Sarah slumped sideways, lying exhausted against the powerful leather clad arm of her captor. They had been riding for more than a day non-stop. Somehow the horses pushed on without water or food. Perhaps, she thought, their horses are as abominable as they are.
There were twelve Wraith Riders in their group-the same who had come to Millertown and burned it. Sarah had gone through bouts of crying during the long journey south. She had no idea if her parents had survived their brief attack.
Why had they not killed her already? What were they waiting for? Perhaps Mordred simply desired to perform the deed himself. Maybe he hoped to wring information about Gideon and the Deliverer from her before she died. She resolved to tell him nothing-a resolution Sarah hoped she had the courage to keep when faced with the warlord face to face.
Several columns of black smoke rose above the tree line ahead. The twelve riders in black leather armor turned from the road, riding in that same direction. Sarah thought of escape, but she had no chance of getting away. Even if she had not been heavy with child, she could never have hoped to outrun the riders.
When the riders breeched the line of trees, Sarah saw the village beyond. It had been occupied by several hundred people. Now the only living beings moving in it rode upon black horses. She immediately thought of Millertown although the heinous act committed here was far worse.
Images of people running in terror, then cut down like wheat, flashed through her mind. The lodges still burned while the smaller homes had been reduced to smoldering piles of waste already. The sparse countryside, with its few trees and yellow straw grass, was littered with the inhabitants of the village.
Mordred’s Wraith Riders had spared no one. The only weapons the villagers had possessed with which to defend themselves were farming implements. It was a total waste of life without reason. Sarah’s eyes strained to produce tears once again, but she was all dried up.
Some of the riders in the village took notice of them as they approached and one in particular. A particularly large man, on his horse, trotted toward them. His black and red, leather armor gleamed with gold trim. And what appeared to be batwings stretched upward into points upon his black facemask like ears. Drawing near, he held a long double-edged sword. The metal was thick and grossly stained with dried blood. He replaced it into his sheath, then came to a halt before the twelve riders and their prisoner.
Sarah supposed this man, sitting on the large black horse before her, had to be Mordred. His gaze fell upon her like a weight and Sarah felt she could not hold it without fear overwhelming her. After a moment, he reached up with a gloved hand and removed the hard-shell, black mask.
Sarah had never actually laid eyes on the Lord of the Wraith Riders. She was surprised to find him so handsome. Raven hair fell around the man’s broad shoulders as he shook free of the helmet. His sinister gaze penetrated to her very soul. He held a subtle seductiveness, as deadly as a python charming its prey before the inevitable strike.
“So, you are the girl who stole the heart of a priest away from his God?” Mordred asked.
Sarah said nothing. She had never thought of their marriage in that way. The comment sent icy pricks up and down her spine. Is that what people see in our relationship-that I’ve betrayed the Lord and stolen Gideon from Him?
“Of course, I suppose if anything could cause a man to forget his faith and the vows he has made, it would be the devilish charms of a woman,” Mordred continued. The other horsemen laughed at his remarks.
Sarah closed her eyes, wishing she could close her ears. His words felt like venom seeping into her veins, paralyzing her resolve.
“Now tell me, Sarah-”
He knows my name?
“-where is your husband and the boy traveling with him?”
Sarah stiffened, but did not speak.
“Perhaps, they have gone to the Isle of Macedon?”
Sarah’s eyes lit up with surprise. How did he know?
Mordred laughed at her bewilderment. “Do you really think I am so blind, girl? My eyes are in every place. I see all that happens in my kingdom and beyond. Your husband and Shaddai’s Deliverer are on a mission to bring the Word to the Isle of Macedon, supposing the island liberated from my hand. But I can assure you, I’m still very much in control there.”
Mordred rode up beside the mount where she was confined. He took notice of her unborn child for the first time. “How precious…and heartbreaking.” He smiled. “A child who will never see its father.”
Sarah cried out. “No!”
But this only baited Mordred’s desire to torment her all the more. “Take her to the palace and keep her secure. I want no harm to come to her or the child. Is that understood?”
“Yes, my Lord!”
They turned their mounts and started eastward for Emmanuel. Mordred watched them as they retreated from the carnage of the massacred village.
“Is this really necessary? The boy and the priest will be ours in Macedon. Why bother with this girl. We should just kill her and be done with it,” Mordred complained.
The demon, Jericho, stood next to Mordred’s horse, only visible to the warlord at the moment. “Mordred, your lust for blood does you credit on the battlefield, but these matters require more subtlety. The girl gives us an advantage over the enemy. Never give up your advantage. The trap at Macedon may be set, and the prey walking straight into it, but you should realize by now, when dealing with Shaddai you never underestimate your enemy.”