The Love of an Assassin

Chapter 1: Saviour

"Get her!"

The young dark haired girl darted through the crowds of civilians as the infuriated guards pursued her. All she had done was accidentally bump into one of them because she wasn't looking where she was going, and they now saw it fitting to brandish their weapons and kill her. As she pushed past the bewildered people who were in her way, she desperately looked for some form of escape, or hiding so that she could get away from the guards. Glancing behind her she could see them gaining ground, so she pushed herself harder and ran as fast as her legs would take her. She took a sharp left turn down an alleyway in between two large buildings and then scrambled up the wall, grabbing hold of sills and anything else she could get her hands on. Once she was safely up on the roof and was about to continue on with her escape, she felt a searing pain in her shoulder as an arrow struck her from behind.

"Solomon have mercy!" she screeched in anger. She didn't have time to even cry out in pain, and leapt across from one building to another as the guards on the roof she had completely forgotten about began to chase her too. The sensation made her feel slightly sick; the wound was hurting considerably, but at the same time she could feel the hard wood of the arrow's shaft, and the metal of the barbed head inside her flesh.

She had absolutely nowhere to go; the roofs were occupied by guards, and if she tried to go back down onto the ground the others would find her and kill her too. Her only hope was that they'd give up trying to kill her after a while. To her shock, another arrow whistled past her head, missing it by mere centimetres, and struck the large, reinforced surrounding wall of the city. She hadn't realised she was that close to the edge, and would have to change directions otherwise she'd be trapped. She looked back again as she came to a large gap in between two buildings which was far greater than her ordinary limit, and she knew she wouldn't be able to make it, even if she took a running jump at it. Some fortune was smiling down on her however, as when she turned back she saw that only one guard was following her, and he had now swapped his bow and arrows for a gleaming sword with a brass hilt.

She decided to stand and fight him, even if she didn't have any weapons. She had been taught how to disarm someone, and the incompetence of the Damascus guards gave her the advantage, because their fighting skills certainly weren't superior to hers.

"Filthy wench!" the guard shouted as he leapt across from the roof of his building to hers. She dropped into a fighting stance and readied herself for his attack; it was going to be a challenge even if he was incompetent. He kept his sword raised, and slowly walked towards her, all the time his eyes locked with hers. He lunged, and stabbed at her stomach with his sword, but she nimbly curved her body away from the blade and then swung her foot into his hand from the side, which caused his sword to go flying across to the right, and it clanked malevolently on the whitewashed stone of the roof and then slid off the edge. Enraged, the guard kicked out at her and struck her in the side of the leg, which made her wobble and lose her balance, and he followed it up with a punch to the stomach. Despite her earlier assumptions that the man wouldn't be of much a match for her, she was immediately starting to regret it, and thought that perhaps karma had something to do with why she was losing this particular battle. Doubling up and gasping for air as the breath had been knocked out of her, she only just managed to avoid the man's next attack by rolling away from him as he smashed his fist down through the thin air where she would have been a moment before. She straightened up and swiftly punched him in the jaw so hard he staggered backwards, and she saw this as perfect opportunity to swipe an arrow from his waist quiver and jam it into the bare flesh showing by his neck. The man screamed out in pain and before she could move backwards he grabbed her hard by the arm and swung her with such force across the roof she wasn't able to stop herself and fell over the edge, landing painfully on the top of a wooden market stall below. Women walking by screamed as she landed, and the owner of the stall she had landed on started screeching at her for nearly smashing all of his potter, but she wasn't bothered by that. The fall caused the arrow that was already lodged in her shoulder to go into her flesh even further, and as she lay on the top of the stall she broke off the feathered end. She could see out of her peripheral vision that more guards were coming down the path towards her with their swords drawn, and she jumped down from the stall, stumbling slightly as she found her ankle was sore from her previous fall, and then half ran, half limped away as fast as she could, still hearing the stall owner's angry cries as she fled the scene. She weaved in and out of the perpetual crowd, and limped around a curving path towards more market stalls, but before she got anywhere she felt someone grab her from the side and drag her into a sheltered alleyway on her left. She was about to kick out and tell whoever it was where to go, when she felt an immensely strong arm wrap around her, preventing her from moving or breaking free, and then a large, rough hand cover her mouth and pull her around and then flatten her against the captor's body. He – it must have been a he considering this person was so ridiculously strong – was covering her so that if the guards looked down that alley they'd see only the back of him, and not her. He began to push her forwards, still holding his hand over her mouth and his arm around her body so she couldn't move, and he led her into a small secluded benched area in between the four walls of the buildings surrounding them. He then finally released his grip from her, and instantaneously she spun around and leapt backwards, dropping into a combat stance with both fists raised to her chest.

