The Heir (Fall of the Swords Book 3) Read Online Free

Slithering Snake hadn't visited again.
    “Anyway, it's time for me to leave,” Seeking Sword said, weeping softly and closing his eyes.
    Slithering Snake put his hand on the boy's shoulder, not knowing what else to do. He doubted that Icy Wind had fathered Seeking Sword, but had no proof. Icy Wind had appeared with the infant one day at the Elk Raider caves, claiming the boy was his own. The mother had died shortly after giving birth, Icy Wind claimed, in the earthquake that had destroyed Burrow Garrison and stopped the Imperial siege of the Tiger Fortress. The old man also claimed she died before bestowing half her psychic reserve on Seeking Sword, hence his lack of talent.
    His lack notwithstanding, the Infinite had blessed Seeking Sword with incredible luck. In ten years of weapons practice, he had received only one injury. Slithering Snake couldn't count the number of cuts and scratches he'd gotten while teaching the boy.
    Furthermore, where the destitute, half-crazy, obnoxious old man had obtained the boy's sword was a mystery. The blade looked like tarnished brass. The haft was plain, contoured for the hand, and unremarkable except for the single ruby set in the pommel. Slithering Snake had seen many swords more elaborately decorated, but none that color of metal. Modest in appearance, the sword was valuable, its craftsmanship superior.
    The mystery of Seeking Sword and Icy Wind had attracted the attention of Scowling Tiger, the most powerful bandit in the Windy Mountains. Months ago, the bandit general had questioned the sectathon at length, then the two Wizards Melding Mind and Easing Comfort had plied him with further questions. The three men had then interviewed Leaping Elk. Initially, Slithering Snake had thought that the questioning was the bandit general's first move toward inducting Seeking Sword into the Tiger Raiders. Months had passed since then, and Scowling Tiger hadn't offered the boy a position. Why was Scowling Tiger so interested in Seeking Sword? Slithering Snake wondered.
    Sighing, the sectathon scanned the area for human presence, his talent enabling him to detect others from as far as twenty miles away.
    The eye-sore of Icy Wind's psychic signature was the only one within two miles. In all his forty-three years, Slithering Snake had seen few signatures as ugly. The figure tottered toward them, leaning heavily on a staff. Why does Icy Wind need the staff when a medacor can easily correct any infirmity? Slithering Snake wondered. Is it a talisman, as Leaping Elk suspects?
    “Here comes your father,” he said.
    * * *
    A look of resigned disgust passed across Seeking Sword's face. “Just in time,” the boy said, wiping the tears off his cheeks. Sighing, he stood and stepped to his discarded weapons. Quiver, weapons belt, a knife for each moccasin, pack and bow. He slid the sword into a sheath that disparaged the blade it housed. None of Seeking Sword's clothing was of quality workmanship, the boy having made it himself. All of it was better than Icy Wind's rags.
    “The Lord Elk's offer of better clothing still stands, my friend.”
    “As does my refusal, Lord Snake.” Seeking Sword already owed Leaping Elk more than he could repay. For years, Leaping Elk and other members of the Elk Raiders had taught Seeking Sword various disciplines. The boy had often wondered how to repay that debt. I wish Father didn't hate them so much, Seeking Sword thought. If he didn't, I'd join them tomorrow.
    The old man limped into the clearing. Clutching a polished staff were trembling, gnarled hands of shriveled skin, prominent vein, knobby knuckle.
    “Father, you didn't need to come all this way,” Seeking Sword said as usual, the clearing several miles north of their cave.
    “Oh, I know, my son, my only son, but I wanted to see you disarm this bandit. Yes, I did,” Icy Wind said, directing a contemptuous look toward Slithering Snake. Glistening, bloodshot, jaundiced eyes dregged sunken sockets and peered from