The Heir (Fall of the Swords Book 3)

by Scott Michael Decker

  “The honor and pleasure are far beyond my humble station, Lord General Tiger.”

  “Clear the area,” Scowling Tiger said. A crowd had gathered to watch the bandit general and the young man converse, drawn by their ease and the contrasts of age and disposition. Drawn too, Scowling Tiger thought, by the fact that Seeking Sword admired my daughter—and lived. He waited as still as stone while Raging River and three other guards scattered the spectators.

  “That you'd share with me information you'd keep from your own bandits is too much an honor, Lord General Tiger.”

  “They're filth—peasants who think with swords they're Emperors!” Scowling Tiger saw discomfiture on the young man's face. Unwise to be so transparent, he thought with contempt.

  “Forgive me, Father, Lord Sword,” Purring Tiger said suddenly. “I need to feed the child.” Standing, she smiled at Seeking Sword, then walked toward the fortress entrance, cooing over the child in her arms.

  Why is she so gentle? Scowling Tiger wondered. Was it the child's birth? In the last month she hasn't smiled at anyone but her child. She hasn't killed anyone either, though. Scowling Tiger still found her behavior quite unlike her. Twice in one day, she smiled—at a man!

  “If I may ask, Lord Tiger, who's the father?” Seeking Sword said.

  The bandit general shrugged. “She won't say. If it were a daughter, the identity of the father wouldn't matter, Lord Sword. The child is a son, though, and now it matters very much.”

  Legally and by custom in all three Empires, sons belonged to the father and daughters to the mother. Names matronymic and patronymic, and lineage revered even among bandits, everyone scorned a bastard son such as Purring Tiger's. Scowling Tiger had broken countless customs in naming his daughter after himself. The name of Snow was so hateful to him that he couldn't have allowed his daughter to carry it. Such a transgression was forgivable, since Purring Tiger's parentage was clear. At least we know my daughter's mother, he thought, but we don't know my grandson's father. The bandit general predicted problems later for the child with questionable paternity.

  “What's the child's name, Lord Tiger?”

  “She calls him Burning Tiger. I doubt she has reason.” Scowling Tiger had many doubts about his daughter, but not her viciousness nor her ability to lead. He was proud of her.

  The guards had long since cleared the immediate area. Travelers still crowded the path across the ravine from the conversing bandits. Raging River had returned to his place, his sword loose in his hands, as always.

  “What were these rumors you've heard, Lord Tiger?”

  Scowling Tiger ground left fist into thigh. “Bad rumors, Lord Sword. The stinking Heir Flaming Arrow's fifteen and has asked his father to set his ritual requirements. A spy tells me Flying Arrow will set them this evening. When the Heir has finished with that formality, he'll come against us here. He's no weakling Heir, hiding behind generals and castle walls and his father the Emperor. He'll bring the war to us. He's formidable, an excellent swordfighter, and strong in all the arts of war.”

  “It sounds as if you know him personally, Lord General Tiger.”

  “I haven't had that misfortune, thank the Infinite. The moment I do, my head comes off my shoulders, and all I've built won't have a feather's chance in a gale of staying put.”

  “Haven't you trained the Lady Tiger to take your place, Lord?”

  “Yes, Lord Sword, I have. The men won't want to follow a woman, even though she'll lead them well. Instant rebellion and her only solution is to spill a lot of blood until she cauterizes the treachery.”

  “What if she sealed the fortress?”

  “Eh? What?” Scowling Tiger sat up, the fist coming off the thigh momentarily.

  “What would happen if, upon your death, the Lady Purring Tiger sealed the fortress against anyone entering or leaving? Then, she could give the rebellious ones the choice to obey or die.”

  Unblinking, Scowling Tiger stared at him.

  Seeking Sword started to bow, as though thinking he had offended.

  “Brilliant!” Scowling Tiger shouted jubilantly, startling even the stoic Raging River. “See to it, Lord River! In two days time, I want every exit completely impassable from both sides. Already, Lord Sword, they're impenetrable from the outside. Any of four switches inside the fortress closes them all. Modifications won't take more than two days, will they, Lord River?”

  “No, Lord.” The small, gray-eyed man had gone to his knees at the utterance of his name. “Please, Lord, send another.”

