IV- In Which Yusuf Vomits. Twice.

Edirne, 1491



There was nothing except the pounding, both of the pulse in his ears and his feet on the dirt. All Yusuf knew was that he was breathing, and if he could breathe, he could run.
Of course, it wasn't always that simple. It was quite a struggle to decide which burned more, his lungs or his shoulder. Both were severely injuring and crying out for a little rest, which the Assassin swiftly denied them. He had not come this far to be thwarted by his own body.
"Stop running!" Yusuf ordered, sacrificing what spare oxygen he had.
"Why?" Came the loud response, "If you want to kill me, suikastci, you will have to catch me first!" (Assassin)
A fair deal, Yusuf admitted.

**

Edirne was a small town, but that didn't stop it from being crowded. In fact, from the look of things, the people outnumbered the houses a hundred to one. It was no wonder the Turk had been forced to share his rented room with four other travelers.
Then again, a small stopover town on the way to Istanbul was probably a nice place to visit, but a sad place to live. Yusuf considered himself lucky there were so many tourists this time of year, and thus an impressive crowd to blend in. However, it was also a slight nuisance, as the seething mass of citizens made it difficult to distinguish his target.
Sahed Lorictre, a mysterious man, had been a resident of Edirne for about three weeks now. He kept mostly to himself, but rumor insisted he was plotting something big. Why else would Sahed establish himself in the middle of nowhere, and suddenly become friendly with anyone who sniffed too close to his large home? The man also had a reputation for being quite wealthy…
Yusuf was more than certain Sahed was his target- the Templar he'd been tracking from Konstantiniyye for nearly two months, the man he was not about to let ago.
Assuming he could find him to begin with.
The young Turk reminded himself to be patient after hitting yet another dead-end. If the city is so small, he couldn't help wondering, how is it a single man is near impossible to find?
Finally, Yusuf decided to take a small break- to relieve his aching feet if not his frustration. The Assassin relaxed on a nearby bench and watched the people move about the district. Their dresses were similar to the garb of Constantine citizens, and if the buildings hadn't been quite so shoddy Yusuf could almost tell himself he was back home.
A soft bird's call lulled the dark-haired man into a sense of tranquility, and he felt himself growing less and less rigid. It felt good to stretch his cramped muscles, and once he popped a few joints he began to consider taking the rest of the evening off. It wasn't like Sahed would disappear by the next morning- eight weeks of espionage had ensured that much.
It was as Yusuf was fantasizing about his bed he noticed the clue. The same group of dark robed individuals had been patrolling his street for the past ten minutes. Although they did not seem to carry any Templar-specific identification, Yusuf was certain they were involved.
Following his instincts, the Turk sat up and dusted himself off. Perhaps today would finally be the day he would put Sahed out of his misery.

**

The pain was becoming more distant now, and if Yusuf concentrated he could pretend it wasn't there. The world was empty except for three entities: the Assassin, his fleeing target, and the trampled ground beneath his boots.
He would catch Sahed if it was literally the last thing he did.
If Yusuf had had the willpower, he might have called out as he did before. It may have distracted his target, earning precious seconds. Precious seconds that could have been used to put an end to the infernal chase and the torturous throbbing in Yusuf's legs.  
On some basic level, Yusuf understood their little game was coming to a close. And as the two passed under the archway of a dilapidated structure, he steeled himself for its last few moments.

