The Heir (Fall of the Swords Book 3) (12 page)

“You'll probably hover over me to insure I miss not a morsel.”

Cub smiled.

Wanting to pursue his idea, Flaming Arrow nevertheless sat and ate.

As he scraped the last of the food onto his fork, Probing Gaze walked up and let the attendants undress him.

“Lord Gaze, just the man I wanted to see,” Flaming Arrow said. “I want a complete profile on this bandit Seeking Sword.”

“Yes, Lord.” The Colonel sat on the small stool, where an attendant doused him. “The name isn't familiar, so if I do have any information, Lord Heir, it won't be much.”

“Check with the Matriarch Water at my behest, Lord Gaze. Ten to one she knows something. My reputed grandfather, Scratching Wolf, might also know something, since he commands the Eastern Windy Mountains. All I know is what you heard the sentry say. Make this your top priority, Lord Gaze. I have the feeling I'll need every bit of information.”

“Yes, Lord Heir.” Probing Gaze leaned forward, an attendant scrubbing his back. “I guess I can't say anything to dissuade you, can I, Lord?”

“Not likely,” Flaming Arrow said, looking in the direction of the Tiger Fortress.

“This head will be the most difficult to take, Lord Arrow. You won't have my help, the Lord Oak's, or any Imperial Warrior's.”

“Which makes my success is that much more important.”

* * *

Why don't you slit your belly right here right now? Probing Gaze wanted to tell him. It will be a better death than the one you're sure to receive on a filthy bandit blade. Of course, the sectathon said nothing. Flaming Arrow had his own fate and his own way of meeting that fate. Nothing Probing Gaze could say would deflect him.

A servant rinsed off the last of the lather. Standing, he climbed into the nearly scalding water. “I'll also send for all the information I have on the Tiger Raiders and the hundred most important bandits among them.” He closed his eyes contentedly.

“Why go to all that trouble?” Flaming Arrow asked.

“Lord Heir, forgive me my presumption,” Probing Gaze said. “You'll study all the information I give you until you can recite it back to me. If you can't fathom why you need such preparation, then you'll need another assistant.”

Flaming Arrow looked at the other man, indignant.

Lazily, arrogantly, Probing Gaze probed him with a half-open eye.

The Heir suddenly guffawed. “As you wish, Lord Colonel Gaze. You're as demanding as the Lord Bear.”

A small smile appeared on his lips. “That's high praise, Lord Heir.” The lid slid shut.

“You've earned it, Lord Gaze. I like your insisting I do something from which I'll benefit. Your willingness to risk incurring my wrath is a characteristic I value. I hope to have people like you beside me always.”

Smiling, Probing Gaze stood and bowed deeply, his face to the surface of the water. Flaming Arrow acknowledged, smiling back.

* * *

“Eeeeee! We wiped our asses with their faces this time!” Aged Oak exclaimed. Truculently walking up, sword sheathed but loose in his hands, he bowed deeply to the Heir. Nodding to the Colonel's obeisance, the General stepped toward the small stool. Attendants began to undress him.

“What are our losses, Lord General?” Flaming Arrow asked.

“Eh, you don't want a bandit head-count?” The wrinkled, naked General sat on the stool, where an attendant doused him.

“No, Lord, I don't. How many Imperial Warriors are dead?”

Aged Oak shrugged. “Those bandits are newly-hatched turtles scrambling for the safety of the surf, Lord Heir. I didn't ask about our warriors.”

“All right, Lord General. In the future, I want you to concern yourself as much with Imperial losses as with bandit losses. They're citizens first, warriors second, eh?”

“Yes, Lord,” Aged Oak said, looking annoyed. He wondered when the young man—boy! he amended in thought—would outgrow this unseemly concern for what was, after all, meat proud to throw itself into the grinder. An attendant finished scrubbing him, and another rinsed off the suds.

“Well, since you know, how many bandits died, Lord General?”

“Seven thousand, Lord Heir, plus or minus a few hundred.” Aged Oak rose to get in the bath, a wrinkled hand still holding the sword.

