The Heir (Fall of the Swords Book 3)

by Scott Michael Decker

  Spoken simply, without theatrical gestures or emphatic inflection, the words moved her. Still not sure of this man, she sighed. “Thank you, Lord Emperor. However, sixteen years ago, my—”

  Snarling Jaguar held up a scintillating hand. “Circumstance aside, Lady Water, I ask your forgiveness for my unconscionable delay in fulfilling the bargain I made with your mother sixteen years ago. Even as we speak, the trainers are preparing for transport the grizzly that I owe. Tell me where, Lady, and I'll ship the animal forthwith. Since the Lord Bear isn't himself, I instructed the trainers to hurry. Unfortunately, that means the bear isn't fully functional. The Lord Bear needs the animal now, however, not six months from now.”

  She smiled, relieved. “Thank you, Lord Emperor. I'll be happy to forgive you the delay, if you can forgive me my doubting you.”

  “Lady Water, you've done nothing to forgive. Doubts are normal, eh?” Snarling Jaguar shrugged. Standing, he brought his metalled wrists together, the opulent bracelets clashing.

  Servants appeared. One placed an ornate cushion only a pace away from hers. Another placed a low tray to one side of the cushions. On the tray were coffee, toast and fruit.

  Descending from the dais, the Emperor walked toward her, sat on the cushion and pulled his sword into his lap. Once more he brought his wrists together. Servants disappeared and they were alone.

  “You do me too much honor, Lord Emperor.”

  “I do you honor enough, Lady, to loosen your tongue.”

  She smiled. “Not my robes, Lord Emperor?” She poured them each a cup of the hot, dark beverage, the smell rich, the beans the finest.

  He chuckled. “No, Lady, not your robes. I'll leave that to the Lord Heir Flaming Arrow. I haven't spoken with an Easterner of your station for many years. When your father was my 'guest,' sixteen years ago, I learned more from him than I expected—and much about your political culture that displeased me. You were an infant. You're how old now, Lady, if I may ask?”

  “Almost seventeen, Lord” she replied, sipping contentedly.

  “So young to have such responsibilities,” he said through the steam wafting from his cup.

  “I disagree, Lord. I'm my mother's only daughter, and she reared me from infancy to take the reins of the Matriarchy.”

  “I don't doubt your maturity. I'm merely sad that your childhood would have to end so fast. Your mother and father were a good match for each other. Strong, intelligent, formidable individuals, both of them. I see their characteristics in you. All you lack is experience.”

  “Again, Lord, I disagree. My mother was very thorough in my education. She bequeathed me her memories, the sum of her experiences—a resource that's been invaluable already. In addition, Lord Emperor, she required me to make the everyday decisions in running the Matriarchy for the last two years, reversing them only when I was about to make a major error. During the last year, she corrected only one decision.”

  “She was thorough. She seems to have made few mistakes with your upbringing, Lady Water. I remember when she reversed her firstborn practice with her daughters, specifying that the first be male.”

  “She did more than that, Lord. At first, she required all her daughters to bear a girl first and always more girls than boys. The policy was necessary to increase the size of the Matriarchy, which, under Steaming Water's management, had shrunk considerably. Many daughters had become discontent and found other Matriarchs to adopt them. That 'girl-first' policy was one of many strategies necessary to rebuild the Matriarchy.

  “At the time I was born, the number of males born to Water daughters was thirty-five per hundred. About that time, the Lord General Oak started his school for women warriors. That was when my mother changed the basic progeny policy, requiring from then on that the first pregnancy be twin males, the second pregnancy either one or two daughters, and the third the same as the first.”

  “What's the percentage now?” he asked, refilling their cups.

  “You shouldn't be doing that, Lord Emperor.”

  “You're my guest, and sincerely, it's my pleasure.”

  She smiled, liking him. He had all her father's good qualities. Thus far she had seen none of the bad. “Sixty-five percent, Lord. Most are still too young to enlist. Males old enough to defend the Empire are far too few.”

  “By the time they're old enough, Lady, the Empire won't need them.”

  “Eh? What are you talking about?”

  “Hasn't the Lord Heir taken upon himself the task of exterminating the bandits, Lady?”

