The Sword of Gideon

by

James Somers

www.jamessomers.blogspot.com

Smashwords Edition

2010© James Somers

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When the demon born conqueror rises to power and darkness rules in the land of Shaddai, then shall come the Deliverer walking seen and unseen. Salem’s son who shall be a rod in the hand of the Lord to smite the wicked—and Shaddai’s priest shall be a sword of judgment and a king to bring the hearts of the people back to their God.

PLANS WITHIN PLANS

The third day, when we children sat assembled at the base of the fountain, a group of the king’s guards stood nearby. Rumors had circulated among the people since the storyteller’s arrival in Emmanuel City, and now it seemed the king had become interested in knowing why he was here.

When the noon hour came, we searched the crowds of pedestrians, looking for the Old Storyteller, wondering if we might in some way warn him of the presence of the guards before they seized him. When people displeased the king, they often disappeared. That fact was well known.

I searched the crowds eagerly. I certainly wanted to hear the rest of his story, but now it seemed the only hope of that might be to warn the old man away to safety. I bit my lower lip anxiously, my eyes darting between the marketplace and the king’s guards.

They talked amongst themselves and kept looking around, expecting him to show up at this time as he had previously. All of the guards wore swords at their sides and held spears in their hands. They seemed to believe the old man might actually be dangerous.

The children whispered their own theories: a prophet, a dissident of some sort, or perhaps even a spy from Wayland here to aid my father in a coup of some kind. I shot the guilty gossiper a hard look which quieted him temporarily. The old man had informed everyone present of my identity as the Wayland King’s son, Phineas, the day before.

Finally, I spotted the old man walking with his staff through the shoppers in the marketplace. He emerged from the bustle, making his slow way toward us children gathered before the fountain. A larger crowd had come today, nearly fifty in all. The children had spread the old man’s story all over the place each day after hearing the latest installment.

The king’s guards spotted him and quickly walked toward him—ten men in all. When the Old Storyteller saw them coming, a look of horror spread over his face. He turned and started back into the market—his staff clicking on the cobblestones faster and faster. The guard’s shouted after him and broke into a run, trying to catch up before the old man reunited with the crowd.

The guard’s blocked my view briefly as the old man limped back into the marketplace again. I stood, desperately hoping to see that he’d gotten away from them, but it seemed hopeless. The guard’s had nearly been upon him when he passed behind several people. They would have him in seconds, and I would never hear the remainder of his tale.

To my surprise, the guards pushed their way through the initial part of the crowd and, not finding him there, kept running after. Two hands clapped together loudly, drawing our attention back toward the fountain. “Well, children, are you ready to hear the final portion of Ethan’s story?”

We gasped when we turned to find the Old Storyteller sitting upon the ledge of the fountain as he had on previous days. He’d not doubled back on the guards. There could have been no way to slip by us, and certainly he wasn’t fast enough on his legs to do so. But there he sat, smiling at us. “Well, we’ve got a fine crowd of eager ears today haven’t we?” he said. “Young Phineas, are you there among the group today?”

I stammered, but managed to raise a sheepish hand at his query. “Ah!” he said. “Good, I promised you a thorough history, and I’ll keep my word today.”

I smiled back, pleased that he’d remembered addressing me yesterday. “Phineas, do you recall at what point in the story we left off?” he asked.

My brow furrowed. “Yes. Gideon the priest had been captured. Mordred had killed his secret wife, Sarah, and was using his newborn son to blackmail Gideon into hunting down Shaddai’s Deliverer, Ethan.”

The old man pecked on the tip of his nose and winked. “Very good, and that is where we begin today.”

Gideon sat dressed for combat upon the black stallion Mordred had issued him. The beast stank of evil, but it obeyed him, so he supposed that was as good as could be expected. He waved off a bothersome fly that had wondered away from the manure pile behind the animal. Across from him, in a vast training yard, sat one of Mordred’s Wraith Riders astride his own massive horse.

A large man in uniform walked up to stand next to Gideon’s horse. “You understand the training Mordred has assigned for you will be full contact, priest?” The grungy, unshaven man wore what appeared to be a leather harness and black breeches.

Gideon yawned. “I suppose he’s trying to kill me before I can find the Deliverer for him, then?”

The man grinned. “If you can’t survive a little of our training, then you’ve not got what it takes to do the Deliverer anyway.” He shoved a long lance into Gideon’s gloved hand and spat on the ground. “Personally, I’d just as soon see you run through today, priest.”

Gideon took the lance. “Don’t I get a shield?”

“You won’t need one.” The man grinned, showing his yellow teeth.

“But my opponent has one.”

The man simply shrugged his shoulders. “I’m afraid we’re all out at the moment.”

Disgusted, Gideon goaded his horse forward into a gallop. The Wraith Rider on the other side of the field reacted instantly, galloping forward, carrying his own lance. In his other hand he held the reins and a bronze shield on his forearm.

Gideon watched his opponent closely as his stallion thundered across the yard beneath him. An unmentioned detail about the other man’s lance suddenly occurred to him. His opponents lance appeared longer by nearly a foot.

The distance between them diminished rapidly. As his opponent leveled his lance, Gideon shifted his grip on his own, raising it up like a spear. As the horses closed the gap, Gideon launched his lance at the other man’s horse. The lance shot down between the galloping legs, entangling them. The large animal tripped and plowed head first into the sod. Its rider flew forward out of control and smashed into the ground. His lance dug into the earth and snapped while his shield tumbled after him.

Horse and rider lay in the mangled lawn, breathing heavily, but neither attempted to get up from where they had landed. Gideon turned his animal and started back toward the stalls. The man in charge of the training yard ran out onto the field, swearing at him. Gideon dismounted as the man approached.

The man pulled a dagger and lunged at Gideon. In a single motion, Gideon disarmed the man, spun him round, and held him with the dagger to his throat. “If you’re going to make these little training sessions unfair, then at least have the foresight to pair me with an opponent who knows how to make the most of his advantage.”

Gideon pushed the man away. He heard a click from behind, then spun and threw the dagger. A soldier with a crossbow screamed in agony as the blade pinned his trigger hand to the wooden stock of his weapon. More soldiers in black rushed out of their seats in the stand where they’d been spectators. They started onto the field when a voice bellowed out above them. “ENOUGH!”

Mordred stood before his seat with his hands gripping the railing before him. “I’ve given you all strict orders to assist in Gideon’s training. I think now you can see why I want him tracking the Deliverer for me. If you cannot get it through your thick skulls, then I’ll have each offending party skinned alive and fed to the dogs.”

The soldiers stood down immediately. Some began walking toward the two injured men on the field while others gathered Gideon’s horse. The ground’s keeper gathered his wounded pride and retreated back to the stalls.

Mordred descended the steps of the observation platform with a ranking general in tow. He walked out onto the field toward Gideon and made a slow, mocking clap. “Very good, Gideon.” Mordred smiled, the charming host as always. “I trust you’ll put those talents to work on the boy as well.”

Gideon did not answer him.

Mordred motioned to the man just behind his right shoulder. “This is General Grimwald. He replaces General Rommil as the commander of my army.”

Gideon met the man’s icy gaze with his own. “You two will be working closely together,” Mordred continued. “In fact, General Grimwald will be my eyes and ears as you lead my army after the boy. If Grimwald tells me you’ve behaved badly, meaning you spared the boy or led my men on some goose-chase, then it will go badly for your child. Is that clear?”

Gideon nodded, but said nothing.

Mordred’s smile faded. “And let’s get used to the fact that you serve a new master now. You will address me as lord from now on. Is that clear?”

Gideon gritted his teeth tightly. “Yes…my lord.”

Mordred’s smile returned slightly. “Very good, Gideon. Just think when this is all over, you and your infant can travel far away. Then the two of you can reminisce about the child’s mother and all of your exciting adventures while in my service.” Mordred turned as Gideon clenched his fists, trying desperately to control his temper. “General, he’s all yours.”

General Grimwald stepped forward with a smirk playing on his thin lips. His long gray mane trailed down his back. He looked down at Gideon, clearly meaning to make his authority felt through his taller stature. “Come with me, warrior. We have a meeting to attend.”

Levi Bonifast lowered the brass spyglass from his right eye with a puzzled look on his face. “I don’t get it,” he said, his brow furrowed.

“Did you see him?” Ethan asked.

“I did. On one of their training fields. They seem to be forcing him to fight for Mordred’s amusement.” He turned to the others. “I’ll bet Mordred’s just keeping him around to toy with him before he kills him.”

Seth piped in from the bushes next to Ethan. “I’m telling you, it’s a trap, and Gideon is the bait. Mordred has to realize Ethan will come for his mentor and friend. He’s going to be waiting for us if we try to take him.”

“Dung has been working hard for nearly two weeks on this,” Ethan said. “He assures me the escape will come off without a problem.”

“The escape, maybe,” Seth said, “but it’s actually getting to Gideon and freeing him that I’m concerned about.”

Ethan sighed. “It’s not like we don’t have a plan.”

“It’s not like we’ve got a good one, either,” Levi complained. “But you know me; I’m crazy enough to try just about anything. So long as I’m not the one in the tunnels with the rat.” He glanced at Seth.

“That’s right, Captain…send the blind man to do the hard stuff.” Seth grinned.

Ethan relaxed a bit. “Then we’re set to go? Dung’s little rat friends told him Mordred has moved the priest into the lower dungeon.”

Levi peered through his spyglass over the walls of the city toward the training field where Gideon had been seen. “They must be taking him back to his cell, then. We’ll move just as soon as night falls.”

Seth stared blankly ahead and smiled. “My favorite time of day.”

General Grimwald led Gideon into the palace through one of the lower entrances which directly accessed the training fields behind them. Gideon watched the army of Mordred sparring in the heat of the day, sweat glistening on bare backs and matted hair. He caught a fleeting glimpse of the giants, like those seen by Ethan on the slaver ship, as they sparred barehanded with their giant fellows. The ground vibrated with their efforts even from so great a distance away.

Gideon passed through the archway after the General, entering torch-lit darkness beyond. A labyrinth of tunnels wound through the nether regions of the palace where all manner of menial tasks were tended to. Animal keepers passed them, carrying food as well as soldiers on their way to the fields to work through the mandatory half-day of training as Mordred prepared for war.

As they made their way further, Gideon began to smell sweeter aromas filtering out to them from the kitchens. Mordred had not spared any expense on his own luxury, and the old palace cooks were the best in all the House of Nod. Gideon’s undesirable predicament had at least afforded him the best comforts. Within several weeks, he had already replaced the weight shed during his torturous journey across the Azure Sea in Rommil’s care. He’d even been allowed to see his son through thick glass from some distance away, but only with Mordred’s assurance that demons waited to kill should he attempt any rescue.

General Grimwald strode ahead of him, a graceful man, but not as bulky as Hevas Rommil had been. Although he’d only just met him, Gideon sensed cunning about the man—more a snake than a charging rhinoceros as Rommil’s way had been. Grimwald’s mission to watch Gideon like a hawk and report back to Mordred left his infant son at even greater risk. If Gideon failed to put his best effort forward in pursuing Ethan, or at least appeared to be holding back, Grimwald would send word to his lord, and the child would die.

Gideon held no illusions about that fact. Mordred had given the order to kill Sarah as easily as ordering his dinner. With many towns and villages burning in Nod, and their men, women, and children scattered lifeless through the streets, Gideon knew his new master would have no difficulty killing his son. In truth, Gideon wondered if Mordred would ever allow him to leave, as promised, once Ethan was dead.

That thought and the murderous act itself had stolen his sleep the past few weeks during his recovery. He’d woke many nights, in visions, on the verge of doing the deed, Ethan kneeling before him with a pained expression of bewilderment on his boyish face. Gideon’s blade trembled in the air mere inches from taking the boy’s life. Then he woke yet again in a cold, drenching sweat. It would have been bad enough to watch Ethan fall from a distance. But how could he manage it if the situation brought them into close quarters, and Gideon had to deliver the final blow?

“In here,” Grimwald said, pulling Gideon’s thoughts back to the present.

They stood at the end of the main passageway with an iron door before them. Grimwald banged upon it. The sound reverberated through the chamber beyond, giving Gideon the impression they would be entering some great hall for their meeting.

A slide near the top of the door moved aside, revealing a pair of dark eyes. They darted from General Grimwald to Gideon and then back again. The slide moved back into place, and Gideon heard the clank of a locking bolt being released. Then, the door swung open for them.

One guard manned the door. Another guard stood by with his hand upon his sword. “General Grimwald,” the door guard announced to the room, “and the priest, Gideon.”

The room opened up with a high domed ceiling, but was not as broad as Gideon had expected. Vents placed in the top of the dome allowed for fresh air and the evacuation of smoke from the torches and candles lit everywhere in the room. Large tapestries hung upon the stone walls, but there was not a single window. Gideon surveyed the tapestries, but did not recognize the scenes depicted in the ornate decorations.

A large round, wooden table dominated the floor space, leaving barely enough room for anything else. Soldiers of high rank sat in the chairs, waiting for him and General Grimwald to arrive. Gideon followed the silver-haired Wraith General around the circular perimeter of the room until they came to the last pair of vacant chairs.

They took the high back wooden chairs, and Grimwald began to speak. “Men, this is the priest, Gideon, who will now serve Mordred in the search for the Deliverer of Shaddai.” Then to Gideon, “These are Lord Mordred’s Wraith Generals.” Grimwald gestured toward each in turn as he gave their names. “General Thornblodd, General Unekind, General Vickus, General Strom, General Complaince, General Overdun, General Lieswell and General Cinderfall.”

Gideon did not nod to them. As much as Mordred tried to make it the case, these were not his allies. He saw himself now as simply a traitor, nothing more. He had sunk to the lowest depths and there would be no return for him. Only the hope of preserving Sarah and their love, by saving the child’s life, remained.

Grimwald continued to speak to the assembled group. “As you all know, the priest is here only by force.” Then to Gideon, “Understand this at the outset, Gideon. We don’t need your help. It pleases our master, but as far as I and these generals are concerned, we will find the Deliverer with, or without your help. But seeing that this is the way things are, you will provide us with every bit of information we require. Should we enter battle with enemy forces, including the boy, you will do your best to kill him and any others opposing us.” Gideon sat rigid as Grimwald continued. “If for one moment I feel you are holding back information, or your arm, in this matter, I will immediately have your child tortured to death—no pity, no remorse.”

Gideon ground his teeth behind taut lips, his face flushing scarlet. The noose had been tightened. Had they merely been threatening his own life, Gideon would have fought them bravely to his death, but he could not do it to their child—not after he had caused her death already. Sarah’s tortured expression, longing after the baby when Mordred had taken him from her arms and her groping for him as the lifeblood ebbed from her body, replayed in Gideon’s mind. He forced himself to nod in agreement with Grimwald’s terms.

“Very good,” Grimwald said. The other Wraith Generals observed the priest intently, impressed with Grimwald’s control over the man reputed to be so dangerous. “Now, Gideon, where do you suppose the boy is right now? Perhaps he is coming to rescue his old friend and mentor?”

Gideon hesitated a fraction of a second. “I suppose, General, that it’s possible Ethan would attempt a rescue, though I’d honestly be surprised if he did.”

Grimwald’s eyes narrowed. “And why is that?”

Gideon spread his arms to the chamber. “Look at this place.” And the men did briefly look around. “I don’t mean this room, but this palace, the city. It’s fortified beyond anything I’ve ever seen. There are giants ten feet tall pummeling each other in the courtyard. Guards prowl everywhere within Emmanuel City not to mention demonic hordes that fight for Mordred.”

Gideon paused for effect. “It would be suicide for Ethan to try and get to me in here. He has a prophecy to fulfill.”

The other Wraith Generals seemed pleased by the priest’s acquiescence to the power and might of the Wraith Riders and their demon allies. Grimwald appeared unconvinced. Gideon headed off the next question quickly. “I know you think he’s just a reckless boy, but Ethan has been trained by The Order of Shaddai. According to our protocols, the fulfillment of the prophecy must take precedent.”

Grimwald smiled. “So, you believe he will come here in order to attack Lord Mordred rather than rescue you?”

Gideon had failed to see where Grimwald might take his assumptions, but he didn’t attempt a feeble backtrack. “General, Ethan knows that he must remain alive and wait upon Shaddai in order to fulfill the prophecy.” Gideon remembered Ethan’s initial mistake and drove his point home. “Ethan learned his lesson all too painfully the first time, when he broke into the throne room alone, finding Mordred in hiding and the demon Jericho there in his place. Those wounds may never heal, and they are a constant reminder not to act impetuously.”

Grimwald did not immediately counter. He appeared to consider Gideon’s sound logic in the hopes of finding its flaw, but could not. He simply said, “Perhaps.”

Gideon sighed with relief within himself. His mind raced for a way to provide convincing information without giving away some crucial fact that might allow them to find or kill Ethan. All the while, images of Sarah and his child marched through his mind, reminding him of the razor’s edge he now walked.

“Tell us about the boy’s power,” General Cinderfall said from across the table.

“Yes,” Grimwald added, “and be very specific—strengths, weaknesses—anything that will help us to kill him.”

Gideon looked around the table at the Wraith Generals. They sat transfixed upon him, waiting with baited breath for this information. If he refused to be honest, Grimwald might know things about Ethan already. He would then perceive the lie and give the death order.

Gideon choked down the lump in his throat. “Ethan has the power to shift from the physical world to the realm where spirits dwell. While in the spirit world, he has the use of weapons that only manifest there. Ethan can not only do battle with demons while in this form, but he also has the ability to penetrate the physical world as I’ve also seen demons do.”

Gideon supposed they must already know these things. He actually wondered what he might know that they didn’t. He had some comfort in the thought that, of all that he had seen Ethan do, none of it was really secret knowledge.

Demons could have told them any of these things and more. And as far as the extent of his power, Gideon wondered if Ethan even understood it.

“Yes, yes,” Grimwald interrupted. “We know those things already. Get on with it, Gideon.”

Gideon paused. “I’m telling you all I know, General. I can’t help the fact that you already know all of these things. I’m not privy to any sort of secret knowledge just by being his friend. The truth is that even Ethan doesn’t fully understand the power he has.”

Grimwald grinned maniacally and Gideon wondered if he’d just made some crucial error by telling them Ethan’s novice understanding of his gifts.

If Grimwald possessed an advantage now, he did not press it. “Tell me why you and the boy were on the Island of Macedon.”

“You should know perfectly well,” Gideon laughed. “You people are the ones who lured us there with a call for the Word of Shaddai.”

Grimwald switched gears again. “If you don’t believe the boy would come here to the city, then where do you suppose he might go?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Gideon said. “I’m not him, after all. Any guess I could make would only be rudimentary.” He knew what might be coming and Gideon did not want to guess. The answer, as to where Ethan might go other than here to rescue him, seemed obvious.

Grimwald did not ask, but forged ahead with his own assumptions instead. “I think any priest of The Order would naturally return to The Order,” he said. Gideon didn’t answer.

The other generals voiced the same opinion across the table to one another. Gideon became as still as stone in his oversized chair—willing Grimwald not to pursue his obvious course.

Grimwald smiled at Gideon as though relishing his next words. “Gideon, I want you to tell us where the Temple of Shaddai is located.”

He knew it had been coming, but Gideon’s heart still skipped a beat. He answered reflexively, if not a little evasively. “It’s located in the Thornhill Mountains.”

Grimwald’s smile turned wan. “Allow me to clarify. You will direct our army to the Temple’s location and then you will lead my men through the secret entrance into the Temple itself. Then, you will kill the High Priest, Isaiah, personally.”

The generals jeered around the table, very pleased with Grimwald’s plan and Gideon’s role in it. Gideon swallowed against a lump caught in his throat. He thought of Isaiah—shock on his face, watching Gideon lead Mordred’s soldiers into the inner sanctum of their Order. He imagined the bewilderment and rage of his fellow priests when they realized who had betrayed them, but never knowing why. He tried to close his mind to the images, but like his sorrow they would not go away.

DIVERSIONS

Mordred descended the stone stairway into the dank odor of the dungeons. Two soldiers, acting as personal escorts, followed him down into the depths of the white palace. Lichen clung to the stones while rats skittered along the walls, hoping to find something edible. Torches, mounted every ten feet, provided ample light.

When he reached the bottom landing, Mordred strode down the long corridor toward the barred cell at the end. There, four guards stood at attention. He gave them all a cursory glance and then went to the bars of the prison cell.

Inside, a young man in priestly robes lay upon the cell floor among scattered handfuls of dirty straw. The smell of feces assaulted Mordred’s senses as he peered within. The torn robes bore filthy blood stains. The man himself appeared gaunt. Bruises covered his exposed skin.

Mordred smiled. “That’s very impressive, Scar. The boy should be convinced—only, remember to keep your face hidden until you strike.”

The pale, young man sat up on the floor, revealing his face. “Oh, don’t worry, my lord. I’ve made preparations there as well.”

Indeed, he had. Scar’s face was swollen and purple, one eye unable to open at the moment. His head had been shaved in the same way Gideon wore his hair. “I see,” Mordred said, clearly pleased. “You’ve always done excellent work, Scar. I should have expected nothing less this time.”

Scar stood and bowed to Mordred from within the cell. “I only live to serve your interests, Lord Mordred.”

Mordred smiled devilishly. “And if you can kill the Deliverer for me, a king’s ransom will be yours.”

“I don’t understand,” Gideon said, frustrated. “I didn’t agree to destroy the Temple, or kill the High Priest. I only agreed to stop Ethan.”

General Grimwald mounted his black stallion, wearing his crimson and black armor. “You agreed to kill the boy and you will serve my master by doing exactly what he requires of you,” Grimwald said coldly. “I will do you the courtesy of explaining your situation to you, Gideon. If you value the life of your child, then you will do everything asked of you without any further arguments or questions. Do you understand?”

Gideon nodded, then mounted his horse, his indignation burning. Grimwald was right. Mordred had him. He could and would ask anything he wanted, and maybe when the warlord was satisfied, they would be released.

Grimwald pulled the reins to steady his animal. “Frankly, Gideon, Hevas Rommil was a friend of mine. After what you did to him, I’d be all too happy to put the blade to your whimpering brat myself.”

Gideon fumed, but held his temper. “That’s what got Hevas Rommil killed,” he said. “I’d hate to see the same, or worse happen to you, General.”

Grimwald stared at him in disgust, perhaps hoping to turn the comment around to his advantage. Instead, he snapped the reins, goading his horse out of the stalls. Gideon grimaced and followed.

When the two men emerged onto the staging field, Gideon’s mouth nearly dropped open. Before him stood an army of five hundred heavily armed men on horses. The number nearly doubled those present at the Temple of Shaddai. His immediate thought had been discouragement, but then Gideon realized Grimwald wouldn’t have enough men.

Grimwald must have guessed what he had been thinking. “Not as many as you would have thought, priest?” Grimwald asked. Gideon looked at him, but gave no answer. “Don’t worry, Gideon, these five hundred men you see here, will each have the strength of ten soldiers.”

“Why is that?” Gideon asked.

“Our allies will be joining us before we assault the Temple,” Grimwald boasted.

Gideon gave the man a curious look. “No demon has ever penetrated the Temple compound.”

“True enough,” Grimwald admitted, “but they will now enter through my men.”

Gideon wanted to laugh at the General’s plan, but he wasn’t sure it would fail. The technical aspects of the relationship between spiritual and physical realms eluded him. Still, the possibility of demons breaching the Temple defenses seemed horrifying. Even a possessed old woman had been a surprisingly difficult opponent. Gideon could only imagine the result of five hundred battle-hardened soldiers empowered by demons.

“You will ride by me,” Grimwald commanded. Then he moved his horse to the head of the columns of soldiers. Gideon complied, following after the General on his black stallion.

General Grimwald gave the order and the company began to march out of the city. The columns of soldiers thundered behind Grimwald and Gideon. Heavily armed Wagons, filled with provisions and weapons, followed after them.

As their procession passed through the eastern gate in the white wall, Gideon looked back. He hoped that Ethan would not try to rescue him from Emmanuel. Any attempt would lead him into a trap and now Gideon wouldn’t even be there to be rescued.

Gideon turned, watching General Grimwald bobbing in his saddle. He hated this man. With every fiber of his being, Gideon desired to kill him and stop this madness. His entire life’s work, the dedication of his whole existence had been betrayed. Gideon found himself the architect of his own ruin. He’d betrayed Ethan, betrayed The Order of Shaddai and even Sarah by his willingness to bring her into a dangerous association with himself.

The Thornhill Mountains, with only the faintest glimmer of their snowcapped peaks visible, lay before him. Soon Gideon would be forced to kill the man who had nurtured him—his mentor and friend. If he was fortunate, the priests would kill this entire army before he ever got the opportunity. Perhaps he would simply falter on purpose and allow the High Priest to kill him instead.

Gideon didn’t know if he could do it—to leave his and Sarah’s child in Mordred’s hands—left to be killed by the warlord. Worse still, was the thought that Mordred might spare the child and rather raise him to become some twisted pawn in his grasp. Gideon realized he might be condemning the soul of his son by that possibility. No, he had to return. He had to save their son from a fate worse than death.

Gideon goaded his stallion, attempting to keep pace with General Grimwald. They had left at an unexpected hour, late in the day. Night would fall soon and Grimwald hoped to cover as much ground as possible before they made camp.

Gideon watched the distant mountains. A knot formed in his stomach. His betrayal was hard enough to endure away from the eyes and understanding of his friends. Soon he would have to face them and be completely exposed to his shame.

Purple and pink hues played across the approaching twilight sky as Ethan watched the guards at the gates of the city from his hiding place several hundred yards away. As soon as darkness fell completely, he and Levi would make their move. He spotted the place where they would enter the city, a long shadow draped over the white granite wall to the right of the guard post.

Levi breathed heavy next to Ethan, lying on the ground among several tufts of monkey weed which dotted the plain before the city on either side of the Emmanuel Road. The smell of death and decay lingered from the slaughter of King Stephen’s army almost a year earlier. Ethan wondered, for a moment, how the monarch had been received by his people of Wayland after his failed attempt at a coup in Nod.

The sun continued its slow descent toward the mountains in the west. Levi turned from his brass spyglass. “Do you see any demon activity out there?”

Ethan had been watching, but everything spiritual seemed strangely quiet. “No.” But doubt lingered in his mind. He knew this might as well have been dubbed Demon Central, considering who ruled here, but he hadn’t spotted even one of the rebellious angels since they’d begun watching an hour ago. Ethan wondered if he and the others were somehow about to walk into a trap, but he didn’t voice his concerns. Trap or no, he intended to go into the city and then the palace in order to rescue his friend.

Elspeth’s need of rescuing goaded him. He had no idea if she had been brought to Emmanuel, or even if she still lived. Somehow, Ethan believed she had survived though he had only his gut feeling to convince him. Gideon on the other hand had been seen. Ethan knew if the tables were turned, Gideon would certainly risk everything to save him.

The pair waited patiently for the sun to dip beyond the horizon. When it had, they crept forward from their hiding place. The guards would have no way of seeing either of them until they got within the light cast by the torches mounted at their guard station beside the main gate.

Ethan surveyed the area again for demonic activity. He couldn’t find anything. Even the tell tale tingling, so valuable to him in days gone by, told him nothing now. “I’m going to rush them,” Ethan said. “You start running now, and they’ll be down when you get there.” Levi only had time to look over at him before Ethan vanished.

He had been very relieved to find his realm-shifting ability return after leaving Macedon. Whether he had been adversely affected by Jericho’s power or simply his overriding fear of failure, he never knew. But now, Ethan felt better and more capable with this power than ever. Seth’s revelation about the village he’d been working with for so many years, and the Word finding safe haven among its residents bolstered his lacking faith more than anything. Shaddai had truly been in complete control all along.

In the spiritual realm, Ethan crossed the remaining one hundred yards in a second. He reached out from the ethereal plane to grab both men by the brain. They both jerked upright. Ethan squeezed in such a way that both seized and fell unconscious.

Levi arrived panting a moment later. “Let’s get into their uniforms fast,” he said. Ethan reappeared and rolled one of the soldiers over, then began stripping off his armor. Levi did the same and soon they were dressed in the apparel of Mordred’s army. “How long will these two be out,” Levi asked.

“I’m not sure,” Ethan said. “My guess is a good while—at least long enough that it shouldn’t matter.”

Levi looked up at the white granite towering over them. “We’d better get over the wall quickly and start making our way toward the palace.”

Ethan pointed to a place down the wall’s perimeter. “Those shadows there will be the best place to go over.”

Levi ran down the length of the wall until he came to the place. Ethan appeared in front of him, startling the captain. “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” he said.

“Sorry,” Ethan said, grinning. He disappeared again, then hoisted Levi into the air. He rose up the wall held by invisible hands. When they reached the top of the wall, two guards were busy patrolling.

Ethan tossed Levi at one of the men while he quickly silenced the other, still invisible. The first guard barely caught a glimpse of Levi before he tackled him from the air. The captain subdued the soldier, then saw Ethan appear again next to the other unconscious guard. He pointed toward the other side of the wall, then ran toward Levi, disappearing mid-stride.

Ethan seized the captain and carried him over the other side. They touched down on the ground in shadow and Ethan materialized next to his friend. “Let’s move before those guards are discovered.”

The pair began walking toward the white palace in the distance. Soon they had fully merged with other pedestrians making their way to their homes for supper or out to taverns for a night of debauchery. The armor allowed them to blend in perfectly. No one stopped or questioned them along the way to the palace.

Ethan tried to feel confident in their rescue plan, but he knew it was a long shot at best. Dung the rat had been working with the normal-sized rats in the area, and the dungeon had been located successfully. From there the plan became fairly straight forward. Ethan and Levi would provide a suitable diversion while Seth and Dung released Gideon and took him out through the tunnel the rats had excavated over the past two weeks.

