Assassin's Creed Revelations by Oliver Bowden

Author:Oliver Bowden [Bowden, Oliver]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

FORTY-FIVE

Altaïr fled before they could react—fled from the castle, through its gaping portal, down the escarpment, and into the sparse wood that bounded the

area between fortress and vil age on the northern side. And there, in a clearing, as if by a miracle, he was brought short by an encounter with

another man, like him, but a generation younger.

“Father!” exclaimed the newcomer. “I came as soon as I’d read your message. What has happened? Am I too late?”

From the castle behind them, horns were crying out the alarm.

“Darim! My son! Turn back!”

Darim looked past his father, over his shoulder. There, on the ridges beyond the wood, he could see bands of Assassins assembling, get ing

ready to hunt them down. “Have they al gone mad?”

“Darim—I stil have the Apple. We have to go. Abbas must not get his hands on it.”

For answer, Darim unslung his pack and drew a scabbard of throwing knives from it before placing it on the ground. “There are more knives in

there, take them if you need them.”

The Assassins loyal to Abbas had seen them by then, and some were heading toward them while others fanned out to outflank them.

“They’l try to ambush us,” said Altaïr grimly. “Keep a good stock of knives with you. We must be prepared.”

They made their way through the wood, going ever deeper.

It was a perilous passage. Often, they had to take cover as they spot ed groups of Assassins who’d got ahead of them or who tried to take them

from the side, or obliquely, from behind.

“Stay close!” Darim said. “We go together.”

“We’l try to work our way around. There are horses in the vil age. Once we’ve got mounts, we’l try to make for the coast.”

Up until then, Darim had been too preoccupied with their immediate danger to think of anything else, but now he said, “Where is Mother?”

Altaïr shook his head, sadly. “She is gone, Darim. I am sorry.”

Darim took a breath. “What? How?”

“Later. Time for talk later. Now we have to get clear. We have to fight.”

“But they are our Brothers. Our fel ow Assassins. Surely we can talk—persuade them.”

“Forget reason, Darim. They have been poisoned by lies.”

There was silence between them. Then Darim said, “Was it Abbas who kil ed my brother?”

“He kil ed your brother. He kil ed our great comrade, Malik Al-Sayf. And countless others,” replied Altaïr, bleakly.

Darim bowed his head. “He is a madman. Without remorse. Without conscience.”

“A madman with an army.”

“He wil die,” said Darim, coldly. “One day, he wil pay.”

They reached the outskirts of the vil age and were lucky to make their way to the stables unmolested, for the vil age itself was teeming with

Assassin warriors. Hastily, they saddled up and mounted. As they rode away, they could hear Abbas’s voice, bel owing like a beast in pain as he

stood atop a smal tower in the vil age square. “I wil have the Apple, Altaïr! An

DSHENX d I wil have your HEAD, for al the dishonor you have brought upon my

family! You cannot

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