by Paul Heisel
An Emperor’s Fury
Book Two
The Frayed Rope
by Paul Heisel
Chapter 1 - Stability
Chapter 2 - Paths
Chapter 4 - Refused
Chapter 5 - Return
Chapter 6 - Emperor
Chapter 7 - Xialao
Chapter 8 - Executed
Chapter 9 - Naïve
Chapter 10 - Malurrion
Chapter 11 - Search
Chapter 12 - Bora
Chapter 13 - Assassins
Chapter 14 - Sabrin
Chapter 15 - Exodus
Chapter 16 - Winter
Chapter 17 - Trapped
The Warlord of Pyndira (preview)
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
An Emperor's Fury, Book Two, The Frayed Rope
Copyright © 2016 by Paul Heisel
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Paul Heisel
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.
This book is dedicated to my friends who have been with me during this long journey. Thanks to everyone for reading drafts and listen to me spout facts and anecdotes about Pyndira and Malurrion as if I were a history professor. I laughed each time I was reminded that I know those worlds intimately and they don’t…yet.
Here we go, and the journey continues…
Chapter 1 - Stability
For Owori it was a never-ending search and she refused to believe that Feln was dead. Her nerves were on edge because of the recent events at Borgard castle, and she was near her breaking point. No matter where, how long, or how many people searched, she couldn’t find a trace of Feln. It was as if he had vanished into thin air. She questioned Makison and other survivors to his whereabouts, and all the stories indicated he fled into the storage closet, but no one recalled him emerging, before or after Jakks was taken. Inside the storeroom, there were no secret doors or places to hide. She searched it a dozen times, scrutinizing every inch. It was a mystery but with no clues, not one. She couldn’t – wouldn’t – believe he was dead. There had to be an explanation.
In the past two weeks, the Accord of the Hand had stabilized the Borgard government as best they could. A small force of one hundred Accord of the Hand monks and soldiers had stayed behind in secret, waiting for a signal from Kara to assist them in seizing the leadership. Once that signal had been displayed, the strong force had secured the castle and had prevented any independent uprising from happening. After the capture of Jakks and Makison, all fighting ceased. Days later, once messengers reached the armies invading Sabrin, the fighting ceased there as well. Makison, the eldest, was restored as the rightful king, but the long years of confinement had lasting effects. His wits weren't entirely about him. Owori reflected, only the week before had Makison regained enough strength to be useful, and his mental acuity was questionable at the best. Despite the setbacks and Makison's ever changing mind, the Accord of the Hand managed the kingdom as best they could.
The Grand Master put Owori in charge of the assimilation of the Borgard family, and she did a remarkable job of organizing the day to day workings of the castle. It was secure, that was for certain, and no threats remained. What was left for her to do was to begin the integration of Borgard into the Accord of the Hand Empire. They were assured the armies that had attacked Sabrin had retreated to their homeland and the Accord of the Hand was not under further threat. The scribes and administrators, as well as the Accord leadership, were making arrangements, drawing up treaties, and setting the parameters for the new Borgard.
Into the second week Makison showed signs of changing his mind about the whole thing; he reluctantly yielded, as he was in no position to negotiate more favorable terms than what was offered. More personnel from the Accord of the Hand were coming in teams, and soon, Owori’s temporary task would be complete and she could go back to Waskhal. It would be difficult for her to leave Borgard knowing Feln was unaccounted for. She had orders to follow, even if she wanted to stay and search the entire castle one more time for her lost Feln.
To Owori’s dismay, Kara and Gargam had stayed behind to assist with the integration of Borgard into the Empire. She admitted, with reluctance as she didn't want to give Kara any credit, that they worked well as a team and got this off to a good start. Kara clearly resented her overseeing the castle, Owori knew that, and she thought it curious that Gargam showed loyalty to Kara. They were from different monasteries, and Owori would have anticipated more friction and less familiarity. Her intuition told her trouble was brewing with those two, and she didn't know who else was mixed up in it. This made her worry about the Accord of the Hand because Kara was second or third in line to assume the Grand Master's position. The future, it seemed, would be far more interesting than it should be.
Owori sat behind a desk recently vacated by the chamberlain, Velinole, who could not be found, going over the reports she insisted those in her charge completed daily. More of the conscripted Borgard army was arriving back from their secret attack on Sabrin. They would remain disbanded until they figured out what to do with them long term. Though the military leaders were removed and separated, the large idle force concerned her. Even stripped of its leadership, an army of this size coupled with resentment could fuel discontent and rash actions. It could be a problem, so she decided to break them into small labor groups and send them to fix the destruction around Borgard. It would keep them busy with shovels in their hands, not swords. In the coming months, they would have to reorganize the army for the sake of securing the kingdom. Other threats were out there and they couldn't leave Borgard defenseless.
