by Paul Heisel
"Where is Master Djaa? I must see him immediately!"
"This way," Kara shouted, guiding him in the correct direction. "Follow me." Kara whipped down her cowl and sprang ahead, the presence of Gargam forgotten. The runner followed with a small scroll tube clutched in his gloved hand. She noticed the glove was a falconer's glove, so the message must have come from the Grand Master. The tube was black, it meant importance. As she rushed ahead, monks gave way, parting to the side from the urgent disturbance. Whatever the runner carried, it wasn't good news. Her insides tingled.
#
Djaa received no response from the prisoner. There was no reason for this man to resist a simple question. Perhaps a basic start would work best. "Who are you?"
"My name is Puran Borgard, a prince of this kingdom and brother to the king, Jakks Borgard. With Jakks having no male heir, I'm first in line to the throne." Puran shifted, trying to keep the pressure from one of his injured knees.
"Heirs are no use to me."
Puran winced, trying to find a better position for his knees.
"Is the heir uncomfortable?"
"Yes."
Djaa removed Puran's bindings and directed him to a mat. "Please sit."
Puran did as directed. His eyes fell upon the unrolled weapons, then his attention returned to Djaa, who poured tea for the both of them.
"You would be dead before you reached them," Djaa stated. "That I assure you."
Puran made no reply and stared forward.
"Have some tea. It'll settle your stomach." Djaa set a bowl in front of him.
Puran shook his head.
"Suit yourself. First question; why were you fleeing the city? Why not stay safely behind its walls?"
"The answer to those questions has no bearing on what we're going to talk about. My reasons for…leaving are my own."
"You tried to avoid capture, did you not? Your primary plan was to get out of Borgard with your skin. Why is that? Why flee the city in the middle of the battle?"
Puran didn't waver. He looked to the steaming bowl of tea. "That doesn't matter. I'm here, and I can provide you with information that can help you win this war. For a price."
"You would be a traitor. The heir would be a traitor."
"I would be alive."
"Whether you live or die remains to be seen. What price do you speak about? What do you want in exchange for information, besides your life?"
"When we're done, you let me walk out of this camp, go beyond this city, and disappear. You will never hear from me or see me again."
Djaa smiled. "And your wealth we captured, you would part with that?"
Puran's face went white. "Everything I brought to this camp must leave with me."
Djaa stood up and gathered the teapot. Standing, he towered over Puran. He refilled his tea and return to his previous position.
"You will leave here with your life, if what you tell me has worth."
"Everything goes with me."
"You're wasting my time. What you leave with, even your life, is not for you to decide. It is for me to decide."
"In accordance with generally accepted Malurrion law, I have the right to…"
Djaa struck Puran, a blow so quick it was near invisible. Puran's head whipped to the side, and his arms came up too late to defend.
"I have no patience for snotty princes, noble cowards, and worthless traitors," Djaa said. "You are not worthy of being an heir. Don't quote outdated laws that no one adheres to. Where were these laws when your family butchered the Accord of the Spirit monks for no reason?"
Puran recovered, his fists clenched until the knuckles were white. "I've changed my mind. You get nothing." Another blow came. Puran wavered from the strike and crumpled to the ground.
"I will kill you if I have to. Decide now. Cooperate and you may live to see another day. That is my offer."
"You're pathetic," Puran spat. "This exchange needs to be equal. My death will infuriate my family. You are making a big mistake. It will make them fight harder knowing their prince is dead."
"Harder?" Djaa moved closer.
#
Kara burst into the tent to find Puran writhing on the floor. He was spewing information nonstop, giving Djaa every useful bit of military information he could. It looked as if Djaa had broken several of his bones, leaving him whimpering on the ground. Puran, flushed, hot, and seething, welcomed the interruption.
"Well?" Djaa asked, jaw clenched in anger.
Kara pulled the runner in, who bowed and presented Djaa with the sealed scroll case. It was small, about the size of a man's index finger, made of leather, and was hollow with enough space to hold small messages. After he removed the seal, he unrolled the parchment and scanned it.
