CH 10
The door closed behind her, surrounding her with darkness. Almira stood still, not wanting to accidentally knock anything over. Slowly the light came back, and she realized the place was actually lit by a small, dim candle. The room itself wasn't much to look at. It was tiny and had no furnishings except the wobbly table, a chair, and a stool next to the bed. A white uniform was folded neatly on the table. The bed was against the wall, boards covered with a cushion. The person on the bed was sleeping all right.
What to do now? She hadn't thought this far along and Altaïr would probably go berserk if he woke up and saw her. Tiptoeing to the table, she reached inside her robes and pulled out the shiny dagger. Her palms grew sweaty as she thought about what this scene might look like to a guard. Ever so quietly, she placed it on the table, almost sad to give it up. The deed done, and with nothing else to do, she tiptoed back to the door.
"Almira."
Almira froze, hating that she looked so scared. She turned around to find the wounded man sitting up against the wall. He had bunched up the sheets around him, which she took to be an attempt at modesty. His uncovered face revealed features that really were as striking as the servant maids had gossiped about.
She reminded herself to stop staring.
"I-…you lost your dagger," she gestured, "I came to return it."
Altaïr glanced at the thin blade resting on the wooden surface. Candlelight glinted off the sharp blade. He wondered how long it would take him to grab it in his damaged state.
"How did you get in here?"
"How?" Almira felt stupid as soon as she said that. Altaïr's features turned menacing.
"My door is always guarded," he said darkly. "How did you get in here?"
"I don't understand…" she muttered. "Your door isn't guarded."
"No?" Altaïr said, puzzled. He looked past her to the door, suddenly feeling a burst of energy.
"Then I must get out." The assassin gritted through his teeth. He grunted as he swung his legs over the side of his bed. The sheets fell away from his powerful shoulders. Handsome as he is, Almira thought he looked rather feral in his attempt to escape. She sidestepped to stand near the table, out of his way.
Altaïr focused on the unguarded door in front of him like it was an assassination target. He stood up, immediately feeling a sharp pain shoot through his chest. It seared along his body as black washed over his vision. Blindly he wobbled, his flailing arms striking something in the darkness.
When his sight came back, he became aware of Almira struggling not to drop him. With much difficulty, she lowered him into his bed.
"Altaïr, please, moving around will only prolong your stay here."
He also became aware of a nasty red mark on her face, and instantly felt a stab of guilt. The feeling was quickly replaced by annoyance. She showed him a way out, a way he can't take.
Altaïr had two kinds of followers: those who adored him and those who abhorred him. The latter group usually kept away from him, fanning their fires of disapproval whenever possible. Always around to remind everyone that he, Al Mualim's favorite, was still only human.
Those who adored him would disagree. Altaïr has never failed a mission; a feat not achieved by any other assassin past or present.
His breath came in shallow gasps, eyeing the doorway that now seemed to mock him. "Are you alright?" he whispered, his chest still too inflamed to speak loudly.
"I will be, but this is why you should not move around," she said quietly, aware of the painful tingle on her cheek.
Altaïr pressed his lips into a thin line; the acrid edge to her voice not missed on him. After a while, she shrugged dismissively.
"It is getting late, I should go, but I wish to ask you a question before leaving," she said after a while.
Altaïr nodded, somewhat unwillingly. Almira pointed at the vast expanse of gauze piled expertly on top of his chest. A dark spot stained through the fabric where his wound is.
"What happened?"
"A barrage of arrows," Altaïr responded curtly; he had a reputation to uphold. Almira looked unconvinced, but didn't press on.
"You were successful though? On the mission?" she asked instead.
"Of course I was," he said unhesitatingly. She laughed.
"Why is that funny?"
"Some of the maids here have a gamble going on. They're betting on which mission you will fail."
Altaïr smirked, "A losing gamble. They should save their money for other things."
"You are very confident."
"I am confident because I am a prepared man."
"Ah yes, fortune does favor the prepared," she said, smiling.
Altaïr sighed, studying the woman in front of him. "In Beirut, when I was observing my target, I remember the way he beat you, and yet you came here and chose to remain a servant."
Her smile instantly vanished. "Your point?"
The assassin leaned back, amused at the sudden change. "I simply do not understand why you decided to work like a slave, when so many other paths were open to you."
Almira's brows furrowed as her mind flashed back to her first day at the stronghold.
