The Young Trickster
(Prank Wars)
2,887 words.
The market of Masyaf was bustling with absent minded people, shuffling aimlessly to and fro under the relentless Syrian sun. The swarm of beiges and browns and billowing cloaks stood stark against the solitary boy with the piercing blue eyes who waited patiently, just as he had been told to do earlier. His sharp hearing picked expertly at the rich tapestry of sound that blew about him as he listened out for the scratch of boots on sand.
Despite his attentive state however, he was still only a Journeyman assassin and so, when the two friends leaped from the roof and plowed into his shoulders, he had no time to prepare and dropped to the ground like a dead weight. From the floor, he could hear as they slapped palms, laughing at him as he sprawled in the dust.
He started to push himself up from the ground, ignoring the fact that they had embarrassed him again, and instead focusing on trying to stop himself from going bright red. He didn't want Altaïr to see him as a failure, but so far, everything he did to impress him was thwarted by his older brother.
He turned to face the pair, brushing the sand away from his robes forcefully. They looked at each other, then back to him, bursting into hysterics once again. Malik, catching his breath, knelt over gasping for air, "Brother! Do not pull a face like that again! A scowl does your features no good!" As if that wasn't bad enough, he felt himself redden even more as Altaïr joined in the mockery.
"He's right you know little one, you look too much like your brother when you do so! One Malik is quite enough!" He watched as his brother jabbed Altaïr in the ribs, sending him stumbling back into yet another fit of laughter.
He'd had enough. Turning away from them both, he stalked away into the crowds and towards the fortress, leaving the bundled balls of hysteria to irritate the guards by themselves.
On his way back to the fortress he'd come across Rauf, who stood absently watching as the older assassins trained with hidden blades. His eyes followed their swift movements with precision and care, noting their technique and no doubt mentally correcting it; If Rauf didn't become a trainer himself, it would come as a big surprise to everyone.
Kadar approached him swiftly, placing a hand on his shoulder lightly to announce his presence. "Rauf, have you time to speak with me a while?" He watched as the boy jolted at his words, surprised to find himself in the company of another. His dark eyes peered worryingly out over the greying material that covered the bottom half of his face, scanning his own.
-"What is the matter Kadar? You look troubled." Rauf was always one to sympathise but this time, sympathy was not what he required.
-"It is Malik and Altaïr. I need your help." With that, Kadar turned heel, heading toward the wooden ramp that lead to the looming building in the center of the fortress.
Rauf caught up quickly, and the two of them made their way quietly through the towering entrance and headed towards the assassin quarters. Because of their lower ranks, Kadar and Rauf held a different section of the grand building to Malik and Altaïr, and so the conspirators were confident that their plotting would not be discovered.
The Journeyman chambers, like those of all other assassin ranks, were decorated well. The walls were covered with hanging tapestries of deep red and gold, and green vines gracefully laced the sandstone brickwork. The floors were not left bare either; mountains of patterned cushions lay scattered around the room where exhausted assassins sprawled, resting between missions. In the center, a stone fountain filled with clear drinking water rippled gently, sending peaceful echoes through the room and lending an air of calm to the otherwise imposing fortress.
The two boys made their way to an unoccupied cascade of colourful cushions that leant against one of the walls. They collapsed into the heap, being careful to mind their volume so as not to disturb the men who slept around them. Rauf stayed quiet, waiting for his cue, and so Kadar was forced to break the silence and speak first.
-"I am certain that you have an idea as to why I need your help Rauf." The boy in front of him made no sound, merely nodding to show that he understood. The two had spoken previously about Malik and Altaïr's obsession with humiliating him in public, and that no matter how hard or often he tried, he was never able to compete against their higher ranks. Even with the sub-conscious warnings sent to him on the days he was granted an unusually distant brother, he was still unable to defend himself well enough.
Now he was sure it would be different. He would strike first rather than wait to be ambushed and with Rauf's help, his brother and his hero would recognise him as the great assassin he was surely destined to be.
With that, he mustered up as much authority as he could gather and spoke once more.
"I ask of you a great favour Rauf. I have informed you before of the position at which my brother and his friend see me, and I implore you to help me seek revenge. I've fallen prey to them too many times and now I merely wish for them to see that I am not the young novice they believe me to be. I am an Al-Sayf!"
