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

by Troy Reaves

  The Overseer rose and beckoned Boremac to take a seat at his side before the mercenary could respond. Once the men were all seated, he spoke. “It is a time of reckoning, Boremac. You know of the connection shared by the Black Hand and Alchedia’s Path. We serve one another in equal measure and many Hands retire to Alchendia’s Path while we recruit sometimes from their number. It allows both houses a mutually exclusive specialization without conflict… generally.”

  “Generally, yes, but not this time!” The mercenary’s face went dark so fast Boremac would have thought it was a different man entirely. “You have slain my son. This violates our agreement, and more, the very essence of our relationship!”

  Boremac mentally stepped back from the meeting for a moment as the weight of the man’s words hit him full force. The implication that they carried was undeniable and the pieces fell together quickly. The leader of Alchendia’s Path and the mercenary hero were either one and the same or brothers. This went a long way to explaining why the two were never seen together. Boremac sorted through almost forgotten conversations with the Prince of thieves. Rinoba had referred to the mercenary as his Uncle. Were they twins? Boremac knew that the leader of Alchendia’s Path ran the organization through his lieutenants, and there were rumors of physical disfigurement or fear of assassination, but now that he knew the connection between the Hand and the Path, he found the latter was very unlikely to be a threat.

  “Rinoba threatened us all with his rakish ways. He forced my hand. You should be glad that the Lord who contracted us only required his death. We were on the edge of a war with the powers of the land because your son wanted a trophy. How many of your Brothers and Sisters in the Path would you sacrifice to bring him back? The Lord in question was ready to move against you all. If he had known who was responsible for violating the sanctity of his bride’s bed, Alchendia’s Path would cease to exist. The Hand was forced to intercede when the bounty for him was placed.” The Overseer did not raise his voice as he spoke. His tone was hauntingly mild, almost too conversational, in the face of the other leader’s outburst. “I beg your forgiveness for creating this rift between us but I do not regret my actions on your behalf. It had to be done.”

  The leader of Alchendia’s Path responded immediately and unexpectedly, thrusting his open hand across the table toward the Overseer. “The rift can be mended. The price is blood. I want the one who led Rinoba into his doom to pay with her life and I want a blood seal that it will be done, no matter what the consequences.”

  The Overseer’s answer was immediate. A Black Hand dagger appeared in his free hand and, inserting it between their gripped palms, he sliced both. Blood flowed freely for a moment forming a small pool on at the center of the table. The contract had been sealed.

  Two nearby servants moved to each of the men and bound their wounds, obviously prepared for just such an event. Boremac wondered how many times blood had stained the table over the years.

  “Boremac, you will kill her.” The statement, coming so soon after the after the blood bind, took Boremac completely off guard, and his reply to the leader of the Path’s plainly voiced statement showed it.

  “Why me? I have not even completed my training or, for that matter, decided that I will remain with the Hand.” Boremac’s voice roughened with emotion as he continued. “It seems that all manner of choices are being made for me since I was drawn into this whole situation. I do not care for losing control of what I will or will not do and I do not like the idea of killing for the sake of revenge, no matter what the reason. I see no reason at all in this instance and no real purpose served.”

  “You have to trust that this is in the best interests of us all, especially the members of Alchendia’s Path. Fear will keep the Lord in check if his new bride is killed, fear of the Hand. If he takes time to pursue knowledge of who her lover was then he will destroy the Path out of spite and he is well positioned to do just that.” The way the Overseer chose his words left no room for argument or further discussion.

  “You are the only one I trust here, Boremac. You were once one of us and, as I have said, you showed great promise in Alchendia’s Path.” Rinoba’s father stated plainly. “Heal the wound that has been created between these two houses. Become death and realize your full potential within the Black Hand. I need one here that I can trust without question. Do not turn against me now.” The hero sitting before him, making this request was the thing that committed Boremac finally to the Black Hand.

  “I will kill her but not for the Hand and not for the Overseer, Sir. You have given me hope and believed in me. I have no other way to repay you so I will repay you in blood.” Boremac drew his own blade, one of the pair of blades he had for so long, slowly across his own palm and placed his hand into the mingling pool of blood at the center of the table. “Your will be done.” Boremac became a man of two worlds, two great houses cloaked in shadow, with that gesture, and that moment would haunt him forever.

  43

  Dog’s Breakfast

  The days that followed the meeting passed quickly. It was decided that Boremac would complete his training before embarking on his blooding mission and, per protocol; Sgaina would decide when he was ready. Sgaina seemed to be intent on killing Boremac when he first resumed training with her, leaving more of his blood on the training area’s stones than he felt was entirely necessary and making a great deal of work for the people in charge of replacing his leathers. More often than not, he would leave her with his clothing hanging in loose tatters and more often than he liked, he had to be carried to the healers on a stretcher. It happened so frequently over the course of his training that two adepts were assigned to the training area with a stretcher in hand whenever he sparred with Sgaina. This new development did not go unnoticed. An anonymous benefactor took it upon himself or herself to provide a deep red silken pillow and matching sheet for his comfort on his frequent trips to the infirmary. Sgaina had taken some measure of pleasure seeing it.

