Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed. I do not make claims to owning it. I'm just borrowing the characters, please do not sue!
Author Notes: I have hinted at the end of the previous chapter than this one would be awesome. And it's finally here. I won't blab too long, and make you wait any longer. Please enjoy responsibly.
Chapter X: Traps and Underhanded Gambits
Altair was crouching on the second story rooftop of a house overlooking the central street of Jerusalem's poor district. The day bode to be a very hot one, it wasn't noon yet and the sun was already overbearing, and there was no wind to break it up. The temperature was part of the reason for his sticking to the roofs like this. It was a relatively languid manner of looking for his target; it conserved energy and prevented the heat from getting to him. Up here he could observe two streets simultaneously, looking for anything of interest.
Time passed slowly, but eventually he spotted something of interest, a group of men was walking down the street, ruffians by the look of their jaunts. Among them was a man, who from a distance shared an uncanny resemblance to Jamal. Altair straightened and quickly made his away across the rooftops to get closer to the group.
He quickly ascertained that all six of the other men in the group were armed, all six had swords, and one probably had a concealed weapon strapped to his back, judging by the way he carried himself. The man of interest among them was indeed Jamal, dressed in the plain clothes of the people around him. It brought a grin to Altair's features. The fool was utterly unaware of how close he was to the end of his games. However therein remained a problem, to emerge unto the busy street now would draw city guards to the resulting commotion, giving Jamal a window to escape. Altair doubted the coward would stick around if given the choice of fight or flight.
Jamal had surrounded himself in a diversionary force, one meant to give him a window of opportunity to escape. It left Altair wondering who these six men were, and why they would risk certain death at his hands to protect the snake. It could be a simple matter of them being unaware of the precise nature of the danger they were in, but if they chose to get in his way they forfeited their lives.
Stealthily as he could, Altair followed the large group from the rooftops, patiently waiting for a window of opportunity to strike. If he was allowed to kill Jamal out right, things would've been a lot simpler; all he would need is one strike. He could easily fend off all six fools when Jamal was dying at his feet.
The group stopped at times to talk to some of the merchants; the guards were quick to pressure the vendors into donating money for something. Altair could not hope to overhead the conversation from this distance, and he couldn't draw closer. Jamal never spoke to the merchants, instead his eyes scanned the street, constantly checking for a tail, and it made drawing any closer to the man difficult. Occasionally he even scanned the rooftops, so that Altair had to duck out of sight and risk alerting the man. Jamal was exhibiting the paranoia that Cassandra had warned about, the man was clearly agitated, overly-cautious, and Altair decided probably not in the right state of mind, even for him.
An hour passed before he realized it, and he trailed the group to the middle district. Two of the guards exchanged words with Jamal and then walked away, leaving four behind, better odds, but still not the ideal time to make his move. In the next hour one more of the guards had separated, sent away by Jamal himself upon some sort of errand.
Altair realized with a start that they were drawing near the barracks of the city guard, he cursed to himself. Now even if Jamal was alone the odds of avoiding a commotion were slim. The anger surged in him, two hours of following and for nothing. It was as if Jamal knew that he was being followed, but that couldn't be, Altair knew that Jamal had not spotted him yet.
As the group entered a plaza, Altair knew he had to make his move, to try a capture now, while the odds were still in his favor. Any closer to the barracks, and the odds would tip unfavorably. As the men stopped by the plaza's fountain to replenish their water skins, Altair moved. He ran across the roof and gracefully vaulted unto the top of a narrow stone archway that stood at the entrance to the plaza, and made his way across it, crouching low for balance. From there he vaulted unto the wooden beams that protruded from the side of a building, the landing was a little rough but he stuck to it.
"What is that man doing?" One of the women on the street asked.
Altair cursed silently as one of the guards turned, spotting him. In that instant he leapt down from the beams, hidden blade extending with a near inaudible schink, a scream echoed just as he buried his knife into the first ruffian's neck, easing the man's body to the ground.
"Altair," Jamal spoke. "Here at last, I assume you intend to kill me?"
