A/N: DUN DUN DUUUUUNNN! I'm back! Is anybody still here? It's been a while, I know. For two months I've been drowning in term assignments that were positively murderous. But that will be over very soon and I can resume my regular(ish) uploads. It killed me that I didn't have time to write! All I could do was stare longingly at my laptop. Answered some questions here and not to worry, we will be getting back to Aliyah very soon :)
Shoutout to i'm-an-elf99, Wildcat717, anita.w09, PianoGhost, LadyRaider92, MagicInTheStars, GrimmaulDee, Athenais Mona, Rahuratna, Fluttershy 2059123 and BooBoo33! Love your reviews! Thank you so much!
Wildcat717, LadyRaider92 and MagicInTheStars, welcome to the story and I hope you stay a while :)
im-an-elf99, thank you so much for checking up on me. That was so sweet of you 3
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Altair perched on the edge of the roof, observing the movements of the guards on the street below. Acre was nearly mad in its search for the man responsible for the death of William of Montferrat and he had seen the guards wrongly seize three different men in white robes. While the mistakes were fortunate for him, he worried what their fates would be if they could not convince the guards of their innocence. This concern, coupled with his confusion over William's dying words, drove him dangerously to distraction. He had been seen multiple times by the guards and each time it became harder to escape them.
"Assassin!"
He spun around in alarm and saw a guard charging him, sword drawn. He sprinted along the roof, precariously close to the edge. An arrow whistled past his head and another skipped over his boot, causing him to miss his footing and drop to one of the beams jutting out from the building. His momentum carried him forward and he leaped across them, looking for any route of escape. He could almost see the archer drawing his bow and his mouth went dry as the area of his back between his shoulders began to burn, anticipating the arrow.
The street below suddenly narrowed and he gathered himself and leaped across the expanse, reaching for purchase on the building ahead of him and hearing the faint rip of fabric as an arrow tore by his hood and buried itself in the wall. He almost missed the window and grasped the bottom of it desperately, swinging precariously by one hand.
"Stop him!"
Altair looked up to see who the guard was calling to and saw a second archer on the roof above him, taking aim at his head. He released his grip on the window just as the arrow buried itself in the wood and fell to the street, landing on the side of a cart. His breath exploded from him and he bounced off the cart and collided head first with a low stone wall. He struggled to his feet, leaped over the wall and nearly missed his footing on the stone steps below. He ducked down the closest alley and leaned against a wall, breathing hard. He touched the aching place on his head and his hand came away bloody and he could barely hear over the roaring in his ears.
"There he is!"
He looked up to see a guard pointing to the alley and he cursed in frustration. Mustering his last bit of energy, he sprinted through the dim alley, rounded the corner and dove into the remains of a house, barely managing to conceal himself behind the ruined front wall before the guards came running past. He held his breath and his chest and back felt as though they were on fire.
"Where did he go?"
Altair crawled farther into the building, just dragging himself out of sight when a guard walked up.
"Could he have hidden here?" he heard the man call back to the others.
"Find out! Kill him if he is!"
Altair curled his legs up under him and extended his hidden blade, preparing to spring onto the man if he rounded the corner. He heard the man's footsteps coming closer to where he hid, he could hear his nervous breathing.
"Bah!" the guard exclaimed under his breath. "Someone else can find him. I'm not dying for a dead man."
Altair didn't relax until he could no longer hear the guard in the building, then, he crept farther inside, climbed up to the second level and up to the roof where he flung himself gratefully into a rooftop garden. In the shade of his shelter, he pushed his hood back and gingerly touched the side of his head. Pain flared under his hand and he winced and cursed under his breath. He thought he could feel a gash beneath the blood matting his hair and he sighed in frustration.
What would Malik have thought of that?
He had not suffered such a spectacular fall since his days as a novice and even then, Malik had admonished him for his recklessness as he helped him stagger back to the fortress. Altair's mouth quirked into a small smile that was both nostalgic and bitter. They had been close as boys, but that had changed when Al-Mualim made him a Master Assassin. He had always attributed the rift to Malik's jealousy but recent events had seeded his mind with doubts.
