An Emperor's Fury: The Frayed Rope

by Paul Heisel

  The two sat down at the table and drank water. Akuka was a tall man and had a deep raspy voice. Gray speckled black hair stuck out from underneath the cowl, framing his square face and large set jaw. His eyes were dark and brooding, eyebrows bushy and twisting. Feln guessed he wasn’t as old as the Grand Master, but approaching it. So the Grand Master had a Fury – he was here for protection.

  “Yes, I bring good news. Do you remember Haworu?”

  “Akuka, there have been so many monks who have come through the Accord of the Hand and our schools in Kenkawa. I can barely remember those around me, much less one named Haworu.”

  “He’ll be a good replacement for Seveth.”

  “Would you like tea or stronger drink? Wine? Ale?”

  Akuka stood up suddenly, casting his chair aside. It slid on the polished floors, hit an uneven spot in the boards, and flipped over. He looked straight toward the closet.

  “What is it?” The Grand Master stood up.

  “Are you sure you’re alone?”

  “No one can get in here. Why?”

  “There is magic in there – the closet.”

  “Oh, you’re just feeling my belt. Come. Let’s get have a drink, just like our younger days chasing the maidens in the Kazuma District. What do you prefer?”

  “Ale,” Akuka said. He bent over and picked up the chair, then slid it back into place. His long fingers tapped the back of the chair. “I’m going to check the closet anyway.”

  Feln’s chest tightened and he blinked. The closet cabinet façade was double doors, so he positioned himself behind the left door. The Fury would open the door with his right, poke his head in, and have his look. Feln dipped further away from the crack, losing sight of the Fury. The double doors flew open, both creating a rush of air. Though Feln’s instincts were to cower back and hide further in the closet, he didn’t and stepped forward out of the closet just past the tall Akuka. He skirted by the bed, the diaphanous cloth swaying as he went by, and headed for the door. The temperature in the room dropped suddenly and cold frost rolled off the floor. Feln turned. Akuka’s hands were blue, covered with ice, and the air around him began to snow.

  “Akuka, there’s no one else here. And you’re making the room freezing cold! Come. Let’s have a drink. I want to hear what’s going on at home. What is that lovely daughter of yours up to these days?” The Grand Master rang the little bell. The doors opened and the aide came inside.

  Feln slipped by the aide and the guards, walking away from the quarters. He was drained and thirsty, but didn’t drop his chi until he was closer to where he and Caleth were staying. Feln made his way into his room and sat down, letting himself pant out his nervousness. He drank from a pitcher of water then splashed the soothing liquid on his face. Mind spinning, he didn’t know where to start or even if he should begin talking to Caleth tonight. No, he told himself, he needed sleep and time to digest everything that happened. And he couldn’t remember what province had a city called Kenkawa. Feln took another drink, slipped off his clothes, and pulled the blanket over his head. He was asleep in seconds.

  #

  After breakfast Feln and Caleth left the monastery and took a stroll through the city. There they discussed what they had seen and heard, and from their collective thinking they determined that the link between the Accord of the Hand and Pyndira had purpose. The Accord of the Hand was protecting vast wealth, and after Caleth suggested that the wealth was from Pyndira, their observations started making sense. They theorized that long ago the monks in Pyndira found their way to Malurrion and set up the monastery in Sabrin to carry on their ways. Over time they built a stronghold and began transporting the riches to Sabrin for safekeeping. What better way to protect the wealth of your family than removing it completely from circulation. The Grand Masters used their belt to transport the treasure from Pyndira to Malurrion. When the money was needed, all they had to do was order it or deliver a message to the Grand Master to bring it. This circumstance raised more questions than it answered, and they wondered if the Grand Master would be true to the Accord of the Hand. Would he sacrifice their lives to protect his family fortune? Feln was sure he would, but Caleth thought differently. Though they disagreed on that point, they did agree that whatever was threatening the Accord of the Hand was because of the riches Feln had seen deep underneath the Sabrin monastery.

