by James Somers
Ethan and Gideon lifted their glasses to join the toast. It felt good to enjoy a moment of levity, allowing the pressures of the situation to melt away. They all knew the war would return for them, in the morning.
EVIL REPORT
The demon, Jericho, sat hunched on his feet upon the very edge of the highest tower of the king’s palace in the city of Emmanuel. He perched like a gargoyle as still and cold as the white stone beneath his feet. His unblinking eyes, with their ring of yellow iris surrounding a deep pool of black, watched the training maneuvers on the green fields hundreds of feet below.
Thousands of men toiled with swords, staffs, axes, and spears in preparation for the coming army of King Stephen of Wayland. Archers, by the hundreds, ringed the inside of the white granite walls on either side of the palace. They shot at rectangular, straw targets with pictures of men painted upon them—training to kill.
Jericho watched as demons under his command moved unseen among the ranks of soldiers. They were there to foment hatred in the hearts of Mordred’s men, to make them fiercer than they could have been alone. Everything proceeded according to plan—his plan.
The demon turned his gaze downward where Mordred also watched the soldiers from a balcony overlooking the courtyards. When Jericho watched the conqueror, he did not look upon him with love. As far as he was concerned, man deserved no more than his contempt. Even the Wraith Riders, created by demons, were viewed by these fallen angels as mere tools—useful, but still of the low race of men.
Mordred lived under the misguided assumption he was in control of the demons working with him. Jericho knew this well. He had been the very one who had misguided that assumption, supporting it with every bow and scrape of feigned obeisance to Lord Mordred.
A means to an end, he always told himself. Mordred and his kind were a means to the subordination of the human race and the ascension of the fallen to the heights of supremacy. As it should be, he mused.
There came a flicker of darkness. Jericho did not need to see it. The proximity of spiritual beings always brought about a tingling sensation in his body. The flicker grew as another demon approached very fast from the west, over the Azure Sea. He sped toward the palace on dark wings with soiled feathers reflecting their fallen nature.
The demon landed near Jericho and immediately knelt in his presence. Jericho did not remove his gaze from Mordred, neither did his body stir in the slightest. “My lord, Jericho, I bring news of Wayland’s army and from our ships at Sea.”
“And what news of our noble King Stephen?” Jericho said, continuing to look out upon the courtyards.
“Stephen makes progress with the aid of the villages in the north. His army is three thousand strong and growing as they make conscripts of the Nodian villages along the way. He should arrive within two days time.”
“Stephen is a fool,” Jericho said. “He should realize he cannot hope to take this city. By the way, have you been able to get through yet?”
“No, my lord,” the demon said. “The Host of Shaddai is still guarding Stephen’s army.”
“No matter,” Jericho spat. “He doesn’t usually allow his servants to interfere with human affairs. They may escort them, but it is only to Stephen’s doom.”
The demon continued to stand there. “Was there something else?” Jericho asked.
“Yes, my lord. News from the Azure Sea.”
“When will the Anakims arrive?”
“There has been a problem, my lord. The first slaver, scheduled to arrive, has been destroyed.”
Jericho closed his eyes slowly and sighed. “By whom—that rabble of pirates parading around as Stephen’s navy?”
“No, my lord, it was Shaddai’s Deliverer,” the demon said.
Now Jericho stirred. He shot to his feet, furious. “The Deliverer? How could he destroy one of our ships?”
“Apparently, sir, he is swiftly gaining control of his power. The boy entered the spiritual plane and found the Anakims in the cargo hold. A battle ensued and the boy damaged the hull and spine of the ship before escaping. It broke apart shortly after in the storm.”
“And the Anakims?” he asked.
“At the bottom of the sea, my lord.”
Jericho fumed. He held his hands behind his back, considering the situation. “So, even with hundreds of our kind onboard that ship, the Deliverer managed not only to sink it but also elude capture?”
“Apparently, my lord.”
