The Heir (Fall of the Swords Book 3) (10 page)

Spying Eagle nodded. “Yes,” he then said, realizing the boy probably couldn't see him.

“I like you. I hope someone does away with stench-mouth, so you can become Sorcerer.”

Spying Eagle laughed, not having heard that appellation for Exploding Illusion before.

The boy laughed as well. “Thank you for your help, Lord Eagle. With you beside me, I'll wipe out those bandits when I get older, Infinite willing.”

“I hope you will, Little Lord.”

Turning, the shape retreated toward the light. Spying Eagle followed, liking the boy. Seeing the suggestion of bronze in the boy's hair, the Wizard felt upset, as if the memories on the edges of his mind encroached upon his consciousness, as if he began to remember. Fear gripped him suddenly. What happened then felt familiar enough that he stopped the implanted compulsion long enough to scream, “Run, Boy! Run!”

The boy ran, looking over his shoulder with wide blue-gray eyes.

Spying Eagle collapsed to the stone, fighting his own mind, battling the subconscious compulsion to assassinate Flaming Arrow. Long after triggering, the implant drove Spying Eagle's mind and body to kill the Heir and anyone who got in his way. Several guards and jailers died before they had evaluated the threat, when the emergency was incipient. A cunning old guard, too ancient for even mildly dangerous duty, tossed an activated damper into the corridor where Spying Eagle writhed, the dead scattered around him. Then they subdued his body. The compulsion almost killed him. Without treatment, it would have continued to drive him until he died from exhaustion.

For a week, Soothing Spirit, Healing Hand and Exploding Illusion all treated Spying Eagle, trying to weed the implant from the soil of his mind. The deep roots were difficult to extirpate. Although Spying Eagle himself fought most of the fight for his mind, Flaming Arrow showed him how.

The next day, Spying Eagle regained consciousness. Beside the bed sat Flaming Arrow, next to him Rippling Water. Lunging at the boy, Spying Eagle strained against the five-point harness while his mind struggled against the psychic dampers.

“You don't want to kill me,” Flaming Arrow kept saying, as though praying. Tears poured down his face.

Blackness descended upon Spying Eagle.

The next day, Rippling Water walked in alone. “Close your eyes.”

Spying Eagle obeyed, puzzled.

“You don't want to kill me,” Flaming Arrow said a moment later.

Opening his eyes, Spying Eagle lunged at the sight of him. The Heir wasn't in any real danger because of the physical and psychic restraints.

“You don't want to kill me,” Flaming Arrow repeated, biting off a sob.

I don't want to kill him, Spying Eagle told himself. Letting the physical compulsion wash through him, he forced himself to relax and listen. He admired the boy's faith in him. Soon, the compulsion grew too great. He lunged, unable to resist.

Flaming Arrow backed from the room, repeating the words through sobs.

Spying Eagle lost consciousness again.

Rippling Water and Flaming Arrow kept at it, trying once each day. Each time, Spying Eagle resisted the compulsion a little longer and understood the implants a little better. Faith, Spying Eagle kept telling himself. With faith, I can pull through.

In his darker moments, he thought he would never free his mind from the implant. When faith deserted him, Spying Eagle remembered the look on Flaming Arrow's face. Forging his sadness into determination, the boy never gave up on him. Often, Flaming Arrow sat through Spying Eagle's spells of delirium as if the Wizard would die in his absence.

On the seventh day, Spying Eagle woke. People surrounded his bed. Looking among them, he marveled. What a gathering of power! he thought. Exploding Illusion, Soothing Spirit, Healing Hand, Guarding Bear, Bubbling Water, Aged Oak, Shading Oak, Probing Gaze, Scratching Wolf, and even Spying Eagle's parents, Hovering Dove and Searching Eagle, smiled to see him conscious. Spying Eagle looked at them all, puzzled.

Healing Hand cleared his throat. “I saw you were recovering,” he said, “so I asked a few of your friends here. You've been unconscious a week.”

About to correct him, Spying Eagle saw Rippling Water. The six-year old was blinking rapidly at him. Recalling the children's visits, Spying Eagle realized no one else had been present. “Thank you, Healing Hand,” he said, smiling. “Infinite bless you all for coming.”

