24991125 | 1734

  Old Cairo River Bazaar | Misr al-Qadima | Free City of Cairo

  30°00′33″ N

  31°14′20″ E

  Twilight.

  The sun descending.

  Solar strips upon awnings flared to life.

  The LED illuminations within plastic-wrapped payment terminals dialed brighter.

  A fisherman stood up and started hauling in his day’s net.

  They lingered within the Café al-Nilayn before Illeana decided she wanted to take a stroll through Khan el-Khalili.

  They pass a stall selling river charms.

  Small carved stones tied with wire, each etched with symbols no longer recognized.

  In another stall, a man sat repairing cheap optical lenses.

  His tools laid out with surgical precision.

  A woman weighted spices upon a balance scale undoubtedly having been calibrated in her favor.

  The call to prayer from the mosque filled the air.

  Haggling was prevalent.

  But now prices stagnated, nerves frayed.

  Buyers and sellers haggled louder.

  Tempers were shorter, prices were steeper.

  They drifted back to the docks.

  Shirley’s hand still joined to Illeana’s.

  “I think we lost them.” Shirley whispered

  “You thought we lost them like ten times now.” Illeana observed.

  Illeana pressed her body closer to hers as they strode along.

  “You are a lousy kisser.” Illeana said then.

  “You are one to talk.”

  The sound of the river grew louder.

  The avenue between the stalls seeming widened.

  The streets less winding, straighter.

  Somewhere, a radio murmurs news that no one is really listening to.

  Somewhere else, children laughed as they chased each other as they played.

  They spent the day in leisurely shopping.

  They came empty-handed.

  They returned laden with goods.

  They reached the docks.

  “So, what are we having tonight?”

  “You?” Illeana suggested softly.

  Shirley glared at her.

  “You need to get laid.”

  “That’s my plan,” Illeana said as she grabbed hold of Shirley.

  She cried out, ticklish.

  “You are going to struggle more tonight.”

  “No, please…” Shirley said pleadingly.

  Illeana laughed.

  “Come on, I heard there is a very nice joint here serving roast lamb…”

  They emerged from the bazaar and found their path forward blocked.

  Four men in suits approached them.

  Shirley and Illeana ceased their foolery.

  Their playful air evaporated.

  Kurt removed his shades.

  The men approached.

  They stopped before her.

  “Miss Tempess,” one of the men said.

  Courteously, polite.

  “You are?” Shirley asked.

  “Lucien Marceau,” the man bowed, “on His Majesty’s service.”

  Illeana and Kurt relaxed visibly.

  “My men- Bastien Morel, Romain Lefèvre, Alexis Montclair.”

  Each men bowed as their names were spoken.

  “A pleasure, Lucien.”

  “Likewise, Miss Tempess,” Lucien said, “His Highness wished to ask if you would do him the honor of joining him for dinner.”

  She smiled.

  “The honor would be mine.”

  Lucien inclined his head.

  “Your limousine awaits.” He said as he stepped aside.

  Bastien held the door open.

  “We have the honor of escorting you. If you will follow me, please.”

  Shirley turned to Illeana and Kurt.

  “Looks like you will have to do without me.”

  “Have fun, girlfriend.” Illeana blew her an air kiss.

  “I intend to.”

  Shirley stepped into the limo.

  Lucien rode shotgun while Romain got into the driver seat.

  Bastien and Alexis followed the limo in a black four-wheel drive.

  Illeana and Kurt watched her go.

  24991125 | 1738

  Al-Alhazred Mosque | EUNESCO Heritage Site 167 | Free City of Cairo

  30°02′48″ N

  31°15′48″ E

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

  The call to prayer from the mosque filled the air.

  Al-Alhazred received them during the evening prayers.

  Adam crossed the threshold from the street’s living noise into the cool interior.

  The air was first to shift.

  Dust and exhaust falling away.

  The scent of old limestone, worn wood, faint soap and the cleansing water that had washed across centuries of tiles.

  His greaves softened on woven runners.

  The sound of his strides flattened, not the sharp resounding echo of metal upon masonry.

  They entered the courtyard.

  They crossed into the long, steady arches of the mosque itself.

  Arches layered like ribs, columns standing in patient ranks.

  Their surfaces polished by hands that had leaned, prayed, waited.

  Light came in high and fractured through carved screens.

  It spilled in pale rectangles across the floor, then broke again as people passed.

  In the far distance, a ceiling fan turned with unhurried indifference.

  Air flowed idly, a calming zephyr, in slow circles that barely touched the heat of the day.

  Adam kept his eyes lowered as they entered the prayer hall.

  The prayer hall held a serene calm he found soothing.

  The faithful moved quietly, folding their bodies toward the same unseen point.

  They postured themselves.

  They offered prayers as they did centuries, millennia ago.

  The lines formed, dissolved, formed again.

  Cloth whispered.

  Skin brushed stone.

  The sound of water from a nearby ablution area was steady and soft.

