Hello everyone! Thank you guys so much for your fantastic reviews! I'll be honest I check my e-mail at least twice every hour to see if any have been posted. I must say, every time I post a chapter I am left with more than a little trepidation as to how much you all will enjoy it. The reassurance is appreciated :)

I would also like for feedback on the separate endings, because I've got both of them planned out completely and each will lead into a different sequel. I just want to do everything in my power to please you guys as well as keep the story my own.

I hope you'll all continue reviewing and making my day complete with your wonderful comments and insight!

Safety and peace everyone.

~Ballistic Babydoll

"Holding onto anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die."

-Buddha

Chapter twenty-one: Revenge is a dish best served cold

Samantha stood in front of Amy's room, shifting nervously from her left foot to her right. She did not expect to be so apprehensive about the induction ceremony, but that had been before she remembered Al Mualim mentioning that every assassin in Masyaf would be present. She had nearly looked death in the eyes and yet she still quivered at the notion of standing in front of at least a hundred eyes that were watching her intently. The thought of tripping as she made her way to the dais came to mind, as well as showing up in her undergarments. Sam smoothed out the front of her tunic and adjusted her belt just to reassure herself that such humiliation was impossible.

Amy stepped out of her room and sent her a small smile; she wore a simple tan dress and had braided her hair to one side. "Ready to go then?"

"I am if you are, where's Malik? Isn't he going to join us?" Sam questioned. She had been curious as to why he was not around Amy, before Solomon's Temple they had been practically inseparable.

"Malik is in Jerusalem," her friend explained softly as they began to make their way down the hall and to the courtyard. Evening was near and golden light filtered in through the loopholes in the wall and mixed with the orange glow of the flickering torches.

"On a mission? When will he be back then? I was hoping maybe he would help in finishing off some of my training; I've gotten really out of shape." Samantha rambled as they walked. It was good to speak to someone again, especially Amy. For nearly two long months she had barely spoken a word and now she relished even the slightly rough sound of her own voice.

Sam noticed Amy chewing her bottom lip uncertainly, "I-I'm not sure he will return, at least not for a long while." There was a pause where only their footsteps and breathing was heard. "You see, Malik was made the Dai of the city's bureau after he sustained his injury."

Samantha recalled much too vividly the sight of bright red blood staining the pure white of his robe, and how he had clutched his arm in agony. "You fixed it though, right? I mean, you're the greatest doctor they have here," she stammered out nervously, but as Amy averted her gaze she suspected otherwise.

"I did not get here in time," Amy murmured, "I could have saved his arm if they had just waited."

Sam was surprised at the animosity that had spiked through her friend's voice. Normally she was docile unless provoked, and now Amy was fuming and biting back tears. Samantha grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly as they walked, "What happened is not your fault, you know that."

"That doesn't change what happened."

"Listen, I'm sure Al Mualim will make Altair pay for what he's done, and if he hasn't I will." Samantha tried to sound reassuring, but her voice sounded just as frustrated and angry as Amy's had.

They had now reached the large doors that led out to the bailey, and beyond them the loud buzz of conversation could be heard.

"Listen, today is about you," Amy's smile looked forced as she rubbed at her eyes with the palm of her hand, "enjoy it, and don't worry about me."

Sam gave her friend's hand one last consoling squeeze before letting go, "I'll always worry about you."

Their conversation could not continue as Samantha pulled open the heavy door. The hinges groaned and the last rays of blinding sunlight shone in before the luminous orb dipped below the horizon. Amy left first and Sam watched as she made her way to the edge of the crowd that had gathered below the earthen dais.

Now it was her turn to go out alone, before all of the present assassins and novices alike. She pulled her beaked hood over her head and began walking. Each step was a painful eternity as she walked onto the dirt path that would lead her down to the head of the host. The conversation died down to a low whisper as they caught sight of her. Torches lined the outer edges of the mass, guttering in the evening breeze and causing the faces of men to wink in and out of existence as shadows flickered beneath their hoods. As Sam moved closer all became eerily quiet and she fought to control her breathing.

Al Mualim was now visible, standing near the railing of the dais. He faced her as she approached, and Sam inclined her head respectfully. Beside him was another assassin of higher rank who wore a black djellaba and held a small chest. Its smooth wood looked old, but was kept polished until it shone even in the low lighting, and the latch consisted of the symbol of assassins wrought in iron.

