The Golden City, page 15
part #1 of Assassin's Creed Series
He danced back, leaving his opponent to scramble for his weapon while Hytham ran across the courtyard. The shorter man was at the base of the tree, reaching up to grab Leo’s ankle. The boy let out a frightened shout, losing his grip on a branch. Somehow, he held on with one hand, struggling frantically.
Hytham came in behind him, but the man saw him and at the last second released Leo and spun. Their sword clash rang out in the garden. Over the man’s shoulder, Hytham saw Leo recover and scramble up into the safety of the upper boughs of the tree.
But the man with the knives had recovered too, and he was coming for Hytham.
Hytham feinted and backed up, retreating until the ivy-covered garden wall loomed at his back. He didn’t like giving ground, but he couldn’t risk any other enemies coming out into the garden where he couldn’t see them.
Next to his feet was a line of clay pots filled with colorful flowers. Not quite as good as a knife or a bow, but they’d do. He scooped two of them up and threw them at the man with the knives. He dodged one but the other caught him in the chest, and he staggered long enough for Hytham to engage the shorter man again. He kept moving as they fought, leading his opponent so he was between Hytham and the knife wielder. The breath was starting to burn in his lungs, and his arms were on fire. He couldn’t keep this up forever, but he couldn’t risk looking for Leo again to see if he’d escaped.
A knife whistled past his head, nicking his right ear in a bright flash of pain.
He could almost hear Basim’s voice in his head. Don’t let your mind wander.
Blood dripped down Hytham’s neck, and sweat drenched his skin. His breath sounded loud in his ears as he fought, using speed to keep the swordsman at bay, and occasionally hurling potted missiles at the knife-wielder, who seemed content to keep his distance and look for an opening to throw his other weapon.
Because they know I’m tiring. They know it’s only a matter of waiting until I make a mistake.
Anger gave Hytham renewed energy. He would not be an exhausted horse waiting to drop. He’d take at least one of them with him.
He drove harder, teeth gritted, letting his fury show. His sword arm trembled as he caught the other blade at the hilt. A few feet away, the knife wielder became impatient and came at his exposed flank. Hytham went to pull back, but the sword wielder grabbed him and tried to pull him in instead. Hytham wrenched free and dodged, but the knife wielder’s attack had been a feint. He kicked out, connecting solidly with Hytham’s knee.
An explosion of pain threatened to drop him. Hytham only remained standing by grabbing onto the swordsman. They were tangled together, blades between them, breathing fast and harsh, neither giving ground.
The man with the knife laughed and spun his blade in his hand. “You held out longer than I thought you would,” he said.
Hytham braced for the attack that would end him, but it didn’t come.
The man stiffened, dropping his knife as he coughed.
“What are you doing?” the swordsman demanded.
Then Hytham saw it, the red stain spreading from the man’s torso and the blade protruding from his skin. He crumpled, and Basim stood up from where he’d been crouched behind the man, utterly silent for the kill.
The wave of relief that swept through Hytham almost caused him to drop his guard. The swordsman, suddenly outnumbered himself, ripped his sword free from Hytham’s grip and turned to run, vaulting over the fountain and scaling the garden wall. He was fast. Hytham tried to limp after him, but his knee was on fire, harsh waves of pain radiating through his body.
Basim caught and steadied him before he fell. “Let him go,” he said. “He won’t get far. Every guard in the palace is alerted.”
It reassured Hytham, but only a little. He lowered himself to sit on the lip of the fountain to take some weight off his knee. Across the garden, Leo was climbing down from the tree. He jumped the last few feet and came running across the courtyard, throwing himself at Hytham. Hytham caught him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
“You’re going to push us both into the water,” he said dryly.
“I thought they were going to kill you!” Leo’s voice trembled. He looked up at Basim with wide eyes. “You came back.”
“I never left,” Basim said with a wink. “You did a fine job hiding, little one.”
