The Complete Empire Trilogy (89 page)

Given not the slightest wave of a forelimb in reassurance, Mara faced the hive’s Queen. The next sentences required all of her courage to speak.

‘Great Queen, the Emperor’s High Council requires a levy of four companies of warriors from the Acoma, to defend the Empire’s borders in Dustari. If the estate here is not to be left stripped of its protection I can muster only three human companies to be sent across the ocean. It is my hope, therefore, that you will consider a bargain, to breed an additional company of warriors to fulfil the High Council’s command.’

The Queen remained still. Breath held, Mara waited, fighting to keep her own poise. Out of the corner of her eye she noted her Strike Leader’s tension, and his cho-ja counterpart motionlessly squatting.

At last the Queen twitched a forelimb. ‘Who will be outfitting this company, Mara of Acoma?’

The Lady expelled a long-pent breath and tried not to shiver with the relief that her request had not been regarded as impertinence. ‘My treasury would bear the cost, noble Queen, if it please you to grant my request.’

The Queen tilted her massive head, her mandibles working gently to and fro. ‘I will grant your request for sufficient remuneration,’ she said, and the discussion broke down into what, to Mara’s ear, seemed remarkably like a haggling match between merchants.

The Queen’s demands were steep. But Jican had instilled in her a fine appreciation for the value of things, and Mara was a quick study. She seemed to sense which demands were non-negotiable and which were outright exorbitant and
expected to be rejected. In the end, she settled for an amalgamation of coin and goods that equalled a worth about a third higher than what she would have paid to hire mercenaries; which was probably fair, since the cho-ja company would answer only to her, would not be infiltrated with spies or suborned by enemies, and would not flee the field at first sign of possible defeat.

Her needra herds would be depleted for perhaps the next three seasons by when she would be forced to sell to meet the Queen’s price. When the negotiation concluded, Mara dabbed moisture from her brow with a small embroidered cloth and released an almost imperceptible sigh.

The cho-ja Queen noticed all. ‘Lady of the Acoma,’ she boomed in her friendlier tone, ‘it would seem to my eyes that you are nervous, or if not that, then recovering from some discomfort. Has our hospitality failed to meet your needs?’

Mara recovered with a start. ‘No, Lady Queen. The hospitality of the hive is never at fault.’ She paused, took a chance, and answered honestly, ‘I confess that I was not sure of protocols when I came to buy this boon of warriors.’

‘Boon?’ The Queen reared back in what might have been surprise. ‘You are my friend, it is true, and were you to come asking favours, I would consider them, of course. The fact that you visit here often and take pleasure in our company and affairs is a welcome diversion, never doubt. But when it comes to bargaining for workers, warriors, or services, such things are commodities for trade.’

Mara raised her brows. ‘Then your kind do not require an army for protection.’

The cho-ja Queen considered this. ‘We interact within the Empire, and so are a part of its politics, its Great Game of the Council. But thousands of years past, before the coming of men? We bred warriors then to establish new hives, to protect us from predators like the harulth, and to hunt game. Now, if there are conflicts, they are between the houses of men who
have purchased alliances. The cho-ja of themselves do not battle, except for the causes of men.’

This was a revelation. Mara tried not to reveal her rising sense of excitement as she folded her damp square of linen. She had studied the alien cho-ja culture, but she still had much to learn. If the cho-ja warriors were not loyal to the Lords of men, but simply mercenaries, the fact opened interesting possibilities … But, sadly, the summons to defend the borders in Dustari allowed no leisure to pursue the matter further.

So thinking, Mara politely exchanged banalities with the cho-ja Queen, then courteously took her leave. So much remained to be done, and departure must occur in two months!

Kevin and Jican waited upon her return to the estate house. Mara stepped from her litter into wilting, late-afternoon sunshine, and turned over the slates to the hadonra. He glanced at them surreptitiously as he bowed, and went away clicking his teeth. Mara took that to mean that she had bargained well, but that Acoma finances were stressed. She pushed back a sticky lock of hair, put aside her wish for a bath, and looked up at an unaccustomedly silent Kevin.

‘What is it, tall one? The matter must be serious, or you would not have forgotten to kiss me.’

