

The Realm Shift

### by

### James Somers

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2010© James Somers

James Somers at Smashwords

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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."
STORYTELLER

A stranger walked into the city of Emmanuel. The House of Nod, the family line of the king, resided here in this chief city of the Realm. The palace of the king, Leole, stood there surrounded by great, white granite walls on every side of the city. The southwest and northwest walls sat upon white granite cliffs, descending into the sea with the Bay of Emmanuel beyond, and the Royal Naval Armada moored at one hundred piers stretching into the clear blue waters of the Azure Sea.

Strangers of every sort commonly traveled here, but this man differed altogether from most. People recalled his appearance but not his name. He may have once been a great man, perhaps even a warrior, but their memories failed them. Folk simply did not remember with any accuracy.

Clouds prevailed on this day—thick, dark clouds fighting with the bright sunshine for dominance. The Old Storyteller, as we called him, regarded the weather with a slight nod as he sat at the King's Fountain. We expected rain, but something in his expression said the struggle between the light and growing darkness concerned him.

He wore deep, scarlet colored robes—clearly quality made, but they bore tattered fringes, revealing much age and wear. The Old Storyteller carried a leather bag draped over his right shoulder with the bag itself resting upon his left hip. He leaned upon a straight, unadorned piece of oak, standing the height of a man.

A fair crowd of children had gathered to listen today. The children of the city had played games in the streets, but this man, whom the adults spoke of in hushed tones, tore their attention from play.

We sat upon the polished stone path encircling the fountain, waiting for the storyteller to speak. He sat there on the fountain's short retaining wall, watching us through bushy, white eyebrows with a full beard lying upon his chest. He turned his head and regarded the idol statue, Dyfore, adorning the center of the fountain. The old man cleared his throat of mucus and spat upon the idol in disgust. Then he turned around and caught our astounded expressions.

We looked at one another, then to him ready to devour his words. Profaning an idol held a death sentence in Emmanuel. Only a prophet dared to do such a thing. Perhaps, at the very least, we might witness his arrest if someone reported this to the authorities.

The old man gave us a knowing wink as we stared. He leaned his walking stick upon the fountain's edge, preparing to speak. His every movement caused us to stir in anticipation. Knowing the stories our parents had shared, we expected a real treat.

My name is Phineas Bogg and I sat among the children that day. When this man finally began to speak, he told us, "The story I am about to share with you, regarding Shaddai's Deliverer, is the absolute truth as it occurred nearly one hundred years ago. You see, children, the strangest thing about Ethan's first encounter with a demon was not that he could see the creature, but rather that it could not see him."

By the time the old man concluded the telling of his tale, my life would never be the same again.

STRANGER

Little Ethan watched the odd fellow with fascination. "Momma?" he said, tugging at her long skirt.

"Honestly, I don't know how you always have such a good crop," a woman said, speaking to his mother.

"Just the Lord's grace, that's all," his mother replied.

"And how old is your son now?"

"Five last month," his mother said proudly.

"I had no idea you'd been in Salem that long already. Seems like just the other day you arrived in that rickety wagon. I don't know how you got here without going into labor with all that jostling about."

Ethan tugged again. "Momma, who is that man?"

She turned to Ethan, then followed his finger. "I don't see anyone. Now go play, but stay close."

"Have you heard the rumors going around?" the woman continued. "They say a village was sacked near the northern border."

"I hadn't heard," his mother replied.

Ethan had fixated upon something—something he had never seen before. The demon appeared almost human at first, although far more regal. Ethan noticed his brilliant clothing, red against black and gray cloth of the finest quality. A bare sword hovered near his left hip. The intricately crafted weapon remained in exactly the same position no matter where the demon moved.

Though beautiful, the demon's appearance fluctuated. Every few seconds, his form morphed from a near-man to something wolfish, then to something reptilian, and back again. The light blurred around the demon, as though light could not quite keep up with his movements. Ethan pointed a little stick at the odd creature. Everywhere the demon wandered in the village, Ethan followed him with his stick.

The demon searched among men, but never regarded the small, blonde-headed boy standing near the muddy puddle in his cut-off tan breeches. Dust coated Ethan's bare feet. He had smeared dirt on his white pullover shirt, despite his mother's admonishing.

The demon surveyed the village and its inhabitants, searching for something. The demon crept near people unawares, listening to their conversations, trying to catch clues. He moved on to different houses, disappearing inside briefly, then reemerging in the street again. Ethan remained still, awe-struck.

Then the demon came back toward Ethan. By now, the child had completely lost track of his mother among the market goers. The demon stopped. Something caught his attention. He bent low, examining the stick Ethan held in his hand. He did not regard the boy.

The demon had such a puzzled look on his face and knelt so close that Ethan moved away a little. When the stick moved with him, the demon's expression of surprise frightened the child. He swatted the piece of wood from Ethan's small hand. The child ran into the crowd to find his mother, and his tiny feet left imprints in the dusty ground.

The demon smiled wickedly. His face flashed through his wolven and reptilian forms. "So, you are here, after all," he whispered.

The footsteps disappeared in the throng of people milling about in the market. He had still not seen the child printing them in the dust, but that didn't matter now. He knew the place, and that would sate his master. The demon left Salem in a blur of light imperceptible to mortal eyes.

The children lay tucked into bed inside the loft over their parent's bedroom, while the adults sat in the main room of the house, cozy beside the fire burning in the hearth. Ethan whispered of his experience to Elspeth. His beautiful sister, a young woman at seventeen years of age, pretended to listen intently. Auburn locks swept around the milky skin of her face as she lay on her bed, indulging another of her little brother's wild fantasies. Strangers who appear as reptiles and wolves, indeed, she thought.

"It's true, I promise," Ethan said. He even proffered the very fingers, which had been struck by the peculiar creature when it batted away the stick from his hand. Elspeth examined the bruise. "That doesn't prove anything," she said. Ethan is a five-year-old boy and prone to getting into trouble, she surmised.

"Other than the bruise there's nothing unusual about it," she said. Elspeth noticed the odd birthmark upon Ethan's right forearm. The mark had the appearance of a star. Elspeth rolled her eyes for the third time and then lay back down on her pillow. "Go to sleep, Ethan," she whispered.

Ethan slammed his head back into his pillow. "No one ever believes me."

"Goodnight," Elspeth said.

Ethan yawned. "I'll show you tomorrow, Elspeth, when we go to sell at the market."

"Good night, Ethan."

The boy exhaled deeply, studying the bruise in the half-light. Soon he drifted off to sleep.

SUFFER THE CHILDREN

A low steady rumble, like a stampede, woke Elspeth from sleep. The waving firelight of distant torches and the screams of women and children stirred her parents from their chairs in the main room below.

Elspeth heard voices shouting and the sound of her father's sword loosed from its scabbard, which normally held it secure upon their living room wall. Her mother scrambled up the ladder into the loft, trying to reach her children. "Elspeth, we must run!"

What's happening? Why is mother so afraid? Elspeth wondered.

Her mother grabbed Ethan from his bed and thrust him into Elspeth's arms. The child gazed about through eyes half cocked in slumber. He clung to Elspeth until their mother climbed back down the ladder. Then she reached for Ethan as Elspeth handed him down to her and followed.

Elspeth heard the sounds of horses galloping toward the front of the house. The glow of several torchlights flashed back and forth through the windowpanes on either side of the front door. Her father left the house with his sword in hand, shutting the door behind him.

Voices exchanged threats outside. The horses stamped and whinnied beyond the wooden walls of their home. Elspeth heard the piercing song of swords meeting in combat and the cries of war.

Her mother went to the window and peered into the darkness beyond. She ran back to the children, her face contorted in anguish and horror. She forced Ethan into Elspeth's arms once again. Her mother grabbed the pail of water sitting next to their sink basin, then threw it onto the burning embers within the hearth, sending a cloud of steam hissing into the room. With her skirt wrapped around her hand, she reached to the back of the hearth to the small iron door built into the chimney for removing the ashes.

"Elspeth, take Ethan through!" she screamed as she grabbed the iron handle with a wad of her long skirt and forced it open. Steam billowed from the coals, filling the room with hot vapor.

"But Mama, what about Papa? We must—"

"Papa is gone," she choked, grabbing Elspeth by the shoulders to shake the truth into her. "Now go before it's too late! Keep your brother safe!"

She ushered the girl and her brother into the cloud of vapor and through the small door beyond as the wooden door to their home exploded inward. The door closed on a spring as Elspeth pushed her way through, emerging with Ethan into the damp night air.

Inside the house, several lightly armored soldiers appeared under the lintel, pushing the splintered door out of their way. Elspeth's mother emerged from the white cloud of steam with an iron poker in her hand. The men brandished swords. She saw her husband's blood upon their blades. "Henry." Her hand tightened around the poker. "What do you want with us?"

The men walked over the splintered wood, holding their swords in front of them. They kicked over the table and chairs, clearing a path to their next victim. Tears escaped her eyes as she whispered, "Help us, Lord Shaddai." She raised the poker high. Her hand trembled. She tried her best to avenge her beloved.

Ethan's terror kept him silent. He clung to his sister for dear life. Elspeth treaded the cold, wet grass in her bare feet as she emerged in her nightgown from behind their family's modest log home.

The trees bordering Salem lay before them amid a thick layer of thorns and brambles. Ethan looked past his sister's shoulder and saw creatures, like he had seen earlier, emerging from the trees all around them. Demons sailed through the air into their village. Some appeared like wolves, others as humans, and still others as indescribable monstrosities born from man's worst nightmares.

As Ethan looked over Elspeth's shoulder, he saw the village burning behind them. Silhouettes of frantic villagers raged against the fires, then fell like hewn wheat before the riders. Ethan turned to see where they were going and found a demon coming toward them from the trees ahead. The creature frothed at the mouth, its long claws extended like the talons of an eagle, reaching for his prey. Ethan gasped and closed his eyes.

The beast passed right through them and kept going, completely unaware of the girl and boy escaping from the net of destruction cast over the village. Elspeth ran from the carnage behind them. Thick underbrush tore at her flimsy nightgown, but nothing slowed her pace. Ethan heard screams of pure anguish as their neighbors and friends fell in the night like cattle to the slaughter. A voice cried out from the house behind them.

"Momma?" Ethan whispered.

Elspeth stopped, turned, then choked down the lump in her throat. With hot tears streaming down her face, she ran into the night.

The village of Salem burned. The inhabitants lay massacred in the streets. Wraith Riders, clad in black and crimson leather-plated armor, filed through the ruins of the burning village, searching for stragglers they might have missed. Demons glided through the air, searching as well.

A demon in semi-human form appeared before the warlord, Mordred, as he sat upon his black stallion. His intricately designed, armored breastplate was embossed with the gold of leadership. His broadsword lay across his lap baptized in the blood of Salem's citizens. Upon his head sat a molded black helmet covering all but his eyes. A constant fury burned in his eyes—a lust for power never satisfied. "My lord, Mordred, we have found no other children present in the village," a wolf-headed demon reported.

Mordred listened. The screams had grown quiet now. "Have you killed Shaddai's Deliverer then?"

"If he was here among the children then he is surely dead, my lord," the demon said.

"If he lives, then my invasion will be for naught."

"I understand, my lord. He is dead. The invasion will not be hindered."

"And the others?" he asked.

"We have left none alive, my lord. Even the wounded have been dispatched."

"Be sure of it," Mordred said. "I want none left who might oppose me. By tomorrow, the House of Nod will have fallen. I will cast their king into chains. Gather your demon army and tell Jericho to prepare for battle."

The demon bowed and flew from Mordred in haste.

The warlord surveyed the grim scene again and smiled. "This night will forever mark the hammer stroke, ending the reign of Shaddai upon the earth."

BENEFACTOR

Another sunrise. Elspeth and Ethan had seen so many. She did not even know how many days they had been walking. Her feet had blistered long ago. Now they were forming calluses. Ethan strolled beside her, keeping up, then falling a few steps behind as different things caught his attention. "It's hot already," he said. "Do we have any water left?"

Elspeth brushed the tangled hair from her face. Bits of leaves and twigs fell away. "I gave it to you last night."

Ethan lagged behind again. "But I'm thirsty. Can't we find another town so someone will give us money again?"

"The soldiers are in the towns now."

"Not the last one," he complained.

Elspeth shook her head. "No, but they soon will be."

"What do they want, Elspeth? Why are they killing people?"

She looked back at her brother as he hurried to catch up again. She remembered the mark on his arm. They want you, she thought, but she dared not say it. Ethan wouldn't understand. Her mother and father had once told her what the mark meant. Still, she only half understood its meaning. "It doesn't matter what they want, Ethan. We just can't be found by them."

A signpost appeared on the road ahead. "A town!" Ethan reported.

Elspeth had seen the sign, but hoped to ignore it.

"Please, Elspeth, may we at least see if any soldiers are there? I'm hungry too."

It was a bad idea. Elspeth felt her own belly grumble its complaint. She had taken very little water for herself, trying to keep most of it for Ethan. However, she couldn't go much further without sustenance. "All right, we'll leave the road and then come upon the town," she said. "But if I see any sign of soldiers, we leave immediately. Is that clear?"

Ethan nodded enthusiastically.

The signpost read, Grandee, as they entered the town. Fortunately, there wasn't a soldier in sight. "Come on," Elspeth said, leading their way out of the woods.

Grandee was larger than most of the small villages and towns she and Ethan had come upon in their journey. People hurried to market through busy streets. Here and there, gentlemen and ladies wore fine clothing—pretty colors that reminded Elspeth of the homemade dresses her mother used to make for her.

She held Ethan's hand as they kept to the side of the street. Elspeth could not bring herself to look the people in the eyes, but she felt their stares just the same. Despite her efforts to wash their clothes in creeks and ponds along the way, they had become stained and torn. Her nightgown bore grass, mud, leaves and the occasional insect. She realized the two of them were a sight. It made her want to cry, but she didn't.

"Look over there," Ethan said. He broke loose from Elspeth's grip and shot across the earthen road.

A team of horses whinnied wildly. "Ethan, No!" Elspeth cried.

The driver pulled the wagon up short, stopping his animals just shy of running Ethan down. "What are you doin, boy?" the driver said, hopping down from his seat. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?" His voice bellowed, and Ethan froze before him like a hypnotized frog.

The man grabbed Ethan's arm, pulling so hard the boy's feet began to leave the ground. Elspeth ran up to them. "Please, I'm sorry, sir. My little brother got away from me."

The man looked at her with one eyebrow cocked. "You two aren't from Grandee. What are you doing here?" he asked.

"We've traveled very far and have no food or water, sir," Elspeth said. She felt ashamed, but hunger and thirst forced her confession.

The man looked around. Other wagons drove by them in the street. For all of the commotion, very few people appeared interested in what had happened. "I suppose you want a handout—some of my hard earned money to line your pockets?"

Elspeth bowed her head. "No, sir. I wouldn't ask you for money, but if you only had some water, I would be very grateful for your kindness."

The man sighed and eased up on Ethan's arm, but did not let go of him. "Can you cook, girl?"

Elspeth lifted her eyes. "Cook? Oh yes, I can—very well. My mother taught me."

"And where are your parents?" he asked.

"Dead, sir."

He stood silent, contemplating for a moment as the traffic broke around them. "I'll make you a deal," he said. "I'll provide the food and you cook it. Then we'll talk. Okay?"

Elspeth let go of the tension building inside her chest and exhaled. "Yes, sir, that would be wonderful. Thank you so much."

The man let go of Ethan completely and the boy returned to her. "I'm Mr. Howinger. Get in the back of the wagon, and I'll take you out to the farm."

Elspeth smiled and did as instructed with haste. She helped Ethan into the wagon as Mr. Howinger climbed back onto his seat. When Elspeth was inside, he started the horses. "Giddy up!"

"Ethan, we're going to have a home cooked meal," she whispered excitedly. But Ethan glared at the man seated in front of them. "I don't like him."

"Shhh!" she hissed. "You'll be good, if you want to eat."

Ethan folded his arms and reclined against the side of the wagon. Elspeth smiled and gave him a wink. It drew a smile from him—she always could. "You'll see," Elspeth said. "Things are going to get better now."

NINE YEARS LATER

Ethan woke to the sound of crashing dishes in the next room. He sat up in bed, listening to the voices of his sister, Elspeth, and their benefactor, Mr. Howinger beyond his door. "You call this a meal?" Mr. Howinger complained. "I've told you a thousand times, I like my eggs runny. You'd think, after all this time living on my farm, you could get it right."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Howinger," Elspeth said.

"Why I ever agreed to take you two in is beyond me," Mr. Howinger continued.

Ethan twisted the sheet around his fists, his knuckles turning white.

"We are grateful to you, Mr. Howinger," Elspeth said. Ethan heard his sister start gathering broken pieces of dishware off the floor.

"Grateful? Ha! I've been putting up with your stale cooking and your brother's laziness for nine years now—"

Laziness! Ethan fumed, but he remained in his room.

"—if only my Ethel was still alive," Mr. Howinger moaned.

"I'm sure she was lovely," Elspeth said. "You must have loved her very much."

Ethan heard: a chair scoot across the floor, a cup hit the tabletop, boot steps, then the front door slamming.

As Ethan opened the door to his room, he saw part of Howinger's breakfast lying on the wood floor and his sister trying to clean it up. The plate lay broken, and the cup tilted to one side on the table. Ethan noticed Mr. Howinger had barely left any of the food. Only the fragments of the dirty plate remained for her to clean.

Ethan knelt down in the floor with his sister. He began picking up some of the pieces of the shattered plate. "I wish he would just leave you alone," Ethan said.

"I'm all right. Now don't fuss over this mess. I'll take care of it." She took the pottery pieces from his hand and hurried to clean the rest of the mess up.

Ethan patted his sister on the back between her shoulders. Elspeth winced. Ethan withdrew his hand quickly. His anger kindled. He stood and marched toward the door with Elspeth on his heels. Ethan had hardly crossed the threshold before she caught him, pleading for him not to say anything. "I'm all right, Ethan."

"All right? He's whipped you! I'm putting a stop to this once and for all."

"No!" she insisted. "We need a place to live. I'm not going to have you living on the streets. I promised Mother I would take care of you and that's what I'll do." The look in her eyes made him back down.

"I'm sorry, Elspeth. I don't want to upset you more," Ethan said.

"Ethan, Mr. Howinger, is a good man at heart, only troubled."

"You mean he troubles us," Ethan spat.

"It's better treatment than you would get from Mordred," she whispered.

"Mordred doesn't care about us."

Elspeth stared into his eyes, searching them. "Have you forgotten our mother and father—the people of Salem? He wanted all of us dead for a reason."

Ethan blinked, taken in the memory of a night long ago. He blinked, returning. "Sister, we must forget, or it will drive us mad. Mordred took the House of Nod and the whole kingdom with it. We're of no consequence to him now, no matter why Salem was before."

Elspeth caressed his cheek. "We must never forget."

She turned and started back into the house to finish cleaning up the spill. "Ethan, go to your chores and don't worry me with your temper. If you love me, then you'll do what I say."

He watched her go inside. Ethan breathed out his frustration, letting go of the anger. He started toward the horse barn. "I won't forget, sister."

Horace Howinger stood just behind the inside wall of his large, green barn. The door was open and he had heard the exchange between Ethan and his sister. Horace gripped the axe tightly in both hands, waiting to see if there would be a confrontation.

Horace listened as the girl talked Ethan out of a rage again. Relieved, his grip on the axe loosened. The girl went back inside while Ethan ran off to the animal stalls to do his chores. He knew the boy was too big now to deal with physically. Horace needed a way to get rid of him, but keep the girl. He wiped beads of sweat from his stubbly upper lip and set the axe aside. His hired hands would arrive soon from town. It was time to tend the day's work.

ETHAN

Ethan walked into the horse stalls on the far end of Mr. Howinger's horse pasture. He hoisted a one hundred pound bag of oats upon his shoulder and carried it to the area where he kept equipment and feedbags for the horses. He loaded each of twenty sacks with enough grain to satisfy his hungry equine diners, then he placed them all on a wooden cart in order to distribute them to Mr. Howinger's beautiful horses.

Ethan fed the other horses then stopped at the stall of a beautiful brown stallion and placed a bag on his muzzle. He stroked the horse's head and neck as it began chomping away at the oats. "How are you, Whistler?"

The horse inclined its head toward Ethan. "Don't worry, boy, Horace won't sell you if I have anything to say about it."

Ethan stroked the sleek, muscular neck and shoulder. "Still, you should let him ride you when he wants to. Just because we're friends doesn't mean I'm the only one who can ride you."

Whistler snuffed through his oats. "Well, you're only going to make it worse on yourself. Howinger won't listen to me. He told Elspeth I was lazy. Can you imagine? And me doing the work of three of his hired men for no pay, except for his constant fussing."

Whistler shook his head and pulled away from Ethan's hand. "Are you taking his side too?" Ethan said, stepping closer. "Elspeth told me to watch my temper. I only wish I could take her away from all this. If the militia does come to Grandee, then I can join. And you and I can ride into battle against Mordred and his Wraith Riders." Ethan turned his back to the horse. "Or, if you're still put out with me, I could take one of the others for my mount."

The horse brushed Ethan's shoulder. Ethan turned and patted Whistler again. "Don't worry, I was only fooling. No other horse is half as magnificent as you are." He walked away, then turned to wag a finger at the stallion. "I'll see you later, but if I have to put up with Horace so do you."

Ethan started the cart back toward the prep area. The sound of whinnying, outside of the horse barn, caught his attention. He wheeled the cart faster, then left it and ran to the barn door. Ethan saw several men from the town council approaching where Mr. Howinger stood, talking with some of his hired hands.

A field of green corn, nearly ready for harvesting, lay between Ethan and the men riding toward Mr. Howinger. Ethan slipped away from the horse barn and into the corn. He crept through the stalks, moving quickly, but trying not to disturb the tops. Neither Mr. Howinger nor his men seemed to take notice of Ethan, now that the riders had come near.

Horace removed a blue rag from his pocket and stopped digging the hole for his fencepost long enough to wipe the sweat from his brow. As the horses approached, one of Horace's men asked, "Now who do you suppose this is riding in like they were going to the ball?"

"Tom Grandee, by the looks of him," Horace said in a mocking tone. "He always was a snappy dresser."

"Aye and his daddy and Grand-pappy too," one of Horace's field hands said.

"Watch it now, lads," Horace warned. "Their family founded this fair town."

His men chuckled under their breath as the riders came to a stop before them.

"Good morning, Howinger, how are you today," Tom Grandee said.

"I would do fine if it weren't for all of the taxes I have to pay to our illustrious Lord Mordred," Horace said sharply. Mr. Howinger was dressed in common work clothes despite his wealth. Only his age and the dignified manner in which he carried himself would have hinted to anyone that he was anything more than a common laborer.

"That's just the subject we came to discuss with you, Horace," Tom said. He and his men wore colorful waistcoats with knee length breeches and hose. Their garments held gold buttons and shiny buckles sat atop their shoes. Horace sneered at their attire and their soft, uncalloused hands.

"What about it?" Horace asked.

"There's a council meeting tonight. Some of the council members from Ridgeton and Baylon are going to be there as well."

"Aren't they organizing a militia to join Stephen?" Horace asked suspiciously.

"Aye, that they are and they've come to seek our allegiance to their cause," Tom said. Adventure and intrigue sparkled in his eyes like a child with his first toy.

"You mean their rebellion, don't you, Tom?"

Tom looked insulted by the comment. "Is it rebellion to side against tyranny?"

"That depends," Horace said.

"On what, pray tell?"

"On whether you're the tyrant, boy," Horace said flatly. "Have you thought about the consequences of going up against the Wraith Riders, Tom?"

Tom and the four men with him looked uncomfortable now. Even their horses fidgeted beneath them.

"Mordred overthrew a more experienced man of war in our own King Wenceslas," Horace warned. "How do you suppose King Stephen of Wayland will ever defeat him now that Mordred's power has grown so much more over these nine years?"

Neither Tom nor the other men had any answers for Mr. Howinger's questions. Finally, Tom Grandee managed to say, "You're entitled to your opinions, old man, but don't forget your obligation to be at the council meeting. You might be willing to bow to the Wraith Riders, but the majority of the people in this town are ready to live out from under Mordred's yoke."

"Oh, I'll be there, whelp," Horace spat. "Now get off of my land."

Tom and the others turned their well-groomed horses, trotting back the way they had come.

"What do you think, Mr. Howinger? Will Grandee join King Stephen's militia?" asked one of his men.

"Only if the council wants to get us all killed," Horace said, watching the horses go. "Let's get these posts dug. I want to finish before I'm forced to watch Tom Grandee use his family's influence to turn this town upside down."

Horace turned back to his work, grumbling under his breath about his misfortune at living in a town of fools.

Ethan watched and listened to the exchange from within the forest of green corn stalks. It appeared the militia might actually happen. Grandee would go to war alongside King Stephen of Wayland. Ethan smiled as he listened to Mr. Grandee's comments.

I'll avenge you, Father—both of you, he thought. Ethan watched the five young men ride away. I must go to that meeting. As Mr. Howinger's hammer began to strike posts into the earth, Ethan backed out of the stalks, until only the bright green corn remained.

MANIPULATION UNAWARES

Ethan watched Horace Howinger eat his dinner quickly that evening. Normally he ate very slowly, but tonight he had unpleasant business to attend to in town. No one spoke at the table. Ethan fidgeted and didn't eat much—bursting at the seams to ask about the militia, but knowing it would only set Horace off on a tirade.

When he had finished eating, Horace left the dirty dishes sitting in their place on the table and got up to leave. For once, he did not comment. Perhaps, Ethan wondered, Horace is so accepting of tyranny because he promotes it in his own house toward Elspeth and me.

Horace put on his coat and boots, then stepped toward the door. He glared at Ethan and Elspeth—not an uncommon occurrence—then opened the door and went out into the yard where Ethan had tied up one of the horses for him.

Dusk approached as Howinger set off for the council meeting. Ethan watched Mr. Howinger disappear down the road, then he helped Elspeth do the dishes and clean up the house a bit. All the while, Ethan counted down the time in his head. When it was almost dark, Ethan said, "I've left something undone in the barn."

Elspeth gave him a suspicious look. She sat in a rocker, mending some of Mr. Howinger's clothes with a needle and thread. "Ethan, won't it keep until tomorrow? It's getting late. You should get to bed soon."

"You wouldn't want me to get into trouble with ole Horace now would you? If I don't finish my work, you know he'll rant all day tomorrow over it."

She thought about it for just a moment and then conceded. "Oh all right, but take a lantern with you. It's nearly dark already."

"Thank you, sister." He gave her a kiss on the cheek before rushing out the door with his coat and one of the lanterns in hand.

When Ethan arrived at the barn, he went straight to the brown stallion's stall. Whistler stirred—eager to run. Ethan looked back toward the house where Elspeth was still doing housework. "I hate to mislead her, boy," he said, petting the horse's muscular neck. "But I didn't lie to Elspeth. I really did have something to do in the barn."

Whistler snorted as Ethan mounted the saddle. "Well I did," Ethan said. "Don't you want to go into battle? Then we can all leave Howinger's farm together: you, me, and Elspeth."

Whistler bobbed his head with a whinny, and Ethan patted him again. "Then let's get going. The meeting will start without us if we don't hurry. I don't want to miss anything."

Horse and rider trotted through the stalls. The other horses acknowledged them with snorts and whinnies. They came to the open barn door. Ethan watched as the last rays of sunlight disappeared beyond the horizon. He goaded Whistler with his heels, and they sprang into the night.

Tumble-brush rolled along the ground, and clouds swept by the moon as though on parade. Ethan left Whistler tied up to a tree one hundred yards behind the council lodge. The building had better construction than most of the structures in town. Moreover, it had a large attic over the council chambers and an access door to the roof used for repair purposes.

Men, posted at the entrance, guarded the tan building, but Ethan avoided them by coming up behind the building. The branches of a sycamore tree hung over the edge of the roof at one of the rear corners. Ethan ran silently from the darkness and leaped to grab the lowest sturdy branch. In a moment, he had climbed halfway up the tree.

Ethan balanced on the overhanging limb and dropped silently onto the corner of the rooftop. He hurried to the access door and entered the attic. For some reason, no one had ever thought to lock it.

Once he was inside, Ethan moved very slowly, hoping to avoid any creaking of floorboards that might alert someone to his presence. He heard voices. The meeting had already begun. The heated debate resounded clearly in the attic.

Ethan crept over to one of the circulation vents cut into the attic floor. The attic had small fans set with gears connected to larger fans on the roof. As the wind rotated the rooftop fans, the gear moved the attic fans to pull air through the vents.

Fortunately, this spot gave Ethan an excellent view of the entire council chamber twenty feet below. When he looked through the vent-slits, into the chamber beyond, Ethan saw a tall, commanding man with bright blonde hair and a suit of silver armor dominating the discussion. He and Mr. Howinger had already locked horns in debate.

"Mordred will squeeze your towns and villages dry if you continue to hold your allegiance for him," the man said. Two men, with the same armor, stood on either side of him. They bore the crest of King Stephen of Wayland upon their breastplates—a purple silhouette of an eagle in flight, its talons extended for an unseen prey.

"That may be," Horace said, "but what will he do if Grandee turns against him? Your army is in Wayland with your king, Captain Silvas. If Mordred attacked, it would be at least several weeks before you could come to our aid. None of these towns, you have been making turncoats of, has enough men in their militias to fight off Mordred's Wraith Riders. You're going to get them all killed before you even get your king's army inside the borders of Nod."

"Have you no pride?" Captain Silvas asked.

"Pride goes before a fall, I'm told," Horace retorted.

"They killed your king!" Captain Silva said, pounding a fist on the table for emphasis.

"And now we have another king and a vengeful one at that," Horace replied.

"And what of that king?" Tom Grandee interrupted. "Mordred continues to bleed us dry and take our young men at his leisure for his growing army. It's only a matter of time, Horace. Then we will be cast aside by this conqueror."

"Yes, the time to fight is now!" Captain Silva said.

"Or the time to negotiate," Horace countered.

Ethan's eyes widened. What he saw shocked him, and it had nothing to do with the conversation between Captain Silva and Horace Howinger. For several minutes, as the conversation escalated, Ethan watched a near-human person moving back and forth between the men—the movement so quick it blurred.

The creature had to be a demon, like those he dreamed of nearly every night. It wore the red and black uniform of Mordred's army, speaking into the ear of one man and then the other. The discussion grew into a confrontation—the demon instigating it all. The foul spirit whispered into the ear of one, curling up right over their shoulder like a trusted friend with the latest gossip to tell. Then, in a flash of motion, it moved to the other man's ear, filling his mind with enticing words.

The actual words eluded Ethan's hearing, but the intent became evident as the situation progressed. He must be one of Mordred's. Is he trying to halt the militia by using Mr. Howinger? Then an awful thought occurred to Ethan. If demons are working with the warlord, then how can anyone ever surprise him with an attack? King Stephen will surely be killed, and his army ambushed, if they try to enter the land of Nod. Ethan strained to hear what the creature was saying, but only the voices of the council could be heard.

"What do you mean, negotiate?" one of the other council members asked.

Horace knew he had them now. The young whippersnaps desired to go to war, but the older members of the council had been in battle before. Having known the despair of it, they had no appetite for such conflicts.

"Gentlemen, if we plead our cause to Mordred himself while using the good record of our loyalty, then perhaps he will favor us. If I were trying to halt a rebellion, I would certainly be grateful to those towns which remained loyal to me rather than join some local militia," Horace reasoned.

The twenty council members mumbled amongst themselves. Horace sat back in his chair, smirking at Tom Grandee with satisfaction.

Captain Silva looked exasperated. He glared at Horace Howinger.

"I think we should go to a vote," Horace said. Better to cinch up his support quickly before Grandee or Silva thought up a new strategy. "We can decide whether we want to get ourselves into a mess with Captain Silva's militia fiasco, or send a delegation to Lord Mordred in the interests of peaceful negotiations." Horace twisted the council like putty in his hands. Never had the words come so smoothly for him. Horace Howinger smiled, quite pleased with himself. Little did he know a demon smiled as well.

The men drew out small pieces of paper in order to cast their individual secret ballots. In a moment, when everyone was done, an appointed man collected the slips of paper and counted the votes. When the counting finished, all but five of the council members had voted to send the delegation Mr. Howinger had suggested. Tom Grandee fumed, at least until one of the members asked a key question. "Who will be our emissary to Lord Mordred in Emmanuel City?"

A sly grin crossed Tom Grandee's face as he cast a knowing eye toward Captain Silva. "It will have to be someone with a lot of experience," Tom suggested. This statement eliminated all of the younger council members, including himself. Nods of agreement bobbed all around the table.

"A good speaker would be best," said Captain Silva, following up on Tom's move. "And someone who commands respect."

"I vote that we send Horace Howinger to speak on our behalf in this matter," Tom said.

Howinger stammered.

"After all, Mr. Howinger seems to be well versed in these matters. Who else could do so fine a job with this task?" Tom continued.

Horace squirmed in his chair as the color drained from his face—a rat in a trap. "Now, just a minute, Tom, I never said—"

Tom interrupted him. "Horace, Horace, don't be so modest. We all realize you are the only man for the job. Moreover, since this is a matter of utmost importance, I'm sure you will want a team assembled by tomorrow to accompany you to Emmanuel. I will be glad to take care of it for you. We'll provide horses and a group of strong men from among those who would have fought in our militia."

All around the council chamber, heads nodded in agreement. Horace cursed under his breath as the other council members came by to shake his hand and thank him for volunteering to go settle the matter for them with Mordred. Each pat on the back felt like nails driven into his coffin. Tom simply smiled, walking out of the council chamber with a smug Captain Silva.

Ethan watched from the attic as the demon, which had manipulated the proceedings so effectively, exited the chamber as well. The creature had finished here, and Ethan wondered if it would now go report directly to Mordred himself about what had happened.

The meeting had produced quite a turn of events. Mr. Howinger would be leaving for a three-week journey to Emmanuel City with three weeks needed to return. Things seemed to be looking up. He and Elspeth would be rid of the man for six weeks at least. Ethan felt especially glad for Elspeth.

With the meeting over, Ethan had to get back to the farm before Howinger did. He'll be in a terrible mood tonight, he thought. Ethan retraced his steps out of the attic over the council chambers. He found his horse still tied to the tree. Whistler received Ethan cheerfully, and they shot away into the night toward home.

UNEXPECTED TRIP

It was quite late, by the time Ethan arrived back at the Howinger farm and got Whistler settled into his stall. Mr. Howinger would not be far behind, and Ethan had to hurry to get back to the house. He looked toward the house and saw the lantern still lit in the living room window. What would Elspeth say?

When Ethan walked just outside of the barn, he heard a person clear their throat behind him. He turned and found his older sister standing there against the outside of the barn with her arms folded.

"Something to do in the barn, Ethan?" Elspeth's fingertips rolled along her upper arms as she tried to control her temper.

Ethan winced when he saw her. "But Elspeth, I have important news," he said quickly.

"Really? And what news could be so important that you had to deceive me and take off into town, when you know Horace will skin both of us alive if he finds out?"

"The council has commissioned Horace to negotiate with Lord Mordred," he said.

Elspeth's expression changed instantly. "What? What are you talking about?"

"Howinger was arguing with a knight captain sent from King Stephen," Ethan said. "He came to raise support for the militia here in Grandee, but Howinger opposed the motion and called for a delegation to be sent, to find out if Grandee's continued loyalty to Mordred might merit us some relief on our tax burden. The motion carried, but then the council turned around and voted to send Mr. Howinger as the town's emissary. He has to leave tomorrow!"

Elspeth smiled. "That means he will be gone for nearly six weeks, right?"

"No less," Ethan assured her. Elspeth smiled wider.

Ethan thought about what had happened at the meeting. Elspeth noticed his changed countenance. "What's wrong, Ethan? I'm not really mad at you—not after such wonderful news."

"It's not that," he said. "I saw something else at the meeting."

The look on his face concerned her. "What happened?"

Ethan hesitated to tell her. After all, she had not believed him back in Salem the night of the massacre. "I saw a demon again."

Elspeth's expression grew intense rather than dismissive this time. Ethan noticed terror in her eyes—terror he had not seen since their departure from Salem.

"Again?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Where?"

"In the council chambers during the meeting," Ethan said.

"And what was it doing there?" she asked.

"I believe it was speaking to the men, although they were unaware of it. It moved from one to the other, whispering thoughts into their minds. That's when everything turned from the militia being confirmed to this delegation and Howinger's place in it."

Elspeth tried to consider the ramifications of what Ethan said. Her brow furrowed with concentration. "Did it see you watching?"

"No. I had been hiding in the attic of the council building, so that may have had something to do with it."

"Where is Mr. Howinger?" she asked.

"He's on his way home, I expect," Ethan said.

"Then we should get you into bed before he arrives. Say nothing of these things to anyone else, understand?"

"Of course."

Elspeth ushered Ethan into the house and made sure he was in bed before she settled in with more mending. Ethan lay there in his bed, trying to listen for the sound of hooves walking on the packed earth outside. He heard a wolf cry in the distance, then fell asleep.

Ethan realized Horace was home, when he heard him stumbling into the house, slurring his speech while ordering Elspeth to get him something to eat. Ethan tensed in his bed, but waited. Would he need to run to his sister's aide? Would Howinger become violent in his drunken stupor? Ethan made up his mind to intervene if the old man did try to harm her in a rage, no matter what Elspeth said about it. The outer room grew quiet. Ethan's door swung open and Elspeth came into his room. His adrenaline surged.

"He's passed out," she said. "I need your help to get him into bed."

Ethan assisted his sister with getting Horace into his bed. He still mumbled through the haze of liquor after they got him situated and closed the door behind them.

"He must be terribly upset to get into this condition," Elspeth said.

"I suppose we can't really blame him," Ethan said. "Who, in their right mind, would want to go before Mordred?"

"We must get to sleep as well," Elspeth said. "Horace will not be in a gracious mood when he wakes tomorrow."

Ethan stifled a laugh. Of course, Horace wouldn't be in a good mood. His head would ache from the strong drink he had been wallowing in and he had a long journey to Mordred's palace to think about.

As expected, they watched a very sullen Horace Howinger get ready in haste for his journey. When he emerged from his bedroom, his mood had not improved nor his news.

"What?" Elspeth asked doubtfully.

Horace swallowed the last of his coffee. "I said, 'your brother is coming with me to Mordred's palace.'"

Elspeth's mouth hung open. Ethan didn't know what to think. He certainly did not want to go on a trip of any length with Mr. Howinger, let alone into dangerous territory. But his curiosity piqued at the idea of getting to travel to the palace in Emmanuel and see Lord Mordred, the man who held the entire kingdom in his grasp.

"Did you suppose I would leave the two of you here alone with all of my worldly goods?" Horace asked bitterly. "If I must endure this journey, then I'll have someone else along to enjoy my misery. And as you send up prayers for your brother's safe return, I may benefit by proximity."

It sounded as though Horace meant to mock their faith. However, Ethan knew the man had just enough superstitious faith to hope Shaddai would protect Ethan and those in his company. Horace was not above taking any advantages he might get.

"Go and prepare provisions for our journey, boy, and bring plenty of water skins filled from my well." Ethan did not even bat an eye in rebellion.

When all was ready, Horace left final instructions for Elspeth regarding the farm and the hired men. When he seemed satisfied that everything was in order, Horace began down the road on his horse toward town. "Hurry along, Ethan," he said.

"Fine time for you to start being so compliant with his wishes," Elspeth said, her words laced with sad sarcasm.

"Would my objections have been any more successful than your own, Sister?" Ethan tried deferring to reason, hoping to avoid an argument before he left.

Instead, Elspeth simply nodded and gave Ethan a kiss on the cheek. He climbed up into Whistler's saddle. Elspeth glanced down the road to make sure that Mr. Howinger was not looking. She lifted her skirt slightly and reached under for an item she had been hiding. Elspeth removed a double-edged short sword in a wooden scabbard and forced it into Ethan's hands. "Here, keep this with you under your cloak."

"Why, Sister, I'm surprised at you. How in the world did you come by this?"

"Mr. Howinger had this and many others in an old trunk in the attic. I believe he used to be a soldier at one time. Now, take this and stay safe. You know, Mr. Howinger was right about one thing."

"Really, what was that?" Ethan asked.

"I will be sending up prayers to the Almighty for your protection every night. Please be careful, won't you?"

"Of course, I will. How could I not be, with such a devoted sister praying for me? Try not to worry yourself." He gave her a wink and turned Whistler around. Ethan gave the stallion a prod to the haunches. He and his horse caught up with Horace just beyond the end of the farm road. Elspeth began praying for Ethan right there on the road as she watched the dust stirring behind him.

DOOMED DELEGATION

On the way into Grandee, Ethan made sure he stayed behind Mr. Howinger. Their benefactor had made it clear over the years that he was interested in Ethan's work ethic, not his conversation.

As promised, a compliment of men waited for Mr. Howinger when he arrived at the Council Building. There were ten, saddled and ready to go. Even Tom Grandee had turned out for their departure with the other young men on the council who were not going on this dangerous journey. Tom's lips held an unfeigned smile. Ethan knew a delegation, of any sort, would never convince a warlord like Mordred of anything. Ill tidings of the expedition would return to Grandee before Mr. Howinger's delegation ever did.

Horace surveyed the crew lent to him for this expedition. All of the men were in their thirties and forties—men whose absence might benefit Tom Grandee in some way. That fact made it clear—Grandee did not expect them to return, at least not anytime soon.

Horace felt a small comfort, knowing all of the men going with him were experts with arms. One of the men drove a two-horse team with a wagon loaded to the hilt with muskets, powder, shot, swords, food, and water provisions. All of the men hunted and, with good game lands along their route to Emmanuel, they would at least eat well.

Tom Grandee acted as if he was about to begin a farewell speech, but Horace simply turned his horse and started out of town. He had no stomach for it. The men all looked at one another and then at Tom. He was smiling, though more smugly now.

When Ethan followed Horace, the other men in their party decided to skip the speech as well and marched after them. Their pace quickened to a trot as they left the borders of Grandee behind them. The Howinger road extended far out in front of them—a dusty, brown ribbon winding through the sparse trees, eventually extending over and beyond the rise of hills in the distance. Tom Grandee's family had gotten the town for their namesake, while Horace's family had the road. The irony was not lost on Horace as he rode toward unknown dangers while Tom Grandee remained safely at home.

Horace began to slow his pace a little by midday. The group came into a large clearing where the trees fanned out in a semi-circular ring approximately two hundred yards in diameter. The ground flattened with short golden grass everywhere beyond the road. In the distance, hills stood covered in the same grass and sparsely dotted with trees.

"Aye, Ethan, how'd you end up on this little jaunt?" one of the men asked.

Ethan looked back and then threw his eyes forward to indicate Horace riding ahead of them.

The man mouthed, Ah, and nodded. "How's your sister then, lad?"

"She's well, but I miss her already."

Horace stopped. The other men stopped their animals as well. Following Horace's line of sight, they saw what had stopped him. A rider with billowing black robes galloped toward them from the trees ahead. The wind had the garment roiling around him like a pitch-black fire. He rode quickly—a lone knight on the charge.

The men pulled their weapons, ready for anything. "It's a Wraith Rider," one of the men said in a hushed tone. Ethan had heard tales of these warriors who served under Mordred. The stories claimed the Wraith Riders had never been defeated in battle. Most of their opponents simply ran.

Ethan slipped his hand under his cloak and wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the short sword Elspeth had given him. He had never fought in a battle before. Now, the feelings of glory he had conjured in his mind, of serving in the militia against Mordred, fled as the dreaded rider approached their company.

Everyone remained tense but still. Provoking this rider was the worst thing they could do. When the Wraith Rider came within fifty yards, he came to an abrupt stop, sending up a cloud of dust around him and his horse. When the dust began to clear, Ethan got his first good look at the warrior. In addition to his midnight-black robes, the man wore a crimson half-face mask which left his mouth and jaw exposed. The hood of his cloak was up. He wore a pair of leather gauntlets covered with steel spikes across the backs of the hands.

Ethan surmised, by the rider's appearance, the stories were probably true and their reputation well deserved. The rider did not speak. With his robes draped over his black horse, the two almost appeared to be one creature.

"My lord," Horace said, "may we assist you in some way?"

The Wraith Rider said nothing. Even his horse stood deathly still.

Horace looked at his men behind him. Ethan noticed Horace's fearful expression. This was the first time he had ever seen the man afraid. He liked seeing him unnerved. Still, Horace was the leader of this expedition, and they were depending on him to know how to handle this without getting them all killed.

"My lord, we are on our way to seek an audience with our Lord Mordred," Horace said. His flattery was as obvious as he meant it to be. They did not dare attempt to pass the man on the road. "If you would like, my lord, our company will yield the road to you and go around."

The rider in black said absolutely nothing. Horace turned sideways in his saddle to inform the others. They would go around. "Follow me, lads."

Only Ethan saw what happened next, as it occurred too fast for any of the other men to notice. Ethan felt the air sucked away as in a vacuum. Time seemed to stagger around him. A bee drifted before his face. Ethan saw each flap of its paper-thin wings. The boy sat in awe of the world around him—sounds never heard before, colors never envisioned. The scene became distinct and overwhelming. The Wraith Rider stood up in his stirrups.

As Horace Howinger bent sideways in his saddle, beginning to turn back toward the rider in black, the warrior reached for a sword upon his back. With one extremely swift, smooth motion, the Wraith Rider pulled the weapon from its place and whipped it forward in a precise arc terminating at Horace Howinger's chest. Ethan's benefactor of nine years never even knew what had hit him.

Ethan watched the event unfold, but he felt like a slug in a race. His body could not keep up with his senses. Ethan tried to pull the sword from his cloak, to scream, anything. He felt mired as in a pit of tar.

Voices, like a hundred women lamenting their lost children, echoed in Ethan's ears. He saw a horde of demons swarm toward his group from the trees. The horses understood the danger. They bucked and whinnied frantically beneath their riders. The men did not know to flee. None of them seemed to realize anything had happened yet—only that Horace had, just that moment, let out a whimpering cry before them.

Whistler went completely wild beneath Ethan. He tried to control the animal. Demons crashed into the men around him like a mighty wave of the sea. The raw power of the attack sent horses and riders tumbling through the air.

Whistler lurched forward, and Ethan lost his grip. He fell from the saddle, hitting his head hard enough to produce stars in his vision. His right foot caught in the stirrup, and Whistler dragged him. Ethan tried to reach up for the saddle horn, but some part of the terrain knocked the wind from his lungs, and everything went black.

GRIM REALITY

Ethan's head ached as he regained consciousness. He reached up to a sore spot on the back of his head before opening his eyes. When he brought his hand back from the stinging bump at the base of his neck, he opened his eyes to slits and saw fresh blood upon his fingers.

Ethan tried to get up and realized his foot was twisted. His entire right leg ached terribly. A shadow advanced over him. Ethan looked up and saw Whistler standing there next to him. The horse slowly chewed a muzzle full of grass as he grazed. Ethan's foot was still wedged in the right stirrup.

He turned his leg to release the toe of his boot. The leg fell numb to the ground with a thud. Ethan wondered if anything might be broken. A horrible tingling took over in the leg as the blood flow returned to normal. Ethan endured a sensation like hundreds of spiders dancing beneath his skin. He turned his head and realized what horrible things had happened during his unconsciousness.

He and Whistler were now some distance from the road where the attack had taken place. Ethan now knew Whistler had saved his life by dragging him away from the gruesome scene depicted before him. He stood to his feet, mumbling, "How can this be?"

Ethan hobbled toward the road. As he came nearer, a curtain of carrion-feeding birds and flies begrudged him the disturbance. Ethan stood there horrified. The delegation bore little resemblance to human beings now. The ten men, and Mr. Howinger, were dead. But, more than that, they had been slaughtered in ways beyond human comprehension.

Some of the company, including horses, dangled like moss in nearby trees. Ethan did not believe a lone Wraith Rider could have accomplished this. He realized the demons he had seen were as real in the physical world as they were in the spiritual. They had crossed the boundary, normally confining them, and had entered the physical world with power beyond comprehension.

Ethan fought to keep gut-wrenching nausea at bay. He turned away from the scene. On the road behind, where he and the others had been when the attack came, Ethan saw one distinct set of hoof prints heading back toward Grandee. Ethan ran to the place where the rider had been sitting stoically upon his mount. He confirmed his suspicion. The rider had not turned and gone back the way he came. He and his demon forces are going to Grandee...and Elspeth!

Ethan flew into a panic. He was a half-day's travel from his home. He found the overturned wagon where their supplies had been. They had been scattered in every direction upon the ground as though by an explosion. Among the discarded weapons, Ethan found another sword, this one a two handed broadsword which he thought he could handle.

Ethan fastened the scabbard to Whistler's saddle and took two of the water skins and some jerky. He had not eaten all day and his strength was ebbing away. Ethan climbed back into the saddle and regarded Howinger's delegation of peaceful cooperation one last time before goading the stallion into a full gallop toward Grandee.

AFTERMATH

Nightfall forced Ethan to stop traveling toward Grandee. But when daylight came again, the first thing he noticed was a huge column of black smoke rising above the horizon. Grandee, he thought.

When Ethan finally cleared the last hill obstructing his view, his fears were confirmed immeasurably. There were about twenty large buildings in the town of Grandee. All but one of them had a plume of smoke rising from it. Ethan rode slower now. Whistler seemed hesitant to continue into the remains of the town. Ethan decided to turn east and go directly to the Howinger farm. He had to know what had happened to his sister. At the same time, he feared what he might find when he arrived.

It took Ethan nearly an hour to make his way around the perimeter of the town and then out to Mr. Howinger's farm. As feared, a great cloud of smoke hovered over the place where the barns and the home were located. Ethan and Whistler made their way up the road leading to the farmhouse. It appeared mostly intact. One of the barns smoldered in the distance.

Tears streamed down Ethan's cheeks even as he fought the urge to break down. Nothing moved on the farm as he and Whistler approached the main house. He did not have any idea what he was going to do or even what he could do. Ethan had always depended upon Elspeth.

Mustering his courage, Ethan climbed down from Whistler's saddle and walked toward the open front door. As he got closer, it became apparent the door was not merely standing open—it was gone. The entire frame was missing along with it.

The house still smoldered, and light funneled into the main room from a large hole in the ceiling created by the fire. Ethan walked inside. The room was a complete shamble. The furniture, not destroyed by fire, lay smashed into kindling by...something.

Ethan saw no blood and no body. He was alarmed, yet relieved at the same time. Where could she be, if not here in the house? Ethan moved quicker now, emboldened by the lack of his sister's body. He made a quick survey through all of the rooms in the house, still turning up nothing.

Outside, around the farm, Ethan found seven bodies, all men. He recognized them as the field hands Mr. Howinger kept on regular salary to help work his farm. Some of them had been family men. Casting an eye back toward Grandee and the smoke billowing into the sky above it, Ethan wondered what had become of their wives and children.

A complete search of the buildings on Howinger's farm still did not turn up Elspeth's body. Ethan was glad she remained missing, at least as long as she was safe. He just had to find her. The only other possibility was that Elspeth might have been in town for some reason.

Ethan knew he had to go into Grandee. It was likely he would find the same sort of carnage found on the road where Howinger's delegation had been killed. He climbed into the saddle, urging Whistler back down the road. Reluctantly, Ethan rode toward the town and whatever nightmare awaited him.

One half hour later, Ethan rode into the town of Grandee. Some buildings still burned, but most were spent and smoldering. Homes in the outlying perimeter area were nothing but burnt shells. The bodies of the young and old littered the streets.

As Ethan and Whistler passed the Council Chamber Building, he spotted a body wearing a velvet waistcoat. He turned the horse to pass closer. Sure enough, the lifeless form of Council Chairman, Tom Grandee, lay there on the dirt road. Scarlet stains and dust covered his clothes. His face was a mask of terror. Ethan moved on.

An eerie pattern emerged as Ethan continued to ride through the town. Oddly enough, he could not find any women among the dead. Did the Wraith Rider take them prisoner? Ethan hated to think about why the women would have been taken captive from Grandee while the men were killed. But if that was the case, then at least Elspeth was still alive.

As he continued riding into the business district of Grandee, Ethan heard voices speaking somewhere in the distance. He could not see anyone yet. The sounds came from one street over, so he urged Whistler on in order to investigate.

When Ethan rounded the buildings blocking his view, he saw three men rummaging through the clothes of those lying slain in the streets. He knew nearly everyone who had lived in Grandee. And these men did not. Fury struck Ethan in the chest as he understood what they were doing—looting the dead.

His sword sang out as he pulled the weapon from its scabbard on Whistler's saddle. The men, so engrossed in their disrespect for Grandee's fallen, did not notice the horse come into view on the street ahead of them. But when they heard the drumming of hooves on hard ground and Ethan's war cry, they lifted their heads in stunned surprise.

Ethan gouged his heels into Whistler's flanks and the horse sprang forward as if he had merely been waiting to be unleashed. Ethan held the blade aloft as he approached the three men. They tried to find their weapons as the boy closed in on them.

The men were all dressed in knee-length, crimson robes tied at the waist with white sashes. Loose fitting crimson breeches became tight at the ankle atop simple slip-on style shoes. One man carried a Bo staff, another carried a sword, and the third produced no weapons at all.

Ethan approached the unarmed man and swung his sword down in a wide arc. He had never used a weapon before. It felt clumsy in his hand. Ethan nearly fell off Whistler as the bouncing in the saddle, combined with the weight of his weapon, threatened to toss him into the street.

The leader of the oddly dressed looters bent backward at the waist halfway to the ground, allowing the point of Ethan's blade to pass over him. The man actually smiled as Ethan made the pass and missed. It seemed the boy's feeble attempt to kill him actually amused him.

Ethan barely recovered, straightening himself in the saddle before coming upon the man with the Bo staff. Ethan tried to bring the sword down this time. He aimed for the man's head, striking out. The man simultaneously dodged his head sideways and struck Ethan in the arm with the end of the staff.

The blow, compounded with trying to ride the speeding horse, sent Ethan over the other side of the saddle and down into the dusty street. The fall knocked the wind out of him, but he did not waste anytime getting back up. His anger and adrenaline gave him more speed and strength than he normally had. However, Ethan simply was not the warrior he imagined himself to be.

When he stood, the three men had formed a tight group in the street. The leader was standing just ahead of the other two flanking him on either side. All three men laughed at Ethan. He located his sword. It had stuck into the earthen street, still wobbling back and forth a little when Ethan reached to pull it out.

He glanced at the men again, sneering at them as he prepared to unleash his fury upon these criminals. But they did not appear the least bit threatened by the armed, angry boy before them. The leader motioned to Bo staff with a nod. He came forward with his six-foot piece of hickory, twirling it around his body in tight circles. The wood became a circular blur. The man brought it around, stopping its motion precisely, taking a defensive stance. He then curled his index finger, challenging Ethan to charge him.

Ethan thought twice about making another attack. Then he thought about it again, supposing that his steel blade could cut the wood to splinters, if he could just hit it. Ethan took a chance and charged. At the last moment, he swept up with his blade. It clattered off the staff as the man deflected his strike and countered, whacking Ethan in the back, toying with him.

Ethan faltered, but realized he was near the leader who was just standing there laughing. Without warning, Ethan turned and swiped horizontally at the man's neck. He was close enough to have decapitated the man. But instead, the man deftly fell backward, arching his back with his hands on the ground behind him. In the same swift motion, his feet came up under Ethan's hands, striking the hilt of his sword. The weapon flew from Ethan's grasp as the man completed his back flip and stood up again.

It happened too fast for Ethan to react. He was now unarmed, and his wrist ached terribly. The man followed his maneuver by leaping into the air toward the boy. His body rotated elegantly in mid-air and brought the back of his foot around, smashing Ethan across the side of the face. The blow was bone jarring. Ethan spun in place like a top, falling over like an old drunk.

MORDECAI

"I can't believe that kid thought he could actually win against priests of Shaddai," Bo staff said.

"Maybe he didn't realize who we are," the leader said.

"He must have been living under a rock then, Mordecai. Anyone who knows anything knows about The Order," the man with the sword said.

"Let's see what he's got then. You two check his horse," Mordecai commanded.

Whistler stood only thirty feet away. The men ran over to the horse and caught him by the reins. Whistler normally might have fled from these strangers, but the animal remained loyal to its master, Ethan.

The two men rummaged through the saddlebags, but did not find anything more than a few more weapons and some food and water. Mordecai began to rummage through the young boy's clothing. He found nothing of consequence, no money. But when he pushed back the sleeve on the boy's right arm, his eyes transfixed on something he never expected to see.

The boy's right arm held the mark of Shaddai's Deliverer. There could be no mistaking it. Mordecai had seen the same image within the secret Temple of Shaddai, while training there as a priest of The Order. A lump rose in his throat.

The implications settled on his mind, while a smile settled upon his lips. The Deliverer, thought killed many years before, was here—alive! Mordecai needed only to deliver the fool to Mordred and his fondest dreams of power and prestige could come true—he could name his price.

"Find some rope," Mordecai told the others as he stood up.

They turned to him. Both had puzzled looks on their faces.

"We've just struck gold, boys," Mordecai said.

The two men looked down at the unconscious boy, surmising he must mean rope to tie him up. They dispersed into a nearby mercantile. The building had been bashed in by something monstrous.

Mordecai stood in the street, hovering over Ethan, staring in wonder at what the Almighty had chosen to use as a deliverer. This is it—a boy with no fighting skill whatsoever?

Within several minutes, the other two priests emerged from the mercantile with a suitable length of sturdy rope. Mordecai took it and began to wrap it around the boy's hands and then loop it around his neck. If he attempted to strike out with his bound wrists then at least he would choke himself with the effort.

"Bring the horses," Mordecai said, "and his."

One of the priests fetched three horses, which they had stolen in another village, while the other retrieved Whistler. When Mordecai felt satisfied with his knot, they hoisted Ethan onto Whistler's saddle and secured him to the horse with more rope. He could ride now even while he was still unconscious. Perfect, Mordecai thought. The very end of the long rope he fastened securely to the horn of his saddle. Then the three riders, plus their prisoner, set off on horseback for the city of white walled city of Emmanuel.

The wind carried light debris and dust through the streets in Grandee. Another man strolled through its death filled streets. He led a horse, white with patches of brown. The young man's face remained passive. He surveyed the town like someone who had seen this all before and had learned to remain detached from the tragedy of it.

He stopped when he found a curious set of prints in the dirt road. The tracks he had been following led to this point. The three sets of shoe prints matched the shoes he was wearing—shoes worn by the temple priests.

He examined the area more closely. A brief scuffle had taken place here. Four feet away, a sword lay on the ground. The men he was tracking had not caused all this carnage. They were opportunists, not butchers. However, they had fought with someone here and disarmed them. There was no body. Perhaps they've taken a prisoner.

The other set of prints, too big to be a woman's, made him curious. Why would they bother to take a man as a prisoner? These priests were not hostage takers. Hostages cost time and energy, especially when you're on the run from justice. There must have been some reason why they would consider this person valuable, bothering to disarm him without killing him and then to slow themselves down by dragging him along.

The young man found where the trail continued out of town. If his assumption was correct, they were heading for Emmanuel—another curious move for them to make. He climbed onto the saddle of his patchwork horse, goading the animal forward into a quick gallop. He would have to make good time, taking a little known pass to get ahead of them. He hoped their hostage would slow them as much as he expected.

GIDEON

"Get up!" Mordecai shouted. "If you keep trying to run, then I'm just going to have to tie you up even more and throw you across the rear of my own horse. And believe me that would make for a very uncomfortable trip to Emmanuel."

One of the other priests, Bo staff, picked Ethan up by his upper arms and pushed him bodily back up into Whistler's saddle. Ethan had tried to goad the horse forward to break the rope binding him, or at least pull it free from Mordecai's horse. For the second time, it had not worked.

"Why are you taking me to Emmanuel?" Ethan asked.

Mordecai pulled up close to Ethan's horse with his own. Then he grabbed Ethan's arm and yanked the sleeve back, placing his index finger right on top of the boy's birthmark. "This is why I'm taking you to Emmanuel, boy," he hissed.

Ethan looked at the birthmark, then gave Mordecai a puzzled look. "You're taking me there because of a birthmark on my arm?"

He saw no deceit in the boy's eyes. Mordecai stifled a laugh. "You don't know, do you?"

"Know what?"

"Let's just say, this birthmark makes you the most valuable person in this kingdom. You're worth a king's ransom to me, once I turn you over to Mordred. So don't try any more escape attempts. If I have to shatter your bones to keep you, then I will. It won't make you any less valuable to me, but I think you might not enjoy the experience very much." Mordecai grinned fiendishly. He read a new compliance in Ethan's eyes, nodding, before turning his horse to proceed.

Mordecai only half heard the distant twang from the trees ahead. The slightest flutter of feather fletches stayed the courses of the two thin, wooden shafts cutting through the air. On pure unconscious instinct, born of his training, Mordecai slid sideways in his saddle, hiding behind the side of his horse. "Get down!" he shouted to the others.

Ethan watched the entire incident unfold—his eyes still faster than his reflexes. He saw the two shafts glide through the air. The air vibrated back to the place where the arrows had originated—air currents only his enhanced perception could discern.

The arrows found their marks, sinking with deadly accuracy straight into the breastbones of both priests traveling with Mordecai. It had been an amazing double shot fired from one bowman in tree up ahead of them on the road.

One of the priests slung backward out of his saddle to the ground. The other had been about to speak when the arrow stole his breath and his life. He slumped forward in his saddle with a look of anguish on his face.

The arrows were odd in color—plain brown, wooden shafts with crimson fletches. Only when Ethan saw the second priest slump over on his horse, did he consider the fact that he was sitting there on Whistler as an easy target for the next shot. He had no way of knowing whether this was a rescue, or some bandit intending to kill them all, to rob them of their valuables.

Mordecai hugged against his horse's flank like a conjoined mutation. He wasn't risking his neck for the boy. He peeked over his saddle and saw the man who had done this. The young man wore the same type of garment Mordecai and his fellow priests were wearing. Only the colors were different, a brown knee-length robe and breeches tied at the waist with a scarlet sash. The stranger was not shaven like Mordecai and his fellows. He had short black hair neatly trimmed and no facial hair. Gideon.

"What's going on, who is that?" Ethan asked.

"Vengeance," Mordecai whispered.

He reached for his sword, still attached to his saddle. Mordecai placed the scabbard strap over his shoulder so the blade rested on his back. Then he picked up the fallen priest's Bo staff and began to walk toward their attacker.

When the two men met in the grassy meadow, twenty yards from where Ethan remained on the road, they stopped. Gideon tossed his bow to the ground. He carried no quiver of arrows.

"So they've sent the best for me, Gideon?" Mordecai said.

"Just a priest who hasn't forgotten his vow to The Order and the Almighty," Gideon said.

Mordecai moved quickly, whipping the grounded end of the Bo staff up toward Gideon. When its arc placed the end toward Gideon's chest, Mordecai thrust with the end of the staff in order to jab it into his ribcage. Gideon countered just as quickly, rotating around the strike, following through with a roundhouse kick, striking Mordecai on the cheek. Gideon snapped his heel as he completed the kick, bringing it down through the middle of Mordecai's Bo staff. It busted in half as Mordecai reeled back briefly and tried to recover.

Mordecai drew his sword before the Bo pieces hit the ground. He waited to charge, knowing the wrong move could quickly be fatal. Gideon was one of the few people whom Mordecai actually feared, though he would never admit it.

Mordecai swung and missed. Gideon dug his toe into an anthill next to his left foot. One exact flick of his ankle sent the grains of soil and angry ants into the air toward Mordecai's face. He swiped at it by mistake. Gideon lunged. The brown robed priest got well inside of Mordecai's line of attack. With his right fist, Gideon pummeled Mordecai's grip on the steel weapon. With his left hand, open and stiff as a board, he smashed Mordecai directly in the throat.

The sword fell from Mordecai's hands as he stumbled backward, falling to the ground, gasping for breath that refused to come. Gideon seized the Mordecai's sword from the air, then slammed it through his abdomen, pinning him to the ground.

Mordecai screamed. He clutched the weapon, but he could not remove it. Within seconds, all of his strength ebbed away as he bled into the soil. He lost consciousness while death closed in like a predator.

Ethan was astonished. He had never seen such elegant precision in a warrior before. Fear crept up his spine. Would he be next? He decided to speak up and find out. At least from this distance, he might get Whistler into a run before the young man got to him.

"What are your intentions, sir?" Ethan shouted.

Gideon turned, walking toward Ethan and his mount. "That depends upon your relation to these men."

Ethan held up his bound wrists. "Isn't it obvious?"

"And how did you become Mordecai's prisoner?"

"These men were looting the bodies of my people in Grandee. They were thieves," Ethan said indignantly.

"They were priests. My name is Gideon."

"Priests? Then why did you—"

"They were renegades from The Order of Shaddai. I offer the apologies of my order for their actions against your people. They have shamed us all by what they have done. Now, they have been punished," Gideon said.

Ethan glanced at Mordecai and the other priests. "Yeah, I guess you could say that," he managed. "What about me? I'd like to be set free if you don't mind."

Gideon walked closer. "Why did they take you as their prisoner?"

"I don't know...some crazy notion Mordecai had. He thought Mordred would pay him for my capture."

"And why did he think Mordred would do such a thing?" Gideon asked.

Ethan extended his arm. "He said it had something to do with this birthmark."

Gideon's eyes lit up immediately. "Does this mark mean anything to you, uhm—"

"Ethan."

"Ethan, yes...does this mark have any special significance to you?"

"Nothing I'm aware of," Ethan said

"Tell me, Ethan, were you born in Grandee?"

"No, my sister and I came from a village called Salem. But it was destroyed many years ago," Ethan said.

"Nine years ago," Gideon said before he realized it.

"What?"

"Never mind," he corrected. "I've heard of that old village. Mordred destroyed it just before he rode to conquest in Emmanuel."

"My parents were killed that night, while Elspeth and I escaped into the forest."

"Elspeth is your sister?" Gideon asked.

"Yes, but I think Mordred's soldiers took her when they attacked Grandee," Ethan said. "There were no young women among the dead there. They vanished, but they're the only ones. I don't understand why Wraith Riders would bother with prisoners."

"That all depends on why Mordred would send his men to attack Grandee in the first place. Do you know anything about that?"

Ethan offered his bound wrists. "It's sort of a complicated story."

Gideon smiled and removed a dagger from a sheath beneath the sleeve of his brown robe. He reached up and cut Ethan's bonds. "I'd love to hear it."

JERICHO

Mordecai had difficulty ascertaining how long he had been lying there on the ground. He was surprised to wake up alive at all. His body felt so cold. Numbness was overtaking him. He no longer felt his arms or legs. The monolithic sword protruding out of his belly filled his view, but he could no longer feel it.

I'm dying. He searched around him through dimming vision. He could not find Gideon or Shaddai's Deliverer. Fear gripped what was left of his mind. He had only one chance.

Mordecai recalled the ancient, forbidden word for summoning. He spoke it along with the name Jericho. He kept repeating the phrase, using the last vestiges of his strength, casting a grappling hook by a thread, hoping to hold on to life just a little longer. Mordecai felt weaker by the second though how much time actually passed he could not tell. He could not even hear his own voice anymore. The sound of wind through grass faded.

"Mordecai?" a deep voice asked.

Hearing his name, Mordecai snapped back to consciousness.

"Mordecai, why have you summoned me?" the voice said.

Mordecai heard the fallen angel's voice, rich with power. He opened his eyes. Over him stood the form of a man. For just a moment, Mordecai thought he saw a trailing glimpse of two large wings—the feathers soiled. Then the image disappeared, leaving just the man.

He bent low, examining the sword protruding out of Mordecai's belly. The angel reached out, flicking the pommel with his long index finger. The sword vibrated, sending a shimmer of pain coursing through Mordecai's body again. I'm not dead yet. Despite the pain, that knowledge relieved him.

The angel's face appeared quite beautiful—the way a snake or deadly spider is beautiful. Jericho's fearsome countenance might have been radiant at one time, but somehow the light was missing, leaving only a sad emptiness behind. Jericho peered into Mordecai's face, smiling.

"I'll bet you never expected to end up like this, did you Mordecai?" The whole situation seemed very amusing to the angel. "Your friends from the temple don't look so hot either, but you look the worst. Oops, I'm not much of a comforter am I?"

"Help me, Jericho," Mordecai strained.

"You're as good as dead. Poor Mordecai," Jericho said, shaking his head with mock concern.

"I'm not dead yet," Mordecai spat through the renewed sensations of pain.

"True. But I have no reason to help you," Jericho said. "You will be in Torments soon enough. I have no reason to delay it." He stood, turning away from Mordecai's body, disinterested now.

Mordecai's last hope was fading away. "Wait!" he pleaded.

Jericho's disappeared.

"Shaddai's Deliverer is alive!" Mordecai used his last breath to say the words. He teetered on the brink, crossing into the spiritual realm for good—into the abode of the dead.

Jericho hastened to Mordecai's side instantly. His hand gripped the sword, removing it so he could work quickly. The blood pulsed through the wound with each fading heartbeat. Jericho placed his hand into the wound and began to mend the worst damage.

After several tense moments, Mordecai breathed again like a man coming up from the depths—sucking in precious breaths of life. His heart rate increased steadily. Blood flow began to pick up with each contraction of his atria and ventricles. Blood pressure rose to acceptable levels. Jericho eased off the wound. Mordecai had not yet regained consciousness, but he would live.

Jericho watched the unconscious man as he inhaled and exhaled with regularity. He laughed within himself. How could they have been so foolish—to think it would be so easy to defeat the purposes of the Almighty. It made perfect sense now, just as it had when Mordred had announced victory nine years ago. Jericho had held his own misgivings then. It seemed those doubts had been confirmed. The chosen child had survived.

THE HUNT

The sun sank below the wavy horizon created by the Borla Mountains in the west. Ethan and Gideon had been riding for several hours without much conversation. Gideon hoped they could set up camp after a hunt. Ethan agreed. He had not eaten anything in two days, and his stomach cramped for nourishment.

They came to an area where tall pines drove high into the sky. The sparse undergrowth made for easy movement between the trees. At this time of year, the pine needles created a thick mat upon the forest floor, helping to silence their footsteps.

Gideon brought them to a halt and quietly got down from his saddle. He removed two arrows from his quiver. Ethan started to speak, but Gideon quickly silenced him with a wave of his hand. He pointed into the dimly lit forest beyond the road. Ethan noticed the slightest hint of movement. Something watched them anxiously.

They both stood behind their horses now. An animal might be spooked by a person walking about, but they would be unconcerned by horses. Gideon nocked both arrows at the same time. These arrows had different heads than the ones Ethan had seen Gideon use on Mordecai's renegade priests. Instead of the needle tip, both arrows were fitted with broad heads to promote more internal damage and a faster bleed-out time.

Gideon's middle finger curled up to separate their flight path by a degree. Ethan watched the trees. His new senses kicked in again, just as it had happened at the slaughter of Mr. Howinger's doomed delegation. He saw the animal—a fallow deer, almost as if it were standing completely in daylight. The animal hid behind a pine trunk nearly one hundred yards away. Ethan heard its heartbeat and smelled its scent. He saw the heat rising from its body.

Then Gideon let the arrows fly. Ethan watched the air vibrate as the two arrows cut through atmosphere, driving toward their target. One arrow struck the neck, while the other hit the heart. Ethan could almost feel the wounded heart seize inside the deer's chest.

The startled animal bolted from the spot where it stood, clearing a span of twenty feet in the first leap. Ethan started to lunge forward in pursuit. Gideon quickly stopped him with a restraining hand to the shoulder. "No need to wear yourself out, Ethan."

Sure enough, as Gideon and Ethan led their horses back through the pines, they found the deer fifty yards from where it had been shot. "See there, I told you. No need to wear yourself out when you place the shots right."

Gideon removed a set of knives from his saddlebag and went to work harvesting meat for them. He unrolled a canvas bag and placed the meat inside. "Now, let's get further up the road, then we'll make camp. We'll leave the carcass for others to have their fill. If there are any bears or wolves in the area, hopefully they'll come here for meat and leave us alone tonight." A generous amount of salt lay in the bag already, which Gideon rolled over in order to cover the meat.

Ethan helped Gideon with the heavy bag of meat and then saddled Whistler. Dark lay upon them now with the moon casting an eerie glow through the canopy of dense pine needles overhead. They rode back out to the main road, following the bare road glowing in the moonlight. Within ten minutes, they had found a large clearing with a few stout trees. There they made camp for the night.

A wonderful aroma streamed off the deer meat as it roasted over their fire. Gideon produced some fragrant spices from another pouch on his saddle. The sweet smelling savor had Ethan's mouth watering for a taste.

"I want you to tell me how you came to be in Grandee, the attack, everything you can remember, all right?" Gideon asked.

Ethan was more than ready to get it all off his chest. He told Gideon what he could remember of his mother and father and the village of Salem. He told him about the day when the attack came and the demon he saw in the market.

Ethan was surprised Gideon did not immediately brand him as crazy. He went on to tell him about the attack itself and what he had seen when he and Elspeth had fled into the woods. Ethan told him about coming to Howinger's farm and the way he had treated them while they were there and about the council meeting and the demon turning the words of the men to achieve its goal.

Gideon listened intently, slowly turning the spit over the fire. He took in every bit of information, processing it with what he knew of the Deliverer and the Wraith Riders under Mordred. When the boy finally finished, Gideon mulled it over, still turning there meal over the flames.

"When can we eat?" Ethan asked.

"Just a little longer, my friend. Tell me, Ethan, what are your plans? With Grandee sacked, there's nothing left for you there."

Ethan considered it. "I thought about going to Emmanuel to see if I can find my sister."

"A rescue from the palace would be very difficult to pull off by yourself," Gideon said.

"I have to find her, if she's still alive, Gideon," Ethan said. "Like you said, there's nothing else left for me."

"I understand. And you have a good reason for believing she could have survived the attack. I'm just worried that you would end up captured or killed in the attempt."

Ethan stared into the fire.

"What I mean is that you have no weapons and no training," Gideon clarified. "I would guess you don't even have a plan for getting into the city, let alone the palace itself."

Ethan turned to Gideon. His expression said it all. The boy did not have the first clue about how he might rescue his sister. He seemed utterly alone in the world and Gideon felt sorry for him. Ethan had to be the prophesied Deliverer, but he was still a real boy who needed help. "I tell you what, Ethan, I'll help you try to locate your sister."

Ethan immediately perked up. "Will you, Gideon?"

"Yes, but I want this promise from you in return."

"Anything."

"Successful or not, I want you to return with me to The Order of Shaddai—to the Temple. There you can meet with the High Priest, Isaiah."

"Of course, Gideon, anything you say," Ethan promised.

Gideon took one of his knives and sliced the meat hanging over the fire. The fatty juices fell sizzling onto the coals. He used another three-pronged utensil to stab the piece and hold it. Then he handed it over to Ethan.

The boy took it eagerly, blowing away some of the heat. When he sank his teeth into it for the first time and the taste hit his tongue, Ethan groaned as though he had just sampled the finest food on the planet. He savored it, chewing slowly, letting it roll over in his mouth for a full effect. "Boy, a king couldn't ask for a better tasting piece of meat than this," Ethan said.

"Absence does make the heart grow fonder, as they say. I probably could have given you the worst piece and it would have been just as good, since you've gone so long without."

Ethan nodded his agreement—his mouth too full of food to say anything. The two young men relaxed with their venison and enjoyed the fire. They would set out again, in the morning, for Emmanuel.

REALM SHIFT

The cool wind blew gently. Ethan and Gideon had both finished off generous portions of the venison before falling asleep near the fire, which had reduced to slow burning embers by now. Ethan rested as comfortably as he ever had beneath a blanket borrowed from Gideon's supplies. It was peaceful lying out under the stars this way.

The horses seemed restless. Ethan might have dismissed it had he not heard voices accompanying it. He opened his eyes and saw several demons coming toward their camp from the forest. They hovered just above the ground. Some were wolf like, others appeared reptilian. The horses shifted uneasily as though they could see what was coming. Gideon awoke. The blanket next to him lay empty. Ethan had disappeared.

Ethan watched Gideon stand when the horses became nervous. Gideon called to Ethan as though he did not see him standing right there in front of him. Ethan turned toward the demons. They were gaping at him.

Ethan examined himself—his appearance had changed dramatically. He was no longer clothed in the plain breeches and shirt he had been wearing. A brilliant silver armor covered him. The armor moved with him fluidly, as if quicksilver had been poured over his body.

The liquid, metal armor covered him completely except for his head. A sword floated with him at his side. It had no scabbard, just like the one he remembered on the demon in Salem. Brilliant light emanated from the double-edged.

The six demons looked astonished for only a moment, before their hatred over. They hissed at him, drawing their weapons, preparing to attack. And these enemies were more terrifying than any Wraith Rider. Ethan instinctively drew the sword from his side. The sword sang with power as he tightened his grip, seeming almost alive and ready for a fight.

Ethan noticed his perception had changed again. The night no longer veiled the forest from his eyes. He discerned fallow deer in a clearing two hundred yards away and mice sitting in the grass fifty feet away.

Moreover, Ethan felt the malevolent band standing before him—the heat of their breath, the pure hatred in their doomed souls. As brightly as the light shone around him, the darkness of despair surrounded his adversaries.

Ethan felt stronger than he ever had before, and yet this strength was beyond him, coming from Shaddai himself. He perceived the very presence of the Almighty with him. It was the most peaceful feeling he had ever known. Even in the face of such enemies as these, Ethan remained completely assured and calm.

Several of the demons rushed him like a pack of hounds on the trail of a fox. Ethan let his blade fly. The weapon moved almost of its own volition. Ethan let go of his will, allowed the battle to unfold around him, the Spirit of Shaddai to move through him.

Ethan struck several of the creatures—his movements impossible to view with the natural eye. The wounded creatures howled their fury, backing away, while others contemplated an attempt. Then, just as suddenly as Ethan had appeared before them in the spiritual realm, he disappeared.

Ethan appeared before Gideon in the physical realm ten yards from where he had been sleeping. "Ethan?"

He looked at Gideon. The young priest of Shaddai was looking at him now. Ethan turned back to his demon opponents. He still saw the demons, but they appeared to be searching for him. Ethan whipped his sword hand up, but the weapon was gone along with his luminous silver armor. He had returned to his former state, dressed in a stained, tan shirt and breeches. Gideon hopped over to him, feeling Ethan's arm to be sure the boy had substance.

Ethan saw the demons go after Gideon, though the priest remained unaware. The horses whinnied wildly, backing away from the camp—their animal senses sending them into panic.

Ethan had no time.

"What's wrong?" Gideon asked, still confused.

"We're under attack!"

The first demon lunged—teeth and claws ready for the kill. Ethan used all of his strength to heave Gideon out of the way. The demon flew at them, slashing with its preternatural blade. Gideon tumbled to the ground, bewildered by the boy's violent warning when no danger seemed apparent.

The demon blade missed Ethan easily, clanging into the wood of their fire. Ethan had seen enough proof on the Howinger road of the demons' ability to surge violently into the physical world and kill. However, as far as he knew, the demons still did not see him in his physical form.

The demons lunged again for Gideon, intent on destroying the one human they could see. Ethan got to him first. He seized Gideon by the shoulders, preparing to throw him out of the way again, but the demons had halted.

"Wait!" Gideon said—his eyes wide with unexpected horror. "I can see them!"

Ethan stood still, astonished by his friend's statement. Ethan started to let go, but Gideon stopped him. "No, wait. Ethan, don't let go of me. Look at them."

Ethan watched the demons. They appeared confused and angry, searching the camp blindly.

"They don't seem to see or hear either of us," Gideon said. "And when you grabbed me, I could see them. Has this ever happened before?"

Ethan remembered when he and Elspeth had fled from Salem the night of the massacre. The demons, coming from the trees, had passed through them seemingly unaware of their presence. He had been holding tightly to his sister that night, and she to him, as they ran for their lives. Ethan had no time to think about it now. He and Gideon still stood in the midst of six vicious apparitions ready to kill them, if they figured out how to find them.

The devils picked up rocks, sticks, burning embers, and anything else they could lay hold of in the physical world, hurling it all around the camp. Gideon pulled Ethan out of the way, as one of the blankets flew at them.

"They're trying to find us," Gideon said. "If they hit us with something then it may show them where we are."

The demons picked up everything they could find, throwing it in all directions. The burning logs, blankets, limbs, rocks, and dust of the ground all swirled around furiously like a small tornado. Whistler and Gideon's patchwork mare, Abigail, fled as fast as they could into the night.

The demons gave up their tantrum when it failed to produce results, retreating into the trees beyond the firelight. Ethan kept a hold on Gideon. "Let's be sure, before I let go of you, all right?"

Gideon happily obliged him. Had it not been for Ethan, the demons would have torn him apart without his ever catching a glimpse of his attackers. They held their breath, waiting, hearts racing with excitement. Then Gideon heard something. "Hold on—"

From the trees, beyond their camp, a large brown object charged at them, slinging slobber as it ran. "It's a bear!" they shouted in unison.

For a brief moment, Ethan saw within the ferocious beast charging at them from the darkness. He saw the six demons inside the animal, urging its fury. The bear ran straight towards them. "I think it can see us!" Ethan said.

Gideon broke free from Ethan's grip, lunging for his sword. It had been tossed about the camp and now lay on the ground ten yards away from where they were standing. Ethan didn't realize what the priest was doing. The charging bear was already on top of him. The animal pulled itself up to a full of height of nearly nine feet, preparing to hammer Ethan into the ground with one of its massive paws.

Ethan heard the song of steel whistling through the air, catching a glimpse of Gideon's sword spin past his head. It sank perfectly into the bear's chest just to the left of its sternum. The great animal seized and fell over.

Ethan ran and grabbed Gideon again. He would be visible to the demons if they came out of the bear. However, as the boys looked on, the spirits seemed to be working to get out of the creature, as though its death had temporarily trapped them inside. The demons leaped out of the bear carcass, searching briefly before fleeing into the darkness.

"Let's get out of here before something else happens," Gideon said. They left what they had at the camp and ran into the night. Gideon led the way and soon they were back to the road. It was going to be a long walk through the darkness in order to get to another town without the horses. But it was far better than what might be waiting for them at the camp. Ethan and Gideon had been tired before. Now, they had enough adrenaline surging through their veins to keep them going until dawn.

FEAR

Ethan and Gideon followed the moonlit road as the wind blew gently upon them. It was comfortable, just right for walking. Foreboding crept along with them like an assassin present beyond the trees on either side of the road. They had left the sound of angry demons behind them, but they still might be following.

The demons had evidently figured out how to see Ethan. With the bear's physical eyes, the demons had found him. Only Gideon's quick thinking and expert skill had saved the boy. "Do you see anything yet?" Gideon asked. This question had become his favorite phrase over the past two hours as they walked on the road.

"Maybe we should hold hands," Gideon said. Once he made the statement, he felt like a complete fool. "I mean, so we can both remain invisible to the demons."

Ethan gave the priest a sidelong glance. "Awkward."

"Okay, forget it. I'm an idiot."

Ethan laughed. "It's not that, Gideon. I think it only works when I have both hands on someone."

"Oh."

"How long have you been a priest of Shaddai, Gideon?"

He thought about it for a moment. It seemed like he had always been at the Temple with Master Isaiah. "About fifteen years now," he said. "My parents surrendered me to The Order when I was four years old."

"Why would they do that?" Ethan asked.

"Well, my parents had been unable to have any children. I had a brother who was stillborn before me. My parents told me they prayed for three years to have a child. They made a vow to dedicate their firstborn son to Shaddai and his service. I was born the next harvest time. True to their vow, they surrendered me to the priesthood of Shaddai when the time came. I'm glad to have grown up in The Order. I have my place in the world serving the Lord of Heaven and Earth."

"Do you have any brothers or sisters now?" Ethan asked.

"I have three sisters and two brothers, but I'm rarely able to see them." Had it been daylight, Ethan might have noticed Gideon's expression grow sad at that point. "They're all together as a family while I serve The Order."

"Does everyone in The Order fight the way you do?" Ethan asked.

"Way? Yes, we fight the same way."

"But Mordecai said you were the best, didn't he?" Ethan asked.

Gideon was surprised the boy had been able to hear anything he and Mordecai had been saying. "He did."

"Well?"

"Well what?" Gideon asked.

"Is it true that you're the best?"

"Of course not," Gideon said. How could he say otherwise? It would have been prideful. At any rate, Gideon knew his own skill, but his opinion had always been, that there was always someone better than yourself, even if you had not met them yet.

"I would really like to learn how to fight like you do," Ethan said. "Do you suppose you could teach me?"

Gideon had hoped to hear the boy say that. "Ethan, I can honestly say, I would be honored to teach you anything I can."

They heard the snap of a twig in the trees to the left of the road. Both of the young men froze in mid-step. Fear reared its ugly head as they stammered. They tried to identify the sound, praying not to hear anything more.

Leaves crunched beneath a foot somewhere in the darkness. The hairs on their necks stood at attention. Gideon imagined another bear, or worse, staring at them from the murk of the forest—its body full to the brim with a ravenous horde of wicked spirits.

It was difficult to determine whether the cold, night air raised the gooseflesh or simply the sense of impending doom assaulting their senses.

"Could be a squirrel," Ethan whispered.

"At night?"

"Mouse?"

Two steps this time and a loud snort of air. "Or not a mouse," Ethan said reluctantly. "Should we run?"

It was not a bad idea exactly. Gideon had thought of the same thing, but pride held him firm to his spot on the dusty, moonlit road. Instead, he pressed Ethan and they began to back down the road keeping whatever was in the woods in front of them. They heard a cacophony of branches snapping, leaves stomped and brushed away.

Something very big rushed through the last layer of foliage—a huge dark mass carrying branches with it as it emerged. "Bear!" Ethan cried and they were off. Like the start of a race, both young men turned and sped down the road as hard as they could.

The thing behind them took up the chase. They heard its heavy footfalls on the packed earth behind them—it was gaining. Then, ahead on the road, another something rushed through the trees. It stood directly in their path, taller than a man. Then it whinnied.

The two young men nearly fell over one another trying to stop. "A horse!" Gideon said. "And not just any horse—my horse!"

Ethan turned. Whistler trotted up behind them with branches sticking out of his saddle in all directions from his tromping through the undergrowth.

"Abigail," Gideon said to his horse, "You nearly scared us to death, girl." He patted the spotted mare, never happier to see the horse in all of his life.

Ethan caught hold of Whistler's rein and doubled over, taking in gulps of air. They both looked at each other and started to laugh aloud. "Aren't we a couple of ninnies?" Gideon said. Ethan could only nod, trying to catch his breath.

"Well, this is a stroke of blessing from the Almighty if we ever needed one," Gideon said. He checked Abigail's saddle and found some provisions left and another sword tucked away in a scabbard wrapped in a blanket. Relief washed over him like a refreshing wave of water. He felt exhausted but happy to be alive.

Ethan pulled small branches and brambles away from Whistler's saddle as Gideon mounted Abigail. "We'll certainly make better time now," Gideon said. "Let's get moving before we encounter something worth being afraid of."

Ethan pulled the last briar vine free, then hopped onto Whistler's back. Whistler bristled and snorted. He was ready to be ridden, glad to have his master back. With a quick snap of the reins, the two young men set off down the road. With hope, they would be able to reach another town before dawn.

TILLEY

By the time Ethan noticed dawn approaching in the east, he could see the distant lamplight of a town. As the boys continued down the road, they came to a sign. Tilley Town, written on the first rung of a multi-post sign. Below that, it read Emmanuel City – 100 days. "I know Tilley Town, or at least I know of it," Gideon said. "There's much wickedness here."

"What sort of wickedness?" Ethan asked.

"For a start, the town was supposedly named for a woman of ill repute, Tilley," Gideon explained. "She was the mistress of a respected nobleman and shot him when he refused to leave his wife for her. The town began with a brothel back in the days when it was just a miner's camp. From there it grew and so did its trespasses.

"They have since become a den of thieves and sorcerers. However, the town has expanded down to the sea and that is where we need to go. I have money, but our food is nearly gone along with our drinking water. If we can purchase passage on a merchant vessel to the coast of Emmanuel, then we'll remove quite a bit of travel time finding your sister."

"I wonder if we'll see more spirits in this place," Ethan said.

"With sin as rampant as it is in Tilley, how could we not?"

Gideon jumped down from his saddle and searched through his saddlebags. "What are you looking for?" Ethan asked.

"It would not do for me to appear in Tilley the way I'm dressed."

"I don't suppose they'd care much for having a priest of Shaddai coming into their fair town," Ethan chuckled.

Gideon produced a cloak and put it on. The garment was a very deep, dark shade of green, almost to the point of appearing black. He covered his priestly apparel with the cloak and left the hood down. "I'm sorry I don't have one for you, Ethan, but I don't think you'll draw any undue attention to yourself with what you're wearing. At any rate, we know the spirits won't spot you," he said.

When Gideon returned to Abigail's saddle, they started down the road toward Tilley Town. The sun's first rays began to reclaim the sky. Moisture hung heavy in the autumn air. It would be a beautiful day, at least for those not going to Tilley.

Morning had fully come by the time Ethan and Gideon arrived inside Tilley Town. They passed what appeared to be a separate shantytown on its outskirts. Old run down shacks with thatch roofs stood in long rows on either side of the road. Most had been cobbled together from scraps of lumber and mud bricks.

The sight was dreary enough without seeing the people who lived here, but it was still very early yet. The smell, however, had not retired with the residents. The foul stench had assaulted Ethan and Gideon from well outside the shantytown, only growing worse as they rode through.

The conditions improved when they reached the metropolitan area of Tilley. People bustled about in the early morning sun. The main road traveled through a vast market area where merchants busied themselves setting out the day's goods. The early birds had already set up their wares and had begun to make their calls to the passersby.

Many different smells ascended from the market place, creating a blend of aromas both delightful and exotic. Cooks prepared food on large, flat iron skillets setting upon mud-brick foundations with fire kindled inside. Others stirred boiling caldrons with spices and various kinds of fish, creating thick gumbos and stews for the many travelers and sailors making port in the city.

This early in the morning, the more unsavory elements of the city still gathered behind closed doors sleeping off the previous night's debauchery. It would be hours before any of them ventured outdoors again in preparation for another scandalous evening of revelry.

Gideon led them through the market to where the hill crested. Beyond the minor horizon on the road, the boys saw the Azure Sea stretch out beyond their sight. The masts of tall sailing ships jutted into the sky by the dozens along the shoreline like a forest of burnt trees.

The Azure Sea stood in stark contrast to the city of Tilley around them. Seeing the two together reminded Ethan of a sapphire dropped into the mud, its beauty still there but tarnished by the association.

"Larger than you expected, isn't it?" Gideon asked as they continued riding. Horse and wagon traffic began to pick up steadily, especially as they descended toward the harbor area.

"Yes, it is. I was just wondering—"

"Why it's called a town? It just got bigger and bigger, but no one ever bothered to change the designation. Now that Mordred is in power, no one really bothers with bureaucracy. Everyone is just trying to figure out how to survive on a day to day basis as he takes more and more from them."

"Tilley certainly seems to be thriving," Ethan said.

"Sin always does in a wicked world, Ethan, sin always does."

Ethan remained quiet after that, at least for a while. The statement bothered him. Sin was a part of who man was—at least what man had become, after his rebellion to Shaddai.

Something set off Ethan's senses, drawing him from his musings on the natural man. He looked up, noticing a blur of motion moving through the streets ahead of them. The crowds thickened as people came outdoors, tending to their daily business. But what Ethan saw had not been the movement of bustling crowds in the street of a busy city. These were the preternatural movements of demons.

"What is it, Ethan?" Gideon asked.

Ethan's attention snapped back to Gideon, his expression intense. "There are demons moving through the streets ahead," he whispered.

Gideon nodded. Fortunately, he had disguised his priestly appearance with the cloak. Hopefully, the demons still couldn't see Ethan. "Gideon they can't see me, but what about Whistler?" Ethan asked.

Gideon reached over nonchalantly to take the reins from Ethan's hand. "Tell me where they are," Gideon whispered.

"There are several hovering over the street traffic," Ethan said. "There coming this way, searching among the people...probably for us."

Gideon assumed a casual posture, continuing to ride with Whistler's reins in his hand. The horse had fallen slightly behind, flanking Gideon's horse. Ethan watched intently as the demons floated just above the heads of the people milling about in the streets.

The demons were searching for two people. The call had gone out through their ranks in this region. They scanned the crowd for a priest of Shaddai in brown robes with a red sash and a young boy with blonde hair, tan shirt, and breeches. When they reached Gideon, they saw a man in a dark green cloak with two horses. There was an old woman with an apple cart and a man purchasing from her nearby. A wagon with a team of two horses passed by on the opposite side of the street with a man and two children—one boy, one girl. An elderly couple walked across a wooden porch in front of a store. A man with a brown dog crossed the street, carrying a piece of fish and a steaming loaf of new bread. They had seen nothing out of the ordinary—no priest, no boy.

THE WEARY TRAVELER

After Ethan and Gideon had spent the better part of an hour making their way through the streets of Tilley, they came to a large inn. Ethan saw few other demons searching for them. "We should stop for a meal and inquire about passage across the Azure Sea," Gideon said, steering the horses toward the large wooden building ahead. The sign read, The Weary Traveler Inn.

Large alleyways stretched down either side of the building. In the housing district, the alleys were lined with heaps of garbage. A spider web of criss-crossing lines hung between buildings on which hundreds of pieces of stained laundry swayed in the sea breeze to dry. But here in the business district, things had been kept marginally cleaner. Ethan assumed the merchants wanted to keep down on the filth in order to encourage business.

Hitching posts stood along one side of the building. A young boy waited to water and feed the animals and to take them back to the horse stalls for customers who would be staying overnight in the inn. "I'm not sure if we'll have to stay the night, or not, Ethan. It just depends on what ships are available and when," Gideon said.

"What about money?"

"Money won't be a problem for us. The Order has provided."

Gideon led the horses to the hitching posts beside the Weary Traveler. He and Ethan dismounted casually. Most people probably would not have noticed the nearly imperceptible way Gideon passed his sword and scabbard from the blanket wrap to his cloak. Ethan did.

They left the horses with the servant boy, then walked around to the front of the inn. A wooden plaque read, No Weapons Allowed. Gideon rolled his eyes. "Most of the people inside will be armed—some to the teeth," Gideon whispered. "The innkeeper is a dim one indeed if he doesn't know it. That sign is only there so the local law can issue fines with greater ease." They faced a large mahogany door. "Are you ready then? There will be some rough customers in here, maybe even pirates or highwaymen," Gideon said.

Ethan put on his best mask of determination. He supposed he had already seen worse in his life than whoever might be lurking about in the Weary Traveler Inn. What could be worse than demons? At any rate, he was with a warrior-priest of Shaddai and likely the best in his Order. Gideon gave him a wink and said, "Don't let them see any fear in your eyes and stick close to me." He pulled his hood up as he pushed on the heavy wooden door and entered the Weary Traveler Inn.

As soon as they walked into the inn, a pungent smell assaulted their senses—old sweat, spilt ale and urine. A secondary aroma began to filter through, bread baking and sausages.

The Weary Traveler was decorated in rich dark woods and sailing artifacts—an anchor, a net, and even a helm—all bolted to the walls. A large main room trailed down the far side of the bar while a set of stairs consisting of two flights ascended to a landing up on a second floor. Here there were rooms for rent depending upon the clientele needs.

On the main floor, tables sat here and there and booths lined the walls. Everything looked well worn but sturdy. The only light in the main room came from oil lamps and candles. There were no windows.

This was the sort of place where sinister bargains were made, where secrets were told, and where plots were planned. The inn held a feeling of restrained danger like sleeping lions in a cage. Ethan felt like a piece of fresh meat right now. These people lived on the edge of danger, even thrived upon it. They could spot fear from a mile away and knew a hundred different ways to exploit it to their own advantage.

Ethan stayed behind Gideon as they walked through the room. His eyes danced from table to table and along the bar. Everyone watched them, even the people who never seemed to look at them directly. They were a rough looking sort—the kind who would laugh and toast their glass high with you one moment, only to turn around and stab you in the back the next.

Other things moved in the Weary Traveler—things which were not human, clinging to shadows, hating the light. Ethan's flesh began to crawl and the hairs on his neck stood erect. Demons dwelt in this place.

Gideon led them through the morass of gamblers and drinkers to the bar. A thick middle-aged man wiped glasses behind the curved slab of mahogany. He kept his eyes darting from the rag to the boys as they approached. When they reached the brass rail edging the counter, he said, "What'll it be gentlemen?"

"Cool water and a plate of bread and cheese," Gideon said. Ethan took a strong whiff of sausages cooking over a flame in the kitchen area. "And bring the boy some sausages too."

The barkeep laid a weary eye on the pair. Gideon slapped a silver coin down on the counter, and the man snapped to attention. The money erased any trace of doubt on his face. "Yes sir, coming right up, gentlemen."

Gideon left his index finger standing on the silver coin. "We'll be needing a room for this and some information."

The barkeep nodded and stepped into the kitchen briefly. Gideon did not remove his hood. The more mysterious and secretive they appeared the less likely anyone would come bothering them. When the man returned, he brought with him the meat, bread, cheese, and water. It all smelled wonderful, and Ethan dug right in.

"My friend and I are looking for passage across the Azure," Gideon said.

The barkeep leaned in with his elbow on the countertop. "And what might your destination be?"

"It might be Emmanuel," Gideon said, his voice very low so that only the barkeep could hear him.

The man's eyes flicked side to side before he answered. "I might be able to recommend someone to you."

Gideon slapped a copper on the counter. The man snapped it up quickly before continuing. "There's a certain captain whose vessel is taking on provisions for a journey across the Azure two days from now. I could make the arrangements for you, if you like."

Gideon slid another silver coin across the mahogany. The man slapped his hand down upon it, but when he raised it again, the coin was gone. He looked at Gideon and found him twirling the piece of money between his fingers playfully. "When services are performed to my liking," he said.

The man gave him the slightest sneer, watching the shiny silver twirling through Gideon's fingers. "I'll make the arrangements personally," he said. From the shadows across the room, several men watched as Gideon tucked the money back in the purse underneath his cloak.

Ethan continued to wolf down the food. Gideon started slicing a piece of the cheese for himself, but stopped in mid-cut. Movement from behind them caught his attention. The air shifted. He felt vibrations, heard creaks in the flooring. Several men walked toward them from a table across the room.

Gideon did not react, did not lower his hood, but he did remove the knife from the block of cheese, placing it under his cloak. Gideon watched Ethan eyes. The boy had a better view of what was coming. Ethan had stopped chewing and was looking at the men as they approached.

"How many?" Gideon whispered

"Four."

"Stay calm. I'll handle it," he said. Gideon remained cool and collected. His training as a warrior-priest had taught him many things. He knew more than one hundred ways to kill a man and many more ways to place someone in gut-wrenching pain, forcing their submission.

The only thing he wondered was how seriously these men felt about their reasons for intruding. Gideon supposed they had seen the money and wanted it. Silver coins were hard to come by these days and someone with an apparent abundance of them, in a place like the Weary Traveler Inn, was just asking for trouble.

In a way, Gideon had hoped this might happen. He wanted everyone to know to keep their distance. Therefore, it was helpful for someone to volunteer and prove his point. Whoever these four gentlemen were, they had just made a bad choice.

One of the men came over and stood behind Ethan. He wore a beard with plenty of gray streaking through it. He was dressed like a mariner, probably a pirate, and his portly belly placed a strain on his wide belt and steel buckle. Ethan glanced back at the man, but stayed calm as Gideon had instructed. The man leered maniacally at the boy, waiting.

The other three men stood behind Gideon. They could not see his face, could not tell how young he actually was. If they had, it would have only made matters progress more swiftly. They would've supposed a man as young as Gideon to be easy prey—an unwise assumption.

The men flanking Gideon were average pirates, not very clean, personal grooming not high on their list of priorities. One wore a bicorn hat. The other was almost bald. Both men were missing a fair number of their original teeth, and many others looked in need of falling out.

The leader wore a captain's tricorn hat with a scarlet, velveteen waistcoat that was cleaner than one might expect with a brace of pistols extending from shoulder to hip. A cutlass dangled in a scabbard from his left hip and his right hand was already patting a dagger in his belt, just beneath his jacket.

"I see you 'ave some shiny silver pretties over 'ere," the pirate captain said. His voice bellowed deep and menacing. Obviously, he knew how to intimidate folk, using it to his advantage.

Gideon whispered a prayer under his breath. He always did at times like this. When he turned to face the men, Gideon noticed surprise light on their faces, their smiles growing noticeably. He was younger than they had expected and it bolstered their confidence. This would be like taking candy from a baby.

The captain showed his unkempt smile. "Well now, you lads just 'and over that purse and we'll be on our way. No need in either of you gettin 'urt."

"No," Gideon said. The pirate captain had not expected to hear that word. It was evidently rare someone dared say it to him—the sort of word that got a man keelhauled.

Anger washed over the captain's face, while surprise covered the faces of his men. The captain grabbed the dagger he had been petting beneath the left flap of his waistcoat, loosing the weapon. He tried to bring it down in his right hand to put a quick end to the miserable whelp standing before him.

Gideon moved as fluidly as water through a pipe, following a pre-plotted course without need of thought. He caught the captain's hand inside his wrist, rotating it outward while forcing the whole arm down. From underneath his cloak, Gideon's left knee bent up to meet the captain's elbow.

The limb cracked at the joint. With his right hand, Gideon pulled one of the captain's pistols from the brace across his chest. Gideon cocked the hammer as his arm extended in the direction of the pirate to his right, bringing the barrel right up under the man's chin before the pirate even realized what was happening.

"Tell them to stand down," Gideon said. He still had a hold on the captain's wrist, twisting the broken arm to emphasize his point.

The captain howled in pain, just barely able to voice the order as tears streaked through the dirt on his face. "STAND DOWN! STAND DOWN!"

In a potentially deadly situation, no one had died. The two men not encumbered by the priest had not even had time to blink before the situation completely turned from their advantage to their captain's heavy-breathed begging. They both stood stunned.

"Relieve these men of their weapons, Ethan," Gideon said.

Ethan happily complied, removing every weapon from the men he could find, including the captain's dagger, which had fallen on the floor. When Ethan had finished, a fair pile of weapons sat on the bar next to their food.

None of the other patrons moved. No one appeared eager to come to these pirates' rescue. Gideon gave another slight twist as he leaned into the pirate captain's ear. "If I were you, sir, I would have a physician take a look at this arm. It will need to be set quickly for good healing."

The captain gritted his teeth, sweating profusely, which only exacerbated the odor in the Weary Traveler Inn. Gideon let him go as the pirates all backed away under the stare of Gideon's pistol. Two of his men attempted to help their captain, but he refused. "Leave off, you gutter rats! Don't touch it," he said, holding the arm protectively against his body. He staggered toward the door with his men following. "This isn't over, boy," he spat. The heavy door closed after them with a loud bang.

Gideon procured the brace of pistols for himself and handed Ethan the captain's cutlass and scabbard. The rest he pushed across the bar toward the keeper who had only just reemerged from kitchen. "Could you take care of these for me?" Gideon said, gesturing toward the pile.

"Oh yes, sir," the barkeep said, remembering the silver piece he had been promised. The barkeep began pulling the weapons off the mahogany bar top, placing them below.

"We'll take the rest of our meal in our room," Gideon said.

"Of course, sir. It's all ready for you. Room number seven, fourth on your right, up the stairs. I'll arrange your passage to Emmanuel and let you know when your ship leaves."

"Thank you." Gideon grabbed the vessel of water and Ethan took the platter of food. The young men crossed the room and ascended the stairs, two flights to the second floor. They found their room as the barkeep had said. Gideon opened the door cautiously, surveying what lay within.

There was a large bed with a basic wooden frame. The sheet did not look very clean and there was a heavier brown blanket on top of it. Against the wall, opposite the bed, stood a simple chest with two drawers. A ceramic basin and pitcher for washing sat on top. A small table with two chairs sat in the corner.

Ethan took the water pitcher from Gideon and placed it and the platter of food on the table. Ethan did not speak until Gideon had closed the door behind them. "That was amazing, Gideon!" he said.

Gideon only smiled.

"I can't wait for you to teach me how to fight like that," Ethan said.

"There's much more to being a warrior-priest than fighting, Ethan."

"Well, yes, of course."

"Do you know what the first thing was that I did down there, the first thing I do anytime I'm faced with a violent conflict?"

Ethan hunched his shoulders.

"I prayed to the Lord for his guidance and strength. There is one important lesson you should learn at the beginning. No matter how accomplished a warrior one may be there will always be someone better, a situation that you won't be able to handle. But nothing confounds Shaddai, Ethan. All things dwell under his divine control and are subject to his will. If you will always seek the will of Shaddai, then you will always find it. Now, let's have a bit of that food, shall we?" Gideon removed his cloak for comfort's sake. They divided the remainder of the meal between them with Ethan allowing the larger portion to Gideon.

"Do you think those men will come back for revenge?" Ethan asked as he chewed on some bread.

"Probably. Men like that never learn."

NOCTURNAL VISITORS

It had been close to dusk by the time the barkeep had knocked on their door with news about passage across the Azure Sea. A merchant vessel on its way to Emmanuel was scheduled to leave in two days. Gideon thanked the man and told him he would receive his promised money when they were ready to depart for the ship.

"I'll take you down tomorrow and introduce you to the captain, myself," the barkeeper said.

Ethan and Gideon had another day and a half to wait before they could leave the Weary Traveler and the town of Tilley. They decided their time would best be spent if they did not venture far from the inn. The pirates they had encountered might be waiting for an opportunity to exact revenge.

Ethan watched the last rays of the sun sink below the deep blue horizon of the Azure. He had never been to the ocean before, but he had heard of the Azure Sea. Its waters had often been compared to sapphires. Seeing it now for the first time in his life, Ethan understood the analogy. It was simply beautiful. Even in the moonlight, it sparkled.

Gideon lay on the bed, getting some sleep while he could. Trying to get any quality rest aboard a merchant vessel would be nearly impossible. Ethan took the first watch.

Sailing ships were busy entering and leaving the harbor up until just after nightfall. The docks functioned like a well-oiled machine. Ethan wondered where the ship was that he and Gideon would be taking to Emmanuel. He paused, thinking about what the priest had told him. Then he prayed silently for Elspeth and the journey they were about to make in hopes of rescuing her.

A noise woke Ethan. He couldn't place the sound—perhaps a distant musket shot. He had little doubt that things got very dangerous in a city like Tilley after dark. It had been seedy enough during the day.

He quickly scanned the room. The light of the full moon shone through their open window. Ethan sat in the shadows just out of the oblong moonshine's reach. He held one of the pirate captain's black powder pistols in his lap, just in case.

Gideon was still asleep. Sound sleepers those priests, Ethan thought. He was actually glad he woke before Gideon did. He felt like kicking himself for falling asleep in the first place.

Ethan heard more noise in the street now. There were at least two people brawling outside. He peered out the window and saw one man stagger as he threw a punch and missed. The other fellow returned the compliment and did not miss.

More noise came from outside their room, downstairs. Ethan crept over to the door to investigate. He heard people pass in the hall—a man and woman. He waited until their voices trailed down the corridor. Ethan heard a door open and close, assuming it must be clear now.

He opened the door to their room. No one else was in the hall. An oil lamp flickered from a mount at the far end of the corridor. Ethan stepped into the hallway and closed the door. He heard a commotion coming from downstairs. A glass broke. Ethan knelt down at the second floor landing to see what was happening in the main room of the inn.

A group of pirates had congregated near the bar. The pirate captain from earlier stood at the forefront. He held the barkeep by the shirt with his good arm. "Where are they?" he bellowed as he pulled the man halfway across the mahogany countertop. Two of the captain's men cocked the hammers on their pistols and placed them on either side of the barkeep's head.

He's going to tell them. Ethan knew silver coins wouldn't keep the man from saving his own skin.

"They're up in seven!" he confessed.

The pirate captain grinned, showing all of the cavities he had been cultivating in his smile. He shoved the barkeeper back into the ceramic mugs stacked against the back wall. They flew in every direction as the barkeeper spilled to the floor in a heap. "Come on, lads. We've got revenge to take in number seven tonight!"

As the men turned toward the stairs, Ethan caught sight of other visitors in the bar with the pirates. Demons! Ethan hurried back to the room and shut the door quickly, hoping that he and Gideon could still sneak out in time.

As Ethan turned to wake Gideon, the head of a demon rose through the dusty floorboards, its form passing through solid matter. Ethan froze mid-step, startled by the sudden appearance of an enemy there in the dark. For a second, he almost forgot the creature could not see him.

The demon ascended into the dark room, until its feet cleared the floor. Then it looked around, searching the shadows for anyone else who might be present. The demon wore the same black and red garment as the others—Mordred's colors. A sword hung near the creature's hip, suspended in mid-air.

The demon hopped up to the edge of the bed's footboard, perching there like a vulture over its prey. Ethan couldn't decide what to do. If he woke Gideon, the demon might kill him. If he did not, at the very least, the pirates were coming up the stairs to kill them both. He had no choice.

"Gideon, there's a demon in the room, wake up!"

The creature did not move until Gideon flinched and sat up. The demon snatched the sword hanging by its side. Ethan dove across the space between the door and the bed, catching Gideon with both hands. The demon slashed into the mattress, just as Ethan pulled Gideon out of the way, onto the floor.

The blade tore a huge gash through the bed, sending goose down up in a white plume. The boys rolled off the floor to their feet with Gideon still held in Ethan's grasp. They backed into a corner as the demon frantically searched for the invisible boys.

The pirates came down the hall. Their heavy footsteps fell on the old floorboards like an army on the move. The demon ran out of the room, its body passing through the wooden door unhindered.

Gideon and Ethan grabbed the weapons they had commandeered earlier and rushed toward the window. The door burst open behind them, slamming into the wall as Gideon followed Ethan over the windowsill. The pirate captain spotted them and fired his pistol.

Gideon rolled down the slope of the roof out of control, until Ethan grabbed him. "Thanks," Gideon said.

The pirate captain appeared at the window. He howled in pain as his men pushed behind him, mashing his broken arm. "Off me, you dogs!"

Ethan and Gideon ran along the shingles until they found an adjacent rooftop. It stood about ten feet lower than the roof of the Weary Traveler with a gap of fifteen feet. "We'll have to jump for it," Gideon said.

Ethan was not afraid of heights, by any means, but the jump looked like a one-way ticket to a broken ankle. Gideon took a good run and sailed over the expanse. His loose-fitting, priestly attire billowed around him. He dropped to the neighboring rooftop, allowing his body to collapse at the knees. He rolled out of it and back to his feet.

Ethan didn't know if he could make it or not. He was quite sure his attempt would not be as graceful as Gideon's, even if he did make it. The sound of pirates smashing through the window and spilling out onto the roof convinced him.

Ethan backed up, then surged forward into the fastest run he could manage before running out of rooftop. He kicked off with the last step, vaulting through the air. There was nothing now but wind and gravity in the dark. He tried to judge the distance and speed, but didn't quite manage it. He landed with a bounce, of sorts, shaking every bone in his body from his feet upward. His tuck and roll fumbled into a stagger and crash.

Ethan hit the roof hard with his shoulder and face. Gideon rushed to him and helped Ethan back to his feet. The left side of his face felt numb, yet it burned at the same time. Blood dripped from cuts on his cheek and shoulder.

More pistol fire erupted behind them. Gunpowder flashed in the dark. They heard shots whiz through the air around them, ricocheting off the rooftop as they ran across it trying to find a way down to the street. The deep voice of the pirate captain bellowed behind them, "Bring me their heads!"

OVER THE ROOFTOPS

The demons had taken up the chase by now, but they were not going to get far without natural eyes. The clientele inside the Weary Traveler suited their special needs. The nightly patrons were just the sort of dregs and addicts who made it easy for the demons to move right in, control their weak minds, and inhabit their bodies.

The heavy wooden door burst open, and a motley crew of demon-controlled bar patrons spilled out into the street. This lot would not clamor on the rooftops with bumbling pirates. They took the swifter route through the streets. Now they had natural eyes with which to see Shaddai's Deliverer.

There was an old woman in her eighties. She had lived a hard life addicted to Pharmakia and could barely walk these days. But under the control of these dark forces, particularly the demon leading the brigade, she was more spry than a ten year old on chocolate.

The next was a man in his fifties. He had served in a previous war, losing an arm for his service. A hooked hand now resided in its place. Hook hand had lost his wife to a bout of plague sweeping through Tilley nearly ten years ago. These days he was a regular patron at the Weary Traveler, mostly because they allowed him to purchase his drink on credit for a few days at a time.

The last was a young man who swept and mopped the inn. He was also responsible for removing the rowdies. Being a man of considerable size, he would bounce them out on their heads into the street whenever the barkeep gave him leave. Being a bit of a street bully growing up, the bouncer enjoyed this part of his job the most.

Three demons had been near the docks when the wounded pirate captain had shown up earlier screaming his head off about his broken arm and the young man who had done it. When the captain's arm had been set into a splint onboard his ship, by the resident surgeon, the same three demons had been listening.

The pirate captain had sworn his revenge on the young man in the green cloak and the ruddy youth traveling with him. When the captain had organized his men to go back to the Weary Traveler inn, three demons had followed them. They waited to see exactly who the youths were and where they could be found. Now, the pirates had flushed out the prey. Three demons sped down the dark streets of Tilley inhabiting the only three people who had not fled the inn when the pirates had returned.

Five blocks away from the Weary Traveler Inn, Ethan and Gideon paused, attempting to find a safe way down to the streets, or a way to circle back to the stables and their horses. The noisy pursuit of the pirates had faded by now as the boys had nimbly outmaneuvered them several rooftops back. The city sounded alive below them. People made their way to taverns where they could spend what little money they had on drink and frivolity.

"There's an alley on this side with some crates and hay bales, Gideon. Do you think we could make the drop here?"

Gideon walked over to where Ethan was standing on the edge of the roof. Under the cast of an oil burning street lamp, they saw what appeared to be a delivery yard for a seed and feed business. Bales of hay and stacks of seed bags lay just beneath them. A wagon sat parked on the opposite side. The drop from here was more than twenty feet.

Then Gideon spotted something that might help them. Against the wall, on the opposite side of the alley, lay a tall ladder on its side. Other farm equipment and tools were stacked nearby or hung on the wall by hooks. But there was no way for them to reach the ladder.

"What happened to you exactly when you disappeared back at the camp?" Gideon asked.

"I'm not quite sure. I wasn't trying to make it happen," Ethan said. "I suppose I must have entered into the realm of demons or something. The demons could see me. The weird thing was that my appearance changed too."

"Really, how so?" Gideon asked.

"I was wearing this armor that resembled mercury all over my body. And I was carrying a sword. The blade was as brilliant as the sun to look upon and it hung by my side without any connection to my body. Every time I've seen the demons, they've been carrying similar weapons."

Gideon looked back at the ladder and pointed. "Do you suppose you might be able to pass through the spiritual realm and get to that ladder?"

Ethan judged the distance. He could not, the way he was. As for the spiritual, he simply did not know. "I'm still not sure how I entered that state." Ethan looked hard at the ladder lying there against the wall. If they started back across the rooftops then they might run into the pirates. Surely, they had not given up their search. He knew he had to make this power work for him, somehow. Then, almost as if a switch turned on, Ethan disappeared.

Just as before, the world took on a more vivid state for Ethan. He saw more, heard more, and felt with more clarity than he ever could in his natural state. Once again, he found himself in the quicksilver armor with the brilliant shining sword at his side.

Ethan felt power surging through his spiritual body as though he were a waterwheel fed by a raging river. He saw Gideon smile when Ethan disappeared. He tried to speak to Gideon, but the warrior-priest did not hear him, just as he had suspected.

Ethan ran to the edge of the roof, leaping away without fear. He sailed out over the courtyard much farther than he would have been able to manage naturally. He somersaulted, six flips through the air, coming down on his feet. It was an exhilarating feeling.

