Author's Note: Two more chapters at the most after this one. Thank you to all of those who have stuck with this story thus far.
Assassin's Creed: Raptor's Bane
Chapter 8
The Assassin ran now, passing through the shadowed streets with barely a whisper of robes to mark his passing. He felt slightly off balance with all three of his weapons bound to his side and one arm unusable, compensating for them carefully, reminded himself to readjust his weapons later. The cold, dead air parted before him, still enough to alert him to approaching guards or late-night stragglers, clearly carrying the sound of shuffled footsteps as they drew near.
A few times Altair needed to duck into a side alley or sheltered doorway to dodge a passing patrol, unwilling to waste time in a fight and unable to flee if he needed to. He glanced longingly up at the edge of the rooftops during one such pause but made no attempt to climb. Only a fool ignored his own limitations.
There were stabs of worry for Acre's rafiq that interrupted his concentration as he wove his way towards the Bureau, frustrated by the winding path he needed to take to dodge buildings he would have easily flown over at another time. He pushed the hampering thoughts back, focusing instead on the dome that occasionally peered out at him between other, taller structures.
Malik would need his help, the Master Assassin reminded himself sternly. Especially if Isam was the only enemy they faced. He did not doubt his brother's skill, and indeed had received many the bruise or laceration from their sparring, but he was unsure if his friend would be able to raise a blade to the boy if it became necessary. To the elder Assassin who had not seen him side with the enemy, the novice was still an innocent.
At the foot of the Bureau, Altair stopped, standing stock-still and listening intently for signs of a struggle, a fight, but fear rose in his throat when he could hear nothing. At the pace he had gone, Malik had likely been within the sanctuary for at least ten minutes before. Had both he and the Keeper already been…?
Moving purely on adrenalin now, the Assassin sprinted around the corner and leapt for the ladder, using his good hand to drag himself up and ignoring his protesting left. The wooden rungs clattered noisily against the wall as he cleared the top unsteadily, panting and staring around the dimly lit rooftops for intruders. When again he caught nothing, he took the few steps to look down into the open courtyard, shifting into a cautious ready stance atop the carved Assassin's crest.
A small light flickered out through the wooden door standing ajar, etching an orange line across the still slightly ash-stained stones. He caught the barest of rustling now, the movement of a figure within the Bureau. Mouth flattened to a grim line, Altair drew his dagger and jumped lightly down onto the rim of the fountain, skipping from there to land just before the band of light.
Altair tightened his grip on his blade and bumped open the door to the inner rooms with his shoulder, narrowed eyes searching for signs of a threat. Malik looked up at him from behind the desk, hands full of papers and maps, more scattered across the rafiq's once clean desk. His eyes were stone-like and unreadable, and as soon as he recognized his brother, he turned his attention mutely back to his work, shifting through the documents.
The younger Assassin lowered his short sword and was about to ask what had happened until he glanced into the back corner of the room and his query was stilled. The rafiq was lying slumped against the low table at the back of the inner Bureau, face hidden by his curled arms and motionless. Altair took a step towards him but was stopped by his brother's sharp reprimand.
"Don't bother," Malik said tightly, the ruffling of paper getting louder in his agitation. "He's already dead."
Altair nodded quietly. With closer inspection, he noticed the rafiq's favored incense jar lying in pieces by his still body; its contents well doused with what he guessed was water from the fountain. Malik's doing no doubt. The smoldering ashes gave off the lightest scent of sour almonds and the Assassin drew away sharply, recognizing the betraying smell of cyanide. He felt sickened, knowing how well the Keeper had loved the smell of incense, the smoke that had now led him to his grave.
He distanced himself, opening the door of the Bureau to allow the night wind to clear any remaining wisps of poison. Altair leaned on the edge of the entranceway, glancing at his brother. "And Isam?"
"Long gone," Malik answered shortly, pausing in his movements as he finally found what he was searching for. He withdrew a sheaf of letters, the small rolls of paper bound together by cords. "I'm guessing he took the letter al Mualim sent here a few days ago, his reply to the rafiq's request for reinforcements. I don't know if the novice heard about the enemy leader's death, but he was probably acting on previous orders to help them ambush our brothers."
"So we are to stop them," Altair stated, his voice calm, but his gaze carefully averted from the body of their rafiq growing cold at the back of the room.
"No." The shuffling stopped as the other Assassin set the papers on the desk, hardened eyes fixed fiercely on his brother. "I am to stop them. You will stay here and watch the Bureau."
The Master Assassin hackled indignantly, approaching the desk with angry steps. "You are not above me in rank, brother," he said more harshly than he meant, already injured pride further bruised. "You cannot order me—"
"Your orders were to return to Masyaf," Malik interrupted vehemently, violently banging a hand against the wooden table between them and nearly overturning an inkwell. "You were commanded to return almost three days ago, yet here you are. Don't you think the Master had reason to order you so? How many more injuries do you need to receive before the realization gets through that stubborn head of yours? Right now, you are useless, Altair!"