Probing Gaze rose to vacate the tub for his superior.

“Better than at the Cougar Camp. How long to clean up here?”

“Three, four days, Lord Heir.” The wrinkled General sank chin-deep in steaming water while an attendant dried Probing Gaze.

“How long to gather all that information, Lord Gaze?”

The feisty whelp's got a tick in his ear! Aged Oak thought.

“Maximum two weeks, Lord Heir,” the sectathon said, slipping on a proffered robe.

“You have ten days, Lord Colonel. Lord Oak, during that time I want you to send Imperial Warriors deep into the northern lands. All the bandits who escaped the two attacks had to go somewhere. If you have the chance to slip a few spies into the Tiger Fortress as refugees, do it. Lord Gaze, what do you know about these farms that the Bandit Council operates?”

Listen to that boy talk, the way he jumps from one thought to another! the old warrior thought.

“That they're well-run, profitable, and benefit all bandits, Lord Heir.”

“Lord Oak, can you spare enough men for an attack up north?”

Infinite blast, why can't I follow his thinking, eh? He's more slimy than an eel and has twice the charge of an electric one, Aged Oak thought, frowning. “Eh? Well, yes, Lord Heir. What's the point?”

“To hurt the bandits as much as possible. How long until harvest? Three weeks, a month? I want those crops destroyed, Lord Oak.”

“With pleasure, Lord Heir. Forgive me for not suggesting it myself.”

* * *

Flaming Arrow waved that away. Aged Oak was a superior tactician, but a mediocre strategist. “Listen, isn't the Bandit Council just Scowling Tiger's puppet? When I take his head, I predict one of two results. Either they'll have factions among them struggle for command of the fortress, where half the bandits will slaughter the other half or at least eject them from the fortress. That, or Purring Tiger will immediately exert her control with a small bloodbath, and she'll spend the next month consolidating her command. In either case, the Council will have no backing and no protection.

“I want you to send five galleys up the coast, Lord Oak. Destroy the silk factories and any other installation within easy reach. That's the time for another force to burn the crops. You should achieve these two objectives when I remove Scowling Tiger's head, within hours if you can. These two assault forces should then converge on Seat. With the luck of the Infinite, we'll destroy Seat
and
the Bandit Council.”

The Colonel and General looked at each other—and laughed.

“Oh, how I wish I were younger, Lord Heir,” Aged Oak squealed, slapping the water. “Then I'd see you become Emperor and grind all
four
Empires into submission!”

Flaming Arrow smiled blandly. “I want to see you two in my tent at dawn. Until then, try to find flaws in the plan. I want to hear your objections tomorrow.” Standing, the Heir nodded to each man's obeisance. He walked off looking more confident than he felt, fears crowding in upon him.

Centuries ago, a pair of identical twin Emperors had ruled the Northern and Eastern Empires. The castle from which the twins had governed was now the Tiger Fortress. Knowing he would eventually have to destroy the fortress, Flaming Arrow thought it ironic that his brother had died so young. He wondered if the Eastern Empire might have avoided this war of attrition with bandits—if his brother had only lived beyond infancy.

The question would bother him for years.

“T
he man who pulls a bow better than you will inherit your domains, Young Lord.” The eyes of the prophetess wandered wildly below a wrinkled, sweaty brow.

Scowling Tiger frowned at her. Twenty years old, he had just inherited two prefectures upon the death of his father, Stretching Tiger. Already the new Prefect was having problems. The Caven Hills peasants had murdered seven tax collectors in the last two weeks. Impotent to stop them, he had asked Smoking Arrow for help; the Emperor hadn't yet responded to his request. Now, this seeress tells me lies, Scowling Tiger thought, determined to hold onto everything bequeathed him.

Then, as though of its own volition, his sword was out and swinging.

The head of the prophetess bounced once on the table before falling to the floor, and her body slumped from the chair a moment later…

Better than dry discourse, this fictional account of the fateful prophecy shows Scowling Tiger's turmoil during the Caven Hills revolt. The irony is that the seventy-year-old prophetess, not known for her prescient sight, was from Guarding Bear's natal village.—
The Long Descent of Scowling Tiger
, by Keeping Track.

