The Heir (Fall of the Swords Book 3)

by Scott Michael Decker

  Stiffening under her scrutiny, Flaming Arrow let his eyes travel her body. “Since you know my name already, why don't you tell me yours?” He stepped toward her, and slowly reached a hand toward her cheek.

  “I'm … Soaring Sparrow,” she said, a gleam in her eye.

  “Would the Lady Sparrow like to nest?” he asked, shifting his weight to make the bulge at his loin more prominent.

  Giggling, she straightened to emphasize her ample breasts. The cut was so clean, the head didn't move. A puzzled look filled the eyes, then the body crumpled. Flaming Arrow leaped to avoid the fountain of blood.

  “Good cut, Lord Gaze!” he said.

  “Thank you, Lord. You were most persuasive.”

  “Who's this Seeking Sword?”

  “Never heard of him, Lord.” Shrugging, Probing Gaze bent to drag the body into the cleft where he had hidden.

  Putting his pack and weapons back on, Flaming Arrow tossed the head in with the body. Resuming the descent, the Heir wondered about his next target, Scowling Tiger. Can I use my physical similarity to Seeking Sword to get into the fortress? he wondered. Not likely, he thought, doubting that Scowling Tiger would mistake him for the other.

  As they reached the valley floor, Probing Gaze muttered an imprecation. “Alarms,” he said, “They've found the sentry's body.”

  The camp began to mobilize, creating confusion. A group of guards clustered closely around Spitting Wolverine. The bandit spat orders at a rapid pace. Three paces ahead of the Heir, Probing Gaze began to babble half-coherently. Stumbling as if drunk, he pointed toward the hillside where he had taken the sentry's head. Into the ring of guards he walked, drawing everyone's attention.

  Spitting Wolverine, anger on his pitted face, drew his sword. Suddenly, he had no hands. Flaming Arrow's second swing took his head.

  Fighting erupted, warriors jumping for room and swords singing from sheaths. Probing Gaze and Flaming Arrow crouched back to back, a sword in one hand, a knife in the other. Twice they repulsed attacks. Before attacking again, the bandits suddenly relented, looking around.

  Over the hills surrounding the valley poured Imperial Warriors.

  Grabbing the head by the hair, Flaming Arrow tucked a hank into his weapons belt. Then he sidestepped a thrust as their foes recovered from shock. He parried another blade as two bandits attacked. Catching the blade of one, he yanked the sword from the hand with such force that it embedded itself deep in the chest of the other. Dispatching the unarmed bandit quickly, Flaming Arrow looked around, assessing the situation.

  The attacking Imperial Warriors had already cut deep into the camp. The lack of a leader had thrown the bandits into confusion, the premise of Flaming Arrow's strategy. On three fronts, the attack was going well. On the fourth, the Imperial Warriors were regrouping. A bandit there had kept the defenses well-organized, repulsing the initial assault and preparing for the next.

  Probing Gaze disemboweled an inept swordsman and looked around as well. Flaming Arrow tossed the head to the sectathon. “They need help over there.”

  “I forbid it, Lord! You've done your part!”

  Torn between a desire to fight and the need to escape, Flaming Arrow cursed and chose the more prudent. Together, the two men fought their way toward the advancing line of Imperial Warriors. There the ranks clad in blue and white hailed them with hearty cheers.

  As they retreated beyond the battle lines, rear-guard and reinforcement greeted them as conquering heroes, the two men blood-soaked and tired. Southward they traveled, passing hundreds of Imperial Warriors heading north.

  As they entered a clearing just over the border, Aged Oak glanced up from a large table, where a relief map lay. The General bowed to the Heir and returned to his work, orchestrating his armies to crush the last pockets of resistance. The rapathon, sectathon, and empathon behind him were sweating copiously with the strain of maintaining communications.

  Probing Gaze walked off to take care of the head. Flaming Arrow watched Aged Oak work, fascinated.

  The wrinkled General moved pieces on the map, tracking several small battles at once, bringing up archers for one confrontation, shifting a company from one battle to another. A network of sectathons, rapathons and empathons constantly updated his information. The old General was a master tactician.

  “May I get you anything, Lord Heir?”

  Seeing his own headservant here didn't surprise Flaming Arrow. “A bath, Cub, then food and a nap.”

