The Heir (Fall of the Swords Book 3)

by Scott Michael Decker

  Soon the group returned. All twelve men mixed and milled, listening as Flashing Blade explained, presumably, how he and Seeking Sword had got separated. Again the hostility defined the individuals into two distinct groups. Their separation gave him an idea.

  Silently, he skirted the group, carefully choosing his spot. The unfamiliar bandits stood more or less in a line, for which Seeking Sword was grateful. Remembering the rabbit earlier, he felt his doubts. Then he recalled the day nearly a year ago when he had pulled beside Scowling Tiger. With renewed confidence, he planted himself. Focusing on a tree just beyond his six targets, he excluded all else from his mind. He saw Flashing Blade wipe his hand on his haunch.

  What awed him was how effortlessly he launched each arrow and how he automatically adjusted his aim a few points for the next target. No time at all seemed to elapse between the first and last arrows, yet the notching, pulling, aiming and firing of each was a distinct and separate action, a miraculous beauty in each motion. He launched the last arrow as the first one struck.

  * * *

  Slithering Snake approached his young friend. Seeking Sword's vacant gaze didn't waver from the camp. Sympathizing, the sectathon turned and chased everyone else back to camp, then returned to sit near his friend, to wait until Seeking Sword resumed living.

  The sun had set and only a narrow slice of sky was alight in the west when Seeking Sword breathed deeply and looked around. “Beautiful evening, eh?”

  “Yes, incredibly beautiful,” Slithering Snake said patiently. I wonder how it feels to kill with such beauty, he thought, to reach the realm of the Infinite on the wake of souls of people who died at your hands.

  “Did I shoot well?”

  “We needed to help only one bandit onward, Lord Sword. The others died instantly.”

  The young man nodded, meeting Slithering Snake's gaze.

  The sectathon felt the power of Seeking Sword's presence, and he looked away, afraid. Why am I suddenly afraid of my friend? Slithering Snake wondered. I taught him since he was five, and I've known him since he was a squalling infant in Icy Wind's arms. Slithering Snake forced himself to meet Seeking Sword's gaze.

  “Bandits must stop killing bandits, Lord Snake. Did the Lord Tiger die well?”

  He saw Seeking Sword's sadness. “No one knows, Lord Sword. The bastard dumped the body over the side of the mountain.” He cursed, spat and sighed. “This cut on the right arm, you dreamt you healed your own cut?”

  “Yes, Lord Snake.” Seeking Sword looked at him.

  I wonder what he sees now, Slithering Snake wondered; he clearly isn't seeing me. “Every bandit between Seat and the fortress has a cut, Lord Sword—and a mental condition that reopens the cut. It has everyone baffled.” Then he snorted. “Uh, what I've heard about you and the Lady Tiger—is it true? When did you find time to court her?”

  Seeking Sword also snorted, then shook his head. “I'm still not sure I believe it, my friend. What about Thinking Quick?”

  “I'm sorry to tell you this, my friend.” Slithering Snake bit his tongue on an epithet. “She helped the bastard and betrayed her liege lord. Bandits will revile her name for a thousand years.”

  Seeking Sword nodded and bowed his head. “She knew all along how she'd die. Calling her talent torture was an understatement. Dear Lord Infinite, keep her soul safe from torment.” Then he stood, swaying unsteadily.

  Slithering Snake stepped to his side to steady him. Together they walked toward camp. The others welcomed Seeking Sword with reserve, his station among them seeming to change each moment.

  They ate hungrily. The young man suggested they each store a portion in their packs for consumption on the trail. When the moon glowed above the tree tops, they packed their gear and doused the fire.

  “Let's go home, Lords,” Seeking Sword said, taking up a slow jog.

  The fortress is his home now, Slithering Snake thought.

  * * *

  The General scratched his wrist. “Those stinking bandits have plagued the Empire for nearly thirty years, Lord Heir. What makes you think you can eradicate them in a few weeks?”

  The impertinence of the question was lost on Flaming Arrow. “Listen, Grandfather, no one can eradicate all bandits everywhere. I don't intend to try. I just want to give the Empire a respite from their banditry.”

