by Paul Heisel
"Have you seen anyone else down here?" one of the soldiers asked.
Owori looked at the two soldiers. She smiled. "I think they went downstream," she said slowly as if uncertain. "I'm not sure what they were doing in the river. Washing or something. Why? Do you need them?"
"Blast! We have to get moving!" One soldier walked where Owori was pointing. He disappeared among the horses as he walked to the shallow edge of the river. There was a thud. The horses stamped, but the battle-hardened beasts didn't spook easily. There was a soft splash of a body sliding into the river.
The remaining soldier perked up. "What the devil?" The soldier took one step forward, hand going for his blade when he saw his partner in the river. Feln came from behind, wrapped his arm around the soldier's neck, and held him fast. The hold cut off the circulation to the brain, squeezing the life out of him. The soldier struggled, but couldn't break free of Feln's iron grip. Feln dragged the dead man to the river, pushed him face first into the water, and sent the enemy on his way. Six more to go. If the leader was predictable, and Feln thought for sure he was, all they had to do was wait in the forest for the soldiers to walk into their trap.
#
Feln watched from the trees, his spot hidden from the four Borgard scouts. The leader did as expected and sent all but one into the forest to get the horses and the other soldiers. It probably hadn't occurred to him that his men were disappearing because of the stuttering boy and his hard-negotiating sister. The soldiers appeared anxious heading into the unknown, and they began shouting for their missing brethren and took up their swords defensively. When they passed his position, silently Feln crept behind them, his footfalls but leafy whispers. His clothing wasn't the best for battle, but he would have to manage with it. One would be dead instantly and the other would have little time to defend himself. He picked out the stronger looking one, raised the longsword with two hands, and ran him through the back. He left the sword in the body, plucked the short sword from the dead hand, and blocked a blow with it.
Owori struck in concert from the side, she had blinked and was on top of the soldiers before they knew what was happening. She jabbed one through the neck, slid by him and blocked an attack with her keen curved blade. There was a ring of metal and a cry for help. Owori slashed both blades, sending the soldier to his knees with deadly wounds. Before he could plead for any sort of clemency, he met his end.
Soldiers not trained by the Accord of the Hand lacked knowledge of martial arts, and Feln knew this. Yes, soldiers like these men could brawl, wrestle, or tackle. He and Owori were experts at hand-to-hand combat, and he reflected that their endless training would keep them alive another day. Feln blocked the sword attack and swept the legs, sending the soldier to the forest ground. Despite the lighter and pliable leather armor, he struggled on the ground, rolling to get into a better position. Feln jabbed him with the short blade, wounding him through a seam at the shoulder, then Owori pounced with her twin fangs and the soldier was unmoving.
It was over in a matter of seconds. These soldiers were no match for the Accord of the Hand monks. He and Owori's attacks were too quick and too precise to be defended. The second part of the plan assumed the leader now understood he was being attacked, so they touched warm blood from the dead men and streaked it along their faces and clothing. Both looked like horrors. Once satisfied they were gory enough, they ran toward the road, screaming bloody murder. All they needed was the leader to hesitate for a moment.
#
The distance to the road vanished in seconds, and Feln could feel his heart pumping harder than normal. He began yelling louder as branches whipped past him, screaming of an attack by bandits. Not far away, he could hear Owori doing the same. At once they broke through the forest and were on the uneven road. He could see the leader and remaining soldier were on the defensive, the horses stamping. Feln ran toward the leader. They were confused about what was happening and it would be their undoing.
"Stay back!"
Feln kept coming. He kept hollering, "Bandits!"
"Stay back!"
The leader struck at Feln, but the blow missed the agile monk. The horse twisted around, wrenching left at the leader's command. The leader whirled, swinging his sword wildly and shouting orders to nonexistent members of his patrol, then came curses. He dug his heels into the horse to put distance between him and Feln, but he was too late.
It all seemed slow for Feln. He dodged the predicted attacks. The horse was more challenging to manage, but he slipped past the beast and reached out steel hands. With a single blow of his elbow, he shattered the leader's knee, and with his great strength, pulled him from the saddle. The horse bolted and dragged the leader along the ground, his foot stuck in the stirrup. After twenty yards the leader's foot jostled free and he was left on the road. Feln sprinted over, covering the distance in seconds, and leaped, landing on the prone leader with all his might. Ribs snapped and his lungs collapsed. He struck with his elbow, aimed right at the bridge of the nose. The leader's body went slack. Feln turned to Owori to see if she needed assistance.
