The Complete Empire Trilogy (143 page)

The reprimand stung the Lady out of her thought. She spun to face her adviser, her frown an open warning. ‘What do you mean?’

‘This assumption of the Warchief’s staff.’ Nacoya wagged her finger, much as she had in her days as a children’s nurse. ‘Why didn’t you discuss your intentions before you acted?’

Mara stood firmly, her arms folded. ‘The idea never occurred to me, until I was halfway to Kentosani. When I left, I thought I could convince the clan to do as I asked, but upon the river I had time to think –’

‘I wish you had put the time to better use!’ the Acoma First Adviser cut in.

‘Nacoya!’ Mara’s eyes flashed rage. ‘I will not be scolded like a girl. What do you object to?’

The First Adviser bowed precisely to the correct degree, which meant she was not cowed. In tones near to scorn she said, ‘I beg your pardon, Lady. But since you have compelled Clan Hadama to recognize your primacy, you have also forced public notice that you are now a power to be contended with.’

Caught off guard, Mara tried to wave the matter off. ‘Nothing has changed, save –’

Nacoya put her old hands firmly upon Mara’s shoulders and looked her mistress in the eyes. ‘Much has changed. Before, you were seen as a resourceful girl, who could escape traps and strengthen her house and defend herself. Even
after Jingu’s death, the mighty of the Empire could cast your success off as luck. But now, by making others relinquish honours, you announce to the world that you are a threat! Tasaio
must
act. And he must do so soon. The longer he waits, the more his allies and vassals will come to doubt his resolve. Before, he might remain content to wait for a clear opportunity; now he must do something. You have made him desperate.’

Mara felt a sudden current of cold. With certainty she knew Nacoya was correct in her appraisal. Made nervous as fresh worries tangled with others arising from her trade difficulties, she closed her eyes a moment. ‘You are right.’ Smiling thinly in chagrin, she regained her poise and added, ‘I have acted precipitately and … well, the best that can be done is to hold council with my staff as soon as I have refreshed myself. We must … make plans.’

Nacoya nodded grumpy approval. As Kevin escorted Mara to her quarters, the old woman fretted, not only because Mara acted without thought, but also because she looked tired, truly bone-tired. As many years as Nacoya had served, she had never known the daughter of her heart to appear so worn.

The Acoma First Adviser sighed and shook her head. The Acoma ministers could meet and talk all they liked; plans might be made and acted upon, but truly, what could be done to ensure Acoma security and prosperity that had not been tried already? Feeling her age, and the ache in every joint that suffered from arthritis, the old woman shuffled slowly down the corridor. Every day since the Lord Sezu had died and left his holdings to his daughter, Nacoya had known fear that her beloved Mara might become a casualty of the Great Game. Yet the Lady had proven herself a capable, cunning player. Why, then, should the fear be worse today, or was it just an aged woman’s bones protesting a life of long service? Nacoya shivered, though
the afternoon was warm. At every step she took, she seemed to feel the earth of her own grave beneath the soles of her feet.

Word returned from Ontoset. Mara read the message twice, a stormy frown on her face. Restraining a vicious urge to tear something, she hurled the parchment onto her writing desk. The move was entirely unexpected. But Netoha had refused her very generous fees for the use of the rift on his lands.

‘It makes no sense!’ Mara exploded aloud, and in the corner of her study, Arakasi raised one eyebrow.

Dressed as a gardener, the Spy Master contemplated the edge on the small sickle he had been using to prune kekali bushes. He still insisted on keeping his return to the estate a secret, for his suspicions concerning Tasaio’s penetration of Mara’s security were far from laid to rest. The mistress might not wish to talk the matter through, her mind being diverted by other things, but Arakasi had his own worries. He currently spent as much time investigating servants and slaves upon the Acoma estates as he did conducting the business his mistress required of him. Only Nacoya knew of his concerns, as the old woman was above suspicion.

Arakasi tested the edge on the laminated tool with his finger, and assumed a posture that would appear to an onlooker as if the Lady berated a servant for carelessness. ‘Mistress, I have discovered little about this man, Netoha. His motives are not public. He must have cogent reasons for refusing your offer; obviously, he cannot do business across the rift himself, because of your trading rights. Yet I cannot tell you what his reasons may be.’