Ethan watched Levi as he strode blissfully down the street through Emmanuel City. He had wanted to conduct the diversion part of the plan alone, but Levi wouldn’t hear it, sighting Ethan’s impetuous throne room fiasco. He rubbed the scars beneath his shirt. The wounds still ached now and then, reminding him not to rush ahead of the Lord.

At last, they saw great structures in the distance. “There are the lodges built for the Anakim giants, Ethan,” Levi said. “I knew as soon as I saw them the other day. Those things had to be built for them.”

Ethan surveyed the long wooden barracks which had been constructed upon the far end of the training fields. There were half a dozen lodges each nearly a quarter mile in length. The seams had been braced with metal strips riveted into the wood. The smell from the giants permeated the entire city.

“Do you suppose they’re already inside sleeping?” Ethan asked.

Levi looked in every direction. “I hope so. They’re certainly not running around out here in the city anywhere. Either way it should provide a good diversion to keep Mordred’s men busy while they get Gideon out.”

A group of soldiers passed by. Ethan and Levi tried to look occupied and didn’t turn toward the others. The group passed on and took little notice of them. “Are you sure that rat told you right?” Levi asked.

“Dung sent the little rats into the dungeons to make sure,” Ethan said. “They assured him that only one prisoner was kept there and the description matched Gideon’s. I don’t think the little guys would lie to Dung. They treat him as though he was their king.”

Levi rolled his eyes. “Oh boy, King Dung. I’m sure that won’t go to his head.”

“Let’s get moving,” Ethan said. “We need to find some barrels of lamp oil or something flammable to do this.”

“By the way, have you seen any demons yet?”

“Nothing so far,” Ethan reported. Levi started toward the lodges with Ethan following. They walked out onto the training fields. Vast areas of dying grass had been torn up in places due to all of the simulated combat.

Ethan noticed all of the weaponry Mordred was stockpiling behind the city walls and wondered who he intended to attack. Cleary, he had his men gearing up for something big. Mordred had the giant Anakims, massive engines of war, as well as his cavalry and his infantry. His target would have a tough time defending against all of this.

Fortunately the fields stood all but abandoned with no one guarding them. This gave Ethan and Levi an easy trip to their targets on the far side of the field. They passed a range where cannons, muskets and other shooting weapons had been assembled.

Levi paused. “Ethan, look!” He grinned fiendishly, patting a stack of wooden barrels standing next to the cannons and muskets. “Gunpowder, my boy!”

Ethan smiled, then looked at their route to the lodges standing about one hundred yards away. “It looks all clear, doesn’t it?”

“As far as I can tell, but we’d better hurry,” Levi said. “We don’t want to be caught carrying barrels of gunpowder around.”

Ethan thought about the likelihood of getting what they needed over to the lodges without being spotted. “I’ve got an idea. You go on over there and keep watch for any guard patrols while I take these up high away from the torchlight and bring them over.”

Levi nodded, looked around again, then started for the Anakim lodges.

Ethan realm shifted onto the spiritual plane again. He drew his sword from its place hovering at his side, then thought about what he needed to do and how to do it. The sword obeyed his thoughts, transforming into a long length of chain.

Ethan whipped the chain toward the stack of gunpowder barrels, and it lashed itself over and around them. The chain snaked its way throughout, forming a net that surrounded all of the barrels. Ethan gripped the sword-chain and launched into the night air.

The chain intruded into the physical realm and picked up the stack of gunpowder barrels. To the naked eye, the barrels appeared to fly into the air as one unit and disappear high in the sky.

He carried them over the expanse toward the huge wooden lodges where Levi waited. Ethan searched for demons, but still found none anywhere within the city walls. Their absence became more disconcerting by the moment. Surely, all the demons hadn’t abandoned the seat of Mordred’s power. That would have been too much to hope for. In the back of his mind, Seth’s warning echoed again. This is a trap, and Gideon is the bait.

Ethan carefully lowered the barrels of gunpowder to the ground next to Levi. The captain stood in shadow on the side of the first lodge, watching for guard patrols. He smiled in fascination as the stack of barrels descended and came to rest quietly on the ground. Ethan appeared a moment later. “I didn’t see anyone,” Levi said.

“Me neither, not even demons,” Ethan said. “It’s strange. They were so adamant about protecting these giants aboard the slaver ship before.”

“Well, they’re inside Mordred’s city now,” Levi mused. “They wouldn’t have any reason to protect them now.”

Ethan nodded though for some reason he felt unconvinced.

“Anyway, it’s too late to worry about that now. We’re trying to draw everyone’s attention.”

Ethan withdrew the cork stopping the top of two of the barrels. “I’ll spread this one over the lodges while you plant the other barrels. He disappeared again. Levi watched as the two uncorked barrels floated upward in Ethan’s invisible grip and flew out of sight over the roof.

Ethan tipped the first barrel horizontally so that the grains of black powder rained down over the roof of the first lodge. When he felt enough had been dropped there, he moved on to the next roof. Within ten minutes, he had distributed the contents of both black powder barrels over the lodges. Then, he came back to meet Levi.

The captain hustled back from behind the first lodge just as Ethan materialized again. “Are we all set?”

Levi nodded through his heavy breathing. “Boy, the smell just gets worse,” he said with a big sigh. “Let’s move.”

The two of them ran back toward the palace. Levi grabbed a torch from a stand along the way, through the training fields, then turned. He ran back toward the lodges a few paces and heaved the torch. The flame arced through the air and came down on the roof of the first. Sparks leaped away, and fire ran across the roof line, devouring the black powder Ethan had left behind.

They both stood watching for a moment. “I’m not sure that will do the job of igniting the other barrels, Ethan.”

Ethan realm shifted again and drew his spiritual sword. It shone with a heavenly light. He prayed for help, then suddenly found the sword drawing his arm back. He understood its intention, then flung it back toward the barrels Levi had placed at the entrance to each Anakim lodge.

The heavenly blade gathered momentum as it flew through the ether, spinning like a buzz saw. The light it emitted intensified so that it burned white hot. When it sailed through the first barrel, it ignited and exploded. The front of the first lodge shattered and crumbled. The explosion scattered its fire which ignited the roof of the second lodge.

The sword kept spinning and flew through the next barrel and the next until it had hit all of them. Each explosion destroyed the front of the lodge next to it and scattered more fire, igniting the stray powder left by Ethan. Within seconds, the entire set of Anakim lodges stood partially dilapidated and burning. The sword reappeared at Ethan’s side as it had been before.

As Ethan materialized beside the wide-eyed Captain Bonifast, giants burst through the fiery walls of the lodges. They ran screaming out into the training yard with their clothes on fire. Some crashed through the walls, fell over, and didn’t move again.

The resulting fire threatened the palace itself and lit up the entire training grounds. Alarm bells resounded from the palace and the city proper. Soldiers came running to stop the raging inferno.

Ethan started toward the wall on the north side. “Let’s go. Seth and Dung should have gotten to Gideon by now.”

Levi bolted after him, smiling as he watched the training yards burn.

DIGGING

Seth crawled down the dark tunnel behind Dung the rat. The smell of moist earth surrounded him. Dung had relayed to Ethan earlier how he and the smaller rodents had dug out the tunnel all the way to the stone floor. All that remained, in order to enter the dungeon, would be to give a good upward push on the floor stones.

Dung squeaked up ahead. Seth had learned to recognize some of his basic calls. He took this one to mean they had reached the end of the tunnel where it terminated beneath the dungeon. “Let’s go through, Dung.”

Dung squeaked an acknowledgment. Seth came up next to the large rodent’s warm body. He felt Dung stretch upward, his powerful muscles tensing with the weight of the stones. Something gave way above, and Dung pushed through. Seth heard the stones roll away, then Dung climbed up through the hole.

Dung squeaked again, a call for Seth to follow him up. Seth complied and began to echolocate as soon as he popped up into the dungeon. He quickly imaged the chamber walls, ceiling, and floor, then crawled out with his senses alert for the sound of guards and the feel of body heat.

Seth heard the crackle of firelight ahead where a lone cell stood at the end of the long corridor. He bounced light clicks off of four guards on duty there. Seth had no ability to see light, but he had learned to gauge his distance by the heat or lack thereof long ago.

Seth placed a hand on Dung and pointed an open hand down the corridor at the guards. He released the rat and surged toward the guards with Dung on his heels. He used clicks to echolocate until he came within striking distance of the men. One turned on him just before he got there. “Hey!” the guard said just as Seth reached and silenced him.

The others tried to scream, especially when they caught sight of Dung, but he and Seth moved too quickly. All four had been struck down within three seconds. Seth stopped and listened. No other sounds except for a light stir from inside the cell.

The smell of feces and blood hit him hard. What had they done to him? “Gideon, are you conscious?” Seth whispered.

A low moan emanated from the dark recesses of the cell. “We’re going to get you out.” Dung began to chew on the steel bars with his razor sharp rat teeth. Within moments, Seth heard a pop as the first bar gave way.

Seth felt around on the guards until he found what he was hoping for. He lifted a set of keys and jingled them. “Let’s try these instead.”

Dung stopped his chewing and gave an annoyed squeal, as if to complain that Seth hadn’t produced the keys prior to him going to the trouble. Seth tried three of the four keys on the ring before the lock disengaged. He swung the heavy rusted door open and rushed inside.

“Gideon?” He followed the trail of heat emanating from the priest’s body. Seth fought the overwhelming smell of urine and blood to grab hold of his fellow priest and lift him to his feet. Gideon moaned and seemed to be only half conscious. “Dung, you’ll need to carry him.”

The rat appeared to understand and came inside the cell. He scooped the weary priest’s body into his powerful forearms and followed Seth out of the cell. “Stay close,” Seth said. “We’ll get him inside the tunnel and seal it as we backtrack out of here.”

Seth felt the heat from the torches on the wall next to Gideon’s cell. He grabbed them and beat them out upon the ground casting the corridor between them and the tunnel in complete darkness—his world. “Let’s go,” he commanded.

Seth led the way through the corridor. Light appeared on the stairs. Seth heard the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. He rushed toward the sound, felt the heat of a torch, and heard the breathing of the guard. He flashed through the guard’s vision as a blur—slashing as he passed. The guard barely caught a glimpse of the humongous rat before he fell over, bleeding out on the floor.

Seth continued until he smelled the dirt from below the floor. He echo-located the overturned floor stones and the hole, then climbed inside. Dung lowered the priest’s body down into the hole where Seth helped to get him inside their tunnel. “It will be a bit slow, but I think I can drag him, Dung.”

The rat dropped into the hole when they were clear. Seth began to backtrack in the tunnel and drag Gideon behind him. “Be sure to close the tunnel after us, Dung.” The rat followed him a few yards, then pawed at the walls and roof of the tunnel until it collapsed after them.

Ethan and Levi reached the northern side of the wall encompassing the palace and the city of Emmanuel. With the training yards and Anakim barracks ablaze no one even paid any attention to them as they ran in the opposite direction of the trouble. “Time to fly, Captain!”

Before Levi could protest, Ethan disappeared and seized the man by the shoulders, carrying him high over the soiled limestone wall. Several of Mordred’s guards, who had been watching the fire in astonishment, pointed up at the man flying high above them. Since the mystery man wore their same uniform, one even waved when Levi shouted a “hello” and “goodbye,” as he passed over the wall.

Ethan descended, and they both landed a great distance from the wall in darkness. Ethan reappeared next to Levi, smiling. “Don’t you love doing that?”

“If the good Lord had wanted me to fly, he might have put wings on my back,” Levi said.

“Or at least an invisible boy, eh?”

Levi rolled his eyes. “Enough of that…let’s go and see if Seth and the big, smelly rat have rescued Gideon.”

Ethan laughed. “You know you love the rat.”

Levi started jogging ahead toward their rendezvous. “Don’t get me started, lad!”

SCAR

Their group had been instructed to meet in the Willow Meadow several miles from the city of Emmanuel. One could only access the Willow Meadow by paths, as it lay some distance from the Emmanuel Road. They hoped to remain well hidden from any soldiers who might be sent looking for Gideon once his escape became known.

Willow trees surrounded a green meadow of short grasses. A small fire burned inside a ring of small stones constructed by Seth. Dung had carried Gideon from the time they had emerged from the tunnel outside Emmanuel’s wall. The rat had placed Gideon near the fire in hopes of warming him.

Seth had spoken to Gideon several times, but so far his only reply had been coughing and moaning. They waited for Ethan and Levi to arrive according to their plan. Upon leaving the tunnel, Seth had heard a great deal of chaos going on behind the city wall. “Whatever diversion Ethan cooked up with the Captain—it must have been good.”

Dung only continued to devour several rabbits he had caught in the meadow. Hearing the gnashing of his rat teeth and the gurgling of saliva, Seth found comfort in not having to actually witness the gruesome scene. “Well, Dung, you’ve quelled my hunger…thank you.”

The rat paused for a moment, perhaps curious about what Seth had said. Then, as if with a shrug, the rat dove back into his rabbits. Within moments, Dung had devoured all that he had. His ears perked up and he sniffed the air—Seth heard them too.

Ethan and Levi came jogging into the firelight, both of them a little winded, but Bonifast the more so. Ethan searched around the fire until he found the priest lying opposite Seth and Dung, covered by one of Seth’s outer robes. “So you found him? Is he all right?”

“He’s been hurt pretty badly,” Seth said. “They kept him in horrible conditions.”

Levi started around to where Gideon lay. He knelt down and uncovered Gideon’s face. “Mmm…they’ve really worked him over. You can hardly recognize him under all that swelling and bruising. And the smell…they’ve not let him wash or anything?”

The priest’s hand smashed up under Levi’s jaw, knocking him backward off the balls of his feet. With his other hand, the priest drew Levi’s cutlass as he fell back. He stood, throwing off Seth’s robe as he drew back his sword hand, preparing to strike.

No one had any idea what had happened. There had been only a blur of motion. Now Levi had fallen backward in a daze and Gideon stood with firelight glinting off of something in his hand. Only it wasn’t Gideon at all. Ethan seemed to realize it only after the imposter’s hand whipped forward. But the realization startled him so much that he did not even begin to react as the cutlass sliced the air between them.

Furry arms encircled Ethan. The rat tackled him just before the blade hit home. Dung shrieked in Ethan’s ear as they fell to the ground together. Ethan remained pinned under the rat, unmoving. Seth stood up, but did not realize what had happened either.

He drew his sword and echo-located the priestly imposter. “Gideon what are you doing? Are you delirious?”

Levi recovered. “It’s not him—we’ve been tricked!”

Seth lunged toward the man, about to leap over the fire to kill him. Scar pulled a leather pouch from his soiled robe and whipped the open end toward Seth. Gunpowder streaked through the flames, landing on Seth. His robes caught fire as the flames leaped upon the scattered gunpowder.

Seth screamed as the heat engulfed his clothing and burned his skin. He dropped the sword and flew to the ground, rolling through the grass in a desperate attempt to extinguish himself. Levi dodged to the side of the fire and found Seth’s sword upon the ground. He noticed Ethan unconscious and Dung lying on top of him with his own cutlass standing out of the rodent’s side. “You villainous dog!”

Levi launched himself at the imposter, slicing through the air as Scar danced away from him. Scar dodged past Dung and drew the cutlass from the rat’s wound. Levi came for him full of malice.

Levi had strength to his advantage, but Scar was faster. Levi only managed to keep the younger man at bay. But when he took the offense, Levi battered the imposter’s sword away left and right.

The two men danced away from the fire, thrusting and slashing furiously at one another. Levi raged at the man and drove forward. Scar parried and knocked Levi’s blade out of his hand, but too late. The Captain ignored his weapon and lunged inside Scar’s line of attack.

Scar drove his palm under Levi’s jaw, trying to fend him off. But Bonifast returned the favor with two sharp knee strikes to the ribs. Levi whipped a hand between them and lunged at Scar with all his weight. They fell backwards and became still. When Levi sat up on top of the imposter, he left a dagger protruding from beneath the man’s sternum.

He stood up, looking at the imposter with disgust. Levi turned back to his friends, finding Seth smoldering in the grass, but extinguished. “Are you all right, Seth?”

Seth stood patting hot spots and breathing heavily. “A little singed, but I believe so, Captain.”

Levi walked over to Dung and Ethan. “I need some help.” Seth found his way to him and together they rolled Dung away from Ethan. Levi knelt down and made sure the boy was still breathing.

Seth waited. “Is he all right?”

“Unconscious, but he will be.”

Seth turned to Dung’s body. “Is he?”

Levi patted Dung’s large head. “He gave his life to save Ethan.”

Ethan woke soon afterwards with more questions than pain. When he realized what had happened to poor Dung, he spent several minutes stroking his fur, weeping. Levi watched, trying not to tear up himself.

When they had gotten their gear together and started off, wondering what in the world they should do for Gideon, Levi stood still. Ethan turned back. “It’s time to go, Levi.”

Bonifast did not reply. He stood staring over smoldering embers at Dung’s body. “I should have been kinder to him, don’t you think?”

Ethan looked at Seth, then back at Levi. “There’s nothing that can be done for him now. We have to go. We have no choice but to go to The Order and speak with Isaiah. He’ll know what we should do for Gideon.”

“We can’t just leave him like this…not after all he did for us, Ethan.”

Seth spoke up. “Captain, I’m afraid we don’t have any way to bury the poor creature. I feel as bad as—”

Levi straightened. “A pyre then…we can do that much.” He began to walk toward the edge of the woods in search of firewood.

Ethan tried to plead with him, but the Captain would not hear of it. “I’ll not leave him to the buzzards!” he said, throwing his hands up in the air.

Ethan turned back to Seth. “You wait here and I’ll help him.”

Seth smiled, nodding. “I didn’t know he had such a soft spot for the beast.”

Ethan smiled. “Neither did I.”

INVADERS

Gideon took a drink from a water-bladder as the noon sun beat down upon him. Grimwald had driven his men unrelenting toward the Thornhill Mountains for just over a week. Halfway through the journey, two of his soldiers had fainted and fallen behind. Grimwald had flogged the first to death with a bullwhip. The second, he had slain with a sword in order to save time. None of the other men had dared to fall behind for the remainder of the journey.

Gideon knew Millertown waited for them several miles in the distance. He wondered if he would have to face Sarah’s parents dressed in this vile crimson armor. The thought of his old friends watching him ride through the town with Grimwald and his soldiers made him feel nauseated. Still, he had no choice.

Grimwald rode up next to Gideon’s horse with a smile on face. “Soon we will be at your Temple, priest. I’m sure they’re going to love you in your new uniform.”

Gideon tried to ignore him. Those same thoughts had paraded through his mind during their entire march toward the Thornhills.

“I can see you’re looking forward to it almost as much as I am. And yet we must delay until tomorrow,” Grimwald said.

“Why? What are we doing for the rest of the day?”

“Preparing.” The General closed his eyes as though enraptured. “You’ll witness something tonight you’ve never seen before, priest.”

For the remainder of the day, the soldiers worked like bees doing their master’s will. They were only too happy to comply with his demands today. He had ordered all of the cattle, which had been marched behind them, to be slaughtered. A great feast would be prepared.

By evening, the soldiers were roasting great hunks of beef upon a hundred huge fires. Gideon watched, fascinated by what was taking place. It made no sense to him at all. What did Grimwald have planned?

By nightfall, the entire camp had grown loud in their revelry. The soldiers acted like they had gone on holiday. Gideon watched Grimwald. He had not joined in the festivities. The General simply watched. He seemed to be waiting.

Then something changed in the camp. First one, then another and another of the soldiers doubled over in pain. They moaned loudly. The laughing ceased. More of the men buckled to their knees as though under an unseen attack. The first began to scream, thrashing upon the ground like a madman.

Gideon looked at Grimwald, now standing next to one of the pyres. He smiled as he watched a wave of mass hysteria transform his camp. He and Gideon, alone, remained unaffected.

The men writhed on the ground, howling unnaturally. Gideon walked through the melee of agonized bodies toward General Grimwald. “What’s going on, General?”

Grimwald smiled sadistically. “Exactly what I told you would. The demons are entering them. All of these men underwent a ritual of binding before marching on this campaign. They have taken oaths, and today they will fulfill them.”

Gideon watched the soldiers: some of them begged for mercy. Whatever process they were undergoing, they didn’t seem at all happy about it.

“This is how my men will enter the Temple of Shaddai. This is how the demons will be able to pass through—bound to Mordred’s soldiers,” Grimwald explained.

“I’ve seen possessed soldiers before, Grimwald—and I’ve beaten plenty.”

Grimwald grinned as though instructing a foolish child reluctant to learn their lessons. “You’ve not seen this before. They are not merely possessed. These men are now joined completely. The spirits may not come and go as they please. These men are becoming part demon—something new.”

As Grimwald spoke, Gideon noticed the reason for the pain these men were experiencing. It wasn’t simply the invasion of a spirit, but the transformation of their physical bodies which drew their howling lament.

Hands grew larger—the bones creaking and popping. Some of the men began to puff up, as though muscles were ballooning all over their bodies. Eyes changed to bloodshot red with yellow rimmed irises. Some grew taller, others hunched over. Fangs protruded over lips and nails grew rigid and sharp.

Gideon realized his mistake. He’d supposed the priests of Shaddai would be fighting back against things he’d already conquered. But these creatures were no longer human. When he led Grimwald’s forces through the secret Temple entrance it would not be an army of men, but abominations.

Several hours had passed in Grimwald’s camp as demon and man fused into new, hideous mutations. Grimwald went throughout his ranks examining the painful process, delighted with his progress. Gideon watched the scene from a distance, horrified. The abominations of Mordred had now grown to new heights. Men, taken over and fused with hellish spirits, now roamed the encampment with cruel, leering smiles for Gideon.

Gideon thought that, were it not for Mordred’s wrath, they might have torn him limb from limb and gleefully feasted upon his innards. After facing the possessed man onboard Rommil’s ship, returning from Macedon, he knew what sort of power these men wielded. Only these appeared even fiercer, if that were possible.

General Grimwald walked toward Gideon. “What do you think, priest? Shall I unleash them on Millertown? It’s only a few miles over those hills, before we come to the base of the Thornhills.”

Gideon tried not to think of the carnage that would surely issue through Millertown until everyone within had been killed. The townspeople wouldn’t stand a chance. And Sarah’s parents still lived there among many of his other friends.

Gideon feigned interest. “Go ahead, Grimwald, I’m sure such a diversion would do much for alerting the Temple of our imminent arrival.”

Grimwald’s smile dropped. He obviously hadn’t considered that possibility. He smiled again after a moment. “Very good, Gideon…very good. But we may need to come back through Millertown, just the same, on our way back to Emmanuel, once the Temple has been destroyed.”

Gideon didn’t rise to the bait, but only kept his gaze cool and leveled upon Grimwald. He hunched his shoulders in apathy for good measure.

Grimwald called out for his second in command. “Dervins!” A terrifying version of the man sauntered over, complete with yellow eyes like a frog and a mane of thick black fur trailing down from his head. The man’s uniform had nearly split apart from the new bulk of muscle formed during the hideous transformation. A set of four boney prongs jutted out of his forehead, crowning the mutation.

He spoke in a deep, gravelly voice. “Yes, sir?”

Grimwald almost seemed taken aback by the man, now clearly superior in size and strength to himself. A smear of cow’s blood still dripped down Dervins’ uniform.

Gideon recalled, with disgust, how the terrified cattle that remained had been brought up among the ranks of mutated soldiers only to be slaughtered. A feast of gore had quickly ensued as demonic men tore into the poor beasts: blood and entrails flying in every direction among the feeding frenzy.

“Form ranks immediately,” Grimwald said. “We leave for the Broken Pass at the base of the Thornhills within the hour.”

The beast, that had been Dervins, snorted, delivering a gooey string of mucus onto the front of Grimwald’s breastplate. Dervins grinned, despite his bow, then cocked an eye toward Gideon that made chills run the length of his spine. He no longer believed General Grimwald was in control here.

BROKEN PASS

The next evening, Gideon watched the dwindling lights of Millertown, far behind and below Grimwald’s army, with satisfaction. With any good providence, this company would never come back out of the Thornhill Mountains alive. Nevertheless, Grimwald had managed to assemble and lead his horrifying new army all the way onto the Broken Pass at the base of the mountains. Now it had become Gideon’s turn to lead.

He rode approximately fifty yards ahead of the main group, scouting out the way before them. Gideon smiled in anticipation. He would have to lead them the long way around in order to give the army access into one of the secret exits used by The Order of Shaddai. He also knew that approaching in this manner was fraught with all manner of natural perils.

Gideon dared a silent prayer in hopes that Shaddai would not only alert The Order to their presence in the mountains, as they approached, but also destroy as many of these ghoulish creatures as possible along the way. If his prayer was answered, he hoped the priests would be long gone by the time any of his company actually made it into the Temple.

The rocky terrain, where they were currently riding, had gradually grown more so as the day had worn on. Now, with twilight upon them, the rocks and boulders, which occasionally rolled down upon the pass, had become a nuisance to the long, winding line of horses trailing after him. Gideon watched the loose hanging shelves of shale that towered above them on either side. Jagged teeth of grayish rock threatened to close on them at any moment. Sun-bleached bones, lying here and there beneath slabs of rock, testified to past tragedies.

Gideon had personally witnessed a far smaller group trigger a deadly rock slide with the pounding hooves of their horses. The thunder generated by these demons on horseback, not to mention their howling and general carrying-on, would almost certainly cause trouble before they moved out of the pass.

Gideon quietly goaded his animal forward in order to increase his lead and get out of the pass more quickly. Loose gravel rolled down the steep incline ahead of him, forcing his gaze upward again. He spotted plate sized pieces gingerly sliding down the bare, gray slope.

Gideon glanced back toward the army winding its way through the narrow pass, still littered with debris from past slides. The trail they were following now had actually formed on top of previously fallen debris. How many times had this valley buried travelers only to be trodden over by more hapless victims?

The crack of rock and the grating slide of stone against stone resounded above them. Gideon watched as a shelf slid away behind him. Several horse-sized boulders rolled, wobbled, then bounced away from the sheer face headed straight into the line of soldiers.

Gideon kicked into his mount’s sides, spurring the animal forward. The black horse leaped away wildly wanting to be clear of the danger as much as its rider. Gideon pulled the reins back hard, when they were clear, as he heard several loud cries silenced abruptly behind him.

He turned the animal, though it jerked hesitantly, and looked back at the front of the line behind him, hoping to see many of these abominations lying crushed beneath the rock slide. Even as Gideon surveyed the damage, he knew it unfortunately couldn’t have been enough to do much good. There just hadn’t been as much rock coming down as he had hoped.

Still, Gideon had to suppress a smile, when he found General Grimwald lying on his side on the ground. He lay in a pool of blood. But as the man stirred, defiantly attempting to get back to his feet, Gideon realized it wasn’t the General’s life issuing out, but his mount’s. The black horse remained crushed beneath one of several large boulders which had dislodged from the shelf above them. Only a few hooves and a crimson stained muzzle remained for viewing.

As the General got to his feet again and surveyed the damage, he turned toward Gideon. The priest leveled a petulant gaze upon the man, saying without words, you wanted this.

Grimwald’s face flushed red with anger. But there was nothing more he could do. The priest hadn’t caused the slide. It was simply one of the many hazards to be found in the Thornhill Mountains. Everyone knew the dangers of passing through them. And rock slides were perhaps the least worry they might face. Still, his anger burned as he watched the wry smile fighting to reveal itself fully on Gideon’s face.

“Would you like to turn back, General?” Gideon called back.

Grimwald only grimaced, then turned back to his army. He had lost several men, but only one other horse. He stalked back around the dead and the fresh debris and secured another horse for himself. When he had mounted the animal, Grimwald turned back toward Gideon smugly. “We ride on, priest, but don’t get any ideas of sabotage. Remember, your child is counting on you.”

Gideon’s anger ignited afresh—mostly because Grimwald hadn’t been killed by the slide. So close, he thought. But then he realized that might make things even worse. What would happen with this demonic army without Grimwald here to restrain them? The least they might do was kill him. But they could also turn back out of the mountains toward Millertown. As bloodthirsty as they were, they might do anything.

If it was still the will of Shaddai for Grimwald to live, then certainly there must be a reason for it. Gideon gulped down a lump in his throat as he turned his animal back down the trail leading out of the valley. He felt so cold inside, so far from the place of close fellowship with Shaddai he used to enjoy—perhaps even taken for granted. Now that he had turned down this path of treachery, with Mordred and his demon allies, Gideon felt utterly alone.

He pushed forward, down the path, not caring now if the entire mountain gave way and buried him alive beneath the rock. At least he wouldn’t have to look his former priestly brothers in the eyes as he led these demons straight into the Temple—wouldn’t have to bear the pained looks of betrayal most certainly waiting for him there.

General Grimwald and the endless line of soldiers behind him reorganized and began the slow trek around these fresh boulders. Grimwald was dusty and a bit battered, but he rode proudly again. Some of the demons looked longingly at the corpses left behind—a few licking their lips hungrily.

Wide eyes stared down into the valley as a black spyglass lowered. The priest, watching the horrid army winding its way through Broken Pass, couldn’t believe what he had just witnessed. More startling than the army itself or the few deaths caused by the slide was the presence of one of their own among the enemy.

The priest, Gideon, rode at the head of these invaders, leading them through the Thornhills toward the Temple of Shaddai. He didn’t want to believe it. But Gideon was not bound in any way and he was leading them. Worse still was the black and crimson armor that he wore—the uniform of Mordred himself. Betrayal—utter, black betrayal—could be the only answer to what he had seen. And that could mean only one thing for the other priests. Gideon, their long time mentor and brother, was now dead to them.

