Altair: The Eagle updated

Jerusalem 1194 A.D.

The alarm bells tolled through the city as a tall man in white fled from the scene of the crime. His mission was done, Majd Addin was dead and now the Assassin was on his way to the Bureau, but first he had to hide from the guards, running as fast as his long legs would carry him. He looked to the roofs, but found it to be of no use, there were archers everywhere. Knowing that if he tried climbing the guards would cut his legs, or the archers would take him out as he made his way up to the rooftops. With a shake of his head he cast out the thought. No, keep moving, he told himself as he tackled people who were to slow to move from his way, sprinting at full speed; leaping over carts with ease. Seeing an empty alleyway he quickly made a sharp turn to the left when he saw a flash of sterling silver from the corner of his eye. The Assassin reacted on instinct; he ducked and drew his short blade with almost inhuman speed, slashing the unsuspecting guard's throat. Bright crimson sprayed into the air and on the walls as the man fell limply to the ground with a look of horror on his cold dead face. When Altair stood to his full height to put the blade away when he felt a sharp pain on his left side. Wincing he placed his hand over his side, it felt warm and sticky. Knitting his brows together he brought his hand up and saw that it was stained red. Blood. His blood. The wound was too big and deep for his hand to cover. He swore under his breath as he heard angry shouts from the guards. Slowly he peaked around the corner, seeing them come his way he quickly climbed the nearest ladder, despite the pain in his left side, and then hid in a bale of hay on the rooftop. He heard voices from the alleyway and listened closely. "Where is he!" One of the guards shouted.

"I saw him run in here, sir," said another.

"Where could he have gone?"

"Maybe ran to another part of town?" And with that in mind they left empty handed. But they will be on the look out for that bastard. He cannot hide forever.

Once Altair heard the guards leave he slowly and painfully came out from hiding. Blood trickled down his side and leg. It was getting harder for him to breath. Sweat ran down his body, causing his wound to sting. A cool breeze caused him to shiver so bad that it made his teeth rattle, even though it was only autumn. The streets were getting dark now, as twilight set in. Altair knew he had to get to the Bureau before he collapsed from blood lose. He took to the lowest rooftops, using the moonlight to lead his way until the Bureau came into view. The Assassin felt relied to see his destination in sight, looking for any archers patrolling the rooftops. Seeing none he climbed the interior of the Bureau, where a fountain was just beneath his feet. Above it was the Assassin insignia carved into the wall. When he reached the bottom the pain at his side was now dull, as he made his way to the threshold. His body burned and shook with fever. Leaning against the doorframe to support himself as a wave of dizziness came over him. He sensed a presence from with in the dark room; it was a familiar presence and was glad that it was there.

"Altair?" came a soft voice to his left. When he turned he saw a figure….then…..darkness…

Malik was getting ready for bed; he grew tired of waiting for Altair to come back from his mission, but he could not sleep. He paced the room listening for any sings of the Assassin. Malik recalled waiting until the bells faded to a dead stillness. As much as he hated to admit, he had grown concerned when the Assassin had not shown up. Feeling tired he laid on the bed and closed his eyes; then they flew open when he felt a presence from the entrance of the Bureau. He listened closely, the sound of shuffling footsteps drifted to his ears. Moving on silent feet, he made his way to the entrance, dagger in hand. He peaked from behind the entrance of his room that was lit by the soft light of the moon, as he scanned he caught a shadow stagger, slowly coming into view. Malik's muscles were tense, ready for a fight. He moved closer, he feet never made a sound on the wood floor, as he inched his way to the figure. But then stopped in his tracks as the familiar form in white took shape in front of him.

"Altair?" Malik whispered. Altair turned to him; his golden hazel eyes were glazed over. As Malik walked to Altair, he collapsed. Some how Malik caught him before he hit the floor. Malik's heart sank after taking one look at the Assassin. His skin was pale, his breathing was shallow and labored, blood dripped from his side; his robes were tattered and dirty. "Altair..." Malik said as he padded the Assassin's face. He let out a pained groan as his eyes fluttered open. "Let me help you stand Brother." The Assassin did not answer and started to get up, Malik helping support him. They walked, staggered, slowly to the backroom. Carefully Malik laid Altair down on the bed in the corner of the dimly candle lit room. He took a better look at him and realized that he looked worse than before. His skin was still pale, but now a little flushed; his body shook with fever. Beads of sweat rolled down his face and his breathing had become shallower. Malik went to check his temperature, finding it to be very high. How this man was able to last this long he did not know. Walking across the room he grabbed clean bandages and other medical supplies: setting them down to a table next to the wounded Assassin. Malik began to undo Altair's blood soaked robes to revile a deep ugly gash on his left side. Blood still flowed freely form the wound. Malik did what he could to stop the bleeding. He had already sent for a Healer, now it was up to Malik to see if the Assassin made it through the night, until the Healer arrived.