The False Prophet (Stonegate Book 2) Read online

  In his quiet moments, Martin studied maps of the old Empire. He spent hours devising military maneuvers and conceiving a strategy for conquest. Northeast of Prophet City lay Goldstone, which lay under autocratic rule, and yet the ruler encouraged learning. Its populace loved to read books and study the days of the Elders. A few noted lore-men lived there. They had the knowledge of a scribe, historian, accountant, lawyer, and teacher. Knowledge was important, but he was not interested in Goldstone. It was insignificant.

  Martin’s gaze drifted to the places in the far East, beyond the mountains. He wanted dominion over Stonegate, Longmont, and Hightower—mostly Stonegate. Apart from Steamboat, which was still a free town, Martin controlled much of the western part of the former Empire. The far western coast was not his, though he sometimes looked in that direction, but the arid plains and mountains were serious obstacles. The lands to the south were also mostly desert, and he did not turn his attention that way, not yet. He saw the real prizes lying to the east, and there is where he would strike.

  Although recently suffering a military setback, the Prophet resolved to invade, to conquer, and to rule. He would focus his power by creating fear and confusion. Cities on the eastern plains that once had an alliance with one another now simmered with suspicion and mistrust. Paranoia persisted as people made their own personal choice of secularism or living a life of faith shrouded in secrecy. From north to south, from Stonegate to Longmont, the major cities lacked unity and had become bitter rivals. The Old Alliance was as dead as the Empire. Several small, nearby villages did have an alliance with Stonegate for protection, but the main cities farther south lay open and isolated, ready to be attacked. West of Stonegate lay Steamboat, a free town that still remained on friendly terms with the Stonegate community. Both of these towns were blessed to have town guns, ancient artillery pieces, which could prove an obstacle to the Prophet’s army as they had his Raiders. No one had used them recently, but, nonetheless, their very presence was a deterrent. Even with the town guns, Steamboat paid tribute to the Prophet.

  A few in the East even secretly supported the Prophet. Some were lured by bribes or promises of positions of power. Others were fascinated by the occult and the seductive lure of the Prophet’s writings—the delicious promise of forbidden power. They kept him well informed and helped sow the spirit of disunity.

  Martin’s lips twisted into a nasty smirk, as he studied the map.

  A New Empire will be mine.

  Martin pulled the tassel hanging by the flowing red velvet curtains of his private chambers, Bells rang throughout the palace, signaling a meeting with General Logan and Balek Brown, recently returned from their defeat near Glenwood. Although Logan had killed many Glenwood citizens, the bloody revenge had done little but sow the seeds of hatred. Leaving their army with instructions to continue moving east, Logan and Brown had answered a summons back to the palace for strategic planning.

  Martin seated himself in his high-backed chair, colored in bright reds, greens, and purples with soft cushions to give comfort to his aching back. Tension always seemed to grab him in his back muscles, making him appear stiff and rigid. His antique general’s uniform was spotless and decorated with gold braid. The navy-blue jacket complimented the jet-black trousers with gold stripes running down the side of each leg. He resembled royalty.

  A cool, easterly breeze blew through the open floor-to-ceiling windows, signifying the beginning of summer. He preferred the autumn, when aspen trees lost their foliage in a carpet of glorious green, orange, and gold, leaves shedding their summer clothing as winter approached after the crisp, cool air of fall. Walking through the gardens was one of Martin’s favorite pastimes. But diversions would have to wait until after the meeting.

  Isabella, his personal maid, arrived with an ornate silver tray laden with steaming cups of imported coffee, dried fruits and cheeses. She arranged a freshly baked batch of honey cakes and a pot full of cream. Urns of burning incense filled the air with a musky aroma. Martin admired Isabella’s slim youthfulness and her fresh-faced smile. Her silk bodice rippled with subtle shades of rose. She was just as attractive as his many wives, but her place was to serve him, not marry him. He loved women that he could dominate. Yet she remained a challenge, and he sensed an unbroken spirit within her, though she concealed it well.

  “Will that be all, sire?” she asked, curtseying as she spoke.

  “Thank you, Isabella. Yes, for now. And bring my leaders here immediately when they arrive.”

  “Yes, sire,” she answered.

  As she turned to leave the room, Martin admired her long black hair cascading over her shoulders down to her waist, rhythmically swinging in counterpoint to the swaying of her hips.

  It was almost midday when the sun is at its highest and the chill banished after a cool summer morning. His commanders would be freshening up now after a long, hard ride and would be arriving in his quarters any minute.

  Within a short time, he heard footsteps approaching, and just as expected, in walked Isabella heralding the appearance of General Logan and Colonel Balek Brown. Immediately excusing herself again, Isabella left the men in seclusion.

  Martin invited his underlings to sit, offering them refreshments as he opened the meeting. They handed him a report, which he quickly scanned.

  “You look weary, General Logan,” he said with the appearance of concern and interest. Logan was family, so Martin always treated him more gently than his other commanders. That is why he still keeps his head. He noticed Logan’s dark circles under his eyes, as if sleep had evaded him. A look of despair was almost recognizable in his face, or was it a look of humiliation?