Mara tugged at a tight hairpin in frustration. Her message to Fumita of the Assembly had been returned unopened, so her last recourse to gain her trade concessions was this Netoha. Although Arakasi did not care to be pressured, she
said, ‘Can you get someone close to the Chichimechas to discover what these reasons may be?’

‘I can but attempt to, Lady.’ Trying hard not to look harried, Arakasi added, ‘It is unlikely we shall learn anything new, but I can have someone exchange gossip with the house and field servants. Netoha’s workers are largely barbarians –’

Mara broke in, ‘Midkemians?’

Arakasi nodded. ‘The renegade magician, Milamber, freed all his countrymen before leaving, and this Netoha employs them as workers. I would say from reports out of Ontoset that they do well enough as farmers. In any event, these are likely to be more garrulous than our own slaves, so getting information shouldn’t prove difficult. If, that is, they know anything worth hearing.’

Aware of Nacoya’s taut stillness at her elbow, Mara turned to the next issue at hand. ‘What of Minwanabi?’

Arakasi’s hands stilled on the sickle. ‘I worry, mistress, precisely because I have nothing to report. Tasaio conducts the business of his household much as you do your own, but with nothing that I would account extraordinarily significant.’ The Spy Master exchanged glances with Mara’s First Adviser. ‘This goes against expectations. Upon hearing of your rise to the primacy of the clan, Tasaio should have been moved to act at once. But instead …’ Arakasi glanced about, then said, ‘One other thing: the Minwanabi have begun a primitive spy network and are attempting to insinuate agents into several locations throughout the Empire. They are not hard to spot, since Incomo, the Minwanabi First Adviser, proceeds in a heavy-handed manner. I have men watching his men and am reasonably certain we can infiltrate his ring soon. That will give us a secondary access to his household and affairs, and when this is accomplished I shall feel reassured. Yet I dare not proceed too quickly. The whole operation may be an elaborate ploy to draw us out.’

And yet, Mara sensed, that would not be Tasaio’s style. The subtleties in his nature tended toward cruelty, and his tactics to military violence. Involved in deep thoughts once again, she absently waved dismissal to her Spy Master. She did not notice him leaving, and had forgotten Nacoya was in the room until the old woman spoke.

‘I feel a chill in my bones, daughter.’

Mara started slightly. ‘What worries you, Nacoya?’

‘Minwanabi plots. You rely too much on Arakasi’s informants. They may be well placed, but they are not everywhere. They are not at Tasaio’s side when he squats or when he lies atop his wife, and you must believe that this is a man who plots murder even while relieving himself or taking a woman to his bed.’

Mara found nothing humorous in the images, for Nacoya spoke truth. Arakasi’s agents might have ferreted out nothing overtly threatening toward her house, but the reports were disturbing nonetheless. Tasaio ruled his household with a wayward, cunning viciousness. His abuses were those that tormented the mind and heart, and yet, where a sworn enemy was concerned, Mara knew there was no blood in the Empire he would rather spill than her own, and her young son Ayaki’s.

The year passed.

Distracted with worry over continuing trade difficulties and Tasaio’s apparent lack of activity, Mara waited as the rainy season came and went. Needra calves were weaned from their mothers, and the little bulls charged around the meadow; when they were sufficiently grown, the herdsmen picked out those that were gelded and those that were to be used for breeding. Crops were planted and harvested and an uncertain peace held sway. Days slipped by without any resolution to Mara’s uncertainty. A thousand responses to a thousand possible assaults were discussed and discarded, and no Minwanabi threat materialized. A thousand moves in the Game of the Council were planned, but the Emperor did not relent in his edict against the High Council.

