The Complete Empire Trilogy (127 page)

Mara touched his face, almost sorrowfully. ‘There is no time.’ To Lujan she said, ‘Find where Jican is hiding and send him to our town house for clean clothing. He must also bring back maids and servants. This place must be cleansed and I must be ready in full formal attire by noon.’

Kevin closed his eyes, savouring one blessed moment of peace. No matter how tired he was, a long, trying day lay before Mara. Where she went, he was bound by his love to go with her.

Pulling himself to his feet, he opened his eyes and motioned to an equally exhausted Acoma warrior. ‘Come on. Let’s start fertilizing the garden.’

The pillow cloth pressed to his head, Lujan motioned for the soldier to comply. Kevin had but a step to go to find the first corpse, which he gripped under the arms. As the warrior hefted the feet, and the pair of them stumbled awkwardly to the screen with their burden, Kevin observed, ‘Too bad it wasn’t more of those Hamoi assassins. At least then we wouldn’t have to lug armour.’

Lujan shook his head slightly, but a faint smile showed his appreciation of Kevin’s strange view of life.

After hours of bustling preparation, Mara emerged from an apartment cleared of dead and debris. Her hair was washed and bound back under a jewelled headdress, and formal robes brought from her town house flowed down to slippers unspattered with blood. Her honour guard wore trappings borrowed at need from the house garrison, and Lujan’s officer’s plumes nodded proudly from his helm, still damp, but at least rinsed clean since the battle. If bracers and flowing cloaks hid scabs and bandages, and if the walk of the warriors was on the stiff side of correct, Mara judged the honour of the Acoma remained unblemished by their appearance as she approached the entrance to the High Council chambers.

Imperial Whites stood guard in the hallways, and a troop of ten was stationed before the portal. There Mara’s party was signalled to halt. ‘Lady,’ one of the soldiers commanded with scant sign of deference, ‘the Light of Heaven permits you to enter with but one soldier, lest more bloodshed defile his palace.’

Mara could only bow before an imperial edict. After an instant of swift thought, she inclined her head to Lujan. ‘Return to our quarters and await my summons.’

Then, from the ranks of her guard, she signalled to Arakasi to stand forth. The splint beneath his right bracer might decrease his advantage as a fighter, but she did not wish to be without his counsel. And after the past night, even if a Lord was rash enough to try violence in the presence of the Emperor’s guard, Kevin had proved he could handle the sword in Arakasi’s scabbard.

Yet as Mara also waved her body slave from her retinue, the guard put up a restraining hand. ‘One soldier only, my Lady.’

Mara returned a disdainful look. ‘Do slave robes look like armour today?’ Her eyes narrowed, and with all the arrogance she could muster she added, ‘I will not subject an honourably wounded warrior to the duties of a common runner. When I need to send for my escort, the slave will be needed to carry my orders.’

The guard hesitated, and Mara swept past before he could rally and offer argument. Kevin forced himself to follow without a glance back, lest unsubservient behaviour precipitate a quick change of mind about his worthiness to be admitted.

The hall seemed sparsely populated after the previous day, and those Lords present were considerably more subdued. Mara acknowledged a few greetings as she moved to her seat, her eyes busy between times taking stock of empty places. To Arakasi she murmured, ‘At least five Omechan Lords are absent.’

The instant she settled in her chair, a flurry of activity commenced. A dozen notes were placed before her by soldiers who simply bowed and left without waiting for reply. Mara scanned each quickly, then handed the papers to Arakasi, who put them in his tunic without a glance. ‘We have gained,’ she said in amazement.

She pointed to an area that had stayed empty throughout the previous week. Now elaborately robed nobles were
arriving to take their seats, with warriors that looked untouched by combat. ‘The Blue Wheel Party is among us.’

Arakasi nodded. ‘Lord Kamatsu of the Shinzawai comes to bargain with others, gaining whatever advantage Lord Keda can command. He and Lord Zanwai will do little more than keep their party from deserting wholesale in the first ten minutes.’

Mara glanced at the company, seeking the familiar face of Hokanu. Only one soldier wore Shinzawai blue, and he was a stranger, wearing the high plume of a Force Commander. Obviously, the heir to the Shinzawai estate was no longer permitted to come where he would be at risk. Mara felt disappointed.

