Chapter Three: Things From The Deep
A/N: Just because I managed to update somewhat-on-time means absolutely nothing for my schedule. I don't have one of those.
Also, relaxed-pace chapter warning. It's mostly for establishing Chekhov's Guns. Can you spot them all?
And thank you to (almost) everyone who reviewed!
Edit (2/25/10): Serious Author's Note at the bottom.
Altaïr could see the entire group's relief as they began to pull away from the Calimport docks. Ash leaned his heavy head on the white-clad assassin's knee as he sat down on the deck, trying to think. One frenzied escape from a hostile city down, only an unknown number more to go. He sighed.
Oceanus was already off talking with the woman from before—here Altaïr scratched Ash's rough fur to distract himself. It was not his fault that the woman had been not only beautiful, but wearing even less than the Companions in the mountain stronghold of Masyaf. It was embarrassing.
He could hear them chattering away in an undertone—everyone on deck could—but he couldn't understand what they said. Their language was apparently incomprehensible to everyone, even the priests who stood around staring at them as the conversation grew more heated. Finally, with one last short collection of sharp syllables, Oceanus stomped off into the darkness of the hold.
Lady Zahara laughed, waving off the group's concern and given them all a quick bow. She promptly disappeared, heading apparently toward the captain's cabin, still giggling and trailing a small group of male followers. Altaïr snorted.
Ash yawned and decided to place his head on Altaïr's boot, pinning his foot to the wooden deck. Altaïr rubbed the beast's big ears between his thumb and forefinger, making him roll over and wiggle on the deck. He shook his head, leaning back against the railing, and allowed Ash to lay his head on his leg, though he knew he probably would lose feeling in that limb within a few minutes.
"Kalib! Doggie!" The assassin jerked, looking up instantly to see a little girl running directly at him. Or, if that comment and Ash's immediate response were anything to reckon by, running at Ash. The beast sat up, allowing the girl to tackle him and grip his thick neck in her little hands.
Altaïr watched curiously as the little girl giggled while Ash licked her face with his tongue. "Doggie! Stop!"
Ash did stop – he rubbed his face against hers, instead. Altaïr noticed that he avoided putting any weight on the girl whatsoever, which seemed rather significant considering he still couldn't feel his right foot.
"Is he yours?" the little girl asked.
The assassin shook his head, avoiding meeting her eyes. He had never been fully comfortable around children, even when he had been one. There always seemed to be a massive disconnect between those children born into the Brotherhood and the others that lived in Masyaf.
"Then whose?" she asked, frowning. "Big doggies like this always have rich owners." Oddly enough, it didn't sound like a complaint, just a statement of fact. Rich men tended to own large guard dogs, having the money to feed them.
That brought up a different question. Who exactly was the little priest? Unlike Lady Zahara, there was no outward display of wealth. He wore no jewelry or fine clothing, though Altaïr did notice that his were, while plain, well-made. As far as he could tell, other than the mace and armor, the man was just a normal priest. Well, except for his young age. Altaïr honestly could not tell how old Oceanus was, except "younger than I am." The fact that he looked and sounded like a woman complicated things.
"His name is Ash," the assassin offered, trying to take the customary harshness out of his voice. He was falling back into bad habits. "The priest owns him."
"Which one?" she asked.
"The little one," Altaïr said, "with green eyes." It occurred to him that she might have never seen Oceanus before. "The one who looks and sounds like a woman, and dresses like a thief."
That seemed to spark a memory. "I know him! But…he is always mad when I see him. When Abbi tries to tell him about things."
Altaïr had no answer for that.
"We have to go away from home now." She seemed to be talking to the dog again. Good. "Ummi says Calimport is not safe. Why?"
"Where are they now?" Altaïr asked, feeling his stomach turn. Oh, not again. He had been sure that he would be able to stand it. Stupid seasickness. He closed his eyes.
"Abbi and Ummi are below," she said. He heard Ash move around, and cracked open an eyelid. Ash had decided to flop down on the deck, his back against Altaïr's leg, and the little girl had buried herself in his fur. Altaïr sighed inwardly. "It is too hot down there."
Altaïr said nothing.
"Do you have a story?" she asked, her voice muffled by Ash's thick white fur.
"A story? No."
"Everyone has stories," she insisted, though it was partially cut off by a yawn.
