The Red Cross of Gold I:. The Knight of Death (45 page)

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Christopher spoke up when the woman did not
answer Dambretti’s question.

“To the left,” he told them. “Fourth
door.”

They started off at once and Christopher hung
back to speak to the young woman in private.

“You are in love with him?” he asked her
quietly as they followed the three Knights.

"What?" she whispered.

"I can see it in your face."

She nodded her head and then glanced
suspiciously at him.

“If you love him, you must help me and keep
quiet,” Christopher said quickly. “Things are not what they appear
to be. Shhh.”

Christopher pulled his Scottish dirk from his
belt and took a shorter, folding knife from his pants pocket,
flipping it open. He held one in each hand as the three Knights
stopped in front of the fourth door. Beaujold opened it suddenly
and they rushed inside the small office. The sight of the young
man, poised for action with the two weapons in front of him jogged
Merry’s memory. Valentino had commented several times on the skill
and courage of the young fighter she and Maxie had seen in the
basement. Merry nodded to the apprentice and pulled him along the
corridor to the next door where she felt above the doorjamb for a
key.

When Beaujold rushed the office, Von Hetz
stepped back against the wall with his sword drawn. The shadows
cast by the single lamp on the desk made his dark form and craggy
features even more ominous. Ramsay sat slumped in the chair in
front of the desk. Sweat poured down his face and his hair was limp
and stuck to his head. Ramsay raised his head shakily at the noisy
intrusion, but otherwise made no attempt to rise. The Flaming Sword
of the Cherubim lay on the desk. Von Hetz took a step forward and
stood between Ramsay and Beaujold while Dambretti and d’Ornan
stayed back on either side of the door.

“Stand aside, Brother Hetz,” Beaujold told
him without preamble. “You have no business here.”

“You do not understand the business here, my
Brother,” von Hetz did not waver. “You must not harm Brother
Ramsay. He is innocent.”

“He is a traitor!” Beaujold responded and
took a step forward, but the Knight of the Apocalypse held his
ground.

“He has betrayed nothing,” Von Hetz objected
and glanced at the Knights standing beside the door. “His secrets
are locked up even from his own consciousness. He could not betray
us even if he were so inclined. We must take him back to the Grand
Master… whole.”

“Too dangerous.” Beaujold looked at Ramsay
and then glanced back at his companions.

“You will destroy us all if we lose the
secrets in his possession. He cannot pass them on in his present
state and I will not allow you to kill an innocent man. Especially
our Brother.”

“And I will defend him as well,” Christopher
entered his own declaration of intent as he stepped into the office
from the laboratory door and stood near the Apocalyptic Knight
facing them down. Merry stood framed against the blackness of the
lab. Her first impulse was to go to Mark Andrew. He looked bad…
sicker even than when Cecile had poisoned him. She fought within
her own foggy mind for clarity.

“You are outnumbered, Brother,” Beaujold told
the dark Knight and cast a disdainful look at the apprentice.
Christopher fully realized the gravity of the choice he had made.
Standing against a Knight of the Council was a quick and sure way
to find himself stationed in Afghanistan permanently… or dead.

Ramsay made a choking noise and coughed. He
raised his head slowly and then pushed himself unsteadily from the
chair. The five men eyed each other warily as Ramsay made a clumsy
grab for the golden sword and dragged it to him across the desk.
Beaujold almost bolted forward to stop him, but von Hetz moved his
sword into position to strike. Mark clasped the hilt in both hands,
barely able to raise the length of the blade toward the ceiling as
he turned to face them, swaying and bleary-eyed.

“You have come to kill me,” he said hoarsely
as if surprised by this development. “But I know you cannot kill me
unless I allow it. I hold the secret of death for all of you. If
you kill me, you condemn yourselves to everlasting life regardless
of what time has in store for you. Even if you should be burned to
a cinder, you would live on, cursing the day when you tried to
murder the Chevalier du Morte.” He coughed again and spit on the
floor. He looked as if he was already at Death’s door.

“Your apprentice is here,” Beaujold told him.
“Pass along your secrets and die like a man, Ramsay. Your time has
ended. Do not continue your disgrace to the detriment of the Order
of the Temple of Solomon. Repent and receive salvation,
Brother.”

“My appren… Christopher?” Mark squinted at
the young man on his left, brandishing the two knives against the
three swords.

“Yes, Master,” Christopher did not take his
eyes off the Knight of the Sword. “I am here to do your
bidding.”

