The Heir (Fall of the Swords Book 3) (22 page)

One blink.

“Good, thought you might approve. Oh, by the way, that strumpet peasant Rustling Pine's asking permission to see her daughter. Shall I send the conniving eel away?”

One blink.

“Shall be done, Lord Emperor. Say, you know how Exploding Illusion should take over when you ain't up to the job? Well, me and a few friends decided we didn't want stench-mouth running the Empire, so we clipped his fins, you might say, eh? All right with you?”

One blink.

“Thought so. This corpse of Lofty Lion's, shall we burn it? No? Well, we can't throw
that
body to the sharks. Won't eat it, smells so bad. Bury it, eh? All right. What do you want to do with that staff, eh? Wizard tells me it's a talisman, which's why everybody who
has
touched it's dead. It's still there on the riverbank, like a beached fish, where the Northerner dropped it after striking you with it, blood and hair and bits of bone still on it. Let the Wizard handle it, is my feeling. No? How about the Sorcerer? Ah, much better, I agree. Disgusting man.

“Listen, Lord Emperor, of all that has happened this last month, what really tangles my nets is the Bandit. Practically shrivels my sack to know he looks so much like the Lord Heir. You heard about the incident near Seat? Fooled the General and the Medacor Apprentice. Well, what's to stop the Bandit from walking into this room and cutting us up where we sit, eh?
Nothing
! To be honest with you, that curdles my blood.

“With your permission, I'd like to send some assassins against him and his mate that Purring Tiger bitch and their bastard son. Lord! Don't grab me like that! You ain't got the strength! You didn't know she's borne him a son? What's the matter, Lord Emperor? Why's your face purple?

“Medacor!” Aged Oak yelled, standing and lunging toward the door. “Something's wrong with—”

Darkness swallowed Flying Arrow.

S
ince a man's Patriarch and a woman's Matriarch usually arrange the mateship, sometimes years in advance, the chances are fair that one of the betrothed pair will find the arrangement unsatisfactory. Either mate could end the union in the nuptial bed with a knife between the ribs. On rare occasions as well, a Matriarch or Patriarch will arrange the mateship for assassination, and have her daughter or his son implanted to kill at the moment of consummation. Thus, for both these reasons, the mating ceremony proscribes weapons for the betrothed. Of course, lack of access to weapons rarely stops a determined assassin.—
Assassin Implants
, by Deadly Thought.

Before the ceremony, the guests compete in swordsmanship, archery, javelin, running, most the psychic disciplines, poetry, painting, sculpting,
et cetera
. The winner in each area receives front row seats at the ceremony, in addition to personal garments shed by the nuptial couple just before consummation…

Like her, he wears robes of black. Over that he wears the formal battle regalia of his rank: Winged, tasseled shoulder mantles; black-lacquered chest and back plates; shin, thigh and forearm guards similarly lacquered; a fierce-looking helmet capped with a rack of black horn, a symbol of virility. As the day continues, he changes clothes for the various competitions and finally, for the actual mating ceremony, re-garbs himself as he was when the day began.—
Rituals Before the Fall
, by Keeping Track.

* * *

An hour before dawn, bandits began to pour from the fortress.

They left the fortress three abreast. Once they cleared the ravine, one file split off to the west, one to the east, and one to the north, each a continuous line of bandits. Their objectives clear, they fanned out in a circle, obliterating Imperial Warriors as they went.

By dawn, the Tiger Raiders controlled a circular piece of land north of the fortress ten miles in diameter. Imperial forces retreated from the circle, puzzled by this strange maneuver.

As the first rays of the sun struck the twin towers standing sentinel over the ravine entrance, Purring Tiger walked from the fortress, followed by two priests of the Infinite. She wore not a single weapon. Her flowing silk robes were completely black, falling to her toes. Her coiffure was simple, modest, gathered into a braid at the nape of her neck. Her only adornment was a single tiger-lily tucked behind one ear. She was very beautiful.

From the ravine she walked due north along the north-south road, the priests ten paces behind her and chanting harmoniously.

So much had changed for Purring Tiger in eleven days.

First her father died, assassinated by Flaming Arrow. Then she discovered that Thinking Quick, the only person whom she had ever called friend, had aided the Heir against her liege lord. While Purring Tiger was consolidating her leadership inside the fortress, outside the structure, someone discharged psychic energy on a scale seen only once in recent history, when Flying Arrow and Lofty Lion had dueled in the final battle of the war between Empires. For those without protection from the “psychic storm,” it was more like a hurricane. Then, just before Slithering Snake returned with the Bandit, another storm unleashed its fury upon the northern lands, leaving Seeking Sword curiously unaffected.

