Servant of the Empire (62 page)

The Midkemian did not ask how she knew, or why this set of hurried steps should be different from those of any of the dozen or so runners that had passed by the apartment within the hