The Order of Shaddai rs-2 Read online

  He kept this part of his leaving from both Gideon and Ethan. Isaiah did not want them to worry about him or become distracted by the knowledge that the sea captain was working for The Order. And when it came time to choose someone for the mission of escorting the Word to the Isle of Macedon, Isaiah did not want Gideon or Ethan to insinuate themselves, knowing they would be sailing with Bonifast. Because it pleased Isaiah, Levi honored this request.

  “We’ll be seein ya, boys!” Levi said. He turned and followed Joseph the priest along the winding corridor which would take them to an intersecting point with the river running down the mountain. Ethan watched until the two men were out of sight and then he joined Gideon at the stone railing.

  The balcony overlooked the entire gorge below. They stood at the top of the cylindrical wall built by The Order-over a thousand feet in height. Just above them, it opened up and the clouds hung almost low enough to touch. They were completely hidden from the outside world.

  “Well, that’s that,” Ethan said. “I’m going to miss him.”

  “He’s a good friend-a good man.”

  “Do you really think we’ll see him again?”

  “Only Shaddai knows,” Gideon said. He paused. “I hope we will. In the meantime, you’ve got training to tend to, and there’s no time like the present to begin. Let’s have a race back down to the courtyard. Pacing will win out in this one!”

  Gideon shot away with Ethan quickly falling in behind his mentor, smiling all the way.

  Hevas Rommil gazed out his window at the docks beyond. The burly Wraith General sipped on a cup of wine as he watched the galleon, bearing their emissary to Millertown in Nod, follow the setting sun toward the distant horizon. He had baited the trap, but Hevas wondered how successful this plan would actually be.

  It was Lord Mordred’s intent to draw the boy with a plea for the Word in the Isle of Macedon. Hevas had been the Wraith General responsible for eliminating the Word in this island, and it seemed ridiculous to seek it again. But as Mordred’s messenger had said, “This is only a ploy to destroy the Deliverer.”

  It had been nearly a month since word had come to Hevas of his twin brother’s death at the hands of the Deliverer. He had died in defense of Lord Mordred and had taken the blow meant for him there in the throne room of Emmanuel Palace. His brother had always been a brave man and a cunning warrior. Hevas missed him.

  Rommil did not know whether this plan would actually draw the boy out of the Temple, but he certainly hoped. He longed to destroy the boy with his own hands. If he got a hold of the Deliverer, he would make him regret ever spilling the blood of a Rommil.

  “You may carry word back to our lord, Mordred. The emissary is on his way to Millertown,” Hevas said. “Once he arrives, he will dispatch a message to the Temple desiring the Word to be carried to Macedon.”

  “Very good, Rommil,” Jericho said. “Your brother would be proud.”

  Rommil turned sharply at the mention of his brother. “Lord Jericho, I want to be the one to kill the boy, if and when he should arrive here on Macedon.”

  “I can understand your desire to avenge your brother, Hevas,” Jericho said, emerging from the shadows to pass through a chair. “But we must be patient. It is not certain the boy will be the one to bear the Word to Macedon. Isaiah might very well send someone more qualified and experienced for this journey. After all, it would be risky to send the boy outside of the borders of Nod, even for such a noble task.”

  Rommil considered it. “Then why do we bother baiting this trap? Surely, their High Priest will want to keep the boy hidden from us. The Temple is impenetrable while Shaddai’s angels protect it. Isaiah will never send the boy away from the one place where he is safe.”

  Jericho smiled as he watched the setting sun and the silhouette of the galleon on the horizon. “If I have anything to say about it, Isaiah will soon realize that not even the Temple itself will be a safe haven for the Deliverer.”

  ROYAL EMISSARY

  It had been almost four months since Sarah had watched Gideon depart for the Temple with his new companions. She had watched her secret husband leaving, yet again, through her tears. When would she have him to herself as she longed to? Gideon had still not given her a certain answer.

