Fall of the Swords Collection

Chapter 6

To understand the fall of the Swords in the year 9323, we look back nearly fifty years to 9274, to the Caven Hills revolt in the Eastern Empire. We can trace the fall to this small skirmish. Heretofore, most historians traced the fall of the Swords to the annihilation of the Northern Empire in 9287, during which the Northern Heir Sword disappeared. However, from the Caven Hills revolt emerged the peasant Guarding Bear, a man with a talent as wild as the hills themselves. Revolting as much against inequitable taxation as his rigid society, Guarding Bear soon dominated Eastern Empire politics. Without him or his revolt, humanity would still be struggling to free itself from its nine-thousand-year cage. The way the revolt began is a story Guarding Bear can tell you himself. —The Fall of the Swords.

The Fall of the SwordsWe stood on a hill overlooking a canyon with only one entrance. In that narrow defile, a small detachment of our rebels awaited the enemy. They were a full battalion of seasoned Arrow Warriors. We were a disorganized r****e of peasants, without the resources to continue our resistance much longer.

We were in rebellion. Two weeks before, the Lord Emperor Smoking Arrow had raised taxes from thirty to forty-five taels per family per year. In the Caven Hills, most families earned less than fifty. We were so poor only the Infinite knew how we"d pay.

Our insurrection started so innocently.

An hour after the Emperor announced the tax increase on the psychic flow, that great universal mind, my brother and I entered our village. The buildings were mostly wattle-and-daub huts, the only stone structure a small grain silo too large to hold our meager harvests. In inclement weather we kept sheep in it—when we had sheep. Piles of refuse and excrement greeted us with their stench. We"d become accustomed long before and barely noticed. Our father, the village elder, had tried years ago to improve the sanitation. Surviving was such a struggle that the Caven Hills natives cared little for fripperies like sewage systems.

Brazen Bear and I walked through the village, feeling the same dejection and doom all the villagers felt, most of them too ignorant to shield their minds. The village was a community under sentence. The villagers looked at us with hostility, as if we were somehow at fault for the increase in taxes.

We stepped into our hovel and found our father Crazy Bear. He was sitting on his sleeping mat and staring at the dirt. Without a word, we sat on our mats and looked toward him. I felt furious that Father was in such a predicament. No village elder was responsible for the region"s poverty. If anyone, it was the Prefect who was responsible.

Crazy Bear looked up slowly, frowning. “Brazen Bear, Guarding Bear, oh my beloved sons.” He dropped his gaze back to the floor. “The Lord Emperor Smoking Arrow in his Infinite-blessed wisdom has raised taxes from thirty to forty five taels. This village can"t possibly pay the extra fifteen taels and owes back taxes as well. We"ll have to sell one of the village children across the border, perhaps two. Either that, or I lose my head for not collecting our liege lord"s taxes.”

“Father—”

Crazy Bear held up a hand to interrupt my brother. Sighing, he looked toward the ceiling. “Infinite forgive me! This is all my fault.” He sighed again, his spirit heavy. In his love for us, Father granted us the honor of his unshielded emotions. “I made a purchase last week with money I began to save over five years ago. Taels we three have earned and taels from the village treasury, which I really shouldn"t have spent. I"ve abused my office, in a way. If I thought my head would satisfy the tax collectors, I"d give it gladly, but my head won"t pay the taxes.”

“Can"t you sell back whatever you bought?” Brazen Bear asked.

“Only at a loss, my son.” Crazy Bear shook his head. “You know the situation. I want to protect our village from the Prefect to the east, to stop this village from being a pawn between our liege lord and him. In one sense, I want to protect our village. In truth I want my boys to have a measure of control over their lives, some means of making their situation better. I wish I could have presented these at a better time, my sons.” Reaching back, Father pulled an oilcloth bundle into his lap and opened the folds.

From within gleamed a pair of matched swords.

