by Paul Heisel
The Accord of the Hand Empire stretched to the far ends of Malurrion; if they weren't in direct control of a kingdom, then they had treaties with them. The Accord's primary lands were nestled between two large kingdoms, each of which had smaller, loyal, and subservient lands dotted throughout Malurrion. For the last thirty years, the Accord of the Hand Empire had expanded, either annexing lands through political alliances or taking them by force. The two neighboring kingdoms didn't seem to mind what the Accord of the Hand did, as long as it didn't interfere with matters of state or trade routes. Thus, the Accord of the Hand expansion went south and north, through the wilds and into the smaller kingdoms. The vanquished kingdoms complained, but found no formidable allies to rally to their cause as the two more powerful kingdoms were supportive of the Accord of the Hand's actions. Over the years the Accord of the Hand had grown in size, importance, and power.
At first, Feln didn't understand how the Accord of the Hand could support notions of invasion and subversion of other lands, and to do it right under the noses of their massive neighbors, Kran and Smythe, seemed rather bold. The Accord of the Hand supported peace and harmony to a degree, but were ready for war at all times. Their standing army was an incredible force, and their monks, all trained to be deadly with or without swords, bows, or staves, were the elite warriors. Feln found the dichotomy maddening at times, but he accepted it as the way things were. There were no changes that he could see to that mindset for the foreseeable future. It had become clear to him that the Accord of the Hand was reactionary when it came to matters of war. They offered the lands around them peaceful coexistence and open trade. The Accord of the Hand acted only when provoked. But when provoked, the Accord of the Hand did not hold back.
Both the kingdoms of Kran and Smythe had their major trade routes going through the Accord of the Hand lands, and Feln understood having those trade routes open carried a lot of political weight. If Kran and Smythe didn't honor the trade agreements and the Hand's wishes, the Hand would deny the trade routes. Then Kran and Smythe would have to go around, through treacherous regions or unfriendly kingdoms. Trade would come to a halt. It was a major bargaining chip the Accord of the Hand was not afraid to flaunt.
Despite the Accord of the Hand's clear message to the surrounding lands, many didn't heed it. Small duchies, earldoms, and kingdoms had been absorbed into the Accord of the Hand Empire because of transgressions. It was so simplistic that it boggled Feln's mind. Why would they be so arrogant to test our resolve? Why would Borgard kill the Spirit Ones, a crime so heinous they knew we would want retribution? As Feln recalled, the Accord of the Hand had not gone to a full scale war in five years. A small barony had decided to mine nearby peaks for riches, and they did this against the Accord's wishes. In a matter of weeks, their army had conquered the entire barony and taken control of it. Now the baron was but a figurehead under the Accord's control. Why didn't they learn? Was Jakks Borgard that stupid?
He had been fifteen then, just becoming a man and honing his fighting skills. Soldiers and monks had died during the conflict, men and women he knew. It was a harsh reality, death, and Feln was astonished how he was so accepting of it. There was the irony; death was such a part of their life, the Accord of the Hand way.
Politics. War. Peace. Strife.
It was a strange dynamic the Accord held with other kingdoms, and Feln was eager to understand it one day. They were a warlike people - lethal warriors - whose origins weren't completely known. Many whispered that they were not of this land, that they had come from another place called Pyndira, but that direct history and knowledge had been lost to the ages. What they did know came from precious books, scrolls and tomes, yet it was difficult to sort the facts from the fiction.
He believed, as did others, that settlers from Pyndira came to this land by use of magic to escape tyranny. Long ago, a conflict raged in Pyndira and the oppressed, faced with certain death, fled to Malurrion as their only option. This escape from Pyndira was mentioned in many texts but without sufficient details. Feln figured there was more information about Pyndira out there, he just needed to keep searching. It was true, Owori's astute assessment, he did spend too much time in the library. He was one of few monks who had absorbed much of the Accord history into his veins. The more he had read, though, the more confused he had become about their origins. Pyndira supposedly was a wondrous place, vast with land enough for all, so why would people leave? Why did they have to flee to another world? What would be so terrible to make people flee their homeland? If it was war, why were there no details spoken about it?
