Jericho hovered high above Mordred's command ship sailing on below him. The barge, where the boy had attacked, remained crippled and drifting. Several ships of the armada had diverted and were presently trying to moor along side the vessel in order to take on its remaining men and supplies. The operation would take a while, but with the help of his demons, they might accomplish the task in a third of the time.
The horde of demons which had taken up pursuit, chasing the Deliverer away, were now returning, a black cloud on the horizon, approaching fast. They began to disperse to clean-up duties as Jericho's thoughts directed them. One of the demons returned to Jericho directly. "My Lord, we've chased the boy away from the armada."
Jericho's eyes burned into the demon lieutenant before him. "You mean he escaped, don't you? I wanted the boy destroyed, or captured at the very least."
The abased demon bowed his head. "My apologies, my lord. We thought we had him, before his prayer allowed him to escape."
Jericho closed his eyes slowly, frustrated. "Of course it did. Organize the cleanup of this debacle and get the armada moving again as quickly as possible."
"Yes, my lord," the demon lieutenant said, snapping to attention. He flew straightway to the barge and the other demons already beginning to help align two of the other vessels so they could transport the salvageable materials onboard for the remainder of the journey to Wayland.
Jericho descended to the bridge of the renovated Man-o-war, now serving as Mordred's command ship. The warlord stood on the poop deck, watching the progress of those ships diverted to the cleanup. Jericho became visible to him with a flash of light meant to draw his attention away from the sea.
Mordred turned, as expected, clearly unsurprised to see Jericho standing there. "What news? Was it the boy?"
Jericho stood stiff, emotionless. "Yes."
"Did your demons destroy him?"
"No."
Mordred seemed to prickle at the news, though he likely had suspected as much. "I see. Well, you seem to be unconcerned by this turn of events. The boy will certainly deliver news of our imminent attack to Stephen."
"I doubt very much that our voyage has managed to remain hidden. The ships we encountered and destroyed near the Northern Cape almost certainly got away a distress call by messenger hawk before we ever engaged them. The boy's report will make little difference. At least his retreat tells us that he is as weak as we might hope."
Mordred considered that piece of wisdom with a slight smile, but then relented. "Could he have seen the new ships?"
"Very doubtful, My Lord," Jericho said. "Your modifications to the Man-o-wars would appear as nothing but more sail stowed away in extra compartments. They will not expect what is coming."
Mordred smiled. "Yes, of course they won't. How could they? And Wayland will be broken for their insolence once and for all."
KING'S ADDRESS
Gideon heard the mass of people long before he ever saw them crowding through the streets of Wayland's capital. He had breached the wall with ease, using a secret tunnel left by The Order of Shaddai. The tunnel had been shown to him years before by Isaiah as one dug for an emergency escape in the event of a siege. For whatever reason, the tunnel had remained unguarded and perhaps even forgotten all these years later.
With his bow in hand, Gideon crept threw mostly deserted streets. Dusk was fast approaching, but still everyone in the city had gathered at the central palace courtyard. The King must be addressing the people.
Gideon noticed there were few flat rooftops in Evelah. Finding a place close enough to the palace and away from the crowds for an assassination would be difficult at best. As he followed the flow of people, he finally came to see thousands gathered before Stephen's palace. High above the crowd stood several guards upon a lone balcony made of polished marble, bearing a tapestry with the King's crest upon it. His target would be easy enough to find if only he could find the right place to shoot from.
To his right, Gideon saw a wall leading away from the palace itself. That might do very nicely, he thought. The crowd consisted of mostly women and children with the elderly sprinkled among them. The debacle at Emmanuel had hurt Stephen more than Gideon had previously realized-thousands of husbands and fathers had never come home to their families.
Gideon latched onto that thought. Perhaps there would be some justice in his actions today. The King who had disobediently assumed the role of Shaddai's Deliverer, and caused these people so much pain, would soon be dead.
Dusk had come sooner than Ethan had expected. As he passed over Evelah, heading for the Temple, he noticed the crowds gathering below at the palace. Something important must be about to happen. Ethan flew over the thousands assembled before the wide marble veranda as King Stephen appeared, flanked by his royal guard. Ethan came in close, still invisible to the naked eye, and perched against the vertical wall to Stephen's left side.
As the King stepped up to the marble banister, the crowd below became quiet, eager to hear what news could be so important that it must be shared at this late hour in the day. "My good people," the King said in a deep booming voice which, due to the walls enclosing the courtyard lawn, managed to reverberate to the fullest extent of the crowd. "We have suffered here in Wayland with the loss of so many of our esteemed warriors at the hands of that vile fiend, Mordred, and his demonic hordes. And I had hoped to spare our citizens any further pain, However, I have just received word that Mordred plans to invade Wayland."
Murmurs rose among the crowd. Cries of distress also rang out here and there as the realization of what was coming began to fill them with dread.
"Please!" King Stephen cried over the escalating din. "We must not despair! We will fight against him! We still have an army and enough weapons to place a sword in the hand of every capable man, woman, and child. We will not go down quietly without fighting for our lives! Now is the time for all Waylanders to come together against this scourge and send him back to the pit from whence he came!"
Despite the grand noise of the King, panic continued to build among those assembled to hear his report. Gideon listened from his place upon the wall on the right side of the massive green courtyard. Two of the King's guards lay behind him unconscious. Gideon waited, still wearing the soldier's uniform taken from the fortress outpost, until Stephen had finished delivering the bad news. From that point, Gideon had no longer been able to hear what the King was saying-so great was the cry of despair now echoing around the courtyard below.
So, Mordred was coming for sure. The King hadn't said when Mordred would arrive, but given the nature of his speech, Gideon guessed the warlord must already be close, no doubt coming with a fleet of carrier barges and Man-o-war battleships at his disposal. But any attack upon Evelah would require nearly a day's march from the sea in order to bring them to the city walls.
Perhaps this was exactly the reason why Gideon had been given this assignment to assassinate the King. So that Evelah would have no leadership and surrender easily. Gideon felt the bow in his left hand, squeezing upon the wood. He flexed the fingers of his right, the knuckles popping. He could turn around now and walk away. He didn't have to obey Mordred's command. The warlord would likely never know.
But Gideon remembered his son. His child was still under Mordred's control. If he abandoned this assignment then he also abandoned his son. The thought of his and Sarah's child growing up in the care of such a villain gripped his heart so that he felt he could not breathe.
Gideon pushed the rebellious thought from his mind and focused upon his task. He whipped an arrow from the quiver slung onto his back and nocked it to the bow. He raised the weapon and placed the arrowhead on the distant breastbone of King Stephen, who was even now trying to persuade his discomfited citizens that all hope was not lost. With a final whisper-forgive me-he released the bowstring.