Chosen Ones (17 page)

“Of course, my lord.”

The two groups of rebel slaves were closing in on the citadel. The guards watched them restlessly, their swords at the ready. Surely they had nothing to fear from these runaway slaves. They had only a few stolen swords. Their doom would be swift.

Peter led his men forward, estimating range. The guards were in a defensive posture, waiting for them to attack so that they could hack them to death with their swords. He paused. They were in range, but best to be sure. They marched another twenty paces. They could see the guards ahead of them, their swords itching for action. He held up a hand for his men to halt, waiting for the signal from Julia.

And then, from the west, he heard a scream—

not as loud as it might have been had he been standing close, but it would serve. He turned toward the men and yel ed with al his might:

“Draw! Aim! Release!”

The air was thick with arrows, hurtling down mercilessly on the guards. Several fel dead; others looked around, desperately, trying to work out what was happening.

“Draw! Aim! Release!”

Another withering vol ey hissed through the air before fal ing to find their targets. The guards looked around, terrified. They broke ranks, retreating hastily and in disorder towards the castle. As they did so, a series of massive explosions rang out on the east side of the castle. Bil ows of acrid smoke enveloped the area.

The Jackal, looking down on the scene from the citadel, turned to the others, an expression of utter delight beneath his mask.

“The cannons worked!” he cried. “Even the noise they make wil be enough to terrify those fools down there! And just wait until those cannonbal s slice them to ribbons. They haven’t a prayer.” The Wolf joined him at the window, and as the smoke cleared the scene below told a different story.

The cannons had not kil ed countless rebels but had exploded, kil ing the teams of guards who were operating them. A troop of horsemen seemed to have come from nowhere, armed with swords to finish off the remaining guards. Slaves newly escaped from the castle were swarming everywhere, picking up swords form the hands of wounded and dead guards and using them to fight alongside their brothers. The lords’ ambush had failed miserably.

And what was this? To the south, the guards sent to engage the second column were in total disarray. Some were lying dead on the ground and others were in ful retreat, heading for the safety of the castle gates.

The Wolf leaned forward, unable to believe what he was seeing. Slaves were thronging inside the castle, shutting the gates and preventing the guards from getting back to safety. His retreating guards were trapped between the castle wal and the advancing rebels. He watched in horror as a vol ey of arrows shot upwards and descended on the hapless guards, who had nowhere to run for safety. Where did they get those weapons?

Suddenly there was a noise immediately outside the doors of the Hal . The three lords turned just as the doors crashed open, revealing the bodies of dead guards lying outside. The rebels who had kil ed them had views about the men inside the room.

It was, perhaps, the first time the Wolf had been taken aback in five long centuries. He gasped as slaves armed with swords approached them and backed them into a corner. They were trapped. They were doomed.

And then the rebels parted as a young, fair-haired woman entered the Hal . She was hardly recognizable as the emissary from Albion, but had a new look about her—a look that knew what it meant to be chosen. And it was in this look that the lords final y found fear.

But the Wolf was no coward, nor was he a fool, and only a fool would enter a battle unarmed. He touched his long fingers to the dagger concealed within his robes.

“So, little girl, you’ve come to take over the world.”

Julia shook her head. “No. Only return it to those who wil serve it best.”

One of the rebels approached, his knuckles white around the hilt of his sword. But Julia put out a hand and touched his arm.

“No, Lukas,” she said. “We show them mercy.” At that word the Wolf struck. No one saw the dagger fly out of his hand until it was too late.

Julia cried out as the dagger struck her cheek.

A curtain of blood fel over her face and she crumpled to the floor.

Lukas was with her in an instant. The wound was not deep—that much he could see—although it would leave a mighty scar. Julia blinked up at him.

She was in pain, but she was conscious. Lukas rose and stood eye-to-eye with the Wolf. He reached out and took hold of his mask, wrenching it away from his face.

The face exposed there was no longer human.

The mouth and nose had grown out from the rest of the face into a snout and the lips curling up in a snarl revealed massive teeth. The eyes shone bright and yel ow—and angry.

Lukas turned away from him to the Leopard.

“You surrender?”

“I rather think we do,” he stammered.

Peter was stil outside the castle, organizing his men and dealing with al the thousands of details that come after a battle, when he noticed Helen and Alyce emerging from the forest. They were surrounded by a bevy of children who clung to their hands. Peter grinned and nodded a greeting to them as they approached the massive doors of the citadel, out of which the freed slaves were running.