"Get this piece of shit out of here. Have the guards hold him, he was finally cooperating. We'll continue our session in a moment."
Kara nodded to Gargam, who had followed them, and the tall man snatched Puran as if he were a child and dragged him out of the tent. Moments later he returned, staring at Djaa for instructions.
"You may stay," he told Gargam. "As may you, Kara." He unrolled the parchment again, revealing black writing that filled the page. It was the Grand Master's handwriting. He read the message aloud.
"'Sabrin is under attack. Patrols found an army marching from the north intent on attacking our city. By the time you receive this message, they will be laying siege. Defenses will hold for a week, maybe more, but the army is large. They have taken outlying villages and farms, taking no prisoners. They have already slaughtered hundreds of innocents. You must return the armies to Sabrin to remove this new threat. You will abandon your assault on Borgard and return to repel the invaders. Godspeed. Your brother, Grand Master Montishari Gatôn.'"
"So, this was their ploy," Djaa said. He glanced at the entrance to the tent, as if he expected Puran to come back in and mock him.
Kara crossed her arms, the fury rising. Tricked! The Borgards had used the Accord of the Hand's zealousness against them. Now they were stuck, weeks away from their homeland with no choice but to turn around and flee like confused deer. Kara was certain the Borgard army, still locked away beyond the walls, would pursue them all the way. They had no other choice, though. "We must return. We must defend Sabrin," Kara said.
"Of course we must defend Sabrin." Djaa's tone was venomous. "Gargam, bring the Winds, Kara get the Seasons. We begin at once, in the dead of night, and by morning this army will be moving. Send the Borgard cur back in here."
Kara returned with Puran, dumped him on the floor, and departed to gather their leaders. Puran, flushed, breathed in short gulps. The pain was evident. His left arm, broken, hung loosely at his side. "Problems?" the Borgard prince spat.
"No war is without problems," Djaa said, the long drawn out breath whistling through his teeth. "Nothing we can't overcome." He handed Puran several pieces of parchment, a feather pen, and an inkwell. "Now Puran, draw for me floor plans of the castle. Leave no detail out."
"Will you release me then?"
Djaa nodded. "If the Accord of the Hand finds you, we won't hesitate to end your life. You best stay clear of our lands. Including Borgard which we will soon conquer."
"My wealth?"
"Be happy you aren't sketching maps with your teeth because you have two broken arms. I will consider it should the maps be of good quality and information."
Puran grabbed the feather pen and breathed a sigh that seemed to be one of relief.
Chapter 8 - Checkmate
Feln was on guard for anything. He had been here for three days without news of the invasion, waiting patiently for information or orders. The caretaker who had helped secure the grounds was staying out of the way, and he was thankful it had been quiet thus far. No intruders came looking for treasures, and the curious were turned away by the possibility of disease. In a week they would be low on food, and they would have to risk venturing into the city to get what they needed. It was dark, the sounds of battle far off and m
uffled. He wasn't sure if he had actually heard the battle or if it was his imagination. He sat watching the front of the church and worrying about Owori and her well-being. There was no sense in watching all night, so Feln barred the doors and went to sleep, ever hopeful the caretaker wouldn't snore so badly tonight.
Both Feln and the caretaker woke to the noise, Feln curious why someone was lightly knocking at the church door. An intruder would have forced their way in through the back or through a window, and a member of the Accord of the Hand would have given a signal to announce their presence. Feln found the lantern and opened the shutters, brightening the room. The caretaker rubbed his eyes. Without making a sound, Feln came to his feet and gestured for the caretaker to stay put. He rolled his shoulders to loosen them, then unleashed his katana. No sense in taking any chances. He moved through the maze of furniture with weapon ready, taking his time. If they knocked again, they were expecting the church to be occupied. If the door rattled, they were trying to force their way in.
Another knock came, louder this time.
