All That Is Fallen

by Brendan Carroll

  Sophia approached the bed slowly, with her arms crossed over her stomach. She looked down at Nicole derisively.

  “So you are Nicole Ramsay, his daughter.” Sophia raised both dark brows.

  Nicole frowned up at her.

  “And who are you? What have they done to my father?” Nicole demanded.

  “You might ask them. I am a prisoner here as well.” Sophia told her and then looked defiantly at Bari as he let go of Mark’s legs and stood over her. “Surely the Emperor of Persia knows what is going on his own palace.”

  “You are an impudent little fish!” Bari snarled at her. “Who are you? Answer the question! What are you doing with my grandfather?”

  “Ahh. So now you both kin to him? You must be in trouble.” Sophia smiled at them blandly. “They will not get whatever it is they want from him. He is not home.”

  “What do you mean?” Nicole climbed from the bed.

  “He’s simply not there.” Sophia said more vehemently. “Look at him! Is that your father? Is that Mark Andrew Ramsay?”

  Nicole’s mouth fell open slightly and she turned to look down at Mark. He moved his eyes jerkily to gaze at her. He made no other move of either hand or foot. Nicole took his hand in both of hers and he closed his fingers around hers.

  “Daddy?” She frowned. “What is wrong?”

  “Don’t frown at him.” Sophia told her. “Smile at him.”

  “Get away from me!” Nicole jerked her head at the woman angrily and then turned back to Mark. She forced the frown away and sat next to him.

  “Daddy?” She said more pleasantly. “It’s me, Nicole! Your baby girl.” She smiled and his face lit up. He smiled at her and kicked one foot.

  “Great God.” Bari’s voice was barely a whisper. “What have they done?” He asked again, but expected no answer.

  “Could you have those things taken off of him?” Sophia asked him softly. “I don’t think he’ll go anywhere and I could probably get him to eat something solid if he could sit up.”

  Nicole looked up at Bari expectantly.

  Bari turned on his heel and went to the door. He opened it and summoned the lieutenant.

  “Where is Omar?” He demanded after he had closed the door.

  “I believe he is down in the courtyard with your mother, sir.” The lieutenant answered him nervously. He had been given strict orders. No one was to enter the room without authority from the Prophet. No one. Especially, Nicole Ramsay, but this was the Emperor.

  “Take off the cuffs.” Bari nodded to the restraints.

  “But, Your Grace.” The lieutenant protested miserably. He was sorely afraid of the Prophet.

  “Lieutenant! Take… off… the… cuffs… is that plain enough for you or should I call your commanding officer?” Bari raised his chin and narrowed his dark eyes.

  “No, sir!” The lieutenant spun about and produced a cuff key. Within seconds, the cuffs were removed and the chain holding them together was lying on the floor. Mark Andrew lay quite still on his back, his elbows were bent and his hands were folded on either side of his chest. He watched them blandly.

  “Daddy? Can you sit up?” Nicole asked him solicitously and then took one of his hands. He gripped her hand feebly. “Help me, Bari!” She wiggled around and then all three pushed and pulled on the Knight, propping him up against the pillows. To their immense surprise he smiled and kicked his feet and laughed out loud. When they let go of him, his expression turned to one of fear and then terror as he toppled over on his side with his face against the mattress. He kicked one leg and made noises in the mattress, but made no real attempt to right himself.

  “Quick!” Sophia pushed him up again. “Give me the pillow!”

  Nicole handed her another pillow and she stuffed it against his side. He smiled again as if this was some great trick or treat. Sophia brushed his hair out of his face and wiped the blood from his face as Nicole stuffed a fourth pillow on his other side and they stood back to look at him in awe. He smiled and tried to raise his head, but his neck seemed too weak to hold it up. It rolled out of control and he laughed again and kicked both feet. His arms hung on either side of him. They watched in shock as he raised one arm clumsily and concentrated on his hand as if he’d never seen it before.

  “It’s like he’s had a stroke or something.” Nicole shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself.

  Mark Andrew put his hand against his face and stuck out his tongue, licking his hand.

