"Keep your head up Almas!" the Mentor snapped, as her opponent swung their blunt dagger at her face again. Almas managed to duck under the attack, and get round to the back of her opponent. The boy spared no time in twisting round and lunging at her again, Almas jumped back and watched as the blade passed through the space she was stood in moments ago. She parried the next jab he positioned towards the side of her head and sent her own fist to smack into the side of his face; she heard the crunch of her knuckles and swallowed back the bile that climbed up her throat at the sound, she immediately brought her hand up to her chest. When the boy sent a fist flying towards her stomach, she bobbed down and used her legs to try and sweep his feet from beneath him, whilst trying to keep her injured hand out of use. Her opponent jumped over her leg easily, and used the fact she was now on the floor to his advantage. He jumped forward clasping his hands on her shoulders and rolled forwards slamming her down onto her back. The wind was stolen from her lungs as her back made contact with the ground, her mouth opening and closing like a fish as the need for air took over her. As the boy reached out to grab his dagger which had come free of his grasp, Almas began to wriggle beneath him trying to throw him off balance and escape. As Almas persisted to writhe beneath him, the boy backhanded her across the face earning a yelp from her, it didn't take long before she stopped and watched with helpless eyes as he raised his blade above his head ready to strike. Before the blade touched her throat and she was announced dead, Almas saw from the corner of her eye her mentor shake his head in disappointment and turn his back away from her, she saw the smirks of the other boys that were circled around them, she could tell from the thumping feeling in her hand that it had swelled and was most likely broken, her lungs felt as if they were on fire and now her face stung either from the slap she had just received or the fresh tears which were falling freely down her cheeks.
Almas hated when they made her fight, they always put her with boys older than her who were stronger and whose ability's far exceeded her own, the boy who was readying to defeat her now was at least fourteen, and yet she was only twelve. She often played out conversations in her head that she would have with her mentor consisting of her begging him to let her fight a boy her own age or at least someone her size, and they always ended the same way, she'd be punished for being so ignorant as to ask and then she would be forced to fight someone even older just to teach her a lesson. She always found that her opponents fought harder against her it was almost as if they relished in the feeling of beating a girl, someone weaker than them, an easy target. They would always make sure they swung with more force or moved faster, they would always be more brutal when they shoved her to the ground, and it didn't seem to matter if she cried, in fact that seemed to spur them on even more, as if seeing her tears was a victory all on its own. Some boys seemed to make it their life mission to make things difficult for her, even some of the mentors seemed to make her work harder than the others making her climb higher, run faster some would even see how far they could push her, both mentally and physically, before she would snap at them, just to give them a reason to punish her. Most of the boys, because some seemed to tolerate her presence, would always make sure when they did defeat her she'd know about it, they would often chant and jeer and make snide comments about how girls didn't belong in the creed, but she worked as hard as they did perhaps even harder. She always tried to excel in her other classes and for what she lacked in talent for throwing knifes or archery she always made up for in climbing, she'd be at the top of a building before the others were even half way up, and the swell of pride she would feel in her chest would be worth the hours of pain and sweat she'd had to endure beforehand.
As the glint of the dagger above her caught her eye, and brought her out of her momentary day dream, a sudden strange emotion washed over her. It was determination, determination to win, determination to prove the other boys wrong and determination to make her mentor proud. As the boy brought his blade down to her throat Almas sent her own dagger up and locked blades with him. The clang of the blades was enough to make the boys around them silent, her mentor turned his self back around and stared at the sight before him. Almas had clamped her jaw together gritting her teeth and had begun to push with all the strength in her arms against the force the boy was asserting on her, and now gradually the dagger was beginning to edge backwards towards him. She could almost hear her hand screaming at her in protest as she squeezed tighter, and in the back of her mind she prayed that this injury wouldn't affect her climbing ability. By this time her eyes had found that of the boys, and for a moment she found herself lost in the unusual colour of them, they were like liquid gold that seemed to see more than what most could, but in the depths of those same eyes were the first signs of defeat.
