The Seeker - Finna's Quest

by E L Russell

  Yes! She turned her horse toward Guiscard who had already dispatched his opponent and joined his fellow Templars. She caught the blur of his sword decapitating a man and spun about to check if the Persian she’d unseated lived. Seeing he’d worked himself to his knees, she drove her steed toward him and leaning sideways from her mount, drew her knife and slit his throat.

  Turning back to Guiscard, she saw he needed no help. The enemy lay dead at his feet. Helena dismounted and raised her arms in victory. Her gesture was premature. A wounded Persian rose behind her.

  Finna raced toward her friend as if chased by all the demons in hell, but her shout drifted in the wind like a silent song.

  Too late.

  The Persian stabbed her brave companion in the back with one swift motion. It was the last action in his life. Finna ran him through with a savage vengeance. Her heart bled with Helena’s as her companion’s life seeped into the sand.

  With an enraged soul, Finna examined every fallen assassin for signs of life. Finding two still living breathing, she thrust her sword into their heathen chests not once, but thrice and wailed her sorrow to the heavens before collapsing to the ground. It was not in her nature to kill, yet she had done it before for her friend and did it again for the same reason, for Helena.

  As her father had taught her, she placed the tip of her sword in the ground and knelt before the cross in its hilt and prayed for the fallen foe. In truth, she wondered at the tradition. She and Helena had been through so much. It was not right that should die here, so far from home, so far from their destination. Now, she joined Cecelia and neither would ever fight in the crusades. She felt hollow. She felt sick.

  13

  Aleppo

  Templars

  She had no idea how much time had passed before the pressure of Guiscard’s hand pulled her to awareness.

  “Killing is not natural for good people. Nor is watching our comrades die. Come. I would introduce you to my fellow Templars.”

  She stood with his help. She was numb. Her mind was numb. St. George had deserted her.

  “Brothers, this is Finna Magnusson.”

  Each Templar raised his sword in salute and she cleared her mind to nod in acknowledgement. When they buried Helena, each knight spoke of her bravery and skill as a warrior. Guiscard offered a special prayer in Latin and when finished, he presented her with her friend’s sword, a weapon she didn’t want. She wanted her companion. She wanted to go home to sit next to her father and hear his stories of the stars.

  An impossible dream and they had yet to finish up. If birds of prey, called by the smells of death, circled overhead, they would draw attention to the carnage. The scenario motivated the Templars to hasten their task of burying the heathen dead in shallow graves on the leeward side of a nearby dune. Soon, their shallow hand-carved graves would be covered with sand by the wind.

  They secured the eight remaining horses to a bush by the water of the small oasis and all but the one on guard duty sat in a fireless circle for a meal. Guiscard told his brother knights something of Finna’s mission. “We go to Aleppo to rescue friends of the queen and to deliver a message to the Prince.”

  Information.

  That was the first Finna had heard they were rescuing people. She was extremely curious, but now was not the time to ask. Disappointingly, Edric, the tallest of the knights, changed the subject before Guiscard disclosed more. He turned his full focus on Finna.

  “Where did you learn to fight as a knight?” He had stolen glances at her as if she weren’t real since the battle had ended. “It is not natural to see a woman fight at all, let alone with such skills.”

  Guiscard responded before she answered. “With a name like Magnusson, you have to ask? Can’t you guess?”

  Edric leaned forward and looked at her with amazement. “Is it possible? You are related? Do you know Mangus Magnusson?”

  “Her father is Mangus Magnusson. Father and daughter are descendants of the great warrior, Arn Magnusson.” Guiscard looked pleased with himself to have surprised his comrades thusly.

  Edric lowered his head to on eye level with Finna. “You are Swedish? Your father is of a direct line from the great Templar?”

  Finna didn’t understand the fuss “Yes, he was a Knights Templar and it is he who taught me to fight, but he’s now a master mason who devotes his life to repairing cathedrals.” She rubbed her chin and frowned. He had never mentioned Sweden. She looked at Guiscard for an explanation.