Many times in the past, Malik had exhibited skills that rivaled, and in some instances, surpassed, his own. The Creed was his lifeblood and Al-Mualim might have made him Master Assassin, but for the fact that Altair held their Master's favor. If Malik had been jealous, he would not have been without justification.
Altair scowled. That could also be what fueled his criticisms.
He could recall nearly every scathing remark, every contemptuous scoff, every bitter rebuke and even the memories rankled him. He growled in aggravation and moved to leave his shelter. As he pulled his hood back over his head, his fingers sank through a hole in the fabric and he pulled his hood around to examine it. A chill shivered through him when he saw the long rip along the side and hole where the arrow had caught and pierced through the cloth. At that moment, he had not realized how close to death he had come and only had his carelessness to blame.
What would Malik have to say about that?
He left the rooftop garden and dropped down to the street only to have a sword press into his back.
"You nearly died, then, Brother," Saadiq growled behind him and sheathed his sword.
"That is not the first time today," Altair replied, turning to face the Assassin.
"Nor will it be the last, I am sure," Saadiq remarked grimly. "William of Montferrat is dead."
Altair nodded, although Saadiq had spoken the words as a statement instead of a question.
"If you wish to leave Acre alive, you had best go now," Saadiq told him. "Most of the guards will be distracted by the execution in the Square soon. If you move quickly and quietly, you should be able to make it to the gate with little difficulty."
"Whose execution?" Altair asked.
Saadiq shrugged. "Whatever poor fool was unfortunate enough to receive Pierre's contempt."
Altair's blood ran cold. "Pierre?"
"Pierre Delacroix, Robert de Sable's favored representative," Saadiq said disdainfully, "and evidently someone else who fell beneath your notice."
Altair shook his head in denial. "He was killed on the road to Masyaf."
Saadiq smirked. "More knowledge you wrongly claim to possess," he replied. "I suppose some things will never change."
"No, Saadiq," Altair insisted, ignoring the barb, "I was there that day. I watched Kadar kill him."
Saadiq's mouth set in a thin line at the mention of the young Assassin. "Apparently his strike was not as true as we would have hoped."
"Will he be in the Square?" Altair asked.
"Undoubtedly," Saadiq had barely spoken the word when Altair pushed past him and made his way to the Square.
His mind raced as he weaved through the alleys.
This cannot be! Pierre is dead. I watched him die.
But if Kadar's strike was not true…he may very well have survived…
The thought angered him, somehow.
The boy was still a novice. He had no experience. He never should have been with us on that mission.
He never should have been in Solomon's Temple, either…
He shook his head to clear the quiet accusation and climbed to one of the roofs overlooking the Square and sheltered in a rooftop garden, spying through the curtains.
A crowd was gathered around the stage and he realized the execution had already taken place. The three men the guards had seized by mistake swung from the gallows and standing in front of them, arms spread as though accepting applause for a performance, armor glinting in the sun, was Pierre Delacroix. The sight of the dead men sickened him and guilt settled in his stomach like a stone.
"Assassins!" Pierre's sharp voice rang out. "How many more will you allow to die before you come forward to answer for your crimes?"
Wrath burned in Altair's chest.
So, it was not a mistake of the guards…
He left his hiding place, dropped into the alley and slipped into the edges of the crowd.
"What were their crimes?" he asked an elderly man.
"No crimes," the man replied. "No crimes. Bait to lure the Assassin out of hiding. Like a lion to meat."
"Hmph," Altair grunted and made his way closer to the stage, flexing his left hand in anticipation.
A lion, am I?
He was mere feet from the stage with only a few people between him and Pierre. The Templar's guards were close but not close enough to pose him any danger. He extended his blade and his entire body was tensed to strike.
"DEATH TO THE TYRANT!"