THE PRIDE

Isaiah forced himself to breathe again. The young priest, Jason, had brought back the most disturbing news Isaiah had ever received. An army marched toward the Temple—Mordred’s army, but not men exactly. Some sort of hybrid between man and beast, as near as Jason could discern. But there had been more.

Gideon, Isaiah’s closest friend in the world, his protégé of many years, and the one man he’d assumed would succeed him as High Priest to The Order in Nod, had betrayed them into Mordred’s hands. It did not make any sense. Isaiah tried, but he couldn’t get his mind to accept it.

Gideon had always been the most loyal of friends, the most faithful of the priests in The Order. What could have turned him from the path of righteousness to utter corruption in the service of Mordred and his demons?

Peter, the captain of Isaiah’s elite guard, stood forth. “Master, what are we to do?” Nearly everyone had heard the news by now. And all of them had been stunned with unbelief.

Isaiah looked Peter in the eyes. He could see the pain there. Gideon had been a close friend to all of them. To Peter, he had been a mentor. Isaiah hated to place the burden of this matter on him, but their course of action was unfortunately clear. He swallowed, then said, “We will do what we must to preserve the Word of the Shaddai, just as we always have. Peter, I want you to organize our most capable warriors for battle. I must go to James, the Lion Keeper. The pride will finally go forth into battle for Shaddai. If this army breaks through their ranks, our warriors will be ready to face them in the courtyard. Set the archers to the balconies. The older priests and I will take the parchments from the vaults and go to the Temple in Wayland. Peter, I want you to lead our men here, but if the battle appears lost, then evacuate the Temple and take the catacombs into Wayland.”

Peter bowed respectfully. “It will be done, Master.” He started to go at once, but Isaiah caught him by the shoulder.

“Peter,” he said, nearly choking on what he was about to say. “Gideon has betrayed The Order of Shaddai.” Tears welled upon Isaiah’s lower eyelids. “He has led the enemy here to us. He must not be allowed to live.”

Peter paused, blinking. He clearly had never thought to here such words said of his friend and mentor. Isaiah’s expression showed understanding of the conflict within his captain’s heart. It was the same conflict he also felt. Peter gave a stunted nod and proceeded on with his duties.

Isaiah turned to Jason. “Let us go to the pride and hope they are feeling strong today.”

After passing through one of the long, torch-lit, underground corridors, Isaiah and Jason emerged into a grassy meadow. The High Priest immediately spotted the man he was looking for out among several lion cubs who were chasing him through the knee high grass. He could hear the man laughing as he rolled two of the cubs along the ground, while a third and fourth pounced upon his back playfully growling with all the ferocity of kittens.

Isaiah called to the man and immediately saw him rise up. The cubs slid off of him as he stood and covered his eyes from the sunlight in order to see who was visiting him. When he saw the robes of the High Priest, the lion keeper ran to meet them.

He jogged over in his light, sandy colored garments, sweat rolling off of his arms and forehead. “Master Isaiah, I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting a visit today.”

“I’m sorry that I must make one, James,” he said.

James’ reaction was immediate. His smile dropped to a tense frown, his eyebrows knitted together in anticipation of what he was about to hear.

“Are your lion’s well-fed and strong today?” Isaiah asked.

James nodded. “Of course, Master. They are always ready for whatever service you require. Is there trouble of some kind?”

Isaiah nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. An army is making its way beyond Broken Pass toward the Pine Forest.”

James tensed. “An army? Mordred’s men?”

Isaiah nodded again. “Yes, but they are not normal men. Mordred has managed to somehow transform these soldiers into brutes—as much animals as men. They will not be easy, even for the pride.”

James stood confidently and smiled. “My lions are up to the task any time Mordred’s soldiers are involved, Master. I was about to feed them their supper, but they’ll feast in the forest instead.”

Isaiah didn’t appear as confident as James. He looked weary—he felt weary—as though he’d managed all his long years to hold time at bay and maintain his youthful vitality. But now, he withered more and more by the moment after hearing of Gideon’s betrayal. “James, I’m sorry to have to tell you that Gideon—our Gideon—is leading this army—leading the enemy to our door.”

James appeared as jolted by the news as Peter and the others had been. Isaiah pressed on, saying, “More than any of Mordred’s soldiers, Gideon must not be allowed to leave the forest. Mordred’s army will not be able to find the tunnel without him.”

James nodded slowly. He looked back into Isaiah’s tired eyes. “The pride will move at once to intercept these invaders.”

He turned and sped across the hill toward the place where his lions usually congregated around a central reservoir which was fed by one of the mountain streams flowing through the valley. Isaiah turned back to Jason. “That is all we can do, besides pray and hope that it is not Shaddai’s will to surrender this place to the enemy.”

Sparse trees and brush yielded to a vast forest of pines. So many copper colored needles lay upon the ground, that it became impossible to discern how the trail wound its way through. Grimwald rode forward and came alongside Gideon sitting upon his horse gazing into the trees.

“How far does this forest stretch? How long before we come to the Temple?” Grimwald asked.

Gideon did not look at the General. He seemed to be summing up the way ahead. “The forest is several miles across and we must pass through in order to reach the tunnel and access the Temple.”

“Anymore surprises I should be aware of before we proceed?” Grimwald said sarcastically.

“It’s hard to say. There are many wild beasts that roam this forest, but most wouldn’t bother an army marching through.”

“Humph. Let’s hope so for your child’s sake,” Grimwald said. He turned back toward the army of demonic hybrids and motioned them on. “Stay within sight of others. We’ll need everyone to come through safely so we can take the Temple beyond!”

This news of the Temple’s nearness seemed to rouse the beastly men. They were ready for blood, ready to come against the bastion of truth and its ministers in order to see it razed to the ground. No man would stand before them.

Grimwald motioned to Gideon. “Lead the way, priest…and no tricks.”

Gideon leered at the General but said nothing. He goaded his animal forward into the trees. There was a definite way to go through the forest and many ways to become hopelessly lost. But Gideon knew what signs to look for—the landmarks set to guide the priests of Shaddai safely through. More than that, he also knew where traps had been laid in order to snare unsuspecting enemies.

Gideon considered what he should do. He could simply keep silent and hope a few of these monsters were destroyed, or he might inform Grimwald. If he were very fortunate, perhaps Grimwald would be one of the first to encounter one of the traps and be killed. Still, none of that really mattered. He was still a traitor despite anything that happened now.

Grimwald’s demons fanned out behind him. They formed lines proceeding through the trees never more than an arm’s length apart. A cool fog hung suspended in the air. Sound seemed to be stifled. No animals appeared to be moving anywhere.

The complete void of activity did not go unnoticed by Gideon. He perked to the silence, his ears seeking and finding nothing but a warning in it. This was wrong. Something was coming. Every living thing in the forest, except this army, knew it.

Gideon’s horse grew nervous beneath him. Grimwald’s seemed to grow anxious as well, but the General only barked at the animal, forcing it onward through the trees. Behind them, the demonic hybrids trudged on, some of them sniffing the air now.

“Something’s coming!” shouted one. All along the front line, the soldiers drew weapons to the ready. The sound of scraping metal, as weapons were loosed, crossed the forest behind Gideon like dominos falling.

Gideon could think of only one thing that would cause all of this. He turned to Grimwald as the General watched the hybrids prepare for whatever lay ahead of them. “Follow me, Grimwald, if you want to live!”

Gideon kicked into his horse’s haunches, “Hiya,” sending the animal forward with a burst of speed. Grimwald waited only a moment, considering, before doing the same. He shot away from the bewildered hybrids in pursuit of Gideon.

The trees passed quickly on either side. Grimwald had nearly caught up, calling to Gideon in anger. “What are you doing, priest? There’s nothing here!”

No sooner had he said it, before huge brown blurs shot away from the trees, roaring furiously. The beasts lunged and missed. “Lions!” Grimwald shrieked. Gideon pulled his body down over the right side of his horse as one of the beasts passed over his stallion’s haunches and fell away.

Grimwald blanched as a lioness closed the distance. He pulled his sword from the sheath upon his saddle and made ready to strike. The lioness leaped as another appeared flanking her. General Grimwald, startled by the second lion, misjudged and swung too early. The lioness hit his arm after the blade passed before her face and caught him in her teeth.

The lioness wrenched Grimwald from his saddle back over the rear of his black stallion. He crashed into the ground, his arm torn and bleeding profusely. “Gideon!” he cried in panic.

Gideon pulled up to a stop as lions flooded into the area around them. Behind, the hybrids had surged forward in a roaring wave, flying into the lions, even as others were taken down and mauled upon the forest floor. Gideon looked back, searching for Grimwald and found him on the ground trying to fend off the lioness with a long dagger held in his good hand.

Gideon considered the matter. He could save Grimwald and be sure of his child’s safety, or let him die and probably have one of the hybrids inform Mordred. The lioness circled, her muzzle pulled back, exposing her bloodstained teeth. She would charge in seconds.

Gideon spotted three carnivores closing on him. He bolted toward Grimwald’s position and loosed his sword. He charged at the lioness slashing wildly. She backed away, but the other three on his trail joined her, surrounding the two men. “What do we do?” Grimwald said as he gained his feet again. He stood back to back with Gideon watching the lions. Gideon thrust his sword in every direction, while the lions looked for a way through.

“You’re going to have to help, Grimwald!” Gideon shouted above the din. At least one hundred lions had scattered their army among the trees. Demonic hybrids lay dead everywhere mingled with the carcasses of slain lions.

Grimwald threw down his dagger and picked his sword back up with his good hand. “There are too many. We’ll never get out of here!” Grimwald grew furious. “You’ve led us into a trap, and you can be sure our spiritual allies will get this news back to Mordred.”

Gideon gritted his teeth.

“If I die, priest, then so will your son!”

Gideon screamed in fury, then lunged at the nearest lion. The beast tried to dodge away, but Gideon still landed a deadly blow. Another tried to lunge for Grimwald, his wounded arm still covered in blood. Gideon flung his sword back into the charging lion, striking it in the breast as it leaped toward the General.

He flew past Grimwald taking the General’s sword and charged into the other lions. Gideon killed the first, but the second hit him hard, knocking him to the ground. He reacted immediately—instinctively. Gideon thrust two fast knees into the lioness’ side to knock the wind out of her.

The lioness tried to maul him, but Gideon ducked his forearm below her jaw and thrust upward exposing her neck. He pulled a dagger strapped to his thigh and jammed it into the lion’s neck. The beast recoiled immediately, gasped, and then fell dead.

Gideon rolled out and got to his feet. The fighting was dying down already. The battle had taken its toll on Grimwald’s forces, but they weren’t down for the count by any reckoning. The General surveyed the damage.

Demonic hybrids, many of them battered and bloody, began to regroup as the last of the attacking lions were either killed, or retreated into the forest to lick their wounds. Grimwald and Gideon walked back toward the others, hoping to find their horses. Gideon had seen these lions before. He had known many of them since they were only cubs. The Order of Shaddai kept them as a contingency plan in case the Temple was attacked—more than a match for any normal army, but not this one.

Most of the hybrids had survived. These toughest among Grimwald’s host would be the same to take on whatever priests were undoubtedly preparing to meet them inside the Temple itself. Gideon surveyed the carnage regretfully. He couldn’t help but wonder if he should have allowed the lioness to take Grimwald while he had the chance.

“So…it really is you.”

Gideon turned to find a man mortally wounded—a broken spear protruding from his belly. “James?” He’d known the Lion Keeper well. It shouldn’t have surprised him to see the man here on the battlefield. James had never let his lions out of his sight. He had always treated them all as if they were his children.

Gideon couldn’t help wondering if having his lions scattered among the dead didn’t cause him more pain than his own wounds. James’ lifeblood seeped out onto a bed of dead pine needles around him. Still, he struggled for a few final words. “I’ve never doubted Isaiah before, but somehow I just couldn’t picture you betraying us. I was wrong though, wasn’t I?”

Gideon found himself unable to speak, unable to even try and defend himself from the accusations. He deserved this, only a thousand times more. James leveled his gaze on the battlefield. His face slackened, and his eyes closed as though he would rest. Then he stopped breathing altogether.

Gideon could only stare at the man he had called friend for so many years. Will it be the same when we get to the Temple? How many of my friends will I have to watch die today?

General Grimwald rode up behind him on his recovered horse. “So, one of the priests unleashed the lions. Then they know we are coming. We must hurry before they all escape. Get your horse, and let’s keep moving. The priests must not get away.”

Gideon closed his eyes. Even closed he could still see James lying there against the pine. Grimwald rode on past him as one of the demon soldiers pulled another horse toward him. He looked on to the end of the forest toward the place where they would enter the Temple. “If only they would escape,” he sighed, “But that won’t be their plan.”

Gideon looked at the demon hybrid who released the horse’s rein. It snorted at him indifferently, then returned to the reorganized ranks. Gideon hoisted himself sluggishly into the saddle. He dreaded what lay ahead, what he would have to watch. He prayed silently, again, that Shaddai might stop this army before they arrived.

CONFLAGRATION

It had only taken another hour to get Grimwald’s hybrid army to the archway which led into the main Temple courtyard. Normally, Gideon would have expected a number of guard patrols to intercept intruders before they got this far. And he already understood what it meant that they had not.

The priests of Shaddai were preparing to face an army—one they knew was coming. This was why they had sent out the lion pride. This was why no guards had been waiting for them along the way—why no audible alarm had been sounded. A battle was going to take place, perhaps in moments and everyone involved knew it.

Gideon felt sweat evaporating upon his brow in the cool breeze which now reached them. As he and General Grimwald rode to a stop under the great stone archway, they surveyed the vast, empty training ground of The Order of Shaddai. Normally, priests by the hundreds would have been assembled in small groups, sparring with one another, training with bows or practicing sword techniques. But nothing at all moved.

His eyes darted across the expanse, but he could not locate one single priest. Gideon hoped that the priests had evacuated, but he couldn’t make himself believe it. The priests of Shaddai did not run away from a fight. He supposed some would have certainly escaped with the parchment scrolls so precious to their Order; however, the majority would be waiting inside, somewhere, ready to strike.

Grimwald looked over at Gideon, a smirk on his face. He looked almost victorious. “I would have expected more from warriors of your caliber, Gideon,” Grimwald said.

Gideon looked at him in disbelief as the General turned back to the hybrid army lined up behind them. “It appears the priests have taken advantage of our delay back in the forest and ran. Nevertheless, I want a thorough search of this entire complex. Any parchments are to be brought to the center of the courtyard. If you locate any stragglers, I want them brought to me alive.” He turned back to Gideon. “We can find out where they’ve all gone, one way or another.” Grimwald rode forward beneath the arch into the courtyard.

Gideon stared at the man as he confidently led his hybrids beneath the arch into the Temple. “Oh, I already know where they are,” he muttered. Demon hybrids backed up behind Gideon’s horse. “Get moving, priest. Don’t think you’re going to hang back and get away.”

Gideon regarded the hideous features on the demonic face and then turned in his saddle. He rode on after Grimwald and his army as they began to fan out in the courtyard. As they passed several training stations on his right, Gideon noticed that all of the weapons were missing—in this case bows and arrows. Another station had an empty wooden barrel, which he remembered usually had been filled with swords.

Gideon’s eyes ran across the courtyard, then beyond to the first sets of stairs leading upward into the higher levels of the Temple. He searched the terraces and walkways running through the rock face of the chasm. There was not a soul visible, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

He suddenly realized what was about to happen—what plan of action the priests would execute. He reached for the heavy shield attached on the right side of his stallion’s saddle. Gideon turned around as the horse continued steadily forward with the flow of traffic.

All of Grimwald’s army was now inside the courtyard—beginning to fan out toward the lower level archways on all sides of the field and the great stone staircases in order to access all of the higher levels of the complex. Gideon realized now would have been the time to—

Arrows fell out of the sky like rain, sinking into the flesh of hybrids all around him. Gideon barely managed to raise the shield above his head before several trembling shafts sank into the black leather bound to steel on the front side. Howls of anger and pain rose up from the army of hybrids as war cries echoed out from the terraces and walkways above the courtyard, on every side.

Gideon saw his fellow priests rise from behind the stone walls with bows—more than a hundred in all. Arrow shafts flew from quivers to bowstrings with dizzying speed as they continued the onslaught upon the hybrid army below them. Several arrows pierced his stallion, sending the animal into a wild panic. Gideon pulled his sword from its sheath on the saddle and leaped away with his shield as the horse tore through the crowd in terror. It plowed through hybrid soldiers before being cut down by the ever-falling hail of arrows.

The entire host of Grimwald’s army had now scattered in search of cover. Gideon ran among them, dodging here and there, bumping into demon soldiers, many of which had several arrows sticking out of their bodies like pincushions. Still, these otherworldly soldiers carried on, defiant of death despite what their mortal bodies cried out for.

Gideon had no idea what had happened to General Grimwald in the ensuing chaos down on the training grounds. It was every man, or hybrid, for himself now and the majority was running for cover to the arched tunnels on all sides. But as they grew near, more cries resounded from the darkened archways which led back into the rock.

Heavily armed priests streamed out onto the courtyard toward the fleeing hybrids. Gideon saw them and immediately spotted their first mistake. In the priests’ attempt to keep the hybrids on the field under fire from their archers above, they had now mingled themselves with the targets. Just as he suspected, the hail of arrows ceased as the priests on the bottom level clashed with the first of the hybrids.

The demon possessed men with their greater strength had not been cut down in number nearly as much as was necessary for this company of priests to take them. The jutting arrows from their wounds only seemed to spur them on in fury. They hit the line of priests like a tidal wave and quickly smashed through their line. Now the priests were surrounded, mingled among the demons. With their otherworldly speed and strength they cut down many of the priests very quickly.

How many, Gideon wondered? How many of these warriors were still in training as apprentices. Their first battle, utilizing half learned techniques, would be their last. Gideon tried to stay out of the fighting with the priests, but several times he had to defend himself from sword attack. He never struck back at the priests trying to kill him, but they still didn’t last long with so many demon hybrids on the field.

Gideon noticed that the archers, unable to continue the fight from the protection of the stone terraces, had come down to entangle themselves in the struggle raging on the courtyard. He saw some of the brutes from Grimwald’s army falling, but not as many as he would have hoped. How he longed, right now, to join his fellow priests and strike down these abominable creatures, but the threat against his infant son remained foremost in his mind.

How long had the fighting been going on? To Gideon it already seemed like an eternity. So many men lay dead on the field now. In comparison, relatively few of Grimwald’s hybrids had fallen. Already, the brutes were pushing upward along the stairs, out onto the terraces, where they encountered more priests trying to make meager defenses. They only managed to cut down one or two before being overcome by the horde.

Despair gripped Gideon’s heart. He had lived in this place almost all of his life. So many happy memories stemmed from his time within these very walls. Now his betrayal was complete. He had led this army here and wrought the total destruction of his friends and fellows. But still his instinct to preserve the life of Sarah’s child burned within him. What else could he do, but watch and wait for it to all be over?

Something caught his attention then, as the battle seemed to wane—the last resistance to the demon hybrids already near failure. A man was running with a torch—one of the priests—half of his robes covered in blood running down from cuts to his face and head. He passed some of the brutes who took up a lumbering pursuit.

Gideon realized what was about to happen. He glanced upward at the rock wall encircling them all, reaching nearly a thousand feet into the air. He tore away from the courtyard as fast as he could manage. Already, the man passed beneath one of the archways on the lowest level with a dozen hybrids on his heels.

Gideon raced toward the closest archway he could find—to the only cover that would be available in a moment. Behind him, where the chase had ended, an explosion rocked the entire complex. A billowing jut of flame erupted from the tunnel where, only moments before, the torchbearer had entered. Nearly every living creature in the complex turned to see what was happening—everyone but Gideon. He already knew.

For years now, a plan had been in place at the Temple of Shaddai here in the Thornhill Mountains. Should the Temple complex ever be breached, as unthinkable as it was, then the entire thing would be destroyed so completely that no one would dare attempt such a thing on a Temple again. In such an event, the complex would become a deathtrap for whatever invading army had managed to break inside.

Isaiah, the High Priest, had once shown Gideon a portion of the network of high explosives which could be lit by torch if needed. And only a select few priests had any knowledge of the bomb. Gideon had been amazed by the ingenuity of it all. Isaiah had told him about a network of secret tunnels winding throughout the Temple complex, tunnels which had long ago been packed with gunpowder—tons of it. The High Priest had told him, “If an army, we cannot repel, ever takes the Temple, our last act will bring down the entire mountain.”

How prophetic those words had become as Gideon sprinted across the bloodstained grass, hoping to reach the archway just ahead, a passage that, if he remembered correctly, just might lead him out of this conflagration. Behind Gideon, fire and thunder traveled in the blink of an eye from the bottom of the chasm to the uttermost reaches still hidden within the clouds. The entire tubular face of the chasm fragmented as jagged red lines of fire cut through the rock, scattering it for gravity to wrench it down, down on top of the waiting army of demonic hybrids searching frantically below for some place to hide.

The entire mountain shook like the world coming to an end. Massive chunks of rock rained down, in place of the arrows the demons had only been annoyed with before, to dash them in pieces. Gideon strained to reach the tunnel ahead as fragments of rock peppered him from above. He winced against the smaller stones embedding beneath his skin, white hot. He screamed and channeled the pain into a last burst of energy that shot him down the tunnel as the entire chasm wall came down into the training grounds behind him. The light which had filtered through the arch into the tunnel, a moment ago, snuffed out into darkness.

BLIND TEARS

A thunderous rumble cascaded down into the valley and over the hill where Ethan, Seth and Levi Bonifast now resided on horseback. They had been long on their journey back toward the Temple of Shaddai with news of their failure to locate Gideon. They all looked toward the not-to-distant Thornhill Mountains ahead. The booming sound reverberated again and again like thunder that sometimes bounced among the clouds long before ending.

Levi removed his spyglass and extended it to its full length before peering through toward the mountains. “I’m not sure…maybe smoke. I can’t really tell with all the cloud cover.”

“Is it coming from anywhere near the Temple?” Seth asked.

Levi lowered the glass. “Now how in the world would I know that?”

Ethan tried to see the smoke the captain had mentioned. Indeed, the cloud cover, which perpetually hung around the tops of the mountain range also providing cover for the chasm which housed the Temple, prevented them from really seeing anything substantial.

“Perhaps, cannon fire…it does sound similar,” Seth said as the noise began to dissipate.

Ethan surveyed what he could of Millertown, small and inconsequential, beneath the base of the mountains. “It certainly doesn’t look like anything going on in town.”

They started forward again. Whatever had happened, they still had to reach the Temple. News of Mordred’s preparations for war with Wayland could be relayed across the border by falcon to King Stephen. Whatever Mordred had planned, it wasn’t going to be good, or long before it happened.

Nearly a day later, Ethan stood motionless—breathless. He could not believe what he was seeing. He, Seth, and Levi had now attempted four different entryways into the Temple complex—all unsuccessful. The river, which had made its complex circuit around the Temple, had backed up in one place and in another was now a damp bed of mud and polished stones.

“Someone has dammed the river downstream,” Levi had observed.

They had finally come through the pine forest. Within, lying strewn upon the thick beds of dead needles, were the bodies of lions from the pride raised within The Order and the bodies of what could only be called vaguely human soldiers. Ethan had only been to see the pride once with Gideon. Over a hundred lions had resided in the covert kept especially for them.

Here, beneath the archway beyond the forest, they had stopped riding. Only a few pieces of the chiseled archway, with its ancient lettering still visible, remained. The rest had been pulverized beneath an insurmountable pile of rubble. The pile itself smoldered in the sun, which now shone bright upon the old ground of the Temple—direct sunlight, which until now had been prevented by the walls of the deep chasm into which the Temple had been established hundreds of years before.

The smell of gunpowder and rock dust hung heavy in the air. The wind blowing through the mountains now whistled across holes and crevasses in the heap of charred stone. Bonifast sighed. Ethan remained speechless. He glanced over at Seth. The blind priest had said nothing. Despite his inability to see, Ethan thought the man probably knew what had happened. Tears tracked down his cheeks. He turned to Ethan with a wan smile. “What do you see, Ethan?” The words came out choked.

Ethan wasn’t sure how he could describe it. He had no words to express the pain within his heart. “It’s…gone,” he whispered hoarsely. Ethan looked back at what once had been the home of The Order of Shaddai. “It’s just gone.”

“How could this have happened?” Levi asked, bewildered.

“Mordred did this—” Ethan spat out the words.

“Yes, but how could he manage it?” Levi said. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Mordred didn’t do it,” Seth said quietly. Both Ethan and Levi looked at him dumbfounded. “Isaiah once confided to me that The Order was prepared to defend the Temple to the death—to its complete destruction. Before traveling to Macedon, I had even served as a torchbearer—one of the few chosen to ignite a network of gunpowder reservoirs running throughout the entire complex.”

Levi still looked perplexed. “But why would they do that?”

“Because they would not allow the Temple to be desecrated by invaders,” Seth said. “The truth is that no one ever thought such dire circumstances would arise—the Temple having been so well protected for so long. But with the bodies in the forest and the pride lions all dead, I suppose that contingency finally came due.”

“So they’re all dead then: Isaiah and the others?” Ethan asked.

Seth turned to him, a slight hope present even in the stare of his blind eyes. “No. Isaiah was duty bound, as the High Priest, to leave the Temple. He would have taken some of the priests with him and the parchment scrolls of Shaddai’s Word.”

“But where would they go from here?” Levi asked.

Seth smiled a little, the hope growing in his heart. “Wayland,” he said. “The Order has a Temple there as well. It’s not as elaborate, or hidden away, but they’ve always had good relations with the Royal House there.”

Ethan turned his horse, ready to look no more on the devastation here. “Then that’s where we need to go.”

WAYLAND

Leaving the Thornhill Mountains behind them and crossing into the realm of Wayland, had been fairly uneventful. A small fortress, erected over the only road, housed several hundred men, cannon, horses, and the beginning of a signal fire network, to which speedy response could be made to any invasion through loyal militia scattered along the countryside. Apart from the fortress itself, Ethan and his company had found a defensive wall stretching out from the fortress on either side, both terminating into the last vestiges of jagged rock the Thornhills had to offer.

The guards at the fortress had seemed a bit on edge at the time of their passing, but they’d still been civil enough to outfit them with provisions: food and water and fresh horses. Those holding positions atop the fifty-foot block wall remained alert the entire time. Ethan had watched them carefully from a distance. Even Levi had remarked that these men all seemed to expect an attack at any moment.

Perhaps King Stephen had made preparations along his borders following their defeat at Emmanuel. Or maybe he knew war was imminent. Ethan and Levi had certainly seen enough preparation in progress within the white-walled city when they’d gone looking for Gideon. Giants housed on the training grounds and great engines of war stood ready, but logistically, Ethan couldn’t see them marched through the narrow and treacherous mountain pass to Wayland.

As they rode through the grassy plains Levi spoke up first. “I’m wondering if it’s in our best interest for you to seek an audience with King Stephen.”

Ethan looked back over his shoulder, puzzled by the statement. “What do you mean? Surely we need to find out if Isaiah has fled to Wayland with the Word. Besides, if he’s looking for an invasion then we can tell him what we saw in Emmanuel.”

Levi’s face twisted a little as though he weren’t quite sure he should say what he meant to say. “That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. I was thinking, after our last encounter with the king, that he might still have a sore spot where the Deliverer was concerned.”

Now Ethan understood. Stephen had insinuated, after his defeat at Emmanuel, that Shaddai had abandoned them all by not sending victory by his hand, despite the fact that the prophecy said, the Deliverer would come to defeat Mordred. Stephen had placed himself in the role instead and gone to war, hoping to fulfill the prophecy in his own time. His defeat had been absolute, and what remained of his battered army had limped back to Wayland like dogs with their tales tucked between their legs.

“You might be right,” Ethan said. “But we’ve got to find out about Isaiah. Seth, do you know where the Temple resides in Wayland?”

“I’ve never been to Wayland at all,” Seth said. “Besides, the king has almost certainly been informed of our passing at the wall. As hostile to the Deliverer as he might be, it might be worse if we appeared to be avoiding him.”

Another two days travel had brought them to a village named Fenceton. The people, wary at first, had become hospitable, even friendly, once they understood that Ethan and Seth were both priests of The Order of Shaddai. One man, the owner of a tavern in the town, had even sailed with Levi years ago during his pirating days.

They both sat enjoying talk of old times and the direction of their changed lives while Seth and Ethan discussed their plans over two bowls of stew. They weren’t quite sure what the meat was, but it was still good and much appreciated after their long journey from Nod.

“Despite Levi’s reservations about the king, I think we must seek an audience with him,” Seth said. “These villagers don’t know how to direct us to the Temple and from what I’ve heard here, the presiding High Priest is also a part of Stephen’s government—an advisor to His Majesty.”

“True,” Ethan replied. He sipped broth from a wooden spoon and then dipped a piece of bread into the stew. Rain patted on the roof of the tavern, but the fire kept them warm within.

The door opened, revealing soldiers in the polished silver armor of Wayland. They filed into the room, a half dozen of them all soaking wet with rivulets of water streaming across their steel breastplates, now bright orange in the light of the fire. The first to come inside spoke with a voice full of gravel. “Where are the priests who come from Nod?”

Ethan glanced at Seth and then at the soldiers. He stood up from his chair slowly at the back of the room. Seth followed his lead. “We’re here,” Ethan said politely. He hoped the king had sent a royal escort for them, but in the back of his mind, he didn’t believe it was likely.

The soldier, clearly the commanding officer, stepped aside allowing several others to move forward, with their swords drawn, preparing to take Ethan and Seth.

“Officer, we’ve not come to make any trouble,” Ethan said. “There’s no need to take us into custody. We seek an audience with His Majesty.”