  The General Scratching Wolf, the Heir Flaming Arrow, and the sectathon Probing Gaze sat on the battlement of Burrow Garrison, talking quietly about events. It was the quietest and darkest hour before dawn. Not a full day had passed since Scowling Tiger's head had left his shoulders. Flaming Arrow had crossed the border just after dawn the day before, had slept from noon until midnight, had arisen to learn what effect Scowling Tiger's death had had on the fortress.

  Purring Tiger had completely locked up the place.

  Not even a word of rumor had seeped out.

  About an hour after the Heir escaped from the fortress, a detachment of four bandits had exited and gone north. Among them had been Slithering Snake, a known associate of Seeking Sword. Remembering his conversation with Thinking Quick, Flaming Arrow had concluded that the small group was going north to retrieve his look-alike. The Heir had immediately ordered Imperial patrols to intercept anyone trying to approach or enter the fortress.

  Then he had slept.

  After he woke, the General Wolf and the Colonel Gaze had briefed him on the status of the invasion. All but one Bandit Council installation had fallen quickly, with minimal Imperial losses. Only Seat still resisted. Imperial forces had breached the outer settlement walls. The inner walls had thus far withstood two concerted assaults. About three thousand bandits defended Seat against the eight thousand Imperial Warriors who invested it.

  The ease with which most of the Bandit Council installations had fallen raised important questions for both bandit and Empire. Why had the Council authorized projects so indefensible? Why hadn't the Empire tried this before?

  Flaming Arrow cared little about the answers right now, grateful to have had the determination and insight to act. Satisfied he had already done so much, he was unwilling to abandon his goal despite his father's request.

  “Your father, the Lord Emperor, says you've met your requirements, Lord Heir,” Scratching Wolf had said earlier, leading the man-boy up the battlement stairs.

  “He didn't ask my opinion,” Flaming Arrow had replied, shrugging.

  “The Lord Emperor humbly requests that you refrain from placing yourself in further danger, Lord Heir.”

  “Humbly ask the Lord Emperor to go to the Infinite,” Flaming Arrow had said.

  “I'll ask him nothing remotely like it, Lord.” Scratching Wolf had shot him a glance to warn him their conversation bordered on treason.

  Flaming Arrow had smiled, then the General Wolf had ask him about eradicating the bandits. Oh, how I wish I could! the Heir thought.

  * * *

  Scratching Wolf made a face at the Heir's calling him grandfather.

  Wondering whether to correct the Heir, the General wished he had never met the wench Rustling Pine, who continued to spread the lie that he had fathered both her children, Flaming Wolf and Flowering Pine. True, he and Rustling Pine had once mated. He had always known that her soil barren of the nurture he wanted for his children. So before their every fornication, the General had killed his sperm.

  The woman still claimed he had fathered the Heir's mother. When he mated her, she had already given birth to a bastard son, to whom Scratching Wolf had given his patronym. During the mateship, Rustling Pine had borne a daughter. He knew she had cuckolded him, his occupation often taking him away from home for long periods. He had never objected to children conceived of another man's seed. He loved them as if they were his. After Flowering Pine had become the Imperial Consort and cuckolded the Emperor, Scratching Wolf had disavowed paternity.

  As much as I'd like to, I can't claim he's my grandson, the General thought. I admire and respect him, and wish he were my descendant.

&nb
sp; Scratching Wolf scratched his thigh, deciding not to correct Flaming Arrow, knowing the young man would believe what he wanted to believe. “Certainly, you have stopped their banditry for awhile, Lord Heir.”

  “Now we'll grind their faces into the dust,” Flaming Arrow said.

  “No matter what you do, Lord, the Tiger Fortress will always be a thorn in your foot,” Probing Gaze said, looking off toward the fortress twenty miles to the north.

  * * *

  Flaming Arrow scowled, hating the reminder. Probing Gaze was right. Until he destroyed it, the Tiger Fortress would be a thorn in his foot. “How would you destroy the fortress, Lord Gaze?”

  “Promise them the Northern Imperial Sword when I become Emperor, in return for non-aggression now, Lord Heir.”

  “That's treason!” Scratching Wolf said, incensed.

  “We have to consider all ideas to solve this problem, Lord Wolf,” Flaming Arrow said. “Lord Gaze, I said 'destroy' not compromise.”