The young Assassin recoiled as if stung, hurt flashing across his face like a startled bird. The next moment though, anger flared in its place and he lashed out without thinking, a punch flying towards Malik's face. Expecting the blow, his brother evaded easily, reaching out and catching hold of the passing fist by the leather gauntlet. Altair winced visibly as his forearm was twisted and forced down against the desk, further scattering the papers strewn across it.
"See? You are completely helpless like this," Malik said coldly, meeting Altair's infuriated gaze before releasing him, bluntly turning his back and moving instead to gather the documents he had searched through. "It would be more useful to have one of the fortress librarians accompany me."
"You speak as if these injuries are my fault," the wounded Assassin snapped, voicing a pain that he did not believe in. "If you had not made me tail that traitor of a novice, I would have been able to follow al Mualim's orders."
"Yes, of course you would blame me for that," Malik said, his voice highly sarcastic as he shoved scrolls and books back into their places on the shelf. "But the true reason you fell was because you were weak. Or are you blaming your carelessness and lack of skill on me too?"
Altair was silenced, disliking but sharply feeling the biting truth. The older Assassin pushed his advantage, speaking harshly into the quiet. "Honestly, to be beaten by a fifteen-year-old because you turned your back? Such a rookie mistake."
The two Assassins were quiet after this, Altair simply watching the other with subdued unrest visible in his eyes, still and tense as if for a battle, Malik doing quite the opposite and hiding his discomfort behind the flurry of sorting and organizing. The younger Assassin knew his brother well, the two of them having spent so many years together as initiates of the Brotherhood, but this personal attack, this rubbing of salt into open wounds was starkly unlike him.
A sudden comprehension struck him and Altair slowly relaxed his stance, dark gaze softening somewhat. He spoke quietly, "You do not need to protect me, Malik."
The elder of the pair paused, the edge of his hood concealing his face. "No?" His voice was strained now, the once heated disdain rigid. "You could have died in that warehouse, Altair, if not by the enemy's torment, then by your own hand. Not only that, this is the fifth brother they've taken from us in a month. The fifth. Only the Templars have ever done so much damage in so short a time." The last book was thrown into its shelf with a decisive thump and Malik's scornful tone rose. "This enemy cannot be taken lightly, so you'll excuse me if I'm a little concerned."
Altair tilted his head slightly, surveying Malik with a steady gaze. "Then I will stay."
The other Assassin seemed a bit startled, likely having expected his younger brother to fight tooth and nail for the chance to go out and face the enemy. He shook his head, allowing himself a small smirk as he slipped out from behind the desk. "Maybe you have a little more sense than I give you credit for," he said evenly, patting Altair's shoulder approvingly as he passed.
"When will our comrades reach Acre?" Altair asked, settling himself on a chair by the rafiq's desk and resigning himself to the inactivity.
Malik paused a minute, recalling the letter the rafiq had shown him sometime during the week Altair had been recovering from the arsenic poisoning. "Before first light tomorrow," he said finally. "I will go to meet them and try to scout out the ambush the last of those snakes are planning. Once we return, we'll need to relocate the Bureau as soon as possible—this area is no longer safe."
"I will gather the rafiq's archive and possessions, then," Altair said with a short nod, casting an eye over the considerable amount of supplies and manuscripts that filled the safe house. He glanced over at Malik as the other prepared to leave, admittedly a bit sore to be left behind. The passive duties of a Keeper would never suit him. "Safety and peace, brother."
"And to you. Guard yourself well, Altair, the enemy may yet return to ransack the Bureau." Malik raised a hand in farewell and disappeared out the door, his light footfalls fading into the peaking night.
The Assassin sat, listening to his brother leave, but was only still for a few moments until his impatient eagle spurred him into movement again. First, he turned towards the back of the inner room and gently lifted the rafiq's body as best he could with one arm, laying it out on one of the rich Persian rugs before covering it with a spare blanket. As he busied himself packing away the neatly shelved scrolls, Altair found that the menial work freed his mind to wandering thoughts, allowing him to touch on the various past events with more concentration than he had previously had time for.
He worked exceptionally fast; deciding that he somewhat liked the trivial labor, and had settled most of the Bureau's contents into crates before the night was out. As he finished though, he realized a bit belatedly that he had been pushing himself, still slightly stung by Malik's accusation of his uselessness. His body protested, hampering him for rest, but he was determined to finish before he allowed himself to sleep. Elsewhere, his brothers were fighting the enemy. This was the least he could do.
