The Complete Empire Trilogy (159 page)

‘I do not play the Great Game this day for personal gain or glory,’ Mara interrupted. ‘For the Good of the Empire, I call on my Lord of the Tonmargu.’

From the rear of the hall, the second most powerful claimant to the Warlord’s office entered amid an honour guard of twenty. Erect despite his advanced age, he made careful progress down the stairs past Tasaio and came to stand beside Mara. If his body seemed wasted with years, his voice was still powerfully resonant. ‘By the honoured blood of my ancestors, hear my pledge. I act for the Good of the Empire.’ So saying, he mounted the dais and bowed before the dazzling figure of the Emperor. ‘Majesty,’ he intoned, ‘in the best interests of all my people, I surrender my authority
to your care.’ He raised the staff that was his badge of office as Warchief of Clan Ionani and handed it up to Ichindar.

Jiro started forward in rage. ‘You can’t do this!’

Lord Frasai of the Tonmargu turned up his silvered head in the direction of the young man who had inherited the mantle that had formerly been Tecuma’s. Sadly he said, ‘Son of my kinsman, you are mistaken. Ichindar is of our own blood. Dare you claim that any stands above him in our clan?’

Red-faced with fury, Jiro looked ready to argue. But a swelling roll of sound drowned his voice as excited talk broke out. Amid the commotion, two more entered the hall, Lord Kamatsu of the Shinzawai, wearing the armour of his ancestors and carrying the staff of Kanazawai, and beside him, Lord Keda, his predecessor, and another from a line with recognized claim to the Warlord’s office.

Kamatsu reached Ichindar’s dais and bowed. ‘We speak as one, and act for the Good of the Empire.’ With grand dignity for all his lack of ceremony, he surrendered his staff of office as Warchief of the Kanazawai into the hands of the gold-armoured figure on the dais.

Over a cresting murmur of surprise, Tasaio shouted, ‘This is a violation of
tradition
, Kamatsu!’

The Lord of the Shinzawai called this accusation down in rebuke. ‘My family is as noble as any in the Empire. We can trace our line back to the twenty-fourth Emperor and are related by blood to the Light of Heaven. Tradition says that anyone of clan lineage may hold the office of Warchief.’ He ended on a note of ringing challenge. ‘Dare you deny the blood claim of Ichindar?’

Mara said, ‘Tasaio, you may be a brilliant commander in war, but your grasp of history is deficient. Has it never occurred to you why only five families have traditionally been allowed to claim the office of Warlord, first noble of the Empire after the Light of Heaven?’

At a loss, Tasaio returned a Tsurani shrug.

‘Those first five houses, including your own, are the most directly related to the Empire’s founders!’ Mara regarded her sworn enemy with contempt. ‘If you had asked, any Master of Lore or the Keeper of the Imperial Archives could tell you. The original High Council was begun by five brothers, all of them siblings of the first Emperor!’ With a sweep of her hand, Mara concluded, ‘We
all
stem from the same origins, Tasaio. Trace back far enough, and one way or another, all the major families in the great clans are related.’

Lord Xacatecas spoke from Mara’s side. ‘I act for the Good of the Empire!’ He joined his two predecessors on the dais stair and handed up his staff of Xacala Warchief to the Emperor.

Gold armour flashed as Ichindar held up his hands, and all present took note that he held, not three staves, but four. Into the rising uproar, the Light of Heaven called out, ‘I received the staff of the Omechan Clan this morning, Tasaio. Take note and beware: in my province are four claims to the throne of white and gold.’

Jiro of the Anasati turned a look of naked anger upon Mara before he bowed to necessity. ‘Tasaio, fate has decreed this. I am sorry.’ So saying, the second most bitter enemy of the Acoma abandoned his position at the Lord of the Minwanabi’s side. His desertion precipitated the withdrawal of the remaining Ionani nobles, leaving Tasaio alone with a handful of vassals and cowed followers.

One of these abruptly turned away. As he stepped down the stair toward the gathering around the dais, Tasaio gave way to rage. ‘Bruli of the Kehotara! You disgrace the memory of your father! He gave a generation of honourable service to the Minwanabi, and in your cowardice his steadfastness is shamed!’