Ethan returned to his natural state as he ran toward the ladder. He had been able to turn off this realm shift with a thought. Can it really be that easy to shift from one realm to the other? he wondered.

"That was perfect, Ethan!" Gideon shouted from the rooftop.

Ethan grabbed the ladder from its place, rotating it around, over his head, in order to maneuver it past the wagon it had been kept behind. He looked for Gideon on the roof so he could bring the ladder to rest near him. Ethan watched in horror as an old woman came up behind Gideon. But she was not a normal old woman. She was controlled by a demon. Ethan saw the creature's form like a shadow moving within her body.

"Gideon!"

The warrior-priest spun on the old woman, instinctively unleashing a vicious roundhouse kick, knocking her to the ground. The old woman turned a sadistic, toothy grin on him, rising to her feet again.

Ethan was already half way across the courtyard with the ladder, maneuvering it vertically as he ran. The old woman growled with an unnatural voice and lunged at Gideon. He turned, leaping out of her reach—off the roof—toward the approaching ladder. Ethan saw the move and tried to compensate.

The ladder nearly tore free from Ethan's hands when Gideon caught the top rung, swinging his legs around to land two rungs below the top. Gideon quickly descended using the side rails to slide down the ladder. He was half way down when the old woman leaped away from the building, copying Gideon's move.

When she landed on the ladder top, it became too much weight for Ethan to hold. As the ladder tipped backwards, he used Gideon's weight at the middle and the woman's weight at the top in order to bring it down even faster. The top end of the ladder, with the old woman, slammed into the parked wagon as Gideon dropped to the ground. The old demon-controlled woman smashed right through the bottom of the wagon with a horrendous explosion of wood.

"HELP, HELP! Two men are killing a woman!" Hook-hand shouted as he ran into the crowded street in front of the Old Panther Pub. A great many men had congregated there tonight and they were outraged by what they heard.

"What's that?" someone cried.

"This way, two young men killing a lady!" Hook-hand shouted again.

"Come on!" The men began to follow. The crowd turned into a mob quickly. Men with guns, knives, and torches followed Hook-hand through the streets. Within moments, the young bouncer appeared ahead of them, running back toward the crowd. "Hurry, Hurry! They're trying to escape! They're behind the Seed and Feed!"

It happened to escape everyone's notice that these two men looked rather feral. They smiled as they ran ahead of the crowd. But the most significant characteristic, concerning Hook-hand and Bouncer, was something none of them could have seen. They were possessed by demons.

GUILTY OR INNOCENT

The old woman stirred in the wreckage of the wagon as Ethan helped Gideon to his feet. She burst through the sidewall of the wagon, rushing across the courtyard toward them. She wailed like a banshee, foaming at the mouth. She charged at the boys like an enraged bull, but could not have weighed more than one hundred pounds.

"Get behind me!" Gideon shouted.

He picked up two of the wooden rungs from the broken ladder. Gideon twirled one through his fingers to get the feel of it, then tagged the woman in the collarbone with the other as she came at him. Bone cracked. She fell back stunned, but did not retreat.

She leaped at Gideon only to meet a flurry of alternating strikes with the wooden dowels. Normally a woman, her age and in her condition, would have been killed very quickly by such an attack, but the demon kept her body empowered with the strength of ten men.

Ethan tried to help with a longer piece of the ladder, but the woman splintered it with her boney hand and grabbed him. Gideon intervened with lightning speed. The frail, old woman threw Ethan ten feet across the yard, turning to take on Gideon again. The sound of a mob filtered through the alley leading to the Seed and Feed.

The old woman fought like a rabid animal. She answered every one of Gideon's strikes with defiance. No matter how much damage her body took, the demon within would not give her up. Gideon lost sight of Ethan in the fight.

Ethan disappeared from the physical realm after the old woman threw him to the ground. He appeared in the spiritual realm arrayed for battle. The old woman had her back to him as she tried to back Gideon up against the wall of the building. In the spiritual realm, the demon's form was the more apparent, with the old woman appearing transparent around it.

Ethan drew the sword from his side and charged at her. He was not sure if the demon would be able to see him while inside of the woman or not, but it did not matter. In this realm, Shaddai had made him a mighty warrior. He struck the woman with his blade. It swept right through her physical form, but caught hold of the demon.

That mighty blow knocked the demon out of the woman's body. It tumbled backward to the ground. The bewildered look on its face told the story.

Released from the energizing power of the demon, the old woman fell to the ground like one of the sacks of feed stacked against the wall. Gideon knelt down cautiously, checking for signs of life, but the demon had pushed her body beyond hope. She was gone.

"There they are!"

A crowd appeared in the entrance to the courtyard. They were armed, carrying torches. A man with a hook for a hand led the way.

Ethan saw the evicted demon run into the crowd. He moved with dizzying speed from one person to another, feeding them thoughts and steering their perception of what they had just found in the courtyard of the Seed and Feed. They saw a helpless old woman lying murdered.

Ethan appeared back in the physical world with Gideon. The men moved in, brandishing their weapons. "What do we do?" Ethan whispered.

"We give up, Ethan, and pray the Lord will have his hand upon us. Nothing can harm us without his allowing it to."

The demons watched as the crowd fell upon the two young men and bound them. They led them away from the Seed and Feed to the stockade nearly one quarter of a mile away. A guard, who kept the stockade, locked the boys in a cell.

The magistrate would try them in the morning, then sentence them. Everyone knew the only penalty for murder was death by hanging. Even as the night hours crept along into morning, the gallows were already being prepared.

Some time in the morning hours, a commotion erupted in the jailhouse where Ethan and Gideon remained under lock and key. The rancid smell made any possibility of sound sleep remote. Only from sheer exhaustion had he and Gideon been able to nod occasionally as the night progressed. Members of the mob had beaten them before leaving them at the stockade. The mob had called the boys many unsavory things, making their arrival at the jail almost a relief.

Ethan awoke to the sound of voices in the outer office of the jail. It sounded very similar to what he had heard when he and Gideon arrived. Within moments, the keeper of the jail brought in three men dressed as pirates.

There was only one large cell in the jailhouse, so these men were placed inside with Ethan and Gideon. Darkness made it difficult to tell much about the new arrivals. The only light filtered in from a moonlit window outside of the cell on the other side of the room.

Gideon seemed uninterested in the men. He slept, or at least he pretended to. Two of the men found themselves a corner to occupy while the third, more outgoing fellow, stood at the bars, talking to whomever might be paying him any attention.

"What are you lads in for?" he said.

Ethan almost told him, before Gideon grabbed his arm in the dark. "We were framed," Ethan said instead.

"Framed? Aye, we were framed too, weren't we lads!" the man laughed.

The other two men dismissed his joviality. Considering the circumstances they found themselves in, they were not in the mood.

"Well, what are you in here for?" asked Ethan.

The man left the bars, walking over to Ethan and Gideon's side of the cell. He knelt down where Ethan sat against the wall. Gideon waited. "What's your name, lad?" The man had a goatee and a ring of silver dangling from his left ear. His hair was black and shaggy and he smelled like the sea.

"Ethan."

"Well, Ethan, we were caught trying to blow up Mordred's munitions depot."

Gideon responded. "Mordred has a munitions depot in Tilley?"

"Aye, that woke you up did it, sleepy head?"

Gideon stood up followed by the pirate. They stood toe to toe, face to face, and eye to eye. Ethan hoped a fight would not break out between them.

"Why would he have such a thing way out here?" Gideon asked.

"There's a war going on, lad, or didn't you know?" the man said.

"Of course, I knew."

"Well, lad, Tilley sold her soul three months ago to that devil. Mordred will use this place as a staging ground when he begins stamping out the rebellion in these parts."

"And who are you, part of the rebellion?" Gideon asked.

"Aye, I don't guess it matters now, since we're caught. They'll be hanging us all anyway for sedition when the magistrate arrives tomorrow. They love a good hangin in Tilley, ya know?" he said with a wild grin on his face. "My name is Ash and me mates here are Anthony and Brass."

"And where did you come from?" Gideon asked.

Ash just smiled. "I wouldn't want to give away any surprises," he said, looking at Anthony and Brass. "How bout you, priest?"

Gideon had forgotten about his priestly robes. No one in the crowd had seemed to notice what his clothing represented.

"What, do you think I don't know a warrior-priest of Shaddai when I see one?" Ash said, feigning insult. "Give a man of the world a bit more credit than that, lad. And from the color of your robes, I'd say you've been out, shall we say, severing liabilities?"

Ethan did not dare say it, but he was beginning to like this man, Ash. No one who could make the vein on Gideon's temple pulse this way could be all bad. At any rate, they all appeared to be in the same predicament.

Gideon eased off a bit. It was hard to understand how a man in Ash's position would be making light of their situation, but he did not care to argue the point with him. Ash seemed like the type who forever turned a conversation to his advantage.

"Shaddai will make a way for us," Gideon said finally.

Ethan and Gideon were both surprised when Ash actually agreed with the statement. "Aye, he will. And maybe, just maybe," Ash said, looking at his mates, "he already has."

JUDGE, JURY, EXECUTIONER

"Get up you mangy sewer rats!" the keeper said as he unlocked the cell door. Several armed men stood by the cell with muskets and swords in case of an escape attempt. The wild look in their eyes dared anyone to try it.

Ethan, Gideon, Ash and his men sat inside the cell wide-awake already. The keeper opened the cell door. "The magistrate will see you now, ladies," he said.

Ash led them, walking out the door with a bright smile. "Lovely day, ain't it gov'ner?" he said cheerfully, as if he had been invited for tea. The keeper leered at him.

Ethan and Gideon followed the others out. "Have you been praying?" Gideon whispered to Ethan.

"Absolutely," he said.

"Then the Almighty will deliver us. The prophecy concerning you can't be undone."

When they came into the outer room of the jail, they stood before a man in a black robe wearing wire-rimmed spectacles and a curly white wig on his head. He sat at a table with a large black book full of legal precedents setting under his right hand.

The magistrate gave them all a cursory look, then spoke with the keeper of the jail, also acting as the bailiff for their hearing. "Bailiff, what crimes are these men charged with?" the magistrate asked.

Ethan reflexively goaded Gideon in the side. He had just noticed that the magistrate was under the control of a demon. He saw the spirit within the man. This would not go well.

"The two younger ones are charged with murdering an old woman," the Bailiff said. Ethan examined the Bailiff. He appeared to be completely normal.

"Really?" the magistrate said, leering at Ethan, completely confident he had them dead to rights. The magistrate held the power of judge, jury, and executioner in these parts. Even if Ethan tried to tell the jailer about the demon, he would only be branded a lunatic and sentenced to a fate worse than death in some nightmarish asylum.

Ethan felt desperate, but something Gideon had just said to him moments earlier would not let him go. The prophecy concerning you cannot be undone. If Ethan really was a part of this prophecy, as Gideon had said, then Shaddai's purposes concerning him must come to pass. No man, or demon, had the power to undo his counsel. Still, it was difficult to hold onto faith when a spot on the gallows waited for him outside.

"They were caught in the very act of killing her, Your Honor," the Bailiff said, "and we've got plenty of witnesses who can verify it."

"It seems like you two young men have been caught red handed, as they say," the magistrate said. "Therefore it is my judgment that you both be hanged by the neck until you are dead."

That last word carried the weight of finality. Ethan kept waiting for some sign that they would be all right, but nothing came—no bolt of lightning, no angels, nothing at all.

He thought about the realm shift. If he shifted into the spiritual world, he could escape them, but Gideon would be left behind. He could hide the priest from the prying eyes of demons, but not from natural eyes. Ethan could not bring himself to abandon Gideon.

"What about this other lot?" the Bailiff asked. "They stand accused of sedition against Lord Mordred and sabotage. They attempted to blow up the munitions depot last night."

"Ah," the magistrate said. "Do I find myself in the presence of men brave enough to stand against Lord Mordred? Well then, we shall have to give you heroes of the rebellion the special treatment you deserve...death by hanging!"

Ethan watched Ash. The pirate took it all very calmly, even glancing over at Ethan to give him a wink. Ethan couldn't help but wonder, what's he up to?

"Take them away, Bailiff," the magistrate bellowed, looking directly at Ethan when he said it. "We mustn't keep the crowd waiting."

True to the magistrate's word, a very large crowd had gathered to watch the execution. Ethan wondered how often they conducted this sort of public event. The so-called trial had been anything but. No defense of any kind had even been suggested.

Outside the jail, a wagon waited with sturdy fenced sidewalls. They led the prisoners, by armed escort, out to the wagon, where each took their turn having their wrists bound. Each man climbed into the wagon. The driver, a man in a black hood, sat up front. When the wagon was loaded, the black-hooded man snapped the reins on the team of horses, setting them in motion.

The tall gallows loomed ahead, beyond the thick crowd. The throng parted like waves of the sea as the wagon made its trip from the stockade to the gallows. The locals cursed and spat at them. Some threw food and mud, or worse.

Ethan wondered why the wagon itself was so long, until he saw the gallows. There a line of nooses hung from a cross beam about ten feet in the air above the main platform. A man stood upon the platform. He also wore a black hood with two holes cut to see through. The platform stood tall enough for a wagon, this wagon, to park and wait for the bodies to drop.

Six pegs lined the cross beam, but only five held nooses today. The wagon parked by the set of stairs leading up to the platform. The prisoners exited the back of the wagon and a guard escorted them above. The other hooded man, the executioner, waited to receive them.

The executioner took them each down the line, finding them a place among the ropes. He placed a noose over each of the men's heads, cinching it up good and snug at the neck. Then he walked back to a lever fastened into the wooden structure. The lever would drop the floor open beneath them when the word was given. Ethan watched as the wagon followed a well-worn path from the stairs to just beneath the gallows.

The Bailiff climbed up onto the platform. He began to read off the charges against the condemned. Ethan's thudding heart drowned out the man's voice. He watched the sky, looking for something to happen, some sort of divine intervention that would save them. But Ethan saw no clouds in the sky or any angels flying to rescue them at the last moment.

Ethan turned to find the executioner ready on the lever. It was almost time. Strangely, the executioner wore a cutlass on his left hip. It puzzled Ethan, but not enough to calm the pounding of blood in his ears.

A thunderous explosion rocked the square. Everyone turned to see a plume of fire and black smoke rising above the buildings on the east side of the city. "The munitions depot!" voices shouted from the crowd.

"Hoo-hoo, this is where the fun starts, kid," Ash said to Ethan.

A sword flashed through Ethan's line of sight, severing his noose. He watched the hooded man run from man to man, along the platform, cutting all of the ropes fastening them to the beam above. "Come on, lads!" Ash said.

The executioner ran back to the lever and threw the switch. The flooring beneath their feet gave way like a trap door, and down they all went into the wagon waiting below. The executioner followed them through and began to cut their bonds.

Meanwhile, the hooded wagon driver snapped his reins and the horses jolted away from beneath the platform. The people ran out of the way, or fell out of the way, as pandemonium raged through the crowd. Most of the people had been distracted by the explosion. By the time they realized what was happening, the wagon was already racing down the main street toward the docks.

ELSPETH

White walls of granite stretched out before Elspeth and the other young women as their caged wagon approached the city of Emmanuel. Elspeth had heard many stories during her youth about the city named for the One God, but she had never laid eyes on it before. The name of the city held a prophecy, for the name meant "God with us."

Elspeth felt so tired. How many days had it been since the riders in crimson and black had come to destroy the town of Grandee? She had stopped counting the sunrises. The women had been deprived of proper food and were always left thirsty. Elspeth felt like they were traveling the razor's edge between death and life.

All hope had melted away for her. She had no idea why they had been spared while all the others in Grandee were killed. Plumes of smoke and fire had been their last images of Grandee—the final memory burning in their minds before each night's sleep since.

The white walls of Emmanuel towered above her, fifty feet into the air. These impenetrable walls had stood as a testament to the holiness of Shaddai and as a beacon of hope. Now they encompassed the doom of the entire nation.

Three walls surrounded the royal city of Emmanuel on three sides with the palace as the fourth. From the back wall of the palace, the white granite cascaded down all the way into the Azure Sea hundreds of feet below. Mordred and his Wraith Riders were the only ones who had ever been able to take this city, the only ones in ages who had even dared to try.

Towers rose above the walls at regular intervals. From this distance it became difficult to see, but Elspeth knew that demons were there guarding the city. She had never heard exactly how many demons served under Lord Mordred, but it had to be a great number. Many horrifying stories had been told about Mordred's covenant with these wicked spirits. Elspeth wondered if the half had still not been told.

The caged wagon crawled up the cobblestone path, taking them through the main gate of the city. Both iron portcullises were raised, at the moment. If an enemy happened to make it beyond the first portcullis, into the vestibule, archers and gunmen would attack them from the wall. Troughs set within the stone, higher up, accommodated boiling oil, which could be poured upon those trapped between the two gates.

When the cart with its prisoners came inside the walls, the city spread out before them in all directions. The palace loomed high above every other structure, straight ahead from the main gate. The main road they traveled, branched out into smaller avenues along the way. But their destination appeared to be the palace itself.

All of the luxury of the House of Nod resided here in Emmanuel City. Elspeth had expected the city to be in shambles when she arrived. Conquerors such as Mordred usually wasted and destroyed everything they touched. But to her surprise, the city flourished.

People went about their daily business in crowded streets. Farmers and merchants traveled with their wares to the massive market complex. Wealthier civilians walked here and there on paved walkways. To look at them, one might never think anything had ever happened. Perhaps, she thought, wickedness such as Mordred's is not always ugly.

As the caged wagon ambled further down the wide avenue toward the palace, Elspeth began to notice a change in the scenery. The prosperous homes and businesses of civilians gave way to the bustle of the military. For acres and acres, Elspeth saw the preparations of war.

The once lush, manicured lawns adorning the palace grounds had been converted to training quads for Mordred's army. Thousands of men in red and black uniforms sparred in tight formations or trained with various weapons. In the distance to her right, Elspeth saw the manufacture of gigantic engines of war. These would not be used to raid villages and towns. These could only be reserved for laying siege to a large city.

Mordred's plan became clear to her. The siege engines may as well have had Wayland stamped upon them in blood. This had to be Mordred's intention. With a rebellion fomenting in Wayland to his rule in Nod, Mordred was not going to wait for an attack. He would take the fight to his enemies.

The wagon proceeded into the palace courtyard underneath another smaller double portcullis. Inside the courtyard wall, a lush garden lay before them. Truly, evil can seem beautiful, she thought.

Fountains of Azure seawater lay on either side of the road. The palace was beautiful beyond compare. The building had been constructed from the same white granite block as the wall, only it was highly polished and adorned by many solid gold and bronze statues.

Elspeth recognized these immediately and her suspicions about the evil nature of this place were instantly confirmed. Castings of idol gods had been set up everywhere on the grounds. Idolatry had always been strictly prohibited by Shaddai, but now the city bearing his name was full of it.

She saw, in some of the garden spots, men and women praying to them. There were idols set up beneath large trees and upon the fountains—the primary ornaments seen wherever one's eyes fell upon the palace grounds.

Fifty other young women had been kept in the wagon with Elspeth. Others had been separated from them along the way from Grandee. She had no idea what had become of them since. Some of the women sobbed. What would happen to them now? But Elspeth refused to give Mordred the satisfaction of her tears.

When the wagon stopped, a driver dressed in red and black armor, hopped down from his seat and met several palace guards at the rear of the wagon. They unlocked the steel-banded cage and motioned for the women to come out.

One of the guards addressed them. "You're going to be processed. Your group has the privilege of working here in the palace. You should be grateful to the gods. There are far worse places where you could be laboring for Lord Mordred. Obey and you won't come to know what that statement really means. Disobey and you will live out your remaining days in pain."

He led them through a side gate off the path leading into the palace. The former servant's quarters resided here. Once they entered the larger of these less stately buildings, a matron took control of the women.

Anger burned in the haggish woman's eyes. She laid into the young women immediately, explaining very clearly how she would not tolerate any laziness. "I will not be trifled with!" she said.

The matron and several women working under her wore dark dresses covered by off-white, heavy aprons with pockets in the front. She introduced herself as Mrs. Palmer. The other women with her brought out stacks of uniforms.

"These will be your clothes for as long as you reside here at the palace of Lord Mordred. Take good care of them. If I have to issue you any more, you will receive ten lashes each time. Is that understood?"

Elspeth and all of the other young women nodded. It was not a nod of approval, but the nod of forced compliance, a nod which punctuated the hopelessness of their situation. As Elspeth gathered the garments meted out to her and fell back into line, she wondered where her brother might be at this moment. She wondered if he might still be alive and looking for her.

CAPTAIN BONIFAST

A pleasant breeze brushed over the sailing ship, Maelstrom. Ethan had been forced to breathe rancid air the night before in Tilley Town's stockade, so this was more than he could have hoped for. He had expected dirt shoveled over his body in some mass grave back in Tilley by this time, but divine providence proved a force to be reckoned with.

Ash and his fellow shipmates, who had been sharing the gallows with him and Gideon only hours before, had known their captain, Levi Bonifast, would rescue them somehow. Apparently, Captain Bonifast had ordered the assault on Mordred's munitions depot in Tilley to begin with and had made sure the job was completed the second time.

The monstrous explosion, rocking the city, had provided a wonderful diversion. Meanwhile, members of Bonifast's crew, disguised as hangmen, brought about their escape. Fortunately, Ash had been willing to take him and Gideon along in the escape plan.

Ethan and Gideon remained on deck under the watchful eyes of the crew. Ethan suspected that they were pirates. Nevertheless, Ash had made it clear they fought with the resistance movement building in Nod.

Ash and the others had disappeared into the captain's cabin at the rear of the ship. Ethan wondered if he would find Captain Bonifast as friendly a man as Ash. Gideon, for the most part, remained quiet. He generally did not talk unless he had something specific to say. "Even a fool is counted wise when he holds his tongue," Gideon had said.

By mid-afternoon, Ethan wondered when they might see Ash again and meet this illustrious Captain Bonifast. He had never been aboard a ship like this before or a ship at all for that matter. He stared, amazed at how efficient the crew carried out their duties, performing their individual functions in concert like a well-oiled machine.

The Maelstrom, a weather beaten vessel, had more charm than outright beauty, like an old mule—ugly as sin, but hard working and worth its weight in gold to its master. As Ethan examined the main mast before him and the rail he was leaning against, he noticed a fair amount of patchwork. Careful inspection found the wood littered with pockmarks and seams where new wood had been added to replace hunks of it lost in numerous battles.

Many of the crew had the same sort of patchwork appearance. Some wore shaggy beards. Others had teeth missing or rotting out. Some of Bonifast's motley crew were even missing fingers or entire limbs. Still, they performed their duties the same as everyone else.

The door to the captain's cabin opened, causing Ethan and Gideon to perk up. They eagerly anticipated the man to whom they owed their lives. A man dressed in a navy blue waistcoat with a matching tricorn hat walked out of the cabin.

"Ash?" Ethan asked.

"That's Captain Levi Ashbury Bonifast to you, young master Ethan," he said.

"So you're Bonifast," Gideon said.

"I know, I know. You were trying very hard to figure out who could be more dashing and intelligent than your new friend Ash," Bonifast said. "But your wondering is over, the answer is clear—no one is!"

One thing was certain, Ash or Bonifast, or whoever he was, had not lost his sense of humor. Ethan grinned from ear to ear. "I guess we owe you our lives then, Captain."

Captain Bonifast patted Ethan's shoulder. "Ah well, let's save our thanks for the Almighty who deserves it, eh?" he said, nodding toward Gideon. Gideon smiled, nodding in agreement. He would not have admitted it, but Gideon seemed to like this fellow almost as much as Ethan did. Bonifast may have seemed a scoundrel at first glance, but somewhere beneath the veneer a heart of pure gold kept showing through.

"So, boys, what are your plans, or were you thinking of settling down in Tilley?"

"I'm trying to get to Emmanuel to rescue my sister," Ethan said. "Gideon is helping me."

"I see. Then Shaddai has you on the right track," Bonifast said. "The Maelstrom is sailing for Emmanuel. I suppose you could tag along with us, right boys?" Bonifast said to his crew.

"Aye, Captain!" they shouted.

"Of course you'll have to pull your own weight," he said. "As the Word says, A man who doesn't work, doesn't eat, and the same goes on this ship."

Ethan and Gideon looked at one another. "We'd be happy to serve in any way we can, Captain Bonifast," Gideon said.

"Very good. Anthony...Brass?"

"Yes, Captain?" they answered.

"I want you to take these lads below and get them something to eat in the mess. Then get them some clothes, if they have need, and bring them back up on deck within the hour. Show them what needs doing and how to do it."

"Aye, Captain," they said. Ethan followed Gideon, hurrying below deck with Bonifast's men. Once again, divine providence had guided them in the way they should go. Soon they would arrive at Emmanuel, and Ethan wondered if he would find his sister. And if he did, would she be dead or alive?

THE SLAVER

The four o'clock bell sounded. Exactly twenty-one minutes later, the alarm went out from the crows nest. A ship had been spotted off the port bow. The weather had been fair up until one hour ago. A storm lay ahead of them now, and the wind had been picking up steadily, allowing the Maelstrom to gain a great deal of speed.

Ethan and Gideon were engaged in a lesson on how to furl and unfurl the sails. They climbed up the rigging with Brass. Ethan had exchanged his clothing for some brown slacks and a white pullover shirt while Gideon had refused to change from his priestly garments, choosing instead to wash them in a bucket with a washboard.

Captain Bonifast ordered more sail to catch the increasing wind. Brass explained how Captain Bonifast enjoyed finding the edge of storm systems, riding the good wind to propel them like a slingshot. "The Maelstrom gets its name for this reason, and no seabird can ride them out better," Brass said.

"Spyglass!" Bonifast called. Anthony, who happened to be the first mate, handed the captain a brass telescope. Bonifast drew it to its full length, setting it toward the ship on the horizon. It appeared to be coming on course for Emmanuel as well. The ship was flying Mordred's colors, a black flag with a single red circle and black pupil, like a red eye watching in the dark.

Bonifast murmured to himself. "Wait, what's she doing?"

As he watched the ship, he saw every scrap of sail unfurl. They shifted their course, taking them directly toward the storm system looming on the horizon.

"She's spotted us, boys!" he cried. "Break out every scrap of cloth we've got, Anthony, and strike the colors!"

Anthony shouted the captain's orders to the crew. The command repeated across the deck. The men flew up the rigging like spiders crossing their webs. Bonifast turned to Anthony saying, "If they want to ride the storm, then we'll show them why this old girl is called the Maelstrom, eh lad?"

"Aye, Captain."

Ethan and Gideon climbed the netting alongside Brass, bringing them to the middle of the mizzenmast in order to help tie down the sail into proper position. "I don't understand!" Ethan shouted over the wind.

"We're going after that ship," Gideon said.

"Yes, but why? Who are they?"

"Slaver ship!" Brass shouted.

The sails caught the wind and the ship surged forward faster.

"What's a slaver ship?" Ethan asked.

"Mordred's army has been making raids on the villages and towns at random," Brass said. "They take prisoners to sell them as slaves outside Nodian borders. Some of them go to Emmanuel to work at the palace and take other jobs within the city for Mordred. He mostly has the women taken though. Mordred doesn't want to risk a rebellion under his own nose. They burn out the villages and usually kill everyone else in the process."

This reminded Ethan of what had taken place in Grandee. Had this been all there was to it, just supplying a slave trade? He couldn't believe it was that simple. There had been a demon there in the council meeting. It had controlled the outcome, manipulating the men on the council in order to stop Grandee from joining the rebellion under King Stephen of Wayland.

Then another thought occurred to him. If this ship was a slaver, perhaps Elspeth might be onboard. He might be on the verge of finding and rescuing her before she could ever reach Mordred. This glimmer of hope comforted Ethan a little. He watched the ship running from Bonifast. Before Ethan could rejoice, Bonifast had to catch it.

From where Ethan stood, the slaver ship looked so far away. "Can we catch it?" he asked Brass. "My sister was taken by Mordred's men."

"It's going to give us a run for sure," Brass said. "They're trying to hide in that storm, but Bonifast's nickname is the Storm Rider for good reason. That man can navigate the swells like no one I've ever seen. I've not seen a slaver get away from him yet. He hates them. You lads had better hold tight and secure your lifelines. When we reach that storm it's going to be a bumpy ride for all of us."

It took over an hour to get close. In the meantime, the guns were prepped and Brass shared a little about what the Maelstrom could do in a real battle. The old girl carried sixty cannons, separated into two levels on both sides of the ship. Brass explained how the upper levels carried twenty-pounders while the lower levels, like the one they were standing inside now, housed the thirty-pounders. One of the secrets of Bonifast's longstanding victories were his custom castings. "You see," Brass said, holding up a twenty-pound ball. "These babies work very well. But, depending upon the enemy vessel's strength, they may not have much penetrating power to the hull, where it really counts."

Brass handed the ball to Gideon and walked over to one of the ammo crates behind the cannon crew. He removed a shell unlike anything they had ever seen before. Rather than the traditional round cannonball, this weapon was cylindrical with a very sharp cone tip at one end.

"Now this, lads, has got penetrating power," Brass bragged. "When traditional ammunition can't get the job done, we pull out these beauties. Then it's all over. The captain had them specially designed. We can sink a galleon hundreds of yards away, while staying out of reach of its guns."

Ethan noticed some of the lower deck guns were nearly twice the length of the others. "Does the added length allow you to shoot further?" Ethan asked.

"Well, it's more about the powder charge on distance, but the barrel length gives us the kind of accuracy these guns really need. Our men are some of the best gunners sailing the Azure," Brass said.

"He's not exaggerating," Bonifast added.

The captain had managed to sneak up on them. The ship pitched wildly, causing Ethan and Gideon to reach for the overhead beams in order to support themselves.

"It takes getting used to," Bonifast said, "but you'll both get your sea legs soon enough. Anyway, you might want to come up on deck. The weather is about to come down on us hard."

"How close are we, Captain?" Ethan asked.

Bonifast looked at them, smiling with a ravenous gleam in his eyes like a wild man. "Soon, lads, and load up the specials for this one!"

There was a shout of "Aye" from the entire gunnery crew on that level. Then the captain led Ethan, Gideon, and Brass up on deck. The sight of the Azure Sea set into a frenzy, the way it was now, inspired awe and terror all at once. Gideon and Ethan looked at one another, amazed. To say that the beautiful Azure Sea looked angry would have been an understatement. What Ethan had seen before, as a calm sapphire jewel extending beyond his sight, had now become a vicious predator ready to devour the two ships at any moment. Roiling waves extended as far as Ethan could see terminating in ominous purple and gray thunderclouds at the horizon, in every direction.

Captain Bonifast ran to the helm and took over. He looked like a cat toying with a mouse. He played the wheel, watching the slaver ship battling against the sea several hundred yards ahead of them. The smaller ship bobbed up and down violently as the storm surge threatened to dash it to splinters.

Ethan thought he might be sick. The meal he had enjoyed earlier now churned in a stomach that felt as angry as the sea. Gideon seemed to be handling it better. Ethan wondered if the priest had sailed before during his time with The Order of Shaddai.

Ethan prayed as he held tight to the rail. Gideon watched him and stayed near. A rope around each of their waists tethered them to the ship. The crew moved about as though this sort of treacherous pursuit was second nature to them. And Captain Bonifast handled the ship like he'd been born to the task, anticipating each swell and bringing the ship into waves before they could crest and slam into the Maelstrom.

Apart from the constant up and down and the fierce wind, all was well aboard Bonifast's ship. The same could not be said for the slaver ship. Bonifast kept a careful eye on the enemy vessel as he maneuvered the Maelstrom ever closer. The rain had not started...yet.

Gideon staggered across the deck trying to get to the helm and Bonifast. Ethan watched him, but he did not follow. He had enough trouble just trying to keep his lunch down. Gideon reached the helm as Bonifast sent the ship hard to port in anticipation of a coming wave. The captain's expression grew intense. He stood at the helm in tune with the wind, the waves, and his ship.

"Even if we catch the ship, how can we board it during a storm?" Gideon shouted over the din. It was a fair question. There would be no way possible to do such a thing without being able to line the ships up in parallel and keep them still.

"We're not going to board it!" Bonifast said, his expression suddenly turning grim.

"But what about the slaves they have onboard?" Gideon asked.

"We don't know that they have any slaves on that ship, lad!"

"But if they're headed back to Emmanuel...they wouldn't go empty-handed!" Gideon reasoned.

The sea started to give Bonifast more trouble now. The questioning did nothing to help his concentration either. The captain's face grew hard as he watched his target.

"You can't just kill the innocent with the guilty!" Gideon pleaded.

Bonifast's anger got the better of him at that point. He grabbed Gideon's robe—big mistake. Gideon intercepted the intruding hand at the wrist. His index and middle finger on his other hand landed precisely on the captain's left carotid artery.

Gideon heard the hammer-cock of a musket behind him. Turning, he found Anthony holding a long rifle on him just beyond arms reach. The Azure Sea rolled, boiling in its anger behind him. "Release the captain, NOW!" Anthony shouted.

"Why are you doing this?" Gideon asked Bonifast as he relinquished his grip.

"Have you ever seen what happens to the slaves of Mordred, priest?" Bonifast said getting back to the wheel to make course corrections again.

"They let demons have their way with them. They destroy their hope and their will. They drive them crazy, kill them, or possess them! My orders are very clear from King Stephen, Gideon. I'm instructed to sink anything I can't take. And just like you pointed out, I can't hope to board them in this weather. They know that too. And if they manage to use this storm to get back to the mainland, then the captives will be lost anyway. I wouldn't wish that fate on anyone. This is the way it has to be."

Gideon stepped away from the captain. Anthony lowered his weapon, staring at the young priest as he staggered back to where Ethan stood on the deck. The boy hoped to find his sister among the slaves. He was not going to like this.

SEA SHIFTING

"He's going to do what?" Ethan shouted.

Gideon tried to calm him down, but it was impossible.

"But my sister could be onboard that ship!"

Sea spray peppered the two young men as they talked. Ethan glared at Captain Bonifast as he operated the helm. Anthony stood near, watching them with his musket in hand. Gideon put his hand on Ethan's shoulder and said, "There's a reason for it, Ethan."

"What are you talking about?"

"Bonifast knows about the demons that are working with Mordred. He said his orders from King Stephen are to sink any slaver that can't be captured. He said the slaves are given to the demons to possess them, if they can. The rest are driven mad by the experience, or killed."

They both looked out over the sea between the Maelstrom and the slaver ship. The storm intensified. "Ethan, you know there's no way we can board that ship in this weather. If we don't sink the ship then we risk losing it and condemning those people to a fate worse than death."

To anyone else such statements might have sounded like the ranting assumptions of a lunatic, but Ethan knew all too well that demons were real, that they conspired with Mordred in this war. Subjection to them was something he could not bear to think of happening to his sister.

He slumped down on the deck, completely broken by the turn of events. Ethan watched the slaver, a mere three hundred yards away from them now, as it rose and fell with the raging sea. Had he come so far only to see his sister destroyed by this accursed war right before his eyes? Unable to bear it, he began to weep.

A thought hit Gideon like a thunderbolt. There might not be anything Bonifast can do, but Ethan is an entirely different matter. Gideon dropped down in front of Ethan and took the fourteen-year-old by the shoulders. "Ethan! You could save her!"

Ethan looked up at the priest, bewildered. "What are you talking about?"

A cross wave smashed into the bow causing the ship to shudder under the impact.

"Of all of the people onboard this ship, you are the only one who isn't constrained completely by this physical world. Use your gift, Ethan! Find out if she is onboard before Bonifast closes the gap between us!"

Ethan jumped to his feet and ran to the rail, his lifeline tether trailing behind him. "But Gideon, what do I do if she is onboard? How can I get her off of the ship?"

Gideon stammered for an answer. "I don't know...but I do know Shaddai is with you."

That was all the encouragement Ethan needed. He concentrated on what he wanted, whispering a prayer to the Almighty. "Oh, Lord, help me to know how to use these gifts you've given. I don't know why you would use me, but I beg you for guidance and the ability to save my sister."

Gideon watched his friend as he snapped out of the physical world. The lifeline rope fell to the ground. Ethan had disappeared.

Ethan stood on the railing of the Maelstrom. Gideon picked up Ethan's lifeline, which fell to the deck when he entered the spiritual plane. Ethan saw Gideon, but the warrior-priest of Shaddai no longer saw him.

The world around him took on a different feel. No longer did the wind beat upon Ethan, or the sea pelt him with salty drops of water. He saw the blue Azure through preternatural eyes and felt the world with new senses. He sensed enemies onboard the ship across the raging ocean—demons were on that ship.

Even from this distance, Ethan saw the activity onboard the slaver vessel. Crew members tried to keep the ship afloat as they ran from the Maelstrom. But these men did not have the sort of well-oiled-machine approach to their duties like Captain Bonifast's nimble crew. These men, dressed in the crimson and black apparel of Mordred's army, were not storm riders like Bonifast.

Ethan scanned the rest of the vessel and found someone watching him. A demon was clinging to the mizzenmast. At least this was what Ethan supposed on first inspection. But a closer look revealed the creature actually standing upon the face of the vertical beam. Gravity held no sway over him.

Without hesitation, the demon let out a war cry, charging across the expanse between the two ships. Ethan had forgotten these beings could simply move about at will through the air. It was not exactly what he would term flying, as much as a gigantic leap from one ship to the other.

On pure instinct, Ethan's blade found its way to his waiting hand. He bolted backward, his feet up on the face of the mainmast, as the creature touched down on the railing in exactly the place where Ethan had just been standing. Ethan somersaulted from the mainmast of the Maelstrom back at the demon with his heavenly blade in hand. The metal gleamed even in the dense shadow of partial night caused by the storm cell overhead.

The demon charged forward with his weapon. Their weapons crashed into one another, flashing like lightning. The demon fought in the appearance of a man. He was terrible to look upon and yet strangely beautiful at the same time. His skin was pale gray. And what appeared to be bluish capillaries pressed to the surface of his complexion. His eyes were feral and fierce, irises of yellow ringing wide black pupils.

Somehow, Ethan did not fear him. The image of this once heavenly being only angered him more as his thoughts flashed with visions of a rebellion older than time. These were not the monsters of so many children's stories. They were betrayers of Shaddai, pure and simple.

Ethan struck at the demon again. It countered as the battle raged across the deck of the Maelstrom. The crew continued with their duties as Bonifast chased after the slaver. They were oblivious to the struggle among them on the spiritual plane.

Ethan hammered away at the demon with his sword. The demon gave ground, but then took it back from the boy each time. A burst of light flashed each time the supernatural blades struck together, sounding like a thunderclap.

"So this is the Deliverer of God?" the demon taunted. "I would have expected more than a mere boy from the Almighty."

Ethan wasn't sure what to say, so he said nothing, but his anger caused him to press the fight even harder.

