The Complete Empire Trilogy (161 page)

Mara arose from her litter to treat with him.

‘My Lady,’ he greeted formally. ‘Your generous offerings to the temple have been looked upon with favour.’

Mara indicated a bonfire some distance up the road, where several large timbers lay burning. ‘What is that?’

‘Desio’s ill-omened gate that was never finished. The temple has decreed: by their fall from power, the Minwanabi have demonstrated beyond doubt that their cause found no favour with the Red God. Therefore the gate is neither consecrated nor blessed and may be destroyed without fear of divine retribution.’

He indicated a pair of large needra wagons drawn off to one side, awaiting the dismantled timbers of a second gate. ‘This structure will be sent to the site you provided. That soil will be reconsecrated.’ From behind the grim skull mask the priest sounded almost conversational. ‘It was something of an odd request, this relocation of a prayer gate, Mara, but upon discussion, no blasphemy or sacrilege was seen. Given the association of this gate and the vow that was made, it was understandable why you might wish to have it removed once you hold this land.’ The priest gave a Tsurani shrug. ‘Now that the High Council is an advisory body only, the temples may again take a more active role in the well-being of the Empire. Your part counted for much, and the servants of the gods are grateful.’

He motioned aside to a worker who approached the west post with a shovel. ‘Gently!’ he called out in warning. ‘The remains of the sacrifices must not be disturbed. Be sure there is ample soil around their graves!’

The overseer to the workers acknowledged the priest’s instruction. Satisfied the matter was in hand, the servant of Turakamu reminisced in friendly fashion with Mara. ‘We who serve the Red God are often misunderstood, Lady. Death is part of life, and all come to Turakamu’s hall eventually. We are not in a hurry to gather their spirits.
Remember that in the future should you ever have need of our counsel.’

Mara nodded her respect. ‘I shall, Priest.’ Then she turned to Lujan and said, ‘I will walk for a while.’

She led the march down the gentle rise to the landing where boats waited by the docks to cross the lake. On the far shore in the sunshine lay the vast house that soon would honour the Acoma and their visitors and emissaries. ‘Lujan,’ she murmured, as her eyes followed the magnificent vista of lake, and mountains, and the distant inlet from the river, ‘did you ever think we might lose?’

Lujan laughed and Mara felt a rush of affection for this man, most like her rakish barbarian with his pleasantly teasing nature. ‘Mistress, I would be a liar if I said I had not contemplated defeat on more than one occasion.’ More seriously he added, ‘But never for a moment did I doubt you.’

Mara impulsively took his hand. ‘For that I humbly thank you, my friend.’

Together, Lady and Force Commander made their way to the docks where boatmen waited to take them across the beautiful lake. Lujan, Saric, and Keyoke assumed seats in the vessel with Mara, while her two Force Leaders directed the other Acoma soldiers into craft to follow after. Soon the water was crowded with the flotilla of her army. Mara glanced back to where Keyoke sat, holding a bundle in his lap as if it were fragile and precious. Under a mantle of green cloth beaded with jewels rested the Acoma natami. Mara’s Adviser for War had drilled endlessly with an old wooden coffer to perfect the handling of both burden and crutch. He counted this trust as the highest honour ever awarded him, even over accolades won in battle.

The boats floated swiftly across the water. Wishing poignantly that Kevin could have been at her side, Mara was surprised out of her reverie to see a magician waiting for her
upon the docks outside the great house. Behind him stood priests of Chochocan, who had been overseeing the blessing of the new Acoma estate, in preparation for Mara’s coming union with Hokanu of the Shinzawai.

The first guests would arrive within the week. Mara had been relieved, for by her estimation, Kevin’s child would be born slightly less than eight months after the wedding, close enough to raise only eyebrows, and not giving incontrovertible evidence that the father was other than her pledged husband.

The lead boat reached the landing. Helped to the dock by Lujan, Mara bowed to the magician. ‘Great One, you do us honour.’

The stouter of the two Black Robes who had accompanied Fumita in the Council Hall, the member of the Assembly introduced himself. ‘I am Hochopepa, Lady.’

Mara felt a stab of concern. ‘Is there a problem, Great One?’

