The Heir (Fall of the Swords Book 3) (25 page)

“Sword Lord humble bandit honor. Not deserve.”

“Bah!” he said softly. “I'd wager she was secretly grateful Easing Comfort reminded her she could always have you killed later. In such a way as to avoid reprisals. Her father would have done the same. You must have put something really substantial up her back passage, eh?”

Leaping Elk guffawed. He spat an imprecation in the language of the south and cast a baleful look in the direction of the alder. Feeling better, he said, “Humble bandit secret her no more tell, Sword Lord. Now humble bandit secret you only tell, eh?”

“It would please me if you'd honor me with your confidences, Lord Elk.” The Bandit then looked at the ground, a shadow upon him. “I need you to share a particular confidence with me. The Empire claims that Lofty Lion tried to assassinate Flying Arrow, that they've captured the former Emperor. Slithering Snake tells me that the image is, uh …” He looked directly at the Southerner. “Was my father Lofty Lion?”

Leaping Elk met the young man's gaze and nodded. “Yes, Sword Lord, your father Lion Lofty was. Year many ago, was.”

“You have no doubt of that, Lord?”

“Sword Lord, none. Humble bandit your father Lion Lofty was knows.”

Seeking Sword nodded, tears twinkling in his eye. “Thank you, Lord Elk, thank you. Listen, if it wouldn't be too much of an inconvenience, I have a small problem you might help me with. As my father's been, uh, detained, I have no one to patronize me for the ceremony this evening. The custom calls for the father or patriarch to present the betrothed male. I have neither. It would honor me if you, Lord Leaping Elk, would consent to play the father for me. Infinite knows, you've certainly earned it.”

“Eh? Humble bandit then help, now help, always help. Small matter. Grateful for offer feel. Most honor accept, my friend, my son.”

The Bandit and the foreigner shared a smile and bowed as friends.

Impulsively, Leaping Elk hugged him.

A
pyrathon of the pure-heat variety, Scratching Wolf had a talent more destructive than pyrathons of fire and light. Every erg he generated infused the object or person without loss to light. Most people, as long as they didn't deplete their psychic reserves, used their talents at whatever rate they chose. Scratching Wolf, though, had a peculiar condition that no psychological Wizard could cure. His reserves had a minor malfunction. When they reached capacity, his skin developed a rash that itched like the Infinite. The inflammations might appear anywhere on his body.

Having this slight aberration in his psychic reserves, the General found it necessary to use his pyrokinesis periodically, merely to prevent his reserves from filling completely. If he didn't use his primary talent and let his psychic reserves reach full capacity, his skin broke out with a terrible rash, which looked hideous and itched worse than it looked. It was a minor inconvenience most of the time. As long as Scratching Wolf used his talent regularly, his skin remained unblemished.

On one occasion, when the forces of the Southern Empire had captured and imprisoned him, the aberration had nearly killed him. They had dampered his cell, and in less than a week he was near death from rash. Before the rash became fatal, the Eastern Empire had repatriated him in an exchange of prisoners. Conceivably, Scratching Wolf's skin could kill him if he didn't or couldn't use his pyrokinesis.—
Medical Mysteries
, by the Imperial Medacor Healing Hand.

* * *

“Your father's near death and you want to hunt bandits?”

Calmly, Flaming Arrow looked over his shoulder at Scratching Wolf and nodded. He returned his attention to the street outside, which he surveilled through a crack in the curtain.

“I couldn't dissuade him, Lord General,” Probing Gaze said. “Perhaps you can.”

The three men were inside a modest house in the southeastern quadrant of Burrow, a house readily accessible from either the north-south road that went to Emparia Castle, or the east-west road that connected Cove and Nexus. Outside, the evening breeze kicked up the dust on the nearly empty street.

Scratching Wolf frowned. That the Heir would even think of fulfilling his manhood ritual requirements while his father lay dying seemed to indicate he had no respect at all for the Emperor. Perhaps it's simply good strategy, the General thought, scratching his cheek, suspecting the latter. “Why should I even try, eh Lord Gaze? The Lord Heir decided long ago to die this foolish way.”

Flaming Arrow smiled, turned away from the window and stepped to the table where the other two men were sitting. With a last glance toward Emparia Castle, he turned his attention to the map on the table. Probing Gaze rose to get them some coffee from the kitchen.

“Glad to see you're at least worried, Lord Heir.” Scratching Wolf said. “If you won't change your mind, at least explain why you want to take heads while your father's ill.”

Eight hours before, when Flaming Arrow had left Emparia Castle, the Emperor's condition had been the same as after Aged Oak's call for help: Comatose. The Heir tried not to think about it.

“The Lord Emperor is dying, I've supposedly returned to Emparia Castle, Imperial Warriors have retreated across the border, and the Tiger Raiders have fearlessly staged a full-blown mating ceremony. If
you
were Bucking Stag, would you expect me?” The answer obvious, he continued. “Besides, it's important that I complete my ritual before …” He sighed. “Lord Wolf, how much travel time between Stag Raiders and the Gale Raiders?”