Still clinging to Hytham, Leo swelled with the praise.
“How many of them were there?” Hytham asked, his gaze straying to the garden wall again, where the assassin had fled. There was blood dripping from the ivy, black in the sallow moonlight. He’d not realized the swordsman was hurt so badly. He must have been injured sometime during his assault on the children’s wing. The wounds would slow him down, but would it be enough for the guards to corner him? These assassins had been well trained, vicious and skillful. The average palace guard wouldn’t stand a chance.
“Nine that we counted,” Basim said, answering Hytham’s question. “Seven are dead, and two escaped.”
No one alive to interrogate. Hytham closed his eyes against the hot anger that burned in his chest.
“We have to find them,” Hytham said, appealing to Basim. “They came too close tonight.” His grip on Leo unconsciously tightened. Basim tracked the movement and his eyes narrowed. Hytham knew the man would think he was overstepping, that this was personal.
And it was. Tonight, it was. Hytham didn’t bother to deny it anymore. The anger burned too bright. He and Leo had both come close to death. He wanted to take the fight to his enemies instead of waiting within the palace walls for a knife in the dark.
Before Basim could reply to his request, they heard the sound of footsteps approaching. Hytham tensed, but it was only Thyra. She still held her hand axes, and blood soaked the front of her uniform.
When Thyra’s gaze fell on Leo, some of the tension around her mouth and eyes eased. It was the only visible change in her demeanor. “The children’s wing is secure,” she told them. “Justin has returned as well and demanded to know where Leo was.” The curl of Thyra’s lip told Hytham exactly what she thought of Justin’s demands.
But Hytham felt an uncomfortable mixture of relief and shame to hear of Justin’s concern for Leo. They would still have to verify the story he’d told them, but Hytham was now convinced of the man’s innocence. He’d been made a pawn, just like Leo, in a game the emperor had initiated with the power of the Order behind him.
“Leo,” Hytham said, “go back inside with Thyra. It’ll be safer there.” They’d find another room for him tonight since his own had been destroyed.
Thyra held out her hand, and Leo reluctantly peeled himself from Hytham’s side to join her. When they’d gone, Hytham stood up, testing his weight on his injured knee. There was still the throbbing pain, but it was starting to fade, and he could walk well enough. Maybe even run, if he had to.
He glanced again at the garden wall.
Basim was scrutinizing him. “You fought well,” he said, his expression unreadable. “There was a moment when I first came into the garden that I thought they would overwhelm you.”
“So did I,” Hytham said. “And they would have, were it not for your intervention.” He nodded toward the palace. “One of the assassins was targeting Anna.”
Basim cocked his head. “Targeting her directly? Are you sure? Maybe she just got in his way while he was headed for Leo’s room.”
It would be like her, with her devotion to the boy, but Hytham shook his head. “He was in her room. He killed another servant who was in there too, probably come to help her. There were no signs of a struggle in the hallway, but her room was torn apart like Leo’s. I believe she was also a target this time.” Had the assassin succeeded, it would have been easy enough to make it look like she was simply collateral damage afterward, dying while shielding Leo.
“The fortune teller,” Basim said, meeting Hytham’s gaze. “And Isaac.”
Hytham nodded. Anna was involved in something she didn’t understand, and Hytham was beginning to put the pieces together where her role was concerned, but he needed to talk to Anna to confirm his theory.
“I’m going to make sure there are no other assassins lying in wait,” Basim said, pulling up his hood. “I’ll shadow Anna as well and make sure she doesn’t leave the palace. Stay with Leo for now.”
“But we should go after the assassin who escaped,” Hytham insisted. “There’s still time to track him.”
“No,” Basim said, his voice stern. “Keep your focus on the mission, Hytham. Don’t make this more personal than you already have.”
Hytham’s patience snapped.
“You would truly stand there and lecture me about not focusing on the mission?” he burst out. “I’m not the one who’s lost sight of our purpose.”
