The Chronicles of the Kings Collection

  “All right,” he said at last. “I’ll go back to the cave with you.” He scrambled out of the ditch, pulling Miriam to her feet. She was free.

  Sky and earth and trees whirled around her dizzily as she stood by the side of the road, trying to get her bearings. She turned to face the ridge and drew a deep breath.

  “Joshua, run! It’s a trap! It’s a trap! Hadad betrayed—”

  Pain cut off her cries as Hadad tackled her again, smashing her to the ground with jarring force, cursing her below his breath. This time Miriam fought back. She knew she could never win, but desperation urged her to cause enough commotion to attract Joshua’s attention. Maybe he could see this section of the road from where he was hiding. She prayed that he had heard her brief shout of warning.

  Please, God, tell him to run for his life!

  She wrenched one hand free from beneath Hadad and clawed at his face and eyes. He gasped in pain and released his hold over her mouth to pry her fingers off his face. She gulped air and screamed again, “Joshua, run! RUN!”

  As Hadad covered her mouth again, Miriam fought with all her strength, kicking, twisting, ignoring the agonizing pain as his brawny arms squeezed her and the weight of his body crushed her.

  Hadad rolled over and over in the dirt with her. She felt his feet scrambling for a foothold as he tried to stand with her. Miriam fought harder, trying to throw him off balance, trying to attract as much attention as she could before he could throw her into the ditch again, out of sight. He struggled to his feet, locking Miriam in a deadly embrace, face-to-face like lovers. Her feet dangled above the ground.

  Then to Miriam’s surprise, Hadad released her, pushing her roughly away from him. She fell backward, arms flailing to regain her balance. Her feet searched for the ground but there was nothing behind her, nothing beneath her. The earth had simply disappeared.

  Miriam screamed as she felt herself falling into a bottomless void.

  From his vantage point atop the ridge, Joshua had watched as a lone woman jogged up the road toward the ambush site; then he stared in angry disbelief when he saw it was Miriam. What was that foolish girl doing here? Was this another one of her misguided attempts to help him? Why hadn’t she done as she was told and stayed inside the cave until this was over?

  He clenched his fists in frustration, knowing he didn’t dare call out to her, hoping she had sense enough not to call out to him. When Hadad had tackled her, dragging her out of sight, Joshua breathed a sigh of relief. The morning fell quiet, the only sounds the chirping of birds, the droning of insects. The day would be hot.

  One of his soldiers nudged him, pointing to a flicker of color and movement on the brief stretch of road visible between the trees a half mile behind them. The king’s procession. A shiver of excitement raced through Joshua. In a few more minutes, Manasseh would walk into Joshua’s snare. He drew slow, deep breaths as he prepared to kill his enemy at last. His life’s work was finally coming to fulfillment. Once he’d avenged the murders of his father and grandfather, once he’d rid his nation of Manasseh, his work would be complete. Maybe then he could find the rest and peace that had eluded him for the past two years.

  Suddenly, Miriam’s cry pierced the quiet morning. “Joshua, run! It’s a trap! It’s a trap! Hadad betrayed—”

  Joshua whirled around in time to see Hadad throw Miriam to the ground again. Foolish girl! She was going to ruin everything! All their carefully laid plans! Joshua had waited two years for revenge. What if Miriam’s cries had alerted Manasseh’s procession?

  Joshua quickly scrambled down the hill to help Hadad subdue her. He had to convince her to be quiet and take cover. The procession was only a few minutes away.

  By the time Joshua reached the road, Hadad had Miriam nearly under control. His hand was planted firmly over her mouth again. He pulled her to her feet. But they were teetering dangerously close to the edge of the cliff.

  “Hadad, watch out!” he cried.

  Before Joshua could sprint across the road to help him, Hadad suddenly released Miriam with a rough push. Joshua watched in horror as she tumbled backward and disappeared over the edge of the cliff.

  Joshua froze in the middle of the road, too stunned to move. With breathtaking speed, Hadad drew his sword and whirled to face him. Joshua saw Hadad’s blinding hatred. Too late, much too late, Joshua finally comprehended Miriam’s words.

  “It’s a trap . . . Joshua, run!”

