"What are you seeking at our gates, Pup?" The voice of the veiled sentry was definitely unfriendly and intended to make the boy leave the site as fast as possible. However, this was not what the one spoken to had in mind under any circumstances. He had a very precise notion of why he had come to this place and he also believed that he knew what would be waiting for him behind these gates.
"Allah has guided my feet to here," he replied politely, for he was well aware that he had to pass these men who were keeping guard here.
"You won't get any money here, so for handouts you should head back to the valley while you still have the chance." The boy was already aware in advance that this would be precisely the assumption made by other people when they saw him. Reaching this conclusion had not been difficult for him, for his clothes were shabby and the knife behind the string that served as his belt was of poor quality. Certainly, he had known it would improve his chances if he could make a good impression, but to his chagrin he did not have the means to do so. He simply did not own any better garments, since these were the only ones he had at his disposal.
"I have not asked Allah for money." Already at an early age, he had learned to bide his time when it was necessary. Just as he knew perfectly well when it was appropriate to put forward a lie. In this instance, however, he did not have to do so.
"Whatever you asked Allah for, you won't be able to get it here." For this man, that was the end of the matter.
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"You are ready now," his teacher announced to him, but that had dawned on the younger one the very moment he realized that the other person had brought hashish with him. Although the specifics of the personal initiation were kept secret from the disciples, he had always been good at uncovering the things that people wanted to hide from him and of which he was not supposed to know yet.
"Are you certain, Master?" he humbled himself. His teacher was a warrior who placed value on being able to restrain oneself and for whom it was very important to abide by the rules. He would never have considered approaching his disciple at an earlier stage than the predetermined moment. But the latter did not regard these traits of his teacher as a disadvantage, for he was sure that everyone else assumed that the elder had passed on his values to his disciple. Moreover, the younger one did not intend to let anyone else know that this had not been the case. After all, this was no one's business.
"Finally, I'm in a position to tell you that you're the best who's been apprenticed here in many years. I look forward to going out with you until such time as you have chosen a disciple of your own." The elder was not able to hide the sense of pride he experienced knowing that he had taught this outstanding young man.
Again, the young man showed his humility by bowing his head, even though he was well aware of his own skill and abilities. If he were to go for it, he would be able to overcome his teacher without the latter having anything to oppose him with. But what would that gain him now except a briefly experienced sense of contentment?
"Let's celebrate the completion of your apprenticeship according to the time-honored rules," his teacher urged him, and then pointed to the comfortable bed with the intention of settling down there right away with the younger man. They would then first enjoy the hashish and then share what the older man would call endearment and affection, and the younger one a means to get what he wanted.
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Among the boys who had been brought to the stronghold to be taught, the young man had noticed one who was of noble blood and seemed to possess the appropriate religious zeal that would make him to be so receptive to the teachings of this particular place. Thus, it was no wonder that he chose this one when he was granted the privilege of selecting his own disciple. He was aware - even though no one had ever mentioned this to him - that he was only allowed to do so now just after his apprenticeship, as he was so much better than the rest of the people here. Yet, that was not sufficient for him. He wanted more. He desired to be one of those who wielded the power. However, he was forced to hide this longing for the time being.
"Allah has chosen you so that you can help the world to become a better place," he explained to the serious looking boy who was staring at him from wide eyes.
"Yes, Master," the latter only dared to breathe, his respectful bow showing his good upbringing.
"And Allah has chosen me to aid you in this," the man went on, putting a hand possessively on the shoulder of this boy who was gazing at him from such incredibly dark eyes.
His disciple lowered his eyes and an immense sense of bliss swept through the young man, for he was the one who had brought the younger one to respond in this manner. This was indeed an auspicious beginning.
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"You are such a promising disciple," the teacher praised the younger one, which was quite true, but not the very reason he was sharing this with him just now.
The other one remained silent, even though he knew quite well his own abilities. He even possessed the potential to be even better than his teacher, if the latter would allow him to do so. And if he would live long enough.