“Infinite bless
you
for recovering,” Guarding Bear said with a deep, genial chuckle.

“I knew you'd pull through,” said a boy. Flaming Arrow peeked from behind Bubbling Water. The Matriarch put her arm around his shoulder.

“Now that he's better,” Rippling Water said, “will he have to go back to the dungeons?”

Everyone laughed, and Guarding Bear shook his head. “No, Daughter, he's done nothing wrong. Someone implanted him, remember?”

Weak and tired, Spying Eagle followed the conversation drowsily. Only later, after they had all left, did he realize he hadn't felt compelled to attack Flaming Arrow. I'm all right! Spying Eagle thought. By the grace of the Infinite, I'm all right!

Shortly after the assassination attempt, Flying Arrow formally declared Flaming Arrow his Heir, bestowing the Eastern Heir Sword upon him. The Sword's circuits protected Flaming Arrow from nearly all forms of psychic assault. Nevertheless, the assassins continued to try, three more coming against him in the next ten years.

* * *

To this day, Spying Eagle believed that if he and Flaming Arrow had met under different circumstances, one of them would have died—and perhaps both. Melding Mind's manipulation angered Spying Eagle. Melding Mind's need for revenge saddened him.

“I remember well, my friend,” Healing Hand said. “You're probably the only Imperial assassin ever to have tried, failed and lived to tell about it.”

Spying Eagle smiled, ashamed that his father had used him for so ignominious a purpose.

“So, what happened this time?”

“The Lord Emperor sent me to investigate a rumor. A bandit girl, a Prescient Wizard. He ordered me to return with her if I could, to kill her if I couldn't.”

Healing Hand laughed aloud at the dilemma. “If she were truly prescient, you'd never find her. Why send you at all?”

Smiling, Spying Eagle grunted, looking around. “Orders are orders. In truth I was curious.”

Healing Hand nodded. “If you'd feel more comfortable, we can scramble our emissions.”

Having needed to relay sensitive information in situations ill-suited to secrecy, the two Wizards had developed a system of communication employing every frequency accessible to them. The system operated in much the same way an electrical damper did. The person broadcasting emitted a continuous stream of noise on all frequencies except one. That frequency, which contained the content, changed so rapidly that following the change was nearly impossible. No one had intercepted more than a fragment of information communicated with this system.

The Sorcerer Apprentice nodded, looking around to insure they were at least unobserved. Then he related events:

* * *

After chasing rumor and speculation for weeks without result, Spying Eagle camped one evening a mere mile south of the Tiger Fortress. While plaiting his mahogany hair, he considered his options, and decided that further search would be fruitless. Crawling beneath his blankets beside the dying fire, he composed his mind for sleep, setting apart a segment of mind to guard against intruders.

She appeared suddenly between his knees, grinning.

He struck with his talents. Deftly, she parried his attack and laughed at him. Stunned by her insolence, he stared at her, struggling to slip a shiv of talent past her defenses. The fire flared, lighting lit her features, and he gasped. “You're…”

“Who'd you expect, the Lord Infinite? Unless I've died and been reborn, I'm still me,” the girl said, mocking him.

Emotions tangled within him. “You know my orders.” Normally impenetrable, his shields began to melt under the heat of her probe. No one had ever penetrated his outermost layers of shielding without his permission.

“Why do you resist me? Surely, the man whom no shield obstructs isn't afraid of penetration, eh?” she said, mocking him again. “I know you fear me. Yes, I know your orders.” She relented even though she would have won.

Relieved, Spying Eagle sighed. She can destroy me at whim, he thought. “Thank you for at least coming to meet me, Little Lady. You didn't have to.”

“Our meeting is important, although for reasons different from those your Lord Emperor would give.”

He shook his head. “I don't believe my eyes. I don't know what to think about you.”

“Why not?” she asked, grinning.

“You're the girl Flying Arrow's ordered me to capture or kill.” Running his fingers through her mahogany hair, he shook his head, disbelieving still.

She leaned against him, her head on his shoulder. “You've been in my thoughts for many years, not to harm you but to help you. Despite the madman's orders, you won't capture or kill me, or even try.”

His subconscious prescience confirmed what she said.

Unsheathing a knife, she held it haft upward. The solid chunk of emerald glistened in the firelight. “Father gave this to me after you failed to kill the Heir.”