One of the more interesting aspects of Pyndira lore was the magic used to travel here. Feln figured he had read everything there was about it. There were written passages about this magical link between Malurrion and Pyndira, a connection it was called. There was a way to travel there and return, but what he had read indicated only a 'select few' could do it. You had to have the 'favor of the empire' or 'be favored' in order to do it. Feln was certain more texts existed at the monastery in Sabrin, where their Grand Master ruled the Accord realm, yet he hadn't received permission to view the Grand Master's prized books. Yet. There would come a time when he would get the opportunity to look at what he wanted, and he would have a better understanding of the relationship between Pyndira and the Accord of the Hand. He already had several theories, and the challenge was finding others who obsessed about Pyndira so they could facilitate discussions, express theories, and share knowledge. Not everyone cared about history, their origins, or these mythical places like he did. As he walked, he practiced the hand movements he had read about. The hand action combined with sufficient magic opened the doorway between the two worlds, and he daydreamed about opening that doorway and traveling to Pyndira. There he would see the people, their cities and great roads, and encounter their wondrous magical beasts. He would study their culture and keep journals and sketch pictures. When he returned, he would teach others about Pyndira and show them how to go there using magic. It was a great fantasy.
Feln took a deep breath, taking in the morning air that was so much fresher here than in the city. There was a feeling of the unfamiliar and he put up his guard. It was a vibration in the ground, and he could feel horses coming toward him along the road. Not a moment later he heard pounding hooves. The ground shook now. A group of soldiers came around the bend, slowing at his presence. There were ten in total trotting toward him. Their colors and banners hailed them as Borgard scouts. Feln's sharp eyes picked out the leader - he had a faded red jackal on his leather breastplate. Already he was forming a plan of attack, and by the time the horses were a hundred feet away, he knew he would have difficulty defeating them with a clumsy longsword. Feln stepped to the side of the road, as it was too late to hide, and he remained still, intending to let them pass by. The cavalry rode forward and slowed to a walk. They weren't just going to pass by. They wanted something. Feln looked at the ground and only looked up when they came to a complete stop.
They carried spears and swords, and the soldiers wore light leather armor meant for horse riding. They were equipped for speed, not combat. The horses had dried mud on their legs - they had traveled along the river at one point in the day, probably to water the horses he guessed. The soldiers looked tired and had dark circles under their eyes, and their bodies were drooping in the saddle. Faring no better were the horses, they were sweaty and foam dripped from their mouths. They had ridden hard and fast, and he was certain they were running from the Accord of the Hand. They were bringing news of the Accord's advance to Borgard, so the army must not be far away.
"You there!" called out the leader in a strained voice. He seemed out of breath. "Bring water from the river for my men!" He tossed a waterskin to the road. Soon, nine others followed. "Be quick about it!"
Feln walked forward and kept his hand free of the longsword. He wanted no misinterpretation of his movements. Deliberate and slow were the safest way to make sure they kept their blades sheathed. He looked at the gro
und, not making eye contact with the soldiers. "Sorry, I can't help you, I must be…be…be on my way," he told them, embellishing the stutter. He had used it effectively in the past as the stutter implied that he had other physical impediments, thus was weaker.
"What do you mean dear brother?" called a confident voice behind him. He wasn't sure how long Owori had been there, but Feln was certain she would remind him that she had crept up to him unnoticed. Damn.
She continued, "Surely we can help these Borgard soldiers. We just came from your wonderful city."
"You should listen to your sister," the leader said. "We will pay you a silver sovereign for your trouble."
"I want to get away from here," Feln said, still gazing at the ground.
"Each," Owori interjected. "One silver each."
"Bah! A single silver sovereign is enough for the work we have asked you to do."
