Notes
Baba: father
Firlama: cheeky bastard
Antioch: a sovereign nation on the border of Syria and Turkey
Pyramus River: historical name of the Seyhan River
Mersi: thank you
Hammam: bath house
Dinar: currency
Effendi: sir

Chapter One: Defiance

Altaïr had to admit that the meal provided by the al-Mhámmed family was delicious. He sat on a large cushion made from red velvet while the women tended the dishes. Zanarhi had just finished regaling him with the tale of how he had achieved such a fine lifestyle. "I have everything I need right here," the man with a short beard and weathered features said. "I am surrounded by the two greatest women in the sultanate!"

"Can we still call it that, Baba?" came Tülay's voice from the kitchen. She appeared behind a chiffon curtain, a nearby lantern illuminating her like a spirit. "The Crusaders have taken over and Arslan is nowhere to be found."

"They won't be here long, child," Zanarhi reassured. "What they seek is not here, so they will leave... As long as we do nothing to provoke them." Altaïr would have snorted if it had not been incredibly rude. Templars didn't need a reason to harass people, to usurp their lands, their resources, their women... The patriarch's demeanor suddenly changed, his eyes narrowing to scrutinize his cowled guest. "Now that you've been fed, I would like to hear the real story as to how you met my daughter."

Tülay sat down on a golden pillow beside Altaïr, giving him a look that said "my father is not as scary as he would like you to believe" and motioning for him to go ahead and tell the truth. "Your daughter..." he began, choosing his words carefully, "She was taken hostage by the Byzantines." Her parents were stricken with horrified expressions, which made Tülay titter because she was perfectly fine, clearly. "I was sent to retrieve something from the palace," he continued, "and stumbled upon a young woman being held against her will. Of course I did not want her to become their slave, so I helped her escape—"

"And I insisted I return his kindness in some way, even with something as meager as a meal." Tülay adopted the same falsely-chivalrous tone as Altaïr, and when he shot her an irritated glance she jabbed his leg beneath the table. Neither of them wanted to upset her parents.

Her mother, Ayla, took a shaky sip of tea before speaking. "We thank you for bringing her home safely, Altaïr. Your actions certainly speak louder than words." She gave her daughter a guilty look. "What did they want from you, Tülay?"

Zanarhi scoffed. "Of course they wanted to violate her and steal her away from us! She is much more beautiful and talented than... than the godless harlots in their lands!" He punctuated this by banging a fist on the table, making the dishes jump. Ayla put a hand on his and murmured reassuringly while Tülay rolled her eyes and sighed. Her parents muttered in Turkish, something along the lines of it being imperative that they marry her to someone in Arslan's court once the Byzantines were gone. She could become a noblewoman, a princess even, but no one would want her if she were impure. It was mentioned that she be confined to their home so none of the filthy foreign invaders (Altaïr now knew where her insults came from) could even look upon her, but Tülay protested and, although she'd never done so before, promised her parents that she would wear niqab in public from now on.

Altaïr sat in silence, noticing the reluctance with which Tülay had suggested covering herself. It was clear that despite being a Muslim girl she was accustomed to certain freedoms, ones that any boy child would take for granted. Or so the Assassin assumed; his upbringing hadn't exactly been "normal".

Zanarhi addressed him while rising from his sumptuous seat and the younger man snapped to attention. "It is late. I shall show you to the guest room." He followed the patriarch respectfully, getting the chance to see more of their lavish abode. It was definitely fit for a prince. Zanarhi did have a small family to provide for, Altaïr reasoned, which likely meant he had a vast fortune stashed away. Perhaps he should have requested a monetary reward for rescuing Tülay.

The room he was shown to was much more accommodating than he thought a guest room should be even though Zanarhi apologized it was "lacking". When he left Altaïr tutted before removing his garb. First the fighting knife and its chest harness. Next the leather belt with his throwing knives, followed by the scabbard housing his long sword. He had become used to bearing their weight long ago. Altaïr undid the buckles of his leather bracers, then slipped out of his well-worn boots. Finally he tugged the hooded sleeveless robe over his head, mussing his short hair.

The spring night was quite warm, so he took off his tunic as well. With a sigh he lay down on the plush mattress, immediately desiring sleep but knowing he had much to consider, such as how Tülay intended to get her father to escort him when she hadn't even mentioned it at dinner. Just then he heard the slightest of noises– a footstep outside his room. The door opened to reveal the girl, who grinned and came to sit on the edge of his bed without even asking. "I am certain it is not a good idea for you to be here," Altaïr stated.

Tülay waved it off. "My father would have me avoid all men as if they bore the plague. But there is a question on my mind that will not let me sleep."

"So ask."

