An Emperor's Fury: Most Favored

by Paul Heisel

  #

  The Accord of the Hand army reached the outskirts of Borgard two days after Feln had entered the city, an extra day behind schedule. They seized the outlying villages, farms, and shanties, took only necessary prisoners, and went about organizing the invasion. A strong force of soldiers attacked the outpost, no one was defending it, and after securing it they brought additional troops forward. Support camps were set up along the river and in the forested hills out of harm's way, while the nearest settlements served as the forefront of their invasion. Thousands of campfires dotted the darkness outside of the massive city, beacons of the impending attack. The Accord of the Hand set a perimeter and used experienced monks to patrol it while the soldiers made ready for war. They spread far and wide, from this point forward nothing was coming out of Borgard or going in. Special units were dispatched to cover the remote and unreachable parts outside the city, their task was to make sure there were no hidden exits or secret areas of ingress or egress that Borgard could use for a sneak attack. Borgard was becoming an island, cut off from the rest of the world. If they needed to, the Accord of the Hand could lay siege for a long time, slowly choking Borgard to death. They had seized enough resources to keep them going for months, and had brought enough emergency supplies to bolster what they had found. There were established supply lines already gathering provisions that would need to be brought to the front. The sunrise burned off the mist in the early morning, clearing the view of the city. It looked massive from where the army was encamped, far bigger than the scribbling on their map. The outer wall looked stout and impenetrable, well-constructed and defensible. The soldiers on the wall looked anxious, the archers prepared. Machines of war were ready as well, and as the morning wore on the tension grew thick.

  Additional patrols went backwards along their path to ensure that no army was coming up behind them, and the forests were searched for hidden units that could harry the army at an inopportune time. The Hand army stayed out of the range of catapults and bows and continued to organize the defenses from a distance. The Accord of the Hand's attack would come in the evening, just as the sun was setting behind the mountains and not blazing into their eyes. It was one of the few positives that had resulted from their first survey of the heavy defenses.

  Djaa sent an emissary to the front gate, thankfully he wasn't attacked and was allowed to parley. A long time passed before anyone came through the gate to greet the solitary monk. The conversation was short. The Accord of the Hand demanded surrender, the Borgard representative told him to go to hell. The monk returned to the army with the answer, one that had been anticipated, and went back to his unit. Djaa gathered the commanders together, reinforcing their instructions and goals. They would launch the attack soon, as there was no reason to delay the inevitable.

  #

  The Accord of the Hand forces approached the city in a quick substantial assault, using speed to their advantage. A hail of arrows and rocks met the onrush, shields became covered with arrows and many charging soldiers fell. The resistance didn't deter the Accord of the Hand, nor did it slow them from reaching their goals. They secured key positions in front of the wall, tall shields protecting the foremost soldiers from the missiles. Pikemen and swordsmen came in waves behind them, with ladders and battering devices rushing forward a few feet behind. They drove for the main gate, losing many in the first attack, those who had fallen were replaced by those that followed. The first hammerings on the gate did nothing, then a weak section splintered. The battering ram continued to slam into the iron shod wood. Oil came from above followed by more arrows, littering the entrance with dead bodies. The Borgard defenders concentrated their attention on the gate, inflicting considerable losses to the advancing army. The Accord of the Hand retreated and fell back to defensible areas. They reorganized for another attack beyond bowshot, harassed now by catapults flinging stones and bundles of hay that had been doused with oil and set aflame. A cheer went up from the Borgard army as the Accord of the Hand retreated farther away. Another cheer went up - they had thrown back the invincible Accord of the Hand.

  #

  It was transpiring just as Djaa had thought it would. Along the breadth of the outermost wall, small units of skillful monks maneuvered amongst the soldiers who were supporting them. The sunlight was fading, twilight coming fast. The feint had Borgard's full attention. The Accord soldiers were acting as if beaten, falling back as ordered at the prescribed time, then retreating beyond catapult range. On the far edges of the wall where no one was paying attention, the monks charged forward in groups of five. Arrows came at them, but few found their mark. The archers called for help, but somehow, they were silenced.

  Before the attack on the gate, scouting monks had determined the weakest spot was where the stone wall met jagged natural rock of the hills Borgard was built on. There were enough ledges, small landings, and horizontal surfaces for the monks to get an advantage. Designated units made for the abutment of rock, keeping as close to the natural cover as possible. Those in the lead leaped, hopped, and climbed. The supporting Hand soldiers, deadly archers, kept the Borgard soldiers on the wall busy and fighting for their lives. Then on top of the wall the soldiers' attention became divided when a monk appeared amongst them. Owori, using her magic, had gone through the open gate during the parley and had remained hidden on the far side of the wall. She disrupted the Borgard soldiers at the critical spot, wounding and killing to make way for the attacking monks coming up the wall. At last the Hand monks breached the wall thousands of yards from the main gate. The monks made it to the top, joined Owori, and began cutting down soldiers in their path and flinging them off the wall to their deaths.

