Devil's Bargain

Wallachia
1507

The Assassin stood watchfully outside the door of his Wallachian home. The night was dead silent – a painful metaphor, considering the state of Vali's late wife, and the only woman he had ever had it in him to love. In his mind's eye he focused on her clear, creamy skin; her wavy brunette locks and quick, ever-knowing smile. How quickly he would cave to anything she wanted. Her beauty far surpassed even the most pampered rich man's wife. Vali cel Tradat was a nobleman – a patron for the Wallachian government – but there would have been many opportunities for her to marry a much richer and more influential man. But no…she had chosen him. Twenty years ago, she had chosen him. An Assassin.

But now she was dead and gone. Buried in a local cemetery of the nearest church seven days ago. The same day his so-called Brothers had made a deal with the devil – the Ottoman scourge. The Plague upon his once great home. In a way, Irina had been lucky not to have seen the Turks most recent invasion, and the subsequent surrender of the Assassin Brotherhood. Now Vali finally understood – the Assassins were not the saviors of mankind that they made themselves out to be. They never truly had the interest of the people at heart. Only their own selfish greed. It made Vali sick that he had trusted them for so long. Irina had always questioned them – the motives behind each movement of the Assassins. Now Vali understood why.

Irina had known that the Assassins were weak. It was unfortunate that it took Vali himself so long to open his eyes.

A shabby horse-drawn carriage pulled up just outside his modest villa. Vali didn't move – his eyes squinted a little as he watched a lanky man climb down from the driver's seat and start toward him, shoulders hunched. Vali tensed, his grip tightening around the handle of his dagger; his wrist flexing ever so slightly against the hidden blade concealed in his bracer. He relaxed only slightly when the man slowed his approach, carefully raising both arms just over his head, showing he was weaponless So… he had the sense to heed Vali's earlier warning. This was a start, at least.

Vali was under no false impression of immortality or invincibility. On the contrary – he was cautious at the best of times, and downright paranoid at the worst. But it had kept him alive all this time, and when the Assassin was taking great strides against those he once called his brothers, Vali was well-aware that his life all but hung in the delicate balance.

By now, the Assassins had to know that Vali had betrayed them. He'd murdered three of his own – two men and a woman he himself had trained alongside for four years – and set the Wallachian den ablaze. Even now he could just barely see the tips of the fire above the treeline. And despite being almost two miles from the inferno, he could still smell the heavy black smoke; still see the wisps trailing up from his fingers to meet his nose, as he set fire to the pile of kindling. After that point he had gotten angry, and proceeded to smash several lanterns in an effort to spread the fire more quickly. Such efforts had not been in vain – the den was engulfed in flames as Vali rode off back toward his villa. He did not plan to stay there long.

The driver hobbled on one bad leg, slowly lowering his arms once Vali gave a single nod.

"You are Ţepeş, signore?"

"Da." Vali recalled that the Italian man likely did not speak his native Romanic tongue and altered his language.

"Si. I am."

"Bene." He bobbed his head quickly. "Then we ride." The driver shifted his weight to his good leg and made his way hastily back to the carriage. Vali followed, taking long strides, careful to keep his hand on the dagger stowed in the wide green sash tucked around his waist. The driver climbed onto the small bench, while Vali slipped into the carriage, taking a thorough look around before finally seating himself. He heard the man yell to the horses, and felt the carriage lurch into motion. Vali settled back against the thinly cushioned seat, but did not allow himself to fully relax. There would be time enough for that later, after he'd slain every single one of his former Assassin brothers.

Vali had thought it wise to use an alias during his travel – that of his former Prince and guide, Vlad Ţepeş. The simple ruse apparently worked; either that or his former brothers were as lazy as they were treacherous, for not once was he delayed during the journey to Constantinople.

Kostantiniyye. Or Istanbul, as the Turks had taken to calling it. Either way, it possessed but a faint glimmer of the glory it once held as a Christian city. Vali felt his stomach roll as their ship came into port, and knew it wasn't solely from the waves.

