Fellow Outcast Angel Shamar gave a bleak smile. “That sounds familiar.”
“Different generation, same old story,” agreed Jesse. “Just when the discussion is getting particularly heated, Maurice and the deputies will hear a clap of thunder—and a group of about half-a-dozen brigands, swords at the ready, will appear out of nowhere, right in the middle of the council meeting room. That phenomenon alone is clear evidence that in less than five months from now the pathgem will have been found and put to use.”
Ravid and Shamar nodded grimly. The others were on the edge of their seats as Jesse continued.
“Maurice’s guards, posted outside the meeting room, will come running but they will be driven back by a relentless blizzard of wind, snow, and ice.”
Jesse held up his hand, to forestall any objections.
“Yes, I said that this attack will happen in mid-summer. And yes, there will be a treacherous blizzard—biting, pounding snow, sleet, and ice—and yes, it will happen indoors, while the day outside remains sunny and cloudless. One of the attackers can conjure vast quantities of snow and ice from the very air in the room and then create powerful wind blasts.”
The council meeting erupted in chaos, as the LOA directors began to realize the implications. Jesse struggled to regain control of the assembly, eventually raising his quarterstaff and hammering it against the solid oak table. He had to do so several times before the clamor subsided.
“Thank you, gentlemen. We can discuss and debate this situation later. For now, please listen.”
The buzz was reduced to low whispers. Jesse continued.
“Yes, all my prophecies indicate that we are facing people with supernatural powers. How and where they get their powers, I do not yet know. But from all that I can foresee, these are humans, not demons. The Darke Warriors are not directly involved, at least not in any of the attacks that I have so far pre-witnessed.”
“Small mercies,” murmured Shamar.
“Indeed,” agreed Jesse. “Returning to Maurice of Orange—his guards will attempt to push through the blizzard towards their attackers. But the blizzard-maker is not the only demonic power in the room.
“A second talent amongst the attackers will choose that moment to manifest his abilities. This individual—Maurice will not be able to see clearly through the blizzard, so I am unable to describe him to you—has the ability to conjure up and hurtle mighty blasts of energy that are as unstoppable as enormous boulders. Each blast is enough to flatten several guards—the Dutch Republic’s defenders will be killed in a matter of minutes.”
One of the LOA Directorate’s senior members, Paolo Sarpi of the Venetian Republic, stammered out a horrified question. “Quello che è successo—your pardon—can you tell us what happened to Maurice of Orange?”
“Precisely what you fear will happen. All will be rounded up and swiftly executed. Maurice of Orange will be the last to be killed. As you would expect from a military captain-general, Maurice will stand tall and face his executioners defiantly. His final thoughts will be of his mistress, Margaretha, the mother of his three young sons. He will worry what will become of her and their sons, and will regret that he never married her.”
“You say ‘will’?” said Sarpi. “Of course—these events will not happen until summer. Then we can still warn them—”
“Patience, Director Sarpi,” said Jesse. “Yes, there is still time—although how we can warn anyone without being accused of witchcraft or worse, I’m not sure. You know the age in which we live—innocents have been drowned or burned at the stake on the merest gossip about such practices. And you all heard the warning that I gave to Bishop de Richelieu—preventing these murders must be undertaken carefully, or we may face far worse outcomes.
“But what you’ve heard thus far is merely the beginning of the story. In every land throughout the known world, these pathgem-enabled supernatural attacks will soon take place. In every land, that is, except for Spain and its territories.”
“Then Spain must be behind these attacks!” gasped the Venetian director.
“Those who support Spain, yes, so it would seem,” agreed Jesse. “But Philip III of Spain or his men? Unlikely. The powers behind these attacks are far beyond those of any earthly government. We do not yet know who is responsible—they will act in stealth, and conceal their motives. Know this, though—as soon as we have any of their operatives in our hands—” Jesse’s face turned to stone. “—we will find out the truth.”
Many of the directors murmured their agreement.
