The Seeker - Finna's Quest

by E L Russell

  A smile of pride played on the woman’s lips. “His years may number only twelve, but his father trained him with his house guard. He will not slow us down.”

  Finna turned to look at the boy, who bore a striking resemblance to his mother. In their gallop from the city, he had ridden with a relaxed and easy competence and she believed Yasmin. Jamal nodded a smile acknowledging her glance and she turned her attention back to his mother, who, in her silk skirts and diaphanous scarves, looked out of place on the dusty road.

  “His father must be pleased.”

  Yasmin spat in a most coarse fashion leaving no doubt to her words. “Nothing pleases the prince, especially nothing his son does.” She lowered her head, apparently embarrassed by her outburst.

  An odd statement, but Finna let it ride. She didn’t know the woman well enough to pry. Guiscard caught them and spoke over the snorting of his prancing steed. “We need to get off the road and into the desert unseen. We are far enough ahead that they see us only by the dust we make.” He slowed the pace minimizing the dust and they followed him without comment when they crested the next ridge and he led them off the road.

  “As soon as we reach the flat rock ahead, our path will not show and we will not make dust. From there, we will ride hard heading north toward the large dunes where we can hide. Finna, take the last position in the line and turn regularly to alert us if you see them following us.”

  “Zafir’s men?” Yasmin asked.

  “Yes.” He locked eyes with each of the travelers individually. “If we are fortunate, they will not have an easy trail to follow, however, know this. They will follow.”

  15

  Decisions

  Assassins

  As Guiscard promised, the small troop left little proof of their presence on the flat rocks and the high rolling hills ahead of constantly shifting sand would obscure any remnants of a trail. Even so, they remained vigilant, constantly searching for clouds of telltale dust in every direction.

  By the fourth evening of their trek to Antioch, Finna hoped they could relax their guard. They had stopped at a small oasis for a welcome rest and she sat in the shadow of a date tree near the small spring of water cleaning her arrows and watching Guiscard bathe nearby.

  She smiled at her use of the word bathe, for Guiscard had merely rubbed his sweat-laden body with sand and then wiped the sand away with a damp cloth. He never entered the water, not even to get his feet wet. Seemingly unaware of her presence, he reached down to pull on his pants and halted when he caught sight of her. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open as if he would speak and then, off balance, he fell forward into the shallow water.

  Whoosh.

  An arrow flew past her right ear and her laughter stopped before it hit the ground.

  Assassins.

  She drew her bow and backed behind a date palm. Guiscard lay face down in the shallow water with an arrow in his back. He hadn’t moved. She sighted in on a moving shadow. Although the desert robe blended with the sand, the foolish man stood and she loosed her arrow at his silhouette. Before he dropped to the sand, she was searching for her next target while worrying about Yasmin and Jamal.

  She saw no one, neither friend nor foe, and she listened for the sound of swords or horses. Remaining low, she fitted a fist full of arrows to her bow hand, checked the hilt of her dagger and then crept sideways to a group of scrub bushes. The entire landscape was still. Even the wind had died. She strained her eyes, looking for colors that didn’t match the environment or movement incongruous with the still oasis. The profile of a head appeared behind the sand dune and she drew her bow, steadying her breathing for the shot.

  Shoulders followed with waving arms. “Don’t shoot.” The silhouette ducked and the familiar voice of Jamal called out again. “It’s us. There’s no one else alive.”

  Air whistled from Finna’s lungs. God’s Bones. She’d almost shot the boy. “Stay down. There are assassins.”

  “No longer. We killed them.”

  Finna didn’t stop to question her amazement, but ran to Guiscard. Jamal joined her as she struggled to turn the big Templar over in the shallow water. Suddenly, the hair on her neck bristled. Notching an arrow, she fell away to the right, but Yasmin was there before her. She’d thrown a knife through the black shadow leaping toward her.

  “My thanks,” Finna said. “You are a worthy companion.” And she was. Yasmin had thrown the knife with the force and accuracy needed to penetrate the rib cage. “You must show me how you did that, but first, I think we search for others.”