If the Byzantines could restore such a city to her proper prestige, perhaps the Templars were indeed worth supporting. Vali had never given any thought to such ideas during his time with the Assassins, when he remained blind and ignorant in their ideology. The former Assassin cared little for the glory the Templars reveled in, or the power they sought. In the messages between himself and the powerful Ahmet, the Constantine Prince had promised him wealth, wisdom and happiness in exchange for his 'employment'. Vali had easily brushed off his words as those of any man hoping to merely gain power and force order. In Vali cel Tradat's perfect world, there would be no Assassins, and no Templars. No governments, who served none other than themselves and took from those with far less. It went without saying that he was not a god-fearing man, though his late wife had gone to mass twice a week before the invasion of the Ottomans. Vali saw himself as far more simple.

There was no one who mattered. No one to influence him. No one to rule him. There was only Vali, and vengeance he planned to wrought on both the Ottomans and Assassins alike. And if the Templars – these rogue Byzantines, particularly Prince Ahmet – agreed to help him see this through, he would pledge his assistance to them. And alliance between two formerly warring foes.

Vali disembarked the vessel, carrying only the few possessions he carried on his person. The Assassins had long since trained him to travel lightly, and now he considered it to be a basic survival tactic. His escort hobbled along ahead of him, dragging a heavy knapsack while muttering crudely under his breath. The former nobleman ignored him, turning his gaze upon the city stretched out before him. He imagined that he would have time to explore and learn her intricacies before meeting the Prince. Vali didn't particularly enjoy being in such a strange place, although he was vaguely surprised at the amount of Italian he heard being spoken. He had expected to hear nothing but the grating Turkish tongue, but now he heard Italian, and even a little Romanic and Slovak thrown in for good measure. Perhaps he wouldn't find it as difficult to get around as he had imagined.

"Signore – this way." The man pressed, limping off toward a bedraggled horse cart. The animal was thin and hung its head low to the ground, his haunches thin and ribs protruding from his belly. Hardly the golden carriage and priceless steeds that Vali would have almost expected to see, courtesy of his new Templar allies. He arched a brow but bit back his tongue, seating himself down beside the driver. Once he arrived at what may serve as his estate for the rest of his time under the future Sultan, he could ditch his unwanted companion and explore for his own personal benefit.

The man – whose name Vali had long since forgotten – kept up a steady stream of chatter as they rode through the streets.

"…this is the humble Zeyrek Mosque, right over here." He pointed, oblivious to Vali's silent disinterest. "And this is la Piccola Hagia Sophia. Of course she has been converted to a mosque now as well, but her in former days, she must have been a splendid sight to see. As you can tell, these Ottoman types really enjoy their mosques..." Vali tuned out, craning his neck to peer back behind them. The normal hustle and bustle of any major city, especially those centered on a port. But there was a feeling he could not shake; like ice moving up the back of his spine. He faced forward once more, feinting interest in what his blabbering companion had to say, then risked a second glance back. Yes – they were most certainly being followed. Whether by mere thugs wishing to make a few akre off of an unsuspecting traveler, or by his former brothers; Vali was prepared to fight and kill either possibility. He had no intention of allowing his pursuers, whoever they affiliated themselves with, to tail him to his new quarters.

When they reached the outskirts of the city, not far from the western-most wall, Vali held up his hand to the driver, who brought the weary animal to a sluggish stop. Vali had already slipped from the still-moving cart, landing easily on his heels. He faced a small crowd of people, most of whom having no idea why the foreign traveler had jumped from a moving wagon. He ignored their shocked expressions, his eyes searching for those who sought to attack.

He found them – one was a man he had known through the Assassins back in Wallachia, although Vali's own communication with him had been limited. He only recognized the deep red cloak and dull gray sash tied around his torso. The other two were unrecognizable, for not only were they dressed in heavily embroidered and brightly colored Ottoman robes, they wore brown masks to cover their faces. Ali had no doubt in his mind what they were, however – they were Assassins, and they would be put to death for following him.

