me. I hardly knew him before he was gone. But this…”
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