The Complete Empire Trilogy (119 page)

Incomo shoved his lap desk aside, spilling quill and parchment, and nearly upsetting the inkwell. He unfolded gaunt legs and stiffly touched his forehead to the floor. ‘My Lord.’

The boom of the storm filled silence while Tasaio looked
keenly around the room. He did not grant Incomo permission to rise, but studied the painted images of birds, the worn sleeping mat, and lastly, most leisurely of all, the prostrate elder on the carpet. ‘Yes. Tasaio. Lord of the Minwanabi.’

At last given leave to sit upright, Incomo said, ‘How did you –’

The new master interrupted in a tone that was faintly derisive. ‘Incomo! Did you think yourself the only one with agents in this house? My cousin commanded my loyalty, but never my respect. Never would I dishonour the Minwanabi name, but in my position only a fool would have left cousin Desio unobserved.’

Tasaio smoothed back drenched bangs, then adjusted the set of his sword belt. ‘Since the moment I set foot on that cursed island, I kept one boat in readiness, manned and provisioned to leave. Day or night, if the call came, the lines need only be cast off. On the instant of my cousin’s death, those loyal to me sent word to the Outpost Isles.’ Tasaio shrugged, scattering droplets in the lamplight. ‘I took a boat to Nar and commandeered the first ship. When is the High Council to elect a new Warlord?’

Eyes fixed on the runnels of rainwater that threatened his sleeping mat, Incomo reordered his thoughts. ‘Word came only this morning. The Light of Heaven has called the High Council into session, to meet three days from now.’

In almost silken calm, Tasaio said, ‘You would have let me miss that meeting, Incomo?’

Wet pillows quite abruptly ceased to matter. ‘My Lord!’ Again Incomo pressed his forehead to the floor. ‘Desio’s end was most sudden. Our swiftest messenger departed within the hour, with orders to choose the fastest boat. I humbly submit that I did my best. Do not fault a servant’s limits, when my Lord has been clever beyond the expected call of duty.’

Tasaio laughed without humour. ‘I dislike pointless flattery, First Adviser, as well as unconvincing humility. Rise, and remember that.’

A loud peal of thunder rattled the house, and echoes boomed across the night-dark lake. With a field commander’s ability to adjust his voice to noise, Tasaio said, ‘Here are your orders, First Adviser. Dismiss Desio’s body servants and concubines. I have staff of my own, and they will attend me as I don my robes of mourning. I shall sleep this night in the officers’ barracks. Tell my hadonra to clear everything that belonged to Desio from the Lord’s quarters. I want the chambers stripped. My carry boxes and personal items will be fully installed by dawn, and the old Lord’s robes, bedding, and other personal items will be burned.’ Tasaio’s eyes narrowed. ‘Tell the kennel master to cut the throats of the man-killer hounds – they will answer to no other master. After first light, assemble every member of this household on the drill field. A new Lord of the Minwanabi rules, and all must understand that inefficiency will not be tolerated.’

‘As my Lord wishes.’ Incomo prepared for a sleepless night. He unfolded sore knees and made ready to stand, but his master had not finished.

The Lord of the Minwanabi regarded his First Adviser with flat, unwavering eyes. ‘You do not need to indulge me as you did my cousin. I will hear your thoughts on all matters, even if my opinion lies contrary. You may suggest as you see fit until the moment I give orders. Then you will silently obey. Tomorrow we shall review the accounts and call together an honour guard. By midday I wish to be in my barge of state, on my way downriver to Kentosani. See that every detail is in order for my journey. For when I reach the Holy City I intend to present my case.’

‘What case, my Lord?’ Incomo inquired in tacit respect.

At last Tasaio smiled, a sword-sharp brightness to his
expression. ‘Why, to assume the seat of Warlord, obviously. Who has a better claim than I?’

Incomo felt the hair stir at his neck. At last, after years of wishful yearning, he would serve a Lord who was clever, competent, and ambitious.

Thunder shook the floor again, and rain slashed against the screens. Straight in the wavering flare of lamplight, Tasaio finished his thought. ‘Once I wear the white and gold, we shall obliterate the Acoma.’