  Balek Brown looked on in silence, sipping on a much-needed coffee. He was also a cousin of the Prophet, yet he knew better than presume on family ties.

  “It’s been a hard road we’ve traveled since we last saw you, my lord. Things did not transpire exactly as I wished. The enemy put up a good fight with this new leader, Donald of Goldstone. Twice he has humiliated me, and now I wish for nothing more than to exact revenge on him and his men.”

  “Hmm, I heard about it,” agreed Martin. “Who is this man, this—Donald?”

  “Our spies told us that his name is Donald of Fisher, or Donald of Goldstone, and he is certainly from Goldstone. Apparently, he is a lore-man who became a fighter late in life, having trained under a respected leader, Old Robert, whom we managed to kill. Donald of Goldstone is now in charge of the horse troops at Ariel and is a magnificent swordsman. He has an unusual talent in leading men, but our sources tell me that he is a bit of an unwilling participant. There are some rumors that he is the one destined to come as foretold by Carl the Elder. Also there are ridiculous stories about him always riding a red horse of almost supernatural size and fighting like some gigantic hero out of legend. All nonsense, of course. We met with him and other enemy leaders, and he is quite ordinary looking.”

  A worried look crossed Martin’s face. He knew well the power of Carl the Elder on the minds of men. Donald of Goldstone could be a threat. The rumors could create fear within the ranks of Martin’s army. On the other hand, if they could slay him, enemy morale would be devastated.

  “Well,” he said, taking another mouthful of strong coffee. “We’ll just have to eliminate him, won’t we?”

  “Well, fortunately, we have access to a spy in Donald of Goldstone’s camp. Your spy, who’s now travelling with Donald of Goldstone, reported that in this entourage there are four men—Samuel, a bodyguard named Eric, another assistant and bodyguard named Bobby, and a young boy called Philip. Then, strangely enough, there is also a young girl in her early twenties known as Deborah. She is slender with chestnut hair and is a secret Christian. They also have a troop of cavalry with them and some of those small field cannons.”

  At the mention of the word ‘Christian’, Martin almost choked on his coffee. “Christian
? And who else in this little group are Christians?”

  “Well, let me see. I think the report said that Samuel of Gibeah is an open Christian. Apparently, Donald of Goldstone is neither a Christian nor against it. Philip and Eric are secret Christians. Bobby is of the same opinion as Donald.”

  “So! It is a nest of Christians,” said Martin.

  “This Philip spent time in the House of Healing…”

  “The House of Healing? The House of Healing! I knew I could never trust those smug Christians with their self-righteous attitude. Almost as bad as those Southerners with their Jesus Way.”

  “You mean the Diné People?” inquired General Logan.

  “Yes! Savages! Those backward cretins down South with their friends the Sonora Clan. As of now, I want all Christians suppressed. It’s the only way to control them. These Christians are becoming dangerous—trying to influence everyone with their Holy Book beliefs. I want a stop to this. I want all Christians who openly admit their faith to be arrested and taken to trial.”

  “But, excuse me, Sire Martin…what about the House of Healing? Surely, we can’t arrest all of the people there, even though they are open Christians? We need them for their medicines. They are not helping at present, but if we kill them, their secrets will be lost.”

  The Prophet thought for a while and then slowly answered. “Yes, you are right. Unfortunately, we need them until we can extract their secrets. Exclude them from this instruction for now. But all other Christians must be tried in court. If they denounce their faith, they can live freely as my people, following my religion. Or if they insist that they are Christians to the end, then they can face the headsman!”

  “So, do we need to write a formal decree?” asked General Logan.

  “Of course…and at once. With the red seal of this palace. I want warnings put up in every town that we have some control over…except the House of Healing which is exempt, for now. And I want Raiders monitoring the response in every town.” They might go further underground. But if they deny following Christianity, then they have no course of action other than to follow me…and my religion. I will be like the Most High!

  General Logan nodded in agreement. “I will arrange for the decree to be written up and signed and sealed by you, at this meeting’s end.”

  “Yes, my seal on this is of the utmost importance.” Martin smiled, satisfied that he had just won another war…a religious one. It will obliterate the seal of God from their tiny minds forever.

  “Now, as I was saying earlier,” continued General Logan. “I will not rest until I get my revenge on this Donald of Goldstone. And I am sure Balek will support me in a move against him.”

  “What do you say, Balek?” quizzed the Prophet. “Do you agree with these proceedings thus far?”

  “Sire,” began Balek, “first, let me apologize for my failure. I was outmaneuvered—tricked by a smaller force. Repeatedly. If you want my resignation, I will offer it. Only let me return to the front and fight in the ranks!”

  “At least, you are no fool,” returned the Prophet. “You failed me in a small way when you let those chosen beauties be taken. Now you have failed me again. This time, the failure was costly, indeed. You do well to apologize! But keep your post, for now!”

  Balek bobbed his head. “Thank you, sire. I will not fail you again. I most certainly am in agreement with your plan. As for Donald of Goldstone, I want him to pay a bitter price. He gave me this stiff knee—by a lucky stroke. He led the attack on my compound to recapture the six girls we had chosen for you. He was also behind their strategy that made our march through the mountains so costly.”

