“I don’t know. I may have to. You’ve always known that.”
Gerard could no longer see the two from his vantage point. But the unusually crisp night air carried their voices perfectly. His brain churned with this new discovery. What could he do with it? How could it be used to his advantage?
“Isabella, you know I love you more than the world itself,” the creature said. “But my calling is higher still. I cannot deny my mission. If your father succeeds with his plans, it will mean the enslavement of thousands of people.”
“But surely they can be stopped. There has to be a way to…to turn them off. Like blowing out the flame from a candle.”
“No. There’s not. At least, there’s no way that I’ve yet discovered. I’m hoping the scroll that Gregory so desperately seeks…the text known as the Sefer Yetzirah or Book of Creation…might give a clue as to how to bring about their destruction, but I am doubtful. If Solomon’s scrolls had the answer, then he would have used his own knowledge to destroy them. Not bury them in his vault.”
The Djinn paused for several seconds. Gerard shifted the weight on his leg in an attempt to look over the railings of the veranda to see what was happening, to no avail.
“But even if I can discover a means to stop them, it would prove futile if your father discovers the means to create more of them,” the creature continued. “Destroy one, the baron will create two more in its place. No, I’m afraid that my only hope of sparing your father’s life is to locate the book before he does. If he gets his hands on it…if he learns the secret to creating the golems…I’ll have no choice, but to…”
A scuffle of feet from above caused Gerard to crouch further down in the shadows cast by a torch to his right. The fair hair of Isabella poked out from behind the rail. She seemed to be looking off into space.
“I understand,” she said as she turned and disappeared from view.
“But Isabella, just know that I have given him every opportunity. And I haven’t given up on him yet. He’s not an evil man—just misdirected and beguiled by hate. He’s never let go of the pain of your mother’s death and it’s eating him up inside.”
“And what about you?” asked Isabella in a soft, gentle voice. “You loved her too. Probably more than my father. How did you deal with the pain?”
A weak laugh floated down to Gerard’s attentive ears. The mercenary’s mind raced. The creature had “loved” the baron’s dead wife? The very idea spiraled wildly through Gerard’s thoughts. He just couldn’t quite grasp the implications.
“I took comfort in the single greatest accomplishment of your mother’s life,” the creature said. “I took comfort in you.”
Nothing was said for several moments. The mercenary felt bile rise as he imagined the two once again in a tight embrace.
“What will you do now?” asked Isabella finally.
“I’ll do what needs to be done. They have almost reached the Seventh Chamber in Solomon's Vault. The Library is closer than they even imagine. I must get to it before they do. That’s why I’m going tonight.”
Gerard’s eyes widened. Tonight? He’s going to the Vault tonight to try to steal the scroll out from under them.
This was something the mercenary could not allow to happen. Besides, he now had an advantage over the creature—two advantages to be exact.
One, Gerard knew the Djinn’s plan. He would be there waiting when the creature arrived. Two, he was privy to the strange relationship between the creature and the baron’s beloved daughter. Both were pieces of information that he was willing to use to his benefit.
Voices from above once again halted his musings. They had been speaking, but the mercenary had missed a portion of what they had said.
“Be ready, Isabella. Things will become worse around here before they get better. Be ready to move when I come for you.”
“I will.”
“Good girl,” said the Djinn. “Now, I must leave. But know that I truly love you more than life itself.”
“I know that. And I thank our Father in Heaven every day for that love.”
A strange hiss spat out from above and Gerard saw a cord fly out from the balcony, attaching itself to the building across the courtyard. Suddenly, a vast black form sprang from the veranda into the air, catching hold of the cord and skimming over to the building’s rooftop. And like that, the Djinn was gone.
And so was Gerard. Springing to his feet, the mercenary dashed through the courtyard and into the street, nearly knocking a sentry off his horse.
“I need your steed,” the mercenary growled as he pulled the bewildered guard down from his mount.
