the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

Altaïr staggered, gasping with the pain. Better to die this way, he
supposed, than to surrender meekly. Better to die fighting.
Long Hair came forward now and there was another clash of the
sword. Altaïr was wounded again, this time on his good leg. He dropped
to his knees, his arms hanging, his useless blade gouging nothing but the
sand.
Long Hair stepped forward but Bayhas stopped him. ‘Leave him to
me,’ he ordered.
Dimly, Altaïr found himself thinking of another time, a thousand lives
ago, that his opponent had said the same, and how on that occasion he
had made the knight pay for his arrogance. That satisfaction would be
denied him this time, because Bayhas was coming forward to Altaïr, who
knelt, swaying and defeated, in the dirt, his head hanging. He tried to
order his legs to stand, but they would not obey. He tried to lift his blade
hand but he could not. He saw the dagger coming towards him and was
able to lift his head high enough to see Bayhas’s teeth bared, his gold
earring shining in the early-morning sun …
Then the merchant was bucking, swinging and had embraced Bayhas
upside down and from behind, momentarily arresting his progress. With
a great shout, a final burst of effort, energy summoned from he knew not
where, Altaïr thrust upward, his blade slicing up and into Bayhas’s
stomach, opening a vertical gash that ended almost at his throat. At the
same time Mukhlis had grabbed the dagger just before it dropped from
Bayhas’s loosening fingers, jerking upwards and slicing at the rope that
held him. He dropped, smashing his side painfully against the well wall,
but scrambled to his feet and stood side by side with his saviour.
Altaïr was bent almost double, dying on his feet. But he raised his