by Paul Heisel
Next to them was Seveth, Master of Winter. He was fair skinned, with light hair and bright blue eyes. Seveth, although not higher in rank than Djaa, was next in line to be the Grand Master. Seveth and the Grand Master, Montishari Gatôn, were confidants. Politically, they were aligned and thought alike. Feln was sure Seveth would have much input into this council, as he represented the Grand Master's interests as well as his own. He was a political animal like Kara, and it was said the two of them didn't get along. Seated next to Seveth was the Master of the North Wind, Abram. He looked old and weathered, frailness was his deception. He had tied back his long silver hair, and his robe was worn and wrinkled. Abram had been the Master of the North Wind for as long as Feln could remember. It was said he had no aspirations to advance within the Accord of the Hand, which meant when Seveth became the Grand Master, the Accord of the Hand would need a new Master of Winter to rule the monastery in Renk.
The balance, Caleth and TeBroo, he knew well. Caleth was Master of Autumn, the leader of their monastery, and he was the monk who had helped rescue him in ten years ago. Taawn had entrusted his safety to Caleth, and his master had cared for him all these years. Upon reflection, he thought of Caleth as an older brother. Caleth was tall and strong, built for combat and speed. The mind was just as quick. He was the one who had taught Feln about finding his center, eventually it brought forth his chi, magic. Caleth was a gifted teacher and leader, and without him, Feln was certain he wouldn't be the person he was today. He owed Caleth so much. TeBroo was their local champion, but not as proficient as the brute Gargam. He was dark skinned, hailing from the warmer climes to the south near the Sand Sea, and had endurance beyond belief. His family had come north as refugees from the untamed deserts, searching for a better life. It was said TeBroo could run from monastery to monastery without stopping, spending days running if needed and not collapsing from the effort. TeBroo was quiet and private, and he seemed to be content with being Master of the South Wind. Feln had spent a lot of time talking with TeBroo about his homeland to the south, gathering information on TeBroo's people, culture, and their way of life in the desert. He had obliged the requests, but Feln knew after several sessions TeBroo had grown tired of it. Ages had passed since they had spoken more than courteous greetings to each other.
There were quick introductions of Feln and Owori, and the council commenced.
"Begin," Djaa said, dispensing with any additional formalities. "We will ask questions."
Feln nodded. "Answers will come from both of us."
"Proceed then."
"We spent three days and nights within the city of Borgard. Masters, they are prepared for war. Garrisons line the outer walls." Feln rocked forward and pointed to the crude map of the city that was on the floor. "Machines of war are ready for us. Extending from here are many farms, small villages, open areas, but no significant cover. The second wall is here, similarly defended. The gate has a mechanism here," he pointed again, "which is heavily guarded and keyed as well. Although I didn't see archers, the walls have quiver after quiver of arrows fastened to the uppermost battlements. Extending from there is miles of city, until you get to this hill, and that is where the castle begins. The outer wall of the castle is stone, four feet thick at least. Strong gate, and the only other penetration is where the water flows through culverts - it is grated several times with iron." Feln paused and took a drink of tea, gathering his next thoughts. He reminded himself to comment on the approach to Borgard, but before he could start, Owori spoke.
"The city is massive, larger than I thought. Set throughout the city, we found garrisons of troops in tents, warehouses, homes - everywhere." She indicated the general locations on the map. "Primarily foot soldiers, but they do have cavalry behind the castle walls as well. My estimate is about two or three thousand cavalry are awaiting us, and probably another ten thousand foot soldiers."
There was a collective exhale from those assembled.
"The people of Borgard are scared," Feln said. "They know a dreadful act has been committed, and they know a terrible force is coming. Groups of people were rumored to have left the city, but soon after, the Borgards didn't allow anyone to leave. They have isolated themselves and hunkered down for war. They know we are coming with a great force." He paused and looked at the faces around the mat. All of them were unreadable stone. "How do they know we are coming?"
Djaa cleared his throat in a dismissive manner. "Were you able to make contact with the Accord of the Spirit?"
"There are none left," Feln answered. "The monastery lays empty, save for a few rats, starving dogs, a frightened caretaker, and rabble who forced their way in. All the lay people are gone as well. The Borgards took the Spirit Ones captive and executed them. A few may be alive in the dungeons below the castle, but I couldn't confirm this. I know for certain that Taawn, their leader, has been slain."
"That is why we are here," Seveth said. "Our spirit brothers must be avenged. The Borgards must be taught a lesson."
"Why did they murder the Spirit Ones?" Kara asked. She looked directly at Feln. "What could they have done to cause such a reaction from the Borgards? Our diplomats gave us no insight. Can you?"
"I couldn't determine that," Feln said, looking from leader to leader. "The story I heard is no different from what our diplomats said; one morning the Captain of the Guard, a knight named Kragan, went to the monastery with dozens of soldiers. They entered, took our spirit brothers and sisters captive, put them in chains, and forcibly marched them to the castle. There were those who died during the march, stoned to death by the mobs of people or dragged to the death by mules."
