The Heir (Fall of the Swords Book 3) (18 page)

“Then
kill
him, Lord Tiger! Immediately!”

“He dies at dawn, Lord Sword. I've played him like a fish. I have him believing his disguise fooled me. He made one fatal mistake: The other refugees treat him like a leader. Everyone naturally gravitates toward the man who's of noble birth and upbringing. Like you, Seeking Sword, his carriage and training exalt him to command. His own character betrayed him.”

Thinking Quick suddenly materialized at the top of the stairs.

Scowling Tiger turned to look. “Pest! What are you doing here—?”

Flaming Arrow drew and slashed, grabbing the head by the hair as it tumbled from the neck. The body crumpled onto the balustrade, blood squirting into the darkness. Flaming Arrow gave it a nudge, sending it over parapet, down mountainside, into darkness.

“Nice cut, bastard,” Thinking Quick said without antipathy. “Let's go.” She threw him a leather satchel with a drawstring.

Flaming Arrow held up the head and spat in its face, feeling a great satisfaction that this nemesis of the Eastern Empire and of Guarding Bear was finally dead. Slipping the head into satchel and cinching it shut, he tied it to his weapons belt, tore a strip from the bottom of his robes to wipe his blade, and sheathed the Heir Sword.

She led him back the way they had come. All the guards they passed bowed deeply to him. When they entered the secret unlighted passageways, he put his hand on her shoulder as before. “Won't sentries find his body?”

“Not unless it fell halfway down the mountain,” she replied. “No sentries on the upper half.” She led him inexorably downward.

At one point in the lightless descent, he said, “We've passed the dormitory.”

She shrugged, indifferent.

Not much later, she stopped. “Since you don't know the way, I'll have to accompany you to the exit. Stay right beside me.” She pushed on something. A stone slab swung quietly inward, the hum of motor faintly audible. Beyond was a dimly lit corridor. He followed her into it, all his senses screaming with alarm.

This smaller corridor joined larger ones. Soon the passageway was wide enough for ten abreast. Far ahead he saw sentries. They came to attention as he and the girl approached.

“Good to have you back, Lord Sword,” one said as they both bowed to the pair.

“Good to
be
back, Lord,” Flaming Arrow said, nodding, wondering why the guard didn't think to question that he was now leaving before having entered. He guessed that the fortress had secret entrances in addition to secret passageways. Beyond the guards was cool night air. The smell of freedom exhilarated the Heir.

As the Heir and the girl passed between the two guards, psychic and sonic alarms went off. Heavy metal doors crashed into place a foot behind them.

“That vermin-infested animal must have found the body,” Thinking Quick said, sprinting into the ravine, Flaming Arrow right behind her. “Blast! She's ordered you killed!
None
of this was in my visions!”

Arrows hissed down from above, the girl deflecting them.

A bandit threw himself from the lip of the ravine, the walls vertical. Flaming Arrow sidestepped and sliced through him as he crashed to the ground. The Heir measured the distance. The bandit had jumped nearly thirty feet. Further along, ten bandits massed on a ledge on the left. Thinking Quick incinerated them, ashes replacing bandits and collapsing in a cascade of gray dust. Ahead, the twin guard towers near the outlet came alight. Brilliant floodlamps lit the ravine, nearly blinding the Heir and the girl.

From the towers issued hundreds of bandits.

The girl stopped and turned to face him. “Take my head, Bastard.”

“What? Absolutely not!” Flaming Arrow glanced toward the towers.

The bandits approached slowly, their quarry trapped in the meadow between two ridges. About two hundred paces separated the mass of bandits and the pair that had killed the bandit general Scowling Tiger.

“You think I want to live with the shame of having betrayed my liege lord?” Thinking Quick asked. “You think other bandits will let me live? You think anyone anywhere would ever trust me? Be merciful and kill me now!” Then she drew her sword and attacked him, wielding her sword like a seasoned warrior, giving him no choice.

As her head toppled from her shoulders, Flaming Arrow ducked a blow from behind, a bandit having approached from the fortress. The Heir parried, slashed, evaded a thrust at his hip and sank his sword into the bandit's breast. The weight at his hip grew lighter. The bandit had cut the leather satchel, and the head had rolled free. From the direction of the fortress three more bandits attacked. He parried two of three blades. The third cut his right forearm, the wound shallow. Then two swords were singing for his throat. He knew he was a—

—dead man. A root caught his foot and sent him heels over head into brush.

