XxXxXx
1191
"Where to start…" Badoura mumbled to herself, looking out over the fortress, her mind mentally going through every hall, every stair and every room. There were so many places to hide, which, of course, had been the point of the layout in the first place.
"You wanted to get the lion?" one of the men with her asked, appearing beside her.
"Yes, yes, I do." Badoura said absently, her mind still wandering through the halls, "But I'm thinking we should get her last. I don't want there to be bloodshed within the fortress just yet."
"Yes, ma'am." The young man said.
She glanced at him in surprise, for no one had ever called her that before. He was young, far younger than her, barely more than boy. A novice too, given the markings on his robe. A mere boy, watching the brotherhood, his family, his home, falling to betrayal for a second time. Hopefully, it would be diverted like the last had.
"Where to start." She asked herself again, turning her attention back to the fortress.
"If I were them, I would keep the villagers and the assassins together, that way they can use the villagers to keep the assassins in line." The boy said suddenly.
"Threatening the villagers to ensure the assassins' good behavior, huh?" Badoura asked, "Yes, I agree with that assessment, which means that they would keep everyone somewhat close at hand."
"Or at least close enough to stop any ideas they might have of escaping."
"From the inside, at least." Badoura said, a plan falling together in her mind, "Look, you can see movement in Al Mualim's old study from here. I'll bet that's where Kamal is running things. If that's the case, then the entire front end of the fortress will be crawling with his men."
She looked back at the 3 young men with her, "It's a good thing that I never lock my window."
XxXxXx
2012
"Open it up!"
Desmond found himself hoping, almost praying that the records were wrong, that someone had deliberately put the wrong information down in order to foil those who would try and steal the Piece of Eden. He did not want Altair to be found!
"Please, Malik." He whispered to himself, "Please, Badoura, please have hidden him better than this." He glanced over at Gerson, who, despite his clenched jaw, kept his face otherwise expressionless.
The grating sound of metal on stone filled his ears, fraying already raw nerves. A lump grew in Desmond's throat as enraged panic filled him, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might leap out of his chest. In an effort to so something, anything, he snapped forward, the ropes digging deeper into his wrists as he strained. He couldn't let this happen, he just couldn't!
"No…" he growled, as the heavy stone started to move, the noise of it echoing deep in his chest, "No!"
Despite all his efforts, all his vehemence and utter desperation, they got the lid off. The heavy stone slab slid off with a bang and filled the small space with 900 odd years worth of dust and stale air. Desmond had to close his eyes against the shower of dust and dirt, holding his breath to keep from choking on the thick cloud. Across from him, he heard Gerson coughing.
"What the hell?" He heard Vidic call out. Carefully he cracked open one eye.
"What is the meaning of this?" Vidic screamed, "Where is he? Where is the treasure?!?"
Desmond nearly cried at the relief that flooded through him. The sarcophagus was empty. It was just a ruse. Altair was either hidden very well, in another location, or he had long ago been moved from this spot.
Suddenly Desmond spotted something. It was old, laying half buried in the dirt where it had fallen from the underside of the lid, but there was no mistaking it; a very familiar curved short blade.
Desmond glanced around; no one else seemed to have noticed it. He looked back at the blade, judging the distance. It was too far to reach with his foot and there was nothing he could use to reach with, not without attracting attention anyway. He strained forward again, trying to see just how far he could stretch before the pain and loss of circulation to his hands became too much…
And nearly fell flat on his face as the rope, unbeknownst to him, had been rubbing against a rather sharp piece of stone, finally snapped, essentially freeing him. Quickly, he kicked free of the last bits of rope and glanced around. Miraculously, no one had noticed. They were too busy stammering in the face of a very irate Vidic who was storming around, screaming and shouting, before swooping out of the cave.
"What are you doing?" Gerson whispered hoarsely.
Desmond motioned towards the blade he was inched towards, keeping his eyes on the men, his hand easing out to the blade. He felt strangely calm. He almost wanted the men to turn around so he could taunt them. He was close enough now, his hand almost on the hilt, as they suddenly turned around. They would never reach him in time.
Faster than a striking rattlesnake, Desmond's hand shot out and grabbed the short blade. Though he himself had never physically held the blade, it felt as if he had held it his whole life, like it had been made for him. While it needed to be cleaned and perhaps sharpened, the blade spelled trouble for the Abstergo men who couldn't fire their weapons in such small quarters without hitting each other.
Strike, now! A small voice said in his mind, Now! Before they realize death is upon them!
