Looking into the shielded nursery, he'd seen the wet nurses put the twins to their engorged breasts. Impatiently, he'd watched as the twins fed. In disgust, he'd listened to the wet nurses discuss meconium and other excrescences of newborns. With rising revulsion, he'd watched one nurse clean the dark, sticky substance from one twin's buttocks. Wanting to vomit at the sight of the infant's first feces, Lurking Hawk had swallowed his gorge, a sour taste in his mouth.
A sharp snap brought him from his reverie.
The lights had just gone off. Putting his eye to the hole, he saw the door close. Waiting for an excruciating count of ten, in case the wet nurses had forgotten something, Lurking Hawk pushed on the hinged stone slab.
It refused to move.
Infinite blast it! he thought, pushing harder.
Still, it stayed.
Panic blossomed within him. Holding the handle so it didn't crash open on him, he put his shoulder against the door and pushed will all this strength. Why is the handle on this side? Lurking Hawk wondered, straining furiously to push open the stuck stone slab. Standing and clearing his throat, he straightened his robes and extended a hand toward the handle.
He tugged. It swung easily, noiselessly toward him.
He stepped into the nursery, cursing his own stupidity.
Grateful for the room shields, Lurking Hawk looked down upon the Arrow Twins, the instruments of his revenge upon the man who'd destroyed the Northern Empire. Smiling, he probed them. Their young, uncluttered minds welcomed him happily.
All newborns were thus, without inhibition or anxiety or fear. Knowing no fear, they were receptive to every nuance of psychic energy. Vulnerable and highly sensitive, they would stay shielded for much of their infancy.
Nine months before, Flying Arrow had asked Lurking Hawk to implant Bubbling Water's child. Lurking Hawk had known the result of manipulating Rippling Water's young mind. Damaging the Usurper's daughter had pleased the Sorcerer immensely. Flying Arrow had seemed incognizant of the deleterious effects on an infant's mind. If he'd known them, he'd expressed no compunction. A baby only three days old, though, was far more vulnerable.
Should I kill them? Lurking Hawk wondered for the hundredth time. Flying Arrow had no scruples and would merely find another inseminator. Lurking Hawk knew a much better alternative. The strife between Leaping Jaguar and his younger brother had given him the idea. The Emperor Scratching Jaguar had preferred an Heir ill-suited for the position over a younger brother more than capable. A crippled Heir was better than no Heir at all.
Examining the structure of their embryonic talents, Lurking Hawk saw their vast potential immediately. The offspring of two parents with talents never quantified or qualified, the twins had a potential they'd probably never fulfill. Looking at their prefrontal lobes, he grew puzzled. They have the development of children five to six years old! he thought, shocked. Why?
Lurking Hawk considered carefully. Just after the insemination, he'd failed to breach the Consort's shields. Her subconscious talent had diverted his probes. If no one can probe her, he wondered, how did a Wizard accelerate her children's development? She can't disable her talent. That Wizard must have been more powerful than me.
Frowning, Lurking Hawk thought of another likelihood: That Flowering Pine was a Wizard herself.
No! Impossible! he thought. Dismissing such a ridiculous idea, he looked down upon the Arrow Twins—and smiled.
Knowing the depth of the identical-twin empathy link, Lurking Hawk needed to prevent its development between them. I'll change one twin's signature in one direction, he thought, then change the other twin's in the opposite direction.
Rubbing his hands together, he summoned his concentration, closing his eyes. During development, before losing their infantile plasticity, their brains might reinstate the frequencies encoded in chromosome. Lurking Hawk needed to change the frequencies so much that that didn't happen. After that, he'd plunge their talents into their subconscious minds. They'll be birds without wings in a flock that never lands!
Withdrawing from the first twin's mind, he began on the other's. Glancing back, he noticed that the frequencies of the first twin hadn't changed at all.
Odd, he thought, repeating the procedure.
As he withdrew, the frequencies reverted.
Suddenly furious, he struck with force enough to kill.
His blast of talent stopped, reversed, and lanced him.
Staggering backward a step, Lurking Hawk struggled to remain on his feet. These Infinite-blasted infants! he thought angrily, cursing their parentage. I must remain calm, he told himself. This time he tried to manipulate the other twin's mind.
