James Somers - The Realm Shift

Mordred lived under the misguided assumption he was in control of the demons working with him. Jericho knew this well. He had been the very one who had misguided that assumption, supporting it with every bow and scrape of feigned obeisance to Lord Mordred.

A means to an end, he always told himself. Mordred and his kind were a means to the subordination of the human race and the ascension of the fallen to the heights of supremacy. As it should be, he mused.

There came a flicker of darkness. Jericho did not need to see it. The proximity of spiritual beings always brought about a tingling sensation in his body. The flicker grew as another demon approached very fast from the west, over the Azure Sea. He sped toward the palace on dark wings with soiled feathers reflecting their fallen nature.

The demon landed near Jericho and immediately knelt in his presence. Jericho did not remove his gaze from Mordred, neither did his body stir in the slightest. “My lord, Jericho, I bring news of Wayland’s army and from our ships at Sea.”

“And what news of our noble King Stephen?” Jericho said, continuing to look out upon the courtyards.

“Stephen makes progress with the aid of the villages in the north. His army is three thousand strong and growing as they make conscripts of the Nodian villages along the way. He should arrive within two days time.”

“Stephen is a fool,” Jericho said. “He should realize he cannot hope to take this city. By the way, have you been able to get through yet?”

“No, my lord,” the demon said. “The Host of Shaddai is still guarding Stephen’s army.”

“No matter,” Jericho spat. “He doesn’t usually allow his servants to interfere with human affairs. They may escort them, but it is only to Stephen’s doom.”

The demon continued to stand there. “Was there something else?” Jericho asked.

“Yes, my lord. News from the Azure Sea.”

“When will the Anakims arrive?”

“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.