An Emperor's Fury: Most Favored Read online

  An Emperor's Fury

  Book One

  Most Favored

  by Paul Heisel

  Chapter 1 - Savior

  Chapter 2 - Gallows

  Chapter 3 - Scouts

  Chapter 4 - Message

  Chapter 5 - Past

  Chapter 6 - Invasion

  Chapter 7 - Retreat

  Chapter 8 - Checkmate

  Chapter 9 - Pyndira

  Chapter 10 - Iristi

  Chapter 11 - Proposal

  Chapter 12 - Capture

  Chapter 13 - Resistance

  Chapter 14 - Fury

  Chapter 15 - Hiru

  Chapter 16 - Chang

  The Frayed Rope (Preview)

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  An Emperor's Fury, Book One, Most Favored

  Copyright © 2016 by Paul Heisel

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Paul Heisel

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.

  This book is dedicated to my wonderful wife and our children. May we all find other worlds to explore again and again through books.

  Chapter 1 - Savior

  What began as a stroll to the Music Hall to see his beloved father became a frantic sprint. Court goers, men and women alike, were giving him strange looks as he made his way up into the castle by stairs, corridors, and passageways. In the atrium, the spinsters whispered as he went by, covering their gossiping mouths with their worn, bony hands. His stomach tumbled and his feet moved faster. Something was wrong. Why were they pointing at him? The light leather sandals made little noise on the worn wooden floor as he ran, and save for his heart pounding, he could hear nothing else. The servants’ mouths moved, but no intelligible words registered in his ears. It was like he was in a terrible nightmare, all sound silenced by his gathering fear. He ran through the Music Hall and went past the auditorium entrance doors, veering to the right and skidding into the room where his father should be. He awaited a stern scolding from his father for disturbing him or worse, running inside Borgard Castle, but no such discipline came. The room was vacant. Music stands and instruments were lined up on his right, staged in ordered piles and waiting to be put in storage behind a stout oak door. The tables and chairs in front of him were disorganized but undisturbed. That was not the case for his father's desk. Sheets of music were scattered and the broken remnants of a cup and its herbal tea were on the floor. The unmistakable odor of unclean castle guards hung in the air, stale and stinking. Dreadful horror struck him when he saw drops of crimson blood on the floor. His father's blood had been spilled.

  The boy left the room and turned right, heading for the stairs. Below was the Great Hall and there he would find answers to the questions he had filling his head. Guards were calling out his name and moving toward him, but he was lean and swift and running with purpose. Even at the age of ten he could outrun any armored soldier, and speed had become useful when confronted by the louts who wanted to deliver a beating to him. Without regard for his gangly boyish limbs, Feln jumped down the stairs in athletic leaps, grabbed a sconce and swung himself around the landing. Once before he had performed the same move and had knocked over a guard. He had worked in the kitchens for weeks after recovering from the thrashing that nearly left him unable to walk. He suddenly remembered his father telling him to not use the castle as his play area, that's what outside was for. He felt hollow. His father was in trouble. He knew it.

  The second flight of stairs, because of the length, required him to go down two or three at a time. Leaping wasn't an option here unless he wanted to crack his skull wide open. He made it down into the hallway and came to a brief halt to survey his surroundings. Here at ground level the stone floor was covered with woven red carpets and the plaster walls were decorated with dull tapestries that needed replacing and regal pictures he found simple and boring. The Great Hall was ahead. If there was any news to be had, he would find it there. He slowed to a walk, took in a deep breath, and forced his hands to his side. As he moved ahead, he could see the grotesque carving of a beast decorating the archway's keystone. It loomed above him, stone eyes staring at him. Inside the Great Hall, people were milling about, filing in and out; mostly out and through a door to his left. It was a common entrance to the front of the castle. Why were so many people going to the courtyard? He realized quickly there were numerous castle guards and knights present, too many for this to be a normal event. A cooler breeze and fresher air flowed in from the doorway. Outside the door and not far away was the large courtyard where thousands could congregate, and it seemed to him that there were thousands gathered - he could hear them talking. Feln came to stop, deciding which way to go. If he could find the Chamberlain or a watchman, they could tell him what was going on. They usually knew everything.

