Maria stood near the small nightstand in her room, her arms crossed stubbornly over her chest and her back to the door. She bit the inside of her mouth as she stared long and hard at the doily and candles on the nightstand.
She spared a quick glance to her bed, where Bayo was elegantly relaxing with a paw crossed neatly over the other. He was watching his mistress, and she knew that he was confused as to why she was so tense.
The sound of footsteps had the hair on the back of Maria's neck rise in anger. She dug her nails harshly into the fabric of her sleeve, counting the number of thumps the feet made. They came to a gentle stop as the person stood in the doorway, her own posture mimicking Maria's. After all, Hildegard was just as equally adamant in her beliefs as Maria was.
Maria counted ten seconds before Hildegard sighed irately at her. 'How dare SHE be so distraught when I'M the one that has a bastard of a man living under the same roof as myself!'
"I cannot believe the gall you have, Hildegard," Maria hissed between clenched teeth. She was partially aware that her nails had torn through her sleeve.
"My apologies," Hildegard shrugged casually. She, too, was in no mood for Maria's nonsense. She loved her to death, yet sometimes she wished to clobber her over the head with a fish and kick her off a cliff. Perhaps the fall would knock some sense into her...
"What kind of woman do you take me for, Hildegard?"
"A strong woman, Maria. Apparently I was mistaken," the blonde muttered easily under her breath. She was treating the situation as a petty and simple matter, as if it was an everyday argument she'd had for her entire life. Oh, and she knew that Maria did not appreciate being taken in so lightly.
And of course, it proved little challenge to sense Hildegard's blunt and brief behavior. Maria drew blood from the inside of her mouth. The metal taste helped the problem standing in her room the least. "Do you honestly think I was ready for him?"
"Oh yes, I did," Hildegard chirped leisurely. "I thought you'd be the type of woman who'd put the past behind-"
"And all those sensual things you made me think of..!" Maria closed her eyes and battled the internal rage inside of herself. How could Hildegard not understand? Was it necessary for her to be annoyed and think her a child? Why was she content to not see her perspective of the matter?
"Oh, did you enjoy them?" Hildegard smirked and raised an eyebrow in challenge. This, however, had Maria face Hildegard with a storm of thunder in her grey eyes.
'You conniving, arrogant and heartless villain!' Maria thought. She wanted to strangle the blonde until that sneer was off her face and that hip that she was jutting out was snapped in two.
Hildegard was unmoved by her killer glare, her clenched fists, and her labored breathing.
"No, I did NOT!" Maria screamed at her. She shook her head in disapproval at Hildegard, obviously fighting back the urge to tackle her all the way back to London. "How dare you try to take control of my life!"
"You didn't exactly have a firm grasp on it to begin with, Maria. Your threats are as empty as your pretending." Hildegard waved her hand at her friend in an almost dismissing air. She knew Maria's temper was rising with each and every passing second. Knew, but didn't care.
"Pretending?" Maria narrowed her eyes and slowly turned back to her nightstand. Her dominant arm shook in fury, and, in one swift movement, she swiped the doily and candles off the nightstand and onto the floor. She felt a throbbing in her arm, but her raging emotions and adrenaline subsided the pain temporarily.
Bayo's head immediately turned in her direction from hearing the candles hit the floor with dull thuds. It was fascinating, and also terrifying, to see his mistress parade around the room and destroy the furniture.
Hell, he'd only seen Maria this upset with Robert and that annoying boy with the spear.
"You think I am pretending?" Maria marched over to her dresser and knocked off the few items residing on it.
"Please, control your emotions, Maria. You'll make too much noise and the Assassin's will wonder what's happening." Hildegard eyes widened in shock, then returned to normal as the other woman tore the curtains off their rods and began ripping them to shreds.
"Control my emotions, Hildegard," she mimicked in a snide and childish voice. "Control my emotions, control my life, control control control!"
"Maria," Hildegard cautiously approached her friend, "what are you-"
"I AM TIRED OF CONTROLLING!"
Her tantrum came to an abrupt stop. She threw the ruined curtains on the floor and stormed over to her bed, her fists raised. She pounded her soft mattress in and gave a small shout of frustration. Luckily for Bayo, he had leapt off the bed just in time to avoid the stampeding woman's wrath.
Hildegard did nothing to stop Maria's meltdown. If anything, she'd be happy to watch her deplete the fuel and energy that had festered inside of her for a year and longer.
Finally, after long minutes of taking her sudden flare of desperation out on her bed, she breathed out in defeat and collapsed onto her messy sheets.
"Oh, Hildegard, what am I going to do?" she whispered into the blankets. She was hesitant, but soon Hildegard sighed and pushed her way toward her friend. She sat down on the foot of the bed and rubbed Maria's back comfortingly. She could feel and hear Maria's breath hitch in her throat as she dryly sobbed.
"I've three words for you: be a woman."
"I'm trying!" she shrieked in distress. She raised her head to look her friend dead in the eyes. "I must have looked like such a fool... in front of the entire Order, as well!"
Hildegard smiled and rolled her eyes in thought. She brought the distraught female closer to herself and rested her head against her shoulder. Maria allowed her to do so, albeit reluctantly. "I thought you looked like his alpha, truth be told."
"What-in-God's-name-is-that-supposed-to-mean?" Maria blurted.
"It means he seemed rather flustered to see you. Ironic, really. In front of him, you're an untouchable goddess, yet when he isn't watching, you break," Hildegard mused.
"HAH!" Maria scoffed into her friend's dress. "He was probably so shaken to see me because he was just rocking a bed to and fro with some other whore."
"Whore?" Hildegard repeated. Her eyes widened and she gave Maria a rather cheeky grin. "I think you're the only woman he'd bed with."
Maria snorted again in disbelief before replying, "He'd couple and impregnate countless women as he saw fit to! I was just another catch in the ocean for him!"
"I doubt he'd survive that," Hildegard mumbled.
"I am nothing to that man, Hildegard- no, that boy! That pig, animal-like, woman crushing boy! Hildegard, did you not see the cold in his eyes? Or, or or the hate?"
"You're confusing hurt and longing, darling."
"Hurt? Longing? Yes, he longs to hurt me! Me: his precious yet worthless prostitute!"
"Maria, you aren't a sharmuta to him. I think he loves you."
"He loves being in between my legs is what he loves! That damn man!"
"You're blowing this out of proportion, Maria," Hildegard sighed. "He cares about you."
"Pff! He only cares if my breasts and vagina are still pleasing! Unsex me, vanquish my femininity, and see how much he cares!"
"Then why would he nurse you back to health? Why would he sit by your bedside and watch over you? Why would he himself go through all that trouble if you were only for pleasure?"
"I...I don't-"
"Yes, you don't know, so do not assume, Maria. Nothing good can come from jumping to conclusions, love."
"You don't know if he truly cares for me, either, Hildegard."
"I'm merely hypothesizing based off of what I've seen, Maria. Have you seen him stress and worry himself over your injuries? No, you have not, because you were sleeping your pretty head away."
"Then what you've seen is him pretending to have a heart in that cold and unforgiving chest."
