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

  Copyright © 2017 Troy S. Reaves

  All rights reserved.

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  DEDICATION

  Uncle Jimmy, you would have loved Boremac so wherever you are and whatever you are doing now, take a bit of time to check this one out. I miss you but I know you are playing Chess and sharing wisdom with someone who needs it .Peace.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  There are so many people that have helped make this, and the other novels written and in my head, possible that it seems silly to single any one out.

  Dian, my editor, best friend, and so much more has to be noted here. There would be so many instances of missing punctuation and misplaced adjectives without her. She has made me more aware so that sometimes she doesn’t have to correct my use of “lie” and “lay” which the people in the News still get wrong.

  Friends and family who told me the poetry I scribed showed promise, um no, helped me understand that there were stories in my mind that wanted to live.

  Strangers that were facinated with the stories I knitted talking about my people, Cajuns. Truth is that we Cajuns need no help to sound off the wall and maybe a little fantastic, it is just the way we live.

  Most of all, the people who didn’t know anything about me at all and decided for whatever reason to try a new story by someone of whom they never heard. Read one more book at random after this one because there are so many interesting stories out there and thanks again for trying one more time with me.

  Prologue

  The rogue did not fear the height from which he stared at the meeting place below him. He had little enough sense, some would have said, to fear much of anything at all. No, he did not fear the height so much as the damage his body would take if his feet and hands were not up to the task he was about to set before them. The night had favored him in his pursuit of his current prey, giving him a cloak of darkness, with heavy clouds blotting out the feeble light of a sliver of moon. Fate was fickle, something it seemed to be often where the rogue was concerned, and with the blessing of the black night came slippery stones coated by the mists of the fog below him. It did not matter. Boremac had no fear. He was a hunter of thieves, no longer one of their number, and he was on the right side of the law. It stood to reason he should be able to bend the laws of nature just a bit in the pursuit of justice.

  “Boremac, vigilant mercenary for hire and righter of wrongs, does the duty the law keepers cannot. Boremac, bounty hunter.” Boremac raised a gloved hand to draw it across his bald pate, grinning at his new found title. “No, wait… Boremac, the elite bounty hunter renowned for his deft hands and deadly skills with the dagger. Will that be too wordy for the bards that sing songs of my victories throughout the lands?” Boremac paused to consider this while his fingertips tugged at his short beard. He leaned farther over the edge of his perch, looking down into the narrow alley below him, hoping to see his quarry arrive. The trap had been easy to set for the target at hand. Boremac knew him well enough that very little preparation had been needed, and even though this would be only his second mission in his newly chosen field, the former thief was not concerned by potential failure. He just did not see how anything could go wrong.

  Any concerns Boremac had were washed away with the start of the gentle drizzle and the arrival of Prince Rinoba. He noted the prince of the local thieves’ guild had not let him down by arriving alone. His two bodyguards walked just behind him, scanning seemingly randomly in their constant effort to detect any threat. Boremac was no fool, and knew the skills of the pair all too well to underestimate them. He was not here for them and would be disposing of them as quickly as possible before addressing Rinoba. Rinoba was the contractual obligation, as was the prize the prince carried. Boremac was glad to have the chance to engage his old friend in the process of accomplishing his task. Rinoba had been instrumental in his leaving the guild in this city that he had called home for so long. He and his bodyguards, all previous sparring partners within Alchendia’s Path so long ago, would be surprised to see him again. They would be shocked to see him alive at all.

  “Well, might as well get this done.” Boremac whispered as the group passed under him, moving slightly ahead of where he crouched. The rogue turned mercenary leapt deftly from his perch on the roof to the window sill one floor down across the alleyway, noiselessly turning as his boot touched, and propelling himself once more to a lower sill on the side of the building where he had started his decent. He lost just a bit of traction as he contacted the second sill in his journey, a mere story over the last that would take him neatly behind the three men, but it was enough to throw him off in his next jump. Boremac felt his feet go wrong even as he left the second sill, and quickly twisted in the air to try and strike the wall gently without losing his momentum for the next pass between the buildings, but it was no use. He thrust his weight well enough to gain the distance to cross the alley, but the angle was wrong, and he fell almost as fast as he flew across the alleyway once more. Any hope of regaining control of the drop was lost as Boremac slammed his back into the stone of the wall and plummeted toward a puddle face first, grace and the air in his lungs rushing from him, cowardly partners in this misadventure. Boremac rose from the puddle with cat-like aplomb, springing lightly to his feet without acknowledging the failure of his descent.

  Rinoba and his bodyguards turned all their attention to the rogue and wasted no time bringing their blades to bear. “Boremac, you should be long dead! Won’t be a moment correcting the failure of fate, Master.” The two guards moved forward as one, quickly closing the distance to the rogue. Boremac only paused long enough to bring a finger to his lips before extending both his arms at once. The slight movement of his wrists and arms brought weighted daggers to his fingertips. There was only the briefest pause with the slightest movement of his well-trained hands before a hilt poked out of the throat of each man, stopping their approach immediately. Each dropped to their knees as they tried to pry the blades from their throats to no avail. Gravity carried them onto their sides, lying finally as if in a state of repose. Rinoba, for his part, had not waited for the guards to fail. He had already turned from the scene and had begun moving rapidly out of the alley. “Why do you flee me, Rinoba? Damn it, if I was here to kill you then you would be dead!” Boremac shook his head in dismay as he began to pursue the thief prince. “Why do they always run?” he grumbled as he stretched his legs and shortened the distance to his prey.