I gasped, having dreamt of swords better than the useless blades we practiced with, so dull we could only use them as bludgeons. These two swords, I saw, were far better than any I"d imagined. The hafts were plain and unadorned, the sheaths only leather, but the blades were a finely-layered, pewter-colored metal—the best workmanship and the best materials. I guessed that the swords were worth more than five times the village taxes. If Father sold them, the money would easily lift the burden Smoking Arrow had laid on our backs. That explained the villagers" hostile glances.

Brazen Bear looked sadly at the swords. “Please forgive me, Father, I can"t accept the gift.”

Crazy Bear frowned at my younger brother.

“Neither can I, Father,” I said, wanting to shove my words back in my mouth. I craved one of those swords so much I"d have hacked off my left testicle to get one. To my horror, I added, “In fact, I insist you sell them tomorrow and pay the village taxes. You"ll have enough to pay future taxes as well.”

My father smiled. “Fortunately, I"m the village elder. As your elder, I insist you take these swords. We know our liege lord doesn"t think our village worth a bucket of dung, so we have to protect it ourselves. Tomorrow, I leave for Nest to ask the Lord Prefect Tiger to repay us the money I spent. In my absence, I charge you two to protect the village. I"m confident you"ll do well. So take these swords, my sons, and always remember your duty to your village.”

I"mI slid the oilcloth toward me and gestured my brother to choose one. Picking up the other tenderly, I slipped the blade into the sheath. The sword in both hands, I bowed reverently to my father. Brazen Bear knelt as well. In sync we spoke. “These humble peasants ask the Village Elder Bear to accept their swords and their souls into his service.”

We made a mockery of the warrior"s ritual vows. The sword is the soul of the warrior. According to nobles, peasants don"t have souls—and therefore can"t have swords. Most groups in our stratified society twist logic like that to make themselves feel superior.

“This humble peasant accepts the swords and the souls of the Brothers Bear into his service,” Father replied. “His first and only command is that they vow a greater loyalty to the village of their birth. Use the swords with care, my sons, and walk with the Infinite.”

“Thank you, Elder, for entrusting us with this sacred duty.”

Outside the hut, we stopped to examine the weapons. A passing villager saw us. Her face grew cold when she saw our new swords. She was the typical village beauty of the Caven Hills. Disease had pocked her face, sores festered on her arm, her hair was lank and lusterless, and she stank enough to alert game from fifty paces away. Her words were typical too: “Why don"t you boys unseat the Emperor and lower taxes, eh?” she said bitterly. “Do something useful with all that learning!”

usefulSmiling at her, I repeated my father"s refrain: “Why not?” My brother laughed, and we loped off into the forest to practice with our new swords.

Crazy Bear wasn"t my father"s given name. He"d earned it. Since before we could remember, Father had given us lessons each day. He"d nurtured our thirst for knowledge and love of learning, fertilizing the rich soil of our minds. Father included such diverse subjects as strategy, reconnaissance, command, swordsmanship, archery, intrigue, and government. If he weren"t familiar with a subject or if we"d learned all he knew, Crazy Bear found those who could teach us further. Comfortable in their ignorance, the villagers often asked if he were rearing us to be Emperors. Father always replied, “Why not?”

earnedIt was an admirable if impossible dream. As the years of teaching continued, the villagers began to call him Crazy Bear, a name that always brought a smile to his lips. Since we revere the insane as if the Infinite has blessed them, Father could do with this name what a sane man couldn"t, a lesson my brother and I remembered well.

We both knew he"d fail in Nest.

The Prefect Scowling Tiger was only a few years older than I. I was sixteen that year, Brazen Bear fifteen. Scowling Tiger had inherited two prefectures upon his father"s death the year before. Since he depended on the taxes from his other prefecture, he cared little about the plight of the Caven Hills. To him, our precious land was a pair of words that adorned his name, a title that enhanced his status. He was a blight upon the Caven Hills.

While Father was in Nest, my brother and I discussed what to do about the taxes. Our village would suffer whatever the result of Crazy Bear"s petition. We had vowed to protect it, so we devised a plan.

