It was at that moment the bird made itself known again. Shrieking like a fell banshee from Irish tales, the falcon flew into the air, diving straight for Gerard’s head. Its lance-like talons raked against his face and it was all the mercenary could do to keep from losing an eye. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the bird was gone. It simply had disappeared and no one had been able to see in which direction it had flown.
It was a very bad omen indeed, Gerard thought, pulling a round metal object from his pouch and appraising its workmanship. But well worth the risk.
The gold ring in his hand glittered in the pale firelight, its strange and ancient symbols etched onto its band seemed to glow and eerie hue of green and yellow. But it was the gemstone in the ring’s cradle that captivated him more than anything. An unusual looking pentacle that seemed to shimmer and move as if its very lines were made of water.
“Gerard,” said Archibald, huffing as he made his way up a steep incline to reach his captain. “Both Balian and Durgan have taken their men back to Bethany as you requested. We are left with our regular men, fifteen in all.”
“Good.” The mercenary captain stuffed the ring back into his pouch and looked at his lieutenant. “That’s more than enough to keep these heathen in line.”
“Shall we make preparations for our journey to Jerusalem, sir?”
Gerard looked at his men. It had been a short battle, but it had been grueling. It was also never wise to travel the desert at night unless you knew the terrain well. His men didn’t. Besides, the added burden of herding a group of twenty-seven prisoners through a nighttime desert just seemed liked suicide. No, it would be better to wait.
“Nay, Archibald,” said Gerard. “I think we’ll stay here for the night and break camp at dawn. Give the men some time to rest. But set up a two man watch every hour.”
“Aye, sir,” said his lieutenant, who continued to stare at Gerard without moving.
“Something on your mind, lad?”
Archibald hesitated. He appeared contemplative…almost anxious. Gerard knew what was coming and he dreaded it. He wasn’t sure how he was going to respond and his indecision irritated him.
“Spit it out, man. I’m tired and would like a bit of sleep myself,” growled Gerard.
“Well, sir, it’s just that the men have been talking…about the falcon, I mean.”
“What about it?”
“Well, it seems that the bird was something a bit unnatural,” said his friend. “And, well, with all the talk about the Djinn and all, some of the men were wondering if there might be some connect—”
“The Djinn?” asked Gerard, who was already very tired of the conversation. “That’s what this is about? A fairy tale? Archibald, you of all people should know better.”
“Of course, sir, but it’s not me, remember. It’s the men. You know how superstitious they can be,” Archibald explained. “A number of them have Arabic roots and say that such creatures were often known as shape shifters…creatures known as the Al-Ghul, from what I understand.”
“Pah! ‘Tis the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard of.”
“That may be so, but it doesn’t help the morale of the men, sir. What shall I tell them?”
Gerard had heard enough. It was bad enough that Gregory’s own elite force of knights were suffering from these silly nightmares. It was something altogether different when his own men, professional killers, began fearing little black birds that fluttered in the night.
“Tell them what I told you. Tell them the whole thing is ridiculous and to go to bed.”
“Yes sir,” said Archibald as he turned to walk away.
“But, lieutenant? Don’t forget to set the guard…just in case.”
His old friend smiled nervously with a nod and walked toward the camp in silence. The whole notion was preposterous, but Gerard had to admit, thoughts of the Djinn had crossed his mind as well. The rumors were everywhere and news of the creature’s antics were growing in both audacity and cunning. The Muslims’ imams were praising Allah and Christian clerics were praying for deliverance. And knights and foot soldiers alike were afraid to lay their heads down for fear of being snatched away to some unknown hell.
Something had to be done about it. But for now, it was time that Gerard enjoyed some much deserved slumber.
****
As far as he could tell, it was nearly three in the morning and Gerard had managed to get a few hours sleep. But disturbing thoughts of the falcon had swooped into his slumber and jarred him awake. After nearly twenty minutes of tossing and turning on his horse blanket, he decided to relieve one of his sentries and take watch for a while.