"Unforgiving? You call him that, yet you yourself wish to never speak with him again."
"I will not speak to a man who will not listen to me, Hildegard."
"You mean you will not speak to a man who loves you."
"Don't twist my words to your liking, you fiend!" Maria pushed herself away from Hildegard and sat on the far side of the bed away from the woman. "If he loves me, as you claim the bastard does, why did he not come in this room and speak with me?"
"Why would he waste his breath on a woman who won't listen?"
"Enough, Hildegard! Why are you so set on defending him anyway?"
"Why are you so set on being a blind bitch?"
"Oh, is that the new insult I'm being called? A 'bitch'?"
"Answer the question." Hildegard rubbed her forehead. It always came down to Maria defending herself and refusing to see another's perspective. Even when they were still in London, she'd make Altair out to be a ruthless and heartless man that couldn't care less about her welfare. Well, judging by Hildegard's experience with the man, he was ruthless sometimes. But, by God, the man's heart was too big for his own good.
Why was speaking to her best friend such a hazard to her health?
"Because he HURT me, Hildegard." Maria stood from the bed and walked over to her dresser, her shoulders slumped. "I gave everything up to be in the Crusades: my title, my wealth, my home. Then when I finally find someone who'd been led astray, the same as I, I give him everything I had left," she whispered.
"But even that wasn't enough," Maria continued, "to get what I wanted... for once in my life. Instead, I birthed a dead baby boy alone. I never felt more alone and pointless in my entire life. I wanted to die- I begged God to let me die. I loved that Assassin; my Assassin. More than anything. And he..." She closed her eyes and lowered her head in defeat. "He never came looking for me. He left me. He let me go.
"I thought... I thought I meant something to him. I believed that night on the tower held a significance for him that nothing else had. I felt... safe. I felt like I belonged in his arms and that he belonged in mine. I don't recall anyone who had such a hold on me that he does. I've never burned or yearned for a person so much in all my life."
Hildegard bit her lip and idly toyed with the covers in between her fingers. She knew there was hurt beneath her friend's pride. She knew the story between Altair and her, there was no doubt about it. But she also knew Altair's own reasons for abandoning the woman he loves.
"You say that you are lonely, Maria," she began, "and that he destroyed you. But how can you not see that he's aware of this, and he wants to fix it? Maria, you mean the world and more to that man. I don't think I'd travel all the way here if I didn't believe that."
"So that's why you left?"
"Yes," Hildegard chuckled, "are you angry?"
"I should be," Maria dryly mused. "But, I'm too preoccupied with him to give it much thought."
"Maria," Hildegard made her way over to her friend and put a warm arm around her shoulders. Maria leaned into the gesture. "I don't think I've ever seen a person show so much love for another just by looking at them. You almost died, Maria. And he was terrified and shaken beyond belief. If he had feathers, he'd have looked like a chicken with epilepsy." Both of the corners of their mouths turned upward from the image in their minds. "He didn't allow anyone to let you out of his sight. Malik has had to practically force the man to bed the past week or so.
"He really does want to speak to you and repair the bond you two shared. Don't you want that?"
"You say that he's been distraught and worried over me, and I believe you. But I'm going to need my own proof to believe myself and forgive him, Hildegard. As of now, I hate the man."
Hildegard's smile disappeared. She grabbed Maria's chin in her hand and forced the woman to look her straight in the face.
"Your mouth says you loathe him," Hildegard muttered. "Yet your eyes speak differently." Hildegard did not wait for her to reply. Instead, she briskly turned and walked out of the door, quietly shutting it behind her.
Maria trembled and balled a hand into a fist. Maria was naturally stubborn- no man nor force of nature could change that. And she was stubborn in admitting to herself that Hildegard was right. She knew that deep down, she felt immense and almost foreign feelings for the Assassin.
Love... was that what it was called?
She blew out of her mouth irately and closed her eyes. She never thought that she, the woman who had run away from home, disguising herself as a man to escape the ridiculous norm for females such as she, would fall in love's merciless clutches. It had a fine grasp on her, twisting her heart this way and that from even hearing his name.
Al-tai-ir. Three simple syllables that killed her whenever she said them. Ironic, how Assassin's use weapons other than blades.
But she was not a target of his- well, not a threatening target, that was. Should she be feeling cornered and trapped? That's exactly what she felt at the moment. She was alone in her room, save for Bayo, and still, she felt those countless eyes on her figure. She'd never seen so many Assassin's at once in her life. The only Assassin she had ever really been acquainted with- besides her own- was Altair. Though, when she was his ally on Cyprus, one look from him had her heart hammer in her chest out of fury, and also out of uncertainty toward his actions. Assassin's weren't men to trifle with, that was certain.
Maria leaned back against her dresser and gazed at Bayo in thought. He tilted his head to the side and flicked his ears.
She couldn't stay in this fortress for long. Its walls felt too confining and insecure, even if there was an impressive amount of guards on duty. One look outside her window proved that.
But she couldn't risk another encounter with him. She would have been able to partially forget about him ever entering her life if she hadn't ever seen him again. But no, the damned man was known for striking unexpectedly, and strike unexpectedly he did. She cursed herself internally for him having such an effect on her person. He was just one man- one man was all it took to have her walls come crashing down and world spin in a daze. She'd known men better than women her entire life.
And she could prove it.
There were the rich nobles back at England who would pry and pick at each other until they learned what happened to their estate or what he was going to do- or, oh dear, they're having a get-together and I wasn't invited? They'd sit leisurely in chairs, legs crossed over the other, chins upturned arrogantly as they discussed the most frivolous of issues. Sickening.
Then there were the scholars. Fascinating creatures. They wouldn't care if you told them of the get-together's that the rich nobles would have with one another. Their eyes would only light up at a mentioning of a new piece of information, or that a new philosophy has been born by this new such and such philosopher. And such and such philosopher would just bask at how the scholars would politely question, trying to mask their indifference and disbelief at their idea, to compare their own beliefs to theirs. Oh, and then came the annoyed and 'I can't believe you just asked me that' look that they'd give you if you questioned them on simple matters. Irritating.
The soldiers, ahh, the soldiers. Brainless, some of them. Haughty, most of them. Terrified, all of them. The only soldiers worth knowing were the ones who were modest about their fear of death. Maria recalled while still a soldier in the Crusader army how many of the men she fought with would exchange jests with one another on Saladin's army. Their mindless quips would quickly be silenced once a sword gutted them. Fools.
And then there were the Assassin's. She wasn't certain how to categorize them, if they could even be categorized. Very distant, very quiet and secretive, but for the other person's own good. Some of them were complete asses (as she knew one very, very well), some of them were passionate and caring (as she knew from her childhood very, very well). Mysteries.
She bit her bottom lip and furrowed her eyebrows together. She wouldn't stay amongst the mysteries. She didn't belong in such a place- would never belong amongst their ranks. She was an outsider, and she'd forever remain one. This fortress was meant for men who dedicated themselves to a creed that restricted them from the darkness of evil, and a belief that was beyond the imagination.
How could she ever stay when she herself did not know what she believed in?