He tossed the final rolled map atop the neat stack within one of the many open crates lined against the wall by the door, reassuring himself that he had not forgotten anything by sweeping the room with a tired gaze. Altair at last allowed himself to relax, letting his senses dull momentarily. He had been guarded throughout the whole endeavor of packing, listening carefully for hostile approach, but not so much as a stray Teutonic archer had drawn near the entrance. Quietly, he admitted that he was exhausted.
The Assassin climbed behind the desk, leaning his back against the wall adjacent to the doorway and carefully removing the weapons at his belt. He laid his hidden blade and saber in the now empty shelves by his side, leaving only the dagger with him. Somewhat bitterly, he realized that it was the only one he could properly wield if ever a situation arose.
Sliding against the cool stone, Altair sat comfortably on the rug at his feet and leaned his bared short sword across his knees, closing his eyes for much needed rest. He drifted almost immediately, but after all the disastrous results of his previously dropped guard, his eagle perched ever dormant, head under a wing but golden eyes only half-lidded.
The Bureau remained still and silent, the night only interrupted briefly by a slight pervading dimness as the candle Malik had lit guttered and died, the flame drowning in the pool of melted wax. Not long after this, sunlight began to slip in underneath the closed door and outside, someone landed in the courtyard with a quiet thud.
Awareness returned to him within a few seconds, the Assassin's grip already tightening on the hilt of his short blade. He remained motionless, dark eyes still closed as he followed the intruder's movements by sound. A tentative hand was pressed to the wood of the unbarred door, nudging it experimentally to allow a gap wide enough to peer through. Upon deeming it safe, the single figure entered the Bureau.
Altair's eyes flared open and he was on his feet in a smooth flash of white, whirling to the left and viciously kicking the trespasser back out of the inner rooms. His boot connected solidly with leather armor and the other hit the courtyard stones on his back with a soft cry. The Assassin followed the slight body, standing imposingly over the fallen one with his curved dagger leveled to his face.
Isam stared up at him in hardly concealed shock. His wide eyes passed momentarily over the dark shadowed bruise on the side of Altair's coldly livid face before looking around the outer room rather jerkily, a cornered mouse searching for escape under an eagle's talons. "D-Don't kill me, brother," he said feebly, one hand raised as if to ward off the blade over his head.
However, Altair's dangerously slitted eyes were focused on the novice's other hand, the one currently groping at his belt for a weapon. He sidestepped swiftly, the single, desperately thrown needle grazing the edge of his hood as it passed. Rather heartlessly, he stepped on Isam's sword arm, pinning it to the floor with a boot. "Do not call me brother," he said harshly, seemingly unconcerned as the boy cringed under him. "How could you betray the Brotherhood? Raise a hand against the rafiq who would have done anything to protect you from harm?"
"They would have killed me," Isam cried, almost angrily, twisting away to avoid the Assassin's burning glare. "And I am not responsible for his death, not truly. It was the poison that—"
"Poison is only as deadly as the hand that wields it, no different from a blade," Altair responded sharply. "Trying to absolve yourself of the guilt is even more cowardly than striking at your protector's back."
The white-robed man paused, looking down at the boy as he pondered what to do with him. "Tell me, where have those new friends of yours gone? Are they still planning on ambushing the convoy arriving from Masyaf?"
"I-I don't know!" Isam snapped back, thrashing almost wildly now to get out from under Altair's grip. The Assassin stepped away, letting him up, assured that he would be able to catch him again if he tried to run. "You were with them for a moment, weren't you, dai?" the novice continued, retreating back a few steps. "You met Ra'id? If you had given them a chance, you would have seen that their intentions weren't as evil as you think them to be!"
"I honestly don't care what their intentions were," Altair cut in darkly, pacing a little and backing Isam up against the broken fountain. "But they spilled the blood of brothers and the Master's orders were to rid the world of them. What more reason could you need to kill?"
"You're blind," the boy said quietly, unable to meet Altair's eyes as he accused him. "All the Assassins are. Ra'id was right; we follow al Mualim too mindlessly, too naively. Our deeds are no different from King Richard's and Salah ad-Din's, we deserve death as much as they do—"
"You are mistaking blindness with trust, boy," the Assassin said calmly, tired of listening to the brainwashed claims. "I am not interested in what those snakes have poisoned your mind with. Just tell me, are they arranging an ambush or not? Speak, Isam, and maybe al Mualim will be a little more lenient with your punishment."
Isam glanced at the blade Altair had lowered to his side, most of his expression shrouded by his gray hood. "The group will do nothing," he whispered, his voice faltering. "Their "ambush" on the roads outside Acre is nothing more than a decoy, a way to make the convoy from Masyaf drop their guards. I heard them, not a few hours ago. The knights Templar will be the ones to finish the job."