Assassin's Creed: Reversal of Shadows
Tenth
The Assassin regained consciousness with a measure of shock, barely having noticed losing it in the first place. Though his muscles were sore, likely from being bound to the saddle of an unfamiliar horse for at least a few hours, he resisted the urge to shift or even open his eyes, withholding any indication that he had woken. Instead, he listened, counting the amount of plodding hooves around him and gauging them to number a little under a dozen. Quite an escort for a single prisoner, he thought carelessly, though he found he did not blame their paranoia.
He moved his arms slightly and felt the brush of a new bandage around his right shoulder, as well as the already expected ropes wrapped neatly about his forearms and wrists, the rough cord holding them behind his back. These he tugged at experimentally, finding that they were tight but not uncomfortable, most of the cut of the strands absorbed by his bracers. With further surprise, he found that, if given enough chance to shift the bindings, it would be possible to release a blade into them and cut himself free. The carelessness of this confused him, and almost involuntarily, he lifted his head to look around at the papal guards that had jessed him.
Immediately, a wave of nausea swept over him and he recoiled behind his hood with a quietly snarled curse, shutting his eyes against a suddenly fierce headache. He tried not to shudder as the pain slowly receded, likely gentled by the loss of light, and he swallowed hard, deftly biting back any further sounds of discomfort. However, his first had evidently been heard, for the now easily recognizable voice spoke up from by his shoulder.
"Not to worry, signore, it is just an after effect of the sedative," the doctor said calmly, his proximity suggested that he was likely the one holding the reins of the Assassin's horse.
Ezio cracked open an eye long enough to glare at him, but said nothing in response. Unconcerned, the other continued, "Though I can assure you the headaches are just the beginning. The drug I gave you is a painkiller as well as a soporific, thus ironically, most of my… 'patients,' shall we say, would prefer to be given another dose, rather than suffer the pains of the withdrawal symptoms. Quite a vicious cycle, isn't it?"
"I'll pass, thank you," he ground out, his politeness highly sarcastic as he shut his eyes again and retreated behind the somewhat comforting darkness.
"Suit yourself," the masked one replied nonchalantly. "But trust me, it will not be long before you are the one asking me for it."
Refusing to be threatened, the nobleman ignored him, turning his attention instead to their surroundings and peering past a narrowed vision in order to lessen his migraine. He wrestled his focus into cooperation, ignoring the steady throbbing behind his eyes and realizing a little dully that he could not recognize the road they were taking, nor even the rather featureless farmlands enclosing them on all sides. The only thing that assured him was the position of the sun, marking evidence that it had only been a couple of hours at most since he had blacked out. Even riding hard, they could not have gotten far, not out of the boundaries of Tuscany at least.
He had only just noted that they were heading east, when he caught sight of a shape on the horizon ahead of them, the silhouette of a towered city etched clearly across the sky. Confused, he began to wonder if they were heading towards San Gimignano—drastically unlikely, as they had been minutes away from the walled town when he had passed out—until he realized a stark pattern in the colossal structures.
All of the pillar-like assemblies were identical, built wooden and evidently wheeled, quite unlike the solid stone towers he was familiar with. As they drew closer, the 'city' was revealed to be a formidable military base, shelled thickly with heavy walls, and surrounded by the spires of what he now comprehended were siege towers. The Templar invasion force, he realized, a scowl twisting his scarred lip as he straightened and rather hatefully studied the fortress in its entirety.
"Are you afraid, Assassin?" the papal captain questioned mockingly from the front of the group, apparently hearing him shift. "I'm sure you realize now that it's foolish to think that you and yours actually stand a chance of preventing our siege."
Ezio did not trust himself to speak, instead keeping his temper and ducking his head in feigned weakness. Though he easily ignored the captain's arrogant chuckle at his supposed broken spirit, he realized that he truly was starting to feel sickened from the motion, from the tearing emptiness the sedative left behind as it dissipated from his system. He shut his eyes carefully, reserving his strength and trying to discount his body's near-desperate requests for reprieve. This drug was like wine, he realized bitterly, tempting and deceptive, promising relief when all that it yielded was a self-destructive craving for more. He needed to weather it, and only hope that the effects would recede by the time he faced his enemy's comandante.
