An Emperor's Fury: The Frayed Rope

by Paul Heisel

  Caleth wasn’t asleep yet, so Feln joined him near a waning fire. There were other monks around, but none close enough to overhear a softly spoken conversation. They sat next to each other with the fire burning low, chitchatting about the stars and pointing out the constellations they knew the names of. It was a good distraction for a short while, keeping them from thinking about the situation they were in. Feln felt at ease with Caleth, and he was confident in what he was about to do. He pulled out the Favored One belt taken from Kojo, the silver decorations, stars, glinted off the firelight. He presented it to Caleth.

  “This is a Favored One belt. I intended to give it to Owori, but I don’t think I’m going to find her. Not soon anyway.”

  Caleth appeared confused. “I don’t need a gift from you Feln. Keep it for Owori. You’ll find her. You probably passed by her while you were traveling. She has to be in Sabrin.”

  “I sent a message to Sabrin. Nothing returned. She isn’t there, but I will still check when we get there. Take it.”

  “No, keep the gift for her. It looks valuable.”

  “It is valuable, but it’s not a gift,” Feln said. “I know you trust my judgment. You know that I’ve been,” he paused to look at their surroundings, “elsewhere these last three months.” Feln stopped, unable to get the explanation out.

  “I’ve told no one of your travels if that is what you’re worried about,” Caleth spoke. “Nor have I thought much about it to be truthful. Truly, I’m happy to have you back. You saved me – saved all our assess back there if you ask me.”

  “Please, take the belt.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a symbol of status. It’s also magical. If you accept it from me, then you’ll be bound to my family and bound to my service in Pyndira. Before you ask, here with the Accord of the Hand I will still follow you without question. On Pyndira, you will follow me.”

  “I can’t accept this, and I don’t know what this means. I can’t be bound to you or your family; I’m a leader of the Accord of the Hand, one of the Seasons. I have no intention of going to Pyndira, even if that’s possible for me. This isn’t what I want. Thank you though.”

  Feln expected this response. Had Caleth been from Pyndira, Feln was sure he would have jumped at the chance to be a Favored One. People killed for these belts. This was Kojo’s belt, and Feln was sure it had seen its fair share of devastation. But here on Malurrion, the belt had little meaning, little worth. What an interesting notion.

  “I’m not asking you to take it. I’m telling you to take it. Whether or not you come to Pyndira, I don’t care; I want you to have this belt and learn its properties. You’ll understand what I mean when you put it on.”

  Caleth pushed the belt back into Feln’s hands. “This isn’t for me.”

  “It’s yours. When you’ve come to a point where your curiosity has gotten the best of you, put it on. Then and only then can you give it back.”

  Feln put it into his waiting hands.

  “Why are you doing this?” Caleth asked. “Why now?”

  “There’s a connection between Pyndira and the Accord of the Hand. The Furies. This brewing civil war. There’s something terrible on the horizon and we’re on the forefront of it. You have said there’s wealth in Sabrin and there are those that covet it. What if people from Pyndira covet it? What if there are Furies from Bora headed to Sabrin to plunder the Accord of the Hand’s riches and take it to Pyndira? What if it is as simple as that?”

  “I don’t have the answers to your questions. What I know is this; the Accord of the Hand will be vulnerable if it is split in pieces. If word of our discord reaches neighboring kingdoms, we are ripe for invasion.”

  “I wager you a gold coin that when we get to Sabrin, it won’t be as we hoped. It’ll either be in flames, under siege by armies from abroad, or held hostage by Furies. When I was in Bora, Kara was trying to keep Furies from leaving the monastery. They have had enough time to get to Sabrin. They’re probably there already.”

  “There’s nothing we can do about that. We need to get to Sabrin and help the Grand Master, no matter what the circumstances, no matter what is happening we must keep the Accord of the Hand together. And we must find out who killed Seveth and who tried to kill me. Go, get some rest. We have long days of travel ahead of us.”

  Feln departed at Caleth’s request. Yes, long days of travel, and long days of fighting. Whatever was happening would come to a head in Sabrin, and for better or worse, the fighting would begin. In time, his mentor would put on the belt and realize the magic it held. Then, if things went as he predicted, Caleth would come to Pyndira with him. The survivability of the Accord of the Hand was in question and he feared the Furies would win the day. The Accord of the Hand would be no more. He understood why the Furies were marked, why they were controlled, sold like slaves and bound to families. It still didn’t make it right and he didn’t agree with the practice, but he couldn’t imagine what would happen if the Furies banded together and fought for their independence. It would be a bloody war. He was determined and would remain stubborn though, not willing to give into the practice of buying Furies for his family. He thought it might be a good idea to find Furies willing to join their family, without the connotation of servitude. Would he be able to do that? He wouldn’t make them bind themselves to the family, then they would be free to end their service when they wanted to – it would be no different from joining the army. Could that work? He didn’t want the Furies to feel as if they were serving a lifetime prison sentence. What he wanted was willing fighters who believed in what his family practiced – justice.

