Heirs of the Enemy

by Richard S. Tuttle

  “I haven’t heard much about them,” offered Lord Burkett. “What I have heard indicates that they were formed to oppose King Daramoor. I suspect they hold little sway outside the boundaries of the city of Waxhaw.”

  “I wonder what feelings Lord Zachary has for his new king?” mused Lord Kommoron.

  “Daramoor was never one to leave the palace much himself when he was general,” answered Lord Zandel. “I suspect Lord Zachary doesn’t care much for him either.”

  “Yet Lord Zachary appears to accept the Federation well enough,” remarked Lord Burkett. “At least enough to come all the way to Despair for the celebration.”

  “Perhaps we need to learn a little more about Lord Zachary,” suggested Lord Kommoron.

  * * * *

  Colonel Jurgon sighed wearily as he climbed the steps to the cupola atop the mansion. The aching in his bones bothered him more and more with each passing season, and the colonel knew it would soon be time to hand over his command to a younger officer. He knew that the emperor would be disappointed, but it was not as if he was abandoning his post. He had maintained security on the estate for twenty years without a single mishap on his watch. Oh, Emperor Jaar would complain, sure he would, but he would also admit that his favorite colonel was getting on in years. Everyone likes old dogs, but no one would depend upon one to watch the shop. No, the emperor needed a younger man at the helm to watch over his family, and Colonel Jurgon promised himself that he would tell the emperor just that the next time he journeyed to Despair.

  Another problem with aging was that the slightest chill went right through him, and up in the foothills of the Barrier, the chills came earlier than in Despair. When Colonel Jurgon reached the top of the stairs, he pulled his cape tight about him. The soldier manning the cupola turned and greeted the colonel with a familiar nod.

  “How are things tonight?” asked the colonel.

  “The same as every other night,” answered the soldier. “It is quiet out there.”

  “Never get lax,” warned the colonel. “To think you are safe is to die. Always remember that.”

  “Yes, Sir,” the soldier replied smartly. “I will remember that. The moon is waning, but it still sheds enough light to see the patrols.”

  Colonel Jurgon leaned out of the cupola and gazed skyward. High clouds drifted towards the moon, but they were scattered and too numerous.

  “Keep an eye on the cloud cover,” instructed the colonel. “If it gets thick enough to block the moon, I want more patrols sent out in between the mansion and the outer patrols. I want our outermost patrols always visible to someone closer to the mansion.”

  “Yes, Sir,” replied the soldier.

  The chill ripped through the old colonel no matter how tight he pulled the cape around him. He sighed with the frustration of growing old.

  “You should go to the kitchen and get some warm broth, Sir,” suggested the soldier. “You are starting to shake.”

  The colonel frowned with embarrassment. He was torn between thanking the soldier for his concern and rebuking him for his familiarity. He did neither. With a silent nod, he retreated down the stairs to the warmth below. An hour later, another soldier climbed the stairs to take his turn at watch.

  “Has the old man been up yet tonight?” he asked.

  “About an hour ago. He was shaking from the cold.”

  “He is getting too old to wear the uniform. Who do you think will replace him?”

  “Why bother replacing him? Nothing ever happens out here. The colonel acts as if every night is the night the battle will take place, but there has never been a battle. I doubt anyone even knows that this place still exists.”

  “I am not sure that anyone ever did know about it. Look out there. Do you see another building? A road? Anything? There hasn’t been a person come near the perimeter in over five years, and I don’t think anyone has gotten within view of the building in twenty. This is the safest assignment in the army.”

  “And the most boring. I am going to get something to eat. Pleasant dreams.”

  The new soldier on guard duty laughed at his comrade’s parting comment, but there was a bit of truth in it. More than one soldier had boasted of sleeping in the cupola instead of standing guard. It would be a hanging offense if anyone was caught, but the colonel had become predictable in his old age. While he still made his nightly visits to the cupola, he had not made a second nightly visit in years.

  The soldier walked to the edge of the cupola and leaned on the railing. He gazed out into the night and tried to find the roving patrols. He quickly found the first patrol, and he moved around the cupola in search of the next. Patches of darkness drifted across the terrain as the clouds above grew more numerous, but with a little patience, the soldier found two more patrols. After five minutes of searching for the fourth patrol, the soldier gave up and slid down to the floor to shelter himself from the cold night wind.

  Less than a half league away, the fourth patrol halted for a break just as a thick cloud blocked the moon. The ten men pulled off their packs and sheaths and sat on the ground with their backs to trees. They talked and joked, softly, but without real concern for their surroundings. One of the men slipped into the bushes and came back with a half keg of ale that had been hidden the week before. He placed it in the center of the clearing and filled the cups of his comrades one by one. When everyone else was served, he filled his own cup and quickly drained it. He filled it again and then sat down with the rest of the men.

  “Hey,” complained one of the other soldiers, “why do you get two cups? That keg has to last us another week.”

  “I am the one who dragged the keg out here,” retorted the host soldier. “You bring the next keg out here, and you can get two cups each night.”

  “Leave him be,” scowled a third soldier. “The supplier of the keg always gets an extra measure. It has always been that way, and you know it.”

