The Heir (Fall of the Swords Book 3) (17 page)

“We tamed this land with the strength of our backs, arms and minds. Just because we don't have a cold piece of metal with a few electrical circuits, we can't keep what we've built. We can rule ourselves now, but only because we have a common enemy. The brutal contradiction of it all is that if we somehow topple all talisman-controlled governments, we'll end up with a hundred tiny Empires, all of them warring with each other, conquering each other, rising and falling like the waves at the beach, nothing enduring, least of all the higher sciences and disciplines. The stupidity of the system that we
do
have reveals itself in the sciences and disciplines that we built the system to preserve. In three thousand years, there hasn't been a single major technological or psychological advance. We're stagnant.”

She had long since finished drying and combing his hair.

“Maybe the time for change has come,” he replied. “Perhaps we can find a way to build another system, preserve what we know and free ourselves from stagnation.”

“I hadn't thought of that,” Thinking Quick said amiably.

“Your problems aren't what I thought. It's your prescience, eh? Some burdens cannot be borne lightly.”

“No,” she whispered dejectedly, looking at the floor.

“What about the Sword, the Northern Imperial Sword?”

“Shove it up your back passage, bastard.”

“Eh? Why you …” Flaming Arrow stopped himself, wanting to help her. “Listen, Thinking Quick,” he said. “Since you can't do anything to relieve your own torment, why don't you help others through theirs?”

She shuddered, her eyes wide. “He said those exact words. Anyway, it's time. Get dressed.”

“He” would be Seeking Sword, Flaming Arrow guessed. He began to put on the clothes she had brought. Everything fit as if tailored.

“They'd
better
fit—they're Seeking Sword's,” she said, as if reading his mind.

“What is he, my twin brother?” he asked facetiously.

“Your twin brother's dead,” she said immediately, tonelessly.

Rage and pain crested within him. “You're lying! I know you're lying!” He grabbed the collar of her robes and shook her. “He's my twin brother, isn't he!”

“Your twin brother's dead,” she said immediately, tonelessly. Her composure, stance, tone and expression hadn't changed.

Startled, he asked, “My twin brother's alive, isn't he?”

“Your twin brother's dead,” she said immediately, tonelessly. Again, not a detail of her behavior was different.

Slipping on a pair of plain but well-made moccasins, Flaming Arrow said, “Thinking Quick, you have a spider in your hair and my brother is alive.”

“Your twin brother's dead,” she said immediately, tonelessly.

Flaming Arrow shuddered, wondering what was happening to her. Finished dressing, he resolved to ask Spying Eagle what might cause such behavior.

“You're ready?” she asked, looking puzzled—as if she hadn't seen him dress.

He nodded. “Thank you, Lady Quick.”

She gave him a contemptuous look. “We're wasting time. Hand on my shoulder as before,” she said, dousing the lamp.

Obediently, he followed, liking her and worried about her. She led him up two more levels and across a short corridor, then stopped. He detected her tension through her shoulder while they waited.

Suddenly, she began, “Listen closely, Imperial Bastard, you—”

“I dislike that appellation. Find another, Lady Quick.”

“Is it true?”

“True or not, I dislike that appellation. Find another, please.”

“Listen closely, Imperial Bastard, you'll go before Scowling Tiger as if you've just returned from the north. You couldn't stand being away while his life was in danger. You ask his forgiveness for disobeying orders. You'll feel much better being in personal attendance upon him twenty-four hours a day …”

Flaming Arrow listened closely as Thinking Quick recited instructions.

“… By that time, if I'm still not there, you'll have to find your own way out of the fortress.”

“I'll manage,” he said.

“I believe you will,” she replied, taking his hand. “I want you to know I love you, even if I don't act that way. When you speak with him, tell him I love him too, because I won't be able to. Now come on.”

He guessed “him” was Seeking Sword. Why would she entrust him with a message for a person I want to kill? he wondered. Why do I want to kill Seeking Sword? Seeking Sword probably wants to kill me. I would if I were he, the Heir thought.

“Oh, one more detail. Hold the haft of your sword toward me. You'll see why later, when you have more light.”

Not liking this, he held the haft of the weapon toward her. She removed the twine and tape, then did something else to the pommel.

“There,” she said and led him twenty paces further along, then detached herself from him. A door opened, the corridor suddenly filled with light. In front of the open door was a warrior, her back to them. Thinking Quick did something. The guard fell backward into the Heir's arms, dead. From her ears, eyes, nose and mouth leaked blood. He dragged the body backward into the passageway, careful to keep the blood off his clothes.

“Two doors to your right is the Lair,” Thinking Quick said. “Act presumptuous with the guards. It's all the muscle-bound pea-brains understand. Walk with the Infinite, Lord Heir.”

