Author's Note: I apologize for the significant delay, but the past couple of weeks have been busy. I'll be on break within a couple of weeks, however, thus hopefully I'll be able to make up for it then.

Assassin's Creed: Reclamation of Shadows

Wind and Arrows

There was little time for further exchange of words, for even as they neared the end of the southern castello wall, the corner that overlooked the stables, they realized that their escape route was not as assured as they had thought. The pair of mounted guards below caught sight of them and raised the alarm, calling in the contingents of archers stationed all along the ramparts.

Machiavelli cursed roundly, but continued to run as the men behind and in front of them opened fire, pulling his brother with him determinedly. However, to Ezio, the snap of loosed bowstrings and shouted orders from the higher ranked soldiers seemed little more than an insignificant storm of noise, his thoughts still weighted with the ordeal he had just escaped from. As such, his reflexes were sluggish, and he was only blankly surprised as the other Assassin halted abruptly and released the supporting grip on his arm.

His eagle stirred enough to cry its protest as Machiavelli let him fall, he only just catching himself as the momentum tumbled him forward, as the injury and exhaustion successfully dragged him to the ground. Cringing from a sharp pain in the gash across his leg, he shot an affronted glare in the younger one's direction, but only saw the other's back as he drew his crescent blade in time to intercept several arrow hafts threatening to drive into them both.

Shaking his head forcibly and realizing the danger they had gotten themselves into, the nobleman pushed himself to his feet. His sight wavered minutely as he did, the eagle of him fluttering its weariness, but he ignored it with grim promise. Rest could wait.

He jammed his hidden blade onto his arm, swiftly tightening the leather binds with fingers and teeth as he hurried to aid his brother, who was quickly becoming overwhelmed by the incoming guards. The number of soldiers had swelled within seconds, with several resorting to their swords and running ahead of their archer comrades, racing each other to bring down the escaping raptors.

Ezio fired a shot into the first man who attempted to raise a blade to Machiavelli, catching him in the side of the neck and causing him to stagger wildly into his fellows as he bled. The other Assassin smoothly took advantage of the tangled confusion; cutting down several guards as they stared in horror at the man whose throat had been so neatly torn out.

The eagle staggered to his feet, snarling against the thread of weakness in his legs as he turned towards the fresh wave of enemies coming at them from the other side, emptying his pistol into their front ranks. However, even just keeping his stance felt a struggle, and the kicked recoil each time he fired grew ever more difficult to control. He finally slipped backwards a step as a quarrel narrowly missed his outstretched arm, distracting him and causing his last bullet to fly wide.

Likely noticing his imbalance, Machiavelli was suddenly behind him, his back pressing against his to keep him upright. Ezio turned his head slightly, meeting the other's grim expression past the edge of his hood.

"There are too many," the younger one spoke shortly, his breathing a little labored as the guards hemmed in all around them. "We have no choice but to risk making for the stables."

A brief nod was enough of an answer, and together they lunged for the battlements, taking the leap and narrowly dodging the pincer-like lash of the enclosing soldiers. They landed one after the other, startling the resident horses and scattering their feed; but no sooner had they pulled free of the straw, were they forced to meet the second threat.

One of the horsemen had spurred his mount into a charge, leaning down in the saddle to sweep at the pair of Assassins with a narrow blade. Ezio stumbled back against the wall, evading the weapon with barely a few centimeters to spare, but Machiavelli was not so fortunate.

The younger Assassin cried out as the sword edge lay open his shoulder even as he moved to dodge it, dropping his scimitar and knocking into the side of one of the stable horses as he fell back towards the corner of the enclosure. Ezio's eyes narrowed as he saw the second mounted guard rushing in to finish the kill, and he tore forward a little brazenly in retaliation, leaping and snatching onto the beast's mane and bridle as it passed him.

The steed whinnied its indignity, unbalanced by the weight of the second man suddenly clinging to its neck, and the guard's stab lost its mark as the horse swung wildly to the right. Though Ezio was thrown clear as the beast thrashed, Machiavelli had managed to slip out from the corner he had been hedged into, snatching up his sword with his good arm. An accurate slash caught the mounted guard between the ribs as he attempted to calm his still shying mount, and he too fell from its back.

"Hurry up, Ezio," the younger Assassin barked out, pulling himself up onto the vacated saddle.

The eagle gave an impatient oath and climbed to his feet yet again, a hand gripping the open wound on his leg as he turned to look for the first horseman. By now, the archers on the battlements had regrouped, and the loosed volleys of arrows had sent the resident horses into a stampeded frenzy within the enclosed space, the many jostling hooves and flanks both protecting and hindering the injured Assassin.