Ravid was keen to hear more about other threats. “You said you examined the futures of many leaders. What else can you tell us?”
“Look to the east, where Ahmed I, the young Sultan of the Ottoman Empire, will die in similarly unusual circumstances. He is a keen and very experienced horseback rider and that will prove his downfall. He will be racing along a pathway that takes him near the top of a cliff overlooking the Black Sea when his horse will dramatically change direction in mid-stride, almost as if blown off-course by a violent storm. The horse’s altered direction will take both horse and rider over the cliff to their doom. The accident is so unnatural that I must conclude that supernatural powers are again at work.”
“What about Jamestown, Virginia?” The newest member of the LOA Directorate, Captain John Smith, would naturally ask about the fate of the American colony which he had helped found. Captain Smith had been forced to return to England after being injured in an accidental gunpowder explosion, but he had never lost his passion for the new colony.
“I doubt, Captain,” said Jesse, “that the Jamestown colony is large enough to warrant direct action by our enemies—” Jesse paused for a moment, using his powers to evaluate the probable futures of the distant colony’s leaders. “—but it appears that I am wrong. Perhaps it’s not the colony’s present circumstances but its potential that they fear. At this very moment, as we meet in this room, many of the colonists are dying of starvation—but matters will soon become much worse. Later this year, a new governor, Lord de la Warr, will arrive from England. One of the interpreters will convince the new governor that the best approach to deal with Chief Powhatan is through military might.”
“What?” said Captain Smith, leaping to his feet, “That’s madness. Powhatan will simply respond exactly the same way as he did to the lost colonists of Roanoke. He will attack in force—and he has far more men and resources than we do.”
“Exactly,” said Jesse. “There will be war. Royal Powhatan women and children will be slaughtered by English soldiers and in retribution many colonists will be ambushed and killed by the Powhatan tribesmen. Finally, the interpreter—who I am now certain is one of those enemies we are seeking—will lure Lord de la Warr away from the Jamestown fort, supposedly to meet a Powhatan turncoat with vital intelligence. Instead, one of the Powhatan tribal leaders, Wowinchopunk, will capture the governor and he will die a prolonged and painful death. In his last moments, Lord de la Warr will see the interpreter he trusted arriving at Wowinchopunk’s camp, greeted as an honored guest.”
Captain Smith slumped back into his chair, horrified. Jesse couldn’t blame him—the captain had spent so many years attempting to build up Jamestown. If the colony failed, England might well lose its foothold on the American continent, leaving the new world for others to exploit. Giving free reign to the likes of Spain, France, and, unfortunately, evil influences such as the Order of the Dragon, thought Jesse, though he kept his musings to himself.
There were too many uncertainties for Jesse to predict the colony’s most likely future, but for now, none of that mattered. The impending deployment of the pathgem was his all-consuming focus.
The directors sat stunned as they tried to come to grips with what they had just been told. Venetian statesman Paolo Sarpi was the first to recover. “This is intolerable! What exactly can we do and when do we start?”
“Let’s talk about that in a moment. First, you should know what happens as a result. A
s the leaders fall, one by one, chaos will reign—until a powerful new force begins to emerge. There will be a widespread belief that a leader has arisen from the East, who will shortly take command of the known world.”
The reaction to this prophecy was such that Jesse was once again forced to pound his quarterstaff on the table to restore order.
“I know—it’s inconceivable. But this is definitely one of the most dangerous circumstances we have ever encountered.”
No-one spoke. No-one could speak—the implications were simply too terrible. Then Captain Smith asked hesitantly, “Jesse, can any of these fates be changed? You announce them as if they were predestined.”
“Yes, of course, Director,” said Jesse, conscious of the fact that this was the captain’s first meeting since being selected to join the LOA Directorate. He was clearly unaware of the nature of Jesse’s prophecies. “These are probabilities, not certainties. It’s up to us to do everything we possibly can to try to ensure that they don’t come true.”