**

There were not as many guards on the rooftops as he had anticipated. Apparently a town as small as Edirne had no use for such frivolities. However, Yusuf was sure to give the body the respect it deserved as he quietly disposed of the evening's only watchman.
The Turk carefully deposited the man's body inside the nearest roof garden. He would be gone by the time it was discovered.
What mattered was that Yusuf finally had a clear view of Sahed and his minions. Right there, in the center of the street. The Templar could easily be seen strutting about.
Yusuf narrowed his eyes and snuck closer to the roof's edge. An air assassination came tastefully to mind, but Sahed was too far away…
'Sabir, Yusuf,' (patience) the Assassin reprimanded himself, resisting his hookblade's itch.
After a few more moments waiting, Yusuf's ears detected the faintest murmurs:
"Who is that…?"
"What is he doing on the roof?"
"Shouldn't someone remove him before he hurts himself?"
The Turk tried his hardest to ignore the curious commentators and focused on his target, who was indeed only paces out of range. But Sahed was a smart man, and unfortunately for Yusuf, he looked up.
For a second, the Assassin and the target made eye contact.
And that was exactly when eight weeks of planning went to hell.
Yusuf leapt from the roof, hookblade extended. But as he fell through the air, Sahed's men fired their weapons. Crossbow bolts hurled themselves at the airborne Assassin, but he didn't dare ruining his aim to twist out of the way.    
A blinding flash of pain informed Yusuf that one of the projectiles had pierced his shoulder, causing his armed hand to waver. That, combined with the fact that he was too far away to successfully perform the assassination resulted in his tumbling to the ground, landing on his stomach at Sahed's feet.
Oxygen disappeared from the Turk's lungs and he had some difficulty climbing to his feet. By the time he'd recovered, the Templar was long gone. All that remained was the gold trim of his cape as it rounded the corner.
Yusuf let out a curse as well as a thick smoke bomb. He left the guards choking on each other's coughs and sprinted after Sahed as fast as was humanly possible.

**

It took a few moments, but gradually Yusuf realized that they were indoors now. Sahed fled before him, barreling down a long, stone hallway. Yusuf was only meters behind.
One corridor ended and the next began, though its conclusion was also in sight. The building appeared to be some form of old dungeon, which explained the maze-like pathways and iron doors, many of which Sahed had tried to use to block Yusuf's progress. But now the labyrinth was coming to its end, and the Templar would be at his mercy at last.
It did not particularly surprise Yusuf to see Sahed sealing the barred prison-door behind him when he rounded the corner, but it did surprise him to see the other man suddenly halt, doubling up with his hands on his thighs.
Yusuf approached the trapped Templar, falling to his knees before the door. He took a moment to look up and abruptly realized what had to be the most absurd escape in history:
Sahed had locked himself in a prison cell.
"Come out, Templar!" Yusuf commanded hoarsely, struggling for breath.
Sahed panted and shook his head, "Why? We cannot keep running forever, aptal." (idiot)
"Exactly. The point is for me to catch and kill you."
The Templar shook his head again and threw his back against the mossy wall. He tilted his jaw upwards, drawing in breath after breath, "I'm sorry, Assassin. But I don't want to die today."
"Coward!" Yusuf spat, angrily climbing to his feet. He jammed his hookblade between the bars, but to his chagrin it would not extend to the Templar's neck. He drew his sword, but the thick length of steel could not penetrate the cell. Finally he emptied his pockets of all things lethal- throwing knives, bombs, packets of gunpowder.
Yusuf groaned and slapped his face. None of his equipment would do him any good with his throwing arm so badly mangled. Though the wound no longer hurt, his entire left side was numb. Ordinarily Yusuf would toss a bomb anyway, but he didn't want to bring the whole building down with a clumsy throw.
"Face it, Assassin," The Templar boasted as he straightened, "I have bested you."
"Let's not speak too soon," Yusuf muttered, more to himself than to Sahed, "There has to be something nearby I could kill you with."
The Turk began to pace. After emptying his sash of everything useful (not much, as firearms were not exactly in ready supply in Edirne), he searched the room for anything he could use to extend the reach of his short blade. He came very close once, by attaching a long wooden pole to the weapon- but when he'd jutted it into the cell, Sahed had calmly stepped aside disassembled the little contraption. Yusuf's knife still sat between the bars.
"Simdi gel," (come now) Sahed told him, "We're both exhausted."
Yusuf glared at the man, "And the moment I rest my eyes, you thrust my own blade down my throat. Honestly, you Templars get less charming with each passing day."
Sahed said nothing. Eventually, Yusuf did sit down, but only because he had lost the feeling in his legs. His head was the next casualty- the room began to dip and spin. Occasionally, dark spots cropped up, dancing across Yusuf's eyeballs. But he always chased them away. He would not sleep. He would not sleep.
Time passed slowly in that little dungeon. Sahed grappled with boredom, and Yusuf with the consequences of his injuries. An hour or so in, the Assassin began to gasp for breath.
"Is something wrong?" Sahed found himself wondering.
Yusuf's head wobbled on his neck, "Oh, nothing efendim… I am just suddenly overcome with..."
The sentence ended in a terribly wet retching noise.
Sahed wrinkled his nose in disgust and turned to face the wall.
And so time carried on even further. Yusuf would often knock on the cell's bars, letting the Templar know he was still well aware of his surroundings.
"You cannot hide in there forever, korkak." (coward)
Eventually evening turned to night. Night progressed to twilight. Sahed, convinced he was safe in his little prison, curled into a ball and elected to sleep. Yusuf tried to take advantage of his enemy's weakness, but he found his own too crippling. His mind was fuzzy, and any movement was met with extreme nausea.
With the Templar snoring away peacefully, Yusuf had to argue with his body about why sleep was not an option. However it came to the point where the twenty-four-year-old's brain no longer stood a chance. In his last conscious thought, Yusuf scraped some resin from his pouch and used it to seal the cell's door, guaranteeing that the Templar's key would not work.
Then he sighed and allowed a restless slumber to steal him.

