The Complete Empire Trilogy (154 page)

Tasaio broke eye contact with Mara for the first time. Loftily remote, and in his secret depths convinced he had gained the key to Mara’s gravest weakness, he turned and surveyed his forces. Under his scrutiny, they seemed flawless, arrayed in rows across the hillside, and ready for his instant orders. In their impeccably clean armour and correct bearing, they were a sight to bring pride to any commander. The glorious Minwanabi banner of alternating squares of black and orange snapped smartly in the wind. What else Tasaio saw in the night that sheltered his army only he knew. At length his gaze swung insolently back to Mara. ‘Do continue on the assumption that your supposition is true, Lady. What do you propose in exchange for my not seizing what I perceive is already mine?’

Mara stifled a fury that had nothing to do with enmity or blood feud, but held root in her personal desire to nurture life. ‘I treat with you for the Good of the Empire, Tasaio. I am not without resources.’ She motioned, and an unarmed
servant approached from her lines. The Lord of the Minwanabi could not know that the man in the simple robe was actually Arakasi in disguise; in flawless imitation of servility, the Spy Master carried a wrapped bundle, unrolled the parchment covering, and tossed a human head that reeked of preservative across the grass to Tasaio’s feet.

Barely shy of shouting, Mara said, ‘You should recognize the face. Behold the remains of the man you attempted to use to compromise my spy network.’

Tasaio returned a startling rictus of hate. ‘You!’ His word came out as a snarl. ‘You were the one who ordered murder in my house! Only I may command death upon Minwanabi lands!’ A mad light entered his eyes, icily without compunction. Touched by an involuntary shiver, Mara sensed threat in the air. The wind ruffled her robes, tugged at her elaborately piled hair, and chilled the sweat on her skin. No words were spoken, but Mara knew in her soul that only the thinnest thread of reason remained to remind Tasaio of his pledge of truce. At this moment, she knew, her enemy wished for nothing more than his hands around Mara’s throat, perhaps as he took her in brutal rape.

Then, with equally frightening abruptness, Tasaio’s expression shifted to a satisfied smile. ‘So you admit to killing your own agent?’

Mara willed herself to outer calmness. Inwardly she was frightened by his shattering shift of mien, and aware that she was dealing with a man who could only be judged insane. She inclined her head. ‘More than one, Tasaio.’

Tasaio’s teeth flashed white as his smile turned cruel. Through a long and uneasy interval, the only sounds upon the hillside were the crack and flap of battle standards and the hiss of the wind through the grass. Then Tasaio said, ‘So you forged my family chop? And paid the Hamoi tong to murder your own agents in my house? Lady, you have unexpected turns of originality.’

He did not threaten or posture, which Mara found disturbing. That his heart held murder, and worse, could never for an instant be doubted. And yet she pressed him. ‘You must consider the frustration in coming years of not being able to bring strangers into your service, Tasaio. You know as I stand here, my agents shall be among them. Perhaps you should have all merchants and visitors banned from your estates, and even refuse the wagons of traders lest you admit an Acoma spy.’

Tasaio’s patience suddenly vanished. He shouted, ‘Do you really think such pathetic threats worry me, Mara? Upon your death, all your servants become slaves and grey warriors. What dread will I know when you are food for worms?’

With a droop to her shoulders that was not feigned, Mara drew a tired breath. ‘I bring you a proposal.’

Tasaio took a half-step forward. Uncannily composed, and beautiful as a predator, he did not twitch a muscle at the sound as a hundred Acoma soldiers slapped hands upon their sword hilts. Reckless in his disdain, the Lord of the Minwanabi said, ‘I have no interest in listening, Mara. My predecessor swore blood oath to Turakamu that this feud would end in Acoma obliteration. While I lack Desio’s passions and count the pledge regrettable, still I am bound to it. I must see the Acoma line ended. The alternative need not be discussed. There can be no cessation to our conflict.’

Mara sensed Arakasi’s alarm, but she could see no other way beyond this impasse. ‘Would you consider … a suspension?’

Caught by surprise, Tasaio blinked. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Quarter. No end to our enmity – that will never abate until one family or the other is dust – but a postponement of conflict, until the Empire is once again on a firm footing for peace?’