"One each. Our wares were taken by thieves along this road when we were on our way to Borgard. Where are all of the Borgard patrols? The road is no longer safe from thieves and bandits. Explain that to me." Owori put her gloved hand on Feln's shoulder. He continued to look at the ground.
"I don't have the time to explain what's happening."
Feln looked up and turned to Owori. "Let's get out of here, sis."
"We don't have the time to help you," Owori said. "Let's go."
The leader steadied his horse. "Hold on now…"
"There is a village back the way you came and across the river - I'm sure a peasant or farmer there can help you. We're leaving."
The leader glanced at his men, then he looked back at Owori and Feln who were walking away. "One each it is, and I want you to take the horses to the river and let them drink. You'll have to earn that extra silver." The leader dismounted. The soldiers did likewise and dispersed. Half of them rested on the side of the road in the shade while the others collapsed next to trees and closed their eyes. Feln and Owori gathered the waterskins and four horses, then over several trips took all of the horses to the Thull River which was four hundred yards distant through stands of trees. Owori watered the horses and cooled them down by dousing them with water, while Feln went upstream, filled and distributed the waterskins to the men. Feln knew that it was common for travelers to assist the Borgard soldiers, hence the trust, and because it was a royal decree. They were paying them as well, so the soldiers were relaxed. There was a pang of apprehension and he felt anxious because he had left Owori alone.
"Boy, what's your name?" asked the leader.
"Feln," he said, eyes downcast. There was no need for false names or eye contact. His name was a hybrid of his first and middle names, forgettable to most.
"You've done well Feln, thank you. Have the horses been watered?"
Feln nodded toward the forest, indicating the distant river. "My sister is nearly finished with them. She was cooling them off as well."
"Good then. We must be off quickly."
Feln could hear the men groan. If this were the Accord of the Hand, there would be no groans, no complaints. The Accord of the Hand soldiers would have been up and moving by now.
"We haven't had any rest for days," one of the soldiers said as he leaned against a tree with his eyes closed. He looked to be half asleep.
"Do you think the Accord of the Hand is resting?" the leader asked, voice rising in volume. He turned to Feln. "Stay clear of the road and the river. An army marches against Borgard, and you are right in its path. The Accord of the Hand will not be as generous as we have been. They are savages. Who knows what they have already done to the towns and villages along the way."
"We'll be careful." Feln glanced at the resting men who were unaware, unprepared, and unknowing of the danger they were in now. "I wouldn't want to have to use this." He patted the longsword's hilt.
"That blade won't help you," the leader said. "What comes is a great force, hell bent on the destruction of Borgard. Be mindful of that. Stay clear or go back to Borgard and seek safety behind the city walls."
"This is my daddy's blade," he said, forming his inflection carefully so he would sound boyish. Feln pretended the smirks and laughs from the men hurt him. "It served him well." There were more laughs. "Don't l…l…laugh!" Feln counted the men, not sure why he did. Eight. His insides fluttered. Two were missing. The apprehension returned and a strange feeling in his gut made him wary. "I'll be b…b…back with your hor…horses."
The men laughed and imitated his stutter.
"Be quick then," said the leader. "Off with you if you want your silver!"
Feln moved off the road toward the river, certain those eight had just underestimated what he could do with a blade and his bare hands. The trail he was on meandered toward the river, and he didn't see Owori coming back. It worried him and he considered running, then stayed his thoughts and feet. How many guilty people had been caught by running? How better to announce to the world that not all is right? No, he would walk the quarter mile to the river and be ready for anything. Intuition told him this situation was going to get out of hand, and the Borgard patrol would never make it back to their soon to be conquered home.
#
"You've tended horses before," said the soldier, signaling his arrival to Owori with his hand. He tramped over rocks and grass, coming closer to the river's flat edge. The man was lean and taut, his light leather armor was tattered in several places. His scabbard slapped against his legs as he navigated the uneven ground, leather boots squeaking on the wet riverbank. His hair was long and stringy, filthy because of their long days on patrol. Face wasn't better, scruffy and dirty.
