My Ruthless Prince (5 page)

"It's a treasure trove . . . is there anything in these scrolls to help us now?"

"Much." James looked around soberly at them, and the men settled back in their seats, amazed. "Gentlemen, allow me to be blunt. The current head of the Council has failed us. Badly. We must face the facts.

"Malcolm pays no more than lip service to the old gods. He thinks the dark wisdom is no more than fairy tales. He mocks the princes of the air and the unseen powers of this world, the very forces that sustained Valerian and have inspired our forefathers since the Middle Ages."

James planted his hands on the table and looked around at them. "If our so-called leader were truly one of us, we would not have met with our recent bitter failure. Look at the priceless opportunity he let slip through our fingers.

"Napoleon's empire gave us our greatest opportunity since Charlemagne to bring all the peoples of Europe together as one. Think of the chance that is gone. One language, one currency, no more wars, no more hunger. Who can say? In time, we might have extended our rule across the Mediterranean to overtake the Ottoman Empire, and across the water, as well, to the Americas.

"For decades we worked, spent untold fortunes inserting our loyal believers into every royal court, patiently, carefully, waiting for our moment. And then it came. In the person of the brilliant Napoleon Bonaparte, that muse of fire, a perfect tool wrought for us by the hands of the gods.

"We were useful to him, but he was even more useful to us without even knowing it. We just let him keep on conquering countries, aiding him where we could, and kept on putting our people into high places throughout his ever-growing empire. He had no son. That meant we only had to wait for him to die. Then all that he had built, the whole globe, perhaps, would have fallen naturally, easily into our hands like a ripe plum.

"What step did we overlook?" James asked them in cold anger. "Nothing. What price did we shrink to pay to bring about our vision on earth? We gave our all, down to the last drop of blood of that which was most precious to us. We were so close! But it all crumbled. Why? Why, I ask you?" he demanded.

"Eh, because of the Order," the Frenchman murmured.

"No. It would be nice to think so," James shot back, "but the fault, I'm afraid, lies closer to home. The enemy could not have vanquished us if we had not chosen a leader who makes a mockery of the gods. This feckless fool Malcolm threw away the chance to establish our dream of a new order in the world merely to fulfill his own greed."

"These are dangerous words, James," Septimus warned fondly.

"Yet I must speak them, if our brotherhood is ever to rise again. These are the facts. Napoleon is fallen. Our chance is lost. It will not come again in our lifetimes, perhaps not for a century or more--and the fault must be laid at Malcolm's feet. But still he remains as head of the Council? How can this be?"

They were silent, mulling his points.

James shook his head. "I can no longer be silent. Not after all the blood we shed, the risks we took. The sacrifices that every one of us made," he reminded them bitterly as he scanned their faces.

The Promethean leaders dropped their gazes, lowering their heads with pained expressions as James gazed at each one.

"We
gave
as Malcolm never did. You know what my words signify," he added darkly. "No wonder it all came to naught. Our very leader refused the gods their sacrifice. We parted with what we loved and watched Niall grow up from a spoiled boy into a dangerous and ill-tempered man.

"The truth is," James continued, "Malcolm's had us all, in his game. He thinks himself above our rules and our 'strange ways,' though they served our ancestors since the Crusades. No, he's much too modern for all of that 'medieval rubbish,' " James said bitterly. "But now look at what his cleverness has brought us. Failure. Destruction."

He shrugged. "We're the ones who chose him for our leader. A man without vision. A man who believes in nothing. I hate to say it, but I fear we got what we deserve."

"He's right," the novelist spoke up. "We have brought this on ourselves."

James sent him a nod of appreciation for the support. "If Malcolm Banks remains in power, in my view, we might as well give up. His foolish decisions as head of the Council have handed us defeat when victory was in our grasp. He has proved he does not deserve to sit in the principal chair. Removing him is our only hope." He looked around at them.

"Believe me, brothers, our chance will come again, one day. We may not be alive to see it; it may take two hundred years. But the discovery of the Alchemist's Scrolls after all the centuries they were lost is a sign from our dark Father not to be discouraged, not to give up the fight. With the hidden knowledge that Valerian has passed down in these writings, mark my words, we shall rise again to raise the torch of truth for a whole new generation. But first, the one responsible for our failure must be punished. Now is the time to strike."

"Why now?" the Austrian asked.

"Malcolm's faction is weakened at the moment," James replied. "You may have heard that his pet assassin, Dresden Bloodwell, was killed in London by an Order agent a few weeks ago."

"What of Malcolm's son?"

"Yes, where is Niall?"

"Funny you should ask." James cast Drake a knowing smile. "Gentlemen, it may startle to you to hear the most unsettling piece of news. Malcolm sent his son to kill me while I was in London."

"
What?
"

"To kill you?" they exclaimed, predictably outraged.

"You, James? But you're one of our most revered leaders!"

"Obviously, he sees him as a threat," the Russian murmured.

James hesitated with a grim look. "The truth is, I don't believe he meant to stop with me. It appears Malcolm no longer wishes to answer to the Council. I daresay he's decided he can get along without us."

"What exactly do you mean?" the French duke demanded.

"I'm saying Malcolm seeks to rule alone--he and his son. And he's soon going to come after us if we don't eliminate him first."

"Would he really take it so far?" the cardinal murmured into the ominous hush that had fallen over the room.

"Why not? He's got nothing left to lose." James shrugged. "He knows we no longer trust him after his failure as our leader. The attack on me was only the beginning. Once I was out of the way, I am certain he planned to send Niall and his thugs after the rest of you."

The room went silent as the members of the Council pondered these disturbing revelations.

