Part Twenty-Two: Awed Eyes

No one was in the courtyard to greet Altair. He hadn't expected anyone so late at night. He had pushed his horse hard, and even with taking mountain trails exclusively it was difficult to work his way around the armies north of the city. Al Mualim had been right in his prediction, both armies were massing around Arsuf, and the master assassin hoped that battle could be held off even a little bit longer - at least until de Sable was dead. Preferably not at all, but Altair doubted such a fervent wish would come to fruition.

Inside, Malik was at the counter, reading a letter by lamplight. Had he been waiting for Altair's arrival?

Apparently so, for he looked up at the master assassin and said, "Safety and peace, Altair."

"Upon you as well, brother," Altair responded. Even now, he hoped for resolution between him and Malik, but he schooled himself against the thought. The damage had been done, and he would have to live with it for the rest of his life.

"... Seems fate has a funny way with things," the rafiq said, holding up the letter. His tone was soft with the late night, his face ripe with irony and sadness, missing the usual anger. He was thinking of his brother, the same way Altair was.

"Fortune favors your blade."

Altair closed his eyes to the memory, instead looking at Al Mualim's letter.

"So it's true, then. Robert de Sable is in Jerusalem."

"I've seen the Knights myself," Malik nodded, tired, weary.

The master assassin didn't want to see that on his friend, and he found himself straightening, offering words. "Only misfortune follows that man. If he's here it's because he intends ill. I won't give him the chance to act."

Malik looked up, a frown quickly pressing in his features. "Do not let vengeance cloud your thoughts, brother," he scolded, leaning on his one arm on the counter. "We both know," he looked away, suddenly pained, "... no good can come of it."

Did he think...?

Altair shook his head, leaning forward himself, and quick to speak.

"I have not forgotten; you have nothing to fear. I do not seek revenge but knowledge."

If anything, the frown pressed even deeper into Malik's facial hair. His eyes narrowed as he gauged the man before him. "Truly you are not the man I once knew," he said slowly. Cautiously.

Altair straightened again, his hands hanging limply at his sides. He paced slightly, trying to find the words. "My work has taught me many things," he tried to explain. "Revealed secrets to me. But there are still pieces to this puzzle I do not possess."

"... What do you mean?" There it was again, that cautiously neutral tone.

Altair rubbed his forehead. Al Mualim had not told even Malik of the links de Sable had forged across the Holy Land? What was he thinking? Malik, of all people, deserved to know. For Kadar's sake. Exhausted from the long ride, Altair struggled with himself over telling what was once his best friend about the conspiracy, the Master's oblique wishes be damned.

"All the men I've laid to rest have worked together, united by this man. Robert has designs upon the land, this much I know for certain. But how and why, when and where, these things remain out of reach."

Malik blinked. "Talal, Majd Addin... Crusaders and Saracens... working together?"

Altair shook his head. "They are none of these things, but something else: Templars."

Malik's frown reappeared. "The Templars are part of the Crusader army," he pointed out.

"Or so they would like King Richard to believe," Altair countered, remembering William. "No, their only allegiance is to Robert de Sable and some mad idea that they will stop the war."

The stillness of the night settled over the two, Malik's narrow gaze assessing Altair. Finally,

"You spin a strange tale."

"You have no idea, Malik," Altair said, his voice startlingly loud. He started pacing again, words falling out of his mouth. "De Sable seeks to build an army, controlled by plants and opiates; he sought control of the cities to so that the citizenry would provide the soldiers; he would burn all books and level a blockade against the Crusaders to prevent their intrusion as he overtook the land." The rafiq was staring at Altair in open disbelief, now, his eyes wide at the master assassin's outburst. Why did Al Mualim keep this from others? What point did it serve?

Exhaustion swept over him again. He rubbed his forehead, his face, his jaw, before taking a deep breathe. "I seek to learn more with de Sable and the Templars here, but tell me where they've been seen, I should be after him before he slips away."

A lengthy pause followed before Malik, too, rubbed his face in exhaustion and looked to the map of the city on the counter. "Three places I can say for certain: west of here near both a guard tower and a hospital, and to the southwest, near the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. The Templars seem to be keeping to the Christian and Armenian Quarters."

"I understand. I will begin at dawn." Altair turned, going back to the closed in courtyard, and carefully laid himself out for a few hours rest. Malik watched for some time before he, too, went to his quarters.

Just before dawn Altair stretched and filled his waterskin, nibbling on some of his trail mix. Adjusting the throwing knives as his shoulder and tightening one of his shoulder straps, he moved to climb out of the Bureau.

"Altair."