The commander stifled a laugh. “Oh, you’ll have an audience all right—in chains.”

Levi moved across the room, his hot disapproval leading the way in aggravated tones. “I can’t believe this is the welcome we’ve received on a mission meant to notifying the king of his enemy’s plans to invade!”

The commander whipped his sword out of its scabbard. Levi boldly walked up to the commanding officer, placing the tip of the weapon on his chest. “These priests are in my company, a captain commissioned by King Stephen himself. You’d better release them immediately, or I’ll see to it personally that His Majesty has your head for this injustice!”

The commanding officer backed off and lowered the tip of his sword, making obeisance in the process with a slight bow. “I’m sorry, sir. I had no idea.”

“Well, it’s not a problem,” Levi said, now becoming cheery. He turned toward Ethan, all smiles and said, with a wink, “We’re all willing to overlook a perfectly honest mistake, aren’t we?”

The pommel of the commanding officer’s sword came crashing down across the back of Levi’s head, sending him sprawling to the floor. “Oh, thank you, sir,” he said, laughing. To his own men he said, “Clap them in irons. The king is waiting.”

VOICES

Gideon followed the smooth stone wall of the pitch black corridor. He thought he knew where the tunnel led, but in the dark he couldn’t be sure. Chaos had reigned on the training field prior to the explosions which had brought down the mountain around them. He coughed on the dust still hanging in the air, unseen.

Gideon’s progress remained slow going and he had no idea how long he’d been following this wall. Several times his fingers had scrambled across breaks in the corridor, doors that opened to more darkness. He fought the urge to change directions, at least until he’d exhausted this route. It would be far too easy to become hopelessly lost among the tunnels used by The Order.

After what could have easily been hours searching, Gideon spotted a small shaft of light piercing the tunnel ahead. He stumbled toward it, drawn like a moth to a flame. The darkness seemed all consuming around him. He had to get out somehow.

When Gideon reached the light, he realized the entire tunnel had collapsed just ahead of where he was standing. The light poured in through jagged pieces of rock piled on top of one another. As he peered through the opening, Gideon noticed other small breaks in the rock allowing light to filter through.

He was so close to freedom, but still trapped. There appeared to be nowhere else to go. Back the way he’d come, the entrance had been sealed by the ensuing avalanche. Here on this end, it appeared to be the same. All other routes might lead to nowhere in the darkness. Even if he tried the other ways, he might become lost and never find his way back to this place again.

Despair descended upon him. How had he come to this place? In the back of his mind, this all seemed like divine justice for his betrayal of The Order—his betrayal of Shaddai. Still, he couldn’t will himself to simply accept this fate. He had to try and get free—die trying at the very least.

Gideon pushed his fingers into the opening among the rocks. Nothing budged as he applied as much pressure as he could stand. He tried again, screaming as he strained to shift any part of the stones piled above him. It suddenly occurred to him that he might manage to shift the stones only to have the whole heap collapse on top of him. But he couldn’t stand it. He had to try anyway. If it crushed him, then so be it. At least he wouldn’t have to sit here and die of thirst, scrabbling desperately at a few rays of sunlight.

However, try as he might, Gideon couldn’t budge a single stone. All remained locked against him with only the slightest measure of light coming through. He panted as his muscles relaxed. A search of the tunnel itself yielded nothing that could be used to pry the stones. He was trapped indefinitely.

Gideon slumped back against the wall and sat on the stone floor. His breathing slowed as he watched the light, a beacon in the night taunting him with his hopelessness. He sat watching it for a long time, resigning himself more each moment to his fate. It was over.

Your child is lost to Mordred and his demons. At the very least, he will die. But if not, what manner of man might he become? Another brutal warlord, only kept alive to amuse the dark lord for his victory over Shaddai’s priest? His knowledge of his own father, if any, would be that of a traitor to his Order, a weak minded fool not worthy of being remembered.

Voices echoed in Gideon’s mind—but not his own. As he watched the light dim to orange, becoming pale blues and grays, Gideon realized he was not as alone as he might have thought. The voices continued, taunting him, writhing in the darkness around him unseen, disembodied.

“Who are you!” he shouted.

Laughter.

Gideon stood now, his anger burning through his despair. “Show yourself, demon!”

More laughter, but then the voice took form. An image appeared, almost human in appearance, but decidedly not. The demon hung upon the wall completely oblivious to any constraints of gravity. Gideon stood firm, unafraid. The demon’s appearance was at least a little better than dying alone—he hoped. If it was here, then almost certainly there was a purpose. And maybe that meant he must be freed from his tomb.

“Enough of your games,” he challenged. “State your business, so I can get on with my dying in peace.”

The demon smiled at this. “A welcome event I can assure you, priest.” The smile faded. “But Mordred isn’t finished with you yet.”

“There’s nothing I can do about that,” Gideon said. “I’m trapped here and there’s no way out. He can’t command a corpse.”

The demon didn’t seem fazed by his indifference in the least. “You will journey to Wayland, priest. There you will assassinate King Stephen in a public place. If, in the process, you should find the Deliverer of prophecy, you will also kill him.”

“To the Pit with you!” Gideon shouted. “I can’t go anywhere now!”

The demon leered at him and then swiped his arm across the rock where the light shone into the tunnel. The mass of stone erupted outward in all directions, leaving a gaping wound in the tunnel for Gideon to climb out.

The demon faded away in the darkness, its last statement barely above a whisper. “Fail and your Sarah’s child will perish slowly in flame.”

KING STEPHEN

Gideon knew well what the demon had meant by Sarah’s child perishing in flame. If his son grew in the care of Mordred, he would be taught to hate Shaddai and would ultimately reject salvation for the wickedness he would be brought up to love. It wasn’t death by Mordred’s hand that threatened his child, but the life he would live and the soul he would lose, if Gideon failed.

Upon coming out of his rocky tomb, Gideon had found his former home, the Temple of Shaddai, more ruined than he could have imagined. This place where generations of Shaddai’s priests had served their lord for centuries, now stood a gaping crater in the side of the mountain—a smoldering pile of rubble. He could not discern any part of the structure left intact. No one human, or animal, stirred. Of all the priests who had remained to fight Grimwald’s army of hybrids, none remained alive.

For Grimwald’s part, the same was true. There was no sign of the venomous general or his demonic soldiers anywhere in the great smoking quarry that remained. He had been buried beneath tons of rock with every abomination he’d bred and brought into Shaddai’s Temple. Perhaps this was Shaddai’s will. It pleased Gideon to think that Shaddai’s servants had served him faithfully to their ends. The army Mordred had sent had perished with the prize they had come to take. A fitting end.

And still, for some reason, Gideon could not discern, he remained alive. Why had Shaddai allowed him to go on when all the others had died in this cataclysm? Perhaps to let him live with the agony of his own betrayal—to see what his traitorous actions had caused. He couldn’t be sure, but one thing remained. His son lived and Gideon would see this mission through in order to save him. It was all he had left.

Two days more, traveling through the old passages used by his former Order, had brought Gideon to the very edge of the Thornhill Mountains. Before him lay King Stephen’s Wall, the guarded boundary between Wayland and Nod. King Stephen had commissioned its building once Mordred’s power grew in Nod and it became clear that he would eventually seek to conquer Wayland, as well as the other nations around him.

So far, the mountains and the wall beyond had kept the threat neutralized. In fact, Mordred had not even tried, yet, to enter Stephen’s country. But that wouldn’t last. Gideon had seen the preparations being made back in Emmanuel for just such an invasion. Mordred would come. The only question being when?

Gideon watched the fortress which stood over the road proceeding into Wayland. The wall itself was virtually impossible to climb over. Not only for the height of it, but that jagged, razor sharp protrusions were the only things to grab hold of. Only a little pressure was necessary to slice right into hands or feet coming into contact with them.

The only way through the wall was the fortress itself. It was fortified, but only by men. And Gideon had no problem facing men. Fortunately, nightfall approached. Soon he could make his way to the gate and then inside. From there, he would secure any weapons he might need in silence and if possible leave the same way: unnoticed. He didn’t want to be forced to kill any of Stephen’s soldiers, but he would do what he must. After all, what difference would it really make when he intended to assassinate the King himself?

It was the first thing Ethan noticed, once there carriage had cleared the inner wall of Evelah City, the capital of Wayland. The King’s palace jutted up above every other building like some great citadel among huts in a village. And with all the other buildings no taller than two or three stories, nothing else came close to it in height.

This layout might have made for a thieves paradise, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, had it not been for the peculiar manner of construction prevalent in the city. Most of the buildings employed a domed roof with either points or ornaments topping them off. Indeed many of these were adorned with intricate design, but none of them gave so much as a good foothold for a man to stand upon. Stephen’s soldiers definitely wouldn’t be shooting invaders from the safety of their rooftops.

Levi grumbled next to him in the carriage—actually a steel cage lacking any real covering that might protect them from the weather. In three days travel, they had been rained on for two, and they were still soaked nearly to the bone. “A fine welcome the king sends for those who’ve served him faithfully,” Levi said, leering at the castle rising before them.

Its splendor didn’t quite rival the palace in Emmanuel, but it was posh nonetheless. Touches of gold played against the dark stone used in the structure to an elegant effect. And the people they passed dwelling in the shadow of Stephen’s edifice appeared to be content. Ethan wondered if they had any inkling of what Mordred was going to send upon them at his earliest convenience. The giants alone would have an easy time smashing their meager dwellings to kindling.

Only the wall appeared ready for imminent invasion. Ethan had noticed its great width—enough to put many soldiers on. A great river ran at Evelah’s back, beyond several miles of thickly planted forest land. The wall remained the only approach for any army making the attempt.

Ethan watched Seth. The blind priest of Shaddai hadn’t spoken in sometime and, despite the wet and the cold, he remained passive.

“I still say, you should get out of here, Ethan,” Levi complained. “Disappear out of this cage and away with you. Stephen’s fury is most likely to fall upon you anyway. You saw how he was toward the prophecy.”

Ethan smiled, tightening his folded arms against his body for warmth. “I couldn’t leave the two of you. Who knows what this is actually about?”

“I would agree with the Captain,” Seth added. “Whatever the king’s intentions, this welcome wagon he’s sent for us doesn’t bode well. At the least you might escape and remain free to aid us should it go badly when we come before him.”

Ethan considered it. Curious eyes followed their progress through the streets of the city. These people didn’t look like they were used to seeing prisoners paraded through their midst on a regular basis. “There’s no rush. I can realm shift anytime,” Ethan said. “I’m actually very curious to see what the King means by all of this. And most likely Isaiah will be somewhere nearby. I’m sure he wouldn’t allow Stephen to do anything rash concerning his priests.”

“Don’t be too sure,” Levi said. “Stephen’s mood, following the loss of nearly his entire army, was nothing like the man who led me to a saving faith in Shaddai. He’s changed and not for the better.”

The carriage lumbered on until it finally wound through Evelah’s wide lanes to the gate of the palace itself. A wall, two stories high, encircled the entire structure. Archers stood watch at equidistant posts upon the wall, looking, for the most part, bored—past even the hope of something interesting occurring. When they saw the carriage, however, most of them perked up a bit. Perhaps they might get the chance to shoot a fleeing prisoner in the back after all. One of the soldiers grinned at another, pointing.

They stopped inside the palace courtyard, where a brick pathway led toward the main entry beyond. Several guards had come down from the wall eager to help unload the prisoners—just in case. Despite Levi’s leering at them, Ethan and his companions gave the soldiers no trouble and were led quickly into the palace with their hands still held fast in iron shackles.

Two great, wooden doors, bearing iron bands, parted before them as they sloshed with their wet sandals upon the cold stones. Beyond, at the far end of a tall and crowded throne room, sat King Stephen upon a high-backed throne of silver. The silver bird of prey, his family’s crest, flew upon a sky of purple on the massive tapestry above him on the wall.

Ethan might have expected the man to remain disheartened, following the terrible defeat he had faced in Nod at the white walls of Emmanuel City, but King Stephen appeared more vexed than before. On the Emmanuel Road, leading away from the battlefield, Ethan had met a regal king, bloodied and battered to be sure, but still proud and honorable even in defeat. Here, sitting upon his throne now, Stephen held the wild eye of a predator—primal and dangerous.

At least two dozen guards escorted them down the narrow purple carpet leading up to Stephen’s throne. Ethan watched the faces of courtiers and ladies dressed in their finery. These dangerous prisoners provided the latest intrigue for those who lived for it. Some turned away when he met their gaze. Others mused in whispers with their neighbors, and a few young ladies even batted their eyes seductively at him. Ethan turned away, blushing. He found Levi rolling his eyes at him instead.

As they approached the throne, Stephen tensed like a cat ready to spring upon a cornered mouse. He placed a silver, jewel-encrusted goblet down upon a tray holding fresh cut fruit and pieces of sliced beef and cheese, almost spilling it all with the force of the gesture. But his eyes never left the men approaching him.

Ethan, Levi and Seth came to stand just before the short set of steps leading onto the throne platform. Stephen’s eyes found Ethan in particular, his eyes burning into him as though he might kill this priest of Shaddai with his stare alone.

Levi bowed before the king, his manacles clanking around his wrists. But Stephen’s eyes didn’t depart from Ethan until the Captain spoke. “Your Majesty,” he said, employing all the diplomacy an ex-pirate might muster. “I’m glad to see that you are well—”

King Stephen seized upon the intrusion like an adder’s strike. “And why should I not be, Captain Bonifast? Did you think me so stupid that I would not know the mischief you’ve conjured against me with this villainous dog?”

Levi’s jaw fell slack in confusion. Stephen’s finger trembled, outstretched toward Ethan to emphasize his last syllable. Ethan gulped down the lump building in his throat. Caution was called for, only he wasn’t sure what he could have possibly done to gain the King’s fury.

Levi interceded before the question could spring from Ethan’s lips. “Your Majesty, I’m quite certain there must be some mistake. Ethan has been loyal to The Order of Shaddai since the time you met him on that fateful day so many months ago. Isaiah himself, I’m sure, would be glad to vouch for his unshakeable character and bravery against our mutual enemy.”

“You mean to say ally, Captain,” Stephen shook visibly as he spoke, his anger a furnace barely contained. “My spies have brought me word of the young Nodian priest who has turned to ally himself with Mordred. Do not think that I will be swayed by a rogue’s tongue from that which I know to be fact! You are clearly here in Wayland to spy us out before the invasion already on its way around Cape Redemption, set to land on these very shores at my doorstep.”

He stood now, quivering with rage as he spoke. “Had I not wanted to see you in this villain’s company for myself, I would have had my men execute you on the spot in Fenceton!”

Ethan could stand no more of these false accusations. He spoke up in a loud authoritative voice, surprising himself. “Your Highness, despite the accusations brought against me, I remain a faithful priest to my Order and servant of the Lord, Shaddai. He has sent me to proclaim the hour of his deliverance and to dispense his justice.”

King Stephen thrust his finger toward Ethan furiously. “How dare you insinuate yourself into the prophecy? Guards, kill them all immediately!”

What happened in only a fraction of a second, for everyone else, seemed to drag into long minutes for Ethan. He phased into the spiritual realm, more spectral than truly invisible, passing through the shackles binding his wrists as six of the soldiers standing guard around them drew their bows and released their arrows.

Seth had begun to react. Levi hadn’t yet. Several guards had started to release their swords with bloodlust in their eyes.

Six arrow shafts split the atmosphere toward the place where Ethan had been standing and where his friends still stood. He danced elegantly among the arrows, turning to each in turn with gentle glancing sweeps of his hands, caressing them into changes of trajectory—the archers becoming the new targets.

As six arrows dashed into the right thighs of the six archers who had fired them, Ethan’s spiritual blade split into two, leaping to his hands already in motion. He divided each of the other guard’s swords through their scabbards, barely a blur to the naked eye, even before the men could finish drawing them.

Ethan became fully flesh once again. His empty manacles completed their descent to the purple runway carpet behind him with a dull clank. Levi jumped, only having just begun to raise his bound hands, trying to ward off the archers he’d known were going to fire. The archers, for their part, fell to the floor in pain, grasping their wounded legs, as stunned as anyone.

King Stephen stood there, heaving, his mouth agape in disbelief. The court fell silent as gasps of alarm and the sound of severed sword blades hitting the floor died away. After a long moment, staring at Ethan, Stephen said, “You can’t be him.”

Ethan straightened, a calm assurance he’d never felt before growing in his chest. “I am Shaddai’s Deliverer, Your Highness. In the name of The Sovereign Lord of Creation, I demand that you release us.”

No one moved. The guards looked at one another, then to their king, dumbfounded. Levi smiled, all teeth, raising his manacles with a shake, intending that someone produce a key to affect his immediate release.

Ethan might have rolled his eyes at his friend, but felt the moment required a firmer stance. He had expected the King’s obstinacy to evaporate; only it didn’t.

King Stephen looked shocked, as though Ethan had just slapped his face. “What did you say to me, boy? I’ll have your head before you demand another thing from me! And your traitorous friends will share your fate.”

Ethan tried to calm down, to think rationally. Something wasn’t right here. Why was the King acting this way? He sensed Seth and Levi’s unease now. They were preparing to move fast if it became necessary.

Ethan’s flesh tingled as though ants were crawling underneath his skin. And then he realized what was happening. He searched beyond what natural sight could show him. His vision shifted somewhat. Black tendrils of smoke became visible to him. They seemed to emanate from the king’s throne, as though it had been on fire briefly and then extinguished.

He heard the voices too—many of them all whispering at once. Wicked, blasphemous thoughts full of venom were seeping into King Stephen as he stood near the silver throne. Ethan lunged instinctively for the King. He shifted from the physical to the spiritual realm—barely a visible specter when he passed through Stephen’s body with his raised sword.

Piercing shrieks rose from the throne, multiplying in intensity as Ethan slashed down through the ornate silver chair with its regal purple upholstery. He cleaved the high back in two diagonally, with his first strike, then severed the seat and arms from the base with his next.

Spirits, like gnashing black eels, shot away from the ruined piece of furniture. King Stephen collapsed upon the platform, a marionette whose strings had been cut. The spirits evaporated—their screeching curses the only residue remaining until all fell silent again.

Ethan returned to his physical form as people rushed to the fallen king. “Is he still alive?” Levi asked.

Ethan felt Stephen’s heart still beating in his chest and sighed with relief. “Yes, he only fainted, I think.”

“I saw those serpents come out of the throne when you destroyed it,” Levi said. “What were they?”

“I suppose they must have been some sort of demon I’ve never encountered before. They may have caused the King to act that way.” Ethan hoped he was right. This theory would answer many things and keep them from going to war with the King in his own throne room if he recovered.

Levi stood up, assuming command. “All right, you lot,” he said, referring to the guards who stood about gaping at the madness they had just witnessed and their king still lying unconscious on the throne room floor. “Let’s get King Stephen into his bedchamber on the double.” When they dawdled around, looking at one another, Levi raised his voice even louder. “What’s the matter? Haven’t you ever seen a demon possessed chair before? Now, get moving, or I’ll inform the King of your laziness when he wakes up!”

This appeared to be enough incentive. Men quickly came out of the woodwork to help move the King safely into his own bed. Levi looked pleased with the turn of events and their escape from kingly wrath, until he realized no one had ever released him. “And let’s get a key on these manacles, shall we?”

INTRUDER

Gideon watched silently, from a patch of thick yellow grass, for two hours, as the two guards stood half asleep before the main gate, leaning precariously upon their spears. The sun had set more than two hours ago, and he felt sure that he had their routine pretty well figured out.

Every half hour, the guards were required to call out “all’s well,” and the gatekeepers replied in kind. Gideon hoped they might follow a standard protocol, relieving these men now that nightfall had come. This meant he wouldn’t have long to act.

With the night as his cover, Gideon eased from his patch of grass so that its rustling wouldn’t startle the men. He approached silently, remaining out of view of the guard who should have been facing him but was instead trying precariously to get his pipe lit. Gideon sprang.

He snapped the neck of the guard nearest him; the one with his back turned, relieved the man of his spear and swung it toward the man with the pipe just as the guard raised his eyes to the disturbance. The wooden end of the spear struck him across the mouth, sending the lit tobacco flying through the darkness like scalded fireflies. The guard mumbled in pain, but with a broken jaw, he wouldn’t be crying out any alarms in the near future. Gideon stuck him across the back of the neck and he fell unconscious with several of his own teeth oozing out from between his bloody lips.

Gideon worked fast, pulling the unconscious man out of sight into the undergrowth. The other guard he relieved of his uniform. He hid the body before assuming the man’s post with spear in hand.

He didn’t have long to wait before a cry spread across the wall to change the guard. Gideon waited until he heard a slide in the gate and a man calling to him from the other side. “Ready to come in for the night, lads?”

“Aye, it’s getting a bit chilly out here and I need to relieve myself, besides,” Gideon replied. The man closed the slide, where only his eyes had peered through into the darkness, and began to unfasten the mechanism holding the main gate into its locked position. He heard the clank of heavy metal, the withdrawal of counterweights, and knew he never would have forced it open. He smiled. This was too easy.

First one guard, then another emerged from the gate as it opened slightly behind Gideon. He stood his post just inside the torchlight, waiting for these men to notice the obvious.

“Hey, what happened to Izzy?” the first guard asked.

“I told you, I need to relieve myself,” Gideon said. “Izzy couldn’t wait.”

The second man wandered toward the darkness, calling for Izzy as the first replacement turned to face Gideon. When the man saw his face in the light and didn’t recognize it, he started to cry out. Gideon lashed out like a viper and hit the man in the throat with two fingers. The guard gasped weakly, once, before Gideon followed through with an elbow, covered in metal gauntlets, to the face. Down he went. Gideon caught the other man before he could turn completely around. He brought the handle of his spear down on the man’s collarbone with enough force to send the guard crashing, unconscious, to the ground.

Within moments a call of “all’s well,” resounded across all stations upon the wall above him. Gideon paused from hiding the unconscious men’s bodies and called out to them. “All’s well!” The main gate still stood askew. He now had one half hour in order to get a few essential supplies and escape through the other side of the fortress before anyone realized the main gate had been compromised.

Gideon squeezed inside the gate and pulled the large lever to reset the spring and lock on the main gate. A dirt courtyard opened up beyond the raised portcullis above him. Sheep bleated contentedly in a pen to his left while a horse stable, lit by lamps, stood directly across from him at the rear. Beyond that, another set of heavy doors stood, which must have left out of the fortress, following the main road into the Wayland. Before he could go, he had to get food and water. It had been too long since he’d eaten and Gideon had no idea how long it would be before he came upon a town along the way.

The rest of the fortress seemed to be comprised of several stocky buildings, which must have housed the troops themselves and any facilities they might need. His best course of action would be to avoid any place with a buildup of soldiers. As he walked out into the courtyard, Gideon saw men on guard within towers and on the wall behind him.

A cistern, full of rain water, stood on his way to the horse-stalls. He stopped and bent over the edge, drinking deeply. The water was cool and refreshing—not as clean as a running stream, but not bad. Other men walked through the courtyard in pairs, but no one came near him.

Gideon decided a search for a water pouch would be too risky. If he could only find a bow, he would easily be able to hunt for any food he needed. Still, he did have a nice heavy dagger on this belt. That would be useful for hunting too, if not for making his own bow and arrows once he got out of here.

He wiped the excess water from his face and started toward the stalls. Several men tended to the horses in the well lit barn, but there were guards inside who appeared to be instructing the laborers on some aspect of their animal’s care. Gideon looked beyond them to the doors at the far end. By the time he incapacitated the guards and men caring for the horses, stole a horse, then opened the doors to get away, he’d have the entire place coming down on him.

It was well known that those in the highest command positions at this fort had also been trained by The Order of Shaddai. Unfortunately the matter had turned into somewhat of a scandalous affair between Isaiah and the High Priest of Wayland’s Temple, Sandoval. The latter had considered it a matter of personal service to King Stephen, while Isaiah felt it best for The Order to remain out of each country’s political affairs. Still, if those men answered the alarm, Gideon would probably not make it out alive. He needed some way to get a horse and get out.

Gideon spotted a servant carrying a bucket of pitch and fresh torches in a sack upon his back. At each place where a torch waned, the servant dipped the new torch into the bucket, coating it well, then lit it before setting it in place of the other. Gideon smiled. He had his diversion.

Gideon followed the servant and came upon him as he passed through shadows upon the courtyard near one of the buildings. He took the bucket of pitch and made sure no one appeared to be looking his way. Then, in darkness, he ran toward the horse stalls and launched the bucket up and away.

It collided with the top of the archway leading into the stalls and exploded. Pitch flew out from the arch and dripped below it onto the hay strewn upon the ground. Next, Gideon grabbed a torch from a nearby mount and sent it careening through the air. It landed near the base of the arch quickly setting the pitch aflame.

As the fire spread, the men inside with the horses cried out and sounded a bell alarm within the barn. Men came rushing from everywhere. Gideon ran through a breach in the flames before it engulfed the entire entrance beneath the archway. He was inside the barn with the frantic men and animals.

Guards cried out instructions beyond the flames where Gideon had come from, but for the moment they couldn’t get through. The horses grew impatient to be set free, the men and soldiers within the barn barely able to control them.

“Loose the horses!” Gideon shouted over the din. Two of the servants looked at him, puzzled, until Gideon pointed to the back doors leading out of the fortress. “Open the rear doors, you fools, and set these poor animals free before they roast alive!”

The men seemed to catch his meaning and ran for the doors. One even managed to get one of the soldiers to help. Soon the rear doors were swinging open to the outside world and the main road beyond. Gideon ran to the stalls and began to loose the locks on them.

The horses, only too glad to be set free, pushed through the stall doors and dashed out of the fortress as fast as the men could free them. Gideon spotted the animal chosen to bear him to Wayland’s capital. He grabbed a saddle and quickly set to work harnessing the animal. The mare, with her patchwork brown and white coat, reminded Gideon of his former horse. He opened the stall door and led the horse out, pulling the reins to keep her from taking off without him.

One of the soldiers turned from another animal and saw Gideon climbing onto the mare. “Hey! What are you doing?”

Gideon lashed out with a boot and clipped the man’s head, knocking him to the ground. Gideon goaded the mare. They launched out through the doors. The soldier regained himself, standing and crying out in alarm after the one who had just stolen his horse.

DESPERADO

Daybreak had come nearly an hour before by the time Gideon decided it was time to stop and allow his horse some rest and both of them something to eat. He’d found a shallow brook off the main road and tied the horse so that it could graze and water itself.

With only his borrowed dagger, from the soldier’s uniform, Gideon went in search of prey. Basing himself among the branches of a fir tree near the same stream, he soon spotted a fat rabbit coming to the water. His dagger found its mark, and soon Gideon had the rabbit skinned and roasting nicely upon a spit over a little fire.

He stretched his sore muscles, hoping for a relaxing few hours of sleep once he’d eaten. His horse raised its head, nickering. Gideon stopped breathing, listening. The birds, active in the trees only a moment before, had gone silent.

Gideon’s eyes flew to the tuft of grass where he had buried the remains of the rabbit in order to hide signs of his passing. The dagger stuck there in the earth where he’d left it. He scanned the trees with his eyes only. Nothing that he could see. But he still felt—Gideon leaped from his place on the opposite side of the fire, over the dagger, reaching for the pommel. The slightest movement accompanied by a hiss of air caused him to retract his arm just in time.

A broad-tipped arrow sliced across his forearm, passing on to embed itself in the ground next to the dagger. Gideon bounced once on the balls of his feet and turned in midair as another arrow flew parallel across his chest to sink into a tree behind him.

On the ground again, Gideon spotted two of the bowmen. One of them pulled an arrow from his quiver. The other released his bowstring, sending a wooden shaft straight for his heart. Gideon caught it and dodged the second by mere inches. These men weren’t average soldiers by any means. He compared his own uniform with what he saw them wearing and concluded that they must outrank the man he’d assaulted by the main gate of the fortress the night before.

Most likely these were some of the officers which had been trained by The Order here in Wayland. Isaiah’s stand against the practice, several years earlier, now seemed like an especially good idea. If only he’d managed to convince the High Priest in Wayland at the time.

Gideon spotted his horse still tied to a branch near the stream. The bowmen were too close. If he got in the saddle right now, with the horse halfway between him and his attacker, they would easily pick him off. Instead, Gideon dodged another arrow and ran away from them.

He moved in a zigzag random pattern, ducking and weaving as he heard bowstrings release behind him. The abundance of trees provided ample cover, but then he heard the thunder of hooves and spotted two more soldiers approaching on his right flank. He was being hemmed in.

Gideon shifted direction again—this time toward the horsemen—the exact opposite of the way any sane man would’ve have gone. Using the trees for cover, he came upon the horsemen unawares and, without breaking his sprinting stride, leaped up at the first, kicking the man from the saddle with a shot to the side of the head. The second rider pulled up short in a hurry and tried to draw his sword. But Gideon was too fast and launched himself bodily at the man. Both of them tumbled over the side of the horse. The rider landed beneath him, the fall snapping the soldier’s neck.

Gideon leaped back into the saddle of the nearest horse, smiling as he found a bow and full quiver attached to the back of the saddle. He kicked hard into the animal and sent it galloping hard for the main road. If the two bowmen were the only soldier’s left on his tail, he could at least draw them out of their cover.

No sooner had he come upon the main road than he saw two more riders emerge from the trees behind him on the highway. From the looks of them, his bowmen had now come out of hiding in full pursuit. With perhaps one hundred yards of distance between them, Gideon turned back on the riders and tore off towards them—all three men now in a hard gallop.

Gideon pulled the bow to him and an arrow from the quiver jostling on the back of his speeding horse. He kept an eye on both men—one released and arrow as he nocked his first. Gideon yanked the reins as he saw the man’s fingers leave the string. The arrow sailed nearby his left shoulder.

