The Djinn (The Order of the Knightshades Book 1)

by J. Kent Holloway

  The baron took the raiment and slipped them over his tunic with a snarl. In all his years, he had killed many men without so much as a quiver. But all of those deaths had been honorable for the most part. Deeds of battle or politics. What he was about to do now was something entirely alien. Different. Unsettling. He was about to take a man’s life in cold blood. He was about to slit the throat of a man who was powerless to resist…chained to a stone altar like a lamb to slaughter.

  Seriously though, what did it matter? The man—even a priest of the Vatican—was insignificant compared to him. He was on the verge of something beyond outdated concepts of morality. He was about to create life itself. About to embark upon a journey that transcended humanity and reached for the vaunted throne of God itself! Compared to that, what value was there in this one puny man’s life?

  Very little indeed, he thought as he placed the priestly headdress upon his brow and smiled. He’d come too far and he was so close to attaining everything he’d always dreamed. Proper respect from his peers. Fear from his enemies. The ultimate means of revenge for the death of his beloved. And ultimately, true power to conquer this god-forsaken land and beyond. And all he need do is recite the proper incantations, apply the dagger to Tertius’ neck, and pull across.

  As he began to carry out the ritual as instructed by the Essene nomad, the Vatican priest began to scream behind the cloth gag that covered his mouth. Even as the blood began to pool into the silver goblet he held under the priest’s wounds, Gregory began to smile wider as the screams intensified. He decided that he rather enjoyed the sound after all, and was disappointed when it began to fade as Tertius’ life ebbed away.

  So, when the last drop of blood plopped into the goblet and the priest lay lifeless on the stone slab, he turned toward Ibrihim with his blade and made the screaming start again.

  18

  For the first time in years, spasms of actual pain shot through the Djinn’s body, jolting him into semi-consciousness. His mind raced, straining to recall where he was and how he had gotten there. His eyelids remained closed, no matter how hard he willed them open.

  “He’s awake,” came an oddly familiar voice to his right.

  The Djinn struggled to rise, but gentle hands pressed down on his shoulders, keeping him place.

  “Nay,” said another voice. “Don’t try to move. You’ve been seriously injured and need time to heal.”

  “W-water,” the Djinn’s dry lips cracked as they parted to form the word. He realized that he also had no idea how long he’d been unconscious, but he had never felt so parched.

  “Of course, m’lord,” said the first voice, followed by movement to his right. Where had he heard that voice before? It sounded so familiar…and so calming. It was the voice of a friend, he was sure.

  “Now, I’m going to pour a little water into your mouth. Drink slowly.” The voice paused. “And not too much, mind you.”

  Instant relief washed over him as cool liquid poured into his parched mouth. His mouth! Instinctively, he reached up and felt for his hood, but it was gone.

  “It’s all right. There’s no need to fret. You’re among friends now,” said the second voice.

  The Djinn’s eyes slowly opened. The world was dark and hazy. Two tiny flames flickered in front of him…small oil lamps resting on a pedestal. As far as he could tell, they were the only light source in the room.

  He scanned his surroundings. Not much to see, he realized. He was lying deep in a hollowed out patch of earth…obviously to keep him cool in the arid desert heat. The shelter was sparse, made of camel skin and pieces of driftwood. It was small too, only big enough for three or four men.

  He looked to his right and a weakened smile spread across his face.

  “Horatio. Samuel. I should have known you would find me.”

  The knight and his squire beamed down at him.

  “It’s good to see you too, my friend,” said Horatio. “Only, we didn’t. Find you, that is. An old shepherd happened upon this hut two days past. He walked in and saw you resting here and immediately went to get help. Since Lord William’s chateau is the closest settlement around these parts, he came to us.”

  The room began to spin around, forcing the Djinn to close his eyes. He had lost so much blood. It would be a while before he recuperated enough to continue his search for the…

  His eyes snapped open. The Book. Gone? It couldn’t be. The hashshashin had beaten him. After all he’d gone through to get it—Gerard and his mercenaries, finding the hidden library, and facing the Warden—he’d failed in the end.

