The Heir (Fall of the Swords Book 3)

by Scott Michael Decker

  “No reason, Lord Emperor,” Lofty Lion said. “What you say is true.”

  The old man's sudden submission defused Flying Arrow's anger. “I'm glad you realize the futility of your actions. How is the boy, anyway?”

  “He's doing well, Lord. Not long ago, unfortunately, we had a difference of opinion. We haven't spoken since. I keep track of him through mutual friends, though. He's to mate in two days—lovely woman, she really is. Oh, you should see him handle a sword! You'd be proud. Also, he's a great archer, better than Scowling Tiger ever was. The boy's stubborn, though. In sum, I'd say he's an admirable young man. I'm curious to know how such regality sprang from your empty quiver.”

  Flying Arrow almost took his head. With an effort he sheathed the Sword, knowing the goading deliberate.

  Lofty Lion grinned mightily, seeming unafraid.

  “Infinite grant me patience,” Flying Arrow said. “What's his name?”

  “Seeking Sword.”

  “What?!” Flying Arrow's left arm went suddenly numb.

  “Purring Tiger will be his mate!”

  Pain constricted across Flying Arrow's chest.

  “He wields the Northern Heir Sword!”

  Agony splintered through his right temple.

  “My revenge is now complete!”

  The knobbed end of the staff crashed into the side of his head just above the ear and Flying Arrow knew no more.

  * * *

  He woke to antiseptic smells and bright lights and the face of the Imperial Medacor Soothing Spirit.

  “Please be still, Lord Emperor,” the Imperial Medacor said, emanating peace and serenity. “You've suffered a fractured skull, a massive coronary infarction and an aneurism. You've lost a lot of blood and the use of your left arm. The right sensorimotor cortices and temporal lobes of your brain have extensive damage. I saved as much as I could. Please don't speak yet, Lord. You've been unconscious for about twelve hours. The Lord General Scratching Wolf and a medacor found you and, uh, the other man about forty miles from here. We know he struck you with his staff. We're holding him until you're fit enough to decide his fate.” Soothing Spirit looked toward the door. “The Lord Heir wishes to see you. When he heard you'd almost died …” Soothing Spirit winced. “He rushed back here from the border. I'll let him see you only on the condition that you don't try to speak or send, Lord Emperor.”

  Flying Arrow tried to nod. Blinding pain rewarded his effort.

  Soothing Spirit touched his forehead, draining away the pain. Standing, he left the room.

  When Flying Arrow opened his eyes again, the Heir was peering into his face.

  “Hello, Father,” Flaming Arrow said. “You scared us all. You're too young for the Infinite. I'm too young to take your place. The Lord Spirit tells me you don't have the use of your arm. So what? What do you need an arm for, eh? You have all the servants in the world to do what you can't.

  “Well, I guess you can't speak, but you can blink? Good, blink once for yes and twice for no, all right?

  “Promise me something, Father. I want you to promise me you'll live. While I understand how you might not want to live without a whole body, the Empire needs you more than you need that arm, eh? So, please promise me you'll live.

  “You didn't blink. Don't you want to live? Two. Well, I want you to live, Father! I'll see that you get the best of care.”

  Flying Arrow watched his son in wonder. He hadn't known that Flaming Arrow cared so much.

  “That, uh, prisoner died a few minutes ago. He kept screaming for his staff, but we couldn't move it. It kills everyone who touches it. I didn't know it's a talisman. I didn't know it kept him alive. He claimed to be Lofty Lion. Probing Gaze says his name was Icy Wind, a hermit who lived near the Elk Raiders. Who was he, Father? Was he whom he claimed to be? Just blink once for yes, eh? He was Lofty Lion? You left him alive, hoping he'd lead you to the Heir Sword?”

  One blink.

  Flaming Arrow bowed his head, nodding. “He never did. Too bad. That would've solved this problem with the bandits. I can see why he named his son Seeking Sword. The Imperial Sword that he seeks won't help anyone now, though, not without the Heir Sword. Lofty Lion was our last hope for a peaceful resolution, eh Father? I think your plan was a good one. I'm sorry Lofty Lion never led you to the Heir Sword. I'm sorry your plan failed, especially this way.”

  Flaming Arrow looked at him, a single tear dripping from an eye bloodshot with sleeplessness. “I want you to recover, Father. Please tell me you'll try? Please!”

