The Emperor's Revenge

  The Emperor’s Revenge © 2019 by Kevin Hopson

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, or events, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover art by John Harley Dela Cruz

  Cover design by Jeffrey Kosh Graphics

  https://jeffreykosh.wixsite.com/jeffreykoshgraphics/home

  Edited by Doug Laycock

  First eBook Edition February 2019

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  The Emperor's Revenge

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE EMPEROR’S REVENGE

  CHAPTER ONE

  “The Emperor demanded to see me,” Asgall said.

  The servant paused, holding the ragged cloth on the hardwood floor. Remaining on his knees, he looked up, his eyes locking on Asgall’s. “The Emperor’s in his dressing room.”

  Asgall shook his head in frustration. “Of course,” he murmured. “Where else would he be?”

  “What was that, sir?”

  Asgall considered playing dumb, ultimately deciding against it. “Thank you for your assistance.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  He put a hand to one of the double doors. Though heavy and thick, Asgall pushed it open with ease. Nothing less would be expected of an Emperor’s soldier, especially the leader of the guard. As he made his way into the bedroom, Asgall spotted the Emperor in the far corner. Sitting on a stool, he struggled to remove his shoe.

  “Come, Asgall,” he said, glancing in the soldier’s direction. “How do these look?”

  Asgall knew little about shoes, but there was only one answer to give. “They should be honored to grace your feet, Your Highness.”

  This time the Emperor met his gaze. “Enough of the lauding. And enough of the formalities.”

  “It’s only proper, sir.”

  “Perhaps with most, but not with my only nephew.”

  Asgall nodded. “Whatever you command.”

  “Right now, I command you to assist me with these blasted shoes.”

  He grinned. “Very well.”

  Asgall approached the Emperor and dropped to one knee, attempting to pry the shoe from his right foot. Battling giants seemed like an easier task, but the shoe finally budged. Adjusting his grip, Asgall managed to free the other one easily.

  “Thank you,” the Emperor said.

  “Of course.”

  Noticing a mirror next to the Emperor, Asgall couldn’t resist gazing at his reflection. Turning, he admired his neatly trimmed beard. It had grown to be the same length as the cropped russet hair atop his head.

  The Emperor chuckled. “You look fine, Asgall. As handsome as they come. It’s me that needs to worry. The new chef’s cooking has expanded my waistline, but I still have my hair, at least. My father and uncles couldn’t say the same at my age.”

  Asgall gripped the handle of his sword, leaning on it as he got back to his feet. “Surely you didn’t ask me here to assist with your wardrobe.”

  The Emperor stood and made his way over to the bed. “Certainly not. We have more pressing matters.” He pointed toward an empty chair. “Have a seat.”

  Asgall obliged, plopping himself down in a leather-upholstered chair. “Has one of my men done something wrong?”

  He shook his head. “No. I couldn’t be happier with the guards. However, I do take issue with a couple of the townsfolk, if you can even call them that.”

  “Are you referring to the weavers?”

  “That’s exactly whom I’m referring to. They’ve made us look like a town of fools, and I’m the one to blame.”

  “They tricked everyone, including myself. You’re no guiltier than the rest of us.”

  “I appreciate your words, nephew, but I have to take full responsibility for this. It was my decision, after all, to use them.”

  “They’re persuasive individuals.”

  “They’re swindlers,” the Emperor shouted, squeezing his fingers into his palms. He immediately exhaled, taking a long moment to calm himself. “No one can make invisible fabric. Perhaps a wizard, but they’re not wizards! The only ability those two cheats possess is deceit. If I wasn’t so insecure, I never would have fallen for it.” The Emperor paced beside his bed. “And to think of all the money, silk, and thread I gave them. They pretended to weave new clothes, but it was all a farce. They took it all for themselves.”

  “What would you have me do?”

  “They need to be brought to justice.”

  “I agree, so why not call on our Minister of Justice?”

  “As much as they don’t deserve it, I’ll grant them a fair trial, but I need them apprehended.”

  Asgall’s newly-grown beard prickled his neck. He raised his hand and scratched the irritation, mulling over the Emperor’s demand. “They could be outside the walls by now.”

  “Then you’ll go outside the walls to retrieve them.”

  ASGALL TOOK TWO OF his men with him. The weavers shared a small house, renting it from the owner of a nearby inn. The innkeeper would be next on their list of people to visit if the house didn’t pan out. It was the most obvious location to check but, at the same time, the least likely place to prove successful. Still, Asgall had his orders. He’d already told the men to inspect the house’s exterior, so he raised his fist and pounded on the door.

  Asgall waited a few seconds to no avail. Not that he expected anyone to answer. Wasting resources on something like this seemed fruitless to him. There were other assets at the Emperor’s disposal. Why his uncle chose to utilize soldiers was beyond him.

  Being his nephew clearly had its advantages and disadvantages. As much as Asgall enjoyed the perks of being family, he was constantly at the Emperor’s beck and call. He’d grown accustomed to it as commander of the guard, but it didn’t make the arrangement any easier.

