"Altaïr, come watch the novices spar outside – you've been cooped in here for days," Malik pleaded with his friend.
"I am so close, the blade is almost ready," he replied from behind his desk, rubbing his tired eyes.
Just then one of the young men ran up to Malik, his excitement almost tangible.
"Malik! You have got to come see - - oh, Master Altaïr," the man calming a little at seeing him, "You really need to come see this! A big black horse has wandered into the training area, all saddled and tacked up neatly, but no-one can ride it. Everyone is having a go, but none has been able to, well, get on," his excitement returned, he dashed down the stairs, apparently to go and try his own luck.
Altaïr sat staring at nothing, lost in thought.
"Well, now you really have no excuse - this sounds entertaining. It will do you good to get out a bit Altaïr," Malik said.
Altaïr rose and looked out the window. There was indeed a big black horse in the training ring.
"It can't be…" he said, rushing past Malik.
"It can't be what?" Malik asked. "Well, wait for me."
Altaïr stopped just outside the front door, on the small rise overlooking the practice area, Malik short on his heels.
"You've seen it before?" he asked. The black horse had eyes that glowed red like embers, and it stood looking rather bored as one after the other tried to mount it.
None could get on, or stay on. Some either just suddenly found themselves sitting in mid-air, the horse just out from underneath them, other's tried to jump on, and would land cleanly on the other side; and yet others would take hold of the saddle, pulling themselves up, but be pushed back, as if by some unseen force.
"Shadowmere," Altaïr said below his breath, the horse immediately lifted its head, giving him a friendly whinny.
It quite casually walked up to the Master Assassin, and nudged him with its great head. Altaïr put his hand on the black forehead.
"What are you doing here?" he asked the horse.
It in turn gave a nicker and tried to get at something in his pocket. He pulled a white feather, which the horse immediately ate. Everyone's attention was firmly fixed on him and the horse, and a confused hush hung in the air.
"This is her horse," he said below his breath to Malik. "Or was."
"Are you sure it's a horse?" Malik asked suspiciously.
"No, not really," Altaïr said with smile. Shadowmere replied with laugh-like whinny.
It was apparently bound to be an eventful day though, as the next moment a few guards shouted from the keep gates, and the clatter of hooves echoed against the walls. A wild-eyed charger, with the white and red colors of the Templars flapping in its wake, ran madly into the training area, its rider a young girl and a small boy. They were dusty from travel, and the mount's livery was tattered and splatted with blood, the girl finally managed to rein the spooked horse in right next to Altaïr and Malik. The mood quickly turned tense.
"Please, you must help us," the girl said, her eyes red rimmed but determined.
"What is the problem," Malik asked, eyeing the shaking mount skeptically.
"Our village has been attacked by the Templars, Emir let me and our little bother escape, to find aid," she pleaded.
"How did you get that horse?" Altaïr asked, worried that one of the novices was involved. The girl looked genuinely terrified and harried, but taking a Templar's horse would be no easy feat – and she looked like no warrior. He thought he caught a hint of a strange dagger tucked into her belt.
"My brother – I don't know how he got it…" she said, and then swallowing hard, and setting her jaw she said firmly, "If you are merely wasting my time, tell me so. I was under the impression the Assassins would aid us, but if not, tell me and I will find someone who will."
"Alright, alright," Altaïr said, impressed by her determination. "I don't know if we will be in time, but we will give any aid we can." He signaled to several men to meet him at the gates. "You and your little brother will stay here; Malik will see that you get everything you need."
And with that he swung effortlessly into Shadowmere's saddle – to the cheers of those who had failed to do the same.
"Show off," Malik said to him, smiling, before he led the girl and her brother inside.
. . .
They didn't have to wait too long for their needed distraction. A soldier entered the dead man's tent, Quill nudged Emir with her elbow, and drew a sword for him from her deceptively small bag. They quickly distributed the very limited supply of weaponry among the able-bodied, and sat waiting.
"Sound the alarm! Where is that woman!?" the soldier exclaimed, running from the tent.
Even as several soldiers approached the huddled prisoners, Quill rose with a cold grin, her swords drawn as her shackles fell from her wrists. The other armed villagers took her lead. "The rest of you, get out of here as quickly as you can," she said over her shoulder, just as the first clashes of steel on steel rung through the morning air.
Thankfully the camp was not full – many soldiers were either out on patrol, or still on their way there, as such the hand full of peasants had a slightly better chance. Quill wondered what they might do if more soldiers arrived, but pushed the thought aside. There was no need in dwelling on the what-ifs. There was plenty to focus on in the then and there.
Again she found something oddly familiar about Emir's fighting style as he countered an attack. This momentary lapse of concentration was very nearly fatal, however. Another soldier had come up behind her, and she was just too slow to side-step his sweep, his blade cutting through her armor deeply into her right arm. She stepped back just in time for his follow-up to miss her and hit another soldier. This might have saved her life, but it also caused her to stumble over something, and land head first on an extruding rock. She instinctively stumbled to her feet again, feeling dizzy as blood began to seep between her hair.
"I really should refrain from hitting my head twice in two days," she muttered to herself as she clumsily blocked a swing. She managed to skewer her attacker and made her way closer to Emir, feeling suddenly disorientated.
"Uhm," she said, seeing three of her new acquaintance.
"Stormblade, behind you!" Emir was saying, but she just frowned at him as if the meaning of his words were lost on her.
He pulled a small dagger from his belt and it flew a few inches past her head, embedding itself in the skull of the man behind her. She watched everything in a slight daze, feeling like she was not really there, but just watching it happen. The only thing that had her thinking other wise, was pain radiating out from her cut arm.
"Oh. Poison - of course, it's poisoned," she said, looking at the cut on her arm before slumping to the ground.
Emir and the other villagers kept a safe area around her, all of them feeling something akin to loyalty towards her for her actions earlier that day, and by the time that there were more injured than left standing they had actually managed to drive off the last of the Templars.
. . .
The Assassins met a straggling group of frighten villagers along the road, that set them in the direction of the Templar camp.
They were however surprised to find the battle over – and won. The villagers had already begun to load their injured onto wagons, protesting chargers harnessed in as draught-horses, as the last few Templars were rounded up.
Altaïr saw Emir giving orders, and taking charge, impressed by the young man's abilities.
"It looks like we are too late for a rescue, but we can offer assistance," he said dismounting, greeting the novice.
"Master Altaïr!" Emir said happily, inclining his head. "Did my sister and brother reach Masyaf?"
"Yes, they did. But I see she might have been overly concerned for your wellbeing."
"No, not really," he said, looking at the three cart-loads of injured. "We were lucky. And victory doesn't belong to me. I would introduce you to the one that secured our freedom, but Stormblade is currently, erm, indisposed," he said pointing towards one of the wagons.
"Let us hope your friend recovers then, I would like to meet him that you speak so highly of," Altaïr said, wondering at the odd name.
Emir did nothing to correct him in calling her a "him".
Truth be told, he wasn't sure how most people would react to her. After the previous evening and the battle, he wasn't too sure what to make of her himself. She was a good ally to have no doubt, but she seemed like she was from somewhere else entirely, the way she spoke, dressed and acted, and he would like to prepare the Master Assassin for what was likely to be an odd encounter.
Once back at the fortress, everything was a flurry of activity, getting the refugees settled, and taking care of the injured. His sister and brother were over joyed to see him, and eagerly enquired of their new friend's whereabouts.
Altaïr left Shadowmere at the stables, but the horse refused to stay behind. Eventually he had to settle for getting a bucket of water and hay put out just outside the door. Any that thought to object got disapproving looks from the horse, and decided to let the subject go.