Oliver Bowden - The Secret Crusade

‘Guards, take his weapon,’ commanded Abbas. ‘You will be more comfortable without it, Altair. Are you wearing your blade?’

Altair stretched out his arms as a guard stepped forward to take his sword. His sleeves fell away to reveal no hidden blade.

‘Now we can begin,’ said Abbas. ‘Please do not waste our time further. Update us on your quest to neutralize Khan.’

‘Only once you have told me what has happened to Malik,’ growled Altair.

Abbas shrugged and raised his eyebrows as if to say they were at an impasse, and of course they were, neither man willing to concede, it seemed. With a grunt of exasperation, Altair began his story, rather than prolong the stand-off. He related his journeys to Persia, India and Mongolia, where he, Maria and Darim had liaised with the Assassin Qulan Gal, and told of how they had travelled to the Xia province nearby to Xingging, which was besieged by the Mongolian Army, the spread of Khan’s empire inexorable. There, he said, Altair and Qulan Gal had planned to infiltrate the Mongolian camp. It was said that Khan was there, too.

‘Darim found a vantage point not far from the camp and, armed with his bow, would watch over Qulan Gal and me as we made our way through the tents. It was heavily guarded and we relied on him to dispose of any guards we alerted or who looked as though they might raise the alarm.’ Altair gazed around the table with a challenging stare. ‘And he performed this duty admirably.’

‘Like father, like son,’ said Abbas, with more than a hint of a sneer in his voice.

‘Perhaps not,’ said Altair, evenly. ‘For in the event it was I who was responsible for almost alerting the Mongolians to our presence.’

‘Ah,’ said Abbas. ‘He is not infallible.’

‘Nobody is, Abbas,’ replied Altair, ‘least of all me, and I allowed an enemy soldier to come up on me. He wounded me before Qulan Gal was able to kill him.’

‘Getting old, Altair?’ jeered Abbas.

‘Everybody is, Abbas,’ replied Altair. ‘And I would have been dead if Qulan Gal had not managed to take me from the camp and bring me to safety. His actions saved my life.’ He looked carefully at Abbas. ‘Qulan Gal returned to the camp. First he formulated a plan with Darim to flush Khan from his tent. Realizing the danger, Khan tried to escape on horseback, but he was brought down by Qulan Gal. Khan was finished with a shot from Darim.’

‘His skills as a bowman are beyond doubt,’ smiled Abbas. ‘I gather you have sent him away, perhaps to Alamut?’

Altair blinked. Abbas knew everything, it seemed. ‘He has indeed left the citadel on my orders. Whether to Alamut or not, I will not say.’

‘To see Sef at Alamut, perhaps?’ pressed Abbas. He addressed Swami. ‘You told them Sef was there, I trust?’

‘As instructed, Master,’ replied Swami.

Altair felt something worse than worry in his gut now. Something that might have been fear. He felt it from Maria, too: her face was drawn and anxious. ‘Say what you have to say, Abbas,’ he said.

‘Or what, Altair?’

‘Or my first task when I resume leadership will be to have you thrown in the dungeon.’

‘There to join Malik, maybe?’

‘I doubt that Malik belongs in prison,’ snapped Altair. ‘Of what crime is he accused?’

‘A murder.’ Abbas smirked.

It was as though the word thumped on to the table.

‘Murder of whom?’ asked Maria.

And the reply when it came sounded as though it was given from far, far away.

‘Sef. Malik murdered your son.’

Maria’s head dropped into her hands.

‘No!’ Altair heard someone say, then realized his own voice had spoken.

‘I am sorry, Altair,’ said Abbas, speaking as though he was reciting something from memory. ‘I am sorry that you have returned to hear this most tragic news, and may I say that I speak for all of those assembled when I extend my sympathy to you and your family. But until certain matters are resolved it will not be possible for you to resume leadership of the Order.’

Altair was still trying to unravel the jumble of emotion in his head, aware of Maria beside him, sobbing.

‘What?’ he said. Then louder: ‘ What? ’

‘You remain compromised at this point,’ said Abbas, ‘so I have taken the decision that control of the Order remains with the council.’

Altair shook with fury. ‘ I am the Master of this Order, Abbas. I demand that leadership is returned to me, in line with the statutes of the Brotherhood. They decree it be returned to me.’ He was shouting now.

‘They do not.’ Abbas smiled. ‘Not any more.’

Later, Altair and Maria sat in their residence, huddled together on a stone bench, silent in the near dark. They had spent years sleeping in deserts but had never felt so isolated and alone as they did at that moment. They grieved at their lowly circumstances; they grieved that Masyaf had become neglected in their absence; they fretted for Sef’s family and Darim.

But most of all they grieved for Sef.

He had been stabbed to death in his bed, they said, just two weeks ago; there had been no time to send a message to Altair. The knife was discovered in Malik’s quarters. He had been heard arguing with Sef earlier that day by an Assassin. The name of the Assassin who had heard the argument, Altair had yet to learn, but whoever it was had reported hearing Sef and Malik arguing over the leadership of the Order, with Malik claiming that he intended to keep it once Altair returned.

‘It was news of your return that sparked the disagreement, it would seem,’ Abbas had gloated, revelling in Altair’s ashen look, the quiet weeping of Maria.

Sef had been heard threatening to reveal Malik’s plans to Altair so Malik had killed him. That was the theory.

Beside him, her head tucked into his chest and her legs pulled up, Maria sobbed still. Altair smoothed her hair and rocked her until she quietened. Then he watched the shadows cast by the firelight flickering and dancing on the yellow stone wall, listening to the crickets from outside, the occasional crunch of guards’ footsteps.

A short while later Maria awoke with a jump. He started too – he had been falling asleep himself, lulled by the leaping flames. She sat up, shivering, and pulled her blanket tight round herself. ‘What are we going to do, my love?’ she asked.

‘Malik,’ he said simply. He was staring at the wall with sightless eyes and spoke as though he hadn’t heard the question.

‘What of him?’

‘When we were younger. The assignment in the Temple Mount. My actions caused him great pain.’

‘But you learned,’ she said. ‘And Malik knew that. From that day a new Altair was born, who led the Order into greatness.’

Altair made a disbelieving sound. ‘Greatness? Really?’

‘Not now, my love,’ she said. ‘Maybe not now but you can restore it to how it was before all of this. You are the only one who can do it. Not Abbas.’ She said his name as though she had tasted something especially unpleasant. ‘Not some council. You. Altair. The Altair I’ve watched serve the Order for more than thirty years. The Altair who was born on that day.’

‘It cost Malik his brother,’ said Altair. ‘His arm too.’

‘He forgave you, and has served as your trusted lieutenant ever since the defeat of Al Mualim.’

‘What if it was a facade?’ said Altair, voice low. He could see his own shadow on the wall, dark and foreboding.

She jerked away from him. ‘What are you saying?’

‘Perhaps Malik has nurtured a hatred of me all these years,’ he said. ‘Perhaps Malik has secretly coveted the leadership and Sef discovered that.’

‘Yes, and perhaps I’ll grow wings in the night and fly,’ said Maria. ‘Who do you think really nurses a hatred for you, Altair? It’s not Malik. It’s Abbas.’