He froze at the shout as boy no older than sixteen rushed Pierre from behind and plunged a dagger into the knight's neck. Blood spurted and the force of the attack knocked Pierre to his knees and the boy forced him onto his back. The soldiers charged the assailant and, as quickly as he attacked, the boy fled the stage and forced his way through the thinning crowd.
One of the guards knelt beside Pierre's body and gripped his throat to staunch the blood flow. "Do not let him escape! I want him to pay for this treachery!" he shouted as the guards ran after him.
Altair stared at Pierre's body, the blood spurting from the wound, coating the guard's hands. A part of him was relieved that the Templar was dead, another part was amused that one of his own had killed him, and yet another part was disappointed that the moment had been taken from him. He melted away into the crowd as it dispersed, panicked by the attack, and climbed to a nearby roof. He immediately ran in the direction the boy had taken, determined to find him before the guards did.
"Archers!"
He ducked behind a wall when the shout rang out and craned his head to see where the danger was. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the boy climb to a roof on his left and keep running. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Altair felt a small grin tugging at his mouth.
The boy is quick.
He ran in that direction, hoping he could reach the boy before the archers took his life. As he leapt to another roof, a guard stepped around a stack of crates, his sword raised above his head. Altair simply reacted, grabbed his arm and slammed his hidden blade into his chest, then running on with barely a catch in his stride. As he pulled himself up to a higher roof, he looked around but found no trace of the boy. Then, he saw him climbing over scaffolding ahead of him and just as far away as he had been before. An archer appeared on his right and Altair hurled a knife into the man's throat but not before he loosed his shot. The boy stumbled and reached down to clutch his leg as the guards climbed up behind him. He took off again at a limping run and dropped to a lower level, out of Altair's sight.
The Assassin started running again but hesitantly, unsure of which direction to take. The boy's path was incredibly erratic and impossible to predict. He headed toward the spot where he had last been visible and found a splash of blood and a broken arrow shaft. He followed the blood drops, which became a bloody boot print. The trail ended five roofs away and as he examined the area, he found a large smear of blood and the dust had been disturbed, swirled as though someone had done a poor attempt at sweeping.
Or someone used the dirt to pack a wound…
At the sound of approaching guards, he flattened himself against the second story of another building.
"I couldn't keep up with him," one said in breathless aggravation. "I've never seen anyone run like that with an arrow through his leg."
"If you knew what was waiting for you if you got caught, you might be able to run like that yourself," another remarked.
"Well, they said they shot him off the rooftop," the voice grew fainter and Altair heard the creak of a ladder. "Now we just have to find where he landed. He can't run forever and if they stuck him like they said they did, he won't last long anyhow."
As they left, Altair walked carefully along the rooftop, looking for the archers. He spied one and stepped behind a rooftop garden. The man was staring fixedly in one direction, an arrow on his bow and he kept flexing the string, ready to fire. Altair stepped and flung a knife. As the man's body plummeted to the ground, the ensuing panic provided the distraction he needed and he sprinted across the rooftops in the direction the archer had been staring. If the guards had stayed above the streets, they would have had an easier time of finding their quarry than they would searching the winding alleys and side streets.
He came to a two story ruined home and stepped cautiously inside, finding himself at the edge of a hole in the rotted floor. Down below, he saw a bloody figure collapsed on the ground and he dropped through the hole.
The boy was in obvious pain but when he looked up, Altair saw relief in his eyes instead of fear.
"God extends his grace to me, even still," he said, his voice choked and dry.
Altair studied him and saw the broken end of an arrow in his leg, one through his left shoulder and another sunk deep in his abdomen.
"Our presence is not often looked upon with gladness," he remarked.
"But you have no interest in torture," the boy said hoarsely. "Even for your enemies."
"You slew my enemy," Altair told him.
"I served him first," he replied and a different pain entered his voice. "You, at least, would kill me quickly."
"I have no interest in killing you," Altair told him. "I have too many questions and you may have many of the answers." He knelt down and broke off the arrows shafts, ignoring the boy's cries of pain, and lifted him onto his shoulder, preparing to leave the structure.
"I think I saw him fall here."
