Author's Note: Just for any of you who read Chapter 4 soon after I posted it, I added a little to the last few paragraphs since they seemed lacking upon re-reading.

Assassin's Creed: Raptor's Bane

Chapter 5

The night passed empty of commotion and dreams, earning Altair a more fitful sleep than he had had in a long time. Morning woke him slowly, shifting his slightly cramped body from his slumped position against the wall and cushions. Before he was even fully awake, his senses came alive, and he caught the sound of a murmured discussion by the Bureau entrance.

Cracking open a dark eye, he saw Malik leaning on the rafiq's desk, deep in conversation with the Assassin elder, both of them lit by the faintly blue light of early dawn. Or perhaps it was his eagle's vision; he was unsure in this pseudo-aware state. The young Assassin closed his eyes again, honing in on their words more out of habit than curiosity, and guessed that they were discussing their next move.

"The enemy knows too much about us. Of all things, I'm surprised that their spy didn't tell them about the location of the Bureau. They had no need to tail Altair if they had a man on the inside." The rafiq's tone was slightly agitated, the man openly concerned with the enemy infiltration. Though Acre's Keeper was trustworthy, protecting each Assassin like a son, he had a tendency to grow edgy under tension.

"Yes, but perhaps they were trying to be discreet. If their informant really is one of ours, they knew we would have been able to tell right away if they attacked our base without provocation." In contrast, Malik's voice was calm and clear, he, unlike the other, being the type to face pressure head-on. He could make a fine rafiq some day, Altair thought approvingly.

"Perhaps," the Keeper echoed with a measure of uncertainty, shuffling the papers on his desk absently. Altair heard Malik shift, watching the other man pace as he continued more confidently, "But it's more likely that the spy is not of the Brotherhood, one of those who do not know the Bureau's exact location. The enemy group probably has more access to them, our outside informants—we have connections with several, all with their own lives and jobs, but brothers nonetheless."

"Then I will go investigate them," the Assassin said formally, taking the piece of information as an order. He was given leave with a wave of the rafiq's hand and Altair heard him approach the corner table to collect his weapons. The younger Assassin finally opened his eyes and watched his brother ready himself, motionless in his observations. Malik seemed to ignore his wakefulness at first, but Altair was slightly taken aback when the other flicked his attention towards him, meeting his gaze pointedly. Gray eyes focused on the door then back to him, a silent but clear message for him to follow.

Malik swept from the room mutely in a flutter of robes, leaving the Master Assassin wondering why he had not simply asked him to come. Shaking his head a bit, Altair drew a yawning breath, adjusting to his still-damaged lungs with dull irritation and climbing to his feet. The Bureau leader looked over at him as he picked up the small saddlebag he had prepared the night before and slung it over his shoulder, rather begrudgingly equipping himself for the return trip.

"Safety and peace on your travels, Altair," the Keeper said quietly as the Assassin left, receiving a dipped bow in return, but not a word. The early morning air hit him coolly, yet untainted by the sun, still carefully cloaked as it was with the horizon. He noticed the newly cleaned floor of the outer room, once again as inconspicuous as a small, open courtyard could be, likely the work of the earlier-rising brothers. The broken fountain was still bent and cracked sadly though, but the crooked flow of water had been carefully stoppered until repairs could be obtained.

Altair wisely avoided using the crumpled structure as a foothold, instead leaping and pulling himself out of the Bureau by the narrow doorframe. Almost immediately, he caught sight of Malik waiting for him atop an adjacent building, quite alone but evidently searching the rooftops for someone. He joined him swiftly, asking his questions with a rather baleful gaze for being left in the dark.

"I have a favor to ask, brother," Malik answered his unspoken inquiry hesitantly, catching the tinge of annoyance in Altair's eyes. "It… it is about Isam." The younger Assassin nearly sighed in exasperation, knowing of his brother's soft spot for the novices. He gestured for him to continue though, already guessing at the request that was coming.

"I wasn't able to oppose the rafiq's decision earlier, but I worry about his choice in sending him out at this time. He is only a boy, and though we crippled the enemy yesterday, that is no reason to believe that we are completely safe—"

"And you would have me go babysit," Altair stated evenly, his tone surprisingly calm despite his inner impatience. He let out a short breath, adjusting his pack as he thought this over. "You know I have orders, just as you do, Malik. I am not free to simply do as I please."

"I know that. But your commands are not as binding as mine," Malik retorted, a small grin showing over his short goatee. "You were ordered to leave for Masyaf today, though not at any particular time." The older Assassin surveyed Altair's notoriously blank expression, slyly gauging his next words as carefully as he would a counterattack in a sword duel. "Please, Altair, I am only asking you to check on him. I'm sure a self-proclaimed Master Assassin such as yourself would have no trouble doing that."