  Blood oozed from the scratches she had made on Hadad’s face, underscoring Joshua’s mistake. Miriam wasn’t foolish; she was level-headed, courageous. She had saved Joshua’s life twice before. Why hadn’t he heeded her warning? The horror of Miriam’s death dizzied him. Joshua drew his own sword, his movements clumsy and slow.

  Hadad stood with sword in hand, as if waiting for Joshua to make the first move. Joshua saw the intense concentration in his eyes, the slight smile on his lips. They both knew Hadad’s skills were superior to his own. He was stronger, faster, more practiced. Joshua would lose in a duel against him.

  Disconnected thoughts raced through Joshua’s mind, and his head spun as he labored to make sense of them. The slow realization that he would never have a chance to kill Manasseh devastated him. It had all been a sham. He would never be able to satisfy his hunger for revenge. He had been tricked, betrayed, just as he’d betrayed Hadad. Joshua heard the blood rushing in his ears and felt the familiar weight settle on his chest, preventing him from drawing a deep breath. The sword felt heavy in his hand.

  Hadad still hadn’t moved. Surely Joshua’s men on the ridge would notice this standoff. If Joshua ducked aside, maybe the archers could get a clear shot at Hadad. But the men were probably confused about what was happening. Hadad was their commanding officer. He had worked closely with them, lived with them, built them into a fighting team. Joshua was the outsider. None of the men was experienced enough to take command in a crisis. Hadad had made certain of that. In the next few minutes, Joshua was likely to die at his hands.

  But Hadad continued to watch Joshua intently, his sword held level, ready to strike. Why didn’t he attack? Suddenly Joshua remembered the approaching procession and understood. Hadad didn’t have to kill him. He merely had to hold him at bay for a few more minutes until Manasseh’s soldiers arrived. Joshua had two choices—fight a mismatched battle with Hadad, which he couldn’t possibly win, or be captured by the soldiers and die at Manasseh’s hands. His mouth felt as dry as desert sand.

  “How does it feel?” Hadad said slowly. His voice was the satisfied growl of a predator who has cornered his prey. “How does it feel to be betrayed by a friend?”

  “I already know how it feels. I was betrayed by Manasseh, remember?” But Hadad’s question helped Joshua reach a decision. He would rather let Hadad kill him than be turned over to his enemy. He thought he heard the rumble of the procession in the distance above the thundering of his heart. He fought the panic of suffocation.

  Concentrate.

  Joshua pushed everything else from his mind to focus on what General Benjamin had taught him. Exploit your enemy’s weaknesses.

  As his eyes bored into Hadad’s, watching for the first twitch of his muscles, Joshua summoned a mental image of Hadad sparring with his men in the practice yard. What were his weaknesses, his blind spots? He had a favorite offensive maneuver that he often used—feinting left, then swinging sharply to attack from the right—but as time slowly ran out, Joshua could recall no weaknesses.

  Except one.

  In an idea borne of desperation, Joshua allowed his gaze to wander from Hadad’s for a fraction of a second, as if a sudden movement near the roadblock had caught his eye.

  “Dinah, no! Stay back!” he shouted.

  As Hadad turned his head to look, Joshua lunged. Either kill or be killed, he had instructed his men. That was the choice he faced. With his sword outstretched, Joshua threw himself at Hadad, driving the weapon into him with all the force of his weight, impaling him.

  Hadad cried o
ut in agony, badly wounded. Joshua had hoped to knock him off balance and topple him to the ground, but Hadad was too heavy, too strong. With the hilt of Joshua’s sword protruding from his gut, Hadad lashed back convulsively, his eyes glazed in pain, blindly flailing his sword as if determined to take Joshua through the gates of Sheol with him.

  Hadad’s first crazed swing swished through Joshua’s hair as he ducked, off balance. He couldn’t move quickly enough. The second blow grazed his shoulder. Joshua tried to back away, but he stumbled. Hadad lurched toward him, faster than Joshua could move. He would never be able to get out of range of Hadad’s frantic sword thrusts in time.

