Dante and Isabella frolic in the meadow with their dog Mitz, a large wolf-mastiff hybrid who, at over eight and a half feet long, towers over the top of their heads. He is an intimidating presence, but as docile as a lamb and much enamored with his guardian’s children. In many ways he is a surrogate parent during their father’s frequent absences.

The children run at breakneck speeds through the meadow, oblivious to the dangers that lurk around them, as all children are inclined to do. Mitz barks loudly in a low-pitched deep timbre, enjoying himself but keeping a constant watch on the children as they dart very near large potholes in the meadow beds. The potholes host a dangerous colony of fiery empire ants, who possess the ability to squirt a neurotoxin at their victims, disabling them for future meals. Humans are not immune to their toxins and the unaware occasionally succumb to blindness when the ants squirt poison in their eyes. Whenever the children venture too close to the potholes, Mitz darts in front of them and re-directs them to a safer path. Naturally, the children confuse his behavior for playfulness.

Mitz’s ears perk up and he barks suddenly, alerting them to a familiar presence. It is Father. It had been nearly two months since they had last seen him. His post is an especially demanding one that requires a lot of time away from his family, much to the chagrin of the children.

With as much fervor as their task had consumed them, the children are equally as feverish in their sprint for their father. Mitz diverts them from another insidious pothole as they race through the field. Father routinely brings gifts for them upon his return and they are excited about the imminent wonders they will soon behold.

The children could not have imagined a more loving father. He has never raised a hand to them, although he does threaten that their mother would do so. The mere mention of this threat is enough to induce the children into more appropriate behavior; they detest the thought of father’s disapproval.

And on occasions when they do not behave in the absence of Father, he would make references to such behavior, causing the children to wonder how he could have possibly acquired such knowledge. It is almost as if the man had a sixth sense. His disapproving look with one eyebrow raised and his hands folded across his chest would be all that was needed to induce the children into confessing mischievous behavior. And then he would smile and forgive them unconditionally.

The children run quickly into their father’s waiting arms. Even Mitz leaps up into his arms. He picks them up easily, as if they weighed no more than a bag of feathers.

“Father, Father! We missed you, Dada!”

“And I too, you little pooters!”

The children laugh.

“Did you bring us anything, Dada?” asks Isabella.

“Now Now! Can’t a father get home first and make his stay before his little ’uns start pestering him for gifts?”

Dante is quick with a reprimand. “Isabella, can’t ye wait for anything?”

Father gives Isabella a stern look for a couple of seconds and she looks away, slightly dejected. Father then smiles and laughs out loud. Isabella giggles in response.

“I do have something for ye both, but tell me, have you both completed your studies?”

In unison, they chant, “We have, Father!”

“Very well, then.” Father reaches into his large knapsack and produces a medium sized box. Upon opening it, Dante discovers several small silver figurines, battalion forces molded into many different battle-ready poses. A large board boasts an incredibly detailed scene in front of a castle. An army can be seen behind the ramparts, ostensibly preparing for an imminent battle that is to be fought within the imagination of a gifted boy. Dante will have no trouble immersing himself in such a make-believe world.

“Wow! Never seen anything like it, so I haven’t,” says Dante.

One figure in particular catches his attention. This figure is taller than the other ones and has oval shaped glasses over his eyes, for what reason Dante can only surmise. Two large caliber revolvers are positioned on two hip holsters and another high caliber revolver sits on the other side of the hip. An empty sword sheath is positioned on his right side and attached to his belt.

In his hand he carries a double edged sword and the blades appear to be deadly and expertly crafted. He has mocha-colored skin. His cheekbones are especially high and his nose is prominent but not overpowering. A large, rounded jaw accentuates unusually large and supple lips. He appears to be both menacing and noble all at once.

As early as Dante can remember, he had heard stories of the Knights of the Round Table and their adventures.

“I see ye have noticed Merlin, Dante. He is actually a real figure. He has only recently been inaugurated as our Merlin, the first to assume the role in over two hundred years.”

“Never seen anything like ’im, so I haven’t,” says Dante, still awestruck.

“And in your lifetime you most likely never will. He is an extraordinary man. The consummate and preeminent knight. The lead. The Merlin. The stories ye have been told are all true. Take care with it. Perhaps twill become your talisman.”

“Thank you, Dada! I love me gift.”

“You are welcome, lad!”

“Me turn, Dada!” says Isabella, in a squealing, high pitched tone that annoys Dante.

Father looks at Isabella inquisitively, toying with her. “Hmm. Did I remember to get me little girl something?” asks father, playfully.

“Dada!” She looks crushed at the implication.

Father smiles and Isabella returns it. “Of course I have, little ’un!”

She squeals in excitement. Dante rolls his eyes in mock irritation. Father reaches into his knapsack again to produce two large dolls. Both are incredibly life-like and carved from dagwood, an incredibly resilient tree that has a natural shimmer to it. Father had presumably paid a handsome figure for the items.

It perplexes Dante that his father could have room for such items in his knapsack and still have the necessary supplies for his long journey, but he does not let his mind linger too long on such oddities.

