July 11, 1486
Venezia, Italy
Catherine leaned against wall near the open window as they entered the lavish room—they being the motley group of herself, Ezio, Antonio, and the new Doge, Agostino Barbarigo. Thankfully the man had sworn his allegiance to the Assassins and not Templars; hence why they were having this conversation in the study in Antonio's palazzo in the first place. Or, well, the three men were going to talk. She was only allowed in the room because she had played a part, but couldn't speak. The reason?
She was a woman.
As such, Catherine was rightfully peeved by the notion. However, she was the one who had agreed to only remain on the sidelines while the men talked. It hadn't escaped her notice the Doge, while a friend, wasn't exactly up to par with the mindset that women could be just as equal to men. She had almost forgotten that in her time, being in her home, with Ezio, or among the Thieves; all people who were more equal and ahead in ideology in their time. It was a harsh reminder of reality, but she took it in stride despite the burn at her core; the flicker of anger at being demeaned and lessened. Ezio, too, had felt it—he'd even tried to reprimand the Doge, but she'd intervened with a quick touch on his arm. Antonio had shown distaste on his face, for which he was grateful, and he had supported her request to remain present. Ultimately, the Pope relented, and so here they were.
It was just pleasantries at first; talking of things to come and plans for "healing" the city. There was a good deal of thanking Ezio and the Assassins—her husband was kind enough to remind the Doge she had been paramount as well, and she did her best not to take the wave off from the Doge to heart—and also the Thieves for their part in "saving" the city. However, the merriment and good feelings had to make way for more somber talk.
"Down to the business then?" Ezio inquired, noting the mood, and Antonio nodded.
"We have located Silvio Barbarigo for you. He has fled into L'Arsenale."
The Doge laughed, "Fled? You mean occupied—and joined by two hundred mercenaries, no less!"
Catherine glanced to the back of the man's head, noting that was quite a lot of warriors. She was a bit surprised Silvio had that many. Sure, the Templar influence was strong, but two hundred? That was a lot of men to fight. A lot of man power to defeat. Would they surrender if Silvio was killed, though? That would make things easier, but could they count on that? Either way, she nor Ezio could handle that many men—not on their own. And that might be too many to contend against and sneak around as well.
"You're Doge now. Can't you command them to stand down?" Ezio inquired, but the man shook his head.
"The committee of forty-one has yet to confirm my ascension. And this little stunt of Silvio's has only made things worse. He has an entire army at his command!" he rasped, hand flying in the air.
"Sounds like we need our own then," Catherine mused, although more-so out of jest. Them? An army of Assassins? A fun wish, but a wish nonetheless. She raised a brow when the Doge looked back at her, as if surprised she were still there, but let it be.
Ezio leaned forward, gesturing to himself, "She's right—we need to raise our own army."
"I figured you two would say as much," Antonio replied, sitting forward. "Bartolomeo D'Alviano is the man you seek. He and his men have little love for Silvio. He resides within the military district—southwest of L'Arsenale."
"Good. We'll go and see him. Catherine?" the young man called, standing and extending his hand towards her, and then bending his arm. The redhead smiled at his politeness, finding it rather endearing, and so happily took his arm. She paused, though, to bow her head politely to the Doge and Antonio.
"I wish you a successful rule, Sir. And Antonio—we'll send word as soon as we can."
The thief leader nodded, "Of course. Be safe—you are close to enemy territory, and my men are not prevalent there."
"We know it well from out scouting, but we will be careful. Thank-you for all your help," Ezio nodded in return, then looked to the redhead on his arm, grinning. "Shall we?"
"Yes, let's meet this 'Bartolomeo'."
-O-
The night was deepening as they made their way through the streets, keeping clear of any enemy eyes and making sure their own were open for any signs of their target. Or rather, their potential ally. It was easy enough, with most the soldiers in the city apparently held up with Silvio, but regiments were still out and about as need be. They had luck on their side, however; despite having killed the previous Doge, they were not hunted like before. No one had gotten a clear view of the one who had snuffed his fire out, and his injury was strange and beyond any doctor's knowing. So while a "hunt" was about for the killer, nothing had come from it since the death Marco Barbarigo. Enough time had passed from the death of the doge before him as well, and so they went without too much danger looming over their shoulders.
Of course, it didn't hurt to be careful, and so Catherine and Ezio moved quickly through the darkened streets. They kept to the dimmer lighting and occasional rooftops when need be to avoid confrontation. No need to let Silvio know they were on the move, after all. The search was a bit tiresome, however—in that, their target seemed to be nowhere to be found. Antonio had only given them a general area to search, but they knew it almost as well as any other part of the city. Yet, neither could recall such a man being around, nor where he might be, per se. They would not stop until they had succeeded, though; not when the fate of the city was on the line. They would, however, take a break in a darkened alleyway, watching the people passing by from beneath their hoods as they nibbled at their dried meat.
"Thoughts?" Catherine inquired before taking another bite.
Ezio hummed with a shrug, "I'm not sure. I would assume a man capable of raising an army might be a captain loyal to us or at least not loyal to the Templars, or perhaps even a mercenary... but I don't recall a barracks around here. It's mostly buildings under repair or alterations, and then the shipyard, but I haven't explored in there much—too many eyes."
"Don't think our man would be there—Silvio is that way. It'd be too dangerous."
