Everyone glanced askance at Flying Arrow. The last four words weren't part of the ritual.
“In this matter and in all matters, Lord Emperor,” Aged Oak retorted, “I have the interests of the Empire at heart.”
As if I don't! Flying Arrow thought. “Why shouldn't I execute you for treachery?!”
“Because you need only ask me to walk the plank!” Aged Oak had lapsed into the dialect of Cove, the fishing port where he had grown up.
“This is disgraceful, both of you!” Flaming Arrow said. “If you want to bicker and hear disloyalty in each other's words, then I'll throw away the Heir Sword, get myself adopted by a peasant, and ask him to set my requirements!”
“I feel ashamed that I let the Emperor draw me into a petty squabble, Lord Heir,” Aged Oak said, bowing to the young man.
Flaming Arrow nodded to acknowledge, then looked toward his father.
Flying Arrow stared back, unrepentant.
Standing, Flaming Arrow untied his sash, lay the Heir Sword on the floor and turned to go. Then he saw the woman near the doors.
His mother, Flowering Pine, had come to observe.
“Wait, my son,” the Emperor said, wondering why the ignorant wench had deigned to grace the occasion with her presence. “I, uh, might have spoken rashly. Forgive me.” She acts like an Empress or something.
Nodding, the Heir returned to his seat.
Flying Arrow wondered if he really would have kept walking. He's as stubborn in other matters, and has been since the day he was born, he thought.
Back on his cushion, Flaming Arrow said, “I accept the Lord Oak's oath as solemn and binding, Lord Emperor. Do you?”
“Eh? Of course, I do.”
“For the record, no one questions the Lord Oak's loyalty. His devotion to the Empire is without parallel, excepting the Lord Bear's, of course. Now, may we continue?”
“Yes, Lord Emperor Heir,” Aged Oak said, bowing.
Everyone laughed, the tension breaking. Flaming Arrow turned red.
Even the Emperor chuckled, a smile reaching past his lips and to his eyes. “During the six days since you asked me to set the requirements, my son, I've searched my soul. My own ritual, unofficially, was to defeat the Lord Emperor Lofty Lion in duel. Fortunately, you won't have such difficult requirements. Still, they must be suitably hard for a boy who'll become the eighth Emperor Arrow.
“I've heard that you've devoted much time to the study of bandits. The bandits concern us all. The situation's intolerable. The Lord Emperors Jaguar and Condor are being deliberately obtuse in refusing to help me forge an Heir Sword for the northern lands!” Flying Arrow recognized that he was digressing. Sometimes, he didn't catch himself. His loquacious obloquies became delirious diatribes that unchecked included everything under the sun and sometimes the sun as well. “Be that as is, your analyses of their effects upon our internal politics are most insightful. Yes. Good for an Emperor to have a hobby. Always liked consorts myself. Yes.”
* * *
Everyone had become accustomed to Flying Arrow's disjointed speech. “If we wait long enough, perhaps he'll come out of it,” Aged Oak murmured to Spying Eagle, loud enough for Flaming Arrow to overhear.
“Sometimes we have to remind him what he was saying, Lord Oak,” Spying Eagle replied. “The condition has developed so gradually over the last fifteen years, it's easy to forget he has it.”
Aged Oak grunted, looking toward the dais. “For a long time, we thought he was fishing without a net. Can't you or Healing Hand do something, Lord Eagle?”
“The Imperial Sword is so rigid that no one can correct the disorder.”
“We were discussing bandits,” Flying Arrow said.
The others sighed. Flaming Arrow looked closely at his father and bit his lip. How can I help him? the Heir wondered.
“Intolerable situation. Perhaps, my son, you'd like to do something to help. How many are there, a hundred thousand? A pity you can kill so few yourself. I'd like to see, oh what's reasonable? Would ten be too … uh, yes, I guess it would. Five. My son, bring me five bandit heads, and you'll be a man.”
How do I tell him five is too few? Flaming Arrow thought in the sudden silence. Even ten wouldn't be enough. Ten thousand might satisfy me! the Heir thought. Flaming Arrow could only object to the requirements—not suggest alternatives. “Thank you, Lord Emperor. I'll try my best to fulfill the requirements.”