Samantha's feet had taken her closer much faster than she thought they would. Her tongue felt as if it had been glued to the roof of her mouth and her palms were beginning to sweat uncomfortably. Before she could check to be sure that she was still wearing all of her clothes properly the ceremony had begun.

Altair approached the throng of people gathered in the courtyard. He had just arrived back from his mission in Acre and returned with another bloody feather and more questions for Al Mualim. His targets were becoming increasingly cryptic and he was becoming more confused and frustrated.

Now, though, his thoughts were drawn to what was occurring within the fortress. Men were crowded in the courtyard and the night air made standing in the mass of warm bodies nearly unbearable. Altair lingered towards the back, just out of reach of the torchlight. From this far back it would be hard to discern who the commotion was about, but his eyes and ears were sharper than most.

Samantha stood in her white tunic on this dais, raised a good few meters higher than everyone else. If it were not for the congregation before him focused on her he would have thought he was seeing a ghost. Al Mualim stood next to her, looking stoic, and droning on about some sort of brave act. The blonde's name was mentioned in the speech so he must have been speaking about something she had done.

As he looked up from under the shadow of his hood one though occurred to him: He would have to face Samantha again. It was one thing to deal with Malik being the Dai in Jerusalem; his once friend was cold and callous towards him, Altair could deal with that, but Samantha was another story completely. From her personality alone he knew she would never allow him to forget what happened to her because of his actions, and would probably wish to seek some sort of revenge.

Al Mualim opened the wooden box and withdrew a bracer with a hidden blade attached to its underside; it was then that Altair understood why this ceremony was taking place. He shouldn't have been surprised, it was only natural that she would eventually be awarded it, but it irked him that they were now of nearly equal rank. He had worked much harder and much longer than she had, and he was a better assassin than she could ever hope to be.

Samantha spoke the words of their creed. Her voice was quiet and could scarcely be heard. She is afraid, he realized, and rightly so. The torchlight shimmered on what could be seen of her blonde hair, making it look as if it was glowing as she took the red sash of her rank from Al Mualim and raised it high. Her face, however, was gaunt and she looked as if she hadn't slept or eaten for several or more days. A light breeze picked up and softly blew the sash until it was a squirming red snake held aloft in her hand.

Al Mualim ended the ceremony by giving Samantha his blessings. Afterwards, he knew, they would feast within the dining hall. Altair wondered if she would attend and if he would be safe drinking a mug of ale and filling his belly before he retired. Many of the assassins other than Samantha also looked down on him and his disgrace; it seemed he was unable to escape the past anywhere.

As the procession began filing out of the courtyard it appeared that the blonde was returning to her quarters rather than joining the men to eat. That was good, he supposed, the longer he could forgo having a confrontation with Samantha the better.

The following day Altair went to Al Mualim to receive the orders for his next mission. Lately, his assassinations were becoming increasingly easy and he was completing them at a rate where within a month and a half he will have erased all nine names from his list. The next name on his shoulders was Abu'l Nuquod, an extremely rich and powerful merchant in Damascus.

It was at the bureau that he found himself a few days later with information sufficient enough to assassinate the greedy man.

"I have learned all I need to know about my prey," he informed the Rafiq.

The man had insulted him upon his arrival and Altair had no great love for him, but he still consented to sharing the information he had gained after wandering the city. Altair found that he was beginning to have more patience even with having to perform his duties such as a novice would.

"The bureau is yours to do with as you please until you are ready to begin."

Altair retreated back into his temporary quarters for the evening. The flickering candles on the far side of the room glinted off of steel as he slid off his bracer. He placed his hidden blade on the rickety wooden table to retrieve in the morning and began unbuckling his belts.

A sudden thump and sound of footsteps alerted him to another assassin entering the bureau. Faintly he heard the sound of the Rafiq's voice but could not make out any words. Altair pulled his tunic over his head while moving towards the ceramic tub in the adjacent room. A chill went up his spine as he began filling the tub with hot water; something was wrong, he knew, but he could not determine what it was.

The assassin took a long look back at the heavy wooden door that barred the entrance to his room. No one knocked and no other sound could be heard throughout the bureau. Altair growled in annoyance and yanked off his boots, throwing them in the corner. His pants soon followed before he slipped into the, now tepid, water. He could not shake his uneasiness for whatever reason, but he could just as easily push it to the back of his mind.

"Samantha," the Rafiq greeted kindly, "it is good of you to return to my bureau, is there something I can do for you?"

Sam smiled brightly; being away from Masyaf's oppressing walls had done wonders for her. She slept better away from the fortress, looked healthier than she had for many weeks, and it felt as if everything had returned to how it had once been. "I have been assigned a target," she explained, "a merchant by the name of Abu'l Nuquod."