The other two guards drew their swords, already advancing on him as he straightened. Altair withdrew his hidden blade. "The master wants you brought back alive," he replied as he drew his sword free from its sheath.
"And you expect me to believe that? You, the one who always disregards the rules as mere suggestions, you would not kill me where I stand if given a chance," Jamal argued, amusement in his tone, something that was quickly beginning to grate on Altair's nerves.
"If it were up to me, you'd be dead already. That first strike would have been aimed at your neck."
"Such anger, such hate, and they say you're incapable of feelings. All this over one woman; how was her funeral?"
"She still lives, your attack had merely stunned her," Altair replied.
"A jinni is, as a jinni does." Jamal waved his hand and suddenly the remaining guards attacked.
Altair blocked the first attack, sweeping the sword from the attacker's hands in the same movement. The weapon cluttered away as the man fell backwards to the stone paved ground, but in that moment the other swung, stopping Altair from using the window of opportunity to deliver a deadly strike. Altair knew the first sign of combat had renewed the sense of urgency and panic within the civilians on the street, already people were running for shelter, emptying the square.
The second time the thug attacked, Altair blocked it and effortlessly got under his guard, running the man through. Altair had barely managed to pull his sword out when the other thug attacked, having recovered his sword. Altair was not in the mood to draw this fight out and dispatched him just as effortlessly, sidestepping the first thrust, slamming the pommel of his sword into the man's gut. The thug stumbled, eyes widening as Altair impaled him upon the sword.
Silence settled in the now empty square as Altair straightened and turned to Jamal. "Fight me," he commanded.
The traitor smiled, surprisingly brave for a man who had just lost the last of his bodyguards. "And risk my life? I rather not," he replied, despite the fact that his hand was on the hilt of his own sword.
"You have no choice," Altair stated, drawing near. The sword in his hand was still dripping with the blood of the two men he had just dispatched; he flicked the blade, tossing the drops off to the ground at his feet. This was it, he only had to incapacitate this arrogant fool, and the chase would be over. Altair sheathed his sword; he didn't need it for this part. The orders said he was to bring Jamal back alive; there was no clause about bringing him back unharmed.
Jamal stepped back, chuckling, enjoying the annoyance Altair didn't bother to mask from his face. "So you say, but in the meantime- tell me, is she good? She must be good to have charmed so many men, but to the harlot you're probably just another conquest on a long list."
Something in the traitor's words enraged Altair, enough that he attacked, swinging wide, aiming for the man's jaw, fully intending to break it and silence his words. Jamal laughed as he dodged him, and dimly Altair became aware of footsteps on the street, many footsteps belonging to at least ten if not more.
"Assassin!" a voice shouted.
"See?" Jamal taunted, blocking another of Altair's punches. "You're now in my trap, Altair. There is no escape," Jamal stepped back and drew his sword.
Altair glanced back, seeing seven city guards and the three other ruffians running at him from the barracks. He cursed, the split had been a ruse and he fell for it. Everything had been planned to get him to emerge from his hiding spot, to expose himself. Jamal's actions, the extortion, everything suddenly clicked within Altair's mind in a single moment of lucidity. The money was not for travel, or maybe not entirely for travel. Part of it was used to buy the cooperation of the city guards for this endeavor. The extortion of the merchants was also just a way to fund this very elaborate, very hare-brained ruse, and maybe skim some money off the side.
"Come after me if you dare," Jamal taunted. "You won't make it out of this trap alive."
"We'll see," Altair reached for his sword just as he was surrounded by the guards. Jamal expected him to die in this trap; the man probably had no plan at all in case that it failed.
Two of the guards rushed him simultaneously. Altair unsheathed his sword and stepped back, parrying the first blow effortlessly and causing the swords to shriek as they met blade to flat. His free hand reached for the throwing knives at his waist. Another of the guards swung high, Altair ducked and swept low, cleaving at the man's knee, before thrusting up and running the guard through. In the split second pause as the other watched his comrade drop, Altair whipped out a knife and threw it with a flick of his wrist. The second guard went down with the knife sticking out from his windpipe.
