Author's Note: Finally, the concluding chapter.

Assassin's Creed: Raptor's Bane

Chapter 10

The broadsword hacked towards Altair in a wide sweep, cutting off any chance for him to dodge. The Assassin started to reach for his dagger, but knew that the significantly smaller weapon would do little to stop the coming saber and the mountainous strength behind it. Left without options, he jerked his horse in a half-turn, meeting de Sable head on. Just as the steel threatened to rend his head and much of his shoulder from his body, he threw himself forward, jumping into the strike rather than away from it.

The Templar faltered as the distance between him and his target closed abruptly. The next moment, the eagle collided with him forcibly, right elbow driving into the knight's throat and knocking both of them from their horses into the dirt. Altair caught himself with a roll, quickly gaining his feet in a crouch some distance away and turning to face the enemy again. Rather bitterly, he knew that if he still had his hidden blade, de Sable would already be dead. There was some confusion as the two horses that had also slammed into each other whinnied indignantly, rearing and thrashing. Through the raised dust, he caught sight of Robert staggering away from the steeds, dodging flying hooves.

"How dare you, Assassin-!" came the fierce, deep snarl as the commander stalked towards the white robed one, followed closely by the remaining escort Templar who Altair had only managed to unseat earlier. "I was not planning on killing you, but now I'll make sure you learn what happens to those who disrespect me." de Sable flashed a look over at his subordinate, giving him a command with a sweep of an arm. Obediently, and perhaps attempting to make up for being humiliated earlier, the knight approached the Master Assassin confidently, long sword held ready.

Altair shifted, noting the throb in his left arm as he attempted to mask his inability to use it, and threw one of his daggers, aiming for it to pass the side of the knight's head, more to distract than wound. As the Templar sidestepped the flicker of silver, the Assassin lashed out with his curved dagger, snatching it from its sheath with the bought time. However, even he could tell his own strike was slow, weighed down by his steadily gathering exhaustion. Metal clashed and the Assassin turned away the blow, attempting to lessen the impact with a nimble dodge. At this, the Templar's ferocity rose, sensing his opponent's weakness and throwing slashes against his guard in quick succession.

As they fought, for a second time Altair felt someone watching him. However, the presence was not hostile and as he turned, dodging yet another sword strike, he allowed his eyes to slip into his eagle's vision. The comforting aura radiated even through the solid cliff wall and the Assassin realized that his brothers' attention was turned to him, all of them studying the fight with the eyes of their own raptors. They must have been as startled as he to see de Sable, and were no doubt forming a counter attack of their own.

Heartened, just as the mercenaries had been with the presence of their allies, the eagle paused, fatigue pushed aside and eyes fixing confidently upon a single weak point in the knight's defenses. He burst forward, his blade held close against his chest and stabbed out under the enemy's chin. The Templar's final blow never landed, halting centimeters from the Assassin's face as he choked on the dagger in his throat. However, as Altair drew back to free his talons from the body, out of the corner of his eye he caught a sudden shape moving swiftly towards him.

The startled cry of pain never left his lips as de Sable slammed the jeweled hilt of his broadsword against the back of the Assassin's right hand, forcing him to abandon his only blade inside the corpse of the knight. The cross guard of the sword caught him next; driving into his sternum and tossing him easily back against the cliff wall of the high pass. Only instinct saved him from the last stab, he managing to twist out of the way just enough to keep the blood lusting tip from impaling his throat. Robert's blade passed instead through the cloth of his hood near his left ear, pinning him but harmlessly digging into the rocks behind his head.

Altair stilled, breath escaping past gritted teeth as he glared defiantly up at the taller man who was studying him with some amusement. He held his gaze, attempting to keep the Templar's attention averted as his right hand closed on the last throwing knife at his belt. The metal hilt fit comfortably into his palm as de Sable extracted his blade from the cliff for a second attempt. Kicking off against the rocks to narrow the distance between them, the Assassin flicked the tiny dagger up against the older man's throat just as the cold steel of the broadsword touched his own.

Both men froze, a spark of tense anger passing between them. "Defiant to the end," the commander said bitterly, glowering at the slighter man. "Just like all of your brethren. You Assassins should just learn to die quietly."