"Almira, I believe your first night here was restful?"
She wringed her hands behind her back. The Assassin leader's one good eye was piercing as it roamed over her and sized her up. That didn't scare her though. What did was the Grand Master's glass right eye. It stared unwaveringly at her, as if it could see straight into her soul and decide what she's made of.
She gulped, telling herself to not hold a man's gaze.
"Yes Master. I am grateful for your hospitality."
"You are very welcome, my child," Al Mualim said. "Now, since you are staying, do you wish to know what is it we do?"
Hairs suddenly bristled on the back of her neck; every white-robed man in the building was now watching her. She heard the raspy sound of a boot scraping the floor, along with the crispy scratch of a quill on paper. She licked at her lips, trying to moisten them before speaking.
"I…I think I know," she mumbled. As fast as it began, the adrenaline rush slid away.
Al Mualim regarded her casually. "You know? And you still wish to serve us?"
"Yes. I think…had Altaïr not killed him, by now I am most likely dead. My life is saved by your hands, allow me to repay you in some way."
Al Mualim examined her for a while longer, and then turned to the large window behind him.
"You will need a job," he stated matter-of-factly.
Almira waited for him to continue. He didn't.
"H-have you something in mind Master? Or shall I search on my own?" she said cautiously.
The Grand Master let out a "hmmm" and stroked his graying beard. He said nothing for the next minute. Almira glanced at the shelves filling this library. The Assassins must have serious support to afford this many books, some of which had two copies; a skilled scribe had no doubt spent many years replicating the material.
"Come here," he finally commanded, beckoning to a spot right beside him.
After some hesitation, Almira obeyed, taking her place in front of the window. She was shocked and awed at what she saw.
A lush green garden stretched out below her. No, not a garden; an open-air palace was more like it. It was divided into three levels, all covered with carefully tended flowers and emerald green grass. In the middle was a large, shallow pool filled with crystal clear water. On the uppermost level was a nicely paved area. Fine rugs and mats were scattered along the sides of it. Several women dressed in revealing but expensive-looking clothes milled around the garden, most of them staying in the paved area. One chatted flirtatiously with a white-robed man, before taking his arm and leading him elsewhere. As they passed below the window she looked up, and Almira saw one of the most gorgeous women she's ever laid eyes on.
"It…it's beautiful," she sighed. The distant mountains gazed back at her forlornly.
"If you wish, you may work there. After five years you will be free to pursue other matters of interest."
Almira considered this proposal. Over the span of mere minute she saw two mesmerizing women lead away the men that talked to them.
"They…they are…"
"They are the Courtesans, Almira," Al Mualim said lightly, a hint of a smile at his lips. "My students, too, have needs."
Almira blushed. She lowered her head so her hair might cover her cheeks. The women chatted and laughed with one another, but never without grace. Ornate, polished jewellery hung from their hair and wrists. They looked and acted like the learned consorts of emperors; it was a compliment that the Grand Master thought she could belong there. She had caught the eye of one of the beauties, who now looked up at her with a bright smile. The woman probably thought she was joining them. Almira didn't smile back.
The entire scene flashed by in less than a second.
"Exactly what paths are you referring to?" Almira retorted.
"You know what I am referring to," Altaïr said, pressing a hand to the bandage. "You could have had your freedom in a mere five years."
She smiled bitterly. "And after that? Where will I go then?"
Altaïr regarded her with a strange expression. Of course, everyone knew the Courtesans were really just high-end whores. Most came from slave backgrounds, and were considered unmarriable anyway. However, if they did manage to marry an assassin, they would obtain legitimate and high standing amongst the citizens of Masyaf. He thought she might have taken that gamble, seeing her circumstances.
"You actually intend to stay in Masyaf? Why?"
"I have nowhere else to go," she said quietly. "The only other place I've been to is Beirut."
"You were born there?"
"No. But I no longer remember where, so it doesn't matter," she shrugged. "I will actually be very happy if I worked only at the stable. But life never is what you want."
Almira wrapped her arms around her as if cold, and then turned for the door. "It is late, I should leave you be now."
"Wait, allow me another question." Altaïr requested, leaning forward.
"Will I regret saying yes?"
Altaïr ignored her last question. "A few months ago I heard you ran into trouble with Abbas, my student."
"It was…an accident, really," she stammered, feeling blood rise to her cheeks, "I didn't know he was your student."