“Then I’m sure I speak for all of us,” said Captain Smith, “when I propose that we authorize you to do whatever it takes to stop these events—all of these events—from actually happening. Whatever it takes,” he emphasized, as his fellow directors endorsed his proposal strenuously, unanimously, and loudly.
“Very well, directors. Thank you,” responded Jesse. “We have established that we are dealing with people with supernatural powers, so we will need to assemble as many of our own enhanced warriors as possible. I will check with our training facility at Stonehenge. Archimedes tells me he has several promising recruits so I will see if there are any currently available soldiers that we can add to our ranks.
“We will also begin our own search for the pathgem—we’ll start by reviewing the records in the LOA archive. And, since we believe that the same group who are responsible for many of the other atrocities will carry out the assassination of King Henri of France, we will arrange for at least one of our teams to be in Paris by mid-May, when the king’s assassination is likely to take place.”
Director Sarpi spoke up. “I believe I know of a new invention that might be of some assistance. You should visit the Venetian Republic and meet with one of my University of Padua colleagues, Galileo Galilei—I will write a letter of introduction for you. Galileo has recently developed an improved version of a Dutch invention that will allow you to see from a considerable distance. If you are able to use Galileo’s device, perhaps you could identify King Henri’s would-be assassins in advance and stop them from carrying through with their plans.”
“I’m not sure there’s enough time for anybody to travel to Padua and back before the assassination attempt, Councilor,” said Jesse. “Ravid or Shamar could fly over, of course, but I’m not sure if their duties allow—I’ll discuss it with them after this meeting. What exactly is the device?”
“The Dutch have been calling it a ‘perspective glass’ or a ‘spyglass’,” said Director Sarpi.
“Thank you, Director. We’ll see what we can do. Now—” Jesse turned to address all the directors. “Gentlemen, you may fear that the situation we face is hopeless. But let me tell you that we have faced many similarly desperate situations over the centuries, yet we are still here.”
Jesse smiled defiantly. “Even if this is a battle that we have only a slight chance of winning, we will take that chance or die trying.”
The room—and in fact the whole top floor of the Royal Exchange building—echoed mightily as the directors leapt to their feet as one and roared their agreement.
TWENTY-NINE
Some thirteen hundred years earlier
The Margus River, Moesia, [Serbia] late night, ante diem tertium Idus Iulias (July 13) 285 AD
The Darke Warrior Ezequeel laughed as he gutted two more Roman soldiers with a single thrust of his viciously barbed broadsword, avoiding their shields and effortlessly penetrating their body armor. If you want to try to overwhelm me by crowding in close, bring it on, thought Ezequeel. The more humans you throw at me, the better. That will simply make the next battle easier, when I bring the true emperor here to reclaim his throne.
“It’s a demon sent by Orcus, god of the underworld!” The deadly whisper, powered by fear, flashed through the Roman legion surrounding Ezequeel.
Ezequeel smiled cruelly as he raised the double-bladed axe in his left hand. Demon, sure, call me that. But that slimy toad Orcus didn’t send me. The true Lord of Darkness entrusted me with this task. The axe thundered downward and dispatched yet another Roman soldier to his fate.
More and more and still more of the would-be Roman emperor Diocletian’s soldiers crowded around Ezequeel, maintaining their discipline despite the fearsome nature of their enemy. The soldiers clustered together, adopting the classic testudo formation. Their shields formed a largely impenetrable barrier, protecting the soldiers from attacks from above and from any side.
Eventually neither the demon’s sword nor its axe could find a way through the interlocking shields. Impressive loyalty to an imperial pretender, thought Ezequeel. No matter. I’ll simply choose another spot. On the other side of the river looks as good as anywhere.
Another evil grimace and then Ezequeel clasped the glowing gem on his wrist, muttered a few words, and vanished. The demon reappeared almost instantly about a hundred feet away. He immediately began lashing out at the unprepared soldiers at his new location.
