the Leathermines

Back to Chapter 49

 

The hood was on him as he stood there.  He had been taken through large, noisy spaces.  He had been taken through hallways and up and down stairs.  He was certain that the keep and castle was not that big as he had been observing it for over a week.  But they had stopped and he was now in a room, cold and slightly musty through the sack on his head.

The sack was pulled off of him.  It was a room that had only one lantern and no windows.  He glanced around as his eyes adjusted and could tell there were people in the darkness, but not how many.

A female voice came to him from the darkness.  “Hello, quail.”  She stepped into the small amount of light the candle in the lantern was showing.

She pushed back the blue hood from her face and the man was surprised.  There had been several people with the same outfits, different sizes, different shapes.  He had seen who he thought was the King… The old King leave the keep gate with other plainly dressed people around him, the King wearing this same outfit as before him.  It had been easy to follow, though the King was good at going to ground, the colors would show back up and the assassin was able to follow without needing to find a trail.  He had followed, but then was caught.  If only he had been able to slash his throat...

She looked at him.  She turned to one of the men beside her and said, “Strip him.”

He was on his face, his clothing being cut off him until he was down to his skin.  The hands meant business and he thought it felt like it was not the first time this had happened.  He was stood up again and she looked at him, smiling.  There was a wistfulness in her tone as she said, “It is too bad you are here to do harm to me and mine.  You are pretty, aren’t you?”

He tried to look straight ahead, clear his mind and ignore everything.  He had been trained against pain and darkness and small paces and many other tortures that his Masters could come up with.  He just looked ahead.

The woman went to the pile of things that had been put on the altar of death behind him.  The clothing was rags.  The pouch was almost empty.  The belt knife...

An onyx jeweled knife.  The onyx was carved, but shallowly.  She picked up the blade in the sheath, pulling it off the remnants of the belt.  She went and stood in front of him and held it up.

“I hear that this is a very special blade.”  The woman showed the man his own knife.  There was little if any reaction.  “I also hear there is a way to use it that imprints a message on what it is struck on.”  There was a small reaction, but she could have imagined it.

She kept her eyes on him but called over her shoulder, “Ali.  You know the one.”  The door to the chamber opened and closed.  She waited, her head tilted slightly, watching the man before her.  She was silent just looking at him.  It was slightly unnerving.  The strong shadow cast by the one lantern made only part of her face visible.  With her head tilted, there was a look, a glint in the eye that reminded him of one of the Masters right before he...

She heard the footsteps outside and started talking.  “You should have thought well before taking this assignment.  Your Master will still be paid, as your services are not cheap.  But be aware,” The woman held out her empty hand and a similar knife to the one in her other hand was placed there, “You were not the only one.”

His eyes did react and go wide as the two assassins’ knives were in her hand.  He was bound by his code, the honor of the guild.  He would be dead before she got anything out of him.  But she had two of the guild blades in her hand, and one was his.

She put her hand with the knives out and they were taken from her.  She started to unbuckle the leather jerkin.  She was silent and just looking at him.  He stood, trying to look into the darkness, but she kept drawing his eyes back.  She pulled the jerkin off and then held out her arms.  The jerkin was taken from her hand.  It disappeared into the dark without a glance from her.

She walked along the darkness, more of her face showing in the light.  He tried to empty his mind, but the pain he had been expecting, the torture-He was feeling slightly jittery waiting for the torture.  She just looked at him and a slight wave of embarrassment went over him as a thought of his nakedness went through his mind.  But why would he want her to be pleased at how he looked if he knew he was about to die?

She went through his pile of stuff again.  He could hear her looking, but he knew he had nothing, except the knife, that could be traced anywhere.  He panicked for a split second as she paused and a positive sound was made.  Did he forget to leave his message cords?  Were the stones from the road at the Capitol City still in his pouch?  What had she seen?

She came around again to where he could see her.  She had something in her hand and he could not see what it was before her hand went into the darkness and came back empty.  As she turned back, she stretched.  She looked slightly unhappy as her arms went back down from her stretch.

“I am binding.”

