The Djinn (The Order of the Knightshades Book 1)

by J. Kent Holloway

  A shadow glided through the doorway—a human shaped silhouette against the night. Two burning yellow-green eyes glared hatefully at the mercenary. The creature’s cloak appeared ethereal as it flapped soundlessly in a hot breeze that seemed to come from all directions at one time, engulfing it deeper into the shadows. The scrape of steel against a scabbard rang out in the air as the creature drew its sword.

  “DuBois,” hissed the demon, its voice like none Gerard had heard before. “It is time, DuBois. Time to meet the Creator.”

  A great crack of thunder erupted, just as white-hot streaks of lightning lit the doorway and the surrounding room in a single flash. The image of the dark spirit blazing brightly in the flash of the lightning bolt would be permanently burned into Gerard’s memory for the rest of his life—depending on how much longer he had to actually live.

  A great deluge poured down upon the damaged roof and onto the broad, heaving shoulders of the creature that hunched menacingly at Gerard.

  “Dear Lord! Protect me,” the mercenary muttered at the terror that stood before him.

  He’d been wrong. This was the Djinn, not the physician. He truly was a demon—straight from the pits of hell—and no man at all. No power on earth could hurt such a creature. The mercenary had no hope of surviving another encounter with such a thing that now stood before him. Panicked, Gerard plowed forward, past the Djinn and into the downpour from the heavens that would wash away the river of blood that would surely flow from within the guardhouse.

  The blood of Gerard’s own men. The same men he knew were now doomed, but then, that was their problem.

  ****

  Isabella stared silently at the Djinn as he tore through the remainder of Gerard’s men. Archibald now lay dead on the ground, his head severed from the razor-sharp blade of the scimitar. Three others wailed in terror and pain, as they curled up trembling in defeat. Four fled from the house, bleeding with mortal wounds.

  Out of the original thirteen of Gerard’s men, only three now remained to fight. The odds were decidedly unfair. She felt a sudden surge of sorrow for the mercenaries. The Djinn’s wrath could no longer be sated. His rage at the sight of Tufic and her own kidnapping had undoubtedly stripped him of any compassion he might have once had.

  The Djinn stood in the center of the room, his blade clutched tightly in both hands. Two soldiers attacked as one, swinging their swords in unison in a frontal assault. Crouching low, the Djinn rolled to the right just as their weapons came down. Before they had time to recover, he came up, whirled around with a blinding sweep of his scimitar striking the nearest soldier across the back of the head.

  The second soldier ran out the door screaming in terror.

  Sensing the final combatant behind him, the Djinn spun, unleashing three of his throwing knives into the man’s chest. He crashed to the ground in a pool of blood.

  It was over. The Djinn turned to Isabella and then to Tufic.

  “Take care of him,” he commanded, his usual soothing voice replaced with cold fury. “I’m going after Gerard.”

  “Don’t,” she said. “He’s beaten. There’s no need for more death.”

  “He must pay for what he has done.”

  “And he will. Trust God. Let Him bring about His own justice.”

  The Djinn stood silently, staring at her. He clutched his abdomen tightly as he heaved for breath. Isabella noticed a tiny stream of crimson flowing between his fingers.

  “You’re injured,” she said.

  “It is nothing for you to worry about. Tufic’s wounds are more serious than mine.”

  He was lying. He had always been a poor liar—especially when it came to her. She could now see by his gait that he was in severe pain.

  “You’re dying.”

  His head sunk low in response and he turned toward the door.

  “I have work to do,” he finally said, turning to glance at her one more time. “I haven’t much time left. Get Tufic to the chateau. I’ll meet you both there soon.”

  He bolted through the door before she could protest. It all made sense now. The ferocity of his attack…the guttural snarls during battle. He had been doing all he could to continue the fight.

  Fear wormed its way into her mind—fear that she may never see him again. May never be held in his arms again or feel the pure love he had for her. It threatened to overwhelm her as she moved swiftly to free her uncle’s physician.

