The Heir (Fall of the Swords Book 3)

by Scott Michael Decker

  Scratching Wolf grinned. “They won't know whether to shit or vomit!”

  Flaming Arrow smiled. “Can you do it, Lord Wolf?”

  “By the Infinite, I'll do all I can, Lord Heir!”

  “Good! Lord Gaze, can you maintain that pace?”

  “I'm not as young as I used to be, Lord Heir, but I'll try.”

  “Lord Wolf, to be safe, I want a sectathon familiar with Howling Gale and the surrounding area stationed somewhere between the two camps.”

  “Yes, Lord.” The General looked at the Colonel.

  Flaming Arrow examined the map, knowing they conferred telepathically.

  “I'll know who to look for if I can't go on, Lord Heir,” Probing Gaze said after a moment, sipping from his cup, his face shrouded in steam. “What about Bucking Stag's head, Lord, after you've taken it?”

  “We'll meet with this other sectathon—tell me his name, by the way—regardless of your ability to continue. One of you two, Lord Gaze, will shoulder the care of the head, eh?”

  “Good plan, Lord. His name is Sharp Eye. He has good range, excellent fighting skills and looks that would peel the bark from a tree.”

  “Is his appearance unpleasant, or is his telekinesis powerful?” Flaming Arrow asked.

  Probing Gaze shrugged. “Repulsively ugly, Lord.”

  The Heir nodded. “Any discrepancies in the plan? Any suggestions are welcome, as well as objections, Lords.” Himself, he found no flaws.

  Again, the other two men conferred, consulting the map.

  Flaming Arrow contemplated the mountain that housed the Tiger Fortress. Reportedly, the Bandit and his betrothed Purring Tiger were now blissful mates. An enterprising spy had infiltrated the ring of bandit warriors and had watched the ceremony, a feat considered impossible because of her domesticated animal. In the past fifteen years, the cat had killed every spy slipped into the fortress. The tiger had been conspicuously absent from the ceremony and the spy had escaped. The revelry continued unabated.

  Wondering, truly, if Aged Oak's comment about Seeking Sword's son had caused the aneurism in Flying Arrow's brain to rupture again, the Heir pondered the implications. By itself, it seemed of little importance. Flying Arrow had met with Lofty Lion, reputed to be the Bandit's father. According to Soothing Spirit, both the coronary infarction and the aneurism had preceded the fractured skull. Hence, his father had been under severe stress at the instant the staff took off half his head.

  What had Lofty Lion said to Flying Arrow? Had Aged Oak inadvertently reminded the Emperor of Lofty Lion's words, perhaps salting the wound? What could be so important about an infant bandit that the Emperor's knowing about the child would cause further stress and damage to Flying Arrow's already feeble brain?

  The Heir sighed, knowing he would probably never find out.

  * * *

  After Aged Oak's call for help from the Emperor's room, the scene outside was bedlam. The Medacor hastened into the room, almost colliding with the General who had come out to get him. Everyone but Flaming Arrow crowded after Soothing Spirit, craning their heads to see what was happening—or to see an Emperor dying, the Heir thought.

  “Get away from the doorway!” Flaming Arrow shouted at them, and they retreated. “The fewer disturbances the better,” he said, his voice calm, his insides churning. “If the Lord Medacor needs our help, he'll certainly ask for it. Until then we'll stay out of the way, eh?”

  Most the people in the room looked at the floors, the walls, the ceilings, but not at him, confirming his suspicion that the Emperor's death was of greater concern than Flying Arrow's health. Flaming Arrow rose from his seat and stepped to his mother. Pulling her head to his breast, he reassured her with his voice and his touch.

  “Sorcerer!” Soothing Spirit called from the other room.

  Exploding Illusion's eyes went wide, and his feet backed him toward the corridor as though of their own volition.

  Flaming Arrow jumped across the room, grabbed the collar with his right hand and spun the head around with a slap of his left.

  “Noooooo!” the Sorcerer howled.

  Flaming Arrow slapped the man again. “Get in there!”

