Cross Council
Trish Lamoree
Cross Council
by
Brendan Carroll, Trish Lamoree and Maureen Miller
~~~~~
PUBLISHED BY:
A Dark Council and A Dark Matter
Copyright 2010 by Brendan Carroll
Once Upon a November
Copyright 2010 by Trish Lamoree
Beyond
Copyright 2010 by Maureen Miller
~~~~~
Table of Contents
A Dark Council by Brendan Carroll
Once Upon a November by Trish Lamoree
Beyond by Maureen Miller
A Dark Matter by Brendan Carroll
Bonus Materials
First Chapter of The Red Cross of Gold XXIII “Thoth, the Atlantean” by Brendan Carroll
First Chapter of Painting the Roses Red by Trish Lamoree
Preview of Love’s First Kiss by Trish Lamoree.
First Chapter of Widow's Tale by Maureen Miller
A Dark Council
By Brendan Carroll
Copyright 2010 Brendan Carroll
“Well met then, my friend!” Hugh de Champagne, the Knight of the Wisdom of Solomon, clasped his friend and Brother’s forearm, pulling him close enough to kiss him on the lips in the fashion practiced by the Templar Brothers as a sign of recognition.
“Oui! And good it is to see you, Brother,” James Argonne, Knight of the Throne, clasped the larger Knight by the shoulder as his racing heart began to slow its pace somewhat.
All around the two bloodied and dirty Knights lay dead bodies, glassy-eyed and pasty-faced scattered haphazardly in the cobbled street. All of them dressed in the King’s livery and all dead with the exception of one who was attempting to crawl away on his stomach, dragging his useless legs behind him in a bright red trail of blood. Argonne wrenched his blade free of the last man he had skewered and went after the survivor. A wooden shutter banged open on the second floor above them and a young woman stuck her head out. James bellowed up at her like an enraged bull and she screamed before withdrawing inside. The window slammed shut and silence returned to the narrow alley. Only the labored breathing of the French soldier broke the unnatural silence in the normally noisy residential area of Paris where a group of ragtag children had been playing only a few short minutes earlier.
Argonne bellowed again as he plunged his sword into the nape of the man’s neck. The soldier gurgled, attempted to reach the blade with one hand and then lay still as more blood spilled onto the stones.
Hugh rushed past James and caught his arm, dragging him along, keeping to the shadows under the overhanging upper floors of the houses lining the narrow street. There were bound to be other soldiers in the area. James had led these six into an alley where he knew Champagne had disappeared only a few moments prior to their arrival. There the two Templars had cut down King Philip’s men like so many reeds on the river bank, pushing them back into the street. If they had any hope of surviving the day, they had to get to the Commanderie. Something was dreadfully wrong! Why would the King’s men be chasing them through the streets so early in the morning screaming obscene curses at them?
Both Knights removed their mantels and surcoats as they walked along, tucking the bloody white clothes into their helmets. Two more narrow alleys crisscrossed with clotheslines provided them with damp tunics and ragged mantels of brown and blue. At least they would not attract so much attention if no one looked too closely at them. Argonne led the way through the maze of narrow streets with Hugh close on his heels. They kept their heads low and pulled the mantels close about their shoulders, attempting to cover the chain mail they wore under the tattered tunics. Paris was Argonne’s home. He had roamed these streets since the time he first remembered. Hugh, on the other hand, was a country bumpkin, bigger and slower in both brain and body than his short, stocky companion.
They dodged and ducked in and out of alleys, streets and narrow spaces between buildings, some that could not even remotely be classified as a crawl space until they broke into the open near a towering fountain with clear running water. Hugh slowed to a less conspicuous pace in the more populous area around the fountain. Hawkers called to them as they passed; trying to sell them everything from loaves of crusty brown bread to bridles for their imaginary horses and feathers for their caps. They rounded the corner, passed in front of a leather shop and then stopped quickly, pretending to admire a number of copper pots stacked on a rough table as a small contingency of the king's soldiers trotted past them.