  Often, she wondered why she had accepted his proposal. It was part of the vow of a priest of Shaddai to remain unmarried, not that Shaddai forbade marriage, but because of the complete separation of The Order. They required it and Gideon had sworn himself to it as a child.

  Sarah had not asked for his love, but now she could not live without it. Gideon meant to leave The Order someday by his own admission. But she was beginning to wonder if the day would ever come when he actually performed the deed. The appearance of the Deliverer would only complicate his decision further.

  Sarah crossed the street, heading for the physician’s office two buildings down from the Willow Tree Inn. Mr. Hobb was the Healer in Millertown-a lithe man of nearly fifty years with wire-rimmed glasses and a white receding hairline. Hobb was ever kind and well versed in the medical arts.

  Hobb had a simple place for his office since most of his work occurred in the homes of his patients at their bedsides. He did have a room in the back where he performed complex procedures, but usually it went unused. As payment for his services, Hobb would readily accept livestock or vegetables from someone’s garden and sometimes even nothing at all. Many wondered how he managed to survive on his meager wages, but what had not been well known was Hobb’s silent partnership in the Willow Tree Inn with Mr. Oggle.

  Sarah looked this way and that, before entering Hobb’s office. She did not wish to be conspicuous. In a small place like Millertown, a visit to the Healer could quickly run the grape vine and subject one to all manner of questions and rumors.

  Had it not been for the regularity of her nausea, Sarah might not have come at all. But she feared the plague which had taken several people’s lives in the past year. If she had any such disease, she might never see Gideon before he came back from The Order on another mission.

  “Good day to you, Sarah,” Hobbs said as he met her at the door. She rushed inside and he shut the door behind her. “What’s the matter my dear, not feeling well?” he asked with a quirky smile.

  “I’ve been ill almost every day for weeks now, Mr. Hobbs. I’m afraid I might have the plague or something equally horrible.”

  Hobbs regarded the young maiden, smirking slightly before asking her to come into the back room. Sarah wondered why he didn’t look as worried about her condition as she might have supposed he should.

  When Sarah emerged from the office of Mr. Hobb’s, she was at least as frightened about her condition as she had been when she entered two hours earlier. However, fear now mingled with new joy she wanted desperately to share with her husband.

  A procession of some sort made its way into the middle of town, creating a great deal of noise. A covered carriage lumbered through the street pulled by a team of black mares with an armed military escort before and behind it.

  Sarah had never seen anything like it entering her small town. Compared with the usual travelers, this person might as well have been a king for all of the fuss made. Children ran into the street, trotting along beside the soldiers and the carriage while Sarah stood watching with other bystanders on the wooden boardwalk stretching before the shops and businesses. The carriage, with its entourage, stopped when it reached the Willow Tree Inn. Mr. Oggle and Blane waited at the door, intending to greet this person when they disembarked.

  Not having anyone she could share her own news with now, Sarah walked across the street. Something of this magnitude was simply too good to pass on. She mingled with the small crowd, trying to get closer to the carriage and its mysterious passenger.

  When one of the armed soldiers opened the carriage door, a man wearing regal attire of gray and blue stepped forth to meet Mr. Oggle. He shook Oggle’s hand and then followed him inside as they talked. Several soldiers followed them i
nside the Willow Tree along with Blane as other soldiers stood guard at the door, blocking access for the curious crowd.

  Sarah decided she would take the back way in and see what she could find out. She knew Blane would usually be the one to answer the service bell in the rear and supposed he would probably let her in. Sarah walked to the back of the building while the crowd remained in the street, trying to stir the rumor pot as to who this visitor actually was and what the nature of his visit might be.

  Sarah gave Blane a few minutes and then she rang the service bell. In a moment, Blane appeared at the door. When he saw Sarah standing there, he looked about, making sure no one else was trying to gain admittance, then said, “Oh, all right. But don’t you let Mr. Oggle know I let you in.”

  “I won’t,” she said and ran inside before he could change his mind.

  Sarah followed him through the kitchen where several older women worked, cooking food and tending to dirty dishes and such. “What’s going on, Blane? Who is that man?”