  Moved by his son's pleading, Flying Arrow blinked away a tear.

  “Good, Father, that pleases me. Thank you. I'll feel much more at ease knowing you want to live.” The Heir stood and began to pace.

  Flying Arrow regarded his son, regretting he had learned so little about this man, his Heir. His ritual was just a formality. In the few minutes they had spent together in this room, the Emperor knew Flaming Arrow to be a loyal citizen. More important, a caring and devoted son.

  “Why are you crying, Father?” Flaming Arrow returned to the bedside and dabbed at his father's eyes. “You'll be all right. When they found you, half your skull was gone and your brains exposed. The Infinite must be watching over you because a medacor found you and put your head back together. How fortunate, eh? Aged Oak's running the Empire until you recover, which lets me complete my ritual. Is that all right with you, Father?”

  One blink.

  “Good. Mother wants to see you, if you're up to it. Yes?”

  One blink.

  “I'll send her in if Soothing Spirit approves.” Flaming Arrow hugged his father and kissed him on the forehead, the only part of the cranium not bandaged.

  After his son had gone, Flying Arrow closed his eyes, relieved and grateful that a semblance of love existed between them. Knowing he had been a poor father, his parenting skills inadequate, he wondered why his son bore him no grudge. Perhaps he did, and chose to conceal it while he recuperated. Flying Arrow desperately wanted to believe otherwise.

  Flowering Pine was at his bedside when he woke. Red rimmed her eyes from crying, her hair disheveled. “Lofty Lion almost got the last laugh,” she said.

  He closed his eyes and wished her gone.

  “That wasn't very tactful, was it?” she said. “I'm sorry. I couldn't think of anything else to say. We haven't been close in such a long time. I feel like I don't even know you anymore. Yes, I know, we have sex every month or so, but that's not the same. You don't say much to me because I so love to gossip and you have secrets to keep.” She looked toward the doorway, frowning. “I'm proud of our son. You know that without my saying so, but he doesn't. I can't think of a way to tell him. I get so teary when I try to talk to him that I have to turn away. My own son's a stranger to me. Yes, I know, it's more my fault than his. Talking to him is so difficult. He just stares at me with those big gray-blue eyes, as if he wants something from me. I just don't know what he wants. He won't ever tell me.

  “Just like you're staring at me now!” Frowning, she looked away.

  He realized she was very lonely. He knew he couldn't give her the companionship she really needed. Being Emperor extracted its price. He wondered if the time had come to let her go, to release her from her prison high in Emparia Castle. He knew she deserved a better fate than the five other consorts he had put to death. They hadn't borne him children. She had. With his right hand, he grasped one of hers and squeezed, despite the effort it cost him.

  Flowering Pine returned her gaze to his face and looked puzzled at his sadness. “Are you in pain, Lord? Shall I fetch the Imperial Medacor?”

  He blinked once to spare them both further discomfort. Understanding was something she had never had in abundance.

  She looked bewildered. “Oh! One blink! All right, Lord. Right away!” she said, bowing several times as she backed from the room.

  What is she so afraid of? the Emperor wondered.

  Soothing Spirit strode in, robes flowing about him elegan
tly. He sat beside the Emperor, his ambience settling upon Flying Arrow like a warm blanket. “Nothing wrong beside what I told you already, Lord Emperor. The Lady Pine thought something was amiss. The Lord Oak's waiting to see you, Lord. If you feel tired, I'll send him away.”

  He blinked twice.

  “All right, Lord, but he's the last visitor today,” Soothing Spirit admonished, bowing and leaving.

  Flying Arrow closed his eyes, feeling more tired than he had let on.

  His debilitation seemed to be eliciting strange responses from those around him. He wondered if their pity for his physical incapacitation engendered these reactions. Both Flaming Arrow and Flowering Pine had certainly acted out of character. Or had they?

  Thinking tired him, so he tried to quiet his thoughts.