Talking with the elders from a few neighboring villages, we found out when the collectors would make their rounds. After three days in Nest, Father sent us a message on the psychic flow that Scowling Tiger had laughed at his request for reimbursement. The insult was intolerable.

We killed our first tax collector the next day and stole all the money he carried. During the next two days, we killed three more. With the money, we bought swords, spears, electrical shields, bows and arrows. We wasted not a tael.

After we killed the fourth one, the chief collector for the prefecture made three announcements on the psychic flow. First, a detachment of guards would henceforth escort all collectors. Second, the Prefect would pay a hundred taels for the capture of the criminals. Third, the region would repay all stolen taxes by paying a surtax, due immediately. The announcements enraged our fellow peasants.

The few warriors who lived in the Caven Hills were angry as well. A warrior with any face wouldn"t live in such a cesspool; those who did had shameful pasts. Being peasants, my brother and I couldn"t expect any warrior, regardless of past, to follow our orders. What warrior would serve a peasant? When we told them our plan, though, most joined us immediately. The other warriors died. We couldn"t risk their informing the Prefect.

During the next two days, my brother, I and our band of miscreants ambushed three collectors and their escorts. Our spies in Nest had found out the collectors" routes. After they visited several villages, we massacred them before they took the day"s collection back to Nest. We then disappeared into the wilderness of the Caven Hills.

Thus began our insurrection.

While criminal activity in the region was no more widespread than elsewhere, our area had the reputation of being the refuse heap of the Empire, a dumping ground for the Empire"s human garbage. Hilly and inaccessible, the Caven Hills was haven to fugitives from across the land. Once every ten years or so, the Prefect would ask the Emperor to send in the Armed Forces to scour the place clean of trash, which only scattered it elsewhere. The actual natives—not the Empire"s garbage—were reclusive, irrepressible and fiercely independent. They weathered this drizzle of scoundrel and cloudburst of warrior like willows in a storm—they remained when the storm had gone. The inhabitants did what they could to deter the government"s scrutiny. They didn"t hesitate to bring the career of a particularly reckless reprobate to an early end.

Our miscreants were unusual, having gained the tacit support of the natives.

My brother and I knew that Scowling Tiger would have to act—or he might lose his position. We"d repaid his neglect of the Caven Hills by taking his taxes, but the income was less important than his face.

Now, I"m Guarding Bear—a peasant. Nobles always tell us peasants we don"t have face and can"t understand face. I know this much about it: Face is sometimes more important than substance. To nobles, anyway.

Scowling Tiger had inherited more than wealth and position: He"d inherited face. Even the Emperor had respected and feared his father Stretching Tiger. For a week, though, the Prefect did nothing to regain his face. He didn"t even collect taxes. He did request Smoking Arrow"s help. The Emperor sent Scowling Tiger a full battalion of Arrow Warriors.

didNot knowing where and when they"d attack, Brazen Bear and I sent envoys to most of the villages and asked them to move temporarily to Bastion Valley. Then, to insure that the battalion attacked where we wanted, we had the location of our camp and a false report on our numbers secretly whispered in the right ears.

andThe canyon where we camped was a natural bowl, its sides steep, like most the hills in the region, those at the entrance almost vertical. Thick scrub oak and gnarled manzanita covered the hillsides with leaves that will send you sprawling if you don"t know how to walk on them. My brother and I planted electrical shields in the trees all around and inside the canyon, turning their ranges to maximum. Under those on the rim, we secreted most of our rebels, so the Imperial sectathons couldn"t count how many we were. To catch the scouts sent to inspect the shielded areas visually, we placed snares in all likely approaches, a trick so primitive no one thought we"d use it. In the canyon entrance we assembled a hundred volunteers—the same number of rebels we"d whispered in just the right ears. Their shields flickered on and off as though malfunctioning, betraying their presence. Our strategy was to make the Arrow Warriors think we"d scattered the shields in and around the canyon to make our numbers appear greater than they were, a ruse often used to deceive an enemy. Our deception was we actually did have rebels under those shields.

didThe Imperial Battalion marched toward the Caven Hills, Howling Tiger in command. The Emperor had allowed the Prefect"s younger brother to lead them to save Scowling Tiger"s face. They tried to march through the rough terrain in orderly rows and columns, trying to maintain formation in vain.

