I fought the law, and the law won...

[communi_kate]

 

Malik moved towards the edge of the coffer. He grasped the lip with his hand and looked down.

It was empty.

He took a step back and looked around the chamber. The sarcophagus was the only thing in it.

"It seems we should have listened to our guide," Altaïr said.

"This is not what I expected," Malik confessed. He glanced around the chamber again. The Eden fragment failed to materialize. He leaned down, reaching inside the chest, and trailed his hand through the sand strewn along the bottom of the casket. There was a faint pressure against his fingertips, then nothing.  He withdrew his hand, puzzled.

Altaïr sniffed the air. "Something has changed," he said.

Malik frowned. "How so?"

"The air. It has changed. It smells like...like the Master's Eden fragment did. A clean scent, like morning mist across the river."

Malik dragged his hand over the bottom of the chest again. The feeling of pressure intensified. There was nothing definite there; nothing he could pick up, and certainly nothing he could see, but still...

"You try," he said.

Altaïr bent down from his perch on the corner of the casket and touched the pink granite. There was a ripple in the air, as if the room shook itself. The strange smell intensified.

Malik saw a larger room swimming like a mirage in front of his eyes. This one had grey walls, smooth and featureless like the most polished stone. The floor was made of the same smooth grey material. Streaks of red pigment marked its pristine surface.

The air was heavy with a familiar smell, one Malik recognized. He sniffed, bent down and touched the nearest pool. The blood stuck gummily to his fingers. It was not yet dry.

He moved further into the room, peering at the patterns on the floor. He made out crude silhouettes of animals: a monkey, a spider and an ant. A sequence of Roman letters scrawled beside one door spoke to him as clearly as Arabic script. The words unfolded themselves in Malik’s head like an imam reading from a scroll.

ARTIFACTS SENT TO THE SKIES TO CONTROL ALL NATIONS. TO MAKE US OBEY A HIDDEN CRUSADE. DO NOT HELP THEM. 

So whatever else has changed in this strange world, Malik thought, the Templars are still here.

He walked through a set of doors that hissed open like a curtain when he approached. Inside was a small room, with a bed on the floor and a thin metal table along one wall. There was a body draped over the bed. Malik hesitated in the doorway, afraid that the strange doors would close behind him and trap him.

More symbols decorated the wall behind the bed. Malik peered at them without moving from his place. The words formed in his mind like blood draining into a gutter.

THEY DRAINED MY SOUL AND MADE IT THEIRS I DRAINED MY BODY TO SHOW YOU WHERE I SAW IT.

Malik looked once more at the doors. When they showed no sign of moving he stepped into the room with as much defiance as he could muster. The doors, of course, hissed instantly closed.

Malik murmured a Syrian charm against magic under his breath. He looked up at the death curse on the wall and back down to the body. This, at least, was familiar. Whatever this strange place was, its inhabitants were still subject to violence and death.  

As he got closer, he could see that the body was male. It-he-sprawled face down on the bed. His clothes were as strange as the building around him. They were soaked with blood.

Malik put his hand out to touch the man’s shoulder. The body was not yet cool. He turned it over, grunting with effort. The corpse’s arms flopped limply as it rolled.

The face was familiar.

Malik stepped back in dismay. His spine hit cold stone. He blinked and looked down at his palms as the illusion fell away like a discarded robe. His hands were clean.

He looked up and saw stone walls. A gentle blue glow emanated from the sarcophagus. Altaїr crouched at Malik's side. His hood had fallen back from his face. His eyes were wild. "Did you-"

Malik nodded. "I saw…myself," he said, struggling to keep his own voice level.  "Only it was not me. And you? What did you see?"

Altaїr shook his head. "I saw a city made of water. I saw a strange place, a grey room. In it was a man who looked like me. He was of us, but not of us."

"Was he dead?"

"Dead? No. He was alive." Altaїr shook his head. He seemed to wake from a dream. "At least, I think he was. It was nothing."

"We should think on this later." Malik took a tentative step towards the casket.

"Agreed." Altaїr said grimly.

Both Assassins walked slowly to the casket, drawn as moths to flame by the unearthly blue light.

An azure orb glowed at the base of the casket. It was the size of a small melon, round and smooth, like an ostrich egg.

Malik pulled on a pair of leather gloves. He reached down and picked the globe up. The pair of them stood and stared at the Eden fragment.

