Kostantiniyye

1511

Vali cel Tradat leaned against the back of his chair, dipping his head to sip from the cup of lukewarm brew he held in his hand. It was a vile substance, but the former Assassin had become rather used to it in the last month, ever since he'd started living out of the dilapidated inn. His eyes meandered over the occupants of the attached tavern – the barkeep, a heavily bearded man, and his equally hideous wife who scrubbed the counter relentlessly. The small group of three to four drunks, laughing and regaling one another with bawdy jokes and tales of their various conquests (none of which Vali suspected of being even remotely truthful). And finally, a lone figure keeping his own quiet vigil in the corner across the room from Vali. The ex-Assassin kept his eye on that one in particular. Most likely he was nothing more than a homeless rat who kept to pit-pocketing drunks and groping the odd barmaid or two. But Vali was taking no risks. For all he knew, the man could be an Assassin, a Templar agent such as himself, or a rogue mercenary thug just having a bad day.

Vali let his mind wander, taking another sip before carefully setting the mug back down. There was a reason he had taken to staying here, rather than the expensive city home that Ahmet had set him up in. Over the course of the last two years, Vali had taken his fair share of assignments, mostly consisting of petty attacks against the Ottoman Assassins. Nothing as full-scale as he would prefer, but in those early months, Vali understood that patience was as an important skill as any to possess. If being an Assassin had done him any favors, it taught him not only how to fight, but also how to take things slow when necessary, and not rush a steady process.

Unfortunately, it had now been four years since his first meeting with Ahmet, and the Ottoman Prince had only shown himself to be spineless and weak. Vali came to detest being in his employment, but the small nuggets of new information he was able to retrieve from the influential man kept him from abandoning the Templars altogether. Still, he wasn't happy about the situation. Lately he had begun to ignore Ahmet's standing request for his presence at the meetings taking place inside the palace, and even mission orders from the son of the Sultan went unanswered. Vali was tired of Ahmet's games – tired of killing off the odd Assassin or two while the Order itself not only continued on unhindered, but grew. He needed to do something big…he itched to take action and watch the Order he had betrayed fall once and for all. But at this rate, he'd be lucky if he was considered a minor thorn in their side, much less the cause of their downfall.

Vali growled wordlessly into his mug. It had been a frustrating last several months. He had received a rather blunt ultimatum from the Templar Grand Master, demanding his return to the palace, "unless he wished to be brought in forcefully." Vali had brushed off such threats, dismissing them as merely the result of a powerless man throwing a temper tantrum.

Then his quarters had been broken into. His few belongings tossed about and broken. Shattered dishes had been strewn about the floor alongside ripped bed sheets and an overturned table. He had nothing of any value other then what he carried on his person (and even then, the amount of money he possessed was humble), so while it could have been a thief who ended up leaving empty-handed, Vali somewhat suspected otherwise. Ali Pasha was a man of insatiable violence, more than capable of slaughtering both men and women alike on order from Ahmet; breaking in and trashing a man's living space was like a Sunday morning carriage right through the markets. Vali crouched amongst the remnants of the shattered dinnerware, brushing several of the pieces aside with his gloved fingertips. He pursed his lips together – a message had been carved into the wooden floor.

Next time it won't be her.

Vali frowned, momentarily confused. He righted himself up, making his way further into the apartment. When he arrived at his bedroom, he stopped just outside the door, which had been left an inch or two open. He always locked it when he left. Vali wrinkled his nose – the smell of blood was so intense he could taste copper on his tongue. Already suspecting what he'd find, the Templar agent pushed the door open with one hand, the other already going for his trusty katar. But he had no use for it – the only being lying in wait was the maidservant Ahmet had insisted that he keep.

Vali had assured Ahmet three years ago that he greatly preferred his privacy to being waited on. Yet Ahmet had ignored his persuasions and sent the middle-aged Marcilian woman to act as caretaker of the property, anyway. It was only reluctantly that Vali allowed her inside. He kept a suspicious eye on her the first several weeks, but eventually even he – a learned master of patience and vigilance – quickly began to lose interest in so mundane a chore. He eventually came to let her be, content to banish himself to the bedchamber (the only room he kept strictly off-limits to her presence) when she arrived every week.

Now the polite, good-natured woman hung from a rafter in the ceiling, her throat and belly sliced open. A frayed rope was wound tightly around her neck, keeping the corpse suspended gruesomely in mid-air. Even Vali winced a little at the sheer brutality – while he did consider himself more than capable of killing a woman (he killed two in the process of betraying the Assassins and razing the Wallachian den), slaying a helpless maidservant who knew nothing was perhaps beyond even him. Or perhaps that was simply something he told himself in order to separate himself from the other monsters that Ahmet kept in his employment.

Monsters like Ali Pasha. It was no mystery who had performed this particularly brutal task – the man was Ahmet's most prized ally – a loyal dog who did whatever his master wished of him. There were others who were just as brutal; others who would carry out the same order, no questions asked, who would kiss Ahmet's own two feet if it pleased him. But the Vizier was special. He had served the Prince with unfaltering loyalty for the past several years. He could not be influenced by outside forces. He could not be bought. Sure, Ahmet paid him well (Vali had seen the grand façade of the Vizir's own residence, located on the edge of the Palace grounds). But from what Vali had been able to glimpse, money had never been a part of the deal. Ahmet simply enjoyed rewarding his agents as a way of maintaining their loyalty. Vali himself seemed to be the only one who was not taken in by the arrogant Prince's charm and wealth. Money meant little to the former Assassin. He sought the downfall of his former brothers and the destruction of the Ottoman hold on the formerly Christian cities. Constantinople. Wallachia.

