The Djinn (The Order of the Knightshades Book 1) Page 17
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The dark shape struggled up the sheer wall of Baron Gregory’s palace, each movement a study in patience and strength. Slowly, one stone at a time, his gauntleted hands pulled him further toward Isabella’s balcony. Frankly, as far as he was concerned, he couldn’t reach it soon enough. He was neither as young or as agile as he’d once been. But the rigors he’d faced within the last few days—the sleepless nights and the injuries that needed tending—made this particular climb even more tenuous than he would have believed possible.
He breathed an exhausted sigh as his right hand clutched the rail of the balcony and he hauled himself over the ledge. Once on solid footing, he leaned back against the rail and marveled at how his mentor, in his deteriorated health, had always accomplished such physical feats with ease. The scientist in him found such acts to be beyond humanly possible—even augmented with the medications that he, himself, had concocted.
Taking a deep breath, he pushed off from his perch, wrapped the black robe tightly around his lithe frame and crept toward the double doors leading into Lady Isabella’s bedroom. He reached out, turned the handle, and was mildly surprised to find the doors unlocked.
His hand firmly clutching the handle, he kept the door closed, and tensed.
Could be a trap, he thought. They took Isabella, which means they know about…
But even as he thought these things, he realized how absurd he was being. The door was simply unlocked because no one in their right mind would scale such treacherous walls just to break into an unoccupied bedroom. After all, a thief worth his salt would know that any jewels or other fineries would not be kept there. No, the door was unlocked simply because no one thought about locking it once Isabella was taken and Margaret murdered.
Of course, it mattered little. No matter what lay in wait within those chambers, he would have to go in. Search the place for any clues as to where they would have taken her. Short of capturing and torturing one of Gerard’s men, it was the only logical starting point. Though, he had to admit…after what they’d done to poor Samuel, he definitely was not opposed to a little torture.
Smiling slyly at the thought, he pushed the door open and stepped into the cool confines of the bedchamber. Two steps in, he stopped to listen for anything untoward. All remained still. He looked around, walking over to Isabella’s vanity where she kept her toiletries, and laid a hand gently on the tabletop. Everything in the room appeared exactly as it had been the last time he’d been here. Not so much as a hair in Isabella’s brush was out of place. Everything was exactly…wait a minute. The door!
He turned to face the entrance and saw it barred by a thick cedar doorway. Exactly the same as the one he’d seen on the few occasions he’d entered her chambers. But that made no sense. Reports indicated that the door was hacked to pieces. With Isabella gone, there would be no need to hurry to repair the door. After all, there were more pressing matters for Gerard or Gregory to worry about. So why a door?
Zounds, he thought as he slowly crept backwards toward the balcony once more. His eyes locked on the ominous closed doors ahead. The only reason would be to conceal something on the other side.
Just as he reached the veranda’s doors, something burst from the armoire to his right. A blur of steel and muscle leapt at him and he was brought down hard to the stone floor. The air rushed from his lungs as the full weight of his attacker crashed down on him. Then, the room was filled with nearly a dozen well-armed guards, their sword blades pointed menacingly in his direction. Yet despite his capture, the man on top of him pounded his fists continuously against his face and jaw. Raw animal rage unleashed upon the shrouded figure’s helpless frame.
“I’ll kill you,” roared Gerard, as his clenched fists thrashed at him. “For the humiliation you’ve put me through, you will die this night, demon!”
The fierce assault continued for several minutes. Already, he could tell that at least three ribs were broken and he’d lost at least that many teeth. Besides that, his head throbbed with each powerful blow, threatening to throw him into unconsciousness. And he knew that to black out now would certainly be his doom.
“Captain, sir,” said one of Gerard’s men. “The baron said he didn’t want the Djinn harmed. He said that if we caught him, he wanted to question him before—”
The mercenary ignored his man’s protest, pulled his robed victim to his feet, and sent his knee into his groin. The captive buckled from the blow, wheezing for breath as he rolled into a ball on the ground.
