Outskirts of Haifa – 1174 A.D.

It was noon, the sun hanging high and hot over the marketplace. Even with the overbearing heat, the streets were over-crowded with people. The air was filled with the shouts of men directing work on the docks, merchants checking off lists of produce, and the usual bands of homeless wretches milling around begging for coin.

The smell of rotting fish and raw dyes pervaded the air.

A caravan was lifted off the ground, teetering and full of merchandise. It bumped and bustled over the uneven ground, exposing for a second two young boys hiding beneath a stall. They shrunk quickly back into the shadows, their eyes never leaving their target.

An obscenely fat man stood behind the booth across from them, cutting the heads off fish and dumping them into a basket. The pile of uneaten food was irresistible, if only they could make it past the owner.

"Brother, I'm hungry." Came a whisper from the shadows (it would have been discreet had it not been so whiny).

The merchant wielded his blade like a sword; the glint of metal striking sunlight consuming their attention as it was drawn upward, ready to strike.

"We need to distract him somehow." The other replied, more careful with the volume of his own voice.

"Throw an apple at him, then we can run while he looks for who did it."

A pause. "If you find an apple, you would do better to eat it. Besides, he will see us throwing it."

Even in the dark, there was no doubt that this logic was received poorly, probably resulting in a pout.

"But Malik... I'm hungry." The boy repeated.

"I know, little brother, be patient. He will turn away eventually."

The younger boy shuffled uncomfortably. Even while wearing such thin clothing the heat of the day soaked through their skin, making them sweat and feel itchy. Their positions didn't help much either, cramped and pressed together under the tiny stall.

A cart pulled by two donkeys passed in front of them, obscuring their view. Both boys twisted impatiently, trying to see around the obstacle. Somebody jumped down from on top of the cart, their shoes dropping only an inch short of Malik's nose.

The figure walked around to the other side, calling out a greeting and gesturing to his cargo. He spoke in a foreign tongue, harsh and quick. It took a moment for Malik to realize to whom he was speaking. The fish merchant! Now was their chance!

"Kadar, go and ask that man for some money."

"Why? He speaks weirdly."

Malik rolled his eyes, forgetting that his brother could not see him. "His coin is still good. Now do as I say, and stand to his left!"

Kadar pulled a face, but with a sharp poke from his bother he scrambled out from under the stall.

Malik watched as Kadar approached the stranger, suddenly limping and sniffling loudly. If Malik hadn't known any better, he would have believed the act; his brother was quite the actor. Kadar tugged lightly on the man's sleeve, looking downcast.

"P-Please Sir… some coin? I'm so hungry."

The foreigner looked down at him, but didn't reply. Beneath his grey hood he stared at Kadar for a long moment, seemingly lost in thought. Malik left their hiding place and snuck around the other side of the cart.

"You! Get away from my stall, filthy rat!"

Malik poked his head out to see the fish merchant lean forward, waving his cleaver in his brother's direction. Kadar backed away slightly, eying the weapon warily.

"Go beg somewhere else!"

Malik crept forward, taking advantage of the temporary distraction. The smell of rotting fish was strong, making his mouth water in anticipation.

"The whore houses, maybe, where men have looser pockets!"

Almost there, all he had to do was reach out and grab one… there were so many…

A gloved hand shot out from above and grabbed his outstretched arm, twisting it and forcing Malik to the ground with a startled cry. He looked up and saw the foreigner crouched above him, his face impassive. Their eyes met and Malik glared at him, wanting to spit in the man's face. The hand holding his arm squeezed threateningly, drawing tears to Malik's eyes.

"What's this? First a beggar and now a thief!"

There was a scuffle behind them, but Malik couldn't see past the body of his captor. His thoughts went instantly to his brother.

"Kadar! Run!" He cried.

The noises escalated as the stall was overturned, piles of dead fish scattering onto the road. There was a small, sudden yelp, followed by more yelling.

"Look at what you've done! How will you repay me for all this?"

The foreigner turned around to watch, still clutching Malik's arm absently. The boy struggled against his captor, desperate to get away but unable to move without causing enormous pain to his shoulder. He could see what was going on around him now, his brother had been caught around the wrist, but was still kicking and fighting.

"You will both lose a hand, that will teach you!"

A small crowd had gathered around the cart, people stopping in the street to witness the violence taking place. A reprieve from their daily tasks, no matter how crude, was always welcome.

The merchant raised his other arm, the one holding his blade. He pulled against Kadar's wrist, laying it flat against the upturned table.