The warrior monk had the soldier by the neck, her arm clamped around it. The soldier cursed, snarling while blood spat from his maw. His arms flailed in a futile attempt to thwart the hold. Owori applied pressure, the soldier's face turning red, then a ghastly purple. His eyes rolled into his head. The soldier slumped to the ground, unconscious. With strength that belied her slender frame, Owori spun him over. Sudden movement came from the soldier and he sucked in air, waking. His exhale sprayed blood as he tried to sit up.
"Take a message to your king," Owori said. Feln wasn't sure what Owori was doing, but he trusted her judgment in letting the soldier live.
The soldier tried to talk, but nothing came forth. His mouth trembled as the blood trickled from broken teeth. He tried to strike at her, but Owori guarded the attack by swatting away his hands, then when there was an opening she landed a crushing blow to his face and knocked him senseless. He fell back, smacking the back of his head on the hard compacted dirt of the road. Owori reached out and took his head in her hands. Feln could see that this soldier was terrified.
"Return to Borgard and take with you this message; the Accord of the Hand is coming."
He started mumbling it over and over, as if compelled to repeat the phrase. They bound the soldier and set him atop a horse, then sent him toward Borgard. Quickly, they pulled the dead leader and the other horse from the road, not wanting to explain what was happening to any traveler that happened upon them. They took care of the bodies same as the others by putting them in the Thull River, washed what blood they could off their clothes and bodies, then Owori and Feln took the remaining nine horses and rode toward the oncoming army.
#
It was near the evening when they decided to stop just outside of a quiet village, the conversation surrounding the situation a short one. The fight, cleaning up, caring for the horses, and riding had taken its toll. Both monks were tired, and Feln thought Owori was still angry about something. She didn't mention the clothing or the library or sneaking up behind him, she was silent and pensive the remainder of the day. They found a hidden meadow on the edge of the small village to put the horses, then they walked to the first farmhouse they saw. Farmers and villagers were usually welcoming as long as the travelers carried news, stories, and meant no harm, and tonight was no exception. An older couple invited them to stay for the evening. They enjoyed a decent dinner and had a lengthy conversation about what was happening in Borgard. They spent the night in the barn, sleeping on makeshift beds of hay.
They were up before the dawn and before the farmers woke, left the barn, and continued early in the morning toward the main road with the horses. They were on the road by the time the sun was stretching its rays across the morning sky and warming the countryside. Feln wondered if they would find the army today or later tonight; he wasn't sure how fast the army was moving. With so many soldiers, it was slow going.
Feln had give
n up trying to have a meaningful personal talk with Owori. She was still upset about the clothing for unknown reasons, and he knew if he pushed her too hard, she would explode. She could get angry, and this berserk energy made her a terrifying Accord of the Hand monk. He imagined the last thing a soldier would feel when fighting Owori would be confusion. To see a disarmingly beautiful woman rip your very life away would be…confusing. It was amusing, as he thought men had experienced that from women without the combat.
It concerned him that Borgard knew they were coming and had prepared thoroughly for an invasion. Was it part of an orchestrated maneuver? Had Borgard decided to kill the Spirit Ones to provoke an attack? Is that what they wanted? The Accord of the Hand to attack? But why? What insane person would want the deadliest warriors known to Malurrion to invade their kingdom? It didn't make sense. Five armies, one from each monastery, were headed to Borgard and each soldier and monk was coming to win the war. Not to teach Borgard a lesson, but to conquer them and destroy them if necessary.
By that evening, the tip of the advancing army met Feln and Owori. Scouts directed them to where they should go so they could turn over the captured horses. The massive force had stopped for the night, spreading out amongst the forest, farmland, small villages, and roads in every direction. With their homeland so far away, supplies would be split between what they could obtain from the local farms, foraging, fishing the river, and what they had brought with them in wagon trains. Supplies were so important for the army, and the Accord of the Hand were experts at using every resource they found. Though Borgard wasn't the most distant kingdom they had gone to war with, it would provide a constant challenge to feed the Accord forces. A quick resolution to the conflict was what everyone wanted, yet that wasn't always possible. No one wanted to come all this way to starve.
