Mistress of the Empire (71 page)

It was just such traits that would make Chumaka the ideal imperial adviser, Jiro mused with a curl to his lips that just missed being a smile. His mood now much improved, he regarded his adviser, whose habitual stoop was emphasised by the drag of his wet garments. ‘Why should we grant Mara more time to advance her interests? Your intelligence confirms that she intends to claim the golden throne for Justin.’

Chumaka tapped his cheek with one finger, as though considering; but by the calculating glint in his eyes, Jiro knew he was under close observation. ‘Master,’ Chumaka said presently, ‘your command tent is prepared. I suggest we discuss this issue inside, in comfort and privacy.’

Jiro laughed. ‘You are slipperier than a fresh-caught fish, Chumaka. Well then, we shall dry off and the servants shall heat us tea. But after that, no more roundabout talk! By the gods, I will have my answer from you. And after all these delays and excuses, it had better be revealing!’

Now Chumaka smiled. He bobbed a quick, self-deprecating bow. ‘Master, have I ever failed to match my actions to your desires?’

His temper changeable as the wind-blown clouds overhead, Jiro answered through clenched teeth, ‘Mara is still alive. Bring me her head, and then I will agree that you have not failed me.’

Not the least discomfited by what another man might regard as a plain threat from the Lord of the Anasati, Chumaka said, ‘Indeed, master, that is what I am working myself to achieve.’

‘Hah!’ Jiro moved through the gloomy woods toward the largest tent. ‘Don’t try me, old man. You’d work yourself to the bone for the sheer love of intrigue.’

Chumaka wrung out the hem of his dripping cloak and followed his master into the command tent. ‘My Lord, it is a fine point, but if I should do such a thing for its own sake, that would be vanity. The gods do not love such faults in a man. Therefore, I work for the glory of your cause, my Lord, and there the matter ends. I am ever your loyal servant.’

Jiro ended the discussion with a deprecating wave. He preferred his philosophy out of books, which did not have Chumaka’s irritating tendency to belabor every issue half to death.

The interior of the command tent was still in the process of being set up. One lantern had been lit, and servants bustled about unpacking cushions and hangings. From the outside, Jiro’s quarters might appear plain, but inside, he insisted on his comforts, his fine silk tapestries, and two chests of book scrolls. Lately he had been reading up on obscure issues of law, imperial state functions, and precisely which ceremonies must be officiated by which priests of the Twenty Gods to make the crowning of an Emperor proper in the eyes of heaven.

The reading had been tedious, made worse because the lanterns attracted bugs and cast poor light. The Lord of the Anasati snapped his fingers, and a boy body servant
jumped to attend him. ‘Remove my armor. See that all the leather straps are oiled, so they do not dry stiff.’ Jiro waited, statue-still, as he suffered the boy to undo the first buckles.

Although his high office allowed the attentions of a servant, Chumaka hated the pretension. He shucked his damp wool and found a seat. Jiro’s silent, efficient house staff had just brought him a steaming pot of tea when a buzzing sound cut the air.

‘A Great One comes!’ he called in warning.

Jiro jerked free of his last bracer and spun around, while behind him, to a man, his serving staff fell prone upon the floor. As a gust fanned the tent, and the hangings rippled from their supporting poles, Chumaka set down the teapot and faded into the shadows toward the back of the tent.

The magician appeared in the center of the one rug that had been unrolled from its bundle. His fiery red hair trailed out from under his hood, and he seemed not to care that he trod over silk cushions as he approached the Lord of the Anasati. The eyes beneath his cowl were pale and sharp as they darted from side to side, and fixed at last on the Lord who waited with his armor heaped at his feet.

‘My Lord of the Anasati,’ greeted Tapek of the Assembly of Magicians. ‘I am sent as delegate to command your presence in the Holy City. Troops have been deployed, and for the good of the Empire, the Assembly requires an accounting to avert the outbreak of open war.’

Glad of the wet hair that concealed the fact that he was sweating, Lord Jiro raised his chin. He gave a perfectly deferent bow. ‘Your will, Great One. It shall not be the Anasati who break your edict. But I make so bold as to point out: if I go, who will see that Mara of the Acoma and her Shinzawai husband keep the edict against armed conflict?’