Perhaps he had said the last phrase slightly too loud, as the pile of pillows next to them growled quietly and a hand emerged, violently clawing the air and warding them away. The boys took the warning and resorted to quiet whispers, cautiously eyeing the cushions to ensure that no further disturbance occurred.
With caution, Rauf responded, "I will help you Kadar, provided we do not hurt them. It is not my intention to cause harm to another assassin, especially one innocent of any crime."
-"I do not intend to break the creed Rauf, merely show them they should not cross me. I want to trick them and humiliate them and have them know how I feel. Perhaps then they would treat me as an equal."
He dropped his gaze, reflecting on the plan that sat, fully formed in his mind.
Rauf looked on still, clearly in deep thought. After some time, however, he broke the silence. "I will assist you Kadar. Tell me, what is it you plan to do?"
He smiled back at the boy in mask. Sometimes, he thought, he didn't know what he would do without a friend like Rauf.
The sun shone bright over the fortress of Masyaf. Four days had passed since the incident at the market and in that time, the two boys had gathered all the necessary materials they would need to carry out the plan. Using the dark of night as a shield from peering eyes, they had both begun and completed the framework that would make it possible to snare their victims in the most carefully constructed trap the city had ever seen.
The plan itself was simple. He would lure Malik and Altaïr to the top of the tallest guard tower of the fortress and challenge them to a Leap of Faith race. The last one to hit the hay would be forced to ride to Acre and back, alone, at the dead of night and return; all without Master Al Mualim realising they had gone.
He would take the platform closest to the gate that stood alone over the overhanging cliffs. That would force his brother and Altaïr to take the two on the left which sat directly next to each other. Knowing that it was against assassin practice to look down before performing a leap of faith, as soon as they jumped over the edge, it would be too late. They would never know what hit them...
Kadar found Malik and Altaïr in the gardens of the fortress. They sat together under the shade of one of the many beautiful trees that lined the pathways behind the main castle. His brother was, unsurprisingly, reading again and Altaïr sat staring into the distance, his face etched with boredom. Kadar breathed a sigh of relief. If Altaïr really was as bored as he looked, he might garner some unexpected help persuading Malik to join in the race.
-"Malik!" He called out in a voice so sickly sweet it almost made him retch. His brother looked up, all sign of sarcasm melted away by his own underhanded methods of control. Sometimes, his brother's overprotective personality really did work to his advantage.
-"Malik, I wanted to know if you and Altaïr would join me in a race? It's just, I have grown tired waiting for something interesting to happen around here."
Altaïr perked up quickly, snapping his eyes on Kadar's. His face lit up with delight at the prospect of actually having something to do today rather than sit watching Malik read again.
-"What kind of race?" His voice dripped with inquisition; he was eating up his words. Kadar laughed, focusing intently on his target like any good assassin should.
-"A leap of faith, from the tallest guard tower. The last one down must ride to Acre alone tonight."
Malik snapped his book shut.
-"To Acre?" They repeated simultaneously, Altaïr's words filled with the lust of competition, Malik's with distaste.
He nodded.
"You can't go to Acre by yourself!" his brother exclaimed incredulously, "Al Mualim would never allow-"
"Why not? I'm not a child anymore Malik, and what Master Al Mualim does not know, will not harm him. Besides, what deal is complete without risk brother?" He flicked his eyes to meet Altaïr's who gazed back at him with a hunger for danger that, had he not known and respected the man as well as he did, would have frightened the life out of him.
- "It is not happening Kadar. I will not have this," Malik spat. At his words, Altaïr turned, his eyes pleading, like a pack horse begging for barley. In all his life, never had he seen Malik deny what Altaïr wanted. Thanks to their friendship, the deal was sealed and the plan was in motion.
Kadar laughed inwardly, turning to walk away.
-"I will meet you in the tower in one hour. See you then my brother."
Kadar sat in the room atop the guard tower, waiting for his brother and Altaïr to show. He had no qualms that they would meet him, Malik never could resist Altaïr's trademark puppy dog eyes, as much as it sickened him to admit it.
Everything was laid out perfectly; all he needed now was the race to begin, and his place as a respected assassin trainee would be secured amongst the recruits of Masyaf.
It wasn't long before he heard the two clambering up the ladders to the top of the tower. He smirked; they seriously underestimated his ability to control them. He stood to greet them, innocently putting himself between them and the rightmost ledge, ensuring he would be the one to jump from there.