Gideon pulled back on the string as the horse thundered beneath him, bringing the two bowmen near at a frightening pace. His target flinched on the reins, waiting for him to release. Gideon gripped the arrow tightly at the bow and plucked the string as though he had actually released. The horsemen reacted as Gideon had done only moments before, dodging to one side. In a heartbeat, Gideon led his target and let the arrow fly for real. It sank into the soldier’s breastplate with a thud. The man fell sideways out of his saddle as his fellow carried on.

Gideon and the remaining soldier now had no time to fire arrows as they would come upon one another in moments. Gideon drew the sword attached to his saddle, a broad scimitar, as his opponent did the same. At the last moment, Gideon hopped up onto his saddle and somersaulted away toward the other rider. The soldier, bewilderment on his face, had no time to compensate for the attack as Gideon used the momentum to slam the scimitar down across the man’s shoulder.

Gideon landed hard on the road, but he’d taken down all of his attackers. He took two of the horses with him and all of the weapons—food and water he could carry on the extra animal. His shoulder bothered him a bit after the fall, but he reckoned it a small price to pay for becoming better outfitted for his journey to Wayland’s capital and their king.

COVETOUS

Ethan, Levi and Seth waited outside the King’s bedchamber. It had been three hours since his collapse in the throne room. So far the King remained unconscious. “I just don’t understand it,” Ethan said. “Those things were definitely demonic, although I haven’t seen them before. But they were inside the throne itself and not the king.”

Levi looked up from where he a sat on an upholstered bench near the door. “Can they possess someone that way?”

“Perhaps oppress might be a better word for what they were doing to the King,” Seth explained. “I remember in the Word of Shaddai, of a king whom the Lord allowed to be oppressed by wicked spirits because of his disobedience to the commandments of the Lord.”

Ethan considered the matter. Seth’s hypothesis seemed plausible. After all he’d experienced, almost anything seemed plausible.

Levi smiled, an epiphany lighting his face. “And they were in Stephen’s throne…they had proximity to the man…if that’s necessary.”

Seth nodded in agreement.

“But why? Why oppress the King of Wayland when you’re just going to attack?” Ethan asked. He was frustrated now. They’d been unable to rescue Gideon or Elspeth, after all this time, and now they had journeyed all the way through the Thornhills, finding the entire Temple destroyed and the surviving priests scattered. Topping it off, King Stephen had nearly had them killed under demonic oppression and Mordred’s preparations for war made it an imminent probability that he would strike here at any time. “We need some real answers so we can at least do something to fight back!”

Seth walked up behind Ethan and placed his hand on his shoulder. “Sometimes, Ethan, the Lord would have his servants to wait, patiently, until he directs their movements. Perhaps we can find no course of action, at the moment, because we are not to take any course of action at the moment.”

Ethan sighed heavily, nodding. “I know…you’re right. That sounds just like something Gideon would have told me.”

Seth smiled. “Then I’ll take that as a compliment.”

A rush of footsteps came from the other side of the King’s bedchamber door. The lock clicked and the door opened. One of the King’s advisors stepped into the hallway, looking at each of them. “The King would speak to the Deliverer of Shaddai alone,” he said.

When Ethan entered the bedchamber, Stephen lay on the bed covered in a thick comforter. He looked pale, though he was awake and alert. The King’s other advisors and his personal physician vacated quietly as Ethan walked toward the end of the large bed.

Stephen looked at him with a glazed expression. Clearly the affects of the demons upon him had taken its toll. “Come near, Deliverer of Shaddai,” he said—though he didn’t sound respectful to the title when he said it. “Your name is Ethan?”

Ethan gave a slight bow of his head. “Yes, Your Highness. We met on the road as your army was leaving Emmanuel.”

Stephen smiled weakly. “I remember it…vaguely.” He seemed to be examining Ethan, which made him feel uncomfortable, despite his bold assertions earlier in the throne room.

“You’re just a boy,” Stephen said finally.”

Ethan wasn’t quite sure how to answer this, or even if he was expected to.

“I cannot understand why the Creator of all things would choose a child to fight against a warlord such as Mordred.” Stephen laughed contemptuously to himself. “While a king stands ready to do the Lord’s bidding and fight to the death with Mordred and his demons, Shaddai nurses a babe for the task.”

Ethan knew Stephen was referring to himself as the king desiring to assume the duties of the Deliverer. He had made as much known to them already, when they met him dragging his army back to Wayland following their utter defeat at Emmanuel. But if the King had been under oppression by evil spirits at the time, this rebellion in his heart hadn’t been caused by them. He was still wounded by Shaddai’s denying him victory over Mordred then and now.

“I am what I am, Your Highness,” Ethan said. “I did not choose to take on this responsibility or the power Shaddai has gifted to me. I am as bound to do his will as any man. Were it in my power, I would gladly bestow these abilities on the King. I find myself traveling a road I would never have chosen on my own. What else can I do but go patiently and trust the Lord to give the victory?”

“And do you have victory, Deliverer?” King Stephen sat up in his bed, his hands gripping the bedcovers tightly. “When will we see this deliverance you bring? Today? Tomorrow? When will it come? My army has been decimated…and for what? We have no victory! Our women cry in the night for husbands who gave their lives trying to defeat Mordred. Children are left without their fathers! Men who went to their deaths to give us that victory!”

“On your orders, Your Highness, not Shaddai’s,” Ethan said. His spine tingled the same way it had when he’d spoken in the throne room during the King’s tirade. He’d spoken these words as though not under his own control, despite knowing how it would infuriate the king. And it did.

Stephen began screaming—enraged as though the demons still held sway over him. Ethan looked for more of the demons to make themselves known on the spiritual plane, but they did not. This was only the rebellion present in Stephen’s heart making an appearance.

Ethan listened to it calmly, patiently. Stephen was practically slobbering out his threats against Ethan’s life when his ministers came barreling back into the room, astonishment plastered on their faces. And then Stephen yelled at them also. “Get him out of my sight!”

But none of the King’s servants made any move towards Ethan. Instead, they looked at one another, then back at Ethan, not knowing what to do. Seth and Levi stood in the doorway as well. No one moved a muscle except Stephen who stood on his knees amongst the bedclothes, fuming out the remnants of his spent rage with every labored breath.

Finally Ethan broke the silence. “I’ll leave you. My friends and I will go to the High Priest of The Order here in Wayland, Your Highness. If anyone attempts to prevent us, they’ll meet with worse than your guards did in the throne room.”

Ethan turned away from Stephen and walked out of the bedchamber with one of the King’s advisors on his heels. The heavy wooden door closed behind them as they joined Seth and Levi in the hall. A tray of food smashed against the inside of the door as it closed. The king cursed his counselors once again, though the walls did much to mute what he said.

Seth spoke to the advisor without looking toward him. “Can you direct us to the Temple here in Wayland? The sooner we’re gone from the palace, the better, I think, for all of us.”

The King’s advisor nodded vigorously. “Yes, of course. I’ll have someone escort you there. It lies on the outskirts of the city—not far at all.”

Ethan looked at Levi curiously, wondering why the Temple should be so close to the main population while The Order in Nod had remained secluded and their Temple location a secret. Levi, for his part, only shrugged silently as they fell into step with Seth, who had already begun to follow the King’s advisor down the dimly lit stone corridor.

NEW ORDER

True to his word, King Stephen’s advisor had provided a young page to escort them, by carriage, through the eastern portion of the city where the Temple of Shaddai lay near the city’s border with the vast forests beyond. Far from a secret installation, as the Temple in Nod, this Order seemed to be housed within what Ethan could only call a palace—equal to, if not surpassing, that which King Stephen dwelt in.

Levi pulled his head back inside the carriage window. “Boy, would you look at that!” he exclaimed to Seth sitting across from him in shadows of the velveteen carriage.

Seth smiled coyly. “Sorry, can’t.”

“Oh, yeah right,” Levi said sheepishly. “Sorry about that, mate.”

Seth laughed. “Not at all, Captain. I live for embarrassing moments like that.”

Ethan could hardly believe the structure before them: intricate stone carvings inlaid with gold, silver, and precious stones. Ethan had thought the Temple at Nod beautiful, but in a far more functional way. This seemed almost gaudy to him, and he wondered what manner of men trained here.

Their carriage drove across a bridge over a deeply set trench with a river running through the bottom. Ethan peered out the window with Levi, trying to gauge it. “That must be a fifty foot drop,” Levi said.

Ethan looked back inside at Seth. “Have you ever been here before, Seth?”

“Years ago, before I lost my sight in Macedon, but I don’t remember it as you’re both describing it,” he said. “In those days, The Order of Shaddai was still establishing itself and only had a modest few buildings with a training yard in the middle.”

“Well, I’d say they’ve established themselves pretty well,” Levi said. “They’re living posh. I wonder what kind of warriors they make.”

Ethan wondered that as well.

Once inside the courtyard, their carriage was met by a contingency of priests dressed in golden colored robes with embroidered fringes and cuffs. Most of the ten men standing before them had graying hair and wore tall pointy hats upon their heads. Ethan looked at them queerly, until he spotted Isaiah coming out of one of the archways leading within.

Isaiah smiled and gave Ethan a slightly exasperated nod as he passed the other priests, letting him know he too had similar feelings about the Wayland priest’s attire. He approached and embraced him. He whispered into Ethan’s ear, “We must talk privately as soon as possible.”

It had taken nearly an hour of pomp and circumstance, introductions and ceremony before Isaiah, Ethan, and his companions were left to speak together alone. Isaiah began to sip from a cup of tea as the steward finished serving them all, then left the room with a bow.

“Master, I’m so glad to find you safe here,” Ethan began, almost before the door had closed. “When we saw what happened at the Temple—” He couldn’t go on, the horror of the scene still fresh in his mind.

Isaiah nodded gravely, searching each of their eyes. He paused at Seth. “It’s good to see you again, Seth.”

“Master.”

“I’m sorry for your eyesight, my friend.”

“The Lord has blessed me with a new sight to replace that which was taken.”

Isaiah smiled weakly and nodded. “Things are worse than you may know, gentlemen.” He paused to gather himself. “Mordred sent an army to attack the Temple. They appeared to be some sort of cross between man and demon—abominable beasts. They came to us through the pine forest and we were unable to stop them. The last I’d heard, before departing, was that the entire pride had been killed trying.”

“But how did they find their way?” Levi asked. “That place was buttoned up tight among the Thornhills. I don’t see how—”

“That is the worst of the matter,” Isaiah interrupted. Anger and pain burned on his face. “Gideon led them to us.”

“What?” they all three asked at the same time.

Ethan tried a weak smile. “Master, did you say, Gideon led them?”

The heartbreak in Isaiah’s eyes left no doubt. “He betrayed us to Mordred, Ethan. Our lookout spotted Gideon leading them safely through the Shale Steps and then on toward the arch beyond the Pine Forest. Otherwise Mordred’s soldiers never would have found us.”

In the back of Ethan’s mind, puzzle pieces began to click together, forming a picture he did not want to see. Gideon in the uniform of Mordred, not fighting for their sport, but training? Seth and Dung finding an assassin in the dungeon cell rather than Gideon. And the ability of Mordred’s army to find the Temple despite only a few secret ways of entry.

They sat speechless for a long moment, before Isaiah carried on. “There is more,” he said. “The High Priest, here, has received a message by hawk from one of their spies onboard a Wayland barge near the Northern Horn. They’ve spotted an armada of ships, bearing Mordred’s standard, rounding the cape—three days flight by hawk.”

“When was the message received?” Levi asked.

“Just before your arrival here,” Isaiah said.

“That would put them just under two days from the Port of Trace and another day from here,” Levi surmised.

Isaiah nodded. “The invasion we feared has finally come to Wayland.”

“Does the King know?” Seth asked.

“A courier is already on his way to bring Stephen word, but I’m not sure what capability he still possesses after his defeat at Emmanuel. I’m afraid the situation is very dire.”

Ethan had been staring at the wall during all of this as though he hadn’t heard. “Is Gideon dead?”

Isaiah looked at him. “I don’t know, Ethan. I would have hoped so—”

Ethan looked into his eyes, stunned.

“—after all,” Isaiah continued, “it would become our duty to deal with him if he had survived. And that would be a very hard burden to place upon you or any of the surviving priests.”

It had not occurred to Ethan, until that startling moment, that he should ever be called upon to kill Gideon. He had become more than a brother to Ethan in their relatively short time together. Harming him seemed unthinkable despite his betrayal. And he wasn’t even sure he believed that. There had to be some other reason, some way that Mordred had controlled him, forced him to lead his soldiers to the Temple. “Master, I can’t—”

Isaiah leaned forward, placing his hand upon Ethan’s shoulders. “My son, I know as much as anyone how you must feel, but we have a duty unto Shaddai. I have known the man longer than any of you, and he has been my closest confident and friend for many years—a treasure of wisdom and skill among our Order. However, this betrayal cannot go unpunished, despite our feelings on the matter.”

And then, suddenly, Ethan knew why Isaiah wished Gideon killed in the explosions which had brought down the mountain upon Shaddai’s Temple. He too wished it, now that he thought of the alternative. It hummed in his mind—a glimmer of hope that he would not have to ever see Gideon’s face again under these circumstances.

“As I said, I would hope that he was killed—” Isaiah started again.

Ethan saw the doubt in the old man’s eyes. “But?”

Isaiah paused. “But we received a report from another of the High Priest’s spies, a day ago. A lone warrior, no doubt trained in the fighting arts of Shaddai’s Order, entered Wayland almost a day after you were taken by the King’s men.”

Ethan realized he was holding his breath.

“He ambushed several guards and infiltrated the fortress at the wall. This warrior started a fire and took one of their horses. They found the bodies of three of their elite guardsmen, sent to track down the thief, dead nearly a day’s travel into Wayland. One more survived the attack with a broken shoulder and leg. His description sounded very much like Gideon.”

Fear welled up in Ethan’s mind. Surely the task of destroying one of The Order’s most revered warriors would fall to him, the Deliverer. How could it not? But no matter how much he thought on it, he could not see himself doing this awful deed.

Isaiah sat back in his chair and sipped on his tea again. “Do not dwell on the matter now, Ethan. It will only trouble you more, and I need you for another task before we can consider anything else.”

Ethan tried to relax, but it was impossible. Still, pushing the assassination of his priestly brother from his mind was far better than torturing himself with it. “What must I do?”

“I fear the King will not take the news of Mordred’s invasion well. He has not been himself for some time, as I’ve heard from the court after your arrival. So we need to know what kind of threat we are facing. It may fall to The Order here, though I fear that alternative nearly as much, to devise some way of countering the attack that’s coming.”

Ethan stood up, eager to busy himself with another task. “I’ll go find this armada right away, Master.”

Isaiah stood along with the others. “Seth and Levi can help me here. Believe me, gentlemen, there’s much organizing that needs to happen if these priests are to be of use against Mordred and his army.”

Ethan nodded and started to go.

“Ethan,” Isaiah said, “be sure that you do not engage Mordred’s armada. We’ll need the information you gather in order to prepare here. And I wouldn’t want to risk losing you out there all alone.”

Ethan tried to force a smile. “Yes, Master. I’ll try not to do anything foolish.” And with that, he disappeared into the spiritual realm.

ARMADA

Ethan zoomed through the ethereal plane, high above the sparse towns beyond the capital, the forests, the black cliffs of Wayland’s northern border and the vast Azure Sea beyond. Even the joy of such freedom and power could not stem the tide of sorrow overwhelming his heart. A brother had betrayed them and must be dealt with.

He flew down close to the water, just above the rolling blue. Dolphins leaped nearby, but Ethan soon left their best efforts behind him. Given the size of this armada and the approximate position, he assumed they would be easily spotted. He ascended higher and higher, searching the horizon as miles passed by in seconds.

After nearly an hour, Ethan passed through a thick bank of fluffy white clouds. When he emerged again, a vast deep blue jewel spread out before him and upon its surface, chopping through the smooth Azure, Mordred’s armada.

Nearly fifty ships sailed before him. Many of them were huge barges packed with enough supplies for an army and propelled by at least one hundred oars extending out both port and starboard sides. Engines of war perched upon some of the expansive decks. Mordred wouldn’t be holding anything back when he invaded Wayland’s capital.

Ethan tried to peer beneath the surface of the ships and found his sight barred by demonic activity. Of course there would be massive amounts of spirits to accompany Mordred and his army. The familiar buzzing along his skin alerted him to their definite presence. He didn’t see any demons at the moment, only felt them. Ethan started down toward the first ships in the line. Isaiah’s words resounded in his mind. “Do not engage Mordred’s armada.” Just a closer look, he decided.

Ethan came down upon the massive, flat deck of one of the carrier barges. He noticed that the men on the deck, going about their duties, were not men at all, but beasts of some kind. They walked as men, but some had the faces of bulls, goats, reptiles or much worse. He wondered if these might be more of the hybrid soldiers which Isaiah had been telling them about. The same which Gideon had led through the mountains to destroy the Temple of Shaddai.

One of the hybrid soldiers stopped, looking in Ethan’s direction. He soon continued on with his work somewhere else on the deck. The buzzing in his body had grown when the hybrid was near. Could it be that these were indwelt by demons? If they were, then why hadn’t he been able to see them? And could these strange creatures see him in his spiritual form? The hybrid hadn’t seemed to notice him.

Ethan turned his attention back to the rows of catapults fastened to the deck behind him. Heavy ropes held them secure as the sea rolled beneath the great barge. I wonder what would happen. Ethan suddenly had an idea that brought a smile to his face. He drew his spiritual blade and sliced through the ropes nearest to him.

The ropes sprang away under tension with a sharp whip-crack. Ethan leaped after the other ropes, zealously slashing them all as he came to them. The bindings flew around the deck like the tentacles of some angry kraken. Some of the soldiers had taken notice by now and ran to try and stop what was happening.

The heavy wooden catapults began to shift upon the deck as the ship lifted with the waves. A hybrid appeared behind Ethan and slashed at him with a great broadsword just as he slashed one of the final ropes left holding the war engines in place. Ethan started as the sword fell too late for him to do anything about it.

The heavy blade crashed against one of the giant wooden wheels on the catapult, passing right through Ethan. He suddenly realized the beast might be able to see him, in his ethereal state, but it couldn’t touch him. Whatever these hybrids were, Mordred had apparently overdone himself. Ethan whipped his own sword around and cleaved the bull-faced creature in two through its torso. More deckhands came running as catapults started to teeter and roll across the deck. One began a slow journey away from a dozen hybrids as the ship dipped into the trough of a wave, but then turned back upon them as the ship crested. The catapult rolled over the demonic crew before they could jump out of its way.

Another engine of war slid sideways, taking out more soldiers and stacks of crated supplies fastened to the deck before smashing into the first catapult, both going over the side of the barge, crashing into the sea. Ethan spotted some of the soldiers crawling across one of the war engines, piecing together the cut rope as best they could. He leaped to the catapult and sliced through the lock which held the arm down. It sprang forward throwing soldiers across the deck, flipping its base over in the process.

One of the catapults rolled from its place at the bow of the barge down along the length of the ship as it crested another wave. The huge piece of machinery plowed through deckhands, crates, and anything else standing in its way until it reached the stacked bridge tower where all commands for steering and speed were given. Ethan watched with satisfaction as the ship’s captain, with many more hybrids, clamored along the bridge catwalks and staircases as they realized their doom. The runaway catapult, unabated by any obstacle on the deck, exploded through the bridge tower sending men and a huge scattering of debris into the Azure Sea. The catapult reached the stern of the ship, slowed by the last impact, and ever so gently teetered on the edge before the ship dipped again at the bow into the trough of a wave. The catapult crashed back down onto the deck and skidded sideways back through its path of destruction, before glancing off a mound of wreckage and dumping over the side of the barge, through a dozen portside oar placements, into the sea.

Ethan’s ethereal body prickled with spiritual energy, forcing him to turn around. He barely managed to bring his blade up to block the first strike of a demon in its disembodied form. Their ethereal swords clashed with a bright flash of discharged power. Ethan noticed, behind this reptilian-faced opponent, a host of spirits coming toward the barge. He forced the spirit back and drew another blade to his aid.

While blocking the demon’s strike he retaliated with his second sword, driving the heavenly sword into its chest. The wicked spirit dissolved, a sandcastle blown away by a gust of wind. More demons came at him, but there were too many to fight. He would surely be overwhelmed by their numbers. Isaiah’s sage advice rang true as he realized his foolish mistake in coming onboard the barge in the first place.

Ethan whirled around, flinging first one blade and then the second. A demon blocked the first, but the second cut him through. Seeing a successful manner of defending himself, Ethan flew backward away from the barge, hurling heavenly swords into the throng of pursuing demons as fast as they rematerialized in his hands. It had the effect of hurling rocks at a swarm of bees—only those caught unaware were struck, but it staggered and confused their attack enough for Ethan to remain ahead of them.

The armada had begun to give wide berth to the crippled barge now drifting with the current amidst a huge debris field floating upon the surface of the sea around it. Ethan regretted only having the chance to disable one of Mordred’s ships, but it was all he could manage and, perhaps, more than he should have ever attempted.

The horde of demons began to gain in their pursuit as the mass of ships fell away, becoming only toys in a great pond. Suddenly Ethan gasped in pain. His old wounds, delivered by the Prince of Demons, ached, sending waves of agony through his ethereal form. His flight through the spiritual realm slowed, and the demons gained on him.

Ethan staggered, trying to keep on going. Despite not having to breathe, he felt as though he were suffocating. His pace slowed even more, until the demons came within striking range. Several raised their weapons, which transformed into ethereal bows, and fired arrows of flame toward him. Ethan cried out, “Lord Shaddai, please deliver me! I can’t make it on my own!”

Just as suddenly as Ethan’s strength had been sapped away, it returned unto him tenfold. He shot forward away from the horde of pursuing demons. Their flaming arrows dissipated into nothing behind him as the clouds blurred, his escape now faster than he’d ever traveled on the spiritual plane before.

Jericho hovered high above Mordred’s command ship sailing on below him. The barge, where the boy had attacked, remained crippled and drifting. Several ships of the armada had diverted and were presently trying to moor along side the vessel in order to take on its remaining men and supplies. The operation would take a while, but with the help of his demons, they might accomplish the task in a third of the time.

The horde of demons which had taken up pursuit, chasing the Deliverer away, were now returning, a black cloud on the horizon, approaching fast. They began to disperse to clean-up duties as Jericho’s thoughts directed them. One of the demons returned to Jericho directly. “My Lord, we’ve chased the boy away from the armada.”

Jericho’s eyes burned into the demon lieutenant before him. “You mean he escaped, don’t you? I wanted the boy destroyed, or captured at the very least.”

The abased demon bowed his head. “My apologies, my lord. We thought we had him, before his prayer allowed him to escape.”

Jericho closed his eyes slowly, frustrated. “Of course it did. Organize the cleanup of this debacle and get the armada moving again as quickly as possible.”

“Yes, my lord,” the demon lieutenant said, snapping to attention. He flew straightway to the barge and the other demons already beginning to help align two of the other vessels so they could transport the salvageable materials onboard for the remainder of the journey to Wayland.

Jericho descended to the bridge of the renovated Man-o-war, now serving as Mordred’s command ship. The warlord stood on the poop deck, watching the progress of those ships diverted to the cleanup. Jericho became visible to him with a flash of light meant to draw his attention away from the sea.

Mordred turned, as expected, clearly unsurprised to see Jericho standing there. “What news? Was it the boy?”

Jericho stood stiff, emotionless. “Yes.”

“Did your demons destroy him?”

“No.”

Mordred seemed to prickle at the news, though he likely had suspected as much. “I see. Well, you seem to be unconcerned by this turn of events. The boy will certainly deliver news of our imminent attack to Stephen.”

“I doubt very much that our voyage has managed to remain hidden. The ships we encountered and destroyed near the Northern Cape almost certainly got away a distress call by messenger hawk before we ever engaged them. The boy’s report will make little difference. At least his retreat tells us that he is as weak as we might hope.”

Mordred considered that piece of wisdom with a slight smile, but then relented. “Could he have seen the new ships?”

“Very doubtful, My Lord,” Jericho said. “Your modifications to the Man-o-wars would appear as nothing but more sail stowed away in extra compartments. They will not expect what is coming.”

Mordred smiled. “Yes, of course they won’t. How could they? And Wayland will be broken for their insolence once and for all.”

KING’S ADDRESS

Gideon heard the mass of people long before he ever saw them crowding through the streets of Wayland’s capital. He had breached the wall with ease, using a secret tunnel left by The Order of Shaddai. The tunnel had been shown to him years before by Isaiah as one dug for an emergency escape in the event of a siege. For whatever reason, the tunnel had remained unguarded and perhaps even forgotten all these years later.

With his bow in hand, Gideon crept threw mostly deserted streets. Dusk was fast approaching, but still everyone in the city had gathered at the central palace courtyard. The King must be addressing the people.

Gideon noticed there were few flat rooftops in Evelah. Finding a place close enough to the palace and away from the crowds for an assassination would be difficult at best. As he followed the flow of people, he finally came to see thousands gathered before Stephen’s palace. High above the crowd stood several guards upon a lone balcony made of polished marble, bearing a tapestry with the King’s crest upon it. His target would be easy enough to find if only he could find the right place to shoot from.

To his right, Gideon saw a wall leading away from the palace itself. That might do very nicely, he thought. The crowd consisted of mostly women and children with the elderly sprinkled among them. The debacle at Emmanuel had hurt Stephen more than Gideon had previously realized—thousands of husbands and fathers had never come home to their families.

Gideon latched onto that thought. Perhaps there would be some justice in his actions today. The King who had disobediently assumed the role of Shaddai’s Deliverer, and caused these people so much pain, would soon be dead.

Dusk had come sooner than Ethan had expected. As he passed over Evelah, heading for the Temple, he noticed the crowds gathering below at the palace. Something important must be about to happen. Ethan flew over the thousands assembled before the wide marble veranda as King Stephen appeared, flanked by his royal guard. Ethan came in close, still invisible to the naked eye, and perched against the vertical wall to Stephen’s left side.

As the King stepped up to the marble banister, the crowd below became quiet, eager to hear what news could be so important that it must be shared at this late hour in the day. “My good people,” the King said in a deep booming voice which, due to the walls enclosing the courtyard lawn, managed to reverberate to the fullest extent of the crowd. “We have suffered here in Wayland with the loss of so many of our esteemed warriors at the hands of that vile fiend, Mordred, and his demonic hordes. And I had hoped to spare our citizens any further pain, However, I have just received word that Mordred plans to invade Wayland.”

Murmurs rose among the crowd. Cries of distress also rang out here and there as the realization of what was coming began to fill them with dread.

“Please!” King Stephen cried over the escalating din. “We must not despair! We will fight against him! We still have an army and enough weapons to place a sword in the hand of every capable man, woman, and child. We will not go down quietly without fighting for our lives! Now is the time for all Waylanders to come together against this scourge and send him back to the pit from whence he came!”

Despite the grand noise of the King, panic continued to build among those assembled to hear his report. Gideon listened from his place upon the wall on the right side of the massive green courtyard. Two of the King’s guards lay behind him unconscious. Gideon waited, still wearing the soldier’s uniform taken from the fortress outpost, until Stephen had finished delivering the bad news. From that point, Gideon had no longer been able to hear what the King was saying—so great was the cry of despair now echoing around the courtyard below.

So, Mordred was coming for sure. The King hadn’t said when Mordred would arrive, but given the nature of his speech, Gideon guessed the warlord must already be close, no doubt coming with a fleet of carrier barges and Man-o-war battleships at his disposal. But any attack upon Evelah would require nearly a day’s march from the sea in order to bring them to the city walls.

Perhaps this was exactly the reason why Gideon had been given this assignment to assassinate the King. So that Evelah would have no leadership and surrender easily. Gideon felt the bow in his left hand, squeezing upon the wood. He flexed the fingers of his right, the knuckles popping. He could turn around now and walk away. He didn’t have to obey Mordred’s command. The warlord would likely never know.

But Gideon remembered his son. His child was still under Mordred’s control. If he abandoned this assignment then he also abandoned his son. The thought of his and Sarah’s child growing up in the care of such a villain gripped his heart so that he felt he could not breathe.

Gideon pushed the rebellious thought from his mind and focused upon his task. He whipped an arrow from the quiver slung onto his back and nocked it to the bow. He raised the weapon and placed the arrowhead on the distant breastbone of King Stephen, who was even now trying to persuade his discomfited citizens that all hope was not lost. With a final whisper—forgive me—he released the bowstring.

Ethan barely noticed what had happened amid the despairing cries ringing out from the courtyard below them. King Stephen raised his hands, trying to restore some order among his people and calm them enough to give them instructions for what had to be done. Mordred would be upon them within two or three days and they had to get organized into some semblance of a fighting force by then. But just as Ethan thought the time had come for him to go ahead and return to the Temple, where he could report back to Isaiah, his senses locked into overdrive—every voice heard, every leaf blowing, every insect crawling.

The world slowed itself so that Ethan discerned each part in detail, especially the arrow shaft driving now toward the King. He reacted instinctively despite his confusion. Who in Wayland would possibly want to assassinate King Stephen? Ethan launched away from the side of the palace, his ethereal blade flying to his right hand.

The arrow itself was inconsequential. It burned away into scattered ash as he batted it down with his sword. Ethan’s focus remained on the trail of vibrating air leading back to the shooter upon the right flanking wall of the courtyard. There, stood a man in Wayland armor, the string of his bow still vibrating with the release.

As Ethan closed in, he noticed the familiar face of Gideon. Elation at seeing him safe was quickly swept away by burning anger at his betrayal—this man who had been like a brother to him. Isaiah had called for his destruction, and now the traitor stood within his grasp, easy pickings. Ethan came upon him, still invisible, and swept upward with his ethereal blade. But at the last he pulled his reach back.