“Apparently, I am surrounded by incompetence,” Jericho said. “Deliverer, or no, I want this boy found and killed immediately. Is that understood?”
“Yes, my lord, very clearly.” He turned and shot away from the roof of the palace tower, leaving Jericho alone to simmer. This Deliverer is growing more dangerous to our plans everyday, he thought. Whatever powers Shaddai has given him, it seems unlikely that a showdown is going to stop him. Subtlety is required here—discouragement, despair, and betrayal might be powerful tools in this situation.
Jericho looked back at Mordred. The warlord had just called Jericho by his name with the ancient word for summoning. He would have to feign his allegiance yet again and subordinate to the king.
Jericho stepped off the roof of the tower, descending to the balcony below. Mordred stood at the stone railing. Jericho stood watching the man. Mordred would have been acceptable company if it were not for the unfortunate fact he was a mortal half-breed. He had the right values, as far as Jericho was concerned, meaning he desired power at any cost, but his human side was repulsive.
Jericho swallowed his wonderful pride and allowed Mordred to see him. “You summoned me, lord?” he said with a slight bow at the waist. Jericho did not like to think of it as actual groveling—simply honing his skills of deception.
“Yes, Jericho, what news of Stephen’s army?”
“Stephen’s army is two days from the city, building itself along the way with loyal supporters from the towns in your kingdom of Nod.”
“How many?”
“Three thousand strong, so far,” Jericho said.
Mordred turned and paced along the balcony. “Where are the giants you promised me?”
“There has been a delay with one of the ships, but the other ships are still scheduled to arrive within a week,” Jericho said.
“A delay? What’s happened?”
Jericho considered whether to tell him the truth, then decided it might be interesting to see Mordred’s reaction. “Apparently Shaddai’s Deliverer is not as dead as we were led to believe.”
Mordred instantly stopped pacing. Jericho watched the man’s face. The blood left it briefly, giving him a very pale appearance.
“What do you mean, he’s not dead? We destroyed the entire village. There were no survivors!”
“And yet the Deliverer lives,” Jericho said. The news was not good, but somehow watching Mordred’s reaction to it amused the fallen angel. If he had a bad situation to deal with, then at least he could enjoy this mortal’s discomfort with it. After all, it was Mordred who was prophesied to be destroyed by the Deliverer, not himself.
The boy could technically do nothing to an angel except temporarily disable them anyway. After a brief time of rejuvenation, a demon would be ready for action although weaker than before. Worse was the boy’s ability to disrupt their machinations among men. Jericho had plans and those plans might be hindered unless the Deliverer could be killed.
“Are you sure it was him? How do you know?” Mordred asked, trying to control an undercurrent of fear. It had been that same singular fear which had driven him to destroy Salem in the first place before invading the city of Emmanuel nine years ago.
“Trust me, my lord, only the Deliverer could do what this boy has done, and his age matches with the time of the Deliverer’s birth. It is him.”
“Trust you? I trusted you when your people told me the child was dead nine years ago!” Mordred spat. “I want that boy destroyed, do you understand me?”
Jericho stood there, listenin
g calmly. Mordred was walking a razor’s edge now. Little did he realize the demon standing before him could kill him before he took his next breath, if he so desired. No angels from the realms of glory would come to save Mordred from his hand, as they might some follower of Shaddai. However, Jericho exercised perfect control. “Perhaps, my lord would have me to gather my people and depart from his service?”
Mordred quickly regained control of his temper. He stammered for an answer. Mordred needed the demons more than they needed him and Jericho knew it. “No, of course not,” he said. “I’m not trying to blame you. But this Deliverer must be eliminated. While he lives, all of our plans stand in jeopardy.”
Jericho agreed. The Deliverer had to be stopped, but how to do it would be much more difficult to plan. He commanded significant power already, and no one but the Almighty knew the extent of what the boy could do.
“I will begin working on this problem immediately, my lord,” Jericho said. “You need only be concerned with the imminent battle facing you. In two days time, King Stephen of Wayland will come knocking on the gates of Emmanuel with his army.”