Another report she read was about the militia having trouble with thieves. After the departure of the main fighting force, crime increased as citizens took advantage of the lack of lawfulness. The militia was made up of local men, volunteers really, who were paid a small wage in return for being a presence and keeping order. They weren’t well-trained, nor did they have appreciable fighting experience. In this situation, she thought this was where the Hand’s soldiers could help. She made a note to assign a force to secure the areas outside of the castle proper, create several patrols through the city with the militia at all hours, and punish the criminals they caught. Justice would be swift and strong, and this would deter future criminal activity. With a sigh, Owori set the reports to the side. She put her hair up with one of her purple silk ribbons, sunk her elbows into the desk, and put her face in her hands.
She missed Feln.
He was so dear to her. She loved him without end, and she never thought she would be without him. Yet here she was, partway between hope and grief, both emotions mixing together. She went over every detail of the accounts in her mind, imagining Feln and what he would have done. The soldiers who witnessed the events told a story that didn’t make sense, further increasing her doubt about the facts. True, Feln was a fantastic fighter and warrior, but he couldn’t move like lighting. They described him moving so fast at times it was blinding. She was going to find out what happened, and would work on it until she drew her last breath. Where did he go? Where could he go? Days ago Makison told her how Feln rescued him, how they escaped the dungeon, and how they split up. Makison remembered seeing Feln during the final confrontation with Jakks, but he was knocked senseless and wasn’t sure what happened next. It was frustrating for her that no one saw Feln
after he went into the storage room. She knew in her heart that he was alive. But where was he? Shades!
There was a knock at her door and she looked up, expecting to see another Borgard servant asking if she needed food, wine, or more parchment. What she needed was peace, quiet, and a scrap of information to help her find out what happened to Feln. The door creaked open without her responding to the knock, so it could only be the one person who would knock but not announce her presence. Kara. The Master of Spring came through the door. She had discarded her monastery garb and was wearing formal attire that was more appropriate in the castle. Despite having the opportunity to change clothes, Owori decided her fighting clothes were enough to distinguish her as one of the representatives from the Accord of the Hand. It seemed Kara was more interested in blending in than representing the Accord’s leadership.
“Well met Kara,” Owori said. “I see you have found additional dresses that are to your liking.”
Kara frowned. “I see you’re still wearing the same clothes you wore to invade this kingdom. The same clothes you wore when I captured Jakks and ended this conflict.”
It was prattle like this that Owori despised. She didn’t want to be Kara, nor did she want to be around her. Since taking over the duties of restoring order in the castle and easing Makison into his new role as an ally to the Accord of the Hand, she had witnessed Kara flaunting her power. Yes, technically she took the king and ended his rule, and it appeared she wasn’t going to let anyone forget it, especially her. Owori didn't care who got the credit, the only thing that mattered was the job was completed.
“What do you need?” Owori asked.
“Always straight to the point – no time for pleasantries? There are reasons to have manners and to show respect to your superiors. I don’t know how Caleth puts up with such insubordination.”
“What do you need?”
“Well, despite your lack of decorum, I’ve come to ask you something. I want you to consider an undertaking for me. Let me explain first.” She paused and looked at the stack of papers Owori was fingering. “Of course only if you have the time.”
Truth be told she didn’t have time for this, but that didn’t matter because Kara was going to charge right through and get her points across, or whatever this explanation was. Every moment that passed dealing with this rubbish was another moment she could be searching for Feln. Owori crossed her arms. She wanted no inviting body language.
“You may know this already. We have additional Accord of the Hand personnel arriving in a few days to relieve us,” Kara said. “We aren’t suited for the administration of this castle,” she added as if it was a trivial task.
“Speak for yourself. I think I’m doing just fine with the job the Grand Master entrusted to me.”
“Don't misunderstand. They’re coming, and not because we aren’t doing a good job, but because we’re needed elsewhere I'm sure of that. Now if you will hold your tongue for a short time, I will explain why I came here.” Kara paused, surprised that Owori said nothing. “Since you are direct, I’ll be direct as well. Despite our obvious dislike for each other, I want you to consider your future.” Kara scooted into a chair and sat down. It took her a few moments to straighten the bodice so it fit correctly while she was sitting. “You may speak.”
Owori sat down behind the desk, irritated with Kara's attempts at manipulation. “What do you know about my future? Nothing.”
“Please listen to me. When we took the king, you saw how I created fire with my magic.”
Owori nodded. This wasn't what she expected. Still, she wasn't in the mood to cooperate. “So what? The Accord of the Hand knows that magic exists to varying degrees. It doesn’t make you special or preferred or elite, if that’s what you’re thinking. Can your fire stop a blade from piercing your heart?” If you have a heart, she thought.
“Are you always filled with such vitriolic words?”
“Only for those who deserve them.”
Kara paused and straightened the bodice again. “You see, I’ve been able to create fire all of my life. It began with small efforts like starting a fire or lighting a candle by pointing my fingers at the kindling or the wick. Recently I learned how to harness my magic, and now I can use it as a powerful weapon.” Kara put her palm out and upon it a flicker of fire grew into a controlled ball of flame that didn't harm her hand.