Handsome as few men could be in cumbersome formal
trappings, Bruli spun lightly on his heel. ‘Shamed, you say! That is an insult from one whose family once sought to use me as an instrument to destroy the Lady Mara. Neither you nor Desio condescended to treat me, your vaunted vassal, as generously as this Lady at the time she defeated me.’ Bruli spat in contempt toward the stair where Tasaio stood. ‘I am done with the Minwanabi.’

‘I will see the lands of your ancestors sown with salt, and your natami shattered!’ screamed Tasaio in a surfeit of rage.

The threat left Lord Bruli unfazed. He moved off without a look back until he reached the floor beside Mara. There, in public, he bowed. ‘Some may say you have deserted family honour this day, Lady Mara.’ Then he smiled. ‘I think not. Despite our past differences, I believe in my heart that you truly do serve the Empire, Lady. May peace hold between us from this day forward.’

Mara smiled in return. ‘Before the High Council, I acknowledge friendship between the Kehotara and the Acoma.’

Tasaio’s eyes blazed with frustration. ‘You may have played into Ichindar’s hands, Mara, but this is not the end. I’ve given my word that you may return safely to your home, but the moment my scouts bring news that you’ve set foot upon Acoma soil, then shall I unleash the might of the Minwanabi upon you. More.’ He spun in command upon those still behind him and cried, ‘I call upon Clan Honour! The Acoma have disgraced the Empire and Clan Shonshoni! Let war come to Clan Hadama!’

Ichindar said, ‘I forbid this!’

Tasaio’s smile twisted with overweening malice. ‘I have fifty thousand soldiers ready to march at my command.’ Although the baring of blades was deplored within the great hall, he flouted custom and drew his sword for emphasis. The rare metal blade caught the light like fire, while an uproar swept across the hall. Over the clamour, in his
commander’s shout, Tasaio cried, ‘If you seek to make an end to this, Ichindar, let us do so on the field of war! Will your supporters stand with you then?’ demanded Tasaio, his face flushed in challenge.

Mara felt a chill pierce her being. Before her stood a madman who would see his civilization reduced to ashes rather than suffer a rival to claim victory. Numbed by the sight of her worst nightmare made real, and stabbed through by recognition that her hope had been ground down by the caprice of the gods, she closed her eyes to hide her anguish. Because of her pride, and her ill-founded attempt to wrest the course of the future into a new mould, more than the Acoma would fall. With her she dragged down the best among the mighty, and in that most terrible recognition came the personal grief that Ayaki would die before manhood, and Kevin’s unborn child might never know the chance to draw breath.

Mara felt withered by responsibility, for in cold truth, this impasse had happened because of her. Her acts had brought her nation to civil war.

Numbly she heard Ichindar murmur words of apologetic consternation. Too devastated to speak, she turned to bow to his better grace. Seeing the young man standing without sign of fear, Mara forced herself to speak. ‘The Acoma are yours to command, my Emperor.’ At once many Lords pledged support, or made a display of putting distance between themselves and their neighbours; bloody chaos was too close at hand not to make it clear where one stood. Those who wished no part in the coming clash sought to escape being swept along.

That instant, a voice from the edge of the chamber rang out in absolute command. ‘There shall be no conflict!’

The uproar died. Mara snapped her eyes open to find silence as the nobles surrounding her looked upward in disbelief. Dozens of black-robed figures descended into the
hall in a ring through every entrance and side door. Eerily silent, and contested by none, the Great Ones of the Assembly advanced down the steps to the lowest floor of the High Council.

The whim of the magicians was as law, even above the might of armies. Mindful of the havoc unleashed by just one man trained to the black in the arena, no Lord present was fool enough to stand against the will of the Assembly. Tasaio stood frozen in abject fury, fully aware that he had lost. The last colour drained from his features as he resheathed his sword in disgrace.

Fifty magicians closed in a ring around the Lords who surrounded the Emperor. Their spokesman gave a formal nod to the Lady of the Acoma. With a faint start, Mara recognized Fumita. In a giddy rush of fear, she recalled that he had been present throughout her entire discussion with Kamatsu. At his side were two others she did not know, a short, very stout magician and a thin one with angular features. Confronted by their stern, impassive gazes, unknowingly steeped in power, Mara knew an instant of terror. Surely they came to take her, to punish her unpardonable boldness.