The door to their cottage slams shut and they turn around to see their mother joining them outside. Upon seeing his love, Lucian’s face lights up in a radiant smile. In that moment he regrets nothing. Even Dante takes notice of his mother’s timeless and classic beauty. She has delicate, milky white hands, which smell of jasmine and honeycut.

Her hair is a lustrous auburn brown that radiates dazzling red highlights when the sun hits it just right. She possesses high cheekbones, big blue eyes that reflect gold specks in the twilight, and full supple lips. Her nose is small and feminine and her skin is as clear as a porcelain doll.

Lucian, the young, lustful father takes notice of her other heavenly attributes—an ample and perky bosom, small waist, curvy hips, smooth flat tummy, and a large, shapely ass. She is the perfect blend of athleticism and voluptuousness. Her maker had truly blessed her and tormented him with inducements beyond his ability to resist.

But her impressive physical attributes are not her only distinguishing characteristics. She is empathetic, kindhearted, strong-willed, selfless, humble, compassionate; and she is not an easily intimidated woman, as beautiful women tend to be sheepish in nature. She is incredibly succinct, direct, and does not waiver in her resolve. She would say what needs to be said and make no apologies for it. It is no wonder that Lucian had fallen in love with her and risked everything to be with her.

He purposely hides her away, along with his family, in order to avoid the inevitable repercussions that would ensue should they be discovered. The tiny town of Coifen is close enough to the major thoroughfares to be fairly accessible to the festivals, markets, and general hub of village life, and yet far enough away from the capital to avoid risk of discovery, or so Lucian believes.

“Children, go inside and play with your new toys.” They comply.

Mitz sprints after them.

Sophia runs to her husband. Every time he looks at her a lump forms in his throat and he is unable to swallow for a brief moment. Her beauty is mesmerizing. Lucian hopes that he will be able to see her through the rest of her life, but such things are beyond his control and subject to the whims of a capricious and cruel god.

“Lucian!” She jumps up into his arms and he swirls her around, eliciting her childish giggles and a bout of dizziness. He kisses her, gently at first and then more passionately as he is stirred.

“Me love. Me life. It’s been too long.”

“Much too, lover.”

She sighs. “How long will ye stay this time before ye are called back to your king for some indispensable servitude?”

“In that regard, I have some news,” he says with a mysterious smirk.

She looks back at him perplexedly. “What are ye sayin’?”

“I have some news. Twill announce it at supper.”

Her eyes light up and grow in dilation, her mouth slowly forming a smile. “Tell me!”

“Good news is to be enjoyed by the whole family, is it not?”

“Lucian Battias Commodes. Ye are a monster!”

He laughs. “Only to the enemies of the republic.”

“Ye are incorrigible!”

“Last one to the front door is a coonter!” He sprints for it.

Clearly expecting his mischievous ways, Sophia produces an allen bead, a fairly large piece of pliable rope which has many metallic pieces on it and several magnetized beads which forcefully close in on each other when the device is hurled at an assailant or predator.

She hurls it at Lucian and her weapon hits its mark. It wraps around his feet and then collapses in on itself, tripping him up in the process. He goes down like a rock, but manages to put up a hand to keep his face from hitting the ground.

Sophia triumphantly runs past him. Even as he hits the ground, he begins to laugh. His laugh is contagious and soon Sophia is laughing as well, jumping up and down in celebration. The kids join her in her revelry.

Lucian jumps up as if nothing had happened and joins in. “Little cheater!”

The kids chant, “Mommy wins! Mommy wins!”

While supper is being prepared, Dante and Isabella notice that their mother is especially jovial. She is always happy when Father returns from his post, but today is different. Normally her happiness is short lived as the circumstances are bittersweet. Father would return home sometimes for only a few days at a time and then be off to his post for months. Now Mother cannot contain her giddiness. She smiles almost continuously.

As the family sits down to dinner, Father chimes his chalice with his spork. As is customary, he stands up and makes a toast and raises up a glass of alespritz. “To Christ. To King. To Perpetuity, To Love. To Family, and a long and prosperous Life. Say I!”

The rest of the family chime in immediately afterward with barely a second in between. “Ai.” Father and Mother then drink their alespritz, while the children drink their water.

“In that vein, then let me continue. Three days hence I have given me termination notice to King Meneleaus. I shan’t be returning to court. Ye will have me as your father, here and always.”

Several seconds elapse in which the family are too stunned to say or do anything. Although they expected good news, they certainly did not expect this. Mother hugs father with a vise-like grip as if fate should have it otherwise. Tears glistens in her eyes and she is incapable of holding them at bay. The children are elated. They begin to chant, “Dada! Dada!” They jump up on him and smother him with kisses.

The following two years are the happiest of Dante’s life. Even two thousand years after the fact, long after his mortal body is gone and his preternatural body remains, his mind would still cling to the memories of those two years like a bright midday sun clings to the slowly dissipating vestiges of a dense fog.

Dante is incapable of stopping time any more than the full moon has of catching up with the sun. Autumn takes hold of the Siemen Valley in Coifen, bringing inevitably cold morning temperatures. Dante awakes one fateful morning with a perplexing chill, his teeth rattling in his mouth.