The Rafiq burst out laughing after she had finished. "Our master has a strange sort of humor, does he not?"

Samantha eyed him suspiciously, "I don't understand."

The man motioned for her to come closer and she obeyed. "Altair has come here for the same man; it seems that you two will be hunting together," the Rafiq informed her.

The blonde blinked perplexedly, trying to grasp what Al Mualim could possibly be thinking in sending her after the same target as Altair. She chewed her lip for a moment before a thought crossed her mind; Sam turned away from the Rafiq's desk, towards the small sitting area on the opposite side of the room. She smiled wickedly and clenched her fist; this was better revenge than even she could have imagined. "You're required to give me my targets whereabouts, right?"

"Yes, considering your new rank."

"Perfect," Samantha spun around towards the Rafiq; on her face was a grin that could have curdled milk. "I need to know where my target sleeps; I'll be hunting by night this time."

As soon as she had learned of her targets location Samantha bolted for the rooftops, eager for her subtle revenge. It was not yet dusk, but the sun was dipping low on the horizon, causing the sands past Damascus's gates to appear as if they were shimmering. Sam sucked in a deep breath and took off in the general direction of the rich district. She knew that she was incredibly out of practice, but jumped from roof to roof confidently nonetheless. Any mishaps and she could have fallen to her death, but Samantha's mind was elsewhere.

Altair would be in his bed by now, sleeping comfortably while she stole his kill right out from under him. It was almost too good to be true. At first only a more violent and headfirst revenge had occurred to her, but now Al Mualim had given her an opportunity that she could not ignore.

Night had fallen by the time she made it to the turquoise colored tiled roofs that marked the rich district. In the distance she could see a few smudges of orange, torches she realized, illuminating guards as they patrolled the roofs. None were in her way and therefore Sam did not have to worry about them. The dark made it more difficult to locate which building she needed, but after much squinting she found the purple silk banners bearing a goblet overflowing with gold coins that the merchant kept as his personal sigil.

The windows of the edifice were brightly lit by candles and the banners rippled in the soft wind that was picking up. Samantha approached carefully, her head whipping around at the slightest sound. No guards could be seen or heard on rooftops, but no doubt some had to be posted outside of her targets room. Sam reasoned that if she finished the deed quietly she could go undetected.

The blonde stood there in the darkness for a moment, debating on the best way to go about scaling the protruding bricks and ledges in order to reach the windows. Once she had mapped out her path Sam sprinted forwards, her feet left the roof and she sought out handholds on the adjacent building. The impact was jarring, but she clung firmly to the building for half a second before she started climbing higher.

Her first destination was the one unlit room near the top of the building where she guessed her target had retired for the night. Samantha's face grew hot as she climbed, the physical strain quickly taking its toll on her body. By the time she had reached the windowsill her hands were shaking and her perch was becoming more difficult to maintain. Sam pulled herself up and into the room in one swift motion; she halted there for a moment, just to be sure that her actions had not been heard. A few feet away she could hear the sound of a deep rumbling snore; it had to be her target.

Samantha came up from her crouch slowly, her movements as smooth as the silk banners outside. Her footsteps were no louder than a mouse's as she approached the bed, ears listening for any sign that the man had woken up. The snores continued on, though, and she was now standing centimeters from the side of the bed. She activated her hidden blade, the soft 'shink' of metal against metal cut through the silence just as easily as it would cut into her prey's flesh. A simple thrust of her blade would be all she needed; her mission would be completed.

That moment of hesitation was all it took. An acute pain blossomed through her torso, catching Samantha off guard. Looking up, she realized that she could now see the whites of her targets eyes.

"You did not think I would expect an attack on my life? That was a grave miscalculation, assassin."

She barely processed the words he had spoken; her gaze was fixed at the steel of the dagger catching what light of the moon filtered in through the window. Sam's hand went to touch the area of the wound; numbly she held her hand back in front of her. It was dark with blood.

Altair woke later the next day, refreshed and prepared to complete his mission. All uneasy feelings from the previous night were forgotten as he stood before the Rafiq.

Pale sunlight filtered in through the lattice roof, illuminating specks of dust as they settled on the floor and the hardwood desk. A fresh breeze was stirring the stagnant air and Altair breathed deeply. All seemed tranquil and as it should be.

"I wish you luck with your mission Altair," the Rafiq spoke as he passed over the unblemished white feather, "you will need it."