"I don't think so, either... but that leaves us mostly guessing," he huffed, finishing off his piece of meat.
"Let's try your Vision again—there's a decent rooftop that could see pretty far over there. See it?" she inquired, gesturing to the multi-story building. It was undergoing some work, but would hold steady, and the lack of light was good for them.
He shrugged again, "Better than nothing. You good to go?"
"Yeah," she nodded, scarfing down the last bits of her food. "Let's go."
The climb was quick and easy, and Ezio perched himself upon the edge of the roof. Eyes flashed in the night, and his gaze scoured the city-scape. Catherine stayed back, keeping an eye on things—just in case. Her fiancé—no marriage yet, but Claudia had it in the works the second she found out—was done not long after beginning and hummed thoughtfully. The redhead crouched down close, following his gaze to a building with a wooden balcony in the distance.
"I... think they're there. I see flecks of gold—just barely... but... it's on the rooftop?" he frowned.
She hummed, standing back up, "Well, it's a lead, and we don't have a whole of time so...?"
Ezio just nodded, and they took off again, venturing along the nearby rooftops towards the target. They paused, though, as, even with the rumble of the crowd—albeit not terribly thick—they could hear the sounds of a strained voice echoing through the night sky. It was a distinct call for help, and each cry was weaker than the last. The two Assassins exchanged a look and crossed the last expanse between them and the voice. Ezio's Vision proved true then, as before them lay a man dressed in mercenary garb, pale and bleeding, and his cries weaker still. He saw them, though—head turning towards them, and a spark flickered in his eyes. An arrow protruded from his abdomen—the source of his impending demise—and he clutched at it now, as if it might help him last longer.
"Are you one of Bartolomeo's men?" Ezio asked, crouching down. The man nodded weakly.
Catherine crouched, too, "What happened? Who shot you? Where is Bartolomeo? Is he hurt, too?"
"Silivio's thugs... attacked," he replied, weak and coughing blood from his lips. "Took him... deeper into the district... North of here..."
"Thank-you, now hold on, we'll—ah..." the redhead began, reaching to help give the man some relief, but it was too late: he was gone. His body slumped and went still, eyelids drooping as irises dilated and the last of his breath left him. Catherine sighed, shaking her head, and shut his eyes properly. She pulled the arrow free next, not wanting him to die without some dignity.
"Rest in peace," Ezio sighed softly and then held his hand to his fiancé. She looked to the glove, back to the man, and then to his face; wanting to do more. He gave her a sympathetic look. "We must go—we cannot lose Bartolomeo as an ally."
She took his hand with a sigh, "I know... So. North of here."
"North," he nodded, and, sparing the man a final look, they took off.
The direction wasn't exactly a specific location, but it was enough. They crossed roof after roof, using what cloud cover they could and avoiding what guards were out and about. Some they had to end, but most they skirted around with some luck. They did begin to worry a little, however, as they came close to the walls of the shipyard, but could not yet find sings of their man. But then—a shout. Or rather, a curse.
"Fucking cowards! I'll take you all on! At the same time! With one arm—no, both arms—tied behind my back!"
Catherine had to pause, raising a brow at Ezio beneath her hood. He shrugged, grinning, and they followed the rather boisterous words reverberating throughout the city.
"You must be wondering how is this even possible? Only release me and I'll gladly demonstrate, you pieces of shit!"
"I like this guy already," the redhead snickered as they moved onto a rooftop, the shouts growing louder.
"It's like I'm back in our training days," Ezio like-wise snickered in reply.
"You have no honor! No valor! No virtue! And people wonder why it is Venezia's star has begun to fade!" the Bartolomeo man went on, pausing for a few moments—perhaps to gather his breath. "I'll show mercy to whoever here as the courage to release me. All the rest of you are going to die by my hand! I swear it! What sort of man sells his honor and dignity for a bit of coin? You realize you are in service to a traitor and a coward!"
There.
The shouts of Bartolomeo brought them to the roof of buildings around an open area, a scaffolding platform nearby, and down below there was a small prison guarded by two spearman and one swordsman. Other guards patrolled on the out skirts and would need to be dealt with at some point.
"Oh ho! Do you think I do not know why you've chained me up?! Do you think I do not know who pulls Silvio's puppet string?!" the man went on, despite being trapped behind thick bars, which he grasped tight—not unlike a wild, untamable beast. Catherine nudged Ezio as the man went on, motioning to the guards. The ones on patrol were far off enough they could take out the three without being noticed right away, so she gave him three fingers. She pointed to herself and then to him. He nodded with a confident grin.
With that, they hunted.
Both assassins readied their blades, and, seeing the guards were fully enthralled by Bartolomeo's ravings, they struck: sailing down from above to shove their blades into the backs of their targets. Some gasp and made pained grunts, but nothing too loud—certainly nothing to alert the other guards. Unfortunately, their man—Bartolomeo—did not understand subtlety, nor did he look like he did.
"About goddamned time! I do not know if I should kiss you or slap you! Maybe both. Just to be safe," he bellowed, although paused when he looked to Catherine, glancing down—no doubt noticing she was not a man like her fiancé. "Only a kiss for you, of course, my lady."
"Afraid I'm spoken for, but thank-you. Always good to know my hard work is appreciated," she grinned back, noting Ezio's slight pout of jealousy.