Only after her betrothed arrived did she really begin to learn who he was. Despite having been awake the twenty-four hours before arriving, despite having traveled and fought for twelve of those hours, the Bandit wanted to tour the fortress right then. He led them from top to bottom, stopping every few minutes to question someone, curious about everything, no detail too small to note, no person to insignificant to greet. For twelve hours, still clothed in his blood-stained, travel-worn and torn robes, Seeking Sword poked his head into every corner of the fortress he could find.

He had left his companions exhausted. Purring Tiger had excused herself after three hours, Easing Comfort had pleaded other obligations, and Raging River had doggedly stuck with the younger man until he was ready to drop. Still the Bandit had wanted to see more.

Over the next nine days, he explored the fortress thoroughly, content to sleep elsewhere until they officially mated, taking only his meals with her. She was too busy consolidating to spend more time than that with him.

Most of the bandits wanted to stay. An inevitable few of course wanted a different liege lord. Some simply wanted to go home to the Eastern Empire, having served the bandit general to the end of his days; their obligations to the Tiger Raiders had expired with Scowling Tiger. She cajoled, persuaded, threatened and bargained with two thousand bandits during the last eleven days. Some she persuaded to stay, some she didn't. The Bandit had asked to speak with those she couldn't influence, and his success with them amazed her. After eleven days, five hundred bandits still wanted to leave. Seeking Sword had invited them all to stay for the ceremony, even so.

She felt pleased with her betrothed, admiring his vitality, curiosity, compassion and perseverance.

Just the night before, on the eve of their mating day, they took a moment alone in her suite near the top of the mountain. The evening meal just finished, the servant removed their empty dishes and left them to each other. She sprawled across the hide of moose, while he was sitting correctly on a cushion. Content merely to look, they stared into each other's eyes.

“You're beautiful,” he said.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Do I have to wait until tomorrow?”

He chuckled. “The ceremony isn't for just you and me. All bandits must know, see and recognize our mateship. We must make it known that we'll govern together, neither of us dominant, neither submissive.”

“That has nothing to do with my wanting to submit to you now,” she said, smiling seductively.

“It
does
, though, miss tiger in heat,” he replied, laughing. “If we consummate before the ceremony, then it becomes a show for their benefit. They'll
know
it, and it no longer serves our needs. If we remain chaste, though, they'll know that we honor tradition and that the ceremony is primarily for us. Mating before our fellow bandits gives our matrimony a legitimacy it wouldn't have if the ceremony were private or post-coital.”

“We've al
read
y fornicated!” she protested, remembering that night almost a year ago, just as she knew he was remembering.

His smile warmed her down to her toes. “While we've made no secret that Burning Tiger's our son, his conception took place before your father said he was considering investing me with the power of command within the Tiger Raiders. It was a different life for both of us.”

“I suppose so,” she replied, frowning. “I don't
want
to wait!” Purring Tiger crawled closer and put her head in his lap. “Why have the fete begin at dawn, but the actual ceremony at dusk, eh? Then I'll have to wait until after dark before …” She sighed, feeling content and anxious and aroused.

Seeking Sword smiled, threading his fingers through her wealth of midnight hair. “We have to hold the guest competitions
some
time. I wish we could have the ceremony in the morning, consummate our mateship during the day. Then join the fete and the feasting and the revelry afterward.”

“That's what
I
want! These contests, they're important too, eh? You'll win most of them, won't you? You'll show these motherless turds what a real bandit can do.”

He frowned at her. “Then after we're mated, I won't have to fight every foolish young man who thinks his blade is sharper than mine.”

“That's why Father made me promise to mate you. He said, 'Nothing will destroy this band faster than every man's letting his erection do his thinking for him.' He was right! You wouldn't believe the looks I got before we announced our betrothal! I could have killed every man in the place, I was so angry. Why do men do that, eh? Too many hormones or something?”

The Bandit shrugged.

She noticed his shrinking. “Sorry, I didn't want
that
to happen.” She burrowed her head deeper into his lap, stiffening him again. “I know it's all necessary to legitimize your leadership. Is that why you made yourself so visible? I couldn't find a guard able to keep up with you.”

“I'll have to know the fortress intimately anyway. Better now than later.” He smiled. “Every few hours, I've had to escape from the groups of females that always seem to collect in my wake.”

“You wouldn't believe the rumors about your sexual prowess.”

“I haven't touched a single one of them!” he protested.

“I know,” she said, “but the stories get juicier every day.”

