Sibrand coughed. When he next spoke, his bared teeth were coated with blood. ‘ Freed it, you fool. From the tyranny of faith.’
‘Freedom? You worked to overthrow cities. Control men’s minds. Murdered any who spoke against you.’
‘I followed my orders, believing in my cause. Same as you.’
‘Do not be afraid,’ said Altair, closing his eyes.
‘We are close, Altair.’ Al Mualim came from behind his desk, moving through a thick shaft of light shining through the window. His pigeons cooed happily in the afternoon heat and there was that same sweet scent in the air. Yet despite the day – and although Altair had once again gained his rank and, more importantly, the Master’s trust – he could not yet fully relax.
‘Robert de Sable is now all that stands between us and victory,’ continued Al Mualim. ‘His mouth gives the orders. His hand pays the gold. With him dies the knowledge of the Templar Treasure and any threat it might pose.’
‘I still don’t understand how a simple bit of treasure could cause so much chaos,’ said Altair. He had been mulling over Sibrand’s final mysterious words. He had been thinking of the globe – the Piece of Eden. He had experienced its strange draw at first hand, of course, but surely it had merely the power to dazzle and divert. Could it really exert a hold above that of any desirable ornament? He had to admit to finding the idea fanciful.
Al Mualim nodded slowly, as though reading his thoughts. ‘The Piece of Eden is temptation given form. Look at what it’s done to Robert. Once he had tasted its power, it consumed him. He saw not a dangerous weapon to be destroyed, but a tool – one that would help him realize his life’s ambition.’
‘He dreamed of power, then?’
‘Yes and no. He dreamed – still dreams – like us, of peace.’
‘But this is a man who sought to see the Holy Land consumed by war
…’
‘No, Altair,’ cried Al Mualim. ‘How can you not see when you’re the one who opened my eyes to this?’
‘What do you mean?’ Altair was puzzled.
‘What do he and his followers want? A world in which all men are united. I do not despise his goal. I share it. But I take issue with the means. Peace is something to be learned. To be understood. To be embraced, but…’
‘He would force it.’ Altair was nodding. Understanding.
‘And rob us of our free will in the process,’ agreed Al Mualim.
‘Strange… to think of him in this way,’ said Altair.
‘Never harbour hate for your victims, Altair. Such thoughts are poison and will cloud your judgement.’
‘Could he not be convinced, then? To end his mad quest?’
Al Mualim shook his head slowly and sadly. ‘I spoke to him – in my way – through you. What was each killing, if not a message? But he has chosen to ignore us.’
‘Then there’s only one thing left to do.’
At last he was to hunt de Sable. The thought thrilled Altair but he was careful to balance it with notes of caution. He would not make the mistake of underestimating him again. Not de Sable, or anybody.
‘Jerusalem is where you faced him first. It’s where you’ll find him now,’ said Al Mualim, and released his bird. ‘Go, Altair. It’s time to finish this.’
Altair left, descending the stairs to the doors of the tower and coming out into the courtyard. Abbas was sitting on the fence, and Altair felt his eyes on him as he crossed the courtyard. Then he stopped and turned to face him. Their eyes met and Altair was about to say something – he wasn’t sure what. But he thought better of it. He had a task ahead of him. Old wounds were exactly that: old wounds. Unconsciously, however, his hand went to his side.
28
The morning after Altair had told Abbas the truth about his father, Abbas had been even more withdrawn, and nothing Altair said could bring him out of that state. They ate their breakfast in silence, sullenly submitting to the attentions of their governesses, then went to Al Mualim’s study and took their places on the floor.
If Al Mualim had noticed a difference in his two charges, he said nothing. Perhaps he was privately pleased that the boys seemed less easily distracted that day. Perhaps he simply assumed that they had fallen out, as young friends were inclined to do.
Altair, however, sat with twisted insides and a tortured mind. Why had Abbas said nothing? Why hadn’t he reacted to what Altair had told him?
He was to get his answer later that day, when they went to the training yard as usual. They were to practise sword together, sparring as always. But today Abbas had decided that he wanted to use not the small wooden swords they normally sparred with but the shiny blades to which they planned to graduate.
Labib, their instructor, was delighted. ‘Excellent, excellent,’ he said, clapping his hands together, ‘but, remember, there is nothing to be gained from drawing blood. We’ll not trouble the physicians, if you please. This shall be a test of restraint and of cunning as much as it is of skill.’
‘Cunning,’ said Abbas. ‘That should suit you, Altair. You are cunning and treacherous.’
They were the first words he had spoken to Altair all day. And as he said them he fixed Altair with a look of such contempt, such hatred, that Altair knew things would never be the same between them. He looked at Labib, wanting to appeal, to implore him not to allow the contest, but he was hopping happily over the small fence that surrounded the training quadrangle, relishing the prospect of some proper combat at last.
They took up position, Altair swallowing, Abbas staring hard at him.
‘Brother,’ began Altair, ‘what I said last night, I -’
‘ Do not call me brother! ’ Abbas’s shout rang around the courtyard. And he sprang towards Altair with a ferocity the boy had never seen in him before. But though his teeth were bared, Altair could see the tears that had formed at the corners of his eyes. There was more to this than simple anger, he knew.
‘No, Abbas,’ he called, desperately defending. He glanced to his left and saw the instructor’s puzzled look – he was clearly not sure what to make of Abbas’s outburst or the sudden hostility between the two. Altair saw two more Assassins approaching the training area, evidently having heard Abbas’s cry. Faces appeared in the window of the defensive tower by the citadel entrance. He wondered if Al Mualim was watching…
Abbas jabbed forward with his swordpoint, forcing Altair to dodge to the side.
‘Now, Abbas…’ chided Labib.
‘He means to kills me, Master,’ shouted Altair.
‘Don’t be dramatic, child,’ said the instructor, though he didn’t sound altogether convinced. ‘You could learn from your brother’s commitment.’
‘I am not.’ Abbas attacked. ‘ His.’ The boy’s words were punctuated with savage strikes of the sword. ‘ Brother.’
‘I told you to help you,’ shouted Altair.
‘No,’ screamed Abbas. ‘You lied.’ Again he struck and there was a great chime of steel. Altair found himself thrown back by the force, stumbling at the fence and almost falling backwards over it. More Assassins had arrived. Some looked concerned, others ready to be entertained.
‘Defend, Altair, defend,’ roared Labib, clapping his hands with glee. Altair threw up his sword, returning Abbas’s strikes and forcing him into the centre of the quadrangle once more.
‘I told the truth,’ he hissed, as they came close, the blades of their swords sliding against one another. ‘I told you the truth to end your suffering, just as I would have wanted mine ending.’
‘You lied to bring shame upon me,’ said Abbas, falling back and taking up position, crouched, one arm thrown back as they’d been taught, the blade of his sword quivering.
‘ No! ’ cried Altair. He danced back as Abbas thrust forward. But with a flick of his wrist Abbas caught Altair with his blade, opening a nick that bled warm down Altair’s side. He glanced over at Labib with beseeching eyes, but his concerns were waved away. He placed a hand to his side and came away with bloodied fingertips that he held out to Abbas.
‘Stop this, Abbas,’ he pleaded. ‘I spoke the truth in the hope of bringing you comfort.’
