Run Silent Run Deep

It was a dingy room, a bed of straw and burlap sacks tied together in one corner. Walls and ceiling of mud and grass, a floor of rotted wooden planks, the room reeked of a musty odor that indicated a lack of attention to hygiene. The door flew open, slamming against the wall. A young woman stumbled into the center of the room, her arms flailing out to each side as she tried to catch her balance. Tears streamed down her face as she teetered and fell face first to the floor. She slammed hard, a wave of dizziness and a racking pain exploding throughout her face.
Sliding her hands under her shoulders, she uneasily pushed herself to a sitting position, one hand placed against the floor for balance. She flipped her hair away from her eyes, sheer terror evident as she gazed the figure standing easy against the door frame.
The dim torches of the hallway behind him cast an eerie glow, fingers of the light stretching around his large frame. Shadows seemed to beckon to his every move as he pulled two objects from pockets in his tunic.
He placed the first item between his lips, a crooked pipe, the head fashioned as a devilish visage with tiny rubies embedded where the eyes would be. He dragged flint against steel above the bowl, a spark catching the contents on fire. He replaced the flint and steel, cupping the pipe in one hand and drawing a deliberately slow breath. As his lungs were filled, he removed the pipe from his mouth, placing his thumb over the bowl. He let the smoke waft from his lips as he released the breath ever so slowly. When he noticed the girl on the floor frozen in fear, his mouth turned into a thin smile.
The man stalked across the room, smiling a little more as the woman skittered back away from him until she had only the unyielding wall of the room against her back. She sobbed loudly, putting her arms up before her defensively as the man bent down and brought one hand close to her.
“Such a pretty gal,” he teased, stroking her cheek gently with the back of his hand which he curled into a fist.
He pulled his hand back as if meaning to strike her, delighting in the little game as she closed her eyes tight and snapped her face to absorb the coming blow. Instead, he roughly grabbed her by the thick locks of her hair, pulling her face back around, tilting her head back slightly. When she had opened her eyes again, fresh tears streaming from her round orbs, the man smiled and sucked another deliberate and slow breath of the pipe.
When he was content, he let the smoke trail like thin tendrils from his mouth. Before the smoke was completely gone from his mouth, he blew the remaining portion into the girl’s face. He chuckled wickedly as she choked and sputtered.
While she struggled for breath, he leaned in and began kissing her roughly on the lips, pulling her hair all the tighter and shoving his wet tongue deep into her mouth. He fished her tongue into his mouth and clamped his teeth onto it, the girl’s eyes going wide with shock as she screamed and pushed hard against his shoulders.
After a moment, he released her from his clutches, standing to tower over her. He licked his lips, bright red blood dripping from his lips. The girl collapsed to floor, crying loudly, her hands shaking violently as she felt her bitten tongue. Blood dripped from her mouth to mix with her tears as they splashed against the floor.
Tired of the pitiful whore, the man wiped his mouth clean and turned from her, slowly walking out of the room. As he reached the door, he paused, pulling a fresh piece of silver from his belt pouch. He considered the coin in the flickering torch light briefly. He looked over his shoulder and tossed the coin at the whore. With a smile of satisfaction, he placed the pipe back in his mouth and headed back down the hall toward the tavern’s main room.
He seemed to glide down the stairs, his balance perfect with each stride. His dark eyes scanned the room slowly, his mind soaking in the minutest of details. All at once he formed a mental image of the room, noting that none of the patron’s stares met his. None save the lone figure reclining against the wall nearest the entrance of the tavern. He dragged a puff from his pipe, letting the smoke drift between his teeth as he glared at the man in the corner.
With a derisive snort, he turned his attention to the bar where the keep continuously wiped one circle of the bar surface while watching the crowd, but mostly keeping his eyes scanning from one barmaid to the next. It had been a long time since one of his aides was accosted, but the protective keep maintained a strict and professional atmosphere in his tavern. Out of the corner of one eye, he noticed the man with the pipe approaching. He narrowed his eyes, his blood boiling at the approach of the vile man claiming to be a merchant. The keep, trusting his instincts, decided that this “merchant” was more than he seemed. Drawing a steadying breath, the keep blinked and focused his energies on masking his distrust of this man.
“Good day to you, Orvas. I expect that little Suzzie was to your liking?” He curled his lips in a practiced smile, forcing himself to stifle his emotions for the time being.