"Kadar!" Malik tried again. "Let me go, let me go!" He pleaded, never had he been so frightened.

Before he could register what has happening, the pressure around his arm was gone, as was the presence above him. He gasped in relief as blood flowed back into his fingers.

Looking up jerkily, he caught sight of the foreigner standing in front of the merchant, his hand outstretched and holding the cleaver away from Kadar. He was gazing steadily out into space, as though the situation had not fazed him in the slightest.

"Unhand me! What do you think you're doing!"

"I will pay for the fish."

Kadar ceased fighting for a split second, staring up at the stranger. He'd spoken with a very rough accent, but his message had been clear. The merchant's face went blank.

"What did you say?"

The foreigner dug out some coins from within a pouch at his side and dangled them in front of the merchant's face. Kadar's eyes widened at the sight of so much money, more then he'd ever seen in his entire life.

Instantly the vendor released his hold on the young boy, grinning enormously and grabbing at the coins. As soon as his grip loosened, Kadar turned in an attempt to flee, sights already set down the street. The foreigner leaned over and caught him deftly by the collar, just as he'd started to move.

"Will that be enough?"

The merchant looked up, eyes darting along the stranger's clothes as though expecting gold to be sewn into the material. He licked his lips and ran chubby fingers over the coins in his palm.

"Well... there were a lot of people waiting to buy fish today…"

The stranger frowned at him, reaching beneath his cloak once more. The merchant's grin widened, assuming he'd tricked the foreigner into giving him more money. But the hand reemerged around a hilt; the harsh sound of metal against metal cutting through the air.

No more then an inch of the sword had been exposed and already the merchant was backing up, his throat bobbing up and down as he gulped back his surprise.

"More than enough!" He cried, pocketing the coins. "Thank you for your business Sayyid!"

The foreigner released the weapon and turned away, pulling Kadar behind him. He knelt to wrap an arm around Malik's stomach, hauling the boy to his feet.

"Let us go!" Malik yelled, kicking the man in the shins.

The stranger narrowed his eyes, suddenly deadly. "I just did you a favor." He growled, almost unintelligibly. "Don't kick me."

Malik glared at him, trying to match the man's threatening gaze. "We don't need your help!"

"Oh yeah, how'd you like to live with only one hand?"

Malik scowled and looked away.

"You're hungry right?"

"No."

"I just caught you trying to steal some fish."

"That was for someone else!"

"Who else?"

"Our sick mother."

"You're lying."

"No I'm not!"

They continued to stare each other down; the man's grip on Malik's waist tightening painfully.

Finally the stranger looked away, standing up and pulling them towards his cart.

"Come on. I have food for you, but you'll have to travel with me for a bit. I can't afford any more delays."

Malik tried to ignore the gnawing hunger in his stomach that responded violently to such an offer. He was about to refuse when Kadar whimpered, looking pleadingly at his brother.

Malik felt his confidence wavering, maybe they should go along with this strange man for now; he certainly had enough money to make it worth their while. Once he was asleep they could make off with the rest of his gold.

Malik relaxed a bit in the man's grip, confident now in his new plan. He glanced behind him at the fish merchant, who was busily counting and biting all the gold pieces. The discarded fish were being quickly snatched off the road and into the mouths of loitering beggars. Not a scrap of it remained.

The foreigner released his hold on Malik and picked Kadar up off the ground, placing him on top of the cart. When he turned to Malik, the boy looked away stubbornly and began to climb up on his own.

With a shrug the man climbed up in front of them, picking up the reins and whistling to his mules. Once they were moving he leaned over to riffle through a small rucksack, producing two perfectly round apples. He tossed them back at the boys.

Kadar bit into his greedily, slurping and sucking up the juices as they dribbled down his chin and over his fingers. His run-in with the merchant already forgotten.

"Where to, little thieves? I should return you to your parents so they can punish you properly."

Malik turned the apple over in his hands, not answering. He'd heard stories of children being plucked off the streets and sold into slavery; it was not uncommon in Haifa. If he had to imagine a way in which a man would entice a child into following him, a treat and a few innocent questions would be likely strategies. There were no parents to worry about Malik and Kadar going missing, but it would be better for the man to think otherwise.

"Our father is Saladin the Great Sultan!" Kadar piped up, bouncing in his seat. "So you had better not harm us!"

Malik reached over to cuff his brother, but the cart lurched around and made him miss his target.

The man laughed, an odd throaty sound. "I have heard of Saladin's two sons. Who knew they had such a taste for raw fish!"

Malik glared at his feet, trying very hard not to listen to the giggles of his brother.

