Mistress of the Empire (72 page)

Outside the command tent, in the drizzle as evening fell, a shadowy form moved through the trees. Over one arm, Chumaka carried the oiled wool cape haste had not allowed him to don. As he walked briskly toward the tent that housed the Anasati messenger runners, he appeared to be counting on his fingers. But it was not sums he muttered in a monotone under his breath.

‘Those leftover warriors who were of the Minwanabi, and who did not swear to Mara, now – yes, it is time for them to earn their keep, I think. A precaution, yes, just in case Mara slips through the grasp of the Assembly. She is clever. We cannot suppose we know all the details of her inner council. That time she supposedly spent in the temple in seclusion has yet to be adequately explained. How could she be there, then suddenly be upon her own estates …?’

Chumaka hurried on, not tripping over roots or blundering into trees, though it was very dark, and the camp was strange. Preoccupied as he seemed, he stepped cleanly over guy lines and tent pegs, while he finished formulating his backup plan. ‘Yes, we must have sets of armor lacquered in Acoma green for these men, and have them insinuate themselves into the Lady’s honor guard – at least, they will stay in hiding until the last minute, when the Lady is on the run, and then they will slip in among her warriors and slaughter her defenders. Posing as loyal Acoma, they can either capture her and turn her over to the Black Robes, or take their pleasure and kill her themselves, in revenge for the Minwanabi master whose line she obliterated. Yes … that would be the thing.’ Chumaka reached the compound where the messengers’ tent was set. He startled a sentry as he stepped out of the gloom, and nearly received a sword thrust to the chest.

‘Gods save us from our own men!’ he exclaimed,
bounding back and throwing up his bundled cloak to catch the blade. ‘It’s Chumaka, you blind fool! Now find me a messenger who is fresh, and quickly, before I decide to report your incompetence to the master.’

The soldier bobbed his head in fearful deference, for it was known that any who displeased the First Adviser came to unfortunate straits. He ducked into the messengers’ tent, while behind him, in gently falling rain, Chumaka resumed his singsong musing.

The palanquin jolted.

Mara snapped awake at the thump, disoriented by the close confines, until she remembered. She was not in her tent, but on the road, answering the summons by the Assembly to appear in the Holy City. For two days now she had been traveling at speed in her most ornate, formal palanquin, changing the thirty bearers required to lift the monstrous thing in shifts, and eating on the move. It was night; she knew not what hour.

Light breeze stirred the curtains, smelling of rain, as Keyoke, who sat across from her, leaned out. Although still muddled with the aftereffects of sleep, she could hear by the tone of her Adviser for War as he exchanged words with someone outside that a problem had arisen.

She pushed herself upright on her cushions. ‘What passes, Keyoke?’

The old man ducked back inside the palanquin. By the light cast by the oil lamp hanging from a ring overhead, his face more than ever seemed chiseled from seamed granite.

‘Trouble,’ Mara surmised.

Keyoke returned a curt nod. ‘A messenger sent by Arakasi brings ill news.’ Then, well aware such detail was no afterthought, he added, ‘The man met us on cho-ja back.’

Mara felt her heart thud in raw fear. ‘Gods, what’s gone wrong?’

The elderly campaign veteran knew best how to break the news cleanly. ‘Jiro’s location is at last made known. He was not with the Anasati troops, as we supposed. He is ahead of us, by now just over one day’s march from Kentosani.’

Mara slumped back, crushed by the sudden ebb of hope. ‘That leaves him five days in which to wreak mischief unopposed, since that doddering fool Lord Frasai saw fit to send Hoppara of the Xacatecas home after the Emperor’s murder.’

‘Mistress,’ Keyoke interrupted in worried tones, ‘that’s not all.’

Distracted by horrible images of possible death for her children, Mara forced herself to track the immediate issue. Seeing the grave expression on Keyoke’s face, she surmised the worst: ‘Jiro’s siege engines.’ Her tone was dulled by the scope of a disaster that seemed to widen by the second.

Keyoke gave back the clipped nod he used during battle councils. ‘The attack on the walls is poised to begin, and Arakasi has discovered that our efforts at sabotage have failed. The toy maker’s plans we labored to implement were never set in place. Presumably, the engineers we sent were apprehended and put to death, and false reports of their success sent back through your network. Arakasi could say only that the assault against Kentosani’s walls will occur without mishap, under Omechan colors. Once Jiro is safely inside the Imperial Precinct, his hands will seem clean. His coming bid for the golden throne could legitimately be justified as an attempt to restore the peace.’

Mara bit her lip hard enough to hurt. ‘He’s not in the Imperial Precinct yet?’

Keyoke’s expression stayed wooden. ‘Not yet. But the messenger’s news is not fresh, and much can have happened since he rushed south.’

