Knights of the Blood Read Online Free PDF Page A

for de Beq, pulling itself closer by impaling itself still farther.
    Half mesmerized by the thing’s determination, de Beq glanced at Salim in disbelief, then turned toward the sharif, slowly lowering his sword until it was horizontal with the ground. As the thing stretched toward de Beq again, making a mewling sound in its throat and clenching at the air before de Beq with a small, bloody fist, the sharif sprang forward and, with a mighty swipe of his scimitar, cut off the creature’s head.
    The head lay blinking in the sand at de Beq’s feet, its mouth moving once or twice as though silently mouthing a final curse of defiance. On the blade of his sword, the body convulsed once more, then went limp. Only at the sharif’s cautious nod did de Beq let his sword arm lower, letting its weight pull the sword down and allowing the impaled body to slide at last from the weapon and onto the sun—parched ground. For a moment de Beq stood frozen to the spot, simply staring at it. Then, almost mechanically, his right arm rose and fell. It took him three cuts to hack the body of the child in two.
    “Holy Mother of God.” De Beq’s heart was pounding beneath his mail as he straightened and crossed himself in awe, with his sword still in his fist. “What kind of child was that?”
    “That was no child as you or I know them.” Salim was wiping the damascened blade of his scimitar with a green silk scarf. “It was a demon. Hassad created it and left it here to starve.”
    Stooping to rub sand on his sword blade, de Beq glanced up at the sharif in bewilderment.
    “I don’t understand. What do you mean, he created it? It doesn’t look like a demon to me. It looks like a child.” He rolled the bottom half of the torso over with his boot. “A girl, not more than three years old.”
    “Yes, a girl child, but one Hassad decided to dedicate to the evil of blood.” The sharif slowly returned his delicately curved sword to its scabbard.
    “Hassad and his men live on the blood of the living, be it the blood of their horses or the blood of men. They are afreat, accursed of the Prophet. Their very existence is a blasphemy, and Allah wills that they should wander the earth forever driven by a desire for blood–the blood they need to purify themselves.”
    De Beq crouched quietly looking at the sharif. It was true that there were demons and devils. He had discussed this many times with Father Andre, the confessor. They had agreed that demons and imps were almost human, but somehow he had expected scales, and fins, and horns ... not a grime—encrusted three—year—old girl.
    “I accept that what you say is probably true–“ de Beq cocked his head to one side “–but my books teach me that demons are the work of the Devil.”
    “Ah! Yes, it is so. Shaitan controls Hassad, but it is Hassad who poisons his followers with a desire for blood.” The sharif squatted in a meager pool of shade. “That is what he did to this unfortunate child.”
    De Beq was staring at the little girl’s severed head. “But why? Why do this?”
    “For sport, perhaps. Perhaps because he is evil and delights in torture and pain. For his amusement, he made the child like himself and his men. He set the hunger, but then he left her with no blood to drink. In a few more days, she would have left this place seeking blood and would have been slowly roasted alive under the desert sun.”
    De Beq stood up and slowly sheathed his sword.
    “Salim, my friend, we must find this Hassad. We must find him and kill him.”
    “Alas, that is not for me to do, el Beq,” the sharif had replied. “You must find him. My men will have no stomach for fighting Hassad and his men after today. There is magic here, evil magic, and my men fear that far more than death in battle. I will send word, if I learn of his whereabouts, but you must kill Ibn—al— Hassad ... .”
    Nearly a month had passed after the slaughter at the oasis, and during that time de Beq and his men had