Chapter 2

John Small had been a pleasant surprise for Connor. Having heard the man's speech, he expected Small to be deeply prejudiced. He was, but not nearly so much as the Assassin had feared. John Small's prejudices went as far as landownership and no further. "I have no hatred for the Indians," the man explained. "Nor any man. But we won this land fair, and they've no right to keep us from it."

Connor disagreed, but he was wise enough now not to say it. "I thought some of these tribes were your allies?"

Small nodded sadly. "They were. Some fool commander attacked the wrong village, and we've been at war ever since."

"I see," Connor said. He did. "Their grievance is justified."

"I'm not saying no," Small conceded. "But we didn't attack them. They've no right to wipe us out. The tribes mean to drive us out of Kentucky and that isn't right either."

"You ever consider talking?" Dobby suggested dryly.

"Of course I have," Small proclaimed indignantly. "But they aren't interested in listening, and the townsfolk neither."

Nor do you, Connor thought, for all you claim otherwise. There was too much anger in Vincennes, aimed by all in all directions. The territory was on the brink of war and Connor feared they would bring the rest of the Nation with them. The United States could not afford a war when so divided… and Connor's people could not afford one at all. "What do you intend?" he asked.

"I'm going to send a letter to congress," John Small announced.

"Are you sure that's wise?" A scowl crossed Dobby's face. "I've never known Congress not to make things worse."

Connor agreed, but he suspected it was for different reasons. The problem, Connor mused, is not what Congress will do; it is what they will not.

The Confederation government was foundering. Congress and the States were splitting over the matter of the Spanish Treaty. Jay had given up on convincing Gardoqui, the Spanish ambassador, to relent on the Mississippi closure. He was now trying to convince Congress to allow him to negotiate a treaty with the possibility of keeping the river closed. The Southern States were furious, while the Northern ones approved. There was serious talk of the Northern States creating their own Federation, and of the Southern States doing the same. Jay's petition had unearthed all the hidden flaws, and the Union was now on the verge of shattering. Any additional pressure, and it could break.

We will need to stop this request from reaching Congress, Connor decided. Governor Henry could send any needed troops instead. "How do you intend to send this letter?"

"I'll send Filson down the Wabash," Small answered. "He knows people in Philadelphia."

Connor frowned. "You should prepare a convoy. The river is not safe."

Dobby shot him a perplexed look, but she knew well enough to back him up. "You've had a lot of river attacks; you'll want to be sure the message gets through."

Small nodded. "That's wise," he agreed. "It'll take some time to prepare, mind."

Connor hid a smile. "Do it anyway," he advised.

"What are you up to?" Dobby demanded as Connor reached for a pigeon. He was surprised she'd waited so long to confront him.

"We need to stop that letter," he explained. "We could not dissuade him so I bought us time."

"I know," Dobby said irritably. "I figured that much. But what are you doing now?"

"Getting a ship."

"The Aquila won't fit on these rivers," Dobby pointed out, "which is why I'm wondering what you're doing."

"Yes," Connor agreed, smirking. "But the Morrigandoes."

Dobby blinked, then grinned. "You're commandeering the Morrigan?" She asked delightedly.

"I am requesting aid from my ally," Connor said firmly.

Dobby burst into laughter. "Oh, that Templar's going to be mad! Wish I could see Cormac's face when he gets this."

"I doubt he will receive it," Connor said dryly, "but it will force him out of wherever he is."

Dobby raised a questioning brow, her laughter petering out. "You don't think he's in New York?"

"No."

Dobby frowned. "But Jamie and Stephane–"

"Are being tricked." How, and for what purpose, Connor did not know, and he was not willing to break this alliance on suspicion. But if Shay Cormac really was in New York, the Assassin would be shocked.

When the Morrigan arrived a week later, Connor was disappointed to see his suspicions proven true. Cormac's skin was far too tanned and weatherworn for someone living an easy life in New York City. "You were right," Dobby muttered, as she passed him, on the way to the bunks with her things. Connor was surprised at how much the betrayal stung. Despite knowing better, he had hoped… but it did not matter. Cormac was here, which the Assassin took to mean the Templar still saw value in their alliance. But who does it serve…?