“Ah, you felt that, did you?” Gerard growled. “Good. So you’re human after all. Let’s see how much pain you can take.” The mercenary kicked him, then turned to his men. “Slap him in chains. We’ll take him back to the safe house and have some fun with him before Gregory even knows we’ve taken him.”
The robed man was ruthlessly pulled to his and clapped in irons by Gerard’s men and it was all he could do to just keep erect as they began pulling him to the door. The pain was nearly unbearable. Almost every limb, as well as his jaw and neck, throbbed with pain. Blood oozed from his nose and mouth as he was dragged across the room.
“Wait!” Gerard shouted from behind. His captors complied and the big mercenary walked around to face his nemesis with a cold, dark glare. “Boys, I think it’s time we see who it is that’s been plaguing us all this time, don’t you?”
Most shouted their assent at the mercenary’s suggestion. Their ire and frustration over their numerous defeats at the Djinn’s hands now shone through without pity or fear. On the contrary, it seemed that now, while looking at their prisoner, it was as if all the fear they’d once felt for the shadow-shrouded demon was the thing of nightmares evaporating in the light of day. They were reborn. Newly invigorated by his capture. The myth of the creature would be finally exposed. No longer would his magic hold sway over them.
“Gerard, sir,” said one of his men. He’d been the only one that didn’t seemed enthused by the entire affair and the same one who tried to stop the mercenary from beating their enemy to death. “I hate to bring this up, but the baron…”
Gerard spun around furiously, spittle slinging from the corners of his lips. “And I couldn’t care less what Gregory said!” he growled. “As a matter of fact, after tonight, I suspect I’ll not be taking orders from the likes of Baron De L’Ombre ever again.”
And with that, he turned back to his prize, reached out, and jerked the jet black hood covering his captive’s head. Then let out a sharp gasp.
“Well, I’ll be…” the mercenary grinned. “I should have known. Makes perfect sense that it would be you, now that I think of it.”
One of Gerard’s men looked at him then back at his captain, shaking his head. “I don’t understand,” the soldier said. “I’ve never seen ‘im before. Who on earth is it?”
“Oh, you’ve seen him, all right,” Gerard said with a chuckle. “About a week ago now. At Solomon’s Vault when Gregory was giving his little tour.” He turned to face his men with an exaggerated bravado. “Gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to the Djinn. This is none other than Tufic, the physician of Gregory’s brother William.”
20
“I said talk!” The back of Gerard’s hand slapped Tufic’s battered face. “Where are they? What have you done with them?”
The physician’s head sank low against his chest, blood gushed from open wounds around his eyes and nose. They had been at it for nearly twenty-two hours. Upon catching the “demon,” the mercenary had immediately taken him to the safe house in the eastern sector of the city, where they bound him to a chair and began the long interrogation process.
“Tell me!” Gerard roared.
Tufic lifted defiant eyes to meet his captor. He had very little strength left and simply would be unable to survive his ordeal much longer. The mercenary knew that he had very little time to obtain the location of the Book and Solomon’s ring…which meant more drastic measures were becoming necessary.
“Archibald,” Gerard said, nod
ding over to the kiln.
His lieutenant strode silently to the blaze, pulling out the fire poker, glowing white from the heat. He handed the instrument to Gerard and walked away to the door.
“What are you going to do?” asked a dazed feminine voice from the shadowy corner of the room.
“M’lady,” said Gerard. “You are tired and weak. You need your rest. There’s no need to worry about this vermin. Soon, the spell he cast on you will be over and you’ll finally be free of his influence.”
He walked up to Tufic’s slouching form, now wheezing for breath. The blistering point of the poker hovered inches from his left eye.
“I’m not going to lie to you,” the mercenary said with a malicious grin. “This is going to hurt. It will hurt a great deal.”
The physician raised his head again. Slowly, he opened his mouth to speak, but no words came, before slumping back down again.