He froze and swore, quickly stepping back inside.
I do not have time to fight them all off. I need this boy alive.
He turned to the back wall and tested it. The moment he found a weak place, he kicked through it and left, climbed the first ladder he found and headed for the Bureau. When he dragged the barely conscious boy through the lattice, Jabal stepped outside and his face instantly set in a bitter scowl.
"What is this?" he demanded. "Why have you brought that here? He is not one of us!"
"He killed Pierre Delacroix," Altair told him. "I believe that grants him some consideration."
"Oh," Jabal's eyebrows rose mockingly, "you believe so, do you?"
Altair's temper heated. "He has information I need, Jabal. His survival may benefit us all."
Jabal assessed him shrewdly. "It may benefit us?" he repeated. "You are not sure he has the information you need."
"I am not willing to take the risk," Altair told him.
Jabal pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Very well," he said at last. "Bring him in here. Waseem!"
"Yes, Jabal," the young Assassin answered quickly, stepping outside.
"We have a wounded boy," Jabal told him.
Waseem nodded and rushed to prepare a bed gather the items Jabal needed.
Altair dragged the boy inside and laid him on the bedroll. The boy's face a pale and his breathing fast shallow.
"Mmm," Jabal looked him over with a practiced eye. "This wound and this wound," he pointed to his leg and shoulder, "I can mend. But this one," he pointed to the shaft in his stomach, "this one may kill him despite my efforts. Whatever your questions are, ask them now."
Altair nodded and leaned over the boy. "Who are you?"
"Samuel—Samuel Mainwaring," he answered, finding it harder to draw breath. "I was Pierre's squire."
"Why did you kill him?"
Waseem brought the supplies to Jabal and the Rafiq knelt down to examine Samuel's wounds more carefully.
"My father…has always served him faithfully…" Samuel said painfully. "Pierre planned…to kill him…once his work was done…"
"What is his work?" Altair demanded.
"He is…a merchant. He has always supplied…Pierre's needs, no matter the difficulty."
"A smuggler, then?"
"He has done so," Samuel answered. "All for Pierre."
"How do you know Pierre planned to kill him?"
Samuel bit back a groan as Jabal set about pulling the arrow from his leg. "Letters…he dictated his letters to me. At first, none of…them made sense. Then, I learned…I learned."
"Secret letters?" Altair found the notion alarming.
Samuel nodded. "We have all served him loyally…my entire family followed him here…to serve him! And he would kill us? I am the eldest son, my first loyalty…is to my family."
"How did Pierre survive the skirmish in the desert?" Altair demanded, his voice suddenly low and dangerous.
Samuel winced, both from the memory and Jabal's ministrations. "You have me to blame…for that, I believe. When he left Damascus…he left without his physician. We were one hour behind him…possibly two…We rode through the last night to…catch him and found him…shortly after the battle…ended. Jacques said that…the blade had missed his heart…and the sand packed the wound. Would that he…had spent his skills on…someone less of a monster."
Altair hissed through his teeth and Samuel cried out as Jabal pulled the arrow from his shoulder.
Kadar's strike had not been true, and so, Pierre had survived.
"You were his squire, what else do you know?" Altair asked.
Samuel's expression was growing vaguer by the moment. The boy was fading quickly. "I know…great deal…garrisons…routes…supplies…strategies…letters…" His voice trailed off and his body went limp as he lost consciousness.
"The ability to read the correspondence between the Templars would indeed be a great asset," Jabal remarked as he started working on the arrow in Samuel's abdomen. "For that alone, I would have kept him alive. You have done well, Altair. Return to Masyaf. I will see to him."
"Thank you, Rafiq," Altair said and stood to leave.
"Having a Templar squire as an Assassin would be a great asset also," Jabal added quietly as Altair left the Bureau.
As Altair climbed onto the roof, he looked back toward the Square, recalling the moments of Samuel's attack and the blood spreading over the stage.
I doubt even you could survive that.
With a sense of relief, he made his way to the gate and outside where his horse waited to take him to Masyaf.