"He might as well not be." Altaïr waved dismissively, "But I wish to know why. Everyone else tells a different story every time."
He sounded genuinely interested, so she gave him a short account of the events, leaving out the part where she was beaten.
She scratched the back of her neck. "You are well aware of where my passion is, so when I saw him torturing a fine horse like that I just, I couldn't really think."
"Hmm, so he did deserve it. I thought as much," Altaïr scowled. "He never listens to me; that will be his downfall."
"You are a teacher? How old are you?" Almira asked.
"Age is not a merit to teach, but skill is," Altaïr replied, looking thoroughly pleased with himself, "and I am 22, or 23."
"You don't know your age?"
"It is insignificant." He shrugged, "Do you know yours?"
"Yes, I am eighteen." Even as she said it, she suddenly doubted herself.
"Then when is your birthday?"
"August 24th."
Altaïr's body suddenly tensed. "What did you say?"
"Uh, nothing," she blurted, appalled at herself. She spun around, her hand on the door. "I really must go now. I only came to return your dagger."
"No. Wait, I heard what you sai-"
"Good night, Altaïr," she cut in firmly, slipping into the brighter hallway and shutting the door quietly.
Outside, the smell of blood once again invaded her head. Almira sighed as she closed the door. She was glad Altaïr couldn't move all that much, or else she might not have been able to leave. The smarting on her cheek had subsided. She turned to Ikram, about to thank her when Ikram shook her head, putting a finger to her lips.
"Not here," the young girl whispered, "The guards are coming. You should get going now. I was almost going to come in and fetch you."
Almira bade farewell to her friend, then walked to the main hallway, chancing a glance at the guards lining the walls. They had just switched shifts, and the replacements looked wide-awake and vigilant. She quickened her footsteps as if she had somewhere to be.
The cool night wind brushed against her face. Late as it was, her day wasn't over yet. She brushed the loose strands of hair out of her face, picking her way carefully down the darkened slope. It always puzzled her why the townsmen of Masyaf didn't construct some sort of barrier along the edge of the cliff. Just last week a merchant had lost his footing on the loose gravel and tumbled, screaming, down the slope and over the vertical drop. The people of Masyaf didn't do much, since he wasn't from the town. It was most likely they had taken great pleasure in stealing what was left of his wares.
Down by the stables, all was quiet except the chirping of crickets and the occasional thud of hooves. She always found peace and tranquillity at night here, no matter how tough the day was. Softly her feet traversed the main barn, slipping unnoticed into the tack room. On a small, forsaken corner of the room hung an old bridle whose cracking leather was carefully stitched together. The bit's rust stains had started to disappear, a sign of renewed use. Almira gathered this quietly, putting it on her shoulder. At the lowest rung on the opposite wall, she hauled the old saddle into her arms, careful to not let the rusty hardware bang against each other. Akin to a ghost, she slipped out of the room again.
The fine ears of Arabian horses turned to the footsteps, dished faces poked over their stall doors. They saw who it was and turned back to their dark rooms, uninterested. At the very end of the stable was a tiny stall that was usually looked over. Its resident also poked his head out, his larger ears pricked in her direction.
"Hey, boy," Almira whispered, stroking the gelding's neck. The horse responded with an impatient toss of his head.
As she put the bridle on him, Sofian just about grabbed the bit out of her hands. It was dangerous practice to tack a horse up here, but she couldn't risk taking him all the way over to the tie-up posts. The stable hands slept in a building just next to the tack room and the hoof beats would surely wake them. Fortunately, Sofian's previous owners had trained him well in the art of restraining himself.
Clomp. Clomp. At night when everything else is quiet, any sort of noise seemed deafening.
Almira grimaced with every step Sofian took, constantly expecting shouts of "horse thief!" from the main building. She took him around the stable, as she did every night since being assigned here, to the corral that Ahmed often used to train older horses. Once the fence was within sight, she breathed a sigh of relief. As long as she didn't cause a ruckus, she was out of earshot of her sleeping colleagues. Sofian stood still for her to mount.
Once in the saddle, she forgot all about the tiring day and her conversation with Altaïr. Her muscles positioned themselves without a conscious effort from her as she guided her willing companion into a graceful dance. She was falling in love with him and his movements. They would have taken each other to the highest levels of competition if they were together in another time. Almira was trying to coax a piaffe out of Sofian's collected trot when the form of a person appeared by the fence. Her heart rate instantly shot through the roof, bringing her horse to a halt. Upon sensing his rider's unease, the horse looked around, snorting nervously.
