the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

He screamed and crumpled just as she spun and, dropping to one
knee, thrust again, disposing of the other. In the same moment Shalim
bounded down from the gallery, landing in the middle of the hall next to
his brother. Altaïr had a moment to see the two side by side, and was
amazed by how close in looks they were. Next to him stood Maria, her
newly acquired sword dripping with blood, shoulders heaving, the two
of them against the twins. Altaïr felt his chest fill with something that
was partly pride and partly something he preferred not to name. ‘Two of
them,’ he said, ‘and two of us.’
Yet again, however, Maria sprang a surprise. Instead of fighting by his
side she simply made a contemptuous sound and darted through the
door left open by the guards. Altaïr had a moment to wonder whether he
should follow, and then the brothers were upon him and he was fighting
for his life against the two skilled swordsmen.
The fight was long and brutal and the twins began confidently, sure
that they would swiftly overwhelm the Assassin. After all, there were
two of them and both were adept with a blade; rightly, they expected to
wear him down. But Altaïr was fighting with a bellyful of anger and
frustration. He no longer knew who was friend and who foe. He had
been betrayed – men who were supposed to be friends had turned out to
be enemies. Those he thought might become friends – or more than
friends – had spurned the hand of friendship he offered to them. He
knew only that he was fighting a war in which more was at stake than
he knew, involving powers and ideologies he had yet to understand. He
had to keep fighting, to keep struggling, until he reached the end.
And when the slain bodies of the twins at last lay at his feet, their
arms and legs at twisted, wrong angles, their dead eyes wide, he took no