Emulsion
Altair and Malik, having been walking most of the morning broke away from the caravan, stealing a camel for each of them as well, with their packs on their backs shortly before Bab Al-Nasr, one of the entrances into Cairo. Keeping the gate in sight, they strayed away from the grassy path to set up a small encampment away from the sights of archers, under the cover of palm brush.
Later in the day Malik managed to steal a pack of robes to wear from a merchant caravan headed into market. The cotton izar wraps were loose enough that Altair and Malik could equip themselves fully with multiple throwing knives, a combat knife, and for Altair, a hidden blade, yet plain enough that Altair and Malik could walk around the market without being suspected as dangerous, mindful that not only where they to be on the look out for Templars and Crusaders, but the Egyptian Order of assassins as well. Blending was of high priority, as well as finding a base to conduct their investigation from.
Sneaking into the city, mapping it out the topography in his head was first on the list for Altair, with the sneaking not being much of a problem as Altair with his fluidity of movement and mastery of his disguise, made it in Cairo without effort, the guards barely had the time to notice him at all. Trickier was finding the right places to map out the city from, for Cairo was a large populace, at least twice the size of Damascus. Before leaving for the city, Malik had offered that they buy a map since they were both unfamiliar with the city. Altair wrote it off like he would not have trouble at all mapping the city with his head, but now that Altair was inside the gates, he would swallow his pride and buy a map from the stall just inside the gates, even if it was bit more than dinars than Malik had expected.
Altair was careful not to let the robes he wore ride up his arms and expose his hidden blade as he stalked around the city looking for landmarks. At least three hours into the city, after having traveled to and from landmarks like the Church of the Virgin, the Hussien Mosque, the Azhar Library, and the Muayed Mosque, climbing up each one for a mental image of the city, finally did Altair reach the borders of the outer city, Bab Zuweila, the entrance to the inner city and the Citadel, which was mostly occupied by the upper class, but as for an Assassin den, Altair could not tell. By not marking their dens, the Cairo Assassin Order kept away outsiders, if there were even dens any longer. Perhaps the Assassins in Cairo had all but been destroyed by the Templar influence.
Over head an eagle squawked as it soared away from the early evening sun, signaling the rapid loss of daylight that would turn the desert from an oven to a frozen wasteland with in a few hours. Now that Altair knew the outer city and mapped it accordingly, getting back Bab Al-Nasr would be quick, for Altair was eager to be back with Malik and know that he'd been fairing well on his own. Getting back outside the gates was harder than it was to get in, but it was starting to get cold, the red sun at the horizon, and Altair had to hurry. He slid between the people, fluid like water slid though rocks, sneaking past the guards by the gates now closed to the public, and under the bars to let himself out. Though it seemed simple enough but it took more energy and patience than Altair found he could spare had right now, and what he wanted most after the long day, as he walked over the sandy grassland, covering himself with his mulâ'a to better protect from the cold, was to rest and preferably next to Malik.
As noticeable smoke poured upwards into the air as their encampment came into view, Altair knew instantly that something was wrong. Immediately he burst into a long stride sprint across the sand as best as he could without loosing his footing on the pliable ground, for smoke drew too much attention and Malik had more sense than that. Fare farer than a hands toss away Altair was already scouting the encampment for signs of a struggle because Malik was no where to be seen, blankets and weapons were thrown askew, and the camels were none to be seen. Blinking into eagle vision, Altair spotted splatters of blood soaked into the parched ground, that he would not have been able to be noticed with normal vision. A blood stained throwing knife had it's bladed to the south which horse tracks followed in a group of at least six steeds.
"Malik," Altair nearly cried out, shamelessly even knowing that Malik had been taken, and would not answer him back. After gathering up what little food and water that had been left, Altair, with death in his eyes, followed the tracks of the horses and the trail of dried blood, throughout the night not wanting the windy desert day to cover their trail. Along the way Altair chanced by another encampment, stole a camel and continued on the long trek south east, deep into the Egyptian desert, passed where the dry grassland changed over into sand. Altair did not sleep, not even as day break broke and the sweltering heat beat down upon him, though he removed his wool robe and wrapped a linen cloth around his head to protect from the sun and the whipping sand.
By midday, a structure broke out of the horizon and continued to grow as Altair traveled closer and closer, finally appearing completely by night fall. The horse tracks lead straight up to the pyramid, even though the blood stopped some time ago. Under the cover of the darkness, Altair camped, wrapped in his wool robe again. Without the will to stay awake longer, Altair rested after what little nourishment he had left, and feeding and watering his camel, and eventually, his body resigning to its fatigue, Altair succumbed to slumber against the warmth of his camel.
