The Heir (Fall of the Swords Book 3)

The Heir

Fall of the Swords Book III

Scott Michael Decker

Copyright (C) 2014 Scott Michael Decker

Layout Copyright (C) 2016 by Creativia

Published 2016 by Creativia

eBook design by Creativia (www.creativia.org)

Cover art by http://www.thecovercollection.com/

U.S. Copyright # 1-1575322441

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

If you like this novel, please post a review on the website where you purchased it, and consider other novels from among these titles by Scott Michael Decker:

Science Fiction:

Bawdy Double

Cube Rube

Doorport

Drink the Water

Edifice Abandoned

Glad You're Born

Half-Breed

Inoculated

Legends of Lemuria

Organo-Topia

The Gael Gates

War Child

Fantasy:

Fall of the Swords (Series)

Gemstone Wyverns

Sword Scroll Stone

Look for these titles at your favorite e-book retailer.

To Bobby Foster,
Who gave me the idea over a cup of coffee in the town of Ft. Bragg on the north coast of California, and who to this day has no idea what an epic it became. Thank you, Bobby – SMD

I
t was a sword. It did not look important. Three feet long and slightly curved, the blade looked tarnished. The metal's dark color suggested it was simply brass. The edge was sharp and without a nick. The haft was pewter-colored, contoured for the human hand, and unremarkable – except for the single ruby set in the pommel.

Despite its modest appearance, the sword was skillfully constructed. The blade itself had been made from microscopic sheets of a chromium-antimony alloy layered one atop the other. The painstaking process made the blade very flexible and the edge very sharp. Even the best swordsmiths found the alloy difficult to work, however, making reproduction improbable.

In addition to its precise construction, the sword was ancient. Forged more than nine thousand years before, the sword had withstood all manner of use and misuse. The number of warriors who'd wielded the sword was a figure lost in the past. The number of warriors who'd died on its edge was many times that. The number of warriors mortally wounded while wielding this sword, however, was fewer than a hundred.

Called the Heir Sword, it assured the succession by preparing an Heir's mind for the Imperial Sword. No different in appearance, other than its slightly larger ruby, the Imperial Sword extended the range of an Emperor's psychic powers to the farthest corners of the Empire. Thus, the Imperial Sword was the figurative and literal source of an Emperor's authority. The Imperial Sword electrocuted anyone inadequately prepared by the Heir Sword, killing the unfortunate (or treacherous) soul. Thus, the Heir Sword was the only way to obtain that authority.

Each of the four Empires had its own pair of Swords, each pair adorned with a different gem. The four Imperial Swords all served the same function: To grant the current Emperor total dominion over his or her Empire. The four Heir Swords all shared their own function: To assure a smooth succession.

Although they shared the same function, the most valuable of the four Heir Swords was the one adorned with a ruby, the Heir Sword for the Northern Empire. Because of this Heir Sword, the Eastern Empire had slaughtered all the people of the Northern Empire. Because of this Heir Sword, a civil war had riven the Eastern Empire. Because of this Heir Sword, bandits besieged the Eastern Empire from across its northern border. Because of this Heir Sword, the four Empires' nine-thousand-year-old political systems were faltering, even though, ironically, the eight Swords had been forged to preserve them.

The Northern Heir Sword did not look important, but because of a single fact, it was the most important object in the world:

The Sword was missing. –
The Fall of the Swords
, by Keeping Track.

I
nordinately wealthy, given wide latitude in choices, worshipped by the populace before he could walk. The store of knowledge regarding Flaming Arrow's childhood would fill multiple volumes, but little of this knowledge helps us to understand who he was at age fifteen. The person he became bears little resemblance to the resplendence of his origins. We have no way to account for the compassion, strength, and benevolence that so characterized his rule.
The Gathering of Power
, by the Wizard Spying Eagle.

* * *

On top of cascading silks sat the Matriarch Bubbling Water, dressed in black high-collared robes, the hair styled fashionably, the eyes set wide on the face. The elaborate dress and meticulous coiffure did little to disguise the fact that she was dead.