She twisted to face him, revealing how well the sheer muslin chemise clung to her figure. "I want to go with you to the south," Tülay said simply. When Altaïr finally met her eyes he was caught off-guard by the determination in them.

"Heh. Ha ha..." he scoffed.

"What is so amusing?" she demanded.

"The fact that you think it is acceptable to go running off to a foreign land with a man you don't even know."

Tülay contemplated this. She knew her request was a little selfish, but it was her father's fault for sharing so many stories of Jerusalem and Damascus. She wanted to see them for herself, and what better way than to tag along with someone who was already going there? "With the two of them alone here," she smiled, "Allah may bless them with the son they always wanted."

Altaïr sighed. "Listen to me, Tülay... I know you believe it's a good idea to explore the world while you remain young and spirited, but this is a dangerous time. The place I call home is unlike anything you've experienced. Each day I wage war against evil men who wish for nothing but absolute control, and when I return I will be stepping into battle with them. A woman... a girl like you doesn't belong there."

"I no longer want to remain ignorant, though!" she protested. "I need to know that there is hope for my people!" She lowered her voice. "Arslan, the sultan, is no longer here to protect us. His armies are scattered. But even without the great Salah al'Din around, his people are safe from the Crusaders. I must see that peace will be ours once again... and if possible, I wish to herald it. If there is someone in Damascus or Jerusalem who can teach me to fight against the Byzantines, then I must go."

The man breathed deeply and dragged a hand down his face. Why was he even considering this? Maybe he admired the selflessness of her plea. "It shall be your father's decision," he finally said.

Tülay smiled her relief. "I will certainly persuade him to let me join you."

"The prospect of traveling with you thrills me to no end." She scoffed and muttered "firlama", which the man presumed to be an insult. "You wouldn't even be here if not for me," he haughtily reminded her, "so perhaps you should show a bit more gratitude."

"Yes, because you are definitely the type of man who would leave an innocent woman in the hands of her godless captors." He had nothing to say to that and rolled over onto his stomach. "Rest well then, Altaïr," Tülay said with a victorious little smirk.

He mumbled into the pillow, then listened to the door click shut as she left. He wasn't too worried about Zanarhi's decision– if by some miracle he agreed to the girl's crazy proposal, she would probably be disappointed by what she discovered and return home before he could say "I told you so".

"Baba!" Tülay shouted, "What do you mean you cannot escort him?"

Zanarhi looked at his daughter tiredly. "Although I am immensely grateful that he brought you home, the traders are fairly ill-equipped compared to Altaïr. They need my sword to defend them."

"What if he needs your sword?" she countered. The man in question stood off to the side, waiting patiently for their argument to end.

Her father sighed. "I should think a man capable of infiltrating the palace would make him more than a match for any threat along the road to Antioch." He turned his back on his daughter's scowl– she had his temperament, a trait he regretted passing on. "Now run home and help your mother prepare to go to the market." Tülay threw her hands in the air and stomped in the opposite direction of their house. Zanarhi sighed again as he faced the man in white. "I apologize for that impetuous display. It is my fault for spoiling her."

"She seems rather headstrong," Altaïr remarked, "but her behavior doesn't offend me." Zanarhi looked skyward and uttered words of thanks. "It also does not offend me that you have a prior engagement. Tülay shouldn't have assumed you would forego it on my behalf."

The guard eyed each of Altaïr's weapons before pointing toward a group of saddled camels. "I have informed the leader of that caravan that you will be joining him on the journey to Antioch. That was your destination, yes?" Altaïr nodded, then offered his hand. Zanarhi gripped it with both of his, but hidden in his palm was a small bag of coins. "Thank you for saving my daughter," he said solemnly, then spun on his heel and joined the convoy to Persia. He didn't look back at the city as his horse trotted away.

All around Altaïr were people speaking an unfamiliar language, which was a little unsettling because he didn't know if they were discussing him, clearly out of place. He purchased some food and water before approaching his caravan. He offered a few coins but was turned down by the man with a long, full beard, who indicated that he climb up on a camel. The Assassin had ridden a horse to Konya, so it took him a couple hours to get used to the motion of the plodding beast. The caravan was comprised of ten people, none of whom Altaïr spoke to. He enjoyed the trek through the Taurus Mountains; Anatolia's topography was much different than that of the Levant– greener with a milder climate.

At the end of the first day the caravan stopped in Adana, a settlement along the Pyramus River. Altaïr intended to go right on ignoring his companions until a curious exchange caught his ear. "Yeah, I've heard the rumors," a scarred cutthroat said to the fat merchant beside him. "That scythe-wielding mystic was last seen in Alexandria. Supposedly he can perform miracles, like heal people by stabbing them with a holy weapon!"

"That's a load of garbage," another warrior contested. "The people in that city are simple-minded fools who'll deify anyone they believe will protect them from the infidels."