At the peephole he pulled the small door aside, standing back in case a weapon thrust through. No such attack came. Feln inched closer, blinked to become invisible, and looked out the peephole. A figure was standing two steps from the door holding a small lantern, cowl completely covering their face. The robes hid the person completely, the only distinguishing feature was a lock of blonde hair spilling out from the cowl. Feln couldn't determine if the caller was carrying weapons. Most likely there were swords underneath the robes.
"The church has been quarantined," Feln said. "Go away before you catch the plague. Many have already died."
"I'm looking for a monk named Feln," the person said. "Have you seen him?"
The voice was female, unknown to him, and she had an odd accent that wasn't completely strange, just different. Two things stood out; she knew his name and she knew he was a monk. A foe wouldn't knock, but a friend would announce herself. This heightened his senses as he searched for a ruse, a trick or trap that would be sprung. Best thing to do was to keep the door shut and barred.
"Never heard of him," Feln said. "Go, be on your way before you catch the plague."
The woman didn't move. She pulled down the cowl of her robe with her free hand and ran it through her hair to keep it out of her pretty face. She was just a bit shorter than he, about the same height as Owori maybe? Her locks were golden and curly, eyes a bright blue. "Both of us know that you're lying. Are you Feln?"
"No one by that name is here," Feln asserted.
"I followed you into the city after you joined the people who were fleeing the Accord of the Hand army," she said. "I lost track of you, but I have found you after looking for days. I only want to talk. Open the door."
"Your words can travel through wood and iron," he told her.
"My name is Ella-en-Xialao-Suun," she announced, "a Favored One, daughter of Narneth, a man slain honorably in battle. You may call me Suun."
Feln recognized the naming convention. It was how privileged persons were named in Pyndira. Those who had these names were favored. His blood became cold, his mind working slowly - could this be, she was from Pyndira? Despite how much he wanted this to be true, it had to be a lie. Why would a woman travel from Pyndira to talk with him? How did she travel here? "You have only introduced yourself and you're playing games with me. Don't try my patience. State your business or leave!"
"You are Feln!"
"No," he said.
Suun stepped forward. "I've been looking for you. I followed you from the monastery, lost you and your companion in the city, and found you again when the army arrived. You are a busy person."
"Why are you looking for Feln?" he asked, gazing out of the peephole.
"You can stop pretending. I know it's you."
"Why are you looking for me then?"
"You have an object that I want."
"What could I have that would interest you, if you are who you say you are?"
"You have much to offer me," Suun answered enigmatically. "I don't know how to put this, so I will just say it; you have your mother's eyes."
There was a long pause. "You knew my mother?"
"I met her when I was a girl, before she disappeared from Pyndira. Yes, you heard me correctly, I'm from Pyndira. We don't know what happened to her. Your mother vanished."
There were so many questions flitting around in Feln's head. What was his mother like? How did Suun see his mother in Pyndira? How did she get there? Why had his mother been in Pyndira in the first place? "She died giving birth to me," he said. "I never knew her. She was buried a long time ago."
"We were told that as well, that she died giving birth to you. Just when we thought we had found her son, you, you disappeared from Borgard and we lost track of you. The Accord of the Hand hides their fugitives well. With your father dead and you nowhere to be found, we couldn't ask anyone the question I will ask you now."
"What?"
"Did your mother leave a belt for you? Do you have any of her possessions?"
Feln shook his head. "No, she left nothing like that."
Suun pulled open her robe and removed a belt from around her waist. It was made of a woven black material and had silver threads sewn in patterns. "It would look like this, but have gold thread sewn instead of silver. The patterns would look like intertwined dragons or serpents."
"I haven't seen anything like that in my life. Maybe it was buried with her."
Suun took a deep breath. "Forgive me, but we determined it wasn't buried with her."
Feln felt flushed. "You dug up my mother's grave?"
"It wasn't your mother's body in the grave, if that's any consolation. Your mother didn't die giving birth to you as we were led to believe. The person in the grave was made to look like your mother, but it didn't fool us."