Hands from the darkness came and undressed her.  The blue tunic was taken off over her head and her head snapped back to look at him.  Her hair was tied back, a few brown locks having freed themselves, hanging over her shoulders.  There was armor under the tunic, boiled leather that held her breasts in.  She just stood there, her eyes never leaving him, seemingly unblinking as the hands were on her, uncovering her.  The boots were off, the breeches gone.  She was undressed before him and he saw the scars.

She was covered with them.  They hatchmarked her skin, some bright, some fading.  The tan on her skin was not just on her face and hands, it went all the way down, the scars showing on the darkened skin.  There were more scars on her than he had ever seen on any of the fourth or fifth ranked assassins.  She was calm and had her hands on her hips as she continued to look at him.  Her head tilted back up and she had a flash of something in her eye.

She reached and the daggers were back in her hand.  She looked down at them and unsheathed one of them.  The sheath fell to the floor, a hand reaching out and picking it up.  She ran her finger along the sharp edge, making glistening points of blood show on her skin.  She did not react, did not blink.  No, she did react - she briefly smiled.

He tested the ropes again, but knew that they were not just tied, there was someone behind him who would have his head before he went a step.  He watched as this woman finally stepped forward towards him.  He could not believe that a woman was naked in front of him.  And with people in the darkness around.  Watching.  He tried to concentrate on his training.  He was hoping he could do one move before he was dead to at least take her out.

But she stopped.  It was as if she was reading him.  No one could read him.  

She circled and he tried not to follow her with his eyes.  The darkness, the people he knew were in it-he did not know how he would die, but he would.  He would not give them the satisfaction of showing fear before going to the God’s embrace.  He readied himself for the pain, the cold of a blade stuck into his back or going across his throat.

Then he felt her warmth against him.  She had her breasts brushing against his back.  Her breath was warm in the cold room and he could not help the arousal he felt.  He closed his eyes and went through catras that his Masters had taught him, but her fingers were tracing his own scars, lightly and delicately.  The sensation was unexpected and his body responded regardless of the emptiness he tried to achieve.

Her breath was on his shoulder, talking to him.  He tried to ignore it, but the fingers, the breath was arousing him.  “I didn’t get to have fun with the last one.  At least there wasn’t any crying.  I hate it when they cry.  Almost makes me sorry.”

There seemed to be a true apology in that voice, but the playfulness that was implied was also very deadly.  He stared ahead, but could not help the jump he did when she pressed herself into his bound hands.  He could barely feel his hands, but she was there, her front pressed into him, his body reacting and he could not stop the slight tremble that had started up in his stomach.

“Mmmm.  You are a bad boy, aren’t you?”  She pulled away and walked around him, keeping a hand on his arm, one of the knives still in her tanned hand.  “I thought that there was training involved with someone of your caliber.”

She stepped away, the contact being broken.  He found that his eyes had tried to find her and he mentally kicked himself.  He made his eyes stare straight ahead.

She was in front of him again.  The way she walked, she had some sort of top level training.  Gliding, authoritative.  She rounded on him and again, just looked at him.  And looked at him.  And tilted her head.  And looked at him.

He could not take his eyes off of her.  The way she looked at him, so open and just waiting for something.  And her body.  Beneath the scars, there was a youthfulness and a roundness that was more than appealing.  She stood as if she had nothing to hide, had never worn clothes and did not care who saw her.

He had to close his eyes.  The emptiness he had trained for would not come.  It was not a situation that had ever been in his training and the missions he had been on were nothing like this.  He tried to force his manhood to relax, to go down.  It was a weakness that he just could not seem to control.

He opened his eyes and saw her smile.  It was a clear, real smile.  She was truly happy about something and it made him want to make her happy.  He found he was smiling back.

His training took over and he dropped all expression and looked straight ahead.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her face drop.  He tried not to feel it, but when he saw that, he felt...bad.  Like he had disappointed her.  And...he did not want to disappoint her.

She circled around him again.  Her hand was on him, his body thrilling now to the touch.  She again pressed herself into his back.  He felt his head go back slightly before he regained what composure he could.

He heard her start to whisper and this time, he wanted to hear what she said.  “I do not want information from you.  Your predecessor told me...enough.”  She went to the other side and he found he was leaning to hear her as she said, “I don’t want to kill you, either.  There has been too much killing over just a little land.”  There was truth in her voice and perhaps a little sadness.