Well, he did, he just wasn't sure why anyone would ever want to hear them. Stories of blood and death were practically all that composed his personal history. There was a reason he had become a Master Assassin before the age of twenty-five, after all.
But…most of the Brotherhood, particularly the rafiqs and especially Malik, were the nearest thing to cultural experts. He could even remember Malik telling a long and involved story to his younger brother Kadar, back when they had all still been novices.
Before Kadar had died, killed by Altaïr's own recklessness and arrogance.
Pushing the memory away, Altaïr thought. Then, after a moment or two, he found one. It was a slightly foggy recollection, since he had been nearly asleep at the time and Malik had been trying to read aloud with no one listening, but Altaïr knew it by heart at this point, having heard a thousand versions since.
He began as he was sure these stories always went. This would be a very long one, if he started from the very beginning. "Once upon a time, there was a great Persian king…"
It was hard to believe that, barring any accidents, the Rusty Iron Maiden was already halfway to Memnon. For Zahara, though, who had made the journey dozens of times before, there was nothing to say about this one other than that they hadn't been attacked by pirates yet. She did enjoy the stiff breeze coming over the waves, though, and she leaned forward on the railing to enjoy it. Yes, life was good.
Still, there were things to discuss with the new passengers. Usually the Rusty Iron Maiden only accepted extra people if they could fight, so twenty useless boarders would bother the crew, or at least would once the glitter of bribe money wore off. Then she'd have to bully the ex-brigands into doing the work, or else have Oceanus pay them again. While she didn't usually reject the idea of making someone else have to spend money, Zahara knew that the little green-eyed priest had an abominable temper.
But there were other things to discuss before she threw that in his face.
She turned to him and said conversationally, "So, where did you get your friend? From my understanding, he fell from the sky." Which seemed valid – it had, after all, been one of the Ilmatari who had told her that, and they tended to be trustworthy, if rather dull and unimaginative.
Oceanus shrugged. "Actually, it was from a spell-made hole. I assumed it was a wizard's door."
"And it was not." It never was something simple, because that would have been normal. Oceanus never dealt with normal, because he was not. Zahara herself was not normal. She relished it, while her fellow oddities seldom did. She sometimes wondered about that. Besides, they had had this conversation last night, too.
"No, it was not," he grumbled.
She smiled, turning her head away so he couldn't see it. "I imagine that must be frustrating. Do you think he comes from another world?" Everyone who was anyone had heard of other planes of existence – the Abyss, the Nine Hells, the Feywilds, the Outlands…it was really only a question of which one.
"Compared to just being an ignorant fool? No." Oceanus almost snapped. He knew better than that. He also knew he was getting away with it only because Zahara liked him.
Interesting. She had heard a defensive edge there, like he was trying to assure himself he was right. She faced him again, this time quite serious. "What has he told you?"
"Not much," her smaller companion admitted. "It is more that he does not recognize things. I had to explain to him what a healing potion was, and which city is the capital of Calimshan. Little things – everything could be explained by him being a foreigner."
"But he speaks Old Calishite more completely than you do." Zahara pointed out mildly. "And his name is unique, mostly. Much like many Calishites, he uses a patronymic and not a family name, but I have yet to hear of any Altaïr ibn La-Ahad before now. Even foreign-born assassins tend to have reputations."
"I have no reason to believe he is telling the truth." Oceanus said, crossing his arms.
"Stubborn," remarked Zahara, though without much heat. "And the item?"
"He has it." Oceanus replied. "And I have no idea what it is."
Zahara gave him a look best described as puzzled. Broadly. "It should not be a threat to anyone unless it is sentient like Crenishinobon. But it might be. I am not sure."
At the mention of the Crystal Shard, the evil artifact that had nearly destroyed the far northern regions twice in the last ten years, Oceanus frowned. He knew that people had an odd tendency to pick up things that could spell the end of the world, and Zahara knew he knew it. He wouldn't be stupid here.
"I find it hard to believe you have spent ten years on the high seas." Oceanus said, and Zahara recognized it as a poor attempt to change the subject.
She would allow it, though. "Oh, it was easy. At least, ten years in the desert would have been no harder, and I was born among those dunes we see there." She pointed at the yellowish-gray coast barely visible among the waves. They had decided to sail within sight of land for the most part, mostly for navigation purposes. Eventually, Oceanus just nodded.
"In any case, I think you should visit a place I know." Zahara said, pointedly ignoring Oceanus's non-response.
