by Troy Reaves
Boremac presented himself to the man who had waked him, turning in a slow circle while smoothing out any creases in the leather garb. He noted the motion was whisper quiet, even when he tried to drag a boot heel as he finished turning. The man looked Boremac over, speaking in a low grumble that would have been well suited to a bear, “Ah, well, you are a bit more presentable now. Did you really expect the boots would leave a mark or make a squeak? Would be tough to sneak up on a target if you had to watch your feet constantly. I have run across ice and snow without slipping or breaking the surface of either one in my day. Good boots are worth their weight in gold in this game, boy. Come on.”
The chamber where the Overseer met with new associates of the guild was sparsely decorated. Basic oil lamps lit the room and the small amount of smoke that they emitted appeared to funnel upward into a hole in the ceiling. The room had a basic meeting table with a single padded chair on one side facing the door that served as the only way in or out of the room and several nondescript wooden chairs on the facing side. Boremac noted that four chairs faced the Overseer’s stuffed chair, of which two were currently occupied by his captors with one chair between them empty and one at the side of the shorter woman empty as well. Boremac weighed his options only briefly before taking the open chair between the two women, fighting against the urge to have a ready escape near the side of the smaller one. If they intended to kill him, he reasoned, he would be dead already and running out the door in the middle of an attack would buy him precious little time anyway.
He placed his hands onto the table in the same manner that he had seen the two assassins position their own, leaning on their forearms with their hands open to the ceiling. There were no weapons visible, which, he assumed, was the point. He doubted that either of these female assassins would have any trouble killing someone with their bare hands, but the gesture was obviously an honorific for their leader. Boremac was actually happy he managed to keep himself still as long as he did. The combination of adrenalin and anticipation caused him to flip his right hand over and start drumming gently on the table. The short female assassin at his right side reacted immediately. He was not sure from where the blade, now quivering from the force of impact, had come, but he moved his fingers from around it gingerly and placed his right hand back into the supplicant position, noting with some surprise that he still had all his fingers.
“That is enough, Sgaina.” The deep voice coming from the door shocked Boremac. He had heard no movement behind him and wondered how long the figure now coming around the end of the table had been present. Boremac took a cue from the two women and stared straight forward without acknowledging the Overseer’s presence until he had settled into the chair facing them. The man nodded to each of the female assassins, addressing them by name in turn. “Sgaina. Shamshir. I am pleased to see you both again.” Each of the women only acknowledged his words with a slight nod as he spoke their names.
“Boremac, I am glad you managed to make it intact to our little home. Sgaina has a somewhat direct way on occasion of weeding out those that I deem worthy of recruitment, much to my dismay.” When the Overseer smiled at the shorter of the two women there was a tenderness in his features that was unexpected. “Still she is one of the best of our number and I cannot fault her for being a bit overzealous at times.”
The Overseer turned slightly to face the slender figure at Boremac’s left. “Shamshir, how did your blooding go? Were there any complications?”
“Master, I am not yet initiated at this time and will require another mission to complete my indoctrination. I was unable to complete this task for the Hand.” Shamshir dipped her head to stare at the table as she finished speaking.
“No matter, my dear. I fully expected Sgaina to make this one difficult for you to complete, considering her history with the target. The failure is hers, not yours. I am certain a task will present itself soon that will allow you to complete the final requirement of your acceptance into the fold.” The Overseer shifted his eyes to Sgaina before he continued. “You had orders to allow her to eliminate the target. If you cannot follow orders, Sgaina, then your future with us will have to be reevaluated. Do you understand?” Sgaina nodded curtly by way of response, offering no words of apology for killing Rinoba. “You must learn control, dear. You are far too talented to be ruled by these temporary lapses in judgement. I request that you meditate on this for the next few days and we will speak again.”
“Boremac, I welcome you. Your sponsor has said much in your favor. Jun?” The Overseer nodded toward the chair that had been vacant just past Sgaina where Jun now sat. Boremac’s startled movements at Jun’s appearance summoned the man’s uniquely disconcerting giggle and a wink directed at Boremac.
Jun nodded to the Overseer before speaking. “This individual possesses skills not unlike his father’s without the hindrance of conscience that his father suffered. He has already proven more than capable of killing when necessary and more than able to face challengers that greatly exceed his own fighting prowess. No offense meant, Shamshir.”
Jun continued. “He appeared either fearless, or extremely foolish, when facing the Predator, and the boon he received from the Adature’s healing salve has only made him more of a threat to any that face him in combat. I think he was actually holding back in his melee with Shamshir because she is a woman. This could be a problem, but not one that we could not correct.”
“You think he could have killed her?” The Overseer stated the question without inflection or any show of concern for the answer. He appeared to be simply gathering information.
Jun replied without a moment of hesitation. “If Sgaina had not intervened, and if Boremac had been so inclined, she would be dead, but you knew that already.”
The Overseer replied simply, “Indeed.”
Jun added quickly, “Do not think I question Shamshir’s talents because she is not one to underestimate by any means. Sgaina’s training of her has been brutal, even more so than with her previous initiates, and many of her students do not survive, as you well know. Shamshir may even one day rival Sgaina in her effectiveness though the two have such different, hmm, styles.”