  The soothing rhythm found only in tranquil water.

  His Harbingers fell in behind him.

  Their footfall eerily silent even while clad in full plate.

  They threw a heavy cloak over their armor frame as not to invite scrutiny.

  Their weapons were concealed or wrapped in unremarkable white linen cloth.

  They looked indistinguishable from the other denizens of the city.

  Clad as men of the desert.

  Plain, clean, and unremarkable.

  The kind of men no one who think to look twice.

  They offered prayers, silently.

  They did not posture nor bow.

  But gently, they touched their forehead, their shoulders and their heart.

  Quick, fleeting and darting movements.

  Their prayers were no different from the men in the hall.

  They prayed for the strength to endure.

  Adam found the ritual soothing.

  There was power in structure.

  There was safety in known words and repeated gestures.

  Thus these holy grounds endured.

  The Church did little to change the ritual.

  They allowed the rituals as it was.

  Then he looked up then.

  At the center of the hall.

  Hung a woven tapestry.

  The edges were frayed in places.

  The weave had softened from years of air and dust.

  The icon upon it golden and gleaning of an otherworldly material.

  One of the Nine.

  A stylized emblem threaded in black and deep ochre.

  A second, smaller mark embedded within it like a shadow inside a shadow.

  Second of the Nine.

  Adam closed his eyes and inclined his head in brief prayer.

  A man approached them from the edge of the hall.

  He moved with the cautious pace of someone who preserve the sacred peace.

  But Adam saw him out of the corner of his eye.

  His beard was trimmed.

  His eyes were alert but not fearful.

  Two other caretakers flanked him.

  Their hands empty, their posture respectful.

  Adam turned to them.

  “Peace be upon you.” the man said, in Arabic first, then in English.

  “And upon you,” Adam replied, matching the cadence perfectly.

  The caretaker’s gaze flicked over Adam’s companions.

  One by one, as if to validate something.

  When his eyes touched Harbinger 03, they lingered for half a heartbeat longer.

  “My lords,” the caretaker said. “Your arrival was… foretold.”

  Adam inclined his head.

  The men lowered his voice, in reverence.

  “By those who keep watch,” he said. “By those who remember.”

  Adam nodded.

  “These are my brethren,” he said, “Harbingers all.”

  The caretaker and his men bowed to each in turn, then gestured.

  “If you require anything of us, you need but ask.”

  Adam nodded his thanks.

  The caretaker and his men retreated.

  He moved with his companions into the hall.

  They stopped a step behind him.

  Giving him room.

  He knelt.

  He placed his hands where hands had been placed for centuries.

  He lowered his head.

  He spoke the words.

  As it had been spoken and recited through the ages.

  The Two of the Nine cast its gaze upon him.

  He rose.

  An undercurrent.

  A subtle shift in the air.

  The few men who lingered suddenly departed.

  Their paces indicated they fled in haste.

  Footsteps.

  Greaves upon stone.

  “My lord,” Gideon spoke up.

  Adam turned.

  He heard it too.

  “With me,” Adam said.

  “Do not draw,” he told Harbinger 03 specifically.

  The Harbingers followed him into the courtyard where the sun fell hard and white.

  The sound of the city greeted them.

  They were halfway across the stone when they saw them.

  Another group of men entered from the opposite archway.

  They were shrouded in desert garb.

  They arrived unannounced.

  They arrived unseen.

  They arrived as the Harbingers.

  Warrior elite.

  The leader was tall, broad-shouldered, garbed in Saracen chainmail.

  His hair was short.

  His face patrician and worn.

  His eyes piercing blue, undiminished.

  They settled on Adam, something in them sharpened into focus.

  “Hail,” the man said, his hand raised, palm outwards.

  His men stopped.

  Adam and his Harbingers eyed them warily.

  They stood in a semicircle.

  All exits were covered.

  “Hail, brother.” Adam replied, his hand mirroring the man’s.

  “As-salāmu ?alaykum,” The man said in greetings, approaching, his hand still raised.

  “Wa?alaykum as-salām,” Adam replied, moving forward, his hand extended.

  They clasped wrists.

  “I am David Black, Brotherhood of the Al-Fidāqīn,” the man said, his hand touching his heart.

  The name struck Adam as odd.

  Not because it was foreign.

  A Christian name within these walls.

  “I am Adam Nightblade, of Temple Church,” Adam returned the greeting.

  “Your name was known to us, brother.” David said.

  Behind David, his men touched his right hand to his heart in a single, smooth motion.

  Salute, oath, acknowledgement.

  “As foretold.” They intoned solemnly.

  “Adam Nightblade,” David echoed.

  There was no doubt.

  He knew they were coming.

  David looked at each of them in turn.

  When his gaze upon Harbinger 03, but he said nothing.

  “Your arrival was expected,” David said.

  Adam threw back his hood.

  “Foretold,” he corrected, savoring the word.

  David’s mouth twitched.

  A smile.

