The Djinn (The Order of the Knightshades Book 1) Read online

  Silence.

  “See, he’s awake. He’s calling to me!”

  A shuffle of feet and fabric rustled to his left as he felt the presence of his niece drawing near.

  “Uncle,” her sweet breath tossed the words into his ear. He felt pressure on his bandaged hand. She’d taken it into hers and now sat silently at his bedside. “Don’t worry, Uncle. I won’t leave you again.”

  William could hold on no longer. Now in the comfort and care of Isabella, he let himself succumb to his exhaustion and slept peacefully.

  ****

  He wasn’t quite sure how long he’d been asleep. When he finally came to, William found himself refreshed. Whatever one could say about the putrid stench of Tufic’s mushrooms, they were miraculous in their healing powers. They had certainly been useful enough during his campaign against his brother.

  “What are we going to do?” William heard someone ask in the next room. He was in a stone bedchamber with no windows. He must still be in the church, he thought. And something was going on…something big from the sound of the commotion.

  “The only thing we can do,” came the familiar voice of Horatio. “We’ve got to defend his homestead.”

  “Defend it? Gregory’s got nearly one hundred men. At best, we might be able to muster forty. How can we defend against such odds?” asked someone William could not quite place.

  Yes, something was definitely going on and he needed to be in the midst of it. He should be part of whatever discussion was causing such concern. He struggled to lift himself out of the bed, careful not to crash to the floor. Snatching a walking stick from the corner of the room, William made his way towards the round oak door.

  “Horatio’s correct,” said Tufic in hushed tones. He had been struggling to keep the men’s voices down for some time now. Good old Tufic. Loyal to the end. “We’ve really no choice. Gregory’s forces are advancing and it’s worse than you all realize.” He paused to let that sink in. “Our scouts told me that there are twelve giants leading the soldiers now. Twelve massive, clay giants.”

  Gregory had managed to resurrect Rakeesha’s golems? His forces were moving…the lives of his loyal staff and friends were in danger. Another flash of memories flooded his thoughts as he shuffled slowly toward the door…

  “Samir!” William had screamed as he rounded the hill, looking down on the sheik’s ruined settlement. Fires still raged against the landscape as the sun descended over the horizon. His feet had pounded down the sand swept dune towards the sheik’s home.

  Bodies lay strewn over the land, burned beyond recognition. Livestock dead. Servants dismembered. Samir’s elegant palace was now nothing more than embers flitting carefree through the air.

  As he walked through the field of blood and death, he found his adoptive father’s mutilated body beside that of a Western knight. Both obviously slain in combat. An axe head was lodged at the sheik’s shoulders. One leg was nowhere to be found. Darkening blood dried over his face and clothes. A noble and decent man…and he was no more.

  “I should have been there,” young William said quietly to himself.

  His own words snapped him out of the memory. He found his hand on the door handle of the bedchamber. “I should be there.” And he opened the door to the surprised faces of his men, Tufic, and Isabella. William realized then that he had failed to wrap his face in linen. The very sight must have been repugnant to those unaccustomed to his true visage.

  “What is it?” he said, a bit more confidently than he felt. “What is going on?”

  One of his knights ran to him, Tufic trying to stop him. The knight’s face looked haggard and scared.

  “Sir, its Gregory. Scouts report that he’s amassed a group of knights and they’re heading to your homestead even as we speak. Our spies tell us he knows who you are and is going there to take some mystical artifacts he believes you to have.”

  Tufic stepped up, concern plainly visible on his face.

  “Don’t worry, William,” the physician said. “We’ll handle it. You need your rest.”

  William knew better. He also knew Tufic knew better. He may be temporarily mobile, but it wouldn’t last long. William knew that he’d simply lost too much blood. No amount of rest would save him now. He was living on borrowed time. Besides, Tufic was certainly in no shape to lead the men against Gregory. He was still nursing his own injuries.

