An Emperor's Fury: Most Favored

by Paul Heisel

  The tall grasses swayed as he moved through them, crouching now, and he made his way to the bridge. It smelled dry. He thought it hadn't rained in weeks and the grass would propagate fire easily. It was another hazard to consider when the army approached. Guards were patrolling on top of the bridge and he took care to remain hidden using angles and the high tufts of grass. It would have been an opportune time for a distraction from the shanties, but he had no such luck. The poorest of the Borgard poor were determined to be quiet tonight. Even their modest fires burned low. He timed his approach, sprinted, dropped down the bank, slid, and leaped to the bridge substructure. Lighting here was adequate, but across the bridge was another matter - it was dark. He traveled along the wood chords, his footfalls measured carefully as he made his way through the supports, the river dozens of feet below masked any noise he did make. Feln saw movement on the edge of his vision, and he became still, leaning against a vertical member to hide. Taking no chances, he called forth his chi and concealed himself as he had done before. He was now part of the bridge, a timber suspended over the rushing water. His sharp eyes scanned the beams, chords, and supports. Had a guard wandered below to check the bridge? Was it an animal? Or a large bird?

  Feln scanned from right to left, looked up and down at each support trying to find anything out of place. He saw nothing, then there was movement. The motion was purposeful, and without it, the person would have remained invisible to him. It was another Accord of the Hand monk, his partner - no other explanation was reasonable. Feln relaxed and released his chi, becoming visible again. He could see his counterpart moving along the same supports, but on the opposite side. They were working independently, the timing of their arrival staggered by a half day so they wouldn't be seen together on the way into the city or on the way out. Feln didn't think they would encounter each other, and he would get an earful from Owori because he was leaving the city earlier than he was supposed to. There were times when you have to go with your instincts, and his instincts had told him to leave the city immediately.

  Feln motioned to Owori with his hand, telling her to keep moving and not to stop. She responded in kind, traveling along the supports far quicker than Feln. He could see her now, traversing the beams, clinging here, climbing there, jumping lightly from place to place as if she were on solid ground. Owori was dressed as he was, in dark common clothing, except she had taken a black scarf and had wrapped around her head, concealing everything except for her eyes. He made it to the other side of the bridge and to the dirt. Feln was supposed to go one way, while Owori was going to travel along the riverbank. Neither strayed from the plan, and they would meet deep in the forest once they were distant from the guard outpost, farms, and shanties. Five minutes after Owori departed, Feln made his way up the bank, loose dirt pushing away from his shoes. He went up into the dry grass, kept low, gazing at the outpost before him. It was a long, barricaded, one story wood building with two squat towers just twenty feet tall, surrounded by short wooden fences. Though useful, Feln thought the outpost was improperly designed. It was out of place for this open terrain, only defendable if crammed with heavily armored men. He guessed it had served as a trading post in the past, a place to get goods before venturing into the markets of Borgard. The construction of the wood towers was different from the main structure, it was clear to him those had been added at a later point in time. He could see activity, men patrolling and gazing out across the horizon from the towers. It was necessary to use his magic once again. The tall grasses swayed to either side of him as he picked his way through the terrain, and he kept low despite using his magic. He increased his pace as he circumvented the structure, running now that a gust of wind was driving dry dirt against the barricades and walls. In no time he was clear of their line of sight, dropped his chi, and moved on. After an hour of travel he stopped to rest before he entered the wooded area of the forest. Massive pine trees rose in great stands, bringing with it a refreshing scent. The noise of animals scampering away from the human intrusion was the only indication of his presence. To be safe, he remained still and stayed there for several minutes. It was quiet. After he was satisfied no one was there or behind him, he continued into the trees.

  The trees enveloped him and there wasn't enough light for him to see properly. He walked for another hour, small white ribbons that were tied to branches guided him along game trails and through thickets. It was slow going, but he couldn't rush and become lost, as he would never hear the end of it from Owori. Feln found the end, two white ribbons at a wayward pine, and slipped underneath the boughs, noting a presence as he entered. Owori was there, he knew it, but he couldn't see her.