Feln and Owori traveled through various checkpoints and found their unit, happy to be back amongst other monks from their monastery. Feln cleaned up at the river since it was nearby, washed his commoner clothing, and donned his black fighting clothes. Over the fighting clothes went a traditional robe. He had his weapon now, a katana, strapped securely to his right hip while in camp. The throwing knives and shuriken, throwing stars, lined his legs and arms, snugly fit in proper pouches and loops for easy access. A plate of hot stew was soon in his hands, and he was devouring it, for the moment everything was forgotten except for eating. When he looked up, he saw Owori doing the same. She was eating just as quickly as he, trying to get the food in as fast as she could without choking. He laughed; everything was a competition between them. Owori paused, smiled at him in response to his laugh. It was a genuine smile, one he had seen before, and he thought that she wasn't angry with him any longer. Perhaps now they could have a conversation without it going in a silly, disturbing direction. He felt relieved, amused that his worry over Owori was more frightening than the impending battle.
A monk approached them from behind, the only indication of his approach were his light steps. Feln heard the distinct swish of a robe.
"Well met Caleth," Feln said, not even turning around to see the approaching monk.
"Well met Feln. Owori," responded a deep, confident voice.
"I can tell it's you by the sounds of your steps and your robe," Feln said. He glanced at Owori to see that the smile had disappeared from her face. She frowned and pulled the robe's cowl over her head, as if she were hiding.
"You better know it's me, since you've had ten years to memorize my steps," Caleth said. "We're anxious to hear what you two have seen in Borgard."
"We're ready," Owori said from beneath her cowl, speaking for both of them. Feln stood and put the bowl aside, someone else would gather it and clean it at the river. They grabbed their stacks of parchment.
"Our council tonight is with The Seasons and The Winds. The Grand Master remains in Sabrin with a small force of defenders. You need to know that Djaa has been put in command of the invasion. I don't agree with that appointment, but he does have the most battle experience of all of us. Be mindful of what you say. He doesn't know you and how opinionated both of you can be. He isn't as tolerant as I am, so please be considerate. Follow me."
They walked in the near darkness, passing by small camp after small camp. The army had bedded down for the evening and it was eerie and quiet, no one was talking or visiting. The soldiers were sharpening their spears and swords, monks - leaders of each fighting group - were sharpening their katanas and making sure their soldiers were ready for battle. Feln thought it remarkable that each camp was identical in configuration so an intruder wouldn't be able discern the location of the Accord of the Hand leaders. In his study of warfare, most leaders were either in the direct center of encampments to expedite orders and administration, or they were in the rear for maximum protection from a frontal assault. His guess was the Accord of the Hand leaders would be in an unpredictable spot.
They walked for several minutes in silence toward the middle of the massive encampment, then turned and headed to the front of the army. This evening the leaders were in the front, placed there in the hopes of hiding them from any ambitious enemy scouts or assassins who would guess the back or center. They arrived at a camp that was indistinguishable from the hundreds arranged in the area. Caleth motioned with his hand, instructing Feln and Owori to wait, then he disappeared inside a dark colored tent. From within a lantern flickered, and they could see shadows. Around them three other tents were dark and contained no occupants. The fire in the middle of the camp was low on fuel. The four tents made up a square with the fire in the middle, two other tents were outside of the square and set parallel with the front. In those tents would be soldiers and personal guards for The Seasons and The Winds. Caleth didn't appear promptly, so Feln turned to Owori to explain.
"I spend time at the library searching for information about Pyndira," Feln said, speaking words he had contemplated for several hours. It was an explanation that she already knew, but it would be a way for him to broach the subject. "You know it's a passion of mine."
Owori looked at him, her dark eyes hidden because of her cowl. She made no return comment and made no movement other than the slight tilting of her head. At least he knew that she was listening.
"Everything I've learned, I've transcribed in my journal," he continued. "I really want to go to Sabrin and visit the library there. There are so many books." Feln sighed. "Just so you know, that's why I spend so much time in the library. I like the stories and histories about Pyndira. Wouldn't it be wonderful to go there someday? To figure out the secrets of the magic?"
