the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

(Good. Let him mock. Let him be careless.) ‘Look at the power I
command.’
The copies came to Altaïr, and once again he was fighting. Once
again the garden rang to the chimes of crashing steel – and as the copies
fell beneath Altaïr’s blade they vanished. Until he was again alone with
Al Mualim.
He stood, trying to regain his breath, feeling exhausted now, then
once again he was embraced by the power of the Apple, which sparkled
and throbbed in Al Mualim’s hand.
‘Have you any final words?’ said Al Mualim.
‘You lied to me,’ said Altaïr. ‘You called Robert’s goal foul – when all
along it was yours as well.’
‘I’ve never been much good at sharing,’ said Al Mualim, almost
rueful.
‘You won’t succeed. Others will find the strength to stand against
you.’
At this Al Mualim sighed heavily. ‘And that is why, as long as men
maintain free will, there can be no peace.’
‘I killed the last man who said as much.’
Al Mualim laughed. ‘Bold words, boy. But just words.’
‘Then let me go. I’ll put words into action.’
Altaïr’s mind was racing now as he searched for something to say that
would incite Al Mualim to carelessness.
‘Tell me, Master, why did you not make me like the other Assassins?
Why allow me to retain my mind?’
‘Who you are and what you do are entwined too tightly together. To
rob you of one would have deprived me of the other. And those