  "Took you long enough," Owori said.

  Feln glanced in the direction of the voice, but he didn't see Owori. All he saw was a glowing coal that Owori must have lit. Their stashed supplies; packs, clothing, weapons, and traveling rations were there. He knew she was using her chi to blend with her surroundings, but this was different. Using his own magic, he concentrated, trying to find where she was hiding. In the small space she was still invisible to him. He listened carefully for her breathing, yet he heard nothing except for the breeze pushing on the pine branches.

  She appeared and let out her held breath.

  "Well done," Feln said. He sat down across from her, kicking back on his heels. "I'd like to see you try that in daylight with the same result. Not this low light."

  "I have, and it works. I don't need to have cover any longer. I can do this out in the open."

  "Can you teach me?"

  "Of course. It's a variation on what we do now, I've just learned how to channel my magic with more intensity." Owori dropped to her knees and kneeled back, stretching. She unwrapped her scarf, revealing her face. "I call it blinking. I blink and I'm gone. What do you think?"

  "Interesting term. I like it."

  "You left Borgard early?" Owori said, the inflection of her voice deeming it a question.

  "I ran into militia after curfew and decided it was time to go, while it was dark. They are going to lock the city tight soon and it was easier to leave tonight. I just had this feeling that I needed to leave."

  "Understand," she said. "Any good food to report?"

  He chuckled. The first thing they always talked about was the food. "A few places. What about you?"

  "There was this place that had good soup," she said, rocking back on her heels. "I went there twice. Fresh fish from the market wasn't bad either. The river looks relatively clean."

  "The best thing I had was a meat pie. It was like a thick stew, baked in bread crust. Quite inventive. I was told by the proprietor that he used to be a mess sergeant and he made these pies for his soldiers because there were portable and you didn't need bowls or utensils. Clever if you ask me. Vegetables, thick gravy, meat and bread - what could be better than that?"

  "Did anyone recognize you?" she asked.

  "No, not really, I think one woman thought I was my father - I kept walking before she could decide to ask me a question. I avoided the places that would remember my father or me for that matter."

  "Did you feel uncomfortable?"

  "No way to avoid that," he said. "It was always on my mind that I lived here for half of my life. Caleth must have thought the risk of being recognized outweighed my knowledge of the city. To be truthful, I don't remember too much of the city, so I got lost a few times. The castle, that's another matter. I remember it vividly. I didn't get too close to the castle, though."

  Owori took a needed deep breath. Feln could see that she was thinking.

  "Well if you want to talk about it, I'm here. I know this must be difficult for you."

  "Thanks," he replied.

  "I found the people are scared. They know war is upon them. Fear is in every corner."

  "My assessment as well." From within his small leather bag he brought out a stack of parchments that were folded and bound up with string. "More than a few notations hidden in here."

  "Should we bu
ild a bigger fire?" she asked. "Even with the coals I can't see a thing." Owori brought forth a similar stack of papers and inched towards him.

  "No, it's too risky, even this deep in the woods, plus I'm tired. We can discuss at first light and we can go over our notes. You can douse the coals. Let's get some sleep. This might be the last time we get a good night's rest before rejoin the army."

  #

  The next morning a chill welcomed them and was a reprieve from the summer heat, and the two monks walked through the forest until they came upon the main road along the river. Once outside of the forested area, the sun warmed them. Feln and Owori were the elite fighters of their monastery, both trained experts in stealth and combat. They served as advance scouts when the Accord of the Hand needed information about an area, and this made them unique because often times they were not only assisting their monastery, but the Accord of the Hand collectively. The monasteries, though part of the vast Accord of the Hand Empire, operated independently but under the direction of the Grand Master situated in the Sabrin monastery. When the monasteries worked together it meant one thing; conflict.

