Altair reined his horse to a stop and the white stallion reared in protest, kicking up a cloud of dust. The Assassin looked back toward Damascus and allowed himself a satisfied smirk as the sound of the bells reached his ears.

"Come! We must go!" Malik told him, his mare spinning around excitedly. "They saw us leave through that gate and it will not be long before they give chase."

Altair looked back at his companion, his mouth pressed into an indifferent line while his eyes, hidden beneath his hood, glittered.

"Al-Mualim will be pleased with our report," Kadar remarked as his mount crow-hopped beneath him.

"His report," Malik corrected his younger brother, casting a sidelong glance at Altair.

"And I will be pleased to get a decent bath and a hot meal," Kadar continued as though he had not heard.

The thought of a night spent in a bed definitely appealed to the three men and with one last backward glance at the city of Damascus, they kicked their mounts into a gallop toward Masyaf. Once they had placed several miles between themselves and the city, they slowed their pace, allowing the horses to catch their wind. Malik slouched comfortably in his saddle, listening for the sounds of pursuit.

"Do you think they will chase us this far?" Kadar asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, then taking another drink of water from his flask.

Malik opened his mouth to reply.

"No," Altair answered. "They've already given up by now."

Malik's mouth shut in a frown at the back of Altair's hooded head. The man's very posture exuded smug certainty.

"Has anyone told you, brother," Malik began, "that you've grown more insufferable, of late?"

"Has anyone told you, brother, that you nag worse than a crone, of late?" Altair tossed over his shoulder, not bothering to conceal his contempt.

Malik scowled. "Your pride will get us killed."

Altair smirked once again. "I believe you said that before we entered Damascus, and yet, here we are."

"Has anyone told either of you," Kadar urged his horse closer to his superiors, "that you bicker like brothers?"

Altair's smirk dissolved into a scowl that neither of the brothers could see.

Malik turned in his saddle to regard his brother curiously. "We don't bicker," he said.

"Yes, we do," Kadar assured him.

"No, we don't," Malik replied, certain his brother was mistaken.

"Yes, we do."

"No, we-" Malik stopped abruptly and closed his eyes, heaving a sigh and praying for patience. "Chew your meat, little brother, and be quiet." He turned around again, feeling his brother's grin on his back like the afternoon sun.

Kadar did as Malik said and held his peace while he chewed on a strip of dried meat. "Will we reach the oasis before nightfall?" he asked at last.

Malik looked up to gauge the hours they had left to travel. "Perhaps," he answered. "Of course, we might have made better time had not someone stopped to admire the tone of the city's bells."

Altair stiffened in his saddle and cocked his head indignantly, but otherwise did not reply to Malik's goad.

Suddenly, Malik halted his mount with uncharacteristic roughness as a movement to his right caught his eye.

"What is it?" Kadar asked.

"Altair," Malik called, his voice low with warning.

Altair spun his horse around, expecting to see the pursuit he'd been so confident would not happen.

Malik shielded his eyes from the late afternoon sun as he watched a woman struggle to the top of a sand dune and collapse, tumbling down its face.

"What...?" Kadar's voice mirrored his brother's incredulity as Malik started to edge his mare in that direction, feeling a familiar tightening in his stomach.

The woman picked herself up and tried to run, looking back over her shoulder, but her feet caught in the soft piles of sand and she fell prone again. As she resorted to crawling, five mounted men topped the dune behind her and their voices carried clearly to the Assassins.

"Is she trying to leave us?" one jeered.

"Don't know," another answered as he dismounted. "But I intend to find out."

She forced her feet under her again and made one final effort to run but he caught her easily. Her cry was one of anguish and terror.

Malik spurred his horse forward without looking to see if the others would follow him. The red cross on the soldier's surcoat marked him for death on its own, but this was something he would not watch regardless. Altair's stallion gained and passed him and he grinned, knowing that his brother in arms would never leave him to fight alone. As he drew near, he released the reins, reached for his belt and gripped two of his throwing knives, guiding his mount with his knees as he prepared to throw the blades.

She had been so close to freedom, so close to an end to her torment. The guard dragged her against his chest, leering down at her.

"You weren't running away from me, were you, love?" he asked, gripping her slender waist in cruel hands.

She fought and tried to push away from him, hoping that, if nothing else, she could provoke him into killing her. What a relief it would be, to fall asleep in the sunlight like she used to do as a child.