  “He’s the Royal Emissary from the Isle of Macedon. He’s come to make a request of The Order of Shaddai.”

  “For what?”

  Blane peered through the curtain into the main room. “He told Mr. Oggle their king desires The Order to send them the Word of Shaddai again.”

  “But I thought Macedon had been taken over by Mordred’s army a few years ago,” Sarah said. “Why would the king ask for such a thing? Surely Mordred wouldn’t allow them to have Shaddai’s Word again.”

  They watched through the curtain as the Royal Emissary prepared a message to send by falcon into the Thornhill Mountains. The falcon was specially trained to come back to the Temple and Shaddai’s priests with its message. And Millertown was the only place readily known where such a falcon could be found.

  Mr. Oggle took the message after the emissary had prepared it. He rolled it up and placed it into a silver tube attached to a chain. He walked over to the large cage Blane had previously rolled out into the room and clamped the small bracelet and chain with the message cylinder to the falcon’s leg.

  “Oh, I almost forgot!” Blane donned a leather gauntlet and hurried out from behind the curtain. “I’m responsible for releasing the bird,” he called back. Sarah watched as Blane handled the animal, now adorned with a small hood. Having removed the falcon from the cage, Blane took it to a side door off the main room, removed its hood, and released it.

  Blane came back in with the little hood in his hand, removing the leather gauntlet. He wore a smile as he came and bowed toward the emissary and reported the message sent on its way to the Temple and the High Priest of Shaddai.

  “How long until I can expect a reply?” the Royal Emissary asked.

  “Isaiah, the High Priest, is usually quick to respond,” Mr. Oggle said. “Probably tomorrow, but I’ll have Blane prepare our finest room for you so you’ll have a comfortable stay until the falcon returns.”

  The emissary nodded and Blane bowed before hurrying off to prepare the room. Sarah stood there puzzled. Something did not make sense about all of it. Had the Isle of Macedon been liberated recently? If so, she was not aware of it. And how had this emissary and his entourage made it all the way to the Thornhills without encountering Mordred’s soldiers?

  Sarah rubbed her belly and thought of her husband. She wished she could ask him these questions or at least know what he was doing. Sarah had important news to tell, and she hoped it would not be too long before she got the opportunity.

  ASSASSINS IN THE MIDST

  Mordecai watched with interest as the military men dispersed to equidistant positions around the Willow Tree Inn across the street. He wiped the dust from the dirty window of the attic loft where he had been hiding since last night. The business below, in the main part of the building, was a store where general goods were sold.

  “Now what is all that about, I wonder,” Mordecai whispered to himself.

  “Fascinating isn’t it?” a deep voice asked.

  Mordecai whipped around with a dagger in his hand ready to hurl it at the source of the voice. When he saw the unexpected yet familiar face standing before him, he relaxed, if only a little. His pent up tension escaped with a measured sigh. “What are you doing here, Jericho?”

  “I usually like to make sure men in my service are fulfilling their duties properly in accordance with my design.” The demon leaned against a bare support beam in the dusty gloom of half-light.

  “You’ve nothing to worry about,” Mordecai assured him. “I’ll carry out my part of this, just as I said.”

  “Oh, I’m not referring to you, Mordecai.”

  The former priest eyed the demon warily and then looked back out the window toward the Willow Tree Inn. “You mean fancy breeches? Who is he anyway? Those colors remind me of old Macedon armor.”

  “Very good, Mordecai, I’m almost impressed. As we speak, an emissary from Macedon is baiting my trap.”

  “For the boy? How so?” Mordecai asked insistently.

  “I never put all my eggs into one basket, Mordecai.”

  “I said I would get him and I will.”

  “Look at it this way,” Jericho explained, “If you can eliminate the boy, then you’ll find the priests somewhat distracted by the news this emissary is carrying. It can only work in your favor.”

  Mordecai grimaced. He was being insulted, but there was nothing he could do about it.

  “I trust you have all the equipment you will need?” Jericho said evenly.