  “I have to be there,” William said, memories of the massacre of his adopted family still fresh in his mind. “You and I both know it’s true, Tufic. I cannot allow my brother to get his hands on the Ring of Aandaleeb. The lives of everyone in the Outremer are in peril, my friend. I have fought one of those golems. I know its power. An entire army of them would be indestructible.” Then, seeing that his friend was about to protest, he raised up placating hands. “No arguments on this. My mind is made up. This is my battle. This is my fight. I must see it to the end.”

  “No!” Isabella protested. “You can’t, Uncle. You’re too weak. If you go, you’ll die.”

  “Dear niece, nothing will stop that now,” he said, his heart feeling heavy in his chest. He wasn’t afraid to die, but he hated the thought of leaving her. “I have to do this. Your father must be stopped…at all costs. No one person’s life is worth the lives of thousands. If Gregory gains possession of his clay army, people will die. It’s as simple as that.”

  She looked at him silently for several long seconds. Fear and indecision were painted on her face. Suddenly, she took a sword leaning against the wall and slid it into the leather scabbard tied to her belt.

  “Well, then,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  23

  Sean Ellis and Richard Nichols had only been in the Outremer for six months. They’d both come from a small village in southern England when the Pope called for more soldiers of the cross to defend the Church’s interests in the Holy Land. How could they have refused? Their own salvation, according to the Holy See, was at stake. And so, the two, who had been friends from childhood, had joined the first group of soldiers that had passed through their town, sailed beyond the sea, and had been assigned to sentry duty the moment they arrived in Jerusalem.

  It had not been as dull an occupation as one might expect. After all, they had arrived into the ancient city about the same time that tales of that supernatural creature—the one the Saracens called a djinn—had begun to haunt the streets and carry unsuspecting soldiers away to the gates of hell.

  No, neither Sean or Richard had ever been bored, though they had confided in each other on a number of occasions that they wished they had. Ordinarily, guard duty would have been the sort of thing that would be perfect for them. It wasn’t physically demanding. Very rarely did sentries ever see any action—and therefore, the danger should have been at a minimum. And it allowed them a great deal of time to concentrate on the thing they loved more than anything else…weaving stories into songs to be sung back in their local pub.

  But they’d had very little opportunity to develop their skill as bards. This spirit…this Djinn…had kept the entire city on pins and needles. Sentries were expected to pay extra close attention to anything strange or unusual and if it was discovered the creature was able to get past any of the guards, severe punishment would be levied for incompetence.

  So it was because of this hyper-vigilance that the two, as they patrolled near the Ephraim Gate of Jerusalem as the sun began to rise on the eastern horizon, stopped in their tracks when they heard the heavy footstep from somewhere in the shadows to their right. Simultaneously, they looked at one another with wide eyes and turned to face the darkness of what they hoped was an unoccupied alley.

  “Hullo?” asked Richard, waving his lit torch in the direction of the shadows.

  “Anyone there?” asked Sean.

  Thud.

  Another footstep echoed from the alley. Loud.

  “I don’t quite like this,” Richard said to his friend as he withdrew his sword from the leather scabbard as his belt.


  “You think it’s that Djinn-thing?” asked Sean, extracting his own blade and holding it out in front of him.

  “I dunno.” Richard took a single step forward, trying to peer into the early dawn gloom. “Way I hears it, the Djinn-thing is a spirit. Don’t make no sense he’d be makin’ all sorts of noise, cloddin’ on around here. I always imagined ‘im to be a bit more…I dunno, subtle or something.”

  Suddenly, a shadow filled the alleyway in front of them. A massive shadow. Richard and Sean stumbled backwards at the sight, falling to the ground as a pillar-like leg stepped into view. Then another. And as the two guards looked helplessly up, a gargantuan monster stepped out into the light. Its size was immense—nearly twelve feet tall and three feet wide. The thing had roughly the shape of a man with a great head upon its shoulders, with no face. It looked as if it was made of mud or slime and it continued to lumber toward them.