As he withdrew, the frequencies reverted.
Patiently, he tried again.
As he withdrew, the frequencies reverted.
Suddenly furious, he struck with force enough to kill.
His blast of talent stopped, reversed, and lanced him.
Picking himself up off the floor, Lurking Hawk hoped his fall hadn't alarmed the wet nurses, knowing they were alert for a baby's cry.
Picking himself up off the floor, Lurking Hawk hoped his fall hadn't alarmed the wet nurses, knowing they were alert for a baby's cry.
He didn't know he'd fallen twice.
Trying to probe them, he discovered he'd depleted his psychic reserves. Impossible! he thought, having conserved his energy for just this manipulation. Wondering where his energy had gone, Lurking Hawk looked down upon the twins and contemplated murder.
Furious that mere infants had repelled his efforts, he controlled his impulse. What do I do? he wondered in despair. I can't kill them, and I can't separate their minds. Oh, dear lord Infinite must I give up on my revenge? I'll die if I try further manipulation on empty reserves.
While he watched, each of the young, young minds folded into itself, unable to comprehend what had just happened.
Lacking even the energy to probe them further, Lurking Hawk stumbled toward the false panel, nudged it open and slipped from the nursery, wondering if his efforts would be sufficient.
In the secret passageways, Lurking Hawk descended a stairwell, unaware he bled from both ears.
Below a glow approached. Retreating up the stairwell, he wondered who else was using the secret passageways at this hour of night. The glow ascended. Afraid of capture, he backed into a niche across from the secret door and tried to fashion a psychic cloak. His talents failed.
Murmuring approached with the light. Before reaching the short, cramped corridor where Lurking Hawk hid, the person doused the light. The murmur grew louder, and soon, the Wizard heard words.
“… Receive a pyre much more fancy than your mother could have given you. I'm sure the Infinite will accept you into its embrace, despite the little lie of your origins. What's a soul to the Infinite? Matters not that you're a bastard peasant conceived during your mother's injudicious joining with some stranger whose name she never knew. No, matters not at all. All are equal in the eyes of the Infinite.”
Recognizing the voice, Lurking Hawk saw what Exploding Illusion cradled gently in his arms.
A baby boy.
Shielded, Exploding Illusion peered through the peephole. In the dim light, Lurking Hawk saw him smile. The new Sorcerer pinched off the boy's nose.
The infant struggled, its motions quickly growing weak.
The moment the infant died, Exploding Illusion entered the nursery.
Hurrying down the stairwell, Lurking Hawk smiled wearily.
* * *
The sentries at the castle gate bowed.
Nodding to them as befitted his station, Healing Hand smiled wearily. One perquisite of his sudden rise was that others bowed and scraped to him, instead of he to them. He was still uncomfortable with it.
To the east rose the sun, sending its first blinding rays into the dawning day. Stepping between sentries and into the castle, Healing Hand passed the invisible barrier of electrical shielding.
Immediately, the sadness on the
flow struck deep.
No! Healing Hand thought, withering within.
Yes, he said to himself, stilling his initial denial and adjusting his emotional balance as Spying Eagle had taught him. Tears began to pour down his cheeks. Slowly, Healing Hand walked toward the offices of the Imperial Medacor.
Toward tragedy.
Yesterday morning, the Emperor had announced a ceremony to honor the Wizards who'd opened the Tiger Fortress to Imperial siege. Carrying their dead colleague, Searching Sight, the five Wizards had traveled from Burrow to Emparia City, arriving the night before, exhausted. In a suite prepared just for them, three of the five Wizards had stayed at the castle. Spying Eagle had gone to see his parents and had stayed the night there. Healing Hand had gone home to see his mother and sister. Having slept there, he'd returned to the castle at dawn, eager to resume his apprenticeship under Soothing Spirit. Last night, the Imperial Medacor had told him that he didn't need to resume immediately. Healing Hand, however, had been eager to resume a training he hadn't really started.
Now, tragedy awaited him in the infirmary.
Now, Healing Hand wanted to return home to the safety of his mother, to forget this had happened, to deny the reality that half the hope of the Empire had died in the night.