Resting on pilings three feet high, the bier stood ready for transport to the pyre grounds. Milling around it were the highest of Eastern noble women, also dressed in black. Three men and nine women stood near the funeral bier between the two outermost battlements of Emparia Castle, waiting for Rippling Water. Over the towering battlement seeped the noise of the crowd beyond the castle walls.

“If Rippling Water doesn't appear soon,” Flaming Arrow said, “someone will have to take her place at the bier.”

The Prefect Rolling Bear grunted, nodding. “Infinite knows where she went, Lord Heir.”

Flaming Arrow frowned at his cousin. What do you really think? he wondered. Without a shred of talent, and hence no telepathy, he would never know. Heir to the throne of the Eastern Empire, Flaming Arrow knew his lack of talent would be his most difficult challenge. He was blind in a world of the sighted. And he was supposed to rule the Empire someday.

He sighed. The Eastern Heir was fifteen years old. His hair was the bronze of cooling embers, his eyes the blue-gray of hazy skies, his skin the brown of tanned leather. Six feet tall, he weighed one hundred seventy-five pounds. He still had the narrow shoulders and hips of adolescence, which many mistook for clumsiness. Left-handed and able to fight equally well with either hand, he was anything but clumsy. Months ago, he had dueled Rolling Bear and won.

“Not like Rippling Water to shirk her duties.” Flaming Arrow looked at the bier towering above them.

The Matriarch Water's mate, Guarding Bear, stood to one side of the east castle gate. The vacant look that had taken possession of the General's eyes four days ago was more intense now. White stubble covered the sagging cheeks, weathered chin, and ropy neck. He hadn't shaved in days. Gray now and without luster, Guarding Bear's hair was more wild and unruly than usual, looking slept in. When alive, Bubbling Water had been the only person able to manage Guarding Bear. Now, in his grief, he couldn't manage himself.

Looking at the ground, Flaming Arrow winced.

Rolling Bear said, his voice low, “Don't worry, Lord; he'll recover eventually.”

Flaming Arrow nodded. Frowning, he fingered the hilt of the Heir Sword. The diamond on the pommel glittered.

I'd give it away to have Grandmother and Grandfather back, he thought.

* * *

Rolling Bear sighed.

Ten years ago, Guarding Bear had passed the Caven Hills prefecture to his eldest son. At first, as nominal Prefect, Rolling Bear had merely instituted his father's general directives, which had grown increasingly few over the years. Now, Father looks as if nothing will ever interest him again, Rolling Bear thought—not even his precious native lands. I'd give away the Caven Hills to have Mother and Father back.

What about your brother, who caused this mess? he asked himself.

Rolling Bear sighed again. No chance
he'll
be back. Rippling Water should be the one to tell him where she went, he thought. He looked at Flaming Arrow beside him, wondering what the boy would do if he knew.

“I hear you've asked the Lord Emperor to set your requirements,” Rolling Bear said.

“Yes, I asked the night before your…” Sighing, Flaming Arrow gestured mutely at the bier.

“Most boys don't ask until they're much older, Lord,” Rolling Bear said. “I didn't ask until I was nineteen.”

Every father gave his every son a grueling test before awarding the title of man. Few manhood ritual requirements were the same. Most boys formally asked their fathers to set the requirements at eighteen years old, after completing all formal studies. Flaming Arrow's asking at fifteen was atypical. He had completed nearly all his formal schooling early.

The Heir shrugged. “I'm ready for it, Lord Bear. Since I didn't have a talent to develop, I devoted the extra time to my studies.”

“Most people use their talents to learn, though, Lord. Not having any, how did you learn so fast?” How do you endure without talent? Rolling Bear wanted to ask.

“I don't know.” Flaming Arrow glanced at the sky. “What time is it?”

The bulk of Emparia Castle hid the afternoon sun.

Consulting the psychic flow, Rolling Bear said, “She still has ten minutes.” How do you endure it all, Flaming Arrow? Rolling Bear wanted to ask. Your father's sterile, your mother cuckolded him, you're a bastard and don't have a shred of talent besides. Why don't you fall on your knife to expiate your terrible shame? How can you laugh and charm everyone you meet and find the happiness I usually see in your eyes? How do you do it, Flaming Arrow?

