[A/N: Hasn't gotten anywhere and it is chapter 9? T___T Damnit, Ezio, stop playing around with the supporting cast! ^^. Maybe Al Mualim can die of old age.]

The Sword of Damocles

Chapter 9

I

"I think you have about four minutes, amico mio," Malik observed, as he drew his sword. Around them, Masyaf's assassins were gathering, speaking quietly to themselves but otherwise merely watching with their trained, unnatural stillness. Conscious of their audience, Ezio unsheathed his blade with a dramatic flourish and a wide, playful grin.

"Four minutes to what?" They began to circle each other, and by the neatness and grace of Malik's footwork, it looked like the Maestro was not speaking in jest when he had threatened to thrash him at swordplay.

"Before someone of our mutual acquaintance lands on your back."

"So we have only four minutes to play? What a tragedy, Maestro."

Timing and place was everything in any battle, Mario had taught, and he needed to keep Malik between himself and the battlements… assuming that Altaïr would be making a beeline for them. Of course, an added layer of danger always merely meant an added thrill to the game.

"We have as long as your ability to survive violent death endures, friend Ezio," Malik corrected cheerfully, his eyes flicking between Ezio's footwork to the weave of his blade and back, calculating his ability in turn.

"You have such surprisingly little faith in me. I just have to keep you between us, do I not?"

"Impress me then," Malik retorted, though his smirk informed Ezio that the Maestro had guessed at his intended strategy.

The attack from the one-armed assassin, when it came, was swift as an arrow. Ezio raised his blade to defend – and found himself sidestepping hastily and dodging by the skin of his teeth as Malik darted to his side at the last minute and swept his sword forward.

Leaping forward, Ezio brought his blade in an arc towards Malik's flank, but the assassin was already behind him. Operating on pure instinct, Ezio's free hand flicked to his side, the blade under his wrist flicking free, shearing off Malik's sword in time for steel to pass harmlessly an inch before his nose.

"You are being serious," Ezio said, surprised that his voice was steady, as they disengaged back into their circling stride.

Malik was fast, and for a one-armed man, there was no hint of any sort of problem with his balance at all. It had to be an old wound, and Ezio wondered how a consummate swordsman like Malik could have acquired an injury that was so serious. Perhaps it was an infection, or something acquired in his youth. Certainly he had observed that it was a topic that both Maestri did not like: either Altaïr's expression would freeze, or, usually, Malik would quickly and smoothly change the subject.

"Remember that you told me you would not hold back," Malik returned, inclining his head a little to the right. "Try not to die before I enjoy this, Ezio."

Ezio took the broad hint, circling to his left before darting forward, feinting to Malik's left flank. The one-armed assassin sidestepped neatly, parrying his follow-through with a deft twist of his blade, and in one fluid motion, kicked at Ezio's belly. He jerked back barely in time, catching Malik's heel and pulling forward and up. The one-armed assassin lost his balance with barely a hiss, rolling as he landed and onto his feet, Ezio's blade gouging a shallow furrow on the ground where Malik's shoulder had been.

"Good!" Malik grinned. "Yet there is no discipline or style to your blade, friend Ezio. You seem to operate on instinct, on reaction."

"My style is named 'winning', friend Maestro," Ezio replied, with a wink, catching movement at the periphery of his vision, to the right. Quickly, he brought up his blade, catching the hidden blade on the flat of his sword and shoving as hard as he could with his free hand.

Altaïr recovered in mid stumble with a growl, his hand grasping the hilt of his sword even as, with one look at the older assassin's murderous expression, Ezio hastily darted behind Malik. Somehow, the one-armed assassin had divined the exact direction of Altaïr's attack: long before Ezio had seen or heard anything, and it had not been in a beeline from the battlements. Without the warning, Ezio would indeed have ended up with Altaïr upon him.

"Altaïr," Malik acknowledged distantly, and then turned to face Ezio, presenting his back to the other Maestro in dismissal, "Do not interfere."

"He is trying to hurt you," Altaïr hissed, trying to circle around Malik, even as Ezio mirrored him in turn to keep the one-armed Maestro between them. He did not doubt that he could hold his own – at least for a while – in a fight between himself and Altaïr, but he knew instinctively that this bout was Malik's prerogative to decide, that it was an old quarrel between the pair that had only festered.

"We are sparring, Altaïr." Malik's genial tone had a clear note of warning, which Altaïr ignored. "It is practice. How can we spar and learn if he does not at least try to hurt me, and I in turn?"

"I do not trust him to spar with you."

"And why would you trust the others?" Malik replied, with a flat calm that should have given Altaïr sufficient warning. "Because they do not try?"

"Because they are our men!" Altaïr was clearly too angry to listen.

"The Auditore and their men are also ours now," Malik pointed out, "I would trust them with my life, and find it a great pity if you do not."

"I will not permit this."

"And who are you to permit what I may or may not do, Altaïr? Am I not also a Master at Masyaf?"