  “As you wish,” he said.

  “Were you waiting for us?” Adam asked. “How did you find us.”

  David’s head tilted a fraction.

  “This house sheltered many,” he said.

  “Once it sheltered your Chapter Master, Duncan during the Reclamation Crusades.”

  “You know of Master Duncan?”

  “He was… one of my teachers.” David said, “he enlightened me in the way of the blade.”

  He then pointed at Adam’s cloth-wrapped sword.

  “That was his blade.” He continued, “the Black Sword.”

  Adam felt the Black Sword on his back turned cold.

  David followed his eyes.

  “A relic,” David said, nodding once toward Adam’s weapon.

  Deference. Recognition. Reverence.

  Adam smiled.

  His hand heaved the weapon from his back.

  The cloth came undone.

  The Black Sword unveiled.

  Adam held the blade levelled before him.

  He showed no strain from the exertion.

  Even under the desert sun, the sword was unnaturally dark.

  As though light refused to touch it.

  David bowed.

  “I am honored to set eyes upon it again.”

  Adam set the sword down.

  “Are you truly satisfied? To merely set eyes upon your teacher’s blade?”

  David’s eyes widened.

  Then he smiled.

  “I see,” David said at length, “you know then.”

  “Master Duncan spoke highly of you,” Adam said, “he said you were deadly with the Electron Maces.”

  “Master Duncan has always been too kind,” David replied, “I am a mere soldier.”

  “Then, in his name,” Adam said, “I humbly request your aid.”

  David drew a slow breath.

  “I am honored that you thought so highly of us,” he said.

  “The Brotherhood of the Al-Fidāqīn stands ready to aid you in your quest.

  We know this city as the back of our hands.

  The Al-Fidāqīn have ears in the alleys and hands in the doors.

  You need only ask.”

  Adam let out a breath.

  “We are pressed for time,” He said, “we need to strike at the heart of the Nile.”

  David nodded as if he expected that.

  “You speak of the leviathan upon the river,” he said.

  “The facility known as Aquifer.”

  Adam nodded.

  “We know of the secret ways beneath the city.” David said.

  “My brothers shall open the gates for you.”

  Adam nodded his thanks.

  “We will make preparations, then.” David nodded to one of his men.

  The man saluted and departed.

  “Meanwhile, we shall wait.”

  Adam nodded.

  David then his stance slightly.

  His men did not move.

  But Adam felt the space between them tightened.

  He turned to the man.

  “With your leave, my lord,” David continued. “The Al-Fidāqīn practiced an old custom. A contest of strength.”

  Adam’s mouth flattened.

  “Contest?”

  “Indeed,” David said simply. “While we wait. Would you permit me to measure the strength of a Harbinger?”

  Adam’s eyes narrowed.

  “You want to duel.”

  “To see if the Al-Fidāqīn measured up against the warrior-elite of Temple Church.”

  Adam smiled, “I see.”

  David dropped all pretence then.

  “If the Harbingers would accept. So the Al-Fidāqīn may know themselves against the finest blades of the Temple Church.”

  Adam felt a mild irritation then.

  A tingling.

  Zora and Gideon looked at him.

  They just recovered from resuscitation.

  “No,” he said flatly. “Not today.”

  David did not flinch.

  He inclined his head.

  “As you wish,” David said.

  Then, quietly, behind Adam—

  A hand touched his shoulder.

  A blade unsheathed.

  Harbinger 03.

  Adam turned his head slightly.

  Harbinger 03’s face gave nothing away.

  His eyes were level.

  Calm.

  The strong, silent type.

  A man who let the sword do the talking.

  “Are you sure?” Adam asked.

  Harbinger 03 nodded.

  Adam’s brow tightened.

  “We don’t have time—”

  Harbinger 03 didn’t argue.

  He didn’t insist.

  He only kept his hand upon Adam’s shoulders.

  Adam smiled.

  “Very well,” He said as he turned to David, “my brother accepts.”

  David’s gaze sharpened.

  He simply inclined his head, once.

  From a peer to a peer.

  His cloak parted.

  Twin maces.

  Their heads wrapped in dark insulating lattice.

  The crisp scent of ozone, faintly veined with filament.

  Embers and ashes.

  They seemed to hum with contained violence.

  Harbinger 03 unwrapped the cloth.

  His katana unveiled.

  A polished blade of midnight.

  “You do my great honor, brother,” David said.

  Adam stepped back to join Zora and Gideon.

  “Is this wise?” Zora whispered.

  “I heard of the blade duels of the Al-Fidāqīn,” Gideon added.

  “They usually end fatally.”

  Adam smiled.

  “You have never seen our brother fight.”

  The Harbingers and the Al-Fidāqīn made a semicircle within the courtyard.

  Adam regarded them.

  David Black with his crackling maces.

  Harbinger 03 stood casually; blade sheathed.

  A thought crept into his mind then.

  If their arrival had truly been foretold.

  Then perhaps, this was inevitable.