Even Mitz, who thrives in below-freezing temperatures, is unusually affected by the cold. He pokes his head through the thick blankets and crawls under in an attempt to get warm. Under normal circumstances this may have been comical, but there is nothing about the situation that is normal; even the dead of winter does not bring about such mind-numbing cold.

And in those rare cases of below-freezing weather, Mother and Father would always keep a vigil on the fire, ensuring the house remained warm enough for him and his sister. In addition to the freezing cold, the air brings about another unpleasant sensation. It feels much thinner, constricting, and stifling. Dante finds it harder to breathe, as if a portion of the air had been sucked out. The air seems menacing. It doesn’t make any sense. And yet, nothing about this situation makes any sense.

Worry and an impending sense of dread fill him like an overstuffed water moccasin well beyond its stretching point. He can’t stay in his bed any longer. He has to find refuge. Surely Father will allay his misgivings and set his mind at ease. He jumps out of bed. As his feet hit the ground he is caught off guard by the bitter cold, letting out a small howl. He puts his hand to his mouth to further stifle the unexpected cry. Mitz pokes his head out and reluctantly follows.

Dante makes his way down the hall and into the kitchen area where his father is standing, oblivious to Dante. He seems enraptured with something outside the window.

Even though Dante has made a bit of a ruckus, his father takes no notice of him and continues to stare out the window. Dante is too frightened to say anything. The only reason he got out of bed was to be comforted by his father, but it appears his father is worlds away. Dread turns to terror and Dante feels his heart trip- hammering in his chest.

An inexplicable noise erupts from outside as if a thousand angry birds are beating their wings at once. The air becomes even more stifling and cold. Mitz emits a frightened whine. And yet father does not turn away. As Dante is looking through the large picturesque kitchen window, a menacing figure comes into view. He is dressed all in black and, amazingly, he appears to have a massive wingspan. The wings billow out and then beat imperceptibly fast, stunning him. Despite being frightened, he is mesmerized.

The dark figure is well over a hundred yards away, but Dante can still feel the stranger’s intimidating, piercing gaze; it sets his mind on edge and paralyzes him. By sheer force of will, he manages to control his bowels. He couldn’t have moved in that second to save his life. His mind is very near an abyss and it seems that only his father can keep it from going over.

His father turns around, tears glistening in his eyes. His face is ghostly white and he has a look of shocked incredulity on his face. This scares Dante even more.

After what seems like hours, Lucian seems to finally see Dante. “Boy, what are ye doing up?”

“What is happening, Dada? Pray tell.”

His father approaches him, bends down on one knee, and pulls Dante closer to him. Dante is dead weight. “Ye know how much I love ye, boy.”

“I do, Dada!”

“No matter what they say about me, no matter what they tell you, know that. I have always loved you and your sister and your mother. We were happy once. Twill not let him forfeit your life.”

“I don’t understand, Dada! Ye scarin’ me tripe, so ye are!”

What he does next only adds to Dante’s consternation. He removes a necklace around his neck and hands it to him. On the necklace is an emblem with a pentagram and the figure of a knight in the middle with a giant wolf. Much like his Merlin, the figure on the emblem has two high caliber revolvers.

“Ye are the protector of this family now. I know it’s a lot for you to handle, but there is no choice. I have to leave now. When ye least expect it, twill be there for ye, at a time when ye are completely out of options. I know not how and under what circumstances.”

Tears glisten in Dante’s eyes and he is unable to stop them from cascading down his face. “No Father, don’t go! Don’t go!”

Despite Dante’s pleas, Lucian cannot stay. He risks more sanctions if he does. The boy hugs him fiercely in a vain attempt to make him stay. Forcefully, Lucian unclasps Dante from him and walks out the door. Dante tries to follow, but his father puts up a hand. Lucian’s eyes change from blue to a black, orange-tinged hue. The metamorphosis frightens Dante so much that he backs up.

“Shut the door, boy! Now!”

Dante complies. Mitz emits a frightened whimper. Even he does not like this side of Father. Looking out the large, picturesque window, Dante is able to see all that transpires that fateful day.

Lucian walks out to meet the archangel he called “brother” once upon a time. Michael’s arms are folded across his breastplate in an intimidating manner. His furious eyes try to intimidate the fallen angel, but Lucian continues to hold his gaze and does not waver. Signs of weakness will not help him here.

“Lucian, is it now?”

“I know why you are here, Michael.”

“Do you have any idea what you have done? You have offended God in the most egregious way. There will be repercussions and they will be dire.”

“Grant me a stay, Michael. Ten years. Twill do anything you ask. Just please allow me to stay for ten years—these are the children’s formative years and they are in need of guidance.”

“Your arrogance continues to surprise, Lucifer! Are you really attempting to bargain with God? He does not negotiate, nor does he grant favors from one so fallen from grace.”

Tears began to glisten in his eyes. He bends down on one knee and then takes Michael’s hand. “I am begging you for leniency. Give me five years and I will abide by any sanctions that you wish to impose on me.”