In a single motion, Gerard swung his leg over the horse’s back and darted off down the stoned streets toward the baron’s tunnels. He didn’t have much time. He and his men had to be ready for when the creature struck. They would be ready. And the Djinn would most certainly bleed.
****
Crouched down unseen on another rooftop not far from where Gerard commandeered the horse, an altogether different shadow watched with vigilant eyes. Emir, the hashshashin, had left Al-Dula’s side the moment he glimpsed the dark spirit traipsing along the rooftops.
He had followed the Djinn back to the baron’s home and had watched eagerly from a safe distance the confrontation between Gregory and the creature. He had seen it all. He had even observed the baron’s mercenary spying on the creature and the Western female.
This was becoming very interesting. Finally, Emir had an opponent worthy of the hunt. He finally had a foe who would be a true challenge.
The hashshashin rose from his hiding place, allowing his dark robes to blow in the breeze. A dark smile crept up the side of his face. He was truly going to enjoy this, he thought as he leapt into open air and into the night.
13
The rain was unusual for this time of year. Steady sheets of water hurled from the sky, whipping up pockets of steam that rose from the heat-scorched stone pavement of the street. He savored the wet trickle of relief for several minutes before remembering his objective. He only had two more hours until dawn. After that, he’d be exposed, vulnerable. Slipping out of the city would be impossible.
To make matters worse, the shadowy figure now crouching down on the flat rooftop of the baker’s shop knew he was being followed. He had spotted the hashshashin earlier, darting in and out of the shadows like—well, like him. He wasn’t sure what to make of this cleric called Emir. He had heard stories of the sect to which the Saracen belonged. They were known as the most lethal of killers and completely zealous for their god.
The Djinn knew he’d have to be extra cautious in dealing with this one…a man of similar training and purpose as himself. But for the moment, there was nothing to be done about his newly acquired shadow. Right now, he had a job to do.
Quietly, he pulled a small, black crossbow from inside his cloak and aimed it at the trellis overhanging the tunnel entrance. His eyes scanned the surrounding streets. The sentries had just marched off around the corner on their regular rounds. They would be gone for three and a half minutes. More than enough time.
With a click of the trigger, the quarrel, pulling a sturdy line of hemp, hissed from the crossbow. Sailing through the deluge, it struck its target with a twang. The Djinn anchored the other end to the shop’s sign over the door and slipped a small pulley onto the line. Without a moment’s hesitation, the creature that had struck such fear in the hearts of the Western invaders hurled through space toward the fast approaching ground.
He let go, tucking his legs into a ball, and dropped into a roll on the mud-caked street. Being careful not to slip on the rain-slick road, the Djinn swung his body up with the momentum and approached the doorway to Gregory’s tunnels.
His gauntleted hand turned tentatively on the door’s knob.
Strange. The door was unlocked. That wasn’t good. After the incident with Samuel, Gregory had upped security in this sector and had ordered the door to be locked with irons at all times. They mus
t be expecting him. Of course, it didn’t matter. He really had no choice—he had to go in.
The creak of the wooden door opening grated against his nerves like the screech of a bean sidhe. His muscles tensed as he peered around it, seeking signs of a possible ambush by unseen guards. Nothing. The quiet ebbed back into place.
So far so good, he thought as he stepped into the gloom of the passageway and closed the door behind him. Then, the Djinn dashed down the spiral staircase, barely touching the steps, making no sound. It was eerie, even to him, how the shadows seemed to enfold around his lithe figure—almost adopting him into its darkened fold. The old man had taught him well. A grim smile rose underneath his tagelmust at the thought, but pressed on toward his goal.
He reached the lowest level of Gregory’s tunnel system, which carried with it a silence as deafening as the fire powder he’d learned to harness. Stooping down and leaning up against a wooden support beam, the Djinn peered into the darkness of the passage that led to the main Hub, the central chamber from which all the tunnels within the system snaked. His eyes scrambled to adjust to the flickering torch light around him. The tunnel itself was black as pitch, but the antechamber he crouched in had been illuminated with several sconces, practically blinding him. Though his night vision was greatly diminished in the torchlight, he saw no hint of anyone lying in wait in the gloom.