Perhaps you can imagine the joy they felt at the reunion—the tears, the cries, the long embraces.

Perhaps you can picture the jubilation of a child who has been too long without a parent. It was a sight to make the stars dance in the sky.

And Peter, who suddenly missed his mother so much he could hardly breathe, felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes and turned away.

It was an hour later that Julia, her face pale and swathed in bandages, and Peter entered the Great Hal of Aedyn together to the cheers and applause of the faithful. After so many centuries, they had never expected this day to arrive. The old order was passing away, and the new would begin. Peter held up his hands for silence and waited for his sister to speak.

“We were cal ed here by the Lord of Hosts to lead you from darkness into light,” she said. “The former things have passed away. The Lords of Aedyn have been vanquished. Their power over you is broken. Bring in the masks!”

Those assembled stood on tiptoe as the three grotesque masks were brought in by three bearers, trying to see what was happening. Each of the masks of the hated Lords of Aedyn was placed on a wooden table before the throne. The crowd watched with bated breath as Julia held up each mask in turn.

“These masks were worn by weak, evil men.

They wanted you to fear them and respect them. And you were fooled by this crude deception. You wil never be taken in again! Watch!”

The masks were placed on the table. Lukas marched to the table, sword in hand. With three massive strikes, he destroyed each mask.

“And now…”

The Jackal, the Leopard, and the Wolf, such as they were, entered the Hal at sword point. They stared straight ahead, oblivious to the gasps at their deformed faces. Peter went to them and removed the ebony amulets from around their necks.

“Your years are coming to an end,” he said softly—so softly that only they could hear. “You wil die alone, and you wil die soon. Your power is broken.” He brought the amulets to Lukas, who, at a nod from Gaius, forced the point of his sword through each one of them in turn.

As the last amulet was broken under the sword, Gaius spoke to the lords. “You wil know the sting of mortality,” he said. “But not just yet, for mercy is stronger stil . We send you not to death, but to exile.

You wil return to Khemia, the land you left al those years ago, and live out the remainder of your days.” The lords were escorted (none too gently) out of the Hal . Peter and Julia were led to the old thrones, and if you had heard the cheers you would have thought that it was angels singing.

T
he afternoon sun blazed down on Aedyn. A zephyr rustled a flag flying from the great citadel of the island, bearing the emblem of the Lord of Hosts.

Crowds of people were mil ing round the castle, clearing away the debris of battle and exulting in their new freedom. Lukas had taken charge, ready to ensure a smooth path from oppression to peace.

Peter and Julia walked among the people, stopping to grasp hands and exchange stories with those gathered. And then Gaius found them and ushered them away.

“Come,” he said. “There is little time.” And as he spoke the wal s of the citadel melted away, and they were once more in the garden. The silver glow was stronger than ever.

Julia looked around in utter astonishment. Gone were the ruined wal s, the overgrown paths, and the blocked fountain. The soft stone wal s were covered with roses and flowering plants, whose heavy aroma perfumed the late afternoon air. The fountain was burbling, sending cool streams of pure, clear water into the air and cascading into the pond. The garden was serene, an oasis of coolness in the heat of the day. It was as if an army of gardeners had labored for weeks to restore it to its original beauty.

Julia wandered around the wal ed garden, admiring the flowers and their delectable fragrances.

In another part of the garden she found some trees, whose beautiful broad green leaves seemed to exude sweet-smel ing oils which hovered in the air.

One tree was set apart from the rest, raised up and surrounded by a low stone wal . Its branches drooped low, laden with exotic ripe fruit. She returned to the center of the garden and the great throne where Gaius and Peter were waiting.

“Wel , fair one?” the monk asked. “Have you solved our great question?”

“I think so,” she murmured. “It’s al about power, isn’t it—loving power more than people.”

“Nothing’s that simple,” scoffed Peter, but Gaius raised a hand to silence him.

“Truth is found most often in simplicity,” he said.

“You have done wel , my children. You have set this land free from its oppressors, and so it wil remain for many years.”

“Not forever?” asked Julia.

“No. Not so long as the dark power that created those amulets exits.” Gaius shook his head, and then looked up, beyond the children and beyond the garden—beyond Aedyn itself. “But one day, a redeemer wil come. One who wil be of the house of Marcus, but greater stil . One who wil defeat the dark forces of evil and death. We can only resist them, but he can break the true source of their power and banish their presence. The Anointed One wil come.

We are his heralds, and we prepare his way. His hour has not yet come.”