Owori pulled back her hood, revealing her face. She smiled. He had never seen a smile like that before. It sent wonderful shivers down his spine. Oh no…
Caleth emerged from the tent. He beckoned them inside with his hand.
Owori put her hand on Feln's shoulder and held him back. "On the road, I had hoped you would notice what I was wearing."
"I did notice. I've seen it in books before."
"That's not what I meant."
"Owori…"
She squeezed Feln's shoulder. "We can talk later. Actually, I wanted you to notice me, not the outfit. I see now that I went about it the wrong way."
Feln started to speak, but Caleth was insistent and motioned toward the tent again. Feln followed Owori, lost in thought. His mind was spinning. First he was stunned at Owori's admonition; he was piecing things together. She was interested in being more than friends. He could remember her speaking highly of their friendship. The spectrum of behaviors he had seen from her made sense now. Now he was nervous. It all made sense! How could he be so blind? No wonder she was angry with him!
The assembled group received the two scouts with nods of acknowledgment. The smells of incense and spiced tea intermixed with the tension in the air made for a mysterious atmosphere. An attending monk gave Owori and Feln wooden bowls of tea. Feln could see the leaders of the monasteries, save the Grand Master, gathered at the ends of a square mat - they were referred to
by the seasons - Summer, Autumn, Winter, and Spring. Next to each leader were The Winds, the four next highest in rank. Feln had met each person seated, however, he didn't know any of them well, save Caleth and the Master of the South Wind, TeBroo. Both were from his monastery in Waskhal. They put Feln and Owori at a corner where a map had been unrolled. Both warriors removed their blades and set them next to their knees. Owori brushed by Feln as she settled in. She looked worried. They put their collated notes to the side.
Feln studied the monks seated here, trying to understand Owori's concern. Djaa, the Master of Summer, was sipping a bowl of tea. He was a rock-solid man built for combat, and had been a prominent leader within the Accord of the Hand for at least two decades. His head was closely shaven, which contrasted his thick, black goatee flecked with gray. Feln knew Djaa to be strong-willed and a respected leader, yet he wasn't a friend of his master, Caleth. Next to him was Gargam, a hulking man who dwarfed everyone in the tent. He was a head taller than the lanky Caleth and had broad shoulders, and underneath the Master of the East Wind's robes were corded muscles. Gargam was well-known amongst the Accord of the Hand - he was the Grand Champion - the best fighter they had. The last five tournaments he had won decidedly, undefeated in countless bouts. The only thing that surpassed his mastery of weapons was his martial art skills. You didn't want to let Gargam get you on the ground either, as he was like a snake and would constrict the life out of you.
To the right of Djaa and Gargam were Kara, Master of Spring, and Tehari, Master of the West Wind. Kara sat tall, her dark brown eyes scanning the mat. Her eyes met Feln's and she held his gaze for a moment too long. She smiled at him. Feln held his breath and sighed relief when Kara finally looked away. It had been many months ago when he and Kara had first met, and they had spent an afternoon going over his research into Pyndira. Of all the people he had encountered within the Accord of the Hand, Kara had expressed the most interest in Pyndira. It was hard for him to set aside the intellectual curiosity about the knowledge she seemed to have. She was an attractive woman as well, and he had the feeling that she had an interest in him. Feln studied Kara again, noting the detailed green snake tattoo that writhed along her arm, lending more mystery to the Master of Spring. The green snake was so detailed and vibrant that it looked real, as if a master artist had just painted it and the paint wasn't dry yet. There was no mystery, though, to her abilities. Kara, simply, was one of the deadliest monks in the Accord of the Hand. She was ambitious too, and there was no secret she wanted to become the Grand Master one day. This made her a political animal, far more dangerous than the other Seasons in his view. Seated close to Kara was Tehari, Master of the West Wind. Feln didn't know him well. A solid fighter, Tehari did well at their competitions and was one of the best archers Feln had ever seen. There was nothing remarkable about his strength, size, or looks. Tehari seemed to be ordinary - brown eyes, clean shaven, dark closely cropped hair; a good second in command by anyone's account. Loyal to Kara to the end it was said.