Enchantress Read online

  “I want them dead,” he said slowly. “I want my city back and I want these ugly white demons off my land! We will attack as soon as the chance arises.” He turned quickly and walked out of the room. Minutes later, his red handprint was still vivid on Ayla’s cheek.

  Chapter Four

  “Godfrey is ill,” Rannulf reported quietly as he entered Bohemund’s tent.

  “What?” Bohemund looked up at his friend in disbelief. “How?”

  “How, my lord?” Rannulf was confused. “Who knows in this foreign soil, it could be anything. The chirugeon is attending him.”

  “Robert wants to take some men and go foraging for food,” Bohemund frowned as he spoke. “Maybe this is as good a time as any.”

  “It’s dangerous but necessary I think,” Rannulf agreed.

  “I want you to stay behind, Rannulf.” When Rannulf looked as if he would protest, Bohemund held up a hand. “No, my friend, you would do me more good here. I don't trust these men alone. Guard the camp for me and if I don't return, take over.”

  Rannulf reluctantly agreed and Bohemund clasped his shoulder in approval. There was no one he trusted more than Rannulf, not even Tancred. The man had proved his valor and loyalty on numerous battlefields. Bohemund knew there was no safer choice than Rannulf to watch his back. He was his closest friend and either man would gladly die for the other.

  “I’ll go ready the men,” Bohemund started to leave.

  “How many will you take?” Rannulf’s question stopped him.

  “Maybe twenty thousand,” Bohemund looked back. “Will that leave you with enough?”

  “Leave me my horse and that will suffice,” Rannulf gave him a cocky grin and Bohemund burst out laughing.

  There was no time for laughter later that day, when Yaghi-Siyan slunk out of the Gate of St. George, the same gate they could not block and which had been used to keep the city supplied. He attacked Raymond’s camp across the river, at the small village of Talenki, and they were all taken unaware. Rannulf’s squire had quickly notified him of the ensuing battle and Rannulf and his men had rushed to the aid of their comrades.

  Yaghi-Siyan rode boldly among his warriors, expecting an easy victory from the starving, surprised men. Things would have gone exactly as he planned, if not for the huge, dark-haired infidel that swooped in at the last moment with reinforcements. Beside Yaghi-Siyan, his warriors started to fall, until Yaghi realized that only half of his original number still lived. The infidels were savage and ruthless, even more so now that they were hungry. The fight was feeding them instead of killing them. He called his men back and turned to flee.

  Rannulf watched the Vizier turn his army around. He shouted for his men to give chase. If they could just get into the gate, they could end the siege today. He rode his white stallion hard, across the bridge to the Gate of St. George, where Yaghi-Siyan was making his retreat. His men followed closely behind but they were not fast enough, the massive doors shut and were barred before they could reach them.

  “Damn!” Rannulf swore as he reined in his mount, just before he got into reach of the archers along the walls. “Back to the camp,” he shouted to his men as he turned his horse around and rode back to the battle site.

  It was complete carnage. Luckily, most of the bodies were Turks but they would have to be disposed of before they began to rot. With horror he watched as men began to hack the heads off the slain Seljuks.

  “What are you doing?” He asked one soldier, aghast.

  Lord Raymond’s orders, m’lord,” the man said. “We’re to use them as ammunition in the trebuchets.”

  “What say you?” Rannulf could not believe his ears.

  “My Lord says we should send their stench back to them. We’re to put the rest on stakes before the wall.” He raised his sword over another body and Rannulf turned away in disgust. Where was the milk and honey that Pope Urban spoke of? The only thing he’d seen flowing in the land of Canaan was blood.

  Rannulf headed back to Bohemund’s camp, wearily. War took its toll on a man and he’d had nothing else for years now. His body was tired but more than that, his heart was empty. There had to be more to life than death.

  “Sir Rannulf!” The cry shocked him from his reverie and Rannulf looked up to see Bohemund’s squire running up to meet him.

  “Arnaud, what’s happened?”

