by Troy Reaves
Jun roused him from his staring, “What would you like to drink?”
Boremac grinned at him and answered, “Surprise me.”
“You won’t make that mistake twice, Boremac. The last thing you want here is to be surprised.”
41
Bedside Manner
Boremac awoke some time later to a meal, in his estimation, fit for a king. Fine meats, cheeses, fruit and even fresh vegetables were set on a table with a chair beside it. Even napkins and a chilled mug with beads of condensation waited for him. Boremac opted to sit in the chair, thinking if he tried to pull the table to his bedside, he would fail horribly. The chair had its own share of hazards, considering how unbalanced he felt after sharing drinks with Jun. The little man could drink like a fish, and despite Boremac’s best efforts the alcohol was his undoing. He prayed that the mug was filled with clean water, certain his body would revolt if he drank anything else, and he was not disappointed. Someone had put him into bed after changing him into proper bedclothes. It would not have mattered to Boremac who had seen him to bed once the drink took him, but he was curious. Did the Hand have servants that took care of such things? He filed the thought away for later examination and got to the business at hand, eating slowly until he was sure he would keep what he took in.
Boremac was not surprised that just after he had clothed himself and decided to wander through the home of the guild, a knocking that sounded like a smith’s hammer striking his door vibrated the floor beneath his boots. He was surprised by who was torturing his door and his aching skull.
“Sgaina! I did not expect you to come for me so soon and I certainly did not expect you to come for me personally. Do you always take such care with your charges?” Boremac did not bother to hide his snide grin.
“Generally it is considered wise to make your way to the training area before your mentor. I will expect you to be prompt in the future. Irritating me before we begin lessons can result in extremely painful consequences.” The rocks she appeared to be chewing as she spoke seemed to impede her speech somewhat, causing her to speak slowly as her jaw visibly clenched. “My charges generally lose some amount of time in the infirmary, which I allot for in my schedule, and I will not tolerate any other interruptions. Choose your words carefully when you speak to me, Boremac. I will not hesitate to cut out your tongue. It would limit you somewhat in your service to the Hand but sacrifices have to be made at times.” She turned away from him and proceeded down the hallway without another word. Boremac did not bother turning her last words over in his mind and became her shadow immediately. He rather liked his tongue where it was and did not doubt her sincerity.
***
Boremac’s training and introduction to the basic workings of the guild passed quickly. He absorbed, more than learned, the teachings of the assassin tutors over the course of several years. There was a considerable amount of information to learn, more than he would have thought necessary for assassins, and the sessions with Sgaina were both educational and excruciating. Boremac had unnatural speed and awareness, even she admitted he was exceptional, and he still could not keep up with her skill in armed and unarmed combat. His gift was a result of the Ardature poultice, that much he understood, and he was still only beginning to explore the abilities it had unlocked in him, but Sgaina’s grace in battle was that which came from years of focus and practice. He envied her commitment not only to refining her own skills but to the organization she served. Boremac reflected that he had never felt that much a part of anything, even Alchendia’s Path, in all his life. He felt alone for the first time in his short life, really alone, and he did not care for it one bit.
The time Sgaina had promised he would spend in the infirmary under the care of the healers was not wasted with rest and recovery. He studied various scrolls and tomes that detailed the past and present political situations throughout the lands. There were texts committed to tracking various missions that were completed by the Black Hand, and reflecting on the way these assassinations had affected the lands and overall landscape of the dominant powers that were rising or falling. Boremac was fascinated, much as he had been when studying history with George so long ago, at how one death could change the path of so many for generations. He began to understand why the Black Hand was a necessary part of the shadows, neither good nor evil but serving as a balancing mechanism, a finely crafted well-maintained tool that the Overseer used to keep balance. Boremac was only mildly surprised to learn that Alchendia’s Path was not only a recruiting station for the Black Hand but the main source of spies and information gathering. When he ran across this particular information, Rinoba came to the front of his mind. Boremac would have expected that the son and heir to Alchendia’s Path’s seat of power, would have been exempt from assassination. Boremac would have expected that the Hand would have actively, if secretly, discouraged such a contract even being issued. It was some time before the rest of the story became known concerning that particular contract, and no one was more surprised than Boremac that he was to be present at that meeting.
He received a summons from one of the messengers that handled such things while recovering from a particularly brutal session with Sgaina. He was not sure how he had earned her special attentions in this instance, but he thought it had something to do with the fact that he had been distracted by Shamshir during their training, or it may have been what he said upon forgetting he was trying to dodge Sgaina.
