The sun was high in the sky as it beat down on Aedyn. The lords were gathered in the Great Hall, which offered a view of the approach to the citadel from the forest. This was the field on which the Lords of Aedyn expected the battle to take place. They had planned their strategy with meticulous care, but their ultimate triumph depended on the rebel slaves making a mistake.

If the slaves approached the castle from the west, they would walk straight into an ambush. They could easily be surrounded and picked off one by one. It would be a massacre. If they came from the north, however, they would be in a much stronger position. Yet even then the guards would be able to defeat the rebel slaves. After all, they had no weapons. And most of the slaves were still trapped inside the castle and had no way of taking part in the battle.

Solon rushed into the Great Hall, not pausing even to knock. "They come!" he cried. "They've been sighted leaving the forest. I'm mobilizing the troops, and the Lord Chamberlain has locked the slaves in quarters. They won't cause any problems inside the citadel."

The Wolf looked out the window, trying to follow what was happening on the ground in front of him. But the slaves were too far away to be seen properly.

"From what direction do they approach?" he asked.

"It's a little early to say, my lord, but it looks as if they plan to attack from the west."

The Wolf smiled beneath his mask. "Ah," he said briefly. "And so they will die."

Solon bowed his head. "Yes, my lord."

The Wolf turned from the window, his mask somehow more hideous than Solon had ever seen it.

"I want no prisoners but the fair-haired traitors. I think"—he looked at the Jackal and the Leopard—"I think we will rather enjoy hanging them at the end of the day."

Solon bowed and went to give the orders.
 

Peter watched the groups of rebel slaves marching towards the castle, puzzled by Gaius's strategy. They were going to approach the castle from the west. Even from here he could see the castle's defenses, the guards in place exactly where they ought to be. Surely Gaius must realize that he was marching into a trap? But his protestations had fallen on deaf ears, and Gaius had merely looked at him in that amused and all-knowing way of his. Peter walked along with a growing sense of doom: the guards would ambush them from two sides, closing off any avenue of retreat.

But he had his instructions. He was to march his archers north, keeping just inside the forest as long as possible. He was then to approach the castle from the north, and wait for Julia's signal before firing. He marched on, sullen but determined.
 

Another guard entered the Great Hall and held a hurried consultation with the Lords.

"Solon sent me with news," he said, breathing heavily. "A second column approaches from the north. The main column is still coming at us from the west. What do you want us to do?" He waited as the Wolf turned from his station at the window.

"Deploy the reserve guard on the south side of the citadel. They can block the advance of this second group. Once we've wiped out the main column, we can turn our attention to them."

The guard hesitated, unsure of the procedure. Who was he to question a Lord of Aedyn? But this was too risky.

"My Lord, that means our entire guards corps will be deployed outside the castle. We'll be left with only a handful of guards inside."

"We are not expecting an attack from within, are we? We need our forces outside to make sure that none of these outlaws escapes alive." The guard nodded.

"Of course, my lord."
 

The two groups of rebel slaves were closing in on the citadel. The guards watched them restlessly, their swords at the ready. Surely they had nothing to fear from these runaway slaves. They had only a few stolen swords. Their doom would be swift.

Peter led his men forward, estimating range. The guards were in a defensive posture, waiting for them to attack so that they could hack them to death with their swords. He paused. They were in range, but best to be sure. They marched another twenty paces. They could see the guards ahead of them, their swords itching for action. He held up a hand for his men to halt, waiting for the signal from Julia.

And then, from the west, he heard a scream—not as loud as it might have been had he been standing close, but it would serve. He turned toward the men and yelled with all his might:

"Draw! Aim! Release!"

The air was thick with arrows, hurtling down mercilessly on the guards. Several fell dead; others looked around, desperately, trying to work out what was happening.

"Draw! Aim! Release!"

Another withering volley hissed through the air before falling to find their targets. The guards looked around, terrified. They broke ranks, retreating hastily and in disorder towards the castle. As they did so, a series of massive explosions rang out on the east side of the castle. Billows of acrid smoke enveloped the area.

The Jackal, looking down on the scene from the citadel, turned to the others, an expression of utter delight beneath his mask.

"The cannons worked!" he cried. "Even the noise they make will be enough to terrify those fools down there! And just wait until those cannonballs slice them to ribbons. They haven't a prayer." The Wolf joined him at the window, and as the smoke cleared the scene below told a different story.

The cannons had not killed countless rebels but had exploded, killing the teams of guards who were operating them. A troop of horsemen seemed to have come from nowhere, armed with swords to finish off the remaining guards. Slaves newly escaped from the castle were swarming everywhere, picking up swords form the hands of wounded and dead guards and using them to fight alongside their brothers. The lords' ambush had failed miserably.