The Great One waved a pudgy hand. ‘No. I remain only to inform you that my colleague conducted Tasaio here, then witnessed the ceremony as the former Minwanabi Lord made ready to honourably end the feud and take his own life.’

Mara was joined by her advisers as the Great One added sadly, ‘Please, come with me.’

The Acoma party followed him down spacious paths on the opposite side of the great house. There more than ten thousand people waited in silent ranks. Before them stood a large bier fronted with red bunting. Mara raised her eyes to the four shrouded figures that lay in their final rest.

Tears flooded her eyes as she saw that two were children. Servants had tried to make them look presentable, but their fresh wounds could not be hidden. Tasaio had cut their young throats. Sickened by the thought that the boy might have been her own Ayaki, Mara felt Lujan reach out and steady her arm.

‘I would have spared them,’ she murmured numbly.

The Great One regarded her with sorrow. ‘The Minwanabi line is ended, Lady Mara. The Assembly officially stood as witness. Now that my charge is complete, I will excuse myself. Live a long life, and a happy one, great Lady.’

Hochopepa reached into his pocket, where he kept his talisman of transport. A buzzing sounded upon the air, and he was gone.

Mara was left at a loss before the host of former Minwanabi retainers who still survived. The first six rows of people had all donned grey robes of slavery. Behind were ranks of soldiers, with weapons and helms stacked at their feet, and heads bowed in defeat.

An ancient man, garbed as a slave but aristocratic in bearing, stepped forward and prostrated himself before Mara. ‘My Lady,’ he intoned respectfully.

‘Speak,’ the Lady bade him.

‘I am Incomo, former First Adviser to Lord Minwanabi. I present myself to assist you in whatever dispensation you decree for all of us who served that unlucky house.’

‘Their fates are not mine to dispense,’ Mara whispered, still shaken by the bodies of the dead children.

Incomo looked up, emptiness in his dark eyes. ‘Lady, my former Lord commanded all blood relatives to their ancestral home. He ordered and saw each kinsman kill his own wives and children, then fall upon his sword, in turn. But he waited until an hour ago, when he heard you had set foot upon Minwanabi soil, before he took the lives of his own family. Only when they were dead did he fall upon his sword.’ Trembling in abject fear, Incomo performed his last duty to his master. ‘Lord Tasaio bade me tell you that he would rather see his children in death’s hall at his side than live in an Acoma house.’

Mara felt a stab of horror. ‘That murderous animal! His
own children!’ Blind rage shook through her, then dwindled to grief as she again regarded the small forms of the little boy and girl upon the bier. ‘Grant them full honours,’ she said softly. ‘A great name ends this day.’

Incomo bowed. ‘I am your slave, mistress, for I have failed my master. But I beg you, have mercy, for I am old and ill suited for labour. Grant me the boon of honourable death.’

Mara almost snarled in her outrage as she said, ‘No!’ Her eyes bored into the startled man as she cried, ‘Stand up!’

Stunned by her unseemly emotion, Incomo was taken aback.

Mara could not bear the sight of his subservient attitude an instant longer. Taking his arm in a surprisingly strong grip, she pulled the elderly adviser to his feet. ‘You were never sold into slavery by Tasaio, were you?’ Incomo couldn’t speak, he was so taken off guard. ‘You were never ordered into slavery by an imperial court, were you?’

‘No, Lady, but –’

‘Who calls you a slave?’ Her disgust was palpable as she half dragged the old man to where her own advisers stood. To Saric, wearing an adviser’s formal robes, she said, ‘Your training under Nacoya was sorrowfully cut short. Take this man as your honoured assistant, and heed him well. His name is Incomo, and as all of Tasaio’s former enemies know, he gives competent counsel.’

The old man gaped at his new mistress, who smiled at him in a surprisingly friendly way. She looked from his astonishment to a wry, nearly laughing Saric and said, ‘If you have ambitions to become my First Adviser, you will listen to whatever this wise old man may tell you.’

Mara turned away and the former Minwanabi adviser said, ‘Master, what is this?’

Saric chuckled. ‘You’ll discover that our mistress has her own way of doing things, Incomo. You’ll also find you’ve been given a new life.’