She nodded slowly, agreeing to her own thoughts. She had to get out. She had to leave. The plan was slowly starting to form in her head, the details connecting to one another like a puzzle. A small, pleased and satisfied smile turned the corners of her lips up as she approached Bayo on the bed.
"Sorry, love," she whispered as she scratched the dog on the back of his neck. His neck jutted out, and an almost smug expression appeared on his face. His hindleg immediately started thumping up and down. "But you're not going to like what I'm about to do."
The names before him had no woman tear their souls apart. These names were solitude and full of pride, honor, and loyalty.
These names were not his.
Altair's eyes slowly swept over each plaque set into the wall. There must have been dozens of them; dozens of Assassin's that had stayed true to their cause and strengthened the Brotherhood. They destroyed Templar's, learned of their plans, helped the people of corrupted lands- all without a woman to worry about. Was he a failure to his late Brothers?
The mighty eagle of Masyaf closed his eyes and deeply exhaled. Would his memory be plaqued and remembered for ages to come? Or would his fellow kin think him weak for straying from Assassin custom and loving a woman?
He opened his eyes and slowly paced the room. 'Memory Hall' was what it was called. It was underground, separate from the vault that contained the Piece of Eden and isolated from the rest of the fortress. It was a sanctuary for the most successful Assassin's to rest in peace- the peace they sacrificed themselves for. They were the most notable of their time, the favorites of their current Master.
Would Al Mualim have put Altair's own name in this rectangular, eerily lit room? He doubted it. The man's soul and heart was already corrupted with greed due to the artifact's hold on his body. One betrayal leads to another, and leaving Altair's story to die with his body is just another act of sin.
Engraved. Etched. Words. Could words describe a person? Would the next generation of Assassin's wander into this hall and admire the men who were preserved here? Would they understand these men? No, they wouldn't. They'd be mesmerized by the deeds they carried out and not once think about their personal lives. They were flesh and blood. They were capable of harboring emotion. The descriptions engraved beneath their names on the plaques only listed what was appropriate for an Assassin.
But what about what was appropriate for man? A man who showed loyalty, dedication, commitment- that was what an Assassin was. It was not a man able to take another man's life away. It was a man who wanted a better world for the people. The people showed no gratitude, though. Assassin's acted to decrease the amount of tyranny, but also to increase the amount of hatred toward their clan.
Was that just? Was that appropriate and fitting for men who sacrificed so much for what they believed in?
He knew it was not. He knew that these names listed had personal opinions. These men probably had lovers, same as he, and had to turn away from them, which was unlike him. His name would not be etched into the wall without Maria's. He'd be damned if he died without Maria's name by his.
Altair grimaced as he read Al Mualim's plaque. Though he was a traitor to their Brotherhood, he had apparently performed remarkable deeds as a Master Assassin in his younger years. A name as filthy as his did not belong on this wall. Just how many more of the other names were frauds as he was?
Altair came to the end of the hallway. His teacher's name was there, but yet his father's was not. A man who had almost killed off the Syrian sect of Assassin's was labeled as a great Assassin of his time, yet his own father's name was nowhere to be seen!
'My sire deserves his name to be forgotten. But Al Mualim deserves such a fate as well.'
'Father' was not an idea he was used to thinking of. He never let his mind wander over his childhood. He was taught that his father was a disgrace to the Assassin Order. He had married a whore of a European woman, impregnated her, damned his Brothers by failing mission after mission, insulted Al Mualim by not listening to his commands, and then, the most terrible act of all, he had run away.
He killed out of cold blood. He murdered innocents and enjoyed washing his hands in their blood. A man with those qualities did not belong with Assassin's. His own son damned him and loathed him. What was heartbreaking to Altair was that he never wanted a son. He had only taken his mother as his own for pleasure. Oh, and his mother...
Altair was taught that she had no pulse within her chest and that she was eager to let the Assassin's take him in when he became old enough. Rumor had it that she plucked him from her nipple while still a babe. However, those words fell on deaf ears.
His mother... a melody would slowly fill his mind as he thought of her. It was a warm, rich and gentle mumbling. It was a familiar tune, one that he'd heard before. How could a woman with such a voice be a whore, as she was labeled, and not care for a person that came from her own body?
They were both just vague shadows of his past. He remembered while in his youth, he'd sneak out of the training courtyard to find his father. He'd hoped that he'd be able to find a familiar face, one that looked like his own. But there was nothing but only so many hoods. Too many faces half covered, too many scowls and backs in his direction. He was the halfbreed; the mutt. Though they devoted themselves to the Creed, prejudice against Christians and Muslims was still a stubborn thorn in reality. His blood was tainted with the Devil's.
And then they died. He did not cry. He only blinked, and then nodded, and returned to his training. His father was not a man to be proud of, and his mother remained a book with blank pages. What emotion was he supposed to feel other than indifference?
Altair did not know whether or not the Old Man had merely told him lies, nor did he care. His mother and father were both dead, and their passing meant nothing to him. Part of his mind believed that his parents only had him, their abomination of a devil, to laugh at and scorn. He suffered their coupling by hearing the whispers said about him behind his back and feeling the stones thrown at him.
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He came down here to find strength in the men he had never known, yet understood completely. He did not pay a visit to Memory Hall to sulk even more.
He thought of his own deeds. They were not heroic, they were not clean, and they were not something a scholar would love to read about. He killed leaders that were led astray by false hope. To the Assassin's, he had prevented Templar's from controlling the Holy Land. To the people, he had performed a sin and should be put to death.
What were their lives like before the Apple had infected their minds? What Truth did they gain from its complex images?
He'd never know the answer to the first question, but perhaps, over time, he may come across what drove each man that he had slaughtered mad.
He felt as though he stood on the edge of failure. He had done his best to train with his novices and to offer words of wisdom and advice to his more experienced Brothers. He had even given a few of them names to silence, even though they were not of Templar origins. But there had not been significant changes to their Order- not until Hildegard-
Not until Maria arrived.
Was that what he was missing? Was the permission to love another being the key to his success? He knew it'd either make him or break him. Change was what his order needed. The Brethren needed more to fight for than just freedom. It was already an impressive and noble reason- peculiar to think of murderers as noble- but to fight for love? Was it such a sin?
He ran his hand across the wall as he paced back to the middle of the room. He felt the plaques scrape against his fingertips as he past each rested Brother. He closed his eyes and felt their accomplishments beat on him like a drum. Would he have the honor of being amongst these men when his time came to depart?
His feet stopped once he reached the center of the hall. He shuddered and inhaled a quivering breath before slamming his palms onto the stone wall, just below the plaque that was displayed there. He bowed his head down so that his chin touched his collar bones.
'My Brother before me...'
His arms trembled as he curved his fingers and dug his nails into the rough stonework, hoping to find closure.
'Offer me your strength and wisdom.'
He remained there for several moments before he raised his head to view the plaque. He narrowed his eyes at it and turned his head to the side in question. It was not an Arabic name- no, it was a mixture of two different cultures.
The plaque read: Jenaro Karkafian.
