The Dove (35 page)

Lucifer and his warriors had subdued the troops armed with flame-throwers and the Templars had taken charge of the truck containing the dangerous object in the wooden crate.  Il Dolce Mio and his elves had overtaken the mound with little or no trouble and were now riding out toward them with the survivors of the siege in their midst.  Edgard was waiting impatiently for them to come up with Simon and his two charges.  Konrad had pointed out immediately that he could not locate Mark Andrew or the Tuathan among the elven company as they approached.

Edgard put the binoculars to his own eyes again, marveling at the huge winged lion as it fairly played about the hills, toying with the Fox soldiers who were trying to take cover in the rocks.  He shook his head in wonder.  The Golden Eagle had done it again!  Lucio had awakened the mighty Gryphon, the winged lion that had lain under a great spell for thousands of years in the Egyptian desert.  The presence of the beast trapped within the weathering stone was proof yet again of the blindness of men.  For hundreds of generations, they had marveled at the thing, wondering who had made it, re-working it, reclaiming it, sculpting it to fit their own myths, but never imagining what it really was.  The Grand Master winced inwardly as the beast plucked another soldier from the rocks and crushed him like a locust between his great jaws.  Edgard had never thought to see the beast that he had chosen as his own personal symbol, the Gryphon, freed upon the earth again. 

“Your Grace!”  Konrad circled him again on his black charger interrupting his small pleasure.  “Request permission to take some men into the enemy camp and search for Sir Ramsay and the Tuathan healer.”

“Not yet.”  D’Brouchart glanced over his shoulder at the scene of the battle.  Fires were raging among the tents and the sound of gunfire, though sporadic, was still coming from that direction.  Many of the winged horsemen had gone, but a few of them still rose and fell over the ruins of the Fox encampment.  Dark streamers of smoke drifted across the clear blue sky, and the cries of the wounded could be heard as the remaining Fox contingent gathered together at the base of the mound.  Some three to four hundred men had banded together there with considerable firepower. 

Lucifer and his warriors, along with Michael Ian and Galen Zachary were giving them a bad time by causing the rubble, boulders and loose debris of the mound to rain down on them as they tried to shoot the fleeting shadows and shapes in the rocks above them.  The battle was virtually over, but Jozsef Daniel and Abaddon were unaccounted for.  The Grand Master did not want to risk losing any of his Knights or soldiers to the power of the Urim and Thummin.  He had the Ark and a goodly portion of Jozsef’s army.  He had secretly held out no hope for capturing the Ancient Evil, destroying him, perhaps, sending him underground, most likely, but capture was not something he had considered. 

Somewhere down there, were John Paul and Marduk.  Edgard well remembered the discussions held in the Abyss concerning what John Paul and Marduk proposed to do once they had the opportunity to confront Jozsef Daniel.  Simon’s note had explained why he had taken the Tuathan healer and what he had hoped to accomplish concerning the golden hand, but Edgard had no confidence in that little bit of wizardry.  He doubted that Jozsef actually needed the golden skin to survive in his present form and he further doubted that Simon would have any success in his folly.  “We will wait for the smoke to clear and see what goes.”

Konrad kicked his horse in frustration and rode back to the summit of the hill where he began to scan the horizon with his binoculars again.

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Mark Andrew pushed the injured ‘Prophet’ to his knees in the midst of the opulent cushions of his ruined tent.  He put his foot against his back and put him on his hands and knees.  Jozsef gasped in pain and caught his side again, unable to move further or even speak.  The Scot drew the sword that Colonel McGuffy had provided him with and raised it over his head.

“Now you will repent of your sins, Sabaoth!  You will pay for the deaths of my kinsmen.”  Mark told him as he prepared to bring the blade down on his exposed neck.

“Astaphaios!  Brother!  You know who I am!”  The Prophet gasped out the words and tried to look up at him.  “Would you kill your brother?”

Mark hesitated momentarily and then raised the sword a bit higher.

“Wait! I have something for you!”  Jozsef blurted and then spit up a mouthful of dark blood on the rug in front of him.  “Something you might need.”