"This we already know," said Djaa. "This is ground we have covered. We don't need to hear this again."
"There is more to tell, information you don't know. After they arrived at the castle, Kragan put the men in the dungeons. The women," Feln glanced at Kara and resisted his urge to look at Owori, "went into a living hell. They say the Borgard dungeon has rape pits. No one I spoke to saw the women being executed, but I doubt they have survived. We must assume all of our Spirit Ones are dead." Feln held Kara's gaze and he could see behind her eyes that a fire was smoldering. He grabbed his tea and took a sip, it had cooled, so he finished it in one gulp.
Owori spoke up. "To be more precise, the men were kept in the dungeons for three weeks, just enough time for us to send monks to bargain for their lives. After the diplomacy failed, they were taken in groups of eight to the gallows and the Borgards executed the Spirit Ones by decapitation. They were all put to the axe. One by one. Without reason, without cause."
Feln shivered from the reminder. That was how his father had died. Jakks Borgard had murdered his father in the same manner. The rage flared inside and he wanted revenge. Normally his emotions were well in check, yet tonight his insides were boiling over. His eyes fell upon Kara - she was trembling. She was beyond angry, he could see it.
"We must tear down that castle stone by stone," Kara spoke, teeth clenched.
"In time," Djaa said, putting his hand up. Kara relaxed, but only after an obvious stare from Djaa. "Please continue with your assessment. Speak no more of any atrocities, it will only bring in unneeded emotional reactions."
Feln and Owori went over all the information they had gathered - the troop composition, positions, armaments, suspected tactics, critical areas, potential bottlenecks, hindrances, and other facts pertinent to the battle ahead. They also spoke of their encounter with the Borgard patrol and how they had dispatched them, leaving one man alive to return to Borgard with a message of their arrival. Feln described the approach to the city in detail, the outpost, the bridge, and the nearby forest. After a short period of questioning, the council excused Feln and Owori. As Feln left, Caleth made small motions with his hands, undetected by the others. Stay close.
Chapter 4 - Message
The lone rider appeared to be injured or asleep in the saddle. The outpost guards were wary of the man's haphazard approach, expecting some trick or deceptio
n. He didn't respond to any of their calls, so the archers in the tower kept their bows ready. The commander let the horse wander for several moments unmolested, still unsure why the rider wouldn't respond. The rider slipped from the saddle and crunched on the ground, not trying to stop his fall in the least. A soldier moved out, scanning the area as he maneuvered toward the rider. Nothing was out of place. He went to the man and saw that he was a Borgard soldier. Dried and caked blood covered his face, neck, and chest. His arms look like they had been bound and the rope cut away at some point. The uniform was covered in dirt and filth, and he looked as if millions of insects had feasted on him. Inconceivably, he was still alive.
The soldier waved others forward and four guards came out to help with the injured man and the horse. At the outpost, they cleaned him up and determined that he had been on patrol, though no one knew who he was. Word was sent to the castle via messenger. The semi-conscious soldier began moaning in pain, haunting cries came and didn't stop. They tried to give him tea and water, but his jaw was broken and the liquid just ran down his chin to his chest. They searched him for cuts and wounds, but all they found were bruises. Someone had battered him with bare fists. They suspected it was the work of the Accord of the Hand. They couldn't figure how he had escaped.
The messenger returned from the castle, telling the guards to bring him for questioning. They arranged a wagon from the city and transported the soldier under heavy guard. There seemed to be no improvement to his condition despite their assistance, and he started mumbling incomprehensible babble and sobbing like a child. By the time they reached the castle gates, he was thrashing about in the wagon and had to be restrained. They transferred and strapped him to a litter, then took him inside as ordered. A host of the castle guards escorted them deep into the castle's innermost chambers until they came to an average sized room with furniture covered in white linen, a room that was empty and unused. They left the soldier on a table after removing the linen cover and discarding in the corner.
A robed man appeared through the door and dismissed the others with a flick of his hand. They scampered away as if fearful of him changing his mind and forcing them to remain. He was tall and gaunt, dressed in the Borgard family colors of royal purples and dark greens. He was getting on in years and had been part of administration at the castle for longer than anyone could remember. The robed man craned his neck over the soldier who twitched and thrashed about. It was like the wretched man was caught in a never-ending nightmare. He searched the man for hidden weapons, poisons, needles, and powders, but found nothing to indicate he had a weapon to harm the king. Velinole notified a servant that it was safe to summon the king, then he began questioning the man, but received no response to his inquiries.
The doors to the room flew open and in strode Jakks Borgard. He was a great bear of a man, massive and beastly, not regal in any sense of the word. Grace and elegance weren't terms used in the same sentence with Jakks. He was half-dressed in armor, clanking as he stomped toward the injured man. Boys kept up with him, trying to bring the remaining pieces of armor with them. The Knight Captain, Kragan, followed close behind. Fully armored and dangerous, Jakks's most trusted warrior was prepared for war.