  Hand reserves came quickly from their hiding spots, getting up the wall and on top in a steady, unabated stream. The monks and Owori made quick work of the Borgard heavily fortified soldiers, many of the wall's defenders were not prepared for this contingency. This close and without hails of arrows to support them, the Borgard soldiers weren't able to defend their position. The monks made their way along the wall while their archers filled in and used the Borgards arrows against the defenders. Arrows pounded into the crews handling the war machines and stopped the hail of large missiles, and Hand soldiers gathered along the wall for a push into the confused defense. The support troops contained within the wall were late in responding, and before they could bolster the wall, the Hand had taken the corner and were pushing forward fast as lightning.

  Ranks broke and the Borgard commander screamed for more troops to come up from behind, but it was too late as the Accord of the Hand soldiers and monks came over the unprotected wall in waves. The swift Accord of the Hand pounded on the flank and sliced into the defenders, while battle hardened monks and Owori destroyed everything in their way along the top of the wall. The left hook was working. With the full attention on the breached wall, the strike commander panicked and gave a signal for retreat. Djaa ordered a second attack on the main gate, drove the army forward into the lesser defended area, determined to break the gate and make Borgard fight them on two sides. The battle raged, thousands died, and the Accord of the Hand monks, led by the fierce Owori, secured the gate mechanism and opened the splintered barrier for their brothers and sisters. The Accord army rushed inside, the columns of soldiers jumping into the fray. The right side of the wall responded to defend Borgard, inflicting heavy losses. The monks continued on top of the wall, now supported by their ground troops and archers, casting down the defenders and plodding along methodically to take the remainder of the wall. The Borgard wall response fizzled. Confusion reigned.

  The Borgard army retreated in full, recovered a thousand yards distant for a counterattack, but they were too slow in organizing and the open space was immediately filled by the surging Accord of the Hand forces. Without a decisive and quick strike to regain the gate or the tops of the walls, Borgard would lose any advantage they thought they had. Borgard reserves were coming from the second gate and assembling, however, the Borgard comma
nder recognized he needed cavalry to execute a desperate stand and he didn't have the numbers, not now. He sounded the retreat to the second wall.

  The Hand pursued up to bowshot of the second wall and caught stragglers, taking prisoners or ending lives of those who fought on. As the din of the battle gave way to the Borgard army in full retreat, the Accord of the Hand began securing the remainder of the wall and calling up the forces ensconced in the forests and outlying areas. They made a line of defense in front of the wall, fortified the wall with soldiers, turned the war machines they had captured around, and began digging in for the next assault. The command center was moved up from the outpost to the gatehouse, Djaa and the other Seasons moving with him.

  The leaders observed the battlefield and ordered a cleanup, designated open areas for the soldiers to camp, and set up a place to stack the dead as well as tend to the wounded. The rear of the army filled in the space between the outer wall and the bridge. The forward line faced the next wall just beyond bowshot, had to retreat to the first wall when rocks, spikes, and flaming balls of hay came shooting toward them from additional catapults. After fifteen minutes the Accord had the protection of the wall and the missiles were no longer effective, so the rain of projectiles stopped. The fires of the battle burned into the night, and the leaders of the Accord of the Hand, content with what they had accomplished on the first day, settled down for what they hoped would be a quieter night. They were prepared for a counterattack by the Borgard forces, but were confident one would not come. Not tonight.

  #

  A physically exhausted Feln went through the buildings one more time, tired from using his magic and the effort to expel the rabble from the monastery. All but two had run away when he started making strange noises and causing objects to fall from shelves. The two that had remained were dead, having fought to the death rather than surrender - which Feln had offered to them. Neither had lasted more than fifteen seconds against his skillful attacks. The old stone buildings were deserted now, each had been looted and vandalized, but the thieves hadn't taken the time to explore the structures for secret spots. Feln unearthed emergency hard goods, supplies, from under floorboards, and he found oil, torches, lanterns, and tools in an outlying shed that looked too dilapidated for the thieves to have found interesting. He carried the supplies to the cathedral, the simple layout and unimpressive stone architecture lent credibility to the aim of the Accord of the Spirit - they were not about possessions or wealth, so they made no frivolous expenditures. They were about helping others. Feln was sure the Accord of the Spirit's charity would be missed by many.

  Feln organized what he had gathered, then retrieved the remaining supplies from the horse. The next task was securing the property. There were fences, short hedges, and walls around the property that offered protection from the honest person. He took the dead thieves and used oil, tar, and reddish dirt to create false lesions on the bodies, then deposited them near the gate. Simply locking the gate wouldn't deter the curious, so he took a table, turned it on the side, and painted on the top in crude handwriting 'plague' and butted it up against the rusting iron gate. He thought that would be enough to keep the curious out for a week, after that he would have to think of another plan or hope the Accord of the Hand would send him assistance. Once he had everything in order, he crept into the cellar of the rectory, heading down creaking wooden stairs. There was a musty odor of mold and earth intermixed with moisture. His feet hit the ground - dirt - and he gazed into the complete darkness. He couldn't see anything. He backed up the stairs and returned with a lantern, closing the cellar door behind to keep the light from attracting anyone from the outside. The room opened up to him.

