the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

the knife at once,’ he roared, his voice a thunderclap in the courtyard.
In response Abbas sounded small and desperate. ‘Not until he admits.’
‘Admits what?’ cried Altaïr, struggling but held firm.
Labib had climbed over the fence. ‘Now, Abbas,’ he said, with
placating palms held out. ‘Do as the Master says.’
‘Come any closer and I’ll carve him,’ growled Abbas.
The instructor stopped. ‘He’ll put you in the cells for this, Abbas. This
is no way for the Order to behave. Look, there are citizens here from the
village. Word will spread.’
‘I don’t care,’ wept Abbas. ‘He needs to say it. He needs to say he lied
about my father.’
‘What lie?’
‘He told me my father killed himself. That he came to Altaïr’s quarters
to say sorry, then slashed his own throat. But he lied. My father did not
kill himself. He left the Brotherhood. That was his apology. Now tell me
you lied.’ He jabbed the point of the dagger into Altair’s throat, drawing
more blood.
‘Abbas, stop this,’ roared Al Mualim from his tower.
‘Altaïr, did you lie?’ asked Labib.
A silence shrouded the training yard: all waited for Altaïr’s reply. He
looked up at Abbas.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I did lie.’
Abbas sat back on his haunches and squeezed his eyes shut. Whatever
pain went through him seemed to rack his entire body, and as he
dropped the dagger with a clang to the ground of the quadrangle, he
began weeping. He was still weeping as Labib came to him and grabbed
him roughly by the arm, pulling him to his feet and delivering him to a