“She is something to watch… wouldn’t mind trying to dodge those legs.” Boremac’s statement drew an immediate response from Sgaina. She pummeled him with a flurry of blows that was impressive in both the speed of delivery and their impact. Every part of his body seemed to be struck at once and he could not get out of the way of her fists. He could not even gauge where she was going to strike next. She drove her small, balled hands into him until he prostrated himself in front of her, at which point she took mercy on him, driving a knee into his forehead as she gripped his ears in her hands.
He had awakened in the infirmary with a single candle casting a circle of light near the head of his bed. He was somewhat taken aback to note that he had a visitor.
“You should be wiser of the words you choose with her.” He could only make out the barest of forms just at the edge of the candlelight but he recognized the musical tone of her voice immediately. “She is very… protective… of me, even possessive. She has killed men for less than your offense.”
Boremac mulled this over for a moment before he replied; deciding the direct approach would be wiser than making one of his usual sardonic quips. “So, the two of you are close.” He did not bother to hide his disappointment.
“Not as close as she would prefer. She is more a sister to me than anything more. An older, aggressive, usually angry sister but a sister nonetheless. She is the only one I trust completely here. We have grown close because we have had an understanding concerning the limits of our… friendship… from the beginning. We each respect those limits.” Boremac noted that there was an added weight to the last words she spoke.
“Why are you telling me this, Shamshir?” Boremac hoped the near darkness would hide his furrowed brow as he spoke.
“You interest me. I want you to understand that I do not trust readily and I wish to trust you. I believe we have something in common. We both want to become more familiar with one another. I think you can understand that I would rather not coerce you into treating me with a measure of care, but the fact that Sgaina holds me dear might prove… limiting… for you. I would rather not have you feel restricted, just respectful. Do you understand?” Shamshir may have spoken as if asking a question but Boremac was certain she knew that he understood exactly what she was proposing.
“I understand that if I were to explore the potential of a deeper acquaintance with you, Sgaina would consider my life forfeit. Correct?” Boremac licked his lips with a tongue that was suddenly bereft of saliva.
“Boremac,” the purr in her voice as she replied did
not escape Boremac’s attention. It had quite the opposite effect, in fact, pushing logic to the back of his decision making process. “She considers your life forfeit no matter what you do. Your connection to her past is reason enough for her to kill you. Do you not recognize her? You warned her against Rinoba a long time ago and she has not changed that much, from what she has told me. She has become darker and bitterer over time and the slaying of her former lover has tempered her some, perhaps, but not nearly enough for her to allow you to live. You are an immediate reminder of the ghost of her first love and the damage he did to her.”
Boremac’s mind filled with images of his youth and his previous encounters with Sgaina. The small band of children that Rinoba had led to capture him, the petite visitor that had threatened him while fighting against the truth of her lover’s betrayal, so readily evident to Boremac, that she had refused to acknowledge. He could fill in the time between then and now with details of how that relationship had gone with little effort. Now that he knew who she was, he understood what she had become. She had funneled her pain into fury and used the fire in her belly to forge herself into a keen weapon. A woman betrayed was the most deadly enemy one could have, too unpredictable. Sgaina was completely committed to destroying her past, especially the part of her history concerning Rinoba. Boremac could not begin to understand it but he knew well enough to fear her.
“She and I have an understanding, and she is my dearest friend, as I have said.” The gentle, yet seductive, way Shamshir shaded her words as she continued brought Boremac back to the present. “She will not move against you for now. You disrespected me in her eyes today. That is why you are here now. You would be dead despite the Overseer and Jun’s plans for you if she did not know of my desire to become more acquainted with you.”
“I see. What did you have in mind?” Boremac did not even bother to disguise his anticipation in his question.
“You are in no condition for what I have in mind. I will heal you in ways taught to me by Sgaina after I had suffered her abuses during training. She is gifted in many ways.’One never knows when a mark might get lucky or you might tumble from a roof while performing your duties.’ She was fond of telling me, usually just before she knocked me on my backside by way of example.” Shamshir entered more fully into the circle of light near his bedside, holding a small bowl in her outstretched hands and causing the sheer material of the gown she wore to reveal her naked form beneath. Boremac was fully aware of her now, if not her intentions, and fought a losing battle against his body in showing his appreciation of her. She gave no indication of concern and began to rub him down with the poultice meant to sooth his aching body. The last thing Boremac thought as she passed her hands gently over his bruised form was, “Well, there are worse ways to be condemned to death.”