"Damn. But now, who are you both?" he barked, posture growing slightly defensive, although not in way that set off any instincts. He was just being properly cautious. That, and Catherine liked him already. He reminded her a bit of Mario with how rough he was, although he was far less reserved.
"I am Ezio Auditore de Firenze, and this is Catherine Auditore, my wife," the young man began, motioning to the redhead.
"Well, almost. Haven't said the vows yet," she winked playfully, earning a "really?" look from her fiancé. She laughed and turned her focus to Bartolomeo, whom held a flicker of a smirk. "We're here to rescue you."
The man chuckled, earning a raised brow, "Hah! Let's see who winds up rescuing who?"
"What do you mean?" Ezio frowned, but the answer made itself known, as if speaking of the devil.
"Down there! Stop them!" the man barked, but found a pair of throwing knives embedded into his chest. The two men turned to Catherine, still in mid-throw. She raised a brow at them as more guards' shouts were made.
"Well? Grab his weapon. You won't do much rescuing unarmed," she hummed.
Bartolomeo laughed, "You are a lucky man, 'Ezio Auditore de Firenze'. Attack!"
Their combined force left the guards without much of a chance. Although, Catherine had a feeling their new companion probably could have handled it all by himself in the first place. The man's bark hardly compared to his bite. Frankly, the redhead found there wasn't all that much for her and Ezio to do once Bartolomeo got hold of the guard's mace, and slammed it into the next, and then the next, and another after that. He knocked them clean off their feet, and tore into their flesh. It was almost unfair, really, although the other two Assassins did have a guard or two to take care of. It was over quickly, though, and the remains of their work showed as a bloodied mess of broken bodies.
"We should go," Ezio rumbled as he sheathed his blade.
"Agreed! There are still more heads to be smashed!"
"Perhaps we should try and avoid conflict?" the young man groaned slightly.
Their new compatriot snorted, "Why?! Are you afraid?"
"It's not cowardice to not dive head into an army that outnumbers us—it's strategy. We stand a higher chance of living tonight and winning tomorrow if we retreat and find a sure way to stop Silvio," Catherine interjected, sheathing her blade. "And the only way to stop Silvio is if we're alive."
The older man frowned, his displeasure all too palpable. He was decidedly a man of action, but a man who could raise an army could not hope to do so on brute strength alone. Antonio would not have suggested him as their source of help if that wasn't the case, so Catherine only hoped her words subdued the blood lust some.
"The Lady is right. I loathe fleeing a battle, but it is true: we are vastly outnumbered. As such, we should return to my barracks. I will show the way... but keep an eye out for the large one—Dante he is called. Most of Silvio's men are useless—but that one is trouble."
"Trust us—we know. This would not be our first encounter," Ezio grimaced, sheathing his weapon. Catherine held her tongue on that matter, knowing her experience had been unique. Still, talking poorly of him left a bad taste in her mouth.
Ezio regarded the older man, "Silvio's most likely set his men to ransack your place if he was able to capture you. At the very least he might have placed guards, so we would do well to be ready for trouble—including on the way there."
"I am always ready for a fight," Bartolomeo laughed with a wild grin, almost like a rabid beast.
Catherine chuckled, motioning him to head on, "So I noticed. Lead the way then—and please do try to avoid trouble."
"I apologize, my Lady, but no promises."
Briefly, the redhead noted such words might have filled her with dread, but instead she felt only amusement as they trotted off. Ezio gave her a look—a mixture of annoyance and his own amusement—but followed right beside her. Thankfully, their new companion managed to not find or at least not antagonize any guards, leaving their trip to his abode fairly easy. There was only one small heart-racing moment when they came upon a contingent with brutes, but they slipped by in the last seconds unnoticed. They skirted through the alleyways and city streets, turning right at a church and coming upon a tall, red-bricked building. It had some damage, but was standing strong. It wasn't like most barracks they'd seen, but then again—they hadn't really encountered a proper barracks in Venezia yet.
"Damn. I was right. Silvio's posted men," Ezio growled softly, keeping back. He balked, though, when Bartolomeo pushed on by. He cursed, trying to call the man back, but he went on. The young man looked to his fiancé, whom just shrugged and nodded to go after him. The guards noticed of course, and drew their blades.
"If you value your life, you'll stand down!" the leader of the group growled, brandishing his blade.
"Never! What good is a man's life if it is not lived free, eh? I will not go back into a cage!" Bartolomeo barked back, unsheathing his weapon once more.
The guard sneered, jabbing a finger at him, "Then you'll go into the ground! Kill them!"
"Well, I guess at least he has balls," Catherine sighed, pulling her blade free, too, as did Ezio.
"In this case, I do not think it's a good thing."
"Don't be jealous now."
"Really?" Ezio half-laughed, shaking his head as he engaged the nearest guard. Catherine only grinned—a little foolishly, but not much—as she dodged an attack, and the battle went underway. It was fairly short-lived, though; the guards were maybe six in number to their three, and their skills made up for the lack in man power. It wasn't too easy—a few strikes were too close for comfort—but they struck down the last man soon enough and made for the tall, blue-painted wooden doors that kept the place sealed shut. It was shoved open by Bartolomeo himself, revealing a rather rundown barracks—the ground was mostly dirt, pebbles, and straw, and some of the structures inside needed patchwork. Boards had been throw about and some items tossed here and there, no doubt by the soldiers. It looked sturdy, though, which was a relief.