The blade sliced through the marble banister, where Gideon had been leaning, like butter. It divided his bow in half just below Gideon’s left hand, the string popping with a twangy hiss. Had he not restrained his arm, his strike would have caught Gideon completely unaware, cleaving him in two. Ethan wanted answers first.

He became visible as he landed in front of Gideon, smashing his mentor in the face as the pieces of bow fell from his hands. “Why?” Ethan screamed as he followed Gideon to the ground, pummeling him with blows anywhere he could land them. “Why did you do it?”

Gideon had been caught off guard, but it didn’t last. He thrust his legs up and threw Ethan over as he rolled back to a crouch. Ethan came back like an angry lion giving no heed to caution. His anger had boiled to the surface, vengeance for Gideon’s betrayal of himself, The Order, and anyone else he could think of. “We trusted you, and you betrayed us!”

They traded blows: fists, feet, grappling, then breaking away again. Ethan breathed hard as Gideon stood apart, blood oozing from several cuts across his face and head. A large bruise grew darker from his right cheek down to his chin.

Ethan drew the physical sword from the scabbard on his back. Gideon pulled one from his side. Neither of them advanced. “Well, aren’t you going to give me some sort of answer for what you’ve done?” Ethan shouted. “I’ve been ordered to kill you. Don’t you have any explanation?”

Gideon stood there with his sword ready to defend himself. He looked torn, as though he wanted desperately to speak his mind, but wouldn’t. “What’s done is done…the reasons don’t really matter,” he said finally.

“Of course they matter! You were a brother. You were a servant of The Most High…Gideon, look what you’ve done.”

Gideon gritted his teeth, trying to shut out Ethan’s words. “It’s not finished yet.”

Ethan’s brow creased. “What else could you possibly destroy that you haven’t already?”

Gideon glared at him. “You.”

Ethan stood there speechless for a long moment. “You can’t mean that, Gideon…I know there’s more, some reason why this all makes sense to you. Just let me help—”

Gideon flew into him at that moment, his sword thrusting repeatedly. Ethan parried, attacked, blocked and was driven back. Gideon struck at him again and again, each time driving Ethan further back. “Why don’t you disappear?” he said.

“Is that what you want, for me to flee?” Ethan asked as he blocked another attack and brought one of his own. “I thought you wanted to kill me, brother! Don’t you think you could do it?”

Gideon flew into a rage at that point, smacked Ethan’s blade aside and hammered him in the chest with his fist. Ethan gasped, but Gideon stayed on him, delivering a crushing blow to the boy’s ribs with his knee on one side followed by a lightning fast chop to the base of his neck. Ethan collapsed unconscious before him. Gideon stood there looking at him, laboring for breath with Ethan’s last question resounding in his mind. He dropped his own sword next to the boy’s body and answered it. “No…I don’t think I could.”

PREPARATIONS

When Ethan awoke, he noticed the stars above him, the sun already down for some time. The moon hung almost full partially obscured by clouds. He sat up with his sword still locked in his hand. Gideon’s blade lay on the polished marble nearby. Ethan was still alive. He felt like he’d been ran over by a team of horses, but Gideon had not killed him, even though he clearly could have.

His mentor’s burst of fury had overtaken him so easily—that was unsettling. For some time now, Ethan had supposed he could take Gideon in a fight even without having to resort to his special gifts. Apparently, he had only been fooling himself with those assumptions. Still, the task of destroying Gideon would fall to him and he would have to use any means necessary to get the job done.

Perhaps, he thought, Isaiah wouldn’t want him killed seeing that Gideon had clearly spared his life. When Ethan thought about all that had been said between them, it made no sense. Gideon had clearly said that he was the one loose end left. And yet, when the time came to do the deed, Gideon had not exercised his opportunity. He had spared rather than kill.

A new hope bloomed in Ethan’s mind. He didn’t know everything that may have happened to Gideon since his abduction at Macedon. Clearly other factors were at work, even if Gideon hadn’t been willing to voice them. Maybe he couldn’t say anything. What if Mordred was controlling Gideon in some way? Frustrated, Ethan tried to figure it out, but kept coming up blank.

At any rate, he had to report back to the Temple with his information. He had already lost precious hours lying there unconscious. As Ethan stood, he saw the same two soldiers he had noticed lying unconscious when he had startled Gideon. They were still out cold—obviously dealt a worse beating than he had received.

Ethan decided to leave them there for the moment. They would wake or be discovered soon enough. He said a quick prayer for wisdom, pertaining to Gideon, then shifted onto the spiritual plane for a quick journey back to the Temple.

Gideon sat in a back alley behind a group of homes not far from the palace of King Stephen. The night had brought him cover and cool air to clear his head. He had failed. Ethan had been his to destroy…if only he’d actually wanted to. But, despite his son remaining Mordred’s prisoner and all that it entailed, Gideon had not been able to bring himself to kill his friend—his brother in The Order.

Moreover, Ethan had not tried to kill him. As he might have suspected, Isaiah would have sent someone to assassinate him after finding out that he was responsible for betraying The Order to Mordred and his soldiers. Ethan had said as much. And yet, the boy had not taken him by surprise to kill him when he had stopped Stephen’s assassination. Neither had he used his power to do so after they were confronted with one another. Despite his righteous indignation, Ethan had sought information rather than revenge.

Gideon, at that moment, made a resolution. He knew he couldn’t bring himself to kill Ethan. It just wasn’t going to happen. During all this time, Shaddai had spared his life despite his betrayal. He bowed his head, having come to the end of himself. “My lord, I have failed you time and again. Yet you have spared my life. I have not trusted you with my fate as I should have. I allowed my wife’s death to blind me to your sovereign control rather than surrendering myself to your will in taking her. My son remains in Mordred’s hands, but you are the one in control even now. If it is your will to spare my son, then nothing can prevent it. If it is not your will, then I trust he will be safe in your loving arms, only I beg you, do not allow Mordred to raise him up not knowing you. Nevertheless, your will be done. As for me, forgive me. I will fight against this enemy with every ounce of strength you will give me, regardless of what it may cost me personally. Have your way, Lord Shaddai. Amen.”

Gideon opened his eyes, feeling suddenly refreshed. He felt as though a great weight had been removed. He was free again. But what to do now? He didn’t feel as though he should approach Ethan or The Order again. He’d just tried to assassinate the King of Wayland, so trying there was out. It appeared he would be on his own. Still, an attack by Mordred’s army was coming. Perhaps there was plenty he could do against them. Maybe he could even face down the warlord himself.

Ethan arrived at the Wayland Temple in short order to find the priests preparing for battle. Robe colors may have been different, but hopefully their deadly techniques remained the same as those employed where Gideon had trained him in Nod. Ethan was escorted to a small room, near their armory, where Isaiah, Seth, Levi and some of the other priests busily reviewed maps of the region and the city of Evelah in anticipation of the coming siege.

Isaiah and the others looked up as Ethan was ushered into the room. “Ethan, I’m so glad to see you back safely,” Isaiah said. “I was beginning to worry when nightfall came and you had not returned.”

“The journey didn’t take as long as what happened during and after,” Ethan said.

“Something tells me you didn’t just spy on them,” Levi said sarcastically.

Ethan stepped toward the table next to Levi. “Did you really think I would?” he whispered.

“Well I suppose scolding you for not doing as I asked is a moot point, since you’ve come back safely,” Isaiah said. “What did you find?”

All eyes in the room fell upon him. What were they going to face? Would they be able to withstand the coming onslaught? Who would survive and who in this room had only hours to live? These questions and more were written upon their faces.

“I saw at least fifty ships—huge flat carriers mingled among many of Mordred’s Man-o-wars—all within a days sailing of the Northern Shore,” Ethan said. “The barges were loaded down with engines of war: catapults and the like. And the crew on at least one consisted of those same half man, half beast soldiers we found in the Pine Forest.”

“A day’s travel,” said one of the senior priests, “how will we ever prepare in time?”

“They’ll be closer by now,” Ethan corrected. “I may have slowed them down a bit with an attack on one of the barges, but I was delayed in getting back to you.”

“Did you run into more demons?” Levi asked.

“Well, yes, but that’s not what delayed me,” Ethan said.

Isaiah watched him intently. “Something else, Ethan? What was it?”

Isaiah’s eyes looked as though he may have picked up the answer in Ethan’s expression a moment before he actually said it. “I found Gideon,” he said.

Only those who knew of the priest and his betrayal of the Nodian Order reacted to the statement. The others barely seemed curious. Isaiah prompted Ethan on. “And?”

“I had paused on my way back to the Temple in order to hear what King Stephen was saying in his address to the people,” Ethan said. “While I was there, Gideon tried to assassinate the King.”

Now the other priests grew anxious as well. “Assassinate the King?” one of them said. “He wasn’t successful was he—I mean we would have heard wouldn’t we?” he said looking at the brethren of his own Order.

“He was not successful,” Ethan said. “I stopped him.”

“You stopped him?” Levi asked suspiciously. “Do you mean you killed him, Ethan?”

“No, I didn’t kill him.” He noticed Seth and Levi both let out a captured breath, relieved at the news.

Isaiah also appeared to notice their reaction, but he kept his attention on Ethan. “What did happen when you confronted Gideon?”

“Master, I would have destroyed him straightaway, as instructed, but I had to find whether he had been somehow bewitched by Mordred or his demons—coerced in some way.”

“And was he?” Isaiah asked.

“I couldn’t get an answer out of him,” Ethan said. “We fought as I tried to question him, but he only said that, what was done was done and that I was the only loose end which remained.”

Isaiah shut his eyes to hide his emotional pain. “Then he has truly betrayed us, as I feared,” he said.

“I’m not so sure,” Ethan countered.

“What do you mean?” Levi asked.

“He may have intended to kill me, but when I provoked him further, he got the better of me,” Ethan said. Somehow, it didn’t bother him to admit that Gideon had bested him. Ethan knew in his heart that he still admired the man, still loved him as a brother. “Gideon managed to knock me unconscious, but as you can see, he didn’t kill me.”

Isaiah and Levi gave one another puzzled looks. Seth smiled quietly to himself. Clearly, hope for Gideon’s fate still flickered in their hearts as well. Finally one of the senior priests, Emory, of the Wayland Order spoke up. “We’ve no time to concern ourselves over one man. Mordred is coming with his thousands to lay siege to Evelah. For all we know, they may be landing on our shores as we speak.”

“You’re quite right, Emory,” Isaiah said, clearly relieved that he didn’t have the time to make a further judgment on Gideon’s fate at the moment. “As War Master here at the Temple, you stand in charge while your High Priest is still ill. I and my men will do everything we can to assist you in preparation. How are the fighting skills of your men? I had noticed that daily routines don’t include much actual training in the fighting arts.”

“There’s really not been a need,” Emory said. “We’ve had a few of our elite warriors train as emergency bodyguards to the King and those who guard Wayland’s border outposts, but we’ve never faced an army.”

Isaiah sighed. “Then there’s no time to lose. Seth and Ethan, along with my other priests, will begin training your men here at the Temple.”

“But we’ve no time at all,” Emory said.

“Mordred still has to organize and march his army to Evelah,” Isaiah said. “That time alone may make all the difference in the world in polishing away the rust you’ve all allowed to eat away at your skills here.”

The priests of Wayland’s Order had lapsed in their duties which should have included rigorous training exercises. Isaiah’s priests, along with Ethan and Seth, had taken up positions on the polished stone courtyard, currently used for meditation and prayer, in order to train them in small groups. Ethan had just finished an exercise with some of Wayland’s priests, when he heard a commotion from a neighboring group.

“I’m not going to be trained by a blind man,” one of the priests was saying. “It’s bad enough having you foreigners come into our Temple telling us what we should have been doing all this time. But to foist this handicapped man upon us…it’s just insulting.”

Seth stood in the midst of a group of nearly a dozen priests in black sparring robes as they argued amongst themselves. “If you’re so insulted, then why not prove that you don’t need my help?” Seth said. “Or are you simply trying to mask the fact that you’ve grown lazy here in the Wayland Order, to the point that you’re afraid to spar with one blind man?”

Now Seth had done it. Ethan watched as those priests encircled him. They were ready to fight now…maybe even to the death over such an insult.

Ethan walked with his group over to where Seth now stood in the middle of the angry priests. “Seth, are you okay over here?” he asked. Ethan knew it was a rhetorical question. After all, he couldn’t think of a time or situation where Seth hadn’t been all right.

Seth only smiled back in Ethan’s direction. “Oh yes, no problem,” he said. “I was just about to teach these men a lesson.”

Now they grew more enraged, yet no one made a move to attack him. “I’ll take him on first,” one of the priests said.

“Why not all together?” Seth laughed. “I wouldn’t want to take advantage of you, after all.”

If the blind priest had been attempting to bait them, he had now succeeded. Ethan watched as the men surrounding Seth came at him. First one and then two more were quickly knocked back into the others.

The priests took stock of themselves quickly and reorganized. Okay, so it wouldn’t be quite that easy. They formed a circle and then began to move in on Seth in a more organized fashion, trying to coordinate their attacks for success.

Once again, Seth took them on. The first he gouged in the ribs with a precisely placed front kick that sent the man doubled over in pain to the ground. The second and third, who came at the same time, he smashed in the jaw and swept the legs out from under, respectively. The remainder of the dozen attempted a rush and tackle which led Seth to dodge back and forth, blocking and attacking the closest, then next and so on, until all of them lay around him on the ground, holding one or two locations on their bodies in pain. Seth alone remained standing with a sour look on his face.

“Now, you sluggards, you will stand and go through the exercises I prescribe without another word, or I’ll thrash you until every single one of you spends the entirety of Mordred’s siege in the infirmary eating your food through a straw!”

Ethan had never seen Seth so fierce. He was almost prepared to line up himself. The priests, for their part, quickly got to their feet, despite their new pains, and stood erect, awaiting Seth’s instructions. “Very good,” he said with a stern smile. He nodded at Ethan, then went on with the training. Ethan went back to his own group and began again. There wouldn’t be much time to whip these men into shape. Mordred’s army would not wait.

ADVANCE

Gideon watched as Mordred’s army worked like insects to bring themselves ashore in the Northern Bay. The cluster of so many large ships in the bay made it appear as though a floating city had been erected overnight. Mordred had brought such a force, Gideon wondered how they could ever be stopped by any means King Stephen might still possess. His overwhelming defeat at Emmanuel had left Wayland’s king with precious few resources with which to wage war. Now war was coming to him instead.

The barges crowded the huge stretch of beach having been run as far aground as possible. Gideon had wondered how they would manage to unload their engines of war without them all sinking to the bottom of the bay, but now Mordred’s genius shined through. The giants, whom he had seen housed within the walls of Emmanuel City, now served as the muscle to bring Mordred’s barges closer to shore.

The big Anakims heaved upon huge sections of rope, at least two hundred per barge, dragging their vessels up, up, up until the bows sat upon the sand of Wayland’s shore. With more work, the ropes were then attached to separate moorings upon the decks. Entire forward portions of each deck were then unlocked and pulled forward on hundreds of ball bearings.

The deck plates, reinforced with a meshwork of steel construction underneath, then were eased down to the shore upon the shoulders of the giants. In the end, each forward deck had been transformed into a massive ramp reaching almost completely to the solid ground beyond the beach.

The crew was now free to unload the engines of war fastened to the deck plates, rolling them forward as trees were quickly cleared in order to make a suitable path. A narrow dirt road, leading from the beach back through the trees and into the countryside beyond, was quickly transformed into a much widened thoroughfare. Catapults, great battering rams, and siege engines were assembled on deck and then rolled down to take up their places in an ever lengthening parade headed toward Wayland’s capital city of Evelah.

Most of the Anakims had taken up the duty of clearing the way. With axe heads as big as a man, they cut down large trees as though hacking their way through mere brush. Others tossed or rolled the felled trees out of the way. With nearly a thousand of the giants all working to accomplish the tasks, in addition to the hybrid soldiers, the whole ordeal came off with startling efficiency.

Gideon watched it unfold for nearly two hours, himself fascinated by it and wondering what he might do to at least slow them down. So far he had been unable to come up with any good plan. Mordred’s Man-o-wars had been, all this time, unloading the main company of soldiers and their provisions onto smaller, shore-going boats. The Man-o-wars remained anchored behind the line of barges in the harbor. But as the ships had been lightened of their burdens, Gideon noticed something new happening onboard.

The hybrid crews had refashioned the sail rigging into some sort of net system which was then suspended from each of the three masts. As Gideon watched, the crews then brought out and unfolded what Gideon first supposed to be sail cloth. But beneath the suspended cloth, fires had been lit in special stoves. The cloth began to fill with hot air and rise up from the decks of the Man-o-wars.

Gideon still did not realize what Mordred was doing by the time the cloth had ballooned up into the nets. The material continued its expansion, with the flaming stoves stoked hot beneath them, until the canvas had billowed higher than the masts themselves and threatened to burst the nets which had been fabricated to hold them. Then, to Gideon’s complete astonishment, one of the Man-o-wars began to rise up out of the water.

Water cascaded down from the ship’s hull as the sea going vessel left its native habitat to take up residence in the atmosphere. It rose steadily higher until the ship was nearly as high as the surrounding trees. The other Man-o-wars began to do the same—each filling its sail cloth sacks with hot air and leaving the sea for the clouds.

Upon each of the Man-o-wars, smaller sections of sail sprang out from both the starboard and port sides at mid-ship. Rotating fans of wood were mounted near the flanking sails and wind cranked into them by mechanisms working deep inside the ship. The Man-o-wars, now airborne, launched forward under their own wind, gliding forward effortlessly above the treetops toward the city of Evelah.

They weren’t fast, by any means, but that wouldn’t change the fact that they would reach Wayland’s capital much faster than the rest of the army. And if Mordred had devised these new craft for his attack, then there must be a great deal of danger in them. Gideon watched them, fascinated, for a moment longer before realizing that all of the small villages he had seen during his trek here would certainly be destroyed as the ground army moved toward the main city.

Thirty floating, flying Man-o-wars passed out of sight beyond the trees as the Anakims continued their labor below, allowing the ground army to make headway toward Evelah. Gideon had only one choice. He had to ride as fast as he could in order to reach each village and warn them in time to escape. Before the swords of this army, there would be no one spared, no pity, and no remorse.

Gideon hadn’t been as fast as he had hoped. He’d not been close to the road leading back into Wayland, opting for a vantage point on the Isthmus where he could better see what was in the bay. That advantage had cost him his ability to get ahead of the surging front of Mordred’s forces.

Still, under the cover of the forest, Gideon had managed to pass the slower progress of the giant Anakims as they moved a great swathe of trees from the path of the army following behind them. But cavalry had ridden ahead of everyone else and were already plundering the first village in their path when Gideon arrived on horseback.

Many bodies of the villagers lay strewn in the road among the two dozen or so common structures, some of which had been set ablaze already. The hybrid soldiers were busy killing everything that moved. Mordred would have no use for prisoners, only the cattle and horses that might be added to his army’s stores.

As Gideon breached the tree line, he nocked and released arrows in rapid succession until his quiver was spent. Each broad-head shaft found its mark true, leaving more than a dozen ponies running wild without their riders. Still wearing most of his stolen Wayland armor, Gideon drew quick attention to himself among the villagers running terrified around him.

Two riders approached from among several huts already burning. Both of them archers, they drew and released arrows at Gideon. He backhanded the first away and caught the second in the same hand. He felt alive again, renewed, forgiven.

Gideon knocked the arrow and returned it to the rider who had shot it at him. He drew his sword as the second rider drove his horse hard toward him. Gideon waited for the man to swing, fell backward in his saddle to dodge the broadsword, then followed through by rolling backward off the hind quarters of his horse, coming to stand below the other rider. Before the hybrid soldier realized where he was, Gideon struck him in stomach from below. The rider sagged in his saddle, trying to fall, but his boot remained lodged as his terrified horse dragged him away from the village.

Only a few riders remained. Most of them had realized by now that their fellows were dropping like flies. They ignored the villagers and came at Gideon head on. He ran on foot to meet them. Each of the three raised their swords, preparing to strike him down.

Gideon raised his own blade over his head and sent it spinning toward the rider on his left. The sword hit the hybrid square in the chest, knocking him from his mount. Gideon dodged to his left side, as the others closed in, retrieving the soldier’s sword as it tumbled to the ground from his hands. He whipped around and slung that sword at the second rider, catching the hybrid in the side.

Gideon retrieved his own sword from the chest of the first as the third rider came at him. However the soldier had second thoughts after seeing how his fellows had faired. He pulled up short, leered at Gideon and then rode hard back down the road toward Mordred’s advancing army. They wouldn’t be far behind now.

As he surveyed the damage, Gideon realized he’d come too late to save most of the villagers. Only a few could be found weeping among their fallen loved ones. He procured a fresh horse and heaved himself into the saddle. “Mordred’s army is on its way!” he called to anyone left who might listen. “In moments this place will be reduced to rubble! You must get away!”

Gideon turned his horse to the dirt road leading back into Wayland. With a kick of his heels to the animal’s sides, they broke into a gallop. At least, he might have a chance to warn the other villages which still stood between Mordred’s army and Wayland’s king.

DEADLY RAIN

Ethan had helped some of the priests to secure their ailing High Priest in a secluded chamber within the Wayland Temple. The man appeared to be nearly a hundred years old, barely skin and bones left to him. He was surprised someone had not formally replaced him, but apparently it was not the way things were done. For all his years, Isaiah still remained vital, and Ethan hoped the man would stand as his own High Priest for years to come.

He and Seth and the other Nodian Order priests had spent several hours drilling the men of Wayland’s Temple. Much improvement had been made despite their initial resistance to being told what to do by foreigners. They simply had no time left to prepare.

Levi had taken it upon himself to organize what weapons he could from their armory, passing Ethan once again with a trolley full of swords, crossbows, and gunpowder kegs. He paused long enough to giggle, saying, “Who would have thought they would have this stuff here?” He went on his way muttering about each grain of the stuff being worth far more than gold for whatever he had in store. Ethan couldn’t be sure since The Order here had no cannon to speak of. Still, Bonifast was notorious for his ingenuity if nothing else.

Ethan found Isaiah and Seth with Emory in one of the main halls of the Temple. They were arguing amongst one another, when Ethan joined them.

“Despite my agreeing with you completely, we really have no choice in the matter,” Emory said to an exasperated Isaiah. “We are bound to do the King’s will and he’s made it clear.”

“What’s going on?” Ethan asked.

“The King has requested—” Seth began.

“Demanded is more like it,” Isaiah cut in.

“—that his royal guard be assembled,” Seth said.

“What’s so bad about that?”

Isaiah barely controlled his fury. “The problem is that he’s demanding a bodyguard of one hundred of The Order’s finest warriors.” He looked at Emory, disgusted. “Apparently they are under contract, with His Majesty, to provide exactly that.”

“It’s been that way since before I even joined The Order, Master Isaiah,” Emory explained. “There’s nothing I can do about it.”

“But that’s nearly a third of the warrior-priests available here,” Ethan said.

“Yes, and they’ll all be needed desperately on the frontlines when Mordred attacks,” Isaiah said hotly.

Emory shrugged his shoulders. “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do, truly.”

An hour later, Ethan watched with the others as one hundred of the Wayland Order’s priests marched in their priestly robes, outfitted with swords and bows, toward King Stephen’s palace several miles away.

“It’s a mistake, what the King is doing,” Seth said.

“It may be one of his last,” Isaiah added.

Ethan simply watched them go. He thought, probably, that one hundred men, even priests of Shaddai, would make very little difference, when considered against the size of Mordred’s forces. He wondered very much if these Wayland priests would fare well at all against the hybrid soldiers. The giant Anakims were an altogether bigger problem, to say the least. One strike from their great arms would dash half a dozen men to the ground.

As he stood there wondering how they might possibly put up a fight against Mordred’s army, an odd shadow and then another, passed over them. Ethan turned to find something he had never seen before—never even fathomed. A Man-o-war sailing ship drifted over the Temple suspended in the air by what appeared to be great tents of sail cloth. It remained as silent as a cloud except for the occasional groaning of the wood.

Ethan stood there on the Temple balcony stunned by this odd bird, until Isaiah threw him to the ground. He noticed Seth go down as well, then he heard the great explosion nearby. A section of the roof, higher up, mushroomed out in a gout of flame heaving ceiling tiles, wood, and concrete over them in a great wave which tumbled down, landing in the courtyard below.

More explosions followed in rapid succession, deafening them as debris rained down upon them from every direction. Ethan scrambled to his feet, realizing they must flee.

“Grenades!” Seth shouted as he helped Isaiah to his feet again.

Man-o-wars filled the sky over Evelah in mere moments while their crews dropped round grenades down upon the city. The fuses streaked white smoke behind them, trailing down, down until they tumbled onto roofs and exploded. Minutes into the attack the streets were filled with people scrambling for any cover they could find from the deadly rain.

The floating Man-o-wars continued southeast across the city in a line strafing everything in their path. Buildings exploded. Many already had been leveled and more burned. The King’s soldiers patrolling the streets tried to fire crossbows back at their attackers with little effect. The ships were simply too high up.

Ethan, Isaiah and Seth ran back through the Temple. At least one of the ships had remained overhead trying to pummel Shaddai’s Wayland Temple into dust. Shockwaves rattled the entire structure as plaster and glass shot away from walls.

Deeper and deeper into the Temple they ran, trying to escape the onslaught from above. “If we stay in here we’ll all be killed,” Isaiah said.

“I think that’s the idea,” Seth said as he followed down one of the broad staircases. The priests were running about like ants, trying to save themselves, but no one really knew where safety could be found.

“We’ve got to stop those ships,” Ethan said. “I can go on my own faster.”

Isaiah looked reluctant to separate, but conceded, finally, as another blast shook the building. “Watch over him, Seth,” Ethan said.

Seth nodded. “Hurry, but stay safe.”

Ethan shifted out of physical sight and launched out of the Temple through the crumbling walls into the sky, heading for the ship circling above them. As soon as he reached the ship, a pack of demons came upon him.

Ethan defended himself, dispatched three of the malevolent spirits, then dropped back into the physical world out of their sight, landing on the deck. Immediately, a dozen hybrid soldiers descended upon him from the rigging while others continued their work bombing the city below.

He took his sword, procured from the armory of Wayland’s Temple and struck down the first two with little trouble. With the hybrids vital organ strikes yielded faster results. Even hybrids still had to walk in physical bodies. As soon as the third hybrid was struck through the heart, Ethan tried to slash some of the lines connecting the ship to its balloons.

Fire bellowed hot air into sail cloth from coal stoves below. Ethan had seen leaves catch the wind from a fire and shoot into the air high above the flames. He’d also heard Mr. Howinger speak of birds riding currents of hot air and supposed this must be based upon the same thing. If he could only cut the ship free from the rigging nets, it would plummet out of the sky and be smashed to pieces on the streets of Evelah below. Not a pleasant prospect for the citizens beneath them, but better than bombed to death from above.

Ethan struck the ropes and saw the hemp lines scrape away, revealing metal cables beneath. No wonder these can hold an entire Man-o-war aloft! He tried again, but his sword only bounced away. “Great!” he said, then shifted to the spiritual plane. He’d seen the demons searching, but he had no choice. As soon as he became visible to them again they surged toward him with their weapons ready.

Ethan pulled his ethereal sword and whipped it fast into the cable. It cut through the cable like it wasn’t even there. The Man-o-war buckled as the support gave way. The demons attacked and Ethan had to shift back to the physical in time to escape them again. He leaped past more hybrid soldiers then shifted again and cut another support.

Over and over again he played the mouse to many cats until the entire stern section fell away from its support balloon. The bow section couldn’t maintain the full weight of the ship and snapped. Ethan, still in the physical, fell with the ship as it plummeted. The Man-o-war dropped vertically into one of the larger buildings in the city.

One of the hybrids grabbed him, looking for anything to hold onto as they fell. The impact threw them apart as the entire deck shattered next to them. Ethan managed to shift again while the hybrid fell away into the storm of fragmented lumber exploding all around them. One ship down, too many more to go.

AHOY!

Levi twisted the fuses tight and linked them securely with the roll of fuse material in his hand. He ran back toward the main gate of Evelah as some of the king’s soldiers waved him on hurriedly. “We’ve not got all day!” they shouted, impatient to have the walls secure well before the arrival of Mordred’s army.

The spool unwound in his hand as he jogged back toward the waiting guards. Levi watched carefully as the gate was lowered down into position again, wanting to be sure that the gate didn’t actually cut the line. It seemed all right. The guards did not wait to see any of Levi’s further preparations. They shot up the stone stairway leading to the top of the wall. Every man that could be mustered to the city’s defense had been called to service by Stephen in the hours following the news of the coming siege.

Men were still coming from villages and towns nearby, while couriers had been sent on horseback with the hope of rounding up as many more as possible. According to Wayland Law, every able bodied male above the age of fifteen was required to answer the King’s summons to war. The penalty for not doing so was death.

As Levi came back within the city, he noticed one small barrel of gunpowder still left unused. He’d begun with nearly fifty barrels, but had put them to good use both outside the wall and before the king’s palace. He picked up the last with a smile. “You look lonely, little fella. I’ll have to find a job for you.”

He noticed a large group of priests marching toward the palace down the main road. They were all wearing the light armor worn by Wayland’s Order and carrying various weapons with them. He ran from the wall to intercept them.

“Hello, men! where are you all going?” Levi asked as he caught up with the last of the group. A few of the last in the line paused to answer him.

“We’ve been conscripted by King Stephen as his personal guard,” one of them said.

“Personal guard?” Levi asked. “Why in the world would The Order of Shaddai be operating in that capacity? I thought your first business was protecting Shaddai’s Word and the Temple?”