  “Please, Lord Heir,” Exploding Illusion whispered, a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth, his right cheek flaming red. “I can't go in there, please don't force me. What if I fail? Oh, dear Lord Infinite, I can't do it, there's nothing worse for me than—”

  Holding tight to the collar, Flaming Arrow pounded the Sorcerer's face with his fist, breaking the nose, knocking him unconscious.

  “I'll go, Lord,” Spying Eagle said, then rushed into the room where the Emperor lay dying.

  Tightening his grip on the Sorcerer's collar, Flaming Arrow walked from the room, dragging him toward the nearest stairwell. Regaining consciousness on the stairs, Exploding Illusion struggled to free himself from the Heir's grasp. Implacable, Flaming Arrow dragged him up three flights of steps, across a corridor, up another stairwell, onto the battlement. There, he lifted the Sorcerer above his head and hurled him over the side to his death.

  Even before the Wizard splattered in the forecourt below, Flaming Arrow turned and descended, not bothering to watch, not caring anymore.

  By the time he had returned to the Medacor's offices, everyone there knew what he had done. He gestured Aged Oak to join him in the corridor. “Since you're acting Emperor, Lord Oak, I guess you ought to know that the position of Sorcerer needs filling.”

  “Oh? A pity about Exploding Illusion, eh Lord?” Aged Oak grinned, pitying no one.

  * * *

  Then and there, his father comatose and near death, the Heir had drafted the plan he was executing now and had briefed Aged Oak.

  Through it all, from the moment Aged Oak had called for help until this moment nine hours later, Flaming Arrow hadn't been conscious of a single emotion. In front of him was a map, the Tiger Fortress the object of his contemplation. His father was comatose, a pitiless General ran the Empire, and he was throwing himself into death almost certain. He felt nothing at all.

  “Lord Heir?”

  “Eh? What was that, Lord Wolf?”

  “I asked twice, Lord. Are you all right?”

  “Eh? Of course I'm all right!”

  Scratching Wolf frowned. “What I asked was, 'Why didn't you gut him on the spot?' ”

  “Who, Lord Wolf? Gut who?”

  “Exploding Illusion, Lord.”

  “I didn't want to get the floor bloody.”

  The other two men laughed uproariously.

  Flaming Arrow found nothing humorous about it. He wished Rippling Water were here. Perhaps she could tell him why he felt nothing. She had gone south on Matriarchy business and might not be back for a few days. Not seeing where he went, the Heir stood and stepped to the curtained window. The western sky was still alight.

  The time had come to be gone.

  Even so, he stood there and contemplated a darkening sky.

  “Are you up to this, my friend?” Probing Gaze asked.

  He sighed, not having noticed the Colonel's approach. “I don't know, Lord Gaze. I won't know until I do it.”

  The Colonel nodded. “I guess you feel that way about a lot of matters, eh?” He led the way to Flaming Arrow's room, where they had stored their accoutrements. “I find your attitude reassuring, Lord. Advisors and counselors can't give you experience. Only doing can. Tell me, Lord Heir, what you'll do when you've done it all? Or, Infinite forbid it, found your limits?”

  “I don't know, Lord Gaze. Maybe I'll find it wasn't worth doing. Maybe I'll regret having ignored just being, eh?”

  They carried their accoutrements to the door of the safehouse and equipped themselves there, cinching everything tight for the rough travel ahead, then checking each other's work. A loose strap in the midst of battle might prove fatal.

  Scratching Wolf stood to see them off. “The luck of the Infinite be with you, Lords.” He bowed deeply to both men, and held it.

  “Than
k you, Grandfather.” Flaming Arrow returned the General's bow with a nod.

  Probing Gaze and Flaming Arrow pulled their hoods over their heads, hiding their hair and most of their faces. Their identities obscured, they left the house the way they had arrived, without fanfare or recognition.

  The Heir set a grueling pace, seeking oblivion through exertion.

  What had Lofty Lion said to Flying Arrow?

  * * *

  He decided he liked it up here.

  Upon the cap of the mountain, a few hours after sunrise, Seeking Sword looked northward over empty lands and saw the Northern Empire spread out before him, thriving as it had in his father's day.