Perhaps Vali would not live to see these changes in his own lifetime. But if he did enough damage to the Assassin Order, perhaps a follower might one day finish his work.

But not at this rate… Not so long as Ahmet kept him focused on worthless errands and reconnaissance missions. Not that Vali didn't prize information on his adversary, but it did little good if none of it was ever acted on. There had been three times where Vali felt that an attack should be the next move, only to be reluctantly convinced by Ahmet that it wasn't the right time.

No more. Vali was ready and willing to take his fight against the Assassins back into his own hands.

He had left the body of the maidservant where she hung, abandoning the deluxe residence and moving his even fewer remaining possessions into a small, gritty and unobtrusive inn near the edge of the city. The owner of the fine establishment didn't care what Vali's business was, so long as he was paid his seventy akçe a week. For his part, Vali kept to himself and did not cause trouble. So long as he kept his head down and didn't do anything stupid, he planned to stay at the inn until the heat wore off and Ahmet lost interest in him.

Vali sipped from the cup once more, nodding once when the servant boy – the young son of the inn's owner – asked him hesitantly if he wanted more to drink. After filling the cup (and spilling a fair amount of the beverage on the table's surface), the boy scurried off, and Vali returned to his thoughts. His eyes drifted toward a man cloaked in a long black shawl, his back to the watchful Sentinel. Vali watched in bored disinterest, until the man turned. Even covered in a cloak, Vali knew the man's face anywhere. He froze mid-sip, eyes on the tall man, then forced himself to resume movement. No need to show how startled he was or let on to his fear. The Assassins had taught him to fear very little.

"So." He began in a conversational tone, keeping his eyes on the lukewarm brew before him. "I take it that our fine Prince has finally let you off your leash?"

The man's lip curled dangerously but he did not take the bait. "You have ignored Ahmet's warnings." Ali growled darkly. "Tell me – are you out to betray the Templars just as you betrayed your own brothers?"

Vali frowned, carefully setting down the mug. He did not move from his seat.

"I have not betrayed Ahmet. He has simply failed to make good on our bargain." He was startled when the proud Vizier began to laugh. It was not a reassuring sound.

"You think that joining the Templars is some sort of pazarlık, friend? A deal to be had?" He chortled, laughing ever harder, failing to either notice or care at the attention the two were drawing. All at once he brought his fist down on the table, slamming against it so hard Vali's cup went flying, shattering again the wall. Spilled droplets landed on Vali's otherwise white cloak, staining the material. Vali grit his teeth but forced himself not to lose his temper. When it came down to it, Vali was cornered, and the Vizier had more raw power then he did. He also doubted that the Vizir had come alone. In a one-on-one fight, Vali would have to rely on his Assassin training and agility to make it even. Unfortunately, Ali Pasha had the upper-hand here, and both of them knew it. Vali's eyes trailed upward, slowly coming to rest on Ali's near-black ones.

"Perhaps you did not make a deal. But I did." He said slowly, each word deliberate and truthful. He leaned forward ever so slightly, his hand reaching for the handle of his katar.

"Your Prince promised years ago that I would have my revenge on the Assassins. That he would allow me to lead an army of his men into battle, or even train Templar agents as my own." He tilted his head upwards at an angle, one eye peering out from under his hood to meet the Vizier's.

"Lies. All of them. He has left me in the dark, while lining his own pockets with Templar gold." He turned his head and spit at the ground in insult. It was the last straw for Ali. The Ottoman general snarled, hand shooting out faster than Vali could react. He grabbed the former Assassin around the neck, slamming him into the wall behind him. Vali's hand struggled to grab the katar but he could not reach it. He flexed for his hidden blade, but Ali's other hand pinned his forearm against the same wall, holding the bracer tightly. The deadly blade shot out, but did Vali no good.

"Listen to me, rat." Ali Pasha growled fiercely, squeezing his throat with a shockingly powerful grip. Vali knew best not to squirm and instead kept still. He managed to draw in a halting breath as the Vizier continued.

"If you ever insult Prince Ahmet again in my presence, I will be forced to rip out your tongue and feed it to you, piece by bloody piece." He whispered threateningly, tightening his grip until the ex-Assassin could no longer breathe. Just as Vali began to fear for his life, the soldier let go, dropping him unceremoniously back into his chair. Vali gasped for breath, noticing that his palms had become sweaty.

"Are we clear?" Ali pressed, bringing forth his sheathed dagger. Vali glowered up at him through piercing eyes.

"We are fine…" He said at last, gritting his teeth in anger. "…văcâinerâios."

The Vizier wrinkled his nose, but let that one go. He didn't speak Romanian, nor did he care what the damn Assassin had to say about him. He raised himself back up to his full height. "I am pleased that we were able to come to a mutual understanding." He informed Vali. "For the record…I do not trust you as Ahmet did. Consider this to be your final warning, or it will be your blood spattered all over the floor." He turned away, content in the knowledge that he would not be attacked, and made his way back to the door. The patrons of the inn all hurried to get out of his way. One of the regulars didn't quite make it, instead trying to drunkenly offer Ali an overflowing glass of ale. The brew went flying, followed closely by the man's right hand. The Vizier took his leave to the sound of the man's panicked screaming. The other residents flocked around him, while shooting Vali nervous looks. The Sentinel frowned, motioning for the terrified servant boy. The child reluctantly approached, asking the man in a terrified whimper what he wanted.

"Another drink. For the road." He murmured, carefully righting out his chair. It seemed he would need to find another inn to stay at.