  “Arn Magnusson is a legendary Knights Templar much admired throughout our world. Having an ancestor who fought alongside of him would make anyone of us special. Although your name may be a coincidence, from what we have seen today and what I know of you, I believe you are related to Arn Magnusson. Perhaps your father has left his past behind, but his fighting skills live on through you.”

  “We have seen your skill with the short and long sword,” Edric said. “Tell us which is your favorite weapon?”

  “Sir Knight, you mock me.” Finna was uncomfortable with the attention and for these august men to be complimenting her skills was foolish to the extreme. They were the warriors of renown. She tried only to execute the skills her father had taught her while she lamented the fact she lacked the strength of a man.

  “Do you test me? If I had to choose, it would be the short bow. Unfortunately, I don’t have one with me.” They laughed in the way of companionship rather than derision and it warmed her, making her momentarily forget the loss of Helena.

  Edric unfolded his long legs and left their circle, throwing an explanation over his shoulder. “One of the Persians did.” He went to the cluster of glossy mounts and took a thin bag from behind one of the saddles. Returning, he handed it to Finna.

  She removed a short, polished, black bow and a set of metal tipped arrows. Reverently, she ran her hand over the wood. “This is well crafted.” She stood and bent the bow to brace the string. After testing the weight with her left hand, she selected six arrows with her right. She needed a target.

  Guiscard surprised her and pointed at the sand dune where they’d buried their dead. High above, drawn by the earlier scent of blood and torn flesh, five birds of prey circled. “They cannot see the dead we hid, but will search as long as they smell death. Are they suitable?”

  Not an easy target, but Finna was glad. She nodded once and lifted the bow with her right arm, releasing five arrows with her left in rapid succession. Before the first arrow had hit its target, the second, then third arrow took flight. As fast as they could count, five birds of prey fell behind the dune.

  No one spoke or moved until Guiscard released a small chuckle that rose and grew to full out laughter from all parties. “How did you learn to shoot like this?” Edric asked.

  “Running through the forest leaping from trunks of trees and shooting out the eyes of rodents.”

  Disbelief filled his face then dissolved into renewed laughter. “Ah, a joke.”

  Although it was, in fact, how she had learned her remarkable skills, she said no more. It felt good to laugh after battle, although she did wonder how Guiscard knew she wanted a challenging target. She thought of the voice and eyed him with suspicion. Was Guiscard the one watching her? She stretched her hand out to return the bow to Edric, but he shook his head and pushed it back to her.

  “You earned it today. I shall pray for any enemy who has the misfortune to encounter you when you have that weapon in your hand.”

  * * *

  Two days later, Finna and Guiscard left the Templar escort behind to complete their mission in Aleppo. Side-by-side, they rode into the famous Silk Road terminus. Dressed as traders, each had a Persian horse in tow and they carried only small merchant bags and personal items, within which they had also hidden their weapons.

  Finna took the small map from her shirt. “This says the merchant will be the first spice vender on the main thoroughfare. That is this street. It’s between a baker and a sword shop.”

  Guiscard took the map
. “It’s just past the bend of the street up ahead. How will he know me?”

  “The shop keeper will have a message for someone who says he is there for ‘Y’ and ‘J.’ ”

  He held the paper toward her. “Have you met these people?”

  She shook her head. She hadn’t even known they existed until he’d told Edric of their mission.

  “All I know is she is a woman traveling with her son.” He lifted his palms. “I think the boy is twelve. The woman is a friend of Queen Eleanor’s although I am not sure the two have actually met.”

  Finna frowned. “You make little sense, my friend.”

  “Like you, when the Queen commands, I go. I think this woman is fleeing from someone in Aleppo. It is Raymond, the Prince of Antioch, who wants the woman saved. The man is Eleanor’s uncle and I hear he is as handsome as sin. At well over six feet tall, he beguiles the Queen. He has captivated her totally. The two worked together to create this plan to get ‘Y’ and ‘J’ out of Aleppo. The problem is, they must be gotten far, far, away.”

