An eerie pattern emerged as Ethan continued to ride through the town. Oddly enough, he could not find any women among the dead. Did the Wraith Rider take them prisoner? Ethan hated to think about why the women would have been taken captive from Grandee while the men were killed. But if that was the case, then at least Elspeth was still alive.
As he continued riding into the business district of Grandee, Ethan heard voices speaking somewhere in the distance. He could not see anyone yet. The sounds came from one street over, so he urged Whistler on in order to investigate.
When Ethan rounded the buildings blocking his view, he saw three men rummaging through the clothes of those lying slain in the streets. He knew nearly everyone who had lived in Grandee. And these men did not. Fury struck Ethan in the chest as he understood what they were doing-looting the dead.
His sword sang out as he pulled the weapon from its scabbard on Whistler’s saddle. The men, so engrossed in their disrespect for Grandee’s fallen, did not notice the horse come into view on the street ahead of them. But when they heard the drumming of hooves on hard ground and Ethan’s war cry, they lifted their heads in stunned surprise.
Ethan gouged his heels into Whistler’s flanks and the horse sprang forward as if he had merely been waiting to be unleashed. Ethan held the blade aloft as he approached the three men. They tried to find their weapons as the boy closed in on them.
The men were all dressed in knee-length, crimson robes tied at the waist with white sashes. Loose fitting crimson breeches became tight at the ankle atop simple slip-on style shoes. One man carried a Bo staff, another carried a sword, and the third produced no weapons at all.
Ethan approached the unarmed man and swung his sword down in a wide arc. He had never used a weapon before. It felt clumsy in his hand. Ethan nearly fell off Whistler as the bouncing in the saddle, combined with the weight of his weapon, threatened to toss him into the street.
The leader of the oddly dressed looters bent backward at the waist halfway to the ground, allowing the point of Ethan’s blade to pass over him. The man actually smiled as Ethan made the pass and missed. It seemed the boy’s feeble attempt to kill him actually amused him.
Ethan barely recovered, straightening himself in the saddle before coming upon the man with the Bo staff. Ethan tried to bring the sword down this time. He aimed for the man’s head, striking out. The man simultaneously dodged his head sideways and struck Ethan in the arm with the end of the staff.
The blow, compounded with trying to ride the speeding horse, sent Ethan over the other side of the saddle and down into the dusty street. The fall knocked the wind out of him, but he did not waste anytime getting back up. His anger and adrenaline gave him more speed and strength than he normally had. However, Ethan simply was not the warrior he imagined himself to be.
When he stood, the three men had formed a tight group in the street. The leader was standing just ahead of the other two flanking him on either side. All three men laughed at Ethan. He located his sword. It had stuck into the earthen street, still wobbling back and forth a little when Ethan reached to pull it out.
He glanced at the men again, sneering at them as he prepared to unleash his fury upon these criminals. But they did not appear the least bit threatened by the armed, angry boy before them. The leader motioned to Bo staff with a nod. He came forward with his six-foot piece of hickory, twirling it around his body in tight circles. The wood became a circular blur. The man brought it around, stopping its motion precisely, taking a defensive stance. He then curled his index finger, challenging Ethan to charge him.
Ethan thought twice about making another attack. Then he thought about it again, supposing that his steel blade could cut the wood to splinters, if he could just hit it. Ethan took a chance and charged. At the last moment, he swept up with his blade. It clattered off the staff as the man deflected his strike and countered, whacking Ethan in the back, toying with him.
Ethan faltered, but realized he was near the leader who was just standing there laughing. Without warning, Ethan turned and swiped horizontally at the man’s neck. He was close enough to have decapitated the man. But instead, the man deftly fell backward, arching his back with his hands on the ground behind him. In the same swift motion, his feet came up under Ethan’s hands, striking the hilt of his sword. The weapon flew from Ethan’s grasp as the man completed his back flip and stood up again.
It happened too fast for Ethan to react. He was now unarmed, and his wrist ached terribly. The man followed his maneuver by leaping into the air toward the boy. His body rotated elegantly in mid-air and brought the back of his foot around, smashing Ethan across the side of the face. The blow was bone jarring. Ethan spun in place like a top, falling over like an old drunk.
MORDECAI
“I can’t believe that kid thought he could actually win against priests of Shaddai,” Bo staff said.
“Maybe he didn’t realize who we are,” the leader said.
“He must have been living under a rock then, Mordecai. Anyone who knows anything knows about The Order,” the man with the sword said.
“Let’s see what he’s got then. You two check his horse,” Mordecai commanded.
Whistler stood only thirty feet away. The men ran over to the horse and caught him by the reins. Whistler normally might have fled from these strangers, but the animal remained loyal to its master, Ethan.
The two men rummaged through the saddlebags, but did not find anything more than a few more weapons and some food and water. Mordecai began to rummage through the young boy’s clothing. He found nothing of consequence, no money. But when he pushed back the sleeve on the boy’s right arm, his eyes transfixed on something he never expected to see.
The boy’s right arm held the mark of Shaddai’s Deliverer. There could be no mistaking it. Mordecai had seen the same image within the secret Temple of Shaddai, while training there as a priest of The Order. A lump rose in his throat.
The implications settled on his mind, while a smile settled upon his lips. The Deliverer, thought killed many years before, was here-alive! Mordecai needed only to deliver the fool to Mordred and his fondest dreams of power and prestige could come true-he could name his price.
“Find some rope,” Mordecai told the others as he stood up.
They turned to him. Both had puzzled looks on their faces.
“We’ve just struck gold, boys,” Mordecai said.
The two men looked down at the unconscious boy, surmising he must mean rope to tie him up. They dispersed into a nearby mercantile. The building had been bashed in by something monstrous.
Mordecai stood in the street, hovering over Ethan, staring in wonder at what the Almighty had chosen to use as a deliverer. This is it-a boy with no fighting skill whatsoever?
Within several minutes, the other two priests emerged from the mercantile with a suitable length of sturdy rope. Mordecai took it and began to wrap it around the boy’s hands and then loop it around his neck. If he attempted to strike out with his bound wrists then at least he would choke himself with the effort.
“Bring the horses,” Mordecai said, “and his.”
One of the priests fetched three horses, which they had stolen in another village, while the other retrieved Whistler. When Mordecai felt satisfied with his knot, they hoisted Ethan onto Whistler’s saddle and secured him to the horse with more rope. He could ride now even while he was still unconscious. Perfect, Mordecai thought. The very end of the long rope he fastened securely to the horn of his saddle. Then the three riders, plus their prisoner, set off on horseback for the city of white walled city of Emmanuel.
The wind carried light debris and dust through the streets in Grandee. Another man strolled through its death filled streets. He led a horse, white with patches of brown. The young man’s face remained passive. He surveyed the town like someone who had seen this all before and had learned to remain detached from the tragedy of it.