The Complete Empire Trilogy (118 page)

Mara’s confusion sharpened into rapt attention. She drew a quick breath. ‘Minwanabi?’

‘Dead,’ snapped Arakasi. ‘He was among the very first to fall. His cousin Jeshurado died at his side.’

‘The other Warchiefs?’

‘Gone. Dead or not, none can say, but the rift exists no more. All of the Warlord’s honour guard remain trapped upon the barbarian world.’

Mara couldn’t comprehend the enormity of this. ‘Xacatecas?’

The list continued, inexorably. ‘Gone. Lord Chipino was last seen fighting Kingdom horsemen.’

‘All of them?’ Mara whispered.

‘Scarcely a handful returned,’ Arakasi said, anguished. ‘The two soldiers who carried the Light of Heaven and a half dozen who served to marshal soldiers waiting on our side of the rift. The Imperial Force Commander was killed. Lord Keda lay bleeding upon the ground. Lord Tonmargu was nowhere to be seen. Pimaca of the Oaxatucan also was unaccounted for. Kasumi of the Shinzawai was the one who forced the Emperor to leave, but he did not himself pass the rift.’ Arakasi forced himself to take a breath. ‘The runner who arrived in the city knew nothing more than this, my Lady. I doubt at this time that even those involved could hazard much beyond guesses as to who is gone. The losses are too widespread, and the shock of the event far too sudden. After the Emperor assumes command, we may have a clearer idea of what occurred.’

Silent a long minute, Mara leaped to her feet. ‘Arakasi, you must go out and ascertain an accurate list of losses and survivors. Quickly.’

Her urgency must not be denied. At a stroke the Empire had lost its most powerful older Lords and the heirs to many important houses. The effects would be too widespread to anticipate – houses in mourning, troops lost, and young, untried second sons and daughters thrown headlong into rulership. The aftereffects of such turmoil left only stunned shock. But Mara knew that the ambitious would very quickly transform turmoil to a devastating, bloody grab for power. She understood what it was to have authority and responsibility newly thrust upon one unprepared for them. Knowing who was in that frightening predicament and who
was still alive to rule with experience could prove a significant advantage in days to come.

As Arakasi bowed and hurried out, Mara stripped off her lounging robe and called for her maid to bring formal garments. Kevin hurried to help her undress, while she delivered rapid instructions. ‘Lujan, ready an honour guard. We leave for the Council Hall at once.’

Caught with both hands full of pins as the maid began arranging Mara’s hair, Kevin said, ‘Shall I go with you?’

Mara shook her head, then spoiled the maid’s efforts by leaning forward and giving him a fast kiss. ‘There will be no welcome for one of your nation in this council today, Kevin. For your safety, please stay out of sight.’

Shamed by his countrymen’s broken faith, Kevin did not argue. But a short time later, when thirty Acoma guards marched in lockstep and vanished beyond the far concourse, he wondered how he was going to survive the wait. For the Lady of the Acoma did not go to a council but to frightening, unmitigated chaos in which the strongest would move fastest to seize power.

Desio dead did not leave one enemy less on her heels, but rather elevated a more competent foe to primacy. Tasaio now ruled the Minwanabi.

The hall filled.

Although there had been no sanctioned call to council, when Mara and her warriors arrived at the great chamber many Lords were there ahead of her. Perhaps a quarter of the seats were occupied, with more arrivals by the minute. The lack of council guards kept no ruler away; each Lord had from a dozen to fifty armed men close at hand. No imperial herald announced Mara’s name as she entered the wide portals and descended the stair. This unofficial gathering had no pomp or ceremony; house rulers entered in the order that they came, all concerns of rank set aside.

Neither did any particular house act as spokesman. Several Lords conferred near the platform dais that customarily seated the Warlord or, in his absence, an appointed First Speaker of the Council. With Almecho dead, and all of the Clan Warchiefs either killed or lost, no single house held clear-cut supremacy. But sooner or later, some Lord might try to seize power or at least intervene to hinder the advancement of a rival. Those Lords already present stood in tight-knit, whispering groups, divided roughly by faction. They eyed all newcomers with suspicion, and kept their warriors close at hand – no one wished to be the first to draw sword in the council, but everyone was more than prepared to be the second. Mara swiftly scanned the gathering for familiar or friendly house colours. The red and yellow of the Anasati stood out boldly amid a cluster of older nobles who conferred in the aisle between the lower-level seats and the dais. Mara recognized her former father-in-law. She hastened down to meet him, taking Lujan and two warriors for protection.