"How can that be?" Feln struggled for his next words. "You mean she's alive? She faked her death?"
"If she were alive, I would know, and I wouldn't be talking to you. The belt she carried was important and she knew it. I think she has passed, but by what means, we don't know. It's a mystery to us."
"If that wasn't my mother they buried, then who was it? Who was in her grave?"
She shook her head. "I don't know and it doesn't matter. Your mother left Pyndira to come here, and you were born, then we didn't see your mother again. We searched for her and couldn't find her. We learned of her death and sought the truth, but could only find lies. Sadly, we believe your mother was murdered and her body hidden or cremated. The belt is probably with her body or near where she died or in the ashes of the fire. The belt is indestructible, so it will be intact."
"What does the belt do?"
"It opens a gateway to Pyndira, that's one of its properties. It's also a symbol of standing - of privilege. You see my belt - I'm considered a Favored One. There are several hundred of these belts scattered throughout Pyndira, throughout…" Suun stopped.
Feln waited for her to speak, but she didn't. "What's wrong?"
Her attention went to the monastery grounds behind her. "Someone approaches. I must leave."
"You can't leave! There is so much I want to ask you."
Suun reattached the belt to her fighting clothes and wrapped herself in the robe. She slipped to side, disappearing from view. "I will return tomorrow," she said. "We can speak more then. Tell no one of me, it could be dangerous."
"No one would believe me," Feln said.
"Belief is not the issue. There are those who would take advantage if they knew what you represent - the Xialao bloodline. If they knew who you were, they would execute you on the spot."
"I don't understand."
"You will in time. If it is safe tomorrow, I'll speak with you. Feln, I don't know why you're waging war with Borgard. Please stay alive, for the sake of your family. I must go, as you won't be able to explain my presence to your companions, and I'm not easily taken captive."
Feln felt overwhelmed. Was Suun do
ing this on purpose, to confuse him? To manipulate him? What was her true purpose? She was being elusive and Feln guessed there was an underlying agenda. What was she here for - to retrieve the belt? To take it from him if he had it?
"Suun, if I had this belt, what would you do? Take it from me? By force?"
Suun faded into the shadows. "If you had the belt," she whispered. "I would show you how to use it. I would show you the way home."
Stunned, his mind spun and he felt lightheaded. Without knowing why, he slipped backward to the dim lighting of the church to compose himself. He couldn't stop repeating what she had said, that she would show him the way home. He stepped forward and gazed out through the peephole, sweeping right left, up down, searching for the reason Suun had departed. There was movement outside, the moon's rays appeared and was no longer blocked out by the clouds. His heart jumped, a familiar feeling, and he stepped away from the door and checked his weapons. Again he looked, counting the intruders. There were four people coming toward the church, moving with great purpose through the moonlit grounds. One of the intruders was extremely tall. It had to be Gargam. Relief washed over him and he pushed open the doors. The four scattered for cover, ducking behind thick unkempt hedges that lined the front avenue.
"Well met," Feln said into the night.
A figure came front and center, slithering from behind a hedge. Three more followed. "You are too trusting. What if we were bandits?" It was Kara's voice.
"I recognized Gargam. Come inside. I'm anxious for news." He didn't tell her the other reason he was anxious.
#
All of them were seated in the rectory, the old caretaker roused into guard duty so they could confer. Though he grumbled, the caretaker took up a position in the front so he could see anyone approaching. He was close enough to yell to them for help, far enough away that he couldn't hear their conversation. Feln bowed curtly to the others, then clasped their hands in more enthusiastic greeting. With Kara was TeBroo, Master of the West Wind, Gargam, Master of the East Wind, and Owori. Seeing Owori was a relief, she had made it through the battle, but the relief washed away when he thought of the task ahead. All of them were in danger. Before he got ahead of himself, he needed to find out what was going on, find out what was intended for them. The four monks were dressed in black fighting gear and were carrying additional weapons, and most notably, Kara was carrying a tube made of leather with brass caps on both ends, a map case by any measure.