Desmond struck, with all the grace and precision of the master assassin within him, in a dance as beautiful as it was deadly; the dance of death.
Stab low, out, spin around, in the back! He heard, Excellent! Wait...wait…now, in the foot, up and slash the throat. Good! Now, finish off the last of them and be done with this nonsense.
Gerson watched, mesmerized. He had been an assassin all his life, had been trained in the art of killing, but never could he have even imagined something like this. It was hypnotizing; terrifying yet gorgeous. Strangely, he felt as though he had seen it before, had even danced the same sort of dance himself. His body seemed to remember, wanted to join his friend even, though his mind had no recollection of it what so ever.
Desmond suddenly snapped out of his trance to realize that the blade and his hand were soaked in blood and that the bodies of the Abstergo people littered the cave. Slowly he moved as if in a daze and freed Gerson before pressing his back against the wall and sliding to the ground, still clutching the blade.
He had killed a man. He had killed several, in fact, but the fact remained the same; he had killed someone!
Why should this be any different than what he had done as Altair in the Animus? Those people he had "killed" then had been actual people during the third crusade. The blood had seemed just as real even though it wasn't. Hell, he had even smelled it, the thick coppery tang, had even felt it before, spraying across his face as he slashed the short blade, the same blade he held now, across someone's throat. Was it because he wasn't hiding within Altair, pretty much laying all the blame on him? Because this time it was his hand, and his alone, that did the deed?
They would have killed me, he tried to convince himself, they would have killed me, they would have killed Gerson, they would have hunted down and killed Sura and Lucy…my parents. Heck they have been killing the assassins off for years and now they try to desecrate my ancestor's tomb for the sake of controlling everyone's mind! Why do I feel like I just killed someone's grandma?
It's normal, Altair said, these feelings. Take comfort knowing that they themselves were killers and of the worst kind. You have avenged those they killed and probably saved many other innocents due to your actions. You acted right.
XxXxXx
1191
Altair had never liked waiting. In contrast to his active lifestyle, he hated having to sit and wait. But this wait was worse, much worse. He wasn't waiting bored unto tears, waiting for some sot to appear that would contribute information on his target, far from it in fact. He felt charged with restless anxiety, jittery almost. Like the time he had broken his leg and couldn't move around for weeks and nearly went crazy with pent up energy.
The others watched in bemusement as the normally coldly stoic assassin could barely keep still, either pacing around or tapping his foot in anticipation. Even Zauba'a, ever aware to Altair's mood, was jittery, pawing at the ground and tossing his head.
They had surprised Karim and his small group earlier, charging up to the gates like demons and sliding to a hair-raising halt just before running into the solid gates. Altair had apparently been expecting that and, as Zauba'a halted, leaped from his horse's back and used his momentum to scramble over and land lightly on the other side. Karim, unable to see who it was through all the dust the horses had raised, had done the only thing he could think of, purely on the instinct to save his home; he had bodily-tackled Altair.
Altair had not become the master assassin (twice) by being caught unprepared (most of the time, anyway). He had noticed something behind him and managed to avoid being stabbed by the knife Karim held. A brief scuffle had ensued, in which both had acquired split lips and more than one scratch and bruise, before Altair had pinned the other to the ground. He had had his hidden blade pressed to Karim's throat before they both recognized each other. Tension drained quickly and the gates were opened just enough to allow Hasan and the others in before being shut again.
Altair clenched and unclenched his fists as he continued to make a path in the dust, pacing back and forth. Everything was starting to make sense now, but it gave him the same feeling as when Al Mualim had betrayed them. History was indeed repeating itself, just as Fatima had said, with another master betraying them. A wolf and a jackal, two animals that normally would never run together; Kamal, a leader of assassins (Altair slurred the title in his mind. He could not, and would not, acknowledge the respect that the title afforded) was the Jackal, the trickster, the one who had fooled them all. The Wolf…it had to be Conrad of Montferrat. Strong, with the army of men he could command, and smart enough to get inside of his enemy. Two sides under one banner…but why and for what reason Altair couldn't really guess. There wasn't anything about this entire campaign that made any sense.
He hadn't been that surprised to learn of Badoura's plan and her dangerous part in it. He was, however, quite surprised, and admittedly a little pleased, that she had convinced that other men to go along with it. He strongly suspected that, had it not been for Karim's infatuation with her and his strong support, she would have had a much harder time. As it was, he had complete confidence that she would carry out her end of it.
"Here they come!"