  “Good grief!” Bari gasped as the Knight actually drooled on himself. He grabbed at a box of tissues on the bedside table and wiped his great-grandfather’s face. Somehow he could not stand to see him like this. It simply could not be. Jozsef had destroyed Mark Ramsay! Impossible! Inconceivable! He stood staring at the Knight of Death in horror as his stomach tied in knots.

  They were all dumbstruck as Mark worked his hand around in jerky, disconnected motions and finally got his thumb in his mouth. He began sucking his thumb and turned his head slightly, looking up at them. He smiled around his thumb and laughed, very proud of this small accomplishment… like a baby.

  Chapter Twenty of Twenty-Two

  establish the work of our hands for us—yes, establish the

  work of our hands.

  Lemarik collapsed onto the granite boulder beside the yellow Ifrit. Bombarik’s dark face was spattered with even darker, crimson stains as he stared out across the barren landscape at the bodies of their combined armies. Men and Djinni, strewn amidst the rocks, broken and battered. Here and there, ghostly, grim-faced Knights, mounted on white horses, strangely out of place amidst the carnage in their pristinely white uniforms, searched among the ruins for survivors. So far they had found none that could be helped. It had been an ambush, a rout, a complete surprise! Lemarik stared down at his blood-stained hands in despair. It was not the blood of the enemy that stained his long fingers, but the blood of his own soldiers.

  After he’d lost his own steed, as well as his sword, and expended all his arrows and daggers, he had run hither and thither on the field, trying desperately to save them from the terrible onslaught of the Imgogee monsters. Only his superior strength and speed had allowed him to escape the claws, pinchers and beaks of the insect-like scourge from the pits beyond the Abyss.

  The great monstrosities were everywhere now, growing in numbers daily. They had ignored them, at first, thinking that they were natural progressions to be expected after the devastation of the war that had stripped this land of its human occupants and allowed it to return to a pristine state. But when Bombarik’s sons had reported that the activities of these new burrowers were undermining the foundations of their home, they had gathered the men and ridden out to destroy them. The two Djinnis and their troops had come with a simple plan to track down and dispatch the lumbering, blind burrowing monsters like so many termites. They had not expected to be attacked by Imgogee soldiers. It had been a trap. The burrowers had been the bait.

  The combined strength of the Ifrit’s soldiers and Lemarik’s own forces easily struck down the mole-like creatures as they moved in and out amongst them on their horses, but several of the creatures had gotten away, retreating into the canyons north of the palace. The Marid and the Ifrit had ridden after them, chasing them into the box canyon where the ambush had awaited them. As soon as they cornered the creatures in the end of the canyon and dispatched them, they found their way blocked by a hoard of the clicking, snapping terrors. The soldiers had been ripped to shreds. Even some of the horses had been destroyed. All that was left of the army was the Ifrit, his two sons, Dynbarik and Seularik, the Marid and the dead Templar Knights Lemarik had borrowed from his father so long ago. They would have to leave. Abaddon had found them! The dark angel had been unable to breach the magick of the palace defenses and so, he had laid a plan to draw them out and it had worked! It would be only a matter of time before he came back with stronger forces.

  “What shall we do now, my brother?” Bombarik turned his dark eyes on the mi
ghty Djinni. “We have traveled to the ends of the earth and we can find no haven of safety.”

  “I will take Jasmine to the one place that I know she will be safe for a while.” Lemarik told him. “And then we will join forces with my father’s realm. The earth has gone ahead of us, my friend. If we do not triumph soon over the evil in Persia, we will either perish or be forced to leave this world altogether.”

  “What are you saying?” Bombarik’s features contorted in fear. “What do you mean leave this world? This is my home!”

  “Ahhh, but your home has been taken from you.” Lemarik stood up and pulled his purple robe about his soiled armor. When he let go of the robe again, the blood and dirt was gone from him. “We must take it back or leave.”

  “I will not lose my home again so easily. In spite of all that is fallen here today, I will raise another army! I will meet this foe on the battlefield and I will vanquish him or be destroyed, but I will not be forced into running and hiding.” Bombarik spoke the words in a low voice that made the mighty Djinni shudder.

  “I, too, feel this same way, old friend.” Lemarik nodded his head slowly and whistled for his horse.