"Who are you?" she demanded, eyeing the man who was a good head and shoulders taller than her, wearing a white hooded robe concealing his eyes, and leather arm guards and leather boots. He was well equipped with weapons, and as she examined him she noticed a strange piece of metal embedded in the left leather gauntlet. It was then that she familiarised herself with the large amount of weaponry he was augmented with.

"I believe I just saved your life," he said in a deep, growling tone. Her eyes focused on his neatly trimmed moustache and rugged stubble, and his nicely shaped lips which were tainted by a small scar towards the right side. "But of course, you must be too proud to show simple gratitude."

The young woman narrowed her eyes at the man, she disliked being called 'proud' and she hadn't asked to be saved anyway – she was sure she could've done fine on her own. However, she decided that perhaps ignoring his actions which might actually have saved her life, or perhaps a considerable amount of pain was a bad idea, seeing as he had a nice array of weapons at his disposal and she was sure he wouldn't be afraid to utilise them.

"Thanks," she grunted, lowering her fists. It was then that she was suddenly reminded of the pain in her shoulder, and was instantly aware of the blood which was making her beige-turned-scarlet cotton sleeve stick to her skin.

"You are injured," the mysterious man stated the obvious, and took a step towards her. "Let me see."

"It's fine," she replied defiantly, yanking her shoulder out of the way as he reached out to touch it. "I can look after myself."

"If you don't sort it out soon the wound will get infected," he said, his voice much softer now. "Allow me to help you."

"Why do you want to help?" she asked, curious, "I'm nothing but a peasant."

She had lied to him; she wasn't at all a peasant, but was in fact in a very good family in the rich district of the city of Damascus. She didn't often feel comfortable wandering round the poorer district in her nice attire, so would often dress like the peasants in the poor district so that no one would question her being there. She only really went there because she had a friend who she met when she and her father used to live in the rich district, but now they didn't because her father had all of his property and riches taken away from him, for reasons that she didn't know about herself. She had offered to help them out of their financial situation, but her friend's father was most headstrong and refused the charity and said he would rather lead a peasant's life than accept money from people.

"A peasant whose life I saved by risking my own," he stated calmly, "it would be such a waste if you died now."

Amusement crossed the young woman's face and she smiled at him. "I'll let you help if I can know the name of my saviour then," she offered.

"Altair," he replied somewhat quietly, as if afraid someone else might overhear, "Altair Ibn La-Ahad."

"The flying one, and the son of none," she said without thinking.

"How do you know that?" he asked, seemingly surprised by her knowledge.

"I have an apt knowledge for the meaning of names," she replied, inwardly frowning as she said it because it sounded utterly ridiculous. He didn't seem to say anything in protest or disbelief, and she couldn't see if he had raised his eyebrow or not, but she assumed herself safe. The truth of the matter was she had been given a very good education by the best scholars her father could afford ever since she was seven years old, and now, ten years on, she was exceptionally intelligent; more intelligent than an ordinary peasant girl would be, but she was hoping he would not be able to figure that out.

"I see," he said, "and I think it should be fitting that I know your name, bearing in mind I just saved your life."

"Najat," she replied, which incited a grin from the unusually serious man.

"Safety," he said, and within an instant the smile vanished from his perfect lips, "perhaps you would have been all right if I had left you after all."

"Perhaps," she responded, averting her gaze, "but then again, a name is only a name; it does not have anything related to fate, does it?"

"I don't believe fate has anything to do with anything," he said sternly, "fate is just an excuse people use to make their mistakes more acceptable."

Najat nodded, thinking that it was wise not to mention her beliefs that fate determined everything that happened in a person's life, be they good or bad things. Altair began to rip a piece of the material from the bottom of his white robe, and carefully tied it around her shoulder as a tourniquet, being careful not to aggravate the arrow that was still inside the wound.

"Come," he instructed, moving towards a ladder that was fixed to the walls of one of the buildings in the enclosed area, and putting his foot on the lowest rung.

"The guards up there," she said, jutting her head upwards before complying and following him over to the ladder, "won't they attack us?"

"I can take care of them," he said as he climbed slowly up the ladder, "don't worry."

Najat wasn't sure whether she was to trust the man so early on, but then she reminded herself that he did after all, save her life, so that was something she could reassure herself with. She watched as he got onto the top of the roof, and as she reached the top herself, she saw him take out the tiniest knife from the leather belt around his waist, and throw it at one of the oblivious guards who was standing two roofs away, with his back to them. Najat strained her eyes to see as the knife glinted once just before it sliced through the guard's nape, and the guard sank to the ground. Altair then motioned with his hand for her to follow him, and he began to jump from building to building, moving further into the middle of the city where the people who were in between poor and rich lived. She wasn't even sure where they were going.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, clutching onto her shoulder trying to stop it from bleeding all over her clothes completely. Most of the sleeve of her tunic was soaked with the crimson red liquid that was ever so persistent, and she was leaving a trail everywhere. At least I'll be able to find my way back where we came from, she thought light-heartedly.