  A chill breeze blew abruptly past, bringing him back to the present.

  Again, he saw only empty northern lands. Sadly, mournfully, the Bandit wished somehow that the vision hadn't been so ephemeral, that the history of the Northern Empire might have been different, that his father might have bequeathed him more than a smoldering ruin.

  Far to the north, past the pale smudge on the horizon, a thin eel of smoke rose from the detritus of the settlement Seat. Even the smudge itself was a reminder of the paucity of his inheritance. Hundreds of acres of broken boulder were all that remained of Lofty Lion's castle. Such was his land.

  Thirty-six hours ago, it had still been his father's. Not more than twenty minutes after the priest of the Infinite had officially mated Purring Tiger and Seeking Sword, knotting their robes together, the terrible news had reached them.

  * * *

  In the light of the setting sun, she and he rose from their knees. Turning together, they bowed to the crowd. The throng ten thousand strong roared its approval. Once, twice, thrice they lowered themselves, his left hand grasping her right. He then pulled her toward him and kissed her deeply, bending her over backward.

  The noise nearly deafened them.

  Hand in hand, and only occasionally conscious of those around them, he and she descended from the round wooden platform. Rarely taking their eyes off each other, they began their journey toward the Tiger Fortress, five miles away. He looked proud, she demure and desirable, the craving between them growing with each step.

  “I can't wait,” he said, his loincloth bulging.

  “Let's not,” she replied, her turgid nipples showing through black layers of silk robe. She tugged him close with a hand on his neck and brought his face down to hers. For a long time they kissed, her body pressed to his.

  “What?” she said, drawing back.

  Growing quiet as if on her cue, bandits across the ceremony grounds looked southward, many of them glancing amongst themselves.

  “What is it?” he asked, suddenly frightened.

  “No.” It was more a gasp and less a word. Her face going pale, she turned her saddened gaze on him. “Oh, Seeking Sword, I'm so sorry,” she said, taking both his hands. “Your father is dead. The Emperor Lion is dead.”

  He closed his eyes. For most of the day he had been able to put from his mind the thought of his father in the dungeons of Emparia Castle. Now no dungeon would hold his father again. For that at least, the son was grateful.

  “There's other news when you're ready to hear it.”

  He smiled, appreciating her compassion. “This is what I would like, mate of mine,” he said, his voice strained. “Tell me if you agree. Between here and the fortress, we can say what we want, discuss what we need. For the twenty-four hours after we enter the fortress, we discuss only you, our son and me—nothing else.”

  “Yes, Lord, love,” she said, smiling. “I'd like nothing better.”

  The Bandit sighed, loving her, feeling sad that his father would never know his son had mated the most beautiful woman in the northern lands, would never meet his only grandson, would never have a cure for his infirmity and walk without the help of a staff, would never know how much his son regretted all the angry words, would never know how much his son missed him, and would never find out how much his son really loved him.

  Seeking Sword walked and wept.

  * * *

  Knowing he wasn't rock, Seeking Sword looked northward through a blur of tear, mourning the loss of his father thirty-six hours before. He found little comfort in knowing he had inherited the northern lands upon his father's death. He had found some comfort, however, in the arms of his mate. They had sequestered themselves in her suite with their son for an entire day.

  Their joining had pleased him immensely, as he knew it had her.

  Their talking had soothed him. He had found himself liking her more every moment. Beneath the veneer of implacable shrew was a woman of compassion and caring. He knew she wouldn't always be thus, her position requiring her to be an unlikable, and sometimes a thoroughly ugly hag. He told himself to treasure those moments alone, when she was who she wanted to be. He could armor himself then for her more vicious moments.

  Northward Seeking Sword stared. He remembered how Scowling Tiger had habitually spent hours on the cap of the mountain, staring over the land, but in the opposite direction. The Bandit smiled to himself, feeling the pull of the land to the north, while the land to the south didn't interest him. Southward for him was little but a cold piece of metal adorned with a ruby. To the north was a future, a place to build, a dream to live.

  Nodding slowly, Seeking Sword stretched out his arms as if to embrace the empty northern lands.

  “What are you doing?”

