The night was cool with the wind dragging from the sea as the ruler made his way through the rich district. Before leaving the relative safety of the battlements, Conrad had donned his armor, a glimmering silver, and his cloak, a rich blue. As it began to rain, he was grateful to have remembered his heavy boots.
He was alone. Garrick need not know where he went this night. In fact, Conrad had determined it would be best if his attendant remained ignorant, at least for the night.
His destination loomed in the distance. What was once a symbol of hope for himself and, indeed, many of the citizens of Acre, had become a great lonely spire in his mind and what he hoped would not be where he spent his last stand. Time would tell, as with all things.
He stopped and looked up. The Cathedral was beautiful, he could not deny that fact, but he could certainly remain confident that not all beautiful things are kind. Every rose had its thorns.
Feeling anxious, Conrad lingered outside of the Cathedral for several cold moments, until his face was drenched and his cloak nearly soaked through. He was not certain about who he was meeting and he refused to be optimistic, only speculative. As confused as he already was, he was not about to get his hopes up only to be crushed by reality.
Conrad drew upon the facade he wore when speaking to anyone who, honestly, was not Garrick. In the company of monarchs, a servant of the crown; of knights and acolytes, their master; of even Templar and Sibrand, both equal and superior at once. It was not a face he was unfamiliar with, but only of late was he ever more doubtful about its effectiveness.
With a deep breath, he scaled the steps of the church and pushed against one of its heavy doors. In the dim light, a figure at the end of the carpeted hall turned at the sound of his creaking entrance.
He stopped and let the door fall back behind him. He was not yet ready to be received. With practice, suspicion could be weaved artfully into the demeanor of a nobleman open to negotiation. Conrad had plenty of practice.
"Welcome, brother," the robed figure greeted with open arms. Conrad did not take the gesture as welcoming and he did not respond except to take a few steps forward.
"Why the apprehension?" he asked.
Conrad noted with a bit of unease that the figure's hood was drawn and he made no indication that he would remove it. "The letter," he said, "is all I am here to discuss."
Though the robe concealed the figure, Conrad still noticed how he flinched aggressively, his demeanor changing dramatically. "You, boy, would do well to speak to me with more respect. I am not one of your insolent lackeys."
The Regent Lord was unprepared for the fear that such chilling words elicited. He barely recovered in time to respond. "Who are you?" Judging from the robed man's commanding voice, he was more than likely someone who preferred not to be questioned. Conrad knew his question was a dangerous one, and his voice shook traitorously.
The man seemed to eye him up and down, his hood tilting ever so slightly with his face still concealed in shadow. "So unlike your father, Conrad," he said, "he always knew when not to ask questions."
Conrad tensed, the muscles in his neck strained with his ever-deepening scowl. He was suddenly aware of every joint stiff from the cold, especially in his jaw, which he clenched so tightly now. His skin prickled with the freezing rain water that had left his clothes all but drenched.
"You are not like your father, and perhaps that is for the best," the man said calmly. "My name remains my own, but for your candor, and your bravery in venturing to me alone, I may give you the information that you seek."
"That I need..." Conrad corrected, letting the rest of his sentence drop, unsure of how to address this man. "I have only just arrived in the city and suddenly my men are dropping like flies to this assassin-" the robed man cocked his head, and Conrad held up a preemptive hand, "-and not just Sibrand. From all over the holy land I have heard the news, and it distresses me."
Still, the mysterious man cocked his head. "Had your father told you nothing?"
At first Conrad fell silent, lost in the meaning of those words. "Any words my father said to me were distant and spiteful. I want to know what he lacked the conviction to tell me."
"As you are right to want."
"Then tell me." Conrad took a step forward, his hands held outwards imploringly.
A few moments passed in silence before the hooded figure moved again. He turned back to the alter, at the foot of which he was standing, and began to light candles as his visitor waited.
"You are one of them, then? The ones I hear spoken of by my men when they think they are alone, the names Sibrand prayed to instead of the Heavens and God as I would otherwise expect him to."
The figure stopped abruptly in his activities, placing a candle down and the match along with it. "So unlike your father."
"The Templars watch over you, boy, in a way no God can. We asses your abilities as a leader, as a man of our new world, as an enlightened individual. We have watched you and found you worthy, perhaps more worthy than your father."
Conrad stood idle still.
"William de Montferrat was deceptive above all other things. To the King, of which we hold no partisanship, he was a sheepish jester, partner to him in a dance of fools and we soon found he, your father, became blind.