  “Look to your Templar. Jamal and I will do it.”

  Finna knelt beside Guiscard and wept. He had been her champion since the seed of her crusading venture was sown. He was an integral part of her trek. He was her beloved companion and guide. She needed him. Gulping back sobs, she shut her eyes and recited the prayer for fallen Templar Knights. “Give us faith to face all the problems of everyday life and to deserve the day to approach Thy presence humbly, but without fear.” It gave her little comfort.

  “I know those words,” Jamal said when she finished. “Where did you learn them?”

  With a hand remaining on her dead companion’s arm, she answered without conscious thought. “My father.” She would have to finish the Queen’s bidding without her friend’s strength and wisdom by her side. She sighed heavily and repeated part of the prayer. “Give me faith to face all the problems of every day.” She felt deserted and alone. How could she keep this woman and her son safe? Her eyes fell on the lance the boy held. It was not his.

  “Where did you get that?” She motioned at the weapon with her chin and looked at the boy more closely. “You knew the prayer?” She considered more. “And you ride like a warrior. Who taught you these things?”

  “My father gave me many tutors. One of his guards taught me how to use the Persian lance.”

  She looked over his shoulder toward the top of the dune and panicked. “Where is your mother?”

  “She is unharmed. She now has her own lance as well.”

  “How did the two of you manage to kill the other Persian soldiers?”

  He tilted his head in question. “Why do you call them soldiers? They do not wear the uniform of any Persian army I have ever seen.”

  “Their weapons, their saddles, and the head gear used on the horses say they are soldiers. In this case, however, I suspect they are deserters working for someone for the coin they can make. How did you and your mother defeat them?”

  Yasmin appeared over the dune using her fighting stick as a walking stick and swinging a Persian lance. Her eyes crinkled in laughter. “Seeing only woman and a boy, they erred in approaching us without drawn weapons. Big mistake. In unison, we lunged at the two outside men and put them out of action the instant we planted our fighting sticks in their throats.”

  The fighting sticks were a combination spear and short lance. The end was burned to harden the point, which was strong enough to skew a human heart with ease. In the hands of a skilled warrior, it could do untold damage.

  Jamal joined in his mother’s mirth. When the third man stepped toward us, we spun away so the tips of our sticks followed him as he ran between us. We skewered him, momentarily lifting him from the sand. Mother was great.” He looked at her with pride. “I taught her everything she knows about fighting.”

  In spite of her sorrow, a grin split Finna’s face. “That is amazing stick-fighting.” Perhaps the need to take care of this mother and son was not as much of a chore as it was an asset. “I am in wonder of your skills.”

  “There are no more live men on this oasis.” Yasmin twirled the tip of her lance in the sand to clean it. “When you face arrogant opponents, it inspires good fighting. Would you not agree?”

  Bromwell’s face flashed in front of Finna and she nodded. She hadn’t thought of it that way, but it was true. There was no way that bully was going to beat her in the tournament. “Come. Help me with Guiscard,” she said. “We will leave the bodie
s of these mercenary bastards for the birds and jackals, but not Guiscard. He will have a proper rest in Christian Antioch.”

  While securing the Templar’s body to his horse, a sealed message fell from his pocket. “It is and addressed to the Queen,” Finna said, showing it to Yasmin. “I don’t know this seal, do you?”

  Yasmin nodded. “Yes. It is the seal of Abdul-Salam, the Prince of Aleppo, the top prince, the one in control.” She spat in the sand. “Prince Zafir, the man we flee from, thinks because he is a prince, he has power, but he is a low prince. He is a grasping, foul, swine of a no one.”

  “How did you come to be in his harem?” Finna asked. Although she had held off asking, with the intrigue that was unfolding, the answer might now be vital.

  “I was taken in a raid as a young woman.”

  That was all she said, but the small tidbit explained a good deal. Yasmin was Zafir’s property and he wanted her back. So far, he had gone to great lengths. “Do you think the prince will stop coming after you now?”

