50

"Gods Damnit!" I swear violently when burning pain erupts from my right bicep. "Not again." I groan with gritted teeth. Feet stumbling, I collide with the left brick wall of the alley when my knees threaten to give out after the initial shock. I can dimly feel blood dribbling down my arm to the elbow. Gingerly touching the injury, I'm relieved that it's just a graze and not serious.

"Stop, Assassino!" Several irate guards yell out from not far behind me spurring me into action. I push off from the wall with my left arm, regain my balance, and throw myself into a sprint.

The bricked alley ends in an enclosed area modestly decorated by a pair of white trellises covered in rose vines with red blooms. A small fountain, simply decorated, offers a sense of peace as the water splashes into its bowl. Small patches of grass circle the trellises situated in the middle but separated by a few paces. More patches of grass poke up at the corners of the small courtyard and around the few plain wooden benches along the walls.

Panting my way into the courtyard, I run to the opposite wall and turn to face the oncoming guards. I count no less than six guards, four militia and two brutes, run or clamber into the courtyard. I notice two militias stand back and pull out a pair of loaded crossbows. The other four line up and draw their swords.

A trickle of sweat slides down the back of my neck. I bring my left arm up and eject my hidden blade while drawing my sword with my other hand. My left foot slides forward and my knees bend slightly while my body turns so that my left shoulder is forward.

"Il Capitano is eager to meet you, Puttana." One of the brutes says boldly. "Come quietly and we will not hurt you too much." Throwing his arms up and out, it's like he dares me to retaliate. In that moment of gloating, a feathered bolt pierces the right eye hole in his helmet and he gives an unfettered shout of agony. Blood starts to dribble out from under his helm as he falls to the ground, writhing.

I love good timing.

The other guards look to be caught between morbidly watching their colleague cry on the ground and looking around for the archer. One by one, they focus on me and my naked steel. The faces that I can see twist with mounting anger. The crossbowmen raise their weapons in my direction.

Too late.

Five white-robed figures drop from the three storey rooftops to sheathe their hidden blades in the necks, backs, and heads of their chosen victims.

I quickly turn my head away with a grimace. Nobody ever says that I have to like what the Brotherhood does. At least, that's my hope.

Moving my right arm to sheathe my sword reminds me of my own seeping blood staining my sleeve. My hidden blade slides back into its casing with a faint snick. Reaching behind my left hip, I pull out a length of clean, dark cloth from a pouch on my belt. Gingerly bringing my right arm around, I try to get a look at the grazing wound on my bicep. The fabric of my robes sticks to my arm in places from dried blood.

"It does not look bad." Ezio's voice interrupts my concentration and my head comes up to watch his approach.

"Not really, no." I agree placidly. "Stings like a bitch, though." I grumble after while turning to look at my arm, once more. Lightly touching the edges of the jagged cut, I wince a little at how messy it is. The sting is slowly losing its sharp edge to a constant dull throb. Taking the strip of cloth from my hands, Ezio wraps and ties it around my arm firmly. "Thanks." I say appreciatively.

"Come." He motions for me to follow along. "We shall go see the Dottore on Isola Tiberina. You might need stitches." He moves around the sprawled corpses and into the alley. The other Assassins are notable by their absence.