  At midday Caleth was summoned to a meeting with the Grand Master. When Feln wasn’t invited, he took time to train and he talked with other visitors. Monks had arrived from Bora, Renk, and Tyilip. They had traveled with their respective leaders, Kara, Djaa, and the venerable Abram, who had taken Seveth’s place in the interim. With no more than a few well-placed questions, Feln discovered that Kara arrived with a large contingent of monks. Djaa arrived with his loyal monks, a handful at the most, and Abram only brought the prime candidates for Seveth’s replacement. Feln wondered when Haworu would arrive and what his story would be. It would be easy to spoil the Grand Master’s plan, but Feln wasn’t sure if that was what he should do. The reason wasn’t simple and he was conflicted.

  The Accord of the Hand stood for strength and unwavering dedication to their order. Though warlike and violent at times, every single member of the Accord of the Hand was supposed to support the Empire. The lands they held were vast and rich with minerals, forests, and farms – they had to be strong otherwise the kingdoms around them would invade. Only by strength did they keep the kingdoms at bay. They had armies to rival any kingdom’s, and could move swiftly to protect their lands, their people, and their heritage at a moment’s notice.

  He left the monastery structures and walked among the beautiful gardens, still in awe by the size of the complex. The humid air around him made his fighting clothes sticky. A group of monks passed by him, they nodded in his direction but did not greet him, nor did they stop to engage in conversation. The four monks seemed to be sharing a deep discussion on an important subject. Feln wondered where they were from and if they had come from another monastery, was their instruction much different from Waskhal? Who would know or maybe the real question was, who would care? Each monastery had a history, reasons they existed and flourished.

  In their case, long ago Spirit Ones traveled south and established a church in the area near Waskhal, and later, an elderly monk built the monastery at the behest of the Grand Master. The stories were similar for each monastery; members of the Accord of the Spirit set up ministries, established a foundation, then the Accord of the Hand moved in. There hadn’t been a large monastery founded in centuries, as the current monasteries could support all their monks, armies, and needed taxes. Feln was beginning to have his doubts about what he told Caleth earlier that the Grand Master would sacrifice the Accord of the Hand to protect the treasure below Sabrin. There was too much here to lose. He wanted to believe the Grand Master could do both, serve his family and protect the Accord of the Hand. One, eventually though, would suffer because of the other.

  Once he was out of the garden, he went to the monastery market. It was unique, a place where merchants could sell their wares directly to the monks. It was small, so the competition to obtain one of the stalls was fierce. He stopped at a cart and purchased a flat cake from a vendor. It was good; thick, sweet, and dusted with raw sugar. The woman and her daughter smiled at him kindly and thanked him, and he could see that these people were happy. They could trade, buy, sell and conduct business without fear. The sun beat down on him and he steered toward the old oak trees that populated the area, their roots heaving the brick paved pathways and leaving loose bricks that needed to be continually repaired. At some point, Feln reflected, there was a person who thought it a good idea to plant all these trees. That person probably didn’t think of the future consequences. True, the ancient trees were a beautiful sight and gave ample shade that he was taking advantage of now, but the damage they caused to the paths was a constant bother and you couldn’t see anything around you except trees.

  He began to walk back to the m
onastery and went past the market a second time. Although it was the afternoon, they were packing their carts for the trip back into town. He waved to the woman who had sold him the cake, and she waved back. Feln wondered what family and province the Grand Master represented, and he thought he could deduce it if he took more time to think about it. It would be a matter of elimination, much like he had done with the symbols. It was clear to him that it wouldn’t be Safun or Daiwer-dar. This secret wouldn’t be kept from him, the Most Favored of Safun, and this didn’t strike him as a move made by an Emperor long ago to store treasure. He knew Emesia and Furawa had as their symbols grain stalks on green and a red tree on black. A vision flashed; he could still see the horses pounding down the stream past Iristi when he fought the hill man. That left Shisaru – lion, so not them, Hikimi, and Ashimo. If only he could remember what Iristi had said. It was on the edge of his mind, wanting to break through, but he couldn’t get it to surface. Where had Iristi thought he was from? Because he was a monk?

  After he got to the monastery, Feln went into inside and trained for two hours, washed, then went to find the library. He forgot all about it, and in his haste to solve the mystery he had forgotten about the obvious – go where there were books on Pyndira. For years he had wanted to visit the library in Sabrin and now was his chance. It was a huge structure, like every building here, thousands of square feet contained on three levels. Each level had more bookcases than he could count. Feln spoke with the librarian, received instructions on where the books resided that he was looking for, and went searching. He gathered several dusty old texts and sat down with them, some were falling apart and he took great care not to damage them. All he needed was time and luck.