* * *

In the Lair, the gloom-filled main hall of the Tiger Fortress, Scowling Tiger shifted nervously on the dais, sweating. Purring Tiger stood a pace behind him and to the side, Raging River a pace ahead and to the other side.

Spitting Wolverine's ambassador to the Tiger Raiders, Driveling Badger, had just reported that his liege lord had died earlier that day. The psychic flow from across the border and from the Wolverine Camp confirmed everything Driveling Badger had said. As with the previous band, the Eastern Armed Forces had obliterated half the Wolverine Raiders. Although no one had sighted him, the speculation was that the Heir Flaming Arrow had struck again, moving inexorably westward.

His left fist propped on his thigh, Scowling Tiger wanted badly to believe something else, anything else. When news of the second slaughter had first reached him, his sack had shriveled. I can't let Driveling Badger see my fear, the bandit general thought. “How do you know it was the Heir?” he asked, frantic.

“Sectathons recognized the signature of Probing Gaze, the Heir's assistant, Lord General,” Driveling Badger replied. “Also, just across the border, commanding the Eastern Armed Forces, was Aged Oak. Please excuse me, Lord General, but wasn't this the pattern at the Lord Cougar's camp?”

“The Heir doesn't
have
any habits! Why do something the same way twice?”

“It's unexpected, Lord Tiger.” Shrugging, Driveling Badger wiped spittle from the corner of his mouth.

“Lord River, I want
wit
nesses,” Scowling Tiger said. “Offer food, weapons, memberships, whatever. I want to know what happened!”

“Yes, Lord.” Raging River wrung the haft of sword with a calloused, gnarled hand. With the other, he pointed at a subordinate and issued several telepathic orders.

Scowling Tiger's senses told him to dismiss Drooling Badger quickly. “What now, Lord Badger? You're welcome to join my band now that you don't have one.” The bandit general detested the man and preferred him dead.

“Forgive me, Lord Tiger, I must refuse. My allegiance to the Lord Wolverine is no less now that he's dead. With your permission, I'll leave in the morning to avenge my liege lord. I realize I might not succeed. I
have
to try, though. I have to.”

His example heartened all the bandits in the Lair. Gravely, they bowed more deeply to him than his station merited. Backing from the room, Driveling Badger wiped his mouth, returned the obeisance, turned and left.

The man has more courage than I thought, Scowling Tiger mused. “Lord River, see that he has escorts, arms, provisions. If he can assassinate the Heir where four times I've failed, the Infinite will surely keep his soul.”

“Yes, Lord.” Raging River pointed at another subordinate, who fled the Lair.

“Next: Conference in one half-hour, room number one. I want you, the Lords Blade, Mind, Comfort and Elephant, as well as any members of the Bandit Council here at the Fortress, to join me.

“Yes, Lord Tiger. What about the cretin?”

“Is she back?” Scowling Tiger hoped she was dead.

“She and the Lord Sword returned this morning, Lord.”

The bandit general knew he couldn't keep her away. “Order her to attend on pain of death, and politely request the Lord Sword's presence.”

“Forgive me, Lord, but may I remove his head?”

“No, you blathering idiot! Now, find everyone yourself!”

“Yes, Lord.” His face a rock, Raging River bowed, his hand worrying the hilt.

When he had gone, Scowling Tiger gestured his daughter to sit beside him. “Turd-eating, motherless, hole-tongueing imbecile,” he said genially, liking the old retainer. “What do
you
think?”

“That for his third head,” Purring Tiger replied, “the Heir will change his pattern. He'll come after you alone, Father. You'd better kill Seeking Sword as Raging River advises, because only then will you truly know the Heir when you face him.”