Altair gave a small shake of his head and leaned in toward the wall so that the top of his head was resting on the stone. He was too preoccupied with his own agenda and checklist of accomplishments in his life to wonder why an Assassin that was not Arabic, but rather half Spanish and half Armenian, ever set foot in Masyaf.
Christopher sat, fuming, in one of the libraries of Chateau Narbonnais. He flipped back and forth through the pages of the book in front of him, occasionally glancing at the door that led to Malcolm's study. He gritted his teeth together and winced as he accidentally tore one of the sheets of paper. He sighed and placed the book on the table he sat at before pacing back over to a bookshelf. He read each of the spines, but could not find anything worthwhile or interesting.
Rather, he would have been able to find a book that piqued his interest had it not been for Malcolm's decisions as Grandmaster of the Templar's. Christopher was furious, and the man rarely let his emotions get the better of him. But this time was different. He felt betrayed and used- what did Malcolm call him? Ah, yes, he said he was the "only sensible one in the Templar Order". What was he to think of those words? Was Malcolm planning to use Christopher to manipulate his fellow Brother's so that they'd meet their fall?
How could Malcolm expect such a thing from him?
Christopher had killed before in his life, though, regrettably. He knew the art of the sword, yet he did not take enjoyment from seeing blood leak from a person or from knowing that their life was stolen from them because of him. He was taught from a child that violence was not the answer and that communication led to success and understanding. Wasn't Malcolm taught that as well? He had to be- why else was he chosen as the successor of Armand Bouchart? It made little to no sense to Christopher.
In fact, he didn't even remember voting for Malcolm as Grandmaster! Yes, he remembered the ballots, but he did not recall that Malcolm was even a possibility for their leader. Was it all planned out? Were Malcolm's strings being pulled, making him a puppet as well as his Brother's?
Now that he actually thought about it, an enormous amount of equipment, being weapons, armor, or ammunition such as arrows or throwing knives, were gained right after his 'coronation' as Grandmaster. How did they ever even acquire such a massive increase of supplies? He had a feeling the Beaumont merchants had something to do with it. Those sniveling and scheming Frenchman always were up to no good- especially the current head of their organization, Mathieu Beaumont.
Christopher sighed and cracked his knuckles. He wanted to know more of the secrets that the Templar's were keeping from him. If he was so sensible, then why did they not trust him with this information? Though, he had to admit, it angered him to no end. He wanted to know the hand that guided Malcolm to betray his own. But, to do that, he'd have to subside his resentment toward him. He breathed in, rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, then stepped toward the door.
If Malcolm would pull a facade, then so would he.
Christopher gently turned the handle. There was the pawn, his master, sitting at a desk, writing letters. To who, though?
Christopher cleared his throat and bowed his head out of respect. Fake respect. "Master Malcolm, if I may?"
Malcolm's hand paused from scribbling down whatever orders he was writing to give a nod at Christopher to continue.
"I've... reconsidered what you've confided in me, sir."
This had Malcolm raise his head and slowly place his quill on the desk. He stared blankly at Christopher before raising his eyebrows in question.
"Though I do think it... rash that we are killing our Brothers, I do think that it is the best thing to do in the circumstances we face. I realize that this is war that we have stumbled upon- a war between Templar's and Assassin's that will not end unless certain sacrifices are made." Christopher swallowed the sour taste of his lies down his throat. "Earl was corrupted, and I believe that we would have been hindered by him if he still resided among the living.
"Clarence, too, is a problem that needs to be dealt with. His motives are too vague and confusing. I ask myself, 'Is he trying to support the Templar Order, or trying to satisfy his need of vengeance upon a traitor?' I do not know the answers to these questions, and that is what worries me. He yearns for attention and praise, and though it enhances one's self esteem, I wonder if he'd go to extremes just to earn a pat on the back. He's too discrete to be deemed trustworthy."
Christopher hoped his speech had convinced Malcolm that he was now seeing his perspective and that he regretted his outburst four days ago. He terribly wished that his master chose a different expression other than that blank stare, as if he was searching for truth inside of him. He wouldn't find any truth if he was looking hard enough.
Malcolm folded his hands together and placed them under his chin. He narrowed his eyes, then softened his gaze. It seemed he was having an internal argument with himself, though Christopher was not certain. The Templar Grandmaster could be a complete and total fool at times, and the lesser man only hoped that he'd choose to be oblivious and blind presently.
A small grin appeared on Malcolm's mouth, and he nodded in confirmation to his own thoughts. "My dear Christopher," he whispered, "it greatly enlightens my soul that you would finally see the truth." He stood from his desk and approached the man. He put a heavy hand on his shoulder and nodded once more. "I now know why you are part of our Order, Brother."
Christopher could feel beads of sweat form on his brow, and he prayed to the Lord that Malcolm would not notice. He gave a forced smile to his Grandmaster.
"You are with us because of your wisdom and ability to learn what is right and wrong. And for that," Malcolm let his arm fall back to his side as he took a step back, "I will happily discuss what will be done with Clarence with you."
Christopher choked back the sigh that he so wanted to give. He had not been caught by Malcolm- praise God! Malcolm was now the fool and Christopher was the patient observant that would strike at the proper time. He'd just have to play the fool so that the fool would think that he himself was the higher being.
"If it is what you wish, Master."
"It is," Malcolm breathed out as he once again settled his bottom into his chair. He motioned for Christopher to sit opposite of him. The knight hesitantly sat across from him. Malcolm narrowed his eyes and asked, "Brother, is everything alright? You seem shaken."
Christopher nodded almost too eagerly, then smoothly replied, "I still find it difficult that we have such weak members in our cause, sir. It's a terrible concept to grasp, and I only wish that it didn't exist."
Malcolm bobbed his head up and down and sighed, crossing his leg over the other. He rested his chin in his palm, as if they'd been discussing the topic for hours and he'd grown bored of it. "Yes, it is a terrible concept," he mused. "But we must deal with it once and for all. I cannot have my own men scavenging the land for their own purposes."
"Then what will be done with Clarence? Surely he will not see reason?"
"No, he will not see reason," Malcolm agreed. "I have not received word from him yet. His orders were to gather his men and distribute them in Jerusalem, Damascus, and Acre to drown the Assassin's sources in those three cities. Thus, the Assassin's at Masyaf would grow concerned, and hopefully their cursed Master would handle the issue himself. Clarence's orders were to slay the man."
Christopher gave a half-hearted chuckle at this. "And I presume that he will not listen to your commands?"
"I fear he may have other ideas," Malcolm snarled bitterly. "You see, I've taken note that his ego has been stabbed at since his failure at the wedding. He may want to comply with seeking revenge. Maria is no part of the orders that I specifically gave him. I'm afraid that he will try something to gain Maria in his clutches."
"But if Maria was to be held captive by him, then wouldn't her lover, the Assassin, come for her?"
"Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn't. It'd be very compromising, though. You see, I don't want that damned Assassin to go on a bloody killing spree just to have his sweet, penis sucking bitch back. That'd destroy and demoralize Clarence's men. But if the Assassin was to only target Clarence and maybe a few of his men, then we'd be in business. Clarence would be out of the picture, but then we'd acquire his forces. I don't want that man to get any cunning ideas in his head, even if he is a Brother."
