The sun was setting upon the dunes, and the sand was flying in whirlwind as Ysadora Dauun’s tan horse speedily raced ahead three more riders. The sound of hooves carried through the wind, and she shifted on her saddle, preparing herself for the upcoming fight. Despite her attempts to give her followers the slip, and getting rid of the scouting riders, they were relentlessly behind her since she left the main road. However, Jerusalem was closing in; it was now or never. She would not alert the city when she could more than handle them herself. She relaxed her body, giving no care to the scorching heat or the dust, her determined turquoise eyes matching her will as the sound of hooves came within weapon range. Sure enough, she heard the riders unsheath their sabers, orders being yelled, and the horses move in formation. Now!

Ysadora slid off her saddle, holding on to it and the reigns with her right hand and feet; the armoured mantle her horse wore shielded them both for the upcoming fight. She unsheathed with her free hand her sword, and smiled gleefully at her closest opponent. With a flick of her wrist, the sword suddenly segmented into a long chain of diamond-shaped blades, and she gave it an expert whip. The bulk of the chain slid across her opponent's horse, while the tip whipped the rider. Both startled and slowed to a stop. Two more to go. Her chain whipped back around her bare arm, and she leapt back on her saddle. Another rider closed in on her left and swung his saber. She ducked and simply snapped her chain out. A yelp and the rider's horse rearing brought her a satisfied smile. She pulled hard her own horse to a stop, and swung her chain in a circular motion, hitting the last rider as he raced past her. He halted as well, and looking back, noticed her coolly staring back as she retracted her chain to a single blade. He nonchalantly gazed at the scratch on his arm, and snorted. He encouraged his horse forward, and called back to his companions as he closed in the gap between him and her. Ysadora smiled coldly and sheathed her sword, which made her opponent halt. That and the fact the other two riders she similarly scratched did not reply to his calls, nor did any sounds come from the remaining horses. He looked at her with fierce hate and resumed his approach as he raised his saber. And fell down from his saddle like a heavy rock, startling his horse who wisely chose to run away from the battle, leaving its master to the sand.

Ysadora smirked at the sight, and resumed her race toward the entranceway of Jerusalem, leaving to the sand her three opponents. She looked at the small scratches her weapon made to her left arm during the fight. She knew she was immune to the blade's poison, but one could never be too sure. A scratch the size of a needle tip was all that was needed to guarantee a meeting with the Grim Reaper.

As she arrived to Jerusalem's entrance and noticed the military camps, a hornrang the alarm and soldiers sprang from the tents, their swords and crossbows at ready. Ysadora smiled with relief, seeing their Crusader robes, and most of all, the flag of Godefroi de Bouillon upon the officer tent standing in the shadow of the glowing gold Dome of the Rock. She stopped at a good distance, and making sure to make no aggressive movements, she jumped off her horse, landing elegantly on the ground. She smirked in amusement as most of the soldiers gaped at her, while the more rigorous Catholic ones quickly looked away and crossed their hearts, muttering prayers of forgiveness.

“Stand down, men, she is one of us,” a male voice rang from behind the ranks. As the soldiers stood aside, a tall and solidly built man walked to greet her, smiling broadly as he sheathed his long sword. “Lady Ysadora Dauun, welcome back to Jerusalem!”

“Good evening, Lord de Bouillon” Ysadora said in greetings, her four-inches metal heels digging deep into the sand as she walked toward the Duke. "Glad to be back."

“What urgent news takes you away from the battlefield?” Godefroi de Bouillon inquired, leading her to his tent.

“Sad news, unfortunately, my lord. His Holiness passed away.”

Godefroi blinked in surprise and shock.

“Pope Urban? Dead? When?”

“Nine days ago, my lord.”

She pretended to admire the Dome above them as Godefroiblinked to keep his eyes dry. Though she did not felt his reaction, it was understandable for the leader of the Crusaders. Pope Urban was after all the reason why Jerusalem was back into his and his fellowmen's Christian hands.

As they entered the tent, Godefroi walked toward the center table, Ysadora following in a respectful distance behind him. He retrieved a cup and filled it with water from a nearby carafe.

“I... I imagine you are rather thirsty after the ride,” he said, offering the cup to her.

“Yes, thank you, my lord,” Ysadora said gratefully, taking the cup and drinking it all in one long gulp. She grimaced slightly at the mud-like taste and texture, refraining any further comment.

Godefroi sorted through his shock as she finished drinking, then asked:

“How could you learn of it? It takes fourteen days to reach Rome, and Rome to reach us.”

“The papal messengers are under way, but since there are still many Turks left on the roads, it will take them longer to arrive. I was in Rome when they announced his death, and I left as soon as I could. Using shortcuts, I was able to warn all kingdoms; they are on their way right now.”

“Rome? Were you not supposed to be with my brother in Edessa?” Godefroi asked in surprise.

“Yes, at first. But I was sent to relay to His Holiness the news of your brother’s crowning as Edessa’s first King,” she explained.

Godefroi sat heavily on his bench, and gazed with a gloomy look at his surroundings; Ysadora sat beside him, thinking that he might want a closer company.

“He will never learned of the capture of the Holy Land. My messengers will be too late.”

“I am sure he knows,” said Ysadora, holding gently his hand in recomfortation. “He can still see what happens.”

“I know,” he sighed, although she could see that the idea didn’t brought him much consolation. After a moment, he grumbled: "It was Urban’s most personal mission to see Jerusalem restored into Christian hands. Now, he died before knowing of our victory. And adding to that, far too early; he was only fifty-seven years old."

“‘To become Pope is the fastest road to Heaven.’ You know this saying, my lord,” Ysadora told him with a slight smile. Godefroi smiled weakly in return.

Ysadora looked around and caught the soldiers whispering together, casting nervous glances at her. She innocently smiled back, and they hurried to look away, a reaction she was used to. After all, she was a strange knight in this world. Let alone she was a lady when only men were allowed to fight, but her long platinum blond hair was clearly visible, tightly braided in a bun, revealing her elegantly chiseled face. In stark contrast to the Crusaders' robes, she wore a sleeveless blue marine top, protected by a silver plate that covered all of her neck; her midriff was protected by another silver plate, reaching to her hips, from which hanged her sword. Blue marine tight pants and knee-high silver stilettos with four inches heels completed her radically out of time appearance. What was more, a glimmering shimmer seemed to surround her to those who observed her, as if she was a mirage.

None were used to her presence within their army, especially not as unashamedly lightly clothed as her. But she had made her proof while fighting with even more determination and skills than the crusaders. Godefroi had often asked her where she could have possibly learned such great skills; but she would merely smile, her turquoise eyes gleaming with a mysterious fire, and she would answer simply:

“Warfare is much more complex in the centuries to come, my lord.”