**

Yusuf was jolted awake by a loud scraping noise. He twisted in his seat (unaware that he had been leaning against the cell door) to see Sahed pushing the iron barrier with all his might.
"Try it, Templar!" Yusuf goaded, fully alert with his hookblade drawn.
Sahed paused, taking a moment to look over the younger man, "You do not look well, Assassin. If you let me out, I could take you to a doctor."
Yusuf snorted, "Please. I am injured, not stupid."
"If you do nothing to treat that wound, there will soon be little difference."
The Turk had no reply. A glance at his shoulder revealed that the wound was in much worse shape than it had been earlier, though he had managed to remove the bloody bolt. A few hours spent sleeping in the dirt did not do much to encourage its restoration, either.
The Templar began to speak, though hesitantly. He asked:
"Assassin, how old are you?"
Yusuf frowned, but saw little harm in answering, "I am twenty-four. You?"
"Thirty-two."
The conversation ended there, but the thoughts it ignited did not.

**

"Assassin?"
It had been several hours at this point. Sahed spent the time removing the Assassin's resin implants. Honestly it had surprised him that his would-be killer hadn't noticed.
"…Assassin?"
There was no reply.
Sahed climbed to his feet and cautiously made his way to the door. He inserted his key in the lock and slowly pushed the cell open. The Assassin's body, which had been resting against it, collapsed on its side.
The Templar stood conflicted. He could very easily leave the stubborn Assassin to die on his own, but…
He was the very picture of agony. The Assassin's face was pinched and pale, yet it shown with sweat. Dried blood stained the majority of his right side, and the front of his robes was splattered with old vomit. What a terrible way for such a young man to die…
But this was a man who'd already tried to kill him several times. Surely this was justice- how many others had this child ended before him? What would the Order say if they'd known he'd pitied an Assassin?
Certain now of his decision, Sahed turned on his heel and calmly left the room, allowing the shivering Assassin his space.


**

Yusuf awoke to a headache. It was not the usual, heavy-weighted feeling. It was more like a very small person had managed to smuggle a very large weapon inside his skull and was bashing his brains about.
Also when Yusuf woke, he was not on a bed. He was quite disappointed to find himself on a hekim's wooden table, with the healer himself only inches from his face.
"Sh," the doctor eased him down gently when Yusuf attempted to rise. "Do not move, efendim. You have just had a very close brush with infection."
The Turk had a reply to that, but his stomach got first say. As though telepathic, the hekim suddenly procured a bucket, and Yusuf buried his head in it.
Yusuf couldn't help but hope Edirne had some fine restaurants, because after this assignment he was going to be quite hungry.  
The assignment… How had it ended? Yusuf strained his mind, but he could remember nothing. Had he killed Sahed? He seemed to recall something strange about chasing a Templar into a jail cell, but everything after that evaporated.
"Beni bagislayin," (excuse me) Yusuf cleared his throat, "But…How did I get here?"
"You were carried here by Sahed Lorictre himself," The doctor answered, brows raised, "I'll admit, I thought for a while I was dreaming. But it's true- in the dead of night, he brought you here and demanded your treatment."
Yusuf could find no words.
"He also asked me to relay this message: You win."