Chapter One

John Falconer watched the line of people on the ridge, silhouetted against a leaden sky. When he heard the clank of chains, he knew. He made out a dozen figures locked together. A horseman ambled behind them, reins held loosely in one hand. A leather quirt was tied to the rider's other wrist and rested upon the saddle. The rider wore a low-brim hat that masked his eyes. But Falconer knew the rider watched the chained group with a predator's gaze.

The sun finally managed to pierce the clouds. A golden lance fell upon one of the chained men. His face became illuminated, as though touched by the finger of God.

The chained man turned then. He looked straight at Falconer.

And spoke his name aloud.

* * *

Falconer rose from his bed and slipped into his clothes. The actions gave his hands something to do while his heart resumed a normal pace. Moonlight fell through his window, illuminating a room far too cramped for his massive frame. He lit a candle and watched the sputtering flame for a time, sorting through the dream's images.

For years after coming to faith, Falconer had awoken to dread images and drenching sweats. But this dream had been no nightmare. In fact, as he listened to his breathing steady, he felt something else entirely. Despite how the image linked Falconer to his own tragic past, he felt neither sorrow nor dismay. Instead, he felt exhilarated. What was more, he found himself wondering if perhaps the dream had carried some form of divine message.

Falconer seated himself at the narrow table and read his Bible by candle