Gerard sat on a wooden stool, his back to the fire, looking out into darkness. To his right, young Geoffrey paced nervously around the camp’s perimeter. The sound of ragged snoring ripped through the camp and Gerard found himself fighting the urge to close his eyes for a few minutes.
It wouldn’t be prudent to be discovered by the others sleeping on guard duty. What would his men say to that? He had disciplined the last sentry that had fallen asleep severely—twenty lashes with a leather strap.
No, it wouldn’t be good at all to nod off, so Gerard stood up, stretched with a suppressed yawn, and walked to the edge of campfire’s light in hope that the cool desert air would revitalize him. He nodded to Geoffrey as he passed him by and looked out onto the night. Not much to see…nothing but a few angular silhouettes of cacti against a vast canvas of purple and blue.
He glanced up into the sky and spotted a dark shape flying through the air toward him—a small metal ball hurled over his head and landed in the center of the campfire as Gerard watched spellbound. Nothing happened.
That was strange, thought Gerard as he fruitlessly scanned the darkness.
Geoffrey, who had seen the strange apparition too, turned to his captain. “What was that?”
“I’ve no idea, lad. It seemed to be some sort of…” Gerard’s words were cut off when a blinding flash of light erupted from the campfire, followed immediately by a giant plume of smoke and ash that enshrouded the entire camp. The flash-blinded mercenary blinked back tears as the sulfurous smoke wafted into his eyes.
Instinctively, the captain drew his sword from its sheath and floundered sightlessly through the camp.
“To arms! To arms!” cried Gerard. “We’re under attack! Make sure the prisoners are secure and prepare for battle!”
The clatter of armor and weapons arose throughout the camp as Gerard’s men scrambled to follow his orders. Sleep still clung to their eyes as they filed out of their tents, slinging on their chainmail and helmets in the smoky haze.
“Captain, where are you?” asked Archibald from somewhere to Gerard’s right. “What is happening?”
“Over here,” the mercenary answered.
The lieutenant blindly made his way to Gerard and they locked hands tightly to feel where the other was. Both men jumped involuntarily when the metallic clank of another object fell into the campfire, releasing a second eruption of smoke from the pit.
High above them, they heard the shriek of a bird. And though they could not see it, Gerard knew without question that it was the same falcon from earlier that day. The mercenary felt his heart rise higher into his throat at the realization, effectively knocking the breath out of him.
“The Djinn,” Archibald said, his voice quivering. “We have angered the Djinn and now he attacks.”
“Quiet!” Gerard hissed. “We don’t want to panic the men. It’s probably something else. Let’s just wait and see what happens.”
As if on cue, a scream arose from Nicholas, one of Gerard’s most seasoned men, from across the chaotic campsite. Another terrified wail erupted from two more men. No one could see anything with the ever-present smoke blanketing their surroundings in shades of gray and black. Gerard could only guess what was happening to his men as he dashed in the direction of shouts.
The captain rushed through the campsite, leaping over the prone
bodies of several of his soldiers, and finally skidding to a halt at a sight he would never forget. The smoke had cleared somewhat and Gerard was able to make out the forms of six of his men surrounding a visage of pure darkness—a manlike creature clothed in a black billowing cloak and turban. Its eyes burned through the haze with a ghostly green glow.
Two of his men charged toward the Djinn, who gripped one man’s wrist, twisting it furiously and bringing him down to his knees. A nerve-shattering crack sprang out from his soldier’s arm as bone and tissue rent in a single motion. The creature then brought one boot down against the soldier’s left ankle—breaking it clean. The man let out a heart-piercing shriek.
The second soldier pounced from behind the creature, which stepped effortlessly to the side, causing Gerard’s man to fall forward to the ground. The Djinn’s heavy black boots came down hard against the man’s head, shattering the spine in several places.