Seeing Mara approach, Tecuma of the Anasati turned and bowed slightly. He wore armour, but the hair that showed beneath his helm was now more white than iron-grey. His face, always thin, now seemed drawn taut to the bone, and his eyes darkly shadowed.

In acknowledgment of a superior power, Mara returned his bow and said, ‘Are you well, grandfather of my son?’

Tecuma seemed almost to look through her. He said, ‘I am well, mother of my grandson.’ His lips thinned as he cast a glance around the disordered bands of speakers in the hall. ‘Would that the Empire were as fit.’

‘The Emperor?’ Mara said, hungry for information.

‘The Light of Heaven, from all reports, lies at rest in his command tent upon the plain near the rift gate.’ Tecuma’s tone stayed hard. ‘When Ichindar recovered from his incapacitation, he made known to his officers that he seeks a return to the Kingdom of the Isles to launch another invasion. Yet our desire to punish these barbarians for their treachery may be frustrated. The Great Ones may manipulate a rift, but they do not control all its aspects. Whether this one to Midkemia can be reestablished is doubtful.’

Again the Lord of the Anasati regarded the house rulers who gathered in the great hall, in defiance of the Emperor’s orders. He softened not at all as he concluded, ‘Meanwhile, the business of the game continues.’

Taking swift stock of other elders present, Mara said, ‘Who shall speak for the Ionani?’

Secure in his power, and holding a name among the oldest in the Empire, Tecuma said, ‘Until Clan Ionani retires to elect a new Warchief, I shall be its spokesman.’ Abruptly he pointed across the room. ‘There gathers Clan Hadama, my Lady. I suggest you hurry there and make your presence known.’

‘Lord Tecuma –’

The old man interrupted with his hand. ‘Mara, I am a
grieving man, so forgive my bluntness.’ His manner grew piercingly forced. ‘Halesko was one of those trapped upon the alien world – and by all reports he lay dying upon a lance. I have lost a second son this day. I have no time for the woman who took away my first.’

Mara felt her throat tighten. She bowed lower in sympathy. ‘My apologies, Tecuma. I was tactless not to realize.’

The Lord of the Anasati shook his head slightly in what might have been a gesture of suppressed disbelief, or pain. ‘Many of us mourn, Mara. Many brothers, sons, and fathers were trapped upon the alien world. The loss is a blow to our honour and to our hearts. Now, if you would excuse me?’ Without waiting for a reply, he turned his back on his former daughter-in-law and resumed the discussion she had interrupted.

Left outside his circle, and given a hostile look from the Yellow Flower Party member cut off when she addressed Tecuma, Mara moved on around the dais to the first set of stairs, where the Hadama Clan chiefs stood in caucus. Several bowed with respect as Mara approached, while others gave her a perfunctory nod. One or two, along with a palsied elder seated in a litter chair, offered the Acoma ruler no sign of greeting at all. Mara took stock and said, ‘How many losses have we suffered?’

The Lord of the Sutanta, a tall man in dark blue robe with pale blue trim, gave her a perfunctory bow. ‘Lord Chekowara and his forty warriors are on their way from the City of the Plains. The Lord of the Cozinchach and two vassals remain with the Emperor. Hadama’s losses were slight, since smaller clans were not placed in the forefront of the lines at the betrayal. Most of our rulers will be returning to Kentosani within the week.’

‘Who called this council?’ asked Mara.

Lord Sutanta’s leathery features stayed carefully blank. ‘Who called you here?’

Equally noncommittal, Mara said, ‘I just came.’

With a wave of his hand, Lord Sutanta indicated the filling chamber. ‘No one here would speak against the will of the Light of Heaven.’ He fixed bird-bright eyes upon Mara. ‘Also, no one here would see their firstborn son dead of treachery and sit idly at home.’

