An Emperor's Fury: Most Favored

by Paul Heisel

  "How far back do you want me to go?" Feln asked.

  "Let's start with your parents," Djaa answered.

  "My father was a highly regarded musician in Borgard. That led him to become the Court Musician for Frederick, then the king of Borgard. This was long before I was born."

  "Musician? Did you inherit any of his talents?"

  "No, not a one."

  "What about your mother?"

  "I never knew her. She died giving birth to me."

  "I'm sorry to hear that. So your father raised you?"

  "He did, until he died," Feln said. "My mother was from aristocracy, a little-known but wealthy family in Borgard, a place out in the country. Roan is their name, though they disowned Sari, my mother, when she married my father. I doubt they cared that I was born. In the ten years I lived at the castle, not once did they visit. Or at least that I know of."

  Caleth entered the tent bringing dense breads, hard cheese, and ale, distributing the food to each. He took his place on the floor without saying a word.

  "What do you remember about growing up in the castle?"

  "We played, had chores. Because my father was of marginal importance, I was treated better than others. The other boys and girls had to scrub and clean, I didn't have to do that unless I got in trouble. But having privileges caused conflict, and I was in my share of scuffles when I got older. Normal childhood, I guess. When Frederick died, that's when things changed. I don't remember how old I was when that happened. My memories are mixed up or incomplete."

  "It's understandable," Djaa said. "No one can remember everything that happens to or around them. Did you know the Accord of the Hand had dealings with Frederick?"

  "No, I didn't."

  "He wasn't an ally or an enemy. Neutral. We made sure he took care of our Spirit Brothers in return for respecting this neutrality."

  "I'm sure if Frederick were still alive, we wouldn't be here. Jakks is to blame for this. Had he not taken the throne, things would be different."

  "I have no doubts that you are correct." Djaa sipped his ale and took bite out of a thick piece of dark rye bread. "I have only heard stories about how Jakks came into power. You were there, what do you know about it?"

  "Frederick died as he had been sick for a long time. Rumors were that he was poisoned, but he was careful about that. People used to taste his food to make sure it wasn't poisoned. He died while the eldest, Makison, was out hunting. Messengers went out to bring Makison back, but they found him and his hunting party dead, victims of bandits everyone guessed. So they buried two Borgards, and this allowed Jakks to ascend to the throne. Those protesting the new king, and the people loyal to Makison, began to disappear from the city. When Jakks took over, the people became unhappy."

  "You mentioned a rebellion?" Djaa asked.

  "I know firsthand of it," Feln answered. "My father was one of those unhappy subjects. When I was eight, he began leaving the castle and meeting with dissident groups, organizing a way to overthrow the king. All of the details are not known to me, but it's what killed my father. He was accused of treason and executed. The Knight Captain made me watch them chop off my father's head. That very same day I escaped." Feln took a break, drinking ale from the wooden bowl Caleth had brought. It tasted good. When he looked up, he saw that Djaa was studying him.

  "Caleth says you knew Taawn well, that you developed a friendship with our Spirit Brother?"

  "When my father joined the rebellion, I began sneaking out of the castle to find out what he was doing. I came across Taawn in my travels and we became friends. He had this way of asking questions, but not accusing - if that makes sense. Though he thought an eight year old going out into the city alone was irresponsible and dangerous, he never made me feel like I was doing anything wrong. I used to visit him at the monastery, do odd jobs, fetch things for him. He provided me with a home away from home and a glimpse into monastery life. I think he had hoped I would join his order one day."

  "Our Spirit Brothers are different from us," Djaa said. "But I'm sure you figured that out on your own."

  "Very different," Caleth added.

  "They aren't violent like we are," Feln stated.

  "Is that a criticism?"

  "Fact," Feln said. "I mean no offense by it. The Spirit Brothers are devoted to peace and assisting the unfortunate. We are devoted to our empire and ruling through strength, lawfulness, and discipline."

  "Yet we do good in our cities," Djaa said. "There are few we turn away from an offering of charity. We feed the poor. Unless you are telling me that things are different in Waskhal?"