“He cannot pass on his mysteries,” von Hetz’
voice boomed in the little room.

Dambretti frowned at d’Ornan who shrugged.
The Healer’s eyes were wide with fear. How could he kill one of his
own Brothers?

“He has lost his memory. Our only hope is to
take him home and help him recover,” von Hetz tried to reason with
Beaujold.

“Your brain is muddled by all those ancient
scrolls you study, my Brother,” Beaujold insulted him, raised his
sword a bit higher and tried to judge Ramsay’s condition. “Do not
force me to destroy you as well.” It was obvious to him that Ramsay
could not possibly carry through with his threat. He could barely
stand.

D’Ornan drew in his breath at this outrageous
threat. Beaujold had lost his reasoning. Why not just take Ramsay?
They didn’t have to cut off his head. If absolutely necessary, they
could do it later. Von Hetz would help them subdue him and
Christopher would be no problem, but von Hetz would not allow any
of them to seriously harm the Knight of Death just yet and Simon
knew the Ritter to be stubborn unto death. They would have to kill
him as well.

“Brother Thomas, we’re wasting time,”
Dambretti spoke for the first time. “It would not be wise… Brother
against Brother? What harm could it be to take him home alive? I
beg you, Sir, think before you leap.”

Beaujold let go a string of curses in French,
warning the Italian to be quiet, but not before Ramsay’s head
jerked around at the sound of the Knight of the Golden Eagle’s
voice.

“Lucio? Dambretti! Where are you?” He
squinted into the shadows. The mercury had affected every facet of
his being. His eyes felt as if they had been frozen and were only
just now thawing. His knees wobbled back and forth and every joint
in his body hurt. No headache had ever hurt quite so badly and even
his ears seemed stuffed with cotton. He could see Beaujold plainly
enough and recognized him for exactly the threat he was and von
Hetz, but the two figures by the door were only fuzzy shapes.

“Brother Ramsay! Lay down your weapon,
please!” Simon shouted at him. Beaujold would use this as an excuse
to do what he wanted to do so very badly and how could they stand
against him if he said that Ramsay came at him with the sword?

“Simon? Simon! Step forward and show
yourself!” Ramsay blinked rapidly, trying to sort out the blurs in
the background without losing sight of the Knight of the Sword.

Christopher chose that moment to end the
standoff. He was not immortal. He could not afford to stand there
forever, arguing and bickering. He lunged at Beaujold and then
jumped back to draw his attention away from Ramsay. Beaujold
automatically turned to attack the apprentice and Von Hetz stepped
between them. Christopher darted around the two Knights, crossed
the space between Beaujold and the door and faced D’Ornan and
Dambretti. Simon raised his sword instinctively and Christopher
darted in making a fake swipe at his ribs with the dagger. D’Ornan
brought the sword down to ward off the blow as the apprentice fell
back. His blade struck the carpet, ripping a long slice through it.
Ramsay staggered forward and raised his sword in Dambretti’s face
blinking and frowning at him, barely able to retain his footing.
The poison still poured through his veins, making him cold and
sluggish. Simon fell back against the doorjamb, not wishing to harm
the apprentice. Dambretti faced the apprentice, holding his sword
up, weaving back and forth, ready to fend off the two knives, but
like the Healer, he did not want to hurt Christopher.

“Lucio? Brother?” Mark Andrew asked again and
raised the twisted blade higher, turning left and right, looking
for someone, something or anything to afford cover or some means of
escape. The light glinted off the golden blade as he stumbled
toward the door.

Dambretti fell back against the wall as he
passed while Christopher tried to close in on d’Ornan again,
drawing him away from the door enough to allow his Master to leave
the dangerous confines of the office.

“Answer me! Lucio! Christopher! Answer me,
damn you!” Mark demanded as he zeroed in on the Italian, now
standing in the deeper shadows. He could not focus on the Italian’s
face in the dim light. He needed to hear the voice again. Lucio was
his friend and his Brother. Surely he would not attack him. When
Dambretti failed to answer him, he swung the blade blindly at the
shadowy man and stumbled forward, closer to the door. Dambretti
parried the blow easily and actually shoved him toward the hall. He
stumbled forward three steps, stopped and turned. Lucio followed
him into the hall and had to parry another wild swing.