  “Dear Lord,” she prayed. “Watch over him and keep him. Bring him back to me, please.”

  21

  He had to keep running. No matter what, Gerard knew that if he stopped for even a second, he would die. Every muscle screamed and his lungs cried out in protest, but he pushed on. The demon would not be far behind.

  As he fled the guardhouse, he heard the cries of his men as the Djinn tore through them like a malevolent wind. He had encountered the creature on several occasions, but now, it was different. He’d never seen so much fury emanating from any living creature before. Despite his feelings about it, the Djinn had never attacked with hatred before, as he had this evening. On the contrary, he usually had shown a great deal of compassion by treating the wounds of his injured foes. But now…now the mercenary ran from something completely devoid of mercy. Gerard now ran from vengeance incarnate.

  His feet pounded the stone walkway as his brain raced to find its bearings. This infernal city was nothing more than a giant maze and at night, in the downpour that gushed from the heavens, the mercenary realized he was hopelessly lost. As a matter of fact, he couldn’t remember ever being in the section of the quarter in which he currently found himself.

  Gusts of wind bombarded him with a torrential wall of rain, blinding him. It was as if the weather itself sought to drive the running man back toward the demon. How could he have been so wrong? The Djinn could not possibly be a man. No human he’d ever seen moved the way the creature did; as if he were made of nothing more than some dark, baleful vapor.

  He had to stop. The world around him spun uncontrollably as his blood pumped feverishly through his veins. He heaved for breath, gulping in as much oxygen as he could during this short reprieve. He couldn’t remember how long he’d been running and in the maze of short, squat, identical buildings he found himself in, there was no way to tell how far he’d run, either.

  Bending over, he clutched his knees as a sharp pain burned at his sides. He couldn’t rest long. It would be suicide. But to not give himself a short respite, he would be dead soon anyway.

  A scuffled sound above brought his attention to the roof of a nearby shop. A dark shape slithered out of view just as his eyes drifted upward. He had to press on. The creature was obviously nearby—toying with him—and Gerard was no one’s plaything.

  Sucking in one last gulp of air, the mercenary burst forward in a full sprint. He rounded the corner to his right into a darkened alley, slid to a stop. His mouth dropped as if a team of oxen were tugging at his jaws.

  The Djinn hunched over in the alley, its shadowy form fading in and out with every flicker of lightning that streaked across the sky. A guttural chuckle escaped the demon’s covered lips as Gerard wheeled around and bolted in the opposite direction.

  He ran faster than he ever believed possible. The creature had caught up to him so easily. How it had managed to navigate the city maze was beyond him, but somehow it had. The only thing Gerard knew was that he had to put as much space between it and himself as he could.

  As his boots pounded against the stones, his keen ears strained against the roar of the deluge for sounds of pursuit. He could hear none. It appeared that the creature was not following him. Though he couldn’t quite believe the demon would give up that easily.

  Gerard bounded past two more alleyways, pausing only briefly to glance back. Nothing but darkness and rain. A streak of lightning hurled across the sky, blasting its way to the ground, striking something nearby. Thunder boomed overhead, causing the mercenary to jerk involuntarily. That was too close and the metal arm
or he wore did nothing for his confidence. He had to find shelter. A place to hide—a place to regain his bearings and come up with a plan. But where? He had no idea where he was. With the maelstrom lashing down at him from all sides, there was no way to discern even the east from the west. He was completely blind.

  A scraping noise in front of him pulled him from his musings. A figure materialized from the shadows before him. It had come from nowhere. The Djinn had once again found him! What was more, it had somehow made its way in front of him and now, the demon glared silently at its prey. A low hiss exuded from the dark confines of the creature’s hood. Its scimitar inched slowly from its scabbard.

  This is impossible, Gerard thought, wheeling around and darting toward the last alley he had passed. He careened around the corner, stumbling on a loose stone, and crashed to the ground. Blood and rainwater streamed down his face, burning his eyes as he lifted himself from the street. He had to get moving again, he knew, but his body rebelled against him. It wouldn’t move. Several seconds passed before he could figure out why. It had taken that long for his brain to register what his eyes had already seen—the Djinn once again hovering before him, its black robes whipping at the howling wind cascading over the city skyline.