THIRTY
A few hours later
The Margus River, Moesia, early morning, pridie Idus Iulias (July 14) 285 AD
Heads bowed low, the military leaders of Diocletian’s army were ushered into the imperial presence in the praetorian command tent. In accordance with the custom Diocletian had introduced since the army proclaimed him leader of the Roman Empire, his commanders lowered themselves to the ground, to lie there without speaking, heads down, until the emperor decreed otherwise.
One by one, Diocletian questioned his commanders, tribunes, and centurions alike. Under pain of death, each swore that the story was true. One centurion, bloodied and battered, freshly returned from the front line, told his story while others nodded in fearful agreement. “Yes, Lord, I saw the creature with my own eyes. It was so tall—more than four cubits, I swear. It towered above us all. And this demon is clearly not of this world—from its back sprouted a massive pair of fearsome, dark, leathery wings—like those of a bat but perhaps a hundred times bigger. Those around me damned it for the spawn of Orcus, master of the underworld, and that I can well believe. With every step it reeked of the smell of the underworld, deadly brimstone, and dying flesh.
“This monster was clad head to foot in blackest armor that turned away every blade, javelin, or spear. There was one touch of color—a glowing blue stone on a silver band around the creature’s wrist. The armor itself swarmed with maggots, cockroaches, and vermin of every kind, though the demon paid them no heed. And the eyes of the beast, what little I could see of them within its armored helmet, glowed yellow and red like the fires of Hell. But that was not the worst of it.
“In its right hand the demon wielded a mighty barbed sword, at least two cubits in length and sharp enough to cut through our own armor as if it was papyrus. In its left, the creature brandished a gigantic double-bladed axe with which it could fell several of our soldiers in a single swing. But that was still not the worst of it.
“In desperation, we sought to overwhelm the creature through force of numbers. We pressed in close, maintaining our shields in close formation so that it could not get through to us by swinging its sword or raising its axe. And then—” The centurion paused to give the mano fico, the sign to ward off evil. “—then the demon just disappeared. It vanished from our sight. We thought at first it must have dropped to the ground to escape us, but a moment later we heard shouts and scre
ams from across the river and there it was again, its sword and axe once again swinging freely to deliver death to our soldiers.”
Marcus Augustus, legion deputy commander and easily the most experienced of all Diocletian’s officers, took up the tale. “Again and again, we tried to surround the beast. Again and again, it escaped us, vanishing through some type of demonic magic. The only good news is that the creature departed when the sun rose. But many are convinced that it will return tonight.” He took a deep breath before continuing.
“My Lord and Master, you know how loyal and brave your soldiers are. They chose you to lead the empire and will fight to the death to defend you against the pretender Carinus. Even though his forces greatly outnumber us, we still expect to triumph against mere mortal men. But this demon—” The battle-hardened officer shuddered. “It strikes bone-numbing fear into the hearts of our soldiers by its very appearance. How can they fight against the minions of the lord of the underworld, they ask themselves? They remember only too well the stories of Orcus that they were told in their youth, spine-chilling tales that left them terrified and sleepless for many long nights.”
Diocletian gazed thoughtfully at his commanders. At first, he had been inclined to dismiss the whispers, superstitious gossip spread perhaps by those amongst his army who had been reluctant to take part in this blood-drenched civil war. But if even Marcus Augustus thinks there is truth in this tale—
Abruptly, Diocletian made a decision. “I will consider what you say. Leave me now—but send for my advisor, Machkiel.”
As the commanders rose and backed out of the imperial tent, they exchanged puzzled glances. They’d never understood why Diocletian had brought along this mysterious “advisor” in the first place. Now, after completely ignoring the advisor for the first half of the battle, why would Diocletian suddenly decide to summon him? And how could the usually so practical emperor take this news of demonic interference so calmly?
Academy of Secrets: From the Outcast Angels Christian Fantasy & Science Fiction series Page 9
