Chapter Seventeen: Wraiths

"That seems inconvenient," Malik said when he felt the tension between Altair and Ahmed grew. Altair was just that kind of man – the kind who hates the messenger and the message, as well. But even feeling the anger that emanated from him, he did not look one bit preoccupied.

"It isn't," Altair said at the exact same time Ahmed said the opposite statement. "It is."

"Okay, I see where this is going," Malik intervened when he felt the friction between both men growing. "You came here to boast that you knew something Altair didn't know. And you want to take credit for the hunting of these Knights. It's understandable, but next time, don't come and tell the man you are trying to surpass that you are trying to surpass him – especially if that man is Altair. I am sorry, Ahmed, but I cannot stop him from going after the Knights, as well."

"But - ," He spoke, though Malik's words stopped his again.

"But, since you are so eager and he is so impatient. Then I suggest we have a small competition."

"A competition?" Amira asked, baffled by his choice.

"You want to prove yourself better than him so badly, so tell me a better way to do that. You can start at sunrise tomorrow." With those words, he turned his back to the men behind him and walked to his counter. "I am to tell Al Mualim that you will be late Altair, due to unforeseen circumstances. Now, I believe you should catch some rest, Ahmed. Oh, and please, tell the healer to come by as soon as possible." His words may have little to no authority in Altair's head, but for the other members of Jerusalem's Bureau, his words were their command. Reluctantly, he started walking away, still tugging Amira away with him.

"The girl is not going with you," Altair said, taking her other hand and pulling, strong enough to make him stop. Ahmed glared at him, looking angry for the first time during their conversation. Slowly, he let go of her grip, and after giving her one last look he left the bureau.

I wonder why every man seems to be so fixated on this woman, Malik thought as he scribbled the letter to their Master. To him the pretty girl everyone saw was nonexistent. There were many flaws to her that beauty could never redeem – her death wish, for once. Yet it seemed that his young assassin had taken a liking for her physical shell, which he made quite obvious with the last look he offered to her. Though, what disappointed him the most was not a young assassin feeling attracted to a faulty woman, but rather, that one of their greatest might find himself in that position, as well.

Even though Altair was not the kind of person to care much about anything other than his duty and his pride, he was only a man. A man who has shown, in his past endeavors, that he is fully capable of feeling attached to a member of the opposite sex. Of course, from what he's heard, Adha was a much finer specimen. He stared at them both, who seemed to be arguing yet again. And here I was thinking that only I could get to his nerves so often.

They heard the rough landing of the man who they assumed would be the healer he had called for, and they immediately stopped arguing. Amira sighed and walked outside, probably angered by something Altair said again. Malik stared at him, entertained. As much as he would hate seeing someone as skilled as Altair getting too attached to Amira, he found his whole mannerisms around her incredibly entertaining.

"What?" Altair asked him, annoyed. He must be raging due to the small turn of events. Though, he really should not be bothered by them. He knew that he could beat the young man with ease and having his trip delayed for one more day was not something he should dread so much.

"It's nothing," he said, going back to his letter. The healer made his way inside with a grin; he must've enjoyed the sight of the very exposed girl outside, as well. Without looking up, Malik instructed him to take Altair to the storage room and treat his wounds. Altair followed, though he had not been ordered to, which help to confirm Malik's suspicions that his wounds were not just superficial lacerations.

Amira crept in after Altair was gone, trying to be as quiet as she can. Her face seemed different than it did moments ago. The amused look on her face was gone and instead was replaced by sincere preoccupation.

"I know it's against your rules," she said to Malik. If you know, then don't even bother asking.
"I don't want to depend on him to rescue me. I want to know how to fix my own mess." She stated after what he assumed was a careful choice of words. "I think I've played damsel in distress long enough, I –,"

"I am not going to teach you to be an assassin."

"I don't want you to teach me how to be one of you. I don't think I am strong enough to use a sword properly. I just…" she paused for a while and stared at the place outside. "No, never mind, I'm sorry for asking."

"So, you can use a bow and arrow?" He asked as she was leaving. She turned around and with a soft smile, nodded.

"I am not really good, I am sure my stance is terrible, but I can at least make the arrow go where I want it to go." He sighed and dropped his quill yet again. He walked to one of the shelves that stood behind him. He may think of her as a selfish and naïve little girl but there were few moments where she seemed more mature than she was. It was those displays of growth that made him want to help her – just like it would've inspired him to help anybody else. It would take much more than a little backbone to make him respect the broad, but for the time being, he would see it as an improvement.