“You don't find them too difficult, Lord Heir?” Aged Oak asked.
“No, Lord Mediator, I find them just challenging enough,” Flaming Arrow replied, the lie coming easily.
“I too find them appropriate, Lord Emperor,” Aged Oak said. “All parties have agreed. The Lord Heir Flaming Arrow must return with the heads of five bandits. Lord Heir, have you selected an assistant?”
“I have, Lord Mediator. The Lord Colonel Probing Gaze will be my assistant.”
“I'll personally vouch for the Lord Colonel,” Aged Oak said. “I know few men more honorable than he. He'll take boundless pleasure in killing bandits.”
“Send for him,” Flying Arrow said. “I wish to speak with him.”
“The ritual forbids it, Lord Emperor,” Aged Oak said. “There must be no collusion between father and assistant.”
Unnoticed, Flowering Pine slipped out the double doors.
“Oh, yes, I'd forgotten. When do you leave, my son?”
“Sunset tomorrow, father. Pray to the Infinite for my success.”
“I will, my son. Infinite be with you.”
They bowed to each other. Flaming Arrow held the bow much longer than Flying Arrow to signify that this was the last time they would meet unequal in status, child and parent. As Flaming Arrow backed toward the double doors, however, Flying Arrow bowed again and held it until the Heir had gone, an incredible honor.
In the corridor, Flaming Arrow waited, feeling a vast melancholy at the honor the Emperor had shown him. One tear dripped down his cheek. Joining him in the corridor, Rippling Water touched the moisture, then put her arms around him.
Aged Oak, behind her, huffed in disgust but smiled, a sparkle in his eye. “You should have seen the Lord Emperor,” the wrinkled General said, grinning. “I thought he was about to spring a leak!”
Flaming Arrow let the knowledge sink into his soul.
“Now you're springing a leak, Lord Heir! We need to plaster more pitch on our wallowing sterns.”
Sighing, Flaming Arrow smiled at his betrothed, then grinned at the wrinkled General. “Lord Oak, I need to talk with you. Would you join me for coffee?”
“Thank you, Lord Heir, you honor me. Unfortunately—”
“Please, Lord Oak,” Flaming Arrow interrupted. “I wouldn't insist if it weren't important. We have to prepare.”
The Heir's implacable gaze upon him, Aged Oak couldn't refuse.
* * *
Silently, they wended their way up stairwell and across corridor.
Walking beside the Heir, Rippling Water knew her betrothed well enough to want to witness whatever was ahead. Upon hearing the requirements, she had thought he might abandon his suicidal mission. The resolve of his progress through the castle confirmed that he wouldn't. Knowing some but not all his plan, she was curious about the rest.
Running up from behind, Spying Eagle joined them with only a nod to each.
At the Heir's quarters, the Sorcerer waited. When Flaming Arrow strode right through him, she recognized it was just an illusion. Not susceptible to psychic images, the Heir hadn't seen it. Everyone followed Flaming Arrow through the illusion, despite the Sorcerer's pleas and threats.
Beyond the shielded door of stout oak, Flaming Arrow invited them all to sit. A knock sounded at the door. The Heir responded before the servant did. He returned with two blond men, Healing Hand and Probing Gaze. Flaming Arrow shut and bolted the door, called for the headservant and dismissed them all for the night, insisting that they leave.
Retrieving maps and charts from a study, he set them in
a corner of the central room. “Rippling Water,” he asked, “would you serve the coffee and snacks?”
I'm a Matriarch, not a serving wench, she thought. Smiling sweetly, she said, “No.”
Flaming Arrow laughed, shaking his head. “Well, uh, Healing Hand, would you?”
“I'd be happy to, Lord,” Healing Hand said, grinning.
“Thank you.” Flaming Arrow kissed his betrothed, then checked that all the servants had gone, securing the service entrance. Finally, he returned to the central room to stay.
“Thank you, all of you, for coming tonight. You all know one another, except the Lord Gaze and the Lady Water.” Flaming Arrow paused while they exchanged greetings. “I invite all of you to speak freely tonight. You're here because you either know me well, or know bandits well.
