Assassin's Creed: Revelations
Page 70
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
Ezio leapt forward, wrenched the woman back from the edge of the Tower, and pulled the bag from her head.
It was Azize!
She’d been gagged to stop her crying out any warning, and now Ezio tore the scarf away from her mouth.
“Tesekkür, Mentor. Çok tesekkür ederim!” she gasped.
The guard cackled and rushed away down the stairs. He would meet a grim reception at the bottom.
Ezio was in the process of freeing Azize from her bonds when he was interrupted by a woman’s scream. Turning to look, he saw, on another battlement, not far distant, that a temporary gallows had been erected. On the scaffold, a rope already round her neck, stood Sofia, poised on a stool. As he watched, a Byzantine soldier reached up and tightened the noose with rough hands.
Ezio gauged the distance between the top of the Galata Tower and the battlement he had to reach. Leaving Azize to free herself from the rest of her bonds, he unslung his backpack and swiftly assembled the parachute. A matter of seconds later he was flying through the air, guiding the chute with his weight toward the scaffold, where the Byzantines had kicked the stool from beneath Sofia’s feet and tied off the rope. Still airborne, he unleashed his hookblade and used it to slice through the taut rope inches above Sofia’s head. He landed an instant later and caught her falling body in his arms.
Uttering curses, the Byzantine guards made off. Assassins were racing through the streets between the Galata Tower and this battlement, but Ezio could see Byzantines coming toward them to block their approach. He would have to act alone.
But first he turned to Sofia, pulling the rope from her neck with frantic hands, feeling her breast rise and fall against his own.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, urgently.
She coughed and choked, getting her breath back. “No, not hurt. But very confused.”
“I didn’t mean to drag you into this. I am sorry.”
“You aren’t responsible for other men’s actions,” she said, hoarsely.
He gave her a moment to recover and looked at her. That she could be so rational at such a moment . . . ! “All this will be . . . behind us, soon. But first I must recover what they have taken. It is of primal importance!”
“I don’t understand what’s happening, Ezio. Who are these men?”
She was interrupted by a cannon’s blast. Moments later, the battlement they were on shook with the impact of a twenty-pound ball. Sofia was knocked to the ground as shattered stonework flew.
Ezio pulled her to her feet and scanned the area beneath them. His eye lit on an empty carriage guarded by two regular Ottoman troops, who had taken cover immediately when the gunfire started.
He gauged the distance again. Would the parachute take both her weight and his? He’d have to risk it.
“Come!” he said, taking her in his arms tightly and leaping from the battlement.
For a terrible moment, it looked as if the parachute would snag on the crenellations, but it just cleared them, and they dropped—very fast, but still slowly enough to make a safe landing near the carriage. Ezio folded the chute and stuffed it into his pack, not bothering to unclip it, and the two of them made a dash for the carriage. Ezio hurled Sofia onto the driver’s seat, smacked one of the horse’s flanks, and leapt on after her. He seized the reins and drove away at breakneck speed, the Ottoman guards shouting vainly for him to stop as they pursued on foot.
Ezio drove hard, heading through the Galata District north, and out of the city.
SEVENTY-ONE
They were not far into the countryside when, as he’d hoped, Ezio saw Ahmet’s carriage careering along the road ahead of them.
“Is that who you’re after?” said Sofia, breathlessly.
Ezio crouched forward over the reins. “That’s him. We’re gaining on them! Hang on!”
Ahmet had seen them, too, and leaned out of his window, shouting. “Well, well! You have come to see me off, have you?”
The two men posted on the back outer seat of his carriage had turned round, trying to steady themselves as they aimed crossbows at Ezio and Sofia.
“Take them down!” ordered Ahmet. “NOW!”
But Ezio urged his horses forward and soon drew abreast of Ahmet’s carriage. In response, Ahmet’s coachman swerved so that he crashed into his pursuer. Neither vehicle capsized, but Ezio and Sofia were flung brutally sideways. Sofia managed to hang on to the side of the seat, but Ezio was thrown clear, having only just time to seize a baggage rope that was attached to the top of the carriage. He felt himself crash onto the roadway, then he was being dragged along behind his own coach, now out of control, though Sofia had caught the reins and strove to pull the horses back from their frantic gallop.
This is becoming a habit, thought Ezio grimly to himself, and he tried to haul himself up the rope. But the carriage took a turn, and he was thrown violently off the track, narrowly missing a gnarled tree by the wayside. He retained his grip, however, but realized he could get no farther up the rope at that speed.
Gritting his teeth and holding on with one hand, he reached back with the other to his pack and pulled out the parachute. The force of the air driving past them blew it open, and the clip that held it to his pack held.
Ezio felt himself being lifted aloft, sailing behind the carriage, which had fallen again to the rear of Ahmet’s, now accelerating away from them. But Ezio found it easier to maneuver himself down the rope even though it was a struggle against the power of the flying wind. At last, when he was close enough, he unleashed his hookblade and, reaching up behind him, cut the parachute free, landing with a crash in the seat next to Sofia.
“Jesus really must smile on you,” she said.
“You’ve brought the horses under control—few people would have been able to do that,” Ezio replied, catching his breath. “Perhaps he smiles on you, too.” He noticed blood on her dress. “Are you hurt?”