Disoriented, he looked into a sky of azure, which pinkened toward the east with dawn.

Disentangling himself from (blankets) brush, he stepped onto a game trail. He tried to remember what had happened between the time he fought bandits under a black sky and the time he tumbled into brush under a pre-dawn sky.

There simply wasn't anything to remember.

Again, he retraced events, backing up further. The satchel tore, he killed, the head rolled free, three attacked, they cut his arm, two blades slashed for his throat, the root tripped him.

Incomprehensible, thought Flaming Arrow.

His arm, he saw, had no injury, nor even a scar.

The head? It wasn't in the torn leather satchel! He started to panic, but detected (a note) extra weight in his pack. He wriggled out of it and checked inside.

His relief was profound. He still had Scowling Tiger's head. How had it gotten into his pack? How had his arm healed? How had he escaped from more than a hundred bandits trapping him in the ravine north of the Tiger Fortress?

Flaming Arrow stilled the questions, not knowing if he were still in bandit territory. He decided then to put the matter away until his survival was less of a priority. Only the Infinite knew if he'd resolve the mystery. He had to trust that he would. He closed his eyes, reaching deep inside for faith. He first had to get across the border. Finding moss on a nearby tree, he oriented himself.

Slowly, the Heir Flaming Arrow headed for the border.

Wondering if he were insane.

* * *

—dead man if he didn't block both blades with telekinesis. That done, he cooked the brains of all three bandits with pyrokinesis. With a moment to spare, he bent to grab the head of Scowling Tiger. Beside it was Thinking Quick's. How did
that
happen? he wondered. Reaching for Scowling Tiger's head, he felt a twinge on his right arm. He saw the cut and healed it seamlessly. Straightening, he stuffed the bandit general's head in his pack and looked toward the twin towers. The bandits who had issued from them now rushed toward him, all their swords held high, screaming.

Holding the haft of the sword with both hands, blade hanging vertically toward the ground, he summoned his concentration. The ruby-colored plastic covering the diamond began to glow red, then melted and peeled away from the precious stone beneath. Blazing with inner light, the diamond flashed, pulsating rhythmically in time with his heartbeat. He measured ambient psychic energy; individual bandits were trying to wound or kill him with their talents. Smiling, he gathered what he needed. With a blast of chill far colder than polar winds, he froze every bandit in his path, their shields strong but no barrier to his unstoppable beam.

Only a glittering crowd of frozen statues now barred his escape.

Stepping through them, having to topple a few they were so thick, he gained the crossroads without trouble.

Once he was on the east-west road, he turned westward. No one pursued him or impeded his progress. He began to run, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the fortress.

The sky began to pale. His legs, though strong, began to tire. In the wake of talent usage, his mind grew weary. He knew he would have to stop soon or he would be—

Seeking Sword woke screaming from the nightmare. Stunned, disoriented, he looked into a sky of azure, which pinkened toward the east with dawn. He bit the ham of his right thumb until he tasted blood, strangling his scream.

His companions woke as well. The medacor Magic Finger rose, blood dripping from a cut on his right arm.

Seeking Sword went pale. Where he had dreamt his own cut had been.

The medacor healed the wound, his expression puzzled. Then he saw that Flashing Blade and Searching Owl, sitting up where they had slept, had similar cuts. He stepped over to treat them. Then Magic Finger looked toward Seeking Sword. “Your arm's all right, Lord Sword?”

He nodded, terror welling up inside him.

“Have a bad dream?” Flashing Blade asked him.

Again, Seeking Sword nodded, feeling suddenly cold. “Scowling Tiger and Thinking Quick are dead,” he said quietly.

“How do you know?!” the pyrathon asked, murder on his face.

“I dreamt it, Lord Blade. I saw their heads in the dirt, beside each other.” The calm in his voice surprised him.

“My arm's bleeding again,” Searching Owl said.

Flashing Blade looked at his right arm. As he watched, the cut reopened and began to bleed.