  As he raised his fist to pound for a second time, creaking stopped him. Listening, Asgall heard the scraping of boots against stressed wooden planks. He sidestepped the door and peered through a window, but the room was empty. From the corner of his eye, Asgall spotted the door knob turning. He drew a dagger from the front of his leather torso armor, pushing his back to the wall.

  “Sir?” a voice called out as the door flew open.

  Recognizing his own soldier’s voice, Asgall gasped in relief and swallowed. “Right here,” he said, sheathing his blade.

  One of his soldiers, Colum, exited the house, his shoulder-length blond hair coming into view. “There’s no one here.”

  Asgall figured as much. “Where’s Tormod?”

  “Around back.”

  Asgall moved toward the door. He gave Colum an appreciative pat on the shoulder before stepping inside. “Keep watch, and make sure no one interrupts me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He closed the door behind him, carefully examining the house. Asgall walked toward a large table that dominated the room, a lengthy bench positioned along one side of it. He saw a single door on the back wall, which had likely been Colum’s point of entry. The windows on either side of the door allowed hazy sunlight to creep in, illuminating the thick ground-in dust and tangled cobwebs. Surprisingly, several shelves were overflowing with everything from candles to food.

  He didn’t notice a single bed, though. Then again, there wasn’t much room for them, especially if the two men required space for weaving. Asgall s
nickered at the thought. He saw a pair of looms in the corner, but they were free of any silk or thread. Asgall walked around the room, the floorboards groaning with each step.

  The creaking turned subtler in one part of the room. Asgall continued on, the weightier sounds soon returning. He stopped and turned, making his way back to that one area. Asgall kneeled and slid his gloves along the boards. They were richer in color, not as haggard and worn as the surrounding wood.

  If the men were trying to conceal something, they’d done a very poor job of it. However, con artists weren’t known for sticking around, so perhaps there was no point in hiding valuables. It was much simpler to get up and go at the first sign of trouble.

  With a closer examination, Asgall noticed a small gap between two of the floorboards. He lowered a hand, managing to squeeze a finger inside the space. The gap stretched the length of the board, which measured about two feet if he had to guess. Asgall wrapped his hands around the newer plank and tugged, attempting to pull it loose, but the blasted thing wouldn’t move.

  “Colum,” he shouted.

  The soldier out front appeared shortly after. “Sir.”

  “Give me a hand here.”

  Colum rushed to his side. Asgall gripped the board again, the soldier taking note and following suit. Asgall yanked and grunted, his biceps burning as he tried to break it free. The wood finally snapped. Losing his balance, Asgall tumbled backwards against the floor, but not before the piece of wood struck his forehead. He put a hand to his pounding head, thankful he didn’t see blood.

  Looking through the hole in the floor, Asgall’s jaw dropped, and his eyes bulged.

  “That looks like—”

  “Gold,” Asgall said. “A lot of gold.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Asgall left Colum and Tormod behind to commandeer the gold while he made his way over to one of the town’s inns. As he stepped through the door, he saw Horas hunched over the counter, a cigar in his mouth and a half-empty bottle of wine resting next to him on the table.

  “Commander Boid,” Horas said with a lack of confidence, apparently startled by the man’s presence.

  “Good morning, Horas.” He glanced down at the bottle. “A slow day thus far?”

  Horas eased a bit, his mustache bobbing as he chewed on the cigar. “The story of my life.” He stared at Asgall, his narrow but intense eyes gleaming out from under a forehead of wrinkles. “Do you need a room?”

  “I’m afraid not. What I could use, however, is some information.”

  “Anything to help out the commander of the guard.”

  Asgall detected a hint of sarcasm, but perhaps he was misreading the plump innkeeper. Standing a full head taller than Horas, he couldn’t help but glare at the man’s balding scalp. A patch of gray hair above each ear was all that remained of Horas’ glory days.

  “It involves a couple of your tenants,” Asgall said.

  “Though business isn’t necessarily booming, I still have a number of regular customers. You’re going to have to be a little more specific.”

  “The weavers. Cerdic and Higbald. They don’t have rooms here, but they’ve been renting that shack from you.”

  “What are you calling a shack?” he asked, scowling.

  “My apologies. I didn’t mean—”

  “It was my home growing up. It might not be the largest or most elaborate house in town, but you could show more respect when talking about it.”

  Asgall figured the wine was taking its toll on poor Horas, so he was willing to let the comment slide. Plus, he needed information.

  “It looks like a lovely place,” Asgall said with sincerity. “A poor choice of words on my part.”

  Horas breathed out loudly through his nose. “I haven’t seen them in a while,” he finally said. “They only show up every couple of weeks to pay.”

  “Do they pay in advance?”

  Horas nodded.

  “When was the last time they visited?”

  Despite his slight intoxication, the innkeeper needed no time to think. “A little over two weeks ago.”

  “So, they should have shown up by now?”

  “Yes, but I figured if they’re smart, they would have taken off after what we witnessed during the Emperor’s procession the other day. I checked the house yesterday, and there was no sign of them.”

