Assassin's Creed: Revelations (35 page)

“A scratch. When I hit the side of the seat.”

“Stay strong!”

“I’m doing my best!”

“Do you want me to take the reins?”

“I daren’t let go of them!”

They were gaining on Ahmet again.

“Your determination would be charming—if it were not also so infuriating!” he yelled at them. Evidently, he had lost none of his urbanity through the perils of the chase.

They were hammering toward a village where, as they could see, a platoon of Ottoman troops was stationed, guarding the road to the city. They had a barrier in place across the thoroughfare, but its arm was raised.

“Stop them!” Ahmet roared as his carriage passed the bewildered soldiers “They are trying to assassinate your prince!”

The soldiers hurried to lower the barrier’s arm as Sofia charged toward them, smashing through the barrier and scattering soldiers like chickens in her wake.

“Sorry!” she cried, then proceeded to knock down a whole row of market stalls lining the main street.

“Oh!” she called. “Forgive me!”

“Sofia, you must be careful,” Ezio said.

“I don’t want one single crack out of you about women drivers,” she snapped back, her teeth bared as their carriage clipped one of two poles supporting a banner across the street, bringing it down on the heads of the infuriated villagers storming in their wake.

“What are you doing?” said Ezio, his face white.

“What do you think I’m doing? Keeping us on track!”

Meanwhile, Ahmet’s coachman had gained ground, and the front coach was flying out of the village as Ahmet urged his men on. Looking back, Ezio saw that a cavalry patrol had set off in pursuit of them. The crossbowmen at the back of Ahmet’s carriage were bracing themselves to try to fire again, and this time they succeeded in getting a couple of shots off. One bolt grazed Sofia’s shoulder.

“Aië!” she cried. “Ezio!”

“Hang on!” He ran his fingers over the slight wound, touching the soft skin. Despite all that was going on, he felt a tingle in his fingertips. A tingle he’d only felt once before, during an experiment Leonardo had shown him, when his friend was tinkering about with something he’d called “electricity.”

“It’s a graze, nothing serious.”

“It’s one graze too many! I could have been killed! What have you got me into?”

“I can’t explain now!”

“Typical! Any excuse!”

Ezio turned in his seat and scanned the cavalrymen riding behind. “Get rid of them!” Sofia implored him.

He unleashed his pistol, checked it, and took careful aim at the front rider, bracing himself against the jolting and bucking carriage. Now or never! He took a deep breath, and fired.

The man flung up his arms as his horse swerved out of control across the path of his followers, and there was a mighty snarl-up as several horses crashed into one another, stumbling and falling, and bringing their riders down, even as those coming on from behind were unable to veer, and cannoned into the turmoil themselves. In the complete chaos of yelling men, whinnying horses, and dust, the pursuit came to an abrupt halt.

“Glad you’ve made yourself useful at last!” said Sofia, as they sped away from the confusion behind them. But looking ahead, Ezio could see that the road led through a very narrow gorge between two high cliffs that reared on either side.

Ahmet’s carriage just passed between them. But their own vehicle was wider. “Too narrow!” breathed Ezio.

“Brace yourself!” said Sofia, snapping the reins.

They flew into the gorge at top speed. The bare rock flashed past inches from Ezio’s shoulder.

Then they were out the other side.

“Eeah!” Ezio gasped.

Sofia flashed him a triumphant grin.

They had just come close enough to hear Ahmet cursing his crossbowmen, who had managed to reload and fire again but whose bolts flew well wide.

“Incompetent
children
!” he was hollering. “What’s the matter with you? Where did you learn to fight?”

After emerging from the gorge, the road wound to the west, and soon the glittering waters of the Black Sea were in view to the north, on their right.

“Shape up or throw yourselves into the ocean!” Ahmet was bellowing.

“Oh no,” said Ezio, looking ahead.

“What?” asked Sofia. Then she saw what he’d seen, and in her turn, she said, “Oh, no.”

Another village. And, beyond it, another Ottoman guard post. Another pole across the road.

“I must say you’ve got those horses under pretty good control,” said Ezio, reloading his pistol with difficulty as the carriage bucked and jumped. “Most people would have lost them by now, and they’d have bolted. Not bad at all—for a Venetian.”

