by Ted Dekker
“They have broken their covenant,” he said. “This harlot who’s come to them has removed their covering, I am assured of that.”
“That’s it? I throw my army into danger on the back of a harlot and more religious jargon?”
Ba’al jerked his head around. “Listen, you fool.” Spittle flew from stretched lips. “The powers of the air are far more potent than your little army. For many years the albinos have been untouchable. The halfbreeds have all once bathed, like myself . . . we’ve all been protected till this day. All but pure-bred Horde have been under the covering of Elyon. But now that covenant has been broken!”
Qurong wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. A horse snorted behind him; a mace’s chain rattled over metal. Ba’al’s nostrils flared, unrepentant this time. But it was his claim that screamed at Qurong.
“You’re saying what? That you were once Forest Guard? That you’re half-breed?”
The dark priest faced the valley. “I am lover of Marsuuv, made whole by his blood. And now that you know, I will have to open your eyes so that you won’t kill me.”
He bent, grabbed a handful of dust at his feet, spit into it, and flung it at Qurong. The glob of mud slapped him square in the face and he stepped back, appalled.
“What’s this?” he thundered.
“Open his eyes, Marsuuv, my lover.”
Qurong wiped the mud off, face flushed with heat. And when he opened his eyes, he found that he couldn’t see properly. The valley had darkened.
“Look above, Qurong. See what awaits all who have broken the covenant.”
Qurong lifted his eyes and caught his breath. The Shataiki he’d seen at the high place were back. Thicker now. Blotting out the sun. Soaring through the sky not a thousand yards over their heads, with talons extended and red eyes glaring. Only at him, it seemed.
“Elyon help us.”
“No, my lord. Elyon help them. But he won’t. They’ve turned their backs on him. Now they will be flesh for the beasts.”
“And what about me? Or you, for that matter? You don’t think they would as soon tear us to shreds?”
“No. We’ve brokered a deal with the devils and pledged our allegiance, so that we will be spared along with our people. Do you forget already?”
It was beginning to make sense to Qurong. This was the reason behind his blood-drinking ritual. He didn’t understand the full import of what he was seeing and hearing, but this must surely be the day of the dragon.
“So these Shataiki can only go after the half-breeds?”
“Yes. Unless . . .”
“Unless what?”
“Supernatural matters always have their caveats.”
This would be the end, Qurong thought.
“Send the first wave,” Ba’al said. “Send it while we still have their favor.”
Qurong turned to Cassak, who was looking up, clearly lost as to what they were seeing. “Send in our first twenty thousand,” he ordered. “Infantry. Ready the archers. Spare no one.”
SAMUEL KNEW beyond any doubt that he’d become Horde. His joints felt as though pins had been pushed into his bones, scraping with each movement. His skin burned, and when he tried to wash the pain away with water, it only worsened.
It was no wonder Horde generally shied from water and bathed only through pain. He tried some of the beetle nut, but the taste was too bitter.
Yet, even knowing he was Horde, he didn’t resent his condition. It made him more like Eram. It fit into the greater world. And really, he wasn’t sure why he’d been so offended by the scabbing disease to begin with.
It’s taking your mind as well, Samuel.
Yes. Yes, there was that.
“They come!”
“Steady!” Eram called.
Samuel was jerked back to the moment. He leaped into his saddle and galloped to the front lines where Eram, Janae, and his generals were mounted, fixated on the valley. He pulled up between the Eramite leader and his witch, veins thumping with adrenaline.
“What is it?”
“Nice of you to join us, Son of Hunter,” Eram said. “Qurong’s finally grown a set and is sending his first men to die.”
A sea of infantry was spilling over the crest, sweeping into the valley.
“How many have not taken the water?” Eram demanded of no one in particular.
“Fifty thousand, as instructed,” his general said.
“The rest carry the poison in their blood?”
Janae responded. “Yes. All of them.”
Eram spat, and his red spittle slapped into Samuel’s boot before falling to the ground. Samuel caught the leader’s eyes.
“Sorry about that.” Eram studied the Horde army nearing the bottom of the far slope. “I’d say about twenty thousand men on foot. I’m surprised Qurong would be so obvious. Exactly as I predicted, he’s trying to draw us.”
“We can’t show our strength yet,” Samuel said. “Send fifty thousand.” “Yes, my new Horde general. That’s exactly what I will do.” He smirked at Samuel. “And you will lead them.”
Samuel blinked at the man. “I’m sorry, I—”
“I need a general in the valley, my friend. Someone I can trust. I’ve decided you’re the best choice.” He snapped his fingers at his other general. “Send them now, General, the fifty thousand who have not taken the poison. Tell the captains they will take orders from Samuel once they’re in battle. And tell them to send every last one of those Scabs back to hell.”
“Yes, sir.”
Samuel looked at Janae, but she didn’t appear at all concerned by the decision. Her eyes were on the empty horizon to her left, where empty desert waited. And beyond the desert, the Black forest.
He still wasn’t having great success wrapping his thoughts around Eram’s decision to send him down. Naturally, he wasn’t afraid. Far from it, thoughts of slaying Horde and taking glory were already pulling at him. But what motive did Eram really have?
