We Are All Earth

Chapter Ten.

Dawn painted the sky with broad strokes when Kadar returned to the prison. He took water in a tanned skin and a piece of flat bread wrapped in cloth. He left his hidden blade behind. The guard let him in without comment. Robert must have left orders to have him admitted.

He followed the winding staircase down into the earth. The air grew chill around him. The guard at the bottom of the stairs was slouched against the wall. He straightened as Kadar approached.

"De Sable said you'd come," he said. His face was hard, his skin a sandy shade between Robert's and Kadar's own.

Kadar nodded.

"They say he's your brother."

Kadar nodded. He tensed, his hand tracing the wall. "Let me in."

The guard sucked his teeth. "I wouldn't if I were you. You want my advice-"

Kadar cut him off with a snap of his hand. "I don't." He'd spent too long already thinking about the visit. "Let me in."

The guard shrugged. "It's your decision." He turned to open the door and Kadar noticed the thin line of a fresh wound down one cheek, perhaps a legacy of the evening's Bureau raid.

No, he thought. Malik wouldn't have missed.

The door creaked open. The air that escaped was cold and stale. The interior was dark. Kadar could see no sign of movement.

"Brother," he said. The darkness inside seemed to swallow his words. The guard passed him a small earthenware lamp. He stepped inside the door and the shadows fled before him. Malik sat with his back against the wall, his right arm resting on his knees and the stump of his left hidden in his black robe. A narrow cuff gleamed around his wrist. He narrowed his eyes as Kadar stepped inside, but made no other movement.

Kadar squatted down on the other side of the cell. He pulled the stopper from the water-skin and held it out to Malik. "You can close the door," he called out to the guard.

"I'm to leave it open."

"Then move away a pace." Kadar said. The open door transformed the prison into a public place. He heard the guard shuffle to the bottom of the steps and held the skin closer. "I brought water."

Chains clinked as Malik held out his hand. Kadar passed him the skin and he drank deeply. He stopped before the skin was halfway empty and used a handful of the water to wash his face and hands. Water dripped to the floor, gleaming like oil in the lamplight.

"Kadar," he said in a voice like a knife whetted upon stone. "You should have stayed dead, brother."

The words wounded, but Kadar knew Malik had meant them to. His brother had always wielded words as deftly as his sword. He wondered how to answer. Malik had always been the more eloquent of the two.

"They told me you were dead," he said at last.

"Templars lie," Malik said. He made no movement save for a restless flicking of his fingers that in another place would have had up him and pacing the room.

Kadar handed Malik the bread he had brought. "It was a mistake." he said. "What was I to think? I did not know, I swear it on my soul." He swallowed. "How did you become the rafiq?"

Malik picked up the bread with his good hand and tore it into measured strips between his fingers. The movement looked well practiced to Kadar, as if Malik had had time to adjust to his loss. "I lived. And I brought Al Mualim what his favourite failed to find."

"Sekut, akhi." Kadar pointed to the door. "Quiet, brother. The guard listens."

Malik's eyes flicked to the entrance. "Those Templars had to die. They hid the treasure from us."

Kadar chose his words as carefully as he would select a throwing knife. "Al Mualim stole the treasure from the Templars. Malik, he lied to us. He used to be a Templar, but he betrayed them. He's using the Order to serve his own ends-"

"Did they tell you that?" Malik demanded. "Did you believe them? What do you think more likely, that a Templar lies or that the Old Man does?"

"They showed me letters-"

"Letters can be forged."

"These weren't. Malik, they were signed by Al Mualim himself. Marked by his seal! I've seen them with my own eyes."

Malik tore off a piece of bread, stretching it between the thumb and middle finger of his good hand. He chewed and swallowed. "I cannot believe that our entire Order is based upon lies," he said between bites.

"Believe it." Kadar said flatly. "It is true."

