Book 2 Dead Man's Hand: The Knights of the Golden Dragon

by Troy Reaves

  Boremac turned from the leader, pausing momentarily to fix the young man with a hard stare that he hoped promised vengeance. The assembled gang’s laughter at his back gave him little solace as he moved into the crowd at the back of his target. He tried to be glad they had not just stabbed him when he turned away, but Boremac reasoned quickly enough that that fate might have been better than the one promised by accosting the rogue mercenary. Boremac thanked the Lady of Luck for his lack of height as he moved among the children surrounding the man. It was as if the children walking backward could anticipate his next step, making just enough room for him to move forward. Boremac felt his best route was to join the children and find a way to create a distraction. If he could make the man stop moving somehow, surely he could make an effort at least. The rogue mercenary soon presented Boremac with a solution. He altered his path, mostly to keep from stepping on the children that would inevitably fall in his way, sometimes even grabbing the little beggars up by their collars to set them on their feet. A small girl with hair the color of coal, and a face sooty enough to match, was one of the persistent pups in the front of the man. She scooped coins from just ahead of his steps, almost as if daring him to step on her rough fingers. “Perfect,” thought Boremac as he closed in on his new target. He accomplished his goal easily, driving a boot into her behind as she once more dipped to get at a coin. She sprawled full across the man’s path in a knee scraping fall that should have set her wailing in pain. Boremac had time to note the fury in her eyes as she bit her lip, holding back the cry that must have wanted to emerge. The mercenary seemed to note it as well, speaking for the first time Boremac had ever heard. “Persistent and ornery to boot, I see.” He bent at his knees, crouching down to take the little girl into his arms, and Boremac had his chance. A small prayer whispered from him as he began to draw the blades gently from their sheaths at the man’s sides. “Alchendia save me this time.” Boremac noted the Lady’s favor was already with him, as the hilts of the daggers were extended toward him. Gently and as quickly as possible the thief slid the blades away, quickly hiding them in his boots, and moved through the children already inundating the now stationary man with cries to be picked up as well. Fights broke out as urchins sought ways to outdo one another, each hoping to find favor with the rogue, but his eyes focused only on the one now in his full arms. The reason was readily apparent with a moment of observation. Her hands and feet were kicking and slapping everywhere at once, and the dirty little one was biting him. His laughter distracted all present with its simple joy and amusement at the violence the girl was trying to visit on his arms and chest. “You, wee one, will be a force. There is no doubt about it. I pity the man that tries to tame the woman you will become! Go on now.” The mercenary set her wriggling, biting form down as lightly as he could, and she bolted into the near alley through a path that seemed to have been opened for that purpose. “Now to deal with the little thief among you.” The hardening of his voice was enough to stop everything. Even Boremac froze, though every part of him screamed to flee. He knelt facing the man’s back, hoping the daggers were hidden well enough by the torn legs of his trousers that lapped over the boots where the blades already scraped at his inner calves. It hadn’t been a great idea to put them there, but he was glad to have followed his gut at this moment. He had little time to congratulate himself as he felt two unseen sets of hands grab him at either side and drag him to his feet.

  “Here is the pickpocket, Master!” The shout of the young man at Boremac’s side now was unmistakable. The gang leader that had so recently dared Boremac to take the blades was now all too ready to turn him over for no gain, or so it appeared. “What should we do with him? I will be happy to take care of the slight so that you do not need to lower yourself to dealing with a trifle.” The leader’s grip tightened progressively on Boremac’s arm as he spoke. It appeared that the daggers were not the prize after all, Boremac was. His features colored with this realization as the gang members moved closer to him, emerging from different parts of the crowd. Various ages and sizes were represented in the group that even included two young lasses who had bothered to wear dresses for the mercenary rogue’s visit. Boremac noted each of the female gang members brandished daggers as they parted the urchins blocking their path.