The confusion of the fleeing beasts disoriented him for a moment, and he caught sight of the remaining mounted guard too late, the enemy having taken the opportunity to gather for a second charge. He was upon him before he had a chance to react.

However, perhaps by chance or fate, a nearby stallion reared just as the soldier's blade lanced towards him, the white steed braying out a challenge to the oncoming horse and causing it to prance to one side in panic. It lost its footing, sending both itself and its rider onto the floor, where they were promptly lost under the mass of scattering horses.

Ezio looked towards the white horse in some surprise, realizing that he recognized the deep eyes, and the scar across its long cheek where a papal soldier's halberd had caught it during a battle at the gates of Firenze. The beast snorted once, perhaps with a measure of satisfaction, and the Assassin pulled himself onto its back without a second thought, glad to be free of the press of stampeding bodies.

Machiavelli was quite a distance ahead of him at this point, fighting to open the gate of the stables while simultaneously ducking the loosed arrows seeking to stop him. The older one rushed to his side to help, spurring his mount forward and winding a grip into its mane. Together, the Assassins broke through the barred lock, fleeing into the busy streets of the Vaticano district along with the veritable flood of horses.

Though they turned towards the Ponte Sant'Angelo, they found that the guards posted along its length had evidently been waiting for them, likely alerted by the noise and shouts that had been resonating from within the castello walls. Ezio hesitated upon seeing the layered ranks of soldiers, slowing his horse to a canter as he began to consider heading deeper into the Vatican instead.

"Keep moving," Machiavelli spoke in a swift command as he wheeled his horse to the right edge of the bridge, indicating that they should separate to offer the enemy two targets to chase.

Given little choice, Ezio mirrored him, heading for the far left of the wide pass as a wall of spears seemed to rise to meet him, wishing he had thought to take one of the fallen guard's long swords. His horse nickered in distress as the first halberd narrowly missed impaling its chest, but the Assassin nimbly caught hold of the passing haft, gripping onto the base of the blade as his steed's momentum allowed him to tear the weapon from the guard's grip.

Armed now, he swept the pole blade to one side, scattering and narrowly missing a group of red-robed cardinals, and cutting into the throat of a nearby soldier. He withdrew the long weapon with difficulty, feeling but ignoring the burn of fatigue in his arm as he caught a second man in the face, the force keeling him backwards.

He searched for his fellow Assassin the moment he had cleared the three arches of the bridge, pulling the bloodied halberd close to his chest and out of the way. Machiavelli had nearly made it through as well, but seemed to be hampered by having to use his left arm, his sword arm evidently still disabled from his injury. Ezio turned his horse back to help him, but the enemy soldiers did not grant him the slightest reprieve, even if he had slipped out of their territory, and half a dozen of them pushed through the crowd towards him.

Drawing back his arm, he drove the spear down powerfully into the chest of the nearest guard, relinquishing the impaled blade and reaching to snatch the long sword from him instead. However, a second man managed to wound his white stallion in the haunch as he attempted to take the lighter weapon, the beast whinnying and all but throwing him from its back as it kicked out at the offender.

As he fought to keep his balance, a shape passed abruptly into his peripheral vision, and he was startled as he recognized the hooded one approaching him, mounted on a dark steed. With him, he caught sight of flashes of figures darting through the throng of people, stabbing into and fleeing from the pursuing guards with as much ease as cutting a man's coin purse.

"Again, it seems that you've managed to rouse an entire city, Ezio," la Volpe commented crisply as his thieves made short work of the contingent of soldiers, he grabbing a handful of the white horse's mane and pulling it with him as he urged his own mount towards an alleyway.

"Wait, Volpe," the nobleman said hurriedly, unable to keep the other from pulling him away. "Machiavelli is-"

"-about to die," the other finished for him dispassionately. "Yes, I know. However, him falling to the Borgia's men should serve its purpose just as well as if you or I killed him."

"What? No, you don't understand," Ezio snapped, gripping the older man's arm and shoving it away to allow him to regain control of his own steed. "You were wrong, Machiavelli is not a traitor. He was not with the Borgia during the siege - it must have been someone else who told them how to break through the defenses."

"That is not enough to prove his innocence," la Volpe remarked, his tone flat, easily moving to block the younger one from returning to the bridge. "We have no evidence that absolves him."

"But neither do we have evidence against him," he snarled out impatiently. "Would you rather we found out whether or not he is guilty after he dies?"

"He killed Mario, Ezio," the older Assassin spoke simply, the flash in his violet eyes dangerous. "You are the only one who cannot see that."

Giving an exasperated breath, Ezio ignored him, turning his steed to move around the other, but he was only intercepted again. By now, he saw that the fox's eyes were narrowed, a threat heavy in the air.

"Do not test me. I will do what I must to keep you from throwing away your life for such filth."