Tapek frowned. ‘That is not your business, Lord Jiro! Do
not presume to question.’ Although the Great One was far from unsympathetic to the Anasati cause, he disliked the idea that any Lord dared to voice even token objection. But as Jiro bent his head in deference, Tapek relented. ‘The Lady Mara has been issued a like summons! She is also commanded to appear in Kentosani. As you are, she is given ten days’ leave in which to do so! The day after the imperial mourning ends, you will both convene with members of the Assembly to state your cases.’

Jiro thought rapidly and repressed a smile of satisfaction. Ten days’ fast march would barely be sufficient to allow Mara to reach the Holy City. His position was closer, not with his main army to the south as all would suppose, but in this secret location near Kentosani in preparation for his planned siege. Mara would need to scramble to meet the Assembly’s demand, while he would have days of leeway to seek advantage. To cover the bent of his thinking, the Anasati Lord said, ‘These are unstable times, Great One. Traveling the roads is not safe for any Lord, with every other ambitious noble stirring about with his army. Mara may have your sanction against attacking my personal train, but she has other supporters and sympathisers. Many friends of the late Emperor have political cause to see me dead for my leadership of the traditionalist faction.’

‘This is true.’ Tapek gave a magnanimous gesture. ‘You are permitted to travel with an honor guard to ensure your safety. When you reach the Holy City, you may take one hundred warriors within the walls. Since the Imperial Whites still enforce order inside the city, that number should be proof against assassins.’

Jiro bowed deeply. ‘Your will, Great One.’ He held his deferential pose through the buzzing sound that signaled Tapek’s departure. When he arose, he found Chumaka once again seated upon the cushions, dusting at the footprints left by the magician between sips of his tea. His manner
was inscrutable, as if no great visitation had happened; except that a flush of unholy satisfaction colored the First Adviser’s craggy face.

‘Why are you so full of yourself?’ Jiro demanded, half snatching the dry robe brought to him by his servant. The Lord stepped over his discarded armor and, checking to be sure no grit sullied his personal cushion, sank cross-legged across from his adviser.

Chumaka set down his cup, reached for the teapot, and calmly poured for his master. ‘Send your runner to fetch in the Omechan heir.’ The Anasati First Adviser handed his master the tea, then rubbed his hands together in bright-eyed anticipation. ‘Our plot ripens well, my Lord! In fact, all unknowing, the Assembly has helped it along!’

Jiro took the cup as if it were filled with foul-tasting medicine. ‘You equivocate again,’ he warned; but he knew better than to stall in sending his runner off on the errand Chumaka suggested.

As the messenger boy left, Jiro peered at his adviser over the rim of his teacup, then took a sip. ‘We will be inside the walls of Kentosani in four days with one hundred of my best fighting men,’ he allowed. ‘What else do you have brewing in that head of yours?’

‘Great deeds, master.’ Chumaka raised a hand and ticked off points on his fingers. ‘We will leave this camp and set off for Kentosani, in strict compliance with the Great Ones’ summons. Next, assuming Mara acts in compliance – that’s safe, since if she doesn’t, she’s as good as dead by the hand of the Assembly, and we have won – anyway assuming she is no fool, while she is still many days’ march to the south of Kentosani, we are inside the walls and covertly prepared for a raid on the Imperial Precinct.’ Chumaka grinned, and tapped his ring finger. ‘The Omechan Force Commander, meantime, acts on his Lord’s orders and begins the siege of the Holy City, as we have planned all along. But here is
the change for the better, courtesy of the Assembly: you, my master, are innocent of this attack, being inside the walls. If the magicians protest the breaking of the imperial peace, you cannot be implicated. After all, you cannot be expected to answer for a popular move to set you on the throne. But alas for the Imperial Whites, the old walls prove weak indeed. They are breached, and a war host invades the streets.’

Chumaka’s eyes sparkled. Less excitable, ever cynically cautious, Jiro set down his tea. ‘Our allies under Omechan break into the Imperial Precinct,’ he responded. ‘Mara’s children suffer an unfortunate accident, and lo, the imperial mourning ends, and there is a new Emperor upon the golden throne by the time Lady Mara arrives in Kentosani, and his name is Jiro.’