  “Ah, I see the fiend is not one of yours. It does appear he is a dupe in an effort to win my attention. Well played. Now that you have my full attention, what is it that you require, fearless one?” The mercenary smiled as if he knew the answer before he asked the question. The leader of the gang was struck speechless by the open ease of the request. One would have thought the man before him was a genie and three wishes were now his to make. Of course, every wish granted has its consequences. Even orphaned children knew the tales the tradesmen carried of powerful sorcerers summoning creatures able to bend reality, only to have to deal with the terrible consequences of their wish for more power. “Let me guess. You seek to find favor with, possibly even early acceptance into Alchendia’s Path, and who better to aid you than me? You obviously are a capable leader, judging by the size of your gang assembled here. It must have taken some amount of time and planning to organize this endeavor so well. I doubt you had planned to use this particular young one, and I am curious which one among those here would have braved the stocks for you. No matter. Let me assume I am correct, or at least you would be happy with what I offer. I will allow you to deal with the trifle for me, but I think I should decide how, since you did use me in your plan to further your own ends almost as much as your dupe, volunteer or not. Call out four of your best and let us see what this young man can do with the blades he has acquired. Let him loose. He isn’t going anywhere, are you?” Boremac shook his head in acknowledgement and withdrew the blades from his worn boots. The sharp edges bit his calves and the leather of the boots equally deeply as he brought them into his unskilled grip and dropped into a balanced fighting stance facing the man. “Good, it appears you have had some practice fighting. You will need to turn the hilts a bit, perhaps bring the blades out in front of your hands instead angled from your fist. These are fighting blades, not carving knives, son.”

  Boremac nodded in answer but made no move to change the position of the hilts. His angry brow loosened some with the rest of his body as he relaxed into his footing. He decided it was time to make things interesting for the crowd of young onlookers, favoring each of the gang members that had emerged from the crowd with a brief come hither gesture. Some he recognized from previous encounters and these he favored with a rude finger gesture that needed no explanation. The children tittered at his brazen behavior and soon small gardens of fingers were sprouting throughout the groups of younger ones in the circle of humanity that had formed around him.

  The gang leader wasted no time picking his champions. Pole went forward of his own accord as the leader pointed at two young men nearly as broad in the shoulder as they were tall, or so it seemed to Boremac. The last addition, and the method in which she was beckoned by the leader, was the most interesting. Boremac had had a chance to note the two young women in the gang matched in all things; dress, looks and demeanor as well as their choice of dagger style. The daggers were medium length and well sized to the hands which wielded them. Boremac almost laughed as the leader of the gang blew a kiss to the pair and one demurred to the other, allowing one sister to proceed toward the gang’s champions and complete the four.

  “Interesting choices,” said the mercenary, nodding to the gang leader. “It should be a good row. Now join them, fearless one. I have little doubt you are the most capable fighter among them. One would have to be, I imagine, to fend off challenges to the throne. Do stand down until he is taken or the two of you remain. I think your dupe is ready to proceed, although I doubt he will find much use for his weapons of choice. Begin when ready.”

  The crowd huddled in closer, tightening the fighting area into a ring and absorbing the mercenary rogue into their number, even though he readily towered over the chil
dren and the adults that had joined the spectators. Boremac tensed slightly as the two bulky assailants moved toward him as one from the far side of the makeshift arena. Boremac seemed to have anticipated this move, dropping into a crouch and supporting himself lightly on the balls of his feet at the last second. Everyone drew a breath seeing what he was going to try, everyone except his targets, and wondered if Boremac could pull it off. The pickpocket amazed even himself as he sprang forward, and drove the hilts in either fist knuckle first into both giants’ crotches at once, bringing them to a dead stop, and using their momentum to carry him back away from them with minimal effort. The upward movement could not have been planned better, allowing him to rebound back with only a couple short unbalanced steps. Boremac took a moment to enjoy his success as the pair fell unconscious to the ground, their descent marked by a rising crescendo of shouts and applause from the crowd watching the fight. He thought about turning and waving but thought better of it. The other combatants were moving in fast. Pole and the dagger wielding lass took a lesson from their large comrades’ failure and came at him from opposite sides. Boremac knew Pole’s lack of skill well enough to discount him. The female with the dagger, he reasoned, would be a much more dangerous threat. The way she held the dagger showed practiced skill and she was not bothering with flourishing gestures as she came at him. She was all business and cutting would be her chosen attack where he was concerned.