Suddenly two more charged, emboldened and enraged by their swift deaths of their comrades. Altair stepped out of the way of their clumsy, enraged attacks, ducking again to avoid another high swing. As he straightened, and in the split second that it took the guards to ready another swing he lashed out, impaling one upon his sword, sending blood flying in tiny splatters through the air. The other recoiled away from the splatter of his comrade's vital fluid, edging away.
Altair was keenly aware that Jamal was watching this spectacle, enjoying it. Well let him enjoy it, he thought. This would be the last thing the traitor enjoyed. Soon enough the fool would be ruing this gruesome plan, the death of the thirteen fools today would not be Altair's fault.
"He's a monster!" the guard exclaimed with astonishment.
Altair smirked, what was it that Jamal called him? If the traitor wanted to see a shaitan, he'd show the bastard a shaitan. He drew his second throwing knife, and flicked it, the one to call him a monster went down without a further cry.
The flash of sunlight glinting off a blade off to his side alerted Altair to another attack. Gripping his sword with both hands, he blocked and parried the blow slightly aside. The two swords locked, grinding flat-to-flat as Altair drew closer to his opponent, finally locking the hand guard of his blade against the guard of the other. With a final jerk he pushed against the other sword with all his strength, sending its wielder toppling to the ground, Altair did not miss a beat in impaling the man upon his sword.
With the fifth kill claimed, Altair stepped back, already feeling the strain of combat in the overbearing heat. His breathing was lapsing into an erratic rhythm, draining him of strength as his muscles craved air they were not getting. Gripping the sword tighter he sent Jamal a vicious glare, daring the bastard to enter the fray, but the traitor merely stood by with his arms folded over his chest, observing the battle with an arrogantly amused expression on his face.
"What's the matter Altair? Tired already?" he taunted.
"I'm tired of this mockery. Their blood will be on your hands."
"So says a man who has met his match," Jamal retorted, raising one hand, and waving his fingers.
The three ruffians, who had previously hung back, now entered the fray, drawing their own swords. The three all came simultaneously, swinging like the amateurs they were. Altair kicked one in the knee, feeling the satisfying sensation of the joint giving way under the force of his blow. The ruffian howled in pain and stumbled, whereupon he became casualty number six. The other two paused, their swords lowering for a split of a second, Altair lunged on the initiative, burying his sword through the gut of one, and ramming his wrist blade into the neck of the other.
Two city guards remained. They glanced at Jamal, as if communicating their uncertainties, but the traitor sent them a threatening glare as he pulled out a wicked knife. The silent message was clear enough for the men, and they drew their swords.
Altair was faster in drawing his remaining throwing knives and finishing them off where they stood, though he would've preferred it if they had turned tail and ran. "Just you and me," he turned, glaring at Jamal.
"So it would seem," Jamal replied.
Altair watched him as he moved around the battlefield, reclaiming his throwing weapons from the corpses of the felled men. "Did you honestly expect them to stop me?" he asked.
"Truthfully? No. I was hoping you'd finish them off, and now I don't have to actually pay them," Jamal replied. "But they did a good job in their true purpose."
Altair felt hate burn in him at the man's words, he had just murdered thirteen who had been merely pawns to this madman, like cattle sent to the slaughter, and for what? To tire him out? If that was the plan, then Jamal sorely underestimated his stamina, the thirteen had winded him a little but he wasn't tired.
"Let's finish this," Altair commanded, his voice dipping low into a hiss.
"With pleasure," Jamal replied, yanking out his sword as he lunged. His sword was not the same as Altair's, a little shorter, and narrower. It was of a lighter build, a trade of some power for some more speed.
Altair met his attack head on, pouring all his strength, anger, and hate into the blow. Steel met steel with a loud reverberating clang, sending a faint spark flying.
"You are tired," Jamal hissed, teeth gritted together; "You can't make me budge now."
Altair shoved him away, just to prove him wrong, swinging horizontally to the man's middle. Jamal dropped the point of his blade down, blocking the swing, again steel met steel with a clang, causing both swords to vibrate. Metal shrieked as Jamal pushed closer, raising his free hand, thrusting his dagger foreword, but Altair saw it coming and batted the man's knife hand away with his armored vambrace.