Frustrated, Altaïr snarled, the furious sound more akin to an animal than anything from a man's throat. "Malik. You only have one-"

Knowing that Malik would take a long time in forgiving such a remark, Ezio attacked to interrupt, bringing his blade down in a broad sweep towards Malik's head, dramatic, but ultimately a beginner's move that invited counterattack. The quick flash of a smile from the one-armed assassin as he parried informed Ezio that Malik knew and appreciated what he had done, and instead of taking advantage of the purposeful opening that Ezio had left, Malik leapt back instead, sweeping his blade backwards and upwards.

Puzzled for a brief moment at the inexplicable move, Ezio could not help but laugh as the edge of the blade stopped exactly at Altaïr's throat the moment that the other assassin sidestepped to circle around Malik. Without looking behind him, Malik had somehow anticipated the other assassin's next move with unerring precision.

"I said," Malik stated, "Do not interfere."

Altaïr wavered, his eyes flicking between Malik and Ezio, then he spoke a low string of angry Arabic, too fast and soft for Ezio to catch. Shrugging, Malik retorted in the same fashion, if calmer, and Altaïr grit his teeth and jammed his sword with ill grace back into his sheath.

It took all of Ezio's discipline not to flinch as Altaïr stalked towards him. Just as the Maestro passed, he hissed, almost inaudibly, "If you so much as scratch him, you will regret it, child."

Self-preservation held Ezio's tongue until his peripheral vision told him that Altaïr had perched on the circular wooden barrier that ringed the practice ground, like some sort of vengeful eagle, waiting for the smallest mistake from its prey. "You keep his leash short, Maestro Al-Sayf."

Malik chuckled, shaking his head at Ezio's irrepressibly impertinent words. "If Altaïr wants to kill you from where he is, he is more than capable of doing so, Ezio."

"Va bene, I enjoy gambling only when the stakes are high."

From where he was, Ezio could see Leonardo and Claudia hurrying up the steps from the inner gate to the practice courtyard. Leonardo blinked, clearly startled at the tableau, though his sister merely grinned and gestured very slightly at Altaïr's general direction, her eyes questioning. At his faint nod, she began to pull Leonardo towards Altaïr, whispering to him.

"Your cavalry has arrived?" Malik asked, as they began to circle once again.

"You could say that they give me a little more of a gambling chance." Ezio replied, as both Leonardo and Claudia began to attempt to engage Altaïr in conversation. From the change in the background susurration of their voices, he would be able to have advance notice of an attack. "Though someday I hope to learn perception from you, Maestro."

"Perhaps if you are not so busy listening to your own voice, you could start to learn," Malik said dryly, darting forward again, this time with his blade held low and behind him.

Wary of another attack from the flank, Ezio stepped back, bringing his blade up to parry and frowning as Malik merely brought his blade up in a wide arc towards his thigh. Sidestepping, Ezio countered with a quick jab towards Malik's ribs, his free hand, fueled on instinct, drawing his dagger barely in time to block the snake-quick follow through from the feint as Malik dodged his counter.

"Or perhaps you are simply attuned to him?"

"Hardly. It is just a matter of paying attention to other things around you, rather than yourself," Malik said, parrying Ezio's flurry of thrusts. "And then thinking ahead to what your opponent may do next. Yours is an unpredictable blade, however, something outside forms and styles. It is quite refreshing."

"Are you enjoying yourself yet?"

"More than I thought I would," Malik admitted, his smile feral this time as he countered with tight arcs of steel, slicing a rent in Ezio's sleeve and drawing a slick, shallow line of blood. "Try to talk less, friend Ezio. You might actually fare better."

"If you are enjoying yourself then my work is done, Maestro," Ezio inspected the wound cursorily as he darted back. It stung, but did not impair his arm. "So I guess I will need to level the playing field a little."

Sheathing his dagger, he shifted his grip on the hilt of his sword such that he could wield it two-handed. Malik was fast, but without his left arm, he had to rely on speed rather than force, and keep moving to correct his balance as he attacked. Also, if Ezio could somehow pin his blade, the Maestro should have no recourse.

Malik's smirk was knowing, even as he jerked up his chin. "Come on then."

II

"I think you like pain," Leonardo observed, cleaning, stitching and then bandaging up the gash on Ezio's left arm.

"The hell should I have known that the bastardo Al-Sayf would actually cut me this deep?" Ezio groused, his injured arm stretched over Leonardo's work desk, staring hard at the bracer on his right.

He really hated needles and thread.

"You did try to hamstring him." Leonardo tied off a knot with efficiency, and then began to pack his kit away, rolling up the fresh bandages and the medicinal vials, slipping them into their velvet pockets, slotting the needle and thread into a pouch built into the lining of the black bag.

The smithy was busy outside the workroom, men poring over Leonardo's plans, watching the moulds and working at the bellows, shouting at each other in Arabic. Even inside the workroom it was stuffy from the heat, and Ezio began to put his vest back on with regret.

"At the last moment I would have turned my blade."

"It looked very convincing even to me." Leonardo countered, though he grinned as Ezio tucked his sleeve into his bracer, the assassin muttering darkly and wincing to himself all the while.

"Convincing? He was injury-free, save for maybe a few bruises. That is not by sheer coincidence."