  “No,” Jamal said with certainty. “He will never quit. What is his, he never gives up.”

  Yasmin gave her son an affectionate one-armed hug. “I am afraid he is correct, but let us see what is in the bag I took from the assassins.” She bounced the bag in her hand and grinned. “I think it is the coin of which you spoke, payment for capturing me and Jamal and for killing you and Guiscard.” She sobered when she glanced at Guiscard and then returned her attention to the bag of loot. “See, here.”

  Finna leaned close.

  “This is his mark on the bag?” She ran a finger over the faded symbol. “It is that bastard Zafir’s mark. This was his gold.”

  16

  Treachery

  Proof

  Finna pulled Guiscard’s message from her pocket. “Here’s proof he hired the assassins. Even though we think the seal says this came from Abdul-Salam, we don’t know why he is writing to the Queen. I’m going to open it. We need to understand this intrigue.”

  Alarmed, Yasmin put her hand to her mouth. “It that wise? The Queen will know someone read it.”

  Finna nodded an affirmative. “However, our lives seem to be at stake. We need to know what’s inside.” She broke the seal and opened the message, reading it carefully. “God’s Bones.”

  “What? What does it say?”

  “This is not a missive for the Queen. It is to the Grandmaster of the Templars and Guiscard wrote it.” She stared at the writing a moment and read in silence. “It says both the Prince of Aleppo and the Prince of Antioch want to hire the Knights Templar to fight against the other. Guiscard urges the Grandmaster to play one against the other to determine which prince is willing to pay more.”

  Finna folded into herself. Guiscard. Her good knight. He was a fraud. It was all a ploy, a ruse, a deception for gold. All Templars were not the good and true men she had worshipped all her life. They were selling their services to the highest bidder to fill their coffers, not to cleanse their souls. Religion had no part of their transactions. Deflated as the rest of her, she struggled to fill her lungs. With an effort, she lifted the message in her hand. “The Queen must see this.”

  Yasmin scoffed. “Knights or assassins, what’s the difference?” She gestured at the bodies of the fallen. “These men are the same.”

  Finna looked at the dead soldiers and nodded. “I don’t think they cared who they fought for, Christian or Muslim, as long as they got paid. Greedy, greedy, greedy, and stupid.”

  Yasmin spit on the sand. “Many men are not only greedy and stupid, but cruel as well. Zafir, the man who owned me, beat his women for not giving him a son. With so many women barren, does it not make you wonder who is at fault? When he learned the son I gave him was not his, but the son of Prince Abdul-Salam, I knew our lives would be in danger. Jamal’s father hid us in his apartments until he could make arrangements to get us out of Aleppo.

  “That was the day you arrived. You take Zafir’s money. I want nothing to do with him.” She pulled the bag of gold from her pocket and dropped it on the sand where Finna still sat. “It’s blood money.” She swung her lance like a soldier in training.

  “No, no.” Finna rose and placed the bag back in Yasmin’s hand. “Blood money or not, you and Jamal will need it to pay for your escape. I’m ashamed to have played a part in this. The Queen was in on Zafir’s plan. Even though she duped me, though, I must give the message Guiscard intended for his Grandmaster to the Queen. I’ll keep the small box I found in the pouch along with the money she gave Guiscard for this mission.”

  She didn’t know which was worse, that the Templars were not worthy men or that her Queen had used her and Helena as pawns in a political struggle. Helena had died for naught along with her deceitful companion strapped to his horse. Finna’s purpose in life had been pulled out from under her. “I’ll have to find an honorable way to leave my service to the Queen.”

  She had been so passionate about serving her Queen, about going to the crusades. Where was that passion now? All desire was gone. It had been chiseled away bit by bit like a stone made to fit a small space. While the women in her cadre were honest and true, the other crusaders were not. She rumbled to herself. And to think, she had thought Arno and the Germans were the exception.