"Where?" Oceanus asked, though he seemed to be asking mostly out of whatever politeness he had left.
"Glad you asked!" Zahara had never let a thing like a lack of audience enthusiasm stop her. "It is a small place over the Snowflake Mountains! But the priest there is supposedly the Chosen of Deneir, so it is not as if you could make anything worse by seeking out his advice."
Oceanus made a face. "Deneir? As in, the one who works with Gond?"
"The very same," she told him. "But I would not worry. Deneir is a god of book knowledge, not making things explode."
"Why am I even going?" Oceanus demanded.
Zahara gave him a sharp look. "You are going to go see Cadderly Bonaduce because your friend needs to see him. Whether you agree with me or not, you can see as well as I can that things are going wrong. Altaïr is lost, and even the oldest among us would not be able to help. Take him to see Deneir and his priest, and maybe it will end well."
Oceanus remained silent for a moment after her scolding. "How do you even know he is from another world? How can you be sure?" His voice was incredulous, of course. It was a wonder the little priest had ever been a child, with an attitude like that. Especially given that their world was one of miracles.
Zahara's blue-green eyes narrowed. "One thing you learn at my age is that nothing is impossible. Less than four years ago, every god in the world was rendered mortal for three weeks and roamed the earth during the Time of Troubles. Thousands of years ago, the world was very nearly destroyed when a Netherese wizard tried to take the Weave from the goddess of magic, killing her and marking the end of the most powerful human civilization ever. And now, a Piece of Eden—the Apple of Eden, if I remember correctly—is now in Faerûn again."
She caught Oceanus's look of utter incomprehension. "Read more. It helps your mind." She decided not to mention that she had only come across the information in one of the deepest vaults of the Mulhorandi capital city, and by accident. It had taken a conversation with the city's high priest of Horus-Re before she had been sure the artifact was real. It would only annoy her companion and send him into a rant.
"It is an old Mulhorandi legend. They have a story from even before their gods brought them here thousands of years ago, and since they hardly remember that, it pays to pay attention to any cultural memory that lasts that long." Zahara held out a hand, and a shimmering golden orb appeared in it. Just an illusion, though Oceanus waved a hand through it to make sure. "There was an old race who crafted these items in a world without magic. They fought the Mulhorandi's ancestors for control of the world, and lost."
"The Pieces of Eden are very dangerous artifacts. There are legends that the Apple of Eden can -- what was the word? Oh, "hold a man bewitched." Something wrong?" She smiled at him, faintly disappointed that he knew so little. Zahara sighed. With his upbringing it was not terribly surprising, she supposed, that he was not an avid reader much like his father had been.
Oceanus shook himself. "Can it be used by anyone?" he asked.
"Perhaps. There are no records that the wielders of the item were anything special," Zahara replied. "The item seems to remain powerful no matter what."
"Oh, wonderful." Oceanus grumbled. "Are we to destroy it, then?"
"I doubt it. If your friend keeps it so close by that I have not even seen it, he most likely understands what it is." She flexed the fingers of one ring-laden brown hand. "Though I would ask him, if I were you. He has only you to depend on. Therefore, you will be the one to convince him to take that thing back where it came from. Besides, if the Mulhorandi texts are correct, that artifact is the key to many things in the world it comes from. It is the stuff religions are made from over there."
Oceanus gave her a look she remembered only because she had often worn it herself while telling her daughter why some thing was or was not allowed. She could hardly remember the last time it had been directed at her, though. "He does not trust me, and I have given him no reason to. What about you?"
She laughed. "I have done even less to gain his trust! Did you see how he reacted when he saw me? I offend his delicate sensibilities – aside from me, do you know of a single woman in any city who dresses as I do?"
Oceanus looked her up and down, seeming unimpressed. Zahara knew better. She wore very revealing clothing that left little to the imagination and enough jewelry to count as a dowry anywhere else, and – coupled with her buxom figure and playful nature – it made it very, very easy to offend the natives of any society she had ever been in. But because of her immense personal power as a combat sorceress, not one person had dared speak out. "I see your point."
"Exactly. So, you will take him to see the Chosen of Deneir?" She leaned back while hanging onto the railing, bracing her slipper-shod feet against the deck.
Oceanus sighed into the wind. "You say that as if I have a choice."