Michael is inexorable. “Begging will do you no good, Lucifer. You are forbidden from even laying with a woman. Such an indiscretion could have been overlooked, but you have procreated with one and married one! You beguiling miscreant! God is angry! You should be glad he will not lay you to waste.”

“Michael, I used to call you brother. See me family to safety. They have done nothing wrong.”

“God does not punish the innocent. He will see them into ascension. As for this realm, their lives’ are forfeit, for you have sullied them. You will never see them again. That will be the first sanction. There will be others to follow, as our maker sees fit.”

“Please! Please! Not them. Take me! Take me!”

Michael snaps out his foot, catching Lucifer in the face, sending droplets of blood running down his neck. The move is imperceptibly fast and the human eye could not have witnessed it. Seconds later, all traces of the assault are gone.

“Twould be in Hades soon, were I you.”

From the window, Dante is stunned into silence. Michael billows out his massive wingspan and in the next second, he is gone. His father turns around and looks at him once more. That look seems to say everything. “I’m sorry.” But to clarify, he mouths the words to Dante.

Astonishingly, two large wings from his back appear and began to beat preternaturally fast and his father takes off like a bullet. And in the world’s most ironic twist, all hell would break loose as Lucifer exits Dante’s world.

Close to the volcanic ashes of Mount Maldoon, Morgana is watching the proceedings with palpable excitement. Under normal circumstances her visions would not have extended so far, but Lucifer is an extremely powerful angel, albeit a fallen one. The sulfuric vapor is so powerful that it surely would have killed a mortal; she is immune. The vapor does, however, induce visions in her. At times, it is hard to decipher whether the visions are present, past, or future. She knows resoundingly that this scene is present. Herod must be alerted.

She exits from the mountainside and calls to Caius Cassius to return her to Lord Herod’s castle in Ruth. She grows frustrated when she ventures out and cannot find the imbecilic boy. He possesses none of the fortitude, intelligence, or ambition of his father: only an affinity for cheap whores and snake wrangling.

“Caius!” she yells. She waits for several seconds before calling again. “Caius!” this time with a bit more urgency. Finally, the stupid boy emerges.

“Sorry, me lady.”

“You are a fool, Caius!”

“Noted.”

They make their ten mile journey in about forty minutes, without conversation. To Morgana, Caius has hardly more status than a stable boy. And she would not deign to speak to those of such status unless it were necessary.

From over a hectare away, they can see the castle. It is large even by kingly standards. Meneleaus’ castle may well have been larger, but it is far less luxurious than Herod’s—and it does not even begin to compare to the level of technological advances Herod’s castle boasts. The steel drawbridge that connects the castle across the moat is steam powered and works four times faster than the standard drawbridge. Four Gatling guns stand atop the parapets to thwart attack from would-be invaders. Each fire over two hundred rounds a minute and only requires two soldiers to operate.

Land mines are situated atop the drawbridge to further impede invading forces. At present, they are disabled but, with a small crew, they can be easily activated. Over two hundred of the finest cavalry, Mounties, and speed shooters are always on hand. Herod requires that all his men are proficient in sword play as well because, once bullets are spent, it is often all you have to defend yourself. Nothing is left to chance.

Herod, himself, is a master swordsman and a speed shooter who can outgun nearly anyone, save for the Round Table knights, who rejected him. It is a source of deep cotention for him—that any group should choose to reject him from their circle is ludicrous to him, an abomination he would never forgive and must rectify by any means possible.

After tethering their horses, they make their way into a large vestibule festooned with numerous tapestries so detailed that they nearly seem to jump out at you as you walk by. A marble staircase spirals up to the third story landing and when looking up at it, one feels small and inconsequential. Perhaps that was what Herod had in mind—that everyone should feel small in his presence.

Morgana, always succinct, comes right to the point. She does not bother with a greeting. Anyone else would have been reprimanded for the insult, perhaps even beaten. “I have news, me lord. Great news. The day of reckoning is close at hand. You will soon be able to assume your mantle of supreme dictator. The king’s advisor has left his post.”

“Lucian may be gone but the man is always close at hand,” cautions Herod.

“Not this time, me lord. Lucifer has been exiled, permanently so. He shan’t return, not ever. Now is the time to make our stand.”

Herod looks at Morgana with a fair amount of incredulity. “You speak truth?”

“Sever me tongue if I don’t.”

Herod walks around and rubs his chin in a pensive manner. He closes his eyes and sighs. “Too long have I been relegated to the shadows, wading through the left over muck of the chosen few.” He looks at Morgana, an obstinate gleam in his eyes.

“You must act quickly, me lord. Time is of the essence. There is a small window of opportunity here that will not remain open for long.”

Morgana looks at Herod in an instructive manner, much like a teacher would look at a pupil when trying to imprint an important point on their conscious. “To assume the mantle of one so powerful as he, you must eradicate his seed. There is no other way. Twill find them in the Siemen Valley.”

“Of course. See it done.” He says this nonchalantly as if he were merely deciding on what mare he would take on a hunting expedition.

“See it done.”

