The Emperor

Chapter 2-1

2

The Gathering of Power was neither a linear nor a static process. Like the growth of bacteria in a closed environment, power grew and declined in erratic cycles. The year Guarding Bear formally relinquished all titles and the year Spying Eagle became Sorcerer Apprentice, 9308, was a peak year for the Gathering. Not until ten years later, however, did power again coalesce. In 9318, the Heir launched his assault on the Windy Mountain bandits. After this tremendous discharge, the members of the Gathering dispersed widely, and five years passed before power gathered again. In 9323, with the assassination of the Commanding General Aged Oak, the Gathering began for the final time.—The Gathering of Power, by the Wizard Spying Eagle.

Wincing, Flaming Arrow slowed to another stop on the Nest-Bastion road, his breathing rough from exertion and his whole body aching. His hood pulled far forward, he stepped off the road, wondering where he was.

The road was nearly empty of traveler and muddy from rain, the footing treacherous. Flaming Arrow felt so tired, and hurt so much, that he wanted to curl up in his cloak beside the road and sleep forever. When he'd left Emparia City at noon with only his servant Cub in attendance, he'd promised Soothing Spirit he'd travel slowly. He'd expected to arrive in Bastion at dawn. Now, he doubted he'd arrive before noon.

Earlier on the journey, near sunset, just outside Nest, his servant had fallen badly and had broken his leg. The Heir had carried Cub back to Nest, to the nearest medacor's office, and then had gone on alone.

For a man of his position to travel alone was unthinkable. Usually, he had the obligatory contingent of guards. Usually, he was an invincible swordfighter. Usually, he had nothing to fear from the citizens of the Eastern Empire.

On this journey, though, he wished now that he hadn't ordered his honor guard to stay behind. His abdomen hurt like the Infinite, each breath aggravating his pain, each step shaking the tender muscles and organs.

Aged Oak had pulverized him.

Flaming Arrow couldn't have swung a sword even to save his own life. Five years ago, he would've been able to walk unarmed anywhere in the Empire. Now, he needed guards and arms. With the Bandit's help, the Heir had lost the exalted reputation he'd enjoyed after assassinating the five bandit leaders.

“But he that filches from me my good name robs me of that which not enriches him and makes me poor indeed,” the ancient playwright, Shaking Spear, had once said.

The Bandit had eroded the Heir's reputation until it was no better than mud on the path. He guessed that the Bandit was sick in his hatred of his double across the border, who'd killed his mate's father and ruined his life. The Bandit will do anything to obtain the Northern Imperial Sword, the Heir thought. The man is unscrupulous.

A pity no one ever found the Northern Heir Sword. The last Northerner, Lofty Lion, had died in the dungeons of Emparia Castle after attempting to assassinate Flying Arrow—without revealing where he'd hidden the Heir Sword. With him had died the bandits' hope of building the Northern Empire anew.

Why the Bandit continued to act as if he were the Northern Emperor was beyond Flaming Arrow's comprehension. The Bandit's sullying his reputation was both revenge and an effort to acquire the Northern Imperial Sword—a Sword useless to everyone.

The day before, from his bed in the infirmary of Emparia Castle, Flaming Arrow had asked his father to give Seeking Sword the Sword he sought.

“No!” Flying Arrow barked, glaring at him.

“Infinite blast your stubborn soul! Why not?” Flaming Arrow cursed. He breathed deeply to compose himself. “That's the reason the Bandit's trying to destroy my reputation,” he said calmly. “That's the reason he's trying to isolate the Eastern Empire: He's sending ambassadors both west and south, but not here. He helped the Western Empire when famine struck. He captured all those Southern expatriates when Stalking Jaguar succeeded his father. He refused to help us when the River Placid flooded everything between here and Cove. He says he'll recognize the Eastern Empire when you acknowledge his sovereignty and give him the Sword.”

“I fought hard to get that Sword,” Flying Arrow replied. “I won't give it up! Besides, he's a despicable Bandit. Like all bandits, he wants to destroy our ancient society and those of the Western and Southern Empires as well! Everything he does violates tradition! Everything! I refuse to legitimize his sovereignty in any way—especially that way!”

Four inches taller and fifty pounds heavier than Flying Arrow, Flaming Arrow gazed at his father standing above him from the foot of the infirmary bed. They both knew the Heir could dominate him in any kind of fight, regardless of weapon.

He knew his father was right, though. The Bandit's government in almost every way mocked political structures elsewhere. The apostate Emperor Sword had even made talismans explicitly legal—threatening the sovereignty of the Swords.

My father's being right doesn't correct the problem, the Heir thought. As usual his father would avoid decisive action on some pretext and wait for the situation to resolve itself. Flaming Arrow knew his father was the worst of all Emperors Arrow. Five years ago, just after Lofty Lion's assassination attempt, the Heir could have usurped the throne. Instead, he'd chosen to support his father's recovery from his injuries, knowing he lacked enough experience to be Emperor. Now, he wondered if he should have usurped the throne from his father.

Not that he is my father, Flaming Arrow thought, knowing Flying Arrow's quiver empty. The ignominy of bastardy was one of the many shames he endured because of this man. So many shames and most of them for so little reason! Infinite blast you! he thought, staring at him.

“You and I call him the Bandit, Father, but his name to everyone else is the Emperor Sword. When you failed to find the Heir Sword, you failed to conquer the Northern Empire. Give him the Sword, Father.”

“No, I told you! Impudent little runt, I ought to disinherit you for your insolence! I won't! I've decided!”

