Revelations

FIFTY-FOUR

To Ezio, it appeared that twenty long years had passed. The landscape was one he knew, and there, rising from it like a giant claw, stood the by-now-familiar castle of Masyaf. Not far from its gate, a group of three Assassins sat near a blazing campfire…

The Assassins’ faces were those of people whose better dreams have gone dark. When they spoke, their voices were quiet, weary.

“They say he screams in his sleep, calling out for his father. Ahmad Sofian,” said one of them.

One of the men scoffed bitterly. “So, Cemal, he calls out for his daddy, does he? What a miserable man Abbas is.”

They had their faces to the fire and did not at first notice the old, cowled man in white robes who was approaching through the darkness.

“It is not our place to judge, Teragani,” said the second man, coldly.

“It certainly is, Tazim,” Cemal cut in. “If our Mentor has gone mad, I want to know about it.”

The old man had come close, and they became aware of him.

“Hush, Cemal,” said Tazim. Turning to greet the newcomer, he said, “Masa’il kher.”

The old man’s voice was as dry as a dead leaf. “Water,” he said.

Teragani stood and passed him a small gourd which he had dipped in a water jar next to him.

“Sit. Drink,” said Cemal.

“Many thanks,” said the old man.

The others watched him as he drank quietly.

“What brings you here, old man?” asked Tazim, after their guest had drunk his fill.

The stranger thought for a moment before he spoke. Then he said, “Pity Abbas, but do not mock him. He has lived as an orphan most of his life and been shamed by his family’s legacy.”

Tazim looked shocked at this statement, but Teragani smiled quietly. He stole a glance at the old man’s hand and saw that his left-hand ring finger was missing. So, unless it was an extraordinary coincidence, the man was an Assassin. Teragani looked covertly at the lined, gaunt face. There was something familiar about it…

“Abbas is desperate for power because he is power less,” the old man continued.

“But he is our Mentor!” Tazim cried. “And, unlike Al Mualim or Altair Ibn-La’Ahad, he never betrayed us!”

“Nonsense,” Teragani said. “Altair was no traitor.” He looked at the old man keenly. “Altair was driven out-unjustly.”

“You don’t know what you speak of!” stormed Tazim, and, rising, he strode off into the darkness.

The old man looked at Teragani and Cemal from beneath his cowl but said nothing. Teragani looked at the face again. Most of it was shaded by the hood, but the eyes could not be hidden. And Teragani had noticed that the man’s right cuff just failed to conceal the harness of a hidden-blade.

The Assassin spoke tentatively. “Is it… Is it-you?” He paused. “I heard rumors, but I did not believe them.”

The old man gave the ghost of a smile. “I wonder if I might speak with Abbas myself. It has been a long time.”

Cemal and Teragani looked at each other. Cemal drew in a long breath. He took the old man’s gourd from him and refilled it, handing it back to him with reverence. He spoke awkwardly. “That would be impossible. Abbas employs rogue Fedayeen to keep us from the inner sanctum of the castle, these days.”

“Less than half the fighters here are true Assassins now,” added Teragani. He paused, then said: “Altair.”

The old man smiled and nodded, almost imperceptibly. “But I can see that the true Assassins remain just that- true,” he said.

“You have been away a long time, Mentor. Where did you go?”

“I traveled. Studied. Studied deeply. Rested. Recovered from my losses, learned to live with them. In short, I did what anyone in my position would have done.” He paused, and his tone altered slightly as he went on: “I also visited our Brothers at Alamut.”

“Alamut? How do they fare?”

Altair shook his head. “It is over for them now. The Mongols under Khan Hulagu overran them and took the fortress. They destroyed the library. The Mongols range ever westward like a plague of locusts. Our only hope for now is to reaffirm our presence here and in the west. We must be strong here. But perhaps our bases from now on should be among the people, not in fortresses like Masyaf.”

“Is it really you?” asked Cemal.

“Hush!” Teragani interrupted. “We do not want to get him killed.”

Cemal suddenly tensed. “Tazim!” he said, suddenly worried.

Teragani grinned. “Tazim is more bark than bite. He likes an argument for its own sake more than anything else in the world. And he has been as dispirited as us, which hasn’t helped his mood. Besides, he left before this little play reached its denouement!” He turned to Altair, all trace of his former despondency gone. “We clearly have work to do.”

“So,” said the old man, “where do I begin?”

Cemal looked again at Teragani. They both rose and pulled their hoods up over their heads. “With us, Altair,” he said.

Altair smiled and rose in his turn. He got up like an old man, but once he was on his feet, he stood firm.