Incomo bowed again. When he rose, the room was empty, a draught through the darkened doorway the only trace of his master’s visit. Silently the First Adviser considered the desire he had never dared utter, but that fate and the gods had freely granted: Tasaio now wore the Minwanabi mantle. Touched by a mood of dry irony, Incomo wondered why the gift left him feeling worn and old.

The storm left runoff that trickled in streams around the luck symbols anchored to the roof peaks of the Imperial Palace, and downspouts dripped into puddles in the courtyards. Inside the building, the sound of falling water became muffled; draughts played like sighs up and down the cavernous corridors, setting streaming the flames of those lamps that servants had bothered to light. Lujan and five armoured warriors marched briskly through concourses gloomy with shadows to report back to the Acoma apartment.

Mara met her Force Commander in the middle room, where she conferred with Arakasi. Kevin stood by the wall at her shoulder, his mood of biting sarcasm brought on by inactivity. He had a headache. His teeth were on edge from listening to warriors sharpen weapons, and the reek of the lacquer used to preserve laminated-hide armour made his stomach queasy.

Before the Lady’s cushions, Lujan arose from his bow.
‘Mistress,’ he said briskly, ‘we bring word of new movement by Sajaio, Tondora, and Gineisa soldiers into apartments previously unoccupied.’

Mara frowned. ‘Minwanabi dogs. Any word of the kennel master himself?’

‘No. Not yet.’ Lujan unstrapped his helm and scuffed his fingers through damp hair.

Arakasi looked up from the untidy pile of notes passed on to him that morning by his contacts throughout the palace. He regarded the Acoma Force Commander with hooded eyes. ‘In three more days, the Emperor will return to the palace.’

Propped by one shoulder against the wall, his arms folded across his chest, Kevin said, ‘Taking his own sweet time about it, isn’t he?’

‘There are a great number of rituals and ceremonies along the way,’ Mara broke in, her irritation barely masked. ‘One does not travel with twenty priests, a thousand bodyguards, and five thousand soldiers and make speed.’

Kevin shrugged. Confinement and stress affected them all. For two days the business in council had been building momentum. Mara spent up to fifteen hours at a stretch closeted in the great hall. At night she returned so exhausted that she barely had inclination to eat. She looked peaked and thin, and despite lavish solicitude from her lover, what little sleep she garnered was troubled. If the nights were unsatisfactory, the days were worse. Inactivity of any sort burned Kevin’s nerves, but even boredom had limits. Duty in the scullery drove him to vocal rebellion, and though seldom given to self-indulgence, he lacked the fatalism that enabled the Tsurani warriors to endure in seemingly endless patience.

Mara sighed and took stock of her gains. ‘So far I have held council with seventeen Lords, and have bound only four to agreements.’ She shook her head. ‘A poor record. No
one wishes to commit, though many pretend to be willing. Too many factions contend for the Warlord’s seat, and to support one candidate openly brings the enmity of all of his rivals.’

Arakasi uncrumpled a note that carried a pungent smell of fish. ‘My agent at the dockside reports the arrival of Dajalo of the Keda.’

Mara perked up at this. ‘Is he in residence at his town house, or the Imperial Palace?’

‘Patience, Lady.’ Arakasi shuffled through his notes, discarded three, then scanned the coded script of another that smelled intriguingly of perfume. ‘Town house,’ the Spy Master concluded. ‘At least for tonight.’

Mara clapped her hands for the scribe brought in to help with correspondence. ‘Address this to Lord Dajalo of the Keda. First offer our condolences for the death of his father, along with our certainty that his end was both brave and honourable. Then let Dajalo understand that the Acoma hold a document over Lord Andero’s personal chop that binds House Keda to one vote of our choosing. Dajalo, as new ruling Lord, is bound to honour this.’

‘Mistress,’ Arakasi broke in. ‘Isn’t this a little … abrupt?’

Mara ran her fingers through the masses of her hair, the ends of which were still crimped into curls from being pinned. ‘Perhaps I have acquired habits from this barbarian I keep around.’ She paused, as thunder rolled in the distance. ‘Have no doubt … Tasaio of the Minwanabi will be among us quite soon, and then I may need this vote instantly.’

A tap at the entry interrupted. A guard appeared in the doorway and bowed. ‘Mistress, our scouts report armed men moving through the outer hallways of the palace.’