  "There you are," said a cool, slimy voice. "Francis, correct? I suppose you are wondering what all the fuss is about."

  The tone made his hair stand on end. It was Velinole, the king's serpentine advisor, not the friendly Chamberlain or helpful watchman he was looking for. The tall, ghastly, thin man was dressed in a green, plush velvet robe secured with a golden sash, and in his hand he fidgeted with a tarnished golden key. He was repulsive and devious, and not to be trusted. If anything bad happened to people, it was said Velinole was the one who made it happen.

  "I go by Feln," he answered a bit harsher than he wanted.

  The unforgiving face glared. Velinole shoved the golden key in his pocket when he noticed Feln looking at it.

  "What's happening?" Feln asked, and before he finished, he knew he should have kept moving. He sensed the approach of someone overbearing, but he was too late in reacting.

  A large man dressed in shiny ceremonial armor clanked forward and struck him across the face. The red jackal painted on the breastplate went from crisp and clear to blurry. Feln saw stars as he fell backwards, not feeling anything when he hit the floor. The armored man put his metal gauntlet back on and glowered. "Bring him!"

  "You knocked him down Kragan, you retrieve him," Velinole said. He turned and slithered among the masses toward the courtyard.

  Kragan, Captain of the Guard, gritted his teeth and snatched the boy from the ground. Feln was still woozy from the blow and he felt his fat lip expanding just like the time that troublemaker Lindun had punched him. A coppery taste was in his mouth and he spat blood as he was dragged ahead. A few teeth were loose, but not broken or knocked out as far as he could tell. The grip on his arm was unyielding, solid and strong. His senses were coming back and he cried out in pain as Kragan yanked him down the hall like he was a straw doll. He scrambled to keep up, lest Kragan pull his arm out of the socket on their way to the courtyard. The crowd blocked their advance and they had no choice but to slow down. Feln wrenched himself free for a brief moment, but the quick Kragan grabbed his sandy brown hair and pulled him back. A crushing arm went around his chest and he was hoisted into the air, pinned in a vice against the rigid armor. He could barely breathe, and his wild kicking waned as his vision grew faint. Pounding on armor with his sandaled feet was not the brightest idea, so he stopped before he hurt himself. Even ceremonial armor was hard, metal was metal.

  Outside with no clouds in the sky or suitable cover nearby, the afternoon light was blinding. All he could see was a blur of people gathering. It was noisy and people were shouting. Feln stopped resisti
ng and concentrated on breathing - if Kragan didn't let go of him soon, he was going to have the image of that jackal imprinted on his back. The grip loosened and he was left on wobbly feet, then strong hands directed his attention to the gallows. His father was standing there, straight and proud, hands bound behind his back in thick cords of rope. Blood slicked his father's face and lips; his nose was squashed to the side, broken for sure from a cruel blow delivered by the castle guards. The 'father!' he wanted to belt out died in his throat. His mind was spinning and he was going to be sick. He tried to turn away, but Kragan held him fast, forcing him to watch. The king, Jakks, was talking now that the crowd had been silenced. The words didn't make any sense. They were calling his father a traitor and the leader of a group dedicated to overthrowing Jakks. Feln wanted to shout out and deny these charges, but he knew it was true. He had followed his father into the city many times and had witnessed him meeting with people who opposed the king. They had questioned Jakks's claim to the throne. But his father was doing the right thing, wasn't he? Jakks was a terrible leader, and under his rule the kingdom had declined swiftly. People were poor, hungry, and angry. No work was to be found. The streets were in disrepair and the outlying villages and towns had been taxed into permanent ruin. He knew, though, it was treason to organize such opposition even if it was just. Feln gritted his teeth together. It wasn't right! This wasn't right! He looked up. Jakks spewed off his titles as king and protector of the lands, then sentenced his father to death by beheading.

