Author's Note: To all my readers, reviewers and watchers, thank you very much. Your words always inspire me to continue.
Assassin's Creed: Raptor's Bane
Chapter 4
All pain and exhaustion was forgotten as Altair flew across the skyline of Acre, the image of the smoke and the fire soldered across his vision and memory. He could imagine the trellis, the lattice door that so many Assassins had sought for sanctuary, twisting and burning into ash, the vines wrought around it dying slowly. More so than the entrance, he feared for the small life of the brotherhood it shielded, could not bear the thought of his brothers and their records shattering into dust.
The eagle's eyes flashed as he caught sight of figures around the orange-swathed building. They would die. All of them. So he swore upon the Creed, all of them would die.
Malik caught up with him a few streets away from the Bureau, expression carefully blanked, but turmoil visible in his eyes. "It seems we have both lost this game, brother," he said grimly, slowing his pace to match Altair's somewhat strained one. The Master Assassin did not reply.
The two Assassins stayed close this time, moving as one towards the seven soldiers destroying their home. Three were archers, clutching bows and arrows, simply watching the flames consume the wood with dark pleasure. The other four were dressed as guards, throwing the now empty oil barrels against the weakening framework, attempting to rend it apart all the quicker. The steady roar of the flames, hungrily devouring both the timber and the screams of the fleeing crowd below, was abruptly shattered by a great crackling as the entrance collapsed.
A plume of smoke rose unexpectedly, startling the soldiers as they were wrapped in the sudden, choking black cloud. Altair smiled with cold satisfaction at their panic. By some stroke of luck or fate, the fountain below had broken, dousing the flame before it could reach the inner rooms and throwing ashes into the air with the evaporating water.
In the resulting confusion, Malik and Altair leaped, becoming mere smudges of white in the soot-strangled air. The latter drew back his left fist and drove both knuckle and blade into the spine of the nearest archer with a gratifying crunch. To his right, his brother had already dispatched one of the soldiers in a spray of red, his curved knife buried deep in the enemy's neck.
The two straightened, freeing their blades from the corpses as the wind began to clear away the smoke. The guards finally saw the presence of the twin ghosts among them and scrambled for their weapons. Altair was mildly impressed that none attempted to run—after all, it must have been shocking to see two comrades dead in the blink of an eye. His thought was cut short as he and Malik were forced into motion again, dodging loosed arrows.
The young Assassin charged towards the next archer, noting two of the guards converging on him from his peripheral vision. He leaned fluidly to the right to dodge the second shaft aimed at him, not breaking his momentum until his wrist blade found its target in the enemy's heart. Blood spattered his robes, but he took no notice, already spinning to meet the other two soldiers.
Altair was jerked violently to a halt mid-turn and, startled, he realized that the dying man had seized his left arm, keeping the hidden blade sheathed carefully away in his own chest. The guards were upon him before he could free himself, one driving him into the ground with sheer force and bulk. His already shaky breath left him, forced from his lungs at the impact, and his left arm twisted painfully as the archer fell with him.
He raised his right arm desperately as the narrow dagger lanced towards his face, catching the wrist that held it against his leather gauntlet. The blade stopped just short of grazing his skin. The two of them locked, straining against the other's arm in a stalemate of strength, Altair all the while attempting to free his wrenched left arm from the combined grip of the fallen archer and the man above him. He gasped silently from the exertion, scenting the garlic-like waft from the arsenic he knew coated the knife.
Over the edge of his hood, he caught the looming shadow of the other soldier who had approached him, the man smirking cruelly as he reached down to pull Altair's right arm out of the way. Abruptly, a sharp rush of wind cut the air, quiet enough to be overlooked by those unfamiliar with it, and the standing guard gave a cry of pain, clutching the short knife now protruding from his collarbone. Malik came into view shortly after the dagger, kicking the staggered man off the roof with a deft side shot.
The weight on Altair's shoulders lifted as the remaining guard jumped away, dodging the older Assassin's saber slash. Altair rolled upright unsteadily, chest heaving, and stayed in a crouch in Malik's protective shadow as he evened his breath. He swiftly checked his hidden blade for damage, fearing it had been broken in his awkward fall. The mechanism clicked into place comfortably though, reassuring him, and he slowly gained his feet, eyes flicking gratefully to his brother before surveying the six bodies that littered the Bureau roof and nearby side streets.
"You would be wise to surrender," Malik said venomously, lifting his gold-hilted sword to point at the seventh guard, now backed up against the roof dome. Altair drew his own long sword and circled a few steps to the right, flanking the man to cut off any escape. There was relative quiet now, the streets empty of the fearful market goers and the fire reduced to dying embers.