Pausing, the master assassin looked down to find Malik under the lattice, looking up at him. "... See what you can learn, I will do the same."

"I'll be quick as I can." He turned and darted off, not hearing Malik's cautiously neutral reply.

"... Stay safe, my friend."

He knew both the guard tower and the hospital that Malik had spoken of, and so he took his time wandering the northern parts of the Christian Quarter. True to Malik's words, he saw Templar white several times, their white smocks and red crosses stark against the more earthy colors of the citizenry.

Everyone looked left and right, tense, nervous at the presence of soldiers. Many huddled in whispered corners, concealed in courtyards, wondering what Crusaders were doing here. Where was Salah ad-Din, no word of defeat in battle had reached anyone, nor word of victory for King Richard, so why were Templars here? Several theories ran wild: they were an advance force to break morale, they were scouts determining who they would plunder and rape as they entered the city, they were negotiators for a resolution to the war, they were an olive branch to offer peace, etc. The positive thoughts startled Altair, after living in the city for so long he knew how the people had been relieved with Salah ad-Din's rein, the sultan had been rational enough to allow Christians their pilgrimages to the city - unlike others.

Rumor had it they were mostly camped at David's Citadel, by one of the city's many cemeteries. Some thieves noted the Templars were finely dressed, and that several held expensive gifts. For whom?

Men in white were watched, the Templar colors pervasive enough that even Saracens with no affiliations that happened to wear white were noted, scholar or otherwise. The master assassin looked at his own clothes and hunched forward further, determined to be invisible.

Altair kept his head down, listening to the whispers, trying to learn why the Crusaders were here. Their presence had been mostly inconspicuous when they sought the Apple of Discord in Solomon's Temple; none had known they were there. Altair frowned at the thought, for if no one knew, then how had the Master learned of it? Now the Templars were obvious, walking the streets as if they belonged there, and the master assassin could not figure out why.

Coming across one Templar, Altair decided to follow him, and see where the soldier was going. It was fortune that took him to the hospital Malik had mentioned, and Altair walked around the building, climbing a ladder of a building pressed against the northern city wall and gauging the distance before taking a leap, crossing the gap and landing in a tight roll onto the hospital's roof. An archer spied his landing, and the master assassin felled him quickly with a throwing knife.

The inner courtyard of the hospital was filled with degenerates, moaning and babbling and bumping into each other. Altair climbed down to a lower overhang, he had no desire to walk amongst the madmen unless he absolutely had do, and so he worked his way around until he saw the Templar, coming out of the building with a city guardsman - one of Majd Addin's guards he surmised by the more expensive armor. The two were talking.

"Take the map I've given you," the Templar was saying in accented Arabic. Altair recognized the voice, but couldn't place it. "And see that the guards are placed accordingly. We'll be safe enough during the procession. It's the burial that worries me. It is easy for our enemies to hide amongst the crowd."

Burial? The Templars were here for a funeral then; a strange reason to arrive in such numbers.

"If you're so concerned, why not post your own men? Search the site yourselves," the city guard suggested.

"Our own presence here has caused enough chaos," the Templar said, sighing. "I can only imagine how the people would react to seeing Crusader soldiers marching across their holy ground." Altair frowned, the Crusader sounded... sincere.

"Then perhaps you should not attend at all."

The Templar stood to his full height, leaning in to the guard's personal space. "He was our friend and brother! And we will honor as him as he passes from this world. You insult me by suggesting otherwise."

Altair pulled back, the heated and slightly arrogant tones placing his voice. This was the disguised Templar in Damascus, the one who threatened a merchant and quoted the Quoran to one of Abu'l Nuquod's personal guards. Now he was in Jerusalem in his proper colors, mourning the loss of a friend and brother? Who had died?

"I'll post the men," the city guard conceded. "I don't want trouble either."

"Then stop trying to make it and do as you've been asked!" the Templar hissed, and Altair watched as the soldier stalked back into the hospital, leaving the city guard alone with the document. The choice was obvious to Altair, he wanted to do absolutely nothing to alert the Templars to his presence, and so he carefully climbed down into he hospital courtyard, well behind the guard and slowly angled his way to the man. It would be easiest if he could pick the man's pocket before he exited to the tense and nervous city streets, where eyes filled with fear often saw more than an assassin would want.

Two degenerates tripped over each other, right in front of Altair, but he hopped over the live bodies and closed the distance, picking the guard's pocket before backing off to a corner. He waited until the guard was out in the streets before climbing back to the roof, leaping to the buildings up against the city wall and traversing them to find a sky garden to hide temporarily.