The merchant fidgeted nervously. "But I heard that Salah al'Din sent a company to Alexandria to keep the peace, and when they got there they were attacked by that mysterious man's followers! They found no trace of him, so he must have escaped!"

"People will do anything to preserve their miracles," the brigand said. "Doesn't mean they were real to begin with. If I saw a man with a scythe, I'd assume Death had finally caught up with me!"

Altaïr raised an eyebrow at the tale. If it was true, he reasoned, Al Mualim would have had it investigated by now. Still... a holy weapon? Those two words were almost always related to Templar meddling. Altaïr had been sent to the Seljuq Empire, after all, because of rumors of a miraculous artifact. But lately he kept turning up empty-handed with nothing to show for his efforts besides a saddle-numbed backside. Al Mualim was never disappointed in him, though, which he supposed was a good thing.

When night fell the travelers relished it. The sky was cloudless, the moon bright, and the stars winked down from their heavenly thrones. Altaïr stared at them complacently, resting against a tree while everyone else was situated around a fire. He was no astronomer, but he recognized a few constellations such as the Hunter and the Bull, and the Lion to the southwest. It was quiet, so he easily caught the footsteps approaching from behind. The young man who had ridden at the rear of the caravan proffered two rabbit kebabs while saying something in a language that sounded vaguely Arabic. Farsi, perhaps? "Sorry, I don't speak Persian," the Assassin said.

"Eat anyway," the youth replied. He wore baggy pants beneath a long robe and his turban seemed unusually large. His face was completely covered except for his eyes, which regarded Altaïr with interest.

"Mersi," he said, and the boy's eyes smiled.

"You do not speak Farsi?"

"I am fluent in one word." Altaïr bit into the grilled morsel, effectively conveying that he was done talking.

Their journey ended around noon the next day. Altaïr smiled at the familiar sight of Antioch, a city-state that acted as the physical congruence between the Seljuqs and Ayyubids. The first thing on his agenda was to rid himself of the unpleasant camel stench. He glided by peasants, vendors, mercenaries and guards, the crowd instinctively parting for him. It wasn't often that Assassins came to the lands north of their home in Masyaf, but the locals had heard enough about them to recognize Altaïr for what he was: a predator to be avoided at all cost. He finally located a hammam but paused outside the entrance, shifting to scan the crowd in his peripheral vision.

The Persian boy was following him.

Altaïr stepped through the doorway, a frown darkening his visage. He handed a few dinar to the attendant and was shown to a private room. He undressed, stepped into the cool water from the Orontes River and sighed in relief, but didn't get too comfortable because he had a schedule to keep, simply sloughing off the accumulated grime with a loofah. "Come again!" the clerk smiled, and Altaïr nodded his thanks.

He was heading toward the stables to purchase a horse when he came upon a noisy crowd in the southern plaza. Indulging his curiosity, he approached the edge of the audience, which made way for him as expected. He noticed it was only men he passed, and when he reached the center of the mob he discovered why.

There was a very attractive young woman moving her body in very attractive ways. Musicians were situated behind her, but no one paid them any mind.

Altaïr had never seen such a blatantly sensual dance. The girl wore an embroidered bronze jacket over a red top that had been gathered up to reveal her midsection. Her saffron-yellow skirt sat intriguingly low on her hips accentuated by a fringed wrap. Her arms moved so fluidly, as if they had no bones, and her fingers were constantly grasping and unfurling, drawing the audience further into stupor. It seemed as if she directed the music instead of responding to it; regardless, the rhythm was lively and solicited wild spins and shimmies. Altaïr couldn't comprehend how her muscles rippled like the wind-blown dunes out in the desert. He knew he had a report to deliver to Al Mualim, but he just couldn't tear his eyes from the dancer. She wasn't human– she was a force of nature, some ancient, primal goddess.

She swayed up to him before he realized what was happening. Those in the immediate vicinity stepped back as the girl made Altaïr her stage. Completely caught off-guard, he stood frozen while she flitted around him, dragging her mesmerizing fingers over his shoulders, his arms, and down his spine, soliciting pleasant shivers. 'Is this something all women can do,' he wondered, 'or only her?' His breath caught when she wrapped those liquid arms around his chest and rested her chin in the curve of his neck. He could sense that she was smiling, and if he turned to the left her lips would probably brush his cheek...

"Not fair!" someone whined. "I want a private dance!"

"Yeah! What's so special about him?"

Altaïr barely heard them; he was caught in the spell the dancer continued to weave around him. She was before him now, swiveling and jutting her hips in ways that made him question if this was what sex was supposed to be like. He wasn't ashamed of his arousal –it wasn't as if anyone could tell– but he knew he couldn't act on it, and that was an annoying notion. He really should leave before it became unbearable... but the girl had other ideas. She was moving against him, turning her hips into daggers that caused him great frustration, stopping his heart with the pressure of her breasts. She tossed her hair, stared at him through hooded eyes, turned up her lips in a smirk that said she knew how much he desired her.