“Morgana, tell me son all that he needs to know.” He looks at his son in a condescending manner. “That is, if you can handle that?”

“The family is located in the Siemen valley in the tiny town of Coifen. Their home is located where a two hectare meadow meets the treeline adjacent to the small river of Perine. You cannot miss it. Sophia is an exceptionally beautiful woman. The entire family must be eliminated, especially the woman. Even now she is with seed,” says Morgana.

Herod dismisses him with a casual wave of his hand, as if he were shooing away a fly.

Before Lucifer leaves, he visits his most trusted neighbor, Arkin Van Scantertoot, a noted and retired plebeian who served in the king’s courts for many years. He has a small parcel right next to Lucifer and dotes on his family in a grandfatherly way. Lucifer has to be extremely brief; Michael will not tolerate anything less than brevity. He appears before Arkin in all his celestial glory with pale white, almost alabaster skin. His veins throb, nearly bulging beneath his skin. His black and orange eyes appear even more striking in contrast to the white surrounding them. He looks unnatural, other-worldly. Lucifer prudently retracts his wings. Arkin is frightened speechless. He hopes the man’s heart won’t give out for this task.

“Lucian, is that ye?”

“Ai, sage. It is. I know well how much you care for me family, so twill ask ye this only once on their behalf. Their lives are in great danger. Mortal danger. Will ye see them to safety? It will be the last thing I ask of ye, the most important task I can ask any man.”

The man looks at Lucifer as if he has lost his mind. At the moment he is beginning to believe that he has lost his own. “Can ye tell me why?”

“There is no time to explain. Twouldn’t believe me even if I did.”

From Lucifer’s groveling and forlorn countenance, Arkin cannot deny the man. He is more than curious to know what this is about, but he loves Lucian’s family more than his own, who had passed many years ago.

“Set your mind and warrant it done, advisor. Your family is me own, from this day on. Twill bring them to safety or until I am dead, whichever comes first.”

“I pray it won’t come to that, sage.” Lucifer’s massive wingspan billows out and he lifts off, much to the shock of Arkin.

Despite his befuddlement, he makes haste and takes off to the Commodes’ cottage on his horse, Misty. He hopes he will not be too late. He pricks Misty with his spurs and sends her into full gallop. On his way to the cottage it dawns on him that they do not own a fortified wagon in which to travel through volatile roads. His neighbor, Latimer, does have one. The trip is a bit off route, but it would be worth it to have the retired general in his corner.

Besides, Arkin doubts that the family possesses any iron-shooters or swords, nor the ability to use them with any proficiency if they did. Latimer certainly possesses both.

He would be needed should they run into any trouble. And Arkin has a hunch trouble is brewing. Lucian’s warning is quite dire and the man was never inclined to fanciful tales.

Naturally, numerous questions abound, but he cannot give them much thought at the moment. An entire family’s life is at stake.

As Arkin enters Latimer’s property, his two shepherd bulls bark out a warning, but once they see who it is, they wag and run to their friend. The rate at which Arkin speeds onto his neighbor’s property instantly sends off alarm bells in Latimer’s mind and he knows at once that something is wrong.

With no time for pleasantries, Arkin merely blurts out, “Trouble brewin’at the Commodes’ cottage. We need to get the family to safety. Can ye help? Will ye?”

“Set your mind and warrant it done, sage.”

“We need your fortwagon as well. Ken ye?”

“Ai.”

“How are you with the iron, General?”

“Not quite as quick as I were twenty five years ago, but I could shoot down about twenty armed men or so. Maybe eight good ’uns, if their luck don’t run out, that is.” He smiles deviously. For the first time in years, Latimer feels exhilaration. It’s true that the man wasn’t what he used to be in his prime, but he had nevertheless been diligent about maintaining his formidable abilities. He is well schooled in the art of warfare and retirement bores him.

“Well to know, old friend!”

Without further haste, Latimer readies his fortwagon and horses, some of the finest in the republic, a parting gift for decades of exemplary service. Then they make haste for the Commodes’ cottage as fast as the horses can carry them. As they round the bend of the cottage, they observe that a pervasive sense of urgency has already filled the household. Sophia is barking orders at her children while she tries to untether the horses for an imminent journey.

Upon hearing her son’s dire demand to leave the place at once, she was at first incredulous and in denial. Surely the boy was mistaken, delusional; and yet the sudden and inexplicable absence of Lucius seemed to confirm the boy’s assertions. The fact that she and her daughter had the same horrifying dream of a large-winged, menacing angel is what finally induced her into believing Dante’s unbelievable assertion and a call to action. They were in trouble.

As Latimer and Arkin approach Sophia, a look of shocked incredulity appears briefly on her face. “Arkin, Latimer, what brings ye here to us in such haste?”

They both remove their pine straw hats and nod as a sign of respect. Even with the need for expedience, they do not forget their manners. “The safety of ye and your kin, me lady.”

“I thank ye, gentleman. How did ye know?”

“Your husband warned us.” She lets out a long, exasperated sigh.

Before she can get a word out, Latimer interrupts her. “No need to explain, mais. If we survive the night, ye can tell us all about it. For now let us make haste.”