Christopher continued his dart and retreat
attack on d’Ornan. Simon realized that the boy had no intention of
actually stabbing or slashing him and so they kept each other busy
while the Italian ‘helped’ Ramsay down the hall toward the stairs,
trying to get him out of the building and away from Beaujold
without giving away his intent. Neither Simon, nor Lucio could say
anything without risking the wrath and consequences of going
against the mission leader and objectives. It would be tantamount
to treason.

The apprentice was not sure the Healer would
not harm his Master, but he did not want to do something he would
regret. He knew that d’Ornan was his Master’s lifelong friend. Then
again, Simon was a Frenchman like Beaujold and the Grand Master
favored him above all the Knights. He didn’t want to think it was
possible, but he could not take any chances. Of Dambretti, he was
sure enough to know that the Italian would not strike a blow
against Ramsay.

At the other end of the long, narrow room,
the Knight of the Sword and the Knight of the Apocalypse were
engaged in serious combat. They fought all the way around the desk,
exchanging a number of blows, any of which, had they hit the
intended mark, would have been mortally debilitating. At the
moment, only Cecile’s cherry wood desk was mortally wounded.
Ramsay’s ‘favorite’ chair had been destroyed at the outset and the
lamp was now on the floor, casting confusing shadows in the room.
Konrad pleaded with Beaujold to stand down, but had to work hard to
keep the enraged Frenchman from destroying him. He appealed to
every sensibility and reason, but Beaujold was beyond
listening.

Beaujold's mind raced as adrenalin pumped
through his veins and gave him the impetus he needed to ward off
the German Knight's practiced blows. Anger threatened to raise its
devastating head as he realized that von Hetz was holding back. An
insult of the worst kind. He threw new vigor into his attack
forcing Konrad to stop his verbalizations and put more effort into
saving his skin.

In the hallway, Dambretti stuck out one foot
and Ramsay went down on his hands and knees. The golden sword
skittered away on the tile floor. D’Ornan broke away from
Christopher and followed Dambretti and Ramsay into the hallway.
Beaujold grabbed a heavy vase from one of the tables and flung it
at Christopher’s head, causing him to fall back in the corner
before he could pursue the Healer. When Simon skidded to a stop
just outside the door, Ramsay’s neck was in the perfect position to
receive the death blow which would take off his head. Simon looked
down at his long time friend. He already had his sword drawn back.
He could take his head.

“Kill him!” Beaujold shouted at the Healer as
he parried the Ritter’s blows and shoved the desk toward the dark
Knight. “Take his head!”

Merry retreated through the laboratory and
made her way into the hallway as the two combatants destroyed
Valentino’s office with the heavy blades, sending showers of paper
shreds, chipped wood and glass splinters flying around the room.
When the fight poured into the hall with her, she pressed herself
against the wall, trying to stay clear of the fighters, looking for
some way to help Mark. She had to suppress a scream when she saw
the Healer standing above the downed knight with his sword over
Mark Andrew’s neck.

The Healer wavered, glanced at her once and
frowned down at the back of Mark’s head before raising his sword a
bit higher. When she saw that d’Ornan might actually follow the
instructions shouted from the other room, she made her move.
Beaujold screeched at him again and d’Ornan’s face drained of what
little color it had left when the Knight of the Sword broke off his
attack on von Hetz and started toward the door. The Healer brought
the sword up and prepared to turn and face his fellow countryman.
He could not and would not kill the Scot. Both Dambretti and Merry
screamed “No!” at him.

Christopher charged Beaujold and Merry
simultaneously launched herself at the Healer. She knocked d’Ornan
bodily away from Ramsay, giving him the time he needed to scrabble
after the sword and regain his feet once more, using the golden
sword as a crutch. Merry bounced off the deceptively sturdy little
Knight like a rubber doll. Dambretti caught her in his arms,
dropping his sword in the process and went down on his knees under
the impact. He made one feeble attempt to stand up before catching
a glancing blow from the hilt of Ramsay’s golden sword on his left
temple when Mark Andrew turned, swinging the deadly sword wildly at
the shadows around him. The Italian went down with the woman on top
of him. Christopher grabbed Beaujold by the shoulders, literally
flinging him back into the office into the Apocalyptic Knight’s
arms and made his way into the hall through the rubble of
Valentino’s office. He reached the corridor in time to leap on
d’Ornan just as he regained his feet, smacking him soundly on the
back of his head with the butt of his dagger. D’Ornan went down
again, this time unable to get up. He lay on the floor clutching
his head in both hands as blood oozed through his fingers.