She stepped around to face him.  Her body was so close that she could have done anything to him with the blade bared in her hands.  But his body was more interested in how close he was to her and the heat she was giving out in the cold room.  The twitch in his stomach became a tremor.

She brushed by him, touching his chest.  His muscles tensed and he tried to relax.  He had gone through the tests of the guild and knew he could stand for hours like this.  But not quite like this.  He heard something and then saw the other sheath tossed to the floor.

She was behind him again.  He could feel the breath on his shoulders, and then it lowered and there was a sigh of a breath over his lower back.  It was right above his hands.  If he could tell where she was, he could grab her...

She ran her fingernails up his back, breaking his thoughts into a million pieces.  His eyes had closed and his body was now shaking from not just the cold, but from the sensations she was causing.  It could have been a knife, but it was her hand.  He tried to calm himself, focus, empty everything from his mind.  He took in a breath and as he was letting it out, he found he was calling out.

“Aaugh Gods!”

She had run her fingernails up his thigh, brushing his manhood.  “I am glad you have a voice.  I was wondering if they had taken your tongue in the Guild.”

He tried to calm himself.  Nothing seemed to work.  His legs were now shaking where she had touched him.  That touch...  Light and delicate and yet it went straight through any of the defenses he had taken years to build.  He had been in her presence less than an hour and he felt his training failing him.

She moved away and knelt.  She put the knives on the floor just inside the line of light.  The shadows made her seem very small.  But, as she stood, she did not need to be big.  She was who she was and the control she had in the others in the dark around him was amazing.  Very little sound, even when the hands appeared.  Even in Ceremony, his Masters never had this control.

She held out her hand and made a signal.  His mind snapped back and he was ready for the punishment, the pain that she was signaling for.  His eyes went forward and he cleared his mind.  He felt the bitterness of the adrenaline running through him without an outlet start at the back of his mouth.  He almost wished that she would kill him and get it over with.

She tilted her head at him.  He knew he had made an expression when a black feather fan had been handed to her.  It was roughly made, but fit her hand with the leather covering the quill tips.  She started to lightly fan herself, even in the cold of the room.  It moved a stray strand of her brown hair in it’s breeze, a look of content on her face.

She just looked at him.  He was shaking as if that fan was a full gale pointed at him.  She moved to face him, her eyes never leaving his face.  The smell of her now was being pushed at him with the gentle wave of the fan.  It was not heavy, but he caught her scent and found he was breathing deeply just to smell her.

She was right in front of him.  The fan lazily going back and forth, as if it were a hot summer day at court.  As if they were at some sort of noble gathering and they were playing the courtly political games.  Was she a noble?  She was not in any of the descriptions of the ones that were known to be on the run.

There were the scars.  No woman would have scars like that and be as comfortable standing there.  Except...  He caught sight of the ribbon that was holding most of her hair up.  It was common grey, but something had flashed as she had fanned herself.  A bell.

His eyes must have gone wide as her smile returned.  He found he could not stand any longer.  The sight of the clapperless bell on the ribbon shocked him.  She was a greyworlder, here in Salam-Dir.  An information gatherer.  The guild that was both higher in the greyworld and below the assassins.  The common information whores would do anything for tidbits, selling and trading the most minor of things over and over.

As his knees hit the floor, the realization that the woman before him was one of the elite information gatherers, the ones that could get information out of the wave of a hand or the blood of your guts froze him.  He knew of those who had been given to ones like her, never to be seen again, but every piece of information they had been given for years was then out for the information gatherer to use as they saw fit.

“Stand him up.”

She turned her back and he could hear a low voice as blue and yellow clad figures came out of the darkness to bring him onto his feet once more.  His legs were shaking and he knew he would not be able to stand for very long.

She turned back, the fan still in hand.  She stepped towards him again.  She had something in her other hand.  Several metal shapes that were lightly clinking together as she moved them around in her hand.  He tried not to look, but he glanced down and his heart dropped.

“Ah, you recognize these.  Good.”  She dropped two of the messenger canisters on the ground at his feet.  “You know you only send these out AFTER the mission is complete.”  She waved the fan at her self again.  Black feathered fan, with a bright green flash in the dim candle light.