  She watched him through half-closed lids. “Are you making statements I'll disagree with, or am I imagining that, Lord?”

  Snarling Jaguar laughed softly. “That's how I take your measure.”

  Her expression didn't change. “I see.”

  “Most people would have laughed with discomfort. My appraisal of you, Lady Water, has just increased a notch.”

  Rippling Water didn't know whether to feel insulted or praised. “Exterminating the bandits isn't his intent, Lord, nor is he foolish enough to think he can. While he might be telling them what to expect when he becomes Emperor, I think he's just clearing the way for the next influx of bandits.”

  “Eh? 'Next influx'?” Snarling Jaguar dipped toast into his coffee.

  “How old are you, Lord, if I may ask?”

  “Sixty-seven, young lady, old enough to be your grandfather.”

  “Will the Lord Heir Stalking Jaguar win the loyalty of every General, every Matriarch, every Patriarch, every citizen? I thought not. What'll happen if, Infinite forbid it, the Imperial Sword kills him? We both know the answer. So, small or large, the northern lands will see an influx of bandits when you die. Do you know how long you have?”

  He glared at her.

  She sipped her coffee, amused with his ire.

  “Secrets are a burden to those who hear them,” he said.

  “As they are to those who tell them. In the telling the burden lifts a little, eh Lord?”

  He smiled. “Shall we trade secrets, Lady Matriarch?”

  “What's your question?”

  “Have you given him your virginity?”

  “Not much of a secret, Lord. Half the castle knows I did.” She smiled, thinking of her betrothed. The first time had pleased her. “Even he doesn't know I'm pregnant.”

  He laughed softly, congratulating her. “One year,” he answered.

  She let the sadness move into and through her. “I wish you a peaceful ending, Lord. I'll miss you—we all will.”

  A companionable silence followed, the two of them liking each other and being content to enjoy the moment. He emptied his cup and she refilled it. He offered her a peach and she accepted gratefully. Slicing it into eighths with her mind and arranging the pieces in the shape of a flower, she offered him the first choice. They ate and drank in silence, their gazes on each other, the edges of their minds touching. He in the winter of age, she in the spring of youth, he a Southerner, she an Easterner, he ebony, she ivory. They bonded despite their differences—and because of them.

  “I'd like you to share my bed,” she began, “unfortunately—”

  Snarling Jaguar laughed and pounded the floor with a metalled fist.

  “—I'm afraid Flaming Arrow would misunderstand. Perhaps in ten years he'll accept the necessities of promoting the Matriarchy, but not now, not yet.” She watched him quizzically.

  “Like mother, like daughter,” he said, chuckling still.

  “Thank you, Lord,” she said, smiling.

  “Listen, young lady,” he said, suddenly serious. “Your betrothed has a most difficult decision ahead of him, a decision different than his father had to face. The bandits want the Northern Imperial Sword, which Flying Arrow decided to keep, hoping he'd acquire the missing Heir Sword. A decision different, Lady Water.”

  Her gaze narrowed, his non-sequitur intended. What was he trying to tell her that he was reluctant to state outright? Slowly, she put the pieces together. “The bandits
have the Heir Sword?!”

  His face neutral, he looked at her blankly.

  She understood his reticence. What he hadn't said wouldn't return to haunt him. Her conclusion was without basis in fact and she couldn't prove it unless the bandits confirmed the information. Snarling Jaguar had arranged for her to know in such a way that no one could hold him responsible for revealing the information. Empires had fallen for lesser indiscretions.

  “I'll wager I know who has it,” she muttered.

  “What do you know about these 'psychic storms,' Lady.”

  The abrupt change of subject didn't surprise her. She understood his reluctance to venture further into a subject so sensitive. In addition, he was telling her that she too should be discreet. “I only heard the dispatch sent by Flaming Arrow, and haven't talked with him personally, or anyone else who witnessed these 'storms.' I understand that just after he removed Scowling Tiger's head, he was about to lose his own when he blanked out. The gap in his memory corresponds to the time and duration of the first psychic storm. According to other reports, he was asleep during the second storm and dreaming. He awoke as the storm ended and panicked—except that I've never known Flaming Arrow to panic.”

  “Confronted with the impossible, we all act strangely.”

