Page 2 of Retribution

“Here, sayidi,” he said as he poured a cup of the elixir. “This will help you.”

Everald grabbed at the cup, spilling a few drops, before greedily sucking it down as the wind howled overhead and sand blew in through the seams in the door. Somehow, it seemed to be louder, but he didn’t care. The moment that sweet wine coursed down his throat, he could feel a sense of relief wash over him. He had what he needed, at least for the moment. Soon, it would begin to take effect and if the Ayyubid soldiers found him, at least he’d have a clear mind and a fighting chance.

At least he’d be able to face his end.

For a moment, he simply sat still and drew in long, steady breaths. He couldn’t even remember how long he’d been running, but it seemed like forever. Somehow, he couldn’t even remember his life before he came to these desolate lands, full of sand and death. Everything and everyone wanted to kill him. His only salvation was in the Blessing.

“They will come for me, Ajmal,” he said, sinking back into the chair as he waited for the drug to take effect. “What will you do when they do?”

The old man was wiping out the cup that had so recently held the elixir. “Who will come for you?”

“The Ayyub,” Everald muttered. “They are your people. Surely you will not stand in their way for the sake of a mere Christian knight.”

The old man set the cup down, his dark gaze moving to the man with the pale blue eyes and blond hair that was dirty with sweat and grime. “They do not have my allegiance,” he said. “Nor do you. I do not know if I can be loyal to men who fight for the same god and call it righteousness. You kill each other, yet you worship the very same God of Adam.”

Everald shrugged. “It is not the same god.”

“It is.”

“Then my god is the right god.”

“Did he tell you this?”

Everald stared at him a moment before breaking into a grin. “Every day,” he said, gesturing to the door and the windstorm beyond. “He is telling me that now. That is why he sent the wind. To confuse those hunting me.”

Ajmal regarded him for a moment. “Do you not think that it is, mayhap, God’s anger?”

Everald frowned. “Why would he be angry?”

Ajmal shrugged. “Angry at men who fight one another and justify it by saying they are fighting for God,” he said. “The truth is that men create battles. God does not create them. And you have a battle inside of you that has nothing to do with God or the Ayyub, sayidi. The battle inside of you is something you created.”

“Me?”

“You fight against yourself.”

Everald scoffed. “You speak in riddles,” he said. “There is no battle inside of me.”

“Then why drink the elixir?”

“Because I was wounded once and it eased the pain.”

“That wound is long healed.”

Everald was starting to become agitated. “It still pains me,” he insisted. “You do not live in my body. You cannot know what pains me and what does not.”

Ajmal held up a soothing hand. “I meant no offense,” he said. “But a man who continues to drink the elixir even after his wound has healed is fighting a battle of another kind.”

Everald wasn’t so inclined to agree with him. “I respect your knowledge, Ajmal,” he said, calming somewhat. “But that is not the case with me. I am still in pain. That is all.”

“Then you have my apologies,” Ajmal said quietly. “If it is relief you seek, I shall continue to help you.”

“Thank you.”

The door suddenly burst open and a huge gust of wind and sand came blasting through, knocking items off tables and creating general chaos in the room. It startled Everald, so much that he practically fell off the chair he’d been sitting on. But, like a cat, he ended up on his feet, ready to run or ready to fight. In his world, it was one or the other. Ajmal was trying to force the door closed again but Everard caught sight of shadows in the alley outside, shadows he assumed to be the very men looking for him.

Shadows of death.

Everald wasn’t going to wait around to find out. He’d run this far.