The mercenary stared impotently at the attack. The creature was a blur of motion and fury that simply would not be stopped. He knew from witnessing the Djinn’s fighting prowess that hand-to-hand combat would lead to nothing but defeat and probably death. They would need an organized attack against the monstrosity that threatened them this night.
As the dark spirit continued battling the fearful soldiers, Gerard found three of his men who were most formidable with a bow.
“Shoot it,” he said. “Bring it down now!”
Without question, the three archers sheathed their swords, took their bows from around their shoulders, and notched their arrows. In unison, all three shafts sung through the air, striking their intended target with expert precision. One arrow struck the creature in the left shoulder. Two others imbedded in the square of its back, between the shoulder blades.
Seemingly unfazed by the arrows that pierced its flesh, two more of Gerard’s foot soldiers fell to the ground as the creature spun around, its cloak gliding through the air as if made of ethereal mist. The creature barely glanced at the arrow imbedded in its shoulder as it reached inside its tunic, retrieved three metal objects, and hurled them through the air simultaneously at Gerard’s archers. Three thuds preceded the crash of each archer to the ground, a tiny black dagger protruding from their chests. Mindlessly snapping the arrow’s shaft off from his shoulder, the Djinn continued its assault on the mercenary’s soldiers.
Gerard stood motionless as he watched the onslaught; Archibald swayed spellbound beside him. The creature danced through the air as if riding the wind itself, whirling and striking its enemies in multiple sweeps of its arms and legs. The Djinn’s movements reminded the captain of the dust devils and tornadoes that swept through the desert from time to time. One by one, each of Gerard’s soldiers fell, screaming into the night sky.
Out of the original fifteen men left to guard the nomadic captives, only four remained standing. Three had deserted altogether. The rest had fallen—either dead or severely injured. And the strange beast before them still moved with a fury of the heathen gods. It simply wasn’t going to let up until every man was down.
Without warning, Gerard rushed toward the specter that assailed his men; his long broadsword extended over his head. With a roar, the mercenary lunged, sweeping the blade in a downward arc—striking toward the Djinn’s head.
In an instant, the head was no longer where it was supposed to be. The creature crouched low to the ground to avoid the blow, and spun around in one fluid motion with one foot extended. The sweeping leg struck Gerard from behind, sending him sprawling backwards onto the ground.
A flash of light gleamed in the pale moonlight that had eaten its way through the smoky terrain. Gerard looked up to see the Djinn’s broad scimitar pointed directly at his face.
“Enough!” the fell creature bellowed. “If anyone else moves, your captain will lose his head.”
Gerard closed his eyes tight. He was ready to die, but hoped it would not be tonight. He had too many plans and now he added revenge against the Djinn to his list. Surely, he would have his vengeance on the creature if he survived tonight’s encounter.
Thankfully, no one moved.
“You!” said the Djinn, pointing to a soldier, blood trailing down his face from a large gash in his forehead. “Release your prisoners.”
The soldier, whose name Gerard could not place at that moment, stared wide-eyed at his captain.
“Do it,” Gerard said.
Without another word, the young soldier turned and walked toward the tent that held their prisoners. Archibald walked over as well and helped him free the tribe from their chains.
The Djinn turned its attention back to its fallen foe on the ground. Gerard’s eyes bore into its veiled turban, trying in vain to distinguish some feature that would give a clue as to who or what the Djinn really was. Having watched the demon move and fight, the mercenary was convinced that the being that had plagued Gregory and his men for the last several months could not possibly be a man—it was a monster straight from the pits of Hell. Still, with its turban wrapped so tight around its features, there was no way to discern anything of the Djinn’s appearance save the glowing green eyes that stared back at him.
The black clad figure looked up in the sky for a moment and sent out a sharp whistle. Within seconds, the shriek of the falcon signaled its swift descent to its master, where it alighted on the Djinn’s left forearm. Gerard’s assailant turned its eyes back to the captain who was still sprawled out on the ground.