  She nodded, frowning. “The Lord Wizard Spying Eagle is doing a detailed analysis on the storms, Lord. Would you like to be informed of his conclusions?”

  “Please, Lady, I'd be most appreciative. Just the extent of the storms piques my curiosity. By the way, I wanted to say that the Lord Heir's innovative solution gave me a good laugh. A month ago, I analyzed the situation and concluded that armed confrontation wouldn't work. While what he's done is only a temporary setback for the bandits, he showed me how I was wrong in my analysis. I congratulate him on his foresight and audacity.”

  “I'll convey your sentiments, Lord, if you so wish. When he first told me of his plan, I tried to dissuade him.”

  Snarling Jaguar chuckled. “He'll be a better Emperor than I was.”

  “Why do you say that, Lord?”

  “The Lord Bear taught him. You'll be beside him. He has Healing Hand and Spying Eagle and Scratching Wolf. Then there's his questionable lineage.”

  She frowned, feeling insulted.

  Snarling Jaguar laughed at her, then grew suddenly stern. “Take that expression off your face! If you can't face realities, then you'd better disembowel yourself! That's better. As I was saying, Flaming Arrow's parentage couldn't be more obscure. Only one grandparent known—Rustling Pine. Scratching Wolf isn't his grandfather, as she asserts. I'll tell you why: Simple genetics. The chances of two red-haired children being born to two brown-haired parents are next to nothing. Whoever's the father of Flowering Pine and Flaming Wolf, he's red-haired and blue-eyed.

  “Just for fun, Lady Water,” Snarling Jaguar said, smiling, “let's compare the talents of Flowering Pine and Guarding Bear, eh? How are they similar? First, no one can quantify those talents. No one knows just how far their talents will go toward protecting them, not to mention promoting their fortunes. I've heard it whispered that Flowering Pine wouldn't have become Flying Arrow's consort without the intervention of her talent. Perhaps that's true as well for her having conceived the twins.

  “Your father's talent is similar. Remember how he saved me from an assassin? He told me later how he stumbled and caught the hem of my robe, causing me to fall as the assassin struck. He claims his talent tripped him. He told me of a few other incidents in which his talent intervened either to save him from certain death or to ingratiate him into another person's confidence.

  “I question why these two people share a talent that's so rare only one person in a hundred thousand possesses it. Finally, why does the Heir look so much like Brazen Bear?”

  Rippling Water acted surprised. “He's Flaming Arrow's grandfather?”

  “You knew already!” accused Snarling Jaguar.

  She nodded sheepishly. “My mother discovered the truth just after she cleaned out Nest. She admonished me never to tell.”

  “If Flying Arrow knew, he'd have Flaming Wolf executed and Flowering Pine banished. Well, at least we know Flaming Arrow's maternal grandparents. Who do you think fathered him?”

  “I honestly don't know, Lord Emperor.”

  “Neither do I, Lady,” he replied, staring into her face. He plucked several grapes and popped them in his mouth, never averting his gaze.

  He knows something, Rippling Water thought, and he's challenging me to ask. The question of Flaming Arrow's paternity had always bothered her, and she found she didn't want to know.

  “Speaking of paternity,” Snarling Jaguar said, “I told your mother years ago what I'm about to tell you. Purring Tiger is your sister.”

  “Impossible!”

  “Your mother didn't believe me either. I think Guarding Bear fathered her, not Scowling Tiger. Purring Tiger's mother, Fleeting Snow, who now lives on the southern coast of my Empire, refuses to confirm or deny my suspicions. This is what I think happened:

  “Scowling Tiger betrays Brazen Bear. Fleeting Snow mates with Scowling Tiger to make his life miserable. Just before you were born, Guarding Bear retires from all positions but Prefect so he can finally avenge his brother. Fleeting Snow tires of the whole affair and wants out. Scowling Tiger wants a child, all his brothers and their sons having died in the civil war. After impregnating your mother with you, Guarding Bear goes north to assassinate Scowling Tiger. The retired General's talent intervenes. At its instigation, Fleeting Snow intercepts him and tells him instead to impregnate her. Satisfied to exact his vengeance that way, Guarding Bear leaves Scowling Tiger's head on his shoulders. Fleeting Snow bears a daughter. Scowling Tiger trades Fleeting Snow to me. Purring Tiger inherits the fortress.” Snarling Jaguar spread his metal-encased hands. “It's all so simple, Lady Water.”