"Why could we not find it before?" Altaïr said, after a while.

Malik frowned. "We both saw visions-"

He did not get a chance to say more.

"It was not a vision." Altaїr snapped. "Visions are for seers and madmen. I am neither."

"No more than I!" Malik retorted. He temporized, "Illusions, then. I think-I think I saw the future. If I am right, the orb hid itself.  If it can create illusions of the future, all it had to do was produce an illusion of a future when it did not rest inside this tomb."

Altaїr shook his head. He pulled his hood back over his face, as if to hide from the fragment's glow. "Save your theories."

"Imagine what we could do with this, Altaїr!' Malik said enthusiastically. "The future would be as an open book." He shrugged. "It is a pity that the price runs too high for us to pay."

 "Our world would be a better place if Al Mualim followed your reasoning.' Altaïr said. "Besides, I do not want to see more of that future!" He picked up his own gloves and pulled them on. "Let us go. Samir will be wondering what keeps us here." He took the orb and tucked it inside his robe as he headed for the doorway. The blue light winked out.

"Did you see your death, I wonder?" Malik said quietly to his retreating back.

Altaїr grunted, but he did not answer.

Malik shook his head and followed Altaїr down the long passage, leaving the tools behind. He would have liked to mull over the possibilities more, but there was a time and a place for scholarship, and that was assuredly not at midnight in the middle of a vast and empty mausoleum.    

Samir met them at the junction of the passageway. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

Altaїr glared at the small man balefully.

Samir ignored him. "I told you there was nothing here," the guide said as he hefted his own torch high.

"You did indeed." Malik said diplomatically.

The guided nodded in satisfaction. "Still," he said, "this is some place. Right?"

"Worth the journey by itself."

The guide sniffed, satisfied. "I trust you found it worth your while."

"Oh yes," Malik told him. He gestured the guide to go ahead as he straightened his back, wincing.  His missing left arm had skewed his body, forcing his right shoulder higher than the left. His right shoulder blade scraped rhythmically again the ceiling of the narrow passage.

Altaїr glanced back at him quizzically. Malik shrugged.

 The silhouette of the guide vanished through the exit. Exiting, Malik bumped into Altaїr’s back. He opened his mouth to make an acerbic comment, and then saw why the other Assassin had paused.

The rest of the guides slumped in a heap on the sand. Their camels shifted nervously above their bodies, perturbed by the smell of blood. A mailed soldier grasped the camels' lead reins in one hand. Other soldiers stood in a wide crescent formation around the entrance to the tomb. A banner snapped in the crisp desert wind. The sky had turned an unearthly yellow color. It looked as if Samir's storm was on its way.

Malik felt a chill sweep through him that had nothing to do with the breeze.

Samir gulped. Before Malik could grab him, he jumped down from the pyramid towards the bodies of his fellow thieves. A high and wordless cry burbled from his throat.

The soldiers reached him before he was even halfway there. One of them slashed at Samir. The thief crumpled. The soldiers lifted Samir underneath his arms and flung him on the pile of corpses.

Neither Assassin moved.

The massed troops split in two. A wide aisle opened down the centre of the formation. A single horse stepped forwards through the column. It was richly caparisoned. It danced forwards, lifting each hoof clear of the sand before proceeding. Half a dozen Frankish soldiers wearing the white tabard of Templar knights followed in its wake.

The horse pranced forwards. It halted a few arms’ lengths away from Malik and Altaїr. The rider of the horse raised the visor of his helm and blinked as a stinging sand grain caught his face.

"Welcome, Assassins."Sayf al-Din said. "You will come with us. Now."

Malik and Altaїr looked around at the massed ranks of guards. "We should be flattered," Malik muttered. He heard the sound of Altaїr’s blade exit its sheath a second before he drew his own knife.

"No." Altaïr said flatly.

Malik raised his own voice. "With respect, my lord, I am afraid we will have to decline."  He felt the breeze of the pyramid at his back. Possibilities ran wildly through his mind. They could hide in the tomb-seek shelter, perhaps, until they grew desperate from thirst, sell their lives dearly if Sayf al-Din sent his men after them.

The general's voice was quiet, but filled with absolute authority. "Come now. I know what you have found, and I applaud you for your valor. Nobody has ever brought anything of worth from that pyramid."

Malik shrugged. "We have nothing, my lord. Our quest was not successful."

"We both know that that is not true."

