the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

28
The morning after Altaïr had told Abbas the truth about his father,
Abbas had been even more withdrawn, and nothing Altaïr said could
bring him out of that state. They ate their breakfast in silence, sullenly
submitting to the attentions of their governesses, then went to Al
Mualim’s study and took their places on the floor.
If Al Mualim had noticed a difference in his two charges, he said
nothing. Perhaps he was privately pleased that the boys seemed less
easily distracted that day. Perhaps he simply assumed that they had
fallen out, as young friends were inclined to do.
Altaïr, however, sat with twisted insides and a tortured mind. Why
had Abbas said nothing? Why hadn’t he reacted to what Altaïr had told
him?
He was to get his answer later that day, when they went to the
training yard as usual. They were to practise sword together, sparring as
always. But today Abbas had decided that he wanted to use not the
small wooden swords they normally sparred with but the shiny blades to
which they planned to graduate.
Labib, their instructor, was delighted. ‘Excellent, excellent,’ he said,
clapping his hands together, ‘but, remember, there is nothing to be
gained from drawing blood. We’ll not trouble the physicians, if you
please. This shall be a test of restraint and of cunning as much as it is of