CH 4
A crowd gathered around the perimeter of the ring as Fahra and Kadar faced each other. They were about the same height, but one was a little bulkier than the other. Fahra suddenly went on the offense, bringing her blunted sword down swiftly. The other quickly parried the blow away, only to have his opponent swing the sword around, taking advantage of the trajectory. Kadar dodged back as the training sword slashed at his neck, missing his throat by millimeters. Fahra saw her opportunity, and reached forward to grab his collar. Stepping around him, she grunted as she swung her arm around, throwing Kadar into the railing. Not wasting a second, she lunged for him. Kadar ducked just in time under her sword. He clambered around her, and then kicked her hard in the back. She stumbled forward, but deftly pushed off the fence so he couldn't corner her. They circled each other now, moving with careful steps. Kadar's face was screwed up in concentration, the sweat on his forehead rolling down into his brow. Fahra's expression, on the other hand, was calm and calculating.
"Kadar, you lowly recruit, you aren't worth the dirt you step on!" She spat at him.
Kadar clenched his jaws but continued to watch her intensely.
"What are you waiting for? Are you scared, coward?" She hissed, her lips curling into a sneer.
"What?! I am no coward!" He roared in fury, pouncing forward, his blunt sword aimed straight for her stomach. She stayed exactly where she was, her eyes focused on his weapon. At the last second Fahra lightly stepped out of the way, smiling slyly at Kadar's surprised expression. She parried his weapon to the side and stuck a leg out in front of him, using his momentum against him. Kadar let loose a yell of frustration as he lost his balance and stumbled forward. He barely registered the hand that turned him around and the foot that kicked the back of his knee. Fahra towered over his kneeling form, her blunt sword slashing down towards the base of his neck. For a moment Kadar stared at her, terrified; she looked like she was actually going to carve his neck open. The blunt sword tapped gently against his skin, barely making a dent.
"And…you're dead." She smirked triumphantly, as applause and cheers went up around the ring. Kadar let out a small sigh of relief, glad that she refrained herself. The action over, the crowd gradually dispersed. Fahra sheathed her sword and walked over to the two assassins leaning against the rail. Kadar got up, brushed the sand off of his uniform, and then joined her.
"Kadar, you really need to keep your temper in check, otherwise you will quickly become vulnerable to your enemies." Altaïr said dryly. The young boy gave him an annoyed look.
"Don't be so hard on him, Altaïr, it's only been a month and he's making good progress." Fahra commended.
"Yeah, this time you actually had to say two sentences!" Malik added with a grin, ruffling his brother's grey hood.
"Damn you two!" Kadar barked, batting away Malik's hand, "There's always something wrong with what I do."
"Now, now, Kadar, you should be glad that we are willing to help you improve," Malik said, "Many of the novices here would kill for us to train them."
Kadar was about to retort when a man rushed up to them.
"Grand Professional Fahra, Al Mualim requests your presence in his study." The informer panted.
"Alright, I shall be there shortly, thank you."
"I'll take up training Kadar for the moment, Fahra," Altaïr swiftly offered. Fahra nodded, and then strode away, her steps springy with good spirits. Kadar groaned inwardly, knowing Altaïr's blows would not be nearly as merciful as Fahra's.
Almira sprinted down the hallway with the stack of freshly skinned leather that Raja had attacked her with. She was to deliver them to the leather craftsmen immediately, and Raja was waiting for her back at the butcher. The skins smelt awful, having been removed from their owners just this morning. She clutched tightly to the cloth bundling them together, being careful so as to avoid smearing dried blood on herself. "Running" errands was not a new thing now, with Raja seemingly bent on making her shed the extra weight. She panted heavily as her feet crossed corridor after corridor. If she took more time than the head maid deemed necessary, unpleasant things happened. Sadly, the older woman often thought that her maids were made of lightning. However, Al Mualim's gives them a pay that is higher than any other job available to women here. So high, in fact, that Almira could afford to rent a spacious room in the center of town.
Suddenly a door opened to her left. She tried to jump out of the way, but was much too late. Her shoulder slammed into the wood, making the door swing violently backwards. A howl of pain sounded behind her as she dashed away even faster. She probably just hit an assassin, meaning she had better disappear quickly.
Within the first two weeks she'd learned of the general attitude assassins had regarding servants, especially women servants. Twice she had almost gotten backhanded by high ranking brothers, had Ikram not dragged her out of their way. Later, when they were together doing menial tasks, she explained to her the workings of the Brotherhood.
"Raja should have explained everything to you, but I see she has not, so I will. There are six ranks here," Ikram said as she swept the kitchen floor.
"And there are also positions within ranks." The young girl continued. Almira brushed her trash into a big pile in the center of the empty kitchen.
"Go on." She said, her back aching.
"There are the uninitiated recruits, who do not have a rank, then Novice, Apprentice, Professional, Expert, Elite, and Master."
Ikram paused, bending down to inspect a particularly stubborn dirt patch.
"I think you should remember the order. If ever two assassins want you to do two different things, obey the one who ranks higher."
"How do I tell?" Almira questioned from the other side of the kitchen, starting a new pile.
"The higher ranking brothers usually carry more weapons and equipments, and of course, they are usually older as well." Ikram stood up, stretching her back.
"You said there are positions within ranks?" Almira asked after a moment of silence.
"Ah, right, though it can be a little confusing at first. There are no other positions in novice, so it's just that. With Apprentices and Professionals there are two sub-ranks, High and Grand. So there's Apprentice, High Apprentice, and Grand Apprentice, same with the Professionals."
"So Professional, High Professional, and Grand Professional." Almira said as she swept half-heartedly.
"Exactly." Ikram beamed, happy to teach.