When the light of day finally broke over the sandy horizon, Altair awoke with a start, to the scream of his camel and scimitar in his face, multiple arrows ready to be knocked and a few javelins pointed to his belly, with an beautifully ornate, very sharp dagger ready to slice his throat. An impractically clad woman, dark skinned with a hood adorned with the head of hawk, atop of Altair, pressed the knife into his neck, and spoke very broken in his language, "Come. Do not fight."
"I will not fight," he said but, as he stood up with the knife within a breath of his throat, Altair realized that his artillery had been removed, including his hidden blade, leaving him without a defense, and leaving him without a choice. In the interest of his health, Altair allowed his hands to be tied behind his back, and allowed the dark skinned, impractically armored, hawk hooded people to guide him over the sands and into the pyramid, which was larger than it looked from afar, and much larger Altair expected it to be, outside and in.
The deserts sweltering heat was nothing compared to the suffocating humidity Altair experienced as they descended the slope inside the pyramid, the passage that undoubtedly went below the ground, and Altair wished he had a hand free to removed the wool robe he still had wrapped around himself. Thankfully, his leather boots gave him enough traction on the slippery floor of sweating brick that he would not find himself sliding down without a way to stop. The descent in the dark narrow corridor lasted for what seemed an hour before Altair was stopped in front of doors that seemed to be made of solid gold, framed with lit torches, intricately etched with pictures and symbols of birds and squiggles, among other things like eyes, cats, wolves, and beings with wings or discs on their heads, some of which were bright and colorful, others bland, but none of which Altair understood except for the insignia, the emblem of the assassins.
Despite the questions tumbling around in his thoughts, Altair remained silent, following the woman and her guards through the door and into a large, semi-dark subterranean chamber, the walls of which were sweating. It was cooler in this chamber than it was in the descending corridor, but the humidity was still stifling, and it smelled of must and rusted metal, and burning oil from the four torches in the four corners of the large chamber and the four along the walls that brought almost no light into the room. Altair almost did not see the chains hooked to the walls or the standing pillories in the middle of the room, until the torch like, disturbed by the air movement from closing the doors, flicked over the metal making them gleam. He was trapped now, without a way out until his captors came for him again, and reminiscent of the visions The Apple had shown him of his death.
Stagnant air seemed to accentuate the noise of his feet hitting the ground as he investigated further on into the chamber, trying hard not to trip over chains and make more noise than he already made, mostly out of habit. Eagle vision, though useful at any other time when true light was shining, would not help him in this dark place, and thusly he tripped over a long forgotten corpse, tangled his feet in torn clothing and fell to the ground, cursing his tied hands. He grumbled as he lifted his head, and rolled onto his back to lift himself up when something flitted across his feet.
A blade would have been the first thing he reached for would he have had one swinging from his belt, ready to strike at the fleeing thing, but instead Altair reached out and grabbed for the giant grave rat, yanking it into the air by it's tail causing it to squeak in pain. He threw the rat against the wall, cursing, after it bit him causing him to yelp.
"If you have come for me to answer more of your questions, you will get the same results," a voiced laced with anger called out in the darkness, followed by the sound of spittle hitting the concrete floor, and Altair flinched. "You swag-bellied sons of whores can go swivey yourselves with the devils warty prick."
"Malik," Altair called out in question, following the voice through the large chamber, which seemed to be coming from the far left corner, hard to tell with the small repetitive echoes of rats scampering from place to place running into and over dried bones, gnawing on cloth and sharpening their teeth on metal. The uneven lighting of the torches was not of much help either.
Malik looked up at him when Altair finally reached the end of the room. "Altair," Malik asked weakly, he was completely naked, sloped down, kneeling on his knees against the hard cool floor, with a buckle around his neck chained to the wall. It gave Malik a merciful five feet of walking room, but Malik was neither standing nor walking, seeming too exhausted to move onto his feet.
"Malik, are you alright," Altair asked as he knelt down to eye level with Malik, reaching a hand out to comfort his swollen face, turning side to side, inspecting the damage. A black eye, a bloody lip, nothing urgently needing attention.
His tone was sarcastic. "I am fine Altair," Malik said. "I am just enjoying a small picnic with some of our friends on the beach, kicking my feet into the waves and watching the sunset."
Altair continued to check Malik over, checking for broken bones, bruises and such, his finding inconclusive for anything serious, meaning their captors were trained and would not just beat them to death or keep them down here for nothing. The woman was after something. When Malik turned a bit timid from a coming from noise from the other side of the room, Altair eyed the lacerations on his back.
