Revelations

FIFTY-FIVE

They walked toward the castle together.

“You say these men are cruel,” said Altair. “Has any man raised his blade against an innocent?”

“Alas, yes,” Cemal replied. “Brutality seems to be their sole source of pleasure.”

“Then they must die, for they have compromised the Order,” said Altair. “But those who still live by the creed must be spared.”

“You can put your trust in us,” said Cemal.

“I am sure of it. Now-leave me. I wish to reconnoiter alone, and it is not as if I am unfamiliar with this place.”

“We will remain within call.”

Altair nodded and turned to face the castle gates as his two companions fell back. He approached the entrance, keeping to the shadows, and passed the sentries without difficulty, thinking with regret that no true Assassin sentries would have let him slip by so easily. He hugged the walls of the outer bailey, skirting them until he was able to cross to a torchlit guard post not far from the gates of the inner, where he saw two captains engaged in conversation. Altair paused to listen to them. After a few words had been exchanged, he knew them to be men loyal to Abbas. Abbas! Why, thought Altair, had he shown the man mercy? What suffering might have been avoided if he had not! But then, perhaps, after all, mercy had been Abbas’s due, whatever the cost of it.

“You’ve heard the stories going around the village?” said the first officer.

“About Abbas and his nightmares?”

“No, no-” the first man dropped his voice. “About Altair.”

“Altair? What?”

“People are saying that an old Assassin saved the life of a merchant, down in the valley. They say he fought with a hidden-blade.”

The second officer shook his head, dismissively. “Rumors. I don’t believe a word of it.”

“True or not, say nothing to Abbas. He is sick with suspicion.”

“If Altair is anywhere in these parts, we should act first-seek him out and kill him, like the vile old cur he is. He will only spread discontent like he did before, making each man responsible for his decisions. Undermining the authority that has made Abbas great.”

“An iron fist. That is all anyone understands.”

“You are right. No order without control.”

Altair had taken his time to assess the situation. He knew that Cemal and Teragani were somewhere in the shadows behind him. The two officers seemed to be all that stood between him and the inner bailey, and their speech had proved them to be sworn to Abbas’s doctrines-doctrines that had far more to do with Templar thinking than that of true Assassins.

He coughed, very gently, and moved into the pool of light.

The two officers turned on him.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Clear out, old man, if you know what’s good for you.”

The first to speak laughed harshly. “Why don’t we just cut him down where he stands? The pigs will be glad of the extra meal.”

Altair did not speak. Instead, he extended his left hand, palm toward them, so that they could see that his ring finger was missing.

They took a step back, simultaneously drawing their scimitars. “The usurper returns!” barked the second captain.

“Who’d have thought it? After so long.”

“What brings you back?”

“A dog returning to its vomit.”

“You talk too much,” said Altair. With the economical movements an old man must learn, but with none of an old man’s slowness, he unleashed his hidden-blade as he stepped forward and lunged-once, twice-with deadly accuracy.

He moved on toward the gates of the inner bailey, still wary, and his caution paid off. He saw a third captain standing by them and was just in time to duck out of sight before the man could notice him. As he watched, he heard a faint yell behind him, and, from the darkness, a young Assassin came sprinting toward the officer. He whispered something to him, and the captain’s eyes went wide in surprise and anger. Clearly, the bodies of the corrupt Assassins Altair had just dispatched had already been discovered, and his own presence would doubtless no longer be a secret. Swiftly, Altair exchanged his hidden-blade for the spring-loaded pistol, which he had developed from designs during his studies in the East.

“Send him a message, quickly!” the captain was ordering his young henchman. He raised his voice. “Assassins of the Brotherhood of Abbas! To me!”

Altair had stood, quietly weighing his options, when from close to his elbow a friendly voice said: “Mentor!”

He turned to see Cemal and Tergani. With them were half a dozen fellow Assassins.

“We could not prevent the discovery of those captains you killed-two of the cruelest in the band, who would never has risen to rank under anyone save Abbas,” Cemal explained quickly. “But we have brought reinforcements. And this is only a start.”

“Welcome.” Altair smiled.

Cemal smiled back. Behind him, the little detachment of true Assassins raised their hoods, almost in unison.

“We’d better shut him up,” said Teragani, nodding toward the blustering third captain.

“Allow me,” said Altair. “I need the exercise.”

He stepped forward to confront the rogue Assassin officer. By then, a number of the man’s own renegade soldiers had rushed to his aid.

“There he is!” yelled the captain. “Kill him! Kill all the traitors!”

“Think before you act,” said Altair. “Every action has its consequences.”

“You pathetic miser! Stand down or die!”

“You could have been spared, friend,” said Altair, as his supporters stepped out of the shadows.

“I am not your friend, old man,” retorted the captain, and rushed Altair, slicing at him with his sword before the old Mentor seemed fully ready.

But he was ready. The conflict was short and bloody. At the end of it, the captain and most of his men lay dead under the gates.

“Follow me to the castle keep,” cried Altair. “And spill no more blood if you can help it. Remember the true Code.”

But now, at the portal to the inner bailey, another captain stood, in his black and dark grey robes, the Assassin emblem glinting on his belt in the torchlight. He was an older man, of perhaps some fifty summers.

“Altair Ibn-La’Ahad,” he said in a firm voice that knew no fear. “Two decades have passed since we last saw you within these walls. Two decades which, I see, have been kinder to your face than they have been to our decrepit Order.” He paused. “Abbas used to tell us stories

… About Altair the arrogant. Altair the deceiver. Altair the betrayer. But I never believed these tales. And now I see here, standing before me, Altair the Master. And I am humbled.”

He stepped forward and extended his arm in friendship. Altair took it in a firm grasp, hand gripping wrist, in a Roman handshake. A number of Assassin guards, clearly his men, ranged themselves behind him.

“We could use your wisdom, great Master. Now, more than ever.”

He stood back and addressed his troops: “Our Mentor is returned!”

The soldiers sheathed their drawn weapons and raised their hoods. Joining forces with Altair’s existing group of loyal Assassins, they made their way toward the dark-towered keep of Masyaf.