Altaïr heard Oceanus approach, but was not at all in a mood to acknowledge his presence. He was already facing two of the things he hated most in life that hadn't actually, actively tried to kill him: death by drowning or, less seriously, seasickness. He leaned heavily against the railing near the middle of the ship, his eyes shut.
"Altaïr?" Oceanus asked, and Altaïr leapt on something—anything—to focus on other than his unstable stomach.
Still, his answer came out in a growl. "Yes?"
"Once we enter port in Memnon," he began, and then stopped. He knelt in front of Altaïr and waved a gloved hand in front of his face. "Are you ill?"
"Yes," the assassin snapped. "And if you think that is helping, you are sorely mistaken."
"I was only asking." Oceanus said, and when Altaïr opened his eyes again Oceanus was sitting down next to him, with his back against one of the boards that held the railing. "You have never been out to sea before, have you?"
"Briefly." Altaïr muttered. He groaned and ran a hand over his eyes. "Sibrand's ship never made it out of port before I got to him. Getting back to the docks was not much easier." But even if he hated ships, it was better than the one time he had failed to reach the water in time…
"I understand, I think." Oceanus said quietly. "Not fully—I have only killed a few times in self-defense—but I can imagine trying to pursue a target through such a district. Just playing among the docks was challenge enough when I was smaller."
Altaïr smirked under his hood. "I cannot imagine you any smaller than you are."
Oceanus glared at him. "I should throw you overboard."
"You mean to ask someone to throw me overboard." Altaïr corrected. He couldn't help it. It was like talking to Malik again, but with the roles reversed. Oceanus's temper was shorter than his had ever been.
"No, I meant throw you over the railing personally." Oceanus shook himself immediately after the sentence slipped out. A crewmember passed by, grumbling to himself, and seemed to be heading over to speak with Zahara. Altaïr glanced up and tried to focus on the groups of other passengers, then gave up. "That was not what I meant to discuss with you, at any rate."
"Then what is it?" he asked, starting to let his thoughts drift. Wait, no, bad idea. His stomach turned over and he groaned, pressing his forehead to the back of his bracers.
Oceanus said nothing for a moment. Then, Altaïr felt something being pressed into his open palm and heard the priest say, "Take this."
Altaïr looked at it. It was a little brown cloth pouch. Carefully, he untied the string and tipped the contents out into his left hand. They were small, yellow slices of something covered in fine golden-brown powder.
"What is this?" Altair asked, holding up one piece to inspect. It smelled sharp and spicy, though he had no idea what it was.
"Candied ginger." Oceanus told him. "I bought some a while ago as a cure for seasickness for a friend of mine, a long way from here. Possibly as far east as Shou Long—I was not very good at navigating at the time."
The white-robed assassin gave him a curious look. "What exactly is 'ginger'?"
Oceanus gave him a blank look. "What, you have never heard of it? It is an edible root, much like a potato, but used as a spice."
"I have no idea what a potato is, either." Altaïr said sharply, losing patience. Then he stopped. "Wait, ginger is zanjabîl." Even if he understood two languages, that didn't mean he didn't trip up occasionally. It rarely embarrassed him, though. "This must have been very expensive."
"It was not – we bought it in the main market. If I had kept it any longer before candying it, it would have sprouted again." Oceanus tilted his head to one side for a moment, eyes narrowed, and then blew out a frustrated breath. "I am starting to believe her… Just eat it. Then you will be able to walk without holding on to the railing."
Altaïr stared after the priest as he reached into a thigh pouch and pulled out a large roll of parchment and flattened it out on the deck. The assassin in white sighed and swallowed the ginger, hardly chewing, as Oceanus weighed down each corner of the map with four knives he seemed to produce from nowhere. Altaïr sat down with his back braced against the wood as Oceanus mumbled to himself, marking on the map with a bit of charcoal.
"What is that?" Altaïr asked, leaning forward slowly to avoid upsetting his stomach further.
Oceanus glanced at him distractedly. "This is a map of Faerûn." He pointed to a small black dot on the edge of an inland bay. "This is Calimport. We are going here—," and here he pointed to a slightly smaller dot further north that sat opposite the first, across a large desert, "—to Memnon, and Lady Zahara has ordered me to take you here." Finally, his finger came down on a spot approximately a fourth of the way across the map from Memnon, across two ink mountain ranges and what the map's scale implied was more than a month's trek. "This is the rough location of Spirit Soaring."