“You have nothing I need.”  Mark told him, but hesitated as the false prophet scrabbled about in the purple trappings on the floor of the tent.  He cleared away several pillows from an ornate golden box and put his hand on the latch.  Mark brought his foot down on the hand and then shoved him away from it.  Jozsef cried out in pain and clutched his wounded side as he fell again onto his back.  Mark kept an eye on the injured man while opening the box.  Inside, lying in a nest of black velvet was a sparkling crystal skull.

“Take it!”  Jozsef hissed at him as more blood oozed between his lips.  “Take it!  Take it all!  You can have all of this and Hubur, too.  Just let me go!  This place makes my nose burn.  I don’t want anything to do with it any more.  I’m tired of it all.  Just let me go and I’ll bother you no more.  You have my word as a brother.”

Mark paid no attention to his pleas as he examined the skull and then shoved it inside his shirt.  It tingled against his bare skin.  Jozsef was crawling away again toward the tent flap.  Mark caught him up by one arm and stood him on his knees.  Jozsef seemed to relax a bit as he saw it was no use pleading or trying to get away any longer.  He’d lost a great deal of blood and his vision was growing dim.  He could no longer feel his hands or feet.

Mark raised the sword once more, preparing to strike the final blow that would release the Ancient Evil from its physical body and forever destroy any hope of Omar’s return to a more familiar form.  Mark gritted his teeth, gripped the hilt tightly and then froze at the sound of a familiar voice behind him.

“John?”  He frowned at the sight of John Paul and Marduk Kurios standing in the open flap of the tent when he turned with the sword still raised.

“Father?”  The prophet smiled at him.

“Adar!”  Marduk interjected himself between them.  “You cannot kill him like that.”

“John?”  Mark lowered the sword and seemed to sway slightly.  He looked totally confused and lost.  He tried to look around Marduk at the prophet.

“Papa!”  John Paul stepped forward and caught his arm as he swayed again. 

Jozsef took advantage of this lucky break and tried to crawl toward the rear of the tent, leaving a bright trail of blood behind him.  Marduk kicked him soundly and he rolled over on his back, clutching his side.

“Ahhhh.”  Marduk leaned over him.  “You are enjoying your new skin now, are you, Sabaoth?”

“Our father will see you in hell, Adonaios!  Where is Astaphaios?  Bring our brother with you!”  Jozsef told him through clenched teeth.

“I have no intention of visiting our father, Evil One!  You made your choice years ago.”  Marduk smiled at him.  “Where is your lovely consort?  Where is the great Hubur?  I have been admiring her pets.”

John Paul lowered Mark Andrew to one of the cushions and brushed back his hair.

“Papa?  Can you hear me?”  He asked.

“I hear you.”  Mark was disoriented.  “I came to… I need to… Why did you stop me?” he asked slowly.

“You can’t kill him with a sword, Papa.”  John told him gently.  “Lord Marduk will take care of it.  He knows the Word.”

“The Word?”  Mark’s confusion was growing.

“Yes. 
The Word
.  Come with me, Papa.”  John helped him up and led him toward the tent flap.

“Where is your mother, John?”  Mark Andrew blinked at him in confusion.

“Don’t worry yourself now.  We need to find the others.  Where is Selwig?”

“Selwig?  Selwig is my friend.  Sophia told me so.”

“Lord Marduk?”  John Paul called over his shoulder.  “Do you require assistance?”

“Keep watch for that scurrilous Apollyon!  I see this one has lost his toys.”  The dark Lord answered. 

John Paul ushered Mark out of the tent into the smoky haze that had settled over the camp as Marduk began the incantation necessary to send the Ancient Evil back beyond the Abyss into the halls of Chaos.  Mark sat down heavily on an overturned bucket as a series of wails erupted from within the tent.

The prophet took the Knight’s hand and examined the gold patch on the back of it closely.  He pressed his other hand against Mark’s forehead and smiled at him before raising up to survey the ruins about the tent.  He spied a spot of bright yellow amidst the rubble.

