He drew his sword. The sounds of battle were closer now. He could see Assassins and Templars
fighting on the upland at the foot of the castle, while further down the hill villagers were scattering under
the force of the assault, bodies already littering the slopes.
Then he was under attack. A Templar knight rushed him, snarling, and Altaïr twisted, letting his
instincts take over, raising his sword to meet the Christian, who bore down upon him fast and hard, his
broadsword slamming into Altaïr’s blade with a clash of steel. But Altaïr was braced, feet planted wide
apart, the line of his body perfect, and the Templar’s attack barely moved him. He swept aside the other’s
sword, using the weight of the huge broadsword against the knight, whose arm flailed uselessly for a blink
that Altaïr used to step forward and plunge his blade into the man’s stomach.
The Templar had come at him confident of an easy kill. Easy, like the villagers he had already
slaughtered. He’d been wrong. With the steel in his gut he coughed blood and his eyes were wide with
pain and surprise as Altaïr yanked the blade upward, bisecting his torso. He fell away, his intestines
spilling to the dust.
Now Altaïr was fighting with pure venom, venting all of his frustration in his sword blows, as
though he might pay for his crimes with the blood of his enemies. The next Templar traded blows, trying
to resist as Altaïr pushed him back, his posture instantly changing from attack to defence, and then into
desperate defence, so that even as he parried, he was whimpering in expectation of his own death.
Altaïr feinted, wheeled, and his blade flashed across the Christian’s throat, which opened, sheeting
blood down the front of his uniform, staining it as red as the cross on his chest. He sank to his knees then
fell forward, just as another soldier rushed Altaïr, sunlight glinting from his raised sword. Altaïr stepped
aside and buried his steel deep in the man’s back so that, for a second, his entire body tautened, the blade
protruding from his chestplate, his mouth open in a silent scream as Altaïr lowered him to the ground and
retrieved his sword.
Two soldiers attacked together, thinking perhaps that their numbers would overwhelm Altaïr. They
reckoned without his anger. He fought not with his usual cold indifference, but with fire in his belly. The
fire of a warrior who cared nothing for his own safety. The most dangerous warrior of all.
Around him he saw more corpses of villagers, put to the sword by the attacking Templars, and his
anger blossomed, his sword blows becoming even more vicious. Two more soldiers fell beneath his
blade and he left them twitching in the dirt. But now more and more knights were appearing, villagers and
Assassins alike were rushing up the slope, and Altaïr saw Abbas commanding them to return to the castle.
‘Press the attack on the heathen fortress,’ cried a knight in response. He was running up the hill
towards Altaïr, his sword swinging as he swiped at a fleeing woman. ‘Let us bring the fight to the
Assassin –’
Altaïr slammed his sword into the throat of the Christian, whose last word was a gurgle.
But behind the escaping villagers and Assassins came more Templars, and Altaïr hesitated on the
slope, wondering if now was the moment to take his final stand – die defending his people and escape his
prison of shame.
But no. There was no honour in a wasteful death, he knew, and he joined those retreating to the
fortress, arriving as the gates were closing. Then he turned to look out on the scene of carnage outside, the
beauty of Masyaf sullied by the bloodied bodies of the villagers, the soldiers and the Assassins.
He looked down at himself. His robes were splashed with Templar blood but he himself was
unharmed.
‘Altaïr!’ The cry pierced his thoughts. Rauf again. ‘Come.’
He felt weary all of a sudden. ‘Where are we going?’
‘We have a surprise for our guests. Just do as I do. It should become clear soon enough …’ Rauf was
pointing high above them to the ramparts of the fortress. Altaïr sheathed his sword and followed him up a
series of ladders to the tower summit where the Assassin leaders were gathered, Al Mualim among them.