A hush fell over the room as the two highest-ranking Lords entered last. Axantucar, now Lord of the Oaxatucan, stepped down to his chair roughly the same moment as Tasaio. Both walked with haughty bearing, as if they were the only men of consequence in the room. Neither one so much as glanced in the direction of his major opponent.

As soon as each candidate was seated, a number of Lords stood up and moved as if to confer with either Tasaio or Axantucar. Each would halt a moment, as if exchanging a quick greeting, then return to his chair.

Kevin asked, ‘What are they doing?’

‘Voting upon the office of Warlord,’ answered Arakasi. ‘By this act each Lord confirms his allegiance to the claimant he prefers to wear the white and gold. Those who are undecided’ – his hand swept the room – ‘watch and choose.’

Kevin looked down and observed that Mara closely measured the play of the Great Game. ‘When do you go to Oaxatucan?’

‘Not yet.’ Mara’s brow furrowed as she studied the order of nobles who moved across the floor to either the Lord of the Oaxatucan or the Lord of the Minwanabi.

Then, for no reason that was apparent to foreign eyes,
Mara abruptly rose and descended the stairs. She crossed the lower floor as if heading toward Tasaio. A hush fell over the room. All eyes watched the slender woman as she mounted the stairs toward the Minwanabi chair. Then she turned and in three short strides came alongside the seat of Hoppara of the Xacatecas. She spoke briefly to him and returned to her place.

Kevin whispered, ‘What was that? Could the boy take the office?’

Arakasi said, ‘It is a ploy.’

Several other Lords moved to speak to Hoppara, and soon it was clear that no other claimant would declare himself. Kevin quickly calculated in his head and said, ‘It’s roughly equal. A quarter for Minwanabi, a quarter for Oaxatucan, a quarter for Xacatecas, and a quarter yet undecided.’

For a long quiet moment no one moved. Lords sat in their finery and looked about, or spoke to advisers or servants. Then another Lord here or there would rise and move to one of the three claimants. After a few moments another pair would rise and make their preference known.

Then Kevin said, ‘Wait! That Lord in the feathered headdress spoke to Minwanabi before. Now he’s speaking to Oaxatucan.’

Mara nodded. ‘The balance shifts back and forth.’

The afternoon wore slowly on. As bars of sunlight moved across the high expanse of the dome, the High Council continued the strange custom that determined primacy among Ruling Lords of the Empire. Twice Mara rose to speak with Lord Xacatecas, showing that her support for the young man was unshaken.

Then, as evening approached, Mara nodded at some unseen signal. The next moment both she and Lord Hoppara rose. As one they moved from their different vantage points and arrived before the chair of Axantucar. A
rustle swept the chamber. Suddenly another score of nobles left their places and advanced to stand before the Omechan Lord.

Then Mara returned to her seat and said, ‘Now.’

Kevin saw her eyes move to where Tasaio sat. The Lord of the Minwanabi returned a look of such pure malevolence that Kevin felt chills touch his skin. By now his wounds ached, and his robes itched, and every bruise acquired the night before made standing a trial of endurance.

As Kevin wondered how much longer the council could drag on without resolution, the climate in the hall changed suddenly from waiting stillness to charged expectancy.

Tasaio rose. The great chamber became silent, every Lord motionless in his chair. In a voice that rang loudly in the quiet, the Lord of the Minwanabi said, ‘It is fitting a message be sent to the Light of Heaven that one among us is willing to wear the white and gold, that he will stand first among us to guarantee continuance of the Empire. Let it be known his name is Axantucar of the Oaxatucan.’

A cheer arose from the council gathering, a vast echo of sound that filled the chamber to the highest arch in the ceiling; though Kevin noticed more than half of the Lords responded with little enthusiasm. He asked Arakasi, ‘Why did Minwanabi give up?’

Mara herself returned answer. ‘He was defeated. It is tradition for the Lord who is closest to the victor to proclaim to the Emperor.’

Kevin smiled. ‘That’s a bitter draught.’

The Lady of the Acoma nodded slowly. ‘Bitter indeed.’ As if she noticed the discomfort that wore away at her love’s reserves, she added, ‘Patience. By tradition we must wait until the Light of Heaven sends his acknowledgment of the appointment.’