“Now there,
that's
an example of what you were talking about.” Seeking Sword shook his head. “You complain first that men think with their penises, eh? Yet you women pressure men to be virile to such an extent that if their swords aren't ready for the nearest maiden's sheath then they're less than men. Women!”

“Men!” Then she laughed, her serious mien falling from her. “It doesn't matter. You're man enough for me, and that's what counts.”

“Well, good. Sometimes, though, I get the feeling that if I so much as winked at every woman I met, she'd faint with her legs wide open.”

“
I
certainly would!”

They had to pull apart when a servant interrupted them. Raging River wanted to see Purring Tiger, so they also had to sit apart.

Walking north in the early morning light of the next day, Purring Tiger smiled, wanting him more than she thought possible. She felt good to want a man who wanted her as much. She felt his presence even though he was miles behind her.

* * *

Miles behind her, Seeking Sword stepped from the fortress and paused to fill his lungs with the fresh morning air. Like her, he wore robes of black, and over them the formal battle regalia of a general. As he walked, he jingled and rattled. As the day progressed the Bandit would change clothes many times for the various competitions and finally re-garb himself as he was now for the actual mating ceremony.

Like her, he wore no weapons, a custom as ancient as the ceremony itself. Behind the Bandit was a ceremonial pair of guards—Slithering Snake, who carried the Bandit's sword, and Flashing Blade, who had become a willing vassal in the short time he had come to know Seeking Sword.

So much had changed for the Bandit in eleven days.

First he impersonated Flaming Arrow flawlessly, establishing beyond doubt that the two of them were so physically similar that they might have been identical twins. Then he dreamt he saw the heads of Scowling Tiger and Thinking Quick in the dirt, but later discovered it hadn't been a dream. He fought his way back to the fortress, only Slithering Snake and Flashing Blade surviving with him. On the last leg of the journey he had what Easing Comfort called a dissociative lapse and everyone else called a “psychic storm.”

From the time the Bandit entered the fortress until today, he had worn himself out each day, exploring the edifice, meeting the people who kept it running, asking exhaustive questions about everything, and only taking his meals with his betrothed.

When they had agreed that first day to consummate their mateship only after they were officially, publicly mated, he knew to adhere to the agreement he would have to feel so tired at the end of each day that fornicating was physically impossible for him. Even so after every meal he was hungry still and not for food. Each moment they spent together seemed a moment removed from time, his fondness for her growing gradually. Remembering the stories about the vicious, man-killing girl, he found it difficult to comprehend that this woman he was growing to love was the same person. When he asked about it she merely said she had been establishing a reputation worthy of respect. That in doing so she had killed more than thirty bandits bothered him but not her. Still he treasured her and respected her.

Also incredible was his son Burning Tiger, with whom he spent a few hours each day. The two-month old boy with strawberry hair and pale gray eyes was a joy to hold, to feed, to change. Seeking Sword revelled in the miracle of this his first-born son. At first he held the child tentatively, afraid the infant might break. As he gained confidence, he found himself feeling more comfortable with caring and nurturing the child. Each day now he looked forward to holding and loving the boy. After a few days Purring Tiger told him he was the only man the child tolerated, as if Burning Tiger knew who his father was.

Seeking Sword wanted as much to become Purring Tiger's mate as he did Burning Tiger's father. Filled with the anticipation of becoming a Tiger Raider, a father, a mate, he walked north- his feet hardly touching the ground.

Between the betrothed was the baggage train carrying all the food, scaffolding, bunting, cushions and other supplies needed for the fete. The baggage train was so long that she arrived at the site moments after he left the fortress.

The Tiger Raiders' staging such a spectacle in the aftermath of such tragedy was a deliberate statement of blatant arrogance. They had issued invitations to the leaders and other important personages in all the other bands. Thus far only Leaping Elk had confirmed he would attend. Too many bandits feared where and when the Heir would strike next.

Slithering Snake had stated his objections plainly, the only one to do so. “You'll be slighting the efforts of every bandit who has died defending his liege lord or a Council installation!” Slithering Snake had protested to him privately, three days before.

“I agree, my friend,” the Bandit had replied. “I'll think of something to honor those who died defending the northern lands. More important, we'll tell the Heir and his Empire to put their attacks in their collective back passage.”

Being Leaping Elk's ambassador to the Tiger Raiders, and Seeking Sword's friend, Slithering Snake had continued to press for a cancellation of the ceremony, or at least a smaller, more private one. With a little persuasion and a place of honor in the ceremony, the Bandit had convinced the sectathon at least to keep quiet about his fears.