  The mercenary fought desperately to remain upright, as dark splotches swirled in front of his eyes, a warning sign of an imminent blackout. He could take no more of this. The demon was everywhere at once. Gerard’s body swayed in the wind, as the Djinn glided silently toward him.

  As his mind teetered on the brink of madness, the mercenary felt a gentle brush of fabric against his right shoulder. His head slowly turned and looked up; a silent scream filling his paralyzed vocal cords. The Djinn now crouched low upon the wooden beam on the roof of a shop just above him, leaning forward to peer at the mercenary from under his darkened hood.

  The mercenary’s eyes snapped straight ahead once again. The apparition of the demon that had only moments before stood in front of him was not there. He had seemed to just to have disappeared, only to rematerialize on the roof above.

  Spinning around, Gerard’s eyes scanned the haze behind him. The rain had tapered off and now, only a light drizzle obscured his vision. A hiss from above reminded him of his current predicament and he bolted once farther into the labyrinth of alleyways.

  He ran several more blocks before coming to a little leather shop that he had visited the day before to fix the strap to his iron greaves. He now knew where he was. The walled fortifications of the city lay to his left, only yards away. There, he would find soldiers, help, to battle the creature that now doggedly pursued him. To his right, only four buildings away, sat the church—a place he loathed more than the heathen Saracens.

  Gerard veered to the left, never letting up his pace. The drizzle had now completely stopped and steam arose from the city streets like wisps of a spectral net rising up from the ground. The mercenary’s heart was nearly exploding in his chest with each pump, but he was elated. He was nearly free. He only needed to run a few more feet and…oh no. He skidded to a halt, as the vision of the creature emerged from around the corner of the next building.

  The Djinn strode silently, unhurried, toward him. It said nothing as it moved to a nearby lamppost and stopped. Gerard found himself once against unable to move, unable to scream for the help that was only a block away. The creature leaned casually against the lamppost, arms folding across its chest and a hideous, low chuckle streamed from under the cloak. The mercenary’s pulse pounded violently at his temples as his eyes grew dimmer with each mind-rattling thump.

  He had no choice now. The church was his only sanctuary. Surely a creature of hell could not enter such a sacred place. Finding strength to power his unsteady legs, Gerard turned and dashed toward the safety of the church. Once again, no sounds of pursuit followed him as he closed the gap, leapt into the church, and slammed the heavy oaken doors shut behind him. Gerard pressed his back against the door as added security and heaved in the air that had eluded him since running from the guardhouse.

  He was safe now. His heart struggled to slow itself with that realization as if unable to believe the news. It was safe. It could slow down. It could finally rest.

  A pathetic cry of terror wheezed from Gerard’s contorted lips, as a pair of footsteps plodded down the staircase to his right. He was once again relieved when he turned to see the gentle robes of a monk hurrying over to him.

  “My son,” said the monk, “What is the matter? You’ve been injured?”

  “I’ll be fine, Father. I just need to rest a bit…at least until sunrise.”

  The monk smiled from under his cowl and bowed his head slightly.

  “Certainly, my son. If you’d like, I can show you to a room and then provide a hot meal and drink for you.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Father. If it’s all the same, I’ll rest here—in the sanctuary—for the night. But some food and ale would definitely be nice.”

  The monk’s smile faded. The mercenary knew he wouldn’t like the idea of a soldier sleeping in so sacred a place, but there was no other choice. He had to keep his eyes on the door—he had to be prepared for anything and sleeping soundly in a monastic bed would be a sure way to be caught off guard by the demon.

  “Tell me, my son, what troubles you this night?” asked the monk after careful consideration of Gerard’s request.

  There was no point in lying. If you couldn’t trust a priest, who could you trust?

  “It’s a demon, Father. I’m being chased by a heathen demon.”

