Assassin's Regret
10:34 AM
Thursday 5th September 1191
Jerusalem
Rich District
The din of merchant's trying in vain to sell their goods "at half-price!" filled Altaïr's ears. The narrow, covered street was filled with people trying to get the best discount on the things they needed. However, being a master assassin, Altaïr tuned out of the sounds and sights and smells, instead focusing his mind on picking out anything that sounded like it could help him in his mission.
It had been three short months since his gravest mistake in this very city, underneath the Temple Mount. His actions had gotten two younger assassins terribly injured; one had even died. All because of my arrogance, thought Altaïr bitterly. He had been distracted from his true mission, as requested by Al Mualim, and had instead attempted to find glory among the Brotherhood of Assassins by assassinating Robert De Sable, the grandmaster of the Knights Templar. That decision had cost Malik Al-Sayif his left arm, and the life of his brother, Kadar. Altaïr wished more than anyone, for no possible selfish reason, that he could turn back the ever-turning hands of time and prevent himself from making such a foolish decision. But such absurd things were impossible.
Altaïr exited the overcrowded street and turned left, heading down a much wider street leading to the centre of the city. The "Holy" city, as the Crusaders from the unknown northern lands called it. It was that reason that there was this war; no other reason for the death of innocents. Such a vile act as killing an innocent was completely against the Assassin's Creed, but Altaïr remembered with sickening vividity how he had taken pleasure in ending an innocent old man's life inside Solomon's Temple. He knew better now; it was a mistake he would never repeat.
Altaïr turned the corner again into a darkened alleyway. It was empty, apart from a drunk or a fool at the other end turning slowly in circles around and around.
Looking back at the street, confident no-one was looking, Altaïr jumped lightly onto a conveniently placed barrel and reached with his left hand at the same time. He felt his fingertips grasp a second-storey window ledge; he effortlessly pulled himself higher. His right hand found a crevice in the wall, and used that to move higher up the building. Spider-like, Altaïr climbed vertically up the side of the building. Such a thing was both exerting and exhilarating, as he watched the ground get further and further away.
Altaïr found the edge of the roof with both hands this time and pulled himself up, rolling along the roof so that he was concealed by several crates. He scanned the nearby rooftops for any archers that might be lurking, waiting to shoot him down; then he heard footsteps behind him.
Altaïr's head snapped round like an eagle's. In his quick estimation, he had quickly planned how to get onto the roof and what to do when up there whilst on the ground; but he had failed to take into account of what could be standing at the small corner which he had not looked: namely a Saracen archer.
The man surveyed Altaïr through narrowed eyes. He ignored his bow, and instead reached for the evil-looking scimitar at his left flank.
"You are not supposed to be here," he said with a heavy Arabic accent, "Leave now."
Altaïr did not move from his position, instead choosing to stand. The archer pulled his sword from his belt and repeated his command. Then he did the foolish thing Altaïr had been hoping for.
He took a step closer.
Instantly with deadly grace, Altaïr brought both his gloved hands up. With his left he smacked the raised sword out of the archer's hand, and it went over the edge of the building. With his right, Altaïr brought a closed fist around and punched the man in the face, a strong right hook. The man, not expecting such an attack, followed his sword and started to topple over the edge of the building; but quick as a flash, Altaïr grabbed the man's trailing right hand and thus prevented him from falling to his death in the busy street below. Altaïr swiftly dragged the unconscious man back behind the crates; an assassin's punch could be just as useful as an assassin's blade. After Altaïr's mishap at the temple mount, he rarely resorted to killing his opponent unless extremely necessary.
Altaïr checked his surroundings once again, and then pulled the mass of arrows out of the man's bag. He snapped them easily over his knee; now he could not shoot at Altaïr should he wake up.
Content that he had taken care of his opponent appropriately, Altaïr crossed the rooftop to his goal. He jumped at the massive tower, and grabbed a hold of the jagged wall. He swiftly began his ascent of the tower.
Altaïr had taken many lives in his work as an Assassin, but perhaps the most shameful thing of all was to break the third tenet of the Creed and, direct or indirect, cause the death of a fellow assassin. Altaïr recalled that day that had burned itself onto his memory, where he had broken all three of the Creed's tenets.
Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent. He had broken that one when he had rush-killed the man praying inside the temple.
Always be discreet. He had broken the Assassin's most powerful tool by revealing himself and his brothers to Robert De Sable before he had even assassinated him.
But perhaps the worst one to break, Never compromise the Brotherhood. Altaïr had broken that through openly attempting to take Robert's life and failing miserably. Robert had seen the attack coming; he had thrown Altaïr off and through a weak wall, cutting off Altaïr's way back to stop the attack on Malik and Kadar. Kadar had died that day thanks to Altaïr's arrogance; Altaïr knew that as long as he continued to draw breath, he would never make the same mistake again.
Altaïr reached the top of the tower. He pulled himself up onto the pedestal at the top, and crouched low over it, surveying the city from on high. Slowly and carefully, Altaïr fearlessly stood up. He must have had quite some height, as he could almost see the Assassin's fortress at Masyaf. The panorama of Jerusalem was breathtakingly beautiful. Altaïr took several minutes simply to clear his head, and look around at the astounding view. Then, looking down, he spotted a cart of hay some distance below.
Taking a deep breath, and opening his arms wide, Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad dived off of the tower in a graceful arc.
A/N: I know you're reading this, please review. You know you want to, that little button just there... go on, click it. Even if you hated my story, please review so I can see that someone is actually reading this. I'm talking to you, you know.