  "Master, I'm not rendering judgment on the Hand. But I will ask you this, have you spent any time with our Spirit Brothers?"

  "No," Djaa answered. "No more than staying a night when traveling, and I never went to the monastery in Borgard. I've been to others if that comforts you."

  "They were harmless, only bettering Borgard. That makes their slaughter more tragic. It was needless, actions carried out by a crazed man. Madness. I still can't believe Taawn's gone. When my father died, Taawn saved me on the same day by delivering me into Caleth's and Holt's hands. He risked his life helping me escape."

  "I understand your point. Their slaughter will not go unnoticed, their killers will not go unpunished." Djaa sighed. "Let me ask you this, do you still have emotional ties to Borgard?"

  "None."

  "Not even avarice?"

  Feln considered. It had been his home, yet what defined his life was the Accord of the Hand. His only tie back to Borgard, he felt, was Taawn. He had seen Taawn on occasion, however, never in Borgard, only in Waskhal. For a while, they had written letters to each other. Feln searched his feelings and understood what truly was inside. There was anger and a desire for vengeance. The thought of Taawn and his followers being murdered, and the vision of his father being executed sent waves of searing heat through him. Feln looked up. Caleth stared at him and motioned with his fingers, barely perceptible movements. It was their monastery's secret rudimentary language. Truth.

  "Anger?" Djaa asked.

  "Yes," Feln said. "It angers me that Taawn and his monks were murdered. I'm also angry with those who killed my father. And Kragan, the Knight Captain, who made me watch my father die. I have no love for the Borgards or this kingdom we will conquer."

  Djaa considered Feln's words. He drank his ale. "Do you remember the castle?"

  "If I was inside the castle again, I'm sure I would remember it. I'm not sure, though, if anything has changed since I was there."

  "Do you know of any secret entrances or exits?"

  Feln shook his head. He knew where this was going and he should have anticipated it. "Nothing we could use from outside the city."

  Djaa crossed his arms and sat back on his heels. "Did you know that Taawn visited the dungeons under Borgard?"

  "I assumed that he would."

  "He did. He brought comfort to prisoners there. What's more intriguing, is he visited some of them in secret - right under their noses. Feln, what do you remember of the Accord of the Spirit monastery - Taawn's monastery?"

  "It's no more than a church with cloisters," answered Feln. "Old stone buildings connected together in a downtrodden section of Borgard. It's not that far from the castle all things considered. It has a fence, short stone walls, an iron gate. There are sheds and small cottages for the lay people to live."

  "In the cellar there's a table, do you recall seeing it?"

  "No, I don't remember. I'm not sure, maybe I never went down in the cellar."

  "Underneath the table is a trapdoor which leads to a tunnel. Taawn discovered this, and it took the monks a month to dig out the collapsed areas. The tunnel goes from the monastery, underneath the city, and into the dungeons beneath Borgard castle. From what we gather Taawn visited the condemned and brought peace to them." Djaa waved parchment. "He wrote this in a letter to the Grand Master."

  Feln looked at Caleth. His eyes told him everything he needed to know - the
war council had a task in mind for him. Before Djaa or Caleth could continue, Feln brought his hand to his face and rubbed the new stubble. He laughed to himself, thinking he had been trying for a long time to grow a beard, but it just didn't look right so he kept shaving it off. It was too scraggly. "Do you want me to go into the castle?" he asked bluntly.

  "Perhaps. We have a plan in mind, but we haven't decided the extent of it. Our approach to the city will guide us. Or perhaps the Borgards will help us make our decision. All I need to know now is this; are you willing to go into the castle and do what is necessary?"

  "Of course," he answered without hesitation. "As I have said, I have no love for the Borgards."

  "Very well. Go and rest. I have additional matters to discuss with Caleth."

  Feln stood and bowed. He exited the tent into the cooler night air and it hit him all at once. The prospect of going into the castle, alone, made him apprehensive. Although he was confident in his abilities, it would be a challenge to get through the castle undetected. He guessed they wanted him to infiltrate the castle, find Jakks Borgard, and capture or kill him. It was reasonable to expect the Accord of the Hand to ask him to perform this duty. As Feln thought about it, trepidation gathered. Taking in soothing breaths, Feln stretched his legs and walked briskly through the encampment toward his own camp. He entered the shadows and out of habit, maybe preference, he used his chi to conceal himself as he walked. To the untrained eye and the Hand guards, he was invisible.

