The Complete Empire Trilogy (125 page)

But from the hallway the sounds of struggle had lessened. The crack and clang of sword strokes ended in a scraping thump, and silence descended, ringingly strange after the din of chaos and death. Kevin let out a pent-up breath. He lowered his dripping blade, stroked Mara’s hair with fingers that were hardly less sticky, and noticed the sting of cuts and grazes that had passed unnoticed in the action.

After a moment a call came from the outer rooms: ‘Mistress!’

Mara licked dry lips, swallowed, and forced herself to speak. ‘Here, Lujan.’

The Acoma Force Commander burst into the chamber, snapped to a stop, and said, ‘Mistress!’ His relief was a tangible wave. ‘Are you injured?’

Belatedly, Mara regarded her smeared and spattered clothing. Her hands, even her cheeks, were covered with blood. She still held the knife in slippery fingers. She dropped it in distaste and absently dragged her knuckles on her soiled robe. ‘I am all right. Someone fell on me. This is a dead man’s blood.’

As if aware that she still clung like a child to her slave, she released her hold and straightened. ‘I’m all right.’

Sickened by the thick stink of death, Kevin stepped to the
window. The frame was a savaged mass of splinters, and across the small garden he could see a gaping hole in the brick wall. ‘They came from the next-door apartment,’ he said dully. ‘That’s why there were so many pouring in from the rear.’

Lujan held a sword out for Mara’s inspection. ‘Some of the assassins carried steel.’

‘Gods!’ exclaimed Mara. ‘That is the blade of a dynasty!’ She examined the weapon more carefully and frowned. ‘But it bears a plain hilt. No clan or house markings.’ She gestured briskly toward the passage. ‘Have your men inspect the dead. See if any more such blades are found.’

‘What’s the significance?’ Kevin pushed away from the ruined sill and lent his arm to Mara, who still seemed to be shaking. He steered her gently around the fallen and into the corridor beyond.

A step ahead, Lujan answered, ‘Few true steel swords exist in the Empire. Each house that traces lineage back to the dawn of our history owns one, or is rumoured to. Only the master of the house, the Ruling Lord, has access to such a blade. They are priceless, second only to the natami in importance to a house’s honour.’

Mara agreed. ‘There is an Acoma family sword that was my father’s before me, and that I hold in trust for Ayaki. It is a rare weapon of steel.’

They reached the juncture of the corridor and the blood-soaked central room. Already Acoma warriors worked to clear the floor of the dead. Five more steel swords lay lined up against one wall, with Kevin’s bringing the number to six. ‘These were found among the dead assassins, Force Commander.’

Lujan looked upon the blades in awe. ‘Where can they have come from?’

‘Minwanabi?’ asked Kevin.

The Lords of the Xacatecas and the Bontura entered from
the front chamber, both as blood-streaked as Mara, but little the worse for wear. Drawn by the glint of steel in the flickering lamplight, they also examined the weapons.

Kevin drew his blade clean between a fold of his slave robe. ‘This is new,’ he said quietly. ‘It still bears faint marks from the grinder’s wheel, and the stamp of the armourer’s mallet.’ He inspected it closely one last time and added, ‘It bears no maker’s mark.’

All eyes turned to the slave. Iliando inflated his chest in the beginnings of offence, but Hoppara’s curiosity forestalled his response. ‘Who has the skill to make ancient weapons?’

Kevin shrugged. ‘Among my people, the art is commonplace. Any one of a dozen good smiths would be able to duplicate this, I think.’

Unwilling to be shown up as graceless by a younger Lord, Iliando lifted a blade and stiffly offered comment. ‘It’s sharp, but I think not so finely fashioned as the ones made by our ancestors. These could be copies, made with inferior metals.’

‘But where would a man get such wealth?’ asked Hoppara.

‘My world,’ suggested Kevin.

The Lords exchanged glances, the stouter one taken aback by the slave’s forthright manner. Yet no one interrupted as Kevin said, ‘After a battle, your warriors pick up swords and armour as spoils. Someone gets his hands on enough iron and a good smith, then shows them one of your ancestral blades …’ He made a pass with the weapon. ‘Say he duplicates it. This blade is not so unlike those used by the Hadati mountain people in my homeland. A smith from Yabon could forge its like, and there could easily be such a captive working for one of your Lords.’