"What have they done to you?"
"They tickled me with a leather whip," Malik answered as a mockery of Altair's question. "What do you think they did to me, Novice? For Mentor you ask questions that do not make sense at times."
Altair, ignoring Malik's mental defensiveness, inspected the lacerations from what looked like a whip.
"What do they want? What did they ask of you?"
"They asked me," Malik's answer was interrupted by a muted yelp and a startling jump, when Altair accidentally touched a raw, bleeding wound. Altair apologized. "They asked me the whereabouts of a Templar scum, that the milk-livered swine seem to think is my master!"
Altair went to back to looking at the lacerations. "Malik, you need to calm down, I cannot see how bad these are unless you hold still."
"Why should I Altair, because you say so? Do you not have eyes Altair, to see what that female has done to me? How they ambushed me like cowards? I was called a traitor, interrogated about a Templar I do not know, and tied to a post and whipped while you were skulking around that forsaken city. By the devils hairy ass I will not calm down! I need to get out of here."
"Let me help you Malik," Altair said as he reached out to Malik. Malik looked at him with malice and scooted away from him as fast as he could, pridefully.
"Damn you Altair, I am an assassin. Just like you! This should not happen to me," Malik's voice broke as he confessed. "That I would not find a way to escape, but for this missing arm of mine! It is your fault."
Malik's words bit into Altair, but anger clouded the judgement. Altair grabbed Malik by his only arm before Malik could scrape his knees any longer on the concrete, the bleeding was already bad enough. If Malik managed to get an infection, escaping this place would be out of the question. "Get a hold of yourself, Malik. We need to get out of here. We need to think!"
Malik pulled at Altair's hand, breaking free, scooting to the edge of his leash. "It's too late Altair, that bitch has poisoned me. There is no escape, Altair, do you not see," he asked, a stream of hot wet tears fell down Malik's face as he smiled. Altair grabbed for him again, willing his hands to find a way to break the buckle around Malik's neck, but Malik struggled.
"Damn you Malik, hold still!"
"We are already dead Altair, buried and in the false heaven that Al Mualim promised us. I see not a single houri, yet we were promised so many of them! When I get back I shall kill him for the lies he spreads."
"Al Mualim is dead Malik, you know that."
"Snakes," Malik yelled out and jumped to his feet, knocking Altair onto his rear, suddenly having the vigor to move. Altair chased Malik around, looking for anything, any sign of a needle prick, a small bleeding wound, a spider bite, but found nothing, though it did not help that Malik was moving and would not hold still. "There are snakes all over the place Altair! Where did they all come from?"
"Hold still, I cannot find a wound. Malik, where did they prick you?"Altair grabbed Malik, holding him in a lock, steering clear of the lacerations on his back. Malik smiled and stepped in closer, grabbing Altair's hips, Malik pushing himself into Altair. Altair felt his face become hot and his body pulse with sensations. A seductive gaze glazed over Malik's face, Altair would have found it hard to resist had the situation not been so desperate. Malik was going insane from some kind of poison and Altair could not help. He was powerless.
"Prick, I have a prick," Malik said, his face lighting up. He ground himself against Altair's groin, sending another pulse of sensation coursing through his body. Altair groaned and wished he did not.
Malik grabbed Altair's hand, placing it on his fullness, making slightly Altair uncomfortable. "Do you like my prick Altair," Malik whispered in his ear. Feeling his world spiraling out of control hit Altair like a brick. His head was spinning and Altair needed now.
Altair, getting his hand back with some effort, feeling his mind slip back into place when he felt a skittering rat cross his feet yet again, pleaded to Malik, grabbing Malik's head in his hands, "Malik, stop this. Talk to me with your head, speak from your mind. Where is the entrance of the poison so I can do something about it."
"My head is very big Altair, perhaps too big for you," Malik backed away from Altair and began a seductive sashay around in a half moon behind Altair, making Altair feel like he were the one chained up, unable to move. Malik whispered, grabbing him from behind, hot breath in his ear, making Altair shiver. He'd never felt so powerless yet so willing to be powerless. "We can try, can we not Altair?"
Altair groaned as Malik rubbed his erection against him. He swallowed hard when Malik reached around to grab him, and Altair nearly dropped to the ground when Malik's bare hands stroked him. Altair had never before been in so much need before Malik fell to the ground, dropping like a rag doll.
"Malik," Altair exclaimed.
"Talk Altair Ibn-La'Ahad."
Altair turned to the voice of the previously scantily clad woman carrying a large torch, to see her draped in armor and equipped with numerous weapons. "Talk or I let him die!"