  Rinoba stopped abruptly as if he had considered his pursuer’s words and noted the truth of the statement. He turned suddenly on his heel even as Boremac was about to reach him, forcing the rogue to run into him. Boremac had to admit the man’s strength was well hidden in his narrow frame, as Rinoba pushed him back several steps, stepping back a step as he did so and entering an almost casual fighter’s stance. If it weren’t for the clang of metal striking metal and the sharp pain that traveled across Boremac’s chest as he slid backward, the hunter would not have known he had been stabbed. Boremac took a moment to assess the situation as he moved himself into a defensive position in front of Rinoba. “Well, that is perfect. A new scar no one will see and ruined another perfectly good leather jacket. You could have at least tried something a little different and cut at my neck or somewhere visible. You did manage to catch me with the stop. That was new even if your beginning thrust was completely expected.”

  “I would bow to you if I trusted you with the back of my neck.” Rinoba’s tone was light as he addressed Boremac. “Dispatching my guards so efficiently was impressive, but then you were always good with the throwing daggers. It would
appear you have been practicing since you left us. Two at once is very good, even for you, and especially against moving targets. They should have known better than to come directly at you.”

  “Those two never were the brightest of the bunch. I guess their lack of intelligence was helpful. They weren’t really smart enough to figure out how to take your place.” Boremac was not foolish enough to sheath the dagger he had taken out while chasing Rinoba, but he did lower it a bit. “When all things are considered, I guess I was not much smarter than the two of them once upon a time. You do have a way of bending people to your will when it suits you.”

  “Some just need to be guided. Others need to be eliminated. It is the nature of my position. I will not apologize for excelling. These skills have allowed me to aid the Guild and my father, fulfilling the duties of a person of my station.” Rinoba seemed almost bored as he continued, sheathing the blade that had been bent against Boremac’s hidden bit of armor. “That was a fine blade, Boremac. I hope you will see fit to replace it since you were too rude to be stabbed.”

  Boremac replied by launching another dagger from his free hand. Rinoba caught it before it pierced the center of his face with a quick clap. He deftly shifted one hand upward and the other downward to send the blade spinning into the air. Boremac watched the show, a tight smile tilting one side of his lips up while memories flashed across his mind. “So you remembered. Good to see some things between us have not been tarnished by time.”

  “I remember more than you would imagine, Boremac. The dancing knives tossed between us impressed the wenches and ladies both on many evenings. Did we ever go home alone?” A wolfish grin quirked Rinoba’s lip. “You were a useful student, and a good friend, making putting you out of the city much too easy.” Rinoba frowned with regret as he continued. “That does not mean it brought me pleasure, even though it had to be done. I hope this meeting after so much time does not end as poorly, or worse, than the last.”

  Boremac’s words tightened with his brow as he answered. “Friends we were, Rinoba, and because of that this meeting will go as well as you will allow. Since I have laid low the primary offenders from at your side, we can consider that debt settled. I learned a great deal when I was forced to leave, some good, some less than good, and much I would forget were it possible. Still I learned from all of it.” The shadow left Boremac’s face so quickly it was as if it had never been there, as he stated what had brought him to Rinoba. “One lesson learned all too well is that leaving a woman with power always has consequences, especially if that power is wielded through the hands of her husband. It would appear you made quite a fool of Lord Vinctus and his lovely young bride. I am here on her behalf to reclaim some token you spirited away when you left with her heart. An heirloom gifted to her from her grandmother, I believe? Did you know, or was it just too precious to pass up when you departed?”

  Rinoba smiled with the most honesty Boremac could ever remember gracing the man’s face. “Oh my friend, you have no idea. Let me show it to you, because I can promise there is no way you will be allowed to take it from me for later examination. It is well beyond your capability to truly appreciate. There is also a certain measure of sentimental value attached to it for me. She is quite a prize herself and I wish to keep this small measure of her – at least until her memory fades.” Rinoba slowly drew a golden chain from within his shirt, displaying a gold circlet which held a pearl the size of Boremac’s thumb.

  “It is an amazing piece, but why would you so foolishly risk the anger of one so remarkable for petty theft?” Boremac marveled for only a moment before returning to the business at hand. “Pity I have to return it,” he shrugged.

  “You are mistaken, Boremac. It was a gift from the Lady, and also an indicator it was time for me to leave her, after some time well spent. She was growing much too attached. I knew it would not end well, considering her station and my own.”