  “Someone thinks highly of you, Boremac. The red will hide your blood when they wrap your body in that and bury you.” Sgaina smiled for the only time he had ever seen her do so and it was not something he ever wanted to see again. Jun’s giggling was disconcerting but, by comparison, it was welcoming and warm compared to the way Sgaina twisted her lips in a mockery of pleasure. “If you hurt her in any way, I will kill you slowly. You will beg me to slit your throat to stop the pain.”

  Boremac was certain she meant it and did not have to clarify to whom she was referring. Shamshir and he had become intimate over the time he trained with Sgaina and he had no doubt that the more important, if less explicit, details of their growing relationship were relayed to Sgaina. Sgaina had as many people who respected and looked up to her in the Hand as she had enemies. Some of these were both, and those who tested her abilities died rather quickly. There were always cocky new recruits who wanted to take on the best among them and it was universally agreed that she was the one.

  Shamshir, for her part, had wasted no time approaching Boremac again after their initial understanding had been reached in the infirmary. He assumed that living with death all the time made one a bit bolder where one’s desires were concerned. Boremac had found he was more tentative than he thought he would be, considering the dreams that had come after their first encounter. Shamshir embraced him in ways he had never imagined, defying what he thought he knew of women. She was tender and ravenous, allowing her hunger to have full reign without being enslaved by it. She would not have allowed him to control her and he had no desire to do so. Still somehow when they were together, neither one seemed to know what would happen next and they were each taken in equally with the depths of their connection. Boremac held no special spiritual beliefs but when Shamshir and he were together, he understood the fanatical beliefs of pilgrims who would travel for years to demonstrate their faith. Boremac was energized with her when exhaustion should have undone him, and he knew that she was as well even with no words shared between them
. She made it impossible not to believe in powers that were greater than men and women, interwoven through all things. No mere mortal could have conceived of creating such pleasure and unity.

  Where Sgaina was all his pain, Shamshir was all his pleasure. Shamshir was educated and witty, easy to listen to and pleasing to see. Sgaina was brutal and intolerant, carving him into an assassin that would be second only to her in skill. Boremac was shocked when Sgaina began to slacken her daily abuses, especially in light of the exchange he had had with Shamshir the night before.

  Shamshir had come to him, as had become their habit, tending the wounds of his daily torture. They had talked at length about various things. Boremac thanked George silently for trying so hard to school him while Boremac had been with the old archivist. Even for all the education he received, Boremac had to work to keep up with Shamshir on occasion. She was as patient as she was observant, correcting and explaining her current subjects as needed when she saw the lost look on his face. She stopped talking abruptly though her hands continued working ointment into the worst of his wounds and bruises. Boremac involuntarily tensed. He was immediately reminded that Shamshir could kill him without effort. Boremac also realized if it came to having to fight her, he would die. Boremac could not bring himself to harm her any more than he could have raised a hand against…

  “Who is Jasmine?” She spoke softly without concern but he could tell there was something deeply hidden in her casual tone and flinched involuntarily.

  Boremac mentally weighed all the possible reasons she would know that name but tossed them all away. He was too stupefied to answer in any way besides a simple muttering, “Who?”

  “The woman you whisper to sometimes in your sleep. An old lover perhaps? Maybe your wet nurse or mother’s name?” Shamshir’s hands stopped moving and tensed on the bruised muscle of his side. He wondered only for a moment if she could rip his kidney out and decided the truth was his best bet.

  “We were friends a long time ago.” That was mostly true because it felt like an eternity since he had last seen her. Boremac was reassured somewhat when Shamshir started moving her hands over him again though he knew he was still in dangerous territory.

  “You were never more than friends? She seems to have made quite an impression on you.” As Shamshir finished speaking, a wave of memories washed through Boremac’s brain that left an ache of wanting in his heart. He fought to contain the wash of heat that threatened to betray him.

  “She was something like you, Shamshir. A strong self-possessed woman who defied capture or containment. She was amused by me, I think, and nothing more. Her desire for entertainment outweighed any… physical… interest she had in me.” The truth of that stung Boremac some even as he said it. He had never really looked beyond wanting to be with her enough to think she was toying with him. He dared not think about it, at least not while talking with Shamshir. He was certain Shamshir could easily ferret the information out of him with very little effort.

  “She wounded you. You thought you loved her. I understand.” Shamshir had not phrased her reply as a question, just a statement of fact, and Boremac thought that she did indeed understand. “Hard to let those go, the ones you long for and even think you can trust. I am glad you have.”

