A foul stench of decay filled the city, and smoke billowed into the sky from smelting plants where weapons of iron and steel were being made. Great engines of war filled another part of the city, towering higher than the dingy white walls. Gideon realized Mordred was preparing for battle.
Rommil, his troops, and the carriage all stopped in front of the great steps leading into the palace itself. A royal welcome seemed to be waiting for them. Then Gideon realized it was not for them, but for Mordred himself.
General Rommil dismounted from his horse, then walked back to the carriage holding Gideon. His guards opened the door while others prodded Gideon with swords to be sure he obeyed and came to the exit. He had little choice but to comply. Gideon crawled to the door and outside where the guards chained themselves to him on either side.
Gideon followed as the guards turned to look upon the warlord himself. Mordred sat astride his midnight stallion at the base of the great stairs of the palace. He wore regal attire like that of a king, albeit crimson and black remained the dominant theme. His raven hair fell across broad shoulders from which a stout muscled frame extended.
Gideon couldn’t help but find the man very handsome. He had never actually seen Mordred in person. His natural supposition had been that such a brutal conqueror must be grotesque-a bloated, dingy slob smelling of sweat with most of his teeth missing.
Mordred was exactly the opposite. No wonder people follow him, he thought. When Mordred finally spoke, it only confirmed that opinion. “Ah, the valiant priest from The Order of Shaddai. Hello, Gideon.”
Gideon raised his eyebrows curiously. The guards pulled him toward their master. “How do you know my name?” he asked.
Mordred smiled-every women’s dream, but beneath a nightmare. “You will find, Gideon, that I know a great deal about you-more than you would want, to be sure.”
Now Gideon looked puzzled. What was Mordred talking about-Ethan? The Order’s location? What could he possibly know about him?
Mordred seemed to sense his bewilderment. “Try not to worry yourself about it now, Gideon. There will be plenty of time for you to regret being so careless-plenty of time for you to wish you’d never met me.”
Gideon swallowed a lump gathering in his throat.
Mordred regarded General Rommil, grinning. “But not yet. We’ve prepared a place for you to rest until your official audience with me in my throne room. General Rommil?”
Rommil straightened. “Yes, my Lord?”
“See that our guest is tucked in comfortably. Then you may join me in my chambers.”
Rommil bowed obediently. Mordred turned his stallion and rode down behind the line of soldiers toward the stable. Rommil stepped in front of Gideon and looked him in the eye. He chuckled to himself. “Welcome to Emmanuel, priest.”
Gideon’s face hardened. Rommil turned and ascended the stone stairs toward the palace proper. Gideon’s guards followed the general, forcing him to come along. As they neared the top of the stairs and the great doors beyond, he wondered if he would ever see his friends again. And more importantly, would he ever see his Sarah again?
EDGE OF MADNESS
The special place Mordred had prepared for Gideon turned out to be nothing more than a room of cold stone. They had not descended into the dungeons of the palace, but it bore resemblance. The guards had thrust him in without any chains to bind him whatsoever.
Curious, he thought. Looking around the twenty foot square room, it held nothing at all in the way of furnishings, not even a bed. When the door had closed however, things had changed. As Gideon’s eyes wandered over every inch of the walls, looking for anything that might aid an escape, he happened to look back at the door. It had disappeared.
He blinked. Only stone remained where the guards had been standing moments before. He turned round and round, supposing he’d become disoriented and simply looked for the door in the wrong part of the room. But he had not. The door had vanished completely, as though it had never existed, yet here he was inside the room. No wonder they removed my chains, he thought. I can’t escape without a way.
Gideon fought back the panic welling up inside. Claustrophobia fell on him like a weight. He stopped himself from allowing his emotions to have their way. Reason told him that there must be a way in and out. He’d just come through. Realizing the alternative helped to bolster his confidence. It’s a trick-even if you don’t know how- remember it’s only illusion.
Gideon closed his eyes, then searched the walls inch by inch with his hands. Still he couldn’t find anything to suggest a door. He gave up and sat down in the middle of the floor, trying to relax. The air seemed to grow thin around him. He tried to control his breathing. The feeling of suffocation grew-panic attacked at the fringe of his consciousness again. And again, he had to reason through. “They’re not trying to kill you,” he told himself. “This is an illusion. Demons are involved here-that’s how they can do this to you. Mordred made it clear that you would come before him in his throne room, that you would live to regret it. A dead man can’t do those things.”
It was then that Gideon noticed something he had not before. He could see, despite the fact that the room had no windows, no discernable source of light at all. Still, there was some form of light in the room-dim, as though light particles had simply been suspended somehow. He smiled. “They’re trying to break me.”
Gideon closed his eyes again and made himself believe that there was plenty of air. He thought of the room as a safe haven instead of a tomb. He felt better, calm, hungry.
He opened his eyes and saw a bowl of steaming soup sitting on a plate with a piece of bread. Gideon looked around the room. Had he fallen asleep? Certainly there hadn’t been anyone to come into the room without him realizing it. But there sat the food.
Gideon reached out and pulled the plate across the stone floor to him. The aroma was wonderful. The bread smelled of butter and honey, and the soup looked like a chowder of some kind with a creamy white sauce. His belly groaned and complained, wanting to be satisfied. It seemed so long since he’d tasted food worth tasting.
Gideon took the small loaf of bread in his dry hands. It felt moist and warm to the touch. He broke it open and sniffed at the vapors rising through the crust. His mouth watered, and he sank his teeth into it. The sweet flavor rolled across his taste buds like high tide upon the shore. He moaned with satisfaction as he chewed and swallowed the first bite.
Next, Gideon took the bowl of soup and brought it to his mouth. It smelled wonderful. He greedily tipped the rim to his lips, slurping the creamy broth. He let the flavor fill his mouth, then he looked curiously inside the bowl.
Something round rolled over in the broth until the sauce revealed a pigmented ring and pupil within. Gideon forced the soup through his lips, spewing it out. The broth splattered across the stones before him. It had been an eyeball. He dropped the bowl. It scattered its contents across the floor-blood intermingled with the creamy white sauce.
Gideon spit the remnants out over and over again. He caught a glance at the bread broken open on the plate. Maggots festered within. Gideon coughed in spasms, horrified that he’d eaten any of the foul food he’d been delivered. He heaved upon his hands and knees, but he had nothing in his stomach to bring up.
When he finally felt some settling, Gideon looked up again. The spilt food, along with the bowl and plate, had disappeared. Examining the stone floor closely, he found no evidence there had ever been any food at all.
The room suddenly grew cold-so much so, that his breath hung suspended in the air. Gideon’s clothes were little more than rags after the fighting on Macedon and the voyage across the Azure Sea. His teeth chattered, while gooseflesh sprung up all over his arms.
A light shone behind him. Gideon turned to see it and found the stone walls had given way to images. He blinked, but the images remained, unfolding before him. He saw entire cities burned to the ground, the inhabitants