Kevin bore up as best he could. Despite today’s call to council, and the selection of a new Warlord, the barbarian
remained unconvinced that Ichindar was as much a slave to tradition as his Lady thought. Yet he chose to say nothing. Within a half hour a messenger in white and gold livery entered, with a company of the Imperial Whites. They carried a mantle of snowy feathers, the edges trimmed in shining gold. They bowed before the chair of Omechan and presented the cloak to Axantucar.

Kevin studied the new Warlord as the mantle was laid upon his shoulders. While the uncle, Almecho, had been a barrel-chested, bull-necked man, this nephew looked like a slender poet or teacher. His frame was thin to extreme and his face ascetic, almost delicate. But the triumph in his eyes revealed as rapacious a soul as Tasaio’s.

‘He seems pleased,’ said Kevin under his breath.

Arakasi spoke quietly. ‘He should be. He must have spent a large portion of his inheritance to have a half-dozen Lords murdered.’

‘You think the black-clad warriors were his?’

‘Almost without doubt.’

Mara said, ‘Why would he send soldiers against us? We would support any rival of Tasaio.’

‘To prevent unpredictable alliances. And to ensure blame for the general slaughter was placed at Minwanabi’s door.’ Arakasi’s mood turned expansive, perhaps from satisfaction over an enemy’s defeat. ‘He is the victor. Minwanabi isn’t. The tong almost certainly worked for Tasaio. Logically, the other soldiers were Omechan.’

Order returned to the council, and after an uneventful interval of speechmaking, Mara gave Kevin the order to fetch Lujan and her warriors. ‘We return to our town house tonight.’

The Midkemian bowed to her as a proper slave might, and walked slowly from the huge hall with its bejewelled, enigmatic Ruling Lords. Again he concluded that the
Tsurani were the strangest race with the most convoluted customs a man might ever encounter.

Calm returned to Kentosani. For an interval Mara and her household rested, healing wounds and assimilating the changes effected in politics since Axantucar’s assumption of the Warlordship. Evenings were festive in the town house as the Lady of the Acoma entertained several influential Lords whose interest now favoured her house. Kevin seemed more disgruntled than usual, but between exhaustion and her social obligations, Mara had little opportunity to deal with his dark mood.

Arakasi sought out his mistress on the third morning as she reviewed communications from several Lords still within the city. Clad in a clean servant’s robe, and content for the moment to let his splinted arm rest openly in a sling, he still gave her the deep bow her rank entitled. ‘Mistress, the Minwanabi retinue has boarded barges upon the river. Tasaio is returning to his estates.’

Mara stood, her pens and papers and messages forgotten in the joy of the moment. ‘Then we may safely return home.’

Again Arakasi bowed, this time lower than before. ‘Mistress, I wish to beg your forgiveness. In all that occurred, I was not prepared for the Lord of the Oaxatucan to rise so quickly to replace his uncle.’

‘You take yourself too harshly to task, Arakasi.’ A shadow crossed Mara’s face, and she moved restlessly to the window. Outside, the trees were shedding blossoms over the streets. Servants still pushed vegetable carts, and messengers still ran on swift feet. The day seemed bright and ordinary, like waking after nightmare. ‘Who among us could have anticipated the murder that was done that night?’ Mara added. ‘Your work spared five Lords, myself among them. I would venture no single person did more, and the result gained the Acoma great prestige.’

Arakasi bowed his head. ‘My mistress is gracious.’

‘I am grateful,’ Mara amended. ‘Come. Let us go home.’

Later that afternoon, the Acoma garrison marched smartly from the town house, Mara’s litter and carry boxes and a wagon bearing the wounded securely in their midst. At the docks, boats waited to take the mistress and her retinue downriver. Settled upon cushions beneath a canopy, with Kevin at her side, Mara regarded the everyday bustle of trade along the waterfront. ‘It is so tranquil. You would think nothing untoward had occurred in the last week.’

Kevin also watched the dock workers, fishermen, and labourers, the occasional beggar and street child interrupting the organized flow of commerce. ‘The common folk are never caught up in the affairs of the powerful – unless they have the misfortune to find themselves in the way. Then they die. Otherwise, their lives go on, each day of work like the next.’