"Vali cel Tradat! Your treachery ends here!" The leader of the small group shouted in Italian, likely for the benefit of the flanking Turks. Vali guessed the locals understood nearly every language spoken in their city, such a stew of culture and languages. But he doubted his pursuer, journeying all the way from Wallachia, spoke any Turkish. Of course, neither did he.

"Either surrender yourself now, or be slain!"

"I no longer leave my fate in the hands of fools and traitors." Vali replied coldly, drawing his short sword. "You were unwise to follow me."

"You made it far too easy." His former brother shot back. "I would have expected better from someone who was one of us for twenty years." He, too, drew a sword, flexing his wrist to reveal the pointed blade hidden within the bracer. A slow smile spread over Vali's face as he, too, divulged his own blade, which he had proudly held on to, even if it was the very symbol of his enemies. He'd earned the fierce weapon time and time again.

"You misunderstand. I was hoping someone would follow." He stepped forward, bracing his lean but tall frame. "Să mergem!"

The three Assassins surged toward him, charging as one unit. Vali spun on his heel, kicking himself up atop the cart. He heard the weak horse snort and start forward, halted only by the driver still perched on top of the seat, his thin face white with terror. Vali leaped off as the Assassins drew near, bringing his sword down in a powerful slicing motion. The three Assassins dodged, and Vali thrust himself into a powerful spin, the sharp edge of his blade catching the arm of one of the Turks. The Assassin drew back, howling in pain, while Vali sprang for his fellow Romanian – and, he figured, his greatest threat. The man proved himself a worthy combatant, not backing away, but standing his ground and crouching low. He struck out with his hidden blade, almost managing to catch Vali in the ribs. The former Assassin swiveled on his feet, moving lightly away. He paused to catch his breath.

"You have grown complacent, Vali." The man chastened. "You always were arrogant. Gifted, for sure, but far too content with your abilities. You have never felt the need to push yourself – to work harder, or learn anything beyond what you already knew." He sneered, brushing dirt off of his sleeve. Vali's lip curled. He carefully reached into his sash, hand closing around a small, spherical object.

The Assassin leader waved to the two Turks, who rushed Vali from the sides. The traitor grasped the object and pulled it out, throwing it forcefully at the ground. Thick black smoke erupted as if from a volcano, engulfing the three men in a potent cloud. When it began to dissipate, the two Assassins lay dead at Vali's feet. The remaining Assassin drew back, shocked. Vali raised his long katar, letting blood drip back down toward the base.

"You will not live to regret those words, I am afraid." He said slowly, his eyes on the unique weapon, but careful to keep his remaining enemy in his line of sight. "The Assassins have long since betrayed me. Turned against everything I held dear. Turned against their own purpose. This will not last."

"So you throw in your lot with the Templars, do you?" The brave Assassin shot back. "You join them? Our greatest enemies? Because what? – you wanted to start a war with the Ottomans? What would that have accomplished, Vali?" He snorted, raising his sword. He braced to attack.

"Perhaps it was simply your destiny to serve the interests of Constantine XI." He mused, voice dark.  "But I wonder if you weren't just eager to get into bed with the first Templar you saw."

Vali snarled and sprang forth, swiping his katar in vicious, wide arcs. He kept his hidden blade close to his side, ready to use it should the Assassin cut close. His opponent leaped out of his path, dropping to his hands and striking out with his feet. Vali jumped clear, but barely, landing hard on his backside. He rolled his weight onto his palms and arched his back, landing neatly on his feet. The Assassin regarded him warily.

"Not a bad trick."

"You will not see me do it again."

He chortled softly. "We will see." Their battle resumed, each man defending his honor, his Creed, and himself with each strike and blow. A few curious people glanced at them nervously before hurrying away. Vali's escort had moved his horse and cart to the far side of the nearby stream, taking shelter from anymore smoke bombs (or worse). Both men grew winded, but neither seemed to falter. Vali leapt safely clear of an attack, growing his annoyance.

"Give up!"

The Assassin sheathed his hidden blade, tiredly raising his sword. "Would you?"