The assassin peered suspiciously out from under the shadow of his hood, "Is there something about this mission that I have not been informed of?"

"Other than the fact that your adversary has already departed," he chuckled, "nothing, nothing at all."

Malik was the first name to come to mind, but Altair quickly rationalized that he was still in Jerusalem. A second name replaced the Dai's.

"Samantha," he questioned incredulously, "she's here?"

"Arrived last night and-"

Before the Rafiq could finish his sentence Altair had snatched up the feather and dashed out of the bureau. The methodic sound of his boots clacking against the tiled roofs filled his ears and matched his racing heart. An angry heat crept up his neck at his riled thoughts.

Damn her, he fumed internally; just as things were beginning to improve she had to return and ruin everything he had tried to rectify.

Altair skidded to a halt behind a stack of storage crates, waiting for a city guard to face the opposite direction.

It is one thing for her to come back, but now she planned to steal his kill? If he caught her at Abu'l Nuquod's palace it would take all of his restraint not to kill her.

By the time Altair made it into the grand estate the sun was overhead and beating down upon the festivities. The rich attendants seemed to pay no mind, as they had plenty of wine and entertainers to keep them occupied. However, his eyes were scanning the crowd for any signs of Samantha.

A flash of white drew his attention to a fountain that seemed to be gushing rich, red wine. Sitting on the edge of the font was the woman he had been searching for, a goblet held in her right hand while the left tapped against the ledge disinterestedly.

The assassin started in her direction, not having a sure plan in mind, but positive he would think of something by the time he reached her. Altair's pace quickened as she stood; he began pushing some of those people aside who could not move out of his way quickly enough.

He was close now. So close that if he jumped forward he could have tackled her to the ground. The assassin was stopped short, though, as the sound of a man clearing his throat sounded from an upper balcony. Looking up, he caught sight of the man that they were both hunting. Carbuncular and grossly obese, Abu'l Nuquod was easily the size of two men put together.

"Welcome, welcome!" The merchant called out to the crowd who had turned their attention to him. "Thank you all for joining me this evening. Please, eat, drink, and enjoy all the pleasures I have to offer! Take your time, I will wait."

A mad dash was made for the fountains of wine as people refilled their cups to the brim and drank heavily. His eyes travelled back to Samantha, her cup remained in her hand that hung to the side, forgotten. Altair could not risk confronting her right now, surely she would create a scene, and that could not be risked. He forced himself to take a step backwards until the right moment arose to kill his target.

"Is everything to your satisfaction?" Abu'l was speaking once again, "It is good to see you all happy, for dark times are upon us and war threatens to consume us all." Altair watched the man on the balcony, spewing his pleasantries and toasting to Salahuddin and their aid to his cause. The people around him clapped and drank heartily from their goblets. It sickened him to think about how corrupt each member of the crowd must be; indulging in lavish parties while the sick and poor starved on the streets around them.

"And so, I say enough! I've pledged myself to another cause. One that will bring about a new world in which all people might live, side by side, in peace. A pity none of you will live to see it."

Altair had hardly been listening to Abul's speech, but his change in tone immediately pulled him from his reverie. Had he just threatened the crowd of nobles around him? Who could this other 'cause be', if not the Templars?

A man next to him began coughing violently, wheezing for air that would not come to his lungs as his windpipe constricted. Others began coughing too, falling to the ground like flies as their lives came to a horrid end.

The wine, he realized in horrification, the bastard poisoned every one of them!

The sound of a goblet clattering to the ground in front of him caught his attention. Samantha had bent over, coughing into her hand. Without thinking, Altair rushed forward, gently touching her lower back and trying to glimpse at her face. His mind raced wildly for some way that he could help.

Samantha jerked out of his grasp, eyes looking at him accusingly.

"Please tell me you did not drink the wine."

The blonde had stopped coughing, but he did not miss the smear of blood on her hands as she wiped them on the dark pants beneath her tunic. "I'm fine," she spat, "I didn't drink any." Her gaze did not lower from his, nor did it grow any softer.

Altair released the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The twang of crossbows filled the air around them; bolts were fired into the crowd and brought both assassins back to their situation. He took off without warning, not looking back to see if Samantha was following. It was his mission and he would finish it with or without her interference.

Samantha growled and took off after Altair, flinching as crossbow bolts whizzed harmlessly by her.

The previous night she had experienced the worst nightmare. It angered her that just as she was beginning to think they had vanished one had hit her full force. Maybe Amy was right, though, maybe she was developing P.T.S.D.

