hiddensword ◾ ◾ Secret Crusade Expert(s) With Tazim

Or to the man who had been watching him these past few days, who had moved with him like a shadow, staying out of sight, or so he thought. Altaïr had seen him at once, of course. He had noted his bearing, had known he was an Assassin.

It had had to happen, of course. Abbas would have sent his agents into the village in order to learn about the stranger who fought with the hidden blade of the Assassin. Abbas would surely come to the conclusion that Altaïr had returned to reclaim the Order. Maybe he hoped that the brigands would kill Altaïr for him; maybe he would send a man down the slopes to kill him. Perhaps this shadow was also Altaïr's Assassin.

Still the women argued. Mukhlis said, from the side of his mouth, "Master, it seems I was mistaken. These women are not arguing about who should have the unfortunate Aaron, but who should take him."

Altaïr chuckled. "My judgment would remain the same," he said, casting an amused look to where Aaron sat chewing his fingernails. "It is for the young man to decide his own destiny." He stole a glance at his shadow, who sat in the shade of the trees, mud-coloured robes pulled around him, looking for all the world like a snoozing villager.

To Mukhlis he said, "I shall return presently. Their talk is giving me a thirst." He turned and left the small group, some of whom were about to follow until Mukhlis surreptitiously waved them back.

Altaïr sensed rather than saw his shadow stand also, following him as he walked into a square and to the fountain at its centre. There he bent, drank, and stood, pretending to take in the view over the village below. Then … "It's all right," he said, to the man he knew stood behind him. "If you were
going to kill me you would have done it by now."

"You were just going to let me do it?"

Altaïr chuckled. "I have not spent my life walking the path of a warrior in order to let myself be taken by a young pup at a fountainhead."

"You heard me?"

"Of course I heard you. I heard you approach with all the stealth of an elephant and I heard that you favour your left side. Were you to attack I should move to my right in order to meet your weaker side."

"Wouldn"t I anticipate that?"

"Well, that would depend on the target. You would, of course, know your target well and be aware of their combat skills."

"I know that this one has combat skills unmatched, Altaïr Ibn-La"Ahad."

"Do you indeed? You would have been but a child when I last called Masyaf my own." Now Altaïr turned to face the stranger, who pulled down his hood to reveal the face of a young man, perhaps twenty years old, with a dark beard. He had a set to his jaw and eyes that Altaïr recognized.

"I was," said the boy. "I was a new-born."

"Then were you not indoctrinated against me?" said Altaïr, jutting his chin towards the citadel on the promontory above them. It crouched there as if watching them.

'some are more easily indoctrinated than others," said the boy. "There are many who have remained loyal to the old codes, and greater numbers, as the pernicious effects of the new ways have become more pronounced. But I have even more reason to remain loyal than most."

The two Assassins stood facing each other by the fountainhead, and Altaïr sensed his world lurch a little. Suddenly he felt almost faint. "What is your name?" he asked, and his voice sounded disembodied to his own ears.

"I have two names," said the boy. "I have the name by which I"m known to most of the Order, which is Tazim. But I have another name, my given name, given to me by my mother to honour my father. He died when I was but a baby, put to death on the orders of Abbas. His name was …"

"Malik." Altaïr caught his breath and came forward, tears pricking his eyes as he took the boy by the shoulders. "My child," he exclaimed. "I should have known. You have your father's eyes." He laughed. "His stealth I"m not so sure about, but … you have his spirit. I didn"t know – I never knew he had a son."

"My mother was sent away from here after he was imprisoned. As a young man I returned to join the Order."

"To seek revenge?"

"Eventually, maybe. Whatever best suited his memory. Now that you have come, I see the way."

Altaïr put an arm around his shoulders, steered him from the fountain, and they crossed the square, talking intently.

"How are your combat skills?" he asked the young Malik.

"Under Abbas such things have been neglected, but I have trained. Assassin knowledge has barely advanced in the last twenty years, though."

Altaïr chuckled. "Not here, perhaps. But here." He tapped the side of his head. "Here Assassin learning has progressed tenfold. I have such things to show the Order. Plans. Stratagem. Designs for new weapons. Even now the village blacksmith forges them for me."

Respectful villagers moved out of their way. All knew of Altaïr now, and here, in the foothills of the fortress at least, he was the Master once again.

"And you say there are others in the castle loyal to me?" said Altaïr.

