In Time to Erase chp1

[ayazani]

In Time to Erase

Just a couple more steps and they would be above the Templars in the ruined chamber, the treasure their master so craved, right there for the taking.
Minus the armed men between the Assassins and it, of course.

Altaïr could hear Kadar and Malik moving behind him, following his lead, as they ought to. He was, after all, their superior in rank and skill. Malik had already voiced his complaints in a most insubordinate way, berating and doubting Altaïr’s decisions. Damn little upstart, he would certainly feel some retribution for that later.

The Assassins were above the Templars now and had a perfect view of what was going on. And exactly who was in the decaying hall.
Robert de Sable.
Altaïr felt his muscles tense, anger whirling in his mind.This man was one of their worst enemies and here was an opportunity to get rid of him, a sure bonus to fulfilling the mission Al Mualim had given them. A perfect chance to kill two birds with one stone. Or blade, in this case.
Altaïr could practically taste the praise he would receive for this already, his master assassin status would only be elevated and he’d be well-set on his path to succeeding his mentor.

He watched the armoured men mill around beneath the Assassins. He could make one leap, land on de Sable and bury his hidden blade deeply in the man’s neck. But that would be too easy. Robert would never see who had been his death, who had delivered justice upon him. Altaïr wanted this despicable creature to know who would kill him, whose blade would taste his blood. It would be he, Altaïr Ibn-La’Ahad and no other.

And so the master Assassin did something so completely against the creed of his brothers that  Malik and Kadar could do nothing but stare silently. Altaïr descended and straightened up, squaring his shoulders and faced the Templars, giving away his purpose, his presence with a defiant tilt of his chin, mustering the frenchman surrounded by his guards.

Robert didn’t even seem to be surprised as the Assassin appeared silently out of the shadows, as if he had simply walked through the old walls of the ruined temple. He glanced to his men, saw them tightening their jaws, saw them gripping the hilts of their swords, saw the fear in their eyes.

Altaïr said nothing as he strode towards them, assessing each of the knights for his fighting ability and experience. Robert was clearly a man who had lived through many battles. No emotion betrayed his expression, there was no fear in his eyes. He had witnessed the skill and deadly force of Assassins before, he knew what to expect. Clearly, he did not deem them a threat.

How arrogant.

Kadar and Malik descended behind him and silently flanked him, making Robert’s guards all the more nervous.
More Assassins. The numbers were more even now, but there was no fear in the eyes of Al Mualim’s faithful men. A distinct advantage.

“Hold, Templars, you are not the only ones with business here.”

Any novice would have expected harsh punishment for such an action. Announcing one’s presence went against the very essence of everything Assassins were ever taught. And yet here was Altaïr, master and beloved pupil of Al Mualim himself, breaking every rule of the creed because he believed himself better. Capable of handling any situation.

But he was as arrogant as Robert, perhaps even more so as he underestimated his opponent.

The Frenchman knew what they were here for, so he reached out to take the gleaming piece from the ark. It was just a small ball-shaped object, it looked like metal, but there was something strange about it. As if it exuded a kind of...aura.

“This is not yours to take, Assassin. I am merely taking what is rightfully mine.”

He cradled the little metal ball in one hand and reached for his sword with the other, seeing Altaïr’s body tense and shift,the arrogant Assassin preparing to make an easy, swift kill. Letting go of his sword, Robert caught the deadly left arm of his enemy, holding him off as if he were a helpless child.

“I will let you live so you can-”

Robert’s lips froze, seemingly forgetting what exactly he was going to say as the orb in his hand began to glow, brightly, as if it were a little sun in itself. And just like the sun, it was becoming unbearably hot to touch. Robert felt the flesh in his palm itch and bite in protest at the heat and then everything was white.

Like a miniature solar flare, the treasure exploded into stark white light, blinding everyone in the room, Templar and Assassin alike.

Altaïr couldn’t see, the light’s source was unbearable to look at, it practically burned his eyes.
His body felt paralyzed, each of his limbs frozen stiff, he couldn’t even feel if Robert was still clutching at his arm. No sound penetrated the sudden silence, there was nothing but the incredibly bright light he couldn’t bear to look at.
Then, suddenly, a faint noise pierced the deafening silence. Distant at first, it grew louder and into something more coherent, a voice. Altaïr could not make out any words or where exactly it was coming from,not even the language it was using. Sounded a lot like cursing though.

Then, he felt himself being knocked off of his feet, he didn’t know by what, but his vision returned briefly enough to show him a flurry of white, red and brown before his body impacted against the stone wall of the old ruin and he regained control over his senses as pain flooded through him.

He was on the floor, a good five meters away from where he had been held by Robert and there was something on top of him. A heavy heap of clothing, metal, leather.

The light had faded as explosively as it had appeared, drawn back into the treasure, leaving both Templars and Assassins completely fazed.

Malik recovered enough sense to leap forward and try to reach the mysterious orb, despite the strange spectacle that had just taken place, it was clear this mystical object held much power. Power they couldn’t let de Sable have at any cost.