Seeking Sword disentangled himself from (brush) blankets and stood in the dew-saturated air, shivering from more than cold. He picked up his sword, touching the ruby on the haft, remembering a diamond.

Behind him, Magic Finger said, “I can feel my talent working to keep my arm healed. If I stop my talent, my wound will reopen too. Something psychological must reopen the wounds. How it happened and why it affects all three of us, I don't know. I've never seen this happen.”

“Why us and not
him
, Lord Finger?” Flashing Blade asked, pointing.

Incomprehensible, thought Seeking Sword.

“Lord Sword,” the medacor said, “tell us about your dream.”

He started to panic, but detected (extra weight) a note of sympathy in the other man's voice. Sitting on a nearby rock, Seeking Sword recounted his dream in as much detail as possible, the images vivid and terrifying. When he finished, the other three traded worried, puzzled glances. “What is it, Lords?” he asked them, wishing he could have eavesdropped on their exchange.

“Apparently, Lord Sword, we each dreamt selected moments of your dream, but different moments than the others, and none of us the entire dream. From what we know of you, that's impossible. You can't transmit dreams.” Magic Finger shrugged.

Nodding, Seeking Sword decided then to put the matter away until their survival was less of a priority. Only the Infinite knew if they would resolve the mystery. He had to trust that they would. He closed his eyes, reaching deep inside for faith. “Is the area clear, Lord Owl?” Seeking Sword asked, wondering if he were insane.

The sectathon closed his eyes. “Most of the area is, Lord Sword. Two groups within fifteen miles, neither closer than ten, nor are they moving this way.”

“How are our provisions, Lord Blade?”

“Enough for two meals, Lord, three if we're frugal,” Flashing Blade said.

“The Lord Snake won't be here until tonight,” Seeking Sword said, thinking aloud. “To be safe, we'll have to go hunting. Lord Blade, Lord Owl, your arms will need constant tending, which leaves only me. I won't go very far from—”

“I'm going with you, Lord Sword,” Flashing Blade interrupted.

“What about your arm, Lord Blade?”

From the hem of robe Flashing Blade tore a strip of silk and had the medacor bind it.

“Very well, Lord Blade. If you become weak, I'm bringing you back.”

“I won't, Lord Sword.”

“Good. I hope to have your strength beside me always, Lord.” Seeking Sword stepped over to his bedding, repacked all his gear for instant travel, and shouldered his quiver and bow. He moved to the open end of the defile while the pyrathon prepared for hunting.

Acting to avoid feeling only delayed the inevitable. As Thinking Quick might have told him, “Feel now or feel later—with interest.” As he waited for the other man, Seeking Sword's confusion and turmoil threatened to overwhelm him. If he weren't vigilant, just the obvious meaning in his dream carried enough emotional weight to flatten him. The subtle nuances and subsequent manifestations were so powerful in themselves that he couldn't now assign significance and definition without losing sanity. Again he called upon the presence of the Infinite inside him for faith.

No, he would allow the event merely to be. Later he would have time in a place of safety to sort through the meaning and implication of his dream.

Flashing Blade stepped up beside him, similarly equipped.

Seeking Sword smiled at him. “It's a dark day for bandits but we'll have our revenge. Eventually, we'll also get the Imperial Sword.”

“You're so sure of yourself, Lord Sword.”

“Why shouldn't I be, Lord Blade? I have an Heir to kill and an Empire to conquer.”

Flashing Blade stared at him. “Devastation behind you and the impossible before you, you grin with confidence and spit in the face of the Infinite. Perhaps that's why I don't stain the earth with your blood, Lord Sword, as I've wanted since I met you.”

“Whatever your reasons, Lord Blade, I hope they hold true. I need your sword at my side, not in it.” Pointedly, he turned his back to the man.

Hesitating long enough for the other man to draw his sword and skewer him, Seeking Sword walked off. He felt the touch of fate, and upon him settled what Thinking Quick had called his terrible purpose. Yes, he needed the pyrathon's blade at his side. Thousands like his. Flashing Blade was the first of many he would have to bind to him, from whom he would have to elicit loyalty and devotion to a cause greater than any single bandit.

He would need them all.