For if Tasaio was greedy with ambition, she was as much at fault, for her presumptuous attempt to shatter tradition. Yet the Great One did not speak to berate her. Taking a stance between her and the sworn enemy of her family, Fumita addressed the gathering at large. ‘We speak for the Assembly. Our Council has met and determined that Mara of the Acoma has acted for the Good of the Empire. She has jeopardized herself in selfless honour to prevent strife, and her life in this moment is sacrosanct.’

The stout magician took up where Fumita ended. ‘We are divided on many issues, but one thing must be made clear. We shall not permit a civil war.’

The thin magician spoke last. ‘Tasaio of the Minwanabi:
you are forbidden to conduct any conflict with Mara of the Acoma, from this day forward. This is the will of the Assembly.’

Tasaio’s eyes widened as if he had been slapped. His hand tightened again on his sword hilt, and a disturbed light glittered in his eyes. In a hoarse whisper he said, ‘Great One, my family has sworn blood oath to Turakamu!’

‘Forbidden!’ repeated the slender magician.

White to the lips, Tasaio bowed. ‘Your will, Great One.’ He unbuckled his sword, an heirloom of steel with an elaborately carved bone handle. Reluctance stiffened every line of his bearing as he descended the stair and surrendered the weapon to Mara. ‘To the victor.’ His hands shook from closely contained rage.

Mara accepted the trophy with hands that openly trembled. ‘It was a close thing.’

Tasaio loosed a bitter laugh. ‘I think not. You have been touched by the gods, Mara.’ He glanced around the room. ‘Had you never been born, or had your family not died to make your inheritance possible, I have no doubt that change might have come. But this!’ He gestured in white rage at the assemblage of Lords, Magicians, and Emperor. ‘Nothing so momentously conclusive would ever have come to pass. I think I prefer facing the Red God to seeing the Great Game of our ancestors reduced to a paltry charade, and our Lords cast away pride and honour for subservience to the Light of Heaven.’ His hard topaz eyes roved one last time over the council he had dreamed he might rule. ‘Gods pity you all, and the Empire you surrender into disgrace.’

‘Be silent!’ Fumita snapped. ‘Shimone of the Assembly will conduct you back to your estates, my Lord Minwanabi.’

‘Wait, I beg you!’ Mara cried out. ‘Desio vowed to the Red God, on the blood of the Minwanabi line. By the terms of his oath, none who claim kinship with Tasaio may survive if the Acoma are not sacrificed.’

Hard as stone, Fumita faced the Lady of the Acoma. Foolish is the Lord who presumes that the gods take such a particular interest in his enemies. Desio transgressed prudent limits to make such a pledge. The gods do not suffer recanting such vows. His kin must suffer the consequences.’

But Mara felt as if Kevin stood at her shoulder, and his irrepressibly foreign beliefs left a clamour in her mind that not even the Great Ones might still. ‘What of Tasaio’s innocent wife and two children?’ she appealed. ‘Should their lives be wasted for honour?’

Desperate to see her point through, she spun and faced her enemy, only pity in her eyes. ‘Release your children from fealty to the Minwanabi natami and I will adopt them into House Acoma. I beg you, spare them their lives.’

Tasaio looked at her, aware that her concern sprang very near to the heart. Only to deny her, expressly to hurt, he cruelly shook his head. ‘Let their blood be on your conscience, Mara.’ So saying, he tugged the Warchief’s staff of Clan Shonshoni from his belt. ‘My Lord of the Sejaio,’ he called to a thick-necked man on the sidelines, ‘this is now your trust.’

As the staff of office was removed from his hand, he gave one last glance around the halls of power. Then, with a flat look of mockery at Mara and the Emperor, he turned with all his grace and arrogance to the slender magician beside Fumita. ‘I am ready, Great One.’

The magician took a metal device out of his robe, and a faint buzzing sounded through the hall. As he placed his hand upon Tasaio’s shoulder, both of them vanished without warning, the only sign of their passing a faint inrush of air into the space that they had occupied.

The Lord of the Sejaio regarded the Warchief’s staff he now held, and reluctantly came to stand before the Emperor. ‘Majesty! I do not know if I act for the Good of the Empire or not.’ He glanced at the other Lords who clustered
unanimously around Mara and Fumita. ‘But it is said that in the Great Game the gods favour the winners. I surrender to you the office of Warchief of the Shonshoni.’