  “My Lord Bohemund has been attacked,” he gasped. Rannulf started to put his helm back on but the squire stopped him. “He’s already returned m’lord. We won the battle but were forced to return with no supplies. He awaits you in his tent.”

  “Damn,” Rannulf swore as he dismounted. He quickly crossed the distance to Bohemund’s tent and entered. Bohemund and Tancred were busy washing the blood from their bodies and changing their soiled clothes.

  “Ah, Rannulf,” Bohemund greeted him cheerily. “I see you fared no better than I. Did that scum Yaghi-Siyan actually come out and play?”

  “Aye, he did,” Rannulf sat heavily in a chair, now that he knew his friend was unscathed. “Must you be so jovial about it?”

  “Would you prefer I tear the tent apart?” Bohemund finally finished scrubbing away the filth and sat down next to his friend. “I am as exhausted as you, Rannulf. Our attempt to find more supplies has failed miserably and I’m faced with the possibility of an even greater defeat. If now is not the best time for joviality then I don’t know when is.”

  Chapter Five

  The magnificent doors to Ayla’s grand chambers slammed open to reveal a very annoyed Yaghi-Siyan. He was still in his blood covered armor and he tracked dirt across the beautiful mosaics as he walked in. Ayla drifted back in from the balcony, where she'd been watching what little she could see of the battle.

  He stopped in the middle of the floor, right over the face of Dionysus, and threw his conical helmet to the ground…effectively chipping Dionysus’s tooth. Ayla glanced down at the ruined mosaic then back up at Yaghi-Siyan with a raised eyebrow.

  “You were never punished as a child were you?” She asked dryly.

  “What?” Yaghi-Siyan’s face was turning bright red.

  “You are rather prone to tantrums,” she elaborated, “a trait which should have been beaten out of you when you were a boy.”

  “Why is it that you must test my patience, always at the moment that it is at its thinnest?” He took a steadying breath to keep from strangling his precious enchantress.

  “I apologize, of course,” she said grandly and seated herself in the chair before her dressing table, the layers of her silk clothing settling around her softly. She gazed at Yaghi-Siyan through the polished-silver mirror on the table before her. She always found that his reflection was easier to gaze upon.

  “My army was defeated,” he ground out, looking back at her through the silver. “Some dark-haired giant came to save them.”

  Ayla’s eyes widened at his words. She knew exactly who the “dark-haired giant” was. She saw the image of his blood-covered face again and a shiver went down her spine.

  “Are you listening to me, Ayla?” Yaghi-Siyan ranted. “They were the ones supposed to be caught unprepared, not I.”

  “What do you want of me, Yaghi?” Ayla asked quietly. “I counseled you to leave them to their fate.”

  “I want you to destroy them,” he said with great menace as he gripped the back of her chair with both hands.

  “There is no need,” she started but he shook the chair violently in frustration.

  “I care little about need,” he spat. “Destroy them, Ayla.”

  As the vision overtook her, the shaking of her chair grew until she realized the whole earth was shaking. She looked up, realizing that she was standing on a stretch of land before the walls of Antioch. The ground settled but then the night sky began to turn vivid colors. With a gasp she blinked her eyes to clear her sight and Yaghi-Siyan’s eager expression filled her view.

  “If I can get them to depart peacefully, will that appease you?” She asked quietly. />
  “Fine, Ayla,” he stood and shook his head. She could have everything she could possibly desire, if she were only a little more ruthless.

  “I need to speak with them tomorrow morning,” she looked toward the balcony.

  “Speak with who?”

  “The invaders,” she said calmly.

  “You want to speak to the infidels?” He was incredulous.

  “I will address them from the wall near the Gate of St. Paul”

  Shouting drew Rannulf, Bohemund and Tancred from their tent. Outside, men were gathered together, talking and pointing up at the walls of Antioch. Rannulf looked toward the walls that towered as high as the top of Mt. Silpius which loomed behind the city, and was surprised to see the lone figure of a woman standing there…a very beautiful woman.