  Instead, he surprised Hadad by lunging toward him again in a clumsy tackle. Joshua brought his right fist up, smashing it into Hadad’s outstretched arm from below with enough force to break his grip. The sword flew from Hadad’s grasp. Enraged, he coiled his left arm around Joshua’s throat, forcing back his head with a jerk meant to snap his neck. Ordinarily he could have done it, but Hadad was weakening. Blood poured from him, soaking their clothes, pooling on the ground beneath their scrambling feet.

  Joshua’s arms quivered from exertion as he fought to pry off Hadad’s arm before it crushed his windpipe. He couldn’t breathe. His vision shrank until he peered through a narrow tunnel, illuminated by stars of light. In what he knew was his last desperate attempt, Joshua groped for the hilt of his own sword, still protruding from Hadad’s stomach. When he found it, he twisted it savagely, pushing it deeper into Hadad’s body.

  Hadad screamed in anguish. He released Joshua and staggered backward, then sank to his knees while Joshua strained to fill his lungs with air again. Hadad found his own sword lying on the ground in front of him and swung it blindly, slashing Joshua’s thigh. There was little strength behind his thrust. The weapon dropped from Hadad’s hand as he toppled facedown in the dirt.

  The rumble of the approaching procession was unmistakable above Hadad’s wretched cries. Fighting nausea, Joshua cupped his bloodstained hands to his mouth and drew a breath to shout to his bewildered troops.

  “Run! It’s an ambush! Run for your lives!”

  Even as he shouted, Joshua knew it was hopeless. Manasseh’s army must have them all surrounded by now. He prayed that the men who had bravely volunteered for this mission would keep cool heads, that they would remember the evasive maneuvers they’d been taught, that at least some of them would escape to safety.

  Joshua limped toward the edge of the cliff where Miriam had fallen and peered below. He expected to see her sprawled at the bottom but saw only rocks and brush. She had sacrificed her life for him, just as her father had. Her selfless act staggered him, humbled him, and he wanted to sink down in the dirt beside Hadad’s body and weep at the senselessness of it all. But a more rational part of him argued that Miriam’s act of love would be wasted unless he lived.

  He saw only one way to escape from the snare that Manasseh’s men had set for him. He wiped his bloody palms on the front of his tunic and picked up Hadad’s sword, sheathing it in his own scabbard. Then, gripping whatever brush and outcroppings of rock he could find, Joshua lowered himself over the edge and began the precarious climb down the face of the cliff.

  Inch by inch, Joshua slowly made his way from handhold to handhold—a clump of coarse grass, a jutting rock, a dried tree root. The descent seemed endless as his arms began to tire and his reserves of strength ebbed away. His mind urged him to hurry and yet exercise caution, and he wondered, How can I do both?

  He found the next handhold, then dry dirt and dust showered down on him as he descended. It filled his nostrils, coated his hair and skin, and settled in his exhausted lungs until he choked helplessly, unable to stop himself. Would they hear him on the road above?

  There’s a toehold. See if it supports your weight. Good. Rest your arms a moment. Now keep going.

  Suddenly he came to an abrupt halt. There were no more rocks or roots to cling to. He looked left, then right. He was trapped, pinned to the face of the cliff. Why hadn’t he scouted his route more carefully? Now the only way down was to climb back up a dozen feet and look for a better way. He began to retrace his steps.

  Sweat poured into his eye, stinging painfully, blurring his vision. Without thinking, he rolled his head to the side to wipe his face on his shoulder, then he gasped in agony as dirt and sweat rubbed into the fresh wound Hadad had given him. Pain shuddered through him.

  Joshua lost his grip, found nothing to grab, and suddenly he was sliding—skimming down the cliff face, hands slipping, rocks pulling loose, feet scrambling. Jagged debris scraped his knees, his chin, ripped his clothes. Skin peeled from his fingertips as he dug them into the dirt to slow his momentum, to stop his fall.

  O God, help me!

  He groped for a jutting rock as he slid past it, and clung to it with one hand, swinging. It held, saving his life.

  He gripped it with both hands as he carefully kicked a toehold in the dry earth so he could rest for a moment, catch his breath, and decide what to do next. His arms trembled with weariness, his shoulder throbbed and bled. He started down again, not daring to rest too long.

  Find the next handhold. Now the next. A place for your foot. Keep going.