"Welcome aboard," the man in question said cheerfully, drawing Connor from his dark thoughts.

"You seem happy," the Assassin noted, careful to keep any turmoil from his voice.

Shay laughed. "I am. Nathanial's still searching for that boy of his, so my girl is mine again – at least until he gets back." The Templar fixed the ship with a fond and proprietary gaze. "I've missed her. I had Macha in Europe, but she's only a third of the Morrigan."

Connor wondered at the Templar's affection for his vessel. Faulkner was the same with the Aquila. The Assassin had never been able to understand it; a ship was just a tool. "She is alive to you," he said slowly.

"Aye," Shay agreed, his voice soft. "They all are, but she was my first, the only one to follow me from the beginning. The others have only ever flown the Cross; she flew the Eagle's Beak, until I cut it off and my hood with it." He shook his head, returning to the present. "But what was it you needed her for? Your message didn't say."

"The men in this town are sending a message to Congress," Connor said, off put by the sudden shift in conversation. He knew the Morrigan had been Cormac's, but not when the man was still an Assassin. There were no hints onboard of the ship's former allegiance. "We are going to stop it."

Shay nodded. "We can ambush them by the Falls."

"You know this area?" Connor asked, brow furrowed.

Shay smirked. "I know every river between the Atlantic and the Mississippi, lad. I've certainly sailed them enough. When can we expect your messenger?"

"Filson should pass the Falls at the beginning of June," Connor explained. "You made better time than expected, so we should have a few days to prepare."

"I'll make good use of them," Shay assured him.

"No questions?" Dobby asked dryly, returning to the deck.

"I assume you have your reasons," the Templar replied. "If you wanted to tell me, you would have. I'm not going to pry into Assassin business; I expect the same courtesy in return."

The days passed quickly enough, preparing for the ambush and performing the myriad of small tasks which kept a ship running. Still, there were many moments where one could find quiet, and peace. Connor leaned back into the rigging, watching the men toil below. A sudden tautness in the ropes informed him of company. "Missing your boy?" Shay asked.

"Some," Connor admitted, "and his mother." Recalling Dobby's words, weeks earlier, he asked, "Do you know why Thayendanegea hates me?"

"I do," Shay admitted.

"But you will not tell me."

It wasn't a question, but the Templar answered anyway. "It's not mine to tell. It is personal – but that's all I'll say. You'll have to ask Joseph yourself."

Connor scowled, anger flaring up. "He drives me from my family – my home! – and you will not tell me why?!"

Shay turned, meeting the Assassin's gaze head-on. "It is not mine to tell," he repeated firmly.

Connor glowered at the deck, looking away. He understood, but it did not make it easier. "You have a new son," he said instead, hoping to trip the Templar up. Cormac had not been in New York despite his claims; let him struggle for answers he did not have.

"Yes." Shay shifted, and Connor felt a momentary smugness at the Templar's clear discomfort.

"Did you not want me to know?"

"No… That's not…" Shay rubbed his left finger, where Connor knew the Assassin brand lay. "You don't mind?"

"Mind?" Connor blinked, confused. "Why should I mind your having a son?"

"Not that." The Templar waved his hand distractedly. "That I named him after your Da."

"You…" Connor stared at the other man, thrown. That he had not expected. "You named him… for my father?"

Shay nodded, looking sheepish. "Haytham Edward Cormac. I have a tendency to name my children for men – and women – I respected. Conlan Patrick, George Monro, Christopher, Liam Adéwalé, Hope… named two Lawrence but neither of them…" he sighed, grief briefly crossing his face. "You didn't know?"

"No," Connor said. Then, "I don't mind."

Shay nodded again, looking out at the river. "Good. I wasn't sure… He mattered to me, your Da. I always planned, the next boy that came along…"

Connor smiled, anger all but gone. It was rare to see the older man so ill at ease. He wanted my approval, the Assassin realized. "I do not mind," he repeated. He did not. Shay Cormac was free to name his sons what he would, and Connor was glad his father would have his name carried on. "I think Father would be pleased as well."