  He spun as if caught in the act. The act of what? he wondered, as he welcomed his mate with a hug and a kiss. “Come, look at this!” he said. Her back to his chest and his arms around her shoulders, he faced them northward, her hips against the balustrade. “What do you see?”

  “Well, I see a bird up there, and … is that a plume of smoke?” she asked, shielding her eyes to see better.

  He chuckled softly. “Between here and the smoke, what do you see?”

  “I see the north-south road. I thought it was straighter than that! Look how it bends and twists from up here!”

  “On either side of the road,” he prompted patiently.

  “Some trees, a lake, a few rivers. What do you want me to see?”

  He wouldn't tell her and she couldn't see it.

  * * *

  Blast, he's always so cryptic! she thought.

  In frustration she gave up and turned within his arms, slipping hers around his waist. After a long moment she broke off their kiss. “We can discuss business now, eh?” she asked, looking afraid he might object.

  “I'd rather not talk, but our time alone is over. We've had our one day to ourselves.”

  She smiled, remembering well. “I wish it hadn't ended, eh?”

  “I too wanted more,” he said, nodding and smiling. “What did you want to discuss?”

  “Melding Mind. He's very distraught over Thinking Quick's betrayal of my father. He looks as if he'll die of shame. He wants to fall on his knife. I told him to wait, to talk to you first.”

  “Eh? Why me?”

  “I watched you while you talked with all the bandits who wanted to leave after my father died. You're very persuasive.”

  “Why should I persuade Melding Mind to live if what he really wants to do is die? What use is a man who resents his every living moment, eh?”

  She turned away, stepping toward the western edge of the mountain cap. “Listen, Seeking Sword, my father told me to kill both Melding Mind and Thinking Quick after he died. At the time I promised I would. Now I'm reluctant. The man has lost so much! All he has now is the scorn of his son and all bandits. I know he's very unhappy. More than likely he's better off dead. I just can't kill him or let him die or explain why either!”

  Frowning, the Bandit sat on the stone lip. “All right. So you want me to persuade him to live, eh? I find this personal, very compassionate side of you quite amusing, Lady. It's not like you at all.” He laughed at the look on her face. “It was a jest, love, eh? Where's the Lord Mind? I'd be happy to try.”

  She stepped over to the stair
well and stood at the landing, involuntarily glancing behind her. Her father's having sat there so often had worn the stone smooth. She returned to Seeking Sword's side when shuffling footsteps began to ascend.

  * * *

  His brown hair disheveled, his robes dirty and in disarray, his eyes sunken, his face unshaven, Melding Mind emerged onto the platform and stared blankly southward, unaware of the couple behind him.

  “Lord Mind,” Seeking Sword said, trying to gain a sense of him.

  Slowly the Wizard turned. He seemed puzzled to see them with their backs to the north. “You're not in the … right spot, Lord, Lady,” Melding Mind said sluggishly, gesturing vaguely southward.

  “Infinite be with you, Lord Mind,” the Bandit said. “I was sorry to hear of Thinking Quick's death. She was my friend. I mourn the loss of her.”

  Melding Mind sneered, “Treacherous cretin!”

  “Lord Mind!” Seeking Sword said indignantly. Then, realizing that the Wizard wanted others to treat him with scorn and contempt, the Bandit had an idea. “I have an assignment for you.”

  “I'm not taking any projects right now, Lord,” Melding Mind said with lethargy.

  “Find me with your talent, Lord Mind. Penetrate my shields.”

  “Eh? I tried that once. No shields to penetrate, no one to find.”

  “Why, Lord Mind? I want to know why.” Seeking Sword felt a touch of satisfaction at the flicker of interest in the Wizard's brown eyes.

  “That's the reason you want me to live, eh?” Melding Mind spat on stone and looked at the young man contemptuously.

  “Why no, Lord Mind.” the Bandit replied, acting unoffended. The Wizard deliberately provoked him. “I was just curious if you knew. They say I'm the cause of these recent psychic storms. I thought investigating them might interest you. If not, you can go. Infinite be with you, Lord.” Seeking Sword nodded before the other man had even begun a bow and turned to face northward.