Jakks came to a sudden stop and raised his fist. The boys halted and stood motionless, holding their pieces of armor as if their life depended on it. Not one of them dared to move an inch one way or the other. The king looked down at the writhing man and rubbed his thick beard with his hands. "What devilry is this? Why have you bothered me? Inspection is on the hour! I must know my troops are ready. And you interrupt me for this?"
"We are on the edge of a knife," Velinole said. "Anything that comes to our city is important, particularly patrols that don't return, and you need to see to things in person at times."
"What's wrong with him?"
"I don't know," Velinole replied, tapping his fingers on the table. "I think he's tarnished, disturbed by a mental ailment. There's nothing I can do for him."
"He was part of a scouting party sent to find the location of the Accord army," Kragan said. "Not a patrol, Velinole has misspoken, they were scouts. None of our scouts returned, well, none except him. I presume the scouts ran into the Accord of the Hand."
Velinole sniffed. "Not very good scouts then," he said, matching Kragan's tone and inflection.
"Patrol. Scouts. I don't care! Question him!" Jakks demanded.
"I already have while you were on your way here," Velinole said smoothly, disregarding Kragan's glare. "He won't respond, nor will he acknowledge anything that he should. He keeps mumbling."
"Bah! You two have no backbone. I have no patience for this!" The half-armored Jakks clanked forward and grabbed the man by the shoulders. "What's wrong with you? Tell us what you found! Where is the army? Where are they?" Jakks shook the scout, rattling him against the table.
"The Accord of the Hand is coming!" the man screamed with a burst of terror. "The Accord of the Hand is coming!"
Jakks slapped the scout with his great strength, shattering what remained of an already broken jaw. Blood flowed. The scout continued to scream the message, blood and broken teeth spraying as he yelled, his words unrecognizable now. Jakks took out a dagger and ran him through. The scout expired still trying to speak the message, the words dying in his throat.
"That was effective," Velinole muttered, eyebrows raised. "We have learned so much more."
"They can't be far off, two or three days at the most," Kragan said. "Have we sent the order to attack?"
"It has been done by raven," Velinole said. "Perfectly timed I might add. The Accord of the Hand is predictable and efficient. They will have no time to save their precious Grand Master from our invasion."
"Send out a legion to harass the Accord of the Hand," Jakks ordered. "They must be engaged! They must learn that we are not to be taken lightly!"
Velinole lifted his hand. "We must adhere to the plan if we're going to succeed. Deviation could mean disaster. What we need is to defend the city, that's all. The longer we can hold them here, the better the outcome. Sending soldiers out would be a mistake. If you do anything, send messengers to the outlying villages and have them withdraw into the city. Though not necessary, it is the logical thing to do. I don't want the Accord of the Hand to wonder why you haven't offered protection to your people, and I don't want to give them any reason to delay in attacking. We need them to engage the city."
Jakks slammed his fist on the table. Pooling blood splattered. "Damn you and your plans! I'm the king!"
"You'll be ruler of the Accord's lands," spoke Velinole. He glanced at the blood splatter on his robes, a mere annoyance compared to the blood on his hands that he could never wash off. "Patience my king."
"I've been patient! I was patient while I watched my bastard father die! I was patient while I got rid of my insipid brother! I've been patient, enduring rebellions and listening to that filthy monk Taawn and his worthless followers. I have no more patience!"
"It'll all be over in a matter of months." Velinole patted Jakks gently in a spot that wasn't armored. "Until then, you must relax and let your cousins and armies do what they do best."
"You are this close," Jakks held his thumb and forefinger a hair's width apart, "to having your head removed from your shoulders. Don't stick out your neck further or I'll put you on the block!"
"If you must," Velinole said. "If it is your will, then so be it. You are the king."
The king laughed. "You have been a loyal advisor to my family for a long time and that's why you aren't rotting in the dungeons. You are worthy of my rule, worthy to be part of my great legacy."
"The Borgards have always been gracious," Velinole said with a smile, "and dim-witted enough to listen to me."
Kragan unsheathed his longsword when he heard the insult. One of the squires behind Jakks dropped a piece of silvery armor, and the clanking reverberated throughout the room. Kragan leveled the tip of his blade and threatened to cut Velinole with it. All he neede
d was the king's order.
Jakks burst out laughing. "You live for now." He pushed Kragan's blade away. "Save your steel for the Accord of the Hand."
"As always, you have made a wise choice," Velinole said, bowing. "You are definitely smarter than you look, my king."
Jakks pointed to the dead scout, blood now dripping off the table and pooling on the floor. "Get that worthless piece of shit out of here." He stormed out of the room, the entourage following, the boy who had dropped the armor still pale from what he thought Jakks was going to do to him.
Kragan remained behind, staring at Velinole, his sword not sheathed, held low, still in position to run Velinole through the middle. "When this is over old man, I'm going to cut you into pieces and feed your flesh to the dogs while you watch. You may have Jakks fooled, but not me. I know you have plans within plans within plans. Your information network isn't as secret as you think."