‘I never forget to kiss you,’ Kevin countered and remedied the matter forthwith. But his lips did not linger on hers, and his thoughts were clearly not of passion. ‘Keyoke asks to see you, Lady.’

‘I thought so.’ Mara removed her overrobe and passed it to a waiting servant. Slipping her arms into the fresh garment held out by her slave, she forcibly smoothed away a frown. ‘Where is Lujan?’

Kevin fell into step beside her as she moved ahead through the doorway. ‘He’s at the barracks, overseeing a drill, upon Keyoke’s suggestion.’

Mara absorbed this, thinking; the old man would accept her promotion to the position of Adviser of War; else he would have appointed Lujan to break the news of his refusal, rather than send him off to hard duty. Keyoke adhered to obligations to the very letter of tradition. He would not send personal news in the mouth of a slave, and though Kevin was given privilege as a family member, or consort, Keyoke would never treat him above his station. Considerate of the old one’s sense of etiquette, Mara sent Kevin away. She went alone down the corridors of the estate house and entered the candlelit chamber where the old man lay sweating in blankets.

He had been waiting for her, his eyes brilliant with fever. ‘My Lady,’ he murmured the instant she appeared in the doorway. She had to hasten to stop him from attempting to rise and bow.

‘Don’t. Grandfather of my heart, you are hurt, and I am not one to stand on ceremony. You honour me with your wounds, and your loyalty is beyond question.’ She knelt on a cushion by his side and broke protocol by taking his hand, holding it fiercely. ‘I have told Nacoya how I love her many times. I have never said so to you.’

The ghost of a smile tugged at Keyoke’s lips. He was pleased, but too much the Tsurani commander to show more than the glimmer of emotion. ‘Lady,’ he said gruffly, ‘Tasaio holds your death in his hands, in Dustari.’

So Lujan had told him; Mara swallowed against a clenching tide of tears. Most likely that had been what it took to make the old man agree to live.

Even ill, Keyoke read her. ‘No, Lady. I needed no coercion to serve the Acoma. I am honoured to become Adviser for War, never doubt.’ He paused, seeking words. ‘I prepared to die as a warrior because that was the only destiny I ever saw for a Force Commander grown too old for the field.’

Mara would not settle for this. ‘And the leg?’

Keyoke did smile, very fleetingly. ‘Papewaio is my teacher. If he could bear the black rag, I shall bear my crutch.’ An instant later he added, ‘Kevin suggested that the armourer make one that holds a concealed sword.’

‘You like that idea,’ Mara observed. She allowed herself to smile also. ‘Grandfather of my heart, I shall make your crutch your staff of office and see the armourers about a blade myself.’

She regarded his sweating face, too grey and gaunt, and against all his wishes showing tiredness. ‘You will train Lujan, and between us we will find a way to rout Tasaio’s desert men.’

Keyoke’s eyes flicked open wider, nailing her with their intensity. ‘Daughter of my heart, there is no strategy that will help you on treeless sand, except sheer numbers. That my wisdom cannot arrange.’

He sank back after that, exhausted beyond bone and sinew. His will was not enough, Mara saw; he was sincere in his gratitude for his new office, but the body was too battered. The Red God might not let him keep the life that had burned itself recklessly until news of the foray could be delivered.

‘Leave Dustari to Lujan and me,’ Mara murmured. ‘Ayaki is your last responsibility, and the natami in the sacred grove. Should all else fail, and the Minwanabi overrun our borders, you and one picked company can see the boy safe. Take refuge in the hive with the cho-ja Queen, and ensure the Acoma name survives.’

Keyoke lay with eyes closed. He did not speak, but the hand within Mara’s returned a light squeeze. She smoothed the fingers against the coverlet and noticed the fast, thready pulse that raced through the veins on his wrist. He was dying. The fact could not be denied.

‘Rest well, grandfather of my heart,’ Mara whispered. In a forced show of calm she arose and stepped to the doorway.
‘Get my runner slave, and every available messenger,’ she murmured to the servant outside. ‘I also want guild runners in Sulan-Qu.’

She spoke quickly, unaware of the rotund man in the smock who hurried down the corridor and stopped, quizzically, at her side. He carried a bulging bag of elixirs, and his person smelled hastily of herbs. ‘You will send for the priest of Hantukama?’ he asked, in a voice that was schooled to be mild.