Shay smiled sadly. "I'd like to think so. He was a great man."

"Tell me about him." It struck Connor he had never asked and now, with the time running out on their alliance, he might never have another chance. Shay Cormac had known Haytham Kenway as Connor never would. A diary was all well and good, but it was not the same as a living person, someone who had laughed and cried and raged alongside his father. In forging a relationship with the Templar, some part of Connor hoped to connect with the father he had slain but never knew.

But he had never asked.

Shay gazed thoughtfully out at the river. "He was a good man," the Templar said slowly. "Firm, but also kind. Devoted to our cause – well, we all were. But he was loyal to us, too. We weren't just his Templars; we were his friends. Family, almost, in our own way." Connor nodded, remembering how his father had sacrificed himself to save Lee. "He gave me a choice, you know?"

Connor blinked. "A choice?"

Shay smiled gently, eyes distant. "After I killed Adéwalé – he was an Assassin from St. Domingue. A good man; fought with your grandfather."

"My grandfather," Connor said blankly. "The Assassin."

Shay chuckled. "Aye, but I think it was before Edward donned the hood. Anyway… we fought him, Haytham and I. Killing him… it was the most I ever came to doubt the Order. After, your father said I could leave if I wished. He took my ring," Shay lifted his left hand. "Said he should not have had me swear so soon after losing George Monro. That it was not fair to push that on me then, never mind I'd wished to swear even before."

"George Monro…" Connor interrupted. "I know you have a son by that name, but–"

Shay smiled. "He was the one who found me, after I fell from the cliff. I was still an enemy then, but he saved me all the same. He was the kindest and noblest man I have ever known."

"To save an enemy," Connor said quietly, "he must have been a good man." Shay had mentioned this before, years ago now, by the cliff at Davenport. Connor had forgotten. "He was the one who brought you into the Order."

"Yes," Shay affirmed. "I wear his ring now."

"The black one."

"There was a fire… Liam slit his throat, and left him to die in the flames." Connor flinchedm, remembering how his mother had screamed while the village burned.

"That is not a kind death."

"No," Shay agreed, "it's not." The old man sighed, looking away. "I pulled him from the flames, but it was too late. He gave me his ring then. When it cooled, it turned black. Black for a traitor – it suits me."

Connor waited, but Shay seemed unwilling to continue. So he asked, "And after Adéwalé… my father took it?"

Shay startled, drawn from wherever his mind had drifted. "Aye," he said after a moment. "Haytham told me that he would help me retrieve the Box and Manuscript – we could hardly let the Assassins keep it – but he would not hold me bound if I did not wish to be."

"But you did," Connor said. It was hardly a question – Cormac remained a Templar today.

"He ordered me to take a week to think it over, to be certain I believed in the cause and was not simply following Monro's lead. At the end, I came back and swore my oaths a second time. I have never regretted it."

"My father was wise," Connor said thoughtfully. "You had come to doubt your cause before, and it led you to betray it. By letting you go, he ensured your loyalty."

Shay chuckled. "That he was, and that he did, but I did not realize it for many years. And by then, I no longer had cause to doubt."

Because you had changed, Connor thought, but did not say. "What else can you tell me?" He asked instead.

"Haytham was… He could get stuck in his own head some times," Shay smiled, voice lightening. "He was so serious – too serious really. Christopher – that's Nathanial's Da – Nathanial, Thomas – Thomas Hickey – and I used to try and get him to laugh. We'd make a game of it. Kept score, too." Connor snorted. Shay grinned. "Sometimes Charles'd join us, if it was the right time."

Recalling the angry, brooding man, Connor shook his head. "I would not have thought Lee the sort."

Shay shrugged. "Well, you had to get him in the right month. He was plenty fun, if you did."

Connor frowned. "Why would the month matter?"

"Some months he was angry, or miserable," Shay explained. "We'd keep our heads down then; try to avoid him. Others he was wildly happy. We had a lot of fun then." His eyes grew distant, reminiscing. "Most months he was somewhere between. That was the real man, I think. There was a pattern to it; you learned quickly if you knew him."

Connor's frowned deepened. "I did not know that."