  “Glad to see you're all right, Lord Emperor,” Aged Oak said, disrupting Flying Arrow's quiet concentration. The old General bowed and eased his small frame to the stool at bedside. “Why didn't you tell anybody you were meeting that old carp, eh? Secret business? Yeah, well, I'd have concealed my fishing holes too, I suppose.” Aged Oak had taken on the Cove dialect, common to the coast of the Eastern Empire, where he had grown up. Long ago, the General had adopted the more formal language of the court. Now, he seemed comfortable enough, in these unusual circumstances, to revert to the dialect he had shed. “Glad you're alive, old chum. I like that boy of yours, but something's got to be done about his stubbornness before he'll be any good on the throne.

  “At last count, Lord Emperor, we've taken twenty thousand heads up north and lost only four. By the time the Heir's done, we'll have hauled aboard thirty, easy. That fortress's always going to be a tough clam to pry apart, though. There don't seem to be nothing we can do about it either. After this Bandit Seeking Sword squirmed past our patrols into the fortress, Purring Tiger locked the doors of the place tighter than a chastity belt! I can't understand it. There's always somebody disgruntled with a new command—always! Yet not one bandit has escaped her net in ten days. Purring Tiger's probably fornicating herself silly to bait the bandits to stay. That hag's got something up her robes, is all I can figure. More than likely Seeking Sword's weapon, eh?

  “Did you hear the Lady Water summoned Lord Bear south? Seems she was visiting the Emperor Jaguar on Matriarchy business and needed the Lord Bear to help her bring the barbarian to keel, or something. What good he'll be is beyond me. Fought well up north, like the General we all knew. He just wasn't there for anything else, like he's always dreaming. As Spying Eagle says, non compost mentis, which I guess means rot for brains. Seems like the General died when the Matriarch died.

  “Beside the wharf, I wanted to thank you, Lord Emperor, for loaning me Spying Eagle and Healing Hand. With those two, you wouldn't need to lift an oar in ruling the Empire. 'Course, gaining their loyalty's like pulling spines off a sea urchin. They're always squatting in my mind. Got good intentions, though, both of them.

  “Nothing going on I can't handle, Lord. I'll be needing to sail up north to help the Heir when he takes the next head. 'Course, Scratching Wolf could do as good as me. What do you say, Lord Emperor? Shall I put Scratching Wolf in command of the fleet while I'm haulin' the ship of state by its hawsers?”

  One blink.

  “Good, thought you might approve. Oh, by the way, that strumpet peasant Rustling Pine's asking permission to see her daughter. Shall I send the conniving eel away?”

  One blink.

  “Shall be done, Lord Emperor. Say, you know how Exploding Illusion should take over when you ain't up to the job? Well, me and a few friends decided we didn't want stench-mouth running the Empire, so we clipped his fins, you might say, eh? All right with you?”

  One blink.

  “Thought so. This corpse of Lofty Lion's, shall we burn it? No? Well, we can't throw that body to the sharks. Won't eat it, smells so bad. Bury it, eh? All right. What do you want to do with that staff, eh? Wizard tells me it's a talisman, which's why everybody who has touched it's dead. It's still there on the riverbank, like a beached fish, where the Northerner dropped it after striking you with it, blood and hair and bits of bone still on it. Let the Wizard handle it, is my feeling. No? How about the Sorcerer? Ah, much better, I agree. Disgusting man.

  “Listen, Lord Emperor, of all that has happened this last month, what really tangles my nets is the Bandit. Practically shrivels my sack to know he looks so much like the Lord Heir. You heard about the incident near Seat? Fooled the General and the Medacor Apprentice. Well, what's to stop the Bandit from walking into this room and cutting us up where we sit, eh? Nothing! To be honest with you, that curdles my blood.

  “With your permission, I'd like to send some assassins against him and his mate that Purring Tiger bitch and their bastard son. Lord! Don't grab me like that! You ain't got the strength! You didn't know she's borne him a son? What's the matter, Lord Emperor? Why's your face purple?

  “Medacor!” Aged Oak yelled, standing and lunging toward the door. “Something's wrong with—”

  Darkness swallowed Flying Arrow.

  Chapter 22

  Since a man's Patriarch and a woman's Matriarch usually arrange the mateship, sometimes years in advance, the chances are fair that one of the betrothed pair will find the arrangement unsatisfactory. Either mate could end the union in the nuptial bed with a knife between the ribs. On rare occasions as well, a Matriarch or Patriarch will arrange the mateship for assassination, and have her daughter or his son implanted to kill at the moment of consummation. Thus, for both these reasons, the mating ceremony proscribes weapons for the betrothed. Of course, lack of access to weapons rarely stops a determined assassin.—Assassin Implants, by Deadly Thought.