  The stallion galloped toward him down the sandy wash in the narrow valley. Lemarik climbed onto the horse and rode into the rocks, looking for his sword. He found the weapon and replaced it at his side. He whistled again and waved for the Templars to abandon the search for survivors among the soldiers. They were all dead. All fallen and all for naught!

  Dynbarik and Seularik rode out of another crevice in the canyon wall and brought their father’s horse to him. The Ifrit climbed onto his horse as the mighty Djinni rode away on his shining white stallion.

  “Imshi!” The Ifrit shouted and followed after him.

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  Mark Andrew reined in his horse and slid to the ground. He stood on the rocky plain in front of his old castle keep and looked up at the structure in wonder. It was no longer gray, but covered with fanciful artwork in amazing colors and intricate designs. Someone had been very busy. The place was overwhelming, set against the blue backdrop of the sky. The parapets had been covered with sheets of silver and gold. Colorful pennants fluttered from the conical roofs that had been added to the turrets. The wide front doors had been replaced with solid slabs of carved oak, inlaid with more gold and silver, worked in scrolling vine patterns with flowers made of semi-precious stones. There was no one on the old walls. The outer wall was grown over with a grand mass of vines covered with red and white flowers. He walked through the ruins of the gate and into the outer bailey. Sophia walked along beside him, speechless. The inner wall had been repaired and painted white. The gate stood open and no guards were posted on the wall.

  “Who lives here?” She asked as they walked toward the inner gate.

  “A friend.” He smiled at her. Armand was quite talented, it seemed. The designs on the keep were very much like the tattoos that the former Knight of the Throne wore on his body.

  When they reached the wide steps in front of the keep, one of the tall doors swung open and the golden Knight hurried down the steps toward them. He was dressed in light brown elven clothing. His hair hung in long waves interspersed with many tiny braids adorned with minute gold and silver ornaments. His tunic was decorated with feathers, bells and beads, and he jingled as he walked toward them, smiling broadly at his unexpected guests. A number of wizened faces peered furtively out the open door behind him.

  “Brother!” He grasped Mark Andrew in his arms and hugged him tightly, but did not kiss him in the Templar fashion. He turned him loose and stared at Sophia with wide eyes. “What brings you here? Come inside!” Armand took Sophia’s arm without waiting to be introduced and hurried them up the steps.

  “Sedge! Take care of the horses!” The French elf told one of the brownies as they entered the hall. “Merkit! Bring some wine!” He turned to Mark. “Are you hungry? Have you been on the trail long? Merkit, some of that mutton stew for our guests!”

  “Not long.” Mark smiled at him and then took Sophia’s hand. “Armand, I would like to introduce Sophia Cardinelli. Sophia, this is my old friend Armand de Bleu.”

  “Sophia. A thousand pardons, mademoiselle.” Armand’s face registered a slight shock and then he bent over her hand, kissing it lightly. “I have heard of you. You are as lovely as they said.”

  Sophia’s eyebrows went up in surprise. Why was this man or elf or whatever he was apologizing to her?

  “Come, sit down! Tell me what is going on.” Armand drew her to the long table. It was a fantasy of ornate silver candlesticks made in fanciful designs, depicting animals and flowers. He had transformed the inside of the keep as well as the outside. It was full of strange things, each one more bizarre and more beautiful than the last. Her eyes could not take it all in as she sat down on a striped cushion. “I’m isolated here.” Armand waved one hand absently at the room. “You can see that I have to stay busy.” He laughed and his face reddened slightly. He seemed embarrassed by his marvelous handiwork.

  “I see.” Mark glanced about. The keep would rival the Seventh Gate.

  “I know it’s a waste of time.” Armand told him apologetically. “But I have been told that the world will need such things when the war is finally over and all the evil is fallen. The King tells me that much beauty has been lost.”

  “I’m sure that it will be appreciated when the time is right.” Mark agreed. “Where is the King?” He asked as the one called Merkit returned with wine and glasses for them.

  “He spends most of his time with you.” Armand frowned at him. “He does not want to be the last to know when it is time to go to battle. He only comes here to make sure that nothing is amiss. I look after his castle for him.”

  “We left in a bit of a rush.” Mark looked away from the golden eyes.

