Read Online Assassin's Creed The Secret Crusade by Oliver Bowden - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Oliver Bowden
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with wide, terrified eyes, agreeing fiercely with everything they were told.
‘I can’t sell this,’ snapped Tamir. ‘Melt it down and try again. And if it comes out just as poorly it’ll be you who gets melted down next.’
Wide eyes. Nod, nod, nod.
‘I don’t understand what you do all day. Your stall is filled with goods. Your purse should be filled with coin. Why can’t you sell these things? It isn’t difficult. Perhaps, you are not trying hard enough. Do you require motivation ?’
The trader was nodding before he realized what was being asked and swiftly amended it to an equally emphatic shake. Tamir moved on. The crowds swirled around him. His bodyguards … Now, was this an opportunity? With the entire market terrified of Tamir, his men had relaxed their guard. They had remained behind at another stall, where they were demanding goods to give as gifts to their wives. Tamir had fresh victims to terrorize.
And now Altaïr slipped between him and the two bodyguards. He tensed, felt the resistance from his blade mechanism on his little finger. Tamir had his back to him, insulting yet another stallholder.
‘You begged me for this position. Swore none could do as well as you. I should –’
Altaïr stepped forward, and – snick – his blade sprang out as he swept one arm round Tamir and used the other to drive the weapon deep.
Tamir made a strangulated sound but did not scream, and for a second he writhed, before going limp. Over his shoulder, Altaïr met the wide eyes of the terrified stallholder and saw the man wrestling with what to do: raise the alarm or … The trader turned his back and moved away.
Altaïr lowered Tamir to the ground between two stalls, out of sight of the bodyguards, who remained oblivious.
Tamir’s eyes fluttered.
‘Be at peace,’ said Altaïr, gently.
‘You’ll pay for this, Assassin,’ rasped Tamir. A fine line of blood ran from his nose. ‘You and all your kind.’
‘It seems you’re the one who pays now, my friend. You’ll not profit from suffering any longer.’
Tamir gave a harsh, shallow laugh. ‘You think me some petty death-dealer, suckling at the breast of war? A strange target, perhaps? Why me, when so many others do the same?’
‘You believe yourself different, then?’ asked Altaïr.
‘Oh, but I am, for I serve a far nobler cause than mere profit. Just like my brothers …’
‘Brothers?’
Again Tamir chuckled weakly. ‘Ah … he thinks I act alone. I am but a piece. A man with a part to play. You’ll come to know the others soon enough. They won’t take kindly to what you’ve done.’
‘Good. I look forward to ending their lives as well.’
‘Such pride. It will destroy you, child,’ said Tamir. And he passed.
‘People have to die for things to change,’ intoned Altaïr, closing the man’s eyes.
He took Al Mualim’s feather from within his robes and stained it with the blood of Tamir, cast a last look at the bodyguards, then moved off, disappearing into the crowds. He was already a ghost when he heard the cry go up behind him.
11
Tamir, the first of the nine: Al Mualim had been quietly satisfied, looking from the blood-stained feather on his desk to Altaïr and praising him, before giving him his next undertaking.
Altair had bowed his head in assent and left the Master. And the next day he had gathered his supplies and set off once more, this time for Acre – a city held as tightly by the Crusaders as Damascus was by Salah Al’din’s men. A city wounded by war.
Acre had been hard-won. The Christians had retaken it after a prolonged and bloody siege lasting almost two years. Altaïr had played his part, helping to stop the city’s water supply being poisoned by the Templars.
He had been unable to do anything about the poisoning that did occur, though: corpses in the water had spread disease to Muslim and Christian alike – both inside and outside the city walls. Supplies had run dry, and thousands had simply starved
‘I can’t sell this,’ snapped Tamir. ‘Melt it down and try again. And if it comes out just as poorly it’ll be you who gets melted down next.’
Wide eyes. Nod, nod, nod.
‘I don’t understand what you do all day. Your stall is filled with goods. Your purse should be filled with coin. Why can’t you sell these things? It isn’t difficult. Perhaps, you are not trying hard enough. Do you require motivation ?’
The trader was nodding before he realized what was being asked and swiftly amended it to an equally emphatic shake. Tamir moved on. The crowds swirled around him. His bodyguards … Now, was this an opportunity? With the entire market terrified of Tamir, his men had relaxed their guard. They had remained behind at another stall, where they were demanding goods to give as gifts to their wives. Tamir had fresh victims to terrorize.
And now Altaïr slipped between him and the two bodyguards. He tensed, felt the resistance from his blade mechanism on his little finger. Tamir had his back to him, insulting yet another stallholder.
‘You begged me for this position. Swore none could do as well as you. I should –’
Altaïr stepped forward, and – snick – his blade sprang out as he swept one arm round Tamir and used the other to drive the weapon deep.
Tamir made a strangulated sound but did not scream, and for a second he writhed, before going limp. Over his shoulder, Altaïr met the wide eyes of the terrified stallholder and saw the man wrestling with what to do: raise the alarm or … The trader turned his back and moved away.
Altaïr lowered Tamir to the ground between two stalls, out of sight of the bodyguards, who remained oblivious.
Tamir’s eyes fluttered.
‘Be at peace,’ said Altaïr, gently.
‘You’ll pay for this, Assassin,’ rasped Tamir. A fine line of blood ran from his nose. ‘You and all your kind.’
‘It seems you’re the one who pays now, my friend. You’ll not profit from suffering any longer.’
Tamir gave a harsh, shallow laugh. ‘You think me some petty death-dealer, suckling at the breast of war? A strange target, perhaps? Why me, when so many others do the same?’
‘You believe yourself different, then?’ asked Altaïr.
‘Oh, but I am, for I serve a far nobler cause than mere profit. Just like my brothers …’
‘Brothers?’
Again Tamir chuckled weakly. ‘Ah … he thinks I act alone. I am but a piece. A man with a part to play. You’ll come to know the others soon enough. They won’t take kindly to what you’ve done.’
‘Good. I look forward to ending their lives as well.’
‘Such pride. It will destroy you, child,’ said Tamir. And he passed.
‘People have to die for things to change,’ intoned Altaïr, closing the man’s eyes.
He took Al Mualim’s feather from within his robes and stained it with the blood of Tamir, cast a last look at the bodyguards, then moved off, disappearing into the crowds. He was already a ghost when he heard the cry go up behind him.
11
Tamir, the first of the nine: Al Mualim had been quietly satisfied, looking from the blood-stained feather on his desk to Altaïr and praising him, before giving him his next undertaking.
Altair had bowed his head in assent and left the Master. And the next day he had gathered his supplies and set off once more, this time for Acre – a city held as tightly by the Crusaders as Damascus was by Salah Al’din’s men. A city wounded by war.
Acre had been hard-won. The Christians had retaken it after a prolonged and bloody siege lasting almost two years. Altaïr had played his part, helping to stop the city’s water supply being poisoned by the Templars.
He had been unable to do anything about the poisoning that did occur, though: corpses in the water had spread disease to Muslim and Christian alike – both inside and outside the city walls. Supplies had run dry, and thousands had simply starved
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