I
saw his face change that day. When he emerged from his killing trance, he was different somehow. More alive, more determined, more resolved. I taught the boy from the time he was five, and I knew him better than his own father. The day I saw his face change, I couldn't say that I still knew him well.—
Personal Accounts of Events before the Fall
, by Keeping Track.

Genetic analysis could neither confirm nor deny Rustling Pine's assertion that the General Scratching Wolf had fathered her children—for reasons that remain a mystery to this day. Since analysis is so exact, the tests shouldn't have failed, and yet they had. We hypothesize now that the talents of the two bastard children interfered with the testing. Flowering Pine and Flaming Wolf had both possessed talents that resisted quantification and qualification. No one really knew the full extent of those talents. All we know is that neither reputed parent, Rustling Pine nor Scratching Wolf, had a talent with half the strength.—
Medical Mysteries
, by the Imperial Medacor Healing Hand.

* * *

Seeking Sword found a game trail and followed it through the forest, an arrow notched in his bow. Flashing Blade was close behind.

Taking a few steps, pausing to examine a bush, moving onto an old hoof print, looking closely at a bent blade of grass, Seeking Sword found no fresh signs. In the east, the sun peeked through a canopy of foliage. The forest seemed hushed, as if in the wake of storm. Birds sang, but quietly. Even the wind seemed afraid to blow.

“How's your arm?” he asked over his shoulder, glancing at the blood-soaked bandage.

“Hurts, but not badly,” Flashing Blade replied, his voice quiet. Then he froze, gazing through the trees.

Not moving his head, Seeking Sword followed his glance. Between two trees, a rabbit stood on its hind legs and tested the air, an eye upon them. Neither man moved. The rabbit glanced away. Seeking Sword launched the arrow. It sailed wide, and the rabbit was gone.

“Blast,” he muttered, going after his arrow.

“You're usually better than that, Lord Sword. Next shot's mine.”

Seeking Sword retrieved the arrow and gestured Flashing Blade to lead. Normally, he would have put the arrow through the rabbit's eye. The day had begun inauspiciously and had gotten progressively worse.

The pyrathon found fresh deer tracks near a stream and loped along happily, the younger man trudging gloomily behind. For nearly an hour, the two men followed the trail, neither sighting the quarry. Seeking Sword began to feel uneasy, without knowing why.

Instinctively, he stopped, hissing at the older man.

Motionless, they listened. Flashing Blade came back to him. “I didn't think to listen with my mind, Lord Sword.” He pointed northward. “Seat is five miles to the north. The psychic disturbance from the place is almost enough to deafen. Imperial forces, probably.”

“Laying siege, eh?” The two men exchanged a nod. “I don't want to go any closer, but then I've never watched a siege before. What do you think?”

“I think the risk unnecessary, Lord Sword.”

The young man nodded, bronze hair scintillating. “Let's hunt westward.”

They hunted until mid-afternoon, bagging a rabbit, a beaver, and two pheasant, wanting to have enough food for themselves as well as Slithering Snake and his companions. They had lunched on cold meat and apples, not wanting to draw attention to themselves with a fire. Now, as they set off toward their camp, they were both hungry and tired.

Trudging along beside the older man, Seeking Sword glanced at the purple, crusty bandage. “How does your arm feel, Lord Blade?”

“Stings like a scorpion, but the Lord Finger will heal it.”

“Let's wash the wound and change the bandage anyway.”

They stopped at the next stream. The wound, once cleansed, looked smaller and less serious than that morning. The skin around the cut had turned an angry red. Not liking the look of it, Seeking Sword pulled several strips of silk from his robe and bound the arm tightly.

Southeastward they continued, their pace moderate.

An hour before sunset they were a mile from the defile. Seeking Sword slowed, his intuition telling him to beware. Not knowing the extent of his companion's talents, he said, “Something doesn't feel right, Lord Blade. Can you see our campsite?”

The pyrathon shook his head. “All I can do, Lord Sword, is open my mind to whatever anyone else is broadcasting and—There!” Flashing Blade squinted toward their camp, as if he could see it. “Two groups have squared off. Hostility, suspicion, something else, a desire to…” He shook his head. “Someone eased the tension. I can't say for sure whether they're at our camp, since my meager talent doesn't have a directional dimension. But … Infinite blast! A sectathon has spotted us—not Searching Owl, either. Here they come. Listen, I think they're hostile, Lord Sword. I'll stay here and let them approach. You get away and at the camp I'll signal if these bandits are friendly, eh?”