Altair knew Malik was getting desperate if he resorted to flattery like this, for once avoiding calling him a novice. (Though one could not really call it flattery given the stress he had put on the "self-proclaimed" portion.) Reluctantly, the Assassin gave, promising to find Isam before he left on his return journey and watch him just long enough for the initiate to pass through the dangerous ports unscathed.

Appeased, Malik pointed him in the appropriate direction quite unnecessarily; perhaps in an attempt to balance the compliments he had had to resort to earlier. Altair, muttering a bit under his breath at having caved so easily, ignored the childish treatment and stowed his bag securely in a sheltered window of the Bureau's dome before setting his pace for the eastern-middle district.

Rooftops slipped smoothly out from under him as he ran towards the docks, shading his eyes from the rising sun before him with the peak of his hood. The ocean glittered as a steel gray band ahead, just visible over the tall walls that enclosed the shipping ports. The rafiq had sent Isam there to check with a contact, a boat master who possible knew something about the group that they suspected was hiding their headquarters somewhere in that area. Altair honestly doubted there would be any danger to the novice, but he had promised Malik.

He leaped lightly down into the streets to join the crowd entering the busy dockside area, passing through the arched gate without incident. As he roamed the warehouses, searching for the young Assassin initiate, his heart nearly leaped into his throat when he felt arms latch onto the robes at his back. His short sword was drawn before he could think, he lashing backwards fiercely with the memory of his attack still fresh on his mind and pride. However, as he turned, he caught the acrid stench of wine and alcohol and realized, almost too late, that the one behind him was a mere drunkard, likely delirious from the bottle.

Altair stayed his blade just in time, the ragged man blinking rather stupidly at the sharp sword inches from his face. A few porters and passersby were staring, startled into stillness by the sudden show of aggression. Scowling in annoyance, both at the man and at his own high-strung nerves, the Assassin sheathed his weapon and roughly pushed past, having no respect for those who so willingly saturated themselves into half-madness.

The small encounter had drawn unwanted attention, so the Assassin bowed his head, shadowing his face from the crowd and walked swiftly away from the scene. He climbed to the rooftops as soon as he was able, alighting somewhere he could observe his surroundings unmolested. Allah, this was more trouble than it was worth.

Luckily, he managed to catch sight of Isam at this point, ready as he was to leave and simply lie to Malik later. Altair straightened and began to follow the novice from above, the young one's gray hood standing out like a beacon in the throng. He was unsure of what the extent of his supposed babysitting was, thus he simply checked the area, making sure no guard was watching Isam with undue attention, or that no one was tailing him.

As he did so, he was slightly surprised when he saw the novice pause, looking over his shoulder nervously as if he felt eyes on him. He had sensed Altair perhaps, but could not pinpoint him. The Assassin settled on his haunches on the edge of the roof, mildly impressed, not having expected one so young to be able to detect him. But, as he watched the initiate's growing agitation, he knew there was something else wrong.

Isam broke into a sudden run, fleeing from something Altair could not see. Was he trying to call attention on purpose? The Assassin thought, aghast, watching the novice almost slam into a patrol of Teutonic knights in his flight. Though he dodged in time, the damage had been done as one of the soldiers recognized the customary robes of the brotherhood. The familiar cry was raised, the single word enough to send innocents scattering and guards swarming in from all directions.

Shaking his head in disbelief, the white-hooded man above took wing after the fleeing novice, casting an eye over the chasing horde that only seemed to grow as they progressed. Isam followed his training well enough despite his previous error, dodging through the bystanders as he attempted to slip away from his pursuers. Altair simply watched, ready to intervene only if the boy was about to get himself killed. The novice was responsible for his own actions. He had brought this upon himself.

At this thought, the Assassin pondered Isam's strange behavior earlier. Why had he acted so suspiciously, practically setting off the alarm personally? Could it have been from the feeling of being watched by Altair, or had he recognized someone else as a threat?

This question had to remain unanswered for now as the Master Assassin watched Isam sufficiently corner himself in an alleyway between two high-windowed warehouses, the street sealed off at the opposite end by an imposing wall of crates. The novice skidded to a halt when he saw the blocked exit, changing directions awkwardly on his heel in an attempt to leave the enclosed area before the knights caught up. Altair bit back an exasperated sigh as Isam tripped, twisting his ankle in his panic, and hit the street in a cloud of dust.

The novice regained his footing with difficulty, ready to bolt again had not the enemy soldiers rounded the corner. He froze, backing away from the dozen or so guards, most of whom were bored from their rounds and eager for a little fun.

The Assassin stood above them, silent and unnoticed, tilting his head slightly as he measured the distance to the ground. It was a bit higher than he would have liked, but he felt a sudden appearance would frighten off some of the guards, guessing most were simply killing time. It would make it all the easier for him. Finally, still without a sound, Altair stepped calmly off the roof.