‘The Good of the Empire,’ Tasaio murmured. His
humour was cutting. Intrigued despite his sarcasm, he added, ‘Say on.’

‘I propose a meeting with the Ruling Lords of the Empire, but in the Imperial Palace. There we confront the Light of Heaven with our need to resolve this confrontation and prevent a crisis that will plunge our land into ruin. Or would you wish to govern an Empire where the eastern frontier is dominated by Thuril captains and their marauding highlanders? A northern border overrun each spring by Thun raiders seeking Tsurani heads as trophies? A return of pirates to the Outpost Isles?’

‘You do paint a bleak picture,’ Tasaio allowed. ‘If I agree to this meeting, you’ll deliver the votes needed to grant me the Warlord’s throne without bloodshed?’

‘Should you agree to meet with the Emperor, peacefully, I will pledge to make every effort, to the last of my resources, to ensure no one ascends to the Warlord’s throne before you.’ Mara drew a shaky breath. ‘Upon this you have my most holy oath, sworn upon my family’s name and honour, from now to the last generation of the Acoma line.’

Tasaio raised his eyebrows at this most sacred of vows. A sceptical twinge of malice coloured his tone. ‘If any of your descendants are worth swearing by, how long a truce would you wish?’

Although offered the most mortal of insults, Mara steeled herself against irrational anger. More than her family’s name was at stake here, and more than the affairs of nobles – servants, children, craftsmen, and thousands of nameless slaves would suffer if the Empire’s rulers were to indulge in a senseless war. Changed from the woman of limited perspective that she had once been, Mara did what she could not have conceived of prior to being influenced by Kevin’s foreign ideas: more, she swallowed her family’s honour. Rather than merely a phrase,
to serve the Empire
was now her only guiding motive. Swallowing mortification, she said,
‘Hold off your final assault until I have returned home and seen to the affairs of my house. After that, let our struggle resume without stint until the bitterest end.’

Her tone of capitulation drew a bright laugh from Tasaio. Unable to resist toying with the vulnerability she had exposed, he said, ‘Already you presume to guess my answer, Lady. You overestimate my love of the Empire. My honour is my own, not my nation’s.’ He looked her avidly up and down to see if she showed discomfort.

But Mara was familiar with his malice. She revealed not the slightest hint of discomfort to gratify his lust for torment.

After apparent thought, Tasaio amended, ‘However, a quick solution to my accession to the white and gold would spare me a certain degree of bother.’ He smiled, and Mara saw how well this madman could mask his depravity behind military propriety and courtly manners. ‘I will agree. Let the High Council meet before the Light of Heaven and have an end to his dictatorial rule. You shall marshal your allies, and when the moment comes, you will have them support my claim. Then, when such things as fate requires are finished, you shall have my safe conduct back to your estates until you have put your affairs in order. Be sure that I will march against you, Mara, but until then you may count the hours you live as payment for your service to the Empire.’

Drained, and feeling desolate beyond words, Mara sealed her pledge with a bow. She dared not wonder how her father or brother would have reacted, were they alive to know of her commitment. All she could hope was that war might be averted, lives might be spared, and the unborn child within her womb might be permitted enough time to achieve birth. Whether she and Ayaki died for the pact she sealed this moment, perhaps the cho-ja Queen would consent to keep one newborn infant alive in secret …

‘When shall we meet?’ Tasaio said in a voice that betrayed satisfaction.

‘The day after tomorrow,’ said Mara. ‘Send word to the Emperor, and the other council members, and leave me free to muster the support I have promised.’

‘It shall be interesting to see whether the Lady can meet her obligation. If she forswear, she will not leave the city alive,’ Tasaio ended. He returned the shallowest of bows, barely more than an inclination of his head. Then he spun with the quickness of a sarcat and walked back to his own lines.

Beaten down by a sense of hopelessness greater than any she had known in life, Mara returned to Lujan’s protection.

From the sidelines, the imperial herald proclaimed, ‘This conference is ended! Depart in peace and honour, and know the gods are pleased that no blood was shed this night.’