"Târg punct." Vali reasoned, once again hurtling himself at his opponent. This time, the return attack was sloppy, and he scored a successful blow on the Assassin's shoulder. The man let out a shriek of pain, dropping his sword. Blood dribbled from the severe laceration, quickly coating his arm. He dropped to his knees, too weakened even to unsheathe the blade.

"I was like you… I was arrogant." The man admitted as Vali drew near, cautious, not unlike a dog used to being beaten. He gave a soft groan, shoulders drooping as the victor drew up behind him, quiet as a phantom.

"I will be welcomed by my brothers who have come and gone before me."

"Tell them more of your kind will soon follow." Vali hissed, plunging his hidden blade through the soft tissue and bone where the man's shoulder met the base of his neck before just as quickly yanking it back out. The man jolted, convulsed once, then dropped gracelessly onto his chest and stomach, a pool of blood already forming around the corpse. Vali stepped back from the mess, wiping the protruding metal blade on a small section of his robe before sheathing it.

The battle had, he hated to admit, taken more time then he had hoped. No longer was there time to stop at the estate and explore the new-found land. Disappointed, Vali gestured angrily to the driver, who was quick to pull the mangy horse and cart back around. The former Assassin climbed back into the seat, curtly ordering the driver to take him to the meeting place. The man lashed the horse, which broke into a sagging trot. Vali began to thoughtfully clean his blades more thoroughly, paying no attention to his now suddenly dead-silent escort. He busied himself with seeing to his weapons and his own few cuts and bruises as the cart led them back through the busy center of the city, toward the east. Topkapı Palace rose up before them – a truly marvelous piece of architecture, Vali had to admit. For Ottoman standards, anyway. He sheathed his blades as the silent driver lead his horse through the well-guarded gate and into the first courtyard. The former Assassin watched with reluctant interest. Small ponds glinted in the late afternoon light. A magnificent structure rose above them as the cart drew near. Men dressed in rich violet and navy robes roamed the hills and streets – the Janissaries; the elite corps of special soldiers who serve only the Sultan and his family.

…and yet, despite the number of royal protectors surrounding him, Vali felt less safe than he had facing down three Assassins. The irony ebbed at him and made him smile.

The driver drew his horse to a stop just outside the entrance to the palace. They had crossed three separate courtyards just to reach the outside rim of the inner sanctum. The heavy wooden doors parted, and through them walked a tall, powerful-looking man wearing robes such a dark violet they appeared almost black. A silver and black helmet crested his head, under which a white headscarf draped across the tops of his shoulders. He stood just outside the doorway, waiting for the former Assassin to make his way down from the cart. Then he spoke.

"The Prince welcomes you." He spoke with a strong Greek accent, and a short, customary bow accompanied his words. "I am Damat Ali Pasha. Prince Ahmet's personal guard and Vizier." He gestured to one of the Janissaries, who strode forward toward the cart. Vali's hand moved to the dagger hidden in his sash, but halted when the robed and armored man grabbed the driver of the cart instead of him, yanking him roughly off his seat. The thin man stammered in protest, looking pleadingly toward the Muslim officer, but Ali Pasha gave his chin a single jerk in the direction of the palace, and the men dragged him inside. Vali raised a single brow as the man's howls faded momentarily. The Vizier fixed him with an emotionless stare.

"This way." He turned, making his way back inside the palace. The Janissary guards followed, and Vali took up behind them. The former nobleman could not help staring at the wide corridors, the marbled floors, the expensive paintings and the ornamental vases and statues the adorned the palace estate. While Vali himself cared little for such display of riches (wealth which he believes belonged more to the people then to the governments controlling them, a belief still held over from his Assassin days), he could not help but be impressed by the fabulous show of power. It was a far cry from the decrepit cart that picked him up from the docks.

They came to a halt within a wide chamber, decorated to the brim with more priceless treasures, various foliage and even a small pool off in the corner. A man dressed in brightly colored robes stepped forward to greet his visitor, flanked himself by two more Janissaries. He nodded briefly to Ali, who clasped his hands behind his back.

