An Emperor's Fury: The Frayed Rope

by Paul Heisel

  “Collectively what we’re looking for are persons who may have colorful tattoos on their arms, shoulders, or necks. We’ll have to institute procedures to heck the lay people who work at the monastery for these tattoos, and we’ll have to check our cloisters as well. Having a tattoo doesn’t mean they are an assassin, we just want to question anyone with a tattoo. Be alert, though, as you should consider these people to be extremely dangerous. Any questions?”

  “Exactly how did Seveth die?” a monk asked.

  Feln looked to Caleth for direction, who gave a reluctant nod.

  “He was frozen to death,” Feln answered.

  “Impossible!”

  “How?”

  Moments passed as Feln surveyed the room, taking in as many comments as he could before he would speak again. He figured out why a Fury that could use frost was chosen as the assassin; frozen things thaw over time. Had Seveth’s body not been found right away, they would have found him dead in his bath with little or no evidence of what had happened. Of course they could have used a Fury who could produce fire. That would have incinerated the building and too could have been made to look like an accident. With fire, though, came investigations and questions. It was reasonable to assume a dead man in a bathtub with no wounds had died naturally. Feln wondered if they made a mistake by telling the assembled group that Seveth had been assassinated. What would the Grand Master tell Kara and Djaa? Would he send a message to them revealing Seveth died, but with no other details, with the hope of flushing out the traitor when they made a slip of the tongue?

  “You may have heard rumors of magic being used in the Accord of the Hand,” Feln said. “Those rumors have truth to them. There are monks, members of our order, who can employ magic in elemental forms. What I mean is they can use frost, fire, wind or invisible force, and lightning to attack. Seveth was frozen in the hope that he would be found dead with no wounds, no indication of how he had died. I must ask you now to vow to me, to Caleth, and to the Waskhal monastery that all of you will not speak of the assassination or of our knowledge of these users of magic. After we conclude, this is not to be spoken in public or to anyone who is not in this room. It is for everyone’s safety.”

  Feln saw many nods on curious faces, but the fearful ones looked around the room as if they expected their neighbor to be a Fury. Affirmatives followed and then he felt his belt tingle with magical energy. He wondered what had just happened, but whatever it was, it had to be beneficial to their cause. The room became silent; monks were leaning forward to listen.

  “Many of these monks who have magical powers have tattoos, signifying their gift.” Feln thought that would be enough, as a full explanation about Furies would invite more questions. “There may be those who can use magic that don’t have tattoos, so we’ll have to be vigilant and cautious. The most important thing to remember is they are dangerous. A collection of these monks could level this monastery from a distance in a matter of minutes. Now I know there are many questions, and frankly, I don’t have all the answers. I will meet with each of you to discuss security further, and maybe answer a question or two if I can.”

  With that Feln stepped down, ignoring the questions that did come. He exchanged glances with Caleth, who resumed his position at the front of the hall. He began reinforcing what Feln had said. Feln sat back, caught Ayorris’s eye and received a nod of approval. That was promising, as Ayorris was known for his harsh discipline and merciless pursuit of perfection for the army. It made him feel good, and he reflected that his short experience in Pyndira helped him with the impromptu address. Maybe he was destined to be the head of the Xialao family, but for now, he was a monk in charge of security for Caleth. And he still needed to find Owori. Shades he wished she was here. She would know how to help make sure no Furies got to them.

  #

  The meetings afterward were long and involved, stretching far into the night and beyond Feln’s ability to stay awake. He endured the questions, answering what he could, but for many inquiries he said ‘I don’t know.’ Assignments were given and responsibilities delegated, and by the time he was asleep on his pallet, the first defenses were planned. There would be more changes as time went on, first and foremost, they needed to make sure Caleth and the monastery were safe.

  #

  The next day after a short night of sleep, Feln implemented additional security measures, including checkpoints around the entrances and exits to the monastery grounds, where everyone (he included) submitted to searches. At each gate, he put monks he knew could be counted on, telling them to check entrants for tattoos and detain anyone who had tattoos of significant size or that represented animals, reptiles or snakes. The monastery was locked down and schedules were rigidly adhered to, and Ayorris brought more regular troops to patrol the monastery grounds and walls. They would remain in place until Caleth returned from the conclave in Sabrin. Preparations for the trip were ongoing and kept as secret as possible.