  The complaining soldier grinned. “Aye, but it never hurts to complain. I got a second cup that way one night with a different patrol.”

  All of the soldiers laughed loudly, unaware of the silent movement above them. Blackened ropes were lowered out of the trees, halting just above the height of a standing man. Before the laughter died, a dozen black-clad men slid down out of the trees and attacked in unison. Some of the soldiers detected the movement and dove for their swords; others tried to get up and flee. None of them were successful. The Badgers efficiently killed the soldiers before they could react.

  “Hide the bodies,” the leader ordered, “and remove the ale.”

  “Why not just leave them?” asked one of the Badgers. “The other patrols will never make it this far.”

  “You are starting to sound like them,” berated the leader as he nodded at the corpses. “Keep thinking like that and you will end up as these lazy fools have.”

  Properly rebuked, the Badger picked up a body and carried it away. The leader gazed northward, but he could not see the mansion for the trees were in his way. He stood in the clearing and waited patiently until his men were gathered around him.

  “If they keep to a military schedule, we have an hour before replacement patrols come out of the mansion. I want to meet them halfway, so we are going to travel towards the mansion. Is everyone ready?”

  “Why go to meet them?” asked one of the Badgers. “This clearing worked well for us.”

  “There are other clearings ahead. I want to meet them half way because they will be most alert when searching for those they are to replace. We will kill them while they still feel safe within their perimeter patrols.” When no one voiced an objection, the leader gave the order, “Move out.”

  An hour later, forty soldiers stepped out of the mansion. They split into four groups and started walking away in cardinal directions. The groups walked carelessly, talking among themselves. Within minutes they entered the forest, but even the darkness of the night did not hinder their progress because the trail was wide, the ground permanently ma
rred by twenty years of use. The soldiers could easily find the rendezvous point in total darkness, and their lackadaisical attitude showed it. Before the soldiers were half way to the rendezvous, the Badgers struck. One by one, the Badgers stepped out of hiding and snuck up on the last man in the small column. In each case, a razor sharp knife sliced through the soldier’s throat while the Badger’s other hand stifled the cry of surprise. In moments the small column was dead and the Badgers quickly hid the bodies. The Badgers then gathered around their leader.

  “What now?” asked one of the men.

  “Now we wait for Franco’s signal from the cupola,” answered the leader.

  On the other side of the mansion, a similar scene played out, but Franco’s men were leading the mission. After their replacement patrol was eliminated, Franco signaled for two men to move forward. The chosen Badgers swiftly moved to the edge of the forest and gazed at the mansion. For several minutes they watched to make sure that no one was watching. When a dark cloud blotted out the moon, the two men raced forward. When the first one reached the side of the house, he turned and squatted with his hands cupped in front of him. The second man leaped onto his cupped hands, and the first man rose, propelling his partner onto the low roof. He lowered a short rope and pulled the first man up to join him.

  The two Badgers silently made their way up the sloped roof and climbed onto a higher roof. After a succession of roofs, the duo reached the tower supporting the cupola. One of the Badgers moved around to the opposite side of the short tower. Placing knives between their teeth, both of them began to scale the tower. They paused just below the lip of the cupola and listened for any sounds. They heard snoring, and they both climbed over the railing, one of them silencing the soldier with a knife to the throat, while the other guarded the stairway leading down into the mansion. After the soldier was dispatched, one of the Badgers produced a small mirror and waited for the moon to appear. As soon as he was able, he flashed a signal to the four groups waiting at the edge of the forest.

  Once the men in the cupola saw the four groups heading for the mansion, they drew their swords and started down the stairs. By the time they reached the second floor, the battle was over. One hundred Federation soldiers no longer existed. The Badgers herded three women down the stairs to ground level. Two of the women were under twenty years old, and Franco assumed that they were the emperor’s daughters. The other woman was the emperor’s wife, Janay. The younger women were terrified, but Janay glared at the Badger leader.

  “Where is your son?” demanded Franco.

  “I have no son,” replied Janay.

  Franco backhanded the emperor’s wife, but she refused to cry out.

  “Jaar had a son when his father died,” snarled the Badger Leader. “Where is he?”

  “My son died six years ago,” answered Janay. “You are too late to kill him.”

  “Liar!” shouted Franco as he prepared to backhand the woman again.

  Janay closed her eyes and waited for the blow, but it never came. She opened her eyes to find Franco holding a knife to the throat of one of the younger women.

  “Where is your son?” Franco said threateningly.

  Janay lost her iron will. “Don’t hurt the girls,” Janay pleaded with tears running down her cheeks. “I have told you the truth. My son died of fever six years ago. No amount of torture can change that. Jaar is heirless.”

  A Badger came down the stairs carrying the severed head of Colonel Jurgon. “That is exactly what Jurgon said before he died. The boy died of a fever in the winter six years ago.”

  Franco pulled back the knife and returned his attention to the mother. “Then why is he still protecting you out here?”

  “Why would he change things?” retorted Janay. “The soldiers posted out here have served for twenty years. Do you think he would transfer them to a different army? They were useless to Jaar, and the emperor would not want to admit that he was heirless. He couldn’t stand the shame. He hasn’t even visited here since the day our son died. All you have accomplished is killing a bunch of old men and capturing three women who have been held captive for twenty years.”