‘Minwanabi,’ said Mara, her voice almost splitting over the name. ‘All metals taken across the rift as spoils are property of the Empire, some sent as tribute to the temples,
some to the imperial treasury, and the rest to pay the upkeep of the army upon Midkemia. But the collection is overseen by the Warlord and, in his absence, his Subcommander. Tasaio served in that post for five years. That’s ample time for a man without scruples to divert contraband resources back to his cousin’s estates.’ Mara’s tone grew reflective. Or to his own estate, for his private use.’

Iliando’s heavy features showed distaste. ‘If every assassin carried one, the price of this one attack is incredible.’

‘For a raid in the Imperial Palace?’ Hoppara interjected. ‘I would wager five times this many swords would be needed.’ He regarded the red-stained floorboards. ‘No guarantee of success, and every man expected to die. No, Tasaio is the logical one to have hired the tong.’

‘Then,’ said Kevin, kicking the helm of a fallen black warrior with his toe, ‘who sent this lot?’

Hoppara sank tiredly down on an unstained corner of a bed mat. He regarded his sword, the edge of which was chewed with chips, and the tip long since delaminated. ‘Whoever it was, their day’s work was a blessing. The assassins and these warriors caused each other great confusion. I don’t know if we could have withstood the Hamoi tong alone.’

Mara crossed the floor and sat next to the young man. Exhaustion made her sigh. ‘Good men won the day for us, my Lord. You’ve done your house proud.’

Lord Iliando glanced significantly at Kevin, who yet held one of the metal blades. ‘The gods will find ill in this. A slave –’

But Lujan cracked out an interruption. ‘I saw nothing.’

The heavyset Lord turned toward Mara, incensed at her Force Commander’s rudeness. She gave him back his stare with bland eyes. ‘I saw nothing untoward, my Lord of the Bontura.’

Iliando heaved in a great breath, but it was Hoppara who
stepped in with diplomacy. ‘You speak, I believe, of a blade that saved your life?’

The Lord of the Bontura reddened. He cleared his throat, stabbed a glance at Kevin, then shrugged stiffly. ‘I saw nothing,’ he allowed grudgingly; for here, in the Acoma apartments, when Acoma guards had died to spare him, to contradict the word of a Lady and her guest was to insult Mara’s honour.

Kevin grinned. He held out his bloodied blade to Lujan, who accepted the offering with a flatly impassive face. Quick to ease the tension, Mara said, ‘My Lords, it would be appropriate if you each took two of the swords, as spoils of war. I plan on awarding worthy soldiers with the others, as a token of esteemed service.’

The Lords bowed their heads, for her gift was a magnanimous gesture. Hoppara smiled. ‘Your generosity is without precedent, Lady Mara.’

The Lord of the Bontura nodded; and by the flash of his eyes as he considered the enormous gain in wealth, Mara knew greed had won him. Kevin’s transgression would be overlooked.

‘Let us clear these floors of honourless garbage,’ Mara added to Lujan. The surviving warriors went to work. Scabbards were gathered up and swords sheathed, as the dead were examined for any clue that might prove who had ordered the assaults. None was found; tongs earned their pay through anonymity. The black-clothed assassins bore only the blue flower tattoo of the Hamoi tong and the traditionally red-stained hands. The black-armoured soldiers were devoid of any common marking at all.

When Lujan was satisfied nothing incriminating would be found, he had men dump the bodies out the back screen into the garden. Then he set squads of warriors to rebarricade the windows and doors with whatever materials were available, and to see to the care of his wounded.

A soldier brought Lady Mara a bowl of scented water and a cloth. ‘My Lady?’

Mara dabbed at her face and hands, dismayed by the mess that soon discoloured the basin. ‘In the morning, I must have the services of my maid.’ She looked up at the soldier. ‘You do well enough, Jendli. But tomorrow I will need more than the mercies of good warriors to make myself presentable for council.’

Lord Hoppara laughed at the remark, surprised that a woman of such dainty stature should have the fibre to look beyond the harrowing horror of the past hour. ‘I begin to see what my father admired in you,’ he started, and paused as a strange crawling sensation visited everyone in the room.