"Tell me, son of man, how did you find your parents after we destroyed Salem?"

Ethan grew enraged, striking with all the fury he could manage. It was a foolish move. His wrath did nothing but hinder Shaddai using him. The precision he had known seconds before faded as quickly. Ethan faltered, trusting in his own anger to fight.

The demon batted Ethan's strike away, kicked him in the head, and then kicked him again in the chest. The boy flew backward across the deck, landing in a crumpled heap near the mainmast. The demon ran toward Ethan, raising his sword for the final blow. "It happens every time you pitiful men think you have the power to defeat us!"

"Help me, Shaddai," Ethan said as the demon's blade dropped toward him.

Ethan regained strength. He felt power fill him to the brim. In a movement faster than the demon could compensate for, Ethan rolled out of range and to his feet. He met the blade mid-strike, countering with an elbow and fist combo to the face of the demon. The demon's smile vanished as he staggered backward.

But the creature recovered fast, swinging a massive stroke with his sword that would have taken Ethan's head had he not anticipated and ducked beneath it. Ethan struck the body of his opponent. His blade penetrated the demon's abdomen. A flash of light burst through Ethan's blade into the demon. The demon reeled backward, falling to the deck of the Maelstrom. His blade fell away from his hand as he clutched his wound.

Ethan noticed there was no blood—not a drop. Still, Ethan's weapon had done damage. To his knowledge, an angel could not die, but something was happening. The demon reeled from some form of pain inflicted by the wound. He sneered at Ethan saying, "This is not over, Deliverer!"

The body of the demon began to vaporize like smoke on the wind. His weapon faded with him until there was nothing left of the creature. Ethan watched in amazement. Would the creature be back? He did not even know what had happened to it. Whatever the case, the demon seemed to believe that this was not his end. Ethan kept that knowledge tucked away in his mind. If he could wound them, then at least for a while, he could dispatch them from a fight. The demon he had wounded while inside of the old woman had been thrust from her body by his strikes. There were rules of engagement here he needed to learn quickly. I wonder what would happen to me if they wounded me in this way. If they kill me in this realm, will I die physically? The thought was too awful to contemplate. Just don't get hit, he told himself.

BOOM!

The railing in front of Ethan exploded. Wood splinters sprayed outward and upward as Ethan watched the cannonball pass right through his body. The projectile from the enemy ship continued unabated across the surface of the deck and disappeared into the roiling Azure Sea on the other side of the Maelstrom.

Ethan clutched his chest checking for injury. He didn't have a scratch on him. The liquid metal armor he wore had not repelled the shot. Instead, the shell had passed through him as if he wasn't there. Then it occurred to him. He wasn't there, at least not in the physical realm where the cannonball was. That could be useful, he thought.

Then he remembered the enemy had fired upon the Maelstrom. Bonifast's crew scrambled back and forth, preparing to retaliate. Ethan found Gideon among the frantic crew. The priest stood at Bonifast's side again, watching the enemy vessel. The captain sounded the order. "FIRE!"

A terrible volley of cannon fire erupted from the port side of Bonifast's ship. Ethan watched as iron cannonballs flew through the air toward the enemy vessel still bobbing with the ocean swells. Ethan tracked each one of the shots.

Several of the heavy balls struck the slaver in the aft end at different heights, as the vessel lifted up on the storm surge. Most of them splashed into the side of a blue wave, scattering plumes of sea spray into the air before disappearing. The gap had not been closed with the slaver. Bonifast had intended to do so before starting his attack. But the other ship had fired first and he would return their fire in even greater amounts.

I've got to get over there before Bonifast blows it out of the water! An urgency to save his sister boiled inside of him. But how can I get over to the slaver? Lightning struck in the distance ahead of them. They were sailing into the worst part of the storm. Ethan had to act now.

The demon had leaped from ship to ship in order to attack him moments ago. He had seen them float through the trees as a child while he and Elspeth were escaping the massacre at Salem. There was no reason to suppose his abilities to operate contrary to the physical laws were any different. If I'm really this Deliverer everyone keeps talking about then Lord Shaddai please help me to know what to do.

Ethan ran to the railing and jumped up on it. The crew still buzzed about like bees as cannon fire erupted between the ships. Fortunately, the storm surge caused a great deal of inaccuracy on the part of both crews, giving him more time to act.

Ethan noticed, as he stood on the railing of the tossed vessel, his body did not sway back and forth. He might as well have been a statue fastened to the wood with nails. As he watched the slaver in the distance, Ethan caught sight of movement out of the corner of his eye. He looked to his right and found a gull sitting on the railing looking directly at him. The bird seemed to be gauging the boy's intentions.

"I'm going," Ethan said, although he was not sure why he talked to the bird.

The bird cocked its head sideways, regarding him. "I'm just not quite sure how to go about it is all," he said.

The bird, as if in response to his query, lifted its wings and then stood there looking at him. Ethan watched the bird. Then the gull hopped up into the wind and sailed across the expanse toward the slaver ship. For some reason, Ethan felt like he was being told what to do.

Cannonballs pounded into the rolling waves just beneath the hull of the ship, sending spray into the air. Ethan hunched down like a spring, then released. His body rocketed away from the railing of the Maelstrom. He felt like a bird in flight, careening through the air toward his target. The slaver ship surged upward on a wave, coming to meet him as he landed safely on the deck.

When Ethan turned to look back, Ethan saw the gull perched upon the railing next to him. It regarded him once more, seeming to nod its approval before taking flight again. Ethan turned his eye to the heavens and whispered, "Thank you," unto the Almighty.

SECRET IN THE HOLD

The crew onboard the slaver ship desperately tried to get away from the larger vessel pursuing them. Cannon fire continued to erupt from both ships. Everyone on deck threw themselves to the ground as another volley smashed through equipment and rigging, sending showers of splintered wood through the air.

Ethan flinched as things popped and smashed around him. He knew the physical dangers could not harm him. Still, it took getting used to. He'd already seen one demon, but Ethan sensed, somehow, it had not been the only one.

The slaves must be kept in the cargo hold down below, Ethan supposed. He walked across the deck as the men onboard passed through him, trying to keep the ship elusive and remain alive at the same time. It was a curious thing to Ethan. He walked upon the physical deck just as he would in his natural state, but the men passed right through him—even the cannonballs, the ocean spray, and the wind itself simply passed through.

Then Ethan thought about what he had already seen. He remembered the demon, who had appeared in the rented room at the Weary Traveler Inn. The demon had come right through the floor and then stood upon it. Maybe that's all there is to it, he thought. If I think about what I want to do then perhaps that changes what I can do. If I think I want to pass through this deck then—

Instantly the deck gave way and Ethan descended. He quickly stopped himself, landing below the upper deck of the slaver in a dark hallway. Well it's down, he reasoned, so I'm going in the right direction.

Men appeared in the hallway, startling Ethan. They ran right through him in the dark without the slightest notion that a fourteen-year-old boy was there. He shook his head at his reaction. It was going to take time to adjust.

Ethan continued down the hallway slowly. He did not have to be concerned with men, but demons were another matter. And they were present somewhere onboard. Ethan felt them like a fog in the air. His body tingled with pricks of darkness in their presence. He wondered if he produced the same sensation in them.

He came to a door. Even in the dark, Ethan's preternatural eyes saw well. The door was locked with an iron bolt at the top and bottom. He started to gauge its strength. Then he remembered he was in the spiritual. But what if—

Ethan concentrated on what he wanted and reached out for one of the bolts. To his joy, he grabbed it and was able to apply pressure to it. The bolt was stiff, but it slid back out of the doorframe. He had touched the physical world from the spiritual realm. He was so excited about the discovery he almost forgot why he was there. Elspeth.

He left the other bolt alone and fastened the one he had undone. Ethan did not want someone to discover anything amiss, if they happened to come this way.

Ethan passed through the wall. Once inside, he found the room completely devoid of light except for a sliver of gray coming through the cargo bay doors above. Ethan heard the sound of the sea raging against the hull all around him. The hollow boom of the cannons echoed within the walls and gave the room a larger feel as the sound reverberated around.

Ethan found it much more difficult to see in here despite his spiritual sight. The darkness was more than just an absence of light. He felt it. Ethan heard heavy breathing, living things here in the dark. He grabbed his sword which became luminescent in his hand.

Forms became visible in the darkness, lying on beds of hay. But these were far too large to be humans. Ethan cautiously walked over to one of them. It was a man of some sort, but a giant man. From head to toe, he was easily three times the size of a normal human being. The giant slept, unaware of him.

Ethan gazed within the man. The tingling in his body grew stronger now as he drew nearer. What he saw amazed and terrified him at the same time. At least one hundred demons resided within this single giant man. As he stood there, mesmerized by the sight, he realized more giant men were moving in the dark around him.

He reacted on pure instinct, striking at movement behind him. One of the giants let out a horrible cry of pain. A hundred cries from the demons within mingled with it. Ethan suddenly realized he had stumbled into a terrible situation. The compartment came alive around him.

They could see him, or at least, the demons within these giants could see him. Ethan had gotten himself into serious trouble. Demons leaped out of the giants in large numbers, leaving many more within the hulking warriors to control them.

The demons drew their weapons for battle. Some held swords while others brandished huge maces. Ethan whirled around trying to take in as many of his opponents as possible. Evil laughter rose from the ranks of giants and demons.

Ethan noticed another sword had appeared, floating by his left hip. He removed it quickly with his right hand, shifting the first to his left. It felt good. Shaddai, help me to do your will, he prayed within himself.

Demons moved in. Ethan whirled the twin blades in tight circles, striking anything he could reach. The giants moved away from him as the demons encircled him. Ethan noticed the giant man, the one he had initially hit, bleeding from a deep wound to the chest. I actually struck his flesh with this sword, Ethan realized. No wonder they're moving back. The demons mean to protect these giants.

Any further consideration of why Mordred would transport these giant men on his slaver vessel left his mind as the battle for his life ensued. Demons lunged at him from every direction. Ethan struck out with both swords. He countered assaults, parried swords, ducked a swinging mace, somersaulted over a demon, then struck the creature down.

Every time he managed to create an opportunity for escape, more demons swarmed in upon him. It did not appear that Ethan could win this fight. He now faced too many opponents in too confined a space. Ethan searched for a way of escape. He could pass through the physical walls, but not through the spiritual creatures hemming him in.

A thought kept bouncing around in his mind. Why are these giants sailing for Emmanuel? Ethan tried not to think about it—after all, he was fighting for his life. But the thought would not go away.

The giants backed as far away from the fight as they could. The demons blocked Ethan at every turn. He remembered the old woman from Tilley—the one controlled by a single demon. That woman had been nearly one hundred years old, yet she had fought with the strength of ten men. Even Gideon could hardly handle her in the fight. If Mordred built an army with these demon-possessed giants, then what normal army could hope to stand against him?

Ethan still did not know how many giants were even in the cargo hold. But if Mordred had more ships, bringing more giant men, then...the thought was terrible. Ethan had to destroy the giants. Bonifast was trying to sink this ship, but with the storm raging around them, it might not happen. And for all Ethan knew, Gideon may have convinced him to hold his special ammo until Ethan returned.

He was losing ground fast, barely defending himself at this point. He had nowhere to run. Ethan looked toward the walls of the cargo hold. The hull was blocked. Demons hovered above him, even standing upside down upon the ceiling of the cargo hold, all barring his retreat. There was no place for Ethan to go but—down!

Ethan immediately used both swords to hack through the floor beneath his feet—not because he couldn't pass through already, but to allow water into the cargo hold. The brilliant blades cut through the sturdy wood like hot knives through butter. Ethan dropped down as the wood gave way. He sank down into the lower hull, which housed the spine of the ship. With his swords illuminating the dark confines of the space, Ethan ran across ballast stones toward the spine and began slicing through it.

Demons dropped into the enclosed space with him. When they spotted him and saw what he was doing to the ship, they immediately rushed after him. Ethan made his final cuts, then hacked through the last layer of the hull beneath his feet. The last thing Ethan saw was astonished demon faces.

Water erupted into the compartment, filling it quickly. Ethan let go of the physical completely, while the ship sped on, away from him, taking on water. He was in the Azure Sea now, but he was not wet, not drowning. He needed no air in this state.

Ethan rose toward the surface. As he came to stand upon the water itself, he saw the Maelstrom pass him, still in pursuit of the slaver—its cannons blazing after its prey.

Ethan ran upon the surface of the water toward the ship. He leaped upward, gracefully landing upon the deck of the Maelstrom. He immediately shifted back to the physical realm.

Ethan stumbled as gravity took hold of him again, air filled his lungs, and the storm winds beat upon him. His face slammed into the deck as the ship bucked upon a wave. He had the feeling of jumping from a speeding horse—when you hit the ground after that split second of weightlessness and freedom. Reality smashed into him like an enraged bull. He lay on the soaked wood of the deck feeling nothing but fatigue and pain.

Gideon appeared by his side. Ethan's ears rang. His friend seemed far away, trying to speak to him. Rain fell. That was all he could manage to focus on—the feeling of the rain on his face again. Then everything went black as Gideon's muffled voice and the sounds of the cannons faded to nothing.

THE CAPTAIN'S TABLE

Ethan heard a soothing voice in his head. All he discerned in the darkness was a thought that was not his own. "Well done my good and faithful servant." It was so peaceful and warm. Ethan did not want to leave it. But consciousness intruded and he heard a male voice filtering into his ears. Light penetrated the soothing darkness. The blurry images became clearer, until Ethan saw Gideon's face looking down at him.

The warrior-priest smiled at him then. "Glad to see you've come back to us, friend."

That word, friend, seemed to hang in the air and resonate. Ethan was glad to see his friend, Gideon, as well. He noticed, as his eyes took in the room beyond Gideon's face, they were not on the deck of the Maelstrom anymore. They were in a small, warm room and Ethan was lying in a very comfortable bed with quilts over his body. A lantern burned above him, hanging on a hook fastened to the low ceiling. "Where am I?" he asked.

"The captain's quarters," Gideon said. "You're a regular hero, Ethan. And when you've regained strength, Captain Bonifast would like to meet with us."

"Really?"

Gideon nodded. "He's invited us to dinner this evening."

Gideon placed a tray on the table next to the bed. "This should perk you up a bit."

Ethan found a bowl of soup, some sort of chowder, and a small loaf of fresh bread. The steamy vapor rose from the bowl. Gideon got up to leave. "I'll come back to check on you in a little while. Eat that food. I've seen the cook and you wouldn't want to explain to him why you left the food sitting on the tray."

Ethan got the point and smiled, sitting up in the bed. It was so comfortable. Ethan would never have expected a rugged ship's captain to sleep in such a comfortable bed.

"Gideon?" he asked as the priest opened the cabin door to leave.

"Yes?"

"What happened to the slaver ship?"

"I trust you will enlighten us on that very subject at dinner. After all, you sank it yesterday."

Gideon smiled, closing the door behind him as he left the room. Ethan sat there in the bed astonished. His memory began to return. The realm shift, the demon attacker, the slaver's cargo hold, and the secret Mordred had been hiding inside of it. Yesterday? I've been unconscious since yesterday?

Ethan shook his head, which still hurt. He brought the tray of steaming food over onto his lap and devoured it eagerly. He wanted to get his strength back quickly if he was going to be dining with Captain Bonifast.

Later that evening, Brass came to the captain's cabin with a set of nice clothes for Ethan. He was large enough for his age to wear adult clothing. He had a nice, white button up shirt with a cuffed collar and dark brown trousers with a brown leather belt. Brown leather boots and a finely tailored blue waistcoat finished the ensemble.

Brass waited outside while Ethan changed into the clothes. Then he escorted the boy to the captain's dining room, down the hall. When he walked into the room, Gideon and Captain Bonifast were already having a friendly conversation at the table. "Ethan! Come in, lad, come in," Bonifast said. "We were worried that you might not wake up for a while."

"Just wore me out, I guess," Ethan said. He watched Gideon's facial expressions, trying to gauge how much he should reveal. Gideon gave him a knowing look and nod. Evidently, it was time for honesty with their new ally.

"Let's sit down, gentlemen. We have much to discuss," Bonifast said.

They each took a seat at the rectangular hardwood table. It held fresh bread and cheese next to a candelabra. Ethan noticed the candleholder fastened to the table with small nails in order to keep it from sliding around as the ship moved with the sea. "I've had Cook prepare roast pig for us this evening, men," Bonifast said.

"That sounds wonderful," Ethan said. The chowder earlier had revived his healthy appetite.

"Good, then perhaps we should ask our priest to request the Lord's blessing upon our time of fellowship," Bonifast said.

"Of course," Gideon said, bowing his head. "Our Lord Shaddai, we thank you for passing over our sins and for the life and strength you give each of us. Please bless our time of food and fellowship and may our intertwined paths bring glory to your name. Amen."

"By all means, gentlemen, have some food and drink. Cook will bring out the main course very soon."

Ethan took a piece of the bread and reached for the metal pitcher on the table. It was filled with a mixture of fruit juices. When he poured the thick mixture into his glass and drank it, the blend tasted tangy and sweet.

"How do you like it?" Bonifast asked.

"Very good," Ethan said.

"It is a unique blend. Cook prepares it for us on special occasions. I believe it contains juices from oranges, pineapples, strawberries, and banana to give it a rich flavor."

Bonifast took the pitcher and poured some for Gideon and himself. He tore away a piece of bread and took a piece of cheese as well. "Now, questions," he said. "I suppose you would like to know exactly what we are doing here on the Maelstrom."

Both Gideon and Ethan nodded as they chewed their food.

"Well, as I said before, I am captain of the Maelstrom. I am also a former pirate." That much Ethan had already guessed. He had a pirate's manner about him—fearlessness bordering on madness.

"I have been serving under the auspices of King Stephen of Wayland for about five years now as he gathers his army in hopes of removing Mordred from power here in Nod. We are currently on our way to rendezvous with about twenty other ships, which comprise a portion of Stephen's fleet. Some of these are mercenary ships."

"King Stephen is using mercenaries?" Gideon asked.

"In this war they'll either fight for Mordred, or us. We'd rather have them fighting for us. They may not necessarily be loyal to the cause, but they are loyal to gold. So, we take what we can get," Bonifast said, biting off a piece of cheese.

There was logic in what the captain was saying, but Ethan had never heard any good things about mercenaries. They fought for the highest bidder without love for God, king, or country. They were not to be trusted.

"What happens when you rendezvous with this fleet?" Ethan asked.

"We will sail for Emmanuel and attack the city, coordinating with a ground force already on the move. We should commence the attack within two days time. As you may, or may not know, Mordred keeps a substantial compliment of ships from the old royal navy moored in the harbor at Emmanuel. It will be our job to destroy as many as possible."

"Do you actually believe you can take the royal city?" Gideon asked. "Mordred almost certainly knows Stephen's ground army is on the way, and he'll be waiting for it."

"We are aware of that fact, Gideon," Bonifast said. "However, while it would be tremendous to actually capture the city, we are hoping to at least weaken the army Mordred is already putting together. Our sources indicate he is commissioning a great many people from outside of the Kingdom of Nod to fight for him."

"The heathen tribes of the Outlands?" Gideon asked.

"None other. And they are more than willing to fight. Mordred deals in slaves to help pay for their services to him. Also, there are many men who are being brought under the influence of demons in order to add to Mordred's army."

"How much do you know about the demons?" Ethan asked.

"Most consider them to be myth, but I'm very familiar with who Mordred's ways and his unseen allies," Bonifast said. "This army is growing strong and threatens to outnumber the army King Stephen has raised to fight."

"They'll be outmatched as well," Ethan said.

"What do you mean?" Bonifast asked.

"Those weren't slaves aboard that ship," Ethan said. He felt apprehension going into this part of the truth, but apparently, Gideon trusted the captain. "I found giant men inside the hold of that ship yesterday,"

"The Anakims?" Gideon asked.

"I suppose so," Ethan said. "It was dark, so I can't be sure how many there were."

Bonifast looked at his plate for a moment, a piece of bread partially torn between his hands. When he looked back up, he had the most serious look Ethan had seen on his face, so far.

"That brings me to another question, lad, and I want a straight answer," Bonifast said. "How did you get on that ship and send her to the bottom?"

Ethan looked at Gideon again. He nodded approvingly, so Ethan continued. "Somehow, I have the ability to pass from the physical world into the spiritual realm. I'm only just beginning to understand how it works, but yesterday I entered the spiritual realm and fought with demons that were aboard the slaver. There were hundreds of them inside of these Anakims held in the cargo hold. When I struck at one of the giants in the dark, some of the demons came out of it and attacked me."

Ethan's story astonished both Captain Bonifast and Gideon.

"The demons seemed to be trying to protect the Anakims from me," he said. It felt awkward to suggest anyone would be afraid of a fourteen-year-old farm boy, but the facts still stood. "The demons hemmed me in and blocked my way of escape. When I realized these giants intended to fight for Mordred, I knew I had to destroy them somehow. So, I cut through the hull and let the water do the rest while I came back to the Maelstrom."

"That's when I saw you reappear on the deck?" Gideon said.

"Yes, but as soon as I came back to the physical world, I felt too weak to even stand," Ethan explained.

Bonifast scratched the black whiskers on his chin. "Perhaps this going from one plane of existence to another requires more effort than you think," he suggested. Ethan had been expecting the captain to laugh him to scorn and declare him a lunatic. But he appeared to take the truth in stride.

"You mean you actually believe me?" Ethan asked.

"I knew it wasn't my gunnery crews that did it," he said matter-of-factly. Bonifast leaned back in his chair with one arm draped over the back. "Besides, Ethan, I know there are many things which the Almighty does in this world that I can neither explain nor deny. Let's just say I've learned enough in my time to know when the hand of Shaddai is moving."

Ethan smiled. Captain Levi Bonifast, ex-pirate, was clearly a man of great faith. Someone knocked on the door. "Come in, Cook," Bonifast said.

The ship's cook entered the room with a wooden serving cart. On top of the cart sat a covered platter made of pure silver. The cook rolled it over to the head of the table, where the captain sat, and lifted the domed cover. Underneath, sat a roasted suckling pig. The flesh had been glazed with a rich sauce and smelled absolutely mouth watering.

When Bonifast, Gideon, and Ethan had been served, Cook left the room. The captain stuffed a hearty bite of roast pork into his mouth. He had to shut his eyes, savoring the sweet smoky flavor. "That Cook," he mused, "I wouldn't trade him for ten chests full of treasure."

Ethan and Gideon laughed before tasting the delicate, sweet meat. Bonifast looked thoughtfully at Ethan as he chewed. "Ethan, I don't want you to share anything about your gifts with the other members of my crew. They're a superstitious lot, and I don't want to distract them from their duties. We'll be going into battle in two days and I need them to have their wits about them."

"I understand, sir," Ethan said.

Bonifast smiled and grabbed his glass of fruit drink, holding it aloft. "Well then, let's toast to young Ethan's conquest. May we enjoy many others like it!"

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, listening 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.

After the rude greeting he had received on the previous ship, Ethan wanted to have a bit of fun with this one. He decided to test Gideon's angel-assumption theory. He walked up to where the captain was drinking his tea and stood before him.

This time, when Ethan appeared out of thin air, the captain noticed him immediately. In fact, it was so immediate the poor man shouted with surprise and spilt hot tea all over the front of his uniform. Ethan smiled, attempting to suppress his laughter. That's more like it, he thought. Then a pang of guilt washed over him for using the special gifts he had been given by Shaddai in such a juvenile way.

"Begging your pardon, Captain sir," he said.

"My goodness, young man, where in the devil did you come from?" the captain asked.

"Nowhere in the Devil, sir," Ethan replied. "I am sent as Shaddai's messenger on behalf of Captain Bonifast of the Maelstrom. I bring you the battle plan he has laid out for the assault on the Bay of Emmanuel."

Ethan opened the satchel, producing another rolled parchment. He handed it to the captain. The man looked aghast at Ethan, accepting the document without realizing he had extended his hand for it. He could not take his eyes from the boy, nor overcome his initial astonishment with his arrival from the ether.

"I say, boy, are you a spirit?" the captain asked. His servant looked equally stupefied. The teakettle in his hand shook noticeably.

"Read the document, Captain," Ethan insisted, carefully avoiding any explanation of his appearance. "We must do everything possible to break Mordred's power over this kingdom." Having issued the charge, Ethan disappeared from the man's sight again.

The captain might have spilt his cup again had it not already been emptied on his lap. Ethan felt sorry for the man and a little guilty for his own behavior. The captain already looked haggard by his years of service in the navy, appearing eager for retirement, if only he could manage to get to that point in his life, safely.

Ethan watched the captain a moment longer as his servant assisted him in cleaning up. Then he turned to the starboard side of the ship for his next delivery. This next ship was slightly larger than the one he stood upon presently. It followed almost directly behind the Maelstrom.

Ethan found his mark and leaped away from the deck. When he came down on the deck of the other ship, he found it different from the previous two. This ship's crew looked like pirates. Ethan wondered if they might be some of the mercenaries Captain Bonifast had told him about.

Ethan found the captain of the ship bellowing orders to his gunnery crew and standing next to another man who may have been his first mate. The captain spoke again, this time about Captain Bonifast.

"That braggart, Bonifast, with his royal commission—he really thinks he's something special now that he's on Stephen's payroll. He probably thinks he's the stinking admiral of this convoy."

Ethan felt like doing a quick face-to-face appearance for this captain. He only wished the man had a cup of tea in his hand. He reached into the leather satchel for a battle plan just as the unkempt captain said, "His head has gotten so big, I'm surprised he hasn't insisted on laying out the entire attack plan himself!"

Ethan pulled out the parchment and looked at it. He could not escape the irony of the delivery he was about to make. Ethan became visible to the men. They were just as startled by his sudden appearance as the previous captain had been—only no spilling. "I've come as the messenger of Shaddai on behalf of Captain Bonifast. You are required to execute the captain's strategy for the coming battle to the letter," Ethan said with an air of authority.

The captain took the parchment and looked at it. "Do you understand your instructions, Captain?" The first mate looked at the captain as he nodded—his wide eyes never leaving Ethan. "Very good, see that you do," Ethan said, then he disappeared again.

The men immediately broke into a frenzied discussion about the boy who had just appeared and disappeared. They were attempting to figure out if he was an angel or devil and why such a being would bring them battle plans from Levi Bonifast. Ethan looked toward the next ship.

Then a familiar tingling sensation swept over him. Demons! Ethan hid himself, then returned to the physical world. If demons were onboard then they would see him walking on the spiritual plane. He had to investigate without being noticed.

Fortunately, his clothing matched the other sailors. And since many of the crew were young boys, Ethan blended in well. Ethan grabbed a scrub brush and began working on the deck with a bucket of water, keeping his head down. No one questioned him. The tingling sensation grew stronger. He supposed the demon must be coming closer. Then, without a sound, a demon floated over him.

The demon spoke, but not to him in particular. It spewed out words of hatred for King Stephen and his foolish cause, words of discouragement at being a part of this raid on Mordred's navy, and words of wounded pride for Captain Bonifast's command. Ethan heard the words as clearly as any other sound aboard the ship. However, the other men seemed not to notice.

Ethan raised his eyes. He listened to the crew as they spoke with one another while doing their work. They complained about being on this voyage—that it was certain death to oppose Mordred. Others spoke of King Stephen's folly and how they owed no allegiance to the man or his war.

Then Ethan's realized what was happening. This demon was doing the same thing he had witnessed another demon doing in the council meeting back in Grandee. The demon was sowing doubt, discouragement, hatred, and fear. And those seeds were quickly taking root among this mercenary crew.

Ethan had to know how many others had been turned from this mission unconsciously. If there was a demon here on this ship, then there may be others doing the same on the other ships.

Ethan looked for the demon again. It hovered around the captain and his first mate. Ethan realm shifted, dropping through the deck quickly to avoid being seen by the demon. When he got below deck, into a dim hallway, and saw no one else in the vicinity, he appeared in the physical world again. Ethan walked through rooms and hallways on his way below sea level. He passed several crewmembers, but none of them paid him any attention.

Assuming he had descended far enough, Ethan realm shifted again. He passed through the ship's hull and into the open sea. Ethan found the next ship and moved toward it.

Ethan passed through the hull unhindered and came into what appeared to be the galley. He saw that the ship's cook was the only person present. The man faced away from him, concentrating on his cooking. Ethan passed from the spiritual to the physical world, running toward a flight of steps, then up to the main deck. His leather satchel remained by his side with the parchments.

As Ethan ascended the final flight of stairs, he heard the words of discouragement drifting through the air again. He stepped upon the main deck and saw another demon floating among the men who were climbing the rigging. The demon sowed the same seeds of hatred and lies meant to persuade the crew to turn back from the mission.

Ethan ran for the captain's quarters, even though the captain himself was on deck near the helm. Ethan removed one of the parchments and wedged it into the door for the captain to find later. He could not afford to appear before the man himself.

Ethan scrambled back down the stairs and found a secure location to enter the spiritual realm unnoticed. He passed through the hull once again, out into the Azure Sea. Ethan proceeded to visit each of the remaining ships in this fashion. At each one, he left a document from Captain Bonifast wedged in the captain's door. And each time he came upon a mercenary ship he found a demon at work spreading lies into the unconscious thoughts of the captain and crew. It was time to report to the Maelstrom and give the unpleasant truth to its captain.
PRAYER

When Ethan returned to the Maelstrom, the sun already waned in the sky. Dusk had come and, even though the dinner bell was ringing for the crew, Gideon and Captain Bonifast still stood on deck, watching and waiting for Ethan to return.

When Ethan landed on the deck of the Maelstrom, stepping back into the physical realm, there was a warm welcome waiting for him from his two new friends.

"Ethan, my boy, you're safe!" Bonifast said. He took the leather satchel Ethan proffered. "And you've completed the task!"

Gideon smiled, patting him on the shoulder.

"I gave them all out, but I bring bad news from the fleet. I've seen some discouraging activity among the other ships, particularly the mercenary ships," Ethan said.

"I see," Bonifast replied, his joviality fading now. Then he recovered it long enough to say, "If it's bad news you bring me, then at least we can enjoy a good meal while we hear it, aye? Come now, my friends, let's dine in my quarters. I've asked Cook to prepare us a meal fit for kings."

True to his word, the meal was fit for royalty—at least if royalty meant they knew good food when it was set before them. Ethan had been starving after his activity in the spiritual realm. He had gone back and forth many times during the course of the day. For some reason he felt less exhausted by the whole ordeal this time than he had been after returning from his fight onboard the slaver ship. Maybe it was the fight, or perhaps he was just getting used to it all. At any rate, realm shifting still gave him a ravenous appetite.

Ethan stuffed food into his mouth from a heaping plate of roast beef, potatoes, and corn. He kept thinking how good everything was.

"Tell me the bad news you've brought," Bonifast said as he took a sip from his glass.

Ethan gulped down the mouthful he'd been chewing. "Well, I boarded two ships loyal to King Stephen and found nothing out of the ordinary." Ethan neglected to share how he had caused one of the captains to spill his tea. "But when I came to the first of the mercenary ships, I became aware of a demon onboard. I kept out of the creature's sight in the physical realm, but I could still hear the words it was speaking among the crew."

"And what were the words?" Gideon asked. The warrior-priest ignored his meal, fully engrossed in Ethan's story.

"It said things about hating King Stephen and that this mission against Mordred's navy would take their lives if they continued. The demon even spoke ill against you, Captain."

"Really?"

"Yes, and I think it was trying to discourage the captains and their crews by saying these things. Each mercenary ship I came to was being worked upon by a different demon in this same manner," Ethan explained.

"And could the crew members hear these words the way you heard them?" Gideon asked.

"I really don't think they could. But they reacted to the words. When they talked among themselves, their talk was about the same things the demons were saying—how they should not continue with the king's fleet to Emmanuel, or how the money wasn't worth losing their lives."

Captain Bonifast stopped short of taking another drink from his glass. He concentrated on a point on the wall, deep in thought.

"Do you suppose we should cancel the attack, Captain?" Gideon asked.

Bonifast turned to the warrior-priest with a thoughtful look on his face. "I'm afraid that would be devastating to the land army King Stephen is already leading toward Emmanuel," he explained. "They'll be waiting for our signal to attack. And we are meant to break through and weaken the palace walls in order to divert some of their strength from defending the outer walls against Stephen's attack."

An uncomfortable silence hung in the room for a few moments. Finally, Bonifast looked at each of them and smiled. "Men are not meant to have all of the answers in these situations, lads. But we can speak to the one who holds all things in his hand."

Gideon's smiled. "Prayer."

Captain Bonifast nodded. "Yes, we must call upon Shaddai whose war this actually is. He will lead us according to his will."

Ethan had not actually thought about the war against Mordred as being Shaddai's war. King Stephen was the one leading the campaign. He was the one financing the war effort and sending out emissaries to the various villages and towns looking for those willing to join in the fight. But, in truth, this was a spiritual conflict, and all of them, including King Stephen, were fighting on the side of Shaddai.

"There's no time like the present, gentlemen. We'll have privacy in here," Bonifast said.

They bowed their heads, and the captain began to lead them in prayer. Ethan remembered the days when he had prayed with his sister, Elspeth. They had prayed together the night of their exodus from the village of Salem. They had prayed while traveling the dangerous roads winding through Nod as they sought a place where they might find food and shelter. They had even prayed together before Elspeth accepted Mr. Howinger's proposal, allowing them to remain in his employ so many years.

As Captain Bonifast prayed for the will of the Lord in this war, and the plans they were preparing to execute, Ethan remembered the nights his father and mother had prayed with him at his bedside. It had been a nightly ritual, and one he could not go to sleep without. His parents had brought him up in the knowledge of the truth—Shaddai watches over, providing for and protecting those who put their faith in him.

Ethan prayed silently as the captain continued making his supplications for the fleet and King Stephen's army soon to arrive outside Emmanuel's white walls. Ethan even noticed the captain mentioning him and Gideon in his prayer—that they might be used by the Lord to do mighty things for his name's sake.

When they started praying, it was close to the ninth hour bell. When they finished, it was almost time for the tenth hour bell to sound. The men did not finish what was left of the meal. It became a solemn time as they considered whether their prayers would be answered in the way they hoped.

Ethan excused himself, getting up from the table. He was tired after the long day of realm shifting, but at least his belly was full. He walked out of the captain's cabin, leaving Bonifast and Gideon to their conversation. He just wanted to get some fresh air and think.

The weather remained warm with a steady breeze blowing. There were hardly any clouds out, and the stars shone brightly—an endless sea in the heavens above. For the most part, the crew had retired down below in their bunks, rocked to sleep by the undulating Azure Sea.

Ethan turned toward the bow and noticed a strange light. It was unlike anything he had ever seen. He walked briskly across the deck, making his way to the front of the ship. The light never moved. Ethan felt drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

When he finally came to the source of the light, Ethan was astonished to find a man—or at least someone man-like in appearance. He quickly realized this was no mortal at all. This being was tall and powerful in appearance, yet peaceful and calm in his demeanor.

The man looked directly at Ethan, regarding him. Ethan froze where he stood. The man's countenance was like lightning. Ethan trembled to look upon him. He tried to speak to the stranger, but his voice failed him. No words would come.

Ethan knew this was no demon. He had not felt the tingling sensation he always felt when demons were near. Instead, he felt warmth, peace, and contentment.

The stranger was dressed in white robes with a golden breastplate girded upon his upper body. A sword, much larger than the one Ethan used in the spiritual realm, hovered at his side. Ethan suddenly realized he must be in the presence of an angel sent from Shaddai.

Though Ethan could not speak, the angel smiled at him, nodding slightly. Ethan smiled in return and simply let the warm, peaceful feeling wash over him. Though he had seen demons many times by now, this was the first time Ethan had ever seen an angel.

Though the angel never spoke a word to him, Ethan understood that Shaddai was with them, had heard their prayers, and would lead them in the way they should go.

Ethan turned his head to see if the helmsman or the night watchman had noticed the angel. When he turned back to look upon the heavenly being again, he had gone. Ethan felt a moment of disappointment, but the sense of peace from Shaddai remained.

He walked back toward the captain's quarters. There, to the left of the captain's dining room, was an anteroom, housing two bunks. This room had been allotted to Ethan and Gideon as the captain's guests. Ethan took his newfound peace and went to bed. Not a worry of harm disturbed him that night.

THE STAGE IS SET

Captain Bonifast awoke well before dawn and stood upon the deck of the Maelstrom, waiting. He wanted to see how many ships of his ragtag fleet had abandoned him during the night when they would not be seen. Ethan walked up to the captain as he stood looking out over the Azure Sea in the early morning sun.

To both of their surprise, all of the ships were still with them as near as they could count. "Well, lad, how bout that!" said the captain, greatly relieved. "I suppose our prayers got through last night after all." Bonifast grinned from ear to ear as he watched the fleet, intact, bobbing upon the gentle waves of the Azure.

Ethan recalled the angel he had seen the night before, following their time in prayer. He nodded in agreement. "I think you must be right, Captain," he said, smiling. Ethan had rested well in the peace he had received at the angel's appearing.

"Where's Gideon?" Ethan asked as he searched for his friend.

"He's up there on the bowsprit," Bonifast said. "I think I may have actually found someone crazier than myself."

Ethan followed the captain's extended index finger as he pointed out Gideon. He stood on a beam extending off the front of the ship. Rigging from the foremast ran down to it. Below the bowsprit lay nothing but water. Gideon stood there perfectly balanced upon it.

He performed a system of fighting maneuvers with an imagined sparring opponent. As Ethan watched him, he noticed also that Gideon had blindfolded himself. The bowsprit bobbed up and down with the rhythm of the sea, yet Gideon never faltered as he sparred with the wind.

Ethan thought for a moment he might call out to his friend, but the thought of startling the priest, and him losing his balance, falling into the water, and being instantly crushed by the speeding bow of the ship, stopped him.

"You'd better get dressed," Bonifast said. "And get something to eat from Cook. We'll attack the harbor at Emmanuel within three hours time.

A question popped into Ethan's mind. It was an odd question to ask an ex-pirate and a captain under the command of a king, but Ethan asked it anyway. "Are you afraid?"

Captain Bonifast gave him a thoughtful look, then looked out over the fleet sailing beside and behind the Maelstrom. "You see this armada, Ethan? This fighting force is only as capable as Shaddai makes it. I learned many years ago that it's not what I can do in battle, but what he will do in the battle. And because I'm not trusting in my ability, but Shaddai's, I have no need to fear. Even if we meet death in a few hours, I can leave the world, knowing that I did my best to serve him. There's a peace in that knowledge, Ethan—a peace that passes all understanding."

Bonifast's words of faith encouraged Ethan's heart, causing him to like the man even more. Even though Levi Bonifast was not as old as Ethan's father had been, there were still like qualities between them.

Ethan did as the captain told him. He went to get dressed and find something to eat. He was going to need his strength for the coming battle. If he had his guess, this battle might require the special talents that Shaddai had bestowed upon him.