"Everybody makes mistakes," Altaïr said softly. "Even generals." He had angled his body, Malik saw, in such a way that the orb hidden within his robe was not visible.

"You lie." Sayf al-Din said flatly. The banner flapped in the rising wind behind him. "I hope you recognize what the consequences of such an act might be."

Malik looked around at the soldiers that encircled them. "If you wished us dead you would have shot us from a distance," he pointed out. "You have the air of a man who wishes to negotiate."

The general smiled. He kicked his horse and the animal sidled to the left. "I have found I have more in common with the Franks that I had thought. I have made allies. And my allies wish to question you."

The Templars stepped forwards into the gap.

"You are mistaken." Altaïr hissed. "The Templars ally themselves with no man. They will destroy us, and then they will destroy you."

"You will forgive me if I do not trust the word of an Assassin." Sayf-al-Din said coolly. "The Templars want peace. As do I. And sometimes peace is best achieved by negotiation rather than battle glory. But I would not expect men like you to understand. "

"What do they want with us?" Altaïr hissed.

"I believe," the General said, "they seek revenge for the death of de Sable. For William of Montferrat and Conrad, his son. For Sibrand the Teuton and Garnier de Naplouse..." He raised his eyebrows. "Need I go on?"

Altaïr raised his blade to his own throat. Malik followed suit. He felt the cold steel against his flesh.

"You will not do that," Sayf al-Din said, with the absolute confidence of a ruler. He raised his voice. "Bring them forwards!"

The soldiers parted for a second time. They dragged three figures forwards, their faces nearly unrecognizable under blood and bruises. Malik, squinting, could only just distinguish their sex. A man, a woman and a child.

He had never met two of the three, but he could guess very well who they were.

Malik had not known ben Ishaq had a family.

"We must surrender," he hissed under his breath to Altaïr.

Altaïr did not falter. "The very thought dishonors you."

"No more than the death of innocents dishonors us! This is not the way, Altaïr."

"Surrendering is not my way!" Altaïr snapped back. "I am not a coward."

"No more am I! This man is my friend. He offered us shelter!"

"Please!" moaned ben Ishaq's wife. "Don't kill us!"

Altaïr ignored her. "You owe them nothing," he said calmly. "Assassins have no friends."

Malik raised his voice. "We must give in!" He used the fingers of his right hand to form Assassin symbols against Altaïr's sleeve. I will surrender. You shall escape. He hoped that the other man would understand. Altaïr frowned. "I will not!" he shouted. His hands flicked against his robe. Assassin-sign for you have no chance.

Sayf al-Din followed the conversation with interest. Luckily for the Assassins, ben Ishaq's wife chose that moment to scream and thrash as the soldiers holding her tugged at her hair. Malik hissed "There is no time, Altaïr!" The piteous moans concealed his next words as best he could.  "Now!"

He threw his knife down and advanced into the circle, hand held high. As the soldiers advanced upon him he drew a second knife with his good hand from the hidden scabbard between his left stump and his body, aimed...and threw.

The knife sailed in a perfect arc. It would have killed Saladin's brother, had the man's horse not sidled sideways at that exact moment. Instead it scored his cheek deeply and glanced from the mail coif that the General wore. Sayf al-Din cried out and clapped his hand to his face. Blood welled up between his fingers.  Malik caught a brief glimpse of Altaïr diving for the camels before the first soldier reached him.

It was all over quickly after that.

To Malik's surprise, the guards did not kill him. They were not gentle, but they hauled him on his knees before Sayf al-Din more or less in one piece. He glanced around for Altaïr, but could not see him. The movement caught the attention of Sayf al-Din, who smiled unkindly.

"Peace, Assassin," the general said. He dabbed at his eye with a scrap of silk and winced. "I have kept my eye, which was doubtless not your intention. I shall live with the scar. You, on the other hand, will live to regret it." He flicked his finger. A pair of Templars stepped forwards.

The guards holding him pushed Malik's head down, but he managed to twist away enough to look the General in the eye. "My comrade?"

"He is dead." Sayf al-din said flatly. "And if he is not, then he soon will be. My soldiers seek him in the desert. He will not get far. I am surprised they are not back already."

Malik spat blood. "I will be surprised if they are still alive," he coughed. "Altaïr ...he has evaded guards in every city that I know. You will not find him this time."

He remembered too late that rulers did not like to be contradicted. Sayf al-Din nodded. Malik turned too late. The guard behind him punched him in the back, driving him to his knees. The pain was excruciating.