  “Ah, the Djinn. It is the Djinn who pursues you,” the monk said calmly as he backed slowly away into the shadows of the sanctuary. “And you thought coming to this church would protect you, did you?”

  Gerard looked down at his shaking legs, willing them steady. When he looked up again, the monk was nowhere to be seen.

  “Father?”

  Silence.

  The mercenary stiffened, drawing his sword and inching forward into the dimness of the church. He absently made his way into the center of the sanctuary and turning three hundred and sixty degrees, his eyes scanned every nook he could find.

  Nothing.

  “Father? Are you there?”

  “He’s here, ‘my son,’” hissed a horrid whisper from the darkness of the rafters. “And he’s safe. He has nothing to fear from me. But you do.”

  A hideous cackle arose, reverberating off the arched ceiling and cascading over the trembling mercenary with a symphonic ferocity. Gerard backed away, inching his way back to the church door.

  “You should have never taken the girl, Captain,” said the Djinn, still hidden from sight. “Nor the physician. They were innocent. They are good, decent folk and you will suffer for your sins against them.”

  The mercenary turned toward the door, but stopped himself when he saw the Djinn standing behind him. In desperation, he swung his sword wildly, lashing out with all his might. The creature easily parried with his own blade, knocking his grip loose. Gerard’s sword flew harmlessly away and out of reach. The demon’s backhand smashed against his jaw, sending him sprawling headfirst to the floor.

  The mercenary quickly recovered, turning himself over and sitting up to see his tormenter looming above him. His head craned to the right, as a noise in that direction caught his attention. Two shadowy figures emerged from behind the giant pillars that supported the church’s ceiling—they were also Djinn! Three of them? How was that possible? His eyes returned to the creature crouching down in front of him, then back to his right. Yes. They were both still there, standing as still as statues. Neither saying a word.

  Movement from the rafters above caught his attention. He looked up to see two more djinni materializing from nowhere, glaring down at him like dark sentries from hell.

  Suddenly, Gerard found himself surrounded by an entire army of the demonic creatures. The djinni crowded in around him. They leered at him, perching from the rafters above. To his right and left, more of demons saunte
red in from the shadows to envelope the mercenary with their icy, green stares. There had to be at least fifty of them.

  Gerard backpedaled, crabwalking across the cold stones of the church’s floor to the northern wall. He had to get away, but there was no place to run. He needed to scream for help, but knew that none would come in time. He was doomed.

  One of the djinni, the one that had backhanded him at the church’s entrance, walked toward him in slow, deliberate steps, then stopped and looked down at its prey. For several long moments, nothing happened. The terrified mercenary’s brain searched feverishly for any prayers he had long ago forgotten, but none immediately came to him. The creature’s blade inched its way to Gerard’s constricted throat, teasing the air as a serpent’s tongue flickers.

  “No,” came a hoarse voice from the midst of the demons. A second djinn stepped from the crowd, glowing green eyes illuminating the darkness of its hood. Gerard knew from the creature’s posture and voice that this was the same that had wiped out his men in the safe house. This was the same beast that slaughtered his soldiers in the baron’s tunnels. This was the leader.

  The lesser djinn moved to the side as its captain made its way to stand over their captive.

  “You need not die here tonight,” the Djinn whispered. “You could walk away from here, your head in its proper place. All you need do is perform a small service for me.”

  What was he hearing? Did the creature believe he would actually help it? His soul was lost already, but he would not bring further condemnation upon it by allying himself with the enemies of Jehovah. But what choice did he really have? He was hopelessly outnumbered. He had no weapon. Perhaps a ploy.

  “Wh-what kind of service?” he asked, absently pressing himself further against the wall. The stench of brimstone burned his nostrils as the creature crouched down to look him in the eye.

  “That, mercenary, will be revealed in time,” said the Djinn coldly. “Right now, I need your word. You have the same choice that each of these others had. You can join us. Besides, I really have no desire to kill in the House of the Lord.”