As they moved past the roughly hewn walls of the stronghold, the Assassin felt his eagle flutter in slight distress at the creaking of the portcullis behind them, the metal sounding out high and grating as it slid closed. It would be difficult to escape, but not impossible, he told himself firmly, tamping down the rising unease. He would not let mere walls encage him.
The streets they passed through were as busy as those of any city, men flowing past the tight regiment of papal guards in organized streams, and paying them little heed as they attended to their business. Perhaps once, this had been an ordinary town, filled with citizens and commoners going about their lives, until the Templar forces had seen fit to take it as their own. Now, the only inhabitants of its roads were soldiers and laborers, mixed in equal measure, the great clatter of their scabbards and armor and other machinery of war taking the place of the usual lull of traded words or friendly conversation.
The group finally drew to a halt in a small, open square, following the direction of a lower ranked foot soldier as he guided the way for the apparently honored guests. The men around him began to dismount, and Ezio lifted his head with some difficulty, though determinedly pushing the ache of the ebbing sedative to the back of his mind. He would need to be ready—his opportunity was fast approaching. With steeled confidence, he watched with only shallowly hidden disdain as one papal guard drew near him, cautious.
"Come quietly, eagle, it will do you no good to struggle here," the man said carefully, reaching out and speaking evenly as if to calm a skittish horse.
The Assassin gave an impatient breath at the treatment, and he blatantly shifted away from the man, sliding from the saddle and landing lightly on his feet with an ease that they evidently did not expect. Despite the fact that he had not attempted to take a step in any direction, he staggered a little as he was seized by at least three papal soldiers, alarmed as they were that he was attempting to escape. He smirked at their paranoia, but was silent, following them docilely to a nearby building. They still feared him it seemed, despite the ropes and his lack of weapons.
The room they entered was wide and dimly lit, shadows clinging heavily to its low rafters and reminding him of a workshop, or perhaps an old forge. Ezio said nothing as he was led to the back of the large, open space, his eyes half-lidded to aid his concentration and acting outwardly composed until he noticed the smaller antechamber they were heading for. The cell seemed no bigger than a closet, tight and confining and equipped with a solid lock. Unease and claustrophobia rose in him, and he tensed, instinctively drawing to a halt but fighting to keep the discomfort from his face.
The papal soldiers holding him paused as well; a little unsure and likely worried that forcing him into the narrow room would set him off again. The wounds they had received from this diavolo were apparently still fresh upon their memories.
"What's the matter with all of you?" the papal captain barked out from near the main entrance, haughty despite the fact that he was rather obviously keeping his distance. "He is just one man."
At this, the Assassin saw his opportunity and he fell abruptly to a crouch, startling his escort enough to release him. He could not help but grin a little darkly at their rather craven reaction as he abruptly twisted, jerking one arm to release a hidden blade through his bindings and tearing himself free of the lacerated strands. He whirled around smoothly to drive a well-placed boot against one guard's knee, knocking him off balance and presenting an opening. Both the man and the discarded cord hit the wooden floor in a tangle, but Ezio was already in motion, running towards the far wall.
"I thought you said that you would subdue him!" the captain's enraged, accusing cry burst from behind him, audible even over the pounding footsteps as every soldier in the room scattered, attempting to surround and retrieve the prisoner.
"Was that the agreement?" the doctor questioned calmly, trailing after the Assassin's retreat at an easy lope. "You must be mistaken."
The nobleman took no notice of their exchange, set only on escaping the Templar's reach. The pulsing headache from the sedative was distracting, slightly staggering his steps and only intensifying the accompanying chill of nausea, however, he ignored both symptoms pointedly. Impatiently brushing the feverish sweat from his brow, he fixed a dark gaze upon his escape route, a high window in line with the thick, dusty rafters.
A guard leapt threateningly into his path, brandishing a halberd, but the eagle saw him as little more than an obstacle to be taken advantage of, not even bothering to slow his pace as he approached. He leapt easily, jumping against the metal-encased shoulder and using the man as leverage to reach one of the crossed wood beams overhead. He swiftly pulled himself up, his cape trailing behind him like a spread wing and tauntingly dodging the grasp of the papal soldier with barely a few centimeters to spare.
