CH 7

The city gate was a most unwelcoming sight.

There was the usual eight who stood guarding the inner and outer parts of the gate. There was also an additional ten who milled about, no doubt gathered there when news of an assassination broke out. Altaïr had never taken on eighteen men solo before, and he didn't want to in his current state. Looking down, he tried to flex his right hand, grimacing slightly when fibers of pain shot out from his palm.

The rafiq at the local bureau had gotten some bandage for his wounds. Using the fountain water, Altaïr had also tried to wash the blood stains off of his uniform. The bureau leader had been most pleased to see him, as he had assumed the worst when Damascus stopped its alarms and Altaïr hadn't shown up.

Getting up from the bench, Altaïr bowed his head low and moved with the crowd. The guards were ruthlessly checking everyone who went through the gate, even ripping away the veils of a few heavy-set women. Getting through by himself was pretty much impossible. He broke away into a smaller street when the crowd got too close to the gate. He continued down the alley, trying to think of a way to get out. A group of people surrounded a bench, their heads bent towards a figure sat on it. Altaïr heard something intriguing as he passed.

"They needed me…and I abandoned them!" The unseen person spoke. His voice was strained, high, and terrified. The assassin lingered at a bend, facing away.

"Young man, surely you did not mean to." An elderly man spoke. His voice was deep, assuring.

"No, I did mean to," The person sobbed hysterically, "you weren't there, you can't possibly-…he-he was not human! A monster from hell!"

The group shuffled uncomfortably. Many left, probably thinking this person was one of those crazy-drunkards wandering the streets. Altaïr took this chance to look into the thinned ranks and received an unpleasant shock. The person sat on the bench was the guard that ran away earlier!

The disheveled guard, likewise, saw him through the gaps between the people. His features immediately twisted into a mix of nausea, horror, and rage. His mouth started moving but no words came out, only grumbles and whimpers, making everyone around him step away as if he were diseased. Inside of a minute he was all alone with the assassin he'd faced earlier. Altaïr stared at him, having never seen someone react so strongly to his presence. The man placed his head between his knees. From the lowest tones of his vocal cords laughter came up, until it gripped him with violent shakes. At that the white-clad assassin moved towards him, left hand at the ready.

"You intend to kill me…and I can't do anything about it. …" the madman hissed angrily, "But with some help, perhaps I can take you with me."

Altaïr's eyes widened, realizing what his victim was about to do. The guard bolted up and ran towards the streets.

"ASSASSIN! ASSASSIN HER-…"

Altaïr leaped on top of him and plunged the blade in, toppling to the ground with him. Already footsteps were echoing down the alleyway. Soon the fresh guards would be upon them. The assassin cursed fervently and retracted his hidden blade, looking for a place to run. Blood spurted from the man's severed artery but he was still squirming, trying to crawl forward. Altaïr clambered up a low wall, immediately finding footholds. He moved up the side of the building, hindered by the slippery blood on his left hand and the reopened wound in his right hand.

"Heeere…" The man moaned, using up his last breath.

The assassin gritted his teeth as he enclosed his right hand on a small outcrop, the bandage slowly turning dark red. Below him, four soldiers stopped around the wide-eyed corpse, noting the still bleeding wound in his neck. They looked up, letting out angry shouts, pointing uselessly at the man now climbing over the top of the building.

Not looking down at the angry guards, Altaïr sprinted off. He knew he was close to the city gates and that there were beams overhead. Perhaps he could use those to get out without having to deal with additional bloodshed.

Unfortunately, fate decided to be cruel to him that day.

Several archers marched along the roofs, making him curse more than ever. He moved along carefully, not wanting an entire army of archers on his tail. He could hear the four soldiers spread news of his presence to the guards at the gates, totally closing off that route. Altaïr had no doubt that, even with his skill, eighteen or more highly trained elite guards attacking all at once could very well kill him. The roof garden he took refuge behind hid him well, and he could see that the archers patrolled with a certain pattern. There was a brief window of opportunity where he could slip past them unseen. He waited patiently.

An experienced archer greeted his comrade silently for the umpteenth time, before turning around. Today's assassination had certainly been unexpected, but not surprising. The murdered man had robbed the city of both riches and virgins, and had only escaped justice by his vast connections. Everyone knew it was only a matter of time before the infamous Assassins paid him a visit. Still, murder is murder, and the city authorities would not be happy if he went free. The experienced archer held a grim face, but inside he was celebrating. This strange killer had brought justice to his daughter's rapist, and he was glad the man in white hadn't come this way. As he walked away from his partner he felt a gentle whoosh of air. Too soft for a wind, he knew, but he let himself stay faced forward, an elated feeling in his stomach.