"As would you," the guard smirked back, meeting the Assassin's haughtiness coolly. "Yet you refuse to. We will finish you all in the end." He raised his seemingly empty hands in surrender, but as he did so, Altair caught a faint glimmer between the man's fingers. He tensed, recognizing the barely noticeable shine of ten needles clutched against the mail-clad palms. The eagle in him screeched a warning as the soldier flicked his wrists, the deadly lances leaving his hands in a glimmer of movement.
The Master Assassin dove, snatching a handful of Malik's robes as he did so, and dragged both of them down and backwards in an attempt to dodge the lethal volley. Altair hit the roof for a second time, rolling to soften the collision, and heard his brother's sharp gasp of surprise at being pulled with him. Rather unexpectedly, the two plummeted deeper, falling before the toxin needles could touch them, the now gaping entrance of the Bureau swallowing them easily. They landed against the wet, blackened wood scattered across the outer room's floor in a splintering clatter.
Altair snarled quietly against the pain as the jagged end of a piece of broken timber tore through the robes at his side, drawing blood. He forced himself to his feet, looking upwards and hearing the retreating footsteps as the enemy fled. He gauged the direction, guessing the soldier was heading towards the seaside ports.
By his side, Malik muttered a curse at him, standing and nursing his slightly burned hand from where he had broken open a still smoldering piece of wood. "A warning would be welcome next time, brother," he said snappishly, picking his way towards the shattered, sputtering fountain to run his left hand under the cool water. Altair ignored him, brushing the cinders from his robes and examining the mild abrasion he had taken from the fall.
A gentle creak announced the opening of the door to the inner Bureau, and Isam's worried face peered through the gap. The Assassin initiate gestured the two inside, looking apprehensively at the wide rectangle of open sky now exposing half of their safe house. As Altair followed Malik into their remaining slice of sanctuary, he heard far-off calls and approaching steps weighed down by armor. The real knights Teutonic had finally caught word of the fire and, as always, came rushing to the scene of chaos with all pomp, hours overdue.
The wood door closed out the sounds of their advance sharply and the Assassins converged in front of the rafiq's desk, trailing ash-blackened water and flecks of enemy blood. Altair blinked in the semi-darkness, noticing that all the Bureau's windows had been shuttered for safety, or perhaps to hide from the local guard's investigators. To compensate, candles burned lowly from the corners of the room, giving off the image of twilight despite the early hour.
"You can never seem to enter my Bureau quietly, can you?" the rafiq asked a bit resignedly as he offered the two a wry smile, in a light mood despite the fact that half of his property had just been defaced. "You both did well, either way. I don't think we need expect a second attack for at least another few weeks. For now, both of you get something to eat and tend to your wounds. You've earned a rest." The two Assassins bowed and retreated to the back of the Bureau, the soft cushions by the low corner table beckoning.
"Altair."
He turned at his name, pausing halfway across the room. "Yes, rafiq?"
"This changes nothing," the older man stated somberly, eying Altair over the desk. "You are still to return to headquarters by tomorrow before this conspiracy escalates any further. Al Mualim's orders cannot be ignored."
Altair frowned, a shadow passing his brow, but made no comment and simply nodded his assent. He joined Malik and Isam at the back and sat down, watching the novice fussing with the Bureau's medicinal kit, eager to aid his elder brothers. He settled against the pillows piled against the wall, watching his fellow Assassins talk of the fight that day but offering no input.
Malik was particularly tolerant of the novice, answering his probing questions about the enemy long past the point Altair would have found them wearying. Isam reminded the older Assassin of Kadar perhaps, his blood brother being a novice of the same age and same insufferable tongue. Both initiates had yet to learn of the weight of the blood spilled in every battle.
"It doesn't suit you to brood, Altair," Malik commented lightly a few hours into the afternoon, leaning an elbow on the table between them. Altair looked up a bit sharply, only now noticing that he had been staring into space for quite some time. His brother fixed him with a worried eye, perhaps wondering if he was still berating himself over the recent events. Sardonic as the elder of the two Assassins was, though, his form of comfort was still accompanied by cynicism. "If only you thought this carefully about your actions in a fight—maybe then you wouldn't be such a novice."
"Yes, perhaps I should leave the thinking to you," Altair responded drily, quietly appreciating the concern. "After all, that's apparently all you're good for." The young Assassin dodged the piece of bread lobbed half-heartedly at his face, instead catching it and taking a bite, a small smirk finally playing at his lips. Few others could coax such a drop of guard from him, and he was admittedly grateful for the reprieve.
Here, the Bureau lapsed into a gentle silence, the stretching hours seemingly slowed by the artificial lighting. Somewhere between night and dusk, Altair drifted into sleep, surrounded by his brothers and, for now, safety and peace.