Flaming Arrow knelt and held her to him. “What do you most want me to accomplish, so I can repay in some measure all you've done for me?”

“Blast! This wasn't in the vision. Now the time-lines are all in chaos! What objective, other than giving away that precious Imperial Sword, right? Mandatory eugenics—clean up the gene-pool. Go on, before we're lost!” She kissed him on the lips and shoved him into the corridor.

Smiling, Flaming Arrow turned to the right, passed one doorway and approached the surprised guards at the entrance to the Lair. They bowed to him, and he gave a slight, arrogant nod. “The Lord Tiger's awake?”

“Yes, Lord Sword,” one said. “His orders are that—”

“He'll want to see his daughter's betrothed, eh Lord?”

“Forgive me, Lord, probably. I'll have to—”

“No need, Lord. I'll tell him myself.” Flaming Arrow pushed the guard gently aside and walking between the pair, expecting steel in his back. One, three, five paces into the Lair, and he knew he was safe. The Lair was empty.

“If he's not in the Lair, he's upstairs, looking south,” she had said.

He ascended into star-filled night. There. On the balustrade. His target in sight, he checked his weapons from long habit. Thinking Quick had concealed the diamond set in the pommel of the Heir Sword with what appeared to be thin, ruby-colored plastic. Ruby? he wondered. The time had come to act, not think.

“Forgive me, Lord Tiger, I couldn't stay away while that bastard …”

A
s we study the Fall of the Swords, we want to say, “There—that's the moment Seeking Sword knew he would lead the bandits to victory.” We cannot say that any such moment occurred, however. What we can say is that such moments simply don't occur in history. What happens instead is that a series of events, sometimes distributed across many years, brings about the realization that the Infinite has more in mind than a humble, desultory existence. Each event in that series merely clarifies and solidifies a person's vision of his or her quest in life.—
The Fall of the Swords
, by Keeping Track.

* * *

In the lonely hours between midnight and dawn, Scowling Tiger was usually on the cap of the mountain, staring southward in contemplation of what he desired from across the border. Despite knowing habit a weakness, he had allowed himself to slip into this predictable behavior, in spite of valiant efforts to the contrary. He wanted the Northern Imperial Sword more than anything, except possibly Guarding Bear's death. The hours of reflection eased his conscience and created the illusion of action.

Trying to remember one good idea that had come from his incessant vigil here, Scowling Tiger sighed in frustration, failing.

He fell into the pattern of thought and memory that had beset him nearly two weeks ago, when he had learned of the Heir's first attack. The destruction of Hissing Cougar's band implied consequences that sank home right away. Unless the Bandit Council acted precipitously, the bandits wouldn't avert the coming disaster.

No council, in his experience, had ever acted precipitously.

Deep in Scowling Tiger's mind, a tiny voice whispered that this couldn't be happening. He was incredulous that Flying Arrow could call a bastard his son and deceive an Empire. It infuriated the bandit general.

The facts were common knowledge: Ten consorts, productive before and after intercourse with Flying Arrow, had failed to whelp for him. Then, once, the Emperor reputedly sired twins upon an ambitious young tart without morals. In the fifteen years following the pregnancy, not one more time had she even conceived. Inferentially, Flying Arrow was a cuckold, and Flaming Arrow a bastard.

Known only to Scowling Tiger, though, were the facts proving that the Emperor was indeed sterile. The bandit general had almost seen it happen, only a stout oaken door between him and the event.

When the senile Emperor Smoking Arrow lay near death. When the Heir Flying Arrow was still a boy but was nearing his manhood. When Scowling Tiger was Commanding General of the Eastern Armed Forces and President of the Imperial Ruling Council, at his apex. When Aged Oak was little more than a glorified tax collector. When Guarding Bear was still struggling to rise above the cesspool of the Caven Hills, whence he had come, just a vicious savage trying to live in the world of men. When the traitor Brazen Bear had been dead less than a year. When all four Empires co-existed peacefully.

* * *

As President of the Ruling Council, Scowling Tiger informed the Emperor Arrow of daily Council business. The day it happened, he arrived at Smoking Arrow's chambers and found four guards outside the door, instead of the usual pair. The ciphers at the left breasts explained why: Two guards wore the crest of six arrows, and the other two guards wore seven. Flying Arrow, then, had sequestered himself with his senile father.

Scowling Tiger composed himself for an indefinite wait. He chose a knot on the oaken door and excluded all else from his consciousness. Unaware of the passage of time, he didn't know how long he had been waiting when strident voices from beyond the door brought him back. The words were inaudible, but the accusatory tones were clear to hear. Father and son were arguing again—nothing unusual. Scowling Tiger returned his attention to the knot.