Before Captain Bonifast had given the order to let every scrap of sail fly to the wind, and before the mouth of the harbor had come into sight, Ethan saw them—a cloud of demons so dense it looked like a thunderstorm brewing over the bay. "They know we're coming, Captain!" Ethan yelled over the wind.

"Aye that may be, lad, but we're going in fighting anyway," he called back. Levi Bonifast had that wild look in his eyes again, the same Ethan remembered upon first meeting the man in Tilley Town's jail. It was the same look the captain had worn while pulling off the escape from the gallows, simultaneously blowing up Mordred's ammunition depot. If there was a look Ethan hoped to see, going into this battle, it was that look!

Gideon was dressed in his priestly robes with two cutlasses held in the crimson sash around his waist. He had managed to find a bow and quiver jam-packed with arrows from the ship's armory. Ethan knew Gideon could do some serious damage with whatever weapon happened to find its way into his capable hands, but the bow would give him deadly distance.

He had a pot of black pitch burning next to him. He stuck arrows into the deck around him, building a deadly nest in preparation for the battle. Images of a fiery hail of arrows careening through the air into the sails of Mordred's ships danced in Ethan's mind, bringing a smile to his face.

Ethan looked back to the sky where the vortex of spirits churned above Emmanuel Bay. This battle is going to get very ugly, he thought. Then a brilliant light, like the sun breaking through clouds, shone down upon Ethan.

When he looked up, Ethan saw an entire legion of angelic beings like the one he had seen the night before. They flew in formation high above King Stephen's fleet. Each one of the heavenly warriors held a large broadsword in their right hand. Wings of purest white carried them through the spiritual ether.

No one onboard the ships saw the heavenly host, except Ethan. He looked back at the cloud of demons swirling in the sky over the bay. "Perhaps not so black a day as I supposed," he said, smiling.

The naval piers came into view, stretching out into the water. Dozens of tall sailing ships sat moored there. Others started to come away from the piers where they had been docked. King Stephen's fleet had definitely been spotted now. High above the bay, perched upon the white granite cliffs, stood the palace of the king and the city of Emmanuel. This would be their final target.

Captain Bonifast had prepared especially for this initial run at the harbor. The Maelstrom and the other ships started into the bay with the beach, piers, and Mordred's ships to their starboard side. Bonifast had as many of his guns as possible lined up on the starboard side so he could shoot at the enemy ships like fish in a barrel.

The stage was set. Angels soared in the ether above, ready to attack the demons swarming over the harbor. The ships of King Stephen's fleet ran full speed to get within firing range. And some of Mordred's ships were leaving dock in a scrambled attempt to take on the rebel armada while others remained moored to the piers.

The Maelstrom charged ahead of the other ships. Bonifast beamed as he surveyed his quarry—birds caught sleeping in their nests. "FIRE!" he screamed. This word was one of the last Ethan heard during the firefight that ensued.

BETRAYAL

The Maelstrom shook as though it were caught in the midst of a thundercloud. The boards beneath Ethan's feet vibrated almost continuously as shot after shot of cannon fire leaped away from the starboard side of the ship. Multiplied arcs of smoke trailed from the Maelstrom toward its targets.

Captain Bonifast watched with intense satisfaction as his gunnery crews fired, reloaded, and fired again. Years of experience in sea warfare allowed them to perform the tasks with keen precision—a well-oiled machine. Ethan watched them, awe inspired, as they worked ceaselessly at their task like ants bringing in their food stores for winter.

The Maelstrom kept up her speed as Captain Bonifast stayed their strafing run through the harbor. The ship trailed a cloud of smoke behind her, adding to it with every destructive volley. Bonifast watched his targets.

Wood burst into splinters upon the decks of the enemy ships. Bodies tumbled through the air. Masts burst asunder and fell like cut timber into the sea. Bonifast's special guns blasted through the hulls of enemy vessels, causing them to take on water and list to one side. The crimson sails, bearing the black standard of Mordred, shredded under fire and fell from their rigging, the picture of defeat.

The plan appeared to be working. The Maelstrom led what at first appeared to be a successful surprise attack on Mordred's navy. Then Ethan heard screaming. He turned to find Gideon with his bow in hand at the portside rail. He pointed frantically toward the rest of the armada, which had been following the Maelstrom on her strafing run of the harbor.

Ethan ran to the portside rail and saw why Gideon was screaming. Behind them, the attack was not going well at all. In fact, the mercenary ships, which Ethan had noted the day before as having demonic activity onboard, now turned their cannons on the other ships in King Stephen's army.

The armada ships loyal to King Stephen shuddered in the crossfire between Mordred's vessels and the mercenary ships they supposed had been fighting with them. Within minutes, the traitors pounded them into submission.

Ethan managed to gain Captain Bonifast's attention and motioned for him to hurry over. Trying to yell anything over the barrage of cannon fire was impossible. When Bonifast ran to the portside next to Ethan and saw what had happened, his wild look turned to fury. "We are betrayed!" he bellowed. The captain ran for the alarm bell, sounding it repeatedly. Only its piercing ring could capture the attention of the busy crew in the midst of all the cannon blasts.

The crew responded with an immediate cease-fire, awaiting the captain's orders. "The mercenary ships have betrayed us, lads! Spill the wind from our sails and bring us to a halt. Helmsman, hard to starboard! Gunnery crews, make ready!"

Some of the mercenary ships had taken up a hot pursuit of the lone Maelstrom, now that the other ships loyal to Stephen were sinking or too damaged to fight. But contrary to what might have been expected, Bonifast would not run. Ethan watched the captain as the wild fire returned to his eyes.

Captain Bonifast's order brought the Maelstrom to a near halt, sending her careening sideways, her starboard side and starboard cannons exposed to the oncoming ships. To the captains of these mercenary vessels and the few of Mordred's navy which had managed to get into open water and take up the pursuit, it made the Maelstrom a much bigger target to shoot for. Unfortunately, the bulk of their cannons were located on the sides of their ships.

Captain Bonifast gave his gunnery crews the order as the pursuing ships tried to slow and correct their headings. "FIRE!"

All of the Maelstrom's starboard guns lit up with puffs of gray smoke and flame. Multiple shells, including many of Bonifast's special variety, hurtled into the hulls of the oncoming ships. The advance of the enemy ships all but halted now as they attempted to get out of range of the Maelstrom's guns. She was still the largest ship in the harbor...at least until Mordred's Man-O-Wars rounded the white cliffs of granite below the king's palace.

Ethan looked to the sky and saw a terrible battle raging between hordes of demons and the heavenly warriors from Shaddai. Though the angels were greatly outnumbered, none of them suffered defeat. The angels are keeping the demons occupied while we fight down here! Ethan realized.

But with the larger warships approaching from the port side of the Maelstrom, at the other end of the harbor, the outcome began to look bleak for success. They had managed to cripple Mordred's ships in the harbor, but many more ships had been missing. Mordred had baited them with a few dozen choice targets while using the others to spring the trap.

Bonifast called through the ship's internal megaphone system. "Portside gunners, Fire!"

Another tremendous volley of cannon fire erupted from the Maelstrom toward the approaching Man-O-Wars, five in all. But the Man-O-Wars returned fire against the bare broadside of Bonifast's ship. Cannon balls streaked through the air, leading trails of smoke.

A wave of shells smashed into the side of the Maelstrom with tremendous force. "Hit the deck!" cried Bonifast as another wave of cannon shot tore across the deck. Ethan immediately realm shifted out of harm's way. He stood there, watching as Captain Bonifast and Gideon threw themselves to the deck.

Wood from the railings, masts, and other equipment shattered, spraying in every direction. The bodies of men from the gunnery crews on deck flew into the air or were smashed by iron balls traveling at high velocity.

For Ethan, everything slowed down. He tracked the iron cannon balls through the air, like birds riding the wind on a summer's day. His sight penetrated the smoke to find the enemy ships now surrounding the Maelstrom. They would soon attempt to board her.

Ethan looked to the sky where the fight between angels and demons still raged. Ethan did not know what to do. The cannons continued to pound into the side of the Maelstrom. The enemy intended to clear their way of any resistance before boarding the old pirate ship. Ethan whipped his blade at a shot that would have killed Gideon and Bonifast, deflecting it into the sea. The sword reappeared in his hand a moment later.

Most of the deck crew was dead or missing by now. Mordred's Man-O-Wars glided in to take their prize. Their crews hurled grappling hooks across the span of sea between ships in order to pull alongside and get across. Ethan ran to Gideon and Captain Bonifast. They were both dazed and confused, lying face down on the deck.

The air filled with smoke around the battered Maelstrom, but it did not prevent Ethan's preternatural eyes from seeing the boarding party from the closest Man-O-War. Within moments, the enemy would cross over to the Maelstrom.

Ethan, still in the spirit, grabbed the clothing of both men and hoisted them up onto his shoulders. He did not know how he had the strength to do so, but he was certainly glad for it. Ethan took his friends and ran down the stairs, taking them below deck.

The hallways down below had filled with smoke and the floors and walls were stained with fresh blood. In some places, the walls had burst out from explosions caused by cannon fire. Ethan set Gideon and Captain Bonifast down on the floor and materialized in the physical world again.

He shook them, shouting, "Wake up!"

Groggy, the men began to recover. "Captain, we must escape!" Ethan hissed, hoping the boarders wouldn't hear him.

Gideon started to stand on his own. Captain Bonifast shook himself and said, "What's happened, lad? Where are we?"

"The crew on deck is dead. I've pulled you both down below. We have to find a way off the Maelstrom before it's too late," Ethan said.

Just then, all three heard the heavy thump of boots pounding the deck above them. Hearts raced. "We've been boarded," Bonifast whispered.

SELF DESTRUCT

Captain Levi Bonifast patted the wall where they were standing. "They'll not have you my beauty," he said to the ship as if consoling the glorious old girl over their predicament. Then the captain turned to Ethan and Gideon there in the half-light and said, "Come on, boys, we've got a job to do before we leave."

Normally, Ethan would have been smiling at the thought of doing a job of nearly any sort with Captain Bonifast—he was such an interesting fellow to be around. But the wild look on the captain's face had transformed to one of desperation.

It was the kind of expression that one might find on a mother whose children she is about to defend to the death in the face of overwhelming odds. It was the same face Ethan saw in nightmares when his mother pulled him and his sister from their beds—the same grim resolve to look death in the eye, then run headlong toward it.

"What are we going to do?" Gideon whispered as the boys followed the captain down into the depths of the ship. Ethan followed, suspecting it would be terrible whatever it was. Captain Bonifast did not answer Gideon's question.

The captain had chosen a course of action. Nothing would deter him from what was about to take place. He grabbed two oil lanterns from the wall as they descended almost as far as was possible. The captain handed one lantern to Gideon, then with the other, he pushed through the door at the end of the hall.

Gideon asked again, "where are we—"

He stopped in mid-sentence as the door Bonifast had gone through swung closed before him. It read, Powder Room. Gideon turned with the lamp in his hand to look at Ethan. Ethan swallowed big, but the lump held firm in his throat. He hunched his shoulders at Gideon and waited for the warrior-priest to follow the captain. Gideon turned back to the door and proceeded through cautiously, his grip tightening on the lamp handle as he did so. It would not do for fire to drop in this room.

When Ethan and Gideon went inside, they were struck by how many barrels sat stacked inside. "There must be a few hundred of them," Ethan said.

Gideon put another hand on the handle of the lamp he was holding. They saw the glow of Captain Bonifast's lamp down a corridor through the barrels. It bobbed back and forth carelessly. Then the captain slowly crept back toward them and the door. Under his arm, he carried one of the smaller barrels. Bonifast poured a steady line of black powder onto the floor.

"Back out the door, boys," he said. They complied quickly. It was a bad idea to argue with a man holding twenty pounds of uncorked black powder under his arm and holding a glass oil lamp in the other.

Captain Bonifast followed them out the door. He continued to pour the black powder line on the floor, over the threshold, and down the hall beyond. When they reached the end of the hall at the stairwell, Bonifast emptied the rest of the powder in a small pile and set the barrel down. "Listen, men, when we head up the stairs we'll be going for the galley on the next deck. There's a large window of stained glass coming out the rear of the ship. We're going through it before this blows."

They heard the thump of boot steps above them again. "We've got to hurry, lads," Bonifast said.

Ethan and Gideon knew where the galley was. They ran ahead of Bonifast, leaving him on the stairs with his lantern in his hand. Levi Bonifast slid his palm over the wooden planks one last time, as though caressing the cheek of a dying wife. "Goodbye old girl," he whispered.

Captain Bonifast tossed the lantern down where the mound of black powder lay on the floor in the hallway. The glass bell shattered, releasing the flame and igniting the powder. By the time the hiss of burning powder began to run down the hallway toward the fully stocked powder room, Levi Bonifast had already gone.

Ethan and Gideon paused at the open entrance to the galley. The sunlight beamed through the stained glass window at the far end. "Where is he?" Gideon asked.

No sooner had he voiced the question, than Captain Bonifast appeared in a hard run. "Don't stop, lads! We'll be lucky if it doesn't kill us too!" He ran past them into the galley. The captain threw his body, shoulder first, into the window. It exploded outward, sending shattered glass and Bonifast into the sea below.

Ethan and Gideon ran hard and leaped through the shattered window after him. Ethan shifted into the spiritual realm as he left the ship. He watched both Gideon and Bonifast hit the water below. The captain's words pounded in his brain—"we'll be lucky if it doesn't kill us too."

Ethan shot downward into the sea and found his two friends dazed and struggling against the current. When the powder room went off, it would blow out the bottom of the ship first, causing a massive concussion wave in the water, killing anything in the vicinity.

Ethan concentrated on holding them and grabbed the two men by their clothes. He surged forward—his body traveling through the ether while their mortal forms dragged through the blue water.

Ethan focused on the white granite cliffs before him. They were still several hundred yards away. The water's drag on Gideon and Captain Bonifast held back his progress as Ethan fought to get his friends to safety. Bonifast and Gideon held their breaths, unsure if it was Ethan pulling them.

Only seconds had passed since they had entered the Azure Sea. Captain Bonifast still counted down in his head.

The men of the boarding party, from one of the Man-O-Wars, descended steadily into the bowels of the wounded Maelstrom. They encountered several members of the crew along the way. Their captain dispatched them without mercy. He did not like prisoners.

Presently, they heard the sounds of shouting and of glass shattering. They continued deep into the ship to investigate. A faint, flickering light caught the eye of the captain of the Man-O-War. He led his boarding party down the stairs to the lowest deck on the ship. The design and layout were unfamiliar to him. It was difficult to ascertain exactly where they were. Several of the men, with lanterns, came to the front and handed the captain a light.

They descended into a dark hallway. A door stood at the far end. A flickering light outlined the doorframe, coming from the room beyond. The smell of cannon smoke hung in the air. The boarding party reached the door at the end of the hall and the flickering light. The captain held up his lantern to read the writing on the door. Powder Room. The Man-O-War's captain screamed, "GET OUT!" These were the last words any of them would ever hear.

Ethan pulled upward and his friends breached the surface of the water. Both Gideon and Captain Bonifast gulped air as they found themselves hauled like fish from the Azure Sea by invisible hands. Bonifast's count ended—"two, one."

Ethan had managed to get his friends nearly 250 yards from the battered Maelstrom before the black powder ignited. KA-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM! The explosion sounded like a hundred cannons trying to go off at the same moment.

The Maelstrom bloomed like a fiery flower behind them before the sound ever found their ears. The old pirate ship erupted in every direction at once, sending flaming debris into the sky. A shockwave surged outward from the explosion like an invisible juggernaut, smashing everything in its path.

The three Man-O-Wars, surrounding the Maelstrom, ripped apart as the shockwave hit them. Their sails were shredded and set on fire as the masts splintered, falling like trees toppled by a mighty wind. A fiery cloud engulfed the entire lot of them, as more explosions erupted from the powder stores onboard the enemy ships.

When the shockwave hit Gideon and Bonifast a second later, it sent all three of them reeling. Ethan was pulled by their bodies as the blast wave tossed them all back into the sea. Ethan shifted back to the physical world after they hit the water. His friends quickly came back to the surface for air.

Levi Bonifast watched as the black mushroom cloud rose from his ship. There was nothing recognizable about the old seabird now. Had it not been for the fact that they were all in the water, the two young men might have noticed several tears tracing down Bonifast's stubbly cheeks. "I guess I'm a civilian now," he muttered under his breath as the three men bobbed in the sea.
SEWER RATS

The Maelstrom was no more. Nothing but ash and burning debris remained. But Captain Bonifast, Ethan, and Gideon did not linger to watch it burn. Bonifast had a plan. "We'll enter the palace ourselves and find your sister," he told Ethan.

"But how? How can we get inside from here?"

Here was a good two hundred yards from the granite cliffs now towering above them. They were crowned at the top by the king's palace, now the home of Mordred himself.

"I've scaled many a rock face before," Gideon said, "but it would take equipment we simply don't have to get up that cliff."

"You're not thinking, boys," Bonifast said. "If you knew anything about the palace, then you would know there is a series of drains which lead away from it to the sea. Now, how do you suppose they drain into the Azure?"

Ethan and Gideon looked at one another puzzled, then at the white cliffs ahead. "Through the rock?"

"Precisely! We only have to swim over to where the rock meets the water, then find the drains. I've heard from old acquaintances that the drains will lead you right into the throne room if you know what you're doing."

"People have gone through them before?" Ethan asked.

Bonifast smiled. "Oh yes, they have. I've not been myself, but that's the only direct way I know of."

They heard the sounds of a distant battle above them. "King Stephen must have already begun his attack," Bonifast said.

"Perhaps we should join him," Ethan suggested.

"He won't be able to breach the walls," Gideon said. "No, I think the captain's suggestion is probably going to be our best bet for getting inside and rescuing your sister, Ethan. Besides, the battle with Stephen will have Mordred and his forces preoccupied. No one will expect us."

"I'll go ahead while you two swim for the cliffs," Ethan said. "I'll have the best chance of finding the drain."

Levi and Gideon nodded their agreement, then began to tread water toward the pristine rock ahead. Ethan entered the spiritual realm again, floating up from the sea. He raced ahead of his friends toward the cliffs.

Ethan watched the sky expecting to find the angels still engaged in battle, but they were gone. The edge of the demon cloud remained barely visible above the top of the cliffs. Ethan supposed the spiritual warfare must have moved over the battlefield where King Stephen fought to breach the city walls.

Ethan soared upward as he reached the cliff. His supernatural eyes scanned every crevice of the white rock, looking for the drain coming from the palace above. It took him nearly twenty minutes of going back and forth to find it. The drain gate had been painted in white and grey to match the cliff and it was not as big an opening as Ethan would have hoped for.

The gate was located twenty feet above the water level. This presented the problem of getting Levi Bonifast and Gideon up to the drain in order to enter. The drain tunnel was roughly three feet in diameter. It would be a tight squeeze. Provided it did not open up into larger tunnels higher up, this would be a long and tenuous climb to the palace.

Ethan headed back to his friends. They had swam closer to the cliff wall. He stopped above them and reentered the physical world. Ethan appeared out of thin air about five feet over their heads. Gravity dragged him into the water.

"Did you find it, lad?" Levi asked as Ethan came up for air again.

"It's over there," he said, pointing to their right, "about twenty feet up on the wall."

"Did you see any way for us to climb it?" Gideon asked.

"None. But I can carry you up to the drain one at a time."

They swam the remaining distance to the wall. They could barely make out the drain opening from the water. "I'll go up and cut through the gate, then come back for each of you," Ethan said.

Ethan liked knowing the plan depended on him so much. It felt good to be an integral part of what Shaddai was doing against Mordred. He felt like victory might be certain now. He was so close to fulfilling the prophecy.

Ethan shifted to the spiritual realm again and shot up to the drain tunnel. He pulled the heavenly sword from his side, slashing at the bars of the drain gate. An orange streak of molten metal marked where his blade had cut through.

Ethan used his armored foot to smash the two halves of the gate in. Ethan let go of his sword, willing it to his side. The supernatural blade obeyed, snapping back to his left hip.

Ethan dropped down to his comrades still floating in the water below. They were only half expecting it when Ethan grabbed each of them under their arms, in turn, and hoisted them to the open drain gate. Gideon, then Levi, crawled inside the dark tunnel and Ethan followed, coming back to the physical world. "It's going to be difficult without any light," Levi said.

"I'll go for a lantern," Ethan said. He shot out of the tunnel again, shifting in mid-air. He was getting braver with his gift. Ethan flew to the burning wreckage of the Maelstrom and Mordred's ships. It was hard to tell which was which by now. Ethan soared through the fiery debris and smoke until he found what he was looking for—two lanterns lying among the wreckage of twisted boards and charred bodies.

Ethan took them up and used a piece of wood, which was still on fire, to light them. One of them had a cracked bell on it, but it would do for their purposes. Ethan returned quickly to the drainage tunnel where his friends were waiting. He handed them the lanterns, then returned to the physical realm.

"What about you?" Gideon asked.

"I think it might be wise if I go ahead of you two and make sure nothing is blocking our way."

"Good idea," Levi said, "we could use a scout to keep us on track. This tunnel is supposed to branch out into several directions at some point." They all agreed and Ethan returned to the unseen.

He was beginning to enjoy being in this form more than in the physical world. Here there were no constraints on him, no gravity—not even a need to breathe and matter became as passable as air. Ethan went ahead of them, up the tunnel like lead shot through the barrel of a musket, his spiritual sight lighting his way.

The drain tunnel wound up through the rock toward the palace. There were other smaller tunnels intersecting with it, but otherwise it continued directly to the palace. Ethan began to get that tingling feeling, which always warned him of the presence of demons. He stopped below the drain gate in the floor of the palace. He did not know what room lay beyond and he wasn't sure how many demons might be waiting on the other side.

Ethan descended the tunnel again to his friends. He had to hurry. Elspeth had to be here in the castle. If he could only reach her, then everything would be all right. When he reached Gideon and Levi again, reappearing in the tunnel ahead of them, they had not even climbed half the distance, yet. "I've found the palace up ahead. There are intersecting tunnels, but this one goes straight to it."

"What room does it terminate into?" Levi asked.

"I'm not sure. There's a grate in the floor and then one lower. I didn't go in yet. I felt demons nearby."

"Felt them?" Levi said.

"No time to explain," Ethan said. "We've got to hurry. Elspeth must be here in the palace. I've got to save her!"

Levi and Gideon looked at one another. "Well, it's going to take us a while to get to the top," Levi said. "We have to go the hard way and this isn't as easy as it looks."

Ethan considered it. They had a long way to go. Anything could happen in that time. Elspeth might be lost to him already. "You're right, Captain. We don't have time to wait. I can go in alone."

"No!" Gideon said. "You must not face Mordred alone, Ethan. It's too dangerous."

"But I'm Shaddai's Deliverer, Gideon. You said so yourself."

"Ethan, you need to think about what you're doing. Let's pray about what we need to do. We have to let Shaddai guide our steps or—"

"Shaddai is guiding my steps, Gideon," he snapped. "I don't have time to wait any longer. The Lord has given me this power, and it's time I fulfilled this prophecy against Mordred! I've got to save Elspeth."

"But, Ethan—"

Ethan disappeared. He did not wait to see their reactions. Ethan shot back up the tunnel toward the palace. He was going to face Mordred now and he was going to rescue his sister. He had to.

THE WRAITH GENERAL

When Ethan reached the double floor grate, he was still trying to let go of his anger. Gideon was wrong. He could do this. After all, he was the Deliverer. What more did he need to pray about?

Ethan drew his supernatural sword and cut through the two grates. He did not need it cut, but Gideon and Levi would need a way out of the tunnel. Having done this, Ethan rose into the room through the floor.

He found the chamber to be a huge throne room. Ethan had never seen such a massive place. There were many soldiers and civilians moving around inside. All of them seemed to be attending to the man sitting upon a large golden throne at the end of the room.

A huge golden laver stood on either side of the chamber. Ethan had heard something about them being used by priests for purification before approaching Shaddai with sacrifices for sins. They seemed out of place here in the king's throne room.

But what was even more out of place was what the people were doing with them. A feast was in progress, a celebration of some kind. Mordred is celebrating while a battle rages outside of the city? It seemed impossible to believe.

Servants filled pitchers of wine from the giant lavers. Each giant laver held enough wine to fill a small pond. Ethan's anger kindled a white-hot flame in his belly. He felt righteous indignation welling up within. This was an insult to Shaddai—using temple vessels for such activities was an abomination.

Many of the people laughed and talked, eating at a large table overlaid with the finest spread of food Ethan had ever laid his eyes on. Servants attended to their every whim. Some of the guests were soldiers of high rank, while others appeared to be merchants and politicians. Many lower ranking soldiers lined both sides of the massive throne room, standing at attention. The entire palace had been constructed of brilliant white granite, which descended the cliffs into the sea. The white walls reflected every bit of lamp light. Still, darkness which could be felt pervaded everything here.

Ethan tingled all over. Demons had to be here somewhere, but he had not seen them yet. At the end of the chamber, Mordred sat upon the throne, attended by one of his servants. He drank wine from a golden goblet and tore the meat from a large turkey leg with his teeth.

Mordred was a large man dressed in black and crimson. His leather armor bore a standard overlaid in gold and a black cape draped down his back over the throne. He wore a gray beard several inches in length and his wavy hair fell just over his shoulders. A large broadsword stood unsheathed against the right arm of the throne.

Ethan stood invisible in the middle of the room between the lavers, looking at Mordred. He raised his sword, ready for the attack. He would kill Mordred according to the prophesy. Then he would find Elspeth and rescue her from this place.

Just as he was about to charge at the golden throne, Mordred looked up and began to laugh aloud. Ethan stopped short, wondering why the man laughed. Mordred looked right at him and said, "You actually came!"

Ethan looked around, trying to see whom Mordred had spoken to. After all, Ethan was still invisible to human eyes in his spiritual form. Mordred stood up at the throne and gingerly held up his turkey leg. Then the big man tossed it through the air so that it landed precisely at Ethan's feet. Ethan watched it roll to a stop in front of him. It didn't make any sense.

"Surprised I can see you, Deliverer of God?" he said. "Mordred said that you would come for him, but I must admit, I wasn't completely convinced."

Ethan's eyes grew wide. His expression must have given away what he was thinking. "Oh, you thought I was Mordred, didn't you?" the big man said. "I hate to disappoint you, Deliverer, but Mordred felt he should leave this place just in case you managed to come here. I am General Rommil, Lord Mordred's second in command. We were just celebrating the inevitable defeat of King Stephen's army."

Ethan didn't know what to do next. Mordred had slipped into hiding somewhere and he didn't even know where to look for his sister in the palace. He took a deeper look into the man boasting before him. A single spirit possessed General Rommil. Overwhelming darkness emanated from the demon.

Ethan raised his sword again. "What is your name, demon?"

Rommil's laughter faded to a devilish grin. "I am Jericho, son of man. Why do you ask?"

"I just wanted to know who you were before I destroy you," Ethan boasted.

The demon within Rommil laughed through him. "Don't you realize by now? You can't destroy me. Even if you managed to defeat the man, I would be back eventually."

This was the kind of insight Ethan needed. Okay, so I can't destroy demons, only send them away temporarily.

"Do you really take me for a fool, boy?" Jericho asked.

At that point, Ethan heard swords drawn behind him. The soldiers closed in from both sides of the room. Civilians stood from their places at the table. Ethan saw, now, that demons dwelt with them as well, only on a deeper level like Jericho. It took greater concentration to make them out within the mortals they inhabited. Spiritual swords mingled with the steel in their human hands. When the first possessed man closed on him, Ethan's heavenly blade locked with the physical steel of the soldier's sword.

The demons can fight with their weapons through humans! Darkness permeated the entire chamber now—power emanating from the demon, Jericho. Ethan realized he had made a mistake. Gideon's admonishment to pray resounded in his mind like a trumpet.

Ethan tried to pass through the floor and escape, but the Jericho's power somehow prevented him.

"There is no escape for you, Deliverer!" Jericho said, as if answering the unspoken question in Ethan's mind. "You have stumbled into death this day, son of man."

Swords flashed at him, but Ethan managed to defend himself. People, who had been eating and laughing, moments before, now stalked toward him from every direction. Each of their expressions had changed from jovial to hate-filled.

Ethan leaped over several possessed people, trying to find space to fight as they closed in. More swords swung at him. Men leaped at him like wild animals lunging for their prey. Ethan's blade cut the air. His weapon met one sword in flight and then another, but they were too many.

The battle in the bottom of the slaver ship's cargo hold flashed through his mind again. He had walked into a similar predicament now. Then, he had barely escaped, but now he faced a far more powerful foe.

Ethan remembered how his weapon multiplied as needed and found the second blade at his hip again. He freed one of his hands to take it, using it just in time to block another sword coming at him. He blazed a trail through some of the closest dinner guests as he fought wildly with both swords. Each time he hit a person, the blades struck the demon within, sending the creature tumbling out of its host. The humans crumpled to the floor, while the demons dissolved into the ether—returning to their own wicked abode.

But there were more to replace those who fell. Ethan noticed that General Rommil had not entered the battle. A possessed attacker managed to strike Ethan. The pain was excruciating, but his armor protected him from the worst of it. He fought back and dispatched the demon and its host—one to unconsciousness, the other to the netherworld.

Two more strikes got past his defenses. He felt the pain even though he did not see any wounds. Their strikes weakened him—each unseen wound sapping his strength. Ethan leaped straight up out of the swarm of bodies trying to pile on him like ants on a piece of discarded food. He reached the high stone ceiling, clinging to it like a fly. Rommil still stood at the far end of the throne room. Ethan leaped away from the granite ceiling at an angle, bringing him down near the general.

Rommil appeared surprised by Ethan's aggressive move. He grabbed his broadsword from its leaning position at the arm of the throne, holding it out in front of him. Ethan hit the floor, running toward General Rommil and the demon, Jericho, within.

Ethan used his momentum to his advantage. He struck Rommil's broadsword with one of his own, deflecting the weapon. He drove the other right into the Wraith General. But in the split second before it hit Rommil, Jericho leaped from the old soldier's body. Without the presence of the demon, Ethan's weapon pierced Rommil's physical body. Jericho shot away to the stone wall, immediately bouncing back with his own spiritual sword in hand. Ethan withdrew his sword from Rommil, letting the old soldier fall back on the throne. He deflected Jericho's attack, but noticed the possessed soldiers closing in again from the far side of the throne room.

Jericho deflected several shots and struck Ethan's face with his fist, sending the boy falling backward to the floor. Ethan recovered quickly, then scrambled back to his feet to attack the demon.

The possessed mob had begun to overrun Ethan's position, when a wild whoop erupted from the middle of their ranks. Howls of pain came from the soldiers between the two gigantic lavers filled with wine. Levi and Gideon had emerged from the floor grate, swinging cutlasses taken with them from the earlier sea battle.

Levi had the same wild-eyed expression as before. Ethan loved seeing it now in his time of trouble. Gideon somersaulted over some of the possessed soldiers, landing among them. His entire body became a whirlwind of destruction. His elusive blade dispatched members of the mob like a scythe laying down wheat, while his fists and feet pounded through their ranks like battering rams.

Jericho grew furious at the sight of them coming to Ethan's aid. He launched into a furious barrage of jabs and slashes, forcing Ethan back. Jericho continued to advance on Ethan, his every hacking blow threatening to dispatch the Deliverer once and for all.

Gideon and Levi searched for Ethan, but they could not see him or his demon opponent. They only saw Rommil's dead body draped haphazardly across the throne. Gideon and Bonifast continued to push in that direction, hoping that Ethan was still in the throne room somewhere.

Ethan felt his wounds aching—the same wounds he had just received when the mob of soldiers had swarmed against him. He grew weaker by the second. What had happened to Shaddai? Where was the strength he had known recently? Why had he not prayed before coming into this battle as Gideon had warned?

All of these questions hammered Ethan's mind as Jericho took advantage of his weakness, driving him back. Jericho knocked one of the spiritual swords from Ethan's hand. It evaporated in mid-air as it left him. The demon smashed Ethan's face with his boot, knocking him back further, then Jericho flung his demonic broadsword at Ethan with both hands. Ethan was not fast enough to stop it. The weapon spun at him, struck his blade, deflected off and hit Ethan. The weapon exploded against him, shooting pain through his entire body. Ethan felt darkness take him as he disappeared from the spiritual plane.

Levi Bonifast and Gideon hammered away at the soldiers and armed civilians in the great throne room. Gideon remembered a time when he had been brought to this very room as a warrior apprentice. They had come nine years ago when he was just ten years old. He had been among a dozen others who would be officially accepted as fully trained priests in The Order of Shaddai that year. The High Priest, Isaiah, had brought them to receive the king's blessing. That day had been one of the proudest moments of his young life. Now, Mordred owned the throne and darkness reigned in Nod.

Gideon plowed through the ranks of sword bearing merchants and infantry soldiers toward the throne. Between his skillful prowess and Captain Bonifast's swashbuckling antics, they made steady progress. More enemies entered the throne room from the doors at the far end.

Gideon saw a flash of light nearby, Ethan suddenly appearing—tossed out of the spiritual plane like a rag doll. He spilt onto the stone floor like a basket of potatoes, unmoving. "LEVI!" Gideon shouted.

Levi ducked under one of the massive legs of a giant laver in order to block a sword and return his own. He looked up in time to see Gideon shoulder block a merchant out of his way and use the poor fellow's back as a springboard to somersault over several other people.

Gideon landed on the stone floor, running toward Ethan. The boy lay unconscious but breathing. Gideon found the strength to lift him onto his shoulders, bearing the boy's weight. He tried to avoid the mass of soldiers coming after him. At least, the enemy had been diverted between himself and Levi.

Gideon ran away from the group of possessed soldiers rushing after him. He led them in a wide arc around the end of the throne room, using one of the long tables from the banquet as a barrier. He ran straight for Levi, who had cleared out the soldiers around himself. Time had run out for them.

"What do we do? There are too many," Gideon said, as they met again in front of a giant laver. The demon possessed closed from behind. They had seconds before the soldiers overwhelmed them.

Without thinking about it, Levi turned and hacked through one of the four support legs holding the laver up. Two strikes damaged it enough, so that it gave way completely, spilling massive quantities of wine out onto the chamber's stone floor.

Hundreds of gallons of red wine swept up the wooden banquet tables, tossing them around the room like toys. Translucent red waves toppled bodies and furnishings, searching for the path of least resistance.

The waves hit the laver on the opposite side of the room so hard that it, too, gave way, toppling over, spilling its contents into the flood, making it even harder to find footing as the wine cascaded across the floor, hit the sidewalls, and came back on itself.

The flood also swept Gideon, Ethan, and Levi off their feet. Levi spotted their way of escape. There in the middle of the chamber, a whirlpool formed above the only hole in the floor. "Come on!" Levi shouted as he pushed toward the whirlpool. Gideon still held the unconscious Ethan over his shoulder.

The vortex seized them, sending them spinning around three times before plunging through the drainage hole. In the mass confusion of bodies and debris swept around the throne room, no one even noticed what had happened to them.

THE DELIVERER LIVES

The flood of wine sent Gideon, Ethan, and Levi shooting down the drain tunnel, riding an overwhelming current. It sloshed and whipped through the three-foot diameter pipe like an angry snake as gravity urged it downward toward the sea below. They were not sure how it happened, but they were all three sent down an intersecting tunnel off the main pipe from the one they had climbed through earlier.

After a quick but brief ride through this intersecting pipe, it deposited them rather violently into an anteroom. They splashed down into a shallow pool about two feet deep. The anteroom was large and rectangular. A stone walkway stretched down either side of the pool. Gideon pulled Ethan up onto the walkway with Levi following.

"Is he alive?" Levi asked.

Gideon laid Ethan flat on his back and checked for breathing and a heartbeat. He sighed and said, "Yes, he's alive. Thank the Lord."

Ethan began to stir. He opened his eyes to slits and tried to speak. "Gideon?" he whispered. The effort made him wince in pain, clutching his midsection.

"Maybe he's wounded, but I don't see any blood," Levi said. He opened up Ethan's shirt and what he saw horrified him. "They look like burns of some kind."

Gideon saw them as well. "I've never seen anything quite like them," he said.

The wounds looked as if a red-hot sword had been drawn over the flesh. They were obviously causing Ethan great pain.

"Do you think you might be able to stand?" Gideon asked.

Ethan winced and nodded. "I'll try," he said through the pain.

Both Levi and Gideon helped Ethan get to his feet. He was still dazed and weak, but the Deliverer of Shaddai lived. Ethan found it hard to stand or walk without leaning on his two friends, but to his credit, he tried hard.

The anteroom opened up at one end into a large tunnel. Here the pool turned into a creek of sorts, flowing gently toward a distance speck of light. They chose to walk in this direction. Light probably meant sunlight, and all they had to do at this point was reach the end of the tunnel and see where they were.

The walk was a long one. Ethan managed to gain a little more strength as they continued. Within a half-hour, they had still not walked half of the tunnel's length. The point of light grew steadily, but they still had a long way to go.

Ethan spent most of his steps moaning, wincing in pain from his wounds. Then he spoke up. "I'm sorry for not listening, Gideon. I was a fool for not taking your advice."

"I'm sorry you weren't able to rescue your sister," Gideon said.

"I probably could have, if I'd only listened to you and allowed Shaddai to guide my actions. Hopefully she's safe and I'll have another chance to try."

"We'll not give up hope. We'll try again as Shaddai leads, all right?" Gideon said.

"Aye, lad, we'll get her eventually," Levi said. "Just trust in the Lord and the power of his might."

Ethan smiled as much as he could through the pain and nodded. He cast a glance toward heaven, whispering, "I should have done that in the first place."

The trio continued, walking through the tunnel. The point of light gradually became a circle of light, terminating into the mouth of an underground cave. They emerged into bright sunshine, hearing the noise of horses in the distance.

A high grassy band rose up on either side of the creek as it continued on away from the mouth of the cave. The men climbed, having to drag Ethan all the way. When they reached the top, they saw an army, apparently in full retreat.

The white granite walls of the city of Emmanuel lay to their left, two miles away. The army retreated from the city and looked badly beaten. Many horses trotted along with wounded men in their saddles. Other men walked as best they could.

There appeared to be no rush to leave and none of Mordred's soldiers were in pursuit. Levi and the others scanned the walls of the city, finding them stained with black powder burns and blood. It was obvious King Stephen had not breached the wall. A great many, perhaps thousands of men, lay in the battlefield round about the walls of Emmanuel. The sight of so much death marred the city's once unblemished beauty.

"They're retreating!" Levi said.

"They're beaten," Gideon corrected. "I wonder if the king has survived this ill-fated attack."

Levi simply stood, staring as the king's army limped away, like a beaten dog, from Mordred's bloodstained ramparts. There had been such high hopes in the planning. They had supposed the king's plan so well conceived. Had they not undertake this fight for the Lord's glory? Had they not done their duty?