  Boremac measured the time to strike carefully in the brief moments he had before she reached him, choosing to close the distance between himself and Pole. He figured reminding the black eyed assailant of his previous failure would force Pole to back off long enough to deal with the dagger wielder. Boremac drove his fist into Pole’s undamaged eye with a quick measured strike, sliding neatly to one side as his victim howled in pain. The pommel’s added weight brought a rapid swelling over half Pole’s face and took the fight out of him as he stumbled away from Boremac’s reach. Boremac just had time to sweep his leg to the rear, taking the female behind him by surprise and dropping her to her back. He barely had the chance to press his advantage as she slapped her hands to the ground and prepared to spring back to her feet. Boremac stepped hard on the dagger, forcing her to release it, and bent slightly at the knees to bring one of his own blades to her throat. He spoke for the first time since the fight had begun as she attempted to lower herself more fully against the ground. “Pardon, miss. I have no desire to cut you and little skill with blades. If you so much as try to come off the ground the cut will be ugly due to my inexperience. Understand?” She nodded tightly in reply. “Good.” Boremac directed his next words loudly to the crowd. “I will not harm a mistress of the blades! This melee is done unless Pole chooses otherwise!” Pole wasted no time in shaking his head and moving into the crowd farthest away from where Boremac stood. “Good!” Boremac picked up the dagger he was standing on and tossed it haphazardly in front of the twin sister of the lass he had disarmed.

  As the other female dagger wielder bent to retrieve her sister’s blade, smiling briefly at Boremac like a hungry fox, the leader of the gang intervened and snatched the dagger from the ground. “By your leave, Master, I believe you brought me into this circle for more reason than to see my champions abused!” He brandished the dagger he had retrieved at Boremac as he continued. “Allow me the honor of repayment for these abuses! I will take him and slit his throat with the dagger from my dishonored lady’s hand!” Boremac mused at how quickly the crowd turned on him with the leader’s words, as a roar of approval punctuated his pause.

  The crowd was silenced as the master mercenary raised his hand. Though his tone was even and quiet, it penetrated the assembled in a way Boremac found inspiring and mildly disquieting. “You are correct, young one. One who leads should always be ready to take arms against any threat.” A wolfish grin broke the man’s face as he continued speaking to the gang’s leader. “Have at him, and I hope for your sake the Lady favors you. I think you will find your prey has teeth.”

  The gang leader wasted no time closing the distance between Boremac and himself. “Prepare to die, pickpocket. There is blood enough in my past to make your life meaningless to me.” The promise of the whispered words was punctuated by the leader spitting on Boremac’s boots.

  Boremac smiled inwardly, knowing the leader’s arrogance would be Boremac’s greatest weapon in the fight. He had been in more fist fights than he cared to remember and had the bruises to show for it. The fights he had lost had taught him more than those he won, and he had not lost for quite some time. He brought his arms up in a haphazard defensive position, hoping to draw the leader into him. A little blood loss to save his neck seemed like a fair trade, and he reasoned the leader would want to make a show of killing him for the crowd. Boremac was not disappointed.

  The leader stepped into Boremac’s sloppy defense and drove his dagger into Boremac’s chest just enough to make the thief step back and sweep the blade inexpertly away with his arm. The leader took advantage of Boremac’s clumsy gesture by cutting his arm as he withdrew the blade, bringing it back to a readied position. “Well, this won’t take long! I do hope you have brought more to the fight than this, pickpocket!” Laughter rippled through the crowd buffing up the leader’s ego at once.

