“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!”