The map showed David's Citadel and its outlying streets and structures. The graveyard at the base, the only place allowed public entry, had two gates by Altair's memory that the map confirmed, and several marks indicating guard placement. The number of guards was large - even compared to the ridiculous levels of patrol from Sibrand and his paranoia. Archers lined the roofs, he would have to either take them out or take extreme care in not being seen by them as he assassinated de Sable. Difficult, but not impossible, Altair would have to plan accordingly, assuming this was not another trap like with Talal.

The master assassin still didn't know who had died. He had been away from Jerusalem long enough - and his recent visits had been short enough - that he was uncertain whom the prominent Christian figures were that lived here. He had thought there were few powerful Christians left after Salah ad-Din had taken over four years ago, but he could not be certain. He would ask Malik, he would likely know.

His stomach growled, however, stopping Altair from heading back to the Bureau. With all his riding quickly from city to city, he had not taken time to truly eat well outside of whatever trail mix he always kept on his person or the meals Masyaf provided to any assassin in its walls.

And, since this was Jerusalem, Altair knew all the best places for a good, yet cheap, meal. He made his way south and somewhat west, to a small restaurant with seating in the shade of the hot midday. It was small fare, but it was the first proper meal he'd had since he left Masyaf.

It was while he ate his meal, keeping scrolls and maps spread across the table like a scholar in study, that Altair noticed something odd.

People were looking at him. Pointing. Whispering.

... This was unheard of. In all his apprenticeship in Jerusalem and all his previous assignments here, he had never stood out like this. It was disconcerting. It made an itch up and down his spine that required him to leave and become invisible once more. But he ignored the instinct and kept up his scholar façade. If guards or Templars starting to increase in number, he would leave, but to run now would only draw even more attention he didn't wish.

Altair continued to sit patiently with his meal in the shade, eyeing the observers, who never stayed long. His patience was rewarded when one young man attempted to be discrete in stepping forward. He was anything but; yet Altair had a trained eye and could see the approach before it even began.

The young man sat down at Altair's table and he looked up. "You've shaven since last I saw you," he commented, greeting the scholar's eldest son.

"I thought it was you," he replied with a wide smile. "My father continues to laud your good work."

"I have done nothing others should be proud of."

The young man smiled softly before calling over for his own order. "Have you not noticed?"

"I notice many things," Altair said. "Of what do you speak?"

"Why, the eyes which follow you! It's how I found you."

Altair's gaze narrowed as his frown deepened.

"Ah, so you have, noticed," the son laughed as his order came. "Father said you would be to humble, but I think you are more... unaccustomed."

"To what?" Altair demanded. "What have I done to make the citizenry notice my every move?"

The son sipped from his wooden cup and shook his head with a chuckle. "You chased Talal through the streets and a souk and then the slaver disappeared and no one went missing again. Majd Addin held this Holy City in fear and terror and yet the white hooded man who chased Talal appeared like a miracle from the crowds and felled him before all to see."

Altair dipped his head and scowled horrendously. He may have been invisible during his investigations, but now the public nature of each of his targets was proving a hindrance. Majd Addin, there was no avoiding, but Talal would not have been so visible if he hadn't been so careless. It was going to cost him now. The archers would be difficult to hide from, but he would have to stick to the roofs. It would be the only way to endure anonymity. That would make his work so much harder...

The son sat back with his meal, laughing. "Perhaps Father was right and you are too humble."

Altair looked away. "I don't seek these men for recognition from the public. Indeed, visibility is a great hindrance in my work."

"No doubt," the son was still chuckling. "I'd say you have nothing to fear, but I don't know you or your methods enough to really say so."

Taking the last chicken leg, Altair finished it off before whipping his hands and rolling up his cover as a scholar. "I must be on my way."

"No doubt," the son replied. "Be safe, my friend. And be sure to visit my father at some point. He'd love to talk to you."

"I make no guarantees."

"Of course not."

Altair left coins on the table, enough for both their meals, and swiftly went to the back alleys were eyes still followed him and found a ladder. Once on the roofs he stayed low, keeping a sharp eye out for archers. Any he spied he kept a wide berth of, since an archer's duty was to keep an eye on the streets below.

As he worked further south, Altair heard another herald that wasn't speaking of cursing the Crusaders down in the square in front of the Church of Holy Sepulcher.

"People of Jerusalem, we stand upon a threshold!" the crier shouted. "To cross it is to usher in an age of peace between all men. Embrace these Christian soldiers as you would a brother. Welcome them with open arms! In this way we might forgive the sins of the past and bring about a better tomorrow!"

