the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

swiping at his legs. When his opponent fell, he straddled him and
delivered not a killing blow but a strike from the hilt of his sword that
knocked him senseless.
Altaïr looked up to the ramparts again. He saw two of the archers
lower their bows, shaking their heads. He saw Abbas produce a dagger –
his father’s dagger – and threaten the men with it, but again they shook
their heads, lowering their bows and placing their hands to the hilts of
their swords. Abbas wheeled, screaming at the archers along the rampart
behind him, ordering them to cut down the defectors. But they, too,
were lowering their bows and Altaïr’s heart leaped. Now he was urging
his men forward, to the gates. Still the battle continued but the loyalists
were slowly becoming aware of events on the ramparts. Even as they
fought they exchanged uncertain glances, and one by one they stepped
back from combat, dropping their swords, arms held out, surrendering.
The way was clear for Altaïr’s party to advance on the castle.
He led his men to the gates and rapped on the door with his fist.
Behind him assembled the Assassins – and the villagers were returning,
too, so the upland was thronged with people. From the other side of the
castle gate there was a strange stillness. A hush descended over Altaïr’s
people, the air crackling with expectation, until suddenly bolts were
thrown and the great castle gates swung wide, opened by guards who
dropped their swords and bent their heads in deference to Altaïr.
He nodded in return, stepped over the threshold, under the arch, and
walked across the courtyard to the Master’s tower. Behind him came his
people; they spread out and flowed around the edges of the courtyard;
archers descended the ladders from the ramparts to join them, and the
faces of families and servants were pressed to the windows of the towers