“What do you think the Lord Emperor will have you do?” Rolling Bear asked. “Some fathers delight in finding difficult goals for their boys.”

* * *

“Something appropriate to my station, I hope.” Flaming Arrow smiled, knowing what
he
wanted to do. Although the ritual prohibited a boy from suggesting requirements, the Heir intended to do exactly that. The current military situation disgusted him. In the Windy Mountains, military attrition ran at nearly thirty percent per year; at Burrow, it was fifty. The pool of available warriors had almost doubled when female conscription began ten years before, but so had the number of bandits. I
know
I can decimate the bandits! Flaming Arrow thought, hoping the ritual requirements fitted into his plan.

“Do you have an assistant in mind, Lord?” the Prefect asked. Most boys chose someone to help them. For instance, if a boy had to climb a mountain, his assistant followed at a respectful distance and intervened only if the boy injured himself.

“Know anything about bandits, Lord Bear?” Flaming Arrow asked back.

“No, Lord Heir. Why?” Rolling Bear frowned at him.

“No reason. Know anyone who does?”

A black, bushy eyebrow climbed his forehead. “The Sectathon Colonel Probing Gaze spied on them for five years, Lord. Lives here in Emparia City. Why do you ask?”

Flaming Arrow shrugged, not looking at him. “Just curious. What the bandits are doing is intolerable. I'll have to resolve the situation.” He smiled. “Someday.”

Again, Rolling Bear frowned. “What are you up to, whelp?”

Flaming Arrow chuckled. “You sound like your father, Lord Bear.” My assistant will have to be an expert on bandits, he thought. I can't ask too many people before Father sets my requirements. If the Emperor learns my intention, he'll forbid it outright.

“Well, I
do
like a man who keeps his own counsel, but—”

“You'd still like to know,” Flaming Arrow finished for him, grinning.

“That I would, Lord, that I would.” The Prefect Bear chuckled mightily.

“Blast, where is she?”

“Wherever she is, I imagine.”

“I could garrote you, you know.” Flaming Arrow shook his head. “How do you handle it so well?”

Sighing, Rolling Bear put his heart on his face. “I don't, not really.”

Taking a deep breath, Flaming Arrow looked at the ground. The Bear Family tragedy was his tragedy, and their grief, his.

“When are you going to mate my little sister?”

Smiling, he looked at Rolling Bear. “You wouldn't think to ask
if
I'll mate her, eh? No one ever does. It's always
when
.”

“Of course.” Chuckling, the Prefect gestured over his shoulder, toward the bier. “You two almost grew up together, eh? Mother always winked and said, 'Two children together are less prone to mischief than both alone.' ”

Flaming Arrow laughed, shaking his head.

Bubbling Water had become the most influential woman in all the years of Arrow Sovereignty, bartering hers and her daughters' pleasures so avidly that her enemies called her “the Imperial Whore.” She withheld those pleasures for equal gain. The Water Matriarchy now included almost half of all Eastern women and reached throughout the four Empires. As Bubbling Water's only daughter, Rippling Water stood to inherit the Matriarchy.

If she doesn't show at her own mother's pyre, Flaming Arrow thought, she won't inherit a pox-diseased courtesan. “No one could hold a candle to Grandmother.”

“No, Lord Heir,” Rolling Bear said, looking toward his mother's still form on the bier. “No one could.”

“I'm sorry your mother's dead, Uncle.” Flaming Arrow put his hand on Rolling Bear's shoulder.

Nodding, he frowned and closed his eyes. Rolling Bear's aunt, the Matriarch Steaming Water, was Flaming Arrow's actual grandmother. She had died giving birth to the future Emperor Flying Arrow. Her youngest sister, Bubbling Water, had then reared the motherless infant. Thus, Flaming Arrow called Bubbling Water his grandmother, and felt similarly close to all the members of the Bear family.

All except Running Bear, the prodigal son who had murdered his own mother.

* * *

On the practice floor four days ago, he and Guarding Bear had been dueling just before dawn.

“Why did you disown Running Bear?” Flaming Arrow asked, locking hilts with the General. He wondered how Running Bear had felt when his father had cast him out of the largest, most influential Patriarchy in the Eastern Empire.