The sudden tension in the air was palpable. Basim took a step toward Hytham. “Do you want to go down this road, my friend?” he asked softly. “Do you finally want to admit that you’ve been spying on one of your brothers all this time?”
Hytham recoiled. “You knew all along, didn’t you? How?”
Basim laughed. “Of course, I knew. Ah, Hytham, if you could only see how painfully transparent you are. You’re going to have to learn to curb your emotions and reactions if you want to survive in the Hidden Ones’ ranks.”
Hytham felt his cheeks flush with anger. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he demanded. “You could have confronted me.”
Basim lifted his shoulders with a mocking smile. “If I had, the Hidden Ones might have sent someone more competent to watch me. I preferred this arrangement.”
And then he slipped into the shadows and was gone before Hytham could reply.
For a moment, Hytham stood in the dark, hands fisted at his sides as the anger and humiliation roiled through him. Well, at least he knew where he stood with Basim now. He’d pitied Leo in the beginning for being an unwitting pawn in a bigger game than the boy could comprehend.
But Hytham had also been a pawn of Basim’s, and he’d never known it either.
He’d been given his orders. Hytham knew what Basim expected of him. Basim was the Master Assassin, and Hytham was the Acolyte. All that was left was to do what he was told.
Not this time.
Let Basim play his games and toy with people. Hytham would see the mission through, with or without him.
He tested his weight on his knee again and winced. Good enough. He could handle the pain. He went to the garden wall and, being careful to avoid the blood, climbed up and over to pick up the trail of the assassin.
The anger burned hot and bright inside of him, spurring him on. If the guards at the palace hadn’t caught the man, Hytham would. He had been in this city long enough to know its streets, its colors, its vibrancy, and its people. And he’d been trained to track his enemies, to hunt them, graceful and silent like a raptor gliding over a winter field.
He could track an injured man, and he would find the nest where he went to ground. It was time to take the fight to their enemies, and maybe even to this mysterious Isaac. Hytham was more than ready for that confrontation.
Chapter Seventeen
It was getting late, an hour of the night when the traffic on the streets was sparse, but Hytham could hear the distant, raucous cries of revelers, the shouts of drunken arguments. He glimpsed the shadows of figures slipping off into alleys for secret dealings or trysts.
Hytham was making no attempt to hide himself yet. He needed to move quickly. The enemy he tracked already had a good lead on him, even if he was injured. Hytham had followed a steady blood trail out of the palace gate, but he’d stopped long enough to question the guards there about how an injured man could slip past them. The guards apologized profusely for their lapse, but Hytham privately suspected that money had changed hands, though he had no proof.
Once back on the city streets, he’d stopped a few people stumbling back to their homes, most too bleary from drinking to be of much help, but two young men swore they saw an injured man in a cloak leaning against a building to catch his breath before moving on south. When Hytham went to examine the bricks where they pointed, he found more blood, still fresh. It spurred him on, hopeful that he might catch up before the man disappeared into the depths of the city.
He rounded a corner, and the street he was following emptied into an open square. Here the city was awake and at play, even late at night. Dancers in colorful costume spun before a small fire, lifting their hands and moving their hips in time to a pair of musicians gathered off to one side. Others simply watched or stomped their feet in time to the music, sitting just out of the firelight, or leaning out the windows of the surrounding buildings.
It was the moods and flavors of the city, Hytham thought, as he wove unnoticed through the energetic crowd, that allowed a person to turn from one dark street and discover these pockets of light and laughter. He had a fleeting pang that he couldn’t join them, couldn’t sit in the firelight and watch the dancers and lose himself in simple joys, and not worry about what lay in front of him or what waited for him back at the palace.
Basim would be angry when he realized that Hytham had run off on his own. Leo would be frightened. He’d nearly lost his life again, and now he knew there was no safe place in the palace. Anyone could come for him in the dark. That voice would be back in his nightmares, telling him that he would never wake up. That was what drove Hytham on, out of the square of revelry and back into the shadows.