  The bath attendants scrubbed him three times. Rising from the stool, Flaming Arrow climbed into the steaming cauldron. Bless the Infinite for hot baths, he thought—and battlefield success. Sinking deeper into meditation, Flaming Arrow had almost centered himself when he remembered the woman.

  Flaming Arrow's eyes popped open, his harmony disrupted. She had addressed him as “Seeking Sword.” Cursing and splashing the water, he climbed from the tub and fumed while attendants dried him. Cub dried and braided his bronze, back-length hair. An attendant helped him dress in fresh loincloth, moccasins and eight-arrow robe.

  Cub brought food and set it before him. Flaming Arrow waved it away. “I insist you eat, Lord,” the servant said.

  “You'll probably hover over me to insure I miss not a morsel.”

  Cub smiled.

  Wanting to pursue his idea, Flaming Arrow nevertheless sat and ate.

  As he scraped the last of the food onto his fork, Probing Gaze walked up and let the attendants undress him.

  “Lord Gaze, just the man I wanted to see,” Flaming Arrow said. “I want a complete profile on this bandit Seeking Sword.”

  “Yes, Lord.” The Colonel sat on the small stool, where an attendant doused him. “The name isn't familiar, so if I do have any information, Lord Heir, it won't be much.”

  “Check with the Matriarch Water at my behest, Lord Gaze. Ten to one she knows something. My reputed grandfather, Scratching Wolf, might also know something, since he commands the Eastern Windy Mountains. All I know is what you heard the sentry say. Make this your top priority, Lord Gaze. I have the feeling I'll need every bit of information.”

  “Yes, Lord Heir.” Probing Gaze leaned forward, an attendant scrubbing his back. “I guess I can't say anything to dissuade you, can I, Lord?”

  “Not likely,” Flaming Arrow said, looking in the direction of the Tiger Fortress.

  “This head will be the most difficult to take, Lord Arrow. You won't have my help, the Lord Oak's, or any Imperial Warrior's.”

  “Which makes my success is that much more important.”

  * * *

  Why don't you slit your belly right here right now? Probing Gaze wanted to tell him. It will be a better death than the one you're sure to receive on a filthy bandit blade. Of course, the sectathon said nothing. Flaming Arrow had his own fate and his own way of meeting that fate. Nothing Probing Gaze could say would deflect him.

  A servant rinsed off the last of the lather. Standing, he climbed into the nearly scalding water. “I'll also send for all the information I have on the Tiger Raiders and the hundred most important bandits among them.” He closed his eyes contentedly.

  “Why go to all that trouble?” Flaming Arrow asked.

  “Lord Heir, forgive me my presumption,” Probing Gaze said. “You'll study all the information I give you until you can recite it back to me. If you can't fathom why you need such preparation, then you'll need another assistant.”

  Flaming Arrow looked at the other man, indignant.

  Lazily, arrogantly, Probing Gaze probed him with a half-open eye.

  The Heir suddenly guffawed. “As you wish, Lord Colonel Gaze. You're as demanding as the Lord Bear.”

  A small smile appeared on his lips. “That's high praise, Lord Heir.” The lid slid shut.

  “You've earned it, Lord Gaze. I like your insisting I do something from which I'll benefit. Your willingness to risk incurring my wrath is a characteristic I value. I hope to have people like you beside me always.”

  Smiling, P
robing Gaze stood and bowed deeply, his face to the surface of the water. Flaming Arrow acknowledged, smiling back.

  * * *

  “Eeeeee! We wiped our asses with their faces this time!” Aged Oak exclaimed. Truculently walking up, sword sheathed but loose in his hands, he bowed deeply to the Heir. Nodding to the Colonel's obeisance, the General stepped toward the small stool. Attendants began to undress him.

  “What are our losses, Lord General?” Flaming Arrow asked.

  “Eh, you don't want a bandit head-count?” The wrinkled, naked General sat on the stool, where an attendant doused him.

  “No, Lord, I don't. How many Imperial Warriors are dead?”

  Aged Oak shrugged. “Those bandits are newly-hatched turtles scrambling for the safety of the surf, Lord Heir. I didn't ask about our warriors.”

  “All right, Lord General. In the future, I want you to concern yourself as much with Imperial losses as with bandit losses. They're citizens first, warriors second, eh?”

  “Yes, Lord,” Aged Oak said, looking annoyed. He wondered when the young man—boy! he amended in thought—would outgrow this unseemly concern for what was, after all, meat proud to throw itself into the grinder. An attendant finished scrubbing him, and another rinsed off the suds.

