A person covered in blood laid on the marble floor, only if someone looked closely he could see that the person was still breathing although troubled. Standing next was a man wearing a white robe, stained with blood but not his.
They weren't the only ones in the room, there was an elder man behind a desk a few meters in front of them. It took a while before that man looked up from his paperwork. ''And what is it what you bring me?'' he said, looking down in disgust on the wounded man.
''A templar, he was behaving suspiciously in the village and tried to break into the castle.'' The man in the robe replied. Al Mualim sighed and looked down at the papers again. ''Kill him and get rid of the body'' The person shifted weight from one leg to the other before opening his mouth again to speak. ''Maybe… we could get useful information out of him? I had planned to kill him when he tried to break in but he's clearly of a high rank, maybe an officer.''
The old man looked up again, thinking about it. Information was always useful and it wasn't really ordinary that some templar was stupid enough to try to break into a castle full of assassins, what was he looking for? But when looking at him, he barely seemed conscious after the encounter with an assassin, he wouldn't be able to answer any questions at an investigation just yet.
It would take at least a few days before they could ask any questions. And giving someone the task to babysit a Templar was similar to punishing someone. Then Al Mualim thought of Altaïr. He had been impatient and imprudent, taking care of a wounded Templar would be part of his punishment.
''Throw him in the dungeons and get Altaïr'' he said shortly before resuming to his work.
Growling a few not so nice words, Altaïr descended down the stairs of the dungeons. Great, just great. He was the one who had to take care of the Templar who had tried to break into the castle. He wasn't a nanny! But he had little other choice now he had been degraded to a novice.
It reminded him of the time when he had been locked up in these dungeons for a whole month. It was dark, cold and lonely. Not a place someone would like to go to. The first time he stepped out of the dungeons again, the bright sunlight had blinded him but at least he was out of the cell. And he had luckily never been back behind those bars.
In his left hand a bucket of water and in his right clean bandages, he made his way to the cell where the Templar was locked up. Altaïr was sure he was going to need bandages when he found out who had discovered him, Zafer. It could be that the man had died of bloodless already because Zafer wasn't the best student in making a clean kill.
It was dark in the corridors, only one single torch lit the cell from the outside. Altaïr could see a figure laying in it but not much else. When he turned the key in the lock there was some movement and a few growled words. He walked inside and put the bandages and bucket next to the straw bag before grabbing the wounded man by his upper arms and dragging him towards the bag. The sound from the man was no longer quiet but yelped like a dog, clearly in pain.
Altaïr dropped him down a bit too rough and dipped a piece of cloth in the water, wiping away blood from his face. The skin of the captured Templar was pale, even though it was dark here Altaïr could see that. Next was taking care of the wounds. With a knife Altaïr quickly cut open the cloth covering the man's chest, back and arms.
At that, it seemed like some life returned to the Templar, he started struggling and tried to push him away. But Altaïr was far too irritated for resistance now, he wasn't going to negotiate with an Templar. He grabbed his hair and roughly pulled him back. ''Stop it'' he snarled at him, not even knowing if the man knew any of his language. But the message should be clear.
The Templar had several stab wounds and a few bruises. Altaïr sat down on his back and pinned the Templars arms down with his feet to make sure he wouldn't move while stitching the wound on his right shoulder.
He was still fighting against him but not as powerful as in the beginning, either he was realizing that Altaïr was helping him or he was too exhausted to continue. After taking care of the injuries and washing away most of the blood, he let go of the prisoner and got back on his feet. The Templar had passed out. ''Pathetic'' Altaïr huffed, grabbing the stuff and walking out of the cell.
It wasn't until the guards were replaced and the darkness had covered the land with a thick black blanket when Altaïr returned. He was practically forbidden to leave the castle for more than a few hours, grounded until the captive had gotten well or died. When either of those things happened, he would be free to leave again, maybe even get some assassination missions. But if the Templar lived, Al Mualim would be far happier than if he died, if the former happened Altaïr would maybe be able to leave the rank of novice. But there was little hope that the heart continued beating, Zafer had almost drained all the blood out of the pale man.