Bucking Stag and Howling Gale were the two men whom Flaming Arrow planned to assassinate next. Both bandits commanded about fourteen thousand bandits each.

“About twelve hours, Lord,” Scratching Wolf said, not scratching.

“I'll travel the distance in ten hours,” Flaming Arrow said. “Can you have the necessary men waiting to strike?”

“Eh? I missed something, Lord Heir.” The General accepted a cup from Probing Gaze.

“After I take Bucking Stag's head, I'm going to travel directly to Howling Gale's camp and take
his
head. You'll have to position two armies and orchestrate two attacks, with only ten hours between the assaults, Lord Wolf. Lord Gaze, how much time from here to Bucking Stag's camp?”

“Approximately nine hours travel, Lord Heir.”

“Lord Wolf, you have fifteen hours to prepare.”

“Impossible! Lord Heir, there's not a chance I—”

“Listen, Lord Wolf,” Flaming Arrow interrupted, leaning toward the General. “This has to be done fast. I've asked the Lord Oak to give me sixteen hours before he publicizes any favorable change in the Lord Emperor's condition. I've used eight of those hours getting here. I have twenty-four hours to take these two heads, eh? In addition, at oh nine hundred hours tomorrow morning, the Lord Oak will publicize the results of a conference he and I had that morning, during which we discussed whether I should take the reins of the Empire from my comatose father. Furthermore, he'll announce that I've petitioned for the waiver of my remaining requirements. Both announcements are merely stratagems to make the bandits think I'm at Emparia Castle. At the time of the announcements, I hope to be infiltrating the camp of Bucking Stag, and shortly thereafter, leaving for the camp of Howling Gale.”

Scratching Wolf grinned. “They won't know whether to shit or vomit!”

Flaming Arrow smiled. “Can you do it, Lord Wolf?”

“By the Infinite, I'll do
all
I can, Lord Heir!”

“Good! Lord Gaze, can you maintain that pace?”

“I'm not as young as I used to be, Lord Heir, but I'll try.”

“Lord Wolf, to be safe, I want a sectathon familiar with Howling Gale and the surrounding area stationed somewhere between the two camps.”

“Yes, Lord.” The General looked at the Colonel.

Flaming Arrow examined the map, knowing they conferred telepathically.

“I'll know who to look for if I can't go on, Lord Heir,” Probing Gaze said after a moment, sipping from his cup, his face shrouded in steam. “What about Bucking Stag's head, Lord, after you've taken it?”

“We'll meet with this other sectathon—tell me his name, by the way—regardless of your ability to continue. One of you two, Lord Gaze, will shoulder the care of the head, eh?”

“Good plan, Lord. His name is Sharp Eye. He has good range, excellent fighting skills and looks that would peel the bark from a tree.”

“Is his appearance unpleasant, or is his telekinesis powerful?” Flaming Arrow asked.

Probing Gaze shrugged. “Repulsively ugly, Lord.”

The Heir nodded. “Any discrepancies in the plan? Any suggestions are welcome, as well as objections, Lords.” Himself, he found no flaws.

Again, the other two men conferred, consulting the map.

Flaming Arrow contemplated the mountain that housed the Tiger Fortress. Reportedly, the Bandit and his betrothed Purring Tiger were now blissful mates. An enterprising spy had infiltrated the ring of bandit warriors and had watched the ceremony, a feat considered impossible because of her domesticated animal. In the past fifteen years, the cat had killed every spy slipped into the fortress. The tiger had been conspicuously absent from the ceremony and the spy had escaped. The revelry continued unabated.

Wondering, truly, if Aged Oak's comment about Seeking Sword's son had caused the aneurism in Flying Arrow's brain to rupture again, the Heir pondered the implications. By itself, it seemed of little importance. Flying Arrow had met with Lofty Lion, reputed to be the Bandit's father. According to Soothing Spirit, both the coronary infarction and the aneurism had preceded the fractured skull. Hence, his father had been under severe stress at the instant the staff took off half his head.

What had Lofty Lion said to Flying Arrow? Had Aged Oak inadvertently reminded the Emperor of Lofty Lion's words, perhaps salting the wound? What could be so important about an infant bandit that the Emperor's knowing about the child would cause further stress and damage to Flying Arrow's already feeble brain?

The Heir sighed, knowing he would probably never find out.

* * *

After Aged Oak's call for help from the Emperor's room, the scene outside was bedlam. The Medacor hastened into the room, almost colliding with the General who had come out to get him. Everyone but Flaming Arrow crowded after Soothing Spirit, craning their heads to see what was happening—or to see an Emperor dying, the Heir thought.

“Get away from the doorway!” Flaming Arrow shouted at them, and they retreated. “The fewer disturbances the better,” he said, his voice calm, his insides churning. “If the Lord Medacor needs our help, he'll certainly ask for it. Until then we'll stay out of the way, eh?”