  Part of the security enhancements included two bodyguards going with Caleth everywhere, and Feln spent time shadowing the three from a discreet distance when he could. He would observe, depart, see how things were going at the checkpoints, then continue protecting Caleth from afar. This went on for two full days and nothing out of the ordinary happened. Although he was occupied with keeping Caleth safe from potential assassins, Feln spent much of his idle time thinking of Owori. So much had happened in the past three months he feared he was going to forget what she looked like! He recalled their first kiss and it created longing, he just wanted to get his arms around her. It worried him that he may never find her. Now he knew how she felt when he disappeared from Borgard.

  That day a message arrived from Sabrin requesting Caleth and candidates arrive in Sabrin for conclave in ten days. The other leaders of the monasteries had been ordered to attend, and they would hold a funeral service for Seveth. Feln figured the Grand Master was going to find out who was responsible while he had all the suspects gathered together.

  Caleth was undecided on how many should go with him to Sabrin. Normally he went with one or two aides, other monks, but this time he felt the need from more protection besides the potential candidates for the Master of Winter. He assembled three platoons of his most experienced monks, sent the first platoon to Sabrin immediately with one posing as him, a decoy. If an assassin was lying in wait for him along the road, they would strike the wrong caravan. The other two platoons would travel with him as protection, but they would leave early and meet Caleth and his bodyguards at a determined point along the road. He was sending a variety of signals indicating he had left already or was leaving soon. This, he hoped, would force any assassins out into the open. Feln decided it was also a good idea to create the illusion that Caleth was still here for three or four more days, so they took Tamuel, dressed him in Caleth’s robes, put on a blond wig, and paraded him around the monastery for short times posing as Caleth. It was a reasonable facsimile and would fool the casual observer.

  While the preparations for the real journey were going on, Feln continued to look for the assassins. Once Caleth was safely away, he would feel better. He and TeBroo took up residence in Caleth’s quarters, going over their plan of how to maintain the illusion that Caleth was still here. It only needed to last three or four days after Caleth left for Sabrin. They devised a series of rumors to be spread about Caleth leaving in three days for Sabrin, they tightened security, and created a mockup of another caravan that would never actually leave Waskhal. The true caravans were already hidden at a safe location in the city and would be departing the following day. Getting the caravans set up and the personnel to the secret location was painstaking and slow, but worth it. Feln figured the assassins would only find Caleth by luck and not by any fault of their plans. He was concerned, though, that there was a weakness in their plans that he hadn't considered.

  It was morning, the beginning of the day Caleth would leave for Sabrin from the secret location. After Caleth was out of Waskhal, Feln would
leave a day following to catch up with them and be part of the group to go to Sabrin. TeBroo would stay behind to run the monastery, with Ayorris stepping in to assist since so many senior monks were headed to Sabrin. The day passed without incident, all arrangements were going according to plan and schedule. Caleth was going to leave the secret location at dusk, so Feln spent the day getting ready to depart. When he finished preparing, he spent time with Tamuel and TeBroo mimicking Caleth’s normal movements around the monastery. If the assassins were watching, they would be sure to think Caleth was still at the monastery. The trio returned to Caleth’s office and spoke about their plans for dinner. Even at the Master’s table tonight, Tamuel would maintain his false appearance as Caleth.

  A rap on the door halted their conversation in mid-sentence. A member of the gate guards came through the door. “We found a man with a large green snake tattoo who was trying to come through the western gate. We bound his hands and mouth as you suggested and we’re holding him.”

  “Tamuel, stay here,” Feln commanded. “TeBroo, come with me. Let’s find out who this person is.”