He went over the rules again, smirking once more as Malik scowled at the proposed forfeit. When he had finished speaking, they each moved to stand on their respective platforms and looked straight out to the mountains that loomed about them. Kadar laughed silently at the serious expressions the two men wore; they had no suspicions about what awaited them mere meters below...
He counted down from three, each number sending a ripple of excitement through his already electrified skin. Taking a breath, he launched himself from the platform as he had done numerous time before, falling through the air with the grace of an eagle. Twisting his body as he soared through the sky, he braced himself, landing unharmed in the hay that sat piled on the floor beneath the tower. His heart raced faster than it had ever done before and he picked himself off of the floor and looked up to admire his handy work.
Halfway up the side of the tower, both Malik and Altaïr lay dazed in the tangle of net into which they had fallen. A ring of novices stood above them, throwing balls of tightly wrapped grass down into the net accompanied by a chorus of laughter.
Rauf, who had stayed down below the tower to meet him after the fall, approached him, smiling slightly. "You did it Kadar! Have you yet seen their faces? What I would not pay for someone to paint this scene!" It was true, he noted: both Malik and Altaïr sported expressions of complete humiliation and confusion. They would be mad not to think twice about messing with Kadar Al-Sayf from now on!
He looked back to Rauf whose own face had suddenly changed. The boy spoke once again, steady this time, his face much graver than before. "Kadar, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but I hear Master Al Mualim has sent for you."
At those words his stomach did a flip. "Why didn't you tell me before now Rauf! What is it about?"
The boy looked away sheepishly, avoiding eye-contact. "It was insisted that I stay silent until the plan was carried through... All I know is that the Master had an older assassin check the nets earlier today and he told me you were to go straight to see him as soon as they jumped."
Kadar didn't have time to waste. Turning his heel, he raced away, heading back toward the main fortress and, regrettably, toward the office of the Grand Master of the Order: Al Mualim.
He was sure that he knew what was about to happen. Al Mualim was going to explode with an anger that even the Assassins of Masyaf had grown to fear. His bellowing voice would shake the very brickwork of the ancient buildings and send tremors down into the deep chasm that ran through the city. Worst of all however, was that it would be his name he would scream and he knew without a doubt that Malik and Altaïr would have no trouble picking out the shouts of anger emanating from inside the fortress. He would never live it down.
He stood still, head bowed, waiting for the Master to speak. As he heard the old man take in a breath, he felt every muscle in his body involuntarily tense, anticipating the coming onslaught. When the words came however, they were streaked with what could only be described as amusement. "Do not look so vulnerable young Al-Sayf. Were the Templars to confront you, would you act in such a way to them?"
Confused and disoriented, Kadar continued blindly, stumbling over his words in an effort to appease the man who stood before him. "I – I do not... No master. I would not."
- "Then I expect no less of you now, young Al-Sayf." Taking the Master's words into account, Kadar attempted to regain control of himself, adjusting his posture in a way which he hoped made him seem more confident.
- "Better. From your nerves it would be wise to assume that you are aware as to why I have called you here. It would seem that your wit and creativity have allowed you to succumb not one, but two men who are far more skilled and experienced than yourself. It seems I may have misjudged you, young Al-Sayf. You are definitely cut from the same cloth as both your father and brother."
He could barely believe what he was hearing. After everything that had happened – the decency laws he must have broken to snare the two of them in a net – he was receiving praise? He tried to ignore this, focusing instead on the flurry of words that escaped Al Mualim's lips.
"I have decided, that it may be time for you to prove your worth. In three days time, both your brother and Altaïr Ibn La'Ahad have been scheduled to make a visit to the tunnels of Solomon's Temple in order to retrieve an artifact from one Robert De Sable. After today, I have faith enough that you should be able to keep up with the two of them. Now, be on your way, young Al-Sayf, I have much work to do."
He nearly fell over. Al Mualim was asking him, him, Kadar Al-Sayf, to set out on an important mission for the Brotherhood! His heart skipped a beat as he tried to allow his mind to register what had just happened. If this plan went off without a hitch, which, when accompanied by two assassin's as skilled as Altaïr and Malik it was sure to do, he would be promoted to the same rank as his brother!
He excused himself from the office, staggering half drunk down the stairs, passing scholars and guards who watched him through puzzled eyes. For once, however, he did not care. In just three days time his dream would come true: He would be an Assassin.