“My father asks me to take the heads of five bandits. Lord Gaze, you'll assist me in the field. Lord Oak, you'll support me on this side of the mountains. During this discussion, I encourage all of you to express your objections or ideas, no matter how crazy they might sound.
“Lord Oak, I want you to order up all reserves and inactive personnel. In the coming hours, we'll try to decide where and when we'll need the Eastern Armed Forces.
“Lord Gaze, on this map, I want you—”
“Lord Heir, please excuse me for interrupting.” Aged Oak leaned forward in his chair. “May I ask why you want all those warriors?”
“I'd be happy to tell you. I'm going to create such havoc among the bandits that I hope to kill a quarter of them.”
“How?” four people asked simultaneously.
“I have to kill five bandits. So I'll kill five bandits—the leaders of the five largest bands.”
Chapter 8
Millions of futures, and most of them total anarchy—without the Swords. No Imperial Swords to subdue or tame, no Imperial Swords to grant dominion or assure succession—without them, little civilization. At the time the missing Heir Sword re-emerged, the number of futures with Imperial Swords was still great. The inexorable progress of time approached a place that would decide the future of humanity. On a narrow path lay peaceable civilization. On either side lay anarchy that would last ten thousand years.—The Fall of the Swords, by Keeping Track.
* * *
The potter's bow to Scowling Tiger was so scant it was insulting. Before he had straightened completely, his head leaped from his shoulders, and a fountain of blood sprayed the packed dirt.
Ripping a swatch from the potter's robe, Raging River lovingly wiped his blade. Sheathing it, he bowed to Scowling Tiger, the bandit general, who had watched the incident without a twitch. Everyone else in the clearing had thrown themselves to the ground or into the nearest bush to escape the sudden violence.
Except Seeking Sword, who also hadn't moved a muscle.
The day pleasant, Scowling Tiger had decided to hear all petitioners in the ravine near the northern entrance of the Tiger Fortress. Usually, he held court in the Lair, the gloom-filled main hall near the top of the hollow mountain. The ravine was the main access to the Tiger Fortress. Nearly all those who had business there passed through the ravine, thousands on any given day. Here, near the mountain base, the ravine was wide, a meadow between two ridges. Across the ravine from the seated bandit general, beyond a cordon of guards, travelers gawked at the corpse in the dirt, slowing traffic. The irritable guards tried to move them along.
Scowling Tiger had just refused to do business with the potter because the man's prices had been exorbitant. Then the potter had insulted him with an obeisance less than obligatory, and Raging River had leapt to defend the bandit general's honor.
“Shall I feed the body to the dogs, Lord?” Raging River asked, grinning.
Scowling Tiger was sitting comfortably on a log, the ravine wall behind him, his left fist propped on his thigh. “Too much of an honor, Lord River, no,” the bandit general said. “What do you think we should do with the corpse, Daughter?”
Beside Scowling Tiger was Purring Tiger, holding her month-old infant boy. Nearby lolled her tiger. Looking up from her child, the bandit girl smiled coldly and nodded toward her animal.
Licking its chops, the tiger rose and sank its teeth deep, tossing the trunk and legs over its shoulder. Padding north along the ravine to feed in private, the tiger dispersed the travelers in its way.
Pleased, Raging River resumed his position two paces in front and one pace to the side of his liege lord.
Scowling Tiger looked around the clearing, feigned bewilderment on his face. Moments before, twenty or so petitioners had been waiting. Now no one waited, all of them having scattered to get out of Raging River's way. The old retainer grinned.
Then Seeking Sword stepped forward.
The old retainer frowned. “Lord Tiger,” he muttered over his shoulder, “I beg permission to sharpen my blade again.”
“Still suspicious of this boy who resembles Brazen Bear?” Scowling Tiger asked, chuckling. Then his face went cold. “Permission denied.”
“Yes, Lord,” Raging River said, twisting the sword in his hands.
At five paces, Seeking Sword bowed.
“It's my young friend, Seeking Sword,” Scowling Tiger said genially.
At the acknowledgement, the young man settled back on his haunches. The brass-colored sword across his lap nearly matched his bronze hair. “Lord General Tiger,” he said.
“So sorry to hear about your difficulties with your father.” Scowling Tiger's glance dropped to the pommel of Seeking Sword's weapon, to the ruby.