Suddenly her arms were around his neck and there was absolutely no room for air between their bodies. Altaïr leaned forward to claim her lips, but she moved in the opposite direction, continuing to retreat as he chased them until her back was arched at an impossible angle. It dawned on him that this was the grand finale and she was only using him as a prop, so he resisted his urges and held his hands at his sides, focusing on the music. He watched a bead of sweat slide from her navel into the shadowed gap between the scarf and her hip bone, the gateway to heaven for all he knew.

All the men applauded, hooted and hollered. Even if they were poor they tossed coins at her because she deserved them. Altaïr even clapped a few times, wondering if he could use her as a valid excuse for being late with his report. 'Better not chance it…' he smiled to himself. He turned to leave and took exactly five steps before a hand alighted on his back. He rotated, thinking it was some old lecher asking what it had been like to have the dancer rubbing against him, but upon seeing her face his eyes widened in surprise.

"Thank you for your participation, Effendi," she said with a playful smile. "Although it would have been better had you not been so stiff."

Altaïr felt himself blush profusely at the word. "You're, erm, quite welcome." Now he was tongue-tied; what a grand impression this was. "Thank you for the... dance." The girl closed her eyes and gave a slight nod, then he got the hell out of there before making an even bigger fool of himself.

"Wait!" she called, and he stopped so abruptly she nearly ran into him. The man turned again and searched her confused expression. "Have you honestly forgotten me already, Altaïr?"

"Forgotten you?" he repeated. "I don't believe we've met before." Yet even as he said it, it dawned on him that in fact he did recognize her wavy auburn hair, her lightly freckled skin, and her amber eyes. They looked exactly like her mother's, and she had her father's straight, narrow nose. But he didn't want to admit it. The revelation made his mind reel and he took a reflexive step away from her. "T...T...Tülay?"

"Indeed," she grinned, placing a hand on her hip and giving him a wink.

She had to know that he envisioned those hips moving against him, beneath him, on top of him. She had to know that for approximately fifteen minutes she had been the subject of very unclean thoughts. Altaïr's shame quickly turned to ire, however. Showing off her body to hundreds of strange men and attempting to seduce him were completely inappropriate for a woman of her faith, yet she didn't seem bothered by either of these facts! She should be the one regretting her actions, not him! "What... what are you doing here?" the Assassin asked, attempting to rein in his anger and embarrassment. "You must return home this instant."

Tülay rolled her eyes, ignoring the threat in his tone. "I need to see these lands that have managed to fend off the Crusaders. Will you not show me them, Altaïr?"

"No, I won't!" he shouted. "I meant it when I said you don't belong here! I don't have the time nor the desire to shepherd you on this idiotic pilgrimage! By Allah, what were you thinking? Did it occur to you that your parents are probably worried sick, that they think you might have been captured by the Byzantines again? How can you be so thoughtless?!"

The girl's expression remained passive. "I did not want to say this in front of my parents, and I do not want you to think I disrespect them... But their reparations for my return are... inadequate. I owe you my life, and I will follow you until that debt is paid."

"Why didn't you just say that instead of donning a disguise and running away from home?"

Her gaze fell to the street. "Because my other declaration is true as well– I want to be able to protect my family, my people. I said I wanted to find someone who could teach me, and when I saw you outside the harem, I knew yours was the strength I needed."

He knew it was pointless to keep arguing with her. Tülay had a resolve that couldn't be swayed, and as much as he hated to admit it, her intentions were very noble. Worse still, he knew she possessed the qualities valued by the Order: loyalty, determination, selflessness, and the ability to learn. That is to say she was willing to disregard everything she had been taught and become a blank slate upon which the Creed could be engraved.

'I could do it...' Altaïr thought, 'I could train her, then send her home to liberate her people. It wouldn't take any time at all...' The Assassin sighed, but it only contained a hint of resignation. "Very well, Tülay. I'll show you the place I come from. You will stay there until you decide to leave, and I had better not receive a bounty on my head from your father." Her lips separated into a beautiful smile; now that was gratitude.

"He is a good judge of character. He would have killed you at the front door if he thought you might menace me like the Crusaders. He certainly would not have allowed you to sleep within a stone's throw of me."

A stone's throw... Bringing Tülay to Masyaf would without a doubt cause ripples among his brothers. He was not looking forward to the backlash. "Since you have such a large purse on hand, I believe it is only fair you pay for the horses to carry us south."

Tülay's exuberance dimmed. "I have never ridden a horse... Is it similar to a camel?"

"Yes," the man lied. "You'll do fine."