Here, there were sudden scattered footsteps approaching from either end of the path, sounds that both in the stalemate ignored. Along the low road, the remnants of Ra'id's soldiers finally caught up with their commander, while somewhere on the high road, unseen by all except their fellows, Altair sensed the presence of his brothers. Some had likely scaled the cliff wall, angling for an attack from above. The men of both sides waited tersely, anticipating the result of the clash between the two.

Without a word to acknowledge he had noticed the approach of the other men, Robert jerked away from his enemy with speed surprising to his imposing height. Though he freed Altair from against the cliff, he also moved safely out of range of the throwing blade. The Assassin circled around him as soon as he was able, avoiding keeping the rock wall at his back. He glanced at the silvered hilt of his dagger still protruding from the fallen Templar lying some distance away, knowing it was out of his reach.

de Sable followed his eyes, smirking as he realized the other's disadvantage, and twirled his broadsword mockingly. "Not much you can do with that little knife," he stated, carefully placing himself between Altair and the curved blade. "You may as well surrender." He received no more than a stoic stare in reply; the Assassin mentally going through his options despite already knowing his arsenal had finally run low. Slowly, he swept the throwing blade out to his side and lowered himself in a slight crouch, readying for a charge.

The commander frowned at his bravado, shifting back a bit to prepare to meet him. "Don't make this harder for yourself, Assassin—" His words echoed uselessly against the cliffs as Altair sprang forward, running brazenly towards the taller one, left arm again pressed to his chest out of the way. Thinking this attack to be a final, desperate thrash, de Sable waited for him to approach before lashing out in a diagonal cut to end his misery.

At the last moment, the eagle flared his wings, skidding to a halt and leaning back to dodge the blade as it brushed against his neck. The recovery time for the wide, two-handed sweep was just enough for Altair and he burst forward again, moving behind the Templar's guard. The throwing knife left his hand in a flicker and drove deep into a thin point of de Sable's chain mail, the joint at the back of his right knee. The enemy seemed not to notice the small blade at first, turning smoothly back to slash at the Assassin again, until he attempted to put weight on the injured limb.

de Sable's enraged scream as his leg gave out under him chilled Altair somewhat, he backing away as he watched the Templar fall. He stood still, gasping breath evening to some extent as he felt the triumphant rush. Safely out of range of the fallen man who still attempted to reach him from his prone position, Altair moved to retrieve his curved dagger. Abruptly, an indignant cry filled the air and made him tense. The snakes had reared, shouting to each other to 'protect the commander!' and the Assassin could only look on in some shock as a flurry of thrown needles shone through the air towards him.

From above, there was an answering disturbance of air. Altair heard a pattering like rain as the needles fell harmlessly to the ground, broken and rent, clattering to the dirt along with the silver throwing knives that had intercepted them. He glanced upwards as the storm of daggers continued, burying instead into bodies and screaming faces as his brothers retaliated against the mercenaries. At the center of the five white-robed masters, the eagle recognized the build and stance of Malik, his grim face, as the others', shaded by his hood.

Altair heard a grunt behind him and he turned in time to see de Sable pulling himself onto his horse with difficulty, the beast staggering to the side as it attempted to help its rider support his injured weight. Realizing his prey was getting away, the Assassin snatched his short blade from the corpse at his feet and started towards him, but he stumbled, his eagle spirit flagging and wearied of the almost ceaseless battle over the span of the last few days. Altair halted resignedly and could only throw himself unsteadily out of the way as the red-brown horse tore up the road past him, sharp hooves nearly driving into his still form.

The Templar dodged the last of the Assassins' throwing knives, riding hard away from them and returning to the safety of his men some distance up the path. Hooded faces watched him go, allowing him to leave unhampered after slipping from their reach. Altair panted quietly alone on the low path, feeling his brothers' eyes on him again for a moment before they disappeared from view together, one moment there, and the next out of sight. His dark stallion drew close to him, nudging his shoulder with its nose, reminding him. They were not out of danger yet.

Taking a step back, he sheathed his weapon and mounted the steed shifting impatiently at his side. Robert would rally his troops in a matter of minutes—it was best they hid themselves until the enemy had passed. Fly, strike, flee. This was what they were trained for.

With this in mind, Altair urged his steed forward with a sharp nudge, following his comrades whom he could already hear pulling back the way they had come. Now allowed the time to breathe and realize the weight of the battle, the exhaustion tugged heavily at him, bowing his head close to his horse's ebony furred neck and nearly stripping him of consciousness. Eyes sliding half shut, he clung distractedly onto the reigns and was thus slightly startled as dark shapes closed around him.