A scream brought him back with a jolt, brought his sword half from its sheath. The four guards exchanged nervous glances, hands on hilts.

The General stepped forward.

“Forgive me, Lord General Tiger,” one guard said, bowing. “I can't let you enter.”

“Somebody had better check on them, Lord Captain. If
you
don't have the balls,
I
do.”

The sweat of indecision trickled from the guard's temple. He swallowed heavily. “The Lord Heir ordered that—”

“He'll take my head if it so pleases him. If he isn't catatonic with grief! If the death of the Lord Emperor Smoking Arrow hasn't prostrated him!
If
! Get out of my way if you don't have the meat between your legs! Decide!”

The guard stood aside.

Scowling Tiger threw the door open. Immediately, he turned. “You, fetch the Imperial Medacor!” One guard ran off. Without a qualm he killed the other three, dispatching them ruthlessly. He then pulled the door shut and stood guard outside it, his blade dripping.

The memory of what he had seen shuddered through him. Inside the room, Smoking Arrow lay on his deathbed, his eyes examining different parts of the room, the linen soiled by the contents of bladder and bowel. Flying Arrow lay on the carpeted floor nearby, smoke rising from his loins.

Three minutes later, Soothing Spirit arrived, the guard right behind him. The Medacor looked at the bodies in the corridor. “I can't do anything for them. They're
dead
!”

“In here, Lord Medacor,” Scowling Tiger said, opening the door.

Soothing Spirit entered the room alone.

Watching the guard, the General said, “I'll give you a choice. You
do
understand that what's happened here can go no further, eh? We wouldn't be able to live with our shame as an Empire. It would be my honor to help you onward.”

The guard nodded, rivulets of sweat pouring down his otherwise stoic face. He knelt and bared his stomach, then made the cut quickly. Scowling Tiger removed the head to ease the passing. The guard died very well.

Scowling Tiger wiped his blade and stepped into the room.

Soothing Spirit was kneeling on the floor beside the supine Flying Arrow. “The Lord Emperor Smoking Arrow is dead. The Emperor-elect Flying Arrow is still alive. What happened here, Lord Tiger?”

“I was outside the room, Lord Spirit, when they began to argue. Then I heard the Lord Heir scream, I think. I opened the door, saw what you saw, closed it and summoned you.”

“Well, Lord Tiger, Smoking Arrow seems to have used the last of his will to sterilize his own son. Flying Arrow won't
ever
be a father.”

Having learned the rudiments of memory erasure from his young friend Melding Mind, Scowling Tiger silently blessed the Infinite for knowing them now and reached into the mind of the Imperial Medacor.

* * *

To this day, Scowling Tiger had told no one what he knew.

Gauging the impact of this terrible secret, he saw that the information was now irrelevant. Spies reported that the citizens of Empire considered Flaming Arrow the savior who would eradicate the bandits once and for all. Whether or not Flaming Arrow completed his current task, it looked as if nothing would deter Easterners from placing the Heir on the throne.

Unless the citizens had sound reason to become disaffected.

Seeking Sword is the means toward that end, the bandit general thought.

Wishing the young man were here, Scowling Tiger envisioned exactly how to disinherit Flaming Arrow. As he stared sightlessly, sleeplessly southward, a sound from the stairwell spun him around.

“Forgive me, Lord Tiger, I couldn't stay away while that bastard Heir threatens your life. I humbly ask your pardon for disobeying your orders.”

Scowling Tiger's relief was immense. Sliding his sword back into sheath, he probed the young man and perceived nothing, as expected. “Lord Sword,” he said heartily, his gloom dissipating, “Infinite be with you. I'm glad your back. Like you, I despise the waiting. I worried that you wouldn't survive. Did you skirmish with the enemy?”

He made a surreptitious check of the young man's sword. A ruby adorned the pommel, as he had expected. If this had been Flaming Arrow, the jewel would have been a diamond, and the sword, the Heir Sword, the talisman that prepared the mind of the Eastern Heir for the Imperial Sword.

“A great number of enemy, Lord Tiger,” Seeking Sword said, stopping at five paces from the bandit general. “There must be tens of thousands. It looks like an invasion. I left a few heads in the dirt on my way here.”

Scowling Tiger smiled. “Good. Looking like that, I'll wager they wondered what the Infinite was happening. I didn't think to disguise you until after you left. Come sit beside me, Lord Sword.”

“Yes, Lord Tiger.” The young man removed his sheathed sword from his sash and bent to place it on the stone.

“I'd feel more comfortable, Lord Sword, if you wore it.”

“I'm not worthy of this honor, Lord.”

“You
are
worthy, Lord Sword. Any man whose sword my daughter sheathes must be worthy, eh?”

“Yes, Lord Father,” Seeking Sword said, sitting on the parapet three feet from the bandit general, sword across his lap. “Although, I confess I don't understand why she treats me so well.”