“It’s been a longstanding agreement with the Royal House,” another said. “Besides, who would you rather have guarding you, the King’s soldiers or the priests of Shaddai?”

Levi smiled. “You’ve got a point. Mind if I tag along? I’d like to talk to King Stephen anyway.”

The priests waved him on as they jogged to catch up. As they passed the courtyard sitting before the palace, the same where Evelah’s citizens had been gathered in order to receive the King’s proclamation earlier, Levi observed the mounds of freshly dug earth at various intervals in the lush green lawn. He imagined the Royal Groundskeeper cursing whoever had dug so many holes and refilled them on his once beautiful lawn. Still, those holes might well save many lives before this was all over. Levi found it easy not to feel guilty about it.

As they began to pass beneath the portcullis, Levi heard a massive explosion behind them. He and the other men turned toward the Temple, finding a mushroom of smoke rising off the side of the building. Even more startling than the explosion was what had caused it to happen.

In the sky above the Wayland Temple, just now coming into the city, were at least two dozen of Mordred’s Man-o-war battleships sailing through the air. Levi’s mouth dropped open.

“What in the world are they?” yelled one of the priests standing next to Levi.

Levi could only stare in astonishment. “I’ve no idea. Never have I seen their like.”

More explosions erupted both at the Temple and within the city. In moments the sounds of panic and screaming had reached their ears at the palace. “They’re dropping grenades on the city,” Levi said. “They could practically level Evelah before Mordred ever shows up!”

“We’ve got to stop them,” one of the priests said.

“No!” said the priest in charge. “Our place is with the King. He needs our protection.” He motioned to the others and began issuing commands.

“Wait!” Levi pleaded. “Are there any cannon we can use here at the palace?”

“Not with enough range to reach those things as high up as they are,” said one of the priests who had straggled behind the main group. Most of the priests had already fallen in line behind the ranking priest in order to protect King Stephen inside his palace. “But I think I know of something kept within the King’s Museum of Science that might help us.”

Levi followed the two priests whom the leader had grudgingly allowed to stay behind. They led Levi deep into the palace as many of King Stephen’s soldiers rallied their defenses. The ships flew silently over the city leaving a rain of devastation in their wake. Each time they passed a window, Levi found the floating Man-o-wars edging ever closer.

The priests led him higher and higher utilizing stairways Levi had never accessed before during his own time in Stephen’s court. Finally they arrived at a set of large steel doors. One of the priests, Kline, opened the doors, revealing a vast store of strange inventions. Levi entered with Kline and the other priest, Devin.

Many items lined the walls: strange suits of armor, weapons, and contraptions of every kind imaginable. Levi’s eyes swept across the treasures before him. Kline led them back around a corner in the room where another hall of artifacts had been housed. There, suspended from the ceiling by steel cables, hung an assortment of flying machines.

Levi smiled. “What are they?”

Kline pointed to them. “I believe the King referred to them as gliders. I saw a man launch himself from the large balcony out that window during an exhibition for King Stephen. Inventors often bring their creations to the King of Wayland in the hopes that he will be inspired to fund their work.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like them before,” Levi said.

“I guess the King wasn’t feeling very inspired that day,” Devin said. “These are the only ones.”

Levi grinned, looking up at the gliders suspended from the ceiling as though in flight. “Well, I’m certainly feeling inspired. Let’s get them down. I’ve got an idea.”

Levi stood on the huge veranda overlooking Evelah on the southern side of King Stephen’s palace. He now wore one of the large gliders on his back, having the form of a large, triangular wing fastened to a light tubular frame. “How does this thing work again?” Levi asked.

Kline stood upon the balcony railing, fighting against the wind which threatened to topple him from his perch. “Just use your body to lean against this bar,” he said indicating the one which ran down from the wing-frame to cross below his chest. “Your weight will change the way the wing bears into the wind and thus change your direction. Lean back in the harness to rise once you have a good deal of speed going.”

Levi nodded. He hoped the quick lessons Kline had given Devon and him would be enough to keep them from killing themselves with this stunt. At any rate, this was the only way he could think of to reach those ships and stop them. Already buildings had been leveled in Evelah. People were screaming and running through the streets for their lives. “Let’s do this,” Levi said.

Kline nodded and then turned to face Evelah spreading out below him. He threw back a salute to Devon and Levi and then leaped forward away from the stone rail running the length of the balcony. Immediately he plummeted toward the stone garden paths several hundred feet below. Levi gasped until he saw the cloth wing catch the wind.

Kline swooped over the ground only a few dozen feet from striking the pavement. He soared upward, peaked and then dove again, building momentum to rise again. He did this maneuver several times to gain substantial height. Suddenly he picked up altitude rather dramatically. He whooped from far away. “I’ve caught a pocket of warmer air!”

The priest continued to climb. Levi looked back at Devon, who had taken up the rear position in this little parade. “I guess there’s no time like the present, lad.” Levi rushed to the railing and climbed up trying to adjust his balance and keep from dropping to the stones below in the process. He tilted the nose of the giant cloth wing-frame upward as Kline had told them to do.

Levi had the distinct feeling this was going to end badly. He jumped down from the balcony railing and backed up toward Devon.

“What are you doing, Captain?”

“Back up a bit, lad. I’m going to at least give this contraption a running start.”

Devon backed his own flying wing further into the palace and waited as Levi positioned himself. He took a few deep breaths and then surged forward as hard as he could. Levi felt the wing trying to catch the wind and nosed it down slightly. His speed increased, he leaped over the stone railing and cleared it, yelling reflexively. The wing-frame caught the wind and he sailed smoothly out over the city of Evelah below.

Levi’s departure had turned out smoother than his would-be instructor. He found that he was able to gain altitude much more quickly. When he reached the approximate place where Kline had yelled back to them, Levi also felt the temperature of the air change dramatically. His height increased rapidly until soon he was even higher than the airships he and the others meant to attack.

He had difficulty seeing behind the huge wing-frame, but hoped Devon had gotten underway safely. Levi came up a little higher even than Kline had managed before sailing out toward the Man-o-wars still bombing the city. Levi found that gentle alterations made keeping his altitude fairly easy. He dipped slightly, then rose, dipped and then rose over and over until he found himself over the mass of warships moving slowing over Evelah.

He noticed a cloud of dust on the horizon to the north as well. Levi could only suppose what was generating it—almost certainly Mordred’s army on the move toward Wayland’s capital and king. Still, he had no time to be concerned about that now. If he and the others didn’t manage to stop this first assault, there wouldn’t be anything left to withstand Mordred anyway.

Levi counted thirty ships. He saw two more gliders out to his right, the men both waving to him. Devon had made it safely after all. Levi praised Shaddai for his mercy and providence. He said a quick prayer for direction in what they should do now.

Near the Temple, Levi spotted one of the ships moving somewhat erratically. As he and the others flew over, he spotted the crew members left onboard running back and forth like chickens without their heads. They had their swords drawn, muskets in the hands of others, and were apparently chasing someone around the deck.

Cables began to pop and fall away from the assembly of balloons which kept the ships aloft. This particular ship had all but stopped its bombing by now as they tried desperately to keep from losing the one thing keeping them aloft. No sooner did the crew run one way than they abruptly shifted directions. Gideon could not see the intruder.

Lines to the balloon rigging continued to fall away despite the hybrid crew’s best efforts at stopping whomever was doing this to them. The Man-o-war floundered in midair as one whole assembly gave way. The balloons went up and fell apart completely as the cloth let go of its trapped hot air and its form. The sail cloth drifted peacefully down to the fires raging in buildings below.

The stern dropped, putting the ship vertical in the air near the Temple. The other section of balloon supports barely managed to hold, then snapped altogether. The Man-o-war plunged down into the streets of Evelah shattering like a bottle upon impact. Levi and the priests flying high above whooped for the small victory. “It had to be the boy,” Levi said to himself. “He can’t have all the fun!”

Levi angled his glider down and made a pass over one of the Man-o-wars still bombing the city. He was going too fast and soon overshot the balloon assembly. He realized getting from his glider to the ships would be far more difficult than he’d first expected. There were no landing platforms of any kind on a Man-o-war and Kline’s description of how men landed these gliders assumed one would have a lot of room.

He passed beyond the first ship he’d strafed and gained a bit of altitude before coming upon another. There was only one way to do this, Levi surmised. He would have to drop off of the glider and hope to catch a hold of the rigging nets keeping the balloons fastened to the ship.

Levi made his approach. At the last moment he remembered the way he’d seen gulls land with their great wings pulled up and back in order to catch the wind and use it as a brake. As he passed over the balloon assembly, Levi pulled back on the wing-frame as hard as he could. The cloth caught the wind and made an abrupt climb before stalling altogether.

Now almost completely vertical in the air over the airship, Levi felt the sensation of falling. He and the glider dropped like a stone to the rigging nets. He crashed with the glider and started to tumble backward as the impassive breeze grabbed the wing-frame and tried to jerk it away. Levi worked frantically to disentangle himself from the glider.

The billowing cloth and netting beneath him began to fall away again as the wind lifted him skyward. He drew his cutlass and slashed the harness straps. With the final cut, he came loose and gravity took over again. Levi fell backward hoping he was still over the ship.

He landed on the billowing balloon, bounced once, then raked across the surface on a downward slide over the side. Levi clawed furiously at the netting passing fast under his fingers until at last he caught hold, stopping his descent. His feet dangled in the air. He had nearly fallen away completely. As it was, Levi had only managed to get a grip on the side of the balloon.

The glider tore away, out of control, tumbled and then fell toward the streets below. By now he had certainly been noticed by some of the other ships, if not the crew on this one. Levi took stock of himself and his weapons. He still had two cutlasses and two braces with five pistols apiece. He looked skyward and saw the other two gliders circling. Soon they would either attempt a landing, as he had on this ship, or go to another.

Levi looked down toward the deck. It was still partly obscured from him by the swelling balloon. That hopefully meant he was likewise obscured from the crew below. He sheathed his sword and started the trek downward. This part he was fully familiar with having spent his entire life at sea running the sail rigs like a happy spider since the time he could walk.

He paused halfway down and tried to use his cutlass to cut through one of the ropes. The braid parted as his blade sliced through. Then he stopped. Beneath the braided rope lay a sturdy metal cable. “Blast,” he muttered. There was no way he could get through it. There had to be another way.

The more Levi thought on it, the more he realized his original plan had been foolish all along. If they had managed to sever the lines to the balloons, they would have gone down with the ship—a suicide mission. He remembered the few hybrids he had seen scurrying in pursuit on the ship which had already fallen from the sky. “Surely I can take down that many,” he supposed. Then he smiled, put away his sword and started toward the deck again.

He scaled down the lines cleanly enough, but as soon as he hit the deck, one of the hybrids dropping grenades on the citizens below spotted him. “Hey! What are you doing?”

Levi crossed his arms across his chest as he ran toward the soldiers lined at the railing where they were dropping bombs over the side. He whipped out two pistols, one in each hand, and fired. He shot the first hybrid right between the eyes. As the creature fell, Levi ran past, firing the second pistol at the next in line. Like shooting fish in a barrel, he thought. Could they make this any easier lining up on the rail like that?

As the next creature went down, Levi dropped the first pistol and reached for another. He continued hand over hand, firing, dropping, firing, reaching for the next pistol until he had killed ten with ten shots. But there were still two left on deck.

He reached for another pistol as a wolfish hybrid launched toward him with a huge battle axe in hand. As the beast raised the weapon above its head, Levi realized his braces were empty of pistols. He pulled one of his cutlasses just in time to attempt a deflection.

Levi pressed his hand against the back of the blade and raised it as the battle axe came crashing down. His sword shattered under the impact and the axe came down toward Levi’s head. He fell backward against the rail as the blade bit deep into the wood next to his face. The creature freed the axe and raised it again for the deathblow.

Levi drove the shattered end of his sword deep into the hybrid’s belly. The beast lurched back and fell to the deck, trying to remove the fractured sword from its middle. Levi snatched up the axe and laid into the beast like splitting firewood, ending it quickly.

Only one remained. He heard heavy footsteps approaching and whirled around to find a broadsword driving toward his chest. He didn’t have time to react. Only a last thought of how close he’d come to taking the ship. The hybrid shouted its war cry and lunged.

Inches from Levi’s chest, the sword and its owner were thrown sideways. The hybrid tumbled across the deck as a bewildered Levi watched. Ethan appeared on top of the creature’s shoulders as it tried to get back to its feet in shock. He drove his blade down and let the beast fall to the deck beneath him.

Levi smiled, elated. “Glad you finally made it, lad!” He heard noise behind him and turned to find both Kline and Devon rounding the base of the balloon assembly with arrows nocked to their bows. They stopped and looked at one another, when they saw Ethan and Levi standing there on the deck smiling among all of the dead soldiers.

“Better late than never,” Levi called, laughing. “Don’t worry there’s plenty of work still to do!”

RETRIBUTION

Their efforts so far had taken out two Man-o-wars from Mordred’s airship armada. Twenty eight of them remained, flying over Evelah dropping bombs as they went. There were now too many plumes of smoke rising into the sky from the city to be counted. These flying ships had to be stopped before they reduced the city to rubble beneath them.

Levi, never happier than behind the wheel of a ship, had formulated a plan quickly. The other ships seemed to still be unaware that this Man-o-war was now working for the other side. “Let’s see how you like a taste of your own medicine,” Levi said and pushed the lever forward that would cause the fans to rotate faster.

Ethan and Levi had run a quick inspection as they searched for supplies needed for the captain’s plan. They had found the stern of the ship modified so that horses yoked to a large treadmill of sorts churned out the power feeding to the fans on the sides of the ship, propelling it forward. “Horsepower,” Levi said surprised. “What will they think of next?”

A system of gears allowed more of the power coming from the steady pace of the animals to actually generate fan power, or less if that was desired. Levi cranked it up all the way and the ship lurched forward beneath them. “Takes a while to get your air legs,” Ethan said as he stumbled next to the Captain.

“Aye, but isn’t it grand?” Levi said. Captain Bonifast, clearly pleased with his new command, was ready for action. As they came upon the stern of the first target, Levi began issuing orders. “Ethan, get to the starboard cannons.”

Ethan shifted to the ethereal plane and arrived at the first of twelve cannons in the starboard lineup. They hadn’t been any use to the hybrids on the city below them, but up here where they were on the same level as their enemy, they would do very nicely.

The Man-o-war ahead of them had been cruising along at a steady clip until the hybrid soldiers onboard spotted the airship coming up fast at their rear. Ethan watched as they attempted an evasive maneuver, probably fearing the captain of this vessel had simply lost control for some reason.

Levi came up fast on the Man-o-war and then spun the wheel sharply to port bearing their starboard guns on the enemy’s stern. “Fire, Ethan!” Bonifast yelled at the top of his lungs.

The cannons had already been primed and loaded. All they needed was a man to ignite them. Ethan pulled the ignition cord on the first as the enemy ship passed before him. The flint fell and ignited the powder within. The first cannonball rocketed away.

It plowed, not into the stern exactly, but into the helm. The soldier who had been manning it ceased to exist as the iron ball smashed through the wheel and the fan assembly—all blasted to splinters in a moment. Ethan realm shifted down the line of cannons, igniting each with lightning speed and precision, doing the work of an entire gunnery crew in seconds.

The stern of the enemy Man-o-war disintegrated under the brutal barrage of cannon fire. Powder stores somewhere below deck exploded. Bonifast’s ship was thrown away by the blast just as another Man-o-war came into the fray.

The new enemy attacker fired several of its portside cannons. One of the balls flew over the deck while another sailed into Bonifast’s starboard side. Ethan leaned over the deck rail in order to inspect the damage. He turned back to Levi still cackling behind the wheel. “Ah, I love this ship!” he exclaimed. “That blast would have sunk us in the water!”

Levi pulled the control cord which connected to the coal stove vents currently supplying varying amounts of hot air to the balloons above them. The vents opened further, causing the ship to rise dramatically. The enemy ship fired again, but too late to catch them as Bonifast ascended higher into the sky.

He called to the other priests, Kline and Devon, as they stood at the rail with arrows dipped in pitch and aflame. “Light em’ up, boys!”

As the enemy ship passed beneath them, Kline and Devon let fly their flaming arrows. They streaked black smoke down to the billowing, ballooned sail cloth. As soon as the arrows struck, the pitch ignited the fabric, now dry from all of the hot air pumped into it. The fire spread across the top quickly on both sides of the balloon rigging.

In moments, the air bags holding them aloft had burned wide open. The ship dropped out of the sky like a stone. It shattered in pieces inside one of the King’s famous prayer parks—places built for contemplation of Shaddai’s word. Fortunately, no one was currently using them. The citizens of Evelah were still busy running for their lives from the aerial onslaught.

“Let’s get after them, boys!” Levi shouted. He opened up the horsepower to the fans and took the high road hoping to strafe as many of the Man-o-wars as possible before they knew what was happening. Clearly the flames were their weakness and Levi intended to exploit that advantage as long as he could.

Ethan joined Kline and Devon at the rails. They ran back and forth from port to starboard, firing flaming arrows, their tips dipped into the black pitch and then lit from the coal stoves burning beneath the ships balloons. The attack proved more successful than they might have anticipated.

Most of the Man-o-wars had been too busy to even notice the other ships going down. And their own bombs falling to the city below kept up so much racket they hadn’t even noticed the cannon fire. Now their ignorance had come back to bite them. Most of the crews didn’t even realize what had happened to them. One minute they were the kings of the sky, bombing innocent civilians below and pocking the landscape for years to come, the next moment their own hot air balloons were bursting into flame above them. They dropped like dead birds to the waiting city below.

The majority of the Man-o-wars went down rather easily given Levi’s better plan of attack. Still, there were a few which managed to put up a good fight. By the time the last of the airships had fallen, Levi’s new ship was pocked full of cannonball holes. She never would have lasted in the open water. When Levi finally brought the ship down for a landing, in the main courtyard at King Stephen’s palace, pieces were still falling off of the hull.

The great Man-o-war airship landed with a groaning smack against the pavement stones. Ethan watched as the King’s guard gathered around the ship as it rocked back and forth, wobbling on the keel. Despite the modifications Mordred’s people had made in the design, it still appeared to be meant for a water landing.

Levi threw over a rope ladder lashed to the rail and shimmied down quickly, ignoring the presence of the soldiers for the more urgent matter at hand. “You men, there, go and get something to brace the ship. Quickly! Don’t stand there gawking at me! Go before the balloons deflate and allow her to roll onto her side!”

The soldiers, looking quite confused, broke up to go and do as he’d bidden them. The majority of the soldiers remained, however. King Stephen was among them, watching Levi. He approached the Captain, but Ethan noticed that the man didn’t have the same demeanor about him as before.

Stephen actually smiled as he came upon Levi, still in action trying to get the ship properly settled. Ethan passed through the spiritual plane, appearing next to Levi while Kline and Devon climbed over the side as the Captain had done.

Ethan wondered if his presence with Levi might change the King’s expression, but though Stephen looked thoughtful when he saw him, he continued to smile. “Captain Bonifast, once again you prove to me that your loyalties are as solid as ever,” Stephen said.

He shook Levi’s hand vigorously. “I couldn’t have done it without Ethan, Your Majesty,” Levi said, indicating him with a pointed finger resting on the boy’s chest.

King Stephen looked at Ethan, even bowing his head slightly. “Yes, of course. My apologies, young man. I realize now that my earlier fears were far too hasty on your behalf.”

Ethan wasn’t quite sure how to take the drastic change in the king, but was glad for it nonetheless. “Not a problem, Your Majesty,” Ethan said. “I only hope our efforts were enough.”

“Aye, I saw a massive dust cloud to the north as the attack began,” Levi said. “Despite this victory, I fear we’ve only seen a glimpse of what awaits us when Mordred arrives.”

“And it can’t be far off now,” Ethan said. “Those Man-o-wars have given Mordred’s army time if nothing else.”

The king nodded solemnly. “Well, I suppose all we can do now is do our best and hope for the same. Come with me gentlemen and we’ll go over our planned defense.”

Levi and Ethan, with Kline and Devon strode after King Stephen and his entourage heading inside the palace. For the most part, the palace remained in good order. The Man-o-wars had hardly made it so far into the city before the counter attack had begun. The city of Evelah smoldered as buildings continued to burn and lives lay broken in the streets. And the worst was still yet to come.

SEIGE

Gideon rode his horse as hard as the animal would go, trying to remain ahead of Mordred’s army on the way to Evelah. He had diverted from the main road almost a mile away so that he could round the wall through the bordering forest and come into the city through The Order’s secret tunnel. Coming back into the city, he couldn’t believe the damage he found.

Before him, in the street, lay one of the huge Man-o-war battleships he had witnessed rising out of the Azure Sea earlier in the day. The massive balloons which had been rigged from their sail cloth appeared to have been burned away somehow.

As Gideon scanned the city before him, he saw multiple fires with plumes of gray smoke rising into the approaching twilight. He could see more airships in similar states of destruction lying throughout the area where he was. Some had landed in the streets, while others had fallen upon houses and other buildings in Evelah, collapsing them under their weight.

He wasn’t sure how, but King Stephen had evidently been ready with some plan when the strange ships arrived. The only activity he could spot at the moment was families trying to search the rubble for loved ones and the wounded crying in the street.

The army would begin their assault upon the wall in less than an hour. He had to find some way to fight without being recognized. Gideon realized he was still wearing the armor of Wayland’s King. Now all he needed was a helmet to match, then no one would know who he was. As night began to fall, he went through the debris filled streets in search of a fallen soldier from whom he might borrow a piece of anonymity.

After a briefing by King Stephen and his War Master, Ethan and Levi found themselves marching to the wall. This would be the inevitable first line of defense for the city. Every man able to wield a weapon had been conscripted into action. What remained of Evelah would have to fight for their lives tonight.

There was a full moon shining down brightly upon the city. Evelah still smoldered behind them all the way to the palace’s outer perimeter. In the event the wall was breached, the King would be escorted back to the palace by his special guard comprised of the priests in The Order here in Wayland. Now, they stood upon the wall, ready to fight along with the King himself.

Ethan had wondered about Stephen’s change in attitude before. By now he felt sure that the demonic oppression which had settled upon the monarch for so long had finally given way to his better nature. Stephen was outfitted in gleaming silver armor, a silver diadem and his sword. He would fight alongside his men for as long as possible.

Of what little he knew about the King of Wayland, this happened to be one of his greater qualities and one for which the people had loved him for so long. As rumors went, this one happened to be true. Just as he had fought so hard at Emmanuel City a year ago, tonight he would fight again.

When they had realized where the King wanted him and Levi to be stationed, they had sent back word to the Temple, hoping to persuade Seth to remain there with Isaiah while the other priests from the Nodian Order came to fight. Seth had decided the frontline was his place and stood nearby, trying to echolocate through the dense fog lying at the perimeter of the forest.

Many of the soldiers upon the wall, civilians only inducted into the service this day, shook visibly with fright as their king called out across the wall for them to show no fear in the face of the enemy. Already they had been privy to the drumming cadence of the enemy’s march. Out in the foggy night, it sounded like thousands approaching to seal Evelah’s doom.

Slowly the marching thrum grew closer. Ethan waited among those upon the wall. He wondered when it would be the right time to shift into the spiritual realm and attack. But a horde of demons had been among those with Mordred on his ships and there was no reason to suppose they hadn’t come with him now. His own tingling flesh told him it was true. They were great in number and despite the power Shaddai had given unto him, he remained only one.

Ethan whispered a prayer for the protection of these people and for personal guidance during the battle. He wanted to be led by the Lord completely. Otherwise this battle would not go well. It might end badly at any rate, but if he followed Shaddai’s leadership he would come through closer to the fulfillment of the prophecy.

Ethan kept that one thought at the forefront of his mind. A prophecy had been made and a prophecy must be fulfilled. He had no idea how it might come about, only that it would, in some way, be completed as it should. That one thought comforted him now as the drumming of feet in the dark grew louder and closer.

Mordred might indeed sack Wayland’s capital today. He might kill the King. He might manage, even, to take all of Wayland, but the time would come when destruction would come down upon him from on high. A smile spread across his face, until he thought about those he might lose in the process.

His friends might be killed tonight. And what about Gideon? Where was he in all of this? His mind wandered back to the night before when he had faced the man upon the palace wall. Gideon had spared him despite his threats to the contrary. Where was he at this moment and what was he doing? Had he run from the city, back to Mordred to receive new instructions, or was he lurking among Evelah’s ruins waiting for another opportunity to strike at him?

There was one thing Ethan was certain of. This was no time to ponder the possibilities. A great battle lay before them all now. Whatever the future held for any of them Shaddai was still in control.

Gideon stood upon the wall surrounding Evelah. He stood anonymous among several thousand of the King’s soldiers spread out along the northern portion of the great wall. It was broad enough at the top so that two wagons could drive its length side by side. Now, with so many men atop it, the wall seemed crowded and stiflingly so.

He had found a helmet, as expected, lying in the street near a fallen soldier of Wayland. It wasn’t exactly a match for the uniform he’d taken from the guard outpost, but considering the cobble of uniforms he saw on the newly conscripted citizens here on the wall, he doubted that it mattered. No one was looking for him. All that anyone in Evelah cared about at the moment was the steady march of the approaching army.

Everyone remained silent as their heavy steps echoed out of the mist-shrouded darkness. The torches upon the wall could not penetrate the fog. Gideon closed his eyes to pray. The breathing of the anxious men filled his ears. They weren’t saying it, but they were all scared to death. There was good reason to be. The army that Gideon had seen massing on Wayland’s northern shore had been unlike any he’d ever seen assembled.

Gideon prayed.

As he opened his eyes again, he realized the steady thrum of the march had stopped. He could sense them out just beyond sight—the heavy mist shielding them from thousands of fearful, watching eyes. The trees that bordered the city may have been beautiful on a spring day, but they were a curse now. The enemy stood among them hidden.

A lone cry came up out of the darkness then. One voice calling out to King Stephen himself. Gideon immediately recognized the man. If there had been any doubt before, now he was sure. Mordred had indeed come along to lead this campaign.

“Stephen!” Mordred cried. “I’ve come for you, Stephen! With an army beyond your imagination! Surrender now. Have these cowards lay down their arms and I might show you some mercy.”

From a hundred yards down the wall, Gideon heard the King’s reply. “We are no cowards, Mordred!” Stephen said. “We will never surrender Evelah to you!”

Laughter resounded from Mordred and his army after him. When it had died down, he said, “Dear Stephen, I was so hoping you would say that!”

Gideon heard something building then in the darkness…footsteps…giant footsteps.

Out of the fog, coming directly down the main road to the heavy iron gate of the city, came a host of the giants that Gideon had seen upon the northern shore. They ran in two long lines, each pushing one side of a massive, rolling battering ram. It appeared to have been fashioned from a huge tree and was still several hundred feet long. At the head of it a heavy, spiked iron ball, much like a mace, had been added. Along its sides, long metal spikes had been driven straight through the trunk so that nearly fifty giants could push it.

With a number of wheels bearing its weight, the full force of the giant’s combined strength could be utilized in the ramming. Gideon thought about the gate. It consisted of a heavy iron meshwork which drove into metal slots in the ground. Beyond that stood two massive wooden doors reinforced with steel bands. It wouldn’t hold for very long against what he saw coming.

The order sounded from the King. “Fire!”

Archers, established along the length of the wall, fired their arrows at the approaching giants. These brutes had been outfitted with armor, but still some of the shots got through. Some of the giants faltered as they were struck repeatedly, but they did not stop.

Angry now, their pace only increased as they screamed in fury and planted the battering ram into the iron portcullis. The impact shook everyone on the wall within one hundred yards of the gate. The iron held, but had been dented significantly. “Fire again!” King Stephen screamed.

The archers, shaken and bewildered, leaned over the wall and took aim again. Gideon didn’t have a bow on him, only two swords. He leaned after the archers. Suddenly the man in front of him screamed and fell back onto Gideon. He had an arrow protruding from his sternum.

Gideon snatched the man’s bow and quiver as he eased him to the ground. He nocked two arrows as return fire took down more men around him. He leaned over the edge, sighted two enemy archers hiding among the trees and shot them out of the branches. These and many more were providing the cover fire necessary for the giants to back up with their battering ram in order to give it another run.

“The trees,” Gideon cried, hoping to warn the others nearby. He fired again. Another of them fell out of the branches. Meanwhile the giants had managed to get enough space between themselves and the gate. They surged forward again with the ram. The king’s archers tried to fire on them again, but the enemy provided cover fire on a grander scale.

The giants hit the gate again. It buckled and gave way. The portcullis fell under the ram as it smashed through and hit the wooden double doors. The blow had been almost fully absorbed on the portcullis and went no further. The king, realizing the imminent breach, ordered his men down from the wall. “Hurry, before they break through! Meet them at arms!”

BREACH!

Levi grabbed the torch from the mount upon the wall and rushed for the stone staircase leading down. “Let me through!” he shouted as he pushed through bowmen trying to reach the wall at the King’s command. Levi ran down the stairs and hit the ground running. He quickly found the fuse he’d left in place.

The torch set the fuse cord alight. It hissed and bounced around like a wounded snake as the flame ran across the ground toward Levi’s buried payload beyond the wall. The giants had crashed into the wall twice now and were backing up for another go. Levi could see the cracks in the wooden doors. It wouldn’t last much longer.

The fire ran under the space beneath the doors and beyond the ruined portcullis. The giants retreated a full fifty yards with their battering ram intending to make this run at the gate their last. The fire ran toward them as they surged toward the gate. About thirty five yards from the ruined gate the fire met the giants and their battering ram. It ran underground just as they lumbered by.

