The Hand

Part 1

Rook watched the men around the camp fire from his place behind the thick brush around the clearing. His company of men had been tracking the fugitives for a week now and Rook felt they finally had them cornered. There was no hope of fleeing at this point. Rook had given the order to have the camp surrounded. The only escape would be death.

He noted the tents and the men on watch around each one. There were five in total. Enough to house thirty men. But he only spotted ten gathered by the fire and another five guarding their respective tents. This seemed odd to him. The other fifteen could have been sleeping but he doubted it. The camp's fire was producing too much smoke. It was almost like a signal. Almost like the fugitives wanted to be found. It had to be a trap, no doubting that. But what could the trap be? He scanned the area. The thick brush around the clearing was perfect for concealment. They could be lying in wait, ready to jump out at attackers. Or they could be dead, and the tents were set up to create an illusion of greater numbers.

The ideas swirled in Rook's mind, threatening his focus. He would wait for the report from his scouts. But they were running out of time. He couldn't hide forever. He had to make a move soon, his men were running out of food and foraging was too time consuming. The force was too small to be able to spare men for that job.

Rook heard a crack behind him. The sound of a boot snapping a twig beneath it. His hand went straight to his war machete. Larger than a dagger but smaller than a short-sword it had a wide single-edged blade perfect for close combat and for clearing away brush. His dirt covered fingers wrapped arount the cold iron hilt wrapped in black leather and gripped it so tight the whites of his knuckles were visible. He carefully exposed the black blade, specially forged so it wouldn't reflect light. Perfect for stealth missions.He breathed deeply, ready to rip it from the sheath hanging on his back. His fingers brushed the cold metal of his carbine also stored in a holster draped over his shoulder. The gun had a long barrel and a flint-lock firing mechanism. Not the most advanced firearm, but it got the job done. Besides, it was his father's and had always proved trustworthy. 

A figure emerged from the depths of the forest. All Rook could make out was the silhouette on this particularly dark night. He pulled the machete from its sheathe silently. No alarm had been sounded yet. The figure whistled, three notes, the exact call of a jay. Rook lowered his blade. It was one of his men. 

"A little jumpy, Sir?" the man whispered, noting Rook's machete.

"You have a report, Tucker?" Rook asked, bluntly. 

Tucker nodded and waved his hand at his side. Two more men emerged from the brush and squatted next to Rook and Tucker. One of the men, Grim, had a big smile on his face. The other, old Flint, was as solemn as one of the Citadel's judges.

"Wondering why there are so few men in the camp?" Tucker paused, awaiting a response from Rook. None came besides a glare that read: Get on with it!

"Well, they were all waiting in the brush around their camp, waiting for us. It was a trap."

"I thought so," Rook said nodding slightly.

"We took care of them, Sir," Tucker said. Grim opened his side back and pulled out fifteen fingers, beaming the whole time. His shaggy brown hair fell in front of dark eyes, weighed down by thick bags. Rook simply nodded. Grim was always a strange one, but he did his job better than most. Rook looked to Flint. The old man seemed as if he had something to say. Rook knew to listen, for the old man barely spoke.

"They were expecting us. We took care of their trap but they still know we are after them. Be wary. The wolf is most dangerous when cornered," Flint said, his ice blue eyes locked with Rook's. Rook nodded.

"All the men are still in their positions along the clearing?" 
"Yessir," Tucker said.

"Alright, stay here and be ready," Rook said as he stood up. The men pulled their carbines from their backs and nodded.

Rook stepped into the clearing and walked straight up to the men by the campfire. The clearing fell silent. Every man was staring at Rook. Many looked afraid. The more foolish ones drew their swords and pistols. 

"Put away yer weapons!" Growled a large man sitting on a log by the fire. He held a flagon of ale in his hand. He stood up and Rook saw that he was bigger than he originally thought.  The giant man had a great round belly to match his broad shoulders. He put down his drink and hefted a battle axe over his shoulder. He walked into Rook's path.

He recognized him as Hender of Far's Watch. The man was from one of the furthest outpost's the Empire possesed and was a distinguished captain in the Imperial Army. It made little sense to Rook why such a man would throw his lot in with the rebels but he discarded the thought, it wasn't relevant to the matter at hand. 

"Hender! You, and all your men are hereby under arrest!" Rook proclaimed, his arms outstreched, to the crowd that had formed behind Hender. A murmur broke out between the dirty and haggard men but the giant man's laughter drowned them out.

"The Hand has no power here, begone, fool!" spittle was forming on Hender's fat lips. The man has lost his mind, Rook thought.

IgnoringHender's laughter Rook continued, "You have two options, you can come quietly and await justice . . . or die."

The man laughed harder. "We are all dead men here you fool. Traitors and deserters we are. Justice means death."

"You will all receive a fair trial! Don't throw away your lives! Come forward, now." Rook looked past the bulk that was Hender and tried to make eye contact with men in the crowd. All looked away, turning their heads to the ground.

After a short while of silence a young man with golden hair walked forward, his head hanging. He dropped the sabre that he was carrying, letting out a harsh clang that shattered the silence, and walked up to Rook. He sent the boy into the forest where his men would take care of him. 

"Is that all? You will all be dealt with, you can't escape this."

The giant man strode right up to Rook and spat in his face. "You and what army?"

As Hender raised his axe to take a swing a bullet flew through his head, spattering the men behind him with a warm red spray. The giant man crumpled to the ground. The crowd began to murmur restlessly. On cue, Rook's men rose from their places in the brush, carbines aimed at the fugitives.

"Drop your weapons, and come peacefully. If you do so, you will not be harmed." Rook said calmly. The crowd grumbled but submitted to Rook's command.