  “In this very store I’ll find what I need. It will be a simple matter of taking it tonight while everyone is asleep.”

  “I want no witnesses, Mordecai, and no evidence of what you’ve taken,” Jericho said. “If someone were to discover mountain climbing gear missing in a theft, then they might suspect something amiss and send word to Isaiah so that he would have his priests watching for the thief.”

  “I’m not afraid of the priests,” Mordecai spat. “I trained half of them.”

  “Nevertheless, I want no evidence left behind.”

  “Not a problem,” Mordecai said.

  The demon smiled unconvincingly and then faded into the shadows. Mordecai turned his attention back to the soldiers in the street and the sun now beginning to set upon the western horizon. Soon it would be time to journey into the Thornhill Mountains.

  It was well after the midnight hour when Mordecai stirred from his daytime slumber. For the most part, he had been able to ignore the commotion caused by the Royal Emissary from Macedon across the street at Millertown’s Willow Tree Inn. While everyone in town slept, he would get his supplies and set off on his journey to the Temple. No one had seen him enter Millertown and no one would see him leave.

  Mordecai stole down the side of the building and forced the lock on the back of the General Goods Store. He crept inside without a sound. Mordecai smiled. He watched the storeowner and his wife as they slept near a wood burning stove. They kept the room very warm this evening as a cold snap had descended upon the Thornhills.

  The storeowner, an elderly man of good reputation, slept soundly beside his wife. She was well known for her delicious pies. In fact, people would mention those wonderful pies after her passing-not to mention the awful way in which she and her kindly husband had passed-such a tragedy.

  A trail of lamp oil crept across the floor toward several hot coals which had been aided in their escape from the wood stove. The embers glowed red on the floor as the oil slid snake-like toward them. Beyond the spilt lamp oil were a number of powder kegs. Mordecai had shifted their location somewhat in the last ten minutes. It would be said, the old man was foolish to keep his black powder stores in such close proximity to his wood stove. Others would curse the day they placed their own businesses near the General Goods Store, even knowing the sort of volatile agents being sold there.

  Mordecai slipped out the door to lay hold on the horse he had stolen along with the gear he had stolen from the store. The assassin-priest rode at a hard gallop, esc
aping Millertown completely by the time the flames bloomed from the lamp oil stain and leaped across the room to the black powder kegs. The General Goods Store blew apart in every direction at once, sending fiery debris onto the neighboring businesses located in the middle of town.

  The explosion shook everyone staying at the Willow Tree Inn from their beds. The thunderous shockwave shattered every window in the Inn. The volunteer fire department of Millertown would later record it as the worst disaster they had ever faced in their eighty-year history. Moreover, the storage and sale of black powder would be prohibited in the Millertown for years to come.

  The least realized effect, but perhaps the most important to the nefarious schemer who had caused the deed, was that no one knew a theft of mountain climbing equipment had taken place-equipment necessary for a deadly assassin to gain access to the Temple of Shaddai without its priests noticing. Mordecai ascended into the Thornhill Mountains. He still had a prophesied Deliverer to kill.

  A DECEPTIVE CALL

  Ethan stood among the target dummies at the end of the archery range, his body en guard in a traditional martial arts stance, watching his friend and mentor take aim. Almost four months of intense training had brought him to this point. Gideon refused to be specific, but he had at least been excited about the speed with which Ethan took to the training and ways of the priesthood.

  Ethan had heard the other priestly mentors commenting about Gideon’s pupil being almost born to the tasks presented to him. He was glad for the attention surrounding his training, but Gideon had been especially clear to teach him to guard against pride. Ethan whispered a prayer of submission to the will of Shaddai, then heard the release of Gideon’s bowstring fifty yards away.

  Ethan tracked two arrows-simultaneous-as Gideon was fond of doing. They were dead on target. In the blink of an eye, Ethan leaned to the side, snapping his right arm out and through both arrow shafts. These four months had trained speed into his body, nearly catching up with his unnatural speed of sight.