“How could I kill the father of my grandson, eh?” Scowling Tiger saw the sharp intake of breath and the widening of her liquid, quicksilver eyes. Ah, I supposed correctly, he thought. “Besides, dear Daughter, you'll need him after I die. Yes, with buckets of bloodshed, you might initially take command of this dung-hill. Eventually, though, all the eligible males will vie for your attentions by trying to exert control over all the other eligible males. Nothing will destroy this band faster than every man's letting his erection do his thinking for him.”

She nodded. “How did you know, Father?”

He glanced toward the moosehead mounted above the main entrance of the Lair. Inside the open mouth, he could just see the feathers of the arrow. “Remember how Raging River and I wanted to kill him on that hunt? I sent you to ask him to stay for coffee in the hope that you'd knife him. You didn't, because he charmed us both that first time we met him. Besides, the timing was right. Promise me you'll take Seeking Sword to mate if the Heir assassinates me, Daughter. With his tongue of honey and his swordsmanship and his archery and his carriage, he'll hold these morons beguiled. Already Seeking Sword's reputation precedes him, and his face is vast, eh?”

* * *

Purring Tiger searched her father's face, remembering the prophecy.

“The man who pulls a bow better than you will inherit your domains, Young Lord,” the prophetess had said so many years ago.

No one but Seeking Sword had ever pulled better than the bandit general. No one but Seeking Sword had ever made her tingle like that, just by smiling at her. That night, because he had been clumsy, she had known she was his first, as he was hers, and because of that her pleasure had mounted. Only the electrical shield that she had set nearby had contained her joy and kept the hunting party from sharing the vicarious bliss. Only the thought that she might ruin her reputation had kept her from crying her ecstasy aloud as she had eased herself onto his fullness and had taken all of him into her. Never again would bandits have thought her implacable and ruthless, not after she had sheathed his majestic sword in seeking communion with the Infinite.

Purring Tiger brought herself back to the present, to her father's request. “Yes, Father, I promise.” She saw he was watching her.

“Ah, he has a princely pestle besides. Good for a man to be well-endowed. Good for his mate as well, if she has the juices.”

Purring Tiger blushed, thinking of him and nodding.

“I can see you'll do as I ask.” Scowling Tiger put his arms around her. “I love you, Daughter, even if I don't say it much or show it much.”

I'll have to ask Thinking Quick how much longer Father will live, Purring Tiger thought, hearing finality in his voice. Intuitively, she knew not long. She returned his embrace and enjoyed the warmth and love he was giving her this moment.

“One more matter,” he said, pulling away. “When I'm dead, kill the cretin. Melding Mind, too. His loyalty is questionable anyway. Did you know Thinking Quick's brother is the Sorcerer Apprentice?”

She shook her head. “No, I didn't know. Why kill them, Father? Why not use them against Spying Eagle?”

“Wizards are formidable, talented, unpredictable. Ask yourself why Flying Arrow tolerates that dolt, Exploding Illusion.”

“He's incompetent,” she replied immediately.

Scowling Tiger smiled. “Kill them the moment I die.”

“Yes, Father.” Can I kill my friend, my
only
friend? she wondered.

“I said a week ago that the Heir would come against us bandits.”

She had grown accustomed to her father's unpredictable thoughts. “He has certainly fulfilled his requirements—a thousandfold,” she replied. “Twelve thousand bandits dead behind him, and he hasn't
half-
finished.”

“You speak of him almost with admiration, Daughter.”

“You taught me that one can sometimes admire an enemy more than an ally. Perhaps we can learn, even from
him
.”

“Let's hope we don't have to learn on the edge of his sword, eh?”

“Infinite forbid it, yes.” The mention of his sword stirred her intuition, but like water through fingers, the idea eluded her. She felt she had missed something important.

Standing, Scowling Tiger helped her to her feet and hugged her again. “See that the conference room is ready. I'll join you there shortly.” He walked off toward the immense rack of antler.

From where she stood, she could just see the feathers of the arrow that had killed the moose. Involuntarily, she shuddered, remembering the old woman's prophecy.