"Sayyid," Kadar continued, annoying Malik with the sudden honorific. "Where are you going with all these things?"

"Acre." The man replied. "And you may call me Yosef."

Kadar smiled and stretched out his legs, apparently satisfied. Malik tried to recall an old map he'd seen of the outlaying cities, remembering that Acre was just north of Haifa. He estimated it to be about two days away. The man would have to stop and rest at some point, leaving Malik and Kadar alone with all that gold.

The cart continued down the road, passing the shop stalls and the main square. Passing all the piss and poverty that lined the streets so thoroughly this far into the outskirts. They made it past the city guards, who eyed them with disinterest before letting them through.

Malik felt a twinge of satisfaction as he watched the city disappear behind them. The fresh air smelling sweeter to him then any food he'd ever tasted.

"How old are you?" Yosef asked after about an hour of riding.

Malik couldn't see any harm in answering this honestly. "I am nine, my brother is six."

Yosef nodded stiffly. He looked over his shoulder at Kadar, who had fallen asleep with his head in Malik's lap. The steady rhythm and lack of stimulating conversation made it hard to stay awake on the open road. Malik had to fight the fatigue off, pinching himself every so often.

"Go to sleep." Yosef said, turning back to his reins. "I'll wake you up when we arrive."

Malik huffed indignantly, unsure of when they'd agreed to travel all the way to Acre. However he couldn't deny that the day's events had taken their toll on him. Maybe just a quick nap…

XxXxX

Malik awoke to the sound of voices speaking nearby. He shifted uncomfortably on the cart, trying to block out the noise that was disturbing his sleep. Didn't those people know he was trying to rest? Who were they, chatting so early in the morning?

Malik's eyes flew open. His memories of the previous day came rushing back to him, making his blood run cold. He reached out a hand for his brother, and felt instant relief when his fingers brushed against Kadar's leg.

"Safety and Peace, Yosef."

Yosef. Malik thought; at least the foreigner was still with them. He turned around slowly, careful not to make any unnecessary noise. If only he could see how far away the voices were coming from, this could be their chance!

He squinted out into the growing dark, barely able to make out their surroundings. They appeared to be in a small courtyard, open on only one side to the deserted street beyond.

"If you have no use for them… The older one…"

Malik followed the sound of the voices, but they seemed to be coming from behind a wall. He got off the cart to investigate, tiptoeing his way toward the sounds.

"They better not get stolen A-Sayf! Last year you lost them all in Damascus!"

"I remember."

Malik stopped before a great fountain set into the stone wall and reaching up to his nose. There was a symbol painted above it in black: a triangle with a rounded bottom. He did not recognize it's meaning, but somehow he felt its significance.

"Very well. Safety and Peace, Rafiq."

There was a mumbled reply, then a sudden clamoring from the other side. Malik frowned up at the roof, where the sound seemed to be loudest.

Another second and Yosef had landed before him, holding an enormous book between his gloved hands. He didn't seem surprised to find Malik standing there staring at him. He merely smiled and turned away, walking back to his cart.

"H-hold on!" Malik shouted. "I heard what you were saying in there. You're going to sell us, aren't you! In Damascus!"

Yosef leaned against the cart to face him once more. "No." He replied calmly. "I paid fifty gold pieces for those fish you ruined."

Malik frowned. "What does that have to do with–"

"You and your brother might fetch me ten pieces each on the slave market. I'd be losing money." Yosef held out the book for Malik to see, then lifted the canvas covering his cart to reveal many more tomes of similar size and make. "My job is to transport these ledgers. I have no interest in young children."

"Then why did you help us?"

The man hesitated, busying himself with stuffing the book into his cart. "Your brother is a sound sleeper," he said distractedly, "too many nights spent on the street."

A moment of silence. They both watched as the young boys chest rose and fell with each breath.

"My brother's name is Kadar."

Yosef looked up and stared at him, then smiled.

"And my name is Malik."

XxXxX

A/N: This story has been consuming me from the moment I started playing AC1 to the moment I finished AC2. It took me quite a while to figure out the direction I was going to take this, and longer still to do all the research required (I refuse to believe that traveling from Masyaf to Jerusalem would take less then a week, even on horseback).

Malik and Kadar's lack of in-game background is a somewhat mixed blessing. I dislike using OCs but don't really have much choice. I sincerely hope Yosef's appearance hasn't driven anyone away; he is short-lived.

Haifa was (and still is) a real city located just south of Acre.

A useful map: http : / www . Fordham . edu / halsall / maps / crusaders 2 . jpg