  Finna looked at her companion. “Do you understand what that is all about?”

  “All I know, she is fleeing an evil prince and the man is dangerous.” Guiscard waved his hand. “The man she flees is Prince Zafir, a low prince and distant nephew of Abdul-Salam, the Prince of the royal family of Aleppo.”

  Finna studied him with suspicion. “Do you know him?”

  “Abdul-Salam? The Prince of Aleppo? I only know of him. It is said he is a powerful force in these parts and is said to be a fair man.”

  “No, I meant the low Prince, Zafir”

  “Ah. That one is bad. He is a nasty man with a malicious, vengeful spirit and little power.”

  Finna was not satisfied with the answers she got. More was going on than the rescue of a woman and her son. This Prince of Antioch and the uncle to Queen Eleanor were collaborating in some secret thing. “Guiscard, what other business brings you to Aleppo for the Queen?”

  “Spice, of course.” Guiscard gave her a half smile that said he lied and lifted his chin toward a shop nearby. “There is your spice vendor.” He stopped in front of a busy stall built in front of low building and slid to the ground, handing her the reins of his horse and the spare. “Hold these tightly and keep an eye out for thieves. I’ll deliver your message and get the special bags of spice Her Majesty requested.” Looking both ways, he opened one of the pouches tied to the saddle of his mount so he could remove a leather bag while maintaining vigilance for foul play. Within minutes, he disappeared into the small tent-like shop.

  * * *

  Guiscard positioned himself in the stall so as to keep an eye on Finna while he conducted his business. The merchant was a big man with his ham-sized hands and a wide girth. Although he voiced all the niceties of a cordial business transaction, his attention constantly traveled over his shoulder. Guiscard handed him a folded document and in return, the merchant placed a rough cloth bag at his feet.

  The knight passed the beefy man a leather pouch and when he backed into the shadows of a back room, Guiscard picked up the bag with both hands and balanced it on one shoulder. He dropped his fighting hand to the hilt of his hidden short sword. The Templar didn’t trust the big man with the big fists and bruised knuckles. His shifty eyes seemed to send silent massages to a skinny man who feigned sleep at the shop’s entrance and Guiscard adjusted his position to maintain a better view of Finna while willing the brute to hurry.

  After a suspiciously long time, the shopkeeper returned with a smaller bag, and Guiscard stashed it under his free arm and departed. He secured the large bag to the back of his saddle and the small bag in front of it and mounted.

  “Quickly. We must get to the gate. The shopkeeper told me the two we seek await us there.” Almost recklessly, he wove through the crowded market street. “Hurry,” he urged. “There is little time and they are in danger.”

  14

  Back in the Desert

  Escape from Aleppo

  Riding as fast as they dared, Finna and Guiscard urged their steeds toward Aleppo’s western gate. “The merchant told me the woman became fearful we were not coming and shortly before we arrived, she and the boy started toward the gate, which is exactly where we might expect to discover Prince Zafir’s men. We must find the woman and the boy first.”

  Guiscard accelerated their pace, but just before the bend in the road, Finna slowed and scanned the crowded market place. A woman walked down the center of the passageway avoiding the stalls. Obviously, she had no interest in shopping. Nearby, but not with her, a boy stole food from a shop.

  Finna glanced ahead for Guiscard, but unable to see him, acted on instinct alone. She rode past the woman and dismounted several feet in front of her. As the woman came even with her, she handed her the reins of the spare horse. “This one’s for you. The man I’m with has a mount for your son. Follow me.”

  The woman took the reins and mounted the horse in one easy swing of her leg as though riding was natural and walking was a compromise. She glanced sideways and murmured, “Inshallah.”

  If God wills it.

  Finna’s father had taught her some basic words and phrases in Arabic and she responded with, “La ilaha illa Allah, Mohammadun Rasulu Allah.” There is no god but Allah and Muhammad is his prophet. Her father had claimed it was the only Arabic she’d ever need. Now, she wasn’t so sure.