  “Well, since you know, how many bandits died, Lord General?”

  “Seven thousand, Lord Heir, plus or minus a few hundred.” Aged Oak rose to get in the bath, a wrinkled hand still holding the sword.

  Probing Gaze rose to vacate the tub for his superior.

  “Better than at the Cougar Camp. How long to clean up here?”

  “Three, four days, Lord Heir.” The wrinkled General sank chin-deep in steaming water while an attendant dried Probing Gaze.

  “How long to gather all that information, Lord Gaze?”

  The feisty whelp's got a tick in his ear! Aged Oak thought.

  “Maximum two weeks, Lord Heir,” the sectathon said, slipping on a proffered robe.

  “You have ten days, Lord Colonel. Lord Oak, during that time I want you to send Imperial Warriors deep into the northern lands. All the bandits who escaped the two attacks had to go somewhere. If you have the chance to slip a few spies into the Tiger Fortress as refugees, do it. Lord Gaze, what do you know about these farms that the Bandit Council operates?”

  Listen to that boy talk, the way he jumps from one thought to another! the old warrior thought.

  “That they're well-run, profitable, and benefit all bandits, Lord Heir.”

  “Lord Oak, can you spare enough men for an attack up north?”

  Infinite blast, why can't I follow his thinking, eh? He's more slimy than an eel and has twice the charge of an electric one, Aged Oak thought, frowning. “Eh? Well, yes, Lord Heir. What's the point?”

  “To hurt the bandits as much as possible. How long until harvest? Three weeks, a month? I want those crops destroyed, Lord Oak.”

  “With pleasure, Lord Heir. Forgive me for not suggesting it myself.”

  * * *

  Flaming Arrow waved that away. Aged Oak was a superior tactician, but a mediocre strategist. “Listen, isn't the Bandit Council just Scowling Tiger's puppet? When I take his head, I predict one of two results. Either they'll have factions among them struggle for command of the fortress, where half the bandits will slaughter the other half or at least eject them from the fortress. That, or Purring Tiger will immediately exert her control with a small bloodbath, and she'll spend the next month consolidating her command. In either case, the Council will have no backing and no protection.

  “I want you to send five galleys up the coast, Lord Oak. Destroy the silk factories and any other installation within easy reach. That's the time for another force to burn the crops. You should achieve these two objectives when I remove Scowling Tiger's head, within hours if you can. These two assault forces should then converge on Seat. With the luck of the Infinite, we'll destroy Seat and the Bandit Council.”

  The Colonel and General looked at each other—and laughed.

  “Oh, how I wish I were younger, Lord Heir,” Aged Oak squealed, slapping the water. “Then I'd see you become Emperor and grind all four Empires into submission!”

  Flaming Arrow smiled blandly. “I want to see you two in my tent at dawn. Until then, try to find flaws in the plan. I want to hear your objections tomorrow.” Standing, the Heir nodded to each man's obeisance. He walked off looking more confident than he felt, fears crowding in upon him.

  Centuries ago, a pair of identical twin Emperors had ruled the Northern and Eastern Empires. The castle from which the twins had governed was now the Tiger Fortress. Knowing he would eventually have to destroy the fortress, Flaming Arrow thought it ironic that his brother had died so young. He wondered if the Eastern Empire might have avoided this war of attrition with bandits—if his brother had only lived beyond infancy.

  The question would bother him for years.

  Chapter 12

  “The man who pulls a bow better than you will inherit your domains, Young Lord.” The eyes of the prophetess wandered wildly below a wrinkled, sweaty brow.

  Scowling Tiger frowned at her. Twenty years old, he had just inherited two prefectures upon the death of his father, Stretching Tiger. Already the new Prefect was having problems. The Caven Hills peasants had murdered seven tax collectors in the last two weeks. Impotent to stop them, he had asked Smoking Arrow for help; the Emperor hadn't yet responded to his request. Now, this seeress tells me lies, Scowling Tiger thought, determined to hold onto everything bequeathed him.

  Then, as though of its own volition, his sword was out and swinging.

  The head of the prophetess bounced once on the table before falling to the floor, and her body slumped from the chair a moment later…

  Better than dry discourse, this fictional account of the fateful prophecy shows Scowling Tiger's turmoil during the Caven Hills revolt. The irony is that the seventy-year-old prophetess, not known for her prescient sight, was from Guarding Bear's natal village.—The Long Descent of Scowling Tiger, by Keeping Track.