  #

  The meeting room was too large for the small group. Soot, past remnants of cooking fires, streaked the arched ceiling above. Light streamed in from the high windows, but it wasn’t enough to work by. Monks circled the room, taking time to let down the iron chandeliers, light candles, and winch them back into a mid-level position. The room brightened, but with the candles came more heat. Caleth wiped the sweat from his brow and took a drink of water – at least that was still cool. The monks opened windows and a breeze came in. After they deposited food and drink on the table, they left the room.

  Though Caleth had been here many times before, the surroundings felt different. Uneasiness replaced comfort, suspicion replaced camaraderie. The table was round. At the head was Montishari Gatôn, looking over papers – notes and reports – and next to him was a book, the inscribed laws of their order. The seat next to the Grand Master contained Abram, previously it had been occupied by Seveth. Caleth sat across from the Grand Master and to his left were Kara and Djaa, spaced evenly.

  The Grand Master called the meeting to order. His opening remarks were about Seveth and the great loss they were experiencing by his death. The first task was to nominate suitable replacements for Seveth, so that Renk wouldn’t be leaderless. The second was to review what news came from each monastery, and third was to go over the circumstances of Seveth’s tragedy. Other business would have to wait until later. After the initial remarks, Montishari Gatôn stood and addressed the table.

  “There’s no sense in wasting time with flowery speeches. I nominate Abram here, Master of the North Wind, to rise to the position of Master of Winter. He’s fully qualified and has shown his loyalty. There could be no finer choice.”

  Caleth watched Djaa and Kara, noting both were stone serious. The room was tense, but neither said anything when the Grand Master finished. They sat there, as if they were waiting for direction. It was clear, though, neither of them were going to ratify the nomination. Caleth said nothing as well, knowing that the Grand Master had another monk in mind to take Seveth’s place. The Grand Master knew Abram would decline, and by rule, he would be able to nominate Haworu after the other nominations were offered.

  “Will no one speak in favor of Abram?” the Grand Master asked. “His fine record should not go unrecognized.”

  It looked as if Kara was going to speak, but Djaa made a barely discernible movement with his hand. It was enough to make Caleth understand those two agreed with each other’s views or in the least they were collaborating.

  “I don’t want the position,” Abram said before anyone could ratify his nomination. The older monk stood up. He was as old as the Grand Master, but deceptive, as his looks belied his underlying energy. “I have served the Accord of the Hand for years as a Wind. I have no ambitions to become the leader of Renk, so I respectfully withdraw my name from consideration while I still can.”

  “I’m sure whoever takes Seveth’s place will be thankful to have such a knowledgeable monk for the North Wind to help him.” Montishari Gatôn raised his arms. “Make nominations if you wish to make one.”

  Abram was about to speak. Instead of voicing a nomination he picked up a bowl of water and drank it.

  Caleth hadn’t planned on this, but he felt he needed to do it. He had brought many fine monks with him, yet one monk would unsettle Kara. It was time to stir the pot and see who tried to jump out. Caleth stood up. If this was going where he thought it was, he had to make this nomination. “I nominate Feln Roan from Waskhal.”

  “He’s here?” Kara asked.

  “Of course,” Caleth said. “Everyone knows you can’t nominate a monk who’s not here. Grand Master, am I correct?”

  The Grand Master raised an eyebrow, his eye glared at Caleth for bringing up the technicality. “Correct.”

  “I would like to speak with him,” Kara said. “He parted from Bora rather…abruptly.”

  “I support the nomination,” said the Grand Master. “Feln has shown his qualities in the past and only recently have I realized his worth. Well done Caleth. Well done.”

  Kara stood and glanced at Caleth. “Though it’s normal protocol to nominate a Wind to advance to the station of Season, I will take Caleth’s lead and nominate one of my finest monks. His name is Ash.”

  “I don’t know him,” the Grand Master said immediately.

  “I second the nomination,” Djaa said. “Ash has a bright personality and will reflect the same attitudes Seveth did. I think he would be a good choice. I support this choice.”

  “Very well.”

  The Grand Master looked to Djaa, who shook his head. “I am not making a nomination,” he said.