"What a mess they've made!" Bartolomeo sighed, shaking his head. His gaze shot up, though, as realization dawned on him, and took off at a jog to the main building. "Bianca... I hope she is unharmed..."
"'Bianca'?" Catherine echoed, sharing a look with Ezio before they followed after. They chased the man right on through the door he'd left open, and found him on a mad search through the abode. It, too, was a mess; chairs, tables, desks, and more and all thrown about, and Bartolomeo added to it in his search for whoever "Bianca" was, calling out the name as he tossed things aside.
"Is... everything alright?" Ezio asked tentatively, earning a glare and raised arms in reply.
"What do you think!? Look at this place! And poor Bianca! If something has happened to her..." he went on, anger turning to despair. Again, Catherine glanced to her fiancé, and made to step forward to ask the unspoken question, but found herself cut off as he shouted with joy, arms spread wide, "Ah-ha!"
More confusion followed as the man reached down to grab, not a woman—and Catherine thanked God for that because otherwise she was going to maybe question his or her sanity—but a great sword. It was obviously well crafted and bigger than most she'd seen, and he evidently had a great love for it. The redhead swore he looked at the thing like Ezio did her. That, of course, called for some raised brows.
"Oh, my darling! Thank God you are alright!" he beamed, and then turned to them both to point the tip towards them. "Ezio, Catherine, meet Bianca. Bianca, Ezio and Catherine."
"The pleasure is ours," the redhead chuckled as her fiancé pushed the blade away not at all uncomfortably. Bartolomeo chuckled softly, still holding his great sword close, and regarded them both for a moment.
"So—I know your names, but not why you are here."
"We have.... business with Silvio Barbarigo. We were told you could help."
"Ah! It would be my honor!"
Catherine folded her arms as she spoke up, "But... considering the help Silvio has... we were hoping more-so you could give us an army. The three—or should I say four of us, won't exactly be a match against Silvio's numbers."
"Fear not, my Lady—I will go and ready my men for battle. While I do this, I would like you to rescue those who were captured during Silvio's assault. I cannot, in good conscience, leave them behind," the man replied, turning from them with a solemn look about him. The redhead could not help sensing a good leader within the man, and again she was reminded of Mario. Loud and full of fire, yet caring towards their men. It was a good quality to have, and she could see why men would follow him; his charisma was intoxicating when he had unleashed his bravado before—and during—battle. Yes, this was the man Antonio spoke of; the one who could raise them an army.
"You have our word—we'll see them to safety," Catherine told him, touching his arm gently. The man turned his head towards her and nodded.
"As she says; we will see it done. That is a promise," Ezio added, earning himself a nod, too. "Come, my love, let us not give Silvio another hour."
"Damn straight."
"I think I am beginning to like you two already," Bartolomeo chuckled, which they shared in, but then the moment passed and they were gone.
-O-
It took some time, and a good deal of fighting—she had a nice bruise on her right side, and a cut on her left to match now—but they succeeded. They'd managed to keep most everyone alive by her count—if one was struck down, they had been forced to leave them. The number brought back was fairly large, however, although Catherine didn't think it was quite an army yet. Still, she'd kept her hopes up as she rejoined Ezio close to the Barracks, his own "armada" assembled. He, too, sported a new cut on his cheek which she fussed over briefly—he did the same over her side—but then they returned to the great wooden doors. There, they found a very different sight.
The mess had been cleaned up almost as if it had never been there before, and the once empty lot now housed a vast number of men, all abled and armed. They cheered at the sight of their brothers and welcomed them back with open arms. There was much clapping and whooping and much thanks for the two Assassins—at least until someone reminded the lot that their commander was waiting for them. That was a relief for Catherine, truthfully; being group-hugged by mostly large, burly, and very sweaty men with no restraint on their strength wasn't exactly comfortable. Ezio had not faired much better, and so was equally relieved to enter into the main building. That, too, had been fixed and set right, and looked for more like a headquarters than before. By the desk, Bartolomeo polished his blade.
"Greeting, Ezio, Catherine! Welcome back! And well done! My host is restored to its former glory! Now Silvio will see just how grave a mistake he has made," the man smirked, sheathing his blade as he came before them.
"What do you propose? Sneaking in won't work very well," Catherine mused, hands on her hips—although she winced when she was reminded of her injury.
Ezio gestured with his hand, "Perhaps a direct assault against the Arsenale?"
"No," Bartolomeo replied at once, hand waving the idea away. "We would be massacred at the gates. I have something else in mind. Take my men and plant them throughout the district. The trouble they cause will force Silvio to dispatch most of his guards."
"And with the Arsenale drained of mercenaries, we can move in for the kill," the young man hummed.
"Exactly!" the older man grinned, pointing a finger at them both. "You two will be virtually unopposed."
"And you're sure he'll take the bait?" Catherine inquired, brow raised.
"Oh, do not worry. He will."
"Good," Ezio nodded, then turned to the redhead. His eyes flicked to the wound at her side, the cloth stained red. "Stay here and get that tended to while I do this."