‘We are not ready for this!’ Mara burst out. ‘Gods, how could we be ready for this?’ Her voice shook with despair. Ever since her return from Thuril, calamitous events seemed to be trampling over her with unrelenting speed. Fate was cruel, to thrust her into conflict unprepared, when she had the means to avert total ruin so nearly within her grasp. If
only she had a peaceful interval in which to plan, and set to use the advantages she held in the presence of the Chakaha mages!

‘Mistress?’ Keyoke prompted gently.

Aware her silence had stretched too long, Mara made herself rally. ‘We are already lost, in all likelihood, but I cannot let go without a fight. If I fail to act, my children will soon be killed, and without them, my line ends with me.’ Forcing resolution in her voice, she added, ‘I would not see my faithful servants left in heaven’s disfavor, without a mistress, as I go meekly to answer
Emperor
Jiro’s justice.’

‘All would rather perish fighting in Acoma service than linger as grey warriors,’ Keyoke allowed.

Mara repressed a violent shiver. ‘Then we are agreed that the circumstances are extreme.’ She leaned forward and whipped back the curtains of the palanquin. ‘Lujan!’ she called.

The Acoma Force Commander snapped her a salute, droplets flying from his plumes. ‘Your will, my Lady.’

‘Send the bearers off at a distance and order them to rest,’ Mara said crisply. ‘When they are settled out of earshot, deploy my honor guard in defensive circle around the palanquin. Then I would have Arakasi’s messenger, the cho-ja who bore him, Saric, Incomo, and yourself report to me. We must hold council at once, and make immediate decisions.’

Her orders were carried out with dispatch, despite the darkness and the rain. Mara spent the interval in furious thought, while Keyoke considerately tied back the curtains to allow her chosen advisers to gather around the palanquin. As the sides were opened to the night, the lantern light pooled on the cushions, fading with distance as it washed a ring of familiar faces. Beyond them, the dark was absolute.

Mara regarded each of her officers, from Keyoke, whom
she had known since her girlhood, to Saric, promoted as a young man to his post of First Adviser, to Incomo, reprieved from an enemy prisoner’s fate of death or slavery. All had given her miracles, in their time of service. Now she found herself forced to ask more, to demand, in fact, that some of them lay down their lives. There was no time for recriminations, no moment even to dwell upon sentiment. Expediency was paramount, and so she gave out what she expected might be her last commands to them in this life, her voice tersely emotionless. To allow her feelings to show was to invite emotional breakdown.

First she addressed the cho-ja, who was to her imperfectly educated eye an elderly worker. ‘First, and most important, your Queen has my thanks for the loan of your services.’

The cho-ja worker inclined its head. ‘My services were purchased, Lady Mara.’

‘Your Queen has my gratitude in addition to monetary payment. Let her know if you have means.’ Mara paused, and heard the thin, high-pitched buzzing that signaled cho-ja communication. When the sound ceased, she asked, ‘Is it meet that I ask questions of you, good worker? And may I request of you another labor, without compromising your body’s need of rest?’

Again the cho-ja inclined its head. ‘The night air is mild, Lady Mara. I have no need of rest unless it turns cold. State your needs.’

Mara sighed in barely perceptible relief. One small obstruction less lay before her. ‘I require my Force Commander, Lujan, carried south at speed to rejoin my army near the city of Sulan-Qu. He must travel in utmost haste; my line’s survival depends upon it.’

‘My service is yours,’ the cho-ja intoned. ‘I will bear your officer willingly.’

‘Should I survive, the Queen of your hive may demand debt of me,’ Mara said in sincere appreciation. ‘I would
also ask that you give my adviser Saric clear instructions on the location of the cho-ja hive entrance nearest our present position.’ As the cho-ja worker inclined its head in acquiescence, Mara added, ‘Saric, go with him. Learn where the hive is; select ten soldiers from my retinue who can move quickly; and also borrow for me a partial suit of armor that will let me pass as a warrior in the dark.’

Saric gave a hasty bow and left the circle. One face fewer, Mara thought; she swallowed hard. The next order she had to deliver became the more difficult. ‘Lujan?’

Her Force Commander leaned forward, his hair raked in wet streaks at his temples, and his hand resting upon his sword. ‘Pretty Lady, what is your desire?’

His tone was rakish. Mara suppressed a half-laugh, half-sob. ‘I require the impossible, soldier.’ She forced a smile. ‘Though, gods know, you already gave me as much in the challenge circle in Chakaha.’

Lujan gave a deprecating wave. His eyes also seemed too bright for the dimness of the lantern light. ‘Say on, Lady. There is no need for hesitation between us – particularly after Chakaha.’

Mara suppressed a tremor of nerves. ‘Force Commander, I require you to rejoin my army in the south. Should the Anasati forces attempt to break their lines and move anywhere, north, east or west, you will commit all of our companies and engage Lord Jiro’s. Fight them to a standstill; keep them from joining their master in the Holy City. When the Black Robes arrive to chastise you, forestall their wrath in any manner that you can.’ Now she paused to gather the force of will to keep control. ‘Lujan, I ask that you dedicate the lives of the Acoma warriors to the last man before you allow Lord Jiro’s army to travel one step closer to Kentosani.’