Shay shrugged. "We all have our quirks. It ran in his family, or so I heard. They were said to be eccentrics. Charles called it a 'distemper of the mind' on one of his gloomier days. I liked him well enough, when he wasn't in a bad month."

"His mind was not always his own," Connor said, the realization hurting. He had known of such men; there had been one in Kanatahséton. Some had said he was possessed, before the warrior flung himself from a cliff, believing himself a bird. It was said the Peacemaker had healed such men, and they had gone on to spread the message of Unity to the Haudenosaunee. It was strange to think of Lee as one of these. He had never struck Connor so. But I did not know him. It had been easier to live with his deeds, when he did not know his victims.

"No," Shay agreed thoughtfully. "it wasn't." The Templar laid his hand on Connor's shoulder, squeezing gently. The Assassin stiffened, relaxing as the older man spoke. "Don't trouble yourself over it. You didn't know, and it wouldn't have mattered if you did."

"He strangled me," Connor said quietly, throat aching in memory, "when I was a boy, the day Washington burned Kanatahséton."

Shay nodded slowly. "I remember; it was a bad month," he admitted. "Unusually so. We all did our best to avoid him, and did what he asked quickly, rather than risk his wrath."

Connor twisted around, knocking the Templar's hand aside. "You were there?!"

Shay shook his head. "I was with Christopher, trying to waylay George until the others could warn the village. Didn't work, obviously."

"Obviously," Connor repeated blankly, struggling to hide his shock at the revelations. They were there to… No. He would think on that later. "Tell me of your son – my father's namesake."

Shay chuckled, his eyes growing warm. "He's got these odd colored eyes – sometimes blue, sometimes gray – like your Da had. They're always looking, watching, like he wants to know everything…"

They spoke for hours, Assassin and Templar, as the summer sun slowly set over the Wabash river. Connor found himself wishing things could remain this way always. But Shay Cormac had not been in New York and that truth lay heavy over their momentary peace.

June second dawned bright and clear. The Morrigan lay at anchor near the Falls, awaiting the Congressional messenger. All seemed to be going to plan. Connor could only hope it would continue to do so.

Shay frowned pensively, looking out at the water. "I hate waiting," the Templar announced. "I always feel like it's asking for something to go wrong."

Connor understood. "It is as if things were going too well."

"Exactly." The Templar ran his fingers through his graying hair. "I'm going to check the charts again; make sure there aren't any rocks we've missed." Connor chuckled, watching the older man storm off muttering imprecations.

Dobby snorted, crossing the deck to join him. "I see why you like him."

Connor raised a brow. "Oh?"

"I think he was a lot like you once. Maybe even still is."

Connor frowned, thinking back to Shay's diary and the man who'd written it. The Assassin had read it many times now, as he had his father's, hoping to understand the Templar. "Yes," he admitted slowly, "I can see that. Not the same, but… similar."

Their conversation was interrupted by a sudden splash. A hand abruptly appeared on the bulkhead. Connor reached down, helping the dripping young man aboard. "Mentor Kenway," Christopher Cormac said coldly, eyes full of loathing "I need to speak with Da." Shay Cormac's son had none of his father's fondness for Assassins, same as his absent twin Liam Adéwalé. Connor was glad the younger twin was not aboard; the boy had a nasty temper and their one meeting had not gone well. Christopher's hatred was no less present, but his burned cold. It grieved Connor to see it, painful in its familiarity. He wondered how long it would take Cormac's sons to learn the lesson of its futility, a lesson the Assassin had only learned too late. He could only hope it would not hurt them as it had him.

The discovery of Washington's duplicity had not eased Connor's pain for his mother's death; uncertain where to turn upon learning it had never been visited on the right culprit, he had turned it on his father and Washington both, before returning to Lee, where he had always placed it. And now Cormac tells me they tried to save her and does not even seem to know what he has said. The pain was never truly gone, even after the anger had faded in its entirety upon Haytham's death.

But he said none of this. Christopher's ears were closed to him, as they were to all Assassins. "Your father went to check his charts."

