the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

seen two opposing Assassin armies fight and neither did they want to.
What they saw were marauding Assassins come howling from the gates
with bared teeth and flashing swords, their boots drumming on the turf.
They saw Altaïr’s supporters crouch and tense, readying themselves for
action. And they took shelter, some running for cover behind the
watchtower, others retreating down the hill. There was a great shout and
a crash of steel as the two sides met. Altaïr had Malik as his bodyguard,
and he kept an eye on the ramparts as the battle raged – the ramparts
where the archers stood, perhaps ten of them. If they opened fire the
battle was surely lost.
Now he saw Abbas.
And Abbas saw him.
For a moment the two commanders regarded one another, Abbas on
the ramparts, Altaïr down below – strong and still as rock as the battle
whirled around him – the best of childhood friends turned the bitterest
of enemies. Then the moment was broken as Abbas yelled at the archers
to fire. Altaïr saw uncertainty on their faces as they raised their bows.
‘No one must die,’ called Altaïr, entreating his own men, knowing
that the way to win over the archers was by example. Abbas was
prepared to sacrifice Assassins; Altaïr was not, and he could only hope
that the hearts of the archers were true. He prayed that his supporters
would show restraint, that they would give the archers no reason to
open fire. He saw one of his men fall, howling, his throat open, and
straight away the loyalist Assassin responsible was attacking another.
‘Him,’ he instructed Malik, pointing in the direction of the battle.
‘Take him, Malik, but be merciful I urge you.’
Malik joined the battle and the loyalist was pushed back, Malik