"Here," he handed her a brown coated book, with a faint smile on his face, "you can read, right?" She nodded, probably surprised by his little present. "You'll find information on what you want to know."

"Thank you," she said with a vibrant smile leaving Malik slightly confused.

"If you get this happy about a book, I can't imagine what you are like with jewelry." Malik said, capturing bits of her good mood.

"Have you noticed that this Ahmed looks quite a lot like my brother?" she asked him, disregarding his comment. The question did not catch him off guard, for even he had noticed the similarities between both men.

"I know what you are thinking, but your brother is dead." He said coldly.

"I know that," her voice really was misleading. It changed from happy to sad in less than a second. Her entire being was that way too – it almost seemed like her mood depended on those who were around her. "But he really does look a lot like him. Anyways, I am going to go read this. Thank you."

"Very well," he muttered and continued writing the letter. He needed to stop distracting himself and she was quite the distraction. He lifted his sight to see her sitting comfortable against a wall, under the shade that the ivy plagued rooftop offered, she was finally happy and quiet.

***

"Where did you get such a nasty wound, eh?" The healer asked Altair as he was closing the wound. Though Amira had tried to treat it, her work was as sloppy as it would've been expected. "You are lucky you people wear that armor around your waist, or you would've surely perished." He patted him on the shoulder and walked outside, letting him know that he was done with his job. Altair heard him walk away and sat up even though he was advised to remain lying down. He was feeling slightly relieved, for his departure was right around the corner. If only stupid Ahmed hadn't intervened, I would've been gone by now.

Malik walked in as he was getting up to his feet, trying not to overdo the stitches on his abdomen. He looked at the bloodied up bandages and sighed, probably noticing for the first time just how nasty the wounds were. Yet, he did not find himself as being lucky; his pride had been walked on the day he lost to the lieutenant.

"I am surprised you did not object to the little game, Altair." Malik said to him when he got himself on his two feet.

"He has always been an obnoxious man, it would be a good way to prove him I am better than him." Altair replied, trying to get away from the place – he was in no mood to strike a conversation with anybody.

"Have you ever really wondered why she must be so important?" Malik whispered, only loud enough for him to hear. He turned around and looked at him.

"I have, many times," Altair answered honestly, "though I am afraid I have not reached a conclusion." Malik sighed and started walking away. "When you find out, let me know." He said before leaving. Night was soon to creep in and he had to go join Amira and sleep. When he got to her, he found her sleeping on the floor clinging tightly to a brown book. She must've been tired, he figured and pushed the book away from her hand. He picked her up and carried her to where the cushions and rugs were placed. It wouldn't be chivalrous of him to let her sleep on the cold floor again - though of course, his side of the bed was much more comfortable than hers.

He started taking off his weapons, as he had done the night before, and was placing them next to where he was meant to sleep. The weightlessness that the absence of his weapons gave him, was more burdensome than it was relieving. For a man like him, who was both the predator and the prey, being unarmed was a feeling of vulnerability that was hard to adjust to. But, when sleep calls, he must push those thoughts asides and focus only on resting. He had had quite the rough day and what awaited him tomorrow was probably going to be bothersome as well.

He closed his eyes and enjoyed the cold breeze that was starting to creep in. His thick robes kept him warm, but the stubborn female next to him had chosen not to wear anything thick again. He could feel her shivering slightly, as the temperature decreased. Frustrated, he got up and fetched the clothes she'd taken off when they arrived. He was not going to dress her, she did not deserve such treatment, but, he figured, they might serve as a good blanket. He placed the clothes on her body carefully, making sure he did not wake her up. His fingers came in contact with his skin as he did so. Her skin was very soft, as was to be expected from someone who had been raised in a wealthy family, and very cold.

This woman never learns, he told himself when he saw a small trickle of blood on her right shoulder. She had somehow managed to injure herself in the moments that she had been left alone. He sighed and moved his hands to clean the droplets of blood. But, as his hands met the crimson liquid something he'd never foreseen occurred. Images of countless moments and events started flashing in and out his head. They were chaotic and disorganized most of them making no sense whatsoever. Though, there were some that he understand and unfortunately, they all involved something tragic. The wild imagery only lasted a total amount of ten seconds, though to him the time was much longer. When they finally stopped, he fell backwards on to the floor. His eyes were wide with incredulity and his mind filled with questions.

What in the world just happened?