They tried to shake him off galloping through a narrow valley at high speed, chasing their horses recklessly through the rock-strewn plane behind it. They probably thought he would not be able to keep up on his pony - they were mocking her short legs and stocky build every time they set off for an assignment - but Kadar had ridden Asifa ever since he had joined the Brotherhood and now they formed a tight unit. He trusted Asifa to find the best way through the terrain and she could trust Kadar not to lead her into a situation she couldn't handle. So when Altaïr and Malik had stormed off, leaving him blind and coughing in a dust cloud, he knew he could take them on. He pressed his heels into the soft flanks of his pony and they flew off together, following the sound of clattering hooves and tumbling rocks.
When he finally caught up with his brothers he was covered in sand and sweat but at least he had made it! Both Malik and Altaïr looked unaffected by their race, trotting easily on their thoroughbreds like they had never tried to shake him off in the first place. Kadar was out of breath but happy. If he could keep up with them now, how much better would it be once he got a real horse; when he got his first real sword?
"Maybe you're not so useless after all," Malik ruffled his hair like he often did when he was proud of Kadar. "You might even become an assassin one day, who knows?"
Kadar didn't know if he should feel flattered by the compliment or offended by the overt mockery so his face grimaced between something like a smile and a pout. Altaïr snickered in the background and guided his horse towards him.
"Listen Kadar, we've got a little task for you. Are you up for it?"
A task? What kind of task? Why him alone? They were just on their way back from a task, weren't they? They had exchanged important messages with a contact from outside Masyaf, disguised by haggling over a basket of lentils and a moth-ridden carpet. To a passer-by it looked like the usual bargaining between merchants but the curses and placations flying back and forth were in truth coded formulas the Brotherhood used to inform other cities of their status and any potential dangers. But that was only an addition to the parchments sewn into the fabric of the carpet and hidden in a double bottom of the basket - those contained the real pivotal information: names, numbers, maps. So what kind of task could Altaïr have for him now? Weren't they supposed to return to the fortress immediately? Well, he would know soon enough.
"I'm up for it! Of course. What is it?" He probably sounded a little too eager but he couldn't manage to rein in his emotions like his older brother just yet.
"Your brother and I have to deliver another very special, very secret message for an informant only older novices get introduced to. I've got it right here on my person, that's how secret it is." Altaïr patted his chest, looking Kadar straight in the eyes even though on his scarred lips there seemed to be the ghost of a smirk.
"What do you need me for if it's only the two of you who deliver the message?" Kadar crossed his arms, he was disappointed.
"Ha! Clever like your brother aren't you?" Altair shot a grin to Malik, who was leaning back on his horse, following the conversation with an ever so slightly raised eyebrow.
"You my friend, will watch our horses and the carpet as long as we're gone. We must avoid being conspicuous at all costs. We'll walk on foot to our meeting point - a group of three men on horseback will immediately catch everyone's attention. I mean, have you seen the dust cloud your pony left behind...?" Altair grinned wickedly and pointed over his shoulder.
"That wasn't...that wasn't Asifa! You two..."
"Whatever," Altair waved his hand dismissively, still grinning. "You think you can handle guarding the parchments and our horses while we are away?"
"Pfffff, every child could do that," Kadar spat.
"Good. Good."
Still this overbearing grin on Altair's face... Sometimes Kadar wondered if he really should admire him as much as he did.
"Then I assume you don't want to have this here if it's all so very easy?"
The metal blinked white in the midday sun when Altaïr drew the short blade from its sheath on his back. Green specks of light danced in Kadar's vision from where the glare of the reflecting sun hit his eyes, yet he couldn't take his eyes off it. Altaïr's sword - was he really giving it to him, entrusting him his weapon? Still hypnotized by the silvery blade he asked:
"But... if it's such an important mission, don't you need it yourself?"
"Oh, I got your good brother for that," Kadar heard Malik snort behind him. "Who else but the king of swords himself would be fit to protect me against malevolent scum? If that is even necessary. I still got these!" Altaïr flexed both of his arms in alteration and Kadar saw Malik turning away to hide a fierce grin and cover his laugh by a coughing fit. Altaïr didn't notice, admiring the way the grey fabric stretched over his biceps.
