Read James Acton 04 - The Templar's Relic for Free Online

been relatively short only because his wealthy cousin had agreed to let him accompany his contingent. Well-funded, they had little problem securing passage when necessary, fresh horses, supplies. And when they had arrived, he had found his father quite quickly, his name, Sir Guy of Ridefort, apparently well-known and respected.
    It was a triumphant reunion. His father had a banquet in his honor, attended by King Richard himself. John had shaken the butcher’s hand. And after, in the few brief months they were reunited, father and son, he had continued his instruction in becoming a knight, training his cousin had begun on his two year journey. He had become quite adept at the use of the sword, at how to move freely in the heavy equipment they wore into battle, and in hand-to-hand combat as well.
    Though only sixteen, he knew how to handle himself, and sufficiently impressed, he was due to be accepted into the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and of the Temple of Solomon, or, as the common man knew them, the Knights Templar.
    But that was before his dad was killed, and John was captured.
    It had been cowardly, ambushed in their sleep by the very Bedouin slavers Malik had freed him from. They were both asleep, under the stars, when their attackers slit the throats of the guard supposed to watch over them, most likely themselves asleep at their posts. And he had been taken prisoner, the only survivor.
    Until Malik.
    John gasped, recognizing the face of one of the little boys who had been his companion for weeks, amongst the throngs of dead. He bent down, moving arms and legs, revealing the face.
    It was him.
    Tears flowed down John’s cheeks, and he followed the tiny arm, its hand grasping a larger one, and John knew who it was. He pushed the headless body of an old man aside, revealing his friend, still holding the hand of the first boy, his other arm around the other two.
    John collapsed on top of Malik, sobbing. For it was his fault. If he hadn’t of called out to the knights, if they had just found a village instead, they might all be alive. But instead he had trusted in his fellow Christians, and this was the result.
    The pounding of horse’s hooves broke the eerie silence, the sound of the rider jumping off causing John to turn. It was his father’s Sergeant, Raymond.
    “Sir John, thank the good Lord you are alright!” he exclaimed, running over to him. “When we found your father’s encampment, and you were gone, we feared the worst.”
    John didn’t say anything. Sir John? He placed a palm on Malik’s chest, and felt something hard underneath.
    “Sir, we must leave at once. Saladin’s army is coming, and there will be no quarter for those he finds, not after this.”
    John moved aside Malik’s robe, and found a long tube, a strap holding it around his friend’s neck. He gently removed it from his friend’s body. He touched Malik’s forehead. “I will take care of this for you now.”
    “Sir, we must hurry!”
    John stood and took one last look at his friend and their three tiny companions. He wiped the back of his hand across his soiled face, clearing it of the tears burning streaks of sorrow down his cheeks. He turned to his father’s most trusted companion.
    “Why do you call me ‘Sir John’?”
    Raymond placed a hand on John’s shoulder. “For you are the eldest, and with your father’s death, you inherit his wealth, his title, and, should you accept it, my loyalty.”
    John nodded, suddenly feeling a heavy weight fall on his shoulders, as the realization of his new position, his new responsibilities, sank in.
    He gripped Malik’s tube, then slung it over his shoulder. Raymond called for another man to bring a horse, and John, Sir John, mounted the beast, it already skittish from the pounding of thousands of hooves as Saladin’s army closed in, hell bent on revenge.
    Sir John dug his heels into the sides of the mighty beast, urging it forward, as the remaining Christian soldiers beat a hasty