  There was a presence nearby. Feln felt it. He heard it. It would be like Owori to lurk in the shadows and follow him. They played this game of hide-and-seek often, challenging each other's skill. Yet he was in no mood for games, nor did he want to deal with Owori's smiling face. He needed to be alone, he needed to think. He decided he would give her a challenge; there was no way she would be able to follow him tonight.

  Feln gathered his magic and directed it, masking his path. He veered away from the encampment, bypassing the various Accord of the Hand units. Soon he was in the nearby forest where the darkness completely inundated him. His footfalls slowed as the lighting waned, although the yellowish moon shining above did provide enough light for him to avoid danger. The chi helped him, the magic enhancing his vision and letting him see a faint game trail ahead. When he was satisfied he had made enough progress, he settled behind a pine tree and waited. Now he would have time to think. He was alone.

  Or so he thought. A robed figure came on the path a few seconds later. Feln held his breath and concentrated. He was part of the pine tree, a single needle protruding from a branch. The robed figure came to a halt and looked in his direction, but didn't see him. He concentrated harder and became one with the tree, a drop of sap on the trunk, invisible to the night. With no discernible movements, he positioned himself so he could see his follower better. The figure stood there, penetrating his ruse it seemed. Remaining motionless, he waited, staring at the person. Neither of them moved.

  "Feln." It was Owori. "Feln - are you out there?"

  "Yes," he croaked. "Yes," he repeated, louder.

  "What are you doing? You were supposed to report back to our unit!"

  "I needed to get away for a few minutes. Fresher air. You did a fine job of tracking me."

  "You did a great job of hiding," she said. Owori made it over to him and pushed back the cowl of her robe. Her hair was done up with the purple ribbon and pulled back. Feln thought she had never looked more beautiful to him. Everything came crashing down in his mind, and now, he knew things would never be the same. He finally figured it out. Change, though, was good.

  "I'm sorry," he said.

  "Nothing else to say for yourself?"

  "Nothing."

  Owori crossed her arms. "You're keeping something from me, I know it."

  Feln didn't know what to do. Telling her what they had discussed in the tent was a breach of security, and he trusted her, yet he knew he couldn't say anything. Owori would understand the position he was in. So he did the only thing he could think of for the moment, them being there alone. He reached out and drew Owori close, noting only the slightest resistance until she understood what he was up to. He kissed her and she kissed back with the same tenderness. Moments passed, then Feln broke the embrace. Owori kept her arms around him and pulled him back, nuzzling against his neck.

  "Was that so difficult?" she asked.

  "No," he answered. "It was nice."

  Owori sighed. "Nice? We're going to have to work on your compliments. And I don't like it that you are keeping things from me. I don't care what Caleth or Djaa told you. You can trust me."

  "It isn't a matter of trust, it's a matter of security," he said. "I'll tell you when the time is right, when I'm allowed to."

  "I understand."

  "We'll have time to talk when this war is over, and we'll figure out our future. We just need to get through this war first. I'm worried this war is going to be the end of us. I'm curious though, why didn't you just tell me how you felt?"

  "I was afraid you didn't feel the same way, and it would be awkward since we have to work together so much. Every day I would be reminded that you didn't care for me as I do for you. It would have devastated me."

  "I guess that's a rational fear," he told her. "I do care for you. But I have never seen you afraid of anything."

  "Amusing how that is. We had no fear of ten scouts we found along the road, but we're terrified of revealing our feelings." Owori laughed.

  "We'll figure this out," he said. He kissed her again.

  "We should get back to our unit. I'm sure someone is looking for us."

  "Of course."