Watching them, Brazen Bear and I laughed so hard we pissed all over ourselves. Father had taught us to adapt our strategies and tactics to the terrain, and we exploited their failure to adapt.

After they got within ten miles of us, our unshielded sectathons analyzed their composition—the numbers of their swordsmen, archers, spearmen, pyrathons, portathons, thermathons, et cetera. The outlanders didn"t turn on their own electrical shields until they came within a mile of the canyon, where they camped. Howling Tiger offered to parlay, but the contingent leader refused, as we"d instructed. Only sixteen, with little patience, Howling Tiger waited only one day before attacking the camp in the defile.

et ceteraThe contingent had ample warning of the attack. In most battles, the attacking force will launch volleys of arrows to soften the defenders. The Arrow Warriors didn"t bother. They just charged the contingent, so certain of victory they took few precautions. The contingent resisted as well as they could. The defile protected their flanks and kept the Arrow Warriors from surrounding them.

As the battalion was about to rout them, the rebel contingent retreated into the canyon. Tasting victory already, Howling Tiger ordered his whole force to give chase. Almost a thousand Arrow Warriors, the l**t for victory boiling in their veins, surged into the canyon in pursuit of perhaps fifty rebels. They quickly slaughtered so small a force.

After nearly all the Arrow Warriors entered the canyon, I signaled the kinathons on the hilltops overlooking the entrance with a big red flag. The most potent telekinetics I could find in the Caven Hills, the two men pushed tons of earth and rock into the defile to block the only way out. On the same signal, other kinathons hurled boulders and trees into the canyon from under the electrical shields, which stop only psychic energy. I signaled our archers to let fly and sent a rain of arrows into the enemy. Still, I kept our swordsmen back.

The enemy hurled back some projectiles and fired a few arrows. Since they couldn"t see or detect us, most of their missiles missed. The scene below was bedlam. From my vantage point, I could see Howling Tiger, his sword in hand and armor glinting in the sun. He looked furious as he tried to organize his warriors, most of whom ran back and forth like trapped rats.

I waited, knowing we needed to kill as many enemy as we could before committing our main force. The deluge of arrows began to slacken. My archers had almost exhausted their quivers. I asked the Infinite to keep the souls of the brave volunteers who"d baited the trap and sacrificed themselves. Smiling, I looked at my brother. Brazen Bear nodded and drew his sword. I gave the signal.

Rebels poured down the canyon sides, five hundred strong, my brother and I leading the way. The maelstrom of psychic energy was terrible.

Mine and my brother"s talents worked in ways we"d never imagined. The talent is nearly unique. Even after forty years of watching it work, I still don"t know all its tricks. I do know that my talent uses ambient psychic energy to protect me by converting living molecules into stone—usually whoever attacks me.

That day in the canyon, energy swirled around us on all the frequencies. Every time a warrior blasted one of us with talent, we twisted his own energy back on him. We left statues all over that canyon.

That was my first pitched battle, and the Arrow Warriors fought in different ways. Electrical shields being standard issue, every warrior had one. Warriors with weaker talents and talents that can"t kill—the communication talents carry too little energy, for instance—wore their shields at their belts and always had them on. Some warriors carried their electrical shields in their hands, switching them on and off as they needed. In doing so they lost the blade they might have had in the hand. Warriors with telekinesis left the shields at their belts, switching them on and off with talent. Of course, some warriors didn"t need electrical shields. Their mindshields were strong enough and on frequencies diverse enough that they deflected all psychic assault. Since our talents fed off energy directed at us, my brother and I had no need for electrical shields.