  The Grand Master looked to Abram.

  “I would like to make a nomination,” Abram said. “He’s one of Sabrin’s monks. Haworu is his name.”

  “I don’t know him,” Kara said, her tone mocking.

  “He’s more than qualified to replace Seveth, I assure you of that,” the Grand Master spoke. He smiled and looked at Caleth with steely eyes.

  It was up to him. Because the Grand Master supported his nomination of Feln, he was expected to support Abram’s nomination of Haworu, the monk they were bringing from Pyndira. This was a test of loyalty. Now Caleth was sure Abram and the Grand Master were working together, just as Djaa and Kara were. He would be the tiebreaker. That prospect didn’t make him happy, nor did he want the two sides pressuring him for support. “I agree with your nomination of Haworu. I don’t know him either, but I’m sure he has similar qualities to all of us. We are all cut from the same cloth, are we not?”

  “I decline offering my second nomination. Then it’s settled, we will have three candidates,” the Grand Master said. “We will each interview the candidates tomorrow and cast our votes in the evening if we are satisfied with them. Should a decision not be reached by a vote, resolution will be made by non-lethal combat, as is the law of the Accord of the Hand.”

  “Why tomorrow and not today?” Kara asked.

  “Haworu is on his way to the city and may not arrive until later this evening,” the Grand Master said. “He was away on an important matter when all of this happened. It couldn’t be helped.”

  “If he isn’t present, then he can’t be nominated. Caleth confirmed this a few moments ago!”
Kara stood up. “These are the rules.”

  The Grand Master pressed his hands together until they were white from the force. “Kara, why are you so impatient? If you would like, I can postpone the selection process until Seveth’s body has been entombed. That will give everyone plenty of time to consider the nominations. Days perhaps. Maybe a week? Two then?”

  “I’m not impatient. I’m restating the blatant disregard of the laws. Our laws state the nominees must be present at the time of nomination. Is Haworu here or not?”

  With quill and ink the Grand Master wrote the names on a piece of parchment. He then rang a bell twice. One of the Dragonmasters came in, dressed in a red robe as was the custom when conclave was being held. “Find these monks and bring them to us,” the Grand Master said.

  “Ash is in the quarters with the rest of my monks,” Kara said to the aide. “You won’t have to search the countryside for him.”

  “I don’t know where Feln is,” Caleth said. “He should be on the grounds. Training perhaps or walking the forest. He is within the monastery walls I assure you.”

  “Haworu should have returned from his assignment, have my friend Akuka assist you in finding him.”

  Caleth watched as the Dragonmaster left. Kara’s insistence on adhering to the rules had taken the Grand Master by surprise. Caleth wondered, though, would Kara follow the rules later? He doubted it.

  #

  Feln skimmed through all the books that he thought would help him and he had reached conclusions. The Grand Master was from Ashimo. Their banner contained a temple shrine, and a sketch in one of the books confirmed it was the same as the symbol on the Grand Master’s tunic. Once he learned that, he found tidbits of information about the early history of the Accord of the Hand. He wasn’t sure if the new knowledge would help him, but he knew it couldn’t hurt.

  There was a painstaking, almost all out attempt to avoid breaking the Accord of the Hand (and Spirit) into separate locations. What Feln read told of efforts to not have the Accord of the Hand set up like separate states, which seemed to him to be a deliberate effort to have the monastery not organized like the provinces of Pyndira. Sabrin was designed and established to be the sole monastery, hence the incredible size. The intent was to have cities, not other monasteries, but as the Accord of the Spirit expanded so did the need for other monasteries. He found nothing that mentioned the treasure, but he did find entries about Furies. About the time of the establishment of Sabrin, it seemed the Furies had wreaked havoc in Pyndira. This led to a process of marking Furies so they could be identified as such, and magic was employed along with the tattoos to force them to be loyal to families. Even then, Furies were seen as the most dangerous creatures in all of Pyndira. The remainder was interesting, but not useful to him. What he needed was a way to determine if the Grand Master would sacrifice the Accord of the Hand for the good of his Ashimo family. Would decisions be made solely to support the family? Would the good of his family supersede the good of the Accord of the Hand? As Feln pondered these questions, he wondered, what reaction he would get if he simply asked?