the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

‘Ah. Now logic has left you. In its place you embrace emotion. I am
disappointed.’
‘What’s to be done, then?’
‘You will not follow me and I cannot compel you.’
‘And you refuse to give up this evil scheme.’
‘It seems, then, we are at an impasse.’
‘No. We are at an end,’ said Altaïr, and perhaps Al Mualim was
correct, for he found himself fighting a wave of emotion. Of betrayal and
sadness and something he could not quite place at first but then did.
Loneliness.
Al Mualim drew his sword. ‘I will miss you, Altaïr. You were my very
best student.’
Altaïr watched the years fall away from Al Mualim as he took up
position, readying his sword and forcing Altaïr to do the same. He
skipped to the side, testing Altaïr’s guard, and Altaïr realized he had
never seen him move so quickly. The Al Mualim he knew paced slowly,
walked unhurriedly across the courtyard, made slow, sweeping gestures.
This one moved like a swordsman – who thrust forward, slashing with
his blade. Then, as Altaïr defended, he adjusted the attack to a jab. Altaïr
was forced to his toes, his arm bent as he swept his blade back to deflect
Al Mualim’s offensive. The move left him off balance and, with the
guard on his left side down, Al Mualim saw his chance and came in with
a second quick swipe that met its mark.
Altaïr winced, feeling the wound on his hip leak blood, but dared not
look. He couldn’t take his eyes from Al Mualim for one second. Opposite
him, Al Mualim smiled. A smile that said he had taught the young pup a
lesson. He stepped to his side, then feigned an attack, going first one