A Key, Once Lost, Has Been Found – Chapter 2 (Could Be Our Last Mistake)
It would be on the second day that Desmond would have his next surprise.
Stealing a horse hadn't been any trouble. Guards seemed to be even worse than he remembered. He doubted that the guard would notice until several hours later. He knew that he probably could have killed him. He still had his hidden blades on each forearm. Though the one on the left was still unusable at the moment. But that didn't mean he still couldn't fight. He refused to let his arm be the reason why he couldn't fight or be an Assassin. He had given that life up once and he refused to do that again.
He had stolen a sword as well. It was a little battered and worse for wear, but it was better than no protection at all. He wished he had a pistol on him, it would come in handy in the long run. But he knew he had to deal with what he had. He had already stolen Florins off several guards. He knew that he would eventually need to stop at a Blacksmith and Tailor eventually. His Assassin robe was probably too modern. Though it was similar enough to pass by without too many questions. But he needed a different type of attire for his shoes, they would be a giveaway. If he wasn't already, he'd be labeled as a foreigner… an outsider. He wasn't sure if that would be considered a good thing or not. He just hoped that he wouldn't have to find out, not yet anyways.
Though it would matter on perspective. To the people of Rome, he didn't think it would be a bad thing to be considered an outsider. He was not from Rome, though he wondered if he gained Ezio's Florentine accent from so much time in the Animus. No, the real worry was if he would be considered an outsider to the Assassins. He was not sure how they would take to visitors. But he figured since they welcomed Ezio with open arms, it couldn't be all bad. But that could be only because Ezio already had connections with these people. Niccolo Machiavelli and La Volpe were two prime examples. And Ezio already had an Assassin's reputation from the year prior when he had killed most of the Templars responsible for his family's deaths. Sans the Borgia family, namely Rodrigo and Cesare.
There was no telling what he would expect if he came across any of the Assassins in this time period. He just hoped that he would be well prepared for it when he did. And Desmond knew it would be inevitable since he planned to aid them if he could.
Those were his rushing thoughts as the hours past quickly. Then he came upon a scene that he did not expect to see.
It was a person that he recognized almost immediately. Niccolo Machiavelli.
The assassin was surrounded by about eight or nine men, clearly surrounded and outnumbered.
Desmond grimaced as pain rushed through his bad arm. But he tried to ignore that for now. He tried to quietly dismount, securing the reins to a nearby railing.
The men were no doubt Cesare's men as they focused on the assassin. But they didn't seem to notice him, too oblivious while moving in closer to Machiavelli. That would be several of the men's downfall.
The assassin had already withdrawn his sword and held his ground, ready for the fight that was sure to come.
Desmond's eyes were narrowed as he unsheathed his hidden blade. Silent as if walking in the shadows, he crept behind each guard and drove it in deep into their neck. Each guard crumpling to the ground, slightly twitching as they died from the injury and blood loss.
It would be by the third guard that they realized there weren't as many men. And that someone was taking them down and it wasn't their target.
Machiavelli did not attack him, but his eyes were suspicious. But he gave a firm nod before attacking. He quickly decapitated the next four men. It was between slashing at their necks or a straight through and through to the chest. All four of them fell to the ground, swords falling from their hands.
Desmond had already taken care of the eighth guard, a swift blade to the chest.
While Machiavelli had been taking care of his guards. Desmond faced the last of them. He had to jump back to avoid the blade as the guard swung. It slightly grazed him, but it didn't cut his robes. That seemed to make the man angrier. Desmond made the guard circle, trying to find an opening. He still had his poor excuse for a sword strapped to his waist. But that would make him lose precious time, time if used, may result in his death.
He almost wished he probably would have just used his sword, but that would have ruined the element of surprise. And those three men that he killed before they realized anything, may still have been alive.
In normal circumstances, Desmond would have been able to easily switch from using his hidden blade to a sword. He knew his skill with a sword. It was on the same level as Ezio's, which was saying something. But that was the key phrase… normally… These were not normal circumstances, far from it.
But with an unusable arm, he had to make do with what he could. And he didn't believe that he'd be able to withdraw his sword before the guard would try to attack again. So, he made the man dance as he dodged every attack. If he could get the guard mad enough, he would leave an opening for Desmond to strike.
Maybe later Desmond should have rethought that plan. But it would be too late to try to turn back time, impossible even.