This time he had some food and water with him. It wasn't normal to be kind to a Templar but they still needed the man for information. So the work he was doing was useless and at the same time necessary. The figure was sitting against the wall, watching every move Altaïr made.
Altaïr resisted the urge to turn around and leave the dungeons again, those filthy Templars didn't care about any hygiene and it could even be smelled from a few meters away. But for a recovery he had to eat and drink. It wasn't much, just some water and bread.
The metal barred door opened and he stepped inside. The Templar tensed up, pushing his back against the wall, glaring at him, like any moment Altaïr could kill him. The bread he kept hidden in his pocket but the cup of water was gazed at thirsty by the prisoner.
Altaïr had an idea, he held the cup of water in front of the injured man but when he reached for it, the Syrian pulled it back again, out of reach. An irritated expression appeared on the mans face when he again tried to grab it and again failed. Altaïr held it just out of his reach by a few inches when he asked the man a question. ''Name?'' he asked.
But the man kept quiet like a mute, only staring at the water, his lips dry and cracked. This man was either too stupid to understand what Altaïr was asking or just stubborn. Altaïr had a bit difficulty guessing which one it was. He repeated the question once more, this time pointing at the man.
''Fuck off and give me the water'' the Templar growled with a hoarse dry throat. So the man did speak his language, although with a heavy Northern accent. Altaïr wasn't happy with this rude reply and did a step back, bringing the cup to his own mouth, knowing how desperately the man wanted the water.
His Adam's apple went up and down his throat as he drank the water, looking at the man from the corner of his eye. His face went from being irritated and angry to pure desperation. He jumped up and tried to grab the cup, the Syrian was just a bit quicker, stepped away and the man missed, stumbling over his feet.
Altaïr grabbed him in his neck and pushed him roughly against the bars, not letting him go or moving an inch. ''Name'' he repeated again, keeping the cup close to the mans face. It was quiet for another few moments and just as he thought he should just drink the rest of the water and leave, to try again in another few hours, the man replied. ''Sibrand''
His grip eased and he released the man, handing him the cup still half full with water. The Templar drank it greedily, a few drops spilling onto the floor. When Altaïr thought he had drunken enough, he pulled the cup out of his hands and emptied the cup on the floor. He would have given the Templar all of the water, he wasn't cruel especially not because it was so hot outside now, but the man hadn't really been very polite to him by refusing to answer anything and trying to jerk the cup out of his hands.
The glare the Templar gave him was beyond angry, for spilling the water. But when Altaïr pulled the bread in front of his nose, he was immediately focused on the food again, with an occasional suspicious glare to the Syrian. ''Do you want it?'' Altaïr asked taunting, waving it in front of his face.
The man again didn't answer but the look from his eyes was clear. ''Where are the other Templars?'' he asked, hoping to gain some information from the Templar now, everything he could know now was better than later. Fresh information was the most useful information.
''Poisoned'' The Syrian didn't understand for a moment, was the man claiming that the other Templars had been poisoned? But the next sentence made it more clear. ''That bread is poisoned and the water probably too'' There was a slight panic visible in the eyes of the man, his face turning even paler than it normally was.
Did he really think that Altaïr was trying to poison him? The Assassin grinned at the ridiculous idea of the captive. ''And why would I poison the water if I drank from it myself?'' he asked. The man didn't reply but he still seemed sure about his ideas. ''The bread is!'' he snarled back, stepping away from Altaïr. ''Why would I poison you?'' the Syrian defended himself. ''Because you are an Assassin, a man without honor''
Something snapped in Altaïr at hearing that, his fist made contact with the mans stomach, he was lucky that he didn't have his wrist knife on or that man would have been sliced open like a pig for a banquet. The Templar doubled over, coughing and gasping.
The Syrian slammed the door behind him, taking the bread with him. ''Well, I just assume you're not hungry then'' he said, his voice again calm like normally. Pacing out of the dungeons, he was still a bit angry. Killing Templars had never been the problem, but now having to keep one alive was just proving to be very, very difficult. He couldn't wait until the man was healed enough to be questioned.