But his hand was not the only one reaching for the orb. The Assassin had just a few short seconds to turn himself as the blade shot forward, hungry for his blood but missing his throat. Malik’s body was coursing with adrenaline, his senses were razor-sharp, focused on the threat. Robert de Sable was experienced and unlike his cocky superior, Malik would not underestimate him. Especially not when he held that look of rage in his eyes.

The other Templars had been far slower to recover from the shock of the strange appearance. They eyed Altaïr and the bundle on top of him apprehensively, wondering what sort of creature had appeared from the light.

The clash of metal meeting metal woke them from their stupor though. Seeing Robert engaged in battle made them draw their weapons, ready for orders and to fight for their master.

Robert dodged another swipe of Malik’s dagger and moved two steps to the right, avoiding being anywhere near the reach of the hidden blade he knew Assassins carried on their left. He swept his arm out towards the fallen Altaïr and the stunned Kadar,

“Kill them! Kill the Assassins!”

Altaïr groaned, finally the stars had faded from his vision. The weight was still on top of him, so he lifted his arms to shift it, only to freeze when he felt warmth, that of something alive...or better said, someone.
The master Assassin blinked his eyes to try and clear his gaze, how could a person just appear from some mysterious burst of light? Judging by the bulk that appeared to be a torso, this was a man. Altaïr pushed at the body, making the stranger produce a pained groan himself.

Had he been in the room? Or had he been one of the Templars? No, he had definitely appeared from that light...
Finally, Altaïr was clear of the stranger and he could sit up, struggling to his feet only to find his vision turn bleary. He must have hit that wall pretty hard. Blackness crept in front of his eyes as he leaned against the cold stone, trying to clear his head. There were enemies right here with them and he could ill afford to lay around being useless.
The throbbing pain in his head dulled enough for him to be able to hear again. The clash of metal on metal wrenched his attention away from the stranger he had just pushed off of him.
He would have to wait. They had to take care of the Templars, especially de Sable.
If only his body would obey his mind...

“Kill the Assassins!”

Kadar had barely heard it, had barely understood the harsh shout from Malik to move, to rouse his frozen limbs and fight. It was pure muscle memory that saved him from losing his head as he leaped to the side, falling down, rolling over his shoulder and springing back up whilst the Templar’s heavy broadsword met the surface of the floor where the Assassin had been seconds before.
But Kadar didn’t have the chance to revel in his own trained reactions as the other two guards had focused on him, leaving their master to deal with Malik.

The young Assassin’s heart was beating in his throat. He was trained for this. He was trained to face Templars and to kill them, but that didn’t mean he had much experience actually doing so. This wasn’t a stealth mission where the target was unknowing,  only feeling the short pain of the blade entering their neck and then the sweet embrace of death.

These knights were very aware of his presence, his skill and his techniques. They were battle-hardened, much more so than Kadar. He didn’t fear them, but he feared for what would happen if he could not hold them off. Altaïr, their master in skill and rank, was useless, flattened to the wall by whatever had barrelled out of that blinding light. Malik had his hands full with Robert. Someone had to take out these three guards and then the two that stood hesitantly in front of Altaïr, who had only just regained his footing, clearly still groggy from the impact on the wall.

Drawing his sword, Kadar faced the foreign men, blue eyes hardened into an expression of deadly determination.

Malik didn’t know how long he could keep dodging Robert’s harsh blows. Parrying them had been a bad idea and the Assassin was reminded of that only too clearly as his left arm screamed in agony at him. He had been too careless, thinking he could block the harsh strike with his own blade. Robert’s vicious, blood-hungry sword glanced off of the short-sword. Instead, it buried itself into the yielding flesh of Malik’s arm, rendering his left arm and with it his hidden blade useless. Another advantage Robert had over him.
The Assassin had been forced to switch hands, trying to favour his left arm as he blocked and struck with his short-sword. It wasn’t ideal, but at least he was not left completely defenseless as Robert had aimed to make him.

And still, he had the treasure. Tucked into his robes, hidden and slightly warm against his skin, Malik would not hand it over. Robert would have to pry it from his corpse if he wanted it so badly.

Robert did. The Assassin in front of him was good, he would have to admit that, but he was fighting a losing battle. As soon as his guards had disposed of the other two, this man would be so completely outnumbered he would have to give up.

A pained cry made Altaïr look up from the Templars in front of him. Past their chain-mail clad shoulders, he could see Kadar, hopelessly outmatched by three guards. Two of them had managed to capture the young Assassin, holding his arms whilst the third stood in front of him, raising his sword.
Malik saw it too, his eyes widened as time seemed to freeze around the scene of his brother’s imminent death. In just a few seconds, he would lose his precious Kadar, his everything, the only family he had-!

