An Emperor's Fury: Most Favored

by Paul Heisel

  Owori kept him at a distance, unwilling to press the attack until she found an opening. Her hands stung from the many blows and she knew if she didn't end this quickly, the man would overpower her. Yes she was quick, but she was already drained from using her chi to stay hidden. She had little strength left for a lengthy battle. Perhaps she had enough magic left to help her escape. What she couldn't figure was, why wasn't he wasn't calling to the other guards?

  He attacked.

  This time the fighting style was completely different and it caught Owori off balance. She scrambled in retreat, blocking the heavy blows as Kragan drove her to the ground. Owori fought brilliantly, but the swordsman was too good. She was immobile, tired, and beaten. With brash determination, though, she fought back. She hopped to her feet, blocked and attacked with a kick. It landed square to his injured shoulder and drove him back. She saw her opportunity, took it, and ran.

  She could sense the soldier coming after her - he wasn't far behind. Owori skidded around a corner, her lungs burning with acid now. The surroundings registered and she could see the entrance to a stairwell she needed to take. Once there, she was certain she could outdistance the soldier. She could fly down the stairs many at a time.

  A handful of soldiers appeared in front of her. Her presence didn't seem to register until she was atop them. Two lost their lives as she vaulted by, while the other three unsheathed swords, shouted warnings, and grabbed at her. The encounter slowed her enough. She could feel the sting of a sword against the side of her head. It was a blow with the flat edge, a lucky miss, but it was enough to send her crashing to the ground. Her ears rang and her vision blurred. Despite that, she flailed with her arms, swiping her khukuris in desperate arcs. She heard someone say, 'I want him alive', then she felt strong hands pin her arms and take her blades away. Soon her vision returned and the soldier she had fought stooped over her. Owori could see his shoulder still bled and he was favoring it. Blood slicked his dress uniform. He reached down to her and tugged at her black scarf until it came off.

  Kragan sighed. "Ah, the foolish Accord of the Hand. It's a mistake letting women fight amongst the ranks - you make excellent prisoners. A pity what is going to happen to you. The events leading up to your death will be far more loathsome than death itself, that I promise you."

  Owori stared at him, her dark eyes cold and indifferent. She kept calm. Deeply she breathed, trying to find some chi. Some of her magic had to remain. If she were alone for a moment, she could disappear and escape. She blocked out Kragan and concentrated.

  "Put her in there until we can question her," Kragan said. "Post a watch inside and outside the door. Go get reinforcements and raise the alarm - the Accord of the Hand has breached the castle! There may be others. Send more guards to protect the king. And I want these intruders alive for questioning!"

  #

  Feln followed Makison down the connecting hallway, it was just as he remembered, hot and stuffy in the summer, frigid and cold in the winter. He wasn't sure where Makison was headed, but it surprised him when Makison went up the next staircase they came to. The mental map in his mind flashed, and he figured they were near the lower level Great Hall. The upper level contained the Music Hall, an auditorium that sloped down and encompassed two stories. There was another large room next to the Music Hall where more intimate gatherings could take place. The memory of it was coming back. As he drifted up, he could see Makison's strength was failing. By the time Makison reached the top, he was winded and cramped. Feln hung back, completing his ascent when Makison had moved on. To his left he could see tables set out with food and drink, and he had hardly noticed the enticing smells. To the near right was the Music Hall, and he could hear music being played. To the left was the secondary auditorium, the smaller venue. There were servants about maintaining the food and drink. They didn't notice Makison as he went to the Music Hall and through the doors. Feln remained near the stairwell, staying back safely out of view. Suddenly the music ceased.

  Feln held his breath. What was Makison doing? Across the way soldiers appeared, moving swiftly toward the auditorium. A bell rang out in a regular interval - he recognized it - the castle alarm. Intruders were inside the castle. He stayed where he was and blinked, becoming invisible just in case they came in his direction. Makison burst through the auditorium doors and headed to the room across the way - his father's old office. He was barking orders, his voice raspy. The soldiers paused, not helping or hindering. They must have recognized him.

