The moment that the door closed, Altaïr heard a yell, in anger and fear, from the Templar. It would take at least another hour or two before Al Mualim and the torturer would come but it was better that Sibrand was there already. Altaïr had managed to get him there just before he figured out what was going to happen.
While the Syrian walked back through the dungeons, towards the exit, he could hear the voice from the German die away in the distance. He wondered how much information they would get out of him. In a few hours he would be the one responsible for disposing the body.
Walking back through the corridors of the castle, Altaïr saw the torturer heading for Al Mualims quarters. Before the man could open his mouth to say something, Altaïr beat him to it. ''He's already there'' the man nodded before resuming his way. Altaïr didn't really like the man, mostly because it was the same man who cut of his right ringfinger to make his hand fit for the secret blade.
Hours later, Altaïr returned to the castle after spending the whole afternoon in the village. It had been a while since he had last been there and it was good to not have to worry about taking care of the Templar anymore.
He had given the undertaker the money to dig a grave where he would dump the body when it was dark, about a mile out of the village. The sun was lowering, almost touching the horizon. Altaïr saddled one of the horses and went back to the dungeons to get the body.
But when going there, the body wasn't just beside the exit. Altaïr frowned, maybe they had just left it in the dungeons. While entering the dark corridors, he remembered the panicked yelling from that morning. It seemed like he was still hearing it.
While walking, it turned out that it wasn't his memory but that there were real voices. Altaïr wasn't really looking forward to interrupting the torture, both because it wasn't a really pretty sight and because Al Mualim wouldn't be very happy. But it would become really dark in just a hour or two and Altaïr wanted to arrive at the grave before it was too dark to find it, or even worse make the horse trip in it.
But when walking towards the cell where Sibrand was for the past days, he saw Zafer leaning on the wall outside of the cell, looking at Altaïr. The Syrian frowned, why would Zafer be here? His clothes were covered in blood. Then Altaïr heard a muffled moan in pain from the cell and a few voices.
''He's alive?'' he said a bit surprised. Zafer nodded and did a step towards Altaïr. ''Al Mualim decided to spare his miserable life'' his voice was full of hate and he spat towards the cell. Altaïr looked through the metal bars and saw two guards plus a doctor in the cell. Sibrand was on the ground, held down by the guards while the doctor treated his injuries.
The faint smell of blood hang in the air. Altaïr could see cuts in his skin, mostly small cuts just to inflict as much pain as possible without making him loose too much blood to make him pass out in a few minutes. Red burns littering his arms and legs, while bloody welts covered his back.
The doctor had his hands full of taking care of these injuries. Altaïr turned around to Zafer. ''Why did he let him live?'' he asked, there was no reason to let the Templar live and suffer. Zafer was again leaning against the wall, clearly bored and irritated. ''Because Al Mualim wanted to make an example out of him for those other bastards'' Altaïr didn't always agree with Al Mualim, like this time. This could be considered cruelty. If you wanted to make an example for the rest of the Templars, why not deliver his head back to his commander?
''How much did he tell?'' Altaïrs next question was. After a faint grin, Zafer talked. ''Not a word more than he told you. It seemed it was the truth that he didn't knew anything more but better be safe than sorry, right?''
Another sound of pain escaped from the cell, Altaïr turned around to walk out of the dungeons. Just as he reached the end of the corridor, the Assassin leaning on the wall spoke up. ''Ey, don't walk away just like that. He's your responsibility and property from now on. He's yours''
It seemed like Al Mualim wasn't done with either of them. The Templar had to live through his recovery and Altaïr would be stuck until the day Sibrand died with a slave he didn't want.
Altaïr always traveled alone, his job was to assassinate people, not to babysit someone who would just alarm the targets, by accident or by purpose, and slow him down. He had to convince Al Mualim to either kill the Templar or give him to someone else. Altaïr had a lot of work to do before he would regain his original rank. After putting the horse back in the stables, he headed straight for the office of Al Mualim.
''What am I supposed to do with him?'' was his first question. The man thought several moments, putting a few papers back in a drawer before answering. ''Whatever you want to except killing him. '' the last part he wisely added. ''I've no need for him'' Al Mualim sat back down in his chair and looked at the irritated Altaïr.
''That's not the point. The point is that those Templars learn their places. And you must relearn patience by training the Templar. If you hadn't been that impatient, Kadar would still be alive'' Altaïr wanted to say something but Al Mualim raised his hand to make clear he shouldn't speak. ''Silence, you shouldn't question me. Now, leave. Tomorrow you will go to Jerusalem and assassinate Talal. By the time you returned, the Templar will have recovered.''
The castle appeared in the distance, after a long travel Altaïr had returned to Masyaf. He had no idea if Sibrand was still alive or died from blood loss. After handing over his horse to one of the stable hands, he headed towards the dungeons.
Sibrand was in the corner of the cell, curled up, probably asleep. His arms were wrapped in bandages. Altaïr opened the cell, while keeping his eyes on Sibrand, not sure how to wake him up.
Sibrand was woken by footsteps in the corridors. For the past few days, footsteps always meant bad news, always pain. He could still remember that day, he should never had trusted the Assassin, he shouldn't have believed his words. Of course the well wasn't dry, nothing than nonsense. Those last words had freaked him out. May your God have mercy on your soul.
Sibrand had been sure that he would die that day, that they would either starve him to death or kill him instantly. He had tried to escape the ropes around his wrists, but he was stuck, he had no idea when he again heard footsteps but it had seemed like ages.
It wasn't the Assassin who had taken care of his injuries for the last days but two other men, one he vaguely remembered when he was just recently captured. The other one he had never seen before. They were speaking in a local dialect which Sibrand couldn't understand but it was sure that it was no good.
The pain. The pain had been excruciating. Sibrand was sure the whole castle must have heard his screaming. He had barely known anything, there hadn´t been much useful information he could give them. But they wouldn´t believe him that he knew nothing else, they kept torturing him, hoping for any new information.
After what seemed like days of torture and pain, they stopped. Sibrands voice was gone, he had screamed that much and loud that his vocal cords refused to work anymore. His throat felt like it was one fire but that was the least of his problems right now.
He had expected it to be finally over, to be released from his pain. But no, they decided to let him live. It took two guards to keep him down while the doctor tried to undo the damage done by the torturing. From that day on, footsteps were the bad omen of more pain, either guards beating him just because they hated Templars or the doctor under the excuse of trying to heal his wounds.
Sibrand kept his eyes close, maybe they would leave him alone for just one day if they thought he was asleep. A futile hope but it was better than nothing. It surprised him when he saw the Assassin. From between his eyelashes, he could see the man closing in on him. It took a while before he did something to wake him up, rather roughly by kicking him in the ribs.
It hurt, the Syrian kicked him right on one of the burns inflicted by the red-hot metal of the torturer. Tears appeared in the corners of his eyes of pain, but he refused to open them . ´´Leave me alone´´ he growled angrily. Sibrand had no idea why they had kept him alive this time, hopefully not to torture him again, he really didn´t know anything else.
The Assassin crouched down and put something in front of him before leaving the cell, locking it and walking away. Curious about what it was, Sibrand opened his eyes and looked at the stuff placed in front of him. It was a cup of water and some bread.