"Hold your tongue." Sayf said pleasantly."Or I will cut it out." He raised his voice and gestured to the Templars. "Take him. We must reach Cairo before this storm hits."

They tied Malik's hand to the back of his belt with a long piece of rope. The wind howled among the pyramids like a jinn.  It made the camels nervous. The beasts were already uneasy at the sight and scent of blood, and it took three Templars to persuade one camel to kneel.   Malik watched and waited, hoping for a chance at escape, but there was none. The Templars hauled Malik aboard and they set off for the city.

The storm intensified.

 The Templars pulled their mail coifs over their faces. They moved to the lee side of the camel's hulking body. Sparks crackled from the beast's coarse coat. Malik looked around. He could not see much, but what he could see was not reassuring. The storm lent the air an unearthly glow. The sky was the color of saffron and the shadows of the tombs loomed dark over them.  Malik saw nothing else but the bobbing backs of camels and the grey metal of mail shirts. There was no sign of Altaïr, or of ben Ishaq and his family. He wondered if they were dead as he worked his one good hand against the ropes.

One of the Templars leaned forwards. "Save your strength," he said in passable Arabic. "There is no chance of escape."

Malik paused as he weighed the words. Escape, in his opinion, was always worth a try. At the very least, it might bring him a quicker death than Sayf al-Din had implied. He rocked with the camel's ungainly motion and tried to think.

"What is your name?" he asked eventually, working on the principle that a man who knew your name might hesitate a second before loosing a crossbow bolt or swinging a sword. A second might be all Malik needed.

The Templar looked surprised. "Beg pardon?" he asked, accidentally using a much higher form of address than Malik guessed he had meant to.

"What is your name?" Malik repeated patiently. "Come, I will make it easy for you. Mine is Malik al-Sayf. I will let you have this for free. Tell me your name." He flexed his hand again. The ropes around his wrist moved- not much, but enough for him to get some feeling back into his arm.

"Don't answer," one of the other soldiers said. Malik had difficulty understanding the Frankish words, but the gist of the sentence was clear.

"My name is Steven Marcell," the man said, "and I am not afraid of you."

Malik sniffed. "Of course not. Nor would I be. Not now." He lowered his tone meditatively. "But what about in a dark alley, with nobody at your back? I wonder if you would be afraid then."

The Templar's face hardened, but he said nothing.

"We are just two men," Malik said, "but the Brotherhood is many."

The Templar scowled."Do not try to trick us, Assassin. I have met your sort before. Your Brotherhood will not come to save you."

"Really?" Malik asked innocently. He inclined his head. "Then what is that?"

He smiled quietly to himself as the Templar swung around to look.

In the dust of the storm, it took the soldier a few moments to realize that there really was nothing there. Steven growled as he realized the trick. He swung his fist. The blow connected with Malik's jaw and knocked his head back against the warm flank of the camel. Malik's teeth snapped together. Sand rattled against his face like hail as the world around him faded. Bright lights danced in the darkness.

A sudden lurch beneath him brought Malik back to himself. His face was caked with sand and his mouth was dry. His chest ached with inhaled grit.

The camel swayed again, and fell.

Malik fell with it. He landed face down in the sand. A velvety foot thudded down near his head as the camel staggered. If took a few steps away and fell over with a noise like a rug hitting the wall. It stank like a brewery.

There was no sign of the Templar.

Malik struggled to his knees.

An arrow hissed into the sand beside him. Malik crawled awkwardly over to the shaft, trying to keep his body behind the warm bulk of the camel. He felt the flight feathers tickle against his knuckles and groped along the shaft to dig the arrowhead from the sand. He paused to adjust his grip and began to rub the head of the arrow against the ropes. The rope was cheap, made from date fibers. Its strands frayed and snapped under the sharp broadhead. The pressure around Malik's wrist released.

Malik rolled over. He grabbed the arrow and raised his head over the sheltering bulwark that was the camel's dead body. 

The night around him was a commotion of fighting men and sand. The sound of camels screaming echoed from the pyramids. It made Malik's skin crawl. He could not see more than ten paces. 

He crept back from the camel and ran crouching to the shadow of the nearest mausoleum. A statue of a lion with a woman's head loomed up out of the ochre darkness. Malik dodged around it. A few arrows clattered against the stone, but they were nearly at the limit of their range and hence no threat to Malik.