  Janay’s words came out in such a biting tone that Franco knew there was some truth in them. The bitterness in Janay was palpable, and he knew that it would be easy enough to verify if the emperor had left Despair within the last six years.

  “Get Jurgon’s head to Despair,” ordered Franco, “and find out if what she is saying is true.”

  The Badger holding the head nodded and ran out the front door of the mansion. Franco stood and stared at the three women for a while and then sighed with exasperation. He knew the reason for the mission, but he was not responsible for faulty intelligence. His part in things were proceeding according to plan, and he intended to keep it that way.

  “Hood the women and bind them,” Franco ordered. “I want every nook and cranny of this place thoroughly searched. Make sure that no one is left alive. Assemble back here within the hour. I want to be well on the way to the Citadel before dawn.”

  The Badgers spread out and started searching the mansion. Franco signaled to one of his men and nodded towards the front door. He then turned back to Janay who already had a hood over her head.

  “Where are the birds used to send messages to your husband?”

  “At the rear of the building,” Janay replied. “It is only accessible from the outside. There is a short flight of steps leading down.”

  Franco nodded and exited the building. One of his men was standing outside waiting for him.

  “They keep their birds around the back. Send one of them off. The message is ‘Jurgon’s head is on the way to Despair’. Then get one of our birds off. Let the Master know exactly what happened here. Inform him that I am taking the women to the Black Citadel. I will await his instructions there.”

  Chapter 7

  Revealed

  Grand General Kyrga entered the emperor’s office. The room was dark, but Kyrga was familiar enough with the layout that he managed to traverse the room without a torch. He opened the door to the emperor’s suite and walked in. The sitting room was less familiar, but it was uncluttered, and Kyrga moved through it to the emperor’s sleeping chamber. He opened that door without any attention to stealth, and the emperor sat up in bed.

  “I am pleased to find you awake,” Kyrga said softly. “Are you having trouble sleeping?”

  “What do you want?” snarled Emperor Jaar.

  “You are to address the monarchs in the morning,” answered Kyrga. “They are to be told about the coming war with Alcea.”

  The emperor was slow to stir, but he soon realized that the Grand General was going to allow him to leave his suite. For a moment he felt elation, but his mood soon dimmed. Kyrga would never be foolish enough to allow him to get word of his capture out to the nobles and officers attending the celebration. There had to be a catch.

  “What are you not telling me?” asked the emperor.

  “You should have received a message in the past few hours,” Kyrga smiled as he lit a torch. “Have you retrieved it yet?”

  The emperor frowned with confusion as he slid his feet to the floor and donned a robe. If anyone had sent a message, it would have to have passed through Kyrga’s guards. Why would he ask if it had been delivered? The fog of sleep started to recede, and the emperor rolled the words through his mind once more. Retrieved, not delivered. Jaar inhaled deeply as Jaar’s meaning struck home. The only message the emperor would retrieve would be from his personal birds, but the significance of such a message drove a chill through the emperor’s body.

  “I see that you have not,” smiled Kyrga. “You should do so now.”

  “Why don’t you stop playing games and tell me what it is you want me to know?”

  Grand General Kyrga sighed with disappointment. “Jurgon’s head is on its way to Despair. It was thought that you would not believe my words if I told you, so a bird was sent from your secret estate. The message awaits y
ou in your private coop.”

  Jaar began to tremble. He tried to hide his hands so that Kyrga would not have the pleasure of seeing the reaction his words caused, but it was futile. The Grand General’s grin grew wide as he watched the emperor. Jaar rose and moved across his room to the balcony door. He opened the door and walked through it. Kyrga did not even bother to follow as the emperor made his way to his private coop and retrieved the message. Jaar’s hands trembled so much that he dropped the message after he had read it. Tears flowed from his eyes as he stared off into the darkness. The minutes dragged by as the emperor mourned the loss of his family. Eventually, Kyrga appeared on the balcony. Jaar hastily wiped his tears, but he refused to turn towards the Grand General. He would not give Kyrga the satisfaction of seeing him in a weakened state.

  “The women are not dead,” Kyrga said softly, “although they are the only survivors.”

  Jaar whirled around and glared at the Grand General. “Where are they?”

  “Do you really expect me to answer such a question?” smirked Kyrga.

  “If you harm them, I will flay you alive.”

  “Ah, so you worry for your women,” Kyrga taunted, “but no tears for your son?”

  Jaar’s face clouded with confusion. “What?”

  “Your son, Emperor,” probed the Grand General. “Are you not concerned of his fate?”

  “Why should I be concerned about him? Even you cannot reach into the horse countries. He will be safe enough until the time comes for him to avenge my death.”

  Kyrga’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. He found it hard to believe that Jaar would risk his son’s life in the territory of another country.

  “Nowhere is safe from my reach,” Kyrga stated, “but I do not believe your story. Why don’t you save us both some time and tell me the truth? You must realize by now that you cannot keep a secret from K’san. How do you think we learned the location of your secret estate? K’san can reach into your mind and extract every thought. Where is your son?”