"We should try and catch up with King Stephen, if he lives," Gideon said.

That uncertainty left a hollow feeling in Levi's stomach. Was the king alive? It had only been King Stephen's unrelenting determination that had gotten the war effort this far. If he had been killed, then Levi feared no one would be able to rally the people against Mordred. And if they didn't defeat the dark lord, then it would only be a matter of time before Mordred pushed into other kingdoms like Wayland and beyond.

DEFEAT and DISCOURAGEMENT

Levi and Gideon, with Ethan in tow, tried to head off the retreating army of King Stephen. They took a path following the creek and were able to intercept the wounded band as it followed the Emmanuel road. Ethan saw why a pursuit was not forthcoming from Mordred's Wraith Generals. He saw the heavenly host guarding between Mordred's army and King Stephen's retreat. They had not brought him victory, but neither had they allowed him to die. Ethan turned his gaze back to Stephen's horsemen as they began to pass by on the road.

Gideon and Bonifast stayed back on the side of the road as the despondent army passed by. Stephen's army marched like a funeral procession. They had been soundly defeated, and from the looks of these remaining soldiers, they had expected not to win.

A larger group of soldiers on horses approached in the midst of the others. In the middle of the armed cavalry rode King Stephen of Wayland. He looked disheveled in his bronze armor. Bloody smears covered his garments and his mount. Some of it may have even been his own. A rivulet of dried blood ran down his temple to his neck. His helmet was missing.

"King Stephen!" Levi shouted, entering the road ahead of the king.

The guards riding with Stephen drew swords in order to defend their king. "Captain Bonifast? Is that you, Levi?" the king asked.

"Yes, Your Majesty," he replied, bowing deeply at the waist. Gideon was still helping Ethan to stand. He had regained a good deal of strength, but Ethan was still dependent on his friend for support.

The cavalry relaxed when they saw their king responding kindly to the captain. In truth, they had had their fill of war for the day. The king approached on horseback and stopped with his men, who now gathered around Levi, while watching Gideon and Ethan as well. "What news, Captain?" King Stephen asked.

"We were able to destroy a great deal of Mordred's fleet in the bay, my lord. However, the mercenaries making up much of our armada betrayed us. They fired upon the ships which were loyal to you and helped Mordred's navy to sink them. Man-O-Wars surrounded my ship after surprising us from the far side of the bay. We did, however, manage to blow up the Maelstrom and destroy several of these vessels in the process of escaping."

"Bravo, Captain...and your crew?"

"Killed, sire,"

"I'm sorry, Captain," Stephen said. "As you can see, we were defeated in our efforts to gain the city. Most of my men were killed or ran before our enemy. They attacked with such ferocity. I've never seen anything like it. I'm amazed we've been able to retreat without Mordred sending his army after us."

"Mordred is not in the city, Highness," Ethan said through his pain.

"What did you say, boy?" the king asked.

"Mordred was not in the palace or the city," Ethan repeated.

"And how do you know that?"

"We managed to get inside of Mordred's throne room," Gideon said as he helped Ethan to approach the king.

"Is this true, Captain?" King Stephen asked.

"Yes, it is," Levi confirmed. "After we escaped from my ship, the boy was able to locate a drainage tunnel leading up into the palace through the white cliffs."

"I see."

Ethan spoke up again. "I fought with a Wraith General named Rommil who claimed that Mordred was in hiding while your army was being defeated. He was laughing about it."

"You faced Rommil?" the king asked.

"He did, Sire," Gideon affirmed.

Levi nodded. "He also killed him."

"I see," the king said, admiring the young man. "You are indeed a brave lad. I congratulate you on your personal victory. My army, on the other hand, can do nothing more here. And if Mordred is truly in hiding, we have wasted many lives today."

"Mordred fears the Deliverer of Shaddai," Gideon added.

"The Deliverer of Shaddai?" the king said. "The village of Salem was destroyed along with the Deliverer nearly ten years ago."

Gideon squeezed Ethan's arm before he could correct Stephen's assumption. "Sire, are you saying that you do not believe the prophecy?" Gideon asked.

Stephen's expression grew cold. "What is done is done, priest of Shaddai. How can I place my faith in a dead man? I was not the one who allowed the Deliverer to be destroyed. I have attempted to do what the prophesied Deliverer was supposed to do, but Shaddai was not with us today."

"Can we hope to be successful against Mordred if our faith is not in the Shaddai's Word, Highness?" Gideon asked.

Stephen clearly did not like the implication that he had given up his faith, but he could not take back what he had said. His pride wounded, the king simply said, "And where, pray tell, were Shaddai's warrior-priests today? Did my eyes fail me, or were they absent from the battlefield while my men and I were spilling our blood, attempting to dethrone Shaddai's enemy?"

"We must all do things in Shaddai's time, Sire," Gideon said.

"And still, Evil has been victorious over the righteous, today" the king spat. He turned back to his men waiting with him. "We ride for Wayland! Sergeant Jepson, leave these men some horses."

With that, the king goaded his mount and began his slow march back toward his homeland. The cavalry soldiers fell into place with their king, leaving Ethan and the others standing in the road. One of the soldiers, riding behind the king, stopped with two mares in tow. He handed the reins to Levi, then got back in line with the others marching toward Wayland.

They watched the sad procession limping away. "Seeing that lot passing through on their way back to Wayland will do more to depress hope in Nod than anything Mordred could do to us," Levi said.

Gideon nodded as he helped Ethan up onto one of the mares. "Now I know why this battle did not go as it should have."

"What do you mean?" Levi asked.

"I mean, the king has forgotten his faith in the Lord. No wonder they were defeated so quickly," Gideon said.

"Now wait a minute, Gideon—" Levi began.

"I'm serious," Gideon said. "I know King Stephen of Wayland, and this was not like him at all. They ran before their enemies. You heard him say he did not believe Shaddai's Deliverer would come."

"And why didn't either of you tell him about Ethan's abilities," Levi said. "Why didn't you tell him that you're the Deliverer, Ethan?"

"How do you think he would have taken such news?" Gideon asked. "He said himself that he came to do what the Deliverer was supposed to do. King Stephen has lost faith in Shaddai's prophecy. He presumed to insert himself into the role of the Deliverer. Shaddai will not honor such things, Levi. We've learned a hard lesson today, but the Word of the Lord has not failed, simply because we have."

Levi nodded, scratching his head. "You're right, Gideon, I know you are, but what now?"

"I'm not quite sure. I think the first order of business is to get Ethan to the Temple of Shaddai. There we can try to treat his wounds and allow the Lord to get us back on track with his plan. We've got to find Shaddai's will and do it if we're ever to have success against Mordred and his demons."

"It sounds like a good plan. But the ride into the North Country will be hard on Ethan," Levi said.

Gideon pulled himself into the saddle behind Ethan. "Shaddai's Word is true. The Deliverer will defeat Mordred. We'll manage."

Levi nodded, pulling himself onto the back of the other horse. They took off in a different direction than King Stephen's army—heading northwest in order to get to the Temple of Shaddai. The actual location was a secret known only to the priests, but fortunately, Ethan and Levi found themselves traveling with one.

WICKED SAMARITAN

Jericho was there when the Deliverer escaped during the ensuing chaos within the throne room. He was there when King Stephen's army, discouraged and defeated, fled from before Mordred's army. And he was there when Mordred returned from his self-imposed exile, aboard his private galleon on the Azure Sea, far from the danger of battle.

Mordred had declared himself the victor and King Stephen a coward. The truth was far more sinister. For nearly a year, Jericho had been visiting the dreams of Stephen. He had supplanted the faith of his fathers, who believed the Holy Word of Shaddai without doubt. Jericho had made it his personal mission to destroy Wayland's efforts from the inside. A faithless king acting against the prophecy could never hope to be victorious. Only the Almighty could give victory over Mordred. Stephen had done exactly what Jericho had worked for. He had gone into battle without faith in Shaddai's promises.

Now, the man was no longer a threat. The majority of his mighty men lay dead before the gates of the city of Emmanuel. He lumbered home defeated, not just in body but in mind—a much greater victory for the forces of darkness.

Still, the young Deliverer of Shaddai posed a problem. He still lived. He had found his way into the palace. Had Mordred actually been there, then the prophecy might have come true that day. The demon reminded himself of his plan to send Mordred away, just in case—brilliant.

Jericho watched as some of Mordred's servants lifted the body of General Rommil off the bloodstained throne. He had liked Rommil, at least for a mortal. The man had been an older, more experienced Wraith General. He had been less prone to whim than Mordred—more level headed. And he had held more reverence for the dark spirits which fought with the Wraith Riders. If anyone had understood the way things really were between them, it had been Rommil. He had known Mordred needed the demonic spirits more than the Fallen needed him and his Wraith Riders.

The stench of wine permeated everything in the palace now. Mordred had immediately set his servants to cleaning it all up. He addressed the people of the city and his army—congratulating them on a job well done.

Jericho decided to depart for a time. He needed to take stock in his resources. This was no time to suppose they had the victory, as Mordred was doing. The Deliverer might have gotten closer were it not for his own precautions. And they still had to be careful while the boy lived.

One man had told Jericho about the Deliverer surviving the attack on Salem. The renegade priest, Mordecai, had known whom the boy traveled with. And this man knew the secret location of The Order of Shaddai and their temple complex. It was time for Jericho to see Mordecai again.

Jericho appeared outside the house of Kane in the small village of Magog. The old sorcerer lived a quiet life in this sleepy village, providing medicines and herbal remedies for the ailing. He also provided the people with spiritism. People feared and revered him in the villages round about.

Kane's house was a simple dwelling made from logs and pitch with a thatch roof. Various idols stood outside the door and scattered around the structure. The statue he used to worship Jericho had the face of a leopard with four wings on its back and the wide paws of a bear.

Mordecai sat inside the house with a small cook-fire burning. A crutch rested on the floor next to the stool Mordecai sat upon as he cooked the flesh of a small animal on a spit. Jericho entered the dwelling, but remained invisible to the priest.

He had considered putting on some sort of display, perhaps levitating objects in the room, tossing them in every direction like a tornado. However, Mordecai would never cower before him over such trickery. He knew this priest better than that. In his heart, Mordecai was a rebel. He always had been. That was why it had been so easy to persuade the man to seek his own way apart from the strict guidelines of The Order of Shaddai. Mordecai wanted to be the master of his own destiny—most men did. Jericho had used this to his advantage.

He appeared before Mordecai. Jericho stood opposite the priest on the other side of the cook-fire. Mordecai jumped when he noticed the demon, but calmed quickly when he realized who it was.

"Lord Jericho, I was hoping you would return," Mordecai said. "I was happy to wake in the land of the living."

Jericho simply nodded. "I see Kane has tended well to your injuries," he offered.

"Yes, he informed me, after I was feeling better, that you had sent him for me—that you had instructed him to take care of me until you returned. And he said you promised to reward him for his trouble." Mordecai's mouth spread into a devilish grin as his gaze found Jericho's preternatural eyes. "I trust you will be sure to reward him as faithfully as you meant to reward me, before you found I could give you what you want."

Jericho's eyes betrayed no hint of injury at the remark. "What is it that you require, Mordecai?"

Mordecai stood up, slightly off balance. Evidently, he still needed the crutch to get around. "Only to live a long life," he said, "and have the opportunity to kill the man who did this." Mordecai pulled his tan shirt up, revealing the large wound in his abdomen given to him by the warrior-priest, Gideon. The wound had been stitched up with dried catgut suture and there was an herbal bolster sewn overtop to help it heal properly.

Jericho smiled. "I'm sure I could arrange for you to have that opportunity, especially if he is still traveling with the Deliverer. What I need to know is where they might have gone."

"If he is traveling with Gideon, then they will return to The Order of Shaddai, at the Temple," Mordecai surmised. "He will want to bring the boy to Isaiah, the High Priest."

"A sound enough theory, Mordecai," Jericho confirmed. "However, I cannot get my forces into the Temple. It's guarded by the Heavenly Host."

Mordecai considered the problem. "What about an assassin?"

Jericho showed uncharacteristic glee. "An assassin with an intimate knowledge of the Temple and its many secrets?" The demon smiled. "Rest well, Mordecai—assassin. Enjoy the hospitality of my dear servant, Kane, while you can. I will come for you when you are recovered of these injuries. Then you will have your revenge, and I will be rid of this Deliverer of Shaddai."

We children sat completely still as the final sentence rolled from the lips of the bearded, old storyteller. When he was finished, he simply stared at his audience, and we stared back. Was this all? Certainly, the story did not end there.

So much had been left unsaid—so much left undone. In fact, it seemed the story of Shaddai's Deliverer had only just begun. We waited with baited breath to see if the storyteller would continue. The unbearable tension between the grizzled old man and his audience was finally broken when he smiled, clapped his wrinkled hands together, and stood up.

"Is that all?" I said.

"What do you mean?" he replied.

"Aren't you going to tell us what happened to Ethan and Gideon? What about Captain Bonifast?"

The Old Storyteller turned and retrieved his staff from where it rested on the edge of the fountain. The sun had already begun its slow descent toward the horizon.

"I'm hungry," he said. "I can't go on talking forever. Your parents will miss you if you don't show up for the evening meal, my dears," the storyteller said. "No, you go and eat, and I'll do the same. Then, for those of you who are still interested, we will meet here tomorrow and see what becomes of Shaddai's Deliverer."

The Old Storyteller turned around, dismissing his audience. He walked into the market with his satchel at his side, his walking stick clicking with every other step against the smooth cobblestones on the street. I soon lost sight of him among the merchants and patrons, but I would return for the rest of the story tomorrow.

About the Author:

James Somers serves as a Pastor in Tennessee and works full time as a Surgical Technologist. He and his beautiful wife have five mischievous sons and four angelic dogs. James has written many fantasy novels including:

  * Fallen (Descendants Saga)

  * The Serpent Kings (Serpent Kings Saga)

  * Biotech

  * Hallowed Be Thy Name

  * The Chronicles of Soone Series

  * The Realm Shift (trilogy)

  * A World Within (Wielder Saga)

  * Percival Strange (Strange Tales)

  * Perdition's Gate: Inferno

Links for James Somers Novels may be found in the sidebar at: www.jamessomers.blogspot.com

Or email James at jamessremos@yahoo.com

Books 2 & 3 of the Realm Shift Trilogy Now Available!!

*Special Preview Chapters for: Fallen, The Serpent Kings, Perdition's Gate, The Chronicles of Soone, A World Within, Hallowed Be Thy Name, Percival Strange.

Preview: "Fallen," by James Somers

### Oliver

Mr. Oliver James sat within the French café, Le Braziere, in downtown London, waiting for his contact to arrive. He had come early in order to scope out the area and the restaurant, ever careful to trust no one. Despite the late hour, a number of patrons were still seated eating their meals, or drinking wine.

Oliver noted several older couples enjoying different pasta dishes. Two young lovers sat nearby, having eyes only for one another. Several waiters milled about between tables, looking entirely snooty and proud of their profession as though they were waiting upon kings, or other great dignitaries.

Despite having lived in London for many years, Oliver had never been fond of French food and so had never dined at La Braziere. His contact, one Samuel Loch, had provided Oliver with useful information about the doings of Mr. Black and his associates for nearly two years. Oliver felt fairly comfortable with the man. Still, one could never be too careful. Loch was already ten minutes late.

Oliver sat quite still with a glass of wine before him. When the waiter had offered him a wine list he had been surprised to find Oliver's glass already full. Oliver, a man of middle age with a gray-streaked beard and slim frame, had smiled politely but had offered no explanation as to how the wine had gotten into his glass. He simply took a sip as the waiter wandered away bewildered, unsure as to what he had been doing at this curious man's table in the first place. Minutes later he would have no recollection of a man fitting Oliver's description ever being at the restaurant that evening.

It had been overcast all day. Only five minutes ago, the weather had turned worse as showers came down outside amid a cacophonous concert of thunder and lightning. During all of this, Samuel Loch finally walked through the door, looking worse for wear, completely drenched in his overcoat and cap. He wound his way toward Oliver's table, ignoring the other patrons completely; something that seemed rather odd for a man that normally would not cross the street without a detailed report of everyone waiting for him on the other side.

Samuel took the chair opposite Oliver and sat down.

"I'm sorry for the delay, Mr. James. The weather's right nasty out. Anyways, I've got something really special for you tonight."

Oliver took another sip of his wine before he spoke. "Since you've made me wait, I should hope so," he said.

Samuel grinned, scanning the restaurant with his eyes conspiratorially before continuing. "Black is making big moves in London; lots of recruiting among the People."

"This I know already," Oliver said.

"But wait," Samuel said, "you haven't heard the best part. I've a special message from Black."

When Samuel Loch said this, he stood, pulling a revolver as he did so. When the barrel cleared the table top, he fired it repeatedly into Oliver's chest. "Mr. Black says your time is up, old man!"

Oliver lurched in his chair with every shot fired. Bloody holes spoiled his white button-down shirt, mingling with the crimson vest worn beneath his suit jacket. Samuel stood over him, firing the revolver until he hit several empty cylinders in a row.

Oliver's shocked gaze suddenly narrowed, fixing upon Samuel's face, a wicked grin crossing his lips. He reached forward and took another sip of his wine. Loch's eyes widened with surprise.

"Did you really think it would be so easy, Loch?" Oliver asked.

His form shimmered in his chair and then vanished while Samuel watched. The other patrons were on their feet, observing the entire exchange with shocked expressions. The image of Oliver in the large wall-mounted mirror behind Samuel suddenly leaped from the looking glass into the real world, pummeling Loch with the silver wolf's head of his cane.

Loch fell forward across the table, sprawling onto the floor entangled in the off-white table cloth. The other patrons showed their true colors. Each and every one, including even the young lovers, drew pistols and started firing at Oliver.

He lurched away, blurring for a moment as he sidestepped the physical world through a portal of his own making, emerging halfway across the restaurant. Oliver pulled the flame from the nearest gas lamp, sending it into the young couple, igniting them in a blaze that instantly felled the woman while the man ran screaming through the restaurant's plate glass façade.

Realizing the slippery nature of their target, one of the older couples turned on his new position, unloading their pistols. A wave of Oliver's hand scattered the bullets into the nearby tables and glassware, shattering and splintering all. Another flick of his finger brought the wall curtains down upon the older couple, binding them fast in a strangle hold the likes of which even an anaconda could not manage.

Oliver turned to four more assassins, posing as patrons, coming around a division among the tables. One of them actually had brought a stick of dynamite to the party. Were they so desperate, he wondered? The fuse was already lit. The middle-aged assassin flung the TNT into the air toward Oliver. As he gazed upon the infernal object it unrolled itself, revealing the tightly packed powder. All of the explosive contents blew backward upon the crouching assassins along with the lit fuse, hissing and squirming like a scalded snake. The powder ignited mid-air showering the assassins in a cloud that blossomed into an inferno around them.

Oliver surveyed the scene. Dead or severely wounded assassins were scattered throughout the restaurant. When he went back to the table he had previously occupied, Oliver found Samuel Loch missing. Apparently he had fled the restaurant.

He sat down at the only nearby table that had not been touched by fighting. Around him the restaurant stood ramshackle and burning. Oliver picked up an empty wine glass in pristine condition, raising it before him. Red wine filled the glass from the bottom up as he gazed upon it. Oliver sniffed the aroma, approving of the vintage he had reproduced. "To you, Mr. Black," he toasted.

The hammer of a revolver clicked as it was pulled back into firing position. As Oliver turned, a waiter standing directly behind him was tackled from the side by a young girl. The waiter fell heavily to the carpeted floor of Le Braziere with the girl attached to his neck. His gun discharged in no particular direction. Within seconds of her attack, he was completely incapacitated.

Oliver stood, watching the girl feed for a moment before she looked up at him with red-rimmed irises glowing in the candlelight of nearby tables. Not a drop had been spilled. Her skin flushed, suddenly vibrant where it had been pale and gray a moment before. The assassin's pistol, ready to have placed a bullet into the back of Oliver's head, still lay in his hand, a single cartridge discharged.

Oliver sighed, smiling at the young girl now standing before him wearing black clothing that matched no particular fashion of the day. Clearly it had been designed for practical purposes like ease of movement only; breeches and a blouse with a hooded robe covering all.

"Do you always leave such a mess?" she said, surveying what was left of Le Braziere's once elegant dining room.

"Thank you for your assistance, Charlotte," Oliver said. "As always, your timing is impeccable."

The girl did not acknowledge the compliment. Constables would soon be on the scene following the gunfire and the charred corpse lying outside. The Fire Brigade would follow on their heels but most of Le Braziere would be destroyed. By the time Oliver James gathered himself and exited Le Braziere, the girl had vanished as mysteriously as she had appeared.

Visit: www.jamessomers.blogspot.com

Preview: "The Serpent Kings," by James Somers

DEATH WALKING

Donavan stood smiling at the small crowd of villagers who had stopped to listen to him. He had just concluded his dissertation examining the current state of kingdom affairs, the true nature of their dragon gods and the imminent return of their long forgotten Creator. One of the men nearest to him looked as though he might have a comment, to which Donavan offered, "Yes?"

A meaty slab of fist slammed into his jaw, sending stars across his vision and his body backward into the wall of their town hall. He bounced off of it back into the man's pudgy hands, stammering for a word as blood gathered in his mouth. The small crowd of less than twenty persons jeered at him, picking up mud and stones from the street to throw in his direction.

The thick man turned around, holding him by his shirt, then tossed Donavan away from him into the street. It had been raining the day before when Donavan had come to the village, carrying Ezekiah's message of hope of Elithias' coming. He landed sprawling in the muddy street. The rocks and clods of mud followed him. They bounced off of his back and legs and head, stinging him.

He was assaulted with insults besides. Even the women congregated around him were swearing at him and lobbing their share of projectiles in his direction. They cursed him by their dragon gods, calling him an ignorant fool.

Donavan had not come unprepared to hear such things. Ezekiah himself had warned his disciples that the citizens of the kingdom would likely not want to hear their message. "This world and their serpent gods are the only things they have ever known," he had warned. "Do not think that they will welcome you into their midst. Man's heart has been turned from Elithias for nearly a thousand years. We cannot expect to undo the resulting damage in a day. They will despise you and spit upon you or worse. Only, do not be afraid of them. Remember that Elithias watches over us."

A fist sized rock smacked the back of his head. His vision blurred, then went black. He felt a warm trickle down through his hair onto his neck. The voices grew distant and muffled. The impact of stones seemed little more than small pricks at his skin.

Donavan opened his eyes, coming back to himself and his situation. He waited for the rocks pounding his flesh, but they did not come. The voices had grown quiet. In fact, now that he listened, the whole village had become eerily still. He lifted his head, but did not see anyone standing around him as they had been only a moment before.

Feeling the back of his head with his hand, Donavan came away with congealed blood on his fingers. The bleeding had already stopped. Still, he could feel a sizeable knot where he'd been struck.

He moved, getting his hands and knees under him. Donavan could feel bruises all over his body. His jaw was still hurting. He hoped it wasn't broken where the man had punched him. Rocks of various sizes lay around him in the street along with broken clods of dirt.

Donavan raised his head, noticing the sky for the first time. The sun had been high overhead during his preaching. Now, it was hovering just above one of the distant mountains in the west. Dusk was approaching. Soon the sun would be down completely. Had he really been unconscious for hours?

Villagers should have been quite busy right now, trying to complete the day's tasks and preparing for the evening meal before darkness swept across the land. Donavan stood to his feet. The only thing active right now was a steady breeze blowing dust and light debris down the streets of the little town.

Perhaps the citizens of the village had already gone indoors leaving him for dead out in the street. It wasn't a comforting thought, or an unexpected one. After all, Ezekiah had been right about the response the preachers would experience as they traveled throughout the kingdom spreading the good news.

Donavan brushed at some of the dirt encrusting his shirt and jacket. The best thing he could do at this point was probably to move on. No one would likely grant him a room after so warm a reception. Still, the thought of trying to travel through the wilderness toward the next town at this late hour was not a very promising prospect.

A lamp was burning inside the local general store. Donavan could still feel the coin pouch hidden beneath his belt. At least the villagers hadn't robbed him. He began walking across the street toward the store. He might at least purchase some provisions for his journey before setting off in search of a place to make camp for the night.

As he approached the store, Donavan noticed that several of the small square panes making up the whole front window had been smashed. There was no one stirring within, as far as he could tell from the street. A wagon with no horse sat in front of the store. However, when Donavan came upon it, he noticed that part of a torn harness was lying before it in a pool of blood that trailed away from the wagon down the damp street.

Donavan's eyes followed the trail until he spotted the dark figure of a horse lying on its side near the edge of town. It was not moving. No driver could be found. Fear crawled up Donavan's spine. What had happened while he was unconscious in the street? Had the angry group gone on some bloodthirsty rampage?

He stepped over the crimson trail, coming to the door of the general store. It was hanging on one hinge half open. Donavan pushed past it, trying to make as little noise as possible. He crept inside. His feet crunched on the broken glass lying on the dusty wooden floor. He paused, grimacing. But no one appeared to have noticed. Nothing moved. He noticed that some of the goods had been knocked off the shelves. Sacks of grain had been torn open, spilling their contents out onto the floor. A shelf near the back wall had been overturned.

He spotted a bloody handprint on the wall behind the counter. The stain was smeared as though the hand that had made it were sliding downward. Donavan tiptoed to the counter and looked behind it. There, lying on the floor was the body of the shop keeper. His neck was twisted almost completely around and his abdomen had been torn open—not at all like a blade had done the work.

This looked like some beast had gotten to him without care for the carnage it wrought. Flies had begun to buzz around his open wound, and Donavan thought he might be sick if he didn't get out of there immediately. He backed away from the counter holding his hand over his nose and mouth.

As he started to turn for the door again, Donavan noticed something out of the corner of his eye. A man was standing at the rear of the store in the shadows looking at him. Donavan knew he had not been standing there before. "You there, do you know who did this to the shop keeper?" he asked the man.

There was only a low gurgling sound, then the man shuffled forward a few steps, coming more into the light. Donavan had been about to ask again, but was horrified as the light revealed the man's blood stained clothing. His nose and mouth were covered in fresh blood; not as though he'd been injured, but more like he had been _feeding_. He had the appearance of a man who drops his face into his plate, eating ravenously.

Donavan caught sight of his eyes then. They were black as night even where the white sclera should have been, like to opals set into the man's skull. Donavan realized he was trembling, barely containing his own fear. He wanted to run, but instinct told him it was unwise; like standing your ground with an angry dog, knowing that if you run it will think of you as prey and come after you.

His eyes scanned the room. Donavan spotted farming implements and tools laid out on a table nearby. He looked back at the man who still hadn't moved toward him. Donavan edged toward the table, letting his hands creep over it, taking hold of a hatchet in his left and a machete in his right.

The bloody fiend had followed his movements over the table. His gaze returned to Donavan's face as he straightened with his makeshift weapons in his hands. Even though he was armed now, Donavan was still terrified. The fiend grinned at him, as if smelling his fear in the air. It licked its lips hungrily and started toward him.

Donavan backed away toward the awkward hanging door, crunching broken glass beneath his feet again. The fiend picked up speed, lumbering toward him despite being unarmed. The man raised his gore-stained hands, reaching for his next victim. Donavan turned, running through the half open door.

He began to sprint away from the doorway when the fiend smashed through the remainder of the large front window. The creature slammed down upon Donavan, driving him to the street in a shower of broken glass. The machete fell from his hand, landing a few paces away in the dirt.

The fiend kept Donavan's hatchet-wielding hand at bay, scrabbling over him; its blood-streaked teeth bearing down upon his throat in an attempt to rip it out. Donavan was pushing with his feet, trying to reach the machete. He threw his weight one way then another, hoping to keep his neck and face away from the frothing gurgling mouth of the creature.

The beastly man lunged for his throat as Donavan's hand closed around the handle of the machete. He brought it forward desperately. The silver blade sank into the creature's skull with a sickening _thwack_ , like cutting into an unripe melon. The man moaned loudly, now straddling Donavan's torso as he tried to remove the machete from his skull.

Donavan was still holding onto the handle of the machete when the fiend finally got the blade out. But Donavan reached back and let the machete fly again. This time it landed in the softer flesh of the creature's neck, biting better than halfway through with his first swing.

The head bobbed sideways, teetering on the remaining muscle and sinew, then the grisly man-thing fell away from him into the street. Donavan hoped severing the creature's spinal cord might stop it. After all, legends said that the only way to kill a _death walker_ was to sever the spinal cord, separating the creature's tortured mind from the body it controls.

Donavan kicked the twitching body away from him, rolling back to his feet with the machete at the ready. Death walkers were not technically dead. They could be killed; only it was usually very difficult. They ignored much of the injuries that would kill a normal person. The legends said they were created by the dragons; a punishment upon those who offended them. There were worse things than death.

For these poor creatures death was a release from their torment. It was said that spirits haunted their minds and took over their bodies; inhabiting the living. Insanity quickly resulted. They were driven into the wilderness, scavenging on carrion or whatever they could kill. It was unheard of that one should come into a town on a killing spree.

The body stopped moving. Donavan's heart stampeded inside his chest. He tried to calm his breathing, then turned to see if anyone had heard the commotion and had come running to investigate. Another death walker was standing down the road. What appeared to be entrails were dangling in its right hand, dripping onto the ground.

Probably a fresh kill, Donavan thought. The creature was staring at him, much the same way the other death walker had been just before it attacked. This time he didn't bother with easy movements. Donavan lunged for the hatchet, arming himself against what he knew was coming.

Another walker appeared on the opposite side of the street, shuffling out of a home, dragging a small corpse by the hand. Donavan shuddered at the grisly sight. He was nearly frozen with fear. Three death walkers? Death walkers coming into a civilized area? What was happening?

The dragons had never allowed such a thing before. The tormenting spirits that inhabited death walkers were supposed to be under their control, driving their victims away from society to wander in the wilderness alone. Donavan seemed to have found a pack of the creatures hunting together; killing men, women and children without any regard for the Serpent Kings' authority.

Another blood covered fiend wandered into the street behind the others. Three pairs of pitch black eyes stared at him, hungering for another victim. Donavan knew he couldn't possibly take on two, let alone three, death walkers at once. No one could.

He turned and ran in the opposite direction, heading north the way he had come from. With fresh prey in sight, the death walkers came running like a pack of hounds. They may have been gaunt with malnutrition and ravaged by disease in their flesh, but the spirits pressed them onward, energizing their sinewy frames with unnatural strength.

Donavan turned his head, checking to see how close his pursuers were. They were running after him at different speeds; the last in line loping along with a bad leg. He turned back the way he was going and smashed right into a death walker who had appeared out of nowhere. It was a woman.

Her skin was weathered and brown, her hair stringy and sand colored. Donavan's momentum combined with the woman's slight weight bowled her over in the street. He had tumbled one way, her another. Donavan was so startled and terrified that he managed to scrabble quickly back to his feet. If he remained on the ground even a moment, the horrifying ghouls would swoop down upon him, tearing him apart before he could get away.

A wooden fence sprang into view as he ran toward the edge of the town. Another death walker was feeding upon the carcass of a dead horse, pulling its innards out onto the ground, gleefully taking its fill. Another pony was pacing near the backside of the fence, clearly terrified of sharing the fate of the slaughtered animal.

Donavan came up with a plan as he reached the fence and climbed over. The feasting death walker had not even noticed him yet, still kneeling before the horse with its back to him. He ran upon the fiend before it could react, using the machete to slice the creatures head cleanly away from its shoulders.

Leaping over the horse carcass, Donavan charged toward the other pony. He had neither bridle nor saddle, but Donavan had always been a good rider. The pony did not try to get away, instead appearing relieved that someone normal had come to help it get away. Donavan grabbed the mane trailing down the pony's neck and swung himself up onto the beast's back.

Looking back, he found the death walkers coming over and under the fence. They ran at him as Donavan kicked his heels into the pony's sides. The animal took off, directed by Donavan's clutch of mane within his hand. He had dropped the hatchet, but kept the machete. Two of the male death walkers were knocked aside by the pony's shoulders. Donavan struck a final blow to the female as she tried to flank him.

The machete cleaved a hunk of skull away from her head, sending her tumbling into the horse manure littering the pen. Donavan didn't look back. He urged the pony on toward the fence. At the last moment, they leaped as one over the top rung of the wooden fence, barely clearing it with the pony's hind hooves.

Horse and rider left the remaining death walkers in their wake, galloping away from the village at top speed. Donavan patted the pony's neck, whispering a prayer of thanksgiving under his breath to Elithias. They had no food and no water, but they did have their lives. And both horse and rider were, in their own ways, grateful for that much.

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Preview: "Perdition's Gate," by James Somers

### PROLOGUE

December 12th 2085

What had he done? Jacob surveyed his handiwork—endless rows stretching into the distance of the underground German facility. Artificial sunlight bathed the muscular nude frames of his children—grown to maturity by specialized hormonal stimulation. The specified number—two hundred million housed in one thousand bunker labs here and abroad—lay slumbering day in and day out, waiting for the appointed time when the Master would make use of them in his grand scheme.

Jacob ran his fingers along the fiberglass bubble, tracing the outline—one of his creations. How had he managed such a feat? _Not without the Master's hand upon me,_ he thought. He recalled the night when he had first been summoned nearly ten years ago.

The digital clock had read 2:00am. His name had been called—Jacob was sure of it—loud enough to wake him from sleep. He sat up in bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes and drool from his chin. Jacob's wife, Elizabeth, slept soundly in the bed next to him.

Jacob.

The voice, deep and resonating throughout the entire house, seemed to emanate from the hallway leading to his bedroom. A low light, building in intensity, filtered through the space between Jacob's bedroom door and its frame. Jacob started to reach for the revolver he kept in a shaving kit beneath his side of the bed. The door burst open, slamming so hard into the wall that it remained stuck in the fractured drywall.

A fire burned in the doorway from floor to ceiling, yet the house was not consumed. Jacob would have screamed for his wife to wake up, wondered why the smoke alarm wasn't blaring at them, bolted through the adjoining bathroom to his children's room to wake his sleeping twin daughters, but he remained transfixed upon the flames. The form of a man was walking toward him from within the inferno.

Jacob's body seemed to be held in an invisible grip. He couldn't even tell if he was breathing anymore. _"Hello, Jacob,"_ the voice said. Jacob knew it was the voice of the man standing within the flames before him, though it seemed to originate from everywhere at once. Jacob tried to respond to the dark figure, his eyes smoldering coals that were even brighter than the fire burning around him, but he could not utter a sound.

The odor of sulfur hung heavy in the room, rolling off of the shadowy man as he spoke. _"I am your master, Jacob. You have been chosen to stand by my side as I bring peace to all the Earth. I will equip you to carry out my will in the days ahead."_

Jacob's breath came to him for the first time since he'd seen the man. "What is your will, My Lord?"

" _I will reveal my will to you at the appointed time,"_ the figure said. _"Rise. Come to me, my child. Embrace the destiny I have prepared for you."_

Jacob's body began to move. He felt as though he were in a trance, unable to keep himself from obeying the figure's voice. He rose to his feet, walking across the plush carpet toward the raging inferno boiling in the doorway and the hall beyond.

The shadowy figure reached out his flame-covered hands to grasp Jacob's head. The fire did not burn him. He couldn't even feel the heat. The blackened hands gripped his face, the eyes bore straight into his mind. A flood of knowledge flowed into him, as though a dam had withheld the full capacity of Jacob's brain and now it had been broken down.

His fists clenched, body taught under sustained tetanus, like electricity charging his entire thin frame. He felt terror, joy and every emotion between in a moment's time. When the Master released him, the dark figure had gone. Only the flames remained.

Jacob barely noticed as the fire began to spread across the ceiling of his bedroom. He felt elated and drained—joyous at the embrace of Lucifer—his long time loyalty finally rewarded. Yet, a question nagged at the back of his mind.

He gathered his breath, hoping to maintain contact a moment longer. "How do I know this isn't a dream?" Jacob managed.

" _Offer me what is dearest to your heart and this honor will be yours forever,"_ the voice intoned. _"Else I will bestow it upon another!"_

"No, please," Jacob begged. The flames licked the walnut bedposts where his wife slept. Neither his voice, nor the Master's had disturbed her sleep. "I'll give you anything you desire, only don't take away your gift from me!"

" _Very well,"_ the Master said. _"It is done."_

The flames leaped upon Jacob's bed, as though a bucket of gasoline had been tossed into the room, igniting midair, then engulfed Elizabeth. His slumbering wife woke screaming, thrashing among the covers, the flames clinging to her body like napalm.

"Elizabeth!" Jacob screamed. He plunged into the flames after her neither feeling the heat nor being singed by flames devouring his bride of fifteen years. However, his best efforts were in vain. Jacob could not stifle the fire raging all around them. In moments Elizabeth moved no more.

Jacob began to weep, even as the charred walls crumbled around him. His tears evaporated from his cheeks, yet his skin remained unblemished by the inferno. How could this happen? Why his family? Then he remembered them asleep in their beds.

Screams reached Jacob from the adjoining room. _Not my babies,_ he thought. Jacob ran through the adjoining bathroom, still untouched by the fire, only to find the door unwilling to open. It had swollen into the frame. Smoke poured through the space at the bottom. He hit the door with his shoulder, but it wouldn't budge.

"Janet!" he screamed. "Tiffany!"

"Daddy!" their voices howled in chorus.

Jacob backed away ten feet then threw his one hundred and seventy pounds at the door. It gave way, smashed to charred kindling. His twins were surrounded by the flames already. They threw off their bed covers as the fire reached out for them. "'Daddy!"

Ignoring the roaring blaze sweeping through the children's room from floor to ceiling, Jacob grabbed his daughters up from their beds. He started for the door, but a wall of fire awaited them. The window had already blown out, and the flames had followed the oxygen, engulfing their escape in black smoke and searing heat.

His heart sank, realizing it was a three story drop. Jacob had no choice. "Hold on, girls," he said. He rushed through the open doorway toward the hall. Everything beyond was consumed already. Jacob could hardly see. Everything had gone bright yellow to white in his vision. Still, he never felt the fire. Perhaps he had already been burned so badly that his nerves no longer functioned. He didn't care. He had to save his girls.

Two flights of stairs later, Jacob descended to the living room on the main level and the front door beyond. The fire hadn't managed to engulf this room yet. Jacob smiled. He paused only a moment to reassure his daughters. Even though their mother had been lost to them, they would make it. Life would go on.

They had come through a raging inferno. Jacob had used his last ounces of strength to get them this far, but neither of the girls responded to his voice. Great, bubbling blisters covered their faces. Their hands and feet had been blackened somewhere along the way. Despite his best efforts they were gone—sacrificed to the inferno of his own lust for power with the Master.