The amateur archer looked at his seniors, a strange expression on his face. He broke from the normal routine, going towards the edge of a roof. A trailing white robe caught his eye, before it disappeared behind another building.

"Assassin?" He spoke, more to himself.

He decided the day could use some excitement. "ASSASSIN!"

"Assassin!? Where?" His comrades asked. He pointed directly in front of him, feeling like a commander when a group immediately went off in that direction.

Altaïr was almost at the edge, ready to kill, when a flurry of sounds grabbed his attention. First, there were shouts of "ASSASSIN!" behind him, and then there were metal clinking against metal, and finally there were thundering footsteps headed his way. The lone archer standing alertly near the edge could not see him in his well-hidden place, but the large ground will be directly behind him in no time. The assassin tensed, knowing time was running out. He had only one shot at this, and he needed the element of surprise.

The archer near the edge turned towards the street, watching the guards at the gate with interest.

Now or never, Altaïr thought, and pounced from his hiding place.

The archer let loose a scream of surprise as a strong hand gave him a push. He tumbled through the air, landing in a heap of broken limbs. The sound of bones snapping drew away some of the soldiers from the gate. They inspected the corpse with disgust, knowing that only someone from the Assassins would ambush someone from behind. Trying to hide their fears, they howled for the one responsible to show himself. Altaïr answered their demands by sailing through the air, landing deftly on the support beam sticking out a ways from the gate. They watched the man in white with gaped mouths, unable to believe that the killer would actually show himself.

Altaïr raised both arms to the side for balance and bounded as fast as he could across the narrow wood. He could hear indignant shouts to his left, and knew the group of archers were now readying their arrows. The guards below him clamored in anger, throwing their best insults and rocks at him. He concentrated on the beam, knowing a missed step would mean certain death. Several arrows flew above his head and around him.

He reached the gate and immediately stood up, jumping towards the beam inside the gate. The archers scrambled towards the very end of the building, trying to keep the assassin within sight. He heard a wretched howl and a nasty thhud, indicating that someone fell off. A few ill-shot arrows snapped as they hit the stone walls of the gate. Altaïr jumped towards the last beam and turned left, raising both arms again as he quickly ran the length of the beam on the outside wall. Fortunately, he was now completely out of eyesight of the archers, but the guards below him were more bloodthirsty than ever. Altaïr surveyed the land, leaping to a soft spot on the ground and putting a fair distance between him and the guards. The soldiers chased after him, swords raised like mad bandits.

"You can't run forever!" One of them shouted, his sword swinging dangerously close to one of his comrades.

A horse whinnied in the distance.

Altaïr stumbled on a rock, his arms flying out while trying to regain his balance. His legs gradually readjusted and he sprinted to the small corral where several horses watched the commotion with perked ears. With deft fingers he undid the knotted reins of a particular animal, jumping onto its back with practiced fluidicity. Without having to give cues the horse turned away, knowing it was time to leave. Altaïr dug his heels in, feeling his mount explode with energy. In an instant the wind was whipping comfortingly in his ear. He could hear pursuing hoofbeats behind him and smirked. They would never catch up.

Suddenly, the rythmic hoofbeats broke into a chaotic untimed mess. His mount swayed and staggered, but refused to fall. The hoofsteps behind grew uncomfortably close and he wondered how heartbroken Ahmed might be. His horse continued to plod unsteadily and Altaïr hung on, gripping tightly with his legs as the animal seemed to sit for a moment. A second later the horse regained her balance, restarting the interrupted gallop. Altaïr encouraged the mare, shouting for her to go faster. The mare flared her nostrils, her legs a blur as she once again ran faster than the wind. The assassin breathed a sigh of relief, glad his mount hadn't sustained any threatening wounds. He leaned forward, moving with the horse's rhythm with a grin on his face. The pursuing hoofbeats had almost faded away when something smacked into his back. It knocked his wind out, splaying him out across the front of the saddle. The horse below him snorted in concern, slowing down a notch. He tried to reach around to see what's wrong, but couldn't raise his arm. A warm liquid trickled down his back and breathing became painful.

"Reem, take me home..." He whispered hoarsely, collapsing into the blond mane.

Notes: Whoo update! I've actually worked on this chapter little by little since the last update, so you can probably get an idea of the time frame between chapters. Very sorry, but school comes first.

Thanks for the reviews, and thanks for reading!