Altaïr moved like the wind.He crossed rooftops and walls without hesitation, his body remembering paths his mind no longer questioned. Stone gave way to wood, wood to open air, and he flowed through it all with practiced ease.No one watched.The people below did not gasp or point. They did not flinch. Some turned away in mild disinterest, others with quiet disdain. Once, such movements would have drawn awe. Now, they earned nothing.Altaïr noticed.He set the thought aside and pressed on.
The first suspect lived near the gates—on the opposite edge of the citadel. Nizar ibn Salim. A merchant. One who supplied grain and cloth from Masyaf, trading them for seeds and spices brought in from beyond the valley.He travels often, Altaïr thought. Too often.He descended near the gates and slowed his pace, blending into the crowd. The white robes were gone, replaced by plain cloth. To the world, he was just another man passing through.Nizar stood by his stall, arranging sacks of grain with careful hands.Altaïr approached.
"I am Kadar," he said calmly. "It is an honor to meet the most clever merchant in all of Masyaf."Nizar looked up, startled, then smiled faintly. "You flatter me, stranger. I am only a man who trades what others grow."
"I trade as well," Altaïr said. "Spices. Rare ones. From lands far beyond the coast."Nizar's eyes lit with interest. "Then you have traveled far. Please—walk with me."
They moved away from the gates, toward a quieter stretch of stone where voices faded and footsteps thinned.Without warning, Altaïr cast aside the disguise.His fist struck Nizar across the face.The merchant stumbled back, shock etched across his features."Altaïr!" Nizar gasped. "You—"Altaïr seized him by the collar and struck him again."Speak the truth," he said coldly. "I know everything."
Nizar fell to his knees, trembling. "I—I am sorry," he cried. "I had no choice."Altaïr dragged him up and hit him once more."We kept you close," Altaïr said. "The Mentor himself trusted you. Is this how you repay us?"
"I plead guilty!" Nizar sobbed. "Please—please do not kill me."
"Why?" Altaïr demanded. "Why did you betray us?"
"I did what I had to," Nizar said desperately. "The profits were small. My children were hungry. I took grain. Only grain. I swear it."
Altaïr froze."Stolen grain?" he asked.Nizar looked up, confused through tears. "Yes. From the stores. I meant to return it. I never wished harm upon anyone."
Altaïr loosened his grip."You are not working with the Templars?" he asked slowly. "You have not spoken to Crusaders?"
"Templars?" Nizar repeated, bewildered. "I am a merchant, not a soldier. I beg you—mercy."
Silence hung between them.Altaïr released him.He helped Nizar to his feet, brushed the dust from his clothes, and said nothing more.Then he turned and walked away.Altaïr did not linger.The merchant had been innocent—guilty only of desperation, not betrayal. A lesson learned too late. As he moved away from the gates, one thought repeated itself in his mind.Next time, I will ask better questions.
The second name led him deeper into Masyaf.Farid ibn al-Qasim. A courier. Young. Restless. An Assassin for barely a year. He had been seen within the citadel on the night the mission to Solomon's Temple was planned—present when only a few had reason to be.Altaïr reached Farid's home before dusk.The door stood open. Inside, only an older woman sat by the hearth, her hands busy with cloth. She looked up as Altaïr passed, her eyes wary but silent and Farid was not there.
Altaïr waited for hours and after a long wait,Farid entered the street dressed in white—robes freshly fastened, blade at his side. He stopped when he saw Altaïr standing outside his home.
"I know you," Farid said. "Altaïr Ibn-LaʼAhad. You've been spoken of… recently."
"I have not come to speak of myself," Altaïr replied. "I have come to speak of you."Farid's eyes brightened. "Is this it?" he asked. "Do I finally get to be a warrior?"
"Come with me," Altaïr said. "There is a place where Assassins train. Let me see what you know."They walked together toward the training grounds.Masyaf's soldiers trained everywhere—courtyards, terraces, narrow paths between stone walls. Altaïr led Farid to a smaller arena, tucked away from the main square. Weapons lay stacked nearby.Altaïr took a sword and handed another to Farid."Your strike is strong," Altaïr said. "But strength alone is not enough."
Farid tightened his grip. "I have always wanted to fight," he said eagerly. "No one ever gave me a chance. Put me in battle—just once—and I will prove myself."
Altaïr did not answer.He advanced.Their blades met, but it was no contest. Altaïr disarmed Farid in moments, forcing him back again and again. Each movement was controlled, measured, relentless.Altair knocked Farid down and asked.
"Why were you at the citadel three nights ago?" Altaïr asked suddenly. "Why were you there when the mission was planned?"Farid stiffened.
"Are you serving the Crusaders?" Altaïr continued. "The Templars?"He stepped closer."One lie," Altaïr said quietly, "and I will end your life."Farid opened his mouth to answer—And then Altaïr saw him.Masun ibn Ishaq stood at the edge of the training ground, watching. He was the one Altaïr was supposed to interrogate next.His expression was tense, his eyes fixed on them. The moment Altaïr spoke the word Templars, Masun's composure broke.He turned and ran.Altaïr reacted instantly.He left Farid where he stood and gave chase.Masun moved fast, weaving through stone paths and narrow stairways, vaulting obstacles with desperate speed. Altaïr followed, his body flowing through the chase as if it were instinct alone. Walls became ladders. Gaps became nothing.They leapt on houses , running through roofs when finallyAt the base of a cliff, Masun stumbled and stopped.Altaïr struck him down.They fought hand to hand, fists and bodies colliding against rock and dust. Masun resisted fiercely, but fear made him sloppy. Within moments, Altaïr had him pinned to the ground.
"Enough!" Masun cried. "I yield. I yield!"
Altaïr pressed him harder into the stone."Why did you betray us?" he demanded. "And who do you serve?"
Masun laughed weakly through bloodied lips."The Templars," he said. "We serve the Templars. And you should too. They will make the world better."
"We?" Altaïr asked.
"Jamal," Masun said quickly. "He told me of their plans. He ordered me to open the gates when Robert de Sablé attacked."Altaïr's grip tightened.
"And Solomon's Temple?" he asked. "You told them we would be there."
"Yes," Masun admitted. "The treasure could not be taken without a Master Assassin. So they decided to take it from you. But you attacked Robert outright. The plan failed."Masun closed his eyes.
"Kill me if you wish," he said. "I am not afraid of death."Altaïr released him and stood.
"It is not my place to decide your fate," he said.Masun looked up slowly.
"It is Al Mualim's."