I fought my way toward Howling Tiger, leaving a trail of bodies and statues behind me. Around the commander lay charred peasants he"d burned to death with his talent. While dueling another warrior, I watched him. He fought very well, even with three arrows in the left shoulder between the back and chest plates of his armor. Dispatching the warrior I fought, I charged Howling Tiger. He deftly turned aside my blade and almost hobbled me. We parried and feinted to take each other"s measure. His wounds didn"t slow him at all. Then a spear caught him in the right thigh. With a scream, he hacked off the shaft, leaving the spear point embedded, then turned back to me. His distraction was so brief I couldn"t turn it to my advantage. We circled and parried with blinding-fast strokes. Neither of us found a weakness. I feigned a slip to fool him. As he lunged for me, I cleaved off his left forearm and slashed to press my advantage while blood spurted from the stump. He deftly parried my attack and cauterized the stump with his talent. Stepping into a dead warrior"s entrails, I truly slipped. I thought I was dead. Howling Tiger raised his sword for the killing blow but at that moment burned me with his pyrokinesis. My talent saved me again, turning Howling Tiger into a statue.

Muttering brief thanks to the Infinite, I turned to engage another warrior. The battle continued to rage for another hour. As our rebels crushed the last pockets of resistance, I saw my brother.

Looking insane, he cut through the remaining Arrow Warriors as if harvesting grain. Charging a warrior, he defeated him, then methodically hacked apart the body until it was beyond recognition. Brazen Bear looked possessed. Usually, I knew what he was thinking and feeling, our sibling empathy-link stronger than most brothers had. He had shut his mind with shields like steel doors. I watched as he finished with one warrior and looked around, not seeing me beside him. After he obliterated another and searched for the next, I planted myself in front of him. He"d have skewered me if I hadn"t kicked the sword from his hand and slapped him.

Waking up, he didn"t say anything. Retrieving his sword, he gestured me to follow. He looked enraged about something but wouldn"t or couldn"t tell me.

Brazen Bear led me to Father"s body. Somehow, Father had found his way to the battlefield and tried to help. He didn"t know how to wield a sword, having only watched while others had taught us. Brazen Bear told me later he"d tried to protect Father in the midst of battle but could only watch helplessly as a seasoned Arrow Warrior cut him in half. The price of victory, the Infinite"s way of balancing the scales. I"ve never won a duel, battle, or war without paying for what I won.

We assigned one detail to search the bodies for possessions, weapons, shields and armor, a second to count and sort them, and a third detail to bury them. Making a litter, Brazen Bear and I dispatched ten men to follow us and collect wood along the way. We carried Father back to the village of our youth. Placing the bier upon the hovel in which we"d lived, we piled wood inside and set fire to our past. Silently, we watched the flames consume all we"d known. We both wept.

Later, as we approached Bastion Valley, revelry drifted to us on the psychic flow. Who could blame the natives? Suddenly, they had their dignity back. Celebrating was far from our minds. I sighed and said, “Father always told us that a leader has to do what"s better for the group.”

“He"d have wanted us to celebrate the end of his suffering,” Brazen Bear replied. We entered Bastion Valley. I gestured my brother to follow me up to a promontory, where we held our swords above our heads and faced the throng below. Cheering erupted as the crowd recognized us. Soon the tumult died, and my brother and I lowered our swords.

“We"ve won this battle,” I said, projecting my resonant voice over the crowd, “but the war continues. We inflicted losses three to one and left not a single Arrow Warrior alive.” A roar went up. “We"ll fight other battles, and some we may lose. We must never lose sight of the reason we fight!” Cheers greeted this statement and slowly dissipated. “Today we suffered an irreplaceable loss. My father, the village elder Crazy Bear, died in battle. He fought all his life for what he believed, and so he died—fighting for his beliefs! Let us celebrate as much for our victory as for him who dedicated his life to the Caven Hills!”

A resounding cheer rose from the valley. Into the clamor we descended.