“I would agree with you, but that is something to discuss at another time. Do you think Boremac should be trained by Sgaina? It would require that I elevate Shamshir without a sanctioned kill, but that is my right.” Boremac found it interesting that the Overseer was consulting with Jun at all before making a final decision. Boremac thought that he would rather not train with Sgaina if he could possibly avoid it but felt the choice was not really in his hands. The Overseer, and by extension the Black Hand, appeared to own him for the time being.
Jun giggled before replying and everyone assembled shuddered except the Overseer and Jun himself. “She is more than capable and I feel there is nothing more Sgaina can teach her at this point. She should continue to refine her skills, but leaving her to be brutalized by Sgaina would be unnecessarily cruel.”
“Boremac, if you choose to remain with us, Sgaina will become your trainer and guide in our world.” The Overseer stared into him as much as at him, awaiting a reply.
Boremac chose his words carefully. “So… if I choose not to remain, I am free to go? I mean, while breathing and with no permanent damage inflicted on my person, you will let me walk out of here and no one will kill me as I leave?”
Jun answered, neatly cutting off any opportunity the Overseer may have had to address Boremac. “Boremac, you are already dead! If you choose to leave, you will have a new name of your choosing, coin, and passage to another land far from this one and allowed to do some innocuous task, say farming or mining, or the like, until the end of your boring days.”
The Overseer nodded to Jun and explained, “We do not kill those who are not disposed to join us. It would make it terribly difficult to recruit the best if we did. I would rather relocate you with hope that you would reconsider your options and join us at some point, than dispose of you.”
“Th
e Black Hand serves several key purposes in balancing the power in the land. It has since it was first established almost 400 years ago when its founder was responsible for the assassination of a seemingly untouchable tyrant. The assassin became a hero, but he knew the dangers of such elevation by the common people who trusted him and who then wanted to make him into their new leader. Corruption is an inevitable side effect when mortals are given power, and it is always balanced evenly with the amount of power given unless the person in question is exceptional. The founder of the Black Hand may not have been exceptional, but he had foresight and wisdom. The Black Hand was created in secret at the time to monitor the growth of strength in the void left with the death of the tyrant, displacing those by any means necessary who would abuse the trust of the people they ruled.”
“We are not murderers, nor missionaries that kill for coin, and we accept no contract that does not serve the greater good.” Boremac could not restrain the smile that broke his lips as the Overseer continued. If what the man said was true then these assassins were given credit for far more killings than they were due. “We do not always kill our targets. Some just need to be reminded how frail their lives are and how dangerous the world can be in order to set them on the right path again. Do you understand?”
Boremac nodded. That appeared to be all the Overseer required by way of acknowledgement, and he ended the introduction. “Jun, show Boremac around the hold and inform him of our rules and his training schedule. Sgaina, you will begin his weapon training tomorrow. I assume you will make efforts not to kill him right away. Shamshir, report for your first assignment with the clerk. He is aware you are coming and has papers for you to sign. Welcome to the Black Hand.”
Once he finished speaking, the Overseer rose just as oily smoke started drifting down from the grate over his seat. Sgaina and Shamshir were already out the entry door to the room followed closely by Jun, who paused only a moment to urge Boremac to follow him. “Close the door behind you, Boremac!”
The smell of the acrid cloud lapping at Boremac’s heels called to a memory he could not quite grab hold of, but he knew instinctively that the poison would kill him as sure as a blade, perhaps even faster. He closed the door and noted none of the tainted smoke managed to make its way under the door. “Bit of a showman at times but I guess when you are as old as he is, you have to find new ways to amuse yourself on occasion. He still dabbles in the odd job, preferring poisons when he kills, though the Overseer is not to be thought a weak melee artist.” Jun giggled, making Boremac once more shudder at the sound. “The Overseer has to be constantly vigilant, more than the rest of us combined I think, because the only way to become the Overseer is to kill the Overseer. Truthfully though, I think he likes the challenge of his position.”
“What was that anyway and how did he get out of the room?” Boremac asked. He had observed no ready ways of retreating from the enclosed space, and the Overseer was definitely enveloped by the cloud within it before the rest of them made it to the doorway. “You are not going to tell me he is immortal, are you?”
“Immortal? No. That is quite impossible. I can assure you anyone can be killed if you are creative enough. He has a special relationship with poisons. They respect him and he respects them. I believe he could easily make a poison that could kill him. It just is not necessary to make something so potent, at least not yet.” Jun cut off Boremac’s other questions by turning away and wandering deeper into the shadowed halls of the lair. “Come on. It would be unwise to be found wandering around alone here.”
The tour of the place took a while and Boremac wondered as they walked just how much he was not seeing. The Black Hand headquarters had everything from a vast kitchen to huge sparring arenas as well as well-appointed living quarters for all the members of the organization. Any favored weapons or equipment could be requested from the several smiths that worked within, and the tailors who made the place home could make a disguise for any occasion, as well as tailored clothes. Evidently, Boremac mused, blood money paid very well. Jun took the time to relay the few rules of engagement in the haven as they walked.