Moving on quickly, they came to an iron gate set in a stone wall, partially overgrown with trailing ivy and wild grape vines. James pushed the vines aside and shoved Hugh through a narrow hole between the gate and the wall where several of the stones had fallen away over time.
"Well, bless my soul!" Hugh exclaimed as he gazed up at the imposing facade of the Templar Commanderie. People were running to and fro in the rear courtyard, carrying all manner of household commodities, clearly in a state of panic. Hugh grabbed one of the lay brothers when he passed near them.
"What goes here, Brother?" He asked.
The man looked at him with wide, terrified eyes, opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Argonne grabbed the man, spun him around and asked him the same question. When the young man failed to answer, he shoved him to the ground viciously and then looked around for someone who might be more able to tell them something useful. He saw the Mystic Healer's apprentice running down the wide steps, carrying a heavy bag slung over one shoulder.
"Benoit!" Hugh called to the young fellow.
The apprentice looked up and saw Hugh standing near the wall. He dropped the bag, grabbed his robe in both hands, exposing his bare legs under the rough woolen sheath as he ran toward them.
"Masters! Masters!"
"What is going on here in the name of St. John?!" Hugh caught the boy in his arms and then held him out, looking closely at him.
"Master, they have arrested the Grand Master!"
"What?!" James asked, grabbing the boy from Hugh. "Where is your Master?"
"He is dead!" The boy cried and began to sob openly. "We are leaving. They are arresting everyone! We will all be killed!"
James and Hugh looked at each other in shock. They had only just returned to the city from a sojourn in the Languedoc. They had both missed the last Council meeting.
"The king!" Benoit continued. "He has issued the order to arrest all the Brothers."
"What are the charges?" James asked him.
"Blasphemy. Heresy... I don't know. Something else." The boy turned his eyes nervously toward the open gates that led into the crowded Paris street in front of the Commanderie.
"How did death find your Master? Where is Ramsay?"
"He was with Sir Ramsay when they killed him, Master. I only just had word of it this minute from Sir Ramsay’s man. He told me to pack a bag and wait for him, but I must flee, Messrs. Please!" Benoit pulled away from James. “You must flee for your lives!!”
Argonne let go of him and watched in silence as the boy ran back to retrieve his bag and then disappeared into the street, blending instantly into the crowds.
They both headed for the gate as well, but stopped when someone called Hugh by name. They turned and saw Louis Champlain, the Knight of the Golden Key, limping toward them. His surcoat was missing and his undershirt was stained with fresh blood. The big Frankish Knight's blond hair was as wild as his eyes as he hurried toward them. He carried no weapon and wore no armor.
"Brothers!" He caught them both in a hug and pushed them toward the gates. "We must hurry. The Master has been taken and his second as well. They have only just raided the Temple and arrested Simon. Master deMolay has given orders not to resist, but I will n
ot go without a fight. Brother Ramsay and the Healer tried to save Father Simon, but Girard was killed in the Temple! Sacrilege!" He told them as they hurried along. "Brother Edgard has sent instructions to meet at the wharves after nightfall."
"What of Girard? Is Ramsay dead?" James asked as they moved along rapidly keeping near the walls and open doors of the shops lining the streets. If more soldiers appeared, they would be less likely to present clear targets and could escape inside one of the taverns or retail establishments. His stomach knotted at the thought of Ramsay being taken or killed. If they lost their Knight of Death, what would become of them? The Chevalier du Morte was the only thing that stood between the Knights of the Council and eternal damnation. He was the only one who could release their souls from their bodies if anything should befall them.
"Ramsay and Girard killed seven of the soldiers," Louis hissed. "I was waiting outside for them. I saw twelve go in and then I saw five come out again with Simon of Grenoble. They left Ramsay for dead and Girard as well. I had to carry them both out."