The ground heaved upward underneath them. Fire erupted out of the ground behind the plume of earth. The great tree the giants had been using as a battering ram shattered in flame. The Anakim’s bodies filled the trees around the main road. On the wall, after the initial shock, King Stephen and his men cheered.

Gideon had barely noticed the fire bouncing down the road before the explosion. His ears were still ringing. He didn’t know who had rigged the charge until he looked down on their side of the gate and saw Levi Bonifast whooping and cheering at his triumph.

Gideon stood up to the wall again. He was covered in dust and ash from the blast. Nearly everyone on the wall had been bathed in dry earth. Gideon surveyed the damage. Stephen’s soldiers returned to their posts only to be cut down as a massive hail of arrows arced from the trees to the wall.

Bodies fell around him. Gideon nocked arrows as fast as he could, firing on everything that moved in the darkness. More giants swarmed out of the darkness with hybrids following. They came down the main road as their archers increased their cover fire.

Two of the giants pulled the smashed portcullis out of the way as the rest heaved smaller ten man battering rams of iron into the door. The King’s soldiers swarmed down from the wall with their swords drawn. Gideon drew his swords and ran down the wall toward the main gate. So many bodies lay on the wall. The way had been all but cleared by those abandoning their posts here for lower ground and the fight coming through the gate any moment.

Gideon noticed the King already down from the wall by now. His personal guard were ushering him back toward the palace. The giants burst through the doors, smashing them to the side on their ruined hinges.

Immediately the Anakims surged through the breach and began to cut down men three at a time with great broadswords made for their size. Gideon leaped away from the wall. He landed on the shoulders of one of the giants using his momentum to ram both of his swords through the man’s clavicles. The giant lurched, stumbled, and fell.

Gideon leaped into the fray with the other giants as the king’s soldiers tried desperately to keep them at bay. Somewhere in the battle he heard Levi Bonifast, but he couldn’t be sure where. The streets inside the wall had turned to pure chaos now.

Hybrids and giants swarmed through the streets. Behind them, Gideon saw Wraith Riders charging through on horseback, making their way for the palace in the distance. By now he’d been swept far from where he had entered the battle. It was difficult to tell where Mordred might be among the horsemen and Gideon had no way to reach him now.

He slashed at every enemy he could take on. His twin swords dripped with gore as he found his next victim. The giants weren’t so difficult for him. Avoiding their powerful strikes was the real danger. They could knock even a guarded man off his feet with one blow.

Gideon found another Anakim, dodged his strike—the giant’s heavy blade smashing into the cobble stone street. In close, Gideon slammed his sword through the giant’s ribs, through his right lung and into his heart. He rolled out just as the Anakim faltered and fell over where Gideon had been crouched.

He turned on the next foe, a hybrid, decapitated the beast and went on. Another hybrid jumped him from behind as the other fell. Gideon shot out his foot to the rear, smashed the creature under the chin in the trachea and then whirled with his blade to slice across its belly. As its life spilled out, the priest moved on to the next and the next.

So it went for what seemed like an eternity. There seemed to be no end to the enemy’s numbers. Gideon’s arms burned and ached with fatigue. How many had he killed so far? He’d lost count after fifty. Already the horses and their riders had passed beyond his hearing. Could they possibly have reached the palace yet?

The king would certainly be Mordred’s priority target. Once he had Stephen in custody, the battle would end quickly. The King’s army would be ordered to stand down. If Stephen refused to issue the order, he would be killed and Mordred would declare himself King in Wayland even before Stephen’s men stopped fighting.

With the King in such danger, Gideon realized he had to get to the palace as quickly as possible. What happened down here wouldn’t make any difference anyway. He killed one last hybrid and rushed off through the streets. As each new assailant presented before him, Gideon tore through them and moved on.

He only hoped he could reach the palace in time. The irony of Gideon’s actions didn’t escape him. The night before he had very nearly assassinated King Stephen. Here he was now trying to save the very man, he’d agreed to kill.

Ethan found that he could not stay in the spiritual realm for more than an instant. On his first and second attempts to realm shift, he had become aware of huge numbers of demons operating on the ethereal plane around him. His shifting made him immediately noticeable to them all—the brightest light in the city.

Instead he managed to jump in and out so that his foes in the physical and spiritual realms remained confused. He disappeared from before a giant Anakim and then immediately, at least as the giant perceived, appeared behind him. Ethan cut him down with a lethal blow to vital organs.

The Anakims may have been huge men, but they still had the same vulnerabilities as normal people. All that mattered was knowing where to hit them and the priests of Shaddai had all been well trained. In fact, as Ethan surveyed the battle unfolding in Evelah’s streets, he noticed that it was indeed the priests of Shaddai who faired the best in this melee.

King Stephen had retreated, with the priests from the Nodian Order providing escort, to the palace. He had to be kept safe and Mordred’s army had breached the walls quicker than had been expected. Hopefully the priests could get him there safely.

The streets had filled with the bodies of the wounded and the fallen. The metallic odor of blood filled the air in Evelah. It was nauseating.

Ethan heard the thunder of hooves coming down the streets behind him. He turned and shifted out of the physical just in time to escape the sword of one of the riders. He reappeared ten feet off the street before the demons in the area could attack.

Wraith Riders galloped hard down the main thoroughfare, heading for the palace. Ethan was sure Mordred would be among them, but they all looked the same. There was no stopping them at this pace without shifting and there were too many demons around for that.

Ethan suddenly realized why the demons were even present. They didn’t seem to be doing much in the way of fighting in this battle and yet they were everywhere among the combatants. Could it be that Mordred, or even Jericho, had figured out a way to keep him from utilizing his power in this fight? Were they all busy looking for him?

A hybrid soldier tried to dispatch him from behind, but Ethan beat him to it. As the creature fell, Ethan ran to intercept the last of the Wraith Riders.

The rider swept down with his broadsword as he approached. But instead of ducking the blow, Ethan leaped over the blade in a split second realm shift that knocked the rider from his saddle. Ethan took his place seizing the reins and goading the black horse on even faster.

Ethan raced through the streets, trying to catch the other riders. A group of Anakims lunged toward him from up ahead, forcing him to change course. The Wraith Riders disappeared around a bend on the main road where a group of buildings were still smoldering from the earlier bombing.

The horse obeyed his commands smoothly and Ethan avoided the giants easily. But now he wasn’t sure how he might catch the black riders. He took several side streets in succession and noticed the fighting had largely remained on the main road. Most of Mordred’s army was either headed toward the palace or making sure his Wraith Riders got there unhindered.

A winding lane opened up before him. A group of houses lay crushed beneath one of the fallen airships, spilling its debris into the street. Ethan and his mount leaped over some of the wreckage and dodged around the rest, making their way steadily toward the palace now visible in the distance.

RETREAT

Levi and Seth remained among the priests of the Wayland Order as they and King Stephen’s soldiers escorted him back to the palace. No sooner had the King and his entourage managed to escape being pinned on the wall than Mordred’s giants and hybrids flooded through the breach in the main gate. They were on the run, trying to get their sovereign to safety, if there even was such a thing in Evelah now.

Levi and Seth lagged behind with some of the other priests, like Kline and Devon, taking down giants that had managed to keep up with them as well as the much faster hybrids. Some of these abominable soldiers had taken on wolf-like characteristics, maintaining a fast pace, even traveling at times on all fours with their swords upon their backs.

Seth dodged one attack, countering with a sword to the hybrid’s belly. His clean, effortless attacks made Levi a little envious of the blind man’s prowess. He reminded him of a calmer Gideon. Despite multiple enemies and various kinds of attacks, Seth never grimaced or cried out. As far as Levi could tell, the man hadn’t even broken a sweat yet.

For his own part Levi remained blood and guts and glory. He yelled at his enemies and gritted his teeth, using his anger to keep up with the ceaseless drain on his strength. He looked like someone who had just been keelhauled compared to his blind friend.

The other priests were doing fairly well. Some of them had fallen, but others had stayed behind, trying to keep a cushion between the frontrunners of Mordred’s army and King Stephen. Devon and Kline, both expert archers, provided a good deal of in flight cover backing steadily away from the advance as they let arrows fly from their bows into the breasts of the enemy. When they and the other archers ran out of ammunition, they caught arrows from the air or grabbed them from the street as the enemy fired them astray.

After a mile or more of steady retreat and fighting, the king’s entourage found a few undamaged wagons. They all piled into them and took off at a much greater pace for the palace. Seth deftly leaped into one of the wagons and called back for Levi as he screamed furiously cutting down another hybrid.

Levi smiled at his fallen foe and then looked up at the sound of distant, closing hoof-beats. Wraith Riders, five or six dozen at least, charged hard up the main road after them. Levi turned and ran for the wagon as it started away with the King and all of his surviving personal guard. “Wraith Riders!” Levi yelled as he leaped for the speeding wagon.

Seth caught Levi’s arm with one hand, his belt with the other and hauled him onboard. He shouted back to the driver, warning him of the threat. The wagon lurched away even faster. But the palace remained another mile away. At the rate the Wraith Riders were closing on them, it would be close getting inside with the king before they were overtaken. The Anakims may have been big and the hybrids brutally vicious, but the Wraith Riders were both, with the sort of fighting skill found in the warrior-priests of Shaddai added in.

Their wagons passed through the palace gates. Levi leaped from the back of his wagon in order to close the gates upon the Wraith Riders and give the King and his men more time to fortify. Devon followed and together they pushed the sculpted iron gates into place. Levi found the lever which locked them together and pulled it down. With a heavy click, the deed was done and only just in time.

The Wraith Riders, wearing their leather masks with devilish faces painted upon them and midnight black armor, raced through the streets toward the gates. They looked like a wave of beetles coming to claim a carcass. Levi and Devon ran back through the main palace courtyard, following the trail of the wagons.

As the two men reached them again, the King’s entourage of soldiers and warrior-priests escorted Stephen inside the palace. Levi found Seth and they followed. Heavy wooden doors were shut and great cedar beams laid into place across the frame to seal them.

“Come, men,” Stephen said. “We must retreat to the armory. It is well fortified and we’ll have all the weapons we need.”

The men followed him through the palace, rising level by level. Seth stopped and grabbed Levi’s arm. He listened with his more attuned hearing for a moment. “I hear the riders. They’ve stopped at the gate.” A moment’s pause. “They’re cutting through.”

“Through iron bars?” Levi asked, but he already knew it must be true. After all, they weren’t dealing with natural things, but unnatural. After all that Levi had witnessed in this war, he found his own seeming surprise moot. A moment later, as they started after the king again, Levi heard the renewed sound of many horses galloping upon the cobblestones of the main courtyard.

He knew already that the doors they had shut after themselves throughout the palace would do nothing to keep these riders at bay. Soon they would find them. Then it would be a fight to the death. He would do his best, but he wasn’t sure how long they would hold out. At the very least, he was fighting side by side with some of the finest warriors he’d ever known and that might make a difference.

Suddenly Levi wanted very much to have Ethan with him. The boy had become separated from them during the fight at the front gate. He dwelt on it for only a moment as he moved on.

By the time they had all reached the armory, and were about to shut up its solid iron doors, Seth grabbed Levi’s arm again. “They’re in the palace!”

Gideon reached the palace in time to see the King and his men shutting themselves up inside. The Wraith Riders had reached the courtyard gate and had sliced through solid iron bars with little difficulty. Two of the riders launched their black steeds at the gate and kicked it down with their front hooves. The lot of them, more than fifty as far as he could tell, stormed across the cobblestone courtyard toward the palace rising above it.

Gideon ducked around the palace, looking for another way in. He’d managed to find a grappling hook from one of the fallen soldiers along his way and spotted a terrace several stories up that looked like a good place to enter. He threw the four pronged steel head up and over the stone rail; pulled it to make sure he had good purchase and then steadily pulled himself up the wall.

Ethan rode up upon the sidewall closing in the palace courtyard. His black stallion whinnied loudly when it saw the other horses and their riders assembled before the palace entrance while three of the Wraith Riders bashed the wooden doors in. Many of the riders looked up to find him there and pointed only to be shocked when he disappeared from the saddle.

Ethan flew out of thin air into the midst of the riders with his sword drawn and ready for action. He felt alive like never before, the spirit of Shaddai filling him to the brim with confidence and strength. Mordred became visible to him, his horned mask standing out now while the riders were still.

Sword outstretched, Ethan launched himself at the warlord only to have a dozen Wraith Riders intercept him. He battled toward Mordred screaming the man’s name as the palace doors were smashed in. Mordred immediately launched his horse toward the doors. Ethan fought and killed many of the soldiers despite their prowess, but there were always more to stand between him and Mordred.

Ethan decided to bypass them altogether and shifted into the spiritual realm. But there, waiting for him, was a horde of demons and Jericho standing among them the most prominent. As the physical world and its inhabitants became only a backdrop, Ethan and the demon lord surveyed one another.

“So,” Jericho said, “you have come.”

There was menace and perhaps even delight in Jericho’s tone. And yet, Ethan felt no fear.

“Of course, I’m here,” Ethan said. “The prophecy must be fulfilled. There is no avoiding it.”

Jericho did not move. Something about that statement had rattled him. Ethan could sense it even if he didn’t see it. He looked around him, trying to take in the sheer number of wicked spirits present—waiting to pounce upon him. “I guess I shouldn’t expect a fair fight from you,” Ethan said.

Jericho smiled and drew his massive ethereal blade. “Do you really believe it would matter?”

Before Ethan could answer, a furious howl arose from among the demons surrounding them. In an instant, Ethan found that each and every one of the demons, other than Jericho, was now guarded by an angel. He hadn’t seen them approach. They had just appeared in place, many with their weapons drawn to the throats of their particular demon. One move and they would be dispatched to wherever it was their wounded fled.

Ethan turned back to Jericho. Confidence shone brightly from his eyes, while the demon lord looked far less than pleased.

“What is the meaning of this intrusion!” he bellowed. But not one of the angels bothered to respond to him. Jericho looked about him. No one was coming to his aid.

“So be it,” he said, disgusted. Without further reservation, Jericho launched himself at Ethan. With hardly a thought, Ethan’s blade appeared in his hand. He blocked the strike from the demon and parried.

Jericho whirled and met his blade as another appeared in Ethan’s other hand. He tried to use some of the techniques Gideon had taught him, but the demon was simply too powerful. Tricks that had allowed him to vanquish other spirits fell short with Jericho.

None of the other demons dared to interfere. The angels remained on guard, but did not try to help him beyond their mandate. Ethan knew the fight was his. He was the Deliverer of Prophecy. He would have to struggle through by faith.

For several moments their battle raged on. Had they been perceptible by human eyes at all, they would simply have appeared as blurs of color amid the clash of almost constant lightning.

Ethan noticed that all of the surviving Wraith Riders had entered the palace by now. He hadn’t been paying much attention to them since facing Jericho. What had happened to the King? By now they might have him. Mordred could already be in control. He had to hurry and get in there to fulfill the prophecy and stop this war.

Jericho seemed to sense his urgency and increased the ferocity of his attack. At the very least he would prevent the Deliverer from interfering with Mordred’s plans. And then Ethan remembered the one advantage he’d always held over demons even from his earliest memory. He disappeared from Jericho’s sight as the demon’s blade drove through the air where Ethan had just been standing.

Ethan raced into the palace on foot. He wasn’t entirely sure if he could remain hidden from Jericho. Something about the enormous amount of power exuded by this particular demon had always thrown off his gifts. Even as he had raced after the Wraith Riders, the demons had become less visible to him while he remained in the physical world. Only when he’d shifted before the palace had he realized the full extent of the demonic presence around him.

Ethan shifted again, entering the ethereal plane, rocketing through the palace. He found the Wraith Riders with Mordred inside a large chamber filled with weapons. The iron doors had been blasted open by what looked like a small charge of gunpowder.

Inside, Mordred stood with King Stephen kneeling before him. One of the Wraith Riders held a dagger to his throat. The other soldiers surrounded a small group of Wayland priests. Levi and Seth stood among them. The tips of many swords were held waiting at their throats. For once, even Levi had been left speechless.

Mordred had won. He had taken the king. Wayland would be his if Ethan did not stop him now. There were no demons in the room. No doubt they were all still being held at bay outside the palace by Shaddai’s angels. Only Jericho was loose and he would be here in moments.

Mordred laughed, realizing his victory. He looked at the prisoners being held at sword point. “Kill them all. They are of no use to me now.”

“Wait!” Ethan appeared in the middle of the chamber. The walls were lined with racks of armor and weapons. This must be the King’s armory, he thought. But all these weapons had not been able to stop Mordred and his Wraith Riders. No wonder all of Nod was held by them. And now, Wayland dangled by a mere thread of hope.

Mordred looked upon him evidently not sure how exactly to proceed. Fear danced in his eyes. Ethan saw it there. He feared the prophecy. Facing the Deliverer might still undo his victory after all. “Stop!” he commanded his soldiers.

“Kill him, Ethan!” Levi said. The tip of a sword pushed tighter against his Adam’s apple.

Mordred smiled. “I have your friends, boy. Don’t do anything foolish. If you are trying to fulfill that useless prophecy, you’ll only succeed in getting them killed.”

Ethan looked around the room. He wasn’t sure what to do. Mordred was right. He couldn’t attack him and save his friends. How could he live with himself if he got them all killed?

And then Gideon ran into the room behind him and stopped cold with two swords in his hand. He looked at everyone in the room, appearing shocked at the situation he’d found.

“Well, well, well…if it isn’t my personal assassin,” Mordred crowed. “Could this have turned out better?”

Ethan suddenly felt darkness enter the room unseen. Jericho had come. His presence filled the chamber with a sense of impending doom. Mordred shuddered at that moment and Ethan saw that the demon had entered him.

There they stood together in one body, more powerful than ever. Mordred bellowed out his laughter. “My plans have all come together now!”

Ethan couldn’t tell if it was the demon or Mordred speaking now. Who was actually in control at this point? He had no way of knowing, though he sensed it was probably Jericho—the more dangerous of the two by far.

“Do you remember your sweet, precious child, Gideon?” Mordred asked, a devilish grin playing happily upon his lips. “The child is still in my control.”

Ethan stood between Mordred and his friend. He looked at Gideon, the shock plain on his face. So that was the missing piece of the puzzle—the reason why Gideon had allowed Mordred to control him. But how could he have a child?

Then he realized. Ethan mouthed the word Sarah? Gideon blinked slowly and swallowed, but he didn’t move. His eyes remained hard, then locked back onto Mordred still enjoying his advantage over everyone in the room.

“The time has finally come, Gideon,” Mordred said. Menace made his voice like ice. “Kill Shaddai’s Deliverer as you were commissioned to do. If you fail, Jericho will not hesitate to return immediately to Nod and destroy the child as we did his mother.”

Ethan looked over his shoulder at Mordred. So, he had already killed Sarah. No wonder Gideon feared for his son. At some point, Mordred had found out what others may only have suspected about Gideon’s relationship with the girl. Knowing Mordred, he may have even kept her alive so that Gideon could see her death.

He felt pity for his friend as he turned back to him. But Gideon’s expression had turned to stone. What have they done to you my friend? Ethan wondered.

Gideon raised his swords and then looked into Ethan’s eyes. “Forgive me,” he whispered. Then he leaped at Ethan, his blades criss-crossing before him.

Ethan dodge to the side as one of Gideon’s swords cut the air near his cheek. Everything had turned upside down again. Ethan had thought, surely, that Gideon wouldn’t actually kill him. He’d been spared on the wall that night Ethan had confronted him. Perhaps he had repented then, but now the threat to his child had taken precedence over everything else. Mordred had control again.

Anger filled Ethan as he realized what was happening. No matter what, he would have to see at least one of his friends die today, or die himself. He blocked Gideon’s strikes again and again as they circled one another in the middle of the room, neither of them willing to give ground.

Mordred gazed upon them with unbridled bloodlust. His victory was complete. He had Nod and now Wayland conquered. The Order’s greatest warrior priest was his slave to command. The Deliverer might soon be dead and the prophecy appeared to be defeated.

Ethan shifted in and out of the spiritual realm trying to get past Gideon. But his friend was still too attuned for that. Each time his ethereal blade cut the physical air, Gideon reacted, blocking him as though seeing Ethan’s strike a moment before he made it.

And then, suddenly, Gideon screamed, “NOW!”

Ethan had no idea what he meant.

Gideon whirled around using his momentum to hurl one of his swords at Mordred. Ethan watched the blade travel, as though in slow motion. Mordred would have no time to react. But Jericho had seen it too and he did take action.

The demon pulled away, trying desperately to separate himself from Mordred’s body. Ethan anticipated the demon’s move and flung his own ethereal blade to intercept.

Gideon’s sword smashed into Mordred’s chest, splitting his sternum on the way through his heart. Ethan’s ethereal blade caught Jericho just as he exited Mordred’s body. Both demon and man cried out in agony.

Mordred stood only a moment before falling forward on Gideon’s sword. His life spilled onto the pavement beneath him. Jericho’s wounded form, dissolved away like leaves blown by the wind. He had tried to say something to Ethan in that last moment, but his dissolution stole it away.

THE END?

“So, the prophecy was fulfilled?” One of the children shouted.

The Old Storyteller smiled and winked his eye. “Yes, dear one, the prophecy of Shaddai was indeed fulfilled that day,” he said. “Mordred was dead and the demons that had been allied to the Wraith Riders were gone.”

“But how?” Another child asked.

“Though no one is quite certain, it may have been because of their pact with Mordred. Perhaps they were only able to invade our realm because of their link to the Wraith Riders.”

One of the young girls stood up. “What about the baby? Did the baby live? And Elspeth…what happened to her?”

The Old Storyteller chuckled, remembering. “The baby was perfectly safe with Elspeth. No one returned to harm them. In fact, Gideon eventually fell in love with Ethan’s sister. They were married and had many more children of their own. And when the people desired a king they called upon Gideon once again. He ruled wisely and lived to a good old age with his queen. Before he died, Gideon even saw the birth of his second great grandchild.”

I stood up then. “But what about Ethan, sir? What happened to him? I thought the prophecy said that he was to be the king.”

“Ah, young Phineas, of course,” he said. “I see you were paying attention. That’s good.”

“Yes, sir, and the prophecy stated that, Shaddai’s priest would be a sword of judgment and a king to bring the hearts of the people back to their God.”

“Yes it did, Phineas,” he said, smiling. “But Gideon was also a priest of Shaddai’s Order and it was his sword that brought judgment upon Mordred in the end.”

I stood there stunned as the epiphany slowly sank into my mind.

Seeing the truth dawn on my face, the old man laughed. “And as far as the hearts of the people, Gideon, as king, cleansed our country of all its idols. He led by example in his devotion to Shaddai. A devotion that never wavered for a moment from that time on.”

I nodded. Of course it all made sense now.

The Old Storyteller got up from his perch upon the fountains ledge. “Now, children, I’m afraid my story is concluded and it’s time for you all to go and see about your supper. My apologies to you, if I’ve kept you too long from your parents.”

“But you still didn’t say what happened to Ethan,” I insisted.

The old man gave me a sly smirk as he considered his answer. “He stayed on with Gideon for many years, doing what he could in the service of the King. One day, late in his life, he disappeared, and his friends never saw him again. Rumors circulated for a while, but none of them knew where he had gone for sure. Soon enough, he passed from their thoughts altogether…so it’s difficult to say, isn’t it?”

Satisfied with this last bit of information, the other children scampered away as dusk silently descended upon the day. They leaped and ran through the streets on their way to their homes, their tables and their beds. I alone remained, standing there watching the old man as he gathered his satchel and his walking stick and turned to leave.

As his story had neared its end, the streets had gradually grown more and more quiet. Traffickers retired to their homes and places of business closed down for the evening until the new day brought them all out again to haggle for the best prices on their goods.

I watched as his staff began to click on the stones, making his way down the street. “You’re him, aren’t you?” I called.

He stopped, his back still turned to me.

“You’re Ethan.”

He turned then with a weary smile upon his face. He said nothing until he’d walked back to me. “What makes you say that, Phineas?”

I wasn’t sure what to say. I reached down and pulled back my sleeve to reveal my right forearm. “You described a mark, like a star, on Ethan’s arm when he was a small child,” I said, so nervous I almost stuttered.

There, revealed upon my own right forearm, was the same mark in the semblance of a star. The old man grabbed it so fast I didn’t even see his hand move. He examined it, eyes wide with wonder. Then he smiled and closed his eyes, nodding.

“Of course,” he said, “I should have known. Praise our God who never allows evil to go unchallenged.”

I pulled him back from his wandering thoughts, my eyes pleading. “You are him…aren’t you?”

The old man switched his staff from his right hand to his left. He raised his arm so that the sleeve of his robe slid away. There, on his right forearm, the same mark stared back at me.

“I knew it,” I whispered. A smile creased my face. Now I would have answers to my questions. What this mark meant. Why I had begun to experience strange phenomena in my life.

My questions began to bubble and the old man saw what was coming. He raised his hand as I began to garble out one upon the other.

“Phineas, my young friend, I cannot stay here any longer,” he said.

“But, but…” I stalled. “Please don’t go, Ethan.” Pleading had returned to my tone.

He smiled at me and placed his hand on my sleeve, rolling it down over my birthmark. Ethan patted my shoulder. “Please understand, Phineas. Nod has once again descended into wickedness. Shaddai has a purpose for you that you don’t understand now, but you will. Only trust him and never waver from your faith in him. He is always with you.”

I turned, disgruntled, still desiring answers to my questions. “Please,” I said with my back to him. I turned. “I only want to—”

But the old man had disappeared.

Nightfall brought protection from the King’s guards who might still be searching for him. Ethan sat down in a deserted alley behind the marketplace. The piles of refuse made for odorous accommodations, but it would do until he was ready to leave for the wilderness tomorrow morning.

He sat down and leaned his staff against the wall. Ethan pulled an apple from his bag and took a bite. As he ate, he noticed the mark upon his arm. The same mark now found upon another young man.

Ethan considered the fact that Shaddai had allowed him to see a new Deliverer identified. He’d wondered how the present wickedness would be dealt with in Nod. Phineas was a king’s son, the heir in Wayland. He would do well once Shaddai set him on the path of Deliverer. Perhaps, he wondered, that had been set in motion over the past few days listening to his story.

He smiled. One thing he was sure was that it was not his place to interfere. He had done what he was supposed to do. Long years he’d spent as Shaddai’s servant. Still, they had been amazing times.

After Mordred’s defeat, the other Wraith Riders had surrendered with little resistance. The giants had been more difficult to contend with, but with all the demons gone, upon Jericho’s defeat, the giants had been eventually destroyed.

The years following had been more wonderful than he might have ever imagined they could be. His life had been so filled with violence from the time of his youth. Peace had been a wonderful gift.

Seeing Elspeth freed from the Wraith Riders had been one of his greatest days. But in the end he understood her capture and his quest to save her as all parts of Shaddai’s intricate plan to bring about Mordred’s defeat. Even Gideon’s capture and the death of his wife, Sarah, though tragic, had all worked toward a greater good. And in the end, both his best friend and his sister had found happiness together.

In the years that followed, Levi had restored the Nodian Navy while Seth helped Isaiah to restore The Order of Shaddai in Nod. Eventually, he had even been named the successor to the High Priest. Everyone had found contentment. Everyone had found a place.

Everyone but him. Ethan had never found a way to fit into this new era of peace. For long years, during Gideon’s rule, Ethan had been a famous hero—the Deliverer of Shaddai. But he never found love in a woman. Never had a family of his own.

Always in the back of his mind, he had felt as though he were waiting for the enemy to return. Ethan had never felt that he could entirely rest or settle down because of it. Eventually, Shaddai had called him into the wilderness. He had departed without even saying goodbye, as Shaddai had led him.

He had been right.

Evil had returned. But now he was too old to fight. Now, that task would fall to another. And finally, with that knowledge, Ethan felt he could rest.

He lifted his eyes to the night sky, smiling. “Lord Shaddai, it has been a long journey. You have allowed me the great privilege of serving you these many years. Thank you for that.” Ethan paused, considering what had been revealed to him today. “I’m sure the boy will do well, my Lord. Please bless him and use him for your glory. Cleanse the land and let the people dwell in peace again. As for me, I’ll wait for the way to be revealed, the place you would have me go next.”

Ethan looked to the wall opposite him. A man who made soup had his shop there. The soup never had been that good. A beggar was sleeping there against the wall only a few feet away.

Ethan’s eyes felt very heavy, his body so weary—so tired. A light shone then, and he squinted a bit to see. Two angels stood in the alley now. Everything else was obscured by their radiance. It had been so many years since he had seen any angels, any spirits at all, now that he reflected on it. They had always been dressed for battle in those days, but not now.

They smiled at him, and one of the angels reached out his hand. Ethan smiled back. Fatigue had all but overcome him. But when he took the angel’s hand, he felt more alive than he ever had.

The apple dropped from his hand and rolled across the ground, bumping the beggar on his big toe.

The beggar awoke and found an apple sitting next to his foot. He picked it up and examined it. A single bite had been taken, but otherwise it appeared to be fresh. He looked around for the owner, but there was no one in the alley with him—only a walking stick leaning against the opposite wall.

The beggar hunched his shoulders, finished the apple, then fell asleep again.

About the Author:

James Somers first novel, The Chronicles of Soone: Heir to the King was published by Variance Publishing in 2006. Since that time, Mr. Somers has published many novels including:

• Hallowed Be Thy Name

• Hallowed Ground

• The Chronicles of Soone: Rise of Lucin

• The Realm Shift (trilogy)

• A World Within

• Percival Strange and the Lonely Manor

• Perdition’s Gate

**If you enjoyed the Smashwords Edition The Sword of Gideon, and the rest of The Realm Shift novels, then visit me at jamessremos(at)yahoo.com and be sure to leave a review. Also look for Percival Strange: The Lonely Manor!