‘But freeing a slave?’

At this Mara spun back in a fury. ‘You were never pronounced a slave! In my house you never will be. It is tradition that made freemen slaves when their masters fell,
not the law
! Now serve me well, and cease this discussion.’

As she moved on, Saric raised eyebrows in his personal brand of bemusement. ‘She is a Servant of the Empire. Who will say no to her if she changes another tradition?’

Incomo could only stand mute and nod. The concept of working under a mistress who was blessedly not afflicted with temperament, or an insane lust for cruelty, seemed a vision of perfection from the gods. Uncertain whether he was dreaming, he shook his head in wonder. The old man raised his hand and was shocked to find tears flowing. Forcing himself back to an honourable impassive mien, he heard Saric whisper, ‘When you’ve reconciled yourself to death, a new life is something of a shock, yes?’

Incomo could only nod, speechless, as Mara returned her attention to the priests of Chochocan. The clerics finished their rites over the bodies of the Minwanabi Lord, his wife, and his children. As they lit their candle to start the death fire, Mara looked one last time at the hard, clean profile of the man who had nearly come to ruin her, and whose hand had brought the deaths of her father and brother. ‘Our debt is settled,’ she said to herself, then raised her voice in formal call. ‘Soldiers of the Minwanabi! Give honours to your master!’

As one, the waiting warriors relieved their helms and arms from the ground. They stood at attention, saluting their former master as his earthly form and extravagantly fine armour were engulfed in curtains of fire.

As the smoke rose toward heaven, Irrilandi stood forward and was permitted, in a voice almost tremulous with gratitude, to recite the long list of Tasaio’s honours in the field. Mara and the Acoma retinue stood and listened with
impeccable politeness, and out of respect for her feelings the fallen Minwanabi Force Commander omitted the names of Mara’s father and brother when he mentioned the battle that ended their life. When his recitation came to an end, Mara turned to face those arrayed before her. Raising her voice to be heard over the roaring fire, she cried, ‘Who among you were advisers, hadonra, servants, and factors, you are needed. Serve me from this day forward as the freemen you are.’ Several of those in grey robes rose uncertainly, then moved to stand on one side. ‘You who are slaves, serve me also in the hope that one day this Empire will find the wisdom to grant the freedom that should never by right have been forbidden you.’ These others followed, hesitantly.

Then Mara shouted to the soldiers, ‘Brave warriors, I am Mara of the Acoma. Tradition holds that you now lead a masterless existence as grey warriors, and that all who were your officers must die.’ The front rank of men who had once worn plumes received her words impassively. They had expected no less, and their affairs were settled in preparation for the end.

Yet Mara did not order them to fall upon their swords. ‘I find such a practice a crime and a dishonour for men who were but loyal to their lawful Lord. It was not your choice to be led by men of evil nature. That fate decrees a death without battle honours is a foolishness I have no intention of perpetuating!’

Softly, to the Force Commander at her side, Mara murmured, ‘Lujan, did you find him? Is he here?’

Lujan inclined his head to speak in her ear. ‘I think he stands on the right in the first rank. It’s been years, so I can’t be sure. But I’ll find out.’ Stepping away from his mistress, he called out in his field commander’s voice, ‘Jadanyo, who was once fifth son of the Wedewayo!’

The soldier who had been identified bowed in obedience
and came forward. He had not seen Lujan since boyhood and had thought him dead in the destruction of the Tuscai, so his eyes widened. ‘Lujan, old friend! Can it be you?’

Lujan waved introduction to Mara. ‘Mistress, this man is Jadanyo, by blood my second cousin. He is an honourable soldier and worthy of service.’

The Lady inclined her head toward the former Minwanabi warrior. ‘Jadanyo, you have been called to serve the Acoma. Are you willing?’

The man stumbled over his words in dismay. ‘What is this?’

Lujan gave a devilish grin. In a laughing voice he said, ‘Say yes, you idiot, or will I have to wrestle you into submission as I did when we were children?’

Jadanyo hesitated, eyes wide. Then, in a joyful shout, he cried, ‘Yes! Lady, I am willing to serve a new mistress.’