  Chapter 13 - Assassins

  The old walls in this part of the Waskhal monastery had seen better days. There was evidence of a recent fire, and as Feln inspected the stone, he felt anxious. They made it through the outer guards and slipped under a stone arch, heading inside the building. TeBroo was at his side, silent, strides quick. The floors here were not swept regularly, as the fire made the building unfit for daily occupation. It was perfect, though, for detaining people, and since the fire a year ago, it had served the monastery as an intermediate jail. The roof was fixed to keep out the weather but no other improvements were pursued. Feln glanced at the timbers above. They still looked freshly cut, rough-hewn to a square shape from logs and put into place on top of the stone, held into position by iron spikes and their weight.

  He didn’t know what to expect or what the Fury might try to do. They would have to be on guard and make sure the Fury couldn’t use his hands. With a wave, Feln summoned two additional monks to accompany him and TeBroo while they questioned the Fury. Who knew what talent the Fury had.

  The room they entered was bare stone walls and the new roof, in the middle was a simple pine chair. Upon it was a man, bound and gagged as ordered. The Fury was dressed in a monk’s robe, presumably to blend in. He had on worn sandals and his feet were dirty. The Fury’s eyes held fear, good Feln thought, this would be easier if the Fury was afraid. He kept trying to talk, but the gag made him unintelligible. Feln went behind the man and grabbed the sleeve, pulling it up to reveal the tattoo. It was a green snake, not similar to anything he had seen, and Feln paused. He took his finger and touched the arm, feeling greasy paint, then he rubbed away part of the tattoo. It wasn’t permanent. Feln tugged on TeBroo’s robe and pulled him to the side.

  “This is no assassin. It’s a decoy. The tattoo is paint.”

  TeBroo approached the man. TeBroo’s dark features were daunting, and it looked as if he were going to hammer the prisoner into submission with his clenched fists. Instead of pounding him, TeBroo removed the gag and tossed it to the ground.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” the man whimpered. “He made me put on the paint, he made me. He was going to kill my family. I had to, I had to.” He sobbed.

  “Where did he go?”

  “He was behind me. He said I would be captured. If I was captured he would signal another man, who would release my family.”

  Feln addressed the two guards. “Take him around the grounds. See if he can identify the man.”

  “No!” he hollered. “He’ll kill my family, my little girls! No!”

  The man was terrified, that was apparent to Feln.

  “What does he look like?”

  “I don’t know, a man, average, nothing special. Beard, dark eyes. He wore a hooded robe, like all of you wear.”

  “He’s after Caleth,” Feln said. “He must have known that we would question a prisoner.”

  “Leaving Caleth with diminished protection,” TeBroo said.

  Feln and TeBroo sped out of the room, leaving the bewildered guards and a swinging door behind. Down the hallway and past the entrance they went, not taking time to explain to the outer guards their hasty departure. Where they had left Tamuel was five minutes of walking away, less than that if they ran. Feln ran faster as he felt a sense of desperate urgency because they had no way to warn Tamuel. TeBroo must have felt it too, as he was slightly ahead of Feln and sprinting. Feln expected to see a violent fire ahead of them or a fight between monks and magic. The church came into view and it looked…normal. They told the guards at the front to lock down the church, begin a search from top to bottom and leave no space uninvestigated.

  They went into the church. Nothing was out of place.

  “Where’s Tamuel?” Feln asked.

  “Having tea,” an administrative aide answered.

  They walked down the corridor, noting nothing appeared out of order. Feln opened the door without knocking. The office smelled like orange and exotic spices. The wooden floor was slick with tea and sprawled out on the floor was Tamuel. His youthful face and eyes were devoid of life. Feln checked for a heartbeat, he was dead, poisoned for sure. The killer had to be close and had to be able to blend in with the monks. But how had he got past their checkpoints? It had to be someone without a tattoo.

  “They thought he was Caleth,” TeBroo said. “Our ruse worked too well. Shades!”