Wanting to goad him into disinheriting him, Flaming Arrow stared at his father, hating him and hating being his heir. What he mostly hated was his own impotence: He was powerless to do anything about the Bandit. Of everything he'd endured in his life, the worst was the infuriating knowledge that if he lifted a pinky to harm the Bandit, all four Empires would decry him a warmonger.

So instead of goading his father, he acquiesced. “All right, Lord Emperor,” he said caustically. “It's your Sword and your Empire. You know what I'll do with it the moment I succeed you.”

“Oh? What's that, Lord Emperor Heir?”

Flaming Arrow smiled. “Turn off the light as you leave, would you, Lord Emperor? I want to sleep.”

“Stubborn bastard,” Flying Arrow muttered loud enough for his son to hear. Turning, he limped from the room.

Flaming Arrow turned off the light himself.

Flaming Arrow turned back to the road, rested now. His pace slow, he resumed his trek across the Empire, silently blessing his mentor Guarding Bear for bequeathing him the Caven Hills.

Five years ago, the old retired General had lost his sanity upon the death of his mate, the Matriarch Bubbling Water. Mates who'd been together as long as they usually died within hours of each other, sometimes moments.

Guarding Bear hadn't died, though. His loss of sanity had invoked his final testament, as provided for by law. To everyone's surprise, his testament specified that his prefecture go to the Heir Flaming Arrow and his immense wealth to his only surviving son Rolling Bear.

Privately, Flaming Arrow had struck a deal with Rolling Bear, not wanting to incur his enmity over the Caven Hills, which rightly should have gone to him. Flaming Arrow had proposed that Rolling Bear manage the prefecture in the Heir's name. Upon succeeding Flying Arrow as Emperor, Flaming Arrow would reaffirm the Bear Patriarchy's hereditary claim.

Rolling Bear, having a jovial disposition that weathered all storms with equanimity, had smiled at Flaming Arrow. “Enmity? I could never bear you enmity, Lord Heir. Besides, Rippling Water wouldn't like her brother and her mate to be mad at each other, eh? She'd squash our heads together.”

Flaming Arrow had laughed, nodding.

Wincing, Flaming Arrow loped through a drizzle along the Nest-Bastion road, his ribcage hurting with each breath.

He was grateful Guarding Bear had bequeathed him the Caven Hills. With a source of income independent of Flying Arrow, with a whole prefecture to retreat to when he needed to retreat, with a home in each Emparia Castle, Nest and Bastion, Flaming Arrow was nearly impervious to his father's tyranny. During the last five years, he'd found these sanctuaries necessary on several occasions. He'd never allowed the hostility between himself and his father to become open.

Despite the Heir's every attempt to reassure the Emperor that he didn't want the throne and wouldn't try to usurp it, Flying Arrow refused to believe otherwise. For instance, after his manhood ritual, Flaming Arrow had encouraged Spying Eagle and Healing Hand to do everything they could to restore the Emperor's right brain. The two Wizards had worked for almost a year, the Heir openly applauding their every success, however minor. When they'd repaired the right hemisphere to the point where the Emperor had full sensorimotor control except for a slight limp, the Heir had asked Flying Arrow to reward them for their efforts.

Grudgingly, the Emperor had, but had also become more suspicious than ever, restricting the duties of the Sorcerer and the Medacor Apprentice. The Heir wondered at his father's senseless ingratitude.

Flaming Arrow trudged up a hill, his sides hurting.

Privately, Spying Eagle had told Flaming Arrow that he didn't enjoy taking orders from the Emperor, that some orders were so distasteful he refused to carry them out.

That had been four years ago. Spying Eagle had since abdicated his position. Flaming Arrow didn't know all the details, not having been at the castle for the confrontation. He knew enough about the two men to guess what had happened, though. Angry that the Sorcerer refused to obey some order, the Emperor ordered Spying Eagle to begin training a Sorcerer Apprentice whom he, the Emperor, selected. After interviewing the Wizard Delving Thought, Spying Eagle refused to train him. Flying Arrow lost his temper. Spying Eagle resigned, and Delving Thought became the Sorcerer. Now Spying Eagle lived in Emparia City, a private citizen, practicing his profession as he had twenty years ago, independent of all political affiliation. Flaming Arrow often went to see his friend.

Healing Hand had also left Imperial service, but not because of any open difference of opinion with Flying Arrow. The Imperial Medacor Soothing Spirit was one hundred twelve years old and showed no signs of flagging. Being more than capable of caring for the castle denizens, the elder man simply didn't need Healing Hand's skills. Flaming Arrow knew too that his father thought the blond-haired Medacor too closely allied with the Heir. Such hostility, however subliminal, wouldn't escape the Wizard-medacor's notice. Two years after Flaming Arrow's manhood ritual, Healing Hand had quietly resigned.

No one was sure of Healing Hand's current whereabouts. He'd told his mother and sister where he'd be, but had asked them not to disclose that information unless someone urgently needed to find him. Knowing the medacor's spiritual nature, Flaming Arrow guessed he'd gone to a retreat somewhere for reflection and meditation.

So, in the last five years, Flaming Arrow had lost two of his three allies inside Emparia Castle. Flaming Arrow didn't include his mother, the Imperial Consort, among those allies. He saw Flowering Pine so rarely, and usually in circumstances so obstructive to intimacy, that he regarded his mother as one person among thousands whom he hoped one day to know personally. Somewhere deep inside he knew he ached to have more than a passing acquaintance with her. Long ago he'd resolved to abide by her wish to have only that. Now, only a dull ache remained.