“I have eyes everywhere, murderer,” said the Djinn. “I know what you did. I know what you have done. And your treachery will not go unpunished.”
“Go hang yourself, demon!” spat Gerard. “I have the blessing of the Pope himself, and by nature, the blessing of Jehovah God.”
The creature let out a soft chuckle that sent a splash of ice down Gerard’s spine.
“That’s funny, little man,” said the creature. “It was Jehovah who sent me to stop you from enslaving these innocent people. It was Jehovah who commissioned me to stop you in your dark mission.”
Gerard cringed as the Djinn’s blade pressed firm against his throat. The hot, sticky wetness of blood trickled down the mercenary’s neck as every muscle in his body tensed for the kill. He saw no way out. He would be killed by this abomination that spat in the face of all that was holy.
The pressure of the scimitar continued for several long seconds with nothing happening. Although his eyes were shut tight, Gerard knew the smoke had nearly dissipated from the campsite. He could breathe freely again. He wondered how much longer he’d be able to say that.
Finally, the cold steel was removed, replaced by the eerie cold voice of the monster who had defeated him.
“Now, murderer, take your men and leave this place. Don’t return here again. These people are under my protection now.”
Gerard slowly opened his eyes. He was surprised that the Djinn was no longer hovering over his inert body. Instead, the monstrous creature was bent down over one of his fallen soldiers.
Doing some unspeakable thing, the captain thought.
To his surprise, the Djinn stood and Gerard saw that the young soldier the creature had crouched over had been bandaged. A splint tied around his right leg. The Djinn had tended to the boy’s injuries.
Without a word, the dark apparition moved to each of Gerard’s men, treating their injuries with the skill of field surgeon. Some, of course, could not be mended. But those that were salvageable, the Djinn treated with the same tenacity he had used to incapacitate them.
Gerard looked over to his lieutenant, who watched the entire affair in stunned silence. Archibald was just as flummoxed as his commander.
The Djinn, having done all he could for his victims, stood and moved over to the mercenary captain who was still flat on his back. Without hesitation, the creature reached down, snatched the leather pouch containing Solomon’s ring from his belt, and tossed a small oval medallion near Gerard’s feet.
“A trade,” the creature said. “The Seal fo
r that medallion. Give it to Gregory. He’ll divine its meaning.” It backed away and pointed toward Jerusalem. “Now go.”
The Djinn’s last two words left no room for argument. Seething over the loss of his prize, Gerard palmed the medallion, placed it in a pocket in his tunic, and stood up shakily. He could not allow the creature to leave with Gregory’s ring. To do so would be a devastating blow to the baron’s plans and his employer would not take his failure lightly. There would be dire consequences.
But how could he do anything to wrest control of the mystical relic once more? Out of the original fifteen men that stayed behind to guard the prisoners, six were now dead. Five were injured, but bandaged up. The remaining four, though relatively healthy, were in no shape to take on the Djinn again.
No. Gerard had no choice. To try to fight would certainly mean their gruesome and unholy deaths. With a sigh of resignation, he ordered his men to obey the Djinn’s command. The mercenaries set to taking their wounded by whatever means they could and limped from the campsite into darkness.
As the beaten mercenaries moved toward Jerusalem, Gerard turned to look back at the camp they had taken so easily—the camp that had been so costly to him and his men. The Guardians who had just moments before been his prisoners were busy at breaking camp, preparing to move somewhere probably more isolated and safe.
Nowhere on earth will be safe enough for them, thought Gerard. Nowhere will be safe for the demon either. One day soon, I will find them both and make them pay for this humiliation.”
Gerard realized as he stared back at the camp that the Djinn was no longer visible. He wasn’t sure whether that made him feel better or worse. But with a high-pitched shriek of a spectral falcon from high above the desert plains, the mercenary had his answer. Worse. Much worse.
The Djinn (The Order of the Knightshades Book 1) Page 5