The traitor's sword flashed up, releasing Altair's, and the elite assassin barely moved his head out of the way of the flashing tip, which whistled past his ear, nicking his hood as it went. In retort Altair swung again, aiming to cleave the bastard shoulder to hip, no longer caring about the standing orders to bring him back alive. Jamal blocked the attack and the swords locked, guard to guard, bringing their wielders close. Altair struggled to force his heavier sword down, pouring his strength into the locked blades, and little by little Jamal's arm began to give, forcing him to toss aside his knife and switch to a two handed grip.
"Who's losing strength now?" Altair asked, gritting his teeth.
Jamal stepped away, suddenly releasing all that tension; Altair's strength carried his sword downward until its tip almost hit the ground. Both fighters circled each other, oblivious to everything around them that had nothing to do with their fight.
Jamal lunged and Altair saw his opening, exposing the blade he met the attack blade to blade, the swords rang like bells and suddenly Jamal's simply shattered, its lighter blade notched and cracked by the heavier blow from Altair's. The traitor stumbled back, shocked, eyes widening.
"It's over," Altair advanced, sheathing his sword. With his sword broken and his knife tossed aside Jamal was defenseless, one good blow to the face would be enough to rend him unconscious. Altair intended to do what he meant to do at the beginning, break the fool's jaw for the obscenities he had spouted.
"Yes, it is," Jamal replied.
Altair saw the man's expression shift and suddenly his arm flashed, a dagger emerged from his sleeve. Utterly unprepared for the attack, Altair could only instinctively grab at the man's forearm as the knife bore down upon him. The grab was clumsy and too close, too late, a second later he felt a searing pain on the left side of his chest; the knife's tip had sunk through his two tunics and entered flesh.
Jamal's other hand flashed, and Altair grabbed it too as they struggled. Jamal, to force the knife deeper, Altair to push him away. The burning grew, acrid and painful, and with it the pain magnified. The tension of all his muscles made it worse and Altair's strength began to give, letting the knife sink a sliver deeper.
"I'll be sure to send your beloved jinni your heart in a box," Jamal sneered.
Altair's eyes narrowed, he felt the wrath return, and with it his strength. Jamal continued to bear down, ever stronger, yet Altair simply smirked. The tiny shift in Jamal's balance gave Altair a tiny opening. He shifted the angle of his left hand relative to his wrist, aligning his hidden blade to the gap created by his missing ring finger. Jamal's eyes widened with sudden realization, instantly he attempted to pull back, freeing the tip of the knife from the wound it created. Altair held the traitor's wrist firmly in place and his smirk widened, with a jerk of his little finger he pulled on the ring release mechanism. The hidden blade emerged with a thunderous schink, piercing clean between the two bones of Jamal's forearm.
Jamal's hand instantly snapped loose as he recoiled in pain. The knife dropped from his grip and cluttered on the ground between them. Altair let go of his wrist, yanking the wrist blade free. The jerk of the blade's withdrawal caused the traitor to howl in pain as the wound was sliced wider.
Altair's left hand felt slick with Jamal's blood, his tunics were quickly becoming stained red with his own, and suddenly the town's alarm bells began to peal, bringing the two back to reality. Altair stepped back, jerking his head in the direction of the city's guard barracks. Ten guards emerged from the building and Altair cursed loudly. Two more were coming from the other street. These were not Jamal's paid guards; they were a crowd drawn by a fight that lasted too long.
"You still lose," Jamal hissed, holding his wrist.
"No, I win. You will be dead in some alley within a day, and I will find your sorry corpse then," Altair turned and bolted. He knew he couldn't fight another squad of guards, not with this throbbing injury to his chest. Malik's men would be able to find Jamal easily by following the blood trail he would undoubtedly leave. There were only a handful of places in the city where a man with such a severe injury could go. Altair made for the beams from which he had leapt down.
"Stop! Assassin!" one of the guards shouted.
