The Hand

Part 2

Rook watched the glowing fire as he dragged a whetstone along the edge of his machete. They had commandeered the fugitive's camp after taking the survivors prisoner. Why not? It was a perfect place for a campsite and it had already been set up.

Tucker, Flint and Grim sat with other men playing cards. The prisoners were all chained together outside of the tents. Many of Rook's men had already gone to sleep, tired from the long week of tracking the fugitives down.

Shadows danced on Rook's face. He was deep in thought. He had joined the Hand in a time of peace, expecting to be a Lawkeeper. But he quickly turned into a soldier when the rebellion started. Just one man on the council was able to spark it. Charles Dannison. The name tasted bitter in Rook's mouth. He poisoned the minds of the leaders in the furthest cities from the capital, made them believe the Supreme Chancellor was evil. They didn't like being part of the Empire anyways. That's why they moved out so far. But the chance of gaining power always attracts those who are weak, and believe they have little. And ever since the rebellion began two years ago, the Hand has been used to root out rebel cells and assassinate their leaders. The Chancellor used them as a secret service of a sort. Sent out on vital missions that might smear his honour if he used the regular army. Trained to be the most elite fighting force in the Empire they always got the job done. But times had been hard on the Hand for a while now.

Very few recruits trickled in and those who joined were almost always criminals. They had to be trained from square one. It took too much time and effort. They needed real soldiers to boost their ranks. Rook looked at their prisoners. All of them were part of the Empire's army. They still wore their badges, even though they were deserters. They fled the battle at Helm's Ford, when they were under strict orders to hold their ground at all costs. Rook wondered how many knew they were truly deserting when it happened. If the commanding officer just gave the order, how would they know what was happening? Rook took pity on them but still wondered if given the choice, how many would have stood and fought.

"Haha! Pay up boys, the gods have favoured me this night!" Exclaimed Tucker, waving his cards in the air.

"Hmmph," grunted Flint as he played his cards. The look on Tucker's face was priceless. He was a young man, barely nineteen. He didn't exactly join the Hand by choice. He was a bastard, of a politician in the Chancellor's court. If anyone found out the official would lose his post. So he disposed of his dishonour by placing Tucker in the Hand, where no one would find him. He threw down his cards.

"Screw this game! And screw you." He yelled as he stood up. He threw a handful of coins onto the stump they were playing on and stormed away. Flint took his winnings and left the game as well. The old man sat down next to Rook. 

Flint took his pipe out of his coat pocket and began to smoke. He blew smoke rings out over the fire. His silver hair was kept short on top of his head. He had a full beard but it was cut short as well. His ice blue eyes indicated he was once blonde. Flint was the most senior member of Rook's company of men but he never became a captain in his career. Rook wondered if that was by choice. The man must have been at least fifty but the wrinkles around his eyes made him look older. They also hinted at the man's wisdom. He had seen more war than any man rightly should. Before he joined The Hand he was a mercenary, but that's all he ever shared. For what company and where, Rook might never find out. Flint's gaze fell on Rook's machete.

"If you keep sharpening that blade there will be nothing left," He said.

"I know, nervous habit," Rook replied, sheathing the blade.

"What troubles you?"

"This whole mess. We are losing the fight, you know that. The rebels gain more strength each day. And more men desert as they realize which side is less life-threatening. We need more men. We need to get Dannison. He dies, along with the rest of his cronies, they lose organization. Power struggles will erupt without a strong leader to take the reins and the rebellion will fizzle out. With a little bit of pushing from the Empire's soldiers."

"Ha! You should be the head of the Hand, it seems you know more sense then those old bastards in the Grey Keep." Flint laughed but Rook knew his compliment was genuine. Flint wouldn't have said it if he didn't mean it. 

"I assume you have a plan for our guests?" Flint asked, definitely knowing Rook did. 

"Yes, I'm gonna go take care of that now." Rook said as he stood up. He pulled his cloak over his shoulders and fastened it with the emblem of The Hand. An open palm painted black with a golden eye peering out the centre. He strode across the camp and stood in front of the prisoners.

They all stared at him. He saw in their eyes the fear of a trapped animal, lost and afraid. 

"Get up. All of you . . . NOW!" Rook said, all patience gone from his voice.

The prisoners obeyed and got up from their places on the ground. Most hung their heads but a brave few held their chins high. Rook assumed they were officers, trying to put on a brave face for their men. He doubted they felt any courage within though. They were finished. They had nowhere to run. 

"At first light we will make haste for The Capital. There you will receive justice for your crimes. But their is one more option. You can join The Hand, leaving behind all of your past. This includes your dishonourable actions. You will be pardoned and given a chance to redeem yourselves. Keep in mind the Chancellor has a special place in his heart for deserters. None faced with a trial get anything less than a life sentence in the dungeons beneath the Grey Keep. Officers are usually executed. If you value your life and wish to continue living it I highly suggest joining us. Step forward and I will release you from your chains and welcome you as a brother."

At first no one moved. Not a single prisoner had the courage to be the first to join. But then the golden haired boy who had come forward the night before took a step forward. He looked up at Rook hopefully. Rook nodded and unlocked his chains. Then, many others began to come forward, eager to be unbound.

When all the men who wished to join The Hand had come forward only four remained chained. They were too strong in their convictions. True rebels. Rook had no sympathy for them. He lead the new recruits to a tent he had previously set up for them. He told them to sleep, for in the morning they would march. He had a guard posted outside but he doubted they would try anything. 

Rook sat back down beside Flint. The old man nodded approvingly.