Seated in her study in the cooler hours of early morning, and clad in a loose, short robe, Mara studied the slates and parchments Jican had left for her. Since her frustrating setback in Kentosani, Acoma fortunes were improving. Her assumption of the position of Clan Warchief had precipitated no disasters. Gradually, the herds were recovering from the outlays made necessary from the Dustari campaign; the silk trade at last was flourishing. Although Nacoya seized every opportunity to nag that her mistress was neglecting the matter of marriage, Mara refused to be moved. With Tasaio consolidating his power as Lord of the Minwanabi, even someone from a family as favourably placed these days as was Hokanu’s would be foolish to agree to a union until the issue between Minwanabi and Acoma had been decided. Except for Xacatecas and, less
dependably, Anasati, alliances with the Acoma had become tentative. Mara sighed and pushed back a fallen lock of hair. Not yet strong enough to initiate the first overture, she had grown practised at waiting.

A soft tap at the screen disturbed her.

Mara gestured for the servant hovering beyond the door to enter.

He bowed. ‘My Lady, there is a bonded messenger awaiting you in the antechamber.’

‘Send him in.’ Mara had enjoyed two hours of quiet contemplation since dawn and, now that the inevitable interruption had occurred, she was anxious to know the news.

The courier brought before her was dusty from the road and clad in a tunic of bleached cloth, tagged on the sleeves with the badge of a guild from Pesh. Since Mara had no dealings with any family from that city, this piqued her interest.

‘You may sit,’ she allowed as the courier completed his bow. He carried no documents; the message he brought would be oral, guaranteed by his life oath of silence. Mara waved for a servant to bring jomach juice, in case the man’s throat was dry from travel.

He inclined his head when the refreshment arrived and gratefully took a long swallow. ‘I bring greeting to the Acoma from the Lord Xaltepo of the Hanqu.’ The messenger paused for another sip, politely allowing the Lady an interval to call to mind what she knew of this Lord’s house, clan, and political affiliations.

Mara needed the time, since the Hanqu were a minor house that had never previously dealt with the Acoma; they were of the Nimboni, a clan so tiny that it regularly associated with other, larger clans; which other clans it was allied with at present Mara didn’t recall. Arakasi would know. He might also confirm whether Xaltepo had renewed
his participation in the Yellow Flower Party since the demise of the Alliance for War. The Yellow Flower Party had no ties with the Minwanabi, but had occasionally supported common interests with them before Almecho wore the white and gold, and the changes effected by his successor, Axantucar, had disrupted the old alliances. The Yellow Flower Party currently fended for itself, and the Nimboni quite likely inclined to favour the Kanazawai Clan. Perhaps this was an overture in that direction.

Mara sighed over this season’s unrecognizable snarl of politics. Without Arakasi’s network, she would be floundering, relying upon guesswork, and not leading her clan decisively through the moil.

The messenger finished his drink and politely awaited her attention. At a wave from Mara, he resumed.

‘The Lord of the Hanqu formally requests that you consider an alliance with his house. If you judge the matter to be in Acoma interests, Lord Xaltepo asks for a meeting to discuss his proposal.’

A house slave unobtrusively removed the emptied juice cup. Mara used the interval to formulate a swift decision. ‘I am flattered by the offer from the Lord of the Hanqu, and will reply through one of my own couriers.’

This was politely noncommittal, and not unusual, since a ruler near Sulan-Qu would be unfamiliar with the guild of another city. Conscious of security, Mara intended to hire from a known guild. But to dismiss this courier without thanks was to insinuate mistrust, if not to imply dishonour. The Lady sent her runner to summon Saric. By now familiar with the duties of a second adviser, he would accompany the guild messenger to a distant chamber and see him occupied with banalities until the heat passed, and the man could politely be dismissed.

Financial reports no longer gripped Mara’s attention. Throughout the morning she pondered the Hanqu’s
unexpected overture without assuming what their motive might be. Lord Xaltepo might earnestly desire an alliance, and this must not be treated lightly. Since Mara’s public rise to the office of Clan Warchief, it could be but the first of many such approaches. To ignore this would be folly.

Far more dangerous, he might be puppet for some other, better-known enemy, who used him to disguise another plot against her. She waited until the courier’s departure before dispatching Arakasi to make inquiries.

After supper, she called council. Weary of the stifling stillness of her study with screens and drapes drawn closed, she decided that a meeting in the garden courtyard adjacent to her quarters, under the light of lanterns, would be more comfortable. The garden had a single entrance, securely guarded.