The younger man nodded curtly, crossing the deck with a familiar grace. Like all the adult Cormac children Connor had met, Christopher had Assassin training. "It doesn't bother you," Dobby asked, following Connor's gaze, "his being trained to kill us?"

"We train to kill them," Connor pointed out, hiding his own disquiet. "It should not surprise us if they do the same." Hunters for the father who had hunted down his own brothers.

"Not they," Dobby insisted. "Cormac." Connor inclined his head, silently acknowledging that truth as the man in question emerged from his cabin, conversing with his son.

"We have a problem," the Templar said. "Chris?"

The young Hunter nodded. "The Piankeshaw have set up an ambush. They intend to stop Filson too, but I doubt they intend him to survive."

That made matters far more complicated. Filson had many friends across the world as a result of his books; his death would spur unwanted action. "We will have to protect him," Connor said.

"And stop the message." Cormac shook his head irritably. "I knew things were going too well." For once, Assassins and Templars were entirely in agreement.

The battle was as bad as anticipated. As soon as Filson's pirogue, surrounded by its haphazard accompaniment, appeared, the Piankeshaw swept out of hiding to confront it. Into the melee sailed the Morrigan. It was the first time Connor had had the chance to see her in combat and, he had to admit, she was marvelous. He could see why Shay was so fond of this ship.

"Keep to the Puckle guns," the man ordered. "no cannons; those canoes are too close and too flimsy."

Connor manned one of the odd tripod guns. They fired remarkably quickly, shooting nine shots a minute, far faster than any firearm he had seen before. It was remarkable sight. The Assassin quickly reloaded the weapon, carefully sinking the canoes. Some of the warriors and settlers had turned their guns on the larger ship in their midst, but most were too occupied with each other. They ignore a greater foe in favor of their sworn enemy, Connor thought uneasily. It was too reminiscent of the Assassin/Templar war. We say we fight for peace, but how often do we war for war?

Connor scanned the canoes, seeking the one he needed. "Dobby!" The Assassin woman turned from her own weapon. "Filson's pirogue; can you reach it?"

The woman frowned, then nodded. "What do you want me to do?"

"Take him overland," Connor said grimly. "Get him back to Vincennes." With Filson off the river, the Morrigan could stop being cautious and put an end to this debacle.

"Go with her," Cormac ordered his son, not looking away from the helm. "You know these lands better than they."

The younger Templar scowled at the female Assassin, but did not argue, choosing to head directly to the bulkhead. "Keep up." He leaped forward, landing on a nearby canoe, barely pausing before moving to the next. Dobby cursed, following.

"That is not going to end well," Connor noted.

Shay smirked. "I have full faith in my sons' abilities."

"As do I in my Assassins'," Connor countered. "But a fight to the death will not help our cause."

Shay laughed, turning the helm. "Looks like our protegees have got Filson. What would you say to teaching the rest of these fools a lesson?"

Connor grinned back. "Yes."

Shay expertly maneuvered the helm, shattering the canoes before the ice-ram as the Morrigan cut through the battlefield. The smaller vessels scattered, trying to avoid being crushed under her bow. At the Templar's order, the canons fired high above the fray. In the brief silence that followed, Shay bellowed, "This battle is over! Or the next round turns you to driftwood!"

Begrudgingly outmatched, the combatants separated, rowing away. Shay sighed, Connor echoing. "We should leave," the Assassin said, when the last canoe had quit the field.

The Templar nodded, turning his ship back down the river. "What a waste," he said quietly. "All that effort… and for no purpose. What will war gain them?"

"Yes," Connor said, meeting the Templar's eyes. "It does seem so. Pity they cannot meet in the middle."

"If no middle exists," Shay replied, equally solemn, "it's a little hard to meet."

Though early summer, the day felt cold. "You will leave," Connor said, a decision slowly solidifying, "when your son returns."

Cormac nodded warily, as aware of the change as Connor. "I should return to New York. See to Mag–"

"Don't!" Connor snapped, suddenly angry and weary all at once. Why did he have to… "I will not ask where you have been, or what you were doing, or why you saw fit to hide it from me, but do not lie to my face and expect me to act as though I believe!"