  Before the ceremony, the guests compete in swordsmanship, archery, javelin, running, most the psychic disciplines, poetry, painting, sculpting, et cetera. The winner in each area receives front row seats at the ceremony, in addition to personal garments shed by the nuptial couple just before consummation…

  Like her, he wears robes of black. Over that he wears the formal battle regalia of his rank: Winged, tasseled shoulder mantles; black-lacquered chest and back plates; shin, thigh and forearm guards similarly lacquered; a fierce-looking helmet capped with a rack of black horn, a symbol of virility. As the day continues, he changes clothes for the various competitions and finally, for the actual mating ceremony, re-garbs himself as he was when the day began.—Rituals Before the Fall, by Keeping Track.

  * * *

  An hour before dawn, bandits began to pour from the fortress.

  They left the fortress three abreast. Once they cleared the ravine, one file split off to the west, one to the east, and one to the north, each a continuous line of bandits. Their objectives clear, they fanned out in a circle, obliterating Imperial Warriors as they went.

  By dawn, the Tiger Raiders controlled a circular piece of land north of the fortress ten miles in diameter. Imperial forces retreated from the circle, puzzled by this strange maneuver.

  As the first rays of the sun struck the twin towers standing sentinel over the ravine entrance, Purring Tiger walked from the fortress, followed by two priests of the Infinite. She wore not a single weapon. Her flowing silk robes were completely black, falling to her toes. Her coiffure was simple, modest, gathered into a braid at the nape of her neck. Her only adornment was a single tiger-lily tucked behind one ear. She was very beautiful.

  From the ravine she walked due north along the north-south road, the priests ten paces behind her and chanting harmoniously.

  So much had changed for Purring Tiger in eleven days.

  First her father died, assassinated by Flaming Arrow. Then she discovered that Thinking Quick, the only person whom she had ever called friend, had aided the Heir against her liege lord. While Purring Tiger was consolidating her leadership inside the fortress, outside the structure, someone discharged psychic energy on a scale seen only once in recent history, when Flying Arrow and Lofty Lion had dueled in the final battle of the war betw
een Empires. For those without protection from the “psychic storm,” it was more like a hurricane. Then, just before Slithering Snake returned with the Bandit, another storm unleashed its fury upon the northern lands, leaving Seeking Sword curiously unaffected.

  Only after her betrothed arrived did she really begin to learn who he was. Despite having been awake the twenty-four hours before arriving, despite having traveled and fought for twelve of those hours, the Bandit wanted to tour the fortress right then. He led them from top to bottom, stopping every few minutes to question someone, curious about everything, no detail too small to note, no person to insignificant to greet. For twelve hours, still clothed in his blood-stained, travel-worn and torn robes, Seeking Sword poked his head into every corner of the fortress he could find.

  He had left his companions exhausted. Purring Tiger had excused herself after three hours, Easing Comfort had pleaded other obligations, and Raging River had doggedly stuck with the younger man until he was ready to drop. Still the Bandit had wanted to see more.

  Over the next nine days, he explored the fortress thoroughly, content to sleep elsewhere until they officially mated, taking only his meals with her. She was too busy consolidating to spend more time than that with him.

  Most of the bandits wanted to stay. An inevitable few of course wanted a different liege lord. Some simply wanted to go home to the Eastern Empire, having served the bandit general to the end of his days; their obligations to the Tiger Raiders had expired with Scowling Tiger. She cajoled, persuaded, threatened and bargained with two thousand bandits during the last eleven days. Some she persuaded to stay, some she didn't. The Bandit had asked to speak with those she couldn't influence, and his success with them amazed her. After eleven days, five hundred bandits still wanted to leave. Seeking Sword had invited them all to stay for the ceremony, even so.

  She felt pleased with her betrothed, admiring his vitality, curiosity, compassion and perseverance.

  Just the night before, on the eve of their mating day, they took a moment alone in her suite near the top of the mountain. The evening meal just finished, the servant removed their empty dishes and left them to each other. She sprawled across the hide of moose, while he was sitting correctly on a cushion. Content merely to look, they stared into each other's eyes.