Healing Hand walked onward, weeping.
The castle flow had carried the news. Only ten minutes before he'd arrived, the wet nurses had entered the nursery to feed a pair of hungry babies. They'd found one dead.
Suffocated.
Crib death claimed more infants less than six months old than any other malady. This time it'd claimed an Heir.
Ascending a last stairwell, Healing Hand turned into the crowded corridor outside the Medacor's offices. No one really saw him as he slipped into the antechamber, where the assistant medacor, Cloudy Sky, stood sentinel at the infirmary door, a pair of guards reinforcing his authority to deny anyone entrance.
Nodding to him, Healing Hand asked, “What happened, Lord Sky?”
Gesturing him to a corner, Cloudy Sky lowered himself to his haunches. His eyes level with the boy's, the morose medacor smiled sadly. “Rotten day to return to work, eh? The Lord Spirit is doing an autopsy on the body. They've taken the healthy twin to the shielded nursery in the Consort's suite, where two new wet nurses have taken charge of his care. Exploding Illusion implanted both nurses with a memory of one birth and no death. They're making every effort to shield the remaining boy from his brother's death. The previous wet nurses face possible death for their negligence. The Lady Consort is hysterical with grief and took an oral sedative on the Lord Spirit's order. Sorry to say, Little Lord, the Lord Emperor canceled the ceremony this evening. We're all very proud of you, I want you to know. It just wouldn't be right to celebrate the siege now.”
Healing Hand nodded. “Thank you, Lord.” We can't completely shield the boy from his brother's death, or from the grief of an Empire, Healing Hand thought. “Do you think the Lord Spirit would object if I just went home?”
“No, Little Lord, not at all. He'd find you a bother right now. Too much happening, eh?”
“That's what I thought.” Healing Hand began to cry again, softly, silently, effortlessly. Spying Eagle had taught him not to resist his emotions, instead to flow with them, to let them carry him, to let them flow through him.
Pulling the boy into his embrace, Cloudy Sky rained with him.
“Thank you, Lord,” the boy said finally, pulling away. Looking down the corridor where the baby had died, he remembered the last time he'd been in that room. Then it had been Lurking Hawk's cell.
A warrior strode into the main infirmary and looked around. Healing Hand recognized him. The sergeant had commanded the four guards posted outside that cell. The boy detected why the warrior had come, despite his fierce efforts to shield himself. Spying Eagle had taught him how to penetrate even the most impregnable of human shields, all having some flaw.
Healing Hand strode over to the warrior, gesturing Cloudy Sky to follow.
“Lord Apprentice,” the Sergeant said, recognizing him and bowing.
Healing Hand remembered to nod, as befitted a superior. “I know why you're here, Lord Sergeant. The Lord Spirit is busy right now. The Lord Sky and I will attend to this.”
“Yes, Lord,” the Sergeant said. “How did you know?”
“Your shields are curtains in the wind of my talent,” Healing Hand said, not bothering to explain. Gesturing the man to lead, he thought that a boy's commanding an adult must look amusing. He'd taken charge merely to distract his mind from the tragedy.
“Where are we going?” Cloudy Sky asked, following obediently.
“You'll see, Lord Sky,” Healing Hand said. “I pray we don't find what I think we'll find.”
Reaching corridors less-crowded, Healing Hand asked, “Lord Sky, have you done a post-mortem examination before?”
“I've done many, Little Lord. Why do you ask?”
“You'll do two more, Lord Sky. Lord Sergeant, have you informed the Lord Emperor?”
The warrior looked over his shoulder. “Yes, Lord Medacor. When I saw them, I sealed the room, ordered a subordinate to inform the Lord Emperor and then came to find a medacor.” Turning into a stairwell, he began to ascend. “I didn't want to tell the Lord Emperor myself, but I'll probably lose my head anyway, eh?” The Sergeant laughed with the fatalism of those already dead.
“I hope you don't, Lord Sergeant,” Healing Hand said. “You're simply doing your duty. Does the Lord Emperor often kill messengers when he doesn't like the message?”
The Sergeant grinned over his shoulder.
The stairwell led them to a corridor lined with guards, a portable unit shielding each. Many of them whispered amongst themselves.