It seemed that de Sable wanted the people to ignore his coming into the city. Such propaganda would likely spread enough confusion, especially for those sick of the war and who wanted it to end, that the people wouldn't revolt against such a heavy presence in the city.

"For too long we have drawn lines across the land. Spilled the blood of those we once called friends. We have all suffered because of this. But now... now we are offered a chance at redemption! A chance to begin anew! Let us make peace with the Crusaders. Let us live as one."

Altair sat back from the edge of the roof. The speeches, though he knew their purpose was trickery, still rang far too close to the goals of the Assassins. Peace, an end to a war that made the people suffer. Altair could not help but wonder what de Sable's true motives were. He backtracked and found a ladder. Then, despite his unease of knowing that the city watched him, he eased into the crowd listening to the herald.

"We must be strong! We must be brave! And we must find the courage to face those we once called our enemies and now instead, call them friends! The Crusaders come to Jerusalem, bringing with them an opportunity to end the fighting... to stop the war... That we may stand as one, we must not turn them away."

All around him, people whispered back and forth, questioning if the Templars were here truly as an overture of peace or as an advance force to take the city. There were comments on how people continued to flee Jerusalem; comparisons to how the Templars at least stuck to the Christian and Amerian Quarters; words of gifts that none had yet seen. Muslims who lived in the Christian district gave stories of no hostility, but suspicion while Christians who lived in the Muslim or Jewish Quarters questioned whether the Templars were wise to come marching into the city, overtures of peace or not.

People questioned and debated, uncertain what any of this meant.

The afternoon continued to pass as Altair kept his ears open and his shoulders hunched. He maintained a limp and spoke with a heavy country accent, anything to keep what anonymity he had. He asked for clarifying questions, trying to see how a "city scholar" would interpret it compared to his country learning.

As the dinner hour started to approach, the herald, his voice starting to crack from a long day of shouts and calls, finally stepped down. The crowd started to disperse, and Altair silently shadowed the town crier, keeping the limp as they walked into the shadows of the Church. The crowds were still thick but Altair was patient. He followed the man into the church and down the steps that Crusaders of previous wars had cut that lead down to the cistern they had dug, yet claimed that Saint Helena had found the True Cross where Jesus was crucified. The Sepulcher itself was still half in ruins from previous disasters, and Salah ad-Din was too busy fighting off the Crusaders to spend money on repairs, and that didn't even get into Salah ad-Din being a devout Muslim and, while generous as a Muslim was supposed to be, Altair doubted that even the chivalrous sultan would spend money on a church he didn't believe in.

Once down in the cistern, the crowds were finally gone, as the cistern was not at a time of worship.

Altair did not believe in religions. But he did understand the respect many people had for sites of Holy Legend. He would rather not spill blood here, but it was no longer his choice.

The chapel for Saint Helena was only a few decades old and it glowed quietly in the chandelier and oil lamps hung from chains near the arched ceiling. The herald kneeled and Altair stepped into the light.

"You speak of peace, but your words are hollow," he said softly. The echoes of the chapel made his voice bounce and engulf the herald.

"No!" the man hissed back. "I speak the truth. Why would you say otherwise?"

"You're a Templar." That was reason enough. After all the Templars he'd killed, he knew that they would use lies as readily as a sword to get what they wanted.

"So I am." The man smiled with pride.

"Then you are also a liar and a fraud!" Altair replied confidently. "Just like your master Robert de Sable. Where is he? What does he intend?"

Because that was the one thing his investigations never revealed. Connections were seen, but the ultimate goal was not.

"It's peace he seeks, I swear it," the herald replied heatedly. "And the proof is in his actions. A Christian at a Muslim's funeral. We want an end to all of this!"

Peace. Altair doubted this was truly the ultimate goal. A bid to gain power was far more likely. But puzzling was what Muslim had died that de Sable would visit. Malik would have mentioned any prominent Muslims who had died that day and the funeral would likely be by nightfall, as per custom of the funeral being as close to the actual death as possible after cleansing.

But those thoughts would get nowhere without further information. "Peace?" Altair said incredulously. "Only because it serves your needs."

"It is a noble thing we want," the herald scoffed. "The land united beneath our banner!"

"United by force. You'd enslave us all."

"It is for the best."

Altair frowned. No denials. Robert de Sable did seek to enslave the Holy Land. But for his own power? A likely reason but something about that didn't feel right.

"No," Altair said softly. "It's not. And so long as my brother's and I breathe you will not succeed."

"And you, assassin, will fail."

Altair struck the man in his temple, then kicked his head once he was down to ensure the crier was unconscious. Thankfully there was no blood, so Altair lifted the man, pulling an arm over his shoulder and heading to the stairs leading back up into the Church proper.