He managed to kill the guard, but in doing so, he wound up wounded.
Desmond had misjudged how far the blade could reach. The guard had swung again, and it would have killed him. The man had aimed for a killing blow and would have succeeded if not for Desmond's hidden blade.
Desmond parried the strike to turn the blade away from him and try to get the man to turn his back on him. But it had still met contact against his chest, leaving a deep wound, blood running down his robes. He couldn't help the whimper that escaped his lips, the blade had hit deep. He still refused to falter, and the man now had his back to him.
Desmond took his chance and slammed his blade into his back. He could hear the guard gasp for breath, feeling every inch of the blow. His sword dropped to the floor as the guard fell to his knees. Then he toppled over dead.
Desmond collapsed to the ground, feeling the pain rushing over him. The pain in his arm seemed minor compared to this. He knew that he would need a doctor soon, but he didn't think it was life threatening.
Machiavelli had then sheathed his sword and turned back to face him. It was hard to see what the man was thinking as he approached. He crouched in front of Desmond.
"Thank you, my friend… brother," Machiavelli said.
Desmond nodded; he knew that he would eventually recognize his robes as an Assassin robe.
"I dare hate to think what would have happened if not for your aid," Machiavelli continued.
Desmond cracked a grin, "I know you would have given me the same honor."
"Indeed…" Machiavelli said, before his tone changed to alarm.
"You are injured!"
Desmond nodded, "losing blood too…"
Machiavelli's lips thinned, "we can exchange conversation later, you, my friend, must get to a doctor."
Desmond let the assassin ease him to his feet. He felt his arm around his shoulder, letting him lean his weight on him.
Desmond sighed, appreciating the help.
"There is a doctor not far from here, since Roma is only a few hours away," Machiavelli said.
Desmond nodded, not wanting to talk as blood kept seeping through his hand.
Machiavelli did not let his grip falter on this strange assassin. He did not offer any more words, sure that the man would not appreciate them. He had his own share of wounds and was impressed that this newcomer was handling the pain so well. It reminded me a bit of his friend, Ezio. And that was a depressing thought, he had already received news about Monteriggioni. His friends and fellow assassins were dead… But he knew that he still had to make his way to Roma, to help fight against the Borgia.
Desmond was laid down on the table as a doctor slowly inspected him.
The doctor was wearing a pair of official forest green robes with a while mask, shaped for a beak.
"Your friend will live as long as his body takes care. It will heal over time, I have wrapped the wounds and treated them. Your young body will help you heal faster," the doctor spoke with ease.
"Grazie," Machiavelli said as Desmond eased off the table. He handed the doctor some florins for his services.
"What about his other arm?" Niccolo asked the doctor.
"It is beyond saving," the doctor replied with a tone of regret.
Machiavelli didn't look happy about that, "How are you feeling?"
"I'm not dead yet," Desmond replied.
Niccolo's lips twitched at that, "if you are feeling well enough to walk, there are some questions I have."
Desmond nodded and gave a brief word of thanks towards the doctor.
Machiavelli and Desmond walked slowly back to the ground of dead bodies. Both needed to gather their horses and find a more secluded and private place to talk. Which Machiavelli would find a barely used stable with nobody around.
"I give you again my thanks. I am a skill fighter, but even my brothers would have struggled in that fight. My name is Niccolo Machiavelli, Assassin of the Italian Brotherhood."
"An honor to meet you, Niccolo. I am Desmond Miles," Desmond replied, leaving out what Brotherhood he was from.
Niccolo's eyes widened when he heard his name, "You know of me?"
Desmond nodded, "I have heard mere stories."
"You are not Italian? Though you have a Florentine accent?" Niccolo noted.
"I have adapted to the language and country," Desmond responded easily.
"So, I have seen. You fight well for an Assassin; the Italian Brotherhood will be glad to have you."
Desmond gave a small smile, "but you have something else on your mind."
"I have heard your name before. A friend, brother of our order, Ezio has mentioned your name," Machiavelli revealed.
Desmond nodded, "this may be difficult to explain…"
"We have time," Machiavelli waved him on.
"I am not from this time, but yes, Ezio will know my name," Desmond said.
Machiavelli's eyes narrowed, disbelieving.
"And what time are you from?"
"Very far in the future, I used a complex piece of machine that allowed me to see through Ezio's eyes..."