“You should see me handle a gondola,” said Sofia.

“Well, now’s the time to put them through their paces again,” said Ezio.

“Just watch me.”

It was market day there, too, but as the two carriages shot toward them the crowd parted like the Red Sea did for Moses.

“Sorry!” cried Sofia as a fish stall collapsed in her wake. Then it was the turn of a pottery stand. Shards flew everywhere, and the air turned blue with the trader’s oaths and imprecations.

Next thing, a live chicken landed squawking in Ezio’s lap.

“Did we just buy this?” he asked.

“It’s a drive-through.”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

The chicken struggled out of Ezio’s grasp, pecking him for good measure, and half flew, half scrambled back to the relative safety of the ground.

“Look out! Up ahead!” Ezio shouted.

The guards had let Ahmet through, but they’d got their roadblock down behind him this time, and stood ready, pikes held out toward Sofia’s horses. Unpleasant looks of anticipated triumph lit up their mean, swarthy faces.

“It’s ridiculous,” said Sofia.

“What is?”

“Well, look—they’ve got their roadblock in the middle of the road all right, but there’s nothing but bare ground either side of it. Do they take us for fools?”

“Perhaps they are the fools,” said Ezio, amused.

Then he had to grab hold of the seat fast as Sofia pulled hard on the left reins and dragged the horses in a tight turn, to gallop round the roadblock, leaving it to their right. Then she hauled hard right and regained the road thirty yards past the soldiers, some of whom hurled their pikes impotently after them.

“See any cavalry?” asked Sofia.

“Not this time.”

“Good.” She snapped the reins, and once again they began to close the gap between themselves and Ahmet.

But there was yet another village, a small one, up ahead.

“Not again!” said Sofia.

“I see it,” said Ezio. “Try to close with him now!”

Sofia whipped up the horses, but, as they reached the hamlet, Ahmet’s coachman craftily slowed. The soldiers on the backseat had replaced their crossbows with short-poled, vicious-looking halberds, whose axeheads gleamed in the sun. Despite her efforts to slow down, too, Sofia couldn’t help drawing level, and Ahmet’s coachman managed to veer and clip them again. This time, he succeeded in throwing their carriage off balance, and it began to topple. But the crash had had the same effect on Ahmet’s vehicle.

At the moment of collision, Ezio threw himself off his seat, into the air, and landed on the roof of Ahmet’s coach. He whipped out the hookblade and swung it violently at the two soldiers to his left, slicing into each of them and bringing them down before they could bring their halberds into play. The coachman had spurred his horses on again in an effort to right his carriage, while Sofia’s had already capsized and crashed a short way behind them, in a cloud of dust. They were at the side of a sharp drop, and Ahmet’s wheels went over it, taking his carriage down in turn.

Ezio, thrown clear, staggered to his feet and looked around, but the entire scene was obscured by choking dust. Confused cries came from somewhere—probably the local inhabitants, for as the dust began to clear, Ezio could see the coachman’s body lying prone among some rocks.

There was no sign of Ahmet.

Or Sofia.

Vainly, Ezio called her name.

SEVENTY-TWO

When the dust had settled completely, Ezio was able to get his bearings. The startled villagers stood a little way off, eyeing each other uncertainly at the scene of the crash. Ezio’s baleful glare was enough to keep them at bay, but he knew he’d have to work fast. It wouldn’t be long before the Ottoman troops left in their wake would regroup and follow.

He surveyed the scene. Ahmet lay on his back some dozen feet from the wreck. He was groaning, clearly in great pain. The satchel containing the keys lay nearby. Then, to Ezio’s intense relief, Sofia appeared from behind a patch of shrubbery. She was bruised and shaken but otherwise unhurt. They exchanged a reassuring look, as Ahmet, with an effort, rolled himself onto his stomach and pushed himself up.

Ezio scooped up the satchel and opened it. The keys were undamaged.

Ezio looked at the fallen prince.

“So—what now, Ezio? How does this end?” Ahmet said, catching his breath in pain as he spoke.

Sofia came up behind Ezio and put a hand on his shoulder.

“I am wondering that myself,” Ezio told Ahmet.

