the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

so weak that my death will stop its work.’
Altaïr’s mind flashed back to Tamir. He, too, had spoken of others as
he died. He, too, had mentioned brothers. ‘What Brotherhood?’ he
pressed.
Talal managed a smile. ‘Al Mualim is not the only one with designs
upon the Holy Land. And that’s all you’ll have from me.’
‘Then we are finished. Beg forgiveness from your God.’
‘There is no God, Assassin.’ Talal laughed weakly. ‘And if there ever
was, he’s long abandoned us. Long abandoned the men and women I
took into my arms.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Beggars. Whores. Addicts. Lepers. Do they strike you as proper
slaves? Unfit for even the most menial tasks. No … I took them not to
sell, but to save. And yet you’d kill us all. For no other reason than it was
asked of you.’
‘No,’ said Altaïr, confused now. ‘You profit from the war. From lives
lost and broken.’
‘You would think that, ignorant as you are. Wall off your mind, eh?
They say it’s what your kind does best. Do you see the irony in all this?’
Altaïr stared at him. It was just as it had been with de Naplouse. The
dying man’s words threatened to subvert everything Altaïr knew of his
target – or thought he knew, at least.
‘No, not yet, it seems.’ Talal allowed himself one final smile at Altaïr’s
evident confusion. ‘But you will.’
And, with that, he died.
Altaïr reached to close his eyes, murmuring, ‘I’m sorry,’ before
brushing his marker with blood, then standing and losing himself in the