  Her wavy, black hair fell past her knees and blew around her like the wings of a giant raven. Her olive skin glowed gold in the sun and her delicate features could have graced the face of any Goddess. She was wrapped in a long, flowing robe that clung to her magnificent body when the wind blew it. Without realizing it, he strode forward to get a closer look.

  He didn’t stop till he was directly beneath her, caught in the spell of her beauty. Then the most amazing thing happened…she turned those dark, penetrating eyes on him. He could barely breathe. Her face seemed so familiar to him. Then those full, soft lips spread in a gentle smile and her hand reached out as if she could touch his cheek.

  An angry shout, from the tower to her right, jolted her back to reality and she pulled her gaze from his. He felt suddenly bereft and withdrew, to join Bohemund and Tancred. Now that she had everyone’s attention, she began to speak, with a voice deep and rich like honey, and in perfect French.

  “Children of the prophet, I have come to give you a warning.” Ayla’s voice carried over the now silent assemblage. “Turn back from this doomed city and return to your homes across the water, to worship your God in peace. Within these walls, you will find only misery and heartache. These are cold, cruel men, who enslave even their own people.” She raised her arms and golden chains dangled between her wrists. “Turn back from this barbaric paradise, there is no redemption here.”

  She paused long enough for the men to start murmuring in nervous tones. There were rumors spreading like wildfire as to who she was and why the Vizier had sent her to deliver his message.

  “The Grand Vizier, Yaghi-Siyan, has commanded me to use my magic against you. He has demanded that I destroy all of you but I have pleaded with him and he has agreed to spare your lives if you leave at once.” There were angry bursts among the men at those words but Bohemund quickly silenced them and she continued. “If you don't heed my warning, you shall feel my fury.” She paused and looked over the crowd as she raised her arms and her voice. “I will shake the earth beneath your feet and the world about you will tremble in fear!” The golden chains clinked as she turned about suddenly and disappeared.

  A stunned silence prevailed until Bohemund started laughing scornfully. The tension was broke then, as the men looked to their leader for guidance. He turned to address them, deliberately facing his back to the wall Ayla had occupied.

  “We’re supposed to be afraid of a witch?” Bohemund’s voice was loud and steady. “Her powers will have no effect on the faithful. Don't let these barbarian superstitions frighten you, men. They are finally realizing that we will not leave till we have taken the city and they have become scared rabbits hiding in their hole. They send a woman to fill our heads with frightening falsity, like we are children. She even addressed us as such.” The men began to smile and joke, slapping each other on the back. Bohemund raised his voice till he was shouting. “Well we will not go, will we?” His men shouted in support. “The city will be ours!”

  The cheering was deafening as Rannulf turned away from Bohemund to look back at the spot where the witch had stood. Although the day was warm, he felt a chill creep over him. He knew the truth when he heard it and her words were not empty threats. He just wished he could figure out what she meant when she said the world would tremble in fear.

  “Is that all?” Yaghi-Siyan was furious again. “No displays of your power, just a silly speech? They laugh at us, you know?” He grabbed the chain dangling between her wrists and yanked her into her chambers.

  “They will not be laughing long,” she held her wrists up for him. “Now release me, you have no need for these here.” He pulled the key from a chain around his neck and unlocked the shackles. She took off the ferace, the shapeless outer robe she wore in public, and then sat down, to comb the tangles out of her wind-blown hair.

  “What are you saying?” He calmed slightly and sat on her bed…an intimate gesture that was not lost on Ayla.

  “Have patience, my lord,” she said. “I will address them again in the morning and by then, I promise, there will be fewer of them and the remainder will not be laughing.”

  Chapter Six

  Rannulf was in Bohemund’s tent later that day, when the earthquake hit.

  It started as a small rumbling, just a tremulous shaking beneath their feet. Bohemund and Tancred both looked at him in surprise before the real shuddering started and actually knocked Tancred right out of his chair and onto the ground.