“Samuel, you’re questioning my judgment?” Eram asked.
“No, sir.”
“I need your men to see you go down that hill, and I need them to see you kill Horde. I’ve just been informed that some of them are complaining about a rash. I would send them all down now, before they have a chance to realize they have the disease, but their presence on the battlefield now might spook Qurong, you understand? But one albino, the Son of Hunter—now that would tempt Qurong to send his whole army in at once.”
“My men are turning Horde?”
“Are they?” He said it as if he’d expected nothing less. “They’ve taken the mark and given their hearts to its maker. What did you expect?” A gentle smile. “But the transition will take some time. We have to fight before we lose our physical advantage.”
The thought that Eram was a brilliant tactician and the thought that Janae had betrayed the albinos entered Samuel’s mind as one. But at the moment, only the former seemed terribly important. Had he expected anything less from his witch?
A flood of Eramite warriors broke over the crest to his left. Infantry. The ground rumbled with the footfalls of fifty thousand as the heavily armored warriors plunged down the slope. No cry yet. The two armies rushed toward each other.
Samuel’s pulse surged and he nudged his horse forward, then brought it back around. “Just restrain those archers. I don’t need an arrow in my back.”
Eram nodded. “Watch for Qurong’s next wave. He’ll commit the bulk of his force; you’ll know it’s coming when he launches the fireballs. I’ll send reinforcements as soon as he takes our bait, beginning with the albinos. Until then, hold them. Once they descend, the disease will spread. We’ll see just how effective this poison really is.”
The stampede of warriors still rushed over the crest. Janae still looked to the north, always to the north.
Now she looked at him and smiled gently. “Come here, lover.”
“Say your good-byes quickly,” Eram said, pulling his horse around. “Your battle awaits you.”
>
Samuel pulled his mount next to Janae’s, facing the opposite direction. He impulsively leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth. The smell of her breath drew him as the blood had. He knew that Teeleh had changed her into something less than any woman he’d ever known, and he wondered if he would be so fortunate as to have a similar experience.
“Good-bye, my love,” she said. “It’s been good to join with you for a while.”
“I have no intention of dying,” he said, looking into her lost eyes. “I’ll be back.”
“And I’ll be gone. I’ve done what I was meant to do.”
“Gone? No, no, you can’t leave now!”
“But I must. I’ve finished my task here. They are deceived, all of them. Now my true lover calls me.” She put her hand on his forearm. “Maybe when this is all over, you can join me, if he will allow it. I think you would like it.”
“The Black Forest?”
“No,” she said. “Earth. Two thousand years ago.”
The histories. He didn’t know what to say. A roar erupted from the valley behind him, and he twisted to see the two armies clash. Their leading edges feathered into each other like two black clouds meeting headon. But here, the union was brutal and bloody, and already, screams of the dying mixed with cries of bravado and rage. He had to go!
“Then wait for me,” he said, spinning back. But she was already headed away, sitting like an elegant queen on her pale mare. “Janae!”
She looked back, wearing her perpetual smirk. “Die well, Samuel.”
“Janae . . .”
“General!” They were calling him. He could see Vadal watching him. As were all of the albino warriors. And another ten thousand Eramites. All eyes were on him. His army fought now, slaying the Horde as he’d always dreamed. Glory awaited.
Samuel spun his horse around, dug his heels into its flanks with enough power to crack a rib, and plunged into the Valley of Miggdon.
42
BILL REDIGER, who’d been called Billy before he received black eyes and a new name, stepped from the passenger ramp at the Denver International Airport, snugged his dark glasses to his forehead, and turned right, toward the trains that would take him to the street. To any ordinary passerby, he would look like a successful businessman with a taste for fine, dark suits and expensive watches, in this case Armani and Rolex. His red hair was neatly combed back, and a good tan softened the freckles on his cheeks.
None could possibly know who really walked past them on this otherwise plain summer day in middle America. They couldn’t know that he had black eyeballs and could read minds.
It was a very good day to be alive, because in so many ways Bill was already dead. But now, having fully accepted his death, he could get on with the business at hand. He wasn’t entirely sure what had happened to him, though he suspected that there was another man like him somewhere, living many years in the future.
Yes, that was right. To his recollection, he’d been in Bangkok in search of the Books of History, where he’d met Janae. They’d fallen into a trance of some kind. Gone somewhere he couldn’t quite recall. It had left the taste of bile in his mouth.
Then he’d awakened in Washington, D.C., thirty-some-odd years in the past, which was technically before he’d been born. He’d been sent back for only one purpose: To stop Thomas Hunter. And the devil had given him the eyes to follow Thomas wherever he went, even into his dreams.
And once he stopped Thomas, then what? He would probably die some terrible death, because there couldn’t be two of him running around.
Maybe he would become a monk, dye his hair black, find his way into a monastery somewhere, and wreak a little havoc. Help things along.
Or maybe not.
Getting the money he needed for his task had been easy. He’d simply walked into a Wells Fargo bank and taken what he needed from the manager’s mind to make an unexpected visit to the vault before the bank opened the next morning.