Kevin whipped around, empty hands groping for the sword he no longer held. A glance at Lujan showed the Force Commander also peering into shadows, seeking the source of this unnameable dread.

Then came a faint hissing sound, like the release of steam from a cook pot. All in the room found their eyes drawn to the floor, where a mote of green light burned into existence. The staunchest of the warriors instinctively cringed back, and those who wore weapons reached for swords.

The glow intensified until it outshone the single lamp. Eyes burned and teared at the brilliance, and a fey energy raised the hair on everyone’s arms.

‘Magic!’ hissed Lord Bontura, the widened whites of his eyes stained sickly green by the dazzle.

The speck brightened and swelled, then smeared to a sinuous form that twisted and undulated in the air. No one was able to move, for the effect of the light was hypnotic.

The phenomenon coalesced into a horrible, glowing apparition. Scintillating eyes appeared, and a wedge-shaped head, and a deadly, tapered tail writhed against the floor.

Under his breath, Hoppara said, ‘A relli!’

Kevin knew the poisonous snake of Kelewan, but this
surpassed the biggest river viper he had ever seen. Fully two feet in length, the serpent shimmered with a green incandescence that cast an evil glow over every object in the room. The creature slithered forward a few inches, its head slightly raised and its forked tongue flickering from armoured jaws to taste the air.

Kevin glanced at Lujan, who gripped his sheathed weapon in taut fingers. Yet even a gifted swordsman could not draw from the scabbard and expect to strike before the serpent.

Still on the mat, barely breathing, Mara whispered, ‘Don’t move, anyone.’

As if the sound of her voice keyed response, a low buzz shook the air. The serpent’s head snapped toward the Lady of the Acoma. Its eyes brightened and seemed eerily to shine through the body of the soldier who knelt between, the basin by his knees and one hand raised to bathe his mistress’s face.

The magical apparition writhed to one side. The slanted head twisted toward Mara and its tail whipped suddenly into a coil. The head rose and arched back.

Lujan nodded to Kevin, who took a slow, soundless step back. Permitted room to swing, the Force Commander snapped his wrist. His blade sang free of its scabbard and descended, edge on, toward the creature’s neck.

Yet against an arcane summoning no man could move undetected. The snakelike creature arose until it towered to full height. Then it struck, blindingly fast.

Lujan’s sword sliced air, and Mara cried out in shock. The warrior by her side flung his body across hers, and the basin flooded water across the floor; the glowing apparition missed its mark. Fangs like arrows pierced through hide armour with no more resistance than cloth. The wedge-shaped head followed, vanishing into the warrior’s body like liquid sucked through a hole, and the sickly illumination poured after.

For an instant, the room crawled with shadow.

Then the warrior screamed. His hands worked and clenched in agony, and his eyes began to glow greenly. The illumination brightened, spilling across his skin in a flood that burned, then blazed, then dazzled. The room held nothing of darkness. Then flesh itself began to pucker and crumple. The whites of the man’s eyes swelled and collapsed, and his teeth glittered emerald in gums that smouldered and turned black.

Hoppara and Iliando shrank away in voiceless terror; Mara sat frozen, as if the spell held her rooted. Only Kevin, driven by love, found the will to react. He stepped aside, reached past the shining flesh that now thrashed in mindless torment, and caught Mara’s upper arm. With a tortured cry of effort he half lifted, half dragged her beyond reach of the shrieking warrior. Then he flung his own body before hers.

Lujan found his reflexes. His sword spun down in an expert stroke and silenced the harrowing screams. Smoke puffed from the corpse, and the green glow flickered and vanished. Ordinary gloom flooded back, full darkness held off by the flame of one guttering lamp.

Openly shaking, the Lord of the Bontura made a sign against evil. ‘A magician wishes your death, Lady Mara. That thing sought you out by the sound of your voice!’

Kevin wiped sweating hands on his robe, forgetful that the cloth was already sodden. He shook his head. ‘I think not.’

Lord Bontura looked irritated at the contradiction, but Mara raised herself from the floorboards without offence. ‘Why?’