He moved into the shadows at the edge of the tomb. The blocks of stone were cold as death, but the air was so warm Malik was grateful for the coolness. He shrugged the remnants of the ropes from his arms and considered which way to go next.  The battle was north and east of him, towards the river. In such a dry heat, he would not go far without water. Crocodiles or no, the Nile seemed like his best chance.

When he heard a sound, he whirled like an animal at bay and saw another figure standing a few paces away. The silhouette's robes appeared saffron in the dim light. Malik held the arrow high. It seemed like a pitiful enough weapon, but it was all he had. "Do not move!" he commanded, and willed himself not to choke as the words bit into his seared throat.

The figure turned. "Malik?"

Malik recognized the voice. "Altaïr?" he asked incredulously.

Altaïr showed no sign of surprised. "Indeed," he said.

"Do you still have the orb?"

Altaïr reached into his robe and withdrew the glowing fragment. Veiled in flying sand, the light it cast was a sickly green in color.

"Who are the others? Did you find us help?"

Altaïr shook his head. He joined Malik in the shadow of the ruin and hunkered down, still as the tomb itself. "They seek the orb."

Malik's eyes narrowed. "Who are they?"

"They are Assassins." Altaïr said. "They know that we are here. And they will win. Sayf al-Din's forces have retreated towards the Nile. They will not risk their lord. The Templars travel with them."

"The new Master has sent the Brotherhood to find us." Malik said.

Altaïr nodded. He looked down at the arrow in Malik's hand and held out a knife. Malik nodded in thanks and tucked the weapon in his sleeve. He jabbed the arrow head downwards in the sand.

"Let us face them." Altaïr said.

Malik's hand slipped. "Are you insane? Listen to yourself, Altaïr."

"They will find us. And better to seek him out than be caught ourselves."

Malik considered. "True. We cannot sit here and argue forever. This storm is good cover, but it will end soon. Whatever we plan, we had best do it quickly."   

"I say that we should show ourselves."

"And I say that we should not!"

Altaïr gestured in the direction of the battlefield. The noise of fighting had diminished. No arrows rattled from the coping stones of the tiny temple. "If we tarry here for long, our choice shall be made for us."

Malik shrugged. He looked back at the swirling sand of the desert. "Then let us find Nasr."

Altaïr got to his feet. Malik followed, somewhat less lithely. The gale was in full cry around them. Sand swirled in torrents. Malik closed his eyes for a second against the onslaught. He reached up and wrapped his scarf around his mouth. Sand instantly caked the fabric as he inhaled.

They headed into the storm.

They had not gone far before a figure wearing a white robe and scarf materialized in front of Malik like a jinn. He looked quizzically from face to face, and drew his knife.

Malik held out his hand. "Peace," he said. "We are not here to fight."

"Follow me," the Assassin said briefly. His voice barely carried over the hubbub of the storm. Malik did not recognize his voice, although he caught a trace of a faint Persian accent. The new Master had come to Masyaf from the Persian stronghold of Alamut. He had brought his own men with him.

"We wish to speak to the Master!" Malik shouted. It was an unwise decision. His throat smarted. He spat blood stained sand from his mouth.

The Assassin regarded him suspiciously. He said nothing.

"Nasr," Malik repeated.

Altaïr nodded.

The Assassin gestured forwards. He led them in silence to the battlefield. By the time they reached it the storm had abated slightly. The bodies of Templars, Arabs and Assassins lay shoulder to shoulder in the sand. White robed Assassins examined the bodies.

Their guide held his hand up in the air and shouted. His voice did not carry far, but nevertheless, a few of the Assassins looked up. Those who did moved their hands instantly to their daggers. The effect spread like a wave over the sea until all the Assassins were facing Altaïr and Malik with blades in hand. It was an unnerving sight. For the first time Malik began to question the logic of their decision.

Altaïr held up the Eden fragment. It glowed like a lantern in the gritty sank-soaked air.

Three men in white robes left the fighting and walked over to Malik, Altaїr and their three silent companions. They sheathed long knives in their belts as they walked. Their robes were stained with blood.

Their leader reached Malik and nodded. He reached out and took the Eden fragment from Altaïr, handing it to an attendant.  "Altair ibn La’Ahad," he said. "Malik al-Sayf. You are wiser than I had thought."