"Ezio, it's just a scratch," she huffed, but he put his look on—the one that said he would not relent. He'd become worse about ever since proposing, but she didn't mind. Not really. It was endearing how much he cared, although she would get onto him if he pushed too much. A scratch on her chest would not kill her as much as he made himself believe—especially when it had happened back home. She dreaded to think how protective he might be after they were finally wed. For now, though, Catherine sighed and rolled her eyes, "Fine, fine. Go on. I'll find some wrapping and drink some medicine."
"Thank-you," he grinned impishly, stealing a kiss, and taking off.
The redhead looked to Bartolomeo, "Have a doctor around here, or any medical supplies? I just need to put some cloth on it, really."
"Yes, of course. Mercenaries have to learn at least some medicine," the man chuckled, motioning to a small cabinet. In it she found the materials she needed and so got to work, unbuckling her belt and lifting her shirt. She couldn't help noting the older man was being very respectful—he kept his gaze from her no matter which way he moved as he went about the place. Catherine found that rather likable. He was a good man. "I admit... I didn't peg you for a man of strategy with how eager for a fight you were. Glad I was wrong."
He laughed, "I did not live this long or get to where I am without at least some aptitude for it. Although, I admit, I do prefer to charge in. It is more invigorating and it strikes fear into my enemies, but I take no pleasure in leading my men to slaughter."
"You're a good leader then. It's no wonder the men were speaking so highly of you."
"Ah, I have obviously not been training them hard enough then. I shall have to see that changed."
Catherine laughed, "Okay, now I'm sure I like you. We could use more men like you in the world."
"Careful now, my Lady; I do not think I would enjoy being on the sharp end of Ezio's blade."
"Don't worry; he only acts jealous to be cute, and I know how to reign him in," she smirked, earning a chuckling from the older man. She paused as a notion came to mind, and her smirk turned to a smile as she finished her wrap and returned her belt to its proper place. "By the way... thank-you. For... well, helping us for one, but also not giving me a weird look. You're one of the new people in a top position here to not do so—at least not until after they know me."
He shrugged, "Who am I to judge a person for what they are? You have proven to be a warrior, honorable, kind, and loyal from what I have seen. You fight for freedom, as well, and there is nothing nobler than that. What does it matter if you were born a woman? Or a man? Or even a dog? It is our actions that define us. Not the circumstance of our birth."
"You remind me of my Commander back home—he speaks like you do. Let me train as a mercenary for a while for the same reason," she grinned, glad more so now than ever they had met the man.
"He is wise then—women are fiercer than men wish to admit. Why else can they drag us by the balls and bring us to our knees without a single strike of a blade?" Bartolomeo grinned impishly, earning another laugh from her.
"You're even wiser than I realized. Took me a long time to get that lesson instilled into Ezio. Do you have a wife then, Bartolomeo?"
He lifted his arms, "Sadly, no; my work keeps me far too busy, and apparently I am too... uncouth for most."
"Well, their loss. Perhaps you should find a warrior woman of your own?"
"Perhaps I should!" he laughed. "Although, that is for another time. For now, my lady of choice is my Bianca and our home the battlefield."
"You make a good couple," she snickered as she began to check her gear. "So... think things will go as smoothly as we hope?"
"Ha! Never. No battle ever acts how we wish. You must simply adapt to it and bend every change to your advantage. But—I do think we will isolate your prey. Silvio is a coward deep down. A pompous, arrogant coward. When he sees his troops are failing, he will run, and you and Ezio will hunt him down. The only trouble might be Dante—he is not wise, but he is no coward."
"I can manage him... I hope," the redhead replied softly, but then continued when she was given an odd look. "We've... met. So to speak. I've been able to... put him off edge, if you will. He's... not what you think. Sort of. It's hard to explain."
Bartolomeo raised a hand, "No need. You both have done enough to earn my trust in this. If you believe you can handle him, then I will believe you, too. I will only pray you are not wrong."
'Me, too,' Catherine frowned, a flicker of doubt growing in her belly. She sighed softly, "Either way, things with Dante and Silvio will end, and the city will be free of their influence."
"Indeed. Silvio has only been a blight upon this glorious place. Your work with his cousin was a good step, but now we must finish it."
"Yeah... wait," she frowned, turning to give the man a look. "How'd you know we killed Marco?"
Bartolomeo smirked, "I saw what you two can do. No one else would have been able to get so close to him, and I could not help but recall a similar assassination of the previous Doge some years ago."
"Ah. Right... the first Doge wasn't us, by the way. Just so you know. We tried to stop that one."
He chuckled, "I believe you. Worry not; Marco was a curse, and his death was a sigh of relief. So relax. That, and, well, something tells me even if I did wish to fight you... I have no guarantee of victory."
"I'll that take that as a compliment," she grinned. "Although, you would probably win—if I didn't do the smart thing and run; employ guerilla tactics. You'd beat me, hands down, in a fair fight. Especially close combat."
"Perhaps. But you have dexterity I and many other soldiers lack, and you have a quick mind. I did not fail to notice you exploited your opponent's weaknesses. Ezio is much the same, though relies more on his strength."
Catherine blinked, surprised, "You... saw all that? In just those few fights?"
"It is my duty as Commander to make note of such things, whether it be strengthening my troops, or knowing how best to confront an enemy," Bartolomeo mused, a wry smile on his rugged face. "I may seem a boar, but that is because that is what I wish my enemies to see. Well, that, and I do love the rush of battle—that I will not deny. I feel most alive on the battlefield."
