A/N: Hiya! So, here we go! We're in the time where Altair was gone for about, what was it?, ten years? It was a while. I'll check the timeline again to make sure. But, during that time, Malik had free-run of the place, which means I have a lot of wiggle room :) Let's hope he can stay out of trouble. We have a lot of dialogue in this one and not much action. Hopefully, that will change soon but it all depends on whether or not they choose to shut up. This isn't a super long chapter, but hopefully it'll hold everyone until the next one...hopefully. If you show up at my door with torches and pitchforks, I'll know I was wrong.
Shoutouts to: 1Corinthians 1313 and Sheena Kushiashi! Thank you so much for reviewing!
And to everyone who has faved and followed, muah! Thank you so much, it just tickles me pink!
Enjoy!
The night was cold and the wind blew shrilly between the canyon walls, wet with the promise of rain and in the distance, thunder rumbled. Samuel hunched over until he was almost pressed against his horse's neck, clutching his robes to him in a desperate attempt to stay warm. His back was still raw from the lashing the knights had given him and he felt as though he'd been trampled by Richard's cavalry. Saadiq had told him that this path would take him to the fortress of Masyaf but he knew little else.
"I hope it isn't much farther," he muttered to his horse.
His right hand still throbbed from his missing finger and his left arm was in a sling with a tight binding on his elbow. Holding the reins was nearly impossible and though his lips were drying and cracking from thirst, he feared he would drop his flask if he tried to reach it.
Black storm clouds rolled across the sky, blotting out the stars. Then, as he rounded a bend, the lights of a village appeared in the distance and he sighed in relief. Suddenly, a heavy weight slammed into him, driving him to the ground as his horse neighed in panic. He cried out in pain as his every injury flared and a hand gripped his shirt, fist pressing into his throat and a lethal presence loomed over him.
"WAIT!" he shrieked in terror, pushing against his assailant's chest with his bandaged hand.
Lightning flashed, revealing the stark white robes of his attacker and glinting off of the blade extending from his wrist, poised just above his throat.
"What business brings you here?" the Assassin demanded, his words punctuated by a crack of thunder. Another flash of lightning revealed his mouth, pulled back in a tight snarl and his eyes glittered mercilessly.
Samuel struggled to catch his breath, winded from his fall, the sudden surge of agony ripping through him and the panic racing through his blood.
"My name is Samuel Mainwaring," he gasped out. "Altair sent me from Acre!" his voice rose to a near-shrill pitch as the blade touched his throat. "He told me, when I arrived, to ask for a man named Malik—Malik al-Sayf. And a woman—his wife I think—Aliyah. And another man," he paused as the name suddenly fled his memory. "C-c-ca—Caleb! His name is Caleb. Please, please dear God, don't kill me!"
The Assassin held him a moment longer, then stood. Samuel lay there gasping for breath, his hand touching his throat where the blade had been and felt a trickle of blood.
"Come with me," the Assassin ordered, his voice low and dangerous.
Samuel struggled to his feet and the Assassin took hold of the horse's reins, leading them both through the gate and into the village. He sent the horse toward the stables with a sound smack on its rump and took Samuel up the winding path to the fortress. Lightning fractured the sky with increasing frequency and thunder cracked wrathfully as the first drops of rain began to fall. Exhausted from his injuries, the illness that followed and the ride to Masyaf, Samuel lost his footing and fell prone on the rocky ground. He hissed in pain and growled an oath under his breath. Then, his heart seized with fear when he felt a firm grip on his right arm.
"Do you want to be out here when the storm breaks, boy?" the Assassin asked gruffly and pulled him to his feet, steadying him for the rest of the climb.
Torches lined the walls of the fortress, casting a glow on the stones that was both beautiful and haunting. The Assassin led him inside as lightning split the sky open once more and the rain began to fall, drowning all other sound in its roar. Almost immediately after entering the fortress, they started up a flight of wide, stone steps. While Samuel had been grateful for the Assassin's grip on his arm during the trip to the fortress, now he was gritting his teeth in pain and worried that if he stopped, the man would probably drag him up the stairs.
"Wait," he wheezed at last, stumbling on a step. "Wait…please."
The Assassin looked back at him, his mouth pressed into a tight line.
"We're almost there, boy," he told him. "Then you can rest."
"Almost where?" Samuel asked, trying to breathe through the pain flaring from his broken ribs.
The Assassin didn't reply and started walking again, taking Samuel with him, though at a slightly slower pace. At the top of the stairs, he pushed through two doors and Samuel's eyes widened at the room beyond. Bookshelves lined the walls and stood back-to-back on the floor, torches and candles glowed, casting golden light over the stone floor and walls. The storm raged outside, lightning flashed just beyond the window and the rain fell like sabers.
A man stood by the massive desk, his black robe nearly touching the floor, and he turned at the sound of the doors opening. Samuel shivered under the dark look the man appraised him with and hesitated to enter the library. The Assassin's grip propelled him forward and he stood before the man, his heart pounding anxiously.
"Samuel Mainwaring," he said, his English was heavily accented but perfect.