“I thought you were going to be direct. Why are you here? I don’t care about your magic. What does it have to do with me?”
“I see. I thought this would be obvious to you. But I you’re not impressed and I'm sorry you didn't make the connection.”
“Oh no, on the contrary,” Owori said, her voice slathered in sarcasm. “This has been the highlight of my week, seeing a ball of flame in your hands. Incredible. I’m going to write a letter to the Grand Master extolling the wonders of your abilities.” Owori's patience was at its end. “What the hell do you want?”
The ball of flame winked out of existence. Kara crossed her arms. Her face became dark.
“What do you want?” Owori repeated, the words stretched out. “You said you were going to be direct, but you haven't.”
Kara took a soothing breath, as if she had no more tolerance for Owori and she was finding a reason to continue. “Despite your terrible attitude, I want you to join my monastery in Bora. We can teach you to expand the gift you have. I took my magic from creating small flames to what you saw me do in this castle. You are unique. Never have I seen – or heard of – anyone using their magic to disappear.”
“I can’t disappear,” Owori said.
“I saw you disappear when you were going up the stairs, just before you got captured. Also in the tunnels beneath the city…”
“It was the shadows, a trick of the poor lighting,” Owori said, though she wasn't convincing enough.
“I know what I saw,” Kara told her. “So don’t deny it. We can teach you how to utilize your magical gift to the fullest, hone it like a weapon, and show you applications you never thought of.”
“You expect me to believe that your monastery can improve this gift of magic that I have?” She added hastily, “If I even have it?”
Kara looked smug. “Think about this logically, and I know you can. Bora is the only place you will learn how to expand your gift. You would learn more about magic and how to apply it. All you have to do is accept a transfer, come to Bora, and we’ll teach you.”
“Even if I could do what you say, the answer is no. I have a great teacher in Caleth, so that will have to suffice for me.”
“He’s an infant and has no affinity for magic. He can’t teach you about applying your chi in other ways, nor can he help you reach your potential. You’re wasting your time in Waskhal if you want to develop your craft. I can have it arranged through the Grand Master to have you transferred to Bora. Waskhal, I'm afraid, is slowing you down, holding you back.”
“And you bash me for uttering words of disrespect. Caleth holds the same title as you. He’s not an infant. He’s a great leader and knows more than you think.”
“Yet I think he would be harsh on you,” Kara said, “if you put the same words to him that you have put to me these past weeks. I have tolerated your attitude because I understand your potential. I’m willing to forgive you if you’ll consider coming to Bora. If you come to Bora, we can start our relationship anew. All debts owed or perceived will be forgiven.”
“Are we done with your lecture, whatever this is? I'm not going to Bora.”
“Take some time and think about it. Proper training at Bora would make you reach your potential. That is what I’m offering you; the ability to reach your potential, which I'm afraid, you don't even perceive or understand.”
Owori took a deep breath and counted to five before she responded. “I’m happy serving Caleth in Waskhal. If I change my mind, I’ll let you know. Thanks.” Owori looked away and grabbed a stack of parchment, shuffling through them.
Kara stood up and gave a sligh
t bow and took a step away. She stopped at the door and turned back. “May I see your hands?”
Owori looked up from the papers and pushed them to the side. Without thought she crossed her arms to hide her hands. “Excuse me? What for?”
“Your tattoos. I’ve seen them and I’m curious about their origins.” Kara pushed up the right sleeve of her gown as far as it would go, revealing the detailed green tattoo of a snake. The greens were startling in color, bright and vibrant. The head of the snake was hidden beneath the fabric at her shoulder, but the body coiled around her arms was visible. It looked real. The color was that vivid and the artistry masterful.
Owori, realizing that she had crossed her arms to hide her hands, brought them forward with her eyes mesmerized by Kara's tattoo. On the backs of both hands were the beginning of what looked to be tails, each colored red. The incomplete tattoos had faded with time.
“When did you get them?”
Owori looked at the tails, shapes so familiar that the details were lost to her because she knew them so well. “I don’t remember. By the time I was old enough to start asking questions about them, everyone who knew me as a little child was dead. I’ve had them as long as I can remember, so I was three or four when I got them?”
Kara gazed at Owori’s hands. Now she was mesmerized.
“What are you looking for?” Owori asked, her tone softened. “What relevance are my tattoos to you?”
“I was just curious, that’s all. Tattoos are rare. At least outside of Bora they are.”
“I don't understand. Are tattoos common in Bora? Why do you have a tattoo?”
“Questions, questions. I have a tattoo because it’s a sign of my devotion to my magic,” Kara said. “In Bora, those of us who have elevated their gift to the highest standards receive tattoos to signify our accomplishment. Besides vanishing, what else can you do with your chi?”