  “What? Oh, yes, that silly superstition of yours. No more of that nonsense, Lord River—go!”

  Reluctantly, Raging River retreated. Another bandit stepped forward. “Lord Sword, I'm Flashing Blade,” he said, nodding to Seeking Sword. Bowing to the bandit general, Flashing Blade took Raging River's place.

  “Silly old fool,” Scowling Tiger muttered, smiling. “Raging River has guarded me for almost sixty years. He thinks you'll take my head because you look so much like the Traitor Brazen Bear. What nonsense!”

  Seeking Sword smiled. “Yes, Lord General Tiger, but another looks like the Traitor and that's not nonsense.”

  With gravity, the bandit general met his gaze. “Infinite knows, Lord Sword, the Eastern Empire might collapse before he gains the throne. Then all bandits will lunge at Emparia City to recapture the Sword that rightly belongs to us. Bandits took the empty northern land, populated it, civilized it, and bent it to our will. You see no strife between bandits now, thanks to the Council and thank the Infinite. Only along the Windy Mountains is there contention, and that is between bandit and Empire.”

  “The death of the Matriarch and the madness of the General should help, eh?”

  “Just another Imperial strumpet getting her final shafting—from her own son, too.” Scowling Tiger looked northward, along the ravine, his mind wandering. He snapped back to the present. “Infinite blast it, why didn't the Usurper die?!” The bandit general pounded the log with his right fist. “Listen, Seeking Sword, I don't trust the General's madness. Years ago, I talked with a man named Crazy Bear—Guarding Bear's father. Crazy Bear wasn't at all crazy, just hiding behind the name. You know how we revere the insane? It's a ploy to gain a measure of latitude in behavior. Not a man more wily than the General Guarding Bear—and he taught that stinking Heir all he knows. That's the reason I fear that bastard Arrow!”

  With an effort, Scowling Tiger pulled himself back to the ravine. He saw that Seeking Sword was glancing around, as though seeking escape.

  “Is he still farting through his mouth, Lord Sword?”

  Thinking Quick appeared between Scowling Tiger and Seeking Sword, from nowhere. The bandit general glowered at her, hating the eight-year old but fearing her much, much more.

  “You think I like being this way?” Her voice was scathing, her face not six inches from Scowling Tiger's. “Walking through a pyre is much more pleasant!”

  Scowling Tiger began to sweat, the temperature going up twenty degrees.

  “Listen, Thinking Quick,” Seeking Sword said. “Since you can't do anything to relieve your own torment, why don't you help others through theirs?”

  She looked at the ground, as though ashamed. “I'm sorry, my friend. I'm not very easy to get along with sometimes, am I? Lord Tiger, would you please take my head and relieve me of my agony?”

  “My child, my child,” Scowling Tiger said. “I could never do something so ghastly—I simply couldn't.” He wanted very much to remove her head. She would die, though, when she wanted to die and not a moment before. So despite his urge to try, he gently persuaded her to live. Both of them knew their performance was for the benefit of everyone watching, but most especially for Seeking Sword.

  Even before Scowling Tiger met the young man, Thinking Quick had advocated for him. Rarely had she said a word in his favor. Image was her language, images of the future. In the millions of futures, Thinking Quick saw the approaching nexus. Upon her shoulders was the burden of choo
sing those who would lead humanity safely through it. Neither Scowling Tiger nor Thinking Quick would live through the nexus. Therefore, she needed to select precisely the right person. Despite her inability to see his future, Seeking Sword was one of two people capable of leading humanity through the nexus. Like the finest of tools, even he needed shaping.

  Thus the bandit general and the Prescient Wizard acted out the brief charade, he not understanding and she disinclined to enlighten him.

  “You're right, as always, wise Lord Tiger.” Thinking Quick smiled wistfully, apologizing again to both men.

  “It was nothing, Lady Quick,” Seeking Sword said. “I have an idea. With the Lord Tiger's permission, why don't you come with me for a day or two, and forget everything for awhile? We can go north to the sea before ice locks up the harbors, eh?”

  Her brown eyes alight with pleasure, she looked at her liege lord.

  “Sure, go on, Lady Quick, have fun,” Scowling Tiger said expansively. Thank the Infinite I'll get the little meddler out of my thoughts for awhile.