  “You can't destroy it, Lord Heir, so you must compromise it.”

  “The Empire would denounce me as a traitor for suggesting it.”

  “Only Seeking Sword needs to know, eh Lord? Isn't he the leader now that Scowling Tiger's dead? Didn't Scowling Tiger tell you that he had as much as betrothed Seeking Sword to his daughter? Wasn't he planning to invest him with command of the Tiger Fortress?”

  “He implied he thought Seeking Sword able to command. Scowling Tiger never said Seeking Sword would command the fortress itself. 'Yes, Seeking Sword, you are the man to lead the bandits to their destiny,' is what Scowling Tiger said to me,” Flaming Arrow said, his voice taking on the accent common to the region.

  “All this is moot,” Scratching Wolf said. “Even if this bandit scum Seeking Sword takes command of the fortress, how could he order the raids to stop without a grumble from every bandit beneath him? Besides, Lord Gaze, he's not fool enough to believe that the Lord Heir will relinquish the Imperial Sword, eh? If he did, he's not worthy of command.”

  Probing Gaze nodded, then looked directly at Scratching Wolf, his superior.

  Annoyed that they had lapsed into telepathic communication, Flaming Arrow reminded himself who they were and what they had done. Both had survived five-year tours as bandit spies. Both knew the geography of the Windy Mountains extensively. Bandits regarded both as dangerous and unpredictable. Both had an encyclopedic knowledge of bandits. Both loved killing them. For all these qualities, and for their uncompromising loyalty, Flaming Arrow realized he would tolerate almost any behavior from them. Still, he wished he knew the content of their psychic exchange.

  “Lord Heir,” Probing Gaze said, “I was watching the area north of the fortress when you and the girl came out of it. I watched you fight several bandits in the ravine, seeing only the positions and expenditures of the bandits trying to stop you. The individual motions didn't register in my sectathonic sight, of course. I saw the girl disappear when you took her head. Moments later, Lord Heir, I saw something highly unusual.”

  Probing Gaze paused, staring off to the north. “From beyond the range of my talent came a beam of power so narrow it almost escaped my notice. It connected with you. You began to use several talents to defeat the bandits blocking your escape. The beam stayed with you as you traveled westward. I triangulated to get a fix on the source of the beam—ten to twenty miles south of Seat, I estimate.”

  “That's more than a hundred miles!”

  “Yes, Lord, and that's impossible except with a talisman such as the Heir or Imperial Swords. Yes, Lord, and that also coincides with the interval you can't remember.

  “There's another complication. You said a bandit injured you on the arm. From what I can determine, every bandit or Imperial Warrior between the fortress and the source of the beam exhibits a wound similar to yours and a mental aberration that reopens the wound once healed.

  “I'll leave the analysis, Lord Heir, to the Lord Wizard Eagle. If I may venture a hypothesis, and I stress only a hypothesis? Someone with a talisman sent the beam in such a way that the Heir Sword asserted control over you. Your latent talents helped you escape what looked to be a sure death.”

  “How wide was the beam where it intercepted him, Lord Gaze?”

  “Two inches in diameter, Lord Wolf.”

  “What would you have to do to focus your talent into a two-inch beam?” the General asked, disbelief on his face.

  “I'd have to have a talisman, Lord Wolf. Despite being one of the better sectathons around, I can't narrow my beam any smaller than three inches at five miles.”

  “Perhaps the Sword merely refocused this power, Lord Gaze,” Flaming Arrow said, “instead of drawing on my 'latent' talents.”

  “If it had, Lord, I'd have seen the beam change composition. The frequencies never changed. They remained in the telepathic band. Also, Lord, a distinct exchange occurred. While the beam supplied you with power, you—or the Sword—communicated with the source.”

  “More energy flowed toward me than away?”

  “Yes, Lord Heir.”

  “We don't know anyone who has a talisman or that intensity of talent either, eh?”

  “No, Lord Heir,” Scratching Wolf answered. “Snarling Jaguar, however, has twice come to his son's aid in just such a manner. Of course, that was in the Southern Empire. While such a feat is well within an Emperor's capabilities, there isn't a Northern Emperor. The Imperial Swords only work that well when used within the borders of that Empire, not beyond them.”