"Is there a physician?" he called out as he dragged the limp herald out to the common area of the church. "This man has collapsed! Is there a physician anywhere?"

Priests and monks came forward, helping Altair carry the herald out of the Church and down the street towards a physician. In all the commotion, it was simplicity itself to stab his hidden blade into the man's side unnoticed and then slip away to a ladder and then to the roofline.

The sun was sinking further and further to the west, most of the city in the shade, save for the golden glow of the Dome of the Rock as Altair started to head east back to the Bureau. He still needed to talk to Malik about what Muslim would have died that would have Robert attending the funeral. It would have to be fast and Altair could only hope Malik already knew where the funeral would be held. A Muslim was buried within hours, or as quickly as possible, and Altair would have to hurry to get to whatever graveyard in this city of graveyards the funeral would be at.

He paused on a roofline, however, when he saw a white tagelmust below. A journeyman was walking between shadows down below, looking around cautiously. Altair let out a pigeon's whistle, one familiar to any who had trained under Baasir.

The journeyman below gave the barest of nods and made his way up to the roofs.

"Safety and peace, master," the journeyman greeted with a familiar voice. "Ah! Master Altair! It is you!"

"Halim," Altair nodded as they sat in the shadow of a sky garden.

The boy seemed to brighten, his eyes smiling brightly. "Have you seen all the vile Templars in town? I have been ordered to kill as many as I can before burial of your latest victim, Majd Addin."

"Majd Addin?" Altair replied, a brow up. "It has been several weeks since I killed him. Surely he has been buried by now."

Halim nodded. "As per custom, he was buried within a day of your swift and magnificent work. However, the Templars in town are holding a memorial for him in some Christian ceremony."

Altair sat back, settling this new information with what he had already learned. "Do you know when the memorial will be?"

"Of course, master. But for now, the rafiq has given me a mission. I am to kill some of these cursed Templars and thin their ranks. I am sure if it were your mission, it would be done in no time. I have learned much while looking for those Templars. I will share valuable information with you and say..."

Altair held up his hand. "I may now be a master assassin again," he said quietly. "But I wish to avoid old patterns. Make me earn the information as if I were still demoted."

"But-"

"Now how many Templars have you killed thus far?"

Halim squirmed. "None, master. I was given this mission not four hours ago, and while I have seen and observed much, the Templars are too armed and too wary for me to get close enough." The journeyman's head lowered. "And I fear that I am no match for them in a fight."

This was likely true, Altair mused. Halim was still young and had not finished growing. As such, he was tall and gangly, awkward in shape. While useful for remaining unobtrusive and for appearing harmless, it did provide challenges when facing bigger opponents. Particularly since armored Templars always seemed much bigger than the average man.

"Well then," Altair said. "It is time you learned more about silent kills."

Halim nodded enthusiastically. "Indeed! The rafiq had said that it would be my greatest advantage, but I am unsure how to utilize it in this situation."

"Surely Malik has explained how to do a silent kill. Demonstrated and trained you in this skill?"

Halim nodded again as they went down a ladder to the streets once more. Altair was pleased to note that eyes did not follow him, likely because he was not solitary.

"Yes, the rafiq has been most rigorous," the young journeyman replied. "Once I made journeyman he has been having me work on nothing but silent kills. While you were handling your previous target, I was one of the ones who took down the archers, the rafiq guiding my every move." Enthusiasm and admiration started to gush. "I watched you take down all those guards! A magnificent display of such skills! Truly, you are unparalleled!"

Altair grimaced at all the praise.

"We are on the street, Halim," he said somewhat harshly. "Code your words so that none may know what we are truly speaking of."

"Of course, Master."

They walked the streets, Altair pulling out a map and pretending to quiz a new student of his on where they were and what they were doing. At certain points he would pause them to look up to the sky as Altair talked of stars and their positions and how one could start to see them above the golden Dome as twilight grew nearer.

At last they spied a Templar, white smock, red helmet and hand on his sword as he walked among the people. The citizens would alternate between staring at this invader and avoiding him entirely.

"We approach without looking at him," Altair whispered, both of them leaning over a map. "We are oblivious to our surroundings. We are where we are supposed to be and we are doing nothing wrong."

Halim nodded, asking questions in a louder tone about where they were, playing the part of a lost and learning apprentice.

The Templar had stopped at a shop and was just walking away when he ran into Altair and Halim.