"Why?" That question meant more than what was said. Why did she want him to go there? Why did she want Oceanus to take him there? What was it? Why was Oceanus even listening to her—he certainly had not so much as paused so far if someone had tried to make him do anything against his will. Why did it matter?
Oceanus actually looked him in the eyes this time. "That item you carry—the artifact. She thinks that it might be the key to something important."
Immediately Altaïr stiffened. How did she know? The priest went on, "It has a reputation here. Zahara has told me to send you home, and she says that the Chosen of Deneir, Cadderly Bonaduce, is the most reliable option." He gave a low, humorless laugh. "Personally, I doubt it, but this will not be the time I disobey my elders."
Altaïr's eyes narrowed. Alarm bells were going off in his head.
"I do not expect that you will believe that I want to do this out of the goodness of my heart." Oceanus went on quietly. "If it makes more sense, Zahara is not the sort of person to argue with. She believes, due to things she has read, that you come from nowhere on Faerûn, or anywhere on Toril."
Altaïr said nothing, but only because he was at a loss as for something to say. He knew he was from Masyaf, in Syria. He knew he had traveled to cities like Damascus and Jerusalem many times before. He also knew that he was very, very far from home when no one in this place had even heard of either. But… another world?
"So, in short, I believe you." Oceanus said, if grudgingly. "If you have a desire to return home, I will see that I do my best to get you there."
Altaïr was not convinced. "You were not so quick to believe me before."
"Zahara is very convincing." Oceanus grumbled. "And if I had protested any more than I did, she probably would have strangled me for being disrespectful."
Altaïr stared at him. "Her?"
"Yes. Despite her appearances, she is powerful enough to kill you, me, and everyone else on this ship, sink it, and then make it back to shore unscathed." Oceanus said, deadpan. "And because she thinks the artifact you hold—the Piece of Eden—is the key to getting you back home, she has ordered me to take you to see Cadderly Bonaduce so that he may figure out the actual method to do so."
"It sounds rather unbelievable." Altaïr muttered as his stomach began to settle.
"It is." Oceanus said with equal annoyance. "I should never have accepted this mission in the first place."
Altaïr declined to respond and just sighed.
Sometime later, Altaïr was leaning on the railing as Oceanus seemed to be attempting to fish for something to eat. Not that Altaïr actually had a problem with salted beef and day-old bread (having lived on worse), but the priest apparently did and it was at least interesting to watch. He had apparently somehow found a length of wood no one had been using and, tying a ridiculous length of wire to it, had managed to make what Altaïr would call a very, very rough fishing pole. It looked stupid, but he wasn't about to say anything along those lines to the priest.
"I suppose most people use nets where you come from." Oceanus said as he sat back, after tying the rod to the railing. "It works for shallow water, but not out here."
Altaïr rolled his eyes. "I guessed as much. What do you plan to catch?"
Oceanus shrugged. "It does not matter much. I can eat anything in this region." He yawned. "I have nothing else to do until we reach Memnon in any case."
"Memnon…what is the city like?" Altaïr asked, more out of a need to fill the silence than any actual curiosity.
Oceanus kept one eye on the rod as he spoke, "The city is a sieve. Much like Calimport, the poor district is absolutely massive, but in Memnon there are several competing religions. In the poor district, where the docks are, the most influential is the Church of Selûne. The clergy are all corrupt, I think, but it has been years since I have stayed there for any length of time."
"Every last one?" the assassin asked, already thinking of Garnier de Naplouse and his very…confused idea of what a good idea was. Torturing patients was not one of them, but nonetheless he had ordered a man's knees to be broken, all of ten minutes before Altaïr had finally caught up to him.
Oceanus waved vaguely. "Everyone I have spoken to seems to think so. Granted, it was Keras, so I probably should think carefully on whether or not he is actually telling the truth…"
Interesting. Sort of. "Keras?"
"He is a very close friend of mine." Oceanus explained as the rod jerked. "We grew up together. He is a Calishite—well, as far as anyone can tell—as well as being Zahara's only son."
"I find myself surprised that a woman like that has a son your age, then." Altaïr remarked. "She seems hardly older than I am."
"She is much older than she looks," was all Oceanus would say in reply. Then the subject changed, because the rod chose that moment to explode into splinters and sharp wire. "What in the Nine Hells—?"
"Altaïr, Oceanus, come and look at this!" Altaïr looked to the left and saw Zahara waving frantically at them. "We have attracted a monster!"