Exhaling, the Djinn crept down the dank corridor that led to the Hub. Soon, he would find out if the suffering of poor Samuel had been worth the price. A twinge of regret crept through his mind at the thought of the good squire. He deserved better. There were few in this bleak world that could measure up to the courage and loyalty of that boy and he had allowed the accursed mercenary to do unimaginable things to Samuel.
Well, the lad is now free, he thought as he vowed silently to make it up to him. It was now a matter of honor. When this is all over, I’ll—
His thoughts trailed off as he came up short of the opening in the tunnel. More torchlight and even a handful of campfires lit up the chamber before him. There was virtually no cover for him to make his way to the eastern-most passage—which, according to his painstaking research, would lead him to the Library.
Still shrouding himself within the safety of shadows, the Djinn squinted into the brightly lit cavern, scouring for potential places to lay an ambush. If he could not find a place to hide, then neither could his enemies. Steely muscles tensed, poised to strike at the first sign of attack. His keen eyes scanned back and forth for anything—any movement, any indication of…
There.
The Djinn saw him. A single helmet bobbed nervously behind a rickety wheelbarrow filled with dirt. To the sentry’s left, three more figures huddled together behind a canvas tarp. Four guards…at least that he could see. There was no sign of Gerard, but he guessed that the mercenary was lurking somewhere nearby.
His instincts had been correct. They had been expecting him and only Gerard possessed the strategic abilities to prepare his men so quickly. He wasn’t sure how the mercenary had divined his intentions, but at this point, it was really of little consequence. The Djinn had been brewing up superstition and dread in the hearts of these men for several months now. Their own fear would be their undoing and he was more than willing to use it to his advantage.
They expected a dark spirit of vengeance. That was precisely what they would get. He grinned. This was almost too easy.
****
The screams echoed through the web of passages of what was once known as Solomon’s Vault. Gerard stiffened at the sound. The cries had come from the Hub. He was here. He had made his first move and the mercenary was determined to make it the fell creature’s last.
Gerard and his men huddled inside the largest chamber of Solomon’s treasure repository…its rounded walls lined with twelve lifeless golems standing guard against the wall. Their animal-like faces stared blankly back at him, unsympathetic to Gerard’s plight.
The tension was as thick as goat cheese within the confined space. The mercenary captain glanced around the room, looking at each of his men. Their eyes widened with each earsplitting screech of their comrades from the Hub.
After several moments, he craned his head to look at Archibald. Despite the cool subterranean air, his lieutenant’s skin glistened with sweat down an ashen face. Without muttering a sound, Gerard motioned for his men to get into positions. Unsteadily, and with great hesitation, they complied. Archibald inched up behind his leader, leaned forward, and whispered.
“Sir, all the other tunnels have been left unguarded. Every able man we have lies in wait with us.”
Gerard knew what his friend was trying to say.
“Relax, Archibald.”
“But sir, how do you know the thing will head this way? What if we’ve miscalculated? What if he goes down a different passage?”
“He won’t.”
His lieutenant shifted on the balls of his feet to maintain his balance, his chainmail clinking haphazardly with each nervous gesture. He was clearly unnerved and truth be told, Gerard couldn’t blame him. Whatever this Djinn was, it would be no easy feat to stop him. He was sure that before this night was done, some of his men would be dead. The creature was just too good.
“But sir…”
“Lieutenant!” Gerard’s voice rose involuntarily along with his irritation. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he continued more quietly, “He’ll come down the eastern tunnel. It’s where he had that squire scout ahead. He knows where the Library is and it’s no doubt in this direction. He’ll come this way.”