Ahmet began to laugh, and couldn’t stop, even though it clearly hurt him to do so. He managed to struggle to his knees. “Well, if you happen to find the answer . . .”

Out of nowhere, half a dozen Byzantine troops appeared. They were heavily armed and took up protective positions around the prince.

“. . . do let us know!”

Ezio grimaced, drawing his sword and signaling Sofia to step back.

“You are a fool, Ezio. Did you really think I’d travel without backup?”

Ahmet was about to laugh again but he was cut off by a hail of arrows, seemingly coming from nowhere, which struck down all the Byzantines in a moment. One arrow struck Ahmet in the thigh, and he fell back, howling in pain.

Ezio was equally taken aback. He knew no Assassins were in the vicinity, and there was no way that another Dilara could have arrived to rescue him.

He whipped round to see, a short distance away, a dozen Janissary cavalry, fitting fresh arrows to their bows. At their head was a regal-looking man of about forty-five, dressed in black and red, with a fur cape and a luxuriant mustache. He held up his hand.

“Hold!” he commanded.

The Janissaries lowered their bows.

The leader and two captains dismounted and made their way toward Ahmet, still writhing on the ground. They paid little heed to Ezio, who watched warily, unsure of his next move. He exchanged another glance with Sofia, who drew close to him again.

With a superhuman effort, Ahmet struggled to his feet, seizing a broken branch to support himself. He drew himself up, but at the same time gave ground to the new arrival.

Noticing the family resemblance between the two men, Ezio began to put two and two together. At the same time, Ahmet began to speak, addressing the Janissaries in a voice he struggled to keep firm and commanding: “Soldiers! Selim is not your master! You serve the sultan! You carry out his command alone! Where is he? Where is our sultan?”

Ahmet had backed his way to a fence on the edge of the cliff overlooking the sea, and there, unable to go any farther, he collapsed against it. The other man had followed and stood over him.

“Your sultan stands before you, brother,” said the man. He put his hands on Ahmet’s shoulders and leaned in close, speaking quietly. “Our father made his choice. Before he abdicated. It was the best thing.”

“What are you going to do, Selim?” Ahmet babbled, noticing the expression in his brother’s eyes.

“I think it will be best to remove all possibility of further dissent, don’t you?”

Selim’s hands leapt to Ahmet’s throat, forcing him back against the fence.

“Selim! Stop! Please!” Ahmet cried. Then he started to choke.

Sultan Selim Osman was indifferent to his brother’s cries. In fact, they seemed to urge him on. Ezio saw that he was pressing down on Ahmet with far more force than was really necessary. Ahmet scrabbled at his brother’s face in a vain attempt to beat him off, and as he did so, the fence, which had been buckling alarmingly under his weight, finally cracked and gave. Selim released his grip at the very moment that Ahmet, with a hollow scream of fear, fell backward over the cliff and down to the black rocks two hundred feet below.

Selim stood looking over the edge for a moment, his face impassive. Then he turned back, and walked over, at an easy pace, to where Ezio remained standing.

“You must be the Assassin, Ezio Auditore.”

Ezio nodded.

“I am Selim, Suleiman’s father. He speaks quite highly of you.”

“He is a remarkable boy,
Ekselânslari
, with a magnificent mind.”

But Selim’s cordiality had come to an end. His affability had vanished as his eyes narrowed, and his face grew dark. Ezio got a strong sense of the ruthlessness that had got this man to the position of power he now held. “Let us be clear,” said Selim, his face close to Ezio’s. “Were it not for my son’s endorsement, I would have you killed where you stand. We do not need the influence of foreigners here. Leave this land and do not return.”

Unable to restrain himself, Ezio felt rage rise in him at this insult. He clenched his fists, something that did not go unnoticed by Selim, but in that moment Sofia saved his life by putting a restraining hand on his arm.

“Ezio,” she whispered. “Let it go. This is not your fight.”

Selim looked him in the eye once more—challengingly. Then he turned and walked back to where his captains and his troop of cavalry were waiting for him.

Moments later, they had mounted and ridden off in the direction of Constantinople. Ezio and Sofia were left with the dead, and with the gaggle of gawping locals.