  The woman’s smile reflected appreciation and she spoke in English. “My name is Yasmin and my son is Jamal.”

  Thank God. “Ismi Finna.” My name is Finna.

  With no more words, Finna et a speedier pace toward the distant gate. The boy emerged from behind a vegetable stall and mounted behind the woman. Within moments, they melted into the crowded street. Finna hoped Guiscard would spot them before Prince Zafir’s men, but had no idea how they’d get out of the city. The desert beckoned through the distant gate too far away to make a run for it.

  Up ahead, angry men argued loudly beside a slow red wagon so large it took up most of the road. On the other side, three riders matched the vehicle’s speed as though they were part of its entourage. Astonished, Finna realized Yasmin had left her and joined Guiscard. Jamal, agile as a monkey, had mounted the spare horse and had fallen in behind the knight and his mother. Finna saw the value of the deception. She lowered her head and maneuvered her horse closer to the rear of the wagon, also becoming part of the cavalcade, yet her anxiety escalated as the exit from the city drew near.

  Even with the ruse of riding through with a larger entourage, their chances for success seemed minimal. When her horse started prancing sideway, she realized she had the reins in a death grip and forced herself to relax. She inched closer to the wagon, wishing she could disappear inside. The men who had argued earlier escalated their fight to a volume impossible to ignore and the noise grated on her frayed nerves until she realized its worth.

  She grinned in gratitude. The cacophony provided a distraction that drew the attention of all, allowing Guiscard to lead his small band through the gate unnoticed. He twisted on his horse to wink at her and it occurred to her he had most likely orchestrated the quarrel.

  Once outside the city, they maintained a hair-raisingly slow pace. It was not until they crested a small dune, that they picked up the pace to an all out gallop and Finna could breathe again. Yet, they were not yet safe. Although the city of Aleppo faded behind them, the safety of Antioch was a far distant destination.

  After an hour’s mad dash, Guiscard dropped back to see if they were followed and the two women rode next to each other with Jamal trailing not too close behind.

  “He is happy to be free of the city and to be riding a fine horse,” Yasmin said, “but most of all, he is happy to be free of Prince Zafir.”

  She smiled, and for the first time, Finna saw she was astonishingly beautiful. Her white teeth flashed against her honey-colored skin and her dark slanted eyes brimmed with mystery and intelligence. Both she and the boy wore fine clothes. Although Fin
na knew her to be from a harem where women led the life of leisure, this woman had strength in her slim arms and she hoped that meant she could defend herself if necessary.

  “Allahu Akbar,” she said. “God is great. My son Jamal and I thank you. I was afraid to hope we could really get away from Zafir. He is an evil man and I was especially afraid for Jamal.”

  “Queen Eleanor sent me to take you and your son safely to her. Do you know the Queen?”

  “No, but I beseeched her in a letter to help me escape Prince Zafir.”

  “Your escape could not have been successful without Guiscard, who was sent with me by the Queen.” She twisted in her saddle to look over her shoulder for him. She liked riding beside him. He made her feel safe and she had quickly grown used to it. He should have returned by now. She kept her face passive, as she scanned the horizon in all direction for riders or raiders and saw nothing.

 

  “How do you know?

  “Finna?”

  “Oh, sorry. I was lost in thought. Did you ask something?”

  The lovely woman ran her tongue over dry lips. “Is it possible you have water you can share with us?”

  “Oh, of course. I should have thought.” Finna lifted the leather loop holding her water bag to the saddle and handed it to Yasmin, who drank with a somehow dainty greediness. With a feint blush, she than passed the water bag to Jamal, who drank with thirsty abandon.

  “We also have food and plain robes for travel, but we won’t stop until we reach a small oasis not far from here.”

  Worrying about Guiscard and possible problems at the city gate, she again glanced behind her and saw the dust of a lone rider approaching at a breakneck pace. Guiscard? Were Prince Zafir’s men in pursuit? She alerted Yasmin. “Be ready to ride hard. Can the boy keep up?”