  “You were correct, Rinoba. It will not end well for you. That is the only problem with toying with the distractions of wealth. No doubt the Lord Vinctus will have a sizable bounty placed on your hide before long, if he has not already. Rumor has it he is less than forgiving, restraining his wrath so far in deference to the youth of his bride and a wish to keep the whole affair quiet. I would not test the object of your misplaced affection. She would likely turn on you like a pet wolf if she does not have her piece returned.”

  “Wolves are not trained as pets, at least to my knowledge, Boremac.”

  It was Boremac’s turn to bare his teeth in semblance of the creature the men were discussing. “Exactly.”

  Rinoba’s reply would have taken Boremac by surprise if he had not known the prince so well. “Perhaps visiting the lady in question would be to my advantage. I have missed her favors. Such innocence is rarely mixed so well with such powerful desire. You and I could arrange something more beneficial than my having to kill you. Don’t think I would hesitate, Boremac. I doubt you have had the opportunity or trainers I have had in your time away.”

  “The world outside this city has taught me more than you ever did, Rinoba. I promise I will cripple you rather than kill you if I can help it. Draw your dagger and your blood will be shed. We have danced this dance too often for you not to know I can beat you.”

  Rinoba drew and struck quickly, attempting to draw first blood. The long dagger that appeared in his hand gave his thrust solid reach. Boremac took advantage of his opponent’s choice of blade by bringing forth a shorter dagger, almost half the length of Rinoba’s, intent on rapid parrying and closer strikes. The two men circled one another like pit vipers in a deadly contest where one bite could decide the match. Rinoba went for Boremac’s neck with a cross swing that narrowly missed its mark as Boremac bent backward parallel to the wet ground. The acrobatic skills long ago practiced by the pair displayed their usefulness once more as the melee progressed. Both the men and their muscles remembered, and anticipated, what moves would come next.

  Boremac cut across where Rinoba’s ankles were only moments ago as the thief prince launched himself into a forward somersault over Boremac’s horizontal form. Boremac sensed the long dagger’s destination only a split second before it struck home. The dagger tip bit into Boremac’s arm at the shoulder as Rinoba managed to turn and face his head before he could straighten. Boremac just managed to slide from beneath the blade as Rinoba brought his weight to bear at the hilt.

  “That will leave a mark, old friend. Luckily no one will ever see it while you are alive.” The tip of the long dagger hit the ground, unbalancing Rinoba only a moment, and giving Boremac time to rise to his feet. “I always knew this day would come, Boremac, so I purposely left holes in your knowledge of defense. You were always my only real challenge within the guild until you were eliminated. I had to weigh any fight that we might have to my advantage, subtly, of course.”

  “I, of course, was an all too willing pupil so long ago. I trusted you, Rinoba, violating first the rule of thievery and then my own beliefs;’Trust no one.’ A lesson my youth taught me all too well.” Boremac seemed to hesitate, for the first time since the encounter had begun seeming unsure of himself. “The guild was the only home I ever knew, and you were the nearest I had to a friend. I hate to see it come to this end.”

  Rinoba faced Boremac and seemed about to speak just before his eyes jumped to a place just over Boremac’s left shoulder. Boremac cocked his head quizzically to the right and moments later a black hilt capped with a fist was sticking out of Rinoba’s throat. It struck the prince thief with such force that the small projectile caused Rinoba to fall onto his back. His lungs huffed out a final breath even as Boremac drew in a deep breath of his own, spinning to meet Rinoba’s killer.

  Her form fitting leathers gave Boremac a moment’s pause as he turned to meet the attack he assumed was coming. She was readily as tall as he and wore a cloth over her hair and head that shrouded all but her eyes in black. Pale skin seemed to draw in the feeble light of the night, making the figure appear
ghostly and even more deadly. Boremac could not doubt her prowess when he saw the distance she had thrown the blade to strike Rinoba dead in the foggy gloom. He was surprised to note that her hands, gloved in black leather, were empty and held out facing the ground at her waist to either side. She did not need to speak a word to signal her desire clearly, and Boremac sheathed his own blade quickly.

  Boremac examined her, and her garb closely, as she approached. His quick mind put together all he knew of her, the weapon of choice with a black fist capping it’s hilt, the solid black leathers, the gloved hands, the precision of the attack against Rinoba, and even the silence of her approach despite passing through the shallow pools of water; all pointed to one conclusion; one conclusion that only made her ghostly appearance harder to accept because it meant she was more than a spirit. She was part of a legendary organization. An assassin even rogues and killers only dared to whisper might exist, one of the Black Hand.

  Even in the stories whispered in taverns everywhere, The Black Hand was not an organization with whom you wanted to interact. Many unexplained disappearances were credited to the assassins’ guild, and even then with caution. One might overhear – “Yeah that poor Talian got to owing too much to too many and the Hand done snatched him for sure.”, or “That smooth gentleman that was selling those’special’ potions was found up by the river. Sword was gripped tight in his dead hand. It’s the Hand again, I just bet.” Boremac knew there were perfectly reasonable explanations, some he had been at least partially responsible for throughout his life, and had always discarded the tales and rumors as drunken gossip. He could not do that anymore, and Boremac cherished his own scrawny hide too much to do less than whatever the woman now standing before him required.