Assaulted by hatred, sorrow, fear and shame, Spying Eagle held the girl. Like her brother, she was brown of hair, of eye, of skin. “Bless the Infinite that we could meet like this and not on the battlefield where I'm an Imperial Warrior and you're a bandit and we'd each have to kill the other.”

She nodded, her head tucked into his shoulder. They held each other, exchanging parts of self in a psychic communion they knew would end too soon.

“Remember this knife,” she said eventually, bringing them both back to the present. “The man who bears it is your friend and mine.”

“How could I forget it?” Spying Eagle asked angrily.

“Can you forgive Father his actions? He has his own terrible purpose, his own fears and hatreds. The Infinite hasn't given him an easy life. He loves you, even if that's not clear.”

The Wizard looked down, struggling with his hatred and revulsion. The man fathered me, he thought, placed me in a home where I'd receive the best care and instruction, and bestowed inestimable talents upon me. Melding Mind's antipathy toward Flying Arrow must have driven him to disillusion and despair.

“I'll try to forgive him,” Spying Eagle said, knowing he would face fewer tasks more difficult. Wanting to discuss something else, he asked, “What exactly
are
your talents?”

“Wizard-level strength in almost every known talent. Not only can I see all of the past, I can also see millions of futures.”

“What's that like? Fascinating?”

“Perceptual overload and perpetual torture.”

His subconscious prescience confirmed her statement with a force that left him sweating.

“You have the same talents. The first implant suppressed them when you were an infant. If you wish, I can make them available …? Good. I'm glad you don't want them. They've brought me nothing but grief. I wish I could rid myself of them.” Standing, she took off her pack, pulled out a blanket and spread it over him. Stripping to her loincloth, she crawled in beside him.

That night, they slept with minds joined, and in the morning, said farewell.

* * *

“What an honor to have a sister so talented,” Healing Hand said, nodding gravely.

Spying Eagle grunted, cold battlement stone beneath him, ashamed that his sister and father were bandits.

“What did you tell the Lord Emperor?”

“That I found her, that she eluded capture and that she was too powerful to kill. I also pointed out that she had known my orders, and prepared accordingly.” Seeking to talk of something else, anything else, Spying Eagle asked, “How's the Infinite treating you, my friend? Any idea when you'll become Imperial Medacor?”

“None,” Healing Hand said, laughing. “The Lord Spirit will retire when the Infinite takes him. I've long since learned all I can from him, Infinite bless him. Just last week, he suggested that I might better use my talents elsewhere. Perhaps he's right. We both spend a lot of time doing little.” The Medacor Apprentice shrugged, palms open at his shoulders.

“How old is he now? A hundred and five?” Spying Eagle asked.

“One hundred seven, and still in perfect health.”

“Ah, what a privilege to have such length of life.”

Smiling, Healing Hand said, “Indeed, if that's your wish. How about some coffee, Spying Eagle? You can tell me about the rest of your trip.”

“Thank you, Healing Hand, no. I need some time to myself, eh?”

“I sympathize, my friend. The peace of the Infinite be with you.”

“You as well, my friend. Thank you—thank you very much.”

“I feel privileged to have helped.” Healing Hand nodded and turned.

Spying Eagle watched the Medacor Apprentice retreat, liking him greatly, honored to have such a friend. Pulling a portable shield off his belt, Spying Eagle turned a dial to set the circumference. Pushing a button to activate all the frequencies, he flipped a switch. A psychic silence enveloped him.

Only then did he allow his deepest, most personal thoughts to surface:

My father and sister are bandits. My closest friends are Imperial Warriors determined to exterminate all bandits. Dear Lord Infinite, don't force me to choose!

Since his father had used him for revenge and scorned him for failing; since Healing Hand was his friend and unable to trust him because once implanted always susceptible; since his sister Thinking Quick loved him as he loved her but was his enemy even so; since he respected, honored and loved Flaming Arrow like a brother; and since Spying Eagle could never be sure his father wouldn't implant him again to assassinate the Heir, silent discordant tears spilled down Spying Eagle's cheeks.