"What we had assumed to be blind loyalty to the cause we eventually grew unwary of. It seemed he became more enamored with the thought of insulting Richard further than making better the world we live in. We could not trust him after a time, and a great relief passed through our ranks as word of his untimely death reached us, despite losing a powerful and effective ally."
"And then came his son," Conrad said. "Who, by all appearances, was the same as the man whose death you celebrated. Who would eventually become another obstacle in the Templars' path, despite the strides he made to help them."
"No, no. You misunderstand," said the figure. "You were instated by the King, yes, with whom we must reluctantly work in order to achieve our greater goal, but we were optimistic. From the beginning you were quiet, but not at all distracted. You were secretive until moments presented themselves to you and you displayed your authority with enough restraint to retain the whole-hearted respect of your men, not simply their fear.
"We watched as you reprimanded Sibrand for his paranoia, his zealotry. We agreed with your actions, your words. In a time such as this, Sibrand was as much a burden as he was an ally."
Conrad clenched his fists. "So his death, like my father's, was a relief. To whom? The Templars?"
"A war rages in the holy land for more than the Kings of man would have you believe." The figure's tone had taken a dangerous edge. "We will remake the world into a land of peace and conformity. A world without violence, but one can only achieve such an impossibility with the artifact that was stolen from some time ago. Do you recall?"
Conrad did. His mind raced back to that moment that he had overheard his Templar Knights. "And Robert de Sable?"
The hooded figure shrugged. "As ambitious as ever. Given enough time and he may retrieve the Apple, but we fear he may be next to die by the assassin's blade. He... Or you."
The letter Conrad received the day before tempered his fear of the unknown, so the figure's words, crafted carefully to frighten the Siege Lord, lacked impact. "So, it was you who sent me the note."
Very briefly, in the light of the candles, Conrad saw a wry smile emerge from underneath the hood. "You are quick," he said. "Yes, it was I, or rather, one of us. A warning, to our protegé, although it hardly seems you need the assistance."
"You flatter me, truly. I can take care of myself," he said bitterly. "But flattery is not what I came here for. What is this new world you mentioned earlier? And you said worthy, I was worthy. Of what?"
"It is just as I said. A world without violence, a world of peace and coexistence. Of unity and-"
"Conformity," Conrad snapped, too late to bite his own tongue. With nothing else to lose, he continued. "Through control? With this... Apple?" He tried to feign curiosity.
The figure stood still, staring down at the Siege Lord behind the shadow of his hood. Conrad was certain he had crossed the line, until...
"Worthy, is what we called you, worthy of this new world because what drives you is not blind loyalty, but understanding, enlightenment. One only gains understanding through questions and curiosity. This is what your father lacked." The figure waved his hand dismissively. "The New World requires control, because mankind will never come to complete peace without influence or supervision, and we are the only ones with the resources, vigilance, and moral clarity to be the Gods, if you will, of the New World."
All at once, Conrad understood what his subjects had been speaking about and the fear that plagued the Templars' prisoners deeper than the fear of death or torture. The fear of slavery and control.
What his father had been a part of and worked towards, this New World; the starvation of his people, the piles of bodies in Acre, and the poverty that ran rampant in the streets. It was all part of the bigger plan, the grand scheme. Control, utter and complete control, and this man standing before him was an orchestrator, evidently one of many.
"Nothing to say?" the figure asked.
Conrad flinched. "Simply... A lot to take in at once." A lie to hide his apprehension. The Siege Lord was wracked with an unease that strangled his heart and forced it to the pit of his stomach.
"Mmm." The robed figure seemed to accept it, but Conrad felt an urgency to leave grip him and refuse to let go. He felt sick.
There was still a great distance between them, but Conrad felt that as he slowly retreated, the figure could reach out and grab him at any moment. "With this information, I must take my leave and prepare for the assassin."
"Do you feel well? You look ill."
Conrad cursed himself for letting his facade fall so easily, and hastened to find an excuse for his sudden trepidation. "I am well," he assured. "I have... Much to consider." In a final act of deceit, much like his father, he bowed his head and slightly bowed his body. "The New World will flourish under rule such as yours, and I am honored to serve the cause."
The robed figure nodded his head once and turned back to the candles, dismissing the Siege Lord without so much as a word.
Outside the chapel, Conrad went without his hood and turned his face up to the sky. It still rained; he had not spent much time in the cathedral. Fear paralyzed him for a moment, and he felt as though he was being watched. It would do no good to run, to break down near midnight in the middle of Acre.
With significant effort, he forced himself into a slow pace, towards the battlements once more, to inform Garrick of the assassin, to think about his situation and to decide how he should proceed.