Assassin's Creed: Outlaw - Book One

Outlaws at the Inn

++MEMORY SEQUENCE ONE. COMMENCING...++

Yughi didn't know how well the Crusader had taught him the English tongue. He had listened hard to the words spoken by the sailors on the ocean crossing. Even so he was still afraid that he might mishear something, miss some nuance of what was being said.

Ultimately, he knew, that this should be of no concern. He was here to find the relic that Al Mualim sought, there was no more for him to worry about than this. Yughi Gal was an assassin, and proud to be within their ranks. He could approach this mission by steeping himself in blood, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake. That would not make him a great assassin, it would make him a butcher.

Yughi Gal desperately wanted to complete his work here and move himself up to the next level, as he saw it. If he were a true assassin then he would find the relic swiftly. He would make off with it in hand, no one would even know he had been here. Nobody needed to die.

People knew the Order of Assassins because of the death they dealt in, but that was only a small part of their work. Killing a target was an action of last resort. The hearts and minds of men were held and swayed in a series of decisive actions. To liberate man from oppression sometimes people too lost had to be eliminated.

It was important that the assassin himself loved his victim as a brother. This is how he came so close to slip the blade between a target's ribs. The blade was a scalpel cutting rot from the body of the world. Yughi knew all these things, but he did not fool himself that he was anywhere near master level. He was no more than a footsoldier and this was his chance to prove himself to everybody.

Not least this was his chance to prove that he had the discipline of an assassin to himself.

The cart slowed, Yughi turned away from his own thoughts. He focused his attention outside of the cart. The sound of boots, two or three pairs, grew louder as the wearers approached.

"Where are you bound?" asked a voice outside the hay cart.

"I'm just on my way to Nottingham, following the Fosse Way. I need to stop, so I may rest," the cart driver answered.

"Outlaws have been seen in the woods," the voice said. "You see anyone on the road?"

"Not a soul," the cart driver replied. The man was truthful, Yughi had concealed himself before the cart driver had even set out.

"You have anything valuable back there?" The voice asked turning towards the cart. Yughi froze, in Acre or Damascus the crusaders would search carts. There wasn't much to be had in the way of trust in the Holy Land.

"I got a few pots that my son threw, nestled in the hay," the cart driver said. "Hope to make a little coin at market. Other than that it's just hay."

"Once you've rested and watered your horse keep moving," the voice said. The speaker moved away from the cart bed again. "The outlaws will make mincemeat of one such as you, even for a few pots. Those bastards will steal anything."

"Thanks for the warning, friend," the cart driver said. "Do you know where the inn is here?"

"Just up the street here," the voice answered. Now it was faint, turned away from the cart. Yughi imagined the owner of the voice pointing. "You'd best be quick. There's no room to stay up there, my master's booked all the rooms. You need to go to the next town if you want somewhere to stay overnight."

"I will bear that in mind," the cart driver said, he tapped on the reins and his cart lurched back into life. The cart went on its way and Yughi allowed himself to relax again.

Before long the sound of the cartwheels on the road gave way to a rattle and shake. The wheels found themselves on a harder paved surface. The cart owner left his horse with water and hay and wandered off into the nearby inn. Yughi was alone.

He didn't have much time to consider the itchiness of his surroundings. Nor the strange thick quality breathing air filled with tiny motes of hay gave to his throat and lungs. Matters of physical comfort gave way to further concern. Two pairs of soft booted feet landed on the floor near the back right axle of the cart.

"They say this is where Godfrey's stationed," whispered a voice. The new speaker was some way below the level of Yughi's head. Someone crouched beside the back wheel of the cart.

"Then this is where Miles Godfrey dies," said a second voice.

"His guards will be everywhere," the first voice said. "How will we get to him?"

"We'll have to be careful," the first voice said. "Let's go in, get the lay of the land."

"Then everyone will see our faces!" the first voice said, alarmed.

"They see our faces every day, stupid, that's why we were picked for this job," the second voice said. "Come on, if someone sees us crouching in the coach yard they will know something's up."

The soft booted footsteps padded away from the cart. The inn door opened in the distance and then closed.

Yughi did not know what to do next. He could surmise several things from the exchange that had just taken place. Firstly, it was clear that Miles Godfrey was the one who had guards on the road. He had given the order to stop people as they entered this town. He was looking for outlaws. That meant that the two voices he had just heard probably belonged to some of those outlaws. Outlaws intent on a mission to remove Godfrey as a problem to their leader.

That was the kind of work an assassin did, sure enough. But outlaws were not assassins. Yughi had trained for many years at the assassin's head quarters in Masyaf. Undertaking to kill a man of status and importance was a job that could not be approached by two youths of the street. Unfortunate as that was exactly what the two conspirators had sounded like.

Yughi knew that at least one person was going to end up dead this day. He had grave doubts that the corpse would belong to Miles Godfrey. Blood would be spilled, that much was certain. Yughi suspected that the blood would more likely belong to the two young plotters.

Unlike these two murderous youths Yughi would certainly stand out in this land. This was a further problem. It was true he had a certain paleness of skin, from his father's Wallachian blood. That was one of the reasons he had been sent on this mission.

That didn't change the fact that he wore the robes of an assassin. In the Holy Land he could pass for a wandering mendicant, here he would be an obvious stranger.

Did that mean he should leave an obvious disaster to unfold nearby? In the strictest sense, yes, he should. The killing of Miles Godfrey, or two random outlaws, should not concern him. He was here for the relic.

The idea of being so close to this blood shed made Yughi uncomfortable still. Aside from the name of the relic's intended recipient there was only one name Yughi knew here. That name was Stafford, he was the only Rafik of the Assassin's Order in Britain.

The success or failure of any task could turn upon local knowledge. Until Yughi found the Rafik he would have to rely upon his own wits to gather information.

Yughi formulated a plan that should, at the very least, prevent a major disaster. More importantly he should be able to call it off if it proved to be too much to handle. He might not be in a position to succeed but he couldn't allow himself to lie here in the hay dust and not even try.

Yughi jumped out of the hay bale, intent on his new mission.