Ezio traversed the evenly spaced rafters as easily as a level street, heading straight for the promising flash of blue he could see through the open window. He breathed heavily and purposefully, resolutely pushing away the stabs of pain and vertigo. He carefully dodged the sharp glints of metal as the soldiers lashed upwards at him with halberds and spears, unable to reach, but determinedly attempting to fell him all the same. He only halted perched on the safety of the window ledge to catch his breath, balanced a little precariously between confinement and freedom. However, a clatter caught his attention and he glanced back just in time to see the physician following startlingly close behind him, climbing up along the wall with surprising agility.
Realizing the incoming threat, he leapt quickly away from the building, the open air and wind and sky welcoming him and sweeping comfortingly past the folds of his uniform, before he caught the edge of an adjacent structure and resumed his flight. The rough, unmaintained tiles of the neglected rooftops provided easy footing for the Assassin as he ran, even with the cloud of ache hanging doggedly over him; and despite his clattering movement in broad daylight, he realized that he need not be concerned about the soldiers in the streets, unfamiliar as they were of a threat from above.
The only immediate risk was the doctor, persistently tailing him and leaping with surprising efficiency along the uneven building edges, not missing a step behind the fleeing eagle. Ezio looked back at him with impatience, frowning and knowing that the man had let him go on purpose in order to take the credit of his capture for himself. This one needed to be dealt with swiftly.
On the central beam across the steeply arched roof of an abandoned church, he slowed steadily with seeming exhaustion, listening carefully for the tread of his pursuer until he gauged that the Templar was directly at his back. Here, he turned smoothly and slid to a halt, lowering to one knee to steady himself and stabbing both hidden blades into the darkly cloaked figure still advancing upon him. However, even as he lunged forward, he caught sight of the narrow metal of a needle, the doctor retaliating by lashing the syringe out directly into his path.
Brown eyes narrowed and he shifted his attack swiftly, refusing to be caught twice by the same low tactic. He leaned away and brought his blades together in twin diagonal strikes, the narrow knives biting into fragile metal and glass, and splintering the injection, strewing the liquid it had contained onto the roof tiles. He pushed to his feet, forcing the doctor back a step as he leveled both his weapons to the other's throat.
"I should kill you here," Ezio growled out coldly, his crossed blades dripping toxin and brushing against the other man's neck threateningly. "But first I need information. Who is this comandante you were speaking of before? Is he here?"
"I am told that he is," the physician responded smoothly, though a little vaguely, raising his hands placatingly. He was as unruffled as ever despite the danger to his life, only studying the Assassin quite expressionlessly past his beaked visor. "But are you not in pain, signore? I am a doctor, I can help you."
He only scowled in response, his eagle hissing in annoyance at this voice so persistently wrought with false assurances. "I am not in any pain," he said bluntly, if a little untruthfully. "And I do not need any of the 'help' you offer. Just answer my questions."
"Ah, of course, since you always have your precious amico to run to, correct?"
The nobleman blinked, though he was quick to mask his surprise. "If you are not willing to give me the answers I seek, I will find them elsewhere," he bit out, though his hostile words only seemed to fall on deaf ears.
"You came to me yesterday seeking treatment for a deep wound," the other continued easily, speaking as if in casual conversation. "Instead, you seem to have received care from elsewhere, from a non-professional by the look of it. I saw the stitches while you were unconscious, signore Leonardo's handiwork is quite unmistakable."
"Your life is about to end," he reminded him flatly, patience quickly wearing thin from the diversion of topics and his still persistently throbbing headache. "You have an odd choice of last words."
"Perhaps. But as I said before, signore, I am a doctor. You would do well not to take me too lightly."
The hand that shot towards him was neither in a punch nor an armed strike, thus initially registering as barely a threat, right until it connected. The eagle only just managed to stifle a cry as the other struck his left flank with surgical precision, driving pressure directly into his still healing stab wound and forcing him down onto one knee. The ache flared up fresh and searing, but he snarled aloud to shake off the pain, countering defensively and catching the doctor with a slash—deep, though not lethal—across the chest.
Both men staggered apart, and in the split moment Ezio realized that he was inevitably losing his balance, his body failing from the relentless assault, he quickly reached forward and snatched onto the other man's waxed robe. The world seemed to tilt as his vision veered dangerously, but he clung on, dragging his enemy with him as they both slipped from level footing and tumbled against the angled roof. The sheer surface did little to slow their fall, and the Assassin could only brace himself as he slid from the smoothened titles and out into open air.
Author's Note: Unfortunately for Ezio, escape is not quite as easy as he thinks.