The Skull of Sidon by Brendan Carroll

Author:Brendan Carroll [Carroll, Brendan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Goodreads: 8563744
Publisher: Brendan Carroll
Published: 2009-10-10T23:00:00+00:00

(((((((((((((<O>)))))))))))))

Mark Andrew rode through the trees, following the panicked flight of the injured horse at an alarming pace. Christopher soon fell behind as they raced along, dodging low branches and leaping over fallen logs and small streams. It seemed they rode for hours before the gray horse began to tire and then finally stopped by a dry streambed. Mark slid from his horse and approached the wheezing, frightened animal, clucking softly to him and holding out both hands. The horse was lathered from the rough flight and his eyes rolled about in terror. Mark Andrew took hold of his reins and stroked his muzzle, talking in a low soothing voice to calm him. The slash from the silver sword was ghastly, but the horse was fortunate that it had not been the golden sword of the Cherubim. That blade would have certainly cut off the horse’s head. Mark Andrew looked about and found a downed tree to tie the horse to and then searched in the dried rushes and reeds of the old streambed for the herbs he needed to treat the wound. Sam and the others would never forgive him for injuring one of the mystical horses. Christopher caught up with him and began to scout about looking for the things his Master told him to find. They dug into the streambed and soon had a tiny pool of water from which to make a poultice. They allowed the horse to drink while they applied the herbal remedy to the wound. When they were satisfied that the wound was taken care of, they released the horse and climbed back on their own mounts.

“Master?” Christopher caught up with him. “Who was that man?”

“He was no one. Just a specter.”

“Who was he?” Christopher persisted in questioning him.

“He used to be my son,”

Mark Andrew sighed the truth of it and continued “He’s dead. You will pay no attention to him. He is only an attempt to humiliate and enrage me. Sent by the powers of darkness to torment me. Let it be.”

“Do you have another apprentice in this time?” Christopher asked.

“I’ve had many apprentices. Now I have two, but don’t concern yourself over it. The other no longer wishes to be my apprentice.”

“What? Not like Anthony, I hope.”

“No, not like Anthony. This one wants to be a Knight of the Council. He is already immortal and he has been put through a great deal. He may have a valid point. He is embittered and rightly so. It would perhaps behoove me to grant his request in order to bring him back to the fold. It would not do to create new enemies.”

“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” Christopher said softly, repeating the old adage. “And which Knight is in need of replacement?”

“The mysteries of the Temple of Solomon has no keeper,” Mark Andrew glanced at the boy.

“The mysteries of the Grand Master!” Christopher’s mouth fell open. “Then Edgard d’Brouchart is dead?”

“No. He is no longer Grand Master. He is ex-communicated.”

“No. How can that be? This time is certainly no better than the other.

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