Blood Legacy: Heir to the Throne (9 page)

Two of Abigail’s staff were sword-fighting on the main terrace. Ryan identified the blades as rapiers, 17th century European, not a preference of hers but solid weapons. Jason was seated on a nearby bench, avidly watching the pair. He was rarely separated from Drake, but Edward had just put the boy down for a nap so he was on his own at the moment.

Ryan approached, watching the two combatants. They were very skilled and fought with ferocity and preternatural speed. The rapier was actually a good choice of weapon because it would flex with the force of their blows. The ting-ting-ting of the metal was accompanied by the laughter of the men watching. It made Ryan think of other times, times which seemed to belong to other worlds.

“Hey Ryan,” Jason called out. He was obviously excited to see her. “Why don’t you show them how it’s done?”

The men stopped, suddenly aware of her presence. Her “presence” was normally unmistakable. But Ryan was unused to the constant attention from the Others and the commotion her approach caused. She found herself creating a mental shield just to avoid the continual stares.

She nodded to the men, who all bowed respectfully in return. She was surprised when one of the combatants called out to her. Although not a Young One, he was not particularly old either, perhaps born in the same century as his weapon.

“I understand you are a great swordsman,” he said, “would you care to spar?”

A much older man, both in appearance and in actual age, quickly stepped forward. “I beg your pardon, my lord.” He gave the younger man a scathing glance. “He forgets himself.”

Ryan recognized the older man as one of Abigail’s chief consorts. She glanced at they younger man. “It is of no harm,” she said, amused, “fortune favors the brave.”

The man sent another scathing glance to the youngster. “But not the stupid.”

Ryan smiled. “Again, it is of no harm. Under other circumstances, I might accept, but I am not fond of the rapier.”

Abigail’s consort bowed low. “Very well, my lord. Thank you for your understanding.”

Ryan turned and began to walk away. The younger man raised his eyes to Ryan’s departing back. Perhaps her skill with the sword had been exaggerated.

The thought had no sooner coalesced than the young man felt the air next to his ear part as an object passed by at tremendous speed. The object was not even a blur so great was its velocity, leaving only the instantaneous impression of something sharp and lethal. It split the crowd of men with deadly precision, flying through the air directly at Ryan’s retreating back.

In an impossible move and seemingly without effort, Ryan shifted her head slightly to the side, allowing the sword to pass by her ear, catching it in full flight by the hilt. It was frozen, stopped cold by the casual gesture, levitating by the grasp that held it level.

Ryan lowered the sword, her back still to the men. She glanced at the weapon’s beautiful curve, the extraordinary workmanship, the deadly sharpness of the blade, and then slowly turned around. The men were astonished, not only by the incredible maneuver, but by the smile that played about Ryan’s lips.

“Is this a challenge?” Ryan asked, amusement in her voice. The men were uncertain whom she was addressing.

“It is a gift,” came the reply.

The crowd of men turned, parting to reveal the One Ryan knew was standing there.

An extraordinarily handsome Asian man stepped forward, the intensity in his gaze mirroring that of his protégé.

Kusunoki drew his own sword. “And a challenge,” he added, his eyes gleaming.

Ryan did not hide the fierce joy she felt at his presence. Kusunoki leaped forward, covering the distance between them in single bound. Ryan took one step back and brought her sword up to parry, and the weapons locked. The combatants stared at one another across the immobile blades, their delight in the battle evident.

“Do not break my gift before I have had a chance to use it,” Ryan chided him.

Kusunoki smiled, a gesture that would surprise most who knew the stern warrior.

“It will not so easily break, I forged it specially for you.”

Kusunoki stepped rearward, then forward on his attack. The blades began flashing in the sunlight, barely discernible as two distinct objects. The athleticism of the combat was matched only by the grace of the contestants. The two appeared to move as one in a deadly dance, lethal choreography honed over centuries. The blurred swords seemed to sing as they sliced through the air, their song increasing in tempo until there was only a single, prolonged note in the air.

The intensity of the battle increased until neither combatant could be clearly seen, only a smeared impression of where they had just been. The intensity grew until the very air hummed with electricity, sparks flying from the deadly blades. Finally, as the battle seemed to approach a climax, hurtling toward some unknown conclusion, both combatants went to strike a killing blow.

And all went still.

Ryan stared across at Kusunoki, and Kusunoki at Ryan. They were frozen in a dangerous embrace. Each had trapped the blade of the other in the palm of their free hand, and each now gripped the other sword tightly.

Ryan smiled, and Kusunoki smiled in return. Each slowly began to withdraw their sword from the grip of the other, slicing deeply into the skin. Neither flinched, nor showed any sign of pain. Ryan appeared to enjoy the incision.

Kusunoki raised his bloody palm and Ryan mirrored the gesture, pressing her palm to his. The mingling of the blood sent shockwaves through both, but it was Kusunoki who closed his eyes at the sensation. He reopened them and gazed at his most beloved student.

“I have missed you,” he said simply.

Ryan smiled. It was rare for the taciturn warrior to express any emotion.

“And I have missed you, my master.” She held his gaze, “And I have not forgotten my debt to you.”

Kusunoki nodded, and removed his hand. Both felt the loss of contact keenly.

Ryan lifted the katana up, examining it in the sunlight. It was beautiful.

“It is perfectly balanced, a true work of art.” She gave it one last experimental swing, then lowered it.

“Jason,” she called over her shoulder.

Jason ran up quickly, his eyes wide. Ryan handed the sword to him, and he took it gingerly.