  Flaming Arrow continued to search for an explanation that ruled out his having talent. He hadn't ever had one and doubted he ever would. “Weren't our warriors investing Seat? Who among them, Lord Wolf, has such a talent?”

  “The Lords Eagle and Hand certainly have everything but talismans, Lord Heir. Wasn't the Lord Bear with them also? I've seen his talent perform tasks I thought impossible. In his diminished state, I doubt he's capable.”

  “I've never seen anything diminish the Lord Bear's capabilities,” Flaming Arrow said.

  Scratching Wolf guffawed, his face to the sky.

  The Heir smiled, wondering as did an Empire if Guarding Bear were fooling them all. “What about these wounds, Lord Gaze?”

  “I've seen nothing like them before, Lord Heir. A Wizard told me a little about it, said the aberration was like an implant in its effect on each person. To affect hundreds, bandit and Easterner alike! Didn't you tell us, Lord, that Easing Comfort healed your injuries?”

  “So he said, Lord Gaze. I was asleep when he did it. The girl Thinking Quick did heal my headache.”

  “Well, you still don't register on my sectathonic sight, Lord. I have to wonder if you do have talents and if they're showing themselves finally.”

  Flaming Arrow nodded and yawned, feeling tired despite twelve hours of sound sleep.

  “A pronounced need for sleep,” Scratching Wolf said, “usually follows excessive psychic exertion.” He and Probing Gaze exchanged a glance. “Which bandit now, Lord Heir?”

  “Bucking Stag, Lord Wolf. Lord Gaze, I foresee some difficulties. Nearly all the members of his band are Westerners, with blue-black hair and epicanthic eyes. Two 'round eyes' like ourselves might as well have signs on our backs that say 'kill me.' ”

  “I've thought about that, Lord. What if we posed as slaves? Bucking Stag's band is full of them, Easterners and Southerners both. I've always wondered why they don't revolt.”

  “They will, Lord Gaze, very soon,” Flaming Arrow said, grinning. Another yawn struck him. Fatigue settled on him like lead weight.

  “Go to bed, Lord Heir,” Scratching Wolf said peremptorily.

  Flaming Arrow nodded and stood, tottered a moment but kept his feet. Yawning again, he nodded to acknowledge the others' obeisances and headed for the stairs. Descending from the battlement, he had to stop and sit down to wait for his weariness to pass. At the heavily guarded room, he nodded to the bowing sentries and nearly stumbled. Gentle hands steadied him and helped him to bed.<
br />
  He slept before they got him there.

  Dawn was an hour away.

  Chapter 19

  The psychic storms frightened us all. We didn't know what to think. One moment the frequencies were peaceful, and the next they'd be pure chaos. It's not that the content was horrifying, although it was. What really shook us to the very cores of our souls was the way the storms wiped away nearly all other sensory information. We couldn't see, we couldn't hear, we couldn't feel. I'd heard fisher-folk from Cove tell of being in hurricanes, which sounded so much more tame…

  …We waited in the shielded fortress, holding our collective breath. Through small shield perforations, rapathons outside transmitted into the fortress a running account in vivid visual imagery. Imperial Warriors seemed to be overwhelming the Lord Sword's small band. Then, in the thickest of the fighting, the world split asunder, and all Infinite broke loose.—Personal Accounts of Events before the Fall, by Keeping Track.

  * * *

  Dawn was an hour away.

  Seeking Sword and four others conferred on the best course of action. Between them and the fortress were nearly two hundred Imperial Warriors, in groups of various sizes. The distance to the fortress was too great to send a psychic call for help. The five of them would somehow have to fight their way through the warriors.

  Surprisingly, they had lost only two men despite fairly heavy resistance. They estimated they had killed thirty or so warriors, some of them bandits seeking a misplaced vengeance. Searching Owl and a medacor whom Slithering Snake had brought from the fortress were dead. Both men had died well, Searching Owl with two arrows in his abdomen and a third in his shoulder and still fighting.

  Seeking Sword reminded himself to see that they received all the ceremony accorded the valorous.

  “We think you should go on to the fortress alone, Lord Sword,” Flashing Blade said.

  “I think that's cowardly and dishonorable. It surprises me you'd even consider it, Lords,” he replied to them all. “I certainly won't.”