  “Shades is right,” Feln muttered, then he went out the door to summon monks to help them. The church was locked tight by now and the guards were searching. If there was an assassin here, then they would find him. Feln had the distinct feeling, though, that the assassin had departed and could be to the nearest exit to the monastery grounds. Feln returned and glanced at Tamuel. The body was on floor and Tamuel was on his back. How likely would it be for him to fall exactly on his back? The blond wig was askew on his head, revealing his black hair. Why was he positioned like that? It then occurred to him that the assassin came into the room to confirm the kill! That meant he knew it wasn’t Caleth. The assassin’s next step would be to locate the real Caleth. Though he didn’t want to admit it, their best course of action was to remain here until Caleth departed the city. The best thing was to do nothing.

  “I’m going to question the staff,” Feln told TeBroo. “Can you get Ayorris to lock the gates? No one is to go in or out of the monastery until tomorrow. I want soldiers patrolling the inside perimeter of the wall.”

  “What about Caleth?”

  “Out of our hands now,” Feln said.

  Though TeBroo didn’t say anything further, he looked as if he had something to say. “I’ll get Ayorris.”

  Monks came in to tend to the dead Tamuel and to remove the poisonous tea. Feln followed TeBroo as they went to the front of the church. They parted ways, TeBroo heading outside and Feln standing near the entrance. He imagined the layout of the converted church. Work areas and administration were in the heart of the old church, where worshipers must have sat long ago, was now occupied with desks, tables, chairs, and industrious monks keeping records. The twelve stone columns that supported the roof were large enough for a person to hide behind. To his left were two guards and to the back of the church were two more guards; all four blocking the only entrances to the office areas, storage, eating hall, kitchens, and quarters. Feln approached the novice monk responsible for greeting and directing visitors. If the assassin had come through the front door, this monk would have noticed.

  “After I left with TeBroo about fifteen or twenty minutes ago, did anyone come through those doors?” Feln pointed to the front.

  “No one until you returned,” he answered. “And no one left that way either.”

  “No strangers milling about?”

  “I don’t know all of the monks if that’s what you mean. There were a few in here talking to different staff members that I don’t know personally. None of them have left, not a
t least through the front door. I believe most were reporting for kitchen duty.”

  “Thank you,” Feln said as he scanned the large room. No one looked out of place. He walked to his left toward two guards and went by them, then past the office where they were removing Tamuel’s body. Rather than cut through the eating hall, he took the long way to the kitchens and traveled down the hallway, turned right, then another right, then a left into the kitchens. Preparations were going on for dinner, the fires pumping out heat. Red-faced cooks looked up at him as he entered. Feln found where kettles dangled above hot coals and strode over. This was where the water would have been boiled for the tea. A cook with a rather large knife came to talk to him while the work in the kitchens continued.

  “Feln, can I help you?” the head cook asked.

  “Yes, you can. There was a monk who delivered tea to Tamuel. Have you seen him?”

  “Not sure. We have servers that come and go. Why? Is there something wrong?”

  “Tamuel was poisoned,” Feln answered in a low voice, but he was sure others heard. “Did anyone come through here?”

  “Poisoned?”

  “His tea. Did someone come through here?”

  “I saw a monk,” a nearby cook said. “Not long ago. Came through here and dropped off a tray. He went into the pantry.”

  “Did he come out?”

  “I haven’t seen him. I thought he was fetching something.”

  “Get the guards. Have them come to the pantry right away.” Feln unsheathed the Dragonfly katana to a collective gasp of the kitchen staff. Everything stopped. He went to the pantry door and opened it, his hands tingling in anticipation. The pantry was as large, fifty feet by twenty feet, contained shelves, barrels, and supplies for the kitchen. The lanterns at ceiling level blazed away. Quietly, he stepped farther into the pantry and scanned the shelves in the middle of the room, searching for the assassin’s hiding place. The pantry had a subtle spicy smell, valuable peppercorns were spilled on the floor and trampled. Feln was sure there would be punishment for whoever had spilled it. He crept around barrels of potatoes and sacks of milled grain and fine flour, coming to a halt when he discovered visible tracks. A person went this way recently, stepped in flour unknowingly, and left a trail to the cellar. The door opposite him, normally used for loading and unloading, remained barred. Why would the assassin trap himself in the cellar and not go out the barred door? With caution, Feln stepped toward the stairs, his left hand fishing for a lantern. Thrusting the lantern forward, Feln descended.