  Men outside began to shout and then scream, so Bohemund quickly left to try and calm the masses. Rannulf followed but almost wished he hadn’t. Tents shook and crashed down, the horses whined pitifully and huddled together, too afraid to even stampede. Trees fell over, completely uprooted, and waves rushed the shoreline in the nearby Orontes River. The world was trembling in fear.

  Bohemund could barely stand, much less comfort his men. At least the men couldn't run, as they looked inclined to do, until the quaking had ceased. When it finally did, the camp was a disaster and numerous men were packing to leave. Bohemund had to send priests out to calm the soldiers into staying. Even with all his fast talking, they still lost many men that night.

  The next morning, Ayla faced a somber crowd. The faces looking up at her were no longer merely curious but wary, terrified, contemptuous and even respectful. She took a deep breath and looked around them until she saw the face she sought. The knight looked up at her, from his place next to the man that seemed to be their leader. His expression was wary and she thanked the Gods that it wasn’t filled with hate. She tried to convey her regret to him through her eyes and he seemed to acknowledge her efforts with a slight nod.

  “Great Knights of Christ,” she began. “I have no desire to harm you. Why do you linger here? Why do you force me to destroy you? You have felt my fury; tonight you shall see my power scorch the sky, as I prepare your doom. With the coming of the sun, my magic will be complete. You have until then to leave. All who remain will be exposed to the curse I must lay upon you, a curse so great, that even your faith will not save you.”

  Her eyes seemed to beseech him alone, Rannulf thought as he watched her. She held him in thrall a moment longer before turning away. He stared after her a long while before he finally pulled his eyes from the wall to look at Bohemund. His friend could not bring himself to scorn the woman today and Rannulf was secretly impressed.

  “Should we tell the others?” Rannulf asked Bohemund.

  “It may be wise,” Bohemund answered slowly, confused and a little scared for the first time in his life.

  Firouz watched Yaghi-Siyan through narrowed eyes. Yaghi sat next to his precious captive, waving at the crowds like a conquering hero. Firouz silently vowed that someday Yaghi-Siyan would pay for the horrible death he'd inflicted upon Firouz’s sister. Firouz could still see her battered body in his mind, raped and tortured because she would not freely give in to Yaghi-Siyan’s lust. After the vicious attack, Damla had crawled back to the Armenia section of the city, where some neighbors had found her. They had quickly brought her home and she had lived just long enough to whisper the name of her murderer to him…Yaghi-Siyan. Damla had been fifteen.

  Firouz turned away from the cheering crowds
with a sneer. He would destroy Yaghi-Siyan, even if it cost him his own life in the process. He made his way back through the immaculate streets to the Tower of the Two Sisters. He looked up at the impressive tower he controlled, with narrowed eyes. It was time for the changing of the guards.

  “Why did I ever doubt you, my sweet?” Yaghi-Siyan held Ayla’s hand up to his lips and kissed it adoringly. Ayla was disgusted, not only by his touch but with what she must do on the morrow.

  “I must prepare the curse,” she said quietly.

  “Oh yes,” he agreed at once. “Of course, lovely bird, I will have refreshments delivered to your room but no one else will disturb you.” He swept out of the room like the phantom of death that he was.

  Ayla turned to her laboratory with a great sigh and opened the doors. Its comfort was lost on her today. She shut the doors behind her. The formulas she was about to prepare were very sensitive. She couldn't risk someone interrupting her.

  She’d need lots of the Green Lion to make Vitriol. Once she passed the initial distillation of the Green Lion, which smelled of rotten eggs, the way would be easier but far more dangerous. The final product would be a yellow oil that could dissolve human tissue easily as well corrode most metals.

  She’d also need to distill more aqua fortis, a highly corrosive, poisonous liquid that would give off choking fumes, if she were not careful to keep it contained, and she’d probably need some quicksilver just for good measure. She had a long night ahead of her.

  Chapter Seven

  Once again the Norman camp was disrupted with terrified shouts. The men ran about and pointed fearfully up at the sky. Rannulf thought seriously about staying in his tent and steadfastly ignoring whatever it was that was scaring the men but his curiosity eventually won out.