Twenty minutes later, when the city fire department broke down the door, they found Jacob sobbing next to the bodies of his adolescent children. The entire living room was engulfed in flames. However, when they pulled Jacob screaming from the nearly collapsed house, he didn't even have the smell of smoke on his clothing.

The religious community had proclaimed his ordeal, though tragic, a miracle. Jacob had used it to great degree in order to travel the channels through the higher echelons of power. Status had its rewards. Jacob found all doors opening to him and his research into human cloning. Where he had failed before, he now succeeded. Impossibly complex scientific hurdles had been easily deciphered, seeming elementary to his newly enlightened mind.

Staring out over the vast army he had created through his research, Jacob wondered regretfully if his sacrifice had really been worth it. Then he looked at his hands, thinking of all he had been given since that time and all the Master had promised him for the future. Jacob Stein smiled. Yes—he had made the right choice.

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Preview: "A World Within," by James Somers

### INTO THE LIVING LAND

Daniel lay on the ice, his face numb from the cold. He became aware of his clothes being wet across his front as he lay face down on the pond. He had difficulty discerning if his eyes were open or not, but he only saw black. The air felt strangely warm and smelled of grass and flowers—more like spring than winter. He heard a definite rustling, like wind forcing its way through the full foliage of tall trees.

The aching in his head began to subside. Maybe he hadn't been hurt so bad after all. Daniel noticed he did not hear Derek or any of the other boys' jeering anymore. Perhaps they had gotten their kicks and decided to leave for more exciting game. Then it happened.

He felt a poke at his body, Derek finishing the job no doubt. Then, he felt it again, two pokes to his ribs this time. Daniel might have laughed at the ticklish sensation if his head had not been throbbing so badly. Then, the finger poked at his head and he heard the distinct sound of someone close to his face, biting into something like a piece of fruit. The juice squirted onto his cheek.

Daniel winced and opened his eyes, expecting to find his bullies, but instead a _thing_ stared at him. It spoke with fruit juice dribbling down its furry little chin.

"What are you then, big nose?" the creature asked.

Daniel screamed. His head throbbed hard, turning screaming to wincing.

"Well, I'm not that ugly," the creature said, placing his curled little hands on his hips, a piece of half eaten fruit in one of them.

Daniel realized his jaw must be dangling agape. The creature sat on his haunches, but wouldn't have been more than four feet tall on his tip-toes. He had a lemur-like face, but long ears like a rabbit falling back behind his head with ringlets and bangles hanging on them. His short silver fur covered most of his body, and his hands and feet were ape-like and appeared good for climbing things.

"What are you?" Daniel asked, bewildered.

"I asked you first, big nose," the creature said gruffly.

Daniel realized he'd been insulted. "I'm Daniel and I haven't got a big nose."

"Well, it's bigger than mine," said the creature. "I'm Meineke."

"Are you a monkey, Mr. Meineke?"

"Look, if you don't want me calling you big nose, then don't go calling me a stinking monkey! I'm a Wil, of the noble family too."

"A Wil, what's that?"

"What's a Wil? Oy, you're not from around here are you?"

"Oh yes, I am. This is my family—" but suddenly Daniel realized the world around him had changed. The frozen pond remained the same, but everything beyond its edge had changed dramatically. No more did a wide clearing sparsely populated by trees encircle the water's edge. This had been replaced by a thickly planted forest of trees that looked centuries old, twisted malevolently by time. The winter wonderland had been transformed into a fog-laden forest of gnarled trees where evil itself seemed to hang in the moist air.

The tree-bark was gunmetal gray spotted with black, and the trunks of the trees were monstrous in width. The branches looked like grisly claws raking the sky in opposition to the sun, and great roots covered the entire forest floor like a nest of snakes within the crag of a rock. The dark clouds above seemed married to the treetops while wisps of fog created a murky veil that made it impossible to see what lay in the distance.

"Where am I?" Daniel surveyed his new surroundings with a mixture of fear and awe. Had he hit his head this hard? Where was his home, his families land? All of it had disappeared, except for the pond, and had been replaced by a nightmare forest from a world he could only have imagined.

Meineke continued chewing on his fruit, speaking as his food sloshed about. "Why, you're right there," he said, pointing a finger at him matter-of-factly.

Daniel blinked slowly, becoming exasperated with the little creature's literality. "I mean, what is this place?"

Meineke stood up and spread his arms to the forest around them. "This awful place is Parengore Forest. It's the home of the Spider Elves—scary huh?"

Daniel kept his eyes searching the various layers of the forest, expecting something terrible to erupt from the murk at any moment. He felt like a hundred pairs of eyes might be watching him from the veil of fog and shadows.

"It's not so bad," he lied.

"Yeah, right. Well, I normally wouldn't be caught dead around here if it weren't for the Wielder."

"How did I get here? Last thing I remember, I was getting beat up by Derek Wentworth."

"I haven't a clue," Meineke said. "I left my companion to find a place to conduct nature's business and you were lying here, gone to the world."

Daniel racked his brain. None of this made any sense—the Wil, this forest, Spider Elves, and his house no longer anywhere in sight. _Perhaps, I am dreaming._ "Who is this Wielder person you said you were with?" If he was dreaming, then he might as well find out what the dream was all about.

"Oh, I'm not traveling _with_ him. Me and my companion are looking for—" Meineke paused, listening. His ears twitched and perked up over his head. The little creature became as tense as a cat caught in the act of raiding a garbage can: ready to bolt at the slightest threat.

"What is it?"

"Shush!" Meineke hissed. He bent his head low, allowing his ears to pick up the vibrations traveling through the ground. He reminded Daniel of an old Indian scout listening for the cavalry. His eyes widened. He straightened quickly. "Come on, they're coming!"

"Who?"

"The Spider Elves—run!" And with that, Meineke bounded away from Daniel and the approaching rumble. Daniel watched the Wil run, but he wasn't sure what to do. Was this real? He took another fraction of a second to consider it. _Whatever a Spider Elf is, I don't think I want to meet one!_

Daniel started to run after the Wil when a thunderous explosion of gnarled tree branches delivered a monstrous creature into the short clearing around the edge of the pond. A gargantuan, hairy spider, the size of a Clydesdale, appeared. It carried a man of some sort riding upon a makeshift saddle just behind the crown of black eyes upon its head.

The rider's hair flowed silvery white down across his shoulders with pointed ears protruding through. He wore a thin beard of the same color and his skin was a ghastly, pale gray. A silver breastplate made of layers of metal scales adorned his torso and shimmered with violet color. He carried a long, intricately crafted lance in his right hand and brandished it in Daniel's direction. The elf's form appeared beautiful and terrible all at once and his steed made him all the more dangerous. Daniel froze in fear.

More ghastly riders appeared, coming through the trees behind the first with their horrid mounts—their eight legs traversing the surface of the mighty, forest root system with ease. Daniel tried to run, but he slipped on the ice.

His skates had transformed into his normal shoes. The elf rider urged his spider-mount forward to attack the boy with its two foot long fangs. Daniel saw the venom dripping as its mandibles opened to reveal the black daggers.

A large gray bird snatched Daniel away from the jaws. It bore him up swiftly, carrying him by the shoulders. Was he now to be _this_ predator's next meal? "Don't worry, lad, I'll get you out of here," Meineke's voice said through the bird.

"Meineke, is that you?" They soared up toward the twisted branches of the nearby trees.

A blast, like a clear bubble, flew off of the end of the elf's lance. It hit Daniel and Meineke in flight, sounding like a thunderclap. Daniel fell away and landed among heaps of decaying leaves within the gaps in the massive tree roots. Meineke tumbled in the air on a collision course with the thick trunk of a craggy, old tree. His form morphed almost faster than could be seen and he righted himself in time to land on the vertical face of the tree trunk. Meineke hung there in his original form—claws set into the porous bark like a defiant squirrel.

He leaped down to the ground with the same elegant agility and found Daniel among the smelly, old leaves where the roots hung over them both like prison bars. "Come on, Daniel." He led the boy back into the leaves and intertwining roots.

The Wil tunneled, finding their way through the labyrinth created by the roots. Pockets of dead space appeared here and there among the leaves as they tried to keep moving away from the Spider Elves. The spaces between the roots were too small for the spiders to enter, but Daniel heard them moving around above, searching for their prey.

Meineke spotted a patch of light and they rushed toward it. The pair came up through a rotted out trunk that had a large enough hole in its side for them to emerge onto the forest floor again. They ran again with the Spider Elves about twenty yards behind them. Daniel did his best to keep up with Meineke. The Wil seemed a natural for such an environment, leaping from root to root and ducking under others to stay ahead of the elf riders and the nightmares they rode upon.

As they ran through the dense forest, Daniel noticed a distinct groaning emanating from all around them—as though the forest moaned in agony over the situation. The harder Daniel ran and the closer he and Meineke's pursuers got to them, the louder the noise became.

The trees swayed their craggy top branches, yet Daniel felt no wind. _Could the trees be moving on their own_ , he wondered. He ran into an area where the roots heaved up in tight bands, becoming a wall before him. Meineke had circumvented it while Daniel was paying more attention to the movement of the forest than his way. He realized, too late, that he was cornered next to a huge old tree with massive boughs.

One of the elven riders came to a halt behind him. His mount hissed, baring its venomous fangs for the kill. Meineke had disappeared. Daniel turned, attempting to climb, but he couldn't find a purchase anywhere for his incapable child's hands. The tree vibrated beneath his palms and he heard the sound of wood twisting under duress. The giant spider lunged forward with fangs dripping deadly venom. Daniel screamed as the sleek black daggers came at him. He had no defense.

The ground shook like an atom bomb unleashed, throwing Daniel back on his side into the dirt. He looked back at the fiendish predator, only to find one of the massive branches of the tree above him grinding the spider and its rider into the ground, like a man squashing a bug under his thumb.

The branch lifted slowly, revealing a ghastly residue from the kill. Daniel thought he might vomit, but only before the rising branch revealed another elf rider twenty yards away. The rider looked aghast at his former companion's remains dropping from the branch, intermingled with hunks of arachnid pulp, back into the stew surrounded by eight splayed legs.

The elf rider howled a war cry, leveling his exquisite lance at Daniel's position. A glint of light caught his eye as an object sailed over his head in the direction of the elf. The warrior pulled his lance back to defend against a long, curved fighting knife. The blade whirled at him and clanged off of his weapon.

A sleek figure, veiled by billowing crimson robes, glided to the ground in front of Daniel with the elegant fighting knife's twin in hand. Emerald eyes flashed with the stranger's beauty from beneath her hood as she turned and noticed Daniel before moving on into the fray with the Spider Elf. Daniel was instantly captivated. Had he been able to take his eyes off of her, he might have seized the opportunity to run.

The mysterious woman evaded a strike by the elf's lance, then rolled across the ground and under the deadly spider. Her blade, cuffed behind her arm, unfurled as she came to kneel beneath the beast as it reared up on its back legs, trying to find the elusive prey. She took the opportunity and drove the blade deep into the joint between the sternum and the joints of its legs and then leaped away as it reflexively jerked its appendages inward. The other knife lay nearby on the ground. She retrieved it quickly as the startled elf tried to recover from the collapse of his mount.

At this distance, the long lance was of little use to the elf. The female warrior maneuvered inside his line of attack with her second blade. She finished him off while he sat entangled in his spider's harness. She then returned the knife to its place somewhere under her robe. The woman retrieved the companion blade from the spider's corpse and then walked toward Daniel.

He hadn't noticed the Wil standing next to him again, until he felt the creature's small hand leaning against his hip. "She's something, isn't she?" Meineke said with a sigh.

Daniel looked at him and noticed blood staining his short fur. Startled, he asked, "Are you all right, Meineke?"

Meineke inspected his body. "Oh, don't worry, it's not mine."

"Oh," Daniel said, trying not to imagine where the stain had come from.

The woman approached with her other weapon, sheathing it with its twin under her cloak. She pulled back her hood, revealing auburn locks that hung around her shoulders like arms guarding her virtue. She was beautiful, yet strangely menacing at the same time, and again, her emerald eyes fixed Daniel where he stood.

Meineke stepped forward and said, "Thanks for the save, Marissa, I thought that Spider Elf had me for sure."

Marissa disregarded Meineke's gesture, walking past him to Daniel. "Man child, are you injured?"

_Is she speaking to me?_ "Oh, yes, I'm fine, thank you for saving me, ma'am."

Marissa looked at the tree above them. It had settled back into its place of stillness. Her gaze shifted behind her to the remains of the first Spider Elf. "It would seem that I'm not the only one that helped you."

Daniel looked up at the tree and the mess it had made of his attacker. "Oh, yes, ma'am. I'm not really sure what happened. It was the strangest thing I've ever—well honestly, this whole day has been strange for me. I'm still not sure how I got to this place or even what world I'm in."

Marissa looked intently at the young man, studying him in search of any deceit in his expression, but appeared to find none evident. "You are in the Living Land, man child," she said, looking around the forest.

"I'm thirteen."

"What?"

"I'm thirteen now, nearly fourteen. I'm not a child anymore," Daniel said boldly.

A slight grin appeared on her lips and then faded quickly. "So you are."

"Marissa, this is Daniel," Meineke said. "I found him face down, back there a ways, on top of a frozen pond."

"We've no time to discuss this now," she said. "One of the riders escaped and he'll return with reinforcements quickly." Marissa pulled her hood up over her head, preparing to depart. "I trust, young Daniel, that at nearly fourteen, you will have no trouble keeping up with our pace."

No sooner had she said this then she leaped away, scaling the roots like she was born to the task. "Let's go, lad," Meineke said, running after Marissa.

Daniel set out after them, trying to hold the pace with Meineke. The Wil obviously went slower than normal on Daniel's behalf.

"Who is she, Meineke?"

"Marissa is a princess, Daniel, of the Bard Elves that live in the North Country," Meineke said. "That's where we're headed once we meet up with the others beyond the forest."

"Others?"

"Of course. You didn't think it was just me and Marissa taking a stroll through the woods, did you? No, we're on our way to consult Marissa's father, King Nicholas."

"How far is it to the North Country?"

"A long journey, Daniel, a long journey, but we'll be safer after we meet up with the others. At this pace, we'll reach the forest edge by nightfall and the others will be waiting for us, if nothing has befallen them."

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### Preview: "Percival Strange," by James Somers

### STRANGE WITNESS

The gas gauge _empty_ light came on. "FIN! You idiot!" Archie Winebottle had felt a little sorry about his partner, Fin, getting shot in his hindquarters during the bank robbery and having to leave him behind—no longer.

His getaway car barely managed to creep to the top of the next steep hill as police cruisers came up fast. Archie knew it was over. He hit the brakes, but with the engine dead and they didn't respond now. The steering wheel locked into place. Archie and the Oldsmobile sailed down the incline like a runaway freight train.

The road turned near the bottom of the decline, but Archie and his car did not. The Oldsmobile's heavy steel body plowed through a thicket near the road and was swallowed up. Small trees blasted to splinters as they impacted the square grill. Archie held tight to the wheel, despite his inability to guide the vehicle. His knuckles strained white as he and the car plowed through wooded terrain on a continuing downhill grade.

A larger tree stood immovable in his path. Everything exploded on impact. Archie's head smacked the windshield, but he didn't go through. The blow to his head numbed his entire body.

After a few minutes, Archie gradually started to move. He tried the door. A tree was pushing in on the car's driver's side. Every window in the Oldsmobile had shattered, including the windshield, so Archie decided to climb out that way. He pulled his legs out and noticed blood on his shirt. A steady stream of crimson trickled down from a torn knot on his brow. He reached back into the car, removing the blue canvas money bag from the floorboard where it had landed.

Archie looked around, but didn't see or hear any cops coming for him. The woods had swallowed him up, and the police had passed him by. Perhaps good fortune might smile on him yet.

He hadn't had time to notice before, but the money bag was bulging with loot. He smiled. He'd lost his accomplice—the person he'd have had to split the take with. He caressed the bag. "At least, I've still got you."

Archie unzipped the money bag. Compressed gas hissed, and blue dye exploded out at him, splattering his hands, his clothes and his face. He stood there for a moment, blinking. He wiped the dye from his eyes as much as possible and stared at his prize. The azure dye had stained all the money. Archie cursed the teller who had given him the dye pack then threw the tainted bag into the trees as hard as he could. He felt like crying.

Archie decided to continue through the woods. _No use coming out to find a bunch of cops waiting for me,_ he thought. Leaves of every size and shape fell down around him—orange and brown—autumn's version of snow. The wind filtered through the trees, stirring it all into a crackling frenzy. Archie thought about how well it would hide the sound of his steps as he made his getaway. As he started off, away from the road, he took notice of his wrecked car, now held securely by two trees with leaves already beginning to cover it. "Piece of junk!"

The same noisy mix of sights and sounds in the woods had masked the steps of someone watching Archie from not far away. Percival Strange peered over a hill around the side of a large oak tree. He had been collecting some insect specimens for his collection, as he often did, when he heard the police sirens screaming in the distance.

When Percival saw a brown blur smash through the undergrowth, he had immediately set out after it, hoping to see exactly what it was. Grizzly Bear on the rampage, perhaps? No such luck. He found a wrecked car and its injured driver not far from where he'd been exploring. The police sirens passed and faded. He suspected this person, crashing through the woods, must be the reason the cops were about at all.

Percival watched as a canvas bag exploded in the man's hands, showering him in blue dye. _I've seen that on television_. _Something to mark stolen money and bank robbers—bank robber!_

He had wondered about offering the man assistance. Now he knew this must be a dangerous criminal. Percival padded his pockets, looking for his cell phone. He'd left it at home. He hardly ever carried it out with him when he was collecting—the ringing usually disturbed his peaceful walks.

The man angrily threw the bag in Percival's direction. For a brief moment, he thought he'd been spotted. Then the man began cursing to himself and walked deeper into the woods. Percival thought of going for help. His bicycle wasn't far from here. But even though he might tell the police where the car had crashed, he wouldn't be able to tell them what had happened to the bank robber. _I'll follow him and then tell the police where he goes._

Percival dropped his equipment and the specimens he'd already collected, taking note of where the spot was. No use giving up good specimens.

The wind whipped the fall leaves around rather noisily. It wouldn't be difficult to stay hidden if he kept a good distance from the man. He smiled as he set off after his quarry. "Boy, Violet is never going to believe this."

THE LONELY MANOR

Archie kept a brisk pace for nearly an hour. The trickle of blood coming from the wound on his forehead eventually coagulated. A dull ache replaced the earlier numbness. He wished for a bottle of pain pills. "I should've robbed a pharmacy instead!"

In the waning sun, Archie spotted a small clearing up ahead. A ring of trees formed nearly a perfect circle around an old, rundown house beyond. Archie came to those trees and stopped to catch his breath. The house fascinated him. How had it gotten here? Who did it belong to and did anyone actually live in it now?

He couldn't place the style of architecture. Archie had never been accused of being a _worldly_ fellow, but somehow it seemed foreign to him. The house stood three stories tall with a dark color scheme so faded he couldn't tell what it had originally been. Shutters hung loose in places. The windows were hazy brown and broken.

A wrought iron fence surrounded the house in a rectangle. The gate hung askew. A Stone path emerged near the gate, as though the stones had pushed through the earth just for this house. The path led through the fence and came right up to a large front porch holding several old dilapidated rocking chairs and a pair of chipped marble gargoyles guarding the front door.

Archie looked around the clearing then back behind him. He saw no sign of anyone living in the house, or of the police following him. "This looks like as good a place as any to hold up for a while. At least until the heat blows over." As dusk approached, Archie noticed the angry orange sun through the trees suspended over the mountains.

As soon as Archie Winebottle took his first step beyond the tree-line boundary, the light faded, casting everything in deep slate gray. The distant sun had disappeared. Dark foreboding clouds roiled in the sky, and wind blew harshly through the trees, as though he had angered the forest somehow. A chill crept into the air, so that his breath vaporized then pulled away on the wind, looking as though his soul were being sucked from his body with every exhale.

The wrought iron hinge squealed as the gate banged against the fence. Leaves swirled around him in tornadic fits. Archie heard the wind moan through the empty house, and for a moment he thought he heard a voice telling him, " _leave at once!"_ His conscience? He couldn't be sure.

Archie saw a faint yellow glow rise in the two prominent first floor windows located on either side of the front door—two eyes staring at him. A shiver of fear exploded up his spine, but Archie wasn't about to be spooked by any sudden wind storm. He quickly dismissed his superstitions. "So someone does live here." His dye-stained teeth chattered. "That means I can get some food and a hostage, if need be."

Archie stormed toward the house, trying his best to ignore the freakish weather around him. Rags swayed from craggy old branches on the one prominent tree in the yard. At least, Archie had supposed this, until he reached the main gate. When he pushed the iron gate aside, he saw bodies hanging from frayed ropes, swinging in the stiff breeze.

The gate slammed shut behind him as Archie stumbled up the path toward the house. He felt the large bloody gash on his forehead, wondering if he'd contracted some kind of brain damage from his car crash. Surely, this wasn't real.

Archie tripped as he lumbered toward the house. He pulled his leg, but found it held fast in the grip of a partially decomposed hand. White bone gleamed through patchy, gangrenous flesh. He screamed for help, but the howling wind drowned out his cries.

The ground around him exploded with flailing arms reaching up, taking hold of the ground, pulling forth gruesome figures—bodies in various phases of decomposition. Milky eyes glared at him, and hideous dirt encrusted teeth smiled liplessly as arms surged after him. Archie's mind reeled, his breath escaped. He tried to scream, but no sound came.

Archie scrambled away from the zombies clamoring after him. He got his feet under him again and raced up the stone path to the porch and the front door beyond. He pounded on it, seizing the knob, shaking it furiously. "Let me in!"

Archie looked back at the yard filling with grotesque bodies clothed in shredded suits and dresses stained with dirt and blood. He pounded harder, screaming frantically as the mob of corpses lurched up the path and onto the porch. He pulled his revolver and fired. Still, they came for him.

The door opened. Archie fell into the house, hitting the bare floorboards with a crash that swept a plume of dust up around him. The door slammed shut behind him. Archie watched muddy hands smear across the windows next to the door. Dead faces peered into the house, but they came no further.

Archie realized he was now shrouded in warm, yellow light. He turned his head upward, finding an oil lamp burning on each of two small tables near the windows on either side of the door.

Archie stood up, looking around. He heard a voice speak to him from the thick darkness beyond the foyer where he stood. "You've come too far, Archie Winebottle."

Archie turned round and round, but still saw no face to the voice.

The voice spoke again behind him. "You should not have come here."

He whirled around. A squat old man stood there holding a lantern up before Archie's face. He had a wrinkled, pale complexion and bloodshot eyes piercing through any pretense. He stood nearly a foot shorter than Archie, wearing frayed suspenders, a dingy white button up shirt, dark dress pants and soiled boots.

Archie sputtered. "Who are you?"

The old man grinned in the yellow lantern light. His jagged smile revealed many cavities. "I'm Mister Lonely, thief."

Archie pointed back toward the door. "Who are they? What is this place?"

"You've come to the Lonely Manor, Mr. Winebottle. Those, outside, guard the Manor from intruders, like you. You should have turned back when you could."

This caught Archie's attention. He drew his revolver. "What do you mean, when I could?"

Mr. Lonely turned, walking further into the house—the lantern's glow casting eerie shadows around the room. "You'll soon find out."

Archie looked back toward the door. Hands and faces still pressed against the house windows. He couldn't leave that way. He turned and caught up with the old man.

"Archie, I'd like you to meet my wife." Mr. Lonely stopped at a door in the hallway. He turned the black doorknob. "Mr. Winebottle, this is Mrs. Lonely, the lady of the house." He opened the door, revealing a tall thin closet then gestured for Archie to look inside.

An old woman hung by the neck from a rope tied to the high coat rod. Archie gasped. Mrs. Lonely opened her eyes—completely black eyes—smiling. "Hello, Mr. Winebottle," she said. "Welcome to Lonely Manor."

She stretched her arms toward him invitingly. Archie stumbled back, but Mr. Lonely shoved him into the closet, slamming the door behind him. Only his muffled fading scream remained to attest of his presence in the house.

The lantern light faded and with it the figures clamoring about outside the manor. The yard returned to its former unkempt state. The wind died. The leaves fell to the earth. The clouds dissipated, and the darkness lifted.

Dusk returned with its angry orange sun slipping through the partially bare trees toward the mountains in the distant west. Inside the ring of trees, all returned to what it had been before Archie Winebottle's trespassing. Percival gasped from his hiding place just beyond the boundary of the clearing around the old house.

He shook with excitement and terror. The sudden storm, the zombies springing from the yard, chasing the bank robber into the house and his final muffled scream—he had witnessed things beyond his comprehension.

Percival knew the police would think him a lunatic if he charged in, telling them of zombies and old haunted houses deep in the woods. It had returned to a rotting old house. " _Sure, kid, whatever_." That's what they would say.

He looked at the boundary of trees. All these things had happened when the man stepped into the clearing beyond these trees. Percival lifted his foot. Did he dare? He looked at the house. _Not alone_. _First, I've got to tell Violet about this._

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Preview: "The Chronicles of Soone," by James Somers

### PROLOGUE

### Year 9015: Planet Castai

Within the massive flagship of the Baruk space fleet, a nightmare sat upon a throne. Kale stood completely erect before his master, Lucin. "You summoned me, my lord?"

Completely black eyes measured Kale. When Lucin spoke, his voice echoed throughout the chamber. Kale seemed ready to start shaking. He tried to remain cool and collected—difficult considering the person he stood before.

"Kale Soone, son of the king of the Barudii, I want you to accompany our survey team down to the planet," Lucin commanded. "Since you were the one who provided us with the means to defeat your father and his Barudii warriors, I assumed you would want to survey your handiwork."

Lucin smiled the entire time. "The Barudii have been defeated, the battle is over?" Kale asked.

Regret was written all over the boy's face. Kale wished he had not allowed his pride push him to such traitorous action. If only there were some way out. Too late for that now—the deed was done.

Lucin came down from his throne walking toward Kale. He towered over the teenage boy by a good six inches. "We've had a marvelous victory, Kale," he said. "And that victory is all thanks to your willingness to turn against your father."

The words cut Kale to the heart. "Was _that_ what I did?" he said.

"Oh yes. We are in your debt, young man. Why, without your complete betrayal of your people, we never would have been able to destroy your father and his forces. The victory we have gained today will allow us to take the entire planet of Castai."

Kale looked pale now.

"Go on, son of Kale the first. Go down to your home world and see what your pride has accomplished for the enemies of your people."

Lucin grinned as Kale walked toward the door of his throne room. One of the Baruk officers met him at the door. Lucin called after him, "Lieutenant, please see that our young warrior gets a thorough look at the battlefield. I don't want him to miss out on any of our conquest."

☼

Such devastation, it was like nothing Kale had ever laid his eyes on before. Bodies were piled upon one another and strewn throughout the entire valley before Mt. Vaseer. The ground was soaked with the blood of his people. Birds of prey launched skyward as he walked through the aftermath. Most of the dead were from Kale's own clan, the Barudii. He had known many of these people personally. They had looked to him as the next in line for the throne. Their pale faces and lifeless eyes condemned him now.

He wandered between bodies for nearly six hours. His boots were stained red as he splashed through puddles of Barudii blood. Around him, the murderers of his clan retreated from the battlefield; the dark skinned Vorn and their vicious brute clones, the Horva. Yet they did not lay a finger to harm him—why would they? After all, he was the one who had led them here—had given them the information necessary to make all of this possible. He was a villainous traitor. He belonged among their enemies now.

"Master Kale?" one of the Vorn commanders called. "You had better find a transport to take you back to our Lord's flagship. We'll be departing soon to join the fleet. You don't want to keep him waiting."

Kale paused in his search. "I will be along shortly," he said.

The soldier went on about his business, rounding up the Horva for departure. Their work here was finished.

Kale searched more frantically now. He had to find him, had to know if all of this was really happening, or merely some nightmare. Near the front lines, Kale saw it on the ground. The diadem was pure adomen—a costly, durable alloy bearing a luster all its own. The single azure jewel normally mounted on the front was missing.

Very near, Kale found his body—the owner of the crown and King of the Barudii. This was his father, his namesake—the man whom he had betrayed into the hands of the Vorn and Baruk. His bloodstained expression was strangely peaceful. Kale could not take his eyes off of him. He felt frozen in place, frozen in time. _Could this really have been what I wanted,_ he wondered? _Is this my prize, my victory for the humiliation that was brought upon me?_

He shut his eyes and turned away from the face, but it was still there, piercing his soul. He considered his mother and his younger brother, Tiet. How horribly had they died? His brother had only been in his eighth year—ten years the younger.

He heard the troop transports power up and ready for take-off as the last of the enemy combatants made their way aboard. Many ships to choose from, but none of them contained any friendly faces for him. He began to walk away and thought of looking back to take in one last glimpse of his father, but he could not do it. He didn't have to—Kale had a feeling his father's face, its expression cast in death, would haunt him for the rest of his days.

Kale boarded one of the transport ships, carrying thousands of Vorn and Horva, and stood next to a view port. The massacre was less personal from the air. He was the only survivor of the Barudii clan—the only survivor and a traitor. He felt like pulling his blade and stabbing it into his heart, to kill the soul wrenching agony before it could begin its feast, but he didn't have the courage.

He sat on the floor against the wall of the ship's troop compartment among a hundred smelly Horva brutes. His Barudii clan had been the guardians of Castai's people. Now those people would be ripe for conquest by the Vorn and their masters, the Baruk.

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Preview: "Hallowed Be Thy Name," by James Somers

### 1 PROWARD STREET STATION

_Only an idiot would dare travel through Donalee at night_. That's what Dr. Trenton Hallowed had read in today's newspaper. A tall man of slim build and dark hair opened the door of his Lexus sedan, stepping into the street at the intersection of Walnut and Vineyard. New-car-smell segued into the moist scent of late evening, after the rain. He toggled the trunk switch. The lid popped open. Trenton placed his key set in the pocket of his suit pants and removed a knee length white lab coat, folding it up as he walked around to the rear bumper and set it inside. A _Genetic Corp_ employee pass-badge lay clipped on the front pocket, face up.

Trenton removed a brown suit jacket from the trunk and pulled it on. He paused a moment to wipe his wire-rimmed glasses with a monogrammed white handkerchief, then seated them securely upon the bridge of his nose with an after-push. He retrieved a beige fedora and black leather briefcase, capping his outfit before closing the trunk lid.

Trenton scanned the area, then crossed Vineyard Street, reaching into his pocket to depress the keychain. The hazard lights on the Lexus flashed behind him, with a chirp, as he stepped up onto the sidewalk. Rainwater splashed his hat brim as he passed under the streetlight. To his right, a digital billboard flashed the date and time between advertisements. Trenton scanned the Rolex on his left wrist. His timepiece read two minutes fast at 10:30 p.m.

Trenton opened one of the glass double doors to the Vineyard Street Subway Station and walked inside. This late in the evening, the station was virtually abandoned. Custodians operated sweepers while a few others waxed the floor. Walking through the station, he noticed how impeccably clean everything was.

The marble floor showed very little signs of wear, as did the costly leather couches and mahogany tables sitting in the vestibule. The custodians performed a duty, not a necessity. Only then did Trenton consider that most people living in Imperial City's Borough of Hilton didn't need public transportation. It held a stigma here.

As Trenton approached the turnstiles, he saw a burly security officer leaning against one of two attendant booths. One stood dark. The other housed a lone female attendant, with curly blonde hair, engaged in conversation with the officer. They seemed surprised to see anyone actually coming into the station, especially at this time of night.

"Good evening, sir," the security officer said, straightening. Trenton wondered if all he did every night was stand there talking to the pretty girl in the attendant booth. "Would you like an escort?" the man asked.

"No, thank you." Trenton kept his fedora angled down, shadowing his facial features. He passed his right hand over the turnstile sensor and it automatically scanned the Hilton identification band on his ring finger. A green light on top of the turnstile flashed. Trenton walked through unhindered. "Have a lovely evening, sir," the security officer said.

Trenton kept walking without reply. An escalator carried him down to the train platform. Two more security officers sat at a desk to his right. They were already looking at him by the time he cleared the short hallway leading onto the platform. He made a mental note of several camera mounts positioned in the ceiling corners. "Hello, sir," one of the men said from behind the counter.

Trenton nodded to them, tugging on his hat brim. Neither of the guards showed enough interest to actually come over and investigate. He examined his watch again. It read 10:37 p.m.

A train howled, coming through the tunnel on approach to Vineyard Station. The automated train engine emerged from the tunnel, pulling five passenger cars. When the car doors opened with a hydraulic hiss, the yellow barrier gates followed suit. Five gates swung open, giving access to this lone passenger. Trenton boarded and sat down in the empty train car.

The computer controlling the train waited two more minutes, sounded an intent-to-board alarm bell, then closed the passenger cars. Trenton pulled a current newspaper from his briefcase, began reading, and waited. No other passengers had boarded while in Hilton, just as he had expected.

In a matter of minutes, the train covered miles of underground and overland track. It left the Borough of Hilton altogether—immediately entering the Borough of Branton. Trenton read with the pages held aloft, blocking his view from any passengers who might board. All he heard at each stop were the doors. He waited.

When the computerized female voice announced that his train had passed into the Borough of Donalee, Trenton's palms began to sweat. This was it. His field experiment was about to happen. The train stopped at the Proward Street station—the same as the news article Trenton had read. The door hissed and opened. The smell of sweat and cigarette smoke invaded the train car along with several sets of footsteps.

Trenton's newspaper exploded away from his hands, revealing four armed men—two with knives, one with a lead pipe, the last swinging a thick chain. Trenton noticed two overly made-up young women waiting outside the subway car door. One held a .38 caliber pistol—Saturday Night Special. Two of the men grabbed Trenton out of his seat and slung him out of the train onto the platform. Trenton stumbled, but did not resist. The doors closed back into place. Seconds later, the automated train left the station, leaving the famous geneticist behind.

Trenton stood on stained gray concrete in the midst of the four men and two women, on the Proward Station platform. Graffiti adorned every wall. "The wallet and briefcase, fancy pants!" one of the men insisted. Trenton searched for camera mounts, finding all of them torn down.

He smiled. _Perfect._

### 2 CHAOS

Detective Michael Stamos depressed the button to roll down the passenger side window of his unmarked police cruiser. "Richard, do you have to smoke those things?" he asked. "You're gonna get cancer."

"At least I'll die happy," Richard said. He blew a stream of cigarette smoke out the window.

"Well, I don't want cancer. My dad passed away last year."

Richard looked at him. "I thought he had a heart attack."

"What's your point? He died...I don't want you to kill me with your nasty habit."

Richard chuckled, drew a final drag and flicked the butt out the window. "Happy?"

"I will be when you finally quit." He rolled the window back up.

"Maybe I'll quit when you get married."

"Hey, I like my space," Michael said. He turned a corner, keeping one eye on the GPS screen.

"You'll never find a woman with that attitude. You gotta give a little—stop being such a lone wolf."

"I like _lone wolf,_ and who says I'm looking?" Michael turned another corner, running through a red light—siren blaring outside and police lights flashing. "Besides, I've got you."

"Now that's scary," Richard said, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah...I mean, if I want someone to nag me about what I'm doing, and where I'm going, I've got you. I don't need a wife for that."

Richard ran his thick fingers through his wavy gray hair. "Do we have any information on this one?"

"Just six dead bangers."

"A _Joy_ deal gone bad?"

"Sounded more like a robbery that backfired," Michael said.

"Vigilante?" Richard mused. "Interesting."

"That's all we need. If they're any of Ming's people, we'll have a bloodbath on our hands."

"I should've capped him when we had the chance," Richard said.

"They'd have locked you up on that one." A multitude of police lights flashed down the road ahead of them—a swarm of angry fireflies. "The guy was unarmed."

"Yeah, but he was guilty," Richard said.

"You know how that goes."

"Would've been nice to get him when he was still just a two-bit punk," Richard said, checking his sidearm beneath his beige sport coat. "Now nobody can get near him."

Michael pulled up to the subway station at Proward Street. He and Richard got out of the car with their badges ready, just in case some rookie tried to stop them crossing the police line. They ducked under the black and yellow tape, walking through a nest of black and whites.

The two detectives entered the Proward Street Subway Station, passing several officers they knew well. An emergency entrance bypassed the turnstiles. All the traffic flowed through it. Michael and Richard walked through with several forensics technicians, following them down three flights of stairs to the large subway platform below.

Emergency lighting had been imported because most of the platform lighting had been damaged. Fluorescent bulbs still flickered. A uniformed police officer vomited into a station-labeled trashcan. "Oh, boy." Richard sighed. "It's gonna be one of those nights."

"Nothing we haven't seen before," Michael said. As he and his partner entered the crime scene, Michael realized he was wrong.

Crime scene investigators and technicians worked like ants gathering food for the winter. The entire platform was showered with gore. Cameras flashed almost continually. Richard stood wide-eyed. Michael felt like joining the uniform at the trashcan.

The area had been taped off to prevent officers from messing up the crime scene. Michael and Richard remained behind it. The call involved six gang members. One, a female, lay dead with her own pistol shoved halfway inside her mouth. A Caucasian male had been wrapped like a horseshoe around a support pillar, with his back broken. An Asian gang member lay ten feet away, crumpled in a heap beneath a blood-smeared wall. It looked like he had been swung by his legs, repeatedly smashed into the wall of the Proward Station platform—his blood smearing the graffiti.

Another female lay on the dirty concrete floor—her body nearly unrecognizable as human. An African American male had been bludgeoned to a pulp—thrown up into the roof girders ten feet in the air.

A team worked feverishly to manually back up one of the automated passenger trains. When the men finally got it pushed back to the point where technicians could examine it, Michael saw evidence of the sixth gang member. All that remained of the man was the splash of crimson left on the front of the automated subway engine—the final resting place of a wayward insect.

"Who could've done this?" Michael asked.

"Or what?" Richard licked his lips as though he'd belched up something foul.

One of the crime scene investigators, Linda Phelps, signaled Detective Link to come through the tape barrier. "Hey, Mike, we're in."

The two detectives passed under the tape, cautiously making their way around technicians collecting forensic data. They walked over to the first female victim where Officer Phelps knelt, examining the body. "The gun was forced into her mouth through her teeth," she said. "The killer broke her fingers, forcing her to pull the trigger."

"One person did all this?" Richard asked.

"There is only one set of shoeprints, besides the victims," Linda said. "My first impression was a loafer, or dress shoe, size eleven. Whoever did this is incredibly strong. The guy in the rafters is two hundred and twenty pounds, easy."

Michael noticed the bloody prints smudged in various places on the concrete.

"So we're looking for a linebacker on angel dust?" Richard asked.

"Try a grizzly bear," Michael said.

"Actually, you're both wrong," Phelps said. "The bruising patterns suggest someone with normal handbreadth."

Michael looked closer at the bruising on the girl's arm. "How is that possible?"

"That's why you're a detective, Detective."

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