"Somewhere to get your wound seen to," he replied, taking a mighty leap across a larger gap between two buildings. He only just made it, which made Najat think she wouldn't even if she tried. He turned around, and Najat gave him a helpless frown, but he knelt down and held his hand out; he obviously meant he would catch her if she was going to fall.

Confident that he would be there to save her again, she took a running leap at the edge of the building, and held out her own hand, which was clasped onto tightly by his and he pulled her up onto safe ground.

"Thank you," she said, but he had already moved across to the other side of the building and was about to jump. He did, and with such precision and grace that he made Najat feel so inferior, even though she knew that she retained as much elegance as he seemed to be when he jumped. She followed, and jumped across the smaller gap and landed safely on the other side, but she wasn't sure how much more she could take. The fact that she was losing a lot of blood didn't help, and it just made her weaker and weaker, but she was thankful after several more jumps because he told her that they were at an acquaintance's home and that he would be able to tend to her wound. He put her on his back, and then jumped down from the roof into an alleyway where they remained unseen by the patrolling guards, and then he put her down and led her around to the front of the house. He knocked on the door and within a minute it was opened and an older man with an olive green robe on, and a short black beard greeted them.

"Altair," he said, smiling at the white-robed man, "come in," he stepped aside to allow Altair and Najat to enter, "who is your little friend?"

"This is Najat," said Altair, gesturing to her as the welcoming man closed the door behind them, "she is injured. I need you to see to her."

"Very well," said the man, and he held out his hand for Najat to shake, "Ameen."

Najat nodded and showed him both of her hands which were both somewhat bloody. He smiled and retracted his outstretched hand, sufficing their formal introduction with a nod, and beckoned for her to follow him. He led her into a small living area which she thought smelt faintly of spices and herbs mixed with wine, where there were at least two bookshelves filled with books, and a desk at the far end opposite two armchairs which was scattered with various pieces of parchment and inkwells and used quills. She felt slightly grateful that his name meant trustworthy, because if she were to be quite honest, she wasn't sure who to trust in the city. Her father had always taught her to trust no one, no matter how many trusting deeds they may show her because it does not take a lot for someone to turn around and stab one in the back.

"Sit down," he said, pointing to a beautifully embroidered armchair that was midnight blue in colour. She was reluctant to do so for fear of tarnishing the blue fabric with her crimson, but made sure that her blood would not drip onto the seat and ruin it. He disappeared into another room, and came back with a bowl of steaming water, a cloth and a roll of bandage, which he placed on a single wooden table which was next to the armchair. Najat glanced around for Altair, but he was nowhere to be seen, which disheartened her slightly because she would have appreciated a goodbye from her saviour.

Ameen could sense her looking around for the other man as he gently removed some of the fabric covering the wound with her allowance. "He'll be back," he said, and took the cloth from the bowl of water and wrung out the excess moisture carefully. "This is going to hurt," he warned her, before gently wiping the wound. "I'm going to have to push this arrow through. Bite on this," Ameen put the cloth back in the bowl and pulled up the sleeve of his left arm, and revealed a leather arm guard similar to Altair's but Najat could see it wasn't made of the same high quality leather as his was, nor did it have the same strange metal embedded into it. He held out his wrist, and she clamped her mouth softly around the hard leather. He then pushed the arrow through her shoulder, and she bit down hard on his arm guard and let out a muffled scream as she felt the wooden shaft of the arrow go through her skin, and the sharp barbed arrow head pierce through the other side, causing excruciating pain. He placed the bloody arrow on the table next to the bowl, and then took out the cloth again and began to clean the wound properly, still allowing her to bite down on his leather arm guard because he understood how much pain she was in.

Once Ameen was finished cleaning her wound, he stitched it and then had applied some ointment that he said would help prevent infection, and after, applied the bandages to it. He went back into his small kitchen area and brought out a pewter goblet filled with fresh water for her. He sat in the arm chair opposite, which was embroidered exactly the same as the one Najat was sitting on, and propped his elbows on the arms, and put his hands together.

"When is he coming back?" she asked, putting the empty goblet down on the table next to her which had now been cleared of the water, the bloody arrow and the spare bandaging.

Ameen smiled and stroked his beard thoughtfully, "Altair comes and goes; that is who he is. All I can tell you is that he will be back soon."

