Crucible #02 - The Wounded Hawk by Sara Douglass

Author:Sara Douglass [Douglass, Sara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy
Amazon: B002KPJR34
Publisher: Voyager
Published: 2001-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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CHAPTER XIII

Passion Sunday

In the first year of the reign of Richard II

(11th March 1380)

FOR MONTHS Joan had wondered how Thomas fared, deep within the demons' camp. Now she wept in sorrow as St. Michael stood before her, telling of Thomas' surrender to the demon Margaret.

"How can he have allowed himself to be so seduced?" she said, clasping her hands before her as she knelt.

Thomas is a man, and weak in the ways of the flesh. He does not have the strength of your virginal flesh. The demon has convinced him that she is pure and pood, and Thomas believes her.

"Then we are lost." Joan had no way of understanding that the archangel was not as distraught at Tom's situation as he appeared to be.

Anger seethed out toward her, and Joan quailed. "Forgive my doubts, blessed saint!"

Do not think that we have not planned for this.

Joan was so terrified by the archangel's anger that she could not answer.

Thomas only does what we expected. Soon enough he will learn of the extent to which he has been betrayed . . . and then . . . then there is always the great Secret, waiting to be revealed.

"Great secret, blessed saint?"

Now amusement radiated toward her, and Joan felt the goodness of the archangel's benevolence.

Thomas is a Beloved. On that day, the day when he learns what that means, and what awaits him, and how he has been betrayed, then Thomas will not fail you nor me. Believe it. "Most assuredly, Blessed Saint Michael."

It is a most seductive Secret, Joan, and Thomas has already shown himself readily enough seduced. "Your paths are most wondrously wrought, blessed saint."

St. Michael thought about that last remark, wondering if Joan wasn't trying to pretend a little too much understanding. Be still, Joan. I must speak to you of a thing other than Thomas' weak flesh.

"Yes, blessed saint?" Joan said.

I have already spoken to you of the significance of Orleans.

"Yes, blessed saint."

Soon one of the damned Englishmen will lead an army against Orleans. They will attempt to strangle that proud city with afoul siege. It is time to make a first strike. You shall tell Charles that you will lead the French army to Orleans, where you shall raise the English siege. It shall be a magnificent victory.

Joan said nothing, but raised her clasped hands before her face as she stared at the archangel with shining, fanatical eyes.

After Orleans you will ride to Rheims, where you shall crown Charles king of France.

"Blessed saint!"

From that time, your victories shall be legion. You will drive the English from this land, and then . . .

"Yes, blessed archangel?"

Then, once France has roused behind you, you shall lead the armies of God across the seas and into the den of the Demon-King himself.

Joan was so overcome with awe and humility that God had chosen her for this cause, that she could not speak.

Beware, Joan. There are many who conspire against you.

"They shall not harm me. I have their measure."

Ah, Joan, I pray that it be so.

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