He thought it a good idea to create an identity, so he got the necessary documents with some of his hard-earned dollars, bought a ticket under the name Bill Smith, and boarded a plane to Denver.
And here he was, in Denver. This is where he would change history.
This is where he would find and kill Thomas before he could do whatever he was meant to do that made all hell scream with rage.
Bill sighed and adjusted his glasses as he entered the train. Yes, it was good to be alive. Because really . . . most definitely, he was already dead.
43
THIS WAS the second time Chelise had made the eighteen-hour journey across the desert to save her father, but this time she was alone and she was scared, and this time she made it in a fourteen-hour sprint.
The sky was dark, and she was sure it wasn’t by coincidence. Evil hung in the air, threatening to burst through the veil at any moment. Eram’s army had left a wide swath of litter through the desert, traveling quickly without making camp. They’d eaten on the run and left the scraps from their meals scattered in their wake.
She approached Miggdon Valley from the northwest, following the Eramites’ trail, but rather than cut south to the western slope as they had, she’d veered farther east. If Samuel and his witch were on the western slope, her father would be on the eastern slope.
The last thing she wanted now was to encounter Samuel and his band of fools. She had but one goal.
Qurong. Her father, leader of the world, awaited her. This is what Michal must have meant when he said the world awaits you.
These were the thoughts that ran through Chelise’s mind as she closed in. But the moment she came upon the expansive scene in the Miggdon Valley, a chill swept over her.
She was too late!
The din of clashing metal joined with the roar of battle cries, rising from the valley floor like a hive of angry hornets.
“Easy.” She patted her stamping mount’s neck. “Easy.”
But nothing about this valley was easy. She quickly took stock of the chaos.
The main battle had been joined on the valley floor by upwards of a hundred thousand warriors already. Of those, more than half were down, either wounded or dead.
One of a dozen Horde catapults launched a ball of fire into the air. It arced over the valley, trailing a long ribbon of oily smoke, and streaked toward the armies below like a comet. The projectile slammed into a sea of flesh and mushroomed. Resin splattered in all directions, spreading fire. Burning men from both armies fled in all directions.
Then another, then another, then a fourth ball, all launched in rapid succession, each floating lazily through the sky before smashing into the warriors below. Twelve balls were sent as Chelise watched, and each took the lives of at least fifty tightly grouped fighters—half-breed, full-breed, or albino, it didn’t matter. They all burned like flies.
The main body of Qurong’s army broke from their position on the eastern ridge and began to flow into the valley. The sight was enough to stop her heart for a moment. Two or three hundred thousand, maybe more, all in black, rushed down the long slope to crush the enemy. Dust rose about their horses as they pounded down.
Their cries then reached her, delayed by the great distance. A dull roar of rage from so many open throats.
Then the Eramites, a smaller army but still massive, broke from the ridge to her right and rushed to collide. Led by albinos! The whole army, leaving none to guard the hill.
She’d half expected the albinos to come to their senses and turn back. But the witch’s tongue had clearly proven too crafty.
This was the final battle. When the dust settled, three or four hundred thousand would surely be dead on the ground.
She watched in horror as the two armies crashed into each other. It took a few moments, and then she heard the terrible sound of that initial clash, like two battering rams colliding head-on. She could see the thrusting lances, the sweeping maces bouncing surreally off bodies. From this distance, there was no blood, no flying body parts, only two massive wal
ls of humanity tearing into each other.
And even as she watched, a third wave came from the Horde’s slope. Another army to join the first, bringing their total to well over half a million. They outnumbered the Eramites three to one!
But the Eramites had the witch’s brew. Teeleh’s breath. And if they’d found a way to deliver it, the tide would turn quickly.
Chelise was so overwhelmed by the display of brute force that she couldn’t think what to do. Then she saw the tall banners showing her father’s colors on the southern slope, and she realized that he was there, commanding from above.
But this was Qurong, and he would join his men in battle if there was any hint that they needed his help. She had to get to him. She had to stop him and force him to use reason in this hour of endings.
She should approach from the east, where the Horde army had lain waiting. Her father’s guard wouldn’t expect anyone from that side, and she stood a better chance of reaching him. In a time of war, they would have orders to kill any albino on sight. If she died, then her father was hopelessly lost.
“Hiyaa!”
Chelise spurred her horse and forced it east against its will. It would take her half an hour to reach the far side, and then only if she went unnoticed. If she found a stray Horde mount and wrapped herself in Horde dress, perhaps.
Reaching her father was all that mattered now.
QURONG PACED the overlook, seething. “Ba’al!” He stopped next to a servant under the shade of the only tree on the southern ridge, an old miggdon fig that was leafy but barren. From this vantage, there was no sign of the dark priest.
He spun to the servant. “Get that dark witch! Drag him to me if you have to. Now!”
“Yes, my lord.”
His servant fled, and Qurong doubted he’d be back. Cassak was down the hill already, as were his Throaters, leaving only a thousand guards to maintain a perimeter around him.
Qurong turned back to the runner sent by Cassak. “Tell me again what has happened to the warriors. This makes no sense, none at all.”