  Feln wanted no part of Makison's plan unless he was forced into it. He turned and went down the stairs, no more than four steps were taken when he heard the approach of a great number of soldiers. It had to be a dozen or more plodding toward him. He backtracked before they were upon him, slipping out of the entrance and into open space. The soldiers were taking up stations at the auditorium and dispersing, the bell continued to toll a warning. Across the atrium were sets of rooms that Feln forgot the purpose of, and there were a great number of soldiers amassing. Every escape was cut off, even if he was invisible he risked being run into and discovered. He weighed the options, none of them were good choices, so he made his decision. This started with Makison and it would end with him. The alarms were going off in his head and he knew he was missing a simple piece of this situation, but he didn't have time to contemplate it. His only chance was to stand by Makison and hope his presence would be allowed, or perhaps he could blink at an opportune time and escape. Visible at the door where Makison had gone, his father's old office, he grasped the cold handle and yanked, sliding inside before the surprised guards could descend upon him.

  #

  TeBroo had only moments to warn the others before a group of soldiers found them. In the tight hallway, TeBroo was masterful in keeping them at bay, nicking and slashing them. Bells tolled in the distance. Kara and Gargam shouted warnings as more soldiers were behind them. Gargam threw himself down the stairs, disappearing from view. Kara pressed on, coming to TeBroo's side and joining the constricted fight. Combined, they toppled the soldiers, the last one to fall clutching his bleeding chest.

  "They've discovered Owori," Kara said. "The alarms!" She eyed the bodies on the ground. The blood was spreading.

  TeBroo looked to Kara. "We must hurry then before the whole army is here," he said.

  "Not without Gargam. We won't last a moment without his sword."

  They turned to go back down the stairs to aid their comrade. As they went down Gargam came bounding around the corner, stout short sword slicked with blood. His face was expressionless and covered with a thin sheen of perspiration. No words were exchanged. He nodded to them and continued forward over the downed bodies to the next set of stairs ahead, as if he did this every day of his life.

  #

  Owori had her face pressed against the cool wooden floor, the grit of the unswept room sticking to her cheek. The guard had dumped her there rather roughly after binding her hands. She rolled to her side and used her strength to curl up. Instantly she felt a boot to her midsection. The blow left her sucking for air, the only saving grace was it had missed her ribs.

  "Stay on the floor," he told her.

  Owori recovered and caught her breath. She panted out quick inhales and exhales, then drew in a deep breath. Her stomach hurt. She exhaled slowly, relieving the pain. Calm filled her, then anger fueled her. The guard was standing near with his sword at the ready, glaring at her. She was imagining her escape, that she would break his neck or deliver another fitting blow to a sensitive spot. Behind her back she worked on the tight cords binding her hands, hoping to loosen them. She kept her eyes locked on the man, staring him down. Her hands hurt from the effort, but that didn't deter her - she kept at it.

  The guard pointed his blade. "I'll kick you again."

  "Try it you witless dolt." A hand slipped out, the pain terrible, but she was free to move.

  The guard, predictable, moved to kick her. "I said…"

  Owori's arms shot out and blocked th
e foot, then she swept his single leg at the vulnerable knee. He toppled to the ground, hitting hard on his backside, arms and sword flailing. Owori pounced. The soldier tried hitting her with his sword, but they were too close for that to do any good, even the pommel strikes were weak and ineffective. They wrestled briefly. Owori twisted him into knots, pulled his arm through a hold, and snapped it at the elbow. The soldier couldn't even scream. Another quick maneuver and she had him in a headlock, soon after he was unconscious. She dragged him out of the way and took his sword. The blade felt clumsy - too big for her liking - yet it would have to do. She went to the door. Owori only had two things in mind; retrieve her blades and give the captain a wound worse than a scar.