“It was nothing, Lord General Tiger,” the boy said. “Forgive me, Lord, but if you concern yourself with matters so far beneath you, how do you find time even to breathe?”
“Concerning myself with the problems of my friends is as easy as breathing, Lord Sword. Surely, I have that duty to my friends.”
“You honor me more than I deserve, Lord General Tiger. I agree that we have such a duty to friends. I come this day to keep the path clear between yourself and the Lord Leaping Elk, who's as much my friend as you are.”
“The Lord Elk sent you?” Scowling Tiger asked, stiffening.
“No, Lord General Tiger, I come at no one's bidding but mine.”
Scowling Tiger laughed at the young man's unintended meaning. “I also serve no man, Lord Emperor Sword.” He bowed in gentle mockery. “So, tell me, how may I serve you?” The fist on thigh didn't move.
“The Lord General Tiger would give me a conical cap and bells for my feet,” Seeking Sword replied. “May I compliment you on how well you look? How old are you, now, Lord Tiger—forty-five?”
The bandit general roared with laughter. A small part of his mind told him not to be so gullible to the honeyed tongue of this likable young man.
“I'd like the Lord General Tiger's permission to greet the Lord Raging River and the young Lady Purring Tiger.”
Scowling Tiger nodded, still chuckling.
“It's good to see you again, Lord River. The strength and speed of your sword arm hearten me. I can only hope one day I'll be as agile.”
Raging River spluttered and stammered. “Thank you, Lord Sword, you're too kind,” he managed to say. “Perhaps, uh, you'd do me the honor of, uh, allowing me to instruct you.”
Scowling Tiger saw his retainer grow red. I'll bet a quiver of arrows Raging River is wishing he could speak as pleasantly as the younger man, the general thought. I'd even wager that he regrets he never learned—at nearly seventy years old!
“If the Lord General Tiger doesn't object, the honor would be all mine, Lord River.” He bowed and turned his attention to the woman and child. “Congratulations on the birth of such a fine boy, and you, Lady Tiger, are pretty enough to take a man's breath away.”
“Thank you, Lord Sword,” she murmured demurely, her voice barely audible.
Scowling Tiger gaped at his daughter in disbelief, wondering why Seeking Sword's head wasn't rolling in the dust. Every man who had said anything similar, or had looked at h
er with the wrong expression, had found his breath taken away—with her knife in his heart.
Purring Tiger merely smiled to herself, looking affectionately at her infant child.
The bandit general returned his attention to the young man, baffled.
“So, Lord General Tiger, the business which brings me here. Because of my difficulties with my father, I have decided to part ways with him. For several years now, the Lord Leaping Elk has provided me with instruction in many subjects. I owe him more than I can repay. Toward that end, I have given him my solemn oath to fight for him for ten years, and Infinite forbid it, to die for him.” Seeking Sword paused, as if expecting objections. When none were forthcoming, he continued. “I understand, Lord General Tiger, that you want or did want to recruit me.”
Scowling Tiger gave a single nod. “Any man who fights as well as you is a potential recruit.”
“Thank you, Lord General Tiger, though my skill is meager. However, it would grieve me more than I can say if you and the Lord Elk disagreed over which band I join.”
“Eh? You've joined his band already, so you've decided.”
“Yes, Lord General Tiger,” Seeking Sword replied. “In the interest of keeping the peace between our two bands, I came here to clarify matters. Forgive me my presumption.”
Wanting to grind the Elk Raiders into the dust for stealing Seeking Sword from under his nose, Scowling Tiger smiled politely. “It is a bit presumptuous, Lord Sword, to think that he and I would fight over you, isn't it? After all, you're young and untried.”
“A bit presumptuous, yes, Lord General Tiger.” Flush crept up Seeking Sword's face.
“I appreciate your taking the time to come here, Lord Sword. Few people care enough to keep the way clear between their friends.” Scowling Tiger smiled at him. “You've begun instruction in the Politics of Accession, taught by the esteemed Peering Owl. My daughter says he's very knowledgeable.”
“Yes, Lord General, I have.”
“Perhaps, you'd like to hear the latest rumors from across the border, where the accession is very important to us.”
The Heir (Fall of the Swords Book 3) Page 8