Altair had to admit, with help for the set up; the kill itself went flawlessly, showing Halim had potential. Both offered apologies to the staggering Templar and went on their way. They were halfway down the street when there was a thud behind them of the Templar hitting the ground.

The next two kills went similarly, with Altair doing less and less of the acting and letting Halim start to take the lead.

For the fourth kill, Altair stepped back entirely, sitting on a bench and striking up conversation with a Jew beside him easily, keeping an eye on Halim. The journeyman was still stiff in his approach, glancing back at Altair, but the kill went smoothly, the Templar never knowing what had happened.

"Your tutelage is such a blessing," Halim said as they walked side by side in search for another Templar. "I would never have managed this and so swiftly were it not for your brilliant guidance."

"You would have done just as well, if not better, under Malik's guidance. He was always better at being subtle than I."

But Halim kept heaping on praise.

Once they spotted the last Templar, Altair nodded to Halim and then disappeared up a ladder, hiding his presence. For this, Halim would have to think he was truly alone.

The journeyman did glance around, freezing when he realized his prized mentor wasn't there.

Altair watched from above. Either Halim could do this on his own or he couldn't. He could not hold the journeyman's hand through every mission.

Still, he kept a knife in hand.

Just in case.

Halim was even stiffer this time, but he did not glance around again. He approached steadily, nose in the scrolls Altair had loaned him, looking deep in thought, even though his spine was far too rigid. It took some tracking to find the opportunity, but the Templar made it easy when he turned abruptly, right into Halim, sending scrolls everywhere.

The Templar stood extremely still as Halim babbled apologies while gathering up his scrolls. He gave a hurried apology, and even from up here, Altair could hear Halim's fearful voice of "Sorry!" "I'll be on my way, sir, I apologize!" as the journeyman acted like he was rushing on his way. A touch overdone, but acceptable given the climate in Jerusalem at the moment. Altair gave another pigeon call and Halim quickly found a dark, almost black, alley to ascend to the roofs.

"Passable," Altair replied. "You are too stiff, and tend towards dramatic, but it will do, with time and practice."

Halim smiled like he was the very sun. "I know now why I joined our clan. Just to be in your presence is a gift from above."

Altair had had enough of such lavish praise. "Do not look to me as an example," he growled. "I am a master assassin, yes, and as such I am a teacher. But the people you must look to are of an even higher rank than me. You should be seeking Malik with questions or for advice. You must seek other rafiq or dai. They are promoted for a reason. Such exaltation of one person when there are many more deserving is a detriment that will narrow your focus and blind you to new ideas and methods."

Halim blinked, clearly not having expected such reproach.

"But..."

"No."

The journeyman said nothing, dropping his head. All was still for several minutes before Halim straightened. He was back to being a professional. "The memorial will be the day after tomorrow. This is what I've learned about Robert's men: They are well prepared for battle. To fight them all at once would be unwise. Better to let them chase you for a while before striking back. But it is disrespectful for me to tell a master how he should behave in combat. Forgive me, master."

Altair scowled, but said nothing more on the subject.

"Come. Let's return to the Bureau."

The following morning, Altair was woken by Malik.

"Malik? What is wrong?" Altair asked, sitting up from the cushions on the courtyard swiftly. The rafiq's face was lined and twisted. He lacked his black robe and the sleeve hung empty, tucked into the waistband to avoid being a nuisance.

"I sent Ghunayn out two days ago," Malik replied. "He has not reported back."

Altair's face twisted as Malik's did. Ghunayn was a solid upper-ranked journeyman. He had a friendly nature, though not as exuberant as Zamil, and was a notorious gossip among Jerusalem's assassins. He had a habit of reporting in with some of the craziest rumors and information, but he had good instincts. His investigations led to solid leads, despite their more... exocentric nature.

And now he was missing.

"I know his likely hiding spots," Altair replied, getting up and checking his weapons.

"Get him back here as soon as possible," Malik replied, his face black. "I will not lose anyone under my command again."

"An excellent kill. Fortune favors your blade."

Altair understood the sentiment completely. He was running across rooftops before the sun had even risen, ducking from archers and using the predawn shadows to his advantage.

Ghunayn had several places he would hide if things got too difficult for him, much like the safe houses that Jabal's men had in Acre after things went horrible during the siege. Altair went through the spots in the Muslim Quarter first, checking the public courtyards and fountains, particularly the palm trees that Ghunayn was fond of standing by.

When he turned up nothing he headed south to the Jewish Quarter, looking closely around the synagogues where Ghunayn liked to eavesdrop and appear for friendly debate with the rabbi. From there he turned west and started searching the Amerian Quarter. These had only the safest of areas for Ghunayn, ones he used only when he was getting desperate.

