Authors Note: I have been studying the Crusades and decided, since I left the flash drive sitting comfortably on my desk in my apartment, I got into my head the silly notion of a Boondocks historical piece. There will be original characters and well as McGruders. This most likely wont be canon, their dialog probably will not be in character most of the time, so please forgive me. There be slash as well as het in this little story. For now it is rated T mostly for mild violence but the rating will change as I go deeper into the plot. Have no fear though Unknown, Unknowns will continue this is just to placate me until I get home.
Waltz
Broken Creed Part One
Acre 1192
"We are a guild of brothers bound together by a creed…"
The silver bells of the cathedral swung outwards flickering in the hot sun before slipping back into the shadows of the tower. Their voices echoing with sorrow for the bodies that swayed below them, their heavenly song drowning out the savage words of the Templar as he prowled back and forth across a blood stained scaffold. A line of Crusaders dressed in scarlet and white, the crested of their king embossed on the fabric in gold blazed across their chests glinting off the blood crusted chain mail, flanked the elite knight. Their hands gripping the hilts of their swords, there were archers among them, their fingers curled around the fletched ends of arrows that were resting against slack bowstrings.
The bells tolled again their glimmering surfaces catching the reflection of a monk dressed in a robe as white as the cloaks of the arch angels, calmly watching the crowd milling around the small cathedral.
The strains of the bells laments rang off the many silver hilted knives that gleamed on his shoulders and narrow waist. His right hand was resting against the ancient frame of the tower the leather gauntlet encasing his fingers gleaming with the hidden malice of a Mercy Giver.
His cruel blue eyes regarded the scene below him with calculated cunning, then he leaned forward his boots slipping over the worn wooden ledge was gone before the bells could become hidden in shadow again.
"It is our God given right to teach these heathens the true words of the savior," the Templar gestured with his blood flecked hands, pointing a crimson tainted finger to the pitiful corpses that gently swayed back and forth behind him. "Consider this a warning to all of those who oppose King Richard, you will fall just like this heathen filth behind me. We will show no mercy and neither will God."
This pitiless promise was mourned by the tolling bells of the church and for a moment, much to the delight of the sacred knight, the howl of his followers drowned their sacrosanct melody
His eyes flickered across the swath of people that roiled before him, their cries of savage approval rushed past him dragging the lingering souls of the innocents he had so ruthlessly tortured and slain to eternal paradise.
His gaze suddenly settled on a figure shrouded in white, a priest…odd, his fierce eyes flicked to the line of similarly dressed scholars near the back of the vicious crowd; their heads bowed in studious prayer, lambs in a pack of snarling wolves. So why had this one strayed so far from his flock?
He stared at the monk a moment longer slightly unnerved when the passive creature lifted his hooded head and locked his eyes with him. It was a cold stare, the steady promising eyes of death. The holy knight returned the piercing gaze though not as threateningly as the monk. After a few seconds the priest bent his head again and folded his hands in prayer, but before his face lost in the cool shadows of
his hood he could have sworn that scholar was smirking. This left him shaken, his words of hellfire snared in his throat their burning oath turning cold with dread.
This silent confrontation lasted no more then a few moments, the amount of time it took the bells of the cathedral to ring once. His eyes lingered on the praying monk, before he whirled away from the disturbing man. His icy panic swiftly fading crawling back down his throat, rekindling the fire of his sermon his words reheated with the dull anger for the monk that had dared look him in the face.
Perhaps scholars needed to be taught some manners as well; yes, they would all suffer for their brother's arrogance just like those fools hanging from ropes behind him. This city would be cleansed of all heathens and if that meant spilling the blood of monks, scholars, and innocents then it would be a small sacrifice, they would learn obedience, and accept that Richard would be their ruler, their scholar of worship, their king.
The monk could not help the small smile that slid across his face as he bowed his head breaking eye contact with the Templar. The sanctified warrior then spun away from him making a fatal mistake one that would make his mission effortless. He exposed his back to the crowd an in so doing condemned him self to a swift death.
The shrouded figure began to move forward gently pushing people out of the way, gaining momentum as his drew closer to his target. He gained the stairs just as an archer drew back the string on his bow. The assassins hands swiftly flashed to his belt silver glimmered against the sun the blade of a small knife cutting though the tepid afternoon air, skewing the unfortunate bowman through the neck.
Blood spewed forward spattering the already scarlet stained scaffold, the priest heard a terrified shriek of a woman and all chaos broke out behind him. Another Crusader loomed in front of him, his sword drawn, the monk slipped to one side gripping the man's wrist as his blade hacked down using the warriors own momentum to drive him forward.
A curved dagger was drawn free of its oiled leather sheath and easily between the gaps in the holy warrior's armor stabbing him between the ribs as he was retched forward. He flung the dying man back into the screaming crowd, and leaped over the gurgling archer. The hidden mercy Giver slipped from its hidden gauntlet an ethereal thread of fire in the hot sun. His booted feet struck the Templar with full force in the chest knocking the knight on his back.
He straddled the thrashing Englishman's chest the wickedly thin blade plunged through the side of his neck severing holy executioner's jugular, piercing through the skin on the other side of his throat.
"Rest now, perhaps your Christ will show mercy on your soul,"
The assassin whispered in a voice that echoed with the sound of cathedral bells and reminded the dying Crusader of the sanctified tone of chanting monks. The knight had the decency to look humble his hands twisting into the assassins ashen robes drawing him forward to murmur in his ear.
"You think you have gained anything by slaying me? I, a mere pawn in the hands of a far greater force that you cannot even imagine,
He trailed off gritting his teeth in pain; blood leaking between his clamped lips dribbling onto the assassin's shoulder, and when he spoke again his sentence began with a gasp
"one that will destroy everything that you know. It is not I who should hope for mercy…it is you"
He deceitful monk's lips draw back in a disgusted sneer,
"We shall see Templar,"
The knight arched convulsively as the weapon retracted back into its hiding place his death sigh hissing through clenched teeth.