Mara spun, noticed the presence of her personal healer, and returned a quick nod. ‘It is necessary, don’t you think?’

The healer sighed in sympathy. ‘Lady Mara, I doubt that your Adviser for War will remain conscious past the dawn, or breathe for two more days after that.’

‘He will live,’ Mara returned fiercely. ‘I will find him a priest, and pay for a prayer gate to have the magic of the god invoked for healing.’

The healer rubbed arched brows and looked weary. ‘Lady, the priests are not so easily moved. They are loyal to no one but their god, and they consider common villagers the equal of even the Emperor. If you do find a priest of Hantukama, and they are rare, no prayer gate will lure him to forsake the sick already in his care for the sake of a dying warrior.’

Mara regarded the man with his sacks of useless remedies and his unwelcome truths. Her eyes lacked even a spark of compassion. ‘We shall see, master healer. We shall see.’

Before that look the healer quailed, and ducked hastily into the sickroom. Mara’s voice pursued him, low and determined as a spear thrust. ‘Keep him alive and comfortable. That is all that need concern you.’

She resumed her instruction to the servant, and to the runner slave recently arrived.

Bent at Keyoke’s side, counting the pulse on one dry, heated wrist, the healer turned his eyes heavenward and
prayed to Chochocan and Hantukama for a miracle. Keyoke was weakening, and not a remedy in his satchel could stay the spirit from Turakamu’s call. The healer went on to examine the whites of Keyoke’s eyes, and then to check his bandages; of the two, his gods and his mistress, this moment he feared the wrath of the Lady the more.

Preparation for the war in Dustari overturned the quiet routine on the Acoma estate. In the crafts compound, the constant hiss of the sharpener’s wheel sang in rhythm with the calls of slaves and apprentices directing the unloading of supplies, and the thick, pitchy odour of the resin pots overlaid the akasi blossoms’ sweeter tang. The smell lingered in the air, invading even Mara’s quarters, where, at dawn, she stood by the screen looking out.

‘Come back to bed,’ Kevin murmured, his eyes admiring her slender, nude silhouette. ‘If you’re determined to worry, you’ll do a better job of it if you’re relaxed and rested.’

Mara did not answer but continued to stare through the mists and the moving shadows of the herd boys hurrying to tend the needra in the meadows. She did not see the slaves, though, or the soft beauty of the lands she had inherited from her forefathers. She only saw a thousand Minwanabi soldiers crossing her borders bent on conquest.

Keyoke must stay alive to manage while she was away, Mara thought. As if her lover had not spoken, she began a ritual prayer pattern invoking Lashima’s protection upon the life of her Adviser for War, who lay in a coma on his cushions, with the Red God poised for final conquest.

Kevin sighed and uncurled like a hunting cat from the pillows his Lady had vacated. Plainly this was not to be a morning for talk and lovemaking. They had done enough of that last night, anyway, the Midkemian reflected, running his fingers through his hair. Mara had come to him tense, almost to the point of anger, and their interaction had held
little tenderness. Though usually content to be stroked into passion, Mara had hurled herself upon him as if frenzied with lust. Her hands came as close as they ever had to scratching, though violence of any sort in the bedchamber abhorred her. And when she found her release in a convulsive burst of emotion, she had sobbed stormily into his shoulder and soaked her hair with her tears.

Not being Tsurani, Kevin had not been repulsed by her break in composure. Sensitive that this woman needed comfort, he had simply held her and stroked her until she fell into exhausted sleep.

Now, watching her stand, sword-straight and slim as a girl in the frame of the opened screen, he saw that she had recovered her resilience; she was very strong. But upon her shoulders rested the well-being of all who made their livelihood on her far-flung holdings, from respected factors and advisers to the lowliest of her kitchen scullions. Fear for her young son haunted her, waking and sleeping, and Kevin wondered how long she could last before she broke under the strain.

He arose, tossed a robe over his shoulders – even after three years, he could never quite feel comfortable with the Tsurani disregard for modesty – and joined Mara by the screen. He slipped an arm over her shoulders, surprised to find her rigid and shivering.