Mara glanced at Lujan, who jammed his helm over tangled hair and left still fastening the strap. Lightning flickered silver beyond the outer screens, reduced to slits between barricades now reinforced with raw boards. Kevin
resisted a caged animal’s need to pace, while Mara and Arakasi made a pretence of reading reports. The scratch of the scribe’s quill filled the interval until the Force Commander returned.

His bow was almost cursory as he said, ‘Our lookouts have spied two bands of soldiers, numbering twenty to thirty each. They pass in the shadows and would seem to be moving toward another section of the palace.’

‘What house?’ Mara asked, half-fearful to hear the reply.

‘None, pretty Lady,’ Lujan’s reassurance was dubious. ‘These wear black armour, without markings or badge.’

Mara raised eyes gone wide in the lamplight. ‘Then it is beginning.’

Lujan passed quiet orders to the warriors in the front chamber. The last screen cracked to let in air was drawn shut and wedged in its frame with wooden pegs. A table was turned on end and levered against the outer door, then braced in place with a massive bar. Now the humidity brought in by the storm became like a stifling blanket. Arakasi seemed unaffected, where he sat in poised stillness poring over his notes.

But Kevin sweated and chafed, his empty hands itching for a blade. The hours wore on toward midnight. Sounds came muffled through the walls. Footfalls splashed through puddles, or pounded down hallways and stairs, sometimes broken by a shout. The rain ceased, and insects in Mara’s garden rasped their nightly song.

Since nobody seemed inclined to attend to the commonplace necessities, Kevin finally knelt at Mara’s shoulder and pulled away the parchment she had held without reading for an hour. ‘You must be hungry,’ he coaxed.

Mara leaned her head against him. ‘Not really. But I should eat something if I am to be alert in council tomorrow.’

Kevin arose, prepared for the inevitable battle of wills
that transpired when he invaded the kitchen. Jican considered any slave caught empty-handed to be fair game. Tonight he seemed primed for fight, since a squad of busy scullions was already scouring kettles and plates. As if the din of crockery were a charm to ward away the distant sounds of conflict, every ladle or cup or soup bowl was getting sanded down and polished. Jican spotted Kevin in the doorway, and his worried face brightened. ‘The mistress wishes to eat?’

Kevin nodded, and found himself the startled recipient of a tray of warm bread, cheeses, and fruit. Disappointed by his easy victory, he swallowed a carefully prepared retort and returned to his Lady. He set down the supper and sat with her, while she made a concerted effort to take sustenance. In the end, Arakasi finished the food. Kevin urged Mara to bed, while at every window and door the warriors waited like statues, prepared for an attack that never came.

Morning dawned. Mara arose from her cushions and called for her bath and her maids. Makeup erased the shadows of worry from her face, and three layers of formal robes disguised her thinness. At the last minute, just as she was poised to leave, she turned and looked hard at Kevin.

Nettled by the prospect of another tedious day, he regarded her with reproachful blue eyes.

Mostly because she feared an attack on her apartment in her absence, Mara gave in to impulse and relented. ‘Come with me. Remain close and stay silent unless I tell you otherwise.’

Kevin fairly leaped to join her retinue. Lujan called her honour guard to form ranks, and minutes later the Acoma contingent made their entrance into the Council Hall.

Sunlight angled across the dome overhead, spotlighting the yellowed murals above the galleries. The upper seats
were already filled, with those lowest still empty. The chaos had subsided enough for the Tsurani nobles to be once more attentive to rank, Kevin observed. He followed Mara down the steps, while Lujan took station with two other warriors behind her. The rest of her honour guard remained on the concourse by the door, as if this council were no different from any other.

But as she passed an empty chair on the way to her appointed place, Mara pressed her fingers to her mouth to stifle a cry of shock. ‘Trouble?’ Kevin murmured, his promise of silence forgotten.

Mara returned a barely perceptible nod. Clearly unhappy, she whispered, ‘The Lord Pataki of the Sida is dead.’

Kevin said, ‘Who?’

‘A man who was kind to me once, in defiance of public sentiment. He was also a potential ally. Yesterday he was here, but this morning his seat is vacant.’