Ignoring the guards, he pulled himself up to the beams, grimacing at the magnified throbbing of his injury. From there he clambered unto the roof of the building, unto the arch, across it to the next roof. It took the guards too long to get to the roofs themselves, Altair was already running across the flat expanses. The burning of his wound continued getting worse and worse and the thought of poison occurred to him. It wasn't the first time he had come too close to the tip of a knife, but none of the other times had burned and itched quite like this. Assassins never used poison, deeming it a coward's weapon, but Jamal was just the sort of coward who would resort to it.
He leapt down into to bureau yard, the landing jarring him into stumbling. It was as if his ability to bear his own weight had suddenly been impaired. Straightening he entered the bureau, instantly meeting the proprietor's eyes.
Malik's expression flicked from annoyance to one of surprise as he undoubtedly spotted the blood, but then the annoyance returned two-fold. "Who did you kill?" he demanded.
"Jamal's paid men," Altair replied. "Malik I have no time for this, I fought with Jamal himself and managed to injure him, but not all of this blood is his." He said, leaning unto the doorframe. Even as he spoke, a faint tingling began in his extremities, spreading upwards to the major muscles of his body, weakening him with each passing second. "Call the healer." Altair stated, and stumbled back outside.
Sandy and Faisal sat on the crates as they watched the trainees work in the practice rink. Occasionally the two would exchange comments on how either of them could've done better on any given move and defense. Antonio was nowhere to be seen, and for that Sandy was glad. After the events in the dining hall, things had turned a little awkward for her when it came to Antonio. He had caused quite a scene getting up, and there was the matter of his words. She didn't know exactly what he meant with what he said that time, about being her champion, but her gut instinct was on alert. She had learned to trust that instinct most of all, some called it paranoia, but to her it was as indispensable as any of her other five senses.
The two boys fighting in the rink, both younger and less experienced than Faisal, were using wooden practice knives. They would still recoil subtly when the wooden knives came in contact with each other, showing their lack of confidence. Their trainer would remark on that every time, with growing impatience.
"Those two still act like ten year olds who just began training," Faisal remarked.
"Cut them some slack, Faisal. I'm sure you were no better at their age."
"I was better," Faisal retorted.
"Sure you were, and pigs can fly," Sandy replied, rolling her eyes. Faisal made a face and Sandy grinned, smacking his shoulder in a friendly manner.
"What was that for?" Faisal protested.
"Nothing, just kidding with'cha," Sandy replied.
"You're the oddest girl I have ever met, you know that? The others tell me that all girls are good for is crying when they are in danger, and you-"
"I'm not a girl, Faisal, I'm twenty two, that makes me a woman," Sandy protested.
"Why aren't you married then?" He asked.
Sandy stopped cold, almost choking at the candidness of Faisal's question. A second later she got her senses back, realizing that for the twelfth century it was a pretty darn good question. By current standards she could almost be rightfully called an old maid. "Let's just say, where I come from, we don't marry that young. Some marry at twenty; some marry at twenty five, up to thirty its considered fine. Me? I haven't met a man I would like to marry, you know."
"And your parents didn't-"
"Arrange? No."
Faisal tipped his head to the side, curiosity obvious on his face, yet he remained silent, and Sandy grinned.
"You asking these questions makes it seem like you're interested."
Faisal recoiled, as if scolded by hot oil, and Sandy burst out laughing as she watched his expression change from surprise to a slight tinge of embarrassment barely visible in the faint reddening of his finely tanned ears. Her laughter didn't last long, knowing full well that it wasn't fair to be laughing at Faisal's reactions. He was a fifteen year old boy; even if his hormones had kicked in he was still probably too young to be thinking about women like that, especially with his upbringing and being surrounded by older men. His embarrassment quickly gave way to indignation as he folded his arms over his chest and glared.
"That wasn't funny," he muttered. "Why would I want you for a wife, why would anyone?"