"Beautiful! Do not stop on my account."
Almira gasped, and all but fell to the ground when she frantically tried to dismount. Sofian jerked away in alarm, sidestepping to see where had his rider gone. Words swarmed in Almira's head, but her mouth had suddenly turned dry. Ahmed stood on the other side of the fence, his face too dark for her to see if he's angry or not. When her mind came out of shock mode, she clambered over the fence.
"Oh my God, I-I am so sorry…" Almira blurted, trying to stop herself from hyperventilating. Even though Ahmed rarely used the black gelding, that horse was still his property. She wasn't a trainer, which meant she does not have the privilege of riding his horses, no matter how unused they were. Horse thieving carried the heaviest penalties in Masyaf, up to and including being publicly hanged. Every night she dreaded of being caught, and the only reason she kept on was Sofian's talent. She intentionally didn't ask for permission, because she knew she couldn't keep away if he said no.
Her thoughts crashed into one another, faintly aware that she was repeating herself. The silhouette of the horseman burned itself into her mind, never to be forgotten.
After what seemed an eternity, hearty laughter reached her ears.
Ahmed was laughing?
"Ha! Never in my life did I think I can provoke such a response!" The elderly man leaned against the rails while intermittent laughs shook his body. He coughed several times, and then spat on the grass growing beneath the fence. He raised a hand.
"Stop apologizing Almira, I am not angry. Had you taken another horse I would be, but this animal cannot win a race against my slowest donkey – completely worthless. I only kept him around to see what you might do."
"What?" She straightened a bit.
Ahmed stepped into the moonlight, a twinkle in his eyes. "Oh young child, you didn't think I'd overlook the fact that he kept his strength despite never leaving his stall, did you? Or that his coat is always so clean and shiny? Or the little bits of carrots I often find in his stall, which also happens to be even cleaner than the stalls of my asil mares?"
Almira didn't respond, but hunched over sheepishly.
"You clearly liked him from the beginning, and with him being so useless I figured there must be a reason for your affections." Ahmed gazed across the arena, studying the black horse, "he was a bit stiff at the trot tonight."
"So…all this time, you knew?" Almira asked, but the question came out sounding more like a statement.
"Of course. With old age, sleep has evaded me. I often take walks around town and one night saw you here with him. At first, I thought about charging you with misconduct but then I noticed the harmony between you two. Been watching you ever since." Ahmed paused, "you are a good rider in a strange discipline. Where did you learn, and for how long?"
Almira's heart lifted at the compliment. "I started riding since I could remember, and I was taught by the best horseman in the area."
"To train a horse to trot in place, I expected nothing less," the horseman remarked. "You did all this in mere months?"
"Oh no, of course not. He was very well trained by his previous owners; I just picked up where they left off."
A silence lingered, until Ahmed broke it.
"So you are learned in the Templars' ways of riding?"
"The Templars didn't invent it; it's not fair to credit them." Her voice suddenly took on an unpleasant edge.
Ahmed noticed it too, and for a moment was silenced by surprise.
"Ah, it matters not, good riding is good riding," he finally said in a cheery tone.
"Now, Almira, that beast is useless to me and eats far more than he can earn back. I will sell him for ten dirhams if you wish to take him." Ahmed added, sounding businesslike.
The girl was faintly aware that she was gawking at the stable owner. Ten dirhams will take her two months to earn back, but it was extremely cheap for a big horse like Sofian. Ahmed could easily get twenty from the butcher.
"I will take him!" she exclaimed, before Ahmed could change his mind. "I'll provide everything else as well, and rent his stall from you."
"Good, a good arrangement. And now I must punish you for taking my property without permission."
Her heart sank an inch, even though Ahmed looked surprisingly pleasant.
"From now on your job will be to exercise my horses. On Raja's days, you must arrive early enough to warm up the ones scheduled for that day's missions."
Never had Almira grinned so widely all the way home.
Note: Yes I switched the chapters around. I went back and re-read the transition and realized I seriously messed up the momentum of the story. Nothing in the content changed, just the order they're presented in.
Again, many thanks to Blue Sigma for betaing this chapter.