  Roughly his father was put in position, keeling with his head on a block of wood stained with the blood of too many severed heads. He could feel Kragan's grip tighten on him, focusing his vision forward so he had to watch. The throbbing lip became distinct and the blood whooshed in his ears. Jakks had a cruel smile of satisfaction on his face. Velinole had made his way to the platform and was pointing a crooked finger at his father. A man dressed in black approached with a wide-bladed ax that looked so heavy that it should take two men to bear. The ax went up and came slicing down, removing his father's head in an expert stroke. A malicious cheer issued from the crowd as his father's head was hoisted onto a pike and shoved high into the air for all to see. The blood ran down the shaft, his father's blood, so red. Feln's legs crumpled and Kragan didn't support him as he fell to the ground. He closed his eyes. He should have closed them moments ago…

  "We're going to do the same to all of the conspirators," said Kragan. "If you get out of line, you'll be on that block too. You're an orphan now, and there will be no more special treatment for you."

  Feln guessed the people around him had moved back from Kragan. The Captain of the Guard was an imposing man, and his presence often caused people to keep their distance. He heard metal clanking, saw armored feet moving toward him, so he tensed into a ball, anticipating the kick, and it landed on his knees instead of his stomach. Pain flared, but not in the intended place, so he scrambled toward non-armored feet to get away, to hide - anything. Clanking followed, the weighty grasp of Kragan must have just missed him as he felt a finger brush his tunic. He rolled to his feet, slammed into a portly woman, urged her away with surprising strength, and sprinted. People flew by, stationary by his measure, and he weaved in and out of the crowd toward the front gate. He slipped this way and that along the broken cobblestones, not looking back for Kragan. As he ran, he dreaded to hear the command that was bound to be yelled out. It came seconds later, a shout bellowed from behind that was clearly heard and would not be ignored.

  "Close the gates!"

  Feln ducked behind a group and used his smaller size to hide, mimicking people's movements to stay out of Kragan's sight. Silently, he wished he could just disappear, vanish into nothing so he could sneak away. His insides felt sick, it came on all at once, and he almost wretched. Ahead he could see an archway, a doorway to another smaller courtyard where there were grand statues and unkempt grounds the hayward was instructed not to touch. The formal name was the Memorial Gardens, and it had been off limits since Jakks had become king. Feln didn't know why. It was a charming place, or he thought it could be, with care and attention. With surprising calm, he slipped next to the rusted iron gate and gazed at the simple lock. One of the scoundrels in the kitchen had showed him how to open locks with small tools, picks they were called, but what he lacked was a suitable an instrument. Feln turned to see if the pursuit had found where he had gone. Based on the commotion, they were getting close. Still composed, he reached upward toward a woman, spying the long hairpin keeping a bundle of hair together. If only he could reach it…

  He felt a smack and heard get away from her. The blow was stinging and a shove sent him back into the iron gate which rattled upon impact. A man was scolding him while the woman was turning around, then cries of 'thief' rang out. They thought he was trying to take a purse! Desperately he cranked on the gate handle, and to his surprise it moved. Not easily, but it moved. With more effort he pushed, realizing it wasn't locked but rusted shut! Feln slammed his fist on the handle, felt the pain, jarred it loose, then pulled the gate open. Once he was through, he searched the ground for a small rock, which he found, opened the gate slightly, jammed the rock in the iron near the hinges, then with all his might slammed it shut. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't move the handle again, so he was satisfied he at least would delay pursuers.

  A long, glinting piece of metal came toward him, the stabbing sword missing him only because he had moved a fraction of an inch. It was instinctive but not graceful, and he fell to the ground. Kragan was there, longsword in hand, pulling it back. The Captain of the Guard pushed on the handle to the gate, but it didn't yield. His metal glove hammered down on it, and Feln could tell by his expression that it was a stinging pain. Despite that, he hammered on it again. Scooting along the ground, Feln got to his feet and ran through the gardens away from the castle. There were uneven hedges, overgrown plants, dying trees, yellow grasses, dead shrubs, and prolific vines taking over the entire place. He could smell urine as he ran. The ancient rock statues flew by, old kings he didn't know, and after many yards he came to the end. His end.

  Trapped. Shades!

