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?