Samuel chanced a glance at him and his blood chilled at the piercing gaze in the man's dark eyes.
"Yes, sir," he said quietly. "May I speak?"
"You may."
"I was told, when I arrived, to ask for a man named Malik al-Sayf," Samuel said. "Altair said I was to ask after a woman named Aliyah and a man named Caleb."
"I am Malik," the man replied. "What message did he give you?"
Samuel shook his head. "He didn't. He only said that I was to make myself known to you."
"Hm," Malik narrowed his eyes at him and walked back to the desk. "That is not what he told me."
Fear shivered up Samuel's spine. "I don't understand."
"He convinced me that you could be of use," Malik told him. "He trusts you," he added and his tone hardened. "I do not."
Samuel swallowed nervously and jerked his head around when the Assassin suddenly loomed behind him threateningly.
"If I were to execute you here and now, he would trust that my reasons were sound," Malik informed him coldly. "He says you were captured by the Templars."
"I was," Samuel replied and he unconsciously flexed his right hand. "They wanted to know where the Assassins were in Acre."
Malik nodded knowingly. "He seemed quite impressed with you, that you kept your silence through their torture, that you were willing to bleed for us." His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Perhaps you were. Or, perhaps you are just that devoted to your Order. You would not be the first to endure torture to secure a place among your enemies."
Samuel's eyes went wide at the accusation. "I—I'm not a Templar," he protested.
"Convince me," Malik ordered brusquely.
"How?" Samuel's voice was a croak.
Malik merely cocked an eyebrow and Samuel heard the hiss of a blade behind him.
"I'm not a Templar," he repeated desperately. "I can't convince you! I have nothing! I'm a squire who turned on his master. I—I know how that must seem…but I only wanted to protect my family. Pierre was going to murder them! What was I supposed to do? I didn't expect to survive the day. I thought Altair would kill me and then, I was certain Saadiq would. But they…they saved me. They all did. And then, they came for me when I was captured…"
"You did not think they would," Malik stated, studying him keenly.
"No," Samuel replied. "I'd hoped, but…"
"You think yourself one of us?" Malik asked.
Samuel sighed sadly. "No. I don't know what I am any more. But a world ruled by men like Pierre is not one I want to live in."
Malik cocked an eyebrow at that statement, then looked at the Assassin behind Samuel. "What do you think, Caleb?"
Samuel started visibly and spun to look at the man who had attacked, then escorted him through Masyaf.
Caleb circled the boy, taking in every detail from his injuries to the measured breaths he was forcing himself to take.
"I think he needs a hot meal and a physician," he said at last.
Malik nodded and gestured to a chair near the desk. After receiving a nudge from Caleb, Samuel limped over to it and sat down with a pained groan, rolling his left shoulder.
"Physician first," Malik said and Caleb strode from the room.
Now that he was sitting, Samuel was nearly overwhelmed with the desire to fall asleep. His eyes were dry and heavy and every bone in his body ached. He looked up warily when Malik moved closer to him and watched as he poured a cup of quaveh. Then, to Samuel's shock, he offered him the steaming cup.
"Thank you," Samuel said quietly and accepted the drink, holding it awkwardly in his bandaged hand. His eyes fell to Malik's left sleeve and he realized that it didn't fall past his ribs. When he saw Malik watching him coolly, he ducked his head meekly.
"Whether you stare or not makes little difference," Malik told him. "You're a timid thing," he commented after a moment of silence, broke only by the sounds of the storm.
Samuel huffed a bitter laugh. "I don't want to die," he said simply. "At least, not for nothing."
"You would prefer for your death to be a glorious event?" Malik queried dryly.
"No," Samuel answered, nursing the hot cup in his hands. "I'm not sure how any death could be glorious. But, when I do die, I'd like for whatever I was doing that killed me to…make a difference."
"What sort of difference?"
"I don't know," Samuel shrugged helplessly. "I don't know what difference there is for me to make. I used to know what I was supposed to do. I was going to inherit my father's merchant business and take care of my mother and younger brother. Now, I have none of that. My countrymen want me dead. The people giving me shelter want me dead. So, I'm not sure what I am, anymore."
Malik's heart clenched slightly at the words 'younger brother' and his gaze went to the shadows between two bookshelves where he knew Aliyah stood. She stepped into the light just enough for him to see her and nodded.
Samuel suddenly stiffened in his chair and his eyes widened with apprehension.
Malik glanced down at him and couldn't help but be impressed.
The boy has good instincts.
"If you're going to kill me, please just—just get it done," Samuel said hoarsely. "Don't play with me."
Malik's shoulders fell in a resigned sigh and he stepped back.
"We're not going to kill you," Aliyah said, striding forward.
"Are you Aliyah?" Samuel asked before he could stop himself.
Malik's gaze snapped back to him and his eyes glinted dangerously. "What difference does that make, boy?"
Samuel looked at Malik, then back to the woman. "Altair said I needed to see a woman named Aliyah when I arrived."
Malik and the woman exchanged a significant look and he finally relented with a shrug.