“Leave him alone!” shouted Isabella, the chains that bound her legs and wrists clinking as she struggled to stand. “You have the wrong man! That’s not the Djinn!”
Gerard stifled a laugh. Of course it was the Djinn. He had caught him in the act, clothed in the black turban and robes of the creature that had haunted him from within his dreams for the past six months. The wench would say anything to save her love.
He looked down at Tufic again, fists clutching the heated poker. Still, something did not seem right about this. He’d seen the creature in battle. He’d witnessed dozens of arrows perforating him with little effect. He had seemed invincible—impervious to pain. Yet now, the dark power of superstition stripped away, he appeared so small. So weak.
Clutching the long strands of Tufic’s jet black hair, Gerard yanked his head up once more to look into his face. His enemy’s eyes were now glazed over, his breathing strained and shallow. How could he and his men have been beaten by such a weasel of a man? In hindsight, it seemed utterly preposterous.
The poker had cooled to a dull red hue. He would now get the answers he sought. And soon, the Djinn would be dead.
“You can’t do this,” cried Isabella once more. “Please. I’ll do whatever you ask. Just don’t hurt him anymore.”
The mercenary jerked around to look at Isabella. Was she serious? Would she so easily give in to his desire for her? Would she give herself to him for the life of this man?
“I’m serious. I’ll be yours,” she said as if reading his thoughts. “Completely. Just don’t hurt him.”
Gerard stepped toward the baron’s daughter, the brand forgotten. His rough, calloused hand moved to the gentle lines of her face as he peered deep into her eyes.
“Completely?” he repeated.
She let out a resigned sigh. “Yes. As long as you hurt him no more.”
“Captain,” interrupted Archibald. “Need I remind you that we are in the baron’s employ? We need the information the Djinn can provide.”
“Gerard, listen to me,” said Isabella. “That is not the Djinn. You have it all wrong. You are killing an innocent man.”
The mercenary stared into the eyes of the woman he’d longed for since coming to this accursed Outremer. He turned to look at his lieutenant and then back to his captor. No matter what he did to the wretch, Isabella would be his. She had no choice in the matter. But to have her freely…that was far better.
However, my hatred for the Djinn possibly equals my obsession with the woman, he thought, turning again toward his helpless foe. What to do?
There were other ways of recovering the artifacts. He needn’t kill the physician. Besides, how much better to ensure the lady’s cooperation than to keep her love under lock and key?
He faced Isabella once more. Her gentle blue-gray eyes burned deep into his being. They washed over him like a tidal wave of beauty.
“N-n-no,” croaked a strangled voice from behind, followed by a horrible fit of coughing.
“So, there’s still life in you yet,” Gerard laughed as he walked over to his captive. “And it seems as though your tongue has been finally loosened.”
“Y-you will not lay a hand on her again,” said Tufic, as a clump of blood spewed from his mouth.
“I don’t think you have much say in the matter, knave.”
“You are right, but I’m not the one you have to worry about,” said the physician. “She’s right. I’m not the creature you seek. The dark spirit of the Djinn is even now on his way here to save me. And her. I promise you, you will not escape his coming wrath.”
The mercenary’s fist plowed into Tufic’s jaw, splintering bone and teeth. He had had enough of this. He no longer cared about “winning” the affections of his love willingly. He would take her against his will. But for the audacity of this upstart, he would suffer greatly. And Gerard would take great pleasure in that suffering.
“Take her away,” he said to no one in particular. “She will not use her charms to sway me again.”
The rustle of chains, accompanied by screams of protests erupted in the guardhouse, as three of Gerard’s men tried to gain control of the woman’s squirming form.
“No! Let me go! I said, let me go!”
Laughter exploded from the seven other guards in the house at the sight of their comrades struggling against such a small woman. Isabella kicked and scratched at anything within reach. One guard howled in pain as her nails dug deep into one eye.
KNOCK!
Silence shuddered throughout the room at the sound of a single rap at the oak door of the house. Only a few knew they were there, and those that knew had been instructed that the captain was not to be disturbed.