One of his men coughed nervously to the left. The mercenary glared at the offender—a stern warning silently understood.
The screaming from the Hub had ceased. The mercenary wasn’t optimistic enough to think his men had succeeded in their mission. The Djinn would be heading this way soon. Gerard and his men had to be ready, prepared for anything.
He willed a determined smile to encourage his men, but the muscles of his face just would not cooperate.
****
The Djinn skulked away from the dormant form of the last sentry and moved toward the eastern-most tunnel. The entire offensive had taken less than three minutes. Gerard’s men had offered very little resistance—a few screams, flashing swords waving erratically, and even a short barrage of crossbow fire whizzing through the air. They’d had very little skill. Even less discipline. In the end, they all lay unconscious—a few broken bones, but breathing—on the passage floor.
His grin broadened underneath his veil. Not bad.
As he approached his target passage, the sound of flesh and fabric tearing filled the air and his right leg buckled. Stumbling, he crashed headfirst to the ground.
Without a sound, he sat up, twisted around to examine the cause for his fall. He winced at the sight of his leg. A single arrow protruded, blood-soaked, just above his kneecap.
He wasn’t sure when it had happened. He had seen a number of bolts flying during the fray, but had been unaware that any had struck him. It’s getting worse, he thought. He wasn’t sure how much longer he had.
“Well, this isn’t good,” he mumbled to himself as grabbed a piece of ember from the nearby campfire and inched himself against the wall of the Hub.
Rummaging through a small pouch hanging from his belt, he quickly plucked out a small silver tube capped with cork. He popped it carefully open and poured its contents, a fine gray powder, around both entrance and exit wounds. Once done, he took his knife and cut a thin groove along the arrow’s shaft and poured the powder along the rut. Cutting the arrow’s tip off with the blade, he quickly stuck the ember to the powder. Just as a blinding flare of white light erupted, he yanked the shaft from his leg in a single motion. The searing heat of the flare burned hot around the two openings, fusing the injuries closed.
Bracing himself against the wall, the black-clad figure pushed himself up into a standing position. Crouching and standing several times, he tested the injured leg. It felt fine
, though that was no surprise. He knew it would. But he didn’t know how much longer it would hold out without proper treatment. Time truly was running out.
As an added precaution, the Djinn tore a strip of cloth from his cloak and wrapped it several times around his leg. That done, he lifted his head toward the eastern passageway once more.
His goal was ahead. There was nothing he could do—he had to proceed as planned and pray that providence would see him through this ordeal.
Crouching down once more, the Djinn crept silently into the tunnel. Unlike the torchless passage from the entrance, this tunnel was lined with twenty-four lit sconces. There was no way anyone could possibly make it to the other end without being seen by those in the next chamber.
Thank goodness for Samuel, he thought. This is where we see if his suffering paid off.
The Djinn peered down the well-lit tunnel. About midway, it bent, forming a natural barrier to the treasure repository at the end. It was there that the majority of Gerard’s men would be lying in wait.
Reaching again into his pouch, he pulled out a small tinderbox and retrieved a piece of flint. He inched forward to the first sconce and pinched a small thin fuse that connected several small canisters that Samuel had placed along the corridor’s wall, just above each torch.
With a clink, the flint struck the wall, sparking the fuse to life. The Djinn stepped back and turned his head, closing his eyes.
One…two…three…four…POP! The canister, a thimble-sized portion of compressed fire powder tightly wrapped inside parchment paper, ignited in a puff of hot air, sucking oxygen from the torch and snuffing its flame. The fuse continued to burn along the tunnel’s wall resulting in a series of twenty-three consecutive pops, blanketing Gregory’s tunnels in darkness.
Shouts and screams exploded from the other end of the passage as chaos erupted in the pitch-black chamber ahead. The Djinn padded swiftly forward. His grin had spread into a full-blown devilish smile.
The Djinn (The Order of the Knightshades Book 1) Page 12