Mara nodded, and inwardly concluded the things that remained unsaid. The defiance of Ichindar’s play for power was being politely acknowledged. But in the Great Game, courtesy often masked murder. The High Council of Tsuranuanni intended to make itself heard. There would be no formal meeting this day; too many Lords were absent. No Lord would make a move until it was known which enemies and which allies remained alive to be reckoned with. Today was for taking stock, and tomorrow was for playing, seizing advantage over rivals for the openings that chance had offered. And while this council was unauthorized, this meeting was no less a round of the Great Game, for while a grey warrior could kill as easily as one sworn to house colours, so was this grey council just as deadly as one with imperial sanction.

Mara stole a quiet moment for review. Acoma prospects were not reassuring. The Minwanabi had lost a few opponents and gained a new Lord who could use all their resources, especially military might, to full potential. The odds did not favour Lord Xacatecas. As Warchief of Clan Xacala, Lord Chipino would have stood in the Emperor’s front rank; his eldest son, Dezilo, would have represented Xacatecas as third of the Five Great Families. Both were lost, which left Lady Isashani and a brood of offspring, the oldest of which were young and untrained for the Lord’s mantle – Mara’s strongest ally was now dangerously weakened. All too reliant upon Ayaki’s tenuous blood tie with the Anasati for some protection, Mara felt as though a cold breeze blew against her naked back.

Around her, like jagunas sniffing over corpses before deciding which choice bits to fight over, the ruling Lords of Tsuranuanni gathered with members of their clans, then splintered off to speak with allies and factions, usually along party lines.

The Acoma were technically members of a minor political party, the Jade Eye, but the connection had lapsed since Lord Sezu’s rule. Mara had little to do with party politics, being far too consumed by the need to preserve her house from obliteration. But with all the Empire now cast into upheaval, no tie was too tenuous to ignore.

Mara threaded her way past Lord Inrodaka, and the Lord of the Ekamchi’s fat second son, and a cousin of the Lord of the Kehotara, who conferred together in whispers and cast her cold glances. Finding two other members of the Jade Eye Party beyond them, Mara approached and began a conversation that devolved from lists of sad condolences. The dead and those abandoned beyond the rift seemed to haunt by their absence. Yet life in Tsuranuanni did not retreat from losses. Around the hall, members of the High Council explored byplays behind façades of polite conversation, and all the while they played, once more, the Great Game.

Lightning rent the sky, flashing silver-white on the great house of the Minwanabi. Seated at his lap desk, pen in hand, with fresh ink by his elbow, Incomo reviewed the documents arrayed before him, ignoring the sound of driving rain from outside. He was never a fast thinker, and now his shock and disbelief would not leave him. The events surrounding the Emperor’s betrayal still seemed the uneasy aftermath of a nightmare. That Desio was dead was undoubted. Three witnesses reported seeing him go down with arrows in his throat and chest – his cousin Jeshurado already dead at his feet. No friend or retainer had been near enough to rescue the Lord’s body from the chaos before the
magical rift closed, forever sealing Kelewan from Midkemia.

Incomo pressed dry palms to his temples and inhaled a breath of damp air. Desio of the Minwanabi rested with his ancestors, if indeed a man’s spirit could cross the unknowable gulf between worlds. The rites had been said in the Minwanabi sacred glade by a hastily summoned priest, and runners departed with the news. All that remained to be done was await the new Lord’s return from the outpost in the western isles.

At that moment the screen at the First Adviser’s back slipped open. Warm, damp air swept through the room, ruffling the parchment and spattering a fall of wind-borne drops across the floor. ‘I left orders not to be disturbed,’ Incomo snapped.

A dry, incisive voice said, ‘Then pardon the interruption, First Adviser. But time passes, and there is much to be done.’

Incomo started and spun around. He saw a warrior, backlit by a white flash of lightning, step through the doorway. Water streamed off his battle armour and slicked his officer’s plume into spikes. Light-footed, lithe, and almost without sound, the man reached the circle of radiance cast by the room’s single lamp. He swept off his helm. Shadows circled his honey-coloured eyes, and wet hair clung to his neck.

Incomo dropped his quill and bowed from the waist in obeisance. ‘Tasaio!’

Tasaio looked Incomo in the eyes for a silent moment and then said slowly, ‘I’ll forgive the familiarity this time, First Adviser. Never again.’