  * * *

  In the Lair, the gloom-filled main hall of the Tiger Fortress, Scowling Tiger shifted nervously on the dais, sweating. Purring Tiger stood a pace behind him and to the side, Raging River a pace ahead and to the other side.

  Spitting Wolverine's ambassador to the Tiger Raiders, Driveling Badger, had just reported that his liege lord had died earlier that day. The psychic flow from across the border and from the Wolverine Camp confirmed everything Driveling Badger had said. As with the previous band, the Eastern Armed Forces had obliterated half the Wolverine Raiders. Although no one had sighted him, the speculation was that the Heir Flaming Arrow had struck again, moving inexorably westward.

  His left fist propped on his thigh, Scowling Tiger wanted badly to believe something else, anything else. When news of the second slaughter had first reached him, his sack had shriveled. I can't let Driveling Badger see my fear, the bandit general thought. “How do you know it was the Heir?” he asked, frantic.

  “Sectathons recognized the signature of Probing Gaze, the Heir's assistant, Lord General,” Driveling Badger replied. “Also, just across the border, commanding the Eastern Armed Forces, was Aged Oak. Please excuse me, Lord General, but wasn't this the pattern at the Lord Cougar's camp?”

  “The Heir doesn't have any habits! Why do something the same way twice?”

  “It's unexpected, Lord Tiger.” Shrugging, Driveling Badger wiped spittle from the corner of his mouth.

  “Lord River, I want witnesses,” Scowling Tiger said. “Offer food, weapons, memberships, whatever. I want to know what happened!”

  “Yes, Lord.” Raging River wrung the haft of sword with a calloused, gnarled hand. With the other, he pointed at a subordinate and issued several telepathic orders.

  Scowling Tiger's senses told him to dismiss Drooling Badger quickly. “What now, Lord Badger? You're welcome to join my band now that you don't have one.” The bandit general detested the man
and preferred him dead.

  “Forgive me, Lord Tiger, I must refuse. My allegiance to the Lord Wolverine is no less now that he's dead. With your permission, I'll leave in the morning to avenge my liege lord. I realize I might not succeed. I have to try, though. I have to.”

  His example heartened all the bandits in the Lair. Gravely, they bowed more deeply to him than his station merited. Backing from the room, Driveling Badger wiped his mouth, returned the obeisance, turned and left.

  The man has more courage than I thought, Scowling Tiger mused. “Lord River, see that he has escorts, arms, provisions. If he can assassinate the Heir where four times I've failed, the Infinite will surely keep his soul.”

  “Yes, Lord.” Raging River pointed at another subordinate, who fled the Lair.

  “Next: Conference in one half-hour, room number one. I want you, the Lords Blade, Mind, Comfort and Elephant, as well as any members of the Bandit Council here at the Fortress, to join me.

  “Yes, Lord Tiger. What about the cretin?”

  “Is she back?” Scowling Tiger hoped she was dead.

  “She and the Lord Sword returned this morning, Lord.”

  The bandit general knew he couldn't keep her away. “Order her to attend on pain of death, and politely request the Lord Sword's presence.”

  “Forgive me, Lord, but may I remove his head?”

  “No, you blathering idiot! Now, find everyone yourself!”

  “Yes, Lord.” His face a rock, Raging River bowed, his hand worrying the hilt.

  When he had gone, Scowling Tiger gestured his daughter to sit beside him. “Turd-eating, motherless, hole-tongueing imbecile,” he said genially, liking the old retainer. “What do you think?”

  “That for his third head,” Purring Tiger replied, “the Heir will change his pattern. He'll come after you alone, Father. You'd better kill Seeking Sword as Raging River advises, because only then will you truly know the Heir when you face him.”

  “How could I kill the father of my grandson, eh?” Scowling Tiger saw the sharp intake of breath and the widening of her liquid, quicksilver eyes. Ah, I supposed correctly, he thought. “Besides, dear Daughter, you'll need him after I die. Yes, with buckets of bloodshed, you might initially take command of this dung-hill. Eventually, though, all the eligible males will vie for your attentions by trying to exert control over all the other eligible males. Nothing will destroy this band faster than every man's letting his erection do his thinking for him.”