"Is it not? The Maestro is a skilled fighter." Leonardo smiled as Ezio scowled at him. "You just hate losing."

"I did not lose, I think it was a draw."

"A draw where you are the only one who was bleeding by the end of it is not a draw, Ezio."

"No," Ezio glared, until Leonardo chuckled, tucking the black bag under his desk. "A draw."

"Bene, a draw." Leonardo said, amused, clearly humoring him, and try as Ezio might he could not discern the broken, desperate man from days before. "After all I guess you would know better about the intricacies of such matters than a mere engineer."

"A mere engineer indeed."

He still had regular lessons, but Leonardo had made no move to initiate anything further, which suited Ezio fine. He supposed that after all, up until a better option presented itself, an occasional kiss or a few kind words would not go entirely amiss. It was not as though Ezio had the time or energy to actively locate a solution at present.

"Perhaps you should try fighting with wooden weapons," Leonardo continued to talk as Ezio buckled the last of his belts firmly over his chest and pulled down his cowl. "Practice ones."

"Wooden weapons have a different feel and balance to a real blade. It would not be practice." Ezio patted his scabbard, then raised his hand quickly as Leonardo opened his mouth. "And no, I would much rather you did not try to look into how you might make a wooden blade feel more like a real one."

"It would have its benefits." Leonardo gestured at Ezio's injury. "I do not like seeing you hurt, Ezio. Worse still if it is not even necessary."

"It was a little necessary," Ezio shrugged. "Did you see how the Maestro ibn La-Ahad looked at Maestro Al-Sayf, afterwards? I daresay they are currently now occupied, privately, in their quarters. Perhaps they might even thank me afterwards."

"A counseling session, writ in your blood?"

"Assassins understand blood." Ezio fingered his sleeve, over the bandage, flinching as Leonardo batted his hand away.

"If you want it to heal, then stop touching it." Easy words and easy touches. Sometimes, Leonardo forgot which Ezio he was addressing, but of late, Ezio simply let it pass.

"I will wait till the Maestri finish… re-acknowledging each other and then ask them for a posting other than Acre," Ezio followed Leonardo out into the smithy, and then to the relative coolness of Masyaf proper. "Hopefully they will be in a better mood by then."

"I hope that was not your intention all along," Leonardo patted him on the back, his hand lingering on Ezio's spine for a little too long.

"Father wants to do this their way, so I will have to do it their way," Ezio grumbled, though he did not deny that it was… one of his reasons. Giovanni was anxious not to exclude either of the Masyaf Maestri from posting decisions, even if one of them was inclined to agree with him. "I like Maestro Al-Sayf, and it did seem that he was a little… unappreciated."

"Unappreciated?"

"Si. He has a lot of pride, perhaps even as much as Maestro ibn La-Ahad. He just hides it a lot better. The great Maestro ibn La-Ahad should not take his partner for granted. So-"

Excited shouts from the battlements above and to their left made Ezio turn and look out through the main gateway, expecting to see his father or his uncle, trotting eagerly towards the gate and trailing Leonardo behind him. A speck was fast approaching, a single rider, hunched over his saddle, his horse bowed in exhaustion.

It was one of Mario's condottieri. Frowning, Ezio pushed past the growing crowd, sprinting towards the horseman, the blood draining from his cheeks as he noted the hastily patched injuries on the man's forehead and thigh and feared the worst.

"Vitale," Ezio frowned, as the horseman drew up beside him, panting and pale from blood loss, as far along the road to the Reaper as his horse. "Where are my father and uncle? Why have you returned by yourself?"

"Messer Ezio," Vitale gasped, as Ezio helped him down from the saddle. "Your uncle is… wounded. He and our forces are hiding in Jerusalem."

"My father! Where is my father!"

"Your father is captured, Messer." Vitale scrabbled at his collar, clutching it tight. "Forgive me… he always wanted… alone…"

"Leonardo, look after him," Ezio laid Vitale carefully down on the grass. "Try to prevent Claudia from coming after me."

"You are going?" Leonardo frowned. "You are not assigned to any Bureau other than Acre. You said that you wanted to do things their way. And Mario is wounded? Perhaps I should come with you-"

"That was before I knew my father is in danger." Ezio grabbed the reins of the nearest horse at the stables, leading it out onto the road. "And no, I will travel faster alone."

"You have no supplies, Jerusalem is guarded and-"

It was cheating in its purest form, but Ezio leant forward and kissed Leonardo swiftly on the lips, hard and sure. "I will come back, Leonardo, I promise."

"I…" Leonardo's fingers had flit up to his mouth, his eyes wide, then he blushed and smiled, turning down to kneel at the wounded man's side. "Bene. I will trust you. And I will talk to your sister."

"Try also to persuade the Maestri not to kill me when I return," Ezio mounted up even as the Masyaf guards and assassins spilled out of the Gate, spurring the horse towards the horizon, to Jerusalem.

-tbc: short chapter. I don't do very well with fight scenes (I get bored halfway), and I had to cut the chapter where it was for completion. Also, 9 chapters is about right for Ezio to figure out how to shut down Leonardo's brain.-