"And you have grown so close to my heart that I can't wait any longer to express my love for you." Now was the time for the next move, to bring this boy further under his sway. If his disciple would be able to recognize this, then this would now reveal to him the amount of power he wielded over him, but that part of his apprenticeship had been foregone by his teacher. And once he was done with him, his loyalty would be all to him and not to the Master of the Mountain.
The boy's eyes widened as he had made him aware of the rules, even though he should not have done so. Despite his amazement, the younger one did not dare to utter anything.
"But you realize that this must remain our secret, for jealousy would lead the rest to take action against you. I am well aware of the danger, but I don't want to make you wait another six years. That would be an injustice to you."
He had ordered the boy to set up the tent in an inaccessible spot, since he was confident that here - in all probability - they would be left untroubled. Now he grabbed him by the shoulder and maneuvered him over to the soft bed. At the same time, he looked forward to being able to give his undivided attention to the twelve-year-old's virginal, unspoiled flesh. When he was done with him, the boy would truly be his, body and soul.
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"You are a shame to the Nizari, Da'i," the younger of the two men yelled in rage as they faced each other with their blades drawn.
The older one laughed. He had not expected to be tracked down in this place and had been smoking hashish, and it did not allow him to regard his former disciple as a threat. Just at this moment, he could not imagine him as the person who would be the one to cause his death. No, he was convinced it would not come to that, for the boy was not that good. Not yet. And now he would never get the opportunity to become that good either. But himself, he was like a god, he could not die. And he could not be harmed either, not by the hand of a mortal.
"Come with me, Brother," he enticed the other one. Had he not shown him the pleasures of this world? Had he not caressed him often enough? Had he not possessed his body so many times that he should not have the daring to stand against him.
"You are not my brother. You are a traitor," was the answer he had been dreading ever since the boy had not returned from his last visit to the stronghold. It was then that the thought had first occurred to him that he had lost him to the Master of the Mountain, even though he had taken so much trouble to win him over to his side. But the boy was evidently of a more righteous mind than he had ever suspected hitherto.
"Then now feel the measure of my treachery!" Finally, his anger had managed to rise to the surface, displacing the sensation of lustful accomplishment that had been granted to him through the flesh of that young girl, now cowering in fear in the tent, while blades were clashing in front of it.
Suddenly, there was a sharp pain in his face as the younger man proved to him how well he had taught him. Right after that, however, he also showed him that he had not learned one very important lesson. He did not finish his mission before vanishing from the scene of the fight.
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"It was an honor to be of service to you," he assured the greasy little Greek who had hired him to put his competitors out of business. He had to give him credit for not asking him how he would go about it, and he had not objected to his price as well.
But now it was time to move on before it occurred to the merchant after all that he did not want to let a man live who knew what had become of the merchants who had suddenly vanished. Not that his client would have had a chance, but it would have attracted more attention than he would have liked.
Furthermore, he was drawn further west, for he had learned that his target was to be found there. Yet he had no inkling of exactly where, and the west was far larger than he had initially assumed. In the meantime, he had come to know that beyond this island, which the Franks called Sicily, there were countless lands and living untold numbers of people.
If it had been only about making money, he would not have had to travel in this direction of all directions, but he was impelled by other factors. He had to provide proof that he had not yet lost his hold on the boy he had chosen as a disciple years ago in Masyaf. However, this should not be a problem; after all, he had not lost his ability to exert control upon others. It served him well on this journey and made people pay him for what he liked to do, and on top of that, they offered their bodies to him. Actually, life could not be better.
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"I can make sure you are successful in this mission, my Lord," he asserted to the unassumingly dressed Frank, whom he had just intercepted in a narrow alley.
The other one eyed him with a touch of apprehension, but besides that, he bore himself very well for someone facing a veiled and armed stranger in a shady location.
"How do you know about what my mission is?" he then dared to even ask a counter-question.
The assassin, of whom there was nothing to be seen under his headgear, indicated a slight bow. "It is one of my skills to learn about such issues. If you will accept me into your service, I will also discover for you what you have a need to know."