Mark grabbed his arm.  “John, where have you been?  I saw the stars, the moon, the sun.  I saw the end of the All.  Where is this place?  Where is Sam?  What happened?  Did we win the battle?  Where is Lugh?”

“The battle is over.  We have prevailed.”  John Paul frowned down at his ‘father’ quizzically.  “Ahhh!  The war!  Yes, yes.  You won the war, Papa.  The Formorian fiends have returned to the sea. Wait here, Papa.  I’ll be right back.” 

Mark nodded and John Paul hurried away to where the Tuathan healer lay in heap beside his yellow bag.  He picked him up lightly and brought him back to Mark.  The Knight of Death took Selwig in his lap and brushed back his golden-red curls.

“Selwig!  My friend!”  Mark was appalled by the sight of the apparently lifeless Tuathan.  “Wake up, please!”

Selwig moaned slightly and opened his eyes.  Mark hugged him tightly in relief, much to his chagrin.

“Lord Nanna!”  Marduk stuck his head out of the tent.  “I cannot perform the necessary magick as long he wears the golden skin.”  He dragged Jozsef Daniel out of the tent by one leg.  Jozsef kicked feebly and cried out in pain, grabbing at the tent poles as his head was banged over the ground unmercifully.  The life was ebbing from him through the terrible wound inflicted by the spear of Longinus.  If they did not complete the ritual very soon, the Ancient Evil would escape them as the life drained from the human body he occupied, and he would be set free by death of the physical form.

Selwig pushed his way out of Mark’s grip and straightened himself up, dusting off his clothes.

“I came here to remove the work which I performed for my Master’s grandson.”  Selwig told them gravely.

“Then I suggest that you set to it.”  Marduk yanked the ‘Prophet’ from the ground and then threw him back at the healer’s feet.  Selwig cringed at the cruelty even to this evil one.  The healer bent over him briefly and Jozsef looked up at him in fear.

“My bag.”  Selwig held out his hand and John Paul handed him the yellow backpack.  He sat down next to the Ancient Evil and cringed again at the sight of the dark bloodstain on his white tunic.  “He is severely injured, my Lords.  Should I bind his wounds?  He will soon bleed to death.”

“No!”  Two voices answered him at once.  Marduk twisted Jozsef’s good arm behind him and held his head back by his long hair.  “Just do your work on the hand, healer!”

Selwig reached into his bag and took out several items before setting to work on the golden hand.  The half-hearted fighting continued around them, but the sounds of gunfire was abating gradually as the Fox survivors at the base of the mound realized their leaders were no longer with them.  The British and Frankish troops had moved into position in front of them, and Corrigan’s Irishmen were riding up and down the slopes of the hill, routing out stragglers and adding to the confusion by putting on a loud display of victory cries as they chased the hapless soldiers down the slopes.  Mark Andrew had turned his attention to this activity and had left the vicinity of command tent unnoticed by John Paul or Marduk. 

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Lucio rode about the encampment with Vanni, Luke Andrew and Lemarik, checking the dead and wounded soldiers, searching for anything that might be worth saving. They were covered with dust and spattered with blood and gore.  The last of the winged warriors had disappeared and only the troops penned down at the base of the mound remained. The Golden Eagle had spent a hard half hour recalling the rampaging Sphinx, when its services were no longer necessary.  Lemarik had suggested that he send it off in pursuit of the few trucks that had escaped to the south.  The great creature was very hard to control and would have to be put to rest again very soon.  He rose up in the saddle and squinted through the smoke drifting across the battlefield.  Someone was walking through the smoke toward the ranks of the Frankish army.

“Mark?”  He narrowed his eyes and strained to see the hazy form.  “Mark!  Mark Andrew!”  He shouted and kicked his horse.  His three companions wheeled about and rode after him.

Mark stopped as the four horses thundered to a stop around him and the riders fell from the saddles, calling to him in excitement.

He looked at them in confusion.

“Ho, Adar!”  Lemarik addressed him cautiously as they perceived the confused look on his face.

“Father?”  Luke Andrew reached for him and he stepped back.

“Brother!”  Lucio stopped in his tracks.  “It’s me, Lucio!”