  There was no simple approach to getting outside the door. Owori knew she would have to burst through and hope she turned in the right direction away from the soldiers. It was reasonable to assume she could wait for her chi to return and slip away unnoticed when things calmed down, but she didn't have time. She would have to fight her way to a safe area, flee down the stairs to where Kara, Gargam, and TeBroo were waiting. Owori reached for the handle and tensed, then pressed her ear against the door. She could hear activity, the bell was ringing, and the music had stopped. The handle felt cold in her hand, the iron seemed to ward off the warmth with an otherworldly quality. She pulled open the door and jumped through. As she did, she heard screaming. It wasn't what she had expected.

  #

  Kara was first up the stairs and emerged into another passageway. Her swift feet were only second to her deadly blade. Caution gave way to brashness, and the three Accord of the Hand monks clamored down the hallway. It opened into an atrium that was a scene of chaos, Owori's doing no doubt, and Kara smiled. There were tables, food, drink, soldiers, and doors. Areas were being guarded. The bell was tolling. A group of soldiers were milling around the outside of a door. At Kara's command, they charged headlong into guards, and they clashed with sparks spraying as steel smashed against steel.

  The first soldiers they met, while experts in their own right, died quickly. Gargam, now that there was more space to maneuver, had a wicked looking axe crashing down from his right hand and the stout short sword jabbing with his left. The giant man spun gracefully and carved his way through the next wave of soldiers, shattering steel, flesh, and bone with deadly efficiency. When he finally breached the soldier's defensive line, Kara darted through into more space, followed by TeBroo. The formed a triangle with Gargam and brought their sharp katanas down, slashing deep and often. Gargam threw himself into the onslaught, leaving Kara face to face with another soldier who was dressed in formal attire adorned with a red jackal. With feints and jabs, she stopped him from moving, effectively cutting him off so TeBroo could engage soldiers coming at them.

  Kara went at him head on, using her deadly katana. Kragan, injured, defended himself and turned to the offensive once he discovered the opportunity. Each attack she countered eloquently; all were blocked and turned aside with great skill. Kragan was just as good. He blocked the katana and kept himself from harm, but each blow stung. The combatants danced thusly for a minute, pounding on each other, then more soldiers arrived. Kara knew she needed to finish this expert swordsman before they were overwhelmed.

  Soldiers came from both ends of the hallway with swords brandished, running and rallying to the Knight Captain's side. Gargam took the brunt of the offensive, slashing and pounding in a deadly rhythm. The guards, so energized to fight for their Captain, were more cautious now that the floor was littered with bodies. TeBroo took down the last of the resistance near him. Guards were coming from the other side and running along the wall. He braced himself. Just as they charged headlong into him, a dark clothed person emerged from a nearby doorway.

  It was Owori.

  She caught the warriors by surprise and used a longsword with deadly efficiency, killing two before they were even aware of her presence. They tried to knock her down, but Owori slipped past their frontal attack with ease. They carried into TeBroo, the other two lagging behind charged into Owori. All they met was fluid fury, jabs, slashes, and strikes. They went down. Owori discarded the longsword and retrieved her lost khukuris from the floor. She nodded to TeBroo, who had just finished off two more soldiers, and she could see that his left shoulder was drooping. Bodies and blood littered the hallway, slicking the polished wooden planks. There were moans from the fallen, coughs of blood and vomit, and suddenly a stillness reserved for the most critical of moments. The contingent of soldiers had been defeated for now, though the bell was still tolling and reinforcements would come soon.

  Kara and Kragan were dripping with sweat. Both sported nicks, but neither could best the other. They paused, tired, as the fighting in the hallway came to a halt. From one way came Owori and TeBroo, from the other came Gargam. All were covered with the blood and sweat. Kragan took a step backward and lowered his sword.

  "Seems you have won the day," he said. He wiped the beaded sweat with his sleeve. "Four against one isn't fair."

  "He's stalling until reinforcements arrive," Owori said.

  "Take us to the king," Kara demanded.

  Kragan lowered his sword and relaxed, eyes darting from Owori to Kara. "Now, what good would the Captain of the Guard be if he did that?"