Malik recognized Nasr al'Ajami, Grand Master of the Syrian Assassins and successor to Al Mualim. He bowed as deeply as he could manage. "Master."

Altaїr glared. "You are not my Master," he said eventually.

There was a collective intake of breath. Malik winced. There was a time and a place for defiance. This was not it.

Nasr frowned.   "Think yourself fortunate that I did not hear you say that," he said, reaching forwards to push Altaïr's hood back from his face. "You have the look of Al Mualim about you."

"Al Mualim is dead." Malik said quickly.

Nasr looked from Altaïr's face to Malik's. "But it seems that his teachings live on. You seek his legacy."

"That is not true." Altaїr put in. He did not seem alarmed or even particularly concerned. "Al Mualim wished to control the world with the fragment that he held. He did not search for more. Instead he used what he found. We have not. "

 "Al Mualim might well have done, were the first fragment hidden from him." Nasr said."And you have not yet had a chance to use the orb."

"Al Mualim was a Templar before he was an Assassin." Malik explained. "He lived a double life for years."

Nasr’s sallow face grew dark with anger. His Persian accent thickened. "I know exactly what Al Mualim was. That is why the Brotherhood of Alamut sent me! To purge the Masyaf castle of its hidden taint!"

"We are not Templars!" Altaїr snapped.

"Then what are you? You left Masyaf without permission and without orders, so you cannot be Assassins! I think your loyalty lies elsewhere."

"We are ourselves." Malik said quietly.

"And we are loyal," Altaїr added.

Nasr scoffed. "In word, maybe, but not in deed."

"Everything I-we- have done has been for the Brotherhood!" Altaïr protested. "We have not violated the tenets of the Creed. But neither have we used it as a shield. I vowed to do what I must to set things to rights after Al Mualim died. And I am loyal to that vow."

Nasr stepped back and looked at both men down his nose. He said nothing. His posture radiated nothing but contempt.

Altaïr scowled. "We seek not to use the artifacts, but to hide them from those who would."

"You speak with such sincerity." Nasr said.

Malik felt a great weariness sweep over him. "It is the truth." he said.

"Why should I believe you?" Nasr asked skeptically.

"We saw visions. The orb spoke to us. The Templars exist far into the future, as do we. And I think we fight them there."

Nasr narrowed his eyes and stared at Malik. It was the Master that looked away first.

The Master beckoned to one of the silent Assassins. "Hand me the orb!" He pulled his gloves off and handed them to an assistant before cupping the orb in his hands. "So let us see..."

His voice trailed off.

Malik never knew exactly what Nasr al'Ajami saw in the orb. The Master cupped the Eden fragment in his hands and started into its depths for many a long minute.  When he looked up his face was grey. What did you see?"

It was Altaïr who answered.  "I saw a strange future," he said. "Assassins who are not Assassins. Templars who are not Templars. The fragments, waiting to be discovered."

Nasr met Altaïr's gaze. His lips moved as if were about to speak, but no sound came out. A real and terrible compassion was writ deep in Altaïr's face.

The Master shook himself as if waking from a dream and handed the orb to his attendant. The Assassin wrapped the fragment in a square of bleached wool and tucked it away in a satchel.

"It seems you speak the truth." Nasr said briskly. "Let them go."

Malik's captors released him. Beside him, Altaïr grimaced and rubbed his arms.

"What were you planning to do with the artifact?"

"The idea was to keep it from the Templars." Altaïr said. He pulled his hood back over his face.

"Would have it not have been better to leave the orb concealed?" Nasr gestured at the pyramid.

"Maybe." Malik conceded. 'But we could not risk the artifact falling into Templar hands. We knew what we were searching for. They will also know."

Nasr looked less than satisfied at the reply. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by a stocky man in Assassin's robes. The intruder bowed deeply. "Master," he said, and offered a pair of leather bags to Nasr.

Nasr gestured towards Malik and Altaïr. "Give them their possessions."

The Assassin thrust a sheepskin pouch into Altaïr's arms. He dropped one at Malik's feet. Malik delved inside.  He recognized his things. "My thanks."

"We took them from the house." Nasr said briefly.

Malik remembered ben Ishaq. "The Jewish papermaker?"

"Dead, alas."

"His family?"

"At peace with him."

"Not your work?"

"No. The Templars. They were dead before we arrived." His gaze was suspicious. Malik did not care.

"He was a good man," he said. And I have weakened. Kadar got less of a eulogy than that, and he was my brother.