“Know well then that we are in grave danger, do ye not?”

In unison, they affirm, “Ai!”

She looks at Latimer. “I see ye got a couple of piece shooters and a sword as well.”

“Ai.”

“Then ye can add this to your arsenal to boot.” She produces a large pistol-gripped revolver with an ivory handle. The pistol is heavy gauged with twelve chambers. The caliber is smaller than the standard piece shooters, but the weapon is expertly crafted, a lethal piece for anyone schooled in its use. Latimer stares at the revolver with a fair amount of disbelief.

“Thank ye, mais.”

In just a few minutes the group rounds up only the most necessary items for travel. At the last possible second, Dante jumps out of the fortwagon to get some object that he apparently cannot live without. He is disheartened to have to leave his game piece that his father just recently brought him, but for luck he grabs the most prized possession of the piece—his Merlin. He also grabs the necklace.

When he returns, his mother has choice words for him. “Dante Leviticus. Make haste, lad!” Mitz jumps in with him and they are off.

After scrutinizing the Leviticus’ property, Bonaveer determines that the family has absconded. The tracks of the fortwagon indicate that they are traveling south, downhill along the Rhine River. The cottage has no spare parts or tools to maintain a fortwagon and so Bonaveer further surmises that the family has not traveled in a wagon of their own. They are being aided by someone.

Traveling by horse alone would have made their progress much quicker, but the wagon would inevitably slow them down. The advantage, of course, was that it would provide protection from an ambush. The fact that they are riding reindeer would make it that much easier to intercept them.

Judging by the size of the wagon, Bonaveer surmises that there could be up to six in their party, excluding the family, who were of no concern, at least as far as any counter-attack was concerned. Fresh, wet dung dropped by the horses indicates that they could not have left more than a few hours ago.

They would intercept the family and eliminate them by nightfall or sooner. Perhaps it would be more prudent to mount a night time attack, although an attack by dawn is what Bonaveer prefers. Shadows cast by the rising sun could wreak havoc on a counter attack, yet the aggressor would be able to see enough to strike quickly. The nighttime is a major disadvantage for both.

Simeon, the second in charge, does not have the affinity for deciphering the clues to track. “Where are they headed, Bonaveer?”

“South, along the river Rhine. They have some in their aid.”

“How many?”

“At least a couple, perhaps as many as six, but no more. They’ve only been gone for a couple hours at most. I believe that we should follow slowly and intercept them at the bottom of the Siemen Valley, away from pryin’ eyes in this small town.”

“I suspect we will kill them as well if the situation demands such.”

Bonaveer looks at Simeon contemptuously as if he were a stupid child. “That just creates more complications. If we can’t avoid killing others, then we will. But we will avoid that if’n we ken. Herod is not a man keen on complications. Do ye know who he is?”

“Ai. Know of ‘im but never met ’im.”

“Trust me. A fool like ye doesn’t want to tempt the devil. Twill be the death of ye, it will. Now shut your piehole, before I shut it for ye!”

Simeon is not completely without wits. He knows better than to argue with Bonaveer. The man has a fiery and capricious temper. And what he had heard of Herod was not good. The man is said to be ruthless and does not tolerate failure under any circumstances.

Bonaveer mounts his reindeer and turns the massive animal gracefully on an arc. Despite their massive size, reindeer are highly maneuverable. Wild by nature and not nearly as docile as horses, they are difficult to train. Only the most resilient and patient of men can train them. Bonaveer is one such man. He once boasted that he had spent four years in the training of the confederate knighthood, only to be eliminated when his temperament did not measure up to their standards.

Simeon suspects that it is an embellishment and that it was probably less. Still, the man’s formidable gifts cannot be denied. He is quite intelligent as well as an elite killer. And he would not tolerate lip service from the likes of the lowly Simeon.

After several hours on the road, Arkin finally convinces Latimer to decrease their speed. They are making good time, but the horses cannot maintain such speeds for long. Latimer relents. The exhilaration that he had initially felt at the beginning of the ordeal had waned and now he is running on fumes.

If they could make it to the bottom of the Siemen Valley, there would be many directions they could go and it would be more difficult for trackers to ascertain their whereabouts.

The large town of Khatul would further give them options for escape. The large shipping hub of Corith is only a couple days away. Even Arkin, as ignorant as he is in the matters of warfare, knows that they are vulnerable on these roads.

They have to see to their guests. Arkin opens up the silverwood doors to the wagon’s interior and walks in. Despite the roominess of the interior wagon, the family is huddled together in a small group. Both of the children are laying on their mother, who has her arms wrapped around them. They are sleeping peacefully, for the time being. Mitz stands sentry at their feet, his big ears perking up as Arkin walks in. Once he determines that Arkin is no threat, he lays back down but continues his vigilance.

“How are ye doing, mais?” asks Arkin.

“As well as can be expected.” She smiles but it is forced. Her irises are blood-shot and puffy. Arkin’s heart goes out to her. In addition to her unparalleled beauty, she possesses an indefatigable spirit and a pure heart, a true rarity. Arkin doubts that he will be able to mount much of a defense, himself, but in this moment he knows that he would give up his life to protect her and her family. Without hesitation.