Most the people in the room looked at the floors, the walls, the ceilings, but not at him, confirming his suspicion that the Emperor's death was of greater concern than Flying Arrow's health. Flaming Arrow rose from his seat and stepped to his mother. Pulling her head to his breast, he reassured her with his voice and his touch.

“Sorcerer!” Soothing Spirit called from the other room.

Exploding Illusion's eyes went wide, and his feet backed him toward the corridor as though of their own volition.

Flaming Arrow jumped across the room, grabbed the collar with his right hand and spun the head around with a slap of his left.

“Noooooo!” the Sorcerer howled.

Flaming Arrow slapped the man again. “Get in there!”

“Please, Lord Heir,” Exploding Illusion whispered, a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth, his right cheek flaming red. “I can't go in there, please don't force me. What if I fail? Oh, dear Lord Infinite, I can't do it, there's nothing worse for me than—”

Holding tight to the collar, Flaming Arrow pounded the Sorcerer's face with his fist, breaking the nose, knocking him unconscious.

“I'll go, Lord,” Spying Eagle said, then rushed into the room where the Emperor lay dying.

Tightening his grip on the Sorcerer's collar, Flaming Arrow walked from the room, dragging him toward the nearest stairwell. Regaining consciousness on the stairs, Exploding Illusion struggled to free himself from the Heir's grasp. Implacable, Flaming Arrow dragged him up three flights of steps, across a corridor, up another stairwell, onto the battlement. There, he lifted the Sorcerer above his head and hurled him over the side to his death.

Even before the Wizard splattered in the forecourt below, Flaming Arrow turned and descended, not bothering to watch, not caring anymore.

By the time he had returned to the Medacor's offices, everyone there knew what he had done. He gestured Aged Oak to join him in the corridor. “Since you're acting Emperor, Lord Oak, I guess you ought to know that the position of Sorcerer needs filling.”

“Oh? A pity about Exploding Illusion, eh Lord?” Aged Oak grinned, pitying no one.

* * *

Then and there, his father comatose and near death, the Heir had drafted the plan he was executing now and had briefed Aged Oak.

Through it all, from the moment Aged Oak had called for help until this moment nine hours later, Flaming Arrow hadn't been conscious of a single emotion. In front of him was a map, the Tiger Fortress the object of his contemplation. His father was comatose, a pitiless General ran the Empire, and he was throwing himself into death almost certain. He felt nothing at all.

“Lord Heir?”

“Eh? What was that, Lord Wolf?”

“I asked twice, Lord. Are you all right?”

“Eh? Of
course
I'm all right!”

Scratching Wolf frowned. “What I asked was, 'Why didn't you gut him on the spot?' ”

“Who, Lord Wolf? Gut who?”

“Exploding Illusion, Lord.”

“I didn't want to get the floor bloody.”

The other two men laughed uproariously.

Flaming Arrow found nothing humorous about it. He wished Rippling Water were here. Perhaps she could tell him why he felt nothing. She had gone south on Matriarchy business and might not be back for a few days. Not seeing where he went, the Heir stood and stepped to the curtained window. The western sky was still alight.

The time had come to be gone.

Even so, he stood there and contemplated a darkening sky.

“Are you up to this, my friend?” Probing Gaze asked.

He sighed, not having noticed the Colonel's approach. “I don't know, Lord Gaze. I won't know until I do it.”

The Colonel nodded. “I guess you feel that way about a lot of matters, eh?” He led the way to Flaming Arrow's room, where they had stored their accoutrements. “I find your attitude reassuring, Lord. Advisors and counselors can't give you experience. Only doing can. Tell me, Lord Heir, what you'll do when you've done it all? Or, Infinite forbid it, found your limits?”

“I don't know, Lord Gaze. Maybe I'll find it wasn't worth doing. Maybe I'll regret having ignored just being, eh?”

They carried their accoutrements to the door of the safehouse and equipped themselves there, cinching everything tight for the rough travel ahead, then checking each other's work. A loose strap in the midst of battle might prove fatal.

Scratching Wolf stood to see them off. “The luck of the Infinite be with you, Lords.” He bowed deeply to both men, and held it.

“Thank you, Grandfather.” Flaming Arrow returned the General's bow with a nod.

Probing Gaze and Flaming Arrow pulled their hoods over their heads, hiding their hair and most of their faces. Their identities obscured, they left the house the way they had arrived, without fanfare or recognition.

The Heir set a grueling pace, seeking oblivion through exertion.

What had Lofty Lion said to Flying Arrow?

* * *

He decided he liked it up here.

Upon the cap of the mountain, a few hours after sunrise, Seeking Sword looked northward over empty lands and saw the Northern Empire spread out before him, thriving as it had in his father's day.

A chill breeze blew abruptly past, bringing him back to the present.

Again, he saw only empty northern lands. Sadly, mournfully, the Bandit wished somehow that the vision hadn't been so ephemeral, that the history of the Northern Empire might have been different, that his father might have bequeathed him more than a smoldering ruin.