  The two of them bowed. Hand in hand, Seeking Sword and Thinking Quick began to walk northward, toward the ravine that served as the main access to the Tiger Fortress.

  No, I couldn't have taken her head, Scowling Tiger thought. She had far too many talents for anyone to kill. Not the talented tiger from the Imperial Jaguar Menagerie. Not the bandit general with the nearly Wizard-strength talent.

  Scowling Tiger took comfort in knowing she wasn't long for this earth.

  Chapter 9

  For beneficent uses, implants detect when the body cannot carry out the subconscious directive. In such cases, implants disable themselves. Wizards who implant assassins never exercise similar care. When the stimulus or trigger—usually the assassination target—moves beyond reach, or when something impedes the assassin, the compulsion continues to drive the assassin's behavior without respite.—Assassin Implants, by Deadly Thought.

  * * *

  Having seen the Heir off on his manhood ritual, Spying Eagle wondered if he would return. Infinite forgive me my doubts! the Sorcerer Apprentice thought, wincing. He retreated from the northern gate of Emparia Castle, away from the others who had also gathered to wish Flaming Arrow a safe journey.

  Brown of hair, of eye, of skin, the psychological Wizard hurried up a stairwell, wanting time alone, time to think. While his head spun from the ingenuity and audacity of Flaming Arrow's plan, Spying Eagle felt unsettled. Events from his own sojourn through the Windy Mountains still haunted him. Two months ago, Flying Arrow had sent Spying Eagle to track down a bandit girl—a Prescient Wizard, according to rumor.

  Someone—Healing Hand—followed him up to the battlements.

  Spying Eagle continued, picking up his pace. Reaching the top of the stairs, he strode swiftly along the battlement. He hoped his friend realized his need to be alone, unwilling to transmit the wish. The terror of his past intruding upon his present, Spying Eagle doubted he could contain his disquietude.

  A native of Emparia City, Spying Eagle was forty-two years old. Adopted when two months old, he had quickly developed multiple talents. At seven, he had enrolled in the Institute of Psychology, the youngest ever to attend the ancient school. Graduating from the Institute at the top of his class, Spying Eagle had served under the Wizard Gentle Soul for his certification, earning the title of Wizard and the coveted address of Lord by age twenty. With credentials like his, the Imperial Sorcerer would have instantly accepted Spying Eagle as an apprentice. Instead, after his three-year conscription in the Eastern Armed Forces, Spying Eagle had set up a private practice in Emparia City.

  Healing Hand didn't relent, still following him.

  The year before the Heir was born, Spying Eagle had gone to the Bear residence at a summons from Bubbling Water, and had treated the legendary General himself, an inestimable honor for a twenty-six year old Wizard. Afterward, as Spying Eagle was leaving, a group of minions under the orders of the Traitor Lurking Hawk had captured him and taken him to the dungeons of Emparia Castle. From there, they had conscripted him and shipped him to Burrow Garrison on the northern border, where the warrior attrition was still higher than anywhere else. Months later, Guarding Bear had intervened, had obtained a signed apology from the Emperor Flying Arrow, had all confiscated assets returned to the Wizard, and had enlisted him in his personal service. Five years later, Spying Eagle had become the Sorcerer Apprentice under Exploding Illusion.

  Finally, Spying Eagle stopped on a lonely western battlement, knowing he couldn't elude the Medacor Apprentice.

  “He leaves a boy,” Healing Hand said, approaching as if in some well-frequented castle corridor. He glanced toward the Windy Mountains, as though to glimpse Flaming Arrow on his way north. “He'll return a man.”

  Spying Eagle sighed, grateful the other didn't ask why he had been running. “Flaming Arrow's more mature than his age suggests.”

  “Indeed, my friend—the ritual's only a formality for him.”

  “What happened to the Lord Bear?” Spying Eagle asked.

  “Mate-empathy link,” Healing Hand replied. “Infinite knows why it didn't kill him.”

  Spying Eagle nodded, frowning. “Sorry I missed the Lady Water's pyre. I'd have liked to have been there. She was a grand lady. I hear the Lord Bear threw himself into the flames.”

  “Flaming Arrow pulled him out, thank the Infinite. That boy surprises me, time and again, eh?”