  “During their stay, did you ever see them around town?”

  Horas shook his head. “Granted I don’t get out much, but I don’t recall seeing them at any of the taverns or other places I frequent. I’m assuming they kept to themselves.”

  “I imagine so.”

  “Any clues on their whereabouts?”

  Even if Asgall knew, he wasn’t about to disclose those details to Horas. “We’re still working on that.”

  “I wouldn’t take too long figuring it out. By the time you do, they might be halfway across the continent.”

  “GOLD?” THE EMPEROR’S brows scrunched together when he said it.

  “That’s what we found,” Asgall replied, sitting across from him at the dinner table.

  The Emperor chewed and swallowed a piece of beef, placing his utensils on the plate. “I never paid them in gold.”

  “I realize that.”

  “Then what does it mean?”

  Asgall shrugged. He much preferred having answers, but sometimes situations like these required time. Whether his uncle understood was another matter.

  “It raises a lot of questions,” Asgall admitted. “For one thing, why leave it behind?”

  “You’re assuming they’re on the run?”

  “I’m not assuming anything. I’m just considering every possibility.”

  “So, they could still be within the town’s walls?”

  “They could be, but even if they are, where did the gold come from?” Asgall pondered. “Not many in town would have it in their possession, especially in this abundance.”

  “I agree.” The Emperor raised a fine linen to his lips. “And what could those two frauds possibly have to offer?”

  Asgall mulled it over, thinking back to what he found, or didn’t find, at the house. “There was no sign of the silk you gave them.”

  “They had no need for it. It’s obvious they didn’t weave a single piece of clothing.”

  “But maybe someone else did.”

  “What? Why would someone else weave the clothes?”

  Asgall shook his head. “No. I’m not referring to the clothes. Someone else might have had a need for the silk, though.”

  “Enough of a need to pay in gold? That’s preposterous.”

  “Perhaps, but sometimes people value resources more than they do money.”

  Asgall watched as his uncle stared at the wall. “Micheil Gilios.”

  “What about him?”

  “That conniving little pest has always taken issue with me. He has plenty of gold to go around, too. I bet he put those weavers up to this, paying them handsomely just to humiliate me.”

  MICHEIL’S HOUSE WAS nothing short of spectacular. Nestled along the edge of a forest and surrounded by maple trees and pines, it was secluded yet inviting. The autumn morning brought a slight chill, and the leaves were already in their prime, showing off their bright yellows, robust oranges, and rustic reds.

  Asgall and Colum walked the gravel trail leading to the house. It was a two-story abode with a pair of chimneys. Maroon tiles graced the roof, accented by bluish-green shutters. Asgall noticed a cellar with double doors off to the side as they climbed the white-stone steps to the front entrance.

  “Would you like to do the honors?” Asgall asked with a playful tone.

  Colum smiled, his glistening blue eyes staring back at him. Normally direct and obedient when replying to his commander, the soldier seemed to pick up on Asgall’s light-hearted mood. “I’m not one for knocking, sir.”

  A chuckle escaped Asgall’s mouth as he thought back to the weavers’ place. “I’ve noticed that. How about I give it a try? If it d
oesn’t prove successful, perhaps we can employ some of your methods.”

  Colum snickered. “If you say so, sir.”

  Asgall squinted and did a quick sweep of the grounds. “I thought Tormod would be here by now.”

  “The Emperor requested his assistance.”

  “With what?”

  Colum shrugged. “He said he’d be along shortly, though.”

  Asgall sighed, deciding it was best to get on with their business, even without Tormod. He banged his knuckles against the thick oak, debating whether or not to announce themselves. After deliberating, Asgall chose to keep his mouth shut. Hearing the voice of a soldier could spook Micheil.

  Since the door was diagonal to the front window, it was hidden from Micheil’s view. However, the small square opening near the top of the door, guarded by several metal grids, allowed Micheil to view his visitors, but Asgall remained confident he could persuade the man to talk when and if the time came.

  Asgall leaned toward the door, resting his ear against it. He didn’t expect to hear much, but the silence disappointed him nonetheless. He backed away and, clenching his fingers into a fist, pounded the door aggressively. Questioning whether anyone heard him, Asgall looked at Colum, the soldier returning his gaze.

  “Would you like me to go around back?” Colum asked.

  Asgall considered the offer, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he studied the grounds again, ultimately setting his eyes on the cellar doors.

  “Are you still our best with a hatchet?”

  “I’d like to think so, sir.”

  Asgall nodded. “Good enough.”

  He descended the steps, Colum’s boots scraping the gravel as he followed. They made their way around the side of the house, and Asgall inspected the cellar doors. A thin chain and lock held the two of them together.

  “Is that a problem?” Asgall asked.

  Colum let out a laugh. “Only for him.”

  Asgall grinned.

  Colum slid the hatchet from its sheath along his belt. He kneeled in front of the cellar, lined up the hatchet, arched his arm back, and then propelled the blade. The chain split in half upon impact.