Christopher slowly inclined his head as he took in this information. "Then what of Maria? We discussed in London that she needs punishment for trading us for Assassin's."
"You are right. She does need punishment for insulting us in such a way." Malcolm pushed himself up from his chair with his arms on his desk. "Clarence will not give her that punishment. Rather, I actually want you, Christopher, to capture her."
Christopher blinked up at Malcolm in surprise. His eyes widened in disbelief, and he struggled for words to form in his mouth. However, Malcolm did not expect an immediate reply.
"Yes, Christopher, I believe that you are most suited for the task. She is a snake that is not easily charmed. She's proven this before while still amongst our ranks. Though, it is not impossible to persuade her, but it is time consuming. You've showed me that you are capable of adapting to situations, even if they are extreme and unforeseen. Christopher," Malcolm whispered as he stared down at his comrade, "you will manipulate her mind so that she believes the Templar cause is more just than the Assassin's. But," he sharply hissed, "you will not pursue her just yet."
He sluggishly nodded, his jaw slack as he still was at a loss for words.
"You will handle Maria once we deal with the Assassin. I want her to see her mangled lover's body as she, too, faces the same fate he did."
Finally, Christopher managed to stutter, "Killing an Assassin is not easy, my good sir. You are only looking at the Syria sect. There are many, many more of them who would be enraged by having a Master killed by Templar's."
Malcolm bit the inside of his cheek and turned his back toward Christopher. "Yes, I'm well aware of that, Christopher. I expect Alejandro would send his men to the Holy Land to seek revenge and restore order to Masyaf."
"And what will you do about Alejandro?" Christopher desperately wanted to frown and shake his head in disapproval at Malcolm's lack of judgment. But, he'd have to settle for being a mindless figure.
"What will I do, Christopher? I'll tell you what I'll do to that Spanish piece of mierda," he growled as he swiveled around to face Christopher once more. His anger was not directed toward the Templar, but rather at the mentioning of the Assassin's name. "I will find his dear Estela again, hand her over to our men and watch them toy with her, cut Alejandro's throat out and wear it as a necklace, and then send it to their fortress at Andorra."
Christopher chose silence rather than words.
"The Templar message needs to be recognized by these heathens," Malcolm declared with a vicious edge in his voice. "Fight us, and all of you will die."
'But they have fought us before,' Christopher thought to himself, 'and the only ones that have died were our own. They survived while we perished. Alejandro's fortress is one of the most advanced and well fortified citadels in Spain. He has the power of crushing us like grapes. Malcolm, what are you gaining from guaranteeing our failure?'
He mumbled underneath his breath that he was going to retire for the night. Malcolm blinked and waved him away. Christopher eagerly bounded out of the door and retreated back to his own quarters in Chateau Narbonnais.
'And if Alejandro becomes overwhelmed with Templars, then David and his Brother's will come to aid them.'
He quickly jogged up a stairwell that led to the hallway his room was located at.
'And if David intervenes, then Baldwin will have his men rush to the scene immediately.'
Christopher turned the handle on his door and slammed it shut. He gasped for breath as the realizations pounded on him relentlessly. He grasped the door behind him for support and ran a shaking hand through his sweat covered hair.
'My God...'
With Baldwin's men dispatched...
'Malcolm... you don't just want to replace our 'corrupted' Brother's with your own kin. You... you want to be the last one standing in this chaos. YOU want the Piece of Eden for yourself, and NOT to be shared with our own.
'You say that you want me to handle Maria. I know what you're planning. You're hoping that the Assassin of Masyaf will impregnate her, thus, she'd be carrying the heir to Masyaf. With me pursuing her, the remaining Assassin's will target me in hopes to protect Maria and the babe. That'd be the death of me- you know this, Malcolm. This is all a game to you. Though you say that you are able to confide in me, you too are lying. You, too, are corrupted.
'Whoever bribed the Templar's to make you Grandmaster is benefiting from this. This isn't about power for them. No, it's power for you but something else for them. It's a taste of closure and a score to settle. Something happened to your master, Malcolm, and he's determined to scream his fury by seeing unnecessary blood flood the land. And you, Malcolm, care not for what happens to the people. I did not join the Templar's to serve the Devil! I became a Templar to serve God and His hand!
'This is the reason. This is the reason why Maria left us. She saw, before it was too late, what evil designs we had upon the land. And I was a contributor to these designs! Puppet! Pawn! Door-mat! Must I demote myself as a boot-licker to find the truth?
'But the truth has already been found. It's in our veins, and they know it. Malcolm knows it, though he will not share the information. Seer, Tyler, Clarence- they were once good men. Tyler never craved blood before his betrothed died. And I wonder why? Was Malcolm responsible for her death? Did he order men to kill her and have her body bathe in her own blood?
'And Clarence. You destroyed your own parents because you heard them speaking of the Hashashin. You overheard them, while still a little boy, discuss the current events around the world. They were sources for the Hashashin; informants. And you murdered them because you were afraid. You did not kill them because you thought you were protecting your family. If you thought that, then you would have never hurt your younger sister. Did Malcolm's parents plan that to happen? How far do these vile seeds go back?
'Then there is Seer. You're planning on killing Seer as well- but not in battle. But you will use him first to kill someone else off that you dislike. He's strong and suited to the task. But who, I wonder, are you going to have him defeat in combat? It is a man with many sources, I know that, else you would not wish him gone. He must have an army to be a threat to you, and liked by many people. There are many men with such qualities- who is it?
' Once Seer completes his purpose to you, you will have him rest in peace. But what peace can be found if you know that the cause you served was not what you imagined it to be? I pictured a life of honor and justice. This is not honor and justice.
'This is madness. This is about greed. Malcolm's superior, what did the world ever do to you?'
Malik sighed as he stood once more at the ramparts, taking in the sunset's rays. He hoped that the picturesque sight before him would settle his nerves, yet they proved not to. For instance, the Novices in the training ring behind him normally would have made him smirk in amusement. He would have shrugged and walked away, knowing that he too was once like that, but over time, they'd learn how to fully use the blade to their advantage.
Also, the fact that there wasn't any kibbeh left for dinner- no, wait, he'd always be upset and raise all Hell if some ridiculous Novice decided to eat all of his precious kibbeh.
However, there was one thing that piqued his interest. Outside of the practice ring, that woman that had claimed Altair's heart was with Bayo, and for the past several hours, they'd been doing exercises together. Malik found himself absolutely impressed whenever he'd glance over his shoulder to witness their training.
Maria and Hildegard, as well as the assistance of several of the Novices, had set up some obstacles for the dog. Bayo had sat, impatiently and tail wagging, as he watched logs be placed on the outskirts of of the fighting ring, as well as hay distributed here and there on the stairwells.
Maria began with his basics. The dog stood in front of her, wondering what her first order would be. She, on the other hand, stared him down with a smile and arms crossed.
Good, so he has remembered to respect his superior.