  Greed inundated every aspect of the holy wars. She squeezed her fists. She’d been so innocent, so gullible. Again and again, the king had let them down. And now, to her great sorrow, she found the queen was no better in her promises. It was too much. Her fervor had drowned with Cecelia. When had the Queen’s Christian ideals become so influenced by power and gold?

  One at a time, her heroes had fallen. Guiscard’s betrayal was the final stich removed to hold her loyal to the cause. She no longer wished to serve. She wrapped her arms around herself for lost comfort and thought of home. Was that at least part of why her father had left the service of the Knights Templar?

  Yasmin broke through her musings when she put the coin bag in the deep pocket of her robe. “I am troubled knowing Guiscard’s message was intended for his Grandmaster. Jamal and I are part of the fight between the two cities. Everyone seems to want a piece of me and my son for their own gain, but we will not be taken to be used as pawns by either faction.” She stepped closer to Jamal and Finna saw the white knuckles with which they both gripped their lances. Their resolve to remain free was strong.

  “You are wise and I have been naive beyond belief.” How could she have been so trusting? She felt ashamed . . . stupid . . . empty. Enough self-pity. “You must not enter Antioch. You must get to St. Simeon and secure a passage by boat to some place far away.” Finna frowned at her suggestion. “I do not know a destination. I don’t know what I can do, but be assured on my oath, I will do all I can to protect your freedom with my life.”

  Yasmin lifted her chin in acknowledgement. “Thank you. I will ride with you to Antioch’s boarder where we will part to make our own way.”

  With a semblance of a plan, Finna walked toward the fallen Templar’s body. “Jamal, while your mother and I prepare for the journey, round up the horses and pull out the Persian blankets. We’ll ride through the night toward Antioch and the temperature will be cold.” But not as cold as Queen Eleanor’s heart, heart, she thought.

  17

  A Way Out

  Fractured

  Finna knew what had to come next. “This is where we part, Yasmin. I must go to the Queen and give her the message Guiscard carried for his Grandmaster and you must flee from those who would own you.”

  “Thank you, Finna. We would not be here without you.” Yasmin’s eyes told of her gratitude more ardently than her words. They also conveyed anxiety. “You will not tell the Queen you have seen us?”

  Finna shook her head. “Certainly not.”

  “I didn’t say this before,” Yasmin said, leaning close so Jamal would not hear, “but from the messages and booty we found, this makes sense to me now. While hiding in Prince Abdul-Salam’s apartment, I learned the queen w
as enamored of her uncle, Raymond. I can see now she would use us to gain his favor.”

  Their horses, unhappy with standing, pranced and pulled on the reins and Finna patted her steed’s neck and guided her closer to Yasmin. “What you say is good logic.”

  Yasmin nodded. “Be careful when you go back to her.”

  “I understand. I plan to. You get passage with some of the gold we stole from the Persian assassins.”

  “What are your plans after you complete your mission for the Queen?” Yasmin asked.

  Finna scanned the horizon. “After I see Eleanor, I will go anywhere but to the Holy Lands. Where will you and Jamal go?”

  “We will make our way to St. Simeon as you suggested and then decide. Mashallah, Finna.”

  “Whatever Allah wishes. Go with God, Yasmin.”

  * * *

  Finna delayed seeing Queen Eleanor until she could give Guiscard a proper burial. Soon enough she would meet with her in a special wing of Prince Raymond’s palace in Antioch where she conducted her court. As his niece, it was natural he would include Eleanor in his remaking of the political structure of Holy Lands. However, it seemed he shared more than that.

  His attraction for her grew to such proportions King Louis demanded she leave Antioch and travel with him. As the gulf between king and queen grew, so did the tension in the court and Finna pressed to get her business done.

  She and Yasmin had parted ways several miles outside the city of Antioch, but Finna’s plan was not dissimilar. She wanted to give her the message to the Queen and flee to St. Simeon for passage on a boat going anywhere except to Jerusalem. Home was her ultimate destination but it could not come until later.