"I know Altaïr has doubts, though I have not spoken to him. I-" he winced. "Things have been bad between us since you have been gone. I blamed Altaïr for your death. Maybe I should not have been so quick to judge." He ate another piece of bread and wrapped the remainder in the cloth. "But that is another matter entirely. You are with the Templars. Why did they send you here?"

Kadar could think of a thousand reasons why he had come. He settled upon one. "To talk."

Malik shook his head. He was close enough that Kadar could have reached out and touched him, but he made no move. It was as if they had been separated by more than just the chains. "Then I'll save your voice. There is nothing I can say that will make the Templars free me. So that is what I will tell them-nothing. Whatever they do."

"You could join them." Kadar said quietly.

"As you did?" Malik shook his head. "I am not so naive."

"Not naive. Malik, the Templars opened my eyes to Al Mualim's treachery. We have more in common than you think. They've made me free, and they'll release you too, if you join them-"

"The Creed does not command us to be free." Malik snapped. "It commands us to be wise."

"Then see what is before your eyes! Tell me this, brother-how many did we kill that night in Solomon's Temple?"

Malik shook his head. "I was in no condition to notice."

"How many?"

Malik glanced down ruefully at the four fingers on his remaining hand. "Six?"

"One. And he was an Arab like ourselves."

Malik's eyes narrowed. He frowned. "An Arab? The Templars are Crusaders. Even novices know that."

"The Templars are not all Franks. They're a brotherhood like ours. They seek to unite the Christians and the Muslims."

"By turning them against the Assassins!"

"They fight for peace." Kadar said. He could be just as stubborn as his brother, when he tried.

Malik made a disgusted sound. "How can you say that?"

"Because I believe it! I swore an oath, Malik-"

His brother's eyes were sharp as eagles. "Did you mean it?"

"Yes."

Malik sighed. The silence settled like dust between them. Kadar shifted and stretched his lame leg out into the centre of the room. The movement caught Malik's eyes. He rotated his wrist to point at Kadar's leg. Crumbs clung to his fingers. "What happened?"

"My knee." Kadar said. "It tore. I had other wounds as well, but that was the worst- He broke off, ashamed to complain of his own injuries when Malik was so obviously crippled. "I can still climb."

"I have tried," Malik admitted. His fingers curled around his knee, and the chain around his wrist struck the stones dully. "I have not found it easy."

Kadar understood. Malik had never liked to admit weakness. Even here, chained, a captive, and facing death, his back was straight, his eyes sharp. If he waited, it was to turn the situation to his own advantage, and if that advantage never came, well, insha'allah. That was the will of God. Kadar wished he could bear his fate with half the fortitude.

"How did we come to this?" Malik asked softly.

Kadar did not know how to answer. "They have given me three days," he said.

"What then?" Malik cut like a sword to the heart of the matter.

Kadar shook his head. "Malik," he said "you have to join the Templars. You'll die. You've admitted that you suspect Al Mualim hides information from you-"

"He's the leader of the Order. That is his right." Malik leaned back against the stones. He tipped his head back and looked at Kadar from under hooded eyes. "I shouldn't have to tell you that Assassins aren't afraid to die. Or have you forgotten that, as well?"

"Stop arguing and listen! I nearly died in Solomon's Temple. You don't understand. There's no garden...no heavenly reward, no virgins, just nothing."

"Why would I be afraid of nothing?"

"So you'll give up?"

"Of course not." Malik looked at Kadar as if he was a child. "I will fight. But there are some fights you cannot win and some commands you can't refuse. The Order will not miss me and the Assassins will win in the end. Altaïr will end this madness with his blades."

Kadar sighed. "Fate smashes us like we were made of glass," he said, quoting an old poem he knew was one of Malik's favourites.

"And never are our shards put together again." Malik finished. "You're no longer my brother in the Creed. He reached out, gripped a handful of Kadar's hair and shook his head gently back and forth. It was a familiar gesture, made with only half the force. "But you will always be my brother in blood."