A thunderclap deafened the entire room, paralyzing both parties into stunned silence.
Except for the guard who had been about to ram his sword into Kadar’s chest.
Slowly, with wide eyes, he crumpled to the side, blood pooling around his head, mixing with the light brown dirt of the ground.

Altaïr looked into the shocked eyes of the Templars in front of him. Someone was standing behind him. Someone clad in white, red and leather.

The stranger who had come from the light stood, his arm outstretched with his other hand on some mechanism attached to his left. The muzzle of whatever metallic monster the stranger had strapped to his arm was smoking lightly, it must have been the source of the thunderous noise that still rang in all of their ears.

Kadar was dropped into the dirt next to the dead man, whose blood was still oozing from the small wound on his head.

The guards were more than spooked as they backed up, towards the entrance they had used to get here. No matter what Robert would try to say, they would simply not stay in the presence of this...this demon!
But Robert himself was shaken enough to realize the danger he was now in and how the tables had turned. The stranger seemed decidedly against Templars, for he had aimed carefully and not injured the Assassin. No, he had saved him.
His appearance was an obscure version of the other hooded men in the room and left no doubt in the Frenchman’s mind that he was an ally to the Assassins, whoever he was.

Retreat.
He had to retreat. Once he escaped this ruin, he would be able to assess the situation and how to get the treasure back from the Assassins. But this right now, right here...
He would not take chances with this demonic stranger.

“Fall back! Retreat!”

It was an order his men did not hesitate to follow as they scrambled for the exit, pushing each other out of the way, forgetting all vows and oaths taken to protect their master.

Malik fell to his knees, the pain in his arm unbearable, as his opponent followed his men.

“This will not be the last time we meet, Assassins!”

From the safety beyond the exit, Robert swung his sword at the rotten wooden support beam that held the decaying bricks and rock at bay. With an almighty crash, the entrance sealed itself behind the Templars, leaving no clear path for the Assassins to pursue them.

Not that Kadar, Malik and Altaïr were in any position to think of pursuing their fleeing enemies right then.

The stranger still stood, though his arm had sunken to his side and he gave an unsteady sigh of relief. He was clearly not...well. His stance, so confident and threatening moments before, slumped, not relaxed, but unable to keep up its charade of strength.

Altaïr was on the stranger in a heartbeat, twisting his colourful robes in his right hand, the deadly blade on his left at the man’s throat. Altaïr’s gaze burned into confused hazel eyes half-hidden by the hood.

“Who are you?! What are you?! Speak, or you will not get another chance to!” His voice shook slightly despite the fact he was trying to sound sincerely threatening. But he had seen where this man had come from, had seen him slay a Templar without touching him...

The stranger lifted his hands, but the pressure of the blade at his throat increased fractionally, warning him to keep very still and try to explain himself. Well, it was pretty impossible to do exactly that. He had no idea how he had gotten here, wherever here was. He only remembered that artifact, the blinding light, the pain as he had been thrown against someone. To be precise, against the man who held the blade to his throat.

Slowly, Ezio let his eyes travel over the man in front of him. He was clad in a strange version of his own clothing, almost a plain mockery of the Assassin robes he had...inherited. The hidden blade on his left arm left no doubt in the Italian’s mind as to what this man was. Assassin. Just like the other two in the room were, just as the Templar had declared them to be. But where on earth was he to meet other Assassins!?
Somewhere in the back of his mind he questioned as to what language these men were speaking, but there was no doubt that they were demanding to know who he was.

“My name is Ezio Auditore da Firenze. I-I am an Assassin.”

Altaïr’s eyes narrowed. The voice sounded almost familiar and yet so foreign as that tongue wrapped itself around words clearly not in its own language. The accent was...foreign, yes, but not like the Templars he had met. He thought back hard to all of his studies and placed it. Italian. Yes. He had heard a merchant speak like this, a long time ago.
The question he decided not to bother with was how he was able to understand him at all.

Not that Ezio knew either and right now, he had no time to consider the fact he was speaking Arabic and able to understand it too. The blade at his throat was already starting to bite into his skin as if it was greedy for his blood.

“Altaïr! Do not harm him, can’t you see he must be an ally?”
The remark came from Malik, who was now being supported by his wide-eyed sibling.
Both of the Al-Sayf brothers were injured, though Malik seemed to be losing the most blood. Even though he must have been in a lot of pain, there was strength in his eyes and not just a subtle hint of gratitude.

“You have my thanks for saving Kadar, brother.”
Altaïr let his blade slide back into its cradle and he relinquished his tight grip. Malik was right in at least one aspect, if this man was not their ally, he would have used that contraption on his arm to kill them already.

Still, that was no reason to trust him. Altaïr turned to his injured subordinates, then to the blocked exit. They would have to climb back up the route they came and return to Maysaf, there was no question about that.

“We will see what the master makes of you, Ezio Auditore da Firenze,” the foreign name felt weird rolling from his tongue, but Altaïr didn’t let it faze him and continued to speak with the authority befitting his rank, “come now. And we shall see if you are truly our brother.”

*