  Smiling, he looked at Healing Hand. “Remember the time Flaming Arrow hypnotized himself into a catatonic state?”

  The medacor chuckled. “When he neglected to include a trigger? You had to re-hypnotize him to bring him out of it.”

  Nodding, Spying Eagle smiled. “Infinite knows where he got the idea. Do you think he'll kill all those bandit leaders?”

  Healing Hand shrugged, his palms open beside his shoulders. “If he were anyone but Flaming Arrow, I'd say his plan's impossible.”

  Laughing, Spying Eagle shook his head. “For anyone but him, it would be. I have faith he'll succeed.”

  “So do I, my friend, so do I.” Healing Hand turned his ice-blue eyes on Spying Eagle. “You've never been afraid of me before.”

  “I need to be alone, all right?” the Wizard said sharply, regretting it immediately.

  “Of course, Lord Eagle. If you'd like to talk, I'd be happy to listen.”

  Spying Eagle felt the whisper of a probe.

  “Why does that disturb you?” Healing Hand said.

  “Stay out of my thoughts!” he snapped, worrying the hilt of his sword. Then he put his face in his hands. Healing Hand is my friend, Spying Eagle thought, has been my friend since we met, and will always be my friend.

  “I sensed only what leaked from your shields,” Healing Hand said, his voice calm. “We both know I can't get through them—in normal circumstances, that is.” The Medacor Apprentice smiled cheerlessly. “Also, your mate asked me to speak with you, said you hadn't been the same since you got back. In truth, I also worry about you, my friend.”

  The modulated voice of Healing Hand enabled Spying Eagle to restore some calm. “I'm sorry, my friend, I'm not myself.” Then he laughed. “I once told the Lady Water that we're always ourselves, but sometimes we don't like what we think, feel or do.” The Wizard shook his head. “It's those Infinite-cursed bandits again. Do you remember what I told you about my father?”

  Healing Hand nodded. “How could I forget? I treated your symptoms, remember?”

  Spying Eagle smiled ruefully, nodding…

  * * *

  Four years after the twins were born, while Spying Eagle was still Guarding Bear's retainer, he received a message. An unidentified sender asked to meet him in the Windy Mountains ten miles east of Burrow Garrison, atop a steep hill.

  Intrigued, Spying Eagle traveled to the appointed place and began to climb the steep hillside. When he was halfway to the top, a man appeared at the crest. Climbing the rest of the way slowly, Spying Eagle couldn't pla
ce the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  The older man above him was brown of hair, of eye, of skin.

  Spying Eagle thought he was looking at an older version of himself.

  “Percipient Mind, it is I, your father, Melding Mind.” The other Wizard held out a knife whose haft was a single chunk of emerald.

  Percipient Mind's mind faltered on thought's obstruction. His father had implanted him! Fighting with all his skill, he wrestled with his own mind—and lost.

  Melding Mind entered his mind, took control, and read his son's memory from birth. Most of Percipient Mind's knowledge and experience were unimportant. While serving the General Guarding Bear, though, Percipient Mind had learned much sensitive information.

  Their contact ended suddenly, night now upon them.

  Unsheathing a knife, Percipient Mind thrust it home toward his heart because he couldn't live with the shame of having spied for bandits, even inadvertently.

  Fluidly putting a hand on his chest, Melding Mind grabbed his wrist with the other. The point entered but not far while the two men struggled. “You'll live,” the bandit Wizard said.

  Percipient Mind recognized truth in the words and put down the knife. While he couldn't predict the future, as too few could, the trace prescience that he did have sometimes confirmed what others said.

  “Flying Arrow will summon you to Emparia Castle within the year,” Melding Mind said.

  Again, a spark of latent talent verified this.

  “When you get there, you'll kill.”

  “Who?” he asked quickly, before the implant took him. It worked too swiftly for him to hear the answer. His mind was gone.

  Dawn exploded into his consciousness.

  Although the man opposite Spying Eagle looked familiar, he couldn't give the face a name. The other man looked haggard, as if he had overextended his talents. Don't I know his talent? Spying Eagle wondered, unable to remember. The other man had no signature—extremely unusual.

  “You have a place among us, young man.” The older man examined a knife whose haft was a single chunk of emerald. “If you succeed.”