  The ground below him felt hard through the thick blanket, but he was finally exhausted enough to sleep. It would be light in a few hours and they would resume the trip to Sabrin. Turning again in an attempt to get comfortable, the thought crossed his mind again that the Accord of the Hand was near its end. The only trick was not getting caught in the wake of destruction.

  Chapter 14 - Sabrin

  Even as they approached Sabrin, Feln and Caleth knew all wasn’t well. They met many travelers who were leaving the great city, telling them that violence was in the streets and parts of the city were on fire. From this distance Feln couldn’t determine what was happening, but as their caravan drew closer, he could see why they had fled. The outlying farms had been attacked and there were other signs of skirmishes to the west, but the most prominent evidence was one section of the outer city was ablaze. It was in the western section, on the outskirts of Sabrin, and as they approached from the south, the damage came into view from the hilltop they were on. Hundreds of homes and businesses, if not more, had been consumed and the flames continued. It had spread to the edge of the inner city of Sabrin, stopped only by the stout stone walls. Though difficult to see, Feln noted troops fighting the fire and columns of soldiers clearing debris. A gold coin tumbled end over end from Caleth and Feln snatched it out of the air.

  At the outer city gate, they were detained and questioned. Security had tightened, according to the guards, and searches were necessary. This was going to take time, so Feln tacitly enquired with the soldiers what was happening. What he found out was that a group of malcontents started a riot in this part of the outer city, then fires sprouted up in block of buildings. Before they knew it, they had a full-blown catastrophe. The Grand Master called in the army to help the city with the fire, and only because of the nearness of the lake were they able to keep the fire from spreading further.

  “It’s a prelude to turmoil,” Feln said to Caleth as they went through the outer gates.

  The streets of the inner city were active, crowded even, as the displaced people had set up shelters in the parks and open spaces. Monks had been dispatched and were helping, gathering groups together in open areas where they would set up refugee camps. Other monks tended to the injured, sick, and lost. The Grand Master had thrown a lot of resources at this fire.

  “I agree,” Caleth said. “The question is, what is going
to happen next?”

  The caravan pushed through to the center of town, the lake ahead of them. To the east was the monastery, set on hill overlooking the edge of the lake. Here the city seemed normal to Feln, and he expected more conflict and it wasn’t here. Maybe, he thought, they were early. If the fire was just a distraction, then he didn't want to be here when the real conflict began.

  #

  The monastery was the largest of its kind, behind the walls were thousands of acres. In days past, the Sabrin monastery had been self-sustaining. The interior farms had granted fruits and vegetables, and easy access to the lake had produced plentiful fish. As the city grew, the farms within the monastery wall disappeared and became parks and opens spaces. Walking forests were planted, and over the years grew into lush areas to walk, reflect, and spend time. The trip from the monastery walls to the monastery structures took minutes, as it was nearly a mile to the nearest structure. They went in the only gate to the elevated monastery, noting the rough terrain surrounding the walls to make invasion more difficult. To the north was the lake, and with its steep cliffs and rocky shores, anyone coming by boat would be turned back. The remaining portions of the hill had been mined away until the slopes were too steep for man or horse to climb easily. South of monastery was where the army was housed, another walled community supporting thousands of soldiers. Like most monasteries, the construction had progressed over time, and Sabrin was a patchwork of structures all tied together by corridors, courtyards, and underground passageways. Old churches had been repurposed, other buildings had been completely encased in new outer skins much like what was going on in Bora. The group from Waskhal separated; the wagons and horses went to the stables along the southern wall, the monks went to monastery’s entrance.

  #

  Inside the monastery, they were assigned quarters reserved for visiting monks. Space was in abundance. There were four such buildings, all tied together on the western side of the monastery and made up of multiple stories to house hundreds of visitors. The platoons of monks that came with them, and those who arrived prior, were spread out on three different floors, making a small dent in the available space. Simple decorations and furniture adorned each room, and Feln took time to rest, then went off to train at the facility in the basement of the dormitory. While he was working out with his fellow monks, he heard rumors that the Grand Master was ill. After Feln finished, he went to the bathhouse, cleaned up, changed into new clothes, and went to meet with Caleth. This evening they were going to see the Grand Master.

  The same procedure as before applied, they were brought before an imposter until their identities could be verified. But unlike Feln’s visit, the Grand Master wasn’t waiting behind the curtains in a secret room, he was elsewhere. One of the Dragonmasters took them deeper into the monastery. It was dark and dismal in places, not so much unkempt but unused. There was an incredible amount of space here under roof. Feln stopped counting the empty rooms at twenty, as he lost interest. The structure continually changed construction, here it was well made wooden walls with stone load bearing archways and the floors were polished hardwood boards. Feln imagined there was another level below them, and what purpose it served he didn’t know. This place was enormous. Deeper into the structure they went, this area looked like the original construction, stout thick limestone walls and high arches, with plaster covering the stone to make the walls appear smooth and finished. He noticed guard niches, left empty, and many of the wooden doors had a cracked from it being too dry. The Dragonmaster left them at a set of black lacquered double doors guarded by two other Dragonmasters, who let them inside.