"That does not explain on how you are here," Machiavelli's words were straight to the point.
"A pedestal, very similar to the Eye of Eden, an artifact you have witnessed. It was supposed to kill me," Desmond explained.
Niccolo was stunned, "I will admit your robes look close enough to an Assassin's robe, yet unfamiliar. So, maybe this tale does have some truth. And what does this mean for us?"
"I wish to aid you, help the Brotherhood in all that I can. Cesare and Rodrigo must be killed after all that they've done."
"Then you know…" Niccolo asked.
Desmond nodded.
"So… this pedestal… is it… what was its intention?" Machiavelli asked.
"The world was going to burn with a solar flare, it was supposed to save the world," Desmond admitted.
Niccolo scrunched his eyebrows together, "then you must have succeeded. But doing so, burned your arm. Though your story, hard to believe. There is some truth in it. Some people will not believe you, so it may be best if they know you are just an Assassin coming to aid us. I will not tell you who you can and cannot tell this information to."
"I know. There are not many who I would trust to tell this to…"
Machiavelli looked thoughtful, "indeed… yet I'm one of those…"
"You are an Assassin and Ezio trusts you," Desmond replied.
Machiavelli gave a small smile at that, "I see then. Well… if we are to make it to Roma with a day or two we must get going. Though it would be best to find an inn for rest and riding for the morning.
"I appreciate the help, Niccolo," Desmond said.
Machiavelli nodded, "as am I, my friend…"
The inn wasn't as bad as Desmond thought it might be. The bed he was provided was clean at least. And the door did lock to keep any unwanted guests out. And they did provide meals as long as they paid for them. Something that Machiavelli took care of. He paid Florins for both rooms and for the meals to be delivered to their individual rooms. Though the outside did look worse for wear, the inside was a different story.
The people inside seemed content enough as they were at tables, either waiting for their food or drinks. Desmond wondered how many actually rather take their meals in their rooms. He didn't think this was an area to be infested with Borgia. But with how close it was to where Machiavelli had been surrounded, he didn't want to take a chance.
He had already caught several give him glances towards his arm. He still hadn't managed to get a pair of gloves to hide it. Or maybe that was because he was covered in blood. And naturally the people were curious, though they didn't dare to stop and question him. Apparently, the sword on his hip was enough to deter them, for how long… he did not know. But he knew that Machiavelli would probably help deter those questions even further. He cared a lot more weapons on his person, though not enough to rival Ezio. He could clearly recall having a mix of several swords, daggers, throwing knives, and pistols.
This fact unnerved him far more than it should. He was still coming in terms with the 'injury.' And he already hated how much it hindered his fighting abilities. He constantly thought about the fight several hours ago. He did appreciate Niccolo for taking him to a doctor. But he wished it hadn't been needed. It had been agonizing just to imply what happened to his arm back at the Grand Temple. Though he didn't reveal that it was the Grand Temple, a place he knew that the Templars were searching long and hard for. But he knew it had been necessary. Others may believe that his arm was burned alive, he doubted that would have worked on Machiavelli. That and it would be easier to have someone who knew the truth.
It made him wonder if he would ever get used his arm. And maybe that was his impatience talking. But he wanted to get back to where he could use his arm and not have it flail around helplessly. But that was the question, would it ever go back to normal? He didn't think it would really. Maybe some movability… after given some time. This would take some getting used to and he didn't like that one bit. He wondered how Malik did it during the Crusades. The man had lost his arm because of Altaïr, when he had been too arrogant.
Desmond sighed; he was glad nobody could read his thoughts. Since most of them held loathing for himself. And he already knew what the next few days would bring. He would come face to face with Ezio Auditore. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to be feeling about that. Maybe elated… He had always admired the Assassin ever since the day he took on the Assassin robes. A man that once had vengeance drive him. And later had justice and peace follow him through his life. It was Ezio that reconfirmed his decision on being an Assassin. And it made him realize the depth of his mistake of running away at sixteen. Not just because he had gotten kidnapped and forced to live one of his ancestor's lives. But it had showed him what it meant to be an Assassin and what the tenants and the Creed really meant. Something he didn't really care for in his youth.
AN: I usually write a chapter for one of my next fanfics, but I felt really inspired after writing the 1st chapter. No Ezio just yet, it is getting closer.
~NicoDiAngeloLover7