"First off, my apologies for the state in which you have arrived to my grand home." His accent spoke of his Ottoman heritage, as if the palace itself wasn't enough to go by. He gestured to the guard, who brought forth the stammering prisoner – Vali's travel companion. The former Assassin stepped aside as the man was dragged before his Prince, crying and begging to be spared. Vali gave a curious tilt of his head.

"Under my orders, you were to arrive in one of my many fine carriages." The Prince continued, ignoring the driver's pleads for mercy. "But instead of following my commands, this fool thought it wise to pocket the money paid to him and instead treat you to a mangy beast I wouldn't expect my barber to ride, much less an important visitor such as yourself." The thief cried out as the Janissary holding him forced him to his knees, giving his head a firm cuff in the process to quiet him. The Prince continued, spreading his arms wide.

"Forgive me. I am Prince Ahmet. I believe we have been exchanging messages for quite some time." Vali nodded slowly, drawing his gaze from the prisoner back to Ahmet.

"You stated that you may have need of my…talents."

"Evet. Ah, forgive my Ottoman tongue. Yes – yes, I believe I do." He paced a bit as he spoke; the gesture of a nervous man. But Vali was interested in hearing him out. If the earlier attack had been any indication, the Assassins not only knew where their former brother was going, but also that he was meeting with the Prince of Constantinople. Obviously they had not wanted the two of them to meet. If the Assassins were wary of Ahmet, that was reason itself to hear what he had to say.

"Go on."

"I know of your Assassin upbringing, Vali." His eyes flickered up, expecting to see more of a reaction for correctly knowing his guest's proper name. "You understand that I needed to know everything I could about you before bringing you here." He gestured to the Damat. "Of course,  you have already met Ali Pasha, my general and Vizier. Formerly serving under my father, Sultain Beyezid II." That somewhat drew Vali's attention. As far as he was aware, the Sultan was not under the influence of the Templar Order, which meant that the Damat was either a fairly recent convert, or had been working for the Prince even while serving the Sultan. Acting as a spy for the Order. He could not help but offer the man grudging respect. For his part, Ali seemed to stare right through the former Assassin, eyes narrowed sharply. He did not move.

"Let's get down to business." Ahmet continued. "Vali. I deeply understand your desire for vengeance against the Assassins. And I am willing to meet you halfway. Provided that you follow my commands and carry out any tasks I may issue to you, you will be rewarded well for your actions against the Assassins."

The former Assassin tilted his chin up, glancing from Ali back to Ahmet. "How well?"

"Money, of course." Ahmet smiled. "Lodging. Women. Information. And status." He clasped his hands in front of him. "I ask only that you report to me on your actions, and that we share information."

"You should understand…" Vali said slowly. "I do not follow the Templar ideology. Nor the Assassin's. I operate under my own beliefs." He paused. "But, I will report to you. And if you have tasks assigned to me, I will handle them. So long as they serve our mutual purpose."

Ahmet clapped his hands together. "Muhteşem! Splendid news! Now there is but one matter to take care of." He gestured to the Janissaries who held the now whimpering prisoner, dragging him forth. He cried out and struggled to free himself, but one of the guards brought his heavy boot down on the thief's ankle, shattering the bone. The man screamed, the terrible sound echoing across the great chamber. Ali Pasha stepped forward, raising a blunt ceremonial dagger, but ceased all movement when his Prince held up his hand.

"Wait." His gaze fell to his new ally. "If our guest of honor would not mind." Vali hid his surprise under the cowl of his hood. The thief howled and clutched his injured ankle, babbling incoherently as the white hooded man strode forward, withdrawing his katar from his sash. Without any hesitation or hint of remorse, the former Assassin grabbed the man's sweat-soaked hair, yanked his head back and slit his throat clean from ear to ear. He let go, more disgusted by the perspiration on his gloves then the blood pooling on the slick marble floor. He stepped back before the thick red liquid could dirty his boots. He raised his eyes to meet those of Ahmet, who eyed him almost greedily, a cruel smile spreading over the lower portion of his face.

"Welcome to the Templar Order, my proud Sentinel."