"Don't forget, at the last meeting of the Council," James reminded them, "Malcolm tried to make one of us the scapegoat for his incompetence. Remember? He ordered Niall to garrote Rupert Tavistock right in front of us. Surely you knew it was intended as a warning to us all."

The field marshal shook his head, marveling. "I can't believe he sent his son to kill you."

"Fortunately, Drake was on hand to protect me," James replied.

"So--" The Frenchman leaned closer. "Is Niall dead?"

"No," James answered judiciously. "He was captured by the Order. Suffice it to say that Niall will not be a problem anymore. I doubt any of us will ever hear from Junior again."

Most of them seemed pleased at this news though a few looked slightly shaken by it all.

"Does Malcolm know the Order has his son?" the cardinal inquired.

"I don't believe so. But it won't be long before he starts wondering why he hasn't heard from him, and why Niall hasn't returned from London. That is why I called this gathering on such short notice, and I appreciate you all making it here so quickly. I hope it wasn't too inconvenient. Septimus was kind enough to offer his hospitality here at Waldfort, and the location seemed central enough for everyone to reach with relative ease."

Glasse gestured politely in welcome.

"So, here we are," James said, planting his hands on the table before him, "and time is of the essence. We must decide what we intend to do, and if we are going to act, we must move quickly in order to take Malcolm by surprise. I would not give him time to marshal his forces against us. At the moment, he has not yet realized anything's wrong, but I doubt we have more than a fortnight."

"So, let us take a vote, then, and be done with it," Glasse spoke up impatiently. "Those in favor of keeping Malcolm as head of the Council, say aye."

The chamber was perfectly silent.

"Those opposed to his continued leadership?"

Hands lifted all around the table.

It was unanimous.

"Very well, then," James said grimly. "Malcolm is hereby deposed as head of the Council. We will begin considering our plans on how to move against him at once--"

"But who will take the role of our new leader in the meanwhile?" Glasse interrupted.

Drake was well aware that Falkirk and his old friend, their host, the German count, had arranged in advance between themselves for this question to be asked at the crucial moment. "Someone has got to take responsibility as the next head of the Council," Glasse added.

They all looked at James.

"It must be you, James, yes," several of them murmured.

"Me, my lords?" He seemed genuinely shocked, but of course, this had been their plan from the start.

"Let us vote again," Glasse urged, rising from his chair, the first to lift his hand. "Those in favor of James Falkirk as the next head of the Council?"

"Aye!" the others agreed before he had even finished speaking the words.

James appeared overwhelmed. "I do not seek this, my brothers."

"That is why you are the perfect antidote to Malcolm's self-interest," the cardinal assured him.

The old man shook his head. "I don't know what to say, gentlemen. I am just an old scholar."

"Say that you accept," the Russian author answered with a smile.

"Well, of course, I will serve in whatever capacity is required," he said modestly.

"Everyone knows you, James. Everyone trusts you. You have given us all your wise counsel at one point or another over the years. If Malcolm had listened to you in the first place, the outcome with Napoleon might have been very different."

James appeared to restrain deep emotion. "Truly, I am honored by your faith in me, and I swear to you on my life that I will uphold the creed and do my best to bring about the goals our forefathers laid out so long ago."

"So, where do we begin?" the French duke asked, as James sank back down into his seat.

"Well," James said with a wise, old, grandfatherly sigh followed by a thoughtful pause. "It seems to me that we need to make a fresh start, clean the slate. A new beginning before we set out on the next leg of our long journey through the ages. The Order decimated our ranks during the fall of Napoleon, and those who are left are deeply dispirited." He pulled the box with the scrolls closer. "I say we gather them all here together and give them something to restore their flagging faith."

"Like what?" the Russian asked.

James caressed the kingwood case fondly. "While I was studying the Alchemist's Scrolls, I came across a magnificent ceremony, lost to us all these centuries . . . a ritual of renewal that Valerian carefully laid out for a time of defeat such as the one we now face. You know the persecution our forefathers faced back in his day."

"Yes."

"He called it the ritual of rebirth, to be held at the lunar eclipse."

"So, that's why you wanted us to come now," the Frenchman murmured with a rueful smile. "There is an eclipse of the moon in about a fortnight, isn't there?"

James nodded with an enigmatic smile. "The past must be purged, the darkness fully embraced before the light can break again. After all we've been through--let us call it what it is, utter defeat--this is the perfect opportunity to bring our scattered remnants back together, all our poor wavering believers, and fill them up again with fire.

"If ever we have needed to come together, renew our vows to the dark Father, and offer sacrifice as we invoke his help and favor, that time is now," James finished.

"What sacrifice does this ritual require?" the cardinal murmured while the others nodded in agreement.

James glanced at him, silent for a moment. "Only the very highest is acceptable for this ceremony. It calls for the blood of a virgin, pure of heart."

Nothing the Prometheans did could surprise Drake anymore, but the words struck him with horror like a knife in the gut.

Emily's innocent smile flashed across his mind.

The answer, meanwhile, had drawn the French duke's cynicism. "Eh, are there any of those left on the earth, I wonder?"

"There would be if you had not seduced them all," the Russian jested.

"Never fear, my brothers." James shut the box of scrolls with a serene smile. "The Dark Father will provide. And when such blood has flowed, and our strength is renewed, then we shall set out to rebuild, just as we always have. The Order defeated us last time, but now we have a secret weapon against them, as well," James said, with a nod over his shoulder at Drake. "In the meanwhile, we must send for all our believers so they can get here in time for the eclipse. Also, I will begin preparing a contingent to go and deal with Malcolm."