Healing Hand walked into Lurking Hawk's suite, smelling the distinct odor of blood. At a closed door stood two guards, at attention. Bowing to the Sergeant, they stood aside.
The Sergeant opened the door to the rooms where Lurking Hawk had slept for fourteen years. The two medacors looked in.
“Oh, Lord Infinite,” Cloudy Sky murmured.
On the bed were two bodies, one of them the Northern Wizard. They were both dead. Blood splashed the room, pooled on the floor.
Healing Hand stepped into the room, regretting he'd worn his finest silk robes. How can I care about appearance at such a time as this? he wondered. “Step in here, Lord Sergeant, and close the door,” he said.
The Sergeant did as Healing Hand bade him.
The dead warrior's shield was still on. “I'll have to turn off the shield. I'll try to disturb as little as possible,” he said.
Stepping carefully around pools of blood, he flipped the switch on the shield. Touching nothing else, he backed away. Setting aside a section of memory, Healing Hand increased his hippocampus adrenalin. From near the door, he examined as much as he could.
The warrior laying face up on the bed had bled to death. His throat slashed, the knife was still in the wound. His robes were open. Around his waist was a utility belt, on it the portable shield. He wore no loincloth. On his penis were traces of semen. Comparing it to the semen inside the testes, Healing Hand saw they were the same. The face was a rictus of pleasure. He found elevated levels of testosterone in the blood. The warrior had died during or shortly after ejaculation.
Healing Hand examined the other body.
Lurking Hawk lay half-sprawled face down across the warrior. His head near the warrior's feet, his own feet hung off the bed at an angle. In and around his mouth were traces of semen. On his right hand was blood, the same type of blood as the warrior's. Below Lurking Hawk's ears were rivulets of more blood, running in different directions, some of it more coagulated. He'd first bled while standing, then had collapsed and bled more. In the brain were two aneurisms, both in the prefrontal lobes—the psychic centers. Lurking Hawk had died abusing his talents, not from a physical struggle.
Healing Hand then tested the core temperatures of both bodies. “Lord Sky, they
died more than an hour apart. Something doesn't look right.”
“You're right, Little Lord,” Cloudy Sky said. “Lurking Hawk didn't die trying to kill the guard.”
Healing Hand examined the splashes of blood, marking each drop by type, the two men having had different blood types. Most of the blood was the warrior's, a little Lurking Hawk's. Too little, the boy thought.
Then he saw something odd.
On the headboard was hand-print in the guard's blood and a drop of Lurking Hawk's. Both looked out of place, so he examined the area more thoroughly. He found two more drops amidst the warrior's blood splashed on the headboard. In addition, on the wall behind the headboard was a thin streak. The angle of fall nearly vertical, the drop's momentum had spread it out on contact with stone. Lurking Hawk must have been near or at the wall while bleeding, Healing Hand concluded. Why? he wondered.
He consulted with his colleague, the Sergeant listening in.
“I don't know, Lord Hand,” Cloudy Sky said, frowning.
“Infinite blast it,” the Sergeant said. “I knew we should have put the Traitor in the dungeons!”
“Why, Lord?” Healing Hand asked.
“Can either of you levitate me?”
Cloudy Sky volunteered. Rising slowly, the Sergeant directed the medacor to float him toward the wall behind the headboard. Extending a hand, the Sergeant pushed open a false panel.
“Infinite help us,” Healing Hand said.
“Put me down in here, eh Lord?” the Sergeant said. He guided himself into the opening as Cloudy Sky lowered him.
“Lord Sergeant, do you have a lamp?”
Unhooking one from his belt, he flashed it at them.
Healing Hand nodded. “Do you see blood on the floor in there?”
Kneeling, the Sergeant shone the light downward. “Yes, Lord.”
“I'll go, Lord Sky,” Healing Hand said, stepping gingerly between splashes of blood. Carefully, he placed his foot on the mattress beside the dead warrior's head. Climbing over the headboard, Healing Hand dropped into the secret passageway, the Sergeant half-catching him.
“I don't really need the light, Lord Sergeant,” Healing Hand said. “I can see the way with my talents.”
The Bandit (Fall of the Swords Book 2) Page 28