And what was this? To the south, the guards sent to engage the second column were in total disarray. Some were lying dead on the ground and others were in full retreat, heading for the safety of the castle gates.

The Wolf leaned forward, unable to believe what he was seeing. Slaves were thronging inside the castle, shutting the gates and preventing the guards from getting back to safety. His retreating guards were trapped between the castle wall and the advancing rebels. He watched in horror as a volley of arrows shot upwards and descended on the hapless guards, who had nowhere to run for safety. Where did they get those weapons?

Suddenly there was a noise immediately outside the doors of the Hall. The three lords turned just as the doors crashed open, revealing the bodies of dead guards lying outside. The rebels who had killed them had views about the men inside the room.

It was, perhaps, the first time the Wolf had been taken aback in five long centuries. He gasped as slaves armed with swords approached them and backed them into a corner. They were trapped. They were doomed.

And then the rebels parted as a young, fair-haired woman entered the Hall. She was hardly recognizable as the emissary from Albion, but had a new look about her—a look that knew what it meant to be chosen. And it was in this look that the lords finally found fear.

But the Wolf was no coward, nor was he a fool, and only a fool would enter a battle unarmed. He touched his long fingers to the dagger concealed within his robes.

"So, little girl, you've come to take over the world."

Julia shook her head. "No. Only return it to those who will serve it best."

One of the rebels approached, his knuckles white around the hilt of his sword. But Julia put out a hand and touched his arm.

"No, Lukas," she said. "We show them mercy."

At that word the Wolf struck. No one saw the dagger fly out of his hand until it was too late. Julia cried out as the dagger struck her cheek. A curtain of blood fell over her face and she crumpled to the floor.

Lukas was with her in an instant. The wound was not deep—that much he could see—although it would leave a mighty scar. Julia blinked up at him. She was in pain, but she was conscious. Lukas rose and stood eye-to-eye with the Wolf. He reached out and took hold of his mask, wrenching it away from his face.

The face exposed there was no longer human. The mouth and nose had grown out from the rest of the face into a snout and the lips curling up in a snarl revealed massive teeth. The eyes shone bright and yellow—and angry.

Lukas turned away from him to the Leopard.

 "You surrender?"

"I rather think we do," he stammered.
 

Peter was still outside the castle, organizing his men and dealing with all the thousands of details that come after a battle, when he noticed Helen and Alyce emerging from the forest. They were surrounded by a bevy of children who clung to their hands. Peter grinned and nodded a greeting to them as they approached the massive doors of the citadel, out of which the freed slaves were running.

Perhaps you can imagine the joy they felt at the reunion—the tears, the cries, the long embraces. Perhaps you can picture the jubilation of a child who has been too long without a parent. It was a sight to make the stars dance in the sky.

And Peter, who suddenly missed his mother so much he could hardly breathe, felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes and turned away.
 

It was an hour later that Julia, her face pale and swathed in bandages, and Peter entered the Great Hall of Aedyn together to the cheers and applause of the faithful. After so many centuries, they had never expected this day to arrive. The old order was passing away, and the new would begin. Peter held up his hands for silence and waited for his sister to speak.

"We were called here by the Lord of Hosts to lead you from darkness into light," she said. "The former things have passed away. The Lords of Aedyn have been vanquished. Their power over you is broken. Bring in the masks!"

Those assembled stood on tiptoe as the three grotesque masks were brought in by three bearers, trying to see what was happening. Each of the masks of the hated Lords of Aedyn was placed on a wooden table before the throne. The crowd watched with bated breath as Julia held up each mask in turn.

"These masks were worn by weak, evil men. They wanted you to fear them and respect them. And you were fooled by this crude deception. You will never be taken in again! Watch!"

The masks were placed on the table. Lukas marched to the table, sword in hand. With three massive strikes, he destroyed each mask.

"And now…"

The Jackal, the Leopard, and the Wolf, such as they were, entered the Hall at sword point. They stared straight ahead, oblivious to the gasps at their deformed faces. Peter went to them and removed the ebony amulets from around their necks.

"Your years are coming to an end," he said softly—so softly that only they could hear. "You will die alone, and you will die soon. Your power is broken." He brought the amulets to Lukas, who, at a nod from Gaius, forced the point of his sword through each one of them in turn.

As the last amulet was broken under the sword, Gaius spoke to the lords. "You will know the sting of mortality," he said. "But not just yet, for mercy is stronger still. We send you not to death, but to exile. You will return to Khemia, the land you left all those years ago, and live out the remainder of your days."

The lords were escorted (none too gently) out of the Hall. Peter and Julia were led to the old thrones, and if you had heard the cheers you would have thought that it was angels singing.

Continue to the final chapter.