  Boremac had been glad that the questions had ended there. They made love tenderly that night. Shamshir had been attentive and gentle, as if trying to do what she could to help him recover from the opening of an old, deep wound. Unfortunately neither she nor Boremac knew how deep the pain of not seeing Jasmine again went, and his mind kept picking at the sore place where memories of her lived, making him question what he had really meant to her. Boremac was only certain of one thing. There was a time when Jasmine had meant everything to him. He would have done anything for her.

  ***

  The time had come more swiftly than Boremac had imagined. Once he had resigned himself to something, he was always impatient, preferring to have the job over and done. Even as a bounty hunter he captured his contracts whenever possible, and the thought of killing a woman gave him no pleasure, but he saw no way out of it. Boremac was no coward. He faced many people who should have killed him during his time working with Jun and never backed down from a challenge, but he was not ready to die quite yet. He would prefer to die of natural causes, given the choice, and he was certain if Sgaina had her way, she would give him a slow and painful release from the cares of this life. Her decision to release him from her daily torture sessions shocked Boremac, coming merely two weeks after the meeting between the two shadowy leaders.

  The Overseer’s promise that Boremac could leave at his option gave Boremac little comfort. He had a life in this land, not to mention people he cared for, and if he had to shed innocent blood to remain here then so be it. This was not about him, it was just another job, he told himself and at times, he even believed it He damned George and Mama Bear for giving him something like a conscience. Connections were just a burden as Jun had said so long ago.

  Sgaina made the decision that Boremac was ready to perform his blooding and join the Black Hand rather abruptly. Boremac managed to cut her while they were sparring and for the first time since she had become his trainer, she had backed away from him. Sgaina had even bowed slightly, just enough for the others in the training hall that did not know better to applaud him.

  Sgaina took a moment to look away from Boremac, silencing the audience as she marked those who had acknowledged his ‘victory’. Boremac was certain they would learn the error of their action soon enough and he doubted many would survive their mistake. Sgaina was not known to forgive any offense, intentional or otherwise. Boremac flinched back reflexively as Sgaina faced him again despite her diminutive size. The look on her face was full of conflicting emotions. She was flush with anger, that much was obvious. He also noted a begrudging pride in her eyes. She had honed him into a near perfect killer and she knew it.

  Sgaina addressed Boremac through teeth clenched so tight, he was sure he heard them cracking with each word. “We go tomorrow night, just you and me. If you fail, Boremac, only one of us will be returning. Sleep well.”

  Sgaina had turned away from him and left the training room without another sound. Boremac had to restrain himself from grinning at her as she left. He was relatively certain she had eyes in the back of her head.

  ***

  Shamshir came to his room that night but the energy felt different. She seemed to have realized something, and everything about their time that night was different. It did not take long after she embraced him to know what had changed. Shamshir was certain he had been condemned to death and she made no effort to hide it.

  “Don’t fail, Boremac.” As Boremac attempted to phrase a reassurance, she pressed a finger to his lips. “Don’t speak, just listen. Sgaina means to kill you, whether now or sometime later does not matter, but she means to have you dead. I cannot stop her, only delay her, and you cannot challenge her. She is too strong, too quick, and too vicious.”

  Boremac reflexively smirked at this despite knowing the truth of her words. “Shamshir, I… have grown to care for you… but you are not telling me anything I don’t know. I know the price of failure, Sgaina made it very clear, so why waste this night with such thoughts?”

  “Jun knows.” The two words puzzled Boremac as Shamshir spoke. “He knows everything and he does not think you will survive the mission.”

  “I think you and Jun underestimate my desire to protect myself, no matter what I have to do. If an innocent must die, so be it.” He had lowered his voice, allowing it to be colored by his anger; anger born of Shamshir’s lack of faith and Jun’s lack of trust in just how committed Boremac was, not only to his own skin but to the Black Hand and Shamshir. Boremac wanted to tell her the truth, tell her how she made him feel, but he was still figuring that out. He shelved that discussion and decided to add it to the reasons he needed to live through the next night. He held his tongue where his feelings were concerned and simply touched her
cheek gently. “We can work out what comes next when I return. We may have to deal with Sgaina but not now. Don’t let her come between us, especially not tonight.”

  Shamshir dipped her head with a nod of acknowledgement. They embraced gently and deeply without allowing anything outside of them to intrude. It was all that a man condemned to death could have wanted. Somewhere deep inside Boremac’s cautious heart, he felt complete for the first time. He knew that, no matter what happened, he was in love.

  ***

  The time had come. Sgaina pointed up at a high window in the stone mansion. “That is the one we want. Even you should be able to make the climb. I will be right behind you. Your target is there. Kill anyone with her. We are leaving no witnesses, not even our blade this time.”

  Sgaina shoved a knee into his lower back, shoving Boremacc against the wall. He paused a moment to turn to face her. “Who is she?”

  “Does not matter. I do not ask why, I just do what is required of me. You should do the same before I get impatient. Climb.” Her tone set his hands and feet to work as he scaled the broken surface of the wall.