He wanted to ensure that one day, Leo could sleep peacefully again. He was willing to risk Basim’s disappointment – or worse – in order to bring that about.
Just outside the square, Hytham encountered another group of people, but these were not revelers, or at least they had removed themselves from the party. There were four of them, clustered around a young woman who was dressed like the other dancers, barefooted, with a fresh bruise rising on her face and an angry red scrape running down her arm.
“I was only asking him if he needed help,” she was saying to a man standing next to her. “He was bleeding, and he breathed like he was fighting for it.”
“He didn’t say anything, just pushed her into the wall and limped off,” said an older man with a creased face and a gap where his front teeth should be.
“Which way did he go?” Hytham asked, interrupting their speculation about how far the man would get before he collapsed.
The group turned in surprise at his sudden appearance. The older man nudged the injured woman gently and pointed to the uniform Hytham wore.
“He’s from the palace,” he said in a low voice.
This didn’t set the group at ease, but the woman cautiously stepped forward, lifted her chin, and pointed down the street behind her. “He went off that way and turned left,” she said. “You might catch him if you hurry.”
Hytham thanked them and passed by, ignoring their whispers and questions about what the man had done. He spared a thought for how much of the news of the palace was reaching the general public. These people had no idea that nine assassins had attacked the palace tonight, seeking to kill the emperor’s son. Would word have spread by morning of the attack? Or would the emperor suppress the knowledge and downplay the incident, as he’d tried to do after each of Leo’s “accidents”? How long did he possibly think he could keep up such secrecy?
Hytham pushed those thoughts aside. He was getting close. A trail of blood stained the street before him, and he didn’t need to examine it to know it was fresh. Unless he was a poor judge of wounds, the man he tracked was losing too much blood and was going to die soon. Hytham needed to get to him before that happened.
He took the left the woman had pointed him to, and there, at the end of the street, was his target. He was leaning against a door, fumbling to get it open. He stumbled inside and shut it behind him.
Hytham approached cautiously, crouching low and circling the building, surveying the entrances and exits. It was a two-story building, one of many in the city where a shop occupied the ground floor and living space dominated the upper story. There were only two grimy windows, and a front and back exit, but the back door was nearly concealed by several large crates. He wasn’t getting in or out that way without making some noise.
Finding handholds in the pitted gray bricks along the back of the building, Hytham pulled himself up toward one of the second story windows. The opening was narrow, and with only the moonlight to guide him, he moved very slowly. Once he was inside, he maneuvered around a small bed and table, heading for a door which led to a set of stairs going down. He listened, and there came the sound of harsh breathing and dragging footsteps from below.
Hytham pressed himself against the wall and slowly made his way down, testing the stairs carefully with each step, listening for betraying creaks, just as he’d warned Leo. At the bottom of the stairs there was a small anteroom for storage and then the shopfront beyond.
No, not a shop, Hytham realized, but a small tavern, long closed by the looks of it, with grimy glasses and plates still stacked on dust-caked shelves along one wall. Several tables and chairs were stacked in haphazard piles throughout the room.
His quarry had righted a chair and was sitting in the middle of the room, sword on a table nearby. He peeled off his cloak and shirt to examine the wound that ran from his armpit to his hip. Hytham hadn’t dealt him that blow, but he suspected Thyra had, judging by the ragged shape of the wound. It looked like the slash of an axe.
The wound was deep. Hytham saw that knowledge register on the man’s face. A kind of resigned, dazed look came across his face, and he leaned back in his chair with his arm dangling by his side, while the blood dripped silently in a small puddle on the floor.
“I know you’re there,” the man said. “You can show yourself now.”
A chill crept across Hytham’s skin. He had not been seen. He’d been careful. And yet…
Was the man bluffing, testing to see if someone had followed him? It didn’t matter, Hytham realized. The man was no longer a threat to him.