Lujan slapped a hand over his heart in salute. ‘Lady Mara, you have my solemn word. Either your army shall prevail,
or I will wage such close war that the Black Robes must annihilate us all, Anasati and Acoma both.’ He bent his head in a swift bow and straightened. ‘For your honor, my Lady.’

And then he, too, was swallowed up by the night. The Lady of the Acoma scrubbed her fingers over her face. She felt clammy, whether from mist or sweat she did not know. If Lujan survives this, and we should meet again, Mara vowed, I will give him a reward such as his dreams cannot encompass. But only if Justin sat on the golden throne could any of them have a prayer of survival. Even should the Acoma prevail, Lujan might be beyond reward, for no one who defied the Assembly survived; no one. Mara raised her chin and phrased the question that had to be asked. ‘Keyoke, ever faithful grandfather of my heart, do you see any other option?’

He looked at her, hard-bitten from his years on fields of battle. ‘I see none, daughter of my heart. To yield up to your enemy the life of your innocent son would save nothing. If Jiro ascends the golden throne, our lives and Acoma honor are as dust. What matter if the Assembly burns us to ashes first?’ He smiled with the humor only soldiers facing death can muster. ‘Should we die with honor, we shall be known to history as the only house willing to challenge the Assembly. That is no mean accomplishment.’

Mara fixed her gaze straight ahead. Alternatives did not exist. Now she must forge ahead, with the last order; the hardest of all to deliver. ‘Keyoke, Incomo.’ Her voice faltered. She jammed taut hands into her lap and willed herself to believe in a strength that was all false bravado. ‘From here our ways must part. You must go on with the palanquin and the honor guard. Keep on the road to Kentosani, and behave as if nothing untoward has occurred. This may seem a small service compared to the deed I have assigned to Lujan. But I say in deepest truth, your task may
prove the most important. The Black Robes must not guess that my path has diverged until the latest possible instant. Your lives are precious to me, and to the continuance of House Acoma. But no Lady of my rank would journey to a meeting with magicians in the Holy City without her most valued senior staff. Your presence is essential to keep up proper appearances. On this the chance of saving Kasuma and Justin must depend.’

‘Mara-anni.’ Keyoke used the gentle diminutive of her childhood. ‘Set aside your fear. For myself, I am an old man. The friends who might remember my youth are mostly in Turakamu’s halls, and if the gods are kind and grant my dearest wish, I would ask to meet the Red God many years ahead of you.’ Keyoke paused, then, almost as afterthought, he broke into a fond smile. ‘My Lady, I would have you know this. You have taught me the true meaning of a warrior’s creed. Any man can die fighting enemies. But the real test of honor for a man is to live and learn to love himself. In my long life, I have accomplished many deeds. But it took your gift of an adviser’s post to show me the meaning of my accomplishments.’ A suspect shining adorned Keyoke’s eyes as he gave his Lady his final request. ‘Mistress, by your leave, I request permission to help Saric select the ten warriors who will accompany you in your flight to Kentosani.’

Beyond words, Mara inclined her head, concealing her sudden tears as Keyoke delved among the cushions for his crutch, and arose. He swung himself off into the dark, erect as he had been in youth, and with the same dedication that had seen him through a lifetime of wars. When Mara at last found the courage to raise her head, he was gone from sight; but she heard his voice demanding the loan of a sword and helm from the spare supplies.

‘Dammit,’ he said, borrowing a swearword from Midkemia when someone suggested he should ride in
the palanquin in dignified comfort. ‘I shall go armed, and on my feet, and any man who dares to suggest otherwise can cross swords with me and earn himself a beating!’

Mara sniffed. Only two faces remained of her inner circle: Arakasi’s messenger, who was a virtual stranger, and Incomo, whom she had scarcely come to know as well as the others who had worn Acoma colors longer. The fine-boned, stooped old adviser had seen service with two houses, and the obliteration of one master at Mara’s hand. And yet he did not seem awkward as he faced the mistress he had sworn to serve. Though he was a tentative man, his voice was now unusually strong. ‘Lady Mara, know that I have come to love and respect you. I leave you with all that I can give: my counsel, poor though it is. I charge you, for the good of the Empire we both revere, to hold to your goals. Seize the golden throne ahead of Jiro, and know absolutely that you do right by this land and its people.’ He smiled shyly. ‘I, who once faithfully served your most bitter enemy, was given more honor and joy in your service than I could have imagined any man might know. When I served the Minwanabi, I did so for duty, and the honor of my house. Had Tasaio been defeated by any other ruler, I would have died a slave, so I know first hand the value of your principles. The changes you labor for are just. Make Justin Emperor, and rule well and wisely. You have my devotion and my everlasting gratitude.’