The other man was apparently not sure whether he had not been sent by one of his competitors to do away with him. There were a number of very ambitious men in the area who were only too eager to demonstrate what they were capable of and who were not afraid to take out others who had the same goal as they had. Just two days had passed, when he had witnessed this Frank disposing of someone else by himself. This had shown him that the other person was not afraid to get his hands dirty. However, the mission he had been assigned was quite a hurdle on his further path, as if the one who was in charge here did not want this man, of all people, to be successful.
But if he were to obtain the services of the assassin, he would be able to overcome this obstacle. However, it was not selflessness that made the Saracen offer him these same services. This was solely due to the fact that he had finally learned where his target was to be found. And this Frank - this Englishman - could get him close to it. While it would still very likely be several years before he actually reached it, he was quite capable of being patient.
Meanwhile, the Englishman had reached a decision. "Show me your face, for I must know precisely with whom I am dealing," the Englishman instructed him, and the Saracen, who in recent years had shown his face only to those he had allowed to come into his bed, removed his headgear without any hesitation and gave the Frank a glimpse of his face, for he believed that the latter would have been permitted to behold it in no time at all in any case.
To have done this at this point was being rewarded by hearing the other one gasp for air. A very pleasant sound.
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"I didn't believe there was anyone to teach me more in this respect," Philip Mark confessed as he lounged in his bed with great relish, the assassin next to him, who had been in his employ for several years by now.
The other one in turn refused to respond, but that did not seem to bother the Butcher of Lincoln, as he was used to that by now. The Saracen was always stingy with his words, but he was not alone in his opinion that all his other - manifold - skills definitely made up for this. It was these very skills that played a large part in the advancement of this Englishman. An advancement that brought himself ever closer to his target.
" As early as tomorrow, the king's order could reach us here, taking me ... and you ... to Nottingham. However, this is only another step on our path and not yet its end. I can definitely envision how far we will go," the other man voiced what was going through his mind, and the assassin absolutely agreed with him. This town with the name of Nottingham would by no means be the terminal station for himself and Philip, but it would be for someone else. For there he would finally be able to confront the very individual he had been pursuing for so many years.
The very thought that it now could not be too long before he would be able to savor his revenge on his disciple made him grow hard once again, a fact that did not escape the attention of his bed mate, who still fancied himself to be the one in charge here.
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His new position as High Sheriff of Nottinghamshire brought Philip Mark into a state of high spirits, and it took him only a few hours to demonstrate his dominance to all those around him. The Saracen was more than willing to let him enjoy that sensation, even though he knew all along he was the one who had laid the foundations for this success. However, he had no need to play to the fore unless it was specifically requested. On these occasions, he was more than happy to show off the skills he possessed.
But that was not of any importance to him at this moment, for he had first to bring one thing to an end. At last, his target was within his grasp. Once he had finished that, he would be able to truly enjoy life.
"My Lord, in what other manner can I be of service to you?" offered the fair-haired Norman, who had already served the old sheriff as a steward and whom Mark had inherited, not without having previously given some consideration to how the man could be of use to him. Which proved not to be particularly difficult, as it was all too apparent from the beginning that he would have no objection to sharing the bed with his new master.
If the assassin himself had not been occupied with something else, he would not have minded showing this excellent specimen of a warrior what was considered in his native country to be the pleasures of carnal love. It had been his experience that most of the English were very unimaginative in this respect, but this put him in a position to get other men under sway much more quickly in this manner. Well, in that particular case, he would make up for it at a later date. That way he had something to look forward to. But first, a different kind of pleasure was waiting for him.
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By the time the man exited the castle, his mind was already on the task that awaited him upon his return. After all, he knew perfectly well the manner in which the sheriff wanted the outlaws to be executed. And this required that he put his skills at the sheriff's disposal. Once that was done, there was time for some relaxation. It also would not be the first time Philip Mark shared his bedmate.
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"Insh'allah," Nasir whispered as he knelt at Sarak's grave. He owed his Da'i that much reverence for all he had taught him. Nothing more, however.