  Boremac decided it was time for a taste of things to come, striking the leader hard in his shoulder with a fist still carrying the weight of the dagger pommel. He pulled the punch before he broke his challenger’s balance, bringing a wary look to the young man’s eyes. “Good,” thought Boremac, “he is already questioning his measure of me.” Boremac dropped back into a defensive posture, this time demonstrating a bit more care with the placement of his defenses. The gang leader also took more care deciding how best to attack the pickpocket. This time Boremac did smile openly at him, enraging the leader and coloring his features crimson before Boremac spoke. “Better?”, was all he said but it was enough. His opponent almost trembled with rage barely held in check. The leader would be progressing with kill shots, Boremac was certain, and the time had come to get serious. He struck the leader with a rapid blow to the shoulder opposite his initial attack but held nothing back this time. The opponent’s left shoulder blade cracked with the force of the blow coupled with the weight of the pommel, driving the young man into a tight half circle spin before he could recover. Boremac stepped back two steps to admire his work. “That must have hurt! You sure you don’t want to give up now? Walking away is always the better option than dying.” There was a collective gasp from the assembly as they considered Boremac’s words. The pickpocket was certain many of them watching were glad not to have to make the choice.

  The gang leader wasted little time regaining his focus despite the obvious pain he was experiencing. He loosened the grip on the dagger still held by his good hand and flexed his undamaged fighting wrist. “You will die.” He spoke with such resolve that Boremac almost believed him ...almost.

  Boremac gave the gang leader due credit for his next attack, despite his utter predictability. The pickpocket had left the gang leader an easy strike at the start, proven by the still weeping minor chest wound he had, and the trap had been set. The gang leader moved with power and grace to strike, more deeply this time, into the same location. He had underestimated the reach of his opponent’s legs in the process. Once the gang leader was caught in the momentum of his strike, Boremac fell onto his back and brought his legs up in front of him, bending at his knees to bring his boots into position. Boremac slammed his feet into his attacker’s chest low, picking up his full weight and tossing him over his head, well away from where he now lay. Boremac sprang to his feet and was on the gang leader’s prone back before the young man could even begin to rise. The entire exchange took no more than the blink of an eye, leading to much discussion later. Boremac flipped the gang leader over on his back, placing his knees onto the young man’s chest and bringing his own dagger to his neck, not bothering to be gentle. His words were clipped and harsh as he growled through
his teeth at his would be killer. “I have never been much for shedding blood. I don’t much see the point in killing but I leave it up to you. The shame of today should pass with time, but you let me know how you want this to end. Submit.”

  His bravado got the better of the gang leader and he answered without pause. “Never.” Boremac gave him some credit for his resolve but he had no desire to kill the young man, barely older than he was. He drew the dagger at the leader’s neck slowly across it, increasing the pressure just slightly as the length of the blade made its way. The widening eyes gave truth to the gang leader’s feelings and Boremac took pity on the young man. “You probably want some time to think this over. Let me help you with that.” Boremac struck him in the forehead with enough force to knock him out, standing up to dust himself off as best he could as if nothing had happened.

  The murmuring crowd went silent and Boremac could feel their confusion as he slid the daggers he had so recently stolen into his belt. “That will not do, young master.” The mercenary was addressing him directly now. The man threw a proper leather belt that appeared to been expertly cut and hastily punched with holes to fit the narrow waisted thief. Boremac recognized it immediately as the home from which he had so recently acquired the daggers. “That should serve for now.” The rogue mercenary then addressed the crowd at large. “No one among you will bring harm without direct cause to either of these warrior thieves until they have entered properly into manhood. I speak for the Path in this, and know the Path is everywhere here. They will both grow into men to be reckoned with and valued by Alchendia’s Path, no doubt. Anyone who would covet my blades, passed to this young one for his skill and bravery, should know they will feel the bite of my steel for troubling him.” The man turned toward Boremac once more, noting he had wasted no time in securing the daggers at his hips. “Respect the daggers, young one. Learn to use them as if they were a part of you. For now, you would do well to have those wounds tended to and bound properly.” His last words had the odd effect of bringing the twin females, so recently attached to the gang leader, to his side. Boremac enjoyed their aid as he thought, “I could get used to this.”