  At this, Prophet slammed his fist down on the conference table. Cups jumped in their saucers. Balek and Logan swallowed and glanced sideways at each other. “Don’t remind me about that debacle! I sent a squad of Black Caps to take both of your heads! Fortunately for you, I recalled them. But you have had your last chance. There will be no more excuses. To think a bookworm could defeat two of my best commanders…”

  He turned his red face toward Balek. “I have many sources. You would be a fool to try to deceive me. Many have tried, and weeds grow on their graves.”

  “Yes,” continued Martin, with a glare at Logan. “It was not long before this Donald brazenly stole those girls that I sent a reliable young man to Glenwood. Fortunately, Samuel was impressed by our spy and took him on as his assistant. He tried to warn me of this raid and also to tell me where they were taken, but his messages got to me too late. I did not trust anyone else to control him. And my couriers were not fast enough with his warnings.”

  “If only you had let me control him, sire—” began Balek Brown.

  “Silence!” roared the Prophet. “I will not have my decisions questioned! You have been a good commander in battle—that is what saved your head! But I don’t trust you to control my spies!

  “He is only one of my spies, mind you. But without him, we would now be a bit confused as to their movements. As it is, we know they are heading eastward to persuade those communities to take action against us. I believe that they first will warn the people of Hightower that they are in danger.”

  “With all due respect, sire, that will be a difficult task. All the cities on the eastern plains are alienated from each other. Except for Stonegate, which is somewhat allied with Steamboat and a few closely surrounding villages,” interjected General Logan.

  “Aha…I thought as much,” responded Martin. “Steamboat could present us with a problem. They have town guns, those ancient artillery pieces, as does Stonegate. However, the question here is…do those guns still work?”

  “Do we really want to take the risk and find out?” asked Balek Brown. “They would have clear vision of any approaching army, and if those guns still work, they could annihilate an entire unit from miles away.”

  “Well, we may have to attack at night, when their visibility is poor. A cloudy, moonless night,” suggested General Logan.

  The Prophet gestured at the written report. “Gentleman, gentleman… you have put a few good ideas on the table. But General Roundy commands the Northern Army, and he will be in overall field command. You will obey his orders as if they came from my lips. Understood?”

  The two nodded, and the Prophet expounded. “He and I always felt that our next move should be to take the cities of Longmont and Hightower, which are the weakest in defense at the moment. Then we could focus on the problem of Stonegate and Steamboat. But your failure to take the army through the tunnel or over the passes has forced me to change all my plans. What cursed bad luck! Or should I say, incompetence?”

  Once again, the Prophet glared at the two. Their flanks were slippery with sweat. “Very well. We will take on Steamboat first. Then comes Stonegate. That will be our last problem to resolve. When Stonegate is smashed, the rest of the cities will fall into our laps like ripe plums. In the meantime, a fear campaign against the Christians will certainly divide and destabilize their society, which is what we need to do. A threat against them will bring about inner conflict and turmoil with people taking sides against each other. Oh, how I love to create civil war…saves us killing thousands…let them kill each other!” Martin chuckled with pleasure at the thought. “In the days of the Elders, rulers had experts in the art of destabilizing countries. I read much about it in ancient books. What a work of genius that was!”

  “So, sire,” continued General Logan, “I will proceed to write up a formal decree against the Christians as you wish, and following that, we will immediately depart for the front. It is time we severely dealt with Donald of Goldstone and his handful of men. We will report to General Roundy and advise him of our discussions.”

  “Very well! Meeting completed,” said the Prophet, shaking hands with them both. “I await the formal decree to be delivered to me here in my chambers—quick haste. Once it is seale
d and signed, it will be a powerful means of dividing the people…and assisting us in our course to rule a new Empire!”

  With bows, the two commanders backed from the audience chamber and vanished from view. Relief was clearly stamped on their faces. The Prophet chuckled under his breath. They were well advised to sweat. He had neither forgotten nor forgiven their stupidity. He needed them just a little longer, then they would have a date with his torturers. Their end would be as slow and painful as depraved minds could contrive. Another reason to finish this campaign quickly! A pity I did not ask for this Donald to be taken alive. How sweet his moans would sound!

  But then he reflected on the response of his family, particularly, his aunts. How they doted on him. He wanted to keep it so. Perhaps if their victory is complete, I might forgive them again. There will be plenty of defeated leaders to keep the torture chambers busy!

  He laughed aloud. Then, leaning back in his throne, Martin let feelings of confidence and arrogance sweep over him. His spy would be a great help in the coming campaign. With their plans laid bare before him, this pitiful enemy had no chance. As he poured himself another coffee, he cast his eyes on an old tapestry hanging majestically on the gold-painted wall opposite him. It was a depiction of the Garden of Eden, with the tree of knowledge in the center. There, in the middle of the branches of the tree, a large symbolic eye stared out at him. Underneath the tapestry was a name: The Church of the All-seeing Eye. It was from the days of the Elders, yet the work remained as clear as the day of its creation.

  My Kingdom is coming. Martin’s laughter sounded like a chained dog barking.