Jericho did not wait for a reply. He disappeared from Mordred’s view. He stood a moment longer watching the man. Jericho savored the fear in Mordred’s eyes for just a moment more. Delicious.
REVOLUTIONARY ARMADA
Today was a complete change from the day when Ethan sank the slaver ship. Today, puffs of white clouds hung in a blue sky. The Azure Sea had transformed back into a sapphire jewel.
Ethan stood upon the deck of the Maelstrom looking out to the horizon where many ships waited for Captain Bonifast to lead them into battle. As they approached the ragtag fleet, which King Stephen had assembled, Ethan noticed none of the other ships matched the Maelstrom in size. There were ships slightly smaller and a few half as big, but the Maelstrom outclassed them all.
Captain Bonifast and Gideon both stood on the deck in front of Ethan, watching the other ships approach. “Will you disembark to meet with the captains of the other vessels?” Gideon asked.
“There’s no time for such things,” Bonifast said. “We’ve still got another day’s travel just to reach the harbor of Emmanuel in time. King Stephen will be waiting for us to give the signal so he can begin his assault.”
“What’s the signal?” Ethan asked.
“Several hundred cannonballs smashing the enemy navy to smithereens while they sit in port!” he said with a laugh. “I can’t think of any better signal to start fighting than that; can you?”
Ethan shook his head. “That would do it, I suppose.”
“And once we barrel through the harbor, this old girl is going to start pounding away at the palace, itself, with our specials!”
“But how can you reach the palace from the harbor?” Gideon asked.
“These specials travel farther on less powder and our long barrels will get them there accurately. I’ll be aiming for the back wall on the cliff side overlooking the Azure. That bright white wall will make an easy target for my gunnery crews,” Bonifast explained. “Mordred won’t know what hit him!”
It sounded like a decent plan, but neither Gideon nor Ethan was as confident as Captain Bonifast. When demons were a part of the equation, just about anything might happen. Still, they were glad to be aboard the Maelstrom, and after witnessing Bonifast take on the slaver in the middle of a storm, and destroy Mordred’s ammunition depot in Tilley before that, the boys felt they had good reason to trust in the captain’s abilities. No matter what took place in the sea battle, the Maelstrom would be the safest place for them.
“As I said boys, I don’t have time to stop and go aboard the other ships in the fleet. However,” he said to Ethan, “if I could get you to take copies of my attack plan over to the other ships, while we are in transit, then we could coordinate and still make up for lost time.”
“I suppose I could do it,” Ethan said with a slight bit of hesitation. He waited to see if Gideon had any objections. The priest said nothing.
“That’s grand, lads. Wait a moment and I’ll retrieve the documents from my cabin,” he said, hurrying off to get them.
Gideon waited until Captain Bonifast was gone and then he spoke up. “Ethan, I would like for you to do something else while you’re away to the other ships, if you don’t mind.”
“What is it?”
“I’m still concerned about King Stephen hiring mercenaries to fight in this armada against Mordred. While you’re gone, just keep an eye out for spiritual activity aboard the others ships.”
“Especially the mercenary vessels?” Ethan asked.
“Exactly. We don’t want to let our guard down with the enemy. Above all things, they’re cunning. Cunning can outmatch brute strength any day.”
Captain Bonifast returned quickly with a leather satchel full of the parchments containing his coordinated attack plan for the fleet. He handed them over to Ethan. “Here you go, lad. I appreciate it very much.”
“Don’t you think the other ship captains will want to know why Ethan has appeared out of thin air to give them your plans?” Gideon asked.
“Possibly,” Bonifast admitted, “but don’t bother giving them an excuse. Say only that you are a servant of the Lord bearing the attack plans for the fleet from Captain Bonifast.”
“They’ll think he’s an angel,” Gideon said.
“Probably, but then they’ll be too afraid to ask anymore questions,” Bonifast said with a mischievous grin on his face. “And they might just fight better if they think this battle is blessed of God.” Somehow, Bonifast always made his outrageous shenanigans seem perfectly logical.
