by James Somers
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 spect
ators. 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 ran
k 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.