T
he traffic along this length of thoroughfare is heavy. Nearly all those with business at the Tiger Fortress travel this route. The southern entrance is too close to the border and indefensible against Eastern Empire warriors. The bandit general Scowling Tiger forbade the use of the western and eastern entrances. The northern entrance is thus the only route in and out of the fortress, thousands entering and exiting on any given day.

A variety of people and products of commerce clog the road. The traffic moves slowly. At a quarter-mile north of the actual fortress entrance is the crossroads, where the north-south road meets the east-west road. Here, chaos reigns. The orderly movement of travelers disintegrates into a throng of pushing, shoving, angry individuals, each moving in a direction different from everyone else. The rich and powerful never experience a problem. Warriors go through beforehand to clear the intersection. While easing the passage for that particular bandit noble, clearing the intersection makes problems worse for those who come after.—
The Political Geography
, by Guarding Bear.

* * *

“Why are they all bowing to me?” Seeking Sword whispered nervously, returning yet another. The pair walked away from the fortress, their progress as slow as all the other travelers.

“The Lord Tiger
honors
you,” Thinking Quick replied. Then she giggled, “And Purring Tiger smiled at you.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked, bumping the man ahead and muttering an apology. Dust stung his eyes and tickled his throat.

“No man but you, Lord Sword, has ever complimented her and lived. She hasn't ever smiled at a man and not knifed him immediately afterward.” Someone behind bumped her and apologized.

Those on the right half of the thoroughfare traveled north, those on the left, south. For this stretch of road with its tight pack of travelers, Seeking Sword had strapped his sword to his left hip, preparing to wield it right-handed, if necessary. Although left handed, he fought equally well with his right. “I don't believe you.” Irritably, Seeking Sword bowed again, silently wishing this nonsense would stop. He cursed the dust and the noise and the new annoyance—honor. He found a reason to be grateful for honor, though. Those around them gave him and the girl a little more room to walk. Their fellow travelers didn't want to jostle someone of distinction, wanting not to offend.

“If you don't believe me, Lord Sword, ask someone,” Thinking Quick said, grinning.

Seeking Sword had heard a few stories about Purring Tiger's predilection for knifing men who smiled at her. The young man scoffed. “I refuse to ask anyone such a silly question!”

“You! Lord Parrot!” Thinking Quick called to someone approaching.

A middle-aged warrior waved from the south bound side of the road. Bowing as he came abreast, he joined them on the north-bound side briefly. “Eh, Lady Quick? How's your father?”

“Same old grouch, Lord Parrot. This is Seeking Sword, Lord.” The two men exchanged greetings. Nods sufficed for obeisances on the packed path. “What happened, Lord Parrot, the last time someone called the Lady Tiger beautiful?”

The older man laughed. “Eh, Lady Quick? I don't know. I do know what happened when my son said to her, 'Your hair is like flowing midnight.' She shoved her sword into his brain from under his chin.”

“Why did she do that?” Seeking Sword asked ingenuously.

“Eh, Lord Sword? She said later she didn't want to stain the rug in the Lair.”

“No, no, I meant, 'Why did she kill him, Lord Parrot?' ”

“Eh, Lord Sword? Why did she kill all those other men? If you don't know and I don't know, then only the Infinite knows—or perhaps Purring Tiger.” The man bent and whispered into the girl's ear. “I thought your friends were a little smarter than this one, eh Lady Quick?”

She laughed and shook her head.

“You don't hate her for killing your son, Lord Parrot?”

“Eh, Lord Sword? She's done it so many times before that if my son in his Infinite-bestowed stupidity wished to die on her blade then that was his affair, not mine.”

“Thank you, Lord Parrot,” Thinking Quick said. “My friend was curious.”

“Eh, Lady Quick? He's the one she smiled at today, eh?”

“That's him, Lord.”

“Eh, Lord Sword, the Infinite has already blessed you—twice today! So I won't. Farewell, Lord Sword, Lady Quick.” Squawking Parrot—squawking every time he began to speak—nodded to them both and stepped into the throng moving southward.

The ravine grew narrower as it approached the crossroads. The dust and crowding increased. Two outcrops defined the end of the ravine. Atop each outcrop, the Tiger Raiders had built a tall tower, each manned by a hundred bandits. Arrow slits cut the walls, and jagged battlements crowned them. Automatically, from long training, Seeking Sword assessed their strategic value, seeing how well they straddled the main access to the Tiger Fortress.