"Well, I definitely see why you're a commander now. You're a lot like Mario, although a little more eager to jump into a fight," the redhead hummed, and couldn't help noticing an odd look appeared on the man's face. It was only for a second, though, and so she wondered if it was her imagination. Probably.
"Ha! Sounds like a man I would like to meet and discuss strategy with. Or fight. Or both."
"I'd prefer the first. I like him alive," she hummed, much to the man's amusement. He opened his mouth to speak more, but there was a whoop from outside—someone had returned. Catherine smiled as she turned to face the door as Ezio entered, a little more scuffed up than he had been, but still well. He was by her side at one, and she reached up to rub as a bit of smudge.
"I take it you were successful. You're in a good mood," she grinned as he grabbed her hand, keeping her from fussing over him.
"Yes. All the men are in place."
"Well done! And fast, too!" Bartolomeo grinned, coming towards them both—though not before grabbing a small cylinder with decorative wrapping and folding it out to them. "Now... Take this. I assume you know how it works?"
"Oh, yeah. It's easy... what's it for?" Catherine inquired, brow raised.
"It is a signal. Find the highest point you can in the district and fire it from there. This signals my men to begin the attack."
Ezio clasped the man's arm, "Alright then. We'll see you on the battlefield."
"That you will. Be safe, and good hunting."
"Catherine, you're ready?"
"Yeah. I'm patched up and ready to kill a Barbarigo."
"Good. Then let's do this."
She grinned, slapping his ass, "Just lead the way."
"Just stay close... and know I'll pay you back later," Ezio smirked in kind, stealing a quick kiss—it would be the last until the battle's end—and then they were off.
-O-
Venezia was at war.
Or, at least, the Arsenale's area was. As soon as Ezio has loosed the signal from the tallest tower—a tiny, but noticeable flash and crack of a firework—the men he'd placed throughout the city began their assault. Mercenaries charged into the fray, swinging and bashing their way into Silvio's men. The enemy responded in kind; drawing their weapons and spilling blood and sweat upon the dirt and tiles. Civilians had rushed for safety, their screams drowned out by battle cries. Moonlight danced off swords and axes and the tips of arrows. It was a battlefield not unlike many she and Ezio has partaken of before. Only, unlike before, Catherine and Ezio rushed into the fray.
His Vision had showed him their ally—Bartolomeo—was in trouble, and so they surged through the gauntlet of soldiers. They slashed, spun, stabbed, ducked, and dived through soldier after soldier, working their way over the bridge to the open courtyard where a large group of men were engaged—their companion among them. There was someone different among the enemy, though—a much taller, foreboding figure stood out. Catherine recognized him—Dante Moro. He was not as stalwart as before, though; he looked strained, and it was obvious why: Bartolomeo was pushing him back. They had been worried earlier, but now it seemed their allies were making headway. It was made all too clear just as the two of them reached their comrade, and Dante was pushed back again, staggering some. He looked around himself, taking it all in, and then suddenly turn and began to run.
"Greetings, you two!" Bartolomeo shouted as he came upon them, Bianca tight in his grasp.
"Care for some company?" Ezio mused, his own sword and Hidden Blade at the ready.
"Only if you can keep up! We must keep after Dante!" he barked, pointing the way the man had gone.
"Got it! Let's go!" Catherine piped up, throwing a knife into the chest of another guards, causing him to stumble back into the wall as the life left him. Bartolomeo charged off in that moment, and his men followed dutifully. The two Assassins also followed in suit, keeping up well enough, although would have to pause to engage a few soldiers along the way. Their comrade went onwards, leaving them behind by a few steps, but not much. Their prey kept them moving through the alleyways until, at last, they came upon an opening before the Arsenale—and there another contingent of soldiers waited for them. Watching from on high was Silvio himself.
"Kill them!" he bellowed, and the battle began anew; Assassin and Mercenary against a Templar and his goons. They went at it, fighting side by side. Ezio and Catherine began their dance; working in synch to take out each man that came for them. On high, Silvio continued to preach. "A fine specimen, is he not? You should be honored to die by his hand!"
"Suck my balls, you fucking idiot!" Bartolomeo snarled right back, cleaving down a soldier. He hissed as another came and slashed his side, though it was not too deep. Catherine did the honors of rammed her heel into his groin, and then stabbing his throat. The mercenary leader growled, looking up to Silvio and then the two Assassins. "Son of a bitch! We need to stop that fat bastard!"
"You think I do not why you are here, Assassins? But you are too late! There is nothing you can to prevent us from obtaining it... ah! That is right—you still do not know, do you? Though, once Dante is done with you, it will not matter anymore."
"Doesn't know when to shut up, does he?" Catherine grumbled, taking a strike to her arm—the cut stung—but then she grabbed the soldier's arm to pull her to him and shove her blade in his stomach. She kicked him away, shoving him into another just as the man was to strike a mercenary ally. Behind her, Ezio dodged an attack, and then back-handed the man away. Bartolomeo, she realized, was farther off, and taking on Dante. The two appeared evenly matched, however; brutish axe clashing against a massive great sword. Both men wielding great strength as well, and even greater courage and neither back down no matter how many wounds they sustained.
"Do you miss him, Ezio? Your fool of a father? My greatest regret is I could not have been the one to pull the lever. To watch him kick and gasp and hang!"