  He never should have started down this cliff. It had been a bad idea. He couldn’t go on. It was too far. There was so little on this sheer precipice to cling to. What if he fell again?

  God of Abraham, how much farther?

  He glanced down, then closed his eye to make the dizziness stop. The bottom still seemed a hundred whirling miles away. He would never make it down alive. But he had to. There was no other choice but to finish this treacherous descent.

  Don’t look down. Concentrate! Find something to grab onto.

  On and on he went, necessity driving him, weariness dogging him, until it seemed that the only thing there had ever been in his life was this never-ending cliff. Pain cramped his hands. The agony spread to his quivering arms, his shoulders. All at once Joshua’s strength gave out, and with no place to plant his feet, he slid the last twenty feet to the bottom, landing with a jolt. His ankle twisted painfully as he smashed to the ground.

  He tried to stand, collapsed, tried again, then lost consciousness as he slumped to the ground for the third time.

  When Joshua first opened his eye, he didn’t know where he was. Then he saw the mountain looming above him and he remembered the cliff. The endless cliff. God of Abraham, he had made it!

  His knees were too weak to support his weight, so he rolled onto his back and slowly took stock of himself. No broken bones, but his limbs still trembled with fatigue. His clothes were covered with blood—some of it his own, most of it Hadad’s. The cuts on his shoulder and thigh throbbed. So did his bruised hands and sprained ankle.

  He decided to crawl to the nearest hiding place. When he spotted a thick clump of branches several yards away, he rolled onto his stomach and inched toward it. But something jutting from among the leaves and branches looked strangely out of place: a human hand.

  Miriam.

  She lay on her back, half hidden beneath a tree branch, her arms outflung. Joshua looked up and saw the tree where she had landed, growing from the side of the bluff. One of its branches had broken off beneath her weight.

  He crawled to Miriam’s side. Her body and dusty face were battered and scratched, her hair matted with dirt and leaves, but there was very little blood. She looked peaceful with her eyes closed, as if she might have been asleep. With no hope in his heart, Joshua felt her throat for a pulse.

  The faint throb beneath his fingers stunned him. Was he imagining it? He slowly sat up and felt again.

  “Miriam,” he whispered.

  When her eyes flew open, he jerked back, startled. She stared straight up at the sky, unseeing. Joshua gently turned her head to the side until he was in her line of vision. Recognition flickered in her glazed eyes. Her lips formed his name soundlessly. Joshua.

  “Yes. I’m here.”

 
Her eyes rolled closed again, as if the effort to keep them open was too great. She shook her head slightly from side to side, struggling to speak. He lowered his head to hear.

  “Yes, Miriam?”

  “It’s . . . a trap,” she whispered faintly. “Run!”

  Then her body went still.

  11

  General Benjamin sat inside King Manasseh’s covered sedan chair, gripping a dagger. As they neared the ambush site he was calm yet alert, ready to leap at Joshua son of Eliakim or whoever might attack him. Benjamin was a seasoned warrior, skilled in hand-to-hand combat, eager for the challenge of a good fight. He had trained Eliakim’s son, knew all his faults and weaknesses, and knew that the lad would be a poor match for his own considerable skills.

  The king’s bodyguards on either side of him looked like hazy shadows through the curtains. They were spoiling for a fight, primed to kill, waiting for the first volley of arrows from the archers on the ridge, which would signal the attack. Benjamin wasn’t worried about the impending battle. Hadad had assured him that Joshua’s force would be small and inexperienced; Benjamin had chosen his finest skilled warriors. There would be no contest.

  The procession emerged from a grove of trees onto an open stretch of road. Benjamin glimpsed blue sky and clouds on his right, the edge of the cliff a few feet away. This was it.

  The procession slowed, then stopped abruptly. He tightened his grip on his weapon. “Why are we stopping?” he asked the aide walking on his left. “Have they fired on us?”

  “No, General. The roadblock is just ahead, but there’s something in the middle of the road. It looks like a body.”

  “Careful. It could be a trick.”

  Joshua may have been a poor soldier, but he possessed a clever mind. If he had changed Hadad’s plans, the general would have no way of learning about it. He parted the curtain slightly and peered out, watching as one of his men advanced cautiously and kicked the body over with his foot. The soldier looked up in surprise.