Looking down from the battlements, guards noticed his assessing.

Dropping his gaze to the backs of the travelers ahead, Seeking Sword wondered for the thousandth time at how quickly rumor spread. Squawking Parrot had already known that Purring Tiger had smiled at him twice not an hour before. The young man thought what a blessing even a single psychic talent would be. Not having one, he often wondered at his lack.

Still, he found it difficult to reconcile what he had heard about the bandit general's daughter and heiress against what he had seen with his own eyes. Every time he had interacted with her, Purring Tiger had been a demure young lady. He realized too that he had had limited contact with her, their interactions nothing beyond what was polite. I haven't seen anything to indicate she's a violent woman with a passion for sticking her knife in men, Seeking Sword thought. Not today, and not on the hunt ten months ago when I first met Scowling Tiger.

He and Thinking Quick pressed through the chaos of the crossroads and onto the least used of the four roads, the north one. “Now we can put some path behind us, eh?” the girl said, leaping forward with long, ground-eating strides.

Nodding, Seeking Sword settled into a casual lope and soon caught up with her. As usual with travel, his mind began to wander among memories, and he recalled the hunt, and remembered it well, having lost his innocence.

* * *

Hunting alone, as usual, Seeking Sword followed a game trail, hoping to pick up a fresh spoor and his evening meal. His skin pale under the late-winter sun, he had tucked his bronze hair neatly beneath his cap to conceal the scintillating strands. The boy followed the trail to a small clearing surrounded by manzanita bushes, the forest floor littered with their aromatic leaves.

He felt more than heard the thunder of hooves.

Crouching, he waited. Soon the sounds became audible, coming at him from across ten paces of flat ground between him and a tall, thick stand of manzanita. Not able to see over the bushes, he mentally tracked what sounded like a huge quadruped—perhaps a moose. He felt the ground shake beneath him. The thrash of brush alarmed him as well, the animal so panicked it created its own path through the forest. His fear grew when he realized that the direction whence the sound was coming hadn't changed. The beast was coming straight at him!

By then he knew it too late to seek cover.

The rack and head of the moose appeared above the manzanita. The beast plunged through. In one swift motion, Seeking Sword notched an arrow and let fly, throwing himself as far as he could from the path of the behemoth.

The hooves missed him by inches, shaking the ground like an earthquake. The moose plowed headlong into a pine tree and died. With the sharp crack of wood splitting lengthwise, the tree groaned mightily, as if bewailing its fate. Then it wavered, twisted and fell, crashing into undergrowth.

In the silence, Seeking Sword pushed himself to one knee, dizzy. After a moment, he felt steady enough to gain his feet. He stepped toward the moose. The large, foot-wide hooves still shook, the last tremors of death upon the beast. Tangled in one hoof was his bow—now twisted, splintered and useless.

A single bird ventured to sing.

The proportions of the moose awed him. At the shoulders it was almost as wide as he was tall. The rack of antler, one half laying along the ground, the other pointing at the sky, was twice as tall as he. He took off his cap and wiped his brow.

A squirrel chattered, the forest coming back to life.

Voices floated from the wake of the moose. Turning, he found a full-grown tiger staring at him.

Regretting that he no longer had a bow, Seeking Sword stepped away from the moose. The cat just wants to feed, he thought.

The tiger growled and moved to cut off his escape.

Odd, he thought, and began to draw his sword.

The cat lifted a paw and showed him its claws, each as long as a knife.

Sliding the blade back in the sheath, Seeking Sword on a whim sat down.

The tiger eased itself to its belly, purring.

“So,” he said. “How long until your mistress gets here?”

The big, striped tail thumped three times.

Laughing, Seeking Sword relaxed, knowing now the tiger was tame. He needed only to wait for the arrival of Purring Tiger, probably her father Scowling Tiger, and certainly the passel of retainers and servants without whom neither bandit traveled.

The first to appear was Raging River. Laying eyes on Seeking Sword, the old retainer drew his sword and rushed toward him, screaming, “Traitor!”

The tiger spun and reared, disarmed Raging River with one paw and knocked him to the ground with the other, stopping his charge. Pinning him, the tiger roared to deafen.