  The last thing he could remember was passing out on the edge of the underground reservoir.

  Then how did he get here?

  “When we found you, you had already been bandaged up nicely,” said Samuel, his eyes wide and that wonderfully warm smile glued to his face. “Do you remember who helped you?”

  He wracked his brain, searching for any memory that would answer that question. By all rights, he should be dead by now…or at least lying in his own blood on the cold stone floors of Gregory’s tunnels. But someone had helped him out of the labyrinth under the city. They’d carried him out into the desert, built this shelter, and tended his wounds.

  But who? The hashshashin? It didn’t seem likely, yet no matter how he turned the events up until now, Emir was the only possible answer. The next question could only be why?

  “No, Samuel, I don’t remember.”

  “Well, no matter, sir,” Samuel said. “You’re at least safe and sound now. That’s what matters.”

  Horatio, kneeling down by the Djinn next to Samuel, stared silently at the ground. His arms nervously crossing and uncrossing. It seemed he couldn’t help his fidgeting.

  “And you, Horatio?” asked the Djinn. “I’m glad you decided to join my merry band. What changed your mind?”

  His friend smiled coyly back at him, then nodded. “Aye,” he said. “’Tis true. After learning the truth about you…after finally being told the whole story…I wasn’t quite sure where I belonged. I wasn’t quite sure I believed the tale that was told me. It all sounded so far-fetched to me and I must admit to wondering whether Sir William had not been bewitched by you, as everyone else seemed to be.” He nodded toward Samuel. “But it was he that finally convinced me. Or rather, what you did for him that told me William’s story had been true all along.

  “You see, after doing everything I could to free Samuel from Gregory’s prison, I had waited near the prison…watching…waiting…biding my time. I knew that whether you were good or evil, you still had plans for the boy, so I let him sit in his cell until you made your move.” He paused at this and glanced apologetically over at his squire. The shame over allowing his cousin to suffer under Gerard’s stern fists evident on his face. “Soon, my patience paid off and you did what I could not. You freed my squire from his chains and sent him on his way. You asked nothing from him in return for his freedom and it was then that I knew the story was all true. After that, there was no longer a question. I returned to William’s chateau along with Samuel and have awaited news of you since.”

  The knight’s suddenly went silent. His eyes downcast.

  “Ah, but I see you’re a little upset with me,” the Djinn said. “Perhaps a little annoyed that I hadn’t taken you into my confidence sooner?”

  Horatio nodded. “You know I would have joined you. All you had to do was ask.”

  “I know, my friend. But I didn’t want to put you in that situation unless absolutely necessary. Besides, I needed you close to Gregory. Close to…Isabella. You couldn’t have done that if you had joined me on my quest.”

  The knight stiffened at the mention of Gregory’s daughter; a dour look etched across his brow.

  “What is it, my friend?” asked the Djinn. “I can tell there is something else on your mind besides my duality.”

  The knight looked over at him. Doubt and fear echoed loudly through his grim features. Something was definitely not good. Horatio se
emed crippled with indecision.

  “Just tell me.”

  “All right,” said Horatio, looking at his cousin for support. “As you mentioned, we’ve been keeping an eye on Lady Isabella’s quarters for some time now…just like we’d been asked. Everything was fine until three days ago—the morning after you disappeared into Gregory’s tunnels.”

  “What’s happened?” The Djinn willed himself to sit up. For anyone else, he was certain the pain of that simple act would have been excruciating. Fortunately, he was nowhere close to being just anyone else.

  “M’lord, you really mustn’t sit up,” said Samuel, once again placing a hand on his shoulder in attempt to guide him down.

  The Djinn slapped the hand away.

  “I said, what’s happened?”