Suddenly, a spray of red coated her face and he released her, grabbing desperately at the blade protruding from his neck. She collapsed to her knees as he fell, dying with a gurgle and she looked up into the glaring sunlight to see three white-robed horsemen ride into the group of soldiers and everywhere they went, her captors died. One of the soldiers held his spear out to impale the white horse and its rider flung himself from the saddle and landed feet-first on the man's chest, driving him to the ground while gripping his throat in both hands. When he stood, the guard didn't move and she saw a dark stain spreading around his neck and head. Confused, her eyes were drawn upward, trailing the blood spattered robes, to the blade in his left hand.

"Are there more?" Altair asked, looking around him to see if any of the men were moving. He saw one but Malik drove his sword through the man's heart.

"I see none," Kadar answered. He was the only one still mounted and he stood in his stirrups to check the horizons.

"These would not have been alone," Malik said, cleaning his blade on the dead man's pants. "We should either go, or wait and kill the rest when they come searching."

Altair regarded him with some surprise, though the shadow of his hood concealed it. Malik had never been one to advocate for more bloodshed than was immediately necessary. While he would never admit it, in the brief moments of the fight, Malik had impressed him. The man's precision almost matched his own and, though he was loathe to admit this even to himself, Malik's skill with his throwing knives was equal to his.

"If we stay, they will have the advantage this time," Kadar said.

"That would not be an issue if we did not have this to concern ourselves with," Altair replied as he retracted his hidden blade and approached the woman. He gripped her arm and lifted her to her feet. "Do you have a name?" he asked gruffly.

She did not answer but her blank stare and trembling body spoke of her trauma.

Altair sighed impatiently and his eyes widened when she suddenly shrunk away from him. Then, when she realized he still gripped her arm, she whimpered and tried to pry his fingers away. He took her by the shoulders then, noticing that she had yet to meet his eyes.

"Peace, woman," he told her. "You'll come to no harm by our hands."

She stopped struggling and stood mutely before him.

"Will we take her back to Masyaf?" Kadar asked.

"Is that not where we are going?" Malik replied, leading his mare over to Altair. "She can ride with me."

Altair nodded in agreement but as Malik turned to mount, he stopped. Facing the woman once again, he pulled her shawl from around her shoulders and draped it over her head, covering her matted, dull, brown hair. She took a breath as though she had just awakened and her hands gripped the fabric tightly. Malik glanced up at Altair, anger smoldering in his dark eyes and the other Assassin's mouth tightened into a furious line.

Kadar had ridden closer and seen the woman's reaction to being covered. "Do you suppose they-"

"Yes, now be silent," Malik told him, careful not to raise his voice. He mounted and held out a hand. Altair lifted the woman easily and placed her in Malik's arms, then turned to his own horse.

"We should reach the oasis by dusk," he said, steering his horse away from the carnage.

Malik and Kadar fell in line behind him and the youngest Assassin urged his mount up to his brother's.

"Will she be alright?" he asked tentatively.

Malik looked down at the inert figure in his arms, saw the cuts in her lips and the bruises on her cheek and knew that there were other, more horrific wounds that he could not see. "Perhaps," he answered.

Hours later, as night began to cover the land, they arrived at the long anticipated oasis. When they dismounted, Malik was sure he heard the horses grumble in relief. He laid the woman on ground and headed toward a scraggly bush.

"It's too dark to gather fire wood," Altair told him wearily.

"I'm not gathering fire wood," came Malik's muffled reply.

Altair rolled his eyes and muttered various insults under his breath. Malik came back then with a bundle under his arm and a smirk on his face. As he unrolled the canvas, sticks clattered to the ground at his feet.

Kadar laughed. "I thought I'd lost that," he said as Malik folded the canvas neatly. "When did you hide the wood?"

"On our way to Damascus," Malik answered, stowing the fabric in Kadar's saddle bag. "I thought it would be a good idea in case something happened on our return."

Altair snorted derisively and looked toward the woman lying in their midst. Malik tossed a flint stone at him with a smirk.

"Something else you claim to have superior skill in," he said.

Altair scowled at him, but picked up the stone and began stacking the wood to make a fire. The idea of a hot meal appealed despite his irritation at Malik. As he struck sparks to ignite the kindling, Kadar settled the horses down for the night and Malik perused his saddle bag. As the wood caught fire, the woman stirred and Altair glanced up at her. She sat up slowly and tightened her grip on her shawl, keeping her head bowed. Though her shawl concealed her eyes and the flickering light cast odd shadows on her face, he could feel her gaze on him.

In the silence of the ride, her mind had calmed and she had entertained the fantasy that she was indeed safe for the first time in years. Sitting before the fire, she almost believed it. Then, her eyes were drawn to the man across from her and her hope faded like the twilight.