“There are just a few things to remember, Boremac. You can, and will be, assaulted often in your new home. The older assassins thoroughly enjoy a bit of cat and mouse with the new initiates, though they have standing orders not to kill or maim anyone. Accidents do happen and we lose some every year during training, but our priests here are remarkably good at stitching most back together again. It helps to stay on their good side.” Jun smiled at this little joke and continued. “Your trainer will prove to be both very educational and very dangerous. Sgaina does not deal well with annoyances and she will probably kill you before you are deemed ready for your first blooding, but she is an excellent mistress of all weapons. Most of the initiates challenge her at some point to demonstrate their prowess, ignoring the fact that many of the people in recovery felt the bite of her blades. She is particularly fond of torturing male trainees with brutal dirty fighting techniques, as I believe you already know. Do you know her? You should. The two of you were acquainted long ago and she has been keeping up with you and Rinoba for quite some time.”
Boremac was certain there was something familiar about the little killer that had mistreated him during his capture but could not recall when he had ever seen her before and said as much.
“Ah, a mystery for you to unravel! Good. You two should enjoy getting reacquainted and I will not spoil the surprise for you!” Jun’s words did not give Boremac any real comfort and he decided he should focus on where he was instead of trying to figure out why Sgaina should have any interest in him. Shamshir was another thing altogether. Her face came to him unbidden and he immediately flushed for some reason.
Jasmine replaced the lithe assassin’s image in his mind quickly enough and he felt oddly guilty when he thought of her. The Gang, Mama Bear and even George all rushed into his mind at once. Would they ever see him again? Would they know him if they did? He knew that killing changed a person no matter what the reason and he had to wonder how long it might be before he had lost his own soul. Boremac realized he had been lost in thought when Jun tugged at his sleeve.
“There is a place for contemplation that is the only truly safe place for thoughts that would take you so completely, Boremac. Some of the assassins pray there but it is certainly not a requirement. You are so easy to read to someone who knows you as well as I do. Your companions will see you again when you are ready and have become a full member of our little family. Whether or not they will know you, I cannot say, but you cannot reveal your affiliation with us. Regret will be the last thing you feel before release.” Whether Jun meant the statement as a threat or was simply conveying another rule was unclear, but Boremac did not doubt that the little man was completely serious. Death would be his constant companion, haunting his movements and guiding his hand, as long as he wore the mantle of the Black Hand, and he found that knowledge equally exhilarating and terrifying.
Jun obviously wanted Boremac to consider his words while they continued walking down the stone tunnels. Boremac wondered how long it had taken to create the fortress labyrinth that could only be underground somewhere. No place this large could be on the ground level and go unnoticed, he reasoned. The lack of windows in any of the walls lent credence to this assumption. They finally arrived at their destination, a well-appointed bar that would have rivaled any Boremac knew from his travels, and he was familiar with a great many. The wooden tables and the bar itself was a polished dark wood that was unscarred by patrons or time. One look at the barkeep and Boremac did not have to ask why. He had heard of half giants before but never actually seen one, and he could bet that this fellow was big even among his kind. His hair was black as the deepest night with lines of grey and white struggling to show through in places, and he had a fierce looking eyebrow connected over a nose that appeared to have been swollen by more than a couple of bar fights. His eyes shown reddish black, indicating there was a fire giant father or m
other responsible for him.
The rest of the large room held several tables, some bare and others with various gambling cards or dice neatly set out where there was no one already engaged in a game. Boremac noted that, although assassins surrounded him and initiates like himself, he was not disturbed. The mood of the place was calm for the most part and downright inviting, with a hum of conversation and laughter. He was the only one that appeared startled when a throwing dagger was launched by a patron from the bar and flew across the room, nearly nipping his ear. He stepped back a bit, turning to spot the offending party smiling at him. Shamshir laughed lightly as the dagger she threw at him was returned to her by another patron. Her delicate fingers snatched the dagger from the air at its hilt and replaced it neatly in her belt in one fluid motion. She turned back to the bar and set to the serious business at hand, sipping at what looked to be a dangerous drink in a glass with a bit of fruit slice clinging desperately to the side as if in fear of being devoured. Boremac could understand how it felt as he watched her move.
“…and that brings me neatly to my next point, Boremac.” Jun had seated himself at an empty table nearby and motioned Boremac over to join him. “The assassins and initiates are allowed to socialize at their own risk. It is generally accepted that attacking one another in the bar is bad form, mostly because Grunt has demonstrated dexterity you would not expect from a man his size. He will jump over that bar and break you neatly in half before you can spit if you so much as scratch a table in here. The relationships that spring up on occasion among the Black Hands tend to be either brief or very long lasting. Keep in mind that any one of the women among them could snap your spine, or neck, as was their preference, with their thighs easily. Still men and women do have needs and there is a certain amount of inherent, um, arousal that is generated by facing death constantly.” Boremac nodded briefly to indicate his understanding, never taking his eyes off of Shamshir’s back.