“Ye saw me husband last, did ye not?”

“I did, mais.”

“What did he say? Any indication of why he had to leave so abruptly?” asks Sophia.

“No. But it was not his decision. He was forced to leave, so he was. His only concern was for ye and the children. He loved ye very much.” The tears that had been building in her eyes and threatening a torrential downpour finally give way. She awkwardly wipes them away.

Arkin does his best to assuage her. “Latimer may be old, mais, but he is quite able bodied. The man is a formidable speed shooter as well as swordsman of some repute. I rather feel pity for the unlikely fellas that try and tussle with the likes of him.” She smiles at him.

“Ye know I learned how to fire the piece, meself.”

“Did ye now?”

“Ai. Ain’t too bad either. Lucian taught me. Can hit a cup pence from a hundred yards out, so I can.”

“Can ye now? Well, I do believe our pursuers may be outmatched.” He smiles at her and embraces her. The smile he gives her is forced and she knows it, but she appreciates the gesture nonetheless.

He walks back out into the seat bucket. Latimer’s two large sheps see him and turn in his direction, their ears perked and ready to pick up any nuance, no matter how minuscule.

“How doeth they fare, sage?” Asks Latimer.

“As fortune would have it, the children are sleeping. She is doing as well as expected, but worried much.”

“Do fear we may get into some hard business, so I do. Ye ever been in a fight, sage? A real tussle and not just one as a pube in the schoolyard?”

“No. I am no stranger to the martial arts, but I ain’t never shot a gun.”

“I’ve been in many fights. Close dog fights, sword fights, and heavy caliber skirmishes. I’ve seen it all. Allay me fears, friend. I don’t have to worry about ye turnin’ high-tail and runnin’ scamp, do I?”

“Never.” Determination radiates in those eyes and something else—truth.

“I do believe ye. Hard truth in your words. If we must meet our end, such an end we will give them. Ye ken?”

“Ai. You are the General. Declare to me and set watch and warrant, twill follow the best I can. If I can only offer me body as a shield, then twill do that much.”

“And your body would serve as a hefty shield, no doubt.” He smiles as he says this, making light of Arkin’s portly frame. “I ken ye could serve as shield for the wagon, if need be.” Arkin smiles at Latimer and then erupts in laughter. Latimer joins in and then affectionately pats him on the leg. It felt good to break the tension and suffocating anxiety. They both reckon that it could very well be their last chance at humor for some time, if ever again.

Bonaveer catches up with the wagon. Traveling through the Siemen Valley can be a perilous journey and the group will have no choice but to slow down on the numerous switchbacks and steep slopes, or risk veering off the road and plunging off a ravine. Bonaveer and his men are under no such constraints. Instead of traveling on the road, the group can circumnavigate it and travel down the steep descent through the dense brush.

The reindeer are more than capable of traversing the unforgiving terrain. Like billy- jacks, their hooves are forked and have an adhesive that grips the terrain and allows them to go over anything. Horses are not so equipped.

Bonaveer pulls out his hyper-oculars and peers through them. A portly man is sitting astern while an older gentleman drives the reigns. As the wagon rounds the next corner, Bonaveer is able to get a better look at the older one. He is wearing military smocks and has two hard caliber revolvers, one on each side. On the left side of his tool belt hangs a sword.

Even from this distance, Bonaveer notices that the sword has a gold emblem on it, indicating that it is not only military, but high ranking military.

The man had to be at least a commander, perhaps even a general. Judging by the age of the gentleman, he could very well be retired. Still, he is not one to easily dismiss. And his movements are not akin to one who is of a decrepit nature. He appears to be stout, full of his faculties, and the manner in which he looks around hints that he is observant.

This one will have to be eliminated immediately. He is simply too much of a threat. Two large sheps sit next to him, further indicating a military position. Sheps are a rare breed and much coveted by the military. Civilians would have difficulty acquiring one dog of that breed, let alone two.

Observing the other gentleman, Bonaveer determines that he is not military. He is much too portly to be active military. And his camisole smock suggests that he works in the courts in some administrative capacity, whether currently or in the past. His rotund face makes it difficult to guess his age at this distance. Bonaveer believes that he will prove little in the way of a viable threat.

Bonaveer looks into the windows of the fortwagon. Detailed features cannot easily be discerned from such a distance, but she does appear to be beautiful. She has two children, one boy and a girl, a large mastiff by their side. He will be the most viable threat of the family once the military man has been dispatched.

Bonaveer motions his crew down towards a ridgeline where they will be able to ambush the wagon.

“We’re being followed, Arkin. Prepare yourself for a confrontation,” warns Latimer.

“How do ye know for sure?”

“Something is reflecting the light and there is an unusual glare, which can only be explained if someone were using some sort of telescopic device. Also, I observed minute movement in those trees. A large animal has made it and its progress is mirroring our own. Wild animals don’t track large wagons. Twould perceive it as an unlikely prey. They are riding large mckenzas at the least, perhaps even reindeer. Their movements are swift and sure-footed. Take heed.”