His head dropped forward and his breathing started to become ragged.  How many of the birds had gotten through?  Any?  Were the troops coming or had the Salam-Dir household somehow been able to slip the noose, again?  He had known he was alone on this mission, thought he was alone, but with his line of communication having been obviously severed...

He went down on his knees again as she brushed the feathers across his chest and down his stomach.  The sensations had overwhelmed him and his control was gone.  He was trembling even on the floor.

“Stand him up.”

She hadn’t asked any questions.  She had outright told him that she did not want information.  But this form of torture was different than anything he had been shown, and endured.  He was stood up once again and she was looking at him.  Still looking.

Her eyes went down his body and the slight tilt to her head became a coquettish pout.  “It seems your mind is now on other things.”

He looked down and saw that he had gone limp.  It did feel like all of his blood was trying to rush to his feet.  The excitement she had brought up had flowed back down when he had lost his legs.

Again, he felt as though he had disappointed her, and that was a bad thing.  He found he was mumbling, “Sorry.”

The fan went under his chin and she raised his head up.  “I did not quite hear that.”

They were looking into each other’s eyes.  He saw depth in the dark hazel eyes calmly looking at him.  Sadness.  Knowledge.  Heat.  Contentment.  Kay.

“I’m sorry.”  It came out without any bidding.  It had taken the Red Master almost three days to break him in one of his tests.  This woman had done it as if she were having a polite conversation.  She tilted her head and he saw real concern in her face.  And then her hand was on his cheek and she smiled.  His legs gave out on him again and he started sobbing.

She let him kneel there, off balance with his hands behind him, the smooth stone under him sucking out his heat.  He was sobbing and shivering and tears came out and he did not know why.  He could not stop it.  None of the catras would come to mind and all he could think of was the last time he saw his sister.  The eyes were clear hazel and the smile was wide.  The look on her face right before she realized that she was being sold to the brothel.  She had been happy to be in the Capitol City.  He had just given her a treat and she had been happy.  That smile.  This woman’s smile, but not his sister.

He had sold her to get the money to enter the Guild.  It had been suggested by his sponsor, the assassin who had found him in the little village.  His only family.  The sponsor hadn’t even looked in the pouch or counted the money.

That smile.  And then the screaming as the red scarf brothel keeper dragged her away.

He found that he was repeating apologies over and over.  For his sister.  For failing the Guild.  For disappointing this woman.  For taking the commission.

She was next to him.  Her leg was near and he felt something in his hair.  Her fingers were delicately stroking his head.  It was calming and welcome.  He leaned into her hand and then into her leg.  He continued to sob, but he was coming more under control.

As he calmed, she went to her own knees.  She was beside him still and her warmth was good.  She put her hand on his cheek, stroking with the back of her hand.  It was a gentle stroke, reminding him of the glimmers of his mother he still had in the back of his mind.

She was sighing.  A sad sigh.  He turned and looked at her.  He saw one of the knives in her hand, the focus she was looking at.

“You know I have to kill you.  You have seen me and you have failed your mission.”

He nodded and she must have seen that out of the corner of her eye.  She grimaced and turned her face to him.

“Your life is forfeit.  You have known that since joining the Guild.”

He nodded again.  His breathing was better, calmer, but it was not because he was readying himself to attack.  He was ready for her to take his life.  He was empty.

She moved to in back of him.  He could feel her body against his.  Her left arm was around his neck, pulling his head up and showing his throat to all who were in the darkness.  His back was straight and he relaxed against her, the tremors that had weakened him gone.  He felt the cold steel being pressed against his neck and he tensed slightly.  His eyes closed and he thought through a catra of acceptance.

Her voice was in his ear, the closeness of her breath bringing back the shivers.  “Your life is forfeit, but you choose when you die.”

There was a cut at his neck and he could feel blood flowing from the sting, but it was not a fatal wound.

She let him go and he fell to the floor.  All of his energy was gone.  He didn’t even register that his bindings were cut until he was curled around himself.  

He heard her voice.  Her voice.  She was talking to someone, but not him.  Footfalls were around him and then She was kneeling next to him.

“Think.  Make your peace.  I will be back.”

And then darkness.

 

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