the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

Altaïr nodded. ‘Your son died as he lived, Fahad. He enjoyed
administering pain.’
‘A trait he inherited from his mother.’
‘Ah.’
‘And she insists, incidentally, that his name be avenged.’
‘Then there is nothing left to say,’ said Altaïr. ‘Unless you intend to
make your attempt at this very moment, I shall expect you presently
with your army.’
Fahad looked wary. ‘You intend to let me leave? No archers to stop
me? Knowing that I will return with a force to crush you?’
‘If I killed you I would have the wrath of your wife to contend with,’
smiled Altaïr, ‘and, besides, I have a feeling that you will change your
mind about attacking Masyaf by the time you have returned to your
camp.’
‘And why might that be?’
Altaïr smiled. ‘Fahad, if we were to do battle then neither of us would
give ground. Both of us would put more at stake than the grievance
deserved. My community would be devastated, perhaps irreparably so –
but so would yours.’
Fahad seemed to consider. ‘It is for me to decide, surely, the price of
the grievance.’
‘Not long ago I lost my own son,’ said Altaïr, ‘and because of that I
came close to losing my people. I realized it was too high a price to pay,
even for my son. If you take up arms against us you risk making such a
forfeit. I’m sure that the values of your community differ greatly from
mine, but that they are just as prized as they are reluctantly
surrendered.’