Bayo awaited her command. His skittish behavior died down once she abruptly held out a fist. She uncurled her index finger and pointed it at the ground. She mouthed one word, and-
He sat.
A fine start. He still knows how to sit.
She then straightened her index finger, along with her other digits, and held her hand out as if she was waving the dog off. Bayo knew better though. He stood on his hind legs, his forelegs keeping him balanced in the air as he stood deathly yet perfectly still for his mistress.
Well done, love.
She balled her hand into a fist once more, pointed her index finger at the hound, then twirled it in circles. Bayo sat back down, then rolled onto his side and continued to flip himself over on the ground. This caused several of the Novices in the ring to turn their heads in their direction. Even their trainer had held a hand up to his men as a sign to pause the training to get a look at the orders Bayo was carrying out.
Maria held her palm out to halt Bayo's rolling. He froze instantly, lying on his stomach. She pointed up with her index finger, and he sat on his hindlegs once more. Again, she held her palm out to him, while her other hand dug at the purse at her side for the bits of raw meat she had stolen in the kitchen prior to their training. She pulled out a bit of the snack and held it high in the air for the dog to look at.
"Speak."
The bark was out of his mouth as soon as she gave the command, and no sooner had she nodded and held the meat out for him to eat. He hastily lapped it up from her palm and swallowed it. She then pulled out another piece of meat, her other hand still halting him from action. She placed the meat just on his nose, her palm still faced toward him. He breathed in the meat's aroma and felt his mouth water. She lowered her palm and crossed her arms over her chest.
He did not eat the meat. He had been fooled in the past before that he was only to eat the meat if she said so. And she did not say so.
Good dog.
After several excruciatingly long minutes, she nodded and casually replied, with a roll of her shoulders, "Go ahead." And he thrusted his head forward and snapped his jaws around the reward.
Discipline and praise is what earned a dog's loyalty. Her uncle and brothers had taught her as much, that she knew. But it was time for the real training now.
She'd have him run the perimeter of the courtyard and count in her head how long it took him to complete several laps. She kept in mind, though, that he had several obstacles to overcome. For one, he had to balance himself on a log while running, and also jump over hay and other logs that were set up. Maria had him walk on his hindlegs, or rather, hop. He completed more laps, frothing and panting, but nonetheless, receiving praise and a proud smile from his mistress. More obstacles were added, and, after several hours of the dog tiring himself out, he trotted slowly to Maria's feet and laid down on them, his tongue sticking out as he panted to cool his exhausted body off.
Maria only chuckled and scratched the dog behind the ears. Training with Altair had only been fighting. But Maria's training was about discipline, stamina, and speed. And also a clever little trick here and there.
Maria turned her head as she heard her audience applaud her. She held back the urge to roll her eyes at Hildegard's three fellow Novices, and instead, chose to send a bemused glance at Hildegard herself. The woman had watched the entire training from the sidelines, and she was now making her way toward Maria.
"Our hound sure seems to have remembered his teachings," she chuckled as she clapped Maria on the back. The other woman shrugged and gestured toward the panting pooch with a nod of her head.
"He remembers what I've taught him, that's doubtless. It's just he's out of shape. What have these Assassin's been feeding him?"
Hildegard shrugged, then laughed when Bayo whined and leaned his head against Maria's leg. "I'm not entirely sure, dear. But," she rested her hand on Maria's shoulder, "we should head in. It'll be late soon, and it gets absolutely freezing here at night."
"Rain in England, cold here, I suppose," Maria mused. Hildegard rolled her eyes and began walking toward the entrance to the fortress. Maria quickly jogged and walked abreast Hildegard, Bayo lagging behind several feet. "Hildegard, you wouldn't mind doing me a favor, would you?"
"And what would that be?"
"Would it be alright with you if I'd be able to borrow some clothes? This gown, it's just..." Maria sighed and shook her head. "It isn't exactly suitable for me."
Hildegard, being oblivious to Maria's true intentions, nodded her head enthusiastically. "I was wondering when you'd ask me. A dress isn't something that you belong in, love. Come, I've a tunic and britches that I wore when I arrived here. No, don't give me that look, you won't look suspicious in them. Practically all of the Assassin's here have seen me wearing them."
'Perfect.'
Malik climbed down the ladder that led back to the courtyard and ascended the stairwell back inside the fortress. Hildegard was right; it did become unbearably cold sometimes, and the sun wasn't even gone all the way yet and he could already feel the night's chill claim Syria. Of course, there was just that tiny sliver of sunlight left...
He rolled his eyes and breathed in relief once he was back inside the warm, torch-illuminated fortress. He made his way up to Altair's study, but frowned once he could find no trace of the man. Peculiar. Usually he'd be awake, far into the night, writing down orders for their Brothers and also trying to make sense of the current Templar threat.
But not tonight. Narrowing his eyes even more, Malik decided to try his chambers. Though he knew the man better than anyone else in the fortress, Maria being the exception, it was downright impossible to locate him at times.
He searched the hallways, taking care to ask a few Assassin's along the way if they had seen the Master. And, of course, they had not seen him since the incident that happened in the courtyard hours ago. This had Malik shake his head. He knew that Altair could be hard on himself and that he was prone to choosing solitude over company if something personal plagued his mind. But this was absurd. It was a woman- a woman! the lesser sex! that had him sulk away, his tail between his legs. Figuratively, of course.
"Depths of despair my buttocks," Malik muttered to himself. "I'll give you depths of despair if you do not choose to finally realize that Allah! I have something between my legs and I am indeed a man!" This small statement had several Assassin's swiftly turn their heads in the man's direction, their eyes bulging beneath their hoods. Several of the Novices though, couldn't help but to giggle at this.
Finally reaching the Master's door, he didn't bother knocking, and instead shoved the door open and invited himself into the room. He was not surprised at all to see Altair hunched over his desk, the Piece of Eden before him.
"Begging the artifact is not going to help you in any way, Brother," Malik sighed as he clicked his tongue at him.
Altair glared up at him. He rested his forehead in his palm, his hair unruly and tangled- not that he'd care. After all, he had lived a year with an animal infesting his face, and it only took him long enough to finally shave the damn skunk off.
"Where have you even been? We haven't seen hide nor tail of you since-"
"Don't. Say. It."
Malik blinked, then took a seat at the side of his bed. "You really do need more chairs in here-"
"Malik."
"Sometimes a man needs some back support while sitting-"
"Malik."
"Or maybe we should get you some pillows and cushions for the floor, like a Bureau-"
"MALIK."
This outburst quickly had the one-armed man's mouth quickly snap shut. He stared at Altair's wild and narrowed eyes.
"BE. QUIET."
Malik slowly nodded, observing Altair as he turned his attention back to the Apple. The man allowed his mind to be taken by the artifact, his eyes glazing over as he struggled to find some closure within the metal ball. Malik knew that this was unhealthy and unwise for him. Prolonged exposure to the Piece of Eden's manipulative hold could destroy a man, as it had destroyed Al Mualim and who knows before him.
Malik stood from the bed and removed the artifact from Altair's line of sight by hiding it behind his back. The Master of Assassin's eyes immediately filled with life once again, and, just as abruptly, a snarl appeared on his handsome face.