  Her eyes round, Rippling Water covered her mouth. “We were born the same day!”

  “I've seen images of Purring Tiger. Only the hair and eye color differ. Facial structure, carriage, height are all the same. About her talent, however, I don't know.”

  She barely heard him, still processing the implications. From somewhere in her shock, she heard him say something else. “What did you say?”

  “That leaves us, Lady Water, with this mysterious bandit Seeking Sword.”

  “The one who has the Heir Sword,” she said distractedly.

  “Why do you think that, eh?”

  She looked at him closely, saw his guarded gaze. “Instinct, intuition, whatever you call it. Healing Hand and my father participated in the siege of Seat. On the evening of the attack, Flaming Arrow greeted them near the ruins of Lofty Lion's castle. Both swear by the Infinite it was Flaming Arrow. Flaming Arrow swears by the Infinite he was inside the fortress. Lord Emperor Jaguar, both Healing Hand and my father have known the Heir all his life. Even they couldn't tell it was Seeking Sword! My father and Seeking Sword embraced, by the Infinite, and still my father thought he was Flaming Arrow!

  “The number of similarities between the two of them scares me to the core of my being, Lord Emperor. If I didn't know otherwise, I'd say they were identical twins.”

  “As would I. Odd that such a disgusting man as Icy Wind could father a natural leader like Seeking Sword. Very odd.”

  Rippling Water met his gaze, the unspoken question between them.

  Was Icy Wind really Seeking Sword's father?

  Chapter 21

  In the annals of history we find not a single instance of an Emperor's personally trying to assassinate another Emperor. Open combat and battlefield duels, of those we have many. Of assassinations, not one.—The Fall of the Swords, by Keeping Track.

  * * *

  Flying Arrow stared at Lofty Lion in disgust.

  Looking each other over, the two men stood on the north bank of the River Placid, forty miles northeast of Emparia City, ten miles south of the border. In the fifteen years since their last meeting, both men h
ad aged more than the elapsed time would suggest.

  Flying Arrow's temples were gray now. Emaciation had begun to exhibit itself on his already thin frame. A great weight stooped his shoulders. Blue-black half-moons of insomnia bagged the skin beneath his eyes. He was a shadow of the Emperor who had once conquered the north.

  Lofty Lion had almost no hair at all, only silver wisps above each ear tufting the mottled, scaly scalp. Gnarled, trembling hands—constructed of shriveled skin, prominent vein, knobby knuckle—clutched a polished staff. Narrow nostril dripped nasal mucus, sleeved on crusted cloth. Twisted posture suggested crimped spine. Spittle slathered a prognathous jaw, the mouth nearly toothless, two rotted stubs remaining. A cystoid larynx swelled the throat, like an apple half-swallowed. The neck was a corded, wrinkled pillar, buttressing jowls that sagged in scaly folds below cheekbones collapsed into the face. Glistening, bloodshot, jaundiced eyes peered like dregs from sunken sockets below a precipitous, lupine brow. He was a ghost of the Emperor who had once ruled the north.

  “Why can't you leave me to die in peace, scum!” Lofty Lion said, his voice acid to eardrums, as repulsive as his looks. His smell was worse.

  “That's no way to talk to the man who spared your life!”

  “Put it in your back passage! I don't owe you anything but the misery you've made of my life!”

  “Ungrateful wretch! I not only let you live but I gave you a son. Why did it take you so long to get here, anyway?”

  “Am I a lackey to obey your summons instantly? No! I'm a bandit. I make my own rules. Put me to death if that displeases you!”

  Flying Arrow gripped the hilt of the Imperial Sword tightly. “That's what you want, isn't it? If I have you killed, our son will surely turn against me, which would please you immensely. You've probably spent your life poisoning his mind against the Eastern Empire, eh? Tell me you didn't try!”

  Lofty Lion grinned toothlessly.

  “What you forgot is that nothing you could say makes him anyone other than my son. Who wouldn't come running when I offer the Heirship? Who … Why are you laughing?!”