Laughter followed the roar. Scowling Tiger pushed through the manzanita, guffawing at the sight of his vassal helpless beneath the tiger's paws. Then his laughter ended abruptly. He stared straight at Seeking Sword.

Suddenly, Scowling Tiger and Raging River both twisted in agony. The tiger sped away, as if fleeing from a larger predator.

“You stupid, muck-eating bandits!” came a curse in the voice of a girl. “He kills where neither of you could and all you want to do is take his head for it!” The girl suddenly appeared a foot in front of Scowling Tiger. Brown of hair and skin, she planted her fists on her hips in defiance. “Is that how you reward someone?”

“Get out of my head, little witch!” Scowling Tiger groaned, his hands to his head in pain.

“Promise me you won't kill him!” the girl demanded.

Behind her, another girl appeared, her black hair pulled tightly back into a braid.

Purring Tiger, Seeking Sword guessed. Who's the girl tormenting Scowling Tiger? he wondered.

“I promise but you'll have the Infinite to pay for this!” the bandit general gasped, his eyes a squint.

“I'll gladly refund your misery,” the girl said, turning.

Scowling Tiger and Raging River both pulled their hands away from their heads, blinking and wiping at their eyes.

“Infinite be with you, Seeking Sword. I'm Thinking Quick. You've probably guessed everyone else's name.”

Standing, the young man tried to make his voice work. He cleared his throat and nearly gagged. “Infinite be with you, Lady Quick,” he said, his voice still thick and slow with fear. “The blessings of the Infinite upon you, Lord General Tiger. Forgive me for ending your hunt so abruptly. I had to kill or the moose would've trampled me. Allow me to offer the humble carcass of this moose, Lord, as a token of my regret.” Dropping to one knee, Seeking Sword lowered his head nearly to the dust.

“Not to worry, Lord Sword,” Scowling Tiger said genially. “As the Lady Quick said, the moose got away from us. How many arrows did you have to put in him, eh?”

“I wasn't able to launch but one, Lord,” Seeking Sword replied.

“What? You brought this majestic beast to its end with one? I'd like to see where you put
that
arrow.” The bandit general looked up at the puny, twisted, splintered bow hanging precariously from a hoof far above their heads. “May I examine the corpse, Lord Sword?”

Other members of the hunting party began to arrive: warriors, baggers, thrashers, cooks—and of course many, many servants.

“Since it's yours, of course, Lord Tiger. I'd never kill an animal so large. There's far too much meat for me to eat.” Gesturing the older man over, Seeking Sword stepped around to the head, backing up to the splintered tree trunk. Feeling carefully, he parted the wiry mane just below the base of the skull, using his fingers to see. Deep in the thick hair, a half-inch of arrowhead protruded.

“Infinite blast me, severed the spinal cord,” Scowling Tiger murmured. “Where did the arrow enter?”

The boy shook his head, feeling through the beast's rough beard.

“I see no injury at all with my talent.” Scowling Tiger gestured him aside to examine the corpse himself.

“Oh, Lord?” Seeking Sword said, slowly concluding—

“You shot him in the mouth, Lord Sword!” Thinking Quick said.

Scowling Tiger's eyes went wide. “Show us what happened.”

Seeking Sword walked over to where he had crouched and narrated events.

“You had the bow in hand when you saw the beast?”

“Yes, Lord Tiger. I was ready, having heard it approach.” He lied, deciding not to say his bow had been on his back.

“I want to see you shoot,” Scowling Tiger said. “That's your bow?” he asked, pointing upward. At Seeking Sword's nod, the bandit general turned. “Raging River, give him your bow!”

“Lord Tiger, I humbly ask permission to keep all my weapons that I may guard you better.” Having retrieved his sword, he now carried it loose in his hands and twisted it slowly.

Scowling Tiger cast a baleful look at his vassal.

“Please give me permission to kill this boy despite the cretin's demand!”

“You will obey and give him your bow!”

“No, Lord Tiger,” Raging River said. “I'd rather fall on my knife.” The gray-haired bandit knelt, unsheathing a blade.

“Stop him,” Scowling Tiger said calmly.

“Yes, Lord.” Thinking Quick extended a hand. Raging River froze, immobilized by her talent.