YAY ASSASSINS :D
A QUICK TRANSLATION: I miei ringraziamenti i più profondi. - You have my deepest thanks.
March 16th, 1500. Rome.
'What – what the hell is happening!' Ezio cried out, his vision completely fading out to nothing but flashing images and the agony in his head filtering through them like blood in water. He didn't pay attention to them – he didn't know what they meant and the pain was all too much – but what he saw was something blue – flying through the night –
The pain hit him again. With nothing but a whimper, he fell from his horse and onto his back, where he stared at the sky. He'd been right – a storm was on the way. The sky was grey, and raindrops began to fall on his face.
'Maestro! Maestro, are you alright?'
He recognized that voice. His horse shied and neighed as two others joined it. There was a thud of boots on the ground, and he reached up to the sky.
'Help – help me…'
'We are here, Maestro.' There was a firm, strong grip on his hand. That was Giovanni's hand – he'd used it to haul the novice out of the canal where he'd fallen into many times. It wasn't a novice's flailing grip anymore – it was an Assassin's grip, and for that Ezio was thankful. The pain rolled around his head as he was lifted upwards, and he moaned. Arms wrapped around his waist, and his own were draped across armored shoulders.
'Back to the Tiber, Maestro.' A woman's voice – Zita – her initiation into the Brotherhood was long due. 'You'll be safe there.'
'No!' Ezio shouted at them; he hadn't meant to, but his very being rejected the idea. The recruits stopped, puzzled. 'No – we have to keep going.' Ezio gasped.
'Keep going? But where to, Maestro?'
'Somewhere. I don't know where, but it's calling to me. We have to go. Will you help me?'
Ezio was the head of the Brotherhood. He commanded respect and loyalty. But whatever this was – it wasn't anything they knew. If they were going to go through the fire and the flames with him, it would have to be their own choice.
'Of course, Maestro.' Giovanni answered.
'To the very end.' Zita agreed.
'I miei ringraziamenti i più profondi.' Ezio murmured. 'Help me up onto my horse. We'll keep going forward. I'll know when we have arrived.'
The recruits obliged, helping Ezio back onto his skittish horse – handing him the reins and putting his feet in the stirrups. Ezio ground his teeth together as another wave of agony hit him – but with sweat pouring into his eyes and into mouth – he resolved to defeat the source. With a cry, he kicked his horse forward, with his two recruits following him into his own battle.
Onwards!