42
Unnecessarily Mortal
Boremac was pleasantly surprised when one of the resident priests awakened him the next morning. He had expected Sgaina to be waiting at his bedside, ready to stab him to death slowly. His shock at her not being present was almost outweighed by his apparent complete overnight recovery after Sgaina’s beating. Shamshir obviously knew her business when it came to healing. She had not been shy while treating him, allowing herself to take the full measure of him, and had appeared to be testing not only his tolerance for pain but his sensitivity as well. She had restricted her ministrations to that of a healing practitioner, not even hinting at noting the obvious signs of how much he enjoyed her touch, and applying the poultice and gentle massage to his aches in equal measure. The poultice was a marvel, loosening his muscles and relieving his pain, allowing her to rub his flesh in earnest where Sgaina had struck him the most. He examined himself carefully, noticing that where before he had had massive bruising that had been an angry deep purple, now only slight yellowing remained.
“You are a lucky one, Boremac,” the thin priest stated, matter-of-factly, “and a fast healer, it would seem. I have seen larger people face her and take less abuse only to fall dead at her feet. She must like you.”
“It didn’t feel like a show of kindness yesterday, Father.” Boremac sneered at him good-naturedly. “In fact, quite the opposite. If I did not find the thought of death so distasteful, I would have hoped for it when she finished.”
“Still I have not seen the likes of such a rapid recovery ever. Did you do anything special after you retreated?” The priest gazed at Boremac skeptically, seeking more information or, Boremac mused, checking for signs of demonic possession. Boremac thought better of giving the man a reason to call for an exorcist and restrained the evil grin that wanted desperately to spread across his face. “We would always be interested to learn new ways to more effectively aid our charges.”
“Just good bed rest and a tendency to heal fast, I guess. I have been stabbed a couple of times and watched as the blood stopped flowing almost before I could bind the wound properly. I think it may be hereditary but, not knowing much about my parents, I cannot really say.” Boremac’s explanation seemed to satisfy the priest and the man relaxed visibly. Boremac was sure he had seen stranger things and heard stories that were more fantastic while he was in the employ of the Black Hand over the years.
“The Overseer requested your presence if you were fit as soon as you can change clothes. You have appropriate clothing waiting for you in your room and a guide that will take you to the meeting hall where we receive guests.” The priest cradled his pointy chin in his hand, looking Boremac over doubtfully once more. If you want to remain here and rest, he will take no offense and I can send word immediately.”
Boremac sprang out of the bed like a cat that had accidentally jumped onto a hot stove, maintaining a measure of grace as cats always do but with a hint of panic coloring the movement. He was quite sure that the Black Hand had at least one practicing demonologist among their number for those unusual occurrences when a purging was necessary. Boremac had never seen a purging but he had read enough when tutoring with George, and heard more besides, to know that the removal of a demon was quite painful even when there was not one present.
“Well, off you go. It is always good to be prompt when the Overseer wishes to see you.” The priest waved his hands in a dismissive gesture and moved off to tend to more pressing cases as Boremac made his way to his quarters.
***
Boremac changed promptly and followed the young dark skinned man to the meeting place. He was interested to see that this room was unlike the others he had seen in the complex. The large table in the center of the room was well appointed, with uniform candelabrum holding three larger candles, each providing ample light for the attendees and servants who would service the needs of the people present. The vast room itself held numerous finely carved statues and remarkable tapestries, an unexpected display of wealth when compared to the modest appointments throughout the rest of the complex. Boremac had not seen anything like it since the time he spent with Flora and Fauna in the Lord Bartem’s home where he had first met Jun at the meeting that would ultimately bring him here.
The Overseer sat alone on one side of the table facing a man that Boremac recognized immediately. It was the mercenary captain that had been a hero to so many street urchins including him, the man who had given him his most prized possession, the twin daggers that he still wore like a part of his uniform, and who had been his benefactor, helping him find acceptance with Alchedia’s Path. That seemed like it was a lifetime ago. When the man turned to face Boremac, it appeared he had made as much of an impression on the mercenary as the man had made on Boremac himself. He shoved his chair back, scraping the legs across the floor in the process, and twisted up, moving with remarkable speed toward Boremac. If it were not for the disarming grin on the man’s face, Boremac would have felt cause to defend himself as the man took him into a suffocating hug.
The tall broad man let him go, holding Boremac at the end of his reach to inspect him. “An unexpected pleasure to see you again, my young friend! I felt the loss
when Rinoba returned without you after the treasure hunt. You were gifted, according to all the mentors that trained you in our ways. Of course, I understood that your natural abilities were overshadowed by your quick tongue. No one trusts a brazen ass to act responsibly. Yet you are here now. Very interesting.”
“It was a long path that brought me here, one that started with Alchendia’s Path, and you set me on that path. It is good to see a friendly face from Travelflor here, but why have you come? It seems an odd place for a mercenary to take shelter, if you forgive me saying so.” Boremac stared into the man’s face, certain he was missing something obvious but completely at a loss as to what it might be.