"I've had occasion for such work," she replied, trying to sound formal. She noted his relaxed manner and his lingering smile, figured he wasn't prepared for her. In that moment, she decided the patrol would never make it back to Borgard. Now it was a matter of communicating that to Feln. She looked at him again. Blades wouldn't be necessary with this one. "Which horse is yours?"
"The big black, gray ears," he replied. "Cinder."
Owori slipped through the group of warhorses and led Cinder from the water. She patted the horse's head and smoothed her mane. "She's a good horse. But she's tired. Running her like this will be her end. You have to let her rest."
"We've been riding for days. Soon we'll reach Borgard. I'm looking forward to having time off from the road. If you want, you can come with me to Borgard. You'll be safe there. You know, an army is coming this way. They aren't going to leave a pretty girl like you alone. The Accord of the Hand soldiers are savages."
Owori nodded and handed the reins to the soldier. She could sense that he was studying her and deciding what he was going to do, watching her body with lecherous eyes and awaiting her answer. The river gurgled and the horses made swishing noises with their tails, combating the flies. It was still and quiet until the horses moved in the water. As he took the reins of his horse and moved toward the saddle, she heard movement behind her. With one energetic motion, Owori wheeled around. Her twin khukuris came out of their sheaths silently, the metal flashed in the sunlight, her ribbons made faint sounds as they swooshed through the air.
The soldier's dagger dropped from his hand, the tendons of his arm cut to the bone. His free hand reached toward his chest. The movement stopped at his neck, where his hand found warm blood flowing. He crumpled to the ground with a thud. Owori sheathed her blades, grabbed Cinder by the neck, and swung around the big black. She kicked the other soldier before he could bring up his arms to defend himself, and he tumbled backwards. He hit the sharp rocks and there was a snapping sound. A surprised look was on his face, frozen in death. She pulled the bodies from the riverbank and deposited them in the river, shoving them into the current to expedite their departure. The dead soldiers floated downstream, picking up speed.
Feln appeared out of the forest, walking with urgency to the riverbank. He came to a stop near the restless horses, patting the closest one. Feln approached and he could smell blood. He scanned the area for trouble. "Two s
oldiers are missing," he whispered to Owori.
Owori pointed to the river.
Feln could see two bodies bobbing downstream. They disappeared around a bend. "What happened?"
"They wanted me to come with them to Borgard," she said flatly. "One pulled a knife and tried to grab me from behind."
The ire shot into Feln. Unabated fury filled him with adrenaline. Why was this making him so angry? "Are you injured?"
"Not even touched. Why couldn't they leave us alone? I would have let these soldiers go to Borgard on fresh horses and with water in their bellies. The news they carry is nothing special or strategic."
"We don't have much choice," Feln said. "With those two missing they will either accuse us and take us with them, or they'll kill us on the spot. Either way, I'd rather do this on our terms."
"You have a plan?" Owori asked. She touched the handles to her blades. "You know what my plan would be."
Feln shook his head. "Rushing in for a good fight? No, not that way. Too blunt and we would waste their laziness. I have a plan."
"A better plan than mine?"
He noted the stern tone. "Let's say a different plan."
#
Feln came from the forest leading two horses at a slow pace. He brought them to a halt near the leader who was barking orders. The talking stopped when Feln arrived. The leader acknowledged Feln with a nod.
"Were two of my men down by the river?"
"No," he answered.
"You two," the leader ordered, "go with him and find them. And bring back all the horses. We've wasted enough time. Go!"
They departed, fading into the forest. Feln walked with the pair, taking the soldiers to the riverbank. The river churned and gurgled, the birds chirped. The trees gave way to the muddy riverbank littered with rocks and trampled grasses. The horses were there, waiting, tails swishing the flies away. Feln could see Owori patting one of the horses and at his signal she moved into a better position.