“Who can understand women, eh? I think she chose wisely. Your counsel's valuable, your shooting's incredible and I hear you fight well with either hand. You and only you seem able to draw the poison from my daughter's claws. All these pale, of course, beside the most important reason of all. You're indistinguishable from the Heir.”

Scowling Tiger held up a hand. “Let me finish, young man. Right now, the bastard Flaming Arrow has the active support of his Empire and the tacit support of the other two. The citizens of Empire would throw themselves in the mud to keep his feet clean. They'll soon give him a seat beside the Infinite unless we do something.

“Listen carefully, Lord Sword: I have proof, irrefutable proof, that Flying Arrow is sterile. I stood outside the room where Smoking Arrow and Flying Arrow met for the last time. I heard them argue. I heard Flying Arrow scream. I opened the door and found Smoking Arrow dead and Flying Arrow unconscious, his balls smoking. Only
I
know the truth. I killed all the guards. When Soothing Spirit finished tending to Flying Arrow's testicles, I manipulated the Medacor's memory. This secret won't do us a dog's turd worth of good unless bandits undermine confidence in the Heir. Which
you'll
do quite effectively.”

“I don't understand, Lord Tiger, what can
I
do?” Seeking Sword asked.

Scowling Tiger glanced southward and smiled. “The citizens of Empire must see the dishonorable side of Flaming Arrow. He has to act heinously for the citizens to become disaffected. We have to make him look detestable.”

Smiling, Seeking Sword nodded. “A violent argument in one town, an unwarranted execution in another—terror here, mayhem there.”

“Ex
act
ly! With careful planning, the incidents months apart, we can slowly dismantle this deity Flaming Arrow. After we've reduced him to merely a mortal, we'll publicize the manner of Smoking Arrow's death.”

“They've only one Heir, Lord Tiger. When given the choice between no Heir at all and an Heir who's despicable and illegitimate, the citizens would prefer the latter. We dare not try to leave the position vacant. Nothing so reassuring as a Succession Assured, eh?”

“Who's Flying Arrow's closest relative?”

“Well, he has no blood relative, Lord Tiger.”

“None worth considering on the father's side, I agree—a few unrecognized bastards is all. Through the sisters Boiling and Bubbling Water, though, Flying Arrow and the Colonel Rolling Bear are cousins—enough consanguinity I think. If suggested to the right people at the right time, Infinite knows? Already, they consider Rolling Bear trustworthy, dependable and safe. Three spies have reported that Rolling Bear will assume the Patriarchate and Prefectship because of Guarding Bear's indisposition. True, he's only a shadow of his father and nothing at all like Flaming Arrow. In the search for an alternative to the Heir, he'll make a perfect candidate.”

“Of course, he'll be a mediocre Emperor,” Seeking Sword added.

“Absolutely! Depending on the strengths of his generals, that might be the time to lay siege to Emparia Castle.”

“Shall we in
sure
that his generals are weak, Lord Tiger?”

“Eh? What do you mean, Lord Sword?”

“Aged Oak will be dead by then, I'm sure. Scratching Wolf, the Colonel Probing Gaze, the Sorcerer Apprentice Spying Eagle, the Medacor Apprentice Healing Hand, all those formidable and strong ought to lose their positions—at Flaming Arrow's orders.”

Scowling Tiger guffawed, slapping his thigh.

“While he's at it, he can promote a few dullards to sensitive positions.”

“Eh? Then the real Flaming Arrow will merely demote them, Lord Sword. What good will that do?”

“In demoting them, he impugns his own credibility, Lord Tiger. Why did he grant the position if he planned only to take it away? In the taking he'll engender resentment and hostility.”

Scowling Tiger chuckled mightily, liking the young man's strategic bent. “Yes, Seeking Sword, you
are
the man to lead the bandits to their destiny. You have the vision, the foresight, and the inspiration to re-establish the Northern Empire.” The bandit general looked at the other with admiration. “Remember your predictions of what the Heir would do?”

Seeking Sword nodded. “Yes, Lord.”

“They've all come true, much as I doubted them. Imperial Warriors have burned the farms, razed the factories, slaughtered the sheep. Right now, they're preparing to lay siege to Seat. As you predicted, the Heir entered the fortress disguised as a refugee from both attacks, arriving in fragile condition, requiring medical attention. His disguise is masterful. Even my spies in Emparia Castle, who have had close contact with the Heir, have watched this man who calls himself Chameleon—a most appropriate name, eh?” Scowling Tiger laughed, then stopped abruptly. “None of the spies can say with certainty that Chameleon is the Heir.”

“He's still
here
?”

“Eh? He wouldn't leave without my head, would he?”