Latimer looks at him with fierce determination, his jaw set as rigid as a stone statue. “Follow me lead and be ready to act quickly.”

Arkin’s eyes dilate to nearly twice their size and he is unable to swallow. “Ai.”

Bonaveer does not want to take any chances with the military man. To eliminate the man first, he will need to create a diversion. He sends Simeon up ahead of the wagon to flank and surprise them. Simeon is a crack shot with the arrow and deadly accurate even at long distances.

The plan is simple. Bonaveer and the rest of his men will wait in the back and fire off a couple of rounds to create a diversion, while Simeon will deliver a kill shot to the military man.

Simeon gallops on ahead of the wagon and finds a thicket, the perfect place in which to ambush them. Sharp thorns prove to be cumbersome, but with much painstaking work, he is able to remove the largest thorns and climb inside. It is a good vantage point. He can see the wagon approaching over the ridge and coming into view.

Simeon has his own pair of hyper-oculars, but will use them only when necessary, to avoid a give-away glare. At one hundred yards away, it will be difficult to see Simeon, unless one knows exactly where to look. At that distance, Simeon can launch several kill shots.

Latimer has been in this situation before. Nothing completely prepares a man for the moment of hard action. Some men piss their pants at the pivotal moment and some even turn hightail. Peering into Arkin’s eyes, he does not believe the man will do either. Arkin’s heart beats precipitously faster and yet, simultaneously, he feels a razor sharp focus grip his mind. He is ready. Perhaps for the last time in his life.

As if to prove his point, several pistol shots ring out behind him. A couple of the shots ricochet off the side of the wagon, but none are accurate. They appear to be aimless. Latimer surmises that this assault is merely a diversion. More than likely, a group of pursuers are going to flank him from the head in order to catch him unawares. Latimer had used such maneuvers himself.

In response, he ignores the shots from behind and sends the horses into full gallop, veering slightly to the right. As he is swerving, an arrow inexplicably seems to materialize in the shoulder of Arkin. The man lets out an earth-shattering scream that reverberates in his eardrums painfully.

And almost just as quickly, another large arrow sails into the fortwagon, missing Latimer by mere inches. Arkin continues his high-pitched screams. Another arrow whistles into the fortwagon like a demon whisper, penetrating the driver’s seat bench with a dull thud. It just barely misses Latimer’s leg, which would have impaled him and precluded a swift counter-attack.

He has to act now. From this distance, he cannot see the bowman. In an effort to thwart the hail of arrows, Latimer pulls his iron and fires several bullets into the direction of the shooter. He then turns to Arkin. He has a look of terror on his face but his eyes resonate staunch determination. He will take orders. He is pinned and does not possess the strength to remove the arrow himself, nor the leverage even if he had.

“Arkin, I am going to remove the arrow from your shoulder. Ye have to take over the reigns. Do ye ken?”

Despite the excruciating pain he is in, the man appears resolute. “Ai. Do it and be done. Twill fight, so I will.” Latimer reaches behind the man, noticing the dark, viscous blood already present on his smock. He takes the arrow and breaks it off, sending torrents of pain throughout Arkin’s body. He tries in vain to stifle any noise, but emits a sharp squeal anyway.

He takes the other side of the arrow and breaks it off, careful to minimize the pressure on Arkin. The man is sweating profusely and has probably lost a fair amount of blood in the process. “Can ye move your shoulder?”

“I hope ye are a lefty?”

“I am ambidextrous. Have been all me life.”

Latimer produces the heavy-caliber shooter Sophia gave him. “Take it. And the reigns to boot. I’m asking a lot of ye, tis true.”

A lump forms in Arkin’s throat and he is momentarily unable to swallow. “Twill fight.”

Latimer smiles. “Ai. Know ye will. Twill give them a fight, so we will. I need to go.”

As if to emphasize this point, another arrow penetrates the wagon a full eight inches, at least. Latimer and Arkin look at each other frantically. Only six inches of silverwood oak separate the driver’s seat from the inside of the wagon. As to be expected, the family emits a brief scream, punctuated with much sobbing. “Are ye alright back there? Anyone hit?” asks Latimer.

Sophia yells back, “No, we are not hit.”

As nimbly as a man half his age, Latimer gets up and positions himself outside and then jumps onto the first horse, Chanticlere. She momentarily resists the uninvited intrusion on her backside. The wagon veers off in the other direction dangerously. Arkin is quick to counter the move and direct the horses back the other way.

Latimer hoists himself off Chanticlere and jumps on the lead horse, Trale, a powerful, fast stallion buck of royal lineage. Once on Trale, he unclips him from the harness and sends him ahead in a full gallop.

As they race ahead, he directs the horse in a zigzag manner to make a difficult target of himself. Two arrows zing past him, precariously close. He looks in that direction and barely discerns a figure in the thickets.

If he had not followed the path of the arrows perfectly, he never would have seen him. In a jaw-dropping display of speed and marksmanship, Latimer pulls his revolver from his holster and fires four shots in rapid succession.