Now Jiro’s faintly underlying scorn surfaced to outright irritation. ‘First Adviser, your ideas have several flaws, if I may point them out?’

Chumaka inclined his head, his enthusiasm like banked coals that at any moment might ignite a bonfire. ‘Mara,’ he second-guessed. ‘I have not accounted for the Acoma bitch that you want dead so badly.’

‘Yes, Mara!’ Tired of his adviser’s conversations, which at times seemed convoluted as his shah tactics, Jiro vented his annoyance. ‘What about her?’

‘She will be dead.’ Chumaka let a dramatic pause develop as he shifted his haunches to allow a servant behind him to spread another carpet on the tent floor. Then he said, ‘Do you think the Assembly would stay its hand if her troops were to attack your main army by Sulan-Qu?’

This time, Jiro caught his drift. ‘The Great Ones will kill her for me!’ He leaned forward, almost slopping the tea on the table. ‘But that’s brilliant. You think we can goad her into attacking?’

Chumaka smiled in satisfaction and poured himself a
second cup of tea. Through the dimness of the tent, his teeth gleamed. ‘I know so,’ he allowed. ‘Her children’s lives are at stake, and she is a woman. She will risk all to defend her babies, depend on it. And unless she calls an attack, your troops in the south will break camp and march around her lines to support your newly established rule by controlling the lands outside the walls of Kentosani. This her clever Spy Master will tell her with absolute certainty, for it will be the truth.’

Bemused by the implications, Jiro mirrored his First Adviser’s smile. ‘The magicians will be busy chastising Mara, while I seize the golden throne. Of course, we may lose all of our Anasati army, but that will not ultimately matter. The Acoma will be obliterated, and I will be left with the highest honor in all the Empire. Five thousand Imperial Whites will answer to me then, and all Lords will bow to my will.’

The tent flap opened, interrupting Jiro’s enraptured speculation. His face went expressionless at once as he turned to see who entered.

A young man ducked through the doorway, striding briskly. His armor, also, was unmarked, but his snub nose and flat cheeks identified him unmistakably as a scion of the Omechan. ‘You called for me, Lord Jiro?’ he demanded in an arrogant alto.

The Lord of the Anasati arose, still slightly flushed with excitement. ‘Yes, Kadamogi. You will return to your father at speed, and tell him the hour has come. Five days from now, he will attack Kentosani using the siege engines I have provided.’

Kadamogi bowed. ‘I will tell him. Then you will hold to the vow you made for our support, my Lord of the Anasati – when the golden throne is yours, your first act as Emperor will be to restore the High Council, and to see an Omechan reclaim the white and gold as Warlord!’

Jiro’s lip curled in barely suppressed distaste. ‘I am hardly senile, to have forgotten my promise to your father so quickly.’ Then, as the young Omechan noble stiffened with the beginnings of affront, the Anasati Lord added placatingly, ‘We waste time. Take my best litter, and my fastest bearers to see you on your errand. For myself, I must consult with my Force Commander to oversee disposition of my honor guard.’

‘Honor guard?’ Kadamogi’s heavy features darkened in confusion. ‘Why should you need an honor guard?’

In a mercurial change of mood, Jiro laughed. ‘I march also upon Kentosani, and by order of the Assembly. The Great Ones have summoned me there to offer an accounting concerning deployment of my troops!’

Kadamogi’s face cleared as he gave back a deep-chested chuckle. ‘That’s rich. Very. And our plot to restore the High Council is nearly a foregone conclusion.’

Now Jiro gestured in animated anticipation. ‘Indeed. The siege will be short, having help from the inside, and the supporters of the Good Servant will be set upon by the Assembly.’ Glee touched his tone as he finished, ‘The magicians will kill Mara for us. Servant of the Empire she may be, but she will die in magic flames, roasted like a haunch of meat!’

Kadamogi’s fat lips stretched into a smile. ‘We should drink a glass of wine to that ending, before I leave, yes?’

‘A fine idea!’ Jiro clapped for his servants, and only noticed in passing that the cushions where Chumaka had sat were no longer occupied. The empty teacup on the table was gone also, leaving no sign that the First Adviser had been there at all.

That man is more devious than the God of Tricks himself, Jiro thought; and then the wine came, and he settled down to an evening of camaraderie with the heir to the Omechan mantle.