the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

quietened. Then he watched the shadows cast by the firelight flickering
and dancing on the yellow stone wall, listening to the crickets from
outside, the occasional crunch of guards’ footsteps.
A short while later Maria awoke with a jump. He started too – he had
been falling asleep himself, lulled by the leaping flames. She sat up,
shivering, and pulled her blanket tight round herself. ‘What are we going
to do, my love?’ she asked.
‘Malik,’ he said simply. He was staring at the wall with sightless eyes
and spoke as though he hadn’t heard the question.
‘What of him?’
‘When we were younger. The assignment in the Temple Mount. My
actions caused him great pain.’
‘But you learned,’ she said. ‘And Malik knew that. From that day a
new Altaïr was born, who led the Order into greatness.’
Altaïr made a disbelieving sound. ‘Greatness? Really?’
‘Not now, my love,’ she said. ‘Maybe not now but you can restore it to
how it was before all of this. You are the only one who can do it. Not
Abbas.’ She said his name as though she had tasted something especially
unpleasant. ‘Not some council. You. Altaïr. The Altaïr I’ve watched serve
the Order for more than thirty years. The Altaïr who was born on that
day.’
‘It cost Malik his brother,’ said Altaïr. ‘His arm too.’
‘He forgave you, and has served as your trusted lieutenant ever since
the defeat of Al Mualim.’
‘What if it was a façade?’ said Altaïr, voice low. He could see his own
shadow on the wall, dark and foreboding.
She jerked away from him. ‘What are you saying?’