For many of the guards, their eyes fixed only on the cornered boy in front of them, it would be as if a ghost had appeared. The Master Assassin dropped straight down, landing lightly in a half crouch, neatly separating the guards from his younger brother. The first soldier was dead before he could focus on the white blur that had obscured his vision, dropping to the wooden dock with a noisy clatter and a scattering of red.

Someone cried out in shock and Altair stepped back, catching the impulsive swing of another guard as he attempted wildly to defend himself. He flicked his saber, turning away the other's sword, and plunged it into and through the black-crossed chest plate. Another body fell and blood began to soak into the planks below, darkening it. The Assassin stood his ground, red-stained blade before him and left arm held protectively out in front of Isam, an eagle hooding its wings over its brood.

A few soldiers fled, as he had expected, hastily turning a blind eye to the phantom that had appeared and killed two of their own, deciding to return to their posts where it was safe. Altair swept an eye over the five that remained, only three of whom looked truly angry enough to be of any threat. He began to back away from them, crowding Isam and forcing the novice towards the wall of crates.

"Leave these to me," he said brusquely, throwing a glance over his shoulder at the pale-faced boy. "Just stay still and keep out of my way." With that, he charged forward in a burst, startling the enemy as he leaped into their midst, slashing his saber in a threatening arc. He forced them back the way they had come, missing them narrowly enough to alarm them, encouraging them to run.

This would have continued had not one of the soldiers gotten close to him, dodging the saber strike and peering past the Assassin's hood, his eyes fixed upon his face as if out of curiosity. Altair looked towards him in confusion, feeling a chill foreboding mount as their gazes locked. He abruptly leapt away; hackles raised and eyes narrowing dangerously as he recognized the snake, the seventh man who had eluded him and Malik the previous day.

The air stilled with the tension, the alley quieting now with only five of them remaining, the other two soldiers having been frightened off by Altair's menacing strikes. The Assassin kept his distance, eying the enemy suspiciously, expecting another trap.

"I thought you said it would be the older Assassin who would be coming after you," the man said smoothly, startling Altair slightly. "What-?" he started, thoroughly confused, until a small voice behind him spoke up.

"I-I thought it would be," Isam said timidly, sounding much younger than his fifteen years. "After all, Malik was the one I was talking to last night. He seemed the one more likely to—"

"It doesn't matter, Isam," the soldier interrupted nonchalantly, waving a hand to silence him. "It should be just as interesting with this one, especially since he was the one who killed Farid last week."

The impact of the situation was only dawning on Altair now as he looked incredulously at the novice he had sought to protect. A traitor-! And so early in his life in the Brotherhood as well. His anger drained as cold indifference stole over him now, the boy shifting uncomfortably under the young Assassin's black glare. There was no bloodlust, no desire to kill him despite his utter disregard of the Creed. The novice was responsible for his own actions. He had brought this upon himself.

Altair instead turned his attention on the three enemies, disdainful now instead of wary. "You do not hesitate to turn brother against brother," he stated scornfully, puzzling the soldiers before him into a hush. "No respect, no honor. I will not be surprised if your faction collapses upon itself within the month."

A scowl passed over the face of the man in front, the seeming authority of the trio. He was quick to hide it though, forcing a grin that was all teeth. "Then perhaps you'd care to help us, Assassin," he said with false courtesy, extending a hand that Altair promptly surveyed for hidden weapons. However, he saw none as the soldier continued, "Please, I insist. I would like to show you our headquarters. Maybe then you would think otherwise."

"I'll have to decline," Altair said coldly, stiffly, already taking a step away from the group and sheathing his long sword. They would be easy to outrun, a small obstacle, nothing more. He ceased to see them as a threat now, mentally disregarding them as scarcely more than overly ambitious thugs who only managed to kill his brothers out of deceit and luck. Nothing he should concern himself with.

"But really," the voice that followed him as he turned to leave was silky, almost seductive. "I insist."

The sharp disturbance of air was expected by now, and Altair spun to face the man at the sound of the approaching needles, arm raised and ready to deflect the projectiles. However, he was thoroughly startled to see that none of the three men had moved, no needle in sight.

A split second later, fire seemed to flare across the small of his back, radiating in ripples from several solitary points.

Altair gasped, stumbling forward involuntarily. Almost instantaneously, he realized he couldn't breathe, his throat constricting as if a powerful hand gripped it. The subsequent dizziness staggered him and drove him to his knees, a hand to his tightening throat. Blackness threatened his vision, and in his faltering consciousness, he managed to turn to look for the source of the volley.

Isam was staring at him with wide, almost frightened eyes; shaking arm still outstretched from having thrown the needles. "I'm sorry, dai," he whispered, the wavering voice the last thing Altair could hear, his gray-clothed image the last he could see. Then came the darkness, and the eagle went still.