Drops of perspiration had begun to form on her forehead, and she could feel her arms burning as her muscles were pushed harder. The blade was now in the middle of them, and Almas knew the only option she had left was to get from beneath the boy, if she managed to reverse their positions she would have the upper hand. Almas slid her legs up and clamped her knees together against the boy's ribs, then using what little energy she had left used her body weight and rolled to the left, a sound that replicated the growl of an animal left her lips as she forced her body to roll. Just as they began to move the boys blade slipped away from hers and sliced across her face beneath her eye. With the smell of her own blood wafting through her nostrils and the feel of it slowly running down her cheeks, Almas felt rage begin to bubble away in her stomach. Now in a new position and with her opponent laid beneath her she used one of her hands to slam both his arms down knocking his dagger from his grip, she used her arm to pin his hands above his head leaving them useless and rested her blade at the base of his throat. Her hair had come free of its tie and now hung around them in a dark curtain, her breathing was ragged and she could taste her blood on her tongue. The boys face was flushed and his eyes were wide in shock. Droplets of her blood and dripped onto his face and ran down his cheeks like red tears. She could vaguely hear the voice of her mentor congratulating her and the more hushed voices of the other Novices around them; some of them had even clapped. But those noises were all in the back of her mind like whispers, because now Almas was fighting to keep herself from pushing the blade even harder into the base of his throat.
Altair stared up at the girl above him. His mind was replaying to him the events that had just occurred, he had been over powered and beaten by a girl, a girl who was two years younger than him at that. How he wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole, how could he Altair Ibn-La'Ahad be defeated by a girl? He had been so close to beating her. He could swear to Allah that he had seen the last of the fight leave her eyes along with strength in her muscles, but it had returned just as quick catching him off guard. With her dark hair circled round them like a halo and her eyes burning with green fire and a proud twisted smirk resting upon her lips, Altair felt almost intimidated. Staring up at her now she didn't seem younger than him, the way she had turned his attack round on him and positioned her blade threateningly against his throat you would think she had been training all her life. 'How hard it must be spending two years being taunted and mocked' he had thought to himself 'Surely this could not be the result of such things'. Realising she still had him pinned beneath her and that the voices around them were starting to become more concerned as to why they were still in that position, he took the opportunity to shove her backwards and away from him, before pushing himself up. Dusting off the dirt from his robes in the direction of the girl, 'Almas' he believed they called her, he took a moment to look down on her in disgust. 'That is where she belongs' he thought to himself narrowing his eyes at the sight of her. Just then a hand clapped him on the shoulder "A good Assassin must learn to accept defeat Altair" it was the Mentor.
The mentor walked over to Almas and held out a hand to her, she took it with a small 'thank you'. "Very well done Almas" he said a proud smile curling the corner of his lips "Who knew you had such strength in these arms" he said poking her bicep, she smiled in response but then winced when her smile met with her wound.
"Though it seems your victory did not come without a price" he said seriously, crouching down to get a better look at the cut beneath her eye.
"It's nothing" she insisted, jerking her head back when his fingers touched a tender spot on her wound.
"Give me your hand" he held out his own hand in waiting. Almas looked cautiously from her hand to his. An encouraging nod from the master ensured her that he meant no harm, and so she delicately laid her hand in his palm. The mentor assed the injury for a second, apologising whenever she'd let out a hiss or take in a sharp breath of air.
"There's at least 2 fingers broken, and your wrist is badly sprained" he let go of her hand which she drew to her chest immediately. He took hold of her chin and twisted her face round to get a better view of the gash across her cheek bone "This will defiantly need stitches" he said with a nod of his head. Hearing the word stitches Almas whipped her head back around, earning a short chuckle from the Mentor. "You better get used to them Almas, in this business you find yourself needing a lot of stitches" he said sliding the sleeve of his robe up to his elbow revealing a long thick and vicious looking scar which lead from his wrist and upwards before being hidden behind the material of his robe. The master straightened out his legs then "Altair" he barked, turning on his heel to face a group of boys. "You did the damage you take her to get it fixed" he ordered. Almas peeked around the side of the Mentor to see the boy roll his eyes. "Roll your eyes again at me boy and I'll have you hung by your toes and used as target" the Mentor added his tone supplying no hint of sarcasm. The Mentor walked away at that leaving Almas to stare after him.
It wasn't long before she felt a pair of cold eyes burning a hole in the side of her face. Turning her head to face the owner of the eyes, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck shoot up. They boy who's name she learnt was Altair, was stood glaring at her fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles slowly turning white. Almas swallowed, resisting the urge to run and hide. A few more moments of silence was shared between the two before Altair spoke. "Follow me" he spat before turning on his heel and marching off. Almas didn't want to follow him, in fact he was the last person she wanted to be alone with, 'An Assassins should never be afraid' she thought to herself, before hurrying after the boy in front of her.