Altaïr blinked, then scrambled to his feet as a massive tentacle rose from the water and slammed down, spraying them all with saltwater and, in one unfortunate crewman's case, dead or stunned fish. Oceanus was already running, so quickly and off-balance that the assassin had to yank him back from the railing just as yet another tentacle slapped at the ship. Altaïr had to keep one hand on the cabin wall the keep from losing his balance
Nonetheless, they managed to make it to Zahara's side without losing any limbs.
"What is it?" Altaïr asked, staring at it.
"It" was a sixty-foot-long squid. At least, it looked a lot like a squid, but Altaïr had never seen one that was blue on top and yellow underneath, or one that looked up at them with such intelligent malice. There were two long tentacles that continued to lash out at the ship and ten smaller ones gripped the hull. He could almost hear its beak tearing into the wood as the crew ran around screaming.
"That," Zahara said, looking down at it with something akin to amusement on her face, "is a kraken."
Oceanus slapped his own forehead. Altaïr blinked. What was a—well, apparently a kraken was a very large, very malevolent squid-monster.
"I should have known having you around would be a problem." Zahara remarked to Oceanus, patting his head. "You are now, officially, the only person I know who can catch a kraken while trying for tuna. Having you on board is like bringing a horse."
"Thank you ever so much." Oceanus grumbled. "Could you just kill it now? It is eating through the hull."
Zahara gave him a grin. "Of course! Except, well, there are a few things we need to discuss—"
Altaïr ignored them both and stared down at the creature. Maybe he was imagining things, but it looked like it understood every word they were saying. Certainly the one huge eye he could see was flickering back and forth between Oceanus and Zahara with disturbing comprehension. He watched silently as it brought the second tentacle up and, understanding instantly, swore and shoved the bickering pair as hard as he could, then jumped backwards.
The tentacle slammed into the deck, crushing the railing and splintering an entire section of the cabin beyond it. Suddenly the air was filled with screaming. He could hear Oceanus cursing furiously and Zahara chanting in some foreign tongue, but it didn't really matter because Altaïr was falling, and the only way out was into the ocean. He braced for impact, but couldn't do much else. He could swim, sort of, but he suspected that that wasn't going to save him from a giant squid.
His suspicions were confirmed when he felt something heavy wrap around his waist and drag him under the waves.
A/N: Thus ends chapter 3. I think. Thus does Altaïr get his second taste of Faerûn's aggressive weirdness, after the wererats and Ash at the same time. I imagine he won't be too fond of seafood after this.
Also, in case anyone was wondering, this story is not heading in the direction of an epic quest to destroy the Tower of Ominousness or anything—frankly, the Piece of Eden is a bit underwhelming compared to some of the crazy items lying all over every country and kingdom in Faerûn. But there will be mid-level (well, by Forgotten Realms standards) villains after Altaïr in particular, starting after they arrive the second and third cities. It is, after all, his quest to get home.
And I know that Altaïr, at the very least, doesn't instantly die upon touching water. But I don't think that, given where he lives, he has to be particularly good at it. And besides, kraken.
EDIT (2/25/10): With regards to Pieces of Eden vs. various native Faerûnian artifacts--I mean Faerûn had the literal avatars of gods walking around less than six years ago by the timeline I'm using (coughTheSilentBladecough). Shocking things stop being special when they happen all the time. Then there are the nearly-godly epic-level idiots running around all over the place. Drizzt doesn't count, but Elminster and the Seven Sisters, along with any number of characters who feature in works other than those of R. A. Salvatore? Yeah. 4th Edition was largely an attempt to killl most of them off--and this story takes place in 3.5 edition.
Okay, I might not have made this part clear, either. Our favorite white-wearing Assassin was not operating at peak condition. Think about it. Hacking his way through waves of Crusaders and Saracens, then two days straight ride back to Masyaf, then fighting fellow Assassins, AND THEN fighting Al Mualim. Entreri was (since he hasn't pissed off the guild leaders yet and won't for a week or so) in top fighting condition and, on top of everything else our Master Assassin had working against him, Oceanus didn't use magic to heal him until after the fight. Altair is not lucky to be alive because he got away from Entreri--he's lucky to be alive because no normal man would have lasted this long.
And to mf, I don't mind if you stop by to say hi, but please say more than "more please." Okay? Okay.