“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.
It was Azize!
She’d been gagged to stop her crying out any warning, and now Ezio tore the scarf away from her mouth.
“Tesekkür, Mentor. Çok tesekkür ederim!” she gasped.
The guard cackled and rushed away down the stairs. He would meet a grim reception at the bottom.
Ezio was in the process of freeing Azize from her bonds when he was interrupted by a woman’s scream. Turning to look, he saw, on another battlement, not far distant, that a temporary gallows had been erected. On the scaffold, a rope already round her neck, stood Sofia, poised on a stool. As he watched, a Byzantine soldier reached up and tightened the noose with rough hands.
Ezio gauged the distance between the top of the Galata Tower and the battlement he had to reach. Leaving Azize to free herself from the rest of her bonds, he unslung his backpack and swiftly assembled the parachute. A matter of seconds later he was flying through the air, guiding the chute with his weight toward the scaffold, where the Byzantines had kicked the stool from beneath Sofia’s feet and tied off the rope. Still airborne, he unleashed his hookblade and used it to slice through the taut rope inches above Sofia’s head. He landed an instant later and caught her falling body in his arms.
Uttering curses, the Byzantine guards made off. Assassins were racing through the streets between the Galata Tower and this battlement, but Ezio could see Byzantines coming toward them to block their approach. He would have to act alone.
But first he turned to Sofia, pulling the rope from her neck with frantic hands, feeling her breast rise and fall against his own.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, urgently.
She coughed and choked, getting her breath back. “No, not hurt. But very confused.”
“I didn’t mean to drag you into this. I am sorry.”
“You aren’t responsible for other men’s actions,” she said, hoarsely.
He gave her a moment to recover and looked at her. That she could be so rational at such a moment . . . ! “All this will be . . . behind us, soon. But first I must recover what they have taken. It is of primal importance!”
“I don’t understand what’s happening, Ezio. Who are these men?”
She was interrupted by a cannon’s blast. Moments later, the battlement they were on shook with the impact of a twenty-pound ball. Sofia was knocked to the ground as shattered stonework flew.
Ezio pulled her to her feet and scanned the area beneath them. His eye lit on an empty carriage guarded by two regular Ottoman troops, who had taken cover immediately when the gunfire started.
He gauged the distance again. Would the parachute take both her weight and his? He’d have to risk it.
“Come!” he said, taking her in his arms tightly and leaping from the battlement.
For a terrible moment, it looked as if the parachute would snag on the crenellations, but it just cleared them, and they dropped—very fast, but still slowly enough to make a safe landing near the carriage. Ezio folded the chute and stuffed it into his pack, not bothering to unclip it, and the two of them made a dash for the carriage. Ezio hurled Sofia onto the driver’s seat, smacked one of the horse’s flanks, and leapt on after her. He seized the reins and drove away at breakneck speed, the Ottoman guards shouting vainly for him to stop as they pursued on foot.
Ezio drove hard, heading through the Galata District north, and out of the city.
SEVENTY-ONE
They were not far into the countryside when, as he’d hoped, Ezio saw Ahmet’s carriage careering along the road ahead of them.
“Is that who you’re after?” said Sofia, breathlessly.
Ezio crouched forward over the reins. “That’s him. We’re gaining on them! Hang on!”
Ahmet had seen them, too, and leaned out of his window, shouting. “Well, well! You have come to see me off, have you?”
The two men posted on the back outer seat of his carriage had turned round, trying to steady themselves as they aimed crossbows at Ezio and Sofia.
“Take them down!” ordered Ahmet. “NOW!”
But Ezio urged his horses forward and soon drew abreast of Ahmet’s carriage. In response, Ahmet’s coachman swerved so that he crashed into his pursuer. Neither vehicle capsized, but Ezio and Sofia were flung brutally sideways. Sofia managed to hang on to the side of the seat, but Ezio was thrown clear, having only just time to seize a baggage rope that was attached to the top of the carriage. He felt himself crash onto the roadway, then he was being dragged along behind his own coach, now out of control, though Sofia had caught the reins and strove to pull the horses back from their frantic gallop.
This is becoming a habit, thought Ezio grimly to himself, and he tried to haul himself up the rope. But the carriage took a turn, and he was thrown violently off the track, narrowly missing a gnarled tree by the wayside. He retained his grip, however, but realized he could get no farther up the rope at that speed.
Gritting his teeth and holding on with one hand, he reached back with the other to his pack and pulled out the parachute. The force of the air driving past them blew it open, and the clip that held it to his pack held.
Ezio felt himself being lifted aloft, sailing behind the carriage, which had fallen again to the rear of Ahmet’s, now accelerating away from them. But Ezio found it easier to maneuver himself down the rope even though it was a struggle against the power of the flying wind. At last, when he was close enough, he unleashed his hookblade and, reaching up behind him, cut the parachute free, landing with a crash in the seat next to Sofia.
“Jesus really must smile on you,” she said.
“You’ve brought the horses under control—few people would have been able to do that,” Ezio replied, catching his breath. “Perhaps he smiles on you, too.” He noticed blood on her dress. “Are you hurt?”
“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.
