the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

Mukhlis said nothing. Instead he indicated with his chin the low table
where Altaïr’s blade mechanism shone dully, wicked and oiled.
Altaïr considered. ‘You told them about the blade?’
Mukhlis thought. ‘Well, yes,’ he said, ‘of course. Why?’
‘Word will reach the citadel. They will come looking for me.’
‘They will not be the only ones,’ said Mukhlis, ruefully.
‘What do you mean?’
‘A messenger from the father of the man you killed visited the fortress
earlier.’
‘And who was the man I killed?’
‘A vicious cutthroat called Bayhas.’
‘And his father?’
‘Fahad, leader of a band of brigands who roam the desert. It’s said
they are camped two or three days’ ride away. It’s from there the envoy
came. They say he was asking the Master’s blessing to come to the
village and hunt the killer.’
‘The Master?’ said Altaïr, sharply. ‘Abbas?’
Mukhlis nodded. ‘A reward was offered for the killer, but the villagers
spurned it. Abbas has perhaps not been so steadfast.’
‘Then the people are of good heart,’ said Altaïr, ‘and their leader is
not.’
‘Truer words rarely spoken,’ agreed Mukhlis. ‘He takes our money
and gives us nothing in return, where once the citadel was the heart of
the community from which came strength, guidance …’
‘And protection,’ said Altaïr, with a half-smile.
‘That too,’ acknowledged Mukhlis. ‘All those things left with you,
Altaïr, to be replaced by … corruption and paranoia. They say that