He looked up sharply, panic rising from the potential danger, until he recognized the comforting white of two of his fellow Assassins about him. Dark, tired eyes met the sharp ones of an older man on the horse to his right and he recognized his once-teacher dai Ibrahim, a senior Assassin who was likely leading the convoy.

Shaking his head consciously and straightening in the saddle, Altair composed himself, instinctively remembering the punishments he had received as a novice for lacking resolve. The elder said nothing, possibly wordlessly assessing if he was fit enough to join the convoy, his narrowed eyes ranged over the younger one's injuries as their horses continued through the valley. But he seemed to deem him capable after a few seconds of scrutiny, turning away and pulling ahead without a word. Behind him, the Master Assassin breathed something of a sigh of relief.

It only took a few moments of riding before all the Assassins converged once again, moving as one out of the confines of the pass. Ibrahim accounted for the seven brothers around him, all of whom were looking to him expectantly, and raised a hand in a command, flicking it outwards. Recognizing the signal, the brothers dispersed in neat formation, riding in four different directions in close pairs to scatter themselves across the Kingdom.

Altair had been about to follow the reverend dai, the one closest, until he noticed a white mare draw up to him from the other side, its rider beckoning. He looked over to meet Malik's inscrutable face and after a breath's hesitation, tailed after him obediently, moving east along the mountainside. It was not long before their comrades disappeared from view, taking flight into the winds.

The two slowed their steeds a safe distance from the pass, heading for the shelter of an abandoned sentry point, one of the many once active bases of operation of the Crusaders. The wood-post walls of the small courtyard were drooping and cracked from neglect, but they would provide enough cover for the Assassins. They dismounted after concealing themselves under the tall archer look out set against the wall, keeping out of sight of the highway.

"You lied to me."

Altair looked up from where he was leashing his steed to a short fence and met his brother's accusing gaze calmly, too weary to deny anything. "Yes. But it was for the good of the Brotherhood— and all I said was that I would stay at the Bureau, not that I wouldn't follow you."

Malik scowled, dropping into a sit with his back to the wall of timbers impaled into the ground. "A half truth is just as bad as a lie. Besides, you didn't need to come; we could have dealt with both of those ambushes ourselves. Why must you insist putting your neck on the line just to play the hero? Honestly, if dai Ibrahim hadn't ordered us to bail you out, I would have let you learn your lesson."

The Master Assassin settled on the grass across from him, leaning on one of the four supporting stilts of the elevated viewpoint. "I didn't do it to just 'play the hero.' I did not want the Brotherhood to be compromised, that's all. I don't care how you see me, but at least know that I adhere to the Creed."

"…For now," the other said rather huffily, the anger dissipating somewhat, turning instead to annoyance. "If you persist on bending the tenets to your own intentions like this, you'll end up breaking them some day."

"Perhaps. But not yet," Altair said with a small smirk, drawing his legs up to his chest and resting his injured arm upon them. In the gentle silence that followed, he sighed quietly, eyes half lidded but resisting the urge to rest. Malik cocked his head at him, frowning. "If you need to sleep, just say so, brother. I have no problem taking the first watch."

The younger Assassin glared at him impatiently. "You have been in motion just as long as I have, Malik, I'm sure you're just as exhausted. It would be safer for both of us to stay awake until we can rejoin the caravan."

"That may be so, but I am still in much better shape than you right now." At the irritated glare he received for this, the older Assassin shook his head exasperatedly. "We've been over this, Altair. Admitting your limitations is not a sign of weakness. Even eagles need to roost some time."

The other nodded slowly, distracted, already falling into the shades of sleep despite his earlier stubbornness. His pride no longer hampered him, he remembering that his mission had finally been completed. This reassured him almost more than safety, more than the thought that the Templars would not be able to find them here. Thus, for the first time in what seemed an age, Altair slept, his eagle folding its wings and shuttering its eyes to the world.

Author's Note: Thanks to all of you for reading and reviewing. I really enjoyed writing for Assassin's Creed, so I should start another story on it as soon as I'm inspired. If any of you have a suggestion for the next fic, don't hesitate to drop a review