The Templar blinked, his face growing cold. "I won't, then." They stared at each other, Assassin and Templar, deeply aware of the insurmountable divide between them, neither wishing to break the silence, both knowing what it would mean when they did. The minutes stretched on.

At last Connor spoke. "You will return to New York and you will stay in New York, as you have been pretending to do this past year. I will not make you travel across the oceans with an infant, but nor will I allow you to wander as you have."

Cormac nodded slowly, something deeply sorrowful about him. "Our alliance is over?" He does not want this to end, Connor realized. No more than I do. Had the old man come to care for Connor, as the Assassin cared for him? Did the Templar not want their odd friendship to end either?

But end it must.

"I do not believe," Connor said slowly, "we ever truly had an alliance to end. You were using me always, from the beginning."

"Not always," the older man demurred. "Sometimes… Sometimes it was real. This… coming here… This was real."

Connor nodded, accepting the words. "But too often otherwise. And never entirely true."

"No," Shay admitted. "Not from me."

It hurt, the confirmation. But at least the old man was being honest, perhaps for the first time. "I ended the truce with my father," Connor said quietly, "because I thought he had played me false. I was wrong. Regret has led me to cling to this alliance, long after I should."

For the first time Connor saw respect in the Templar's eyes. "I had hoped your guilt would stay you longer," Shay admitted. He smiled, but there was a bitter edge to it. "Seems you grew up when I wasn't looking. Haytham would be proud. Annoyed, but proud."

"While you remain in New York, your brothers are safe," Connor warned. "If I find you outside it…"

"I know." Shay steered the Morrigan into a small tributary, motioning the crew to drop anchor. He walked over to Connor, leaning on the bulkhead beside the Assassin. "For what it's worth, I do want what's best for this Nation."

"I doubt we would agree on what is best," Connor replied.

The old man chuckled, but there was no joy in it. "I'm a Templar; you're an Assassin. When do we ever?"

"You seek control," Connor said coldly.

"And Assassins don't?" Shay countered.

Connor shook his head. "We seek freedom, and the right to choose."

Shay smiled bitterly. "Aye, and you kill those whose choices you disagree with."

"To ensure the freedom of the people."

"And if the people, by their own will and choosing, elect a Templar to lead them?"

"If they are tricked –"

"No tricks. An entirely free choice."

Connor considered. It was a good question. "I cannot know," he decided. "Not until such a choice is made."

Shay nodded thoughtfully. "That's fair. More fair than most Assassins I've known."

"You could never reconcile it, could you?" The Assassin asked shrewdly.

"No," the Templar admitted. "I never could."

The silence grew again, more companionable than before. There are no more lies, Connor realized. Secrets and plots, yes, but no lies. The deceptions were over and they were enemies again. Somehow, that made things easier. What does that say about us? Connor wondered. About our war? "What will you do," he asked suddenly, "if you achieve your perfect world?"

Shay looked thoughtfully out at the river. "If we achieve a world of perfect order… I suppose we'd retire. There'd be no more need for us. We're only guiding it until it gets there."

"You would not need to control it," Connor pressed, "to keep it that way?"

Shay shook his head. "A perfect world would keep itself in order, balanced and checked against itself. Perfectly controlled, perfectly ordered."

"Like your Order?" Connor probed.

The Templar smirked. "Now that would be telling." They fell silent again, listening to the currents slap against the bow.

"The truce… it isn't over until Chris and Dobby get back?" Shay finally asked.

"No." Connor frowned, wondering what the old man was getting at.

"We could take the whaleboat… Go out on the river…"

"And what?" Connor asked blankly. "Fight?"

Shay laughed, startled. "Fish, actually." There was something about his face, the look in his eyes, that Connor recognized.

"I am not your son," he said, voice harsher than he'd intended. Hurt flickered across Shay's face, so quick Connor could almost pretend he'd imagined it. Is that how you see me? As one of your own?

"I know," the Templar answered, mouth taut, "It was a foolish thought."

Connor nodded, walking away. Then he paused, realizing, "where do you keep the gear?"

The look of astonished delight on the Templar's face was enough to make the long hours in the beating sun worthwhile, even had the companionship not sufficed.