Bonifast and Gideon watched as Ethan disappeared. There was no flash, no twinkle, or specks of light, and no sound. He was simply there with them one moment and the next he was gone.
Ethan noticed the astonished look on Captain Bonifast’s face as he became invisible to them. The captain had not actually seen Ethan perform the realm shift. Gideon, on the other hand, was not surprised by it anymore. At least he didn’t show it.
Once again, Ethan stood in his mercury armor, his sword hovering at his side. He was mildly surprised to find the leather satchel had survived the shift and was still with him. He opened the flap and found the parchments. Good thing, he thought. I didn’t actually think about whether they could be carried over with me.
The Maelstrom sailed through the large convoy of ships, easily standing out among them all. Each ship, in turn, adjusted its course to come in with the Maelstrom in a loose formation befitting a fighting force. There were twenty-one ships in all, not counting the Maelstrom and they all looked formidable. Still, the navy Mordred now controlled had the ability to crush them if given the chance. If Bonifast did not surprise Mordred’s fleet, then this ragtag armada would never leave the harbor.
Ethan remembered his previous experience jumping from the deck of this ship to the slaver ship. He thought about his lesson with the little bird the Almighty had sent in answer to his prayer for instruction, laughing to himself—a simple lesson, but with such understated purpose. It reminded him of a still small voice speaking to him.
Ethan concentrated on the task, placing the leather satchel over his head, resting it on his left shoulder across his chest diagonally. Captain Bonifast and Gideon were already watching the other ships nearby. Bonifast raised his brass spyglass, sweeping their decks for his appearance.
Ethan stepped up to the railing of the Maelstrom. With his next step, he sprang away from the old sailing ship, out over the blue waters of Azure Sea. Ethan swept over the two hundred yards of calm blue toward his target. He touched down precisely with the leather satchel still safely resting at his right hip, his sword ever hovering obediently at his left. He spotted a man with a tricorn hat, whom he presumed must be the captain of this slightly smaller vessel. Ethan approached him.
The man talked with his helmsmen in nautical terms. These eluded Ethan, not having been aboard a ship long enough to be privy to such things. He
held a metal instrument to his right eye and pointed it forward. He appeared to be gauging his calculations by the sun.
Ethan walked up to the captain and stood behind him, before making himself visible. As soon as he appeared in the physical world, now wearing his regular clothing again, Ethan spoke right up. “Captain?”
The man turned around. He did not seem startled. “Are you a member of this crew?” he asked.
“No, sir. I bring you news of Captain Bonifast’s battle plans. He has dispatched me with this document to be entrusted to the captain of this vessel.” Ethan removed one of Bonifast’s scrolls from the leather satchel, handing it ceremoniously to the captain. He tried to appear important, but the captain didn’t appear impressed.
He gave Ethan a slightly annoyed look as he took the document and started to unroll it. The captain looked the plan over, then rolled it back up. “Yes, yes, this all seems rudimentary enough.” Then without another word to Ethan, the captain turned back around, returning to his calculations.
Ethan stood there for a moment longer, wondering if he had been dismissed. With neither the captain nor the helmsmen giving him any further attention, Ethan shifted back to the spiritual plane and went to the rail, searching for his next target. He found it to the port side of this ship and slightly to the rear. It was a smaller ship. He gave another glance at the rude captain, then decided it was time to go.
SOWING DISCONTENT
Ethan leaped away from the deck as he had before. He concentrated on where he intended to land. After a quick flight through the vacuum of the spiritual plane, Ethan landed on the deck of the smaller ship. Once again, he searched for the man with the captain’s tricorn.
This time, the captain was talking with a crewmember while drinking a cup of tea. He was an older man than Captain Bonifast—perhaps twenty years older. He wore a powdered wig and looked tired. He sat impatiently while a younger man, standing next to him, attended to his needs.