  “There is something amiss here now.” Armand’s voice was soft, but the suspicion was clearly evident. “Why are you here… together?” His eyes strayed again to Sophia.

  “I am just passing through.” Mark told him. “I’m on my way to the Abyss.”

  “The Abyss! Then the meeting has been called? You have been summoned?” Armand poured cherry wine for them as he spoke.

  “Not exactly.” Mark shook his head slightly and took the wine. “I am tired of waiting. The evil grows and we are wasting time.”

  “How is my nephew?” Armand asked him on a lighter note.

  “He is well.” Mark was pleased to have good news. “Does he never come to see you?”

  “Not in a while and a bit.” Armand smiled sadly. “He has more important things to do than see his old uncle. And my sister? Do you ever see her?”

  “Yes. She comes occasionally with Lemarik. She is as beautiful as ever. She has found her place with my son. He takes good care of her.”

  “That is good news.” Armand looked at Sophia again. She was examining a filigreed bowl full of dried apples. She looked up when she felt his eyes on her. “My King tells me that you are very special.”

  “I’m privileged to be a subject of the King’s concern.” Sophia nodded to him and turned up her glass. “This is very good! I like sweet wine.”

  “Thank you. You are a friend of the Golden Eagle’s son. The King tells me that you and Vannistephetti were very close. And the Tuathan, Selwig!” Armand’s golden eyes brightened.

  “We are friends, yes.” She nodded. “Selwig is a pleasure to know, and Vanni keeps us on our toes.”

  “The King also tells me that you plan to marry his father or is that already accomplished? You are not what you appear to be.”

  Sophia’s expression changed to one of surprise.

  “We are not married.” Mark Andrew interrupted and shot a dark glance at Sophia.

  “And neither are you truly here.” Armand’s smile faded and he passed his hand through Mark’s as it lay on the white table cloth. “I remember a time from the past when such a thing was true. Your Elizabeth.”

 
Sophia leaped to her feet and stared at the bizarre effect. Armand’s hand was clearly visible inside the outlines of Mark’s own hand.

  Mark chuckled and pulled his hand from Armand’s. “You have grown very astute, Armand. My compliments on your perception.”

  “Mark?” Sophia put one hand cautiously on his shoulder and was relieved visibly when she felt the material of his cloak under her palm. He pressed the same hand that Armand had touched against hers and squeezed it gently. “What happened?” She asked him and tossed her long, blonde hair over her shoulders.

  He looked up at her. “We have all fallen again, my child.” His tone made the color drain from her face. “You told me that you have seen the dark Lord of Amenti. It should not be so hard for you to understand. Please sit down and I’ll do my best to enlighten you.” He smiled at her almost wickedly.

  Sophia took her seat beside him.

  Armand called to Merkit again and ordered up food and more drink.

  “You have seen the dark Lord, Armand?” Mark turned his attention to his Brother.

  “I have.” Armand nodded.

  “Then this should be simple.” Mark told them. He held out his glass for more wine. “I have always liked simple. Do you have a mirror? Something small?”

  Armand nodded and waved to one of the Bean Tighes spinning wool near the hearth.

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  Louis stood in front of the altar amidst the overpowering grandeur of Michelangelo’s genius. His face was an unreadable mask as he knelt on knee in front of the Holy Pontiff. The magnificent mantle, covered with the golden bees that Barry of Sussex had fashioned for him hung about his powerful shoulders as he bowed his head before the man who would crown him King of the Franks.

  The Pope took the crown that had been brought to Rome from the villa in Southern Italy. It was not overly elaborate, but made of smooth, gold inlaid round about with blue and white stones of incomparable quality. The Holy Father held up the crown so that the congregation could see it and spoke the words that would give Louis Champlain power to command the entire European continent, part of westernmost Asia, the British Isles, Ireland, Sicily and Morocco. The Kings and Emperors of these respective countries were all present for the coronation. They would continue to run their kingdoms in secular matters, but in spiritual matters and matters of import to all of them, such as the war with the east, Louis Champlain would have the final say. The chapel was packed. The doors stood open and more people were gathered on the steps and staircases leading down into the courtyards and streets of the Holy See. Everyone who was anyone anywhere was here. Everyone except Mark Ramsay and this was a great sore spot with many who were gathered there.