“How? How will you signal, Lord Blade?”

“If I discover they're allies, I'll wipe the sweat from my forehead with my sleeve. If not, I'll wipe my ass. Now go, Lord Sword!”

He went. Taking a wide arc around the approaching group, he headed for the defile to assess the situation.

If Scowling Tiger were dead and if Purring Tiger had closed the fortress and if she had sent Slithering Snake to find him, then other bandits, still angry from Flaming Arrow's attack, would follow the sectathon and try to kill Seeking Sword to settle their misplaced vengeance.

He crept up on the clearing, hearing voices, the words inaudible.

Six men stood about, eyeing each other nervously, among them Magic Finger and Searching Owl. Watching them closely, Seeking Sword saw that three were hostile to the other three. The medacor, sectathon and a third man stood well away and facing the other three, none of whom Seeking Sword knew. Wondering whether to put an arrow into all three strangers now, he decided to wait, not knowing the numbers in the group sent to fetch Flashing Blade.

Soon the group returned. All twelve men mixed and milled, listening as Flashing Blade explained, presumably, how he and Seeking Sword had got separated. Again the hostility defined the individuals into two distinct groups. Their separation gave him an idea.

Silently, he skirted the group, carefully choosing his spot. The unfamiliar bandits stood more or less in a line, for which Seeking Sword was grateful. Remembering the rabbit earlier, he felt his doubts. Then he recalled the day nearly a year ago when he had pulled beside Scowling Tiger. With renewed confidence, he planted himself. Focusing on a tree just beyond his six targets, he excluded all else from his mind. He saw Flashing Blade wipe his hand on his haunch.

What awed him was how effortlessly he launched each arrow and how he automatically adjusted his aim a few points for the next target. No time at all seemed to elapse between the first and last arrows, yet the notching, pulling, aiming and firing of each was a distinct and separate action, a miraculous beauty in each motion. He launched the last arrow as the first one struck.

* * *

Slithering Snake approached his young friend. Seeking Sword's vacant gaze didn't waver from the camp. Sympathizing, the sectathon turned and chased everyone else back to camp, then returned to sit near his friend, to wait until Seeking Sword resumed living.

The sun had set and only a narrow slice of sky was alight in the west when Seeking Sword breathed deeply and looked around. “Beautiful evening, eh?”

“Yes, incredibly beautiful,” Slithering Snake said patiently. I wonder how it feels to kill with such beauty, he thought, to reach the realm of the Infinite on the wake of souls of people who died at your hands.

“Did I shoot well?”

“We needed to help only one bandit onward, Lord Sword. The others died instantly.”

The young man nodded, meeting Slithering Snake's gaze.

The sectathon felt the power of Seeking Sword's presence, and he looked away, afraid. Why am I suddenly afraid of my friend? Slithering Snake wondered. I taught him since he was five, and I've known him since he was a squalling infant in Icy Wind's arms. Slithering Snake forced himself to meet Seeking Sword's gaze.

“Bandits must stop killing bandits, Lord Snake. Did the Lord Tiger die well?”

He saw Seeking Sword's sadness. “No one knows, Lord Sword. The bastard dumped the body over the side of the mountain.” He cursed, spat and sighed. “This cut on the right arm, you dreamt you healed your own cut?”

“Yes, Lord Snake.” Seeking Sword looked at him.

I wonder what he sees now, Slithering Snake wondered; he clearly isn't seeing me. “Every bandit between Seat and the fortress has a cut, Lord Sword—and a mental condition that reopens the cut. It has everyone baffled.” Then he snorted. “Uh, what I've heard about you and the Lady Tiger—is it true? When did you find time to court her?”

Seeking Sword also snorted, then shook his head. “I'm still not sure
I
believe it, my friend. What about Thinking Quick?”

“I'm sorry to tell you this, my friend.” Slithering Snake bit his tongue on an epithet. “She helped the bastard and betrayed her liege lord. Bandits will revile her name for a thousand years.”