"I believe I know what my limits are, Malik."
"Yes," Malik snorted, "but I believe that finding comfort in a non-living object is not good for the soul. It is a piece of metal, Altair. You turn to that thing in hopes that it will enlighten you in terms of Maria."
"That is not true," Altair spat at him.
"Then try to find the answer amongst our brethren that have already found their paradise. Surely they, with thrice the amount of experience that you have, will hold what you are searching for."
"Memory Hall did me little to nothing," Altair whispered. "What I am looking for cannot be found amongst our own. I seek a woman that has yet to accept me."
Malik internally rolled his eyes and placed the Piece of Eden back on his desk, satisfied that he would not attempt to gaze back into the orb. He awkwardly placed his hand on Altair's shoulder. "And yet you do not accept the terms that she must face-"
"I do accept the terms, Malik! She does not allow me to speak with her without belittling me- to even look at her causes such grief that I question my own choices. I fancy this woman beyond anything else- I favor her, Malik. I adore her. And yet no matter how much I try to repent and apologize-"
"I haven't heard an apology from you yet," Malik mumbled. "Your words are becoming twisted whenever you speak with her, Altair. You say something, yet you mean another completely. At least, she takes it in differently than how you intended."
"Then how must I handle her, Malik? What miracle do you have that I don't?"
"Well," Malik mused, "there's the fact that I think before I act, and the fact that I am considered to have much wisdom considering my age."
"If you have only come to boast and inflate your ego, then leave."
"No, no, forgive me," he shrugged, "I have not come to do anything of the sort. I only wanted to know how you were fairing, seeing as how the entire fortress is talking about you behind your back. How do you feel of this?"
"Humiliated, embarrassed, subdued, withered-"
"Good, so you know that what you did was completely foolish, and that you should have at least said something else other than 'I will discuss your duties in due time'. Honest to Allah, you actually think that a woman like her would enjoy taking orders from a man like you? I don't even know her, yet I can tell that she is very bold and has a sharp tongue that she knows how to use."
Altair closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.
"And with you looking into the Piece of Eden... it proves that yes, she does not deserve to speak with a complete ass like you."
This had Altair bolt right up in his chair and stare demons and fiends at Malik. "You know nothing of why I look into that-"
"Weakness, Altair, weakness. Don't succumb to its hold. Submitting yourself to the promises that this ball offers you is just another form of a sin. Do you remember why it is that the illusion that Al Mualim had cast over Masyaf did not affect you?"
"This is irrelevant-"
"Who you are, and what you do, are twined too tight together, Altair. If the Old Man had ever spoken the truth, then that was it. He was right, and I believe those words. Only, now, who you are and what you do are completely shaken because of your dramatic perception of the matter at hand."
Altair rolled his eyes and ran both his hands through his hair. "And I suppose, Malik," he accusingly muttered, "that you know the perfect solution to my deprived heart?"
"Easy. Allah gave you hands for a reason."
Altair closed his eyes and pursed his lips in irritation.
"Allah also gave you a brain and a personality, Altair. Perhaps, using the two together will help?"
"What do you mean by this?"
"What I mean is that she fell in love with a man that was sure of himself and knew what he was doing- knew what he believed in was his purpose in life. She fell in love with that man, not a man who contents himself by moping around and pitying himself. Oh, do not give me that look. You pity yourself every day, Brother. Maria did not want a man who would trip over himself just to speak with her. Rather, it was the other way around, I believe.
"You caught her off guard, Altair. She was not looking for a life partner. She was not looking for a lover. She was only looking for something worthwhile to do with her life. Her beliefs were crushed, her allies turned to enemies save for a few, as Hildegard is proof of that, and she only had one thing left in her life: ambition. Ambition to be great and give a new message for women.
"When you came into her life, it was out of pure loathing, Brother. She despised you, and you disliked her for she was Templar. But she changed, and you changed. You became wiser, she became more patient with you. You grew on each other. She touched a part of your heart that had remained cold since Adha's death. She opened your eyes to see the world from herself, and you did the same for her. Each of you taught the other something new and different- something forbidden, as well.
"Remember yourself, Altair. Remember the honorable man you used to be. You went from arrogant, to patient, to wise and humble, and then you came tumbling back downhill. You are now on your way to failure and disappointment. You aren't there yet, Brother, but you will be soon if you continue to ignore your duties and broach over Maria. It takes time for internal wounds to heal, and I do not think weeks will have the time necessary for the two of you to realize that fighting and resisting each other will just not work.
"I can see the tension you have for her. I've seen it for over a year now. You yearn not only for her love and flesh, but you yearn for companionship. Your Brothers do not satisfy this loneliness inside of you. You require a woman by your side, and that is perfectly alright. Each man requires something different to be successful, and if your need is a woman, then so be it.
"You seek to have at least a friendship with her, to have someone else's opinion on a matter besides my own. You and I are of the same faction, we will think the same. But she is of no faction and no belief. She will think differently from us. You envy that of her. You love that of her. It is her difference from other women that makes her stand out and prominent to you, Altair. She is not defiant to the point where she is a plain bitch, but she will become that if need be. She defends her pride just as a man would. She will shed blood if necessary, though she prefers not to.
"That is where she is similar with you. Just because a year has past, and she birthed a dead baby boy, does not mean that fire is gone. It is still inside of her, just buried. She is distressed and she too is not herself. Both of you need to realize that you have changed for the worse over the year and overcome yourselves before you even consider speaking to the other. Rushing this will only end in spoilage. We cannot afford that with you, Altair. I do not want to see myself take your place as Master of the Hashashin. My heart is content as being your right-hand man."
Altair stared, his face blank and devoid of emotion, as he absorbed Malik's speech. His words had a great affect on the man, making him feel almost relieved to hear the truth. In his mind, he'd be thinking that he'd have to do that to win Maria over, or that he'd have to do this to get her to at least smile at him. But he'd been treating her as a prize; a toy. She was flesh and bone, same as him. He had belittled her as a standard woman, and she knew it.
And she hated it.
It was obvious now, what problems he needed to solve. Malik was absolutely correct. He couldn't wait for Maria and constantly walk on eggshells around her. He'd have to resume with his own life and relearn himself. He'd have to give her time to bounce back to her former personality and to allow a year's worth of pain to be healed. He wanted to mend her suffering himself, perhaps with his flesh, but it would not do. They'd both have to overcome the thorn in their side, thus becoming stronger from it. Then maybe they would earn each other's friendship back.
It wasn't just Altair who had to prove himself worthy to Maria once more. No, he'd been a fool to think that. The woman that his heart had been captured by was somewhere inside of her. She was too distraught, as Malik had said, to revert to her defiant and proud demeanor once more. For them to accept each other so soon... They'd be two completely different people. There was a difference, he noted, between a change in person and a change in experience. He knew that she would never forget how alone and worthless she felt while being pregnant in England, and how insignificant she must have thought herself to be when she gave him a child. She'd always have those scars, but he had his own scars from her absence as well.
It was an experience that they would both benefit from.
