the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

had moved with him like a shadow, staying out of sight, or so he
thought. Altaïr had seen him at once, of course. He had noted his
bearing, had known he was an Assassin.
It had had to happen, of course. Abbas would have sent his agents
into the village in order to learn about the stranger who fought with the
hidden blade of the Assassin. Abbas would surely come to the conclusion
that Altaïr had returned to reclaim the Order. Maybe he hoped that the
brigands would kill Altaïr for him; maybe he would send a man down
the slopes to kill him. Perhaps this shadow was also Altaïr’s Assassin.
Still the women argued. Mukhlis said, from the side of his mouth,
‘Master, it seems I was mistaken. These women are not arguing about
who should have the unfortunate Aaron, but who should take him.’
Altaïr chuckled. ‘My judgment would remain the same,’ he said,
casting an amused look to where Aaron sat chewing his fingernails. ‘It is
for the young man to decide his own destiny.’ He stole a glance at his
shadow, who sat in the shade of the trees, mud-coloured robes pulled
around him, looking for all the world like a snoozing villager.
To Mukhlis he said, ‘I shall return presently. Their talk is giving me a
thirst.’
He turned and left the small group, some of whom were about to
follow until Mukhlis surreptitiously waved them back.
Altaïr sensed rather than saw his shadow stand also, following him as
he walked into a square and to the fountain at its centre. There he bent,
drank, and stood, pretending to take in the view over the village below.
Then …
‘It’s all right,’ he said, to the man he knew stood behind him. ‘If you
were going to kill me you would have done it by now.’