"There are as many who hate Abbas as serve him. More so, now that I have been reporting on what I have seen in the village. News that the great Altaïr has returned is spreading slowly but surely."

"Good," said Altaïr. "And could these supporters be persuaded to rally, so that we might march upon the castle?"

The young Malik stopped and looked at Altaïr, squinting as though to check the older man wasn"t joking.Then he grinned. "You mean to do it. You really mean to do it. When?"

"The brigand Fahad will be bringing his men into the village soon," he said. "We need to be in control before that happens."

[There is mention of Tazim being the one to tend Malik's grave, which is near Maria an Sef's.]

[Altair is waiting for Tazim and the group of loyal Assassins outside the gates to the fortress in Masyaf.]

Then he became aware of a buzz of excitement among the villagers and his eyes went from the gates of the castle – still resolutely closed – to the square.

A man in white seemed to materialize from the crowd. A man who walked up to Altaïr with his head bent, then removed his hood, grinning at him. It was young Malik. And behind came others. All, like him, appearing from within the crowd as though suddenly becoming visible. At his side, Mukhlis gasped. The square was suddenly full of men in white robes. And Altaïr began to laugh. Surprise, relief and joy in that laugh as each man came to him, inclining his head in respect, showing him blade or bow or throwing knife. Showing him loyalty. Altaïr grasped young Malik by the shoulders and his eyes shone. "I take it back," he said. "You and all your men – your stealth is unmatched."

Grinning, Malik bowed his head. "Master, we should leave at once. Abbas will soon become aware of our absence.

'so be it," said Altaïr, and he climbed to the low wall of the fountain, waving away Mukhlis, who had come to his aid. Now he addressed the crowd:

"For too long the castle on the hill has been a dark and forbidding place, and today I hope to make it a beacon of light once again – with your help." There was a low murmur of appreciation and Altaïr quietened them. "What we will not do, though, is welcome our new dawn through a veil of Assassin blood. Those who remain loyal to Abbas are our enemies today but tomorrow they will be our companions. Their friendship can only be won if our victory is merciful. Kill only if it is absolutely necessary. We come to bring peace to Masyaf, not death."

With that he stepped down from the wall and walked from the square, the Assassins and villagers forming up behind him. The Assassins pulled their cowls over their heads. They looked grim and purposeful. The people hung further back: excited, nervous, fearful. So much depended on the outcome.

Altaïr climbed the slopes that, as a child, he had raced up and down, he and Abbas together. As an Assassin, he had run up and down, training, or on errands for the Master, leaving for a mission or returning from one. Now he felt the age in his bones and in his muscles, struggling a little up the slopes, but kept going.

A small party of Abbas’s loyalists met them on the hills, a scouting party sent to test their mettle. At first those men with Altaïr seemed reluctant to engage them: these were comrades they had lived and trained with, after all. Friends were pitched against each other; no doubt, if the fighting continued, family members might find themselves face to face. For long moments the outnumbered scouting party and Altaïr's supporters faced off. The scouting party had the advantage of being on higher ground but otherwise they were lambs sent to the slaughter.

Altaïr's eyes went up to where he could just see the peak of the Master's tower. Abbas would be able to see him now, surely. He would have seen the people coming up the hill towards him. Altaïr's eyes went from the citadel to the scouts, sent to fight in the name of their corrupt master.

"There is to be no killing," repeated Altaïr, to his men, and Malik nodded.

One of the scouts grinned nastily. "Then you won"t get far, old man." He darted forward with his sword swinging, coming for Altaïr, perhaps hoping to strike at the roots of the rebellion: kill Altaïr, stop the uprising.

In the flap of a hummingbird's wings, the Assassin had spun away from the attack, drawn his sword and rolled around the forward impetus of his assailant's body to grab him from behind.

The scout's sword dropped as he felt Altaïr's blade held to his throat, and
he whimpered.

"There will be no killing in the name of this old man," murmured Altaïr, into the scout's ear, and propelled him forward to Malik, who caught him and wrestled him to the ground. The other scouts came forward but with less enthusiasm, no heart for the fight. They all but allowed themselves to be captured; in moments they were either captive or unconscious.

[later in the same fight]

"Him," he instructed Malik, pointing in the direction of the battle. "Take him, Malik, but be merciful I urge you."

Malik joined the battle and the loyalist was pushed back, Malik swiping at his legs. When his opponent fell, he straddled him and delivered not a killing blow but a strike from the hilt of his sword that knocked him senseless.