the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

‘Because you would not heed my warning,’ shouted Malik, his voice
hoarse. ‘All of this could have been avoided. And my brother … my
brother would still be alive. Your arrogance nearly cost us victory today.’
‘Nearly?’ said Al Mualim, carefully.
Calming, Malik nodded, the ghost of a smile on his lips – a smile
directed at Altaïr, for even now he was beckoning another Assassin, who
came forward bearing a box on a gilt tray.
‘I have what your favourite failed to find,’ said Malik. His voice was
strained and he was weak, but nothing was going to sour his moment of
triumph over Altaïr.
Altaïr felt his world falling away from him as the Assassin set down
the tray on Al Mualim’s desk. The box was covered with ancient runes
and there was something about it – an aura. Inside it, surely, was the
treasure. It had to be. The treasure that Altaïr had been unable to
recover.
Al Mualim’s good eye was wide and gleaming. His lips were parted,
his tongue darting from his mouth. He was entranced by the sight of the
box and the thought of what was inside. Suddenly there came an uproar
from outside. Screams. Running feet. The unmistakable ring of clashing
steel.
‘It seems I’ve returned with more than the treasure,’ reflected Malik,
as a messenger crashed into the chamber, forgetting all protocol as he
breathlessly exclaimed, ‘Master, we are under attack. Robert de Sable
lays siege to the Masyaf village.’
Al Mualim was snatched from his reverie, in the mood to face de
Sable. ‘So he seeks a battle, does he? Very well. I’ll not deny him. Go.
Inform the others. The fortress must be prepared.’