  They were best friends, having known each other since they were ten years old - both had been wards of the Waskhal monastery, both without living parents. Their adolescent days had been filled with structure, instruction, training, and discipline. Educated in reading and writing, like all the monks, they had become the best the Accord of the Hand had to offer. What distinguished them from the others was their secret use of magic, chi it was called, to vanish from sight. Newly found, these talents were being explored. Magic was rare enough that it marked them as special. In time, Feln figured, everyone within the Accord of the Hand would learn their secret. He didn't know what that would mean for their futures.

  Feln glanced at Owori, wondering how she could term her traveling clothes as normal. He was wearing his garments from their incursion into Borgard, still filthy and dirty from days of lurking in the city, and he was certain he didn't smell good. He was wearing light brown pants and a brown shirt, and had a tan leather vest with several open pockets which was similar to what many of the Borgard commoners wore. He carried a nicked longsword and a series of old knives for weapons, leaving his prized katana with the advancing army. An enemy could recognize the Accord of the Hand by their weapons or fighting styles, so it was safer to leave the rare blade with his unit and use this inferior steel. Besides, a longsword was a common weapon used everywhere and would garner no special attention. A small pack completed the ensemble. His wide brimmed hat, left behind in the city, was probably on someone else's head by now.

  Owori, on the other hand, was dressed rather…interesting in his opinion, and for unknown reasons the style was familiar to him. Her black outfit looked like it had been split in half along the sides, taken in a few inches, and stitched together with several black cords, leaving a strip of skin exposed from ankle to hip to underarm on both sides. She had tied purple ribbons to her wrists and had tied one into her black hair to keep it gathered and under control. Thin black leather gloves covered her hands - Feln knew those were to hide her unfinished tattoos, and were not a statement on fashion. At her side were two short blades, slightly curved and keen. They were called khukuris, deadly in her hands, and these blades Owori refused to part with no matter what they were doing. They were common weapons, certainly not as obvious as the katanas the elite warriors of the Accord of the Hand carried, so he wasn't worried about a passerby figuring they were part of the Accord of the Hand. The only thing that did look common about Owori was her small pack. Feln admired her, thinking she had to be the most incredible woman he had ever met. No one could have a better friend than Owori. She was fiercely loyal, capable, smart, witty, and had a brutal sense of humor that he had been a victim of numerous times. They were equals in all aspects of their life, except he was physically stronger than her. Everything else, equal, or that's what he told himself. He was sure Owori was probably smarter and faster than he, but he would never admit it. With a keen eye he looked at her again, and the outfit registered. He had seen it before in a book!

  "Now I got it!" he exclaimed.

  "Got what?" Owori asked as she sauntered along the road slightly ahead of him.

  "I've seen drawings of people dressed as you are," Feln said. "That's a style from Pyndira. No wonder it looked familiar to me!"

  Owori shot a glance over her shoulder, her eyes narrowed and she scowled in a tone he was all too familiar with. "You spend too much time in the library."

  The acidic tone took Feln by surprise. "I don't understand. I…"

  Owori shook her head and walked faster.

  Feln watched her increase the distance between them, purple ribbons bouncing as she moved ahead at a not-normal walking pace. He wasn't sure why her mood had changed so suddenly. They had been friends for so long and he knew Owori well, though he couldn't figure why she was so moody. Was she upset about something and didn't want to discuss it? In the past weeks, her behavior had been erratic, and he couldn't explain it. This was nonsense! They were best friends! They could talk about anything! Why was she being so difficult? He clamped his mouth shut, gnashed his teeth, and clenched his fists. This isn't what they needed now, an irrational argument about her clothing or whatever was on her mind. They needed to get back to the advancing army, report their findings, and prepare for an invasion of Borgard. They were in danger. To make matters worse, this was the first time he and Owori had gone to war - yes they had fought in skirmishes and border disputes, but nothing as large as this invasion, nothing as important or frightening as a war. The last full scale war they had been too young to participate. This war, and the prospect of death, frightened him.