"You have nothing to fear from us," he told her, as though he could hear her thoughts. As he broke up more sticks for the fire, her attention was drawn to his left hand, to the stub of his third finger.

Assassins?

No other men could kill with such ruthless efficiency, yet, oddly, she felt comforted. While she did not feel truly safe sitting in the midst of the three men, she knew they would protect her, and no, they would not harm her.

Malik approached the fire with his flask and a rag. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the woman sitting up next to the flames. "Kadar," he called. "Get us some food ready."

"Why am I cooking?" Kadar asked, groaning as he stood up from checking his horse's hoof.

"Because I wish to arrive at Masyaf alive," Malik told him.

Altair scowled and drew the breath to berate him, then thought better of it and held his peace. Kadar shrugged and began rummaging in their packs to find something to prepare for supper.

Malik placed a hand on the woman's shoulder. She turned her head but didn't look up at him. He knelt in front her, trying to appear as nonthreatening as possible, no easy feat when she had seen him butcher the Templar guards earlier. Dried blood splatter covered her face, her bruises were more exaggerated in the firelight and the haunted look in her eyes tore at him. He dampened the rag and reached toward her, touching her cheek even as she clenched her eyes shut and shrank back from him.

The gentleness of his touch as he cleaned the blood off her face surprised her. When he pressed the cool cloth to the bruise under her eye, she dared to look up and found a pair of dark eyes watching her intently, the gentleness of his hand matched by his expression. For the first time in years, she breathed more easily. In those eyes, she found safety.

"Tell me your name," he requested, cleaning the cut on her lower lip.

She looked away then, unsure of how to answer.

"We know you have a voice, woman," the other one spoke gruffly. "We heard you cry out."

"Altair," Malik scolded him.

Something akin to anger stirred within her at his words. "Did you think it was from excitement?" she asked quietly.

Malik looked back at her in surprise, missing the look of shock on Altair's face, and his brother's wide eyes as he glanced between the three of them. Kadar hissed an oath as his hand touched one of the hot rocks in his moment of inattentiveness and Altair leaned forward.

"No, I did not," he replied evenly.

"I have had so many names," she said softly as Malik resumed cleaning the cuts on her face. "None of them were mine."

Malik felt grieved. Her voice sounded weary...sounded old. No one so young should have such a voice. Then, he realized that he didn't even know her age.

"What was the name your father gave you?" Kadar asked, and promptly dropped a hot piece of meat into the glowing coals at the fire's edge.

Malik fixed him with an incredulous look. "Kadar, I had you cooking so that we would have something to eat."

"I'm eating that one," Kadar reassured him.

"Along with any others you drop, I'm sure," Altair remarked dryly.

Malik refused to scold him further. The presence of the woman was obviously unsettling to them all.

"I do not remember," she finally answered Kadar's question and all three men started in surprise. "I remember...he always called me his gem...but I do not remember ever hearing my name from his lips."

Malik stared, paralyzed by her words. What child grew up never truly knowing their name? How had she fallen so far that she had lost what little identity she'd had?

"What would you like us to call you?" he asked gently.

She glanced up and met his eyes briefly, as though she was searching for something. When she dropped her gaze, he realized that whatever she had expected to find was absent and he wondered if he should be relieved.

"I do not see how it would be necessary," she said quietly. "Men...do not usually speak to me."

Malik sat back on his heels in shock as he realized what she expected to suffer even now. "We are not like them," he told her, suddenly wishing they had waited and killed the rest when they came searching for their dead comrades.

She looked up again and he saw the smallest glimmer of hope in her eyes. He found himself staying close by her side for the rest of the evening and was pleased to see genuine surprise come over her face when he gave her a portion of his meat and bread and when the others followed suit and shared theirs as well. He saw a shimmer of tears in her eyes, though she looked down to conceal it, and her slender hands trembled as she ate.

"I will take the first watch," Malik said once they finished their meal.

Altair and Kadar nodded and eagerly stretched out on the warm ground to sleep. Altair groaned as his muscles relaxed.

"I will take the second," he said.

Malik nodded and turned to the woman. "You should sleep," he told her gently. "We have a long ride tomorrow."

She nodded and laid down, curled on her side near the fire. As she dozed off, she suddenly felt a weight settle over her body and she stiffened in alarm. A hand gripped her shoulder.

"The desert is cold at night," Malik told her and she realized that he had covered her with his outer robe.

She had lost count of the times he had seen to her most basic needs, even the most trivial. She remembered his warm, dark eyes, odd eyes for an Assassin to have, yet perfect eyes. Her anxiety melted away and she fell asleep listening to the sounds of the crackling fire, the sigh of the wind, and the breathing of the Assassins as they slept.