"I see," she leant back into the chair, being cautious not to lean on her injured shoulder. She was growing ever more intrigued by Altair, and was determined to find out more about him. "Do you know where he has gone?"

"I do know," said Ameen, pursing his lips, "but unfortunately I cannot tell you. What he is doing is somewhat… Secretive. I highly doubt that he would appreciate me telling you – even if he did save your life. I leave that decision up to him."

Najat nodded, she would have to find out about him herself by going straight to the source. "Am I burdening you by being here?" she asked the older, hospitable man, "if I am I can go back to my home, I'm sure my mother can tend to my wound if it needs any tending to, once I am there." She lied. Her mother didn't exist anymore; she died when Najat was younger.

"No, no, don't worry child," he said, shaking his head, "a friend of Altair's is a friend of mine."

Najat felt slightly patronised by Ameen when he referred to her as a 'child, but couldn't help but feel a twinge of happiness strike her as she heard 'friend'. She wasn't exactly gushing with admiration for the mysterious man, because she resented him a little for saving her when she knew that she would have gotten out of the situation one way or another, but still, he did save her the trouble.

When Altair returned it was growing dark, and the sun was just about setting beyond the city walls. Najat had fallen asleep in the same armchair she had been sitting on since his abrupt departure, and Ameen had, in the meantime returned to his paperwork. He appeared in the living area silently, but did not even startle Ameen, he was used to the man entering stealthily, and knew it was part of who he was.

"What are you going to do with her?" asked Ameen, not even glancing up from his papers, and continued to scribble down writing with his quill.

"Take her home."

"And then?"

"Go back to the brotherhood headquarters here, for tonight."

"And then?"

"Do whatever Rafik instructs me to do."

"I see."

Altair walked over to the armchair and carefully picked up the sleeping Najat and held her in his arms, surprised she didn't even stir, considering he'd had to move her shoulder. He thought that perhaps Ameen had drugged her or something, but either way, it saved him the wave of questions she would no doubt be asking him on the journey back to her home. He would have to wake her when they reached the centre of the poor district because he didn't know where she lived, but then that was okay because then she would be too busy directing him to her house rather than asking questions.

"Thank you for helping her," he said, and walked out of the room and towards the door. He turned back and saw Ameen raise his hand and twitch it slightly; a wave in Ameen's special way, and with that, he left the house and disappeared with Najat into the darkening night.

Najat awoke to feel a gentle breeze on her face, and she realised that she was in someone's arms, and they were in mid-air. Startled, she glanced up at her carrier, and was somewhat relieved that it was Altair, and winced as he couldn't help her jolt as he landed on the roof of another building.

"Where are we going?" she asked, still a little bit groggy from her sleep. She too wondered if Ameen had drugged her water because she didn't actually remember falling asleep at all.

"Your district," he said, "poor district."

"Oh w-," Najat was about to tell him she didn't live there, but decided not to, and instead thought that seeing as they were nearly there, it wouldn't hurt to rely on a bed just for one night at her friend Ikram's house, whom she had been visiting earlier that day.

She directed him to her friend's house, and he stopped outside the door, and put her down carefully, trying not to touch her shoulder. He turned to walk away, but Najat took hold of his arm before he could.

"Wait," she said, "you would just leave without a goodbye?"

Altair turned around, shaking her grip from his arm, "goodbye," and he turned to walk away again. Najat was persistent, and took hold of his arm again, firmer this time, which surprised him because he didn't realise a woman could be so strong.

"Am I ever going to see you again, son of none?" She still could not see his eyes for the hood he was wearing, but she caught a glimpse of his lips curling at the edges, but did not turn into a full smile; which was noticeably his obvious stoicism.

"I do not know," he replied truthfully, "my occupation does not require me to stay in a particular city for very long. It takes me to all kinds of places."

"I see," Najat decided it wasn't worth trying to convince him to stay, they had only known each other for less than half a day, and it was hardly an unbearably strong friendship. "Goodnight Altair."

Altair turned, and scaled the wall of the building opposite Ikram's house and the last thing Najat saw of him was the billowing of his white robes, before he disappeared out of her sight.

She turned to the door behind her and knocked on it twice before it was opened by Ikram herself.

"Najat!" she exclaimed, happy to see her friend twice in the same day, "what brings you back here? And what happened to your shoulder?"

"Never mind about my shoulder," she said, "may I rest here for tonight? It's rather late, and I wouldn't want to wander around the streets back to my own home alone."

"Of course," said Ikram, standing to the side and allowing Najat to enter the house, "I shall set up a bed for you in my room. Do you want any food?"

"No, no, but I thank you for your offer." Najat was hungry but she certainly did not want to take food from those who needed it more than she, "just a bed, if you will. I shall make my way home in the morning."