  They walked through the forest back toward camp, Feln was comforted by Owori's presence. He did care deeply for this woman he had known half of his short life. They had grown up together, had learned together, and had fought together. Partnerships were not encouraged in the Accord of the Hand, and it was a rare occasion within their society when two monks decided to join, to marry. Usually a monk would take interest in someone outside the monastery, a lay person as they were called, and if true happiness was found in the union, then the partners were allowed to celebrate marriage. Feln felt Owori's gloved hand slip into his, and it was wonderful. Finally he had found the missing piece of his life, Owori, yet now he was going to be asked to do the impossible. He grew nervous as he kept imagining himself alone in the castle, fighting his way to the king. As they approached the edges of the camp, they parted hands and made themselves known to the outermost guards. They walked through the camp until they found their unit from Waskhal. Everyone had bedded down for the night, the eerie quiet blanketing the entire army.

  Feln gave Owori a forlorn look and said goodnight to her, and they separated for the evening. Taking a deep breath, Feln settled in his blankets and closed his eyes. Normally sleep would come quickly, but not tonight. He kept thinking about going into the castle and capturing or killing Jakks. That's what they were going to ask him to do, the impossible.

  Chapter 6 - Invasion

  The next morning Feln departed for the Accord of the Spirit monastery in Borgard, sent ahead of the invading army by the war council to set up a secret camp. Earlier, the goodbyes to Owori had been awkward, their time alone nonexistent and not allowing for the embrace he wanted to share with her. It would have to come later when the war was over. On his mind was surviving this conflict, now he was alone and vulnerable, not sure if he was in a better position than his fellow monks who would command the soldiers and lead the attacks on the fortified walls. He was worried for Owori as well. Neither of them knew what the other was going to be doing, and he hoped she would be safe.

  With a draft horse in tow, Feln made his way down the rut-filled road quicker than normal to get farther ahead of the army. He was dressed as a commoner, his possessions piled upon the draft horse with his Accord of the Hand weapons, supplies, and clothing cleverly hidden within. Later in the day, he came upon a slow moving group of farmers headed toward the city
for protection, and upon further questioning, Feln found out that the group had been trying to stay ahead of the army for some time. He kept to himself and integrated with them so he could get inside Borgard more easily.

  They reached an outlying village that night and the group went door to door, explaining what was happening and convincing the residents who remained that they should take refuge in the massive city or they would be overrun by the Accord of the Hand. Although Feln played along, he wanted to tell the residents they had nothing to fear from the soldiers coming this way. Yes, they would take their farms, homes, and food when they arrived, but they wouldn't harm them in the ways described by the travelers. He remained silent, sticking to the story he had concocted and not offering any hint he knew one thing about the Accord of the Hand. As the homes and businesses were emptied, carts, wagons, and beast of burden were piled full of prized possessions.

  They started out early the next morning to make sure they could reach the outskirts of the walled city before dark, and along the way they encountered another mass of people who were coming into the city for protection. The Borgard militia had been assigned to help with security, while a platoon of soldiers assisted in keeping order, bashing anyone who stepped out of line or looked like they were going to make trouble. Feln made it over the bridge and into the first set of gates, amazed at the number of people who had fled from the countryside into the city just ahead of the army. Luck was on his side, as it was rumored the outermost gate was going to be secured and no additional people let into the city. He imagined the latecomers would set up in the abandoned shanties or try to find an area in the forest that they thought would be safe to hide.

  After getting through the next wall, he made his way toward the castle, intent on getting to the castle walls and backtracking to the monastery so it looked like he was traveling from a different part of the city and not the outside. If he timed it correctly, he would arrive at the Accord of the Spirit monastery as night fell and would enter in the darkness. He expected resistance from whoever had moved into the buildings, yet he was confident he could either scare them away or force them out. When he arrived, the grounds were dark except for a light coming from within the fieldstone walls of the church. The cloisters were devoid of light, that made sense, as the building was designed for sleeping and the absence of locks would have made it the first area plundered. The church had more to offer, plus it was larger in area and was adorned with comforts. He stepped through the gate with the draft horse, leading it to the side of the church to a post where he tied the reins securely. From underneath the piled supplies he took his katana, then he stepped forward and blinked. He thought whoever was here would probably scare easily. If not, they were in for more than they could handle.