Those thoughts aside, she had moments ago been holding poisoned wine in her hand; one sip would have been fatal. The idea had haunted her before a fit of coughing violently racked her body and the cup she had been holding fell; when her hand came away blood was smeared across it.

Amy had looked for the source of her coughing fits but could not think of any plausible ideas; the only thing she could say was to wait until her bruised ribs healed completely and hopefully it would go away.

Samantha felt a hand placed on her back and instinctively jerked away. Altair, she realized as she took in the man before her; the one person she had hoped would not find her. His eyes seemed devastatingly worried as he questioned if she had drank the wine.

Now, though, Altair cut to the right, towards the arcade from which the archers were firing. Samantha refused to follow behind him, and made for the wall immediately in front of her which would lead directly to the balcony. Using her momentum, she was able to take a few steps up the stone wall before latching onto the open shutters of a window. Using the sill of the window, Sam propelled herself upwards and gripped tightly onto a protrusion of stucco. One more jump and she would be at the base of the balcony.

As she jumped, the stucco crumbled beneath her fingers. Sam was barely able to grasp onto the ledge above her and all weight was being put on her right hand. Hurriedly, she grabbed onto the small pillars of the railing with her left hand and heaved herself up and over the edge.

Two men faced her; both were dark skinned and wearing matching maroon tunics laced with gold. Behind them stood the merchant, who appeared confident that his guards could handle her. The wicked curve of the edge of their scimitars glinted in the sunlight.

Samantha itched to turn and see how far Altair had gotten, but resisted the urge by keeping her eyes trained on her opponents. If I look back I have lost, she told herself calmly.

The one on the right swung first and she rolled to the side; his blade collided harmlessly against the railing that had been behind her. Samantha came out of her roll onto her feet, turning before the man could react, she plunged her sword into his side. Metal cut through flesh as if it were no more than hot butter.

Blood began to flow and droplets of it splattered on the ground behind her as she ripped her sword from the bodyguard. Abu'l, seeing her first victory, began to run in the opposite direction and through an archway. Time was running out, and she needed to reach the target before he escaped or alerted more guards.

The man in front of her attacked and she blocked with the flat of her blade; the blow sent reverberations through her arm and caused the metal to ring loudly. The sound of footsteps and the ripple of white cloth alerted her to Altair running past both her and the guard. Cursing, Samantha pushed at the blade of her attacker, causing him to step back a bit. She would need to time everything right, Sam knew, if she was to have any hope catching up with Altair.

The guard swung at her from the side and her blade went up to block once more. His attack had left him completely open and Samantha dealt him a hard kick to his stomach; with a grunt the man doubled over and she slashed at his neck. There was blood, but she did not wait to see if the blow had killed him.

Sam sprinted through the opening that both Abu'l and Altair had gone through, sheathing her sword as she went. The hallway it led to was long, and lined with open archways. Ahead she could see another doorway that, no doubt, they had gone through.

She needed this kill more than anything, it would be her glory and proof that she could best Altair. This spurned her and caused her to increase her speed until it felt as if she were no longer running, but putting one foot in front of the other to keep from toppling forwards.

Samantha passed through the opening and nearly continued running off the side of the building. Skidding to a stop she spotted two figures on the ground below, one chasing the other. If she did not start running now she would lose them. Taking a deep breath, she stared off down the aisle so that she was running laterally to them, albeit much higher off the ground.

After a good half a minute she was gaining on Altair, but he was catching up to the target. Sam knew she would have to jump soon and pray that she was able to land on the fat merchant. Just a bit more, a bit more and I'll have him. Samantha's feet left the edge of the building before her head had caught up to what her body was doing. For half a second her heart leapt into her throat and she feared that she would hit solid ground. Her distress quickly dissipated as her body smashed fully onto Abu'l's.

Slightly stunned, Samantha rolled off of the merchant and attempted to gain her bearings. The earth felt as if it was moving beneath her feet and it was apparent she was not getting enough oxygen. Her hidden blade seemed to move as if on its own, plunging into her prey's neck and ending his life.

Sam fell back onto her butt and gasped for air; she had never run that fast in her life and she prayed she would never have to again. The sound of footsteps approached just as she was beginning to catch her breath. Whatever adrenaline that had been pumping into her had ceased, leaving her with a feeling of utter exhaustion. A relieved laugh passed her lips as she realized that she had beaten Altair. Revenge was impossibly sweet, and she knew there would be more to come.