The courtyards here were getting to be a dead end. Altair was heading north to the Christian Quarter when he stopped near the Jaffa Gate, looking down to a well in a small shaded courtyard.

Altair dropped down with a solid thud, rolling with the momentum of it, and standing before the startled Ghunayn.

The journeyman blinked. "Altair, my savior! You must help me!" he hissed, leaning forward and pulling Altair further into the noontime shadows of the trees with a definitive limp. "I was shadowing my prey, a pair of Templars, when they saw me. I took flight."

"Could you not get word to Malik?" Altair questioned as Ghunayn eased himself down into a corner of the courtyard behind a bush.

His fellow assassin shrugged with a self-deprecating chuckle. "Although I evaded them, I twisted my ankle. Pathetic, I know. Please, don't tell Malik!" Ghunayn looked up with an embarrassed smile. "He doesn't tolerate failure very well. At least Baasir doted on us. Malik just gets as grumpy as a plucked chicken if we aren't at our best."

"I will not lose anyone under my command again."

No, Malik was likely a very demanding rafiq. And with good reason.

Ghunayn gave another quiet chuckle. "Despite my pathetic performance, I did overhear them say they were leaving town. Find them and kill them! Then I will reward you."

Altair nodded. "But first, let us tend to your ankle."

Altair ripped part of Ghunayn's robe off to wrap the foot and the journeyman handed over his pack to elevate it. As Altair worked on the ankle, Ghunayn showed his eye for detail as he described the pair of Templars he had been after.

With a nod, Altair took to the streets once more. Since it was noon, Altair having spent the whole morning looking for the wayward journeyman, the streets were once more packed and Altair was feeling eyes on him once again. It could not be avoided. Templars leaving with the description of an assassin would equal Ghunayn's death and, like Malik, Altair did not want to lose another Brother of the Order.

The first Templar he saw was on the street leading the square in front of the Jaffa gate. While unnerving that so many were still watching him, Altair ignored it, reaching for that corner of his mind and thinking of an eagle's sight, so that he could see all around him. If the eyes that followed him were a problem, he'd deal with it then, but for now, he had a brother to save.

Unlike the bumping-into method that he had shown Halim the previous day, Altair instead merely passed to the side, his arms brushing the Templar's and his hidden blade finding that spot between the ribs with ease.

He was around the corner and walking down another street before the Templar even fell.

The second took almost an hour to find. And this Templar was going to be tricky. No doubt by now the five Templars Halim had killed the previous day had been discovered, and this particular Templar he was shadowing was clearly starting to show concern. He had a travel pack with him and was constantly stopping to look around or change direction. He stuck to large crowds, making approach difficult.

But Altair was a master assassin.

He was several feet away in the crowd, hands clasped in prayer and contemplation, when a degenerate grumbled something incomprehensible and pushed Altair right into the Templar, the momentum driving his hidden blade deep into the man's heart. Once he had flowed away with the crowds, he quickly ascended to the roofs and headed back to Ghunayn.

"I am forever grateful! Malik would never have forgiven me," he said when Altair dropped in. "Here is what I know about the burial of Majd: Reaching Robert might prove difficult given the number of guards around. You should befriend some scholars to approach him. That shouldn't be a problem for someone of your skill."

Altair looked at him. "That's it? Befriend scholars?"

Ghunayn laughed. "Of course not! Here, I've been mapping out Templar stations at David's Citadel."

Altair didn't even glance at it as he put it in his pack. "Now let's get you get to Malik. I'm sure he'll have much to say."

Ghunayn groaned. "Have you heard what he's been doing around here? I don't know if Baasir would laugh or cry at Malik's teaching approaches..."

From there, Ghunayn started talking, in code while traveling the streets, of what Malik had been doing as rafiq and gossiping about all the bumps and obstacles he'd had to overcome since arriving in the Holy City. Altair had to admit, Ghunayn always had an entertaining way to tell stories and as he listened, he could never quite hold back a chuckle or snort. Particularly for the stories of Malik's first weeks at the Bureau and his sharp-tongue putting people in their places.

"So many thought that you would take over for Baasir that we were a little disappointed to get this grumpy, quick-tongued, pessimist."

Altair scoffed. "I doubt I could ever make for a good rafiq," he replied. "And putting me in Baasir's place when I was responsible for his death would have been foolishness."

"Oh, of course we all see it now," Ghunayn agreed. "Malik is just as good as Baasir was, but training him to be a good rafiq was very difficult. Particularly since your legend always seemed to make him stricter than usual. You should have seen how many times Halim has been required to clean every single blade at the Bureau, including any for a Brother that arrives while he's working."