  “Sweet Mary, mother of our Lord,” Sean uttered as he crabwalked backwards to get away from the beast.

  Richard was unable to form any words at all, nor move, as he sat paralyzed on the stone walkway. His eyes took in every detail of the monstrosity before him. Every rounded edge of its body. Every carved muscle. Each of the intricately drawn pictograms that decorated its muddy hide—pictograms that almost seemed to glow in the dim light.

  It continued to walk toward them with giant, menacing strides and neither of the guards’ brains worked well enough to instruct them to lift their swords to defend themselves. Though, in hindsight, it was probably a very good idea that they hadn’t. The golem known to only a few as the Warden strode past, leaving them both mercifully unmolested as it approached the city gate.

  Though the two guards were totally unaware that the creature had been created by King Solomon himself or what its dark purpose had been, they would later swear to their comrades over several pints of ale that as it moved on they could have sworn the beast uttered a single word…BOOK.

  24

  William’s homestead was in chaos. Smoke billowed from the servants’ domiciles that now burned in the late morning sunlight. Most of Gregory’s forces busied themselves tearing the place apart, searching for the ring their master desperately sought. There were a few, however, that focused their attention on more entertaining pursuits, as they, with mocking jeers, impaled the few brave souls who stood up to protect their loved ones from the carnage.

  The women they were trying to protect were shoved brutally to the ground, bound with ropes, and forced to watch as their fathers, husbands, and sons were slaughtered before their eyes. Even William’s prized hunting dogs were targeted by the baron’s horde, clubbed to death to keep the mongrel blood from staining their swords.

  A handful of servants almost managed to escape, but were targeted by the baron’s expert archers as they ran in terror from the bloodbath.

  Intoxicated by the rivers of blood that pooled around their feet, the soldiers laughed and jeered, thoroughly enjoying the debauched massacre they had perpetrated. All the while, being mindful to steer clear of the eight living statues that surrounded the encampment…Gregory’s golem warriors, who even now kept vigil over the horizon, awaiting the one their master had instructed they should kill without mercy.

  For the living, breathing, armor-wearing variety of Gregory’s soldiers, the golems were something to be avoided at all cost. They were happy to continue with their desecration of the property owned by the baron’s brother, so long as they would not have to get within fifty feet of the eight clay horrors that surrounded them.

  “It’s just the way they stand there,” said one of Gregory’s knights, as he wiped blood from his blade. “Not moving. Staring into nothing.”

  “Aye,” replied his comrade. “And their faces…why give them animal heads? They frighten me far more than the Djinn ever did, I tell you. There’s something just plain evil about them.”

  The two knights shuddered as they stared unapologetically at the creatures, each with the body of a man and the head of a different type of animal: jackal, magpie, monkey, horse and crocodile were the most recognizable. There was also one that resembled an elephant. Another might have been a hippopotamus, but the final creature was completely unrecognizable from the ravages of time. And these didn’t even include the other four—the biggest and meanest looking of them all—that accompanied Baron Gregory into William’s tent.

  “What do you suppose they’re doing in there?” said the first knight, nodding toward the elaborate domicile.

  “No idea. Probably the same as we are…looking for m’lord’s silly little ring and having fun along the way.” The two soldiers laughed as they turned their gaze once more to the bountiful selection of exotic beauties that now lay bound and helpless on the desert floor. “And speaking of fun…”

  SCREEEEEEEE!

  The sudden shriek erupted from high above. Every man immediately looked up, almost as one. The sun was almost completely overhead, blinding each man as he gazed into the sky.

  SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

  Another cry, more piercing than the first. Each soldier knew what the sound was, though no one wanted to admit it. They had heard the stories. Heard about the spectral falcon—black as pitch—that was the harbinger of the creature known as the Djinn. Some said it was no bird at all, but rather all the souls of the men the creature had killed, wrapped up in the form of a raptor, and forced to do the Djinn’s bidding.

  SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

  The third screech was loudest of all and demanded even the stoic attention of Gregory’s golems. The knights watched as all eight of the clay behemoths turned their animalistic heads toward the heavens and watched silently as a tiny black dot above the clouds drew closer.

  “It’s the Djinn!” shouted one of the knights from the periphery of the homestead. “The Djinn is coming!”

  “We know that, you oaf,” yelled another soldier. “We can see his demonic bird. No need to announce it.”

  “No…no…no!” cried the first, pointing to the eastern horizon. “I mean, the Djinn is coming from over there!”

  In unison, they all turned to where their comrade was pointing. Sure enough, there, no more than a half mile away, sitting smugly on his black steed atop the closest ridge, was the black-clad form of the Djinn. Even from this distance, they could see his ebon blade gleaming in the sunlight.

  Somehow, from this distance and in the light of day, he just did not seem like much of a threat. A few of the knights even laughed, though a bit nervously.

  “’Tis but one man,” a few chanted. “No matter how supernatural he may be, we are one hundred strong. And we have the Clay Men to watch our backs.”

  “Let him come!” shouted a few more, as they raised their own swords into the air.

  For several long moments, they waited. No one moved. Even the steady breeze that had been wafting up from the Jordan had seemed to have stopped. A few nervous coughs erupted here and there, but other than that, every man remained perfectly still. Though, if anyone had been paying the slightest attention, they would have seen each of the eight golems turn slightly to face the Djinn’s direction.

  SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! The falcon cried again, this time much closer. A single brave archer notched an arrow with trembling hand and fired. The shaft flew wide and the bird veered to the west…toward its master. The archer cringed beneath the icy glares of his compatriots.

  Then, the Djinn spurred his black steed and took off at a gallop toward William’s encampment.

  “It’s attacking!” cried the knight who first spotted their foe on the ridge. “It’s…bloody attacking! Alone. Us.”

  The sheer audacity of the move sent a shockwave of fear through the troops, their confidence waning. After all, what manner of man—or creature—would dare pursue a full frontal assault on an entire army by himself? But as the dust kicked up by the Djinn’s horse began to settle, a sight greeted them that melted the resolve of all but the bravest of Gregory’s men…close on the Djinn’s heels r
ode a company of well-armed, black-robed figures, their swords outstretched and at a full charge toward camp. An entire army of djinni was descending on the besieged homestead and the invaders could only stare at the wave of death that now bore down on them.

  ****

  The Djinn and his army drew down on the camp at a full gallop. As they approached, eight sets of two men paired together and rode hard toward each of the golem sentries. The rest headed straight toward the cowering soldiers and their hapless victims.

  The Djinn watched the scene unfold as if hovering outside his body. As close to death as he already was, that might not have been a figment of his imagination. Still, he watched as his friends and loved ones attacked Gregory’s forces as one cohesive unit. His Knightshades.

  On the ride to his homestead, it had been Horatio who’d suggested the title. He’d pointed out that William’s last name meant “of the shadows” in the tongue of his homeland, so it only made sense that his knights take on the name as well. It was a good name. An honorable name, though he prayed to God above that these men—and Isabella, whom he loved so much—would never have to use it after this day.

  Horatio. William watched from his steed as he and Tufic approached the jackal-headed golem. With practiced ease, his friend tossed the Saracen physician one end of a hemp rope and pulled it taut just as they passed the monstrous creature. The line snagged against the golem’s legs, driving back to the ground with a vicious crash. Its moist body landed hard, its momentum crushing the golem’s backside with the impact.

  One by one, each of the golems fell this way, eliciting shouts of victory from the Knightshades. But the Djinn knew their victory would be short-lived. Such a minor setback would not keep the supernatural creatures down for long and then his friends would be lost.

  Sagging on Al-Ghul’s saddle, he caught the attention of those who had toppled the golems and pointed toward the host of Gregory’s men, now in fierce combat with the others. “Go! Help them! I’ll take care of our muddy friends.”