the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

Altaïr sensed his world lurch a little. Suddenly he felt almost faint. ‘What
is your name?’ he asked, and his voice sounded disembodied to his own
ears.
‘I have two names,’ said the boy. ‘I have the name by which I’m
known to most of the Order, which is Tazim. But I have another name,
my given name, given to me by my mother to honour my father. He died
when I was but a baby, put to death on the orders of Abbas. His name
was …’
‘Malik.’ Altaïr caught his breath and came forward, tears pricking his
eyes as he took the boy by the shoulders. ‘My child,’ he exclaimed. ‘I
should have known. You have your father’s eyes.’ He laughed. ‘His
stealth I’m not so sure about, but … you have his spirit. I didn’t know – I
never knew he had a son.’
‘My mother was sent away from here after he was imprisoned. As a
young man I returned to join the Order.’
‘To seek revenge?’
‘Eventually, maybe. Whatever best suited his memory. Now that you
have come, I see the way.’
Altaïr put an arm around his shoulders, steered him from the
fountain, and they crossed the square, talking intently.
‘How are your combat skills?’ he asked the young Malik.
‘Under Abbas such things have been neglected, but I have trained.
Assassin knowledge has barely advanced in the last twenty years,
though.’
Altaïr chuckled. ‘Not here, perhaps. But here.’ He tapped the side of
his head. ‘Here Assassin learning has progressed tenfold. I have such
things to show the Order. Plans. Stratagem. Designs for new weapons.