Sandy's expression fell instantly as every cell within her body froze, instantly hurt at the insinuation in his voice. She knew that there was something wrong with her, why at the age of twenty-two she had only experience with two guys who she would've called boyfriends, and neither of those relationships had even ever got close to anything. Despite it all, hearing the fifteen year say things like that hurt. She got to her feet and folded her arms, holding herself by the elbows.
"You have no right to speak of whether any man would want me, or not!" She bit back, looking back at him with the most cross expression she could muster, despite the sudden pain. She had set herself up for that one, but still, hearing it hurt enough that it left a sting.
The fifteen year old was suddenly grinning, "You're right, I did not have a right. You have Tony."
"Faisal!" Sandy exclaimed.
The fifteen year old got to his feet and bolted before Sandy could grab him, laughing all the way. She gave earnest chase, forgetting his hurtful words earlier in favor of catching the teasing nuisance and giving him the biggest noogie she could muster.
"When I get my hands on you, Faisal! You will rue the day!"
"I'm right though!" he shouted back.
"Get back here!" Sandy called as she chased him across the yard and past the fortress' gate to the town below, completely ignoring the other assassins that stopped to watch the peculiar scene.
"Catch me if you can!" Faisal shouted, briefly looking back over his shoulder.
Sandy pushed herself to run faster downhill, lapsing into a very familiar routine. Running had always been one of her small hobbies, ever since her high school years and track and field team days. She hadn't been the best runner or sprinter on the team, but she had enjoyed it tremendously. She chased Faisal all the way to the market street of Masyaf; the boy was only forced to stop when the crowd got a little too thick for him.
Sandy instantly caught up, putting the boy in a headlock and grinding her knuckles into the top of his head, laughing all the while as the fifteen year old struggled to get loose from her grip.
"Apologize," she stated.
"For what? For the truth? Never!"
"That was not the truth! There is nothing between me and Tony!"
"I could've said you had Altair," Faisal replied, still struggling.
"And you'd have been punched out for that one. So take your noogie like a man and stop struggling!"
Faisal stilled and Sandy let go of him, on the matter of principle, since she really didn't want to hurt the kid. When he straightened and sent her a glare, Sandy took a swipe at him for good measure, but the boy dodged her. Casting a look around both realized where their chase had led them to and that people were watching this curious scene with unabated stares. Faisal's expression soured, "I'm in trouble," he stated plainly.
"Why?"
"I was told not to leave the fort!" he exclaimed.
"Well then- race you back!" she shouted and bolted right back uphill. She could hear Faisal's footsteps as he chased her, and she put her best into it. Remembering the thrill of track and field and feeling of freedom that running used to give her. Halfway up she glanced over her shoulder and could see that Faisal was keeping up, but tiring. Running uphill was not as easy as running downhill. She slowed down, purposefully letting the boy catch up, but not overtake her. Past the fortress' gates they stopped and bent down, holding their hands on their knees, trying to catch their oxygen.
"That-" she panted. "Was fun."
"Yes," Faisal replied.
"I still beat you," Sandy boasted, giving the kid a cheeky grin.
"You have longer legs!" Faisal protested.
"And if you trained yours more, that wouldn't matter," Sandy replied.
"Are all girls where you come from so… violent?"
"Only to smarmy brats like you," Sandy replied, grabbing the fifteen-year-old by the scruff and pulling him along back towards the crates, in plain view of every other assassin in the courtyard. Faisal struggled again, trying to brace his heels into the ground, but her grip on his tunic remained strong. His struggles only got more and more pronounced when more and more eyes began to watch them with amusement.
Altair sat in the shadowed corner of the bureau's yard, leaning his head and back on the cool stone of the wall, left forearm resting on a bent knee, the other leg stretched out before him. Left utterly unarmed, clad only in his pants and boots, his chest was bound up with linen bandages, and he couldn't be in a fouler mood. His previously pristine tunics, sash, and cowl were ruined with his own blood, necessitating their replacement, which would take time to arrive. His belt and wrist blade's vambrace were sent to be thoroughly cleaned of blood as well, the former of his own, the latter of Jamal's. Though Malik kept connections with people who would do the tasks and not ask questions, it would all take time.