"Malik, why have you dragged me from my bed at this unholy hour?" a gruff voice growled from the doorway, followed a moment later by an older man clutching a satchel. "Someone had better be dying."
"I thought I was, for a bit," Samuel murmured.
"You still may, boy, if you can't convince him to keep you alive," the physician grumbled.
"Don't frighten him anymore," Aliyah admonished gently. "He's suffered enough. Where is Caleb?"
"I told him to wait," the physician said, laying his satchel on the desk. "It's best if the boy endures this without food in him."
"En-endures what?" Samuel stammered nervously.
The physician's stern visage softened slightly. "I'm not here to torture you, boy. Though, in a moment, I'm certain you will be questioning that. Bring that light closer, Malik."
He unwrapped the bandage on Samuel's hand and the light revealed swollen, red flesh where his finger used to be. Then, the physician's hand went from his wrist to his forehead.
"He's feverish," he reported. "Once I've finished, feed him and send him to bed."
Malik nodded and Aliyah took Samuel's cup and set it on the desk.
The physician held a rag beneath Samuel's hand and wrapped his strong fingers around the stub of his finger, wringing the corruption from the injury. Samuel yelped in surprised pain and grit his teeth while the man continued the action until nothing but blood flowed. Then, he cleaned it and wrapped a fresh bandage around his hand. He then turned his attention to Samuel's snapped elbow. Samuel unconsciously leaned away from him when he slid his hand into the rough sling. Then, his brow furrowed in thought, he pressed his hands against Samuel's ribs. Samuel hissed in pain and jerked away involuntarily.
"Do they pain you that much, boy?" the physician asked, his tone wavering between concern and disdain.
"No—well, yes, but it isn't just that," Samuel replied, trying to take a deep breath. "There's…burns. And they cut me up fairly well, too."
"Hm," the physician frowned and stood. "I'll examine him further in the morning. Drink this once you have eaten," he handed Samuel a small vial. "It will help the pain so you can sleep."
Caleb came into the room holding a bowl and a tankard. The smell of spices wafted up from the soup and they all perked up at the appetizing scent.
"I imagine I'll be seeing you in the morning, as well," the physician remarked as he walked out.
Samuel took a cautious sip of the soup and sagged with relief as the hot liquid coursed through him. He'd made the ride to Masyaf with only a few stops, never long enough to sleep or make a meal, limiting himself to dried meat and water that tasted like leather after the first several hours.
"Thank you," he said in a hoarse, heartfelt whisper.
As soon as he'd finished, Caleb led him from the library and settled him into a room.
"In the morning, don't leave on your own," he warned. "I can't guarantee your safety among the others."
Samuel nodded and sat on the bed after the door slid shut. He drank the physician's vial and heaved an exhausted sigh. Within moments, he felt a numbness creeping over him and he laid down, groaning softly as his bandaged ribs shifted. Suddenly nervous, he fought his exhaustion, afraid to fall asleep and leave himself vulnerable. Then, he gave a wry chuckle. If the Assassins wanted to kill him, the only difference being awake would make would that he might see the blade coming. He was already overly warm from his fever and didn't bother using the blanket. He dozed off listening to the sound of the storm and pretended he was back home.
"Well, things make a little more sense now," Caleb remarked, nursing a hot cup of quaveh.
Malik looked at the spy, his brow furrowed in thought. "How so?" he asked, leaning against the edge of the desk and taking a sip of his own drink.
Aliyah stood close by, listening to the men talk. For all of Malik's protests, he had filled the role of a leader with incredible ease. She was proud of him, proud that he had decided to trust Altair's judgement in regard to Samuel. Though she didn't truly trust him either, she hadn't wanted to see him killed.
"I thought it was odd that Altair would tell the boy to ask for me and Aliyah as well as you," Caleb elaborated. "He included Aliyah, because he intends the boy to stay. He included me, because I was the one best suited to convince you that the boy was safe to trust…to an extent."
"To an extent?" Malik repeated, his tone a mixture of incredulity and displeasure, something Aliyah hadn't heard since he'd helped train the novices outside the fortress.
Caleb chuckled and pushed his hood back, running a hand through his light hair. "Malik, I only trust you to an extent," he said.
Malik frowned at him, then shrugged. "Fair enough," he relented. "How did you manage to drag Akilah from her bed to make soup in the middle of the night, and survive the endeavor?" he asked after a moment.
"I didn't wake her," Caleb replied and Malik stared at him in stunned disbelief. "I cooked it myself. I'm more than capable and I didn't see the point in disturbing the poor woman."
Malik's disbelief turned to horror. "You…cooked a meal…in Akilah's kitchen?"
Caleb grinned and Malik realized that the spy knew he had courted death by doing so.
"I cleaned up," he said easily. "She'll never know. I'm a spy, Malik," he added when the Dai shook his head despairingly. "My life regularly depends on managing such tiny details. I assure you, it's fine."
"I hope you're right," Malik said heavily and Aliyah smiled.
"I took Robert's journal out of his tent and hid it beneath Jerusalem," Caleb reminded him. "When they captured and tortured me, they never asked me where it was because he still hadn't realized it was gone. Believe me, Akilah will never know."