the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

Altaïr was gaining on Talal now, the chase almost done.
Ahead of him Talal turned his head once more, saw that the gap was
closing and tried appealing to Altaïr again.
‘Hold your ground and hear me out,’ he bellowed, desperation in his
voice. ‘Perhaps we can make a deal.’
Altaïr said nothing, just watched as Talal turned again. The slave
trader was now about to collide with a woman whose face was hidden
by several flasks. Neither of them was looking where they were going.
‘I’ve done nothing to you,’ shouted Talal, forgetting, presumably, that
just minutes ago he had sent six men to kill Altaïr. ‘Why do you persist
in chasing –’
The breath left his body in a whoosh, there was a tangle of arms and
legs and Talal crashed to the sand along with the flask woman, whose
wares smashed around them.
Talal tried scrambling to his feet but was too slow and Altaïr was
upon him. Snick. As soon as his greedy blade appeared he had sunk it
into the man, and was kneeling beside him, blood already gushing from
Talal’s nose and mouth. At their side, the flask woman dragged herself to
her feet, red-faced and indignant, about to let fly at Talal. On seeing
Altaïr and his blade, not to mention the blood leaking from Talal, she
changed her mind and dashed off wailing. Others gave them a wide
berth, sensing something was amiss. In Jerusalem, a city accustomed to
conflict, the inhabitants preferred not to stand and stare at violence for
fear of becoming part of it.
Altaïr leaned close to Talal. ‘You’ve nowhere to run now,’ he said.
‘Share your secrets with me.’
‘My part is played, Assassin,’ responded Talal. ‘The Brotherhood is not