The wound on his chest burned and throbbed dully under the bandages, causing the most maddening urge to scratch, something he couldn't do. The healer had come and gone, and the poison had proven to be entirely a false alarm. The healer had been quick to recognize the symptoms as the effects of an anesthetic made with opium. A potent medicinal form used to put patients to sleep for surgery. Jamal probably counted on the drug as an assurance in the event that his first strike couldn't hit something vital. It was fortunate for him that the dose had been improperly chosen and had taken too long to come into effect. The air felt impossibly hot to Altair and the numbness in his fingers still lingered, as it would for an hour or two longer as the opium lost its potency.
Malik appeared from inside the bureau and stood in the doorway watching him.
Altair's patience was on a hair trigger and he sent the man a vicious glare. "What is it that you want, Malik? I'm not dead yet, and I'm not going to die," he stated.
"I was merely coming to tell you that my men are out looking for Jamal. I very much doubt a little opium is enough to kill someone as arrogant as you."
Altair's glare got even more vicious as he shifted his weight to sink deeper into the shifting shadows of the yard.
"A thought occurred to me when the opium was mentioned. Jamal must have within his acquaintance a healer as well; he won't just turn up in an alley." Malik went on, unbothered.
"He will when I'm done with him," Altair stated coldly. Orders be damned, when he got his hands on Jamal after this, he would take pleasure in killing the bastard, and doing it in the most painful, delayed way he could, but he would begin by torturing out some information of personal interest. He could deal with Al Mualim's objections later.
"I should notify the old man, have him send ba-"
"No." Altair cut in. "You will not send any letter to Masyaf. I will finish this myself. Alone. The injury I gave Jamal will keep him down longer than this scratch he gave me."
"Still arrogant and stubborn as ever!" Malik exclaimed, clearly annoyed. He began to pace from the bureau doorway to the wall opposite and back again.
"Think what you want Malik, but you will not send that letter," Altair's tone took on a commanding edge. He knew full well what would happen if Masyaf was notified. He did not need nor want the backup that would be dispatched; however, the news that he got injured on a mission would not be contained for long. Within a day the whole fort would know and with it so would she. He understood Cassandra well enough to know how reckless she was, she would probably come running to Jerusalem all on her own, all out of some stupid desire to help him. The last thing Jerusalem needed was her arrival with Jamal still on the loose.
Malik shook his head and disappeared back inside the bureau, leaving Altair alone with his thoughts and brooding. Altair let his head fall back against the cool wall and closed his eyes. Getting angry was not helping him; it gave the numbness of the opium a stronger foothold on his system. At the moment he couldn't do much more than sit there, and wait. Dallying about was the last thing Altair ever wanted to be doing while on a mission, but he'd be suicidal not to realize that he could not go searching for Jamal now. Even if his weapons were not at the cleaner's and his tunics had been spared ruin. The town was still on alert, though the alarm bells had stilled, and the guards would be looking for a man dressed in white.
The Tidbits Corner:
Opium Anesthetic: This was an actual use for an extract made from the opium poppy during the 12th century. The extract of the Opium poppy is actually mostly made up of morphine, known far and wide for its powerful pain numbing properties. Though it does that by numbing the nerves, putting the person into a haze. Mixed with a few other things and prepared properly, this anesthetic could not only put you to sleep and numb the pain, but actually kill (at high doses).
Dosages and delays: This is where things get a little dicey, and I feel the need to explain the science behind the delay theory here and why stuff worked out. The knife did not go in deeper than half an inch and when it was rending through the layered tunics Altair wears a great deal of the drug was wiped off by the absorbent fibers of the thick cloth. To be blunt Altair's sheer physical size relative to the small dosage weakened the effect somewhat.
Director's Notes:
I really hope you loved this chapter. It is very much what I would call my best chapter yet. I really tried to make the action scene stick to the familiar spirit of the game, but also give you realism and more tension, more drama, more 'awesome'. The aim was definitely to make Altair even more badass than he is, if that's possible. I really tried to make an 'edge of seat' experience. Jamal will be paying for that Xanatos Gambit soon.