A/N:
Would you believe me if I said that a part 2 of this is in the works? Well it is. It's slow though, so don't get too excited.
Pssst! Comments are more encouraging than favorites and follows ;)
Cover TBA.
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Out of Breath
The clanging of the city bells could be heard far and wide, guards dressed in helmets and body armor was running through the streets with swords in their hands, and inhabitants were shouting in pure panic and confusion. The city major had been found with his throat slit in his quarters only minutes ago, and the guards were hellbent on finding the perpetrator. Merchants were cowarding in their stands and scholars were praying on their bare knees. Chaos was spreading rapidly through all of Jerusalem.
Barely a few blocks from the major's quarters, in a rooftop garden, a man dressed in white robes were cowarding, constantly looking over his shoulder. His forehead was drenched in sweat, breathing was heavy and he was pressing a hand against his side. Splotches of red patterned his otherwise white clothing, witnessing that he'd drawn blood from multiple persons, both recently and previously. Golden eyes peered through a crack between the thick wooden pole and the carpet hiding him. A guard with drawn sword marched past, and he pressed his back against the low wooden wall. Holding his breath, he listened for footsteps, but the clanging from the bells and the shouting from the people made it impossible to make out anything.
He allowed himself three deep breaths before he pushed himself from the ground and threw himself out of the garden, onto the roof. It came to a sudden stop, and the man leaped to the next rooftop, grimacing at the pain in his side. Voices behind him told him there was no time to stop and breathe though. Throwing a quick look over his shoulder, he counted four guards running toward him over the roofs. 'Amateurs' he thought and sprinted forward. Jumping from building to building, he made his way toward the center of Jerusalem. The sudden pain in his right shoulder made him stumble, but he managed to keep on his feet. Goddamn guards were everywhere. Damn them and their long-ranged bows.
-xXx-
The overgrown wooden roof of the Bureau soon came into view, but as expected, the hatch was closed. How did the Rafiq even know that the guards were nearby anyway? Looking over his shoulder, he counted ten guards after him now. Multiplicating bastards... Swallowing a groan of annoyance, the robed man leaped into the air when he reached the end of the rooftop. A cart of hay was conveniently placed below, and he landed with back first in the semi-soft material. He quickly covered himself and saw the guards dumbfoundedly look around the area from where they stood at the edge of the rooftop. If only he could sneak up behind them and push them off. He couldn't understand how it wasn't a crime to be annoying.
The armored men were soon out of his sight, and he let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He sat up with a silent groan. Every part of his body was aching. Just an hour of sleep would be bliss right now. But he had to get to the Bureau first. And get through the talk with the Bureau's Rafiq. Curse Al Mualim and his ideas. To have to ask for permission before eliminating his target. Seek confirmation that his task was completed afterwards. Rules were rules though, and he obviously would have to follow them in order to get his rank back.
-xXx-
The drop into the Bureau was not exactly flawless. The pain that scorched through his body when he touched ground made his senses go numb, and he almost blacked out on the spot. He leaned back against the wall, and when his senses cleared again, he felt sweat covering his forehead and arms. What pain can do to a man... Pushing that out of his head, he pushed away from the wall and walked with a slight limp into the inner chamber where the Rafiq were seated. The man didn't even look up when he entered. 'Peasant' he thought and held out a feather stained with the blood of his victim. "It's done" he said sharply.
"Altaïr. Thought I'd never see you again. I was planning to send word to Masyaf, declaring you deceased" answered the man behind the counter, still not looking up from his scrolls. To this, Altaïr put the blood-stained feather down right where the other man was focusing.
"Another slice and your wish would be granted" he growled. Finally, the Rafiq looked up, eyeing Altaïr from tip to toe. Without a word he got up from the stool he was sitting on and bent down to search for something behind the counter. "Malik, don't bother" Altaïr spat and turned to head out into the outer chamber. He was stopped by his vision blurring, and had to use the wall for support in order to keep himself from falling. Hand went to press against the throbbing in his side, and was met with wet fabric. He muffled a groan before continuing out to sit down among the cushions. Leaned against the wall behind him, he let his head fall back. Golden eyes gazed up at the sky through the wooden roof. Sweat and blood had soaked his robes, but he bluntly didn't care. He just wanted to sleep. Just for a moment...
End.
Or is it?