"Bastard!" Ezio snarled, slamming his Hidden Blade into a man's face. Catherine was quick to grab his arm, squeezing.
"Don't let him get to you," she spoke firmly, yet gently. The young man met her gaze for a split moment, but only nodded. There was no time to properly steel his anger at the words—at the stab to his gut. He could release it on the nearest guard, though, and did so with a growl. Beyond her, Bartolomeo made a great swing and nearly pushed Dante off his feet. The mercenary came for the kill, but was waylaid by a duo of guards, whom attacked in a frenzy. The addle-minded brute took leave then, staggering. He made towards the port, but stopped as the redhead appeared before him, blade there at the ready. His eyes widened in recognition, then confusion as he shook his head.
"No, you—not... not Carlotta... you... trick," he groaned, shaking his head again.
"Dante, you don't have to fight for him. You should be with Carlotta instead," she replied, lowering her blade some.
He looked up, brows still crunched, "With... I... yes, she... she wrote... but..."
"Enough! Return to me! We must depart!" Silvio went on, his earlier words muffled by the battlefield. His men obeyed, including Dante, whose head had shot up at the summons. He turned back to Catherine, an odd, conflicted look about him, but then he fled. Other followed in suit, although some were cut down as they did so. Bartolomeo cursed as his prey escape, but stopped as realization dawned on him and he looked to the Assassins.
"Go now! That brute will no doubt lead you straight to his master! My men and I will remain here and keep the guards from giving chase."
Catherine and Ezio didn't bother to reply as they took off at a sprint, bursting through the doors to the shipyard. There, they spotted the red cape of their target in the dark, and the foreboding figure of Dante right by him. In the distance—a boat waiting in the water; ready to set sail.
"We have to stop them before they escape!" the redhead shouted as they went on, racing through people and constructs, just as their enemy did. They turned the corner of a warehouse, only to find guards waiting for them. Ezio drew a bomb, shouting to let her know, and tossed it just as they came close enough. The guards flew into a coughing fit while they flew between them. Silvio was so close then, and Dante, too; ever beside his new master. Ezio gained on the distance faster than Catherine, and their target was much slower with his larger body. As such, the inevitable happened: the young Assassin leaped and fell down upon Silvio, his blade—already at the ready—sticking into the man's back. He let out a shriek of pain, drawing Dante's attention. The man stood, eyes wide with shock that met Catherine's in that moment. Her lover made to strike him, knocking the man off his feet, and aiming his blade for his neck.
"No, wait!" the redhead shouted just as Ezio brought his arm down. By some miracle, the blade missed, hitting the cobblestones instead. Dante did not retaliate, though, and it became clear why as she came up to her fiancé. His body was battered, bloodied, and bruised. It seemed a miracle he was even able to run, but his strength was leaving him.
"Why did you stop me?" Ezio asked quickly as she urged him off.
"He's not like them—not a Templar. Go take care of Silvio. I need to talk to Dante."
"Catherine—."
"Ezio, trust me. Please," she pleaded, looking up at him firmly. She could see he did not like it, but he relented, and brought himself to loom over the other man, still gasping and wheezing as his life drained from him. The redhead, on the other hand, kneeled down beside Dante, whom looked at her, his eyes calmer now. The fight was gone from him, but life remained.
"Carlotta?" he asked softly, hands reaching up.
Catherine shook her head, "No. I'm not your wife... but she's waiting for you, isn't she?"
"I... yes... yes!" he rasped, his other hand reaching for a pouch at his side. He could not grasp it properly, though. "She... she wishes... to... to help. Heal. Heal—me. My mind. My Carlotta."
"Then you need to go to her after this—after you're healed. You're not a bad man, Dante. I know this without doubt now. You're not like the Templars—your masters. You deserve a second chance—with Carlotta. Just don't waste it."
"I... I will... not... but... Cyprus," he groaned, consciousness starting to fade. Catherine leaned closer, brows scrunched in confusion.
"Cyprus? What about Cyprus?"
"They... go there... my... Masters.... They want... they..." he replied, but his head fell back, and his consciousness left. She quickly checked his pulse, but it was still strong despite the wounds. Her head shot up and found a wary civilian nearby. "You! Find a Doctor, quickly! He still lives, but he's gravely injured! And here—for incentive."
She tossed a bag of coins to him, which managed to force away any fear from the young man. He rushed off, and she only hoped he would do as asked. Dante's life depended on it—the one he had and the one he could still have with his wife. Maybe it was foolish on her part to do this for him, but she could not stop what her heart believed; Dante was not evil. He did not deserve to die. If she would come to regret this, then so be it; that would be her burden to bear. For now, though, his fate was out of her hands.
"Silvio would not tell me their plans—not fully. Only that they were not after the Doge, but rather aimed to sail some place," Ezio spoke up, coming beside her. He held his hand, which she took, and helped her up.
"They're going to Cyprus—Dante told me," she explained. "He didn't say what they were after, but they're looking for something. Do you know anything in Cyprus?"
"No, not that I can think of... but perhaps Antonio or Mario... or perhaps even—."
"Ezio—oh no," Catherine gasped as she turned to see why her lover had stopped speaking so suddenly, and found he was made of light. She had not even noticed her Clock growing warm, but now it was like fire in her pocket, and the world was silent and bright. She spun, trying to understand why this happened, and ignoring the growing pressure in her mind. How? When? She certainly had done it, so why had the Clock activated and brought her to this place? What was going on?