The shout jerked Altair out of his musings. Immediately the others swarmed up the ladders, rushing to get to their vantage points where they could watch without being seen. Altair beat them all to it, totally disdaining the ladders as he flew up the wall itself as easily as if he were walking on vertical ground.
Peering around his hiding place, he watched as a huge cloud of dust rose from just around the bend, rising like smoke from a bonfire. He could hear the stomp of hundreds of feet. He wrinkled his nose in disdain; even though he suspected that they had been "invited" here, therefore not expecting resistance, he still saw no reason to make nearly as much noise as they did.
Suddenly, they appeared. Their numbers were not as impressive as what he had seen in Arsuf all those months ago when he had killed Robert de Sable, marching in a pyramid shape with the "bottom" in front to seem more imposing, but they far outnumbered the handful on the gate none-the-less. For a brief moment, Altair felt the same feeling of being very small and alone, like a grain of sand in a desert, in the face of this army, like he had when Robert de Sable had tried to invade the fortress and when he had seen both armies in Arsuf. But, just as before, it was quickly chased away by the indignity and outrage of the invading army's presence.
There were a few men on horseback, mostly in groups in the middle, the strategical reason why eluded Altair, but the rest were infantry soldiers. Distinct individuals were difficult to make out due to the dust but the soldiers themselves didn't really interest Altair. His eyes had focused on one mounted figure in particular, a figure that burned a bright gold when he shifted to his eagle vision.
The man, for all his paranoid hiding and elusive schemes, did nothing to hide who he was now. His horse, one of the big warhorses imported from Europe, was richly decorated and finely armored and had his nose wrinkled to the point where it looked as if he were sneering. His rider was just as richly clothed but the haughty look on his face made his horse seem a far more pleasant creature than he. In fact, Altair was willing to lay down what little money he had that more people preferred to look at that horse than at his rider. So far, Conrad of Montferrat wasn't disappointing Altair's mental image of him.
Altair watched as Conrad trotted his massive black warhorse up to the gate. Two massive soldiers, possibly the biggest men the assassin had ever seen before in his life, immediately followed, like a second (and third) shadow.
"I'm sorry, we can't open the gate yet. We still haven't received word that all is under control up at the fortress." Karim called down politely.
"Isn't that typical." Conrad commented, "Kamal assured me that everything would be taken care of by the time I arrived. Why did I ever believe that?"
Altair suddenly realized that he was clenching his fists so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. Glancing quickly around he saw that he wasn't the only one.
"So…you expect us to just, what, cool our heels here in the interim?"
"For your own safety." Karim said, "After all, some of those who aren't so agreeable with the situation have very good aim with a throwing knife. We wouldn't want anything to happen, now."
Altair had to admire the way Karim was handling this. He didn't betray any hint of his anger, not in his voice nor his appearance.
"Funny how you should mention being uncooperative."
"How is that?"
"I have received word that one of your assassins has been searching for me. He has even been seen in Acre some weeks ago. Care to explain that?"
Altair leaned forward a little, suspicious. Conrad was baiting Karim, hoping to glean information on something that he had feared for a long time. After all he had seen, he wasn't about to put anything past this man. He scoffed at the notion of Conrad being a wolf; the man was a snake in his opinion.
"I know nothing of this." Karim replied, "Once we receive word that all is clear, you should ask the master about it."
"That I shall, that I shall. But, just to ensure that you keep your end of the bargain." Conrad said, signaling to someone behind him, "And should you decide to answer the question I know you have the answer to, I will wait for over there. On that overlook around the bend." He motioned back to the cliff that over looked the lake. "I will give you an hour to decide. Should it take you longer than an hour…"
It took every once of willpower in every assassin present to keep their cover as one of the soldiers dragged forward two novices, both dirty and bruised but still kicking and struggling against their captors, spitting out curses venomous enough to be worthy of one of Altair's and Malik's arguments.
Conrad glanced back up at Karim, the unsaid threat lingering in the air, "Remember; you have one hour."
XxXxXx
A/N: FINALLY!! rawr, that writer's block was baaaaaaad! This was probably the most painful thing I've ever had to write. But anyway, thank you to all you wonderful reviewers!! Those reviews kept me holding the whip over the muse's head, forcing her to think! she wasn't thrilled (obviously)... but for all the waiters, I now deliver and, as promised, there's lots of Altair.
lol, I had to put the horse sneering in there. I don't know how familiar everyone is with horses but they do have facial expressions and they can sneer, I have seen it (it was, unfortunately, my own horse sneering at me for giving him an apple that didn't meet his considerably high standards....)
-Vanillathunder215