The monk reached down and almost tenderly closed the man's eyes with the tips of his fingers, shutting them against his killer dressed so cruelly in white instead of black, a wolf in sheep's clothing. The ringing sound of metal drew his attention away from the corpse beneath him, and he shot to one side the blade of Crusader grazing his left shoulder nicking a sliver of leather off the shoulder strap that carried his knives. He bounded forward, hurtling over the back of the scaffold and down a side alley.
"KILL THE ASSASSIN,"
An arrow whizzed past his face and he swerved onto a more crowded street, pushing protesting citizens to one side, gripping them by their arms and flinging them behind him hoping they would slacken the pace of the guards. A low wall loomed out of the dust and he easily scaled it sprinting along the rough edge as if it were even ground.
"Go after him he is only tiring him self, slay him!"
The voice was slurred with a terrified panic and he heard the awkward clank of armor as Crusaders scrambled up onto the rutted rampart, cursing, and screaming for people to stand aside.
The parapet sharply rose to a low over hang and he easily leaped onto the ivy covered wood, glancing back over his shoulder, and then carelessly dove into the swarm of people below him landing in a cart brimming with hay.
He swiftly slid out shoving a woman balancing a jar on her head cruelly to one side his eyes searching frantically for a way to get to the upper roof tops. Annoyance etched across his face and he swerved to one side, plunging into an even thicker horde of people, thrusting past them with a force that left some of them staggering. This was a vain attempt to hinder the progress of his pursuers; unfortunately wading through thick crowd was also impeding him as well. The market only had one benefit and that was that the raucous noise of the bazaar also offered excellent cover and time to slip away unseen.
His eyes came to rest on a stack of crates filled with valuable spices that had been shipped from Jerusalem and had been lovingly covered with a thick Turkish rug; rose out of the throng of milling patrons, his saving grace. He increased his speed dodging around a women begging for coins and easily bounded onto the sachets hearing their glass contents rattle against the wood as he sprinted across them and vaulted onto a ledge that jutted out from the crumbling stone wall.
He swiftly dashed along the edge smoothly vaulting to a wooden platform suspended over the crowd by thick coils of rope. His eyes fixed on a jagged hole in the top of the arched ceiling, the result of an ill placed missile from a trebuchet. He silently thanked the gods that he had literally fallen through it while being chased previously that day.
Afternoon sunlight sparkled through the cracked ceiling his portal to the rooftops. He snarled as an arrow blazed past his ear ripping a narrow tear into his cinder white cowl. He swiveled to one side the platform swung backward then forward giving him extra momentum when he sprang up, wincing as he heard more arrows thud into the bottom the dais.
Then he was out of the stifling souk and into the dusky afternoon leaping from roof top to wall and up to roof top again with deadly agility. Below him, he glimpsed the white and scarlet attire of Crusaders as they searched for him. The roof suddenly slanted forward, and then abruptly ended exposing him to the streets below and to the eyes of a captain who was scanning the rooftops.
The assassin dashed forward watching the guard turn as time dwindled to a creeping halt. The edge lurched ever closer with the Crusader standing below in the shadow of the wall. The monk plunged off the edge the Mercy Giver shimmering from his gauntlet sliding out where his ring finger had once been, his feet rammed into the startled warrior just as his voice screamed "assassin." ; the thin blade sinking into his throat and slashing outwards painting the dusty street with an arc of shining blood.
His victim's final cry had alerted his companions and through the bevy of swarming people, he could see flashes of white, garnet and the faring silver of swords. His gaze settled on the massive cathedral that sliced though the crowd towering above all the other war torn buildings a sacred colossus cut from marble somehow that holy building had remained unscathed for all of the Crusades the only scar that it bore was that the stones were tainted black from the smoke when the city had caught fire.
A vast silver guided cross, a precious gift from Jerusalem, adorned a spire that thrust above all else, an eternal beacon that promised sanctuary for all who stepped across Acre's blood stained threshold, even a heathen assassin. A shadow fell over him and he instinctively flung him self forward hearing the cruel hiss of an arrow as it was released from its bow. Another arrow buried its self in the dirt next to his right foot forcing him to go forward.
He rolled to his feet, darting around merchants and beggars, feeling the eyes of archer's burn into his retreating back. By now he could hear the other Crusaders as they caught up to him alerted by their bowmen companions that prowled the rooftops. The assassin kept his azure eyes fixed on the massive church running with disregard, whirling past peasant's, and women balancing jars on their heads his heart thrashing against his throat, if he could just reach the threshold. He could hear the soothing chant of monks now and smell the incense that constantly burned around the scared, enormous wooden doors.
He could glimpse archers sprinting across the rooftops following him, waiting for him to get trapped in a corner, and keep him pinned down while their brothers hacked him to pieces. Crimson and silver glimmered though the crowd running beside him, keeping him for swerving off into an alley or scaling a wall to slip away. His breath was beginning to snare in his throat, and fought to keep himself calm. The stairs of the cathedral rose out of the dust and the eerie song of the monk echoed in his ears. He slammed into the great doors, smashing his gauntlet clad hand against the door. It did not open. Above him the bells began to chime, and he swiveled around a smirk slithering across his face.
His pursuers had made this too simple; they now flanked his sides their swords twinkling with malice. The assassin felt the doors open behind him and the heavy smell of incense curled around his feet. A group of monks stepped out onto the flight of stairs, brushing past him, a gentle sheep in his flock. As the ashen robed priests shuffled down the stairs, the assassin faded back into them and then was lost from sight.