Altaïr delved into his own bag and took out the wooden globe. He raised it to the moonlight and spun it in his fingers.

"Ah.' Nasr said. "You have the map. That is good. You will need it."  He glanced up at Altaïr with something of the shrewdness of his predecessor in his eyes. "Do you remember what the Assassins fight for?"

The words seemed to jog a memory in Altaïr for he replied "Peace in all things."

Nasr looked pleased at Altaïr's answer. "Indeed," he said. "This, therefore, is your task. Search out the fragments. Bring death upon our enemies. Claim the pieces as our own."

"As you wish." Malik said.

"Why do you not send other men?"Altaïr countered.

Malik sighed. It seemed that Altaïr genuinely could not even be diplomatic if his own life was at stake. Malik would not have minded so much has his own life not hung in the balance.

"I need those who can act without direct orders. And you, I think, will not do well at Masyaf again. Had we more time, I would send you to Alamut. But business is pressing, and this cannot wait."

"You planned this all along." Malik said.

"I make use of the instruments Allah gives me." Nasr said briefly. "Besides, I would not waste your training. I will give you horses, and as much help as I can offer. I suggest you go to Timbuktu next, in the kingdom of the Moors. Then seek out the Garden of Hesperides in the high Atlas. Once you have completed that task, take ship to our country and make for Masyaf. I shall meet you there."

"Now go, and remember, you serve the Brotherhood in all things. Do not err."

Malik bowed again. This time Altaïr joined him. "We shall not," he said.

"Then leave."

"And what of the fragment?" Altaïr demanded.

"I shall take it to Masyaf." He held up a hand as Altaïr opened his mouth. "No, do not question me. The first Eden Fragment lies safe within the bowels of Masyaf. I think I can be trusted with this one. I will not entrust it to such a long and difficult journey as yours is likely to be. Now go. And do not make me regret the decision I have made this day. That is all. "

"Safety and peace." Malik said automatically. He bowed, took Altaïr by the arm and dragged him out of the small circle of Assassins. Altaïr scowled, but he went.

The horses Nasr had promised were waiting. Malik mounted. A flask of river water was tied in the customary place at the crupper. He uncorked the water skin, took a long drink and hissed to Altaïr "Are you mad?"

Altaïr swung himself astride his own horse. "The orb showed my descendants.  At present, I have none. Therefore, I survive. That is all."

Malik clicked to his horse. They headed south, amongst the pyramids and sphinxes of the necropolis. "You can still father sons if you are blind, or crippled. Did you not think of that?"

"I confess I did not." Altaïr said from beneath his hood. "But it did not go so badly."

"You nearly got us killed. Besides, I did not see my descendants in the orb. He might very well have killed me, and spared your life. Think on that. You will have much time. It is a long way to Timbuktu."

Altaïr kicked his own horse in the ribs in reply. The mare reared and twisted. She came down hard, almost but not quite unseating Altaïr, to Malik's disappointment.  She flicked her tail, pranced, and then took off like the wind into the shifting sands, in the direction of nothing very much.

Malik kneed his own horse into a gallop and followed.

 

 

"Brothers, when the time comes, with good fortune from both worlds as our companion, then by one single warrior on foot a king may be (struck) with terror, though he own more than a hundred thousand horsemen."

'An Ismaili Poem in Praise of Fidawis' tr. W Ivanow

 

Author's note: This story is a sequel of sorts to my previous story The Favour of Heaven, although I like to think it can stand alone if necessary. I took a lot more historical liberties with this tale than its predecessor; mostly because, although the murder of Conrad of Montferrat was well documented by contemporary historians, there was considerably less information available to me about the movements of Saladin's brother. But the story of the Great Pyramid and its exploration is true, and the description of the interior is as accurate as I can make it, never having visited. Nothing has ever been found inside the pyramid. Sayf-al-Din may or may not have been in Cairo at this time, and if he was it is doubtful whether he would have resided in Saladin's great citadel. The great Khan el-Khalili market had not been built in Altaïr's day, but doubtless there would have been something similar: the bazaar in the story is modeled after the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul. The documents are loosely based on the Cairo Genizah, a cache of medieval papers mostly related to Jewish law that were found in a house in Old Cairo in the later 19^th century.

I suspect my next AC story will likely feature Venice.

 

Comments

[(Anonymous)]

<3 That was totally awesome.