As Mara’s officers called orders for the Acoma army to disperse, the Minwanabi First Adviser drew breath to address his master; but Tasaio held up his hand. ‘She is defeated, Incomo.’ He watched Mara’s retreating figure, a knowing smile on his lips. ‘I have seen that look in the eyes of warriors waiting for death upon the battlefield.’ He gave a half shrug. Oh, they fight well, and do honour to their ancestors, but they know they are fated to die. Mara
knows
I have won.’

‘Master,’ pleaded Incomo, ‘I would be less than your dutiful servant if I did not point out that there may be unexpected turns in your assessment. There are other issues at stake beyond who may claim the white and gold. Ichindar has fathered no son. At this moment, many of the Imperials might whisper that the time draws nigh to install another member of the royal line upon the throne. Jiro of the Anasati could be their choice; Kamatsu of the Shinzawai can trace ties to royalty, and his son is well regarded. What if you were to discover this offer is but –’

Tasaio sharply cut off speculation. ‘Mara knows I
have won.
It is over.’ Oddly piqued, as if he had relished a challenge that would not materialize, the Lord of the Minwanabi signalled his Force Commander to wheel his columns of soldiers and march back to their camp.

Left alone with the mournful song of the butana, Incomo lingered behind. He could not imagine how Mara might contrive to shift the course of events yet to come. But he knew this conflict was far from over. At best, Mara had bought herself the gift of a few months more in which to plot; at worst, she would have some trap in mind, and the Minwanabi would be swallowed by it. Chilled by a heavy gust, Incomo caught his flapping robes about him and hurried to overtake his master. As he picked his path downhill in the darkness, he mulled over the most prudent course: to send inquiries to his agents for the latest information they might uncover about Mara’s intentions, or to complete his unfinished last testament and death poem. Caught by a deepening sense of finality, Incomo decided to do both.

The night’s progression of events did not end with the meeting on the hilltop. Mara arrived back at her town house feeling tired to her bones. She shed her outer robe and pushed back strands of hair torn loose by the incessant wind, and only then came out of her daze long enough to understand what Saric was telling her.

An imperial messenger had called in her absence.

‘What did he say?’ Mara asked dully, and by the concern on Saric’s face, she realized she had asked him to repeat himself.

Tactful, Saric explained; and the particulars of Ichindar’s latest proclamation struck Mara like a blow to the heart.

Her mind went numb after the first words: that the Emperor of Tsuranuanni was buying up all Midkemian
slaves belonging to subjects of the Empire. The words ‘fair price’ and ‘Imperial Treasury’ seemed sounds made by cold winds, an evil extension of the nightmares brought by the butana. Reeling as if the underpinnings of her life had all been torn asunder, Mara did not feel Saric’s hands help her from the hallway into the sitting room. The cushion that supported her did not seem real, and the tears that sprang into her eyes seemed those of somebody else.

Her body, her mind, her heart – all seemed open wounds of anguish.

‘Why?’ she asked dully. ‘Why?’

Saric had not released her hand, mostly because she clung still to the warmth of his touch. He offered what comfort he could, though he guessed the futility of such efforts. In the gentlest of tones, he tried to soften the insupportable. ‘It is said that the Light of Heaven will sell Kevin’s countrymen back to the Midkemian King. All slaves who were prisoners of the war will be shipped downriver and sent through the rift. The original rift has been reopened outside the City of the Plains.’

Flinching outright at the mention of her beloved’s name, Mara could not prevent brimming eyes from spilling over. ‘The Emperor makes free men of slaves?’

Calmly, Saric qualified. ‘Out of respect for our gods, one could say that act would be the province of Lyam, King of Isles.’

Mara regarded the whitened fingers twined with those of her adviser. Her resolve to keep nerves of steel had availed nothing! She felt defeated down to her core. The threat posed by the Minwanabi had at last overtaken her scant resources, and now she was to lose Kevin. The fact she had already resolved to send him away into freedom made no difference. The immediacy of the moment devastated.

‘When does the Light of Heaven require the slaves to be surrendered?’ she asked, surprised that her tongue could shape words.