  The room was octagonal in shape. The most striking feature of it was the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It was made of hand-blown glass, each piece cobalt blue and shaped to look like jellyfish. Attached to iron rods, they hung down from a black iron superstructure, candles burning up into the bodies of the jellyfish. It gave the room a soft glow. The floor was polished boards, and it was obvious to Feln that the housekeepers spent ample time with wax and effort to keep the planks shining. Pattern-less red and blue carpets were spread about the room. To the left in an alcove was a small desk, chair, and roll after roll of papers, adjacent was a small round table with four creaky looking wooden chairs. In the center was a bed with four posts, draped over it was a fine white fabric that obscured the full view of the bed. To the right, along three of the octagon’s walls, were bookshelves full of tomes that went from floor to ceiling. There was a ladder on wheels that could travel along the length of the shelves. The floor near the bookcases was worn from the wheeled ladder. Deep to the left was the only painting in the room, it was of a stately man who looked similar to Montishari Gatôn. A relative? To the right of the bed were cabinets for clothing, they too, like the bookshelves, went from floor to ceiling. They stood at the entrance, waiting to be invited into the room, but no such invitation came. Feln looked to Caleth. He shrugged his shoulders. Was the Grand Master in bed? Resting? Elsewhere?

  “Maybe we should sit down,” Caleth said, pointing to the table and chairs.

  Feln didn’t answer. He strode across the shiny floor and stood behind a chair. Not a moment passed and the double doors opened. The elderly Grand Master came inside, flanked by a young monk who had a tray of fruits, breads, and a pot of tea. Montishari Gatôn bowed to Caleth and Feln, and he received the same in return. The aide deposited the whole tray and quietly departed the room.

  “Well met,” the Grand Master said as he motioned toward the table.

  Feln and Caleth repeated the greeting and sat down.

  “It surprises me to see you here,” he said. “I mean both of you. Last I knew Feln – you were on a quest for your friend and Caleth, I believe you’re a few days early. You must have left right when you got the message or a day or two after. Why such urgency? This doesn’t bode well, does it?”

  “Indeed, you’re observant,” Caleth said. He made a motion to Feln with his fingers, quiet.

  There was a pause.

  “What news do you bring that couldn’t go by winged messenger? Or do I have to keep asking questions of my loyal followers to get information?” Montishari Gatôn glanced back and forth between the two monks from Waskhal. Without taking his eyes from them, he grabbed the hot tea pot and poured three bowls.

  “I prepared to leave as soon as the news of Seveth’s death reached Waskhal,” Caleth said. “There are three reasons I arrived so quickly.”

  “Only three?”

  Feln felt the tension. The Grand Master was being flippant, as if he didn’t trust Caleth’s words. What happened to sow this mistrust? This wasn’t just a meeting. It was a test of loyalty, truth, and purpose. The Grand Master trusted Caleth enough to relay his suspicions about what was happening to the Accord of the Hand, enlist his aid in finding the truth about Bora, and consult about the findings. Was Caleth under suspicion now? Perhaps the Grand Master trusted no one now that Seveth had been murdered.

  “The winged messenger arrived telling that Seveth was dead, and the manner of his death wasn’t normal. I believe he was assassinated, as do you. The conclave to elect the new Master of Winter would be announced and I decided it was best to get here before Kara and Djaa.”

  Caleth picked up his bowl. He warmed his hands but didn’t drink.

  “One.”

  “Feln theorized that based on Seveth’s timely death, you could be in danger. I decided that I was needed here to either protect you or foil a plot against you. I came with all speed, because I stand with you and I stand with the Accord of the Hand.”

  “Two. And the third?”

  “Before departing, an assassin dug through the cemetery into our administrative building, infiltrated Waskhal despite our increased security, and managed to poison my decoy. A monk named Tamuel, who was as dear to me as my friend Feln here, died because of this assassin. In the panic to find the assassin, TeBroo made a tactical error and only the great skill of Feln here saved me and dozens of others from
certain death. There were three of them, three assassins who were trying to kill me. What is concerning about this is they used magic, fire and lighting. Magic like what is being practiced in Bora, if you've read my messages. Two died before they could kill me, and the third fell on his poison dart – on purpose or accidentally, we’re not sure. He died before we could question him. I’m paraphrasing for your benefit, but the credit for saving all of us should be given to Feln. He’s the one who followed his instincts, anticipated the assassins and their capabilities, and foiled the plans of whoever was trying to use the magic to kill me.”

  There was a hint of recognition in Montishari Gatôn’s eyes. It departed and his tanned face became expressionless. He picked up his bowl of tea and held the steaming drink to his face, taking in the cinnamon aroma. He set it down, then adjusted his robe and cocked his head to the side. “You look like you want to ask me a question?”

  “Has there been an attempt on your life?” Caleth asked.

  “How do I know you aren’t the one I should be worried about?”

  “If that’s what I had in mind, then you would already be dead,” he answered. “Grand Master, don’t question my loyalty. Or Feln’s. We stand with the Accord of the Hand.”

  “So these magic wielding assassins tried to kill you. I’m assuming you think that is how Seveth was killed?”

  “Yes. Feln believes Seveth was frozen in the evening so when they found him in the morning, he would be dead but thawed. It would look like an accident or death by natural causes.”