  It was an old-fashioned cellar thirty feet by thirty feet, with an earthen floor and rough stone walls; unused tables and chairs were set around in random spots, he wasn't sure if they had been put there for meetings or storage. There were candles, long since burned down, with their white wax spilled and built up on the wooden table tops. A fine layer of dust was everywhere, as were signs of rats coming and going from an unknown entrance. Feln followed the worn track, discovered where the rats were coming from, and blocked it with a heavy log from the wood pile. Around the room were basic decorations and on the walls old paintings, an attempt to make the room presentable. The gray walls projected coldness, though the warmth of the paintings compensated a bit. It felt, though, like he was inside a crypt.

  He cleared the middle table from the room and walked over the spot where the secret door should be, kicking the loosed dirt with his boot. Instantly he was aware of wood underneath. Feln pushed away the layer of soil, clearing the trapdoor. He opened it, pushed it over, and it landed on the dirt with a thud. A ladder went into the darkness and unknown depths. Feln stood there for a moment, wondering, would this tunnel lead to his eventual demise?

  Above him there was a crash. He heard feet shuffling over the floorboards, then silence. Feln blinked and went to the stairs, walking slowly so they wouldn't creak. The rabble he ran off must have come back. Upstairs he sneaked along the wall, hand upon the handle of his katana. The rectory was empty, but through the doors he could see a person milling around in the church with a lantern in his hand. It looked to be an older man, wispy thin with gray hair and wrinkled skin. Feln recognized him, it was the caretaker, a man who had been in the employ of the monastery for countless years. Last time Feln had seen him, the handyman had been fixing the front gate.

  "Well met," Feln said, now visible as he stood in the church.

  The caretaker was startled by the statement and nearly dropped the lantern. "Well met," he said, eyes downcast.

  "I'm sure we both have questions," Feln spoke in a rush, moving toward the elderly man. "Answers won't be forthcoming even though I know you are the caretaker of this monastery."

  "I come by every evening hoping the thieves are gone," he explained. "I saw the two of them by the gate. There isn't any plague, is there?"

  "You may remain here at your own peril. You have one opportunity to leave now. Otherwise, as long as I'm here, you're here. You will not leave."

  "I have nowhere else to go," he said, head downcast. "I've been out in the streets since the thieves arrived."

  "Good, I'll put you to work. Do you have wood, hammers, and iron spikes?"

  "Out by the shed, yes."

  "In the morning start barring all the doors on the cloisters and small structures, every door is to be sealed except this church. When you've finished with that, bar all the windows here and we'll rearrange this furniture to better suit our defense. Is that understood?"

  "It is," the caretaker said immediately. He was accustomed to taking orders from the Spirit monks. "I have one question though."

  "What is it?"

  "When do we eat?"

  Feln motioned with his head toward where he had piled the supplies. "Over there."

  #

  "The light, it hurts my eyes," Makison said. "Douse it, please."

  Velinole complied, and in his disguised voice said, "I bring a message from the castle today. News for you."

  Makison went to the cell door. Although just approaching middle age, Makison was a broken man. Years of imprisonment had driven him to the edge of insanity and had taken away his regal strength. Each day he did what he needed to survive, enduring this torture so he could exact his revenge one day when he was set free. He knew Jakks had imprisoned him, and he would lop his brother's head off if he ever had the chance. The hatred was bitter, developed into hideous depths of anger. Why had no one questioned his death? Why hadn't they looked for his body? He didn't understand what had happened, and despite the prophetic curse uttered by his father, he would put Jakks where he belonged, in a grave, if it was the last thing he ever did. "What news?"

  "Borgard has gone to war," Velinole said. "There are two obvious outcomes, victory or defeat. In both, you can achieve freedom and revenge."

  "Revenge," Makison repeated. "What will I owe for such great favors?"


  "My master, who has given me this task over the years, asks for very little." Velinole leaned close to Makison, but not close enough that he could touch him. "The Accord of the Hand will be at our gates. Soon they will be at the walls, and shortly after they will breach the castle proper. In defeat, Jakks's head will be on a pike. You will be free and can become king, but under Hand control. You can use your imprisonment to your advantage and claim no responsibility for Borgard's past actions. You can start anew."

  "And in victory?"

  "If Borgard is victorious in crushing the Accord of the Hand, there will be much confusion following. My master has subjects loyal to him. Those loyalists would help you reclaim the throne and put Jakks in prison or on the gallows. The throne is rightfully yours. You are the eldest."

  Makison paced the cell like a caged giant cat, moving back and forth in a pattern, his body creaking with every movement. "What would I owe your master for this? You haven't answered me that. What does he want in return?"

  "He wishes immunity for all that he has done." Velinole stood up and backed farther away from the cell. "He wants a position at your side, to help you, to assist your kingdom as a humble advisor."