“Take this in the house and give it to Edward.”

Jason could not believe his good fortune. He held the sword as if it were made of gold and began carefully working his way back to the mansion.

Ryan turned to Kusunoki. “Let me show you to your quarters. I must say,” she said thinking of Abigail’s requirements, “that you were the easiest to prepare for.”

Kusunoki smiled. He knew his room would be simple and spare, decorated in an ascetic style that would make him comfortable. He put his hand on his most favored student’s shoulder and the two started toward the stairs.

The group of men watched the two leave, none having moved since the battle began. The older of the group finally shifted, and it seemed to break the spell. The others began moving about, although slowly. The younger man who had so boldly addressed Ryan was still frozen. He stared dumbfounded at Ryan’s retreating back. The consort leaned over to speak in his ear.

“Lucky for you,” the older man said to him with sarcasm, “she doesn’t like the rapier.”

Ryan entered the mansion with Kusunoki at her side. Edward met them at the door, bowing deeply to the ancient samurai.

“Kusunoki Masahige,” Edward said, utilizing his full name, “welcome.” He glanced at the blood on Kusunoki’s hand. “Would you care for a bandage, sir?”

Kusunoki shook his head. “Thank you, Edward. It will heal in a moment.”

Marilyn chose that moment to sail into the room. “Ah, Kusunoki. No wonder Ryan is in such high spirits. I imagine you two have already been off beating each other to death?”

Kusunoki bowed to the dark-haired beauty, offering his intact hand in greeting. “It is a pleasure, as always, Madame.”

Marilyn caught sight of the blood on his other hand. Ryan quickly put her damaged hand behind her, but Marilyn caught the gesture.

“Oh my,” she said, “you two wasted no time.”

Abigail chose that moment to make her entrance. She had watched the fierce sparring from her balcony and welcomed Kusunoki’s presence. He was an extremely stable influence on Ryan, and one of the few among their Kind who lacked political ambition.

Kusunoki bowed to the matriarch. “It seems I owe you great thanks, my lady.”

Abigail was curious, unable to discern his meaning. The aloof Asian was one of the few of her Kind she could not read well.

“And what have I done to earn such gratitude?”

Kusunoki glanced at Ryan. “I am guessing you are the one responsible for forcing our crown prince’s hand.”

Abigail nodded her understanding. Kusunoki was fiercely loyal to the Alexanders, serving Victor for centuries. He had spoken most forcefully for Ryan to assume leadership of the hierarchy when it became apparent Victor was unable to serve.

“I believe it has been a coordination of efforts,” Abigail said diplomatically, “Ryan has been subjected to many types of ‘persuasion’ of late.”

Ryan turned to Edward, exasperated. “Why is it that whenever the Old Ones gather, I am suddenly a child and they speak of me as if I am not here?”

Edward was not placing himself in the midst of this battle. “Hmm,” was all he said noncommittally.

Kusunoki settled into his spare room. It was perfect. A simple bed, a small table at floor level, an oil lamp, and an ancient Japanese tea set. A bookshelf with a few books including an original manuscript of the “Art of War.”

Kusunoki extended his senses throughout the mansion. He could feel Victor faintly, his spirit still present, but just barely. He wished to pay his respects to his lordship. He sensed that Ryan was with her father and hoped he would not disturb her.

Kusunoki paused in front of the double doors. Ryan sensed him and bid him welcome, but there was something else that made him hesitate, a presence that seemed very familiar, yet unknown. He pushed through the double doors, still trying to assess the feeling.

Ryan sat at her father’s side, her back to the door, and it was not until Kusunoki approached that he identified the source of the feeling. Identified it, but had difficulty comprehending it.

A tiny boy sat in Ryan’s lap, cradled in her arm. The child sat quietly but was very alert. Big blue eyes examined the approaching stranger with a very direct gaze. The boy glanced up at Ryan, as if assessing her reaction to the stranger, then returned his gaze to Kusunoki. Apparently Kusunoki passed muster because the child’s eyes twinkled.

“I hope you are prepared to train another Alexander.”

Kusunoki sat down slowly, his eyes on the boy. His resemblance to Ryan was astonishing. Kusunoki turned and then casually put his feet up on the footrest.

“Will he be as difficult a student as you?”

Ryan shrugged, glancing down at the infant. “Probably not. He seems to have a much better temperament than me.” A look of wicked mischief came into her eyes as she addressed her former master.

“But then again, he is my son.”

CHAPTER 11

TRISTAN AND GAVIN LEANED OVER the crude map, discussing strategy. The Saxon encampment was cleverly placed, uphill and surrounded by rough terrain. The Saxon forces were also numerous, outnumbering Tristan and his men nearly two to one. Still, it was the best chance they were going to get to attack before winter set in.

“Where is Ambrosius?” Tristan asked.

Gavin glanced about him. “I think he is sparring. I will go find him.”

Tristan nodded his thanks and turned back to the map.

In the two years that Ambrosius had been with his men, he had become one of Tristan’s most trusted advisors. The boy had proven not only excellent on a horse, but astonishing with a sword, not to mention possessing near mystical accuracy with a bow. He had become greatly beloved of the men, who respected and admired his quiet strength. In his younger life, Tristan’s greatest regret was that he had no son to carry on his name. His wife had died in childbirth with his sole progeny, who did not live long afterward. Tristan now felt he had a worthy successor, if not of his blood, then of his spirit.

Gavin approached with Ambrosius at his side and Tristan stood upright. He gestured to the map.