  “She’s been taken. It was Gerard,” said Horatio. “Killed sweet Margaret and just took off with Isabella. There was nothing that could be done. Our spies were outnumbered and outmanned. They would have been killed if…”

  The Djinn stared blankly into Horatio’s eyes. He couldn’t concentrate on what the knight was saying. All he could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat thundering in his head.

  He had to think this through. He knew that Isabella would be safe…at least for now. Gregory would not allow his daughter to be harmed. Yet once they had what they sought, he was sure the mercenary would leave the city, carrying Isabella away with him to God only knew where.

  “Do we have any leads on where she was taken?” he asked as he began examining the bandages that secured the injuries he’d sustained during his battles in the tunnels. He didn’t have time for this. He had to get moving.

  “Not yet, sir.”

  “Where is…?”

  “He’s already gone into the city to look for her, m’lord,” reported Samuel, anticipating his question, while he lifted the bandage around his master’s shoulder to check on the wound. “We’ve heard no word from him. But before he left, he made us swear, sir…he made us swear we’d keep you here safe and sound and that we’d tend to your wounds and make sure you got better. And that’s just what we’ve been doing.”

  Samuel’s grin truly was infectious. There was no sweeter nor noble a man on earth, the Djinn thought as he smiled back at the younger man. And very loyal. He’d take his vow seriously. A twinge of guilt rippled through him at the thought of making them both break their solemn promise. But there was no other choice.

  “Get my gear,” he said to them, a look of cold determination burning in his stare. He wanted them to understand he was serious. He would not argue this matter.

  “But, you’re too weak,” Horatio protested.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “No, sir, I don’t think you will,” Horatio’s glare was equally as determined. “If you leave now, I’ve been assured that you will die. I, for one, am not willing to let that happen.”

  “Horatio, I said…”

  “I don’t care what you said. Your ghost and ghoulie theatrics may have worked on me once, but no longer. You’re just a man, my friend…nothing more. You cannot keep going like you are. You could…die.”

  The Djinn looked at his two friends who had been tending lovingly to his needs. No one could possibly deserve such companions on this earth. God was definitely a God of infinite goodness for blessing him with these two. He let out a sigh as he dipped his head.

  “Horatio, my friend, you don’t understand,” he said in a softer tone than he had planned. “There’s no question of that now. I’m dying. No medicine on earth can stop it from happening. My wounds are too deep…my injuries too severe. There’s good reason I lay here, Horatio, half buried in the sand. It was to be my grave.”

  “Don’t talk like that, m’lord,” said Samuel, trying bravely to sound positive. A single tear streaming from his eye betrayed his confidence. “You’ll get better. I just know you will.”

  “I feel the pain,” said the Djinn, looking deliberately at Horatio. “You understand what that means, don’t you? I am actually feeling the pain of my injuries.”

  The knight stared at him silently. His mouth struggled to form words that refused to come. Horatio understood. There was no point in pretending otherwise. It was useless to deny the inevitable.

  “Please. Bring my gear to me. Now. She’s in trouble. She’s my life…my legacy.”

  His friend knelt silently beside him for several moments, then let out a breath. Resignation. Standing up, he walked outside the hut into the darkness. Samuel sat cross-legged, mindlessly rubbing the rosaries that draped across his neck. His eyes closed, his mouth mumbling an unspoken prayer.

  The Djinn closed his eyes and joined him.

  ****

  It had taken longer than he would have liked, but Horatio and Samuel had finally redressed his injuries, applied a layer of chain mail, and clothed him in the robes of the Djinn. He stood outside the makeshift shelter in which he had rested for the last two days.

  The sun was setting. The air grew cool and the Djinn felt a small amount of his old strength returning as the moon began to rise high into the desert night.

  “What will you do now?” asked Horatio, who led Al-Ghul, the Djinn’s black horse, to his master.

  “I’ll go to the palace first. Look in her chambers and see what I can find,” he said as he mounted his steed. “Then, I’ll tear the city apart if I have to, until I find her.”