Taking a side door, she left the Lair and walked toward her rooms high in the Tiger Fortress. Sprawled in front of the door, the menagerie tiger yawned and stretched, getting to her feet to greet her. Scratching the animal, Purring Tiger entered and immediately checked the nursery. Burning Tiger slept soundly, the wet nurse quietly tidying the room.

For a moment, she stood above the crib, looking down at her son.

His
son.

Satisfied all was well, Purring Tiger retrieved a haunch of deer from the pantry. With her trace levitation, she carried it into the corridor and gave it to the animal. Only she ever fed the tiger. The tiger accepted food only from her, unless she hunted it down herself.

She then walked to the conference room, where servants prepared coffee and snacks. The table was circular, ten feet in diameter, and topped with glass. Beneath the glass was a detailed map of the Windy Mountains, the Tiger Fortress at the center. Southeast of the fortress, the edge of table slicing it in half, was Emparia Castle.

She stared at the map, entranced, her thoughts elsewhere.

While she stared, the servants left, their preparations finished.

Something brought her to and she spun to find him looking straight into her eyes as he always did and never at her body as every other man did and because of this she moistened enough to send a drop trickling down the inside of her thigh and when she realized they were alone she stepped into his arms.

Into safety.

“It
was
you that night,” he whispered, his breath warm on her neck.

She pulled back, looked up into his deep, gray-blue eyes and saw her immense joy reflected. “Not now, but soon you can meet your son.”

“I'd like that,” he replied with a smile. Neither his tone nor manner betrayed surprise. “The others will be here soon.” A hand on each of her shoulders, Seeking Sword eased her gently away.

She craved to embrace him. “I'm not afraid of their knowing.”

“I know, but a better time to tell will come.”

Purring Tiger nodded as he stepped away, wanting to hold him.

He circled the table, his attention on the map. “I think of you much of the time.”

Knowing his desire was as great eased the ache in her loins. “You put eight arrows into a space smaller than my palm. Father launched seven, but not as accurately. No one has ever beaten him at the pull.”

“It was the hand of the Infinite.”

“It was the hand of Seeking Sword,” she retorted. They smiled at each other. “A prophetess said long ago that the man who pulled a bow better than Father would inherit his domains. He killed her to still her lies, then practiced until he was better than anyone else.”

The young man chuckled. “Are you as good a shot as he?”

“Almost, but I can't shoot as far or as long.”

* * *

Leaping Elk's ambassador to the Tiger Raiders, Lumbering Elephant, appeared in the doorway behind Purring Tiger. She moved away from the door and stood in front of a chair three away from the one Seeking Sword had chosen.

“Lord Elephant,” Seeking Sword said, bowing deeply. Lumbering Elephant had known Seeking Sword all his life and had been one of his many teachers.

“Lord Sword,” Lumbering Elephant said, nodding. “An unexpected pleasure to see you.”

“The Lord General Tiger has honored me with an invitation to be here today—which I find a bit of a mystery.”

“The Lord Elk had wondered where you'd gone off to, Lord Sword.”

“A short excursion up north with the Lady Quick,” he said, shrugging. “The Lady Tiger and I were discussing the Lord Tiger's skill at archery.”

The large levithon greeted her. She ignored him.

“With practice, Lady, you might shoot as well as the Lord Tiger,” Seeking Sword said.

“I might, Lord,” she replied tersely, her words clipped, her manner now cold.

One moment warm, affirming, nurturing—and now she's an iceberg, Seeking Sword thought. I don't understand her.

Others entered the room, few of whom Seeking Sword knew. No one seemed to find his presence strange. The newcomers exchanged greetings and bows amid subdued conversation. Then in rapid succession, Thinking Quick, Raging River and Scowling Tiger strode into the room.

Circling the table, the bandit general sat beside his daughter's chair. Raging River stood behind his liege lord, sword loose. Only Scowling Tiger had sat. As a group, they bowed to him. The bandit general nodded and examined the table while the others took seats. Moccasins and chair legs scraped the floor. A minute later everyone had found seats and was looking toward Scowling Tiger. Only breathing broke the silence.