She spun this way and that, but only stopped when she found another figure—this one outlined in light, but their form like hers; distinct; intact; whole. She knew who it was beneath the hood, and she recognized the glow in his hand; a spherical object not unlike the shape of a clock. And it was in the hands on the one man who had started this all: Rodrigo Borgia.
Fear turned the heat in her side to ice while she glared at the man, whom only chuckled in kind as he approached, steps slow and meaningful.
"Ah... so I was correct. You are the one who possessed it—the other artifact. The Piece of Eden. The one that controls 'time' and 'space', I believe it was called," he mused, clasping his arms behind his back. Catherine reached for her blade, grasping the hilt tight, and wished the damned Clock wouldn't give her grief even for that. This was too dangerous a moment—Rodrigo could kill her here. To her surprise, though, the man chuckled and waved his hand. "No need for weapons here, Assassin. I have not come to fight. There is no need to."
"What do you mean—or better yet, how the hell do you have one of those?" she hissed, keeping her hand on her blade. The ache in her mind was growing worse, but she kept strong.
"I imagine not in the same way you obtained yours—after all, you are not from this time, are you?" he asked instead, and grinned when surprise crossed her features. "Then I was right again—you are not the only visitor from the 'future'."
"What?"
He hummed as he continued to walk in a wide circle around her, "I suppose it does not matter if I say so or not... very well. I had thought your tricks back in Toscana some dark magic, but a man claiming to be from the future explained much when he appeared out of thin air as you did, although he was dressed far more strangely. I simply thought him mad—shame he cannot say more and that was an error for my ignorance—but once I acquired the power for myself... well, much makes sense now—how you managed to slaughter my men; how you have waylaid my plans time and time again... Even now you have interfered, and it seems I wasted my trip to prevent that fool's demise. But no matter. The ship has sailed, and I will have my prize."
"Aren't you holding it now?"
"This is only a piece of it. No; soon I will have even greater power... and there is nothing you can do to stop it, Assassin—just as Giovanni Auditore could not."
"What makes you think I won't kill you before that?" Catherine snarled, drawing her blade, but cursed as the Clock flared, causing her to stagger. Blood dribbled from her nose as the headache grew worse.
"That is why," he grinned, dangerously so; like a predator. Fear sent the ice through her again, and she knew she was in trouble. She didn't know how to escape, and she couldn't kill him. Rodrigo could strike her down here and she could do nothing. Yet, he had yet to draw his sword, and so confusion mixed with the cold. "It seems this power wishes to protect me. I need not worry. You may have slaughtered my men and my associates, but you cannot kill me. You know it, too, and so know this, Assassin: your time will come. When the second piece arrives and the Vault is opened... You and that boy will see how futile your effort was. I will cut him down as you watch, and then I will end you and all who stand in my way. Italia will bow before me, and there is nothing you can do to stop it."
If Catherine thought she had been afraid before, she was terrified now.
Rodrigo wasn't fighting her because he couldn't—he didn't because there was no need to. He had the power to destroy them, and he knew he couldn't be stopped. And now there was something more from Cyprus? A second piece? A Vault?
Despair filled Catherine even as the man turned and walked away, laughter following in suit. The pain of the Clock and being in the world of lights brought Catherine to her hands and knees, and she found it hard to breathe. It was getting worse—her endurance. She wasn't lasting nearly as long as she had before, and she wished the agony would just stop. Tears filled her eyes, the hopelessness and fear and anguish cutting deeper than any wound.
Then—the pressure lifted and she gasped for air; wheezing and coughing. Her ears rang, and then hands were upon her. She lashed out with her arms at first, but those were caught and held firm. She looked, and found Ezio there; fear and worry in his eyes. He was speaking—no, shouting, but it took endless moments for the ringing to fade.
"What happened!? Did you activate the Clock?!" he shouted, holding her close. She was glad he did—she felt like her body was made of lead. She took in a shaky breath, eyes closed tight.
"No. I didn't... it... it was Rodrigo."
His face dropped a thousand leagues, "...What?"
"We were right. Rodrigo has a Clock, and he can use it. And he... he said... their plans—he... fucking Christ, Ezio he—he—."
"Shh, shh, slow down. Calm down. I've got you. I've got you. It'll be alright," he comforted, stroking her head and kissing her brow.
She ushered the strength to lean up, pushing from him some and shaking her head, "No—Ezio, you don't understand. He's—whatever's in Cyprus... he said some said second piece will come and open a Vault and he—he's going to kill you! Us! Everyone! He's going to use his Clock to control everything, and I can't—I can't stop him. There's nothing we can do!"
"No—no, no... no, we'll think of a way. We always do. Catherine—Catherine! Look at me. Look," Ezio spoke sternly, cupping her cheek and forcing her to face him. Tears streamed down her face as he pressed his forehead to hers. "There's always a way. Always. And we find it every single time. We'll figure this out. We'll stop him. Somehow. I won't let him harm you or anyone. We'll stop him. I promise."
Catherine wanted to believe his words—truly, she did. But she saw the doubt in his eyes for all his courage. He was just as scared as she was, and just as unsure. And so the fear grew, and although she tried to cling to his words—to the false hope—she couldn't.
The Clock has never shown her the future, but she could see it now, and there was nothing but despair.