"Be that as it may," he said dreamily, "your brother would kill me if anything happened to you so, here, take it. That's an order."
Kadar took the leather handle very carefully and made a few testing cuts in the air.
"Careful with that you!" Altaïr glared at him, "Don't use it for anything but defending yourself. If I find that you've played around with it and there is just a single scratch, so help me, you will never hear the end of it."
"Oh sure, because you never clean your teeth with it or peel oranges just to show it off..." Malik had been sarcastic all his life but somehow Altaïr always managed to draw the most acidic comments from his brother. Altaïr frowned and bit his cheeks.
"It is my sword and my rules. Are you coming now or what," he grumbled.
Malik swung off his horse and sauntered to Altaïr's side.
"At your service, madam."
"Oh shut up you rotten crow or we'll blow this whole thing off."
"Careful how you talk to me bigmouth, you seem to forget that you just handed in your sword. If I were you, I'd think twice about my words now. But, oh, I forgot... you still got... these". Malik pinched Altaïr's arms with a pitying look.
"You'll pay for that," Altaïr hissed, swatting at Maliks hands.
"Oh will I now? Let's discuss this on our way, shall we? Our contact is probably waiting for your lazy ass already."
The two got moving eventually, marching through the tall grass that was still green from one of the rare rain showers the last days had brought.
"Behave yourself and don't embarrass the family, Kadar," Malik shouted over his shoulder, "I trust you on this!"
Why did they always feel the need to remind him of the simplest things? Don't embarrass the family... as if he'd ever. He watched the two figures climb a hill and disappear behind it. They were probably still arguing. Why were they even together so often when they were clearly such opposite characters? He tied the horses to a tree, leaving their reins long enough so they could eat fresh herbs and grass. Then the sword. He examined it, tracing his fingers over the fine ironwork on the hilt and the verse that was engraved at the top of the blade. He danced around, sword in hand, repeating the attack moves they practiced in the courtyard, if only with wooden swords. Jump forward, jump forward, strike! Half a turn sideways, slash! This was so much more fun! Heroically, he mowed down a row of white flowers and let himself drop into the soft grass with them. The sun tickled on his skin, drying up the last beads of sweat, leaving behind nothing but a thin layer of salt and dust. He lay there, happy, dreaming of the time when he would go on his own secret missions - together with Malik and Altaïr - finally their equal. He dozed in the grass, what else was he to do. Yet, he took great care not to fall asleep and listened for any strange noises around him but for a long time there were only birds and occasional snorts from the horses.
He heard them a long time before they arrived - their bickering and snapping at each other carried far on this almost treeless plane. Kadar got up and stretched, hastily brushing flowers and blades of grass from his chest. The sword... Where was it? Ah, there - still in the grass where he'd left it. He picked it up and polished away the sap stains with a wing of his garb. He waited with crossed arms, watching his fellow assassins making their way down the hill. The longer he looked at them, the more he was convinced that they looked more dishevelled than before - messy hair and grass stains all over their robes. What a shame he had to stay behind and miss all the action! He ran towards them all excited, totally forgetting how he wanted to stand his ground, waiting for them to come to him.
"What happened? What happened? Did someone catch you? Did you have to fight? Are you hurt," he spluttered, tugging at Malik's sleeve. Dammit, he let the fabric go, he didn't want to do this anymore; he wasn't a child. Malik and Altair exchanged glares for a split second before his brother answered.
"We, umm, … had to sneak for the most part of the way back," his hand reached up automatically under his hood, touching a spot on his neck that was hidden in the shadow. "We had, a little incident with some tramp who thought he could get our nice boots, but I've taken care of him," Malik clipped his sword holster on the right way round and tugged the tangled fabric in place under his belt.
"Now my sword," Altaïr reached out an impatient hand to Kadar and he placed the blade back in his fingers. Altaïr looked it up and down with critical eyes but seemed to find no trace of ill-usage. With a relieved sigh he placed it back where it belonged and they mounted their horses. Kadar urged Asifa forward in the direction of Masyaf. This time he would show them.
"The last one through the gate is a dirty Templar!" he shouted, wheeled around and flew past Malik and Altaïr in full gallop.
They wouldn't catch him. Not this time.