Seeking Sword nodded and bowed his head. “She knew all along how she'd die. Calling her talent torture was an understatement. Dear Lord Infinite, keep her soul safe from torment.” Then he stood, swaying unsteadily.

Slithering Snake stepped to his side to steady him. Together they walked toward camp. The others welcomed Seeking Sword with reserve, his station among them seeming to change each moment.

They ate hungrily. The young man suggested they each store a portion in their packs for consumption on the trail. When the moon glowed above the tree tops, they packed their gear and doused the fire.

“Let's go home, Lords,” Seeking Sword said, taking up a slow jog.

The fortress is his home now, Slithering Snake thought.

* * *

The General scratched his wrist. “Those stinking bandits have plagued the Empire for nearly thirty years, Lord Heir. What makes you think you can eradicate them in a few weeks?”

The impertinence of the question was lost on Flaming Arrow. “Listen, Grandfather, no one can eradicate all bandits everywhere. I don't intend to try. I just want to give the Empire a respite from their banditry.”

The General Scratching Wolf, the Heir Flaming Arrow, and the sectathon Probing Gaze sat on the battlement of Burrow Garrison, talking quietly about events. It was the quietest and darkest hour before dawn. Not a full day had passed since Scowling Tiger's head had left his shoulders. Flaming Arrow had crossed the border just after dawn the day before, had slept from noon until midnight, had arisen to learn what effect Scowling Tiger's death had had on the fortress.

Purring Tiger had completely locked up the place.

Not even a word of rumor had seeped out.

About an hour after the Heir escaped from the fortress, a detachment of four bandits had exited and gone north. Among them had been Slithering Snake, a known associate of Seeking Sword. Remembering his conversation with Thinking Quick, Flaming Arrow had concluded that the small group was going north to retrieve his look-alike. The Heir had immediately ordered Imperial patrols to intercept anyone trying to approach or enter the fortress.

Then he had slept.

After he woke, the General Wolf and the Colonel Gaze had briefed him on the status of the invasion. All but one Bandit Council installation had fallen quickly, with minimal Imperial losses. Only Seat still resisted. Imperial forces had breached the outer settlement walls. The inner walls had thus far withstood two concerted assaults. About three thousand bandits defended Seat against the eight thousand Imperial Warriors who invested it.

The ease with which most of the Bandit Council installations had fallen raised important questions for both bandit and Empire. Why had the Council authorized projects so indefensible? Why hadn't the Empire tried this before?

Flaming Arrow cared little about the answers right now, grateful to have had the determination and insight to act. Satisfied he had already done so much, he was unwilling to abandon his goal despite his father's request.

“Your father, the Lord Emperor, says you've met your requirements, Lord Heir,” Scratching Wolf had said earlier, leading the man-boy up the battlement stairs.

“He didn't ask
my
opinion,” Flaming Arrow had replied, shrugging.

“The Lord Emperor humbly requests that you refrain from placing yourself in further danger, Lord Heir.”

“Humbly ask the Lord Emperor to go to the Infinite,” Flaming Arrow had said.

“I'll ask him nothing remotely like it, Lord.” Scratching Wolf had shot him a glance to warn him their conversation bordered on treason.

Flaming Arrow had smiled, then the General Wolf had ask him about eradicating the bandits. Oh, how I wish I could! the Heir thought.

* * *

Scratching Wolf made a face at the Heir's calling him grandfather.

Wondering whether to correct the Heir, the General wished he had never met the wench Rustling Pine, who continued to spread the lie that he had fathered both her children, Flaming Wolf and Flowering Pine. True, he and Rustling Pine had once mated. He had always known that her soil barren of the nurture he wanted for his children. So before their every fornication, the General had killed his sperm.

The woman still claimed he had fathered the Heir's mother. When he mated her, she had already given birth to a bastard son, to whom Scratching Wolf had given his patronym. During the mateship, Rustling Pine had borne a daughter. He knew she had cuckolded him, his occupation often taking him away from home for long periods. He had never objected to children conceived of another man's seed. He loved them as if they were his. After Flowering Pine had become the Imperial Consort and cuckolded the Emperor, Scratching Wolf had disavowed paternity.

As much as I'd like to, I can't claim he's my grandson, the General thought. I admire and respect him, and wish he
were
my descendant.