  The space narrowed further; to his right was the tall outer wall of the castle, to his left was the curved, stone interior wall that met at a ninety degree angle with the thick outer wall. Though there was a stone bench near the castle wall, it was too high to climb without help, handholds, or equipment. Feln started back and came to a halt when he saw Kragan and two soldiers advancing. They were walking in single file now because of the statues and overgrown weeds, Kragan had his sword out and his menacing face was screwed up into a scowl. He was going to die, he knew it, and there was only one way out of here that he could think of besides being cut to shreds. Feln walked toward Kragan and stopped near a statue, taking a deep breath before he embarked on the best plan he could think of. Without taking his eyes off Kragan, Feln scaled the stout base of the statue. It was of an old king in a fighting pose with plenty of surfaces for him to climb. Up he had to go, and he did. Though he didn't like climbing, he wasn't afraid to do it.

  "Just like a raccoon stuck in a tree," Kragan snarled as he surged forward.

  Feln went higher until he was perched atop the statue's shoulders, using the head to shield him from Kragan. The stone crown dug into his hands as he steadied himself. Feln eyed the outside wall.

  "It's too far to jump," Kragan said as he tracked where Feln was looking. "As soon as you hit the ground this steel will pierce your heart. No need to put your head on the block today. You've earned your death running from me."

  "Maybe if I go that way it's too far," Feln said, finding his voice. "I'm going this way." He pirouetted, then launched with all of his leg strength to the inner stone wall. The impact was dizzying, yet his hands held fast, the adrenaline keeping him from falling to the ground and feeling the bite of Kragan's steel. He pulled himself up, now feeling the full effect of the impact on his chest, hip, and legs. His muscles tightened and threatened
to tie into knots. A clang echoed as Kragan's sword smashed into the stone, the tip not even close to hitting Feln's feet. Feln stood atop the wall and caught his breath while his legs were shaking. A dagger flew from the hand of one of the soldiers. The throw wasn't accurate or speedy, and Feln dodged it easily. It went over the wall and hit a poor bystander in the arm.

  "You hit a noble," Feln told the soldier, hands cupped over his mouth. "He looks important. Hope you like being a gong farmer, cleaning up everyone's piss and shit!" Feln stared at Kragan on last moment, turned, and fled. The top of this wall wasn't meant for travel, yet Feln moved without regard for footing on the uneven surface. He slipped and caught himself several times, nevertheless, he kept moving as fast as he could. As he came to where the outer wall and inner wall met, he took a run at it, got a toe on the rough stone, and with an incredible leap made it up. He held on by his fingertips. A dagger clattered next to him, yet it didn't bother him. He was unshakable at this point, adrenaline pushing him ahead without fear. Feln pulled himself up to the wall walk, slung his feet up as well, rolled to safety, and stood. He paused to see what Kragan and the soldiers were doing. "You can either try to follow me, which in your armor is impossible, or you can go all the way back to the gate, wade through the crowd, and try to find me."

  "Or I could just call for help," Kragan said, his voice cool. "The top of the wall is patrolled."

  "I think it's too loud for that. No one will hear you."

  "We'll see about that!"

  Feln moved along the wall walk and he heard Kragan bellowing for assistance. To his left, he had a clear view of the inner grounds full of people. More friends of his father's, conspirators, were being executed. A crowd had gathered where the man had been injured by the flying dagger and they were looking at him. Fingers were being pointed in his direction. This was not good. He started to move quicker along the wall. To the right were the stone crenelations and merlons, alternating in equal intervals. Ahead of him on the battlement were scattered stones, buckets, and steel tools left by the masons who had been repairing one of the merlons. Farther down the wall were guards adorned in red leather, the breastplates had distinct black jackal emblems. Shades! They were taking an interest in him! Unlike Kragan and his steel blade, the wall guards had crossbows and could strike from afar. Feln knew the crossbows weren't loaded, a safety precaution in times of peace, so he had time to get down the other side of the wall before they pierced his body with deadly bolts. The question was, how would he get down there? If he jumped he would snap both of his legs. The red guards took note of him; the crowd was pointing at him and they heard the undeniable voice of Kragan shouting across the wall.