  "We'll find him with or without your help." Kara stepped towards Kragan and relieved him of his sword. He gave it willingly, content to wait for reinforcements. "This is a fine blade," Kara said.

  "Keep it. I'll retrieve it off your dead body after more soldiers arrive."

  "No, it's yours. You keep it." Kara jabbed the blade hard at the defenseless Kragan. He tried to avoid the blow, but he didn't move fast enough. The steel bit deeply into his hip, shattering bone. Kara withdrew it and tossed the sword down the hallway where it clattered and it came to a restful stop against dead soldiers. Kragan wailed a stream of curses as he went down, his hands covering the wound to his hip. Blood seeped through his fingers. Kara kicked him in the head while labored there, knocking him senseless. His body went slack, yet he still breathed. More blood spilled from the wound. He would bleed to death unless someone attended to him.

  "Well met, Owori," Kara said. "You sure know how to start a good fight."

  Owori shifted her eyes down the atrium. To the left at the double doors, what the soldiers had been protecting, were now guarded by dead bodies. To the right was another doorway she had seen soldiers go into. They would have to check both.

  "Double doors first," Kara said as she watched Owori's eyes. "Quickly, before help gets here."

  #

  There was hope that he would find Makison in a position of power, and that notion disappeared as soon as he was through barring the door. The trap inside may have not been meant for him, but it certainly wasn't the collection of nobles that he had envisioned. There were soldiers everywhere, rough and ready to fight. The room had been setup as a war room, his father's old desk the centerpiece for the meeting. King Jakks stood two dozen paces away, protected by a ring of warriors. Makison was limp in the arms of two guards, blood flowing from his mouth and nose. One punch was all that it took. The bell continued to clang out the warning.

  "Is this all that the Accord of the Hand chooses to send against Borgard?" shouted Jakks from across the room.

  Soldiers pounced, cutting off Feln's escape. Two secured the door while two went for him with swords. It didn't look like they were trying to capture him. Magic jolted him into a heightened state of awareness. To Feln they seemed to be attacking slowly, and in their approach, he could see their weaknesses and strengths. One was favoring his front foot and looked tentative in his attack. The other's hand quivered, his blade unsure. Lightning fast, Feln battered the first soldier before he could strike. The attacker crumpled to the floor. Before the second could bring his shaking sword down, Feln's katana shot out and blocked the blow intended for his head. Feln pivoted and kicked the soldier in the jaw. There was a crunch of bone and teeth, followed by a stream of blood.
>
  He whipped around, swiping his blade in anticipation, but all he found was air. Two soldiers continued to protect the door, not moving for him, while more soldiers came his way. Feln knew he couldn't survive against so many, not even with his newly found quickness. Engaging two more, he blocked their attacks and moved into a favorable position on the opposite end of the room. It didn't matter, though, where he went; inside or outside, there were too many soldiers. More came at him with swords ready to kill. Soon enough they would tear him down by sheer numbers.

  There was no sound now, only sight. Feln drifted into a state of amplified consciousness he had never experienced before. He knew it was the belt. Everything seemed to slow once again, and he kept the onslaught away with inhuman speed. Ten men were trying to get at him, swords and knives flashing, but not one blade landed. He delivered exact attacks so precise it was astonishing to him. Two fell, then four.

  Even so, more soldiers came at him, not fearing death, Jakks screaming at them to kill the Accord of the Hand cur.

  Inside him, a force took over, guiding him.

  What the shades was this belt?

  Feln raced along the wall away from the onslaught, pushing over a soldier trying to flank him. Magic fueled him and kept him moving lightning fast. Feln looked up, trying to figure where his feet were taking him. It was a door, above it a return to let in light. An escape? He reached the oak door and pushed it open, then slammed it shut behind. There was no barring mechanism, so he slammed one of his knives into the space between the jamb and the door, wedging it shut. He took another knife and wedged it underneath. It would have to do until he was far away.