Kadar felt the weight of memory descend upon his shoulders with the load of half Jerusalem. The path that had brought him and Malik to the prison was long and twisted. He wished he had had the foresight to choose a straighter path. He closed his eyes and imagined himself back in Masyaf. The air smelt of stone dust, earth and urine.

Hard hands grabbed him by the hood of his jerkin and wrenched him away. He saw Malik's hand stretched out towards him, the fingers stained by ink, the calluses from years of swordplay smoothing into the soft hands of a scribe.

"Let go!" somebody shouted. The echo was deafening in the small room. He heard the harsh music chains as Malik recoiled. His head cracked painfully against stone as the guard wrenched him back against the wall and stepped between Kadar and Malik with his sword drawn.

"What are you doing?" Kadar shouted. He cursed himself. The guard could never have touched him if he had been paying attention. He hadn't been.

The guard stared at him uncomprehendingly. "He had you by the throat!"

"He would not hurt me! He's my brother!"

The guard hawked and spat. "He's an Assassin. Ask those who found the bureau! Ask Hassan. It'll be a few days before he can walk without a limp."

"You're a fool." Malik snapped.

The guard growled and stepped forwards. The bread Kadar brought was crushed underfoot, and the water-skin spilled its contents onto stone.

Kadar had his hidden blade at the soldier's throat before the man had even registered he had moved.

Malik's eyes flicked between the steel in the soldier's hand and the knife at his throat. "My thanks, brother," he said, not without some irony. "Remember my words. And don't come here again. It would not be wise."

"Let go of me," the guard spluttered. Kadar smelt the stink of his body, the smell of a man who had gone many days without bathing in the hot Syrian sun. He gave the blade a twist before he flicked his wrist and re-sheathed the dagger in his sleeve.

The guard backed away from Malik and Kadar. Blood trickled down his throat. He raised his hand to rub his neck and stared at the rusty stain on his fingers. "No wonder De Sable set me to keep an eye on you!"

"Don't question me."

The guard cursed and re-sheathed his sword with some difficulty in the cramped space. "We shall see what happens when Robert returns. I wonder whether he will side with his solders-" he gave Kadar a scornful glare, "or with his catamite."

Kadar did not dare glance at Malik. "Yes," he said. "We shall see with whom he sides."

"It will not matter." Malik's voice was tired. Kadar could not tell if he had heard, and he did not possess the courage to ask. "You'd best leave de Sable's side quickly, Kadar. It would not be wise for you to stay."

Kadar's retort died in his throat. He had expected many things from Malik, but not a warning. But then, Malik had always seen it as his job to get Kadar out of trouble. "What do you mean?" he asked

Malik just looked at him.

Kadar turned away from the furious guard, from Malik's arguments and the cramped oppressive confines of the tiny room. He took the stairs two at a time, eager to be free of the place. Once he reached the courtyard he stood under the dark night sky and inhaled breath after breath of cool air. His right hand clenched uselessly in the folds of his robe.

I have advanced with one foot and retreated with the other for too long.

He thought that he had chosen between the Templars and the Assassins but he was not surprised to find himself wrestling with his loyalty yet again. Once again, his feet rested on unfamiliar ground.

If he tried to free Malik, they would both die. If he did not, he would have to live with the knowledge that he might have saved his brother. Either way, Al Mualim might win.

Kadar saw no answer in the clear horizon. He turned from the courtyard and made his way to Robert's chambers. He'd hoped the Templar would be awake despite the late hour, but the Templar took a long time to respond to Kadar's urgent knock upon his door. When he did, it was in his night gown.

"Kadar?" he asked, his voice crisp. "What news?"

"I know the Assassins' next target," Kadar said.

Robert grasped him by the elbow and drew him inside. His body stiffened like a hunting hound's. "Who?"

Kadar swallowed. "It's you," he said. "They're going to assassinate you."