“Years ago, Bubbling Water and I asked Running Bear to sell his brothels. Instead, he transferred their ownership to a friend,” Guarding Bear replied, pushing the Heir away and slashing viciously. “For fifteen years we've tried to reform his behavior. Nothing seems to work. Then, yesterday, he slaughtered all the courtesans at one of them.”

Flaming Arrow fought off the General's attack. “Why?”

“Infinite knows, Lord Heir, Infinite knows.” Guarding Bear parried deftly, spun, and slashed at his legs. “That was the straw that broke the peasant's back. We couldn't condone such behavior, even implicitly.”

“So you disowned him, eh?” Flaming Arrow blocked a slash and was about to press an attack when the General collapsed, his legs giving out.

Flaming Arrow, his heart falling to his feet, tried to rouse the old man.

His face pale and body slack, Guarding Bear mumbled, “She's dead.”

At the castle infirmary an hour later, they heard the news. The manner of her death was beyond belief. Her own profligate and disavowed son, Running Bear, had killed her.

* * *

“It's time!” said the Matriarch Shading Oak, bringing the Heir back to the present.

The women arranged themselves at the rungs of the bier. One forward rung was empty—Rippling Water's place.

Shading Oak stepped toward the two men. “Infinite be with you, Lord Prefect Bear, Lord Heir,” she said, bowing. Aged Oak's mate was less than five feet tall; unlike her mate, she didn't have a wrinkle, despite her sixty years. “We seem to have an empty rung, Lords. With your permission, Lord Bear, I would ask the Lord Heir Flaming Arrow for his help.”

“By all means, Lady Oak,” Rolling Bear answered. “The Lady Matriarch Water, Infinite keep her soul, would be proud to have the Lord Heir Flaming Arrow escort her.”

“Thank you, Lord Prefect Bear.” Shading Oak turned. “Lord Heir, I humbly ask you to help us bear the Lady Matriarch Water on her final journey.”

Flaming Arrow returned her bow. “I would consider it an honor beyond my humble station, Lady Matriarch Oak—and certainly beyond my humble gender.”

She smiled, reaching for his hand. “Please, Lord Arrow, do us the honor anyway,” she said gently, tugging him toward the bier.

“Of course, Lady Oak.” Flaming Arrow followed her.

Taking up the left forward rung, Shading Oak shouted, “Ho!” The bier rose off the pilings. By ancient tradition, they used the strength of their bodies, not the talents of their minds, to carry the dead to the funeral pyre.

Rolling Bear stepped to his father's side and pushed open the castle gate. Guiding the dazed General through it, Rolling Bear led the funeral cortege onto the Emparia City-Cove road. A group of black-clad priests formed a line on either side of the bier, chanting a dirge.

The gathered throng greeted their appearance with a hush. Murmuring spread at the sight of Flaming Arrow's bearing a rung. Let them talk, he thought, wishing Rippling Water had shown.

Ten miles away was the pyre grounds. To accommodate the expected crowds, the Emperor had ordered extra tiers added to the coliseum. At noon, a courier had reported that the coliseum was already full.

How many people watched my brother's bier make this same journey fifteen years ago? Flaming Arrow wondered. His twin brother's death at three days old had shocked the Empire, profoundly affecting the way the citizens treated him. In their catharsis for the dead twin, they had made a cathexis of the living. Welcome at every hearth, Flaming Arrow had never lacked friends. Adulation and admiration had been his for the asking. They thought him a god.

Flaming Arrow blinked back tears, feeling terribly, impotently human.

Even he couldn't bring Bubbling Water back to life.

The Matriarch's history long and glorious, Flaming Arrow preferred to remember the Bubbling Water he had known personally. His grandmother had always been kind and loving, stern when he got mischievous, instructive without lecturing, quick to anger and quick to forgive. While the Heir had learned government and related disciplines from others, Bubbling Water had taught him about people and nature, art and creation, spirituality and the Infinite.

Flaming Arrow missed her. Deep within, he wished he were escorting his own mother to the pyre grounds instead. Infinite forgive me my terrible thoughts.