Read Assassin's Creed The Secret Crusade for Free Online

he? Very well. I’ll not deny him. Go. Inform the others. The fortress must be prepared.’
    Now he turned his attention to Altaïr, and his eyes blazed as he said, ‘As for you, Altaïr, our discussion will have to wait. You must make for the village. Destroy these invaders. Drive them from our home.’
    ‘It will be done,’ said Altaïr, who could not help but be relieved at this sudden turn of events. Somehow the attack on the village was preferable to having to endure more of this humiliation. He had disgraced himself in Jerusalem. Now he had the chance to make amends.
    He vaulted from the landing behind the Master’s chamber to the smooth stone floor and dashed from the tower. As he ran across the training yard and through the main gates, he wondered whether being killed now might provide the escape he desired. Would that be a good death? A proud and noble death?
    Enough to exonerate him?
    He drew his sword. The sounds of battle were closer now. He could see Assassins and Templars fighting on the upland at the foot of the castle, while further down the hill villagers were scattering under the force of the assault, bodies already littering the slopes.
    Then he was under attack. A Templar knight rushed him, snarling, and Altaïr twisted, letting his instincts take over, raising his sword to meet the Christian, who bore down upon him fast and hard, his broadsword slamming into Altaïr’s blade with a clash of steel. But Altaïr was braced, feet planted wide apart, the line of his body perfect, and the Templar’s attack barely moved him. He swept aside the other’s sword, using the weight of the huge broadsword against the knight, whose arm flailed uselessly for a blink that Altaïr used to step forward and plunge his blade into the man’s stomach.
    The Templar had come at him confident of an easy kill. Easy, like the villagers he had already slaughtered. He’d been wrong. With the steel in his gut he coughed blood and his eyes were wide with pain and surprise as Altaïr yanked the blade upward, bisecting his torso. He fell away, his intestines spilling to the dust.
    Now Altaïr was fighting with pure venom, venting all of his frustration in his sword blows, as though he might pay for his crimes with the blood of his enemies. The next Templar traded blows, trying to resist as Altaïr pushed him back, his posture instantly changing from attack to defence, and then into desperate defence, so that even as he parried, he was whimpering in expectation of his own death.
    Altaïr feinted, wheeled, and his blade flashed across the Christian’s throat, which opened, sheeting blood down the front of his uniform, staining it as red as the cross on his chest. He sank to his knees then fell forward, just as another soldier rushed Altaïr, sunlight glinting from his raised sword. Altaïr stepped aside and buried his steel deep in the man’s back so that, for a second, his entire body tautened, the blade protruding from his chestplate, his mouth open in a silent scream as Altaïr lowered him to the ground and retrieved his sword.
    Two soldiers attacked together, thinking perhaps that their numbers would overwhelm Altaïr. They reckoned without his anger. He fought not with his usual cold indifference, but with fire in his belly. The fire of a warrior who cared nothing for his own safety. The most dangerous warrior of all.
    Around him he saw more corpses of villagers, put to the sword by the attacking Templars, and his anger blossomed, his sword blows becoming even more vicious. Two more soldiers fell beneath his blade and he left them twitching in the dirt. But now more and more knights were appearing, villagers and Assassins alike were rushing up the slope, and Altaïr saw Abbas commanding them to return to the castle.
    ‘Press the attack on the heathen fortress,’ cried a knight in response. He was running up the hill towards Altaïr, his sword swinging as he swiped at a fleeing woman. ‘Let us bring the fight to the