The_Sword_of_Gideon

by Unknown

  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,â€� Ethan said. “But we’ve got to find out about Isaiah. Seth, do you know where the Temple resides in Wayland?â€�

  “I’ve never been to Wayland at all,â€� 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.â€�

  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,â€� 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.â€�

  “True,â€� 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?â€�

  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,â€� 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,â€� Ethan said. “There’s no need to take us into custody. We seek an audience with His Majesty.â€�

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

  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!â€�

  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!â€�

  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.â€�

  “Well, it’s not a problem,â€� 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?â€�

  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,â€� he said, laughing. To his own men he said, “Clap them in irons. The king is waiting.â€�

  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!â€� he shouted.

  Laughter.

  Gideon stood now, his anger burning through his despair. “Show yourself, demon!â€�

  More la
ughter, 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,â€� he challenged. “State your business, so I can get on with my dying in peace.â€�

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

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

  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.â€�

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

  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.â€�

  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,â€� 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,â€� 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.â€�

  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?â€�

  “I would agree with the Captain,â€� 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.â€�

  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,â€� 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.â€�

  “Donâ�
��™t be too sure,â€� 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.â€�

  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.