Gerard glanced at Archibald and nodded slightly. The lieutenant, understanding the silent command, approached the door and opened it.
Nothing.
“Captain, there’s no one there,” said Archibald as he turned to his superior.
“Your point?”
“My point is that there’s no one there…at all. Sir, you expressly placed Jonathan and the miller’s son at the door as sentries. They’re not there.”
The hired soldiers huddled nervously together, looking uneasily at each other…their boisterous confidence suddenly draining from their faces. Isabella, forgotten by Gerard’s men, crept to Tufic’s side. She tore strips of cloth from her gown and tended to the physician’s wounds in silence.
KNOCK!
“Y-your time is up,” said Tufic, a knowing grin spreading painfully across his face. “He’s here.”
“Shut,” the mercenary released another backhand to the physician’s face, “up.” Grabbing Isabella by the shoulder, he threw her across the room onto the makeshift bed they’d prepared for her stay. “Get away from him, wench!”
The distant rumble of thunder rippled through the sky, a harbinger of a great storm moving toward them from the nearby sea.
“You can strike me all you want,” croaked the doctor, wincing at the effort of moving his jaw. “It won’t stop what is outside these walls. The Djinn, spirit of vengeance, is stalking you even now. Get out while you can.”
Gerard turned from his captive to peer at the door once more. What was going on? This made absolutely no sense. He and his men were merely being irrational. They had the Djinn in custody. His men had probably wandered off to find wine or to relieve their bladders. There was no need to fret. But if that were so, why could he feel the icy pin pricks of dread oozing down his spine?
“Captain,” said Durgan. “The Saracen doctor has the men spooked. What if he’s telling the truth?”
“Nonsense. He’s only playing to our fears.”
“But sir, you’ve seen the way the Djinn fought. You saw how invincible he seemed. No human could endure what we did to him in the tunnels. What if…what if the Djinn really is a spirit?”
“Don’t be absurd, Durgan,” growled Gerard. “We have the Djinn now. Behold,” he said as he lifted Tufic’s face up by the chin. “He’s flesh and blood. Just like you and me.”
“But sir, all I’m saying is…”
This time, the knocking was louder…more insistent. One could say, angry even.
No one moved. Every muscle in Gerard’s body cramped in a rictus of fear. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t the way things were supposed to be. He had the Djinn! He had Isabella. His victory was assured. Yet now, the smug confidence that had carved its way into the mercenary’s heart began to erode.
“Would someone open that door?” growled the mercenary, a marching cadence drumming within his chest.
A young soldier moved warily to the door. He stretched out his hand toward the latch, but before he even touched the frame a great crash boomed from above. In unison, every head turned skyward just as the limp form of the miller’s son plummeted from the thatched roof above. A deafening thud echoed through the room. Fifteen pairs of eyes fixed themselves on the lifeless form of the guard that lay sprawled on the floor.
“That is enough!” said Gerard, grim determination forcing itself through the mercenary’s heart. “Soldier, open that door…now. Men, prepare for battle.”
The trembling soldier turned his attention once more to the ominous door before him. Every eye stood transfixed as his trembling hand reached for the latch. Suddenly, an explosion ripped through the door, sending shards of wood and smoke throughout the safe house. The guard crashed to the ground, his face disfigured from the blast, as he breathed his last breath.
Smoke and brimstone filled the room, as puffs of strange green glowing debris flitted through the air. The room was pitch black, the candles and torches being extinguished with the blast. Gerard’s eyes strained against the inky blackness and smoke-filled haze, trying to make out whatever was going to come through the door.
For several long moments, nothing happened. The smoke filled the room, burning Gerard’s eyes and lungs. It reeked of the fires from hell. He’d smelled the stench before. But that was impossible! It made no sense. He had the Djinn. He had captured his enemy. He was sure of it. Yet now, as his throat squeezed the air from his lungs, doubt spiraled out of control in his mind.