He had been too focused on himself, thinking that he was at fault when there was no fault at all. It was responsibility. They both had responsibilities to themselves, and in his case, to his people. He couldn't force this upon Maria. To do so would not only give himself a new personality, but she would be persuaded that he'd never be worth her time again.
"Malik?"
Malik hesitantly looked his friend in the eye, hoping that what he said hadn't upset him further. Instead of finding anger and betrayal in the man's eyes, he found respect and gratitude. "Yes?"
"Thank you, Brother," Altair whispered. His expression softened and he gave Malik's shoulder a firm pat. "For everything."
Malik looked absolutely smug. "I suppose this is the part where I tell you 'I told you so'," he mused. He, too, however, placed his hand on his shoulder. "But what are brothers for?"
They both nodded in agreement at this statement.
The Novice searched the vantage tower, making sure that the other men were asleep. He stepped over their slumbering figures, being sure to be as silent as a predator on the hunt. Once he reached the door to the stairwell that led to the top of the tower, he risked a glance over his shoulder. The Assassin's were still resting in their pallets, their blankets tucked around them and curled underneath their chins.
Such fools!
He'd been surrounded by these idiotic men for almost a year now, coping with their demands and their mysterious personalities. The men were not like his own. Whereas Templar's would converse with one another and jest, these men were always on duty. They were disciplined to the point where they did not speak. Instead, they gave each other small gestures to show their appreciation. Ridiculous!
Mashhur quietly watched over Masyaf and their occupants for the past year. He was only seven and ten years old, and he had grown a sense of patience and tolerance for these men while being with them. He did not find them to be threatening as Assassin's were rumored to be. He found them dull and wished them Hell and more. He'd been at this post for a year now, wondering what his purpose was.
But now he knew it.
He witnessed earlier that day the Master and his woman. They confronted each other, both of them not showing any sign of love or adoration. There was only loathing coming from their uncomfortable and stiff postures. Finally, his patience has paid off! There was something useful to tell his Templar allies. The Master of Assassin's was very frantic nowadays, seeing as how his flower chooses to despise him rather than strip and bed him. There is no solace or pleasure found in there relationship- not anymore, at least.
It was the time to strike. The Master's mind- how much he hated referring to the man as Master!- was too preoccupied with his love to pay any mind to the schemes festering beyond Masyaf's walls. He saw how lost and hurt he had been from seeing her publicly reject him. It was obvious as the difference between night and day! What a fatal mistake he made.
He ascended the stairs without a moment to lose. He was eager now. He'd finally be doing something worthy for his brethren. He would not disappoint the men that raised him since childhood.
Swiftly reaching the room that the stairs led to, he opened the door, restraining a sigh of relief from not hearing the hinges cry. He gently clicked the door shut, careful not to make any excessive noise. Though snores filled the room below him, he knew how easy it was for an Assassin to cast sleep aside and be on full alert.
He fumbled around the room until he found flint. He groped even more in search of a candle, and this time, he actually did sigh once he felt the stick of wax in his hand. Striking the stones together, he produced a spark that fed off of the candle. He stuck the candle in its holder and settled it on the floor, then placed the stones back where he had found them, being sure not to leave any trace that he'd been slacking on the job. A Novice accessing a restricted room would have him be demoted to kitchenboy. Though, being caught conspiring with their enemy would surely result in death for the boy.
Mashhur made his way toward the bureau off to the side of the room and ripped open a drawer, fishing around for parchment, a quill and ink. His hands trembled as he brought his supplies on the floor near the candle. He swallowed down the lump of anticipation in his throat and breathed in deeply, trying to settle his jittery nerves. Now was not the time to make mistakes. He had the death of the Assassin's right at his fingertips. Inhaling, he dipped his quill into the ink and began to write.
C.,
The time is nigh, dear master. The Master of Hashashin is currently too obsessed with our traitor to even think about the safety of his people. He broods day and night, sulking in every corner he deems dark enough for him. He does not care that his own Brothers laugh at him or that they speak so lowly about him when he is nowhere to be found. He helps himself to the pleasure of himself, wishing dearly that that Thorpe whore would be the one to fondle and comfort him. It is ridiculous, but it has proved useful and also amusing.
The Thorpe woman is also upset. She is not herself. She is not the warrior you once viewed her to be. She trembles on sight of the Assassin. She does not hold any more glory in her soul. It has died along with her babe. She seemed particularly frazzled when she and the Assassin confronted each other. I suspect that she will either try to avoid him at all costs, or that she will run away. To do so would weaken the Assassin's even further. Everything is working to our advantage.
They will fall. The Assassin's will not live to see our New World. We will prevail.
May the Father of Understanding guide you.
-Mashhur
He nodded his head as he reread the letter. It had everything he needed to tell his master. Mashhur quickly sealed the letter and approached the ladder at the far side of the room. He climbed it, opened the trap door that led to the outdoors, and pulled himself up onto the very peak of the vantage point. He eyed the pigeon coop stationed there. He ungracefully pulled out one of the birds, attached the letter to its leg, and allowed it to take off into the night.
He smirked, but not from seeing the bird take flight.
Something else caused the boy to chuckle in dark delight.
Below him, he saw a lone figure atop a horse, slowly trotting through the Assassin post, not wanting to cause any unwanted attention to herself.
'How typical of you, Maria.'
So, I've decided to put the Author's Note on the bottom. Why not? So, here it is. First part of Chapter 13. I'm not happy with it. This is my 3rd attempt at it, and I believed that 3rd time is a charm. Hah. Hah. Hah. That was your unenthusiastic Era-Age laugh, ladies and gentlemen.
Though on the good news, I'm doing very well in medical school. Woowoo.
And, I'm feeling generous. And also hungry. But anyway. I've pretty much have this entire story mapped out. Sure, I'll be adding in some neat things here and there, but I've got the plot down for the most part. I'm opening this up to YOU, my readers. What would you like to see more of in this story? Is there a particular thing you want to happen (if it isn't something as ridiculous as Altair having a favorite pair of bunny slippers, then I might consider it)?
No cheers to MJ (BTW: MJ is Meadjean's nickname, just to get that across- they're not two different people) and Christina this time. This is all me, and I'm sure that when I reread this, I'll find a bagillion errors. Sorry, I'm a hungry human.
Also props to my two dogs for inspiring the Bayo and Maria scene. Only, my dogs are as obedient as an orange peel. They'll sit whenever they damn feel like sitting XD
AND ONE MORE THING! (Yes, I just pulled a Grandpa from the Jackie-Chan cartoon!) The Assassin mentioned at the end has to do with that glitch (I think it is?) in the game where when you're at the viewpoint outside of Masyaf, one of the Assassin's is red if you use Eagle Vision. So, I decided to use it to my advantage. And BOTTA BING, BOTTA BOOM! You get what I wrote.
Hope you enjoyed the chapter!
Translations:
sharmuta: whore/prostitute
mierda: shit
To one of my reviewers, Panda: Don'tchu worry about that letter from chapter 9, I haven't forgotten about that. And don't fret, it'll come back to bite Maria in the ass sooner or later XD