Altair bit back a chuckle. Given Halim's profound admiration he had no doubt Malik often took him to task for choosing such a bad example.

"He demands nothing but the best from all of us, and those who can't meet his exceedingly high criteria, he starts pushing," Ghunayn continued. "Of course that's difficult with only one arm, so he barrages you with such sharp words you do it just to get him to shut up. Then you realize he'd been right the whole time and that you never had a chance of winning."

To this, Altair did laugh, because that was just like Malik.

When they finally got to the Bureau, Altair refused to climb to the roof, since Ghunayn's foot had swollen considerably after the long walk from the Jaffa Gate, despite both their efforts to keep weight off the injured limb. Instead, they went through an adjoining building, nodding to the owner of the shop, and went to the back where stacks and stacks of maps were kept. Along the back wall with a precise knock, they were allowed in to the Bureau proper.

Malik frowned horrendously as Altair helped the journeyman in.

"My apologies, rafiq," Ghunayn said with proper respect. "It seems I need to learn how to run again."

With narrowed eyes, Malik growled, "I think my new course might be just what you need."

Ghunayn groaned. "That beast? You designed that for only our most advanced runners and climbers!"

"Then it's just what you'll be needing once you've healed," Malik replied with a wide smile. "To ensure you don't trip over your own feet again."

The journeyman chuckled. "I lose again."

Malik's face dropped into seriousness once more. "Were you compromised?"

"He was," Altair replied. "The two Templars he was after saw him and are now dead."

Malik ignored Altair in favor of glaring down at the injured journeyman. "You are going to have to be confined to the Bureau," he stated. "If you are compromised, by all rights, I should send you back to Masyaf. But with Templars still crawling all over the city, it would be best for you to remain hidden. We can send you for reassignment after Robert de Sable is dead."

Ghunayn looked down. "You are too generous, rafiq. You place yourself and the Bureau at risk if any see me coming and going from here."

"None will see you for you're not moving," Malik clarified. "Until you are healed or until de Sable is dead, you are not leaving this building. Whichever comes last."

Ghunayn sighed. Then grinned. "I'm sure I'll hear some of the best gossip here! So tell me, Malik, have you finally found where young Saadah hid your precious quill? I can't wait to see what punishment you bestow on him!"

Altair frowned, turning to Malik. "That golden eagle tail feather? The one Kadar gave you when you reached assassin?"

Malik scowled further.

Altair matched the scowl, turning to Ghunayn. "Where is Saadah now?"

"It is not your problem, Altair," Malik growled. "I will handle the affairs in my own Bureau."

"Saadah knows to show respect to a rafiq. This is unacceptable."

"And you, novice, have a mission to do. A quill is unimportant in the scheme of things."

"That was a gift to you from Kadar," Altair growled back. "It is important. Assassins should not pull such childish pranks, particularly on one who has well and truly earned and deserves their respect."

Malik stared at Altair, face slackening briefly before returning to a scowl.

Ghunayn interrupted the staring contest. "Ooooh! This speaks of history! Please! Do tell!"

Author's Notes: And Malik just keeps seeing good things in Altair. He'll say something eventually.

A fun little fact that we learned when writing this fic was the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. Ultimately, the reason Jerusalem was the focus of so many Crusades was because of that Church. This is where Jesus Christ was supposedly crucified and buried. The building itself was originally destroyed, and a lot of Crusaders rebuilt it whenever they dropped by to take over Jerusalem and possession of the site. In more recent history, several major religions lay some kind of toe hold on that building and it makes for even minor changes to turn into fistfights. There is a document out there that, to make everybody happy, says the Church won't change forever. That means that nowadays the Church is literally crumbling on itself but no restoration or reconstruction can happen because nobody can agree on how to do it. Sigh. In light of and respect to all the importance on that building it made sense to take the interrogation investigation, that happens in its plaza, and move it inside to one of its holy chambers (seriously. Look at the pictures of this place. It's incredible!). We also made the interrogation bloodless - well, at least until they left the sacred ground.

We also get to see Halim again. A couple people mentioned that he seems like Kadar. Admittedly, since Kadar has maybe two minutes of screen time we're not sure how that can be, but we do sort of imagine that Halim and Kadar were agemates and possibly even best friends. Altair wouldn't know this because he's in and out of Jerusalem so much that he wouldn't make the connection, so it never comes out in the fic, but meh. There you go.

Also, note that people know what Altair looks like. That's important. (knowing grin)

Next chapter: Death of a Templar (sort of...?), and the beginning of the end.