the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

He darted forward with his sword swinging, coming for Altaïr, perhaps
hoping to strike at the roots of the rebellion: kill Altaïr, stop the
uprising.
In the flap of a hummingbird’s wings, the Assassin had spun away
from the attack, drawn his sword and rolled around the forward impetus
of his assailant’s body to grab him from behind.
The scout’s sword dropped as he felt Altaïr’s blade held to his throat,
and he whimpered.
‘There will be no killing in the name of this old man,’ murmured
Altaïr, into the scout’s ear, and propelled him forward to Malik, who
caught him and wrestled him to the ground. The other scouts came
forward but with less enthusiasm, no heart for the fight. They all but
allowed themselves to be captured; in moments they were either captive
or unconscious.
Altaïr watched the short skirmish. He looked at his hand where the
scout’s sword had nicked it, and surreptitiously wiped off the blood. You
were slow, he thought. Next time leave the fighting to the younger men.
Even so, he hoped Abbas had been watching. Now men were
gathering on the ramparts. He hoped also that they had seen the events
on the hill, the scouting party treated mercifully.
They continued further up the slope, coming to the upland just as the
gates to the fortress finally opened. More Assassins poured through
them, yelling and ready for the fight.
Behind him he heard the villagers scream and scatter, although
Mukhlis was urging them to stay. Altaïr turned to see him throw up his
hands, but he couldn’t blame the people for their loss of resolve. They all
knew of the fearsome savagery of the Assassin. No doubt they had never