  He watched her turn into the forest to their left, disappearing from view. Feln knew she would circle their position, jog or run, and come up behind to make sure no one was following them on purpose. Travelers would be on the road today, he was sure of it, and his hope was that others would see them as simple travelers, nothing more, nothing less. It was just as well that she had left, as he needed time to think. He had to get Owori's strange behavior off his mind. If she were here, they would probably start arguing - it wouldn't matter what he wanted to talk about, Owori would plow right through his deliberate logical points and get in the last word. Weeks ago they had argued about buying food at the market. They were having a nice walk around Waskhal when she decided to spend an hour trying to pick out the perfect foods for their lunch. It was just food, nothing special - not a special occasion like a birthday - but it took her forever. Then she was upset when he told her to get on with it and buy the damn food. It wasn't like they were having lunch with the Grand Master! He looked behind him down the road, seeing if Owori had returned. She hadn't. Feln kept walking, staying to the side in case he needed to hide in the forest and take cover. There were deep ruts in the road hardened by the summer sun, a potential danger to his ankles. His thoughts wandered, contemplating the war. This invasion was going to be difficult.

  The situation was different from what his superiors had thought. Although he had been briefed, they hadn't told him the entire story; in fact they hadn't told the Accord of the Hand the entire story. Visiting the city made matters clearer, but not crystal as a mountain spring. The Accord of the Hand was marching against Borgard to right a wrong - they were going to war because of the Spirit monks. Not long ago they had received word that the Borgards had taken the Accord of the Spirit monks prisoner. Like all reasonable nations, the Accord of the Hand sent diplomats to secure the release of their brethren, as well as trying to find out why Borgard would do such a thing. The diplomacy failed, that he knew, and it was the reason the army was marching to free the Spirit Ones. What he hadn't been prepared for was this; the Borgards had executed the Spirit Ones, including their leader, Taawn, one by one.

  Murdered.

  All of them.

  To the last man and woman.

  There was no one to rescue.

  No reasonable exp
lanation was at hand for this brutality. Citizens he had talked to didn't understand either, nor could they explain why the Borgards had taken the Spirit Ones captive in the first place, and they didn't know why they were summarily executed. The details of their capture were sketchy, but what he had gathered was the Borgards descended upon the monastery, put everyone in chains, and marched them to the castle. Those who didn't die on the forced march went to the dungeons. Weeks passed, diplomats came and went, then Jakks Borgard, the current ruler, began executing the Spirit Ones. He doubted any of them were alive.

  Taawn was dead.

  Feln's stomach knotted and he felt ill. Taawn had been his savior, a shining example of a good person, a man who cared about people and alleviating their suffering. Even though the events had taken place a distant ten years ago, more than half of his life, Feln remembered it vividly. It was a time, though, he didn't want to remember. It had been the most terrible time of his life when his father had died. Francis Eln Surrey, his father, was executed by Jakks Borgard and he would never forget that dreaded day. Through luck he had evaded Kragan, scaled the wall, and fled to Taawn where Caleth and Holt had escorted him to the Waskhal monastery. Caleth was his master now, head of the monastery in fact, and Holt had died years ago in another conflict. Although he and Holt had their differences, over time, they had developed a deep respect for each other. Caleth remained his friend and confidant, what made it difficult was the perception of their relationship - Caleth was the leader. Politics tend to make best friends subject of rumors and innuendo. Somehow, to other monks, he hadn't earned his place in Waskhal.

  Again he looked behind him, seeking Owori down this long straighter stretch of the road. She wasn't there. Shades! Had something happened to her? He shed his concern for her instantly and kept walking. Owori was capable of handling anything, even if she ran into a Borgard patrol, she would find a way out of it - either by speed, force, or talking her way out of it. There was nothing to worry about, she would arrive soon, and they would continue on the road.