The man kept his eyes locked on the keep’s, studying the man for a moment before he lowered his pipe from his lips to speak.
“Indeed, good sir. Suzzie was very accommodating.” Orvas let the last word draw out, his words dipping with sarcasm that was not lost on the bartender.
The bartender looked to Orvas’s right hand as he drummed his fingers on the bar. “Did you cut yourself, Orvas?”
He snapped his eyes to meet the man’s gaze, but felt his stomach tighten at the sight of his cold gaze as Orvas read clearly his suspicions. Still, he reminded himself, it was his responsibility to inquire the welfare of his patrons and the fate of his girls. He so called each of the women working in his tavern one of his girls. He took a special interest in each, as they were more akin to daughters to the aged bartender who had lost his own family some years ago.
“Thank you for your concern, dear Tashnik. Would appear that I did indeed cut myself.” Orvas wiped his hand and fingers against a napkin Tashnik handed to him.
Both men stared hard at one another, both silently daring the other to break the stare.
“So, how much longer are you in town, Orvas,” Tashnik started after a tense moment passed.
Orvas smiled wickedly, guessing at why Tashnik was so quick to ask him such a question. Briefly, he imagined one of his gleaming blades sticking out of the bartender’s left ear and his eyes flashed his hunger for such a moment to come to life.
“I still have a few more days before I set out for the city. Until then, I shall enjoy the atmosphere of this establishment. It has been some time since I was met with the hospitality you have showed me, my friend.”
Orvas leaned back a little, crossing his arms across his chest, still holding his pipe in his left hand. He let the fingers of his right hand slide over the catch of a leather strap that concealed the slender hilt of one of his throwing knives. He shifted his eyes from one side to the other, sensing another pair of eyes boring into him at that moment.
Bringing his gaze back to meet Tashnik’s, he noted the man’s weight shift from one foot to the other and then back again in rapid succession. Deftly, Orvas undid the leather strap, concealing the hilt of the knife with his palm. He drew forth the knife slowly, keeping his motions steady so as to not attract any attention to his weapon hand. He cupped the blade and turned the knife so the blade was against the inside of his wrist, and wrapped his fingers around the handle of the blade tightly.
With hardly any effort, Orvas spun to a standing position, planting his legs under him to stare at the man approaching him from the corner table. The sudden movement surprised the man and his feet shuffled quickly under him as he backpeddled. Knowing his cover blown, he dropped to one knee and let fly a tiny dart he had concealed in the palm of his left hand. The man darted for the entrance. He didn’t bother to look back, so sure was he that he would be well away from the tavern before anyone had time to react.
Orvas, with years of service dedicated to the dark crafts of the underworld, expected such an attack of necessity, having seen it many times before with novice assassins he personally trained.
Ducking to avoid the missle, Orvas first launched his pipe toward his assailant’s face. Without waiting for the assassin to move, he let fly his blade. He growled in frustration as the assassin proved fleet of foot and his blade only grazed the man’s trailing cloak as he burst through the door into the city streets.
Orvas sprang from the ground and bounded to the door in one stride. He stopped suddenly at the door, the edges of his vision catching the site behind the bar. He rushed over to the bar and saw Tashnik sprawled on the floor, the tiny dart meant for him lodged into the barkeep’s throat.
Bending to inspect the dart, Orvas crinkled his nose in disgust as he recognized the make of the dart. It was the calling card of a well known band of mercenaries in the underworld. He plucked the dart from Tashnik’s throat, noting the slimy substance pumping from the end of the dart. A glass vial holding more of the yellow substance made up the stem of the dart. As the pasty substance spilled rolled down the dart and dripped onto Orvas’s fingers, he reflexively dropped the dart and began shaking his hand as the substance burned on contact.
Soon, the pain in his fingers was forgotten as Tashnik’s body began to convulse in violent contortions. It was as though someone had stuck a bolt of lighting inside of the bartender, for his frame jerked every way all at once, his back twisting to the point that Orvas could clearly hear the breaking of bones. Tashnik’s mouth opened as though he meant to scream, but instead a bubbling mixture of saliva and blood flowed down his face.
Orvas quickly wiped his hand until he was certain he no longer felt the stinging burn of the dart’s poison. He picked up the dart and placed it inside of a pocket on his tunic. He found his pipe against one wall, the stem and head broken into several jagged pieces.