"Now, for the Expert rank, there's just Expert and Grand Expert, and the last two ranks are simply Elite and Master."
Almira repeated the different ranks and positions to herself, with Ikram correcting her every now and then. The kitchen was drastically cleaner by the time she committed everything to memory.
"When you address an assassin, make sure to state their rank first, it's a sign of respect. With the uninitiated recruits and novices you can just say their name if you know it."
"I've seen a lot of boys wearing grey robes, are they the novices?" Almira asked.
"Yes…and no. I'm sure you've noticed that many of them do not have a red sash on. The ones without are uninitiated, and not a part of the Brotherhood. The ones who wear grey robes and a red sash are novices."
"Okay," She nodded, "Also, recently I've seen some of them with bandaged left hands. What is it for?"
Ikram made a face. "It…has something to do with becoming novices and formally joining the Assassins. They cut the ring finger off of the left hand to, I don't know, show loyalty or something…."
Almira's broom swept much slower. All this time and she never noticed that ALL of the assassins were missing fingers!
She cursed softly in relief as she slowed down; remembering to conserve her energy for all the other trips Raja was bound to send her on. She had turned several corners, just in case whoever she smacked the door into decided to give chase. Hearing nothing, she chanced a glance back. The hallway was empty, save the other servants who mostly ignored her. She sighed happily, her feet rounding another corner when…
"Arrggggh!"
…her wind was knocked out and all the bloody skins laid strew about the floor. Immediately, Almira felt her clothing tighten around her neck as she was dragged to her feet.
"Watch where you're going girl!" The assassin cursed in her face.
Almira apologized, looking up at the white clad figure when she noticed that this assassin was…
A girl.
A girl? An Assassin?
Not only was she a woman, but she had seen her before with Altaïr. Only all those times Almira had assumed that she was a "he". Many weapons hung off of her, and the silver crested scabbard by her side was all Almira needed to know that her rank was not low. She apologized profusely, to which the assassin poked her sharply with a finger.
"Look at the filth you were carrying! How am I to see Al Mualim like this?!" She pointed to a large brown patch where the skins must've smeared.
"I-I am so sorry!" Almira cried out, eyeing the woman's uniform, "uh…Professional-"
"-Grand Professional Fahra! Please forgive her!"
Almira's heart leaped in relief; Ikram could not have chosen a better time to show up.
"Please, ma'am, she is new here, and does not yet know her way around."
The assassin regarded them with a disgusted look.
"Dirty filth, I have no time for this. Get out of my sight!" Fahra barked as she shoved them out of the way. They could hear her stomps all the way until the end of the hallway, where they finally faded away. Almira sighed, and then bent down to pick up the foul skins. Ikram helped her.
"Thank you." Almira said.
"That was Fahra, she's got quite the temper against servants." Ikram replied sourly.
"Is she an assassin?"
"Yes she is. Her parents were both assassins and now that her mother's gone, she is the only woman in the Brotherhood."
Ikram sighed wistfully, handing her friend a small pile of skins. "I wish I was given the chance to join them."
It was then that Almira noticed the dark, prominent circles under the young girl's eyes, as well as the too-pale complexion.
"Ikram, are you alright? You don't look too well."
"Raja wants me dead! I swear it!" Ikram exclaimed, rubbing her temples with a hand.
Almira carefully placed the pile onto the floor, and then moved to the girl's side.
"What happened?"
"She reassigned me to sewing duty, knowing that I can never sew half as well as the other girls. I haven't slept much for the past week and I'm not allowed into the dining hall today until I finish my second uniform…"
Ikram suddenly started sobbing, and Almira tried her best to comfort her.
"Why don't you let her know? That your talent isn't with sewing?" She asked gently.
"She assigned me to clean the bathrooms the last time I tried."
Ikram looked at her miserably, and then shook her head.
"As well, if I try again, she might fire me. No, I'd rather have this than risk the wellbeing of my family."
Almira nodded; since she had no one else to support, her pay allowed her to rent a pleasant room in the best district of Masyaf. Ikram, on the other hand, had to help her parents feed their large family. She gave the young girl a hug, and then remembered that she had a stack of skins to deliver.
"I'm sorry, Ikram, but if I don't go back to Raja in time…"
"No, I understand. I have to go back to the tailor room anyway."
Ikram helped getting the pile firmly into Almira's hands, and then remembered something. She told of it to her friend, who was glad to receive the information. The conversation over, they went their separate ways.
Fahra continued down the hallway at a brisk pace, her mood ruined by the collision earlier. She stopped by a small wash area, attempting to get the ugly brown smear off of her clothing. Why did the servants always get in her way? She should have taught that girl a lesson for being so careless when carrying such dirty packages. Under her vigorous scrubbing, some of the brown matter disappeared, leaving behind a light stain. Seeing that it won't get any cleaner, she cursed angrily and left, trusting that the wet patch will dry soon in the heat. As she turned into a smaller corridor she saw a familiar figure walking unsteadily towards her, though it didn't seem to see her.
"Rauf, are you alright?"
Rauf looked up and Fahra gasped. He held a hand to his face, but she could see the blood seeping out. His dark grey robes were covered with bright crimson dots.
"Oh…I thunk mye nuse is bruken." He moaned in pain.
"What happened? Did you get into a fight?" She asked incredulously. Actually, Fahra couldn't imagine the young boy getting into a fight with anyone, despite the talent he obviously has.
Rauf tried to explain, but with his nose all clogged up he sounded like a dying cow. Fahra finally told him to stop after the second attempt, dragging him into the bathroom she'd visited earlier. After making sure that nothing was life threatening, she left him be. He could make it on his own to the fortress's healer if needed. She walked fast, hoping that Al Mualim won't be too irritated at her for showing up late.