  Al-Ghul shifted under his weight. The faithful animal could always tell when his master was suffering. A screech from above shattered the air. The Djinn looked up and whistled a shrill cry. The great falcon descended, alighting on his outstretched arm.

  “She’s been encircling your camp since we found you,” said Horatio, indicating the bird. “She’s not let you out of her sight.”

  The Djinn’s gloved finger stroked the crest on the raptor’s head. Then he looked down at his two friends.

  “Go back to Lord William’s camp,” he said. “Gather the knights and meet me in in twenty-four hours.”

  “Where?” asked Horatio.

  “She knows where,” said the Djinn, handing the bird to Horatio’s outstretched arm. “She’ll guide you.”

  Then, clicking his spurs into the side of Al-Ghul, he took off into the night. Toward Jerusalem. Toward Isabella.

  ****

  The cavern in which the underground lake lay was silent as a grave. Nothing but the occasional kerplunk of water dripping from a stalagmite made any sound at all. The bizarre, albino minnows streaked just under the lake’s surface, feeding on the algae.

  It was a scene of quiet tranquility now, several hours after Gregory’s men had finally given up their search for the hidden library. Hours after they had traipsed to and fro along the stone floor like a herd of elephants. Hours since the baron’s curses had echoed throughout the miles of tunnels.

  It had been complete chaos then, but now, it was the picture of pristine serenity.

  Until a single bubble blossomed from the center of the lake. Then, another. And a third. Soon, the entire surface of the water seemed to boil with a violent fury. And something within the bubbling caldron moved slowly, deliberately, toward the rocky shoreline.

  If Gregory’s soldiers had remained for a few more hours they would have witnessed this. They would have been enthralled by the spectacle of it all. And then, they would have run in stark terror as a single muddy hand stretched out from the water, clutched onto stones, and pulled a great hulking mass of gelatinous clay onto dry ground.

  19

  The mercenary could not get comfortable. It had been a little over thirty-six hours since he’d taken Isabella prisoner and the Djinn was still nowhere to be found. He was sure that the creature would learn of his love’s disappearance and come to her aid. And the most likely place to start the search would be in the very place from which she was taken. Yet now, as he crouched low in the shadows of Isabella’s armoire, doubt was beginning to seep into his mind.

  Twisting on his heel to relieve circulatio
n to his feet, he peered through the crack in the door. Archibald and three of his men lay hidden throughout the bedchamber. Six more men lay in wait just outside the newly repaired doorway. The moment the Djinn stepped foot into the room, he would be theirs.

  Gerard’s heart thudded rapidly against his chest. Where was he? They were running out of time. Gregory was becoming increasingly unstable with every passing minute. Ever since the ritual and the revival of Rakeesha’s golems, he had locked himself down in Solomon’s Vault. He’d screamed through the door that he was concocting a plan to retrieve both the Book and the ring—whether the Djinn was captured or not. Gerard was beginning to believe that either his employer had gone completely mad or he knew more about this Djinn than he’d been letting on. But the baron was convinced that he knew where the scroll and Solomon’s Seal would be, and was even now preparing his new weapons for an all-out assault on God-knows-where.

  But the mercenary wasn’t nearly as optimistic. He still believed the best chance they had was in capturing the foul creature that had made a fool of him just a little more than a day before.

  Gerard, however, was beginning to wonder if he’d miscalculated. He wondered what was taking the Djinn so long to pursue his ladylove. Unless the demon had been using the girl all along. Perhaps he didn’t care for her at all. Perhaps he was only using her for the information she could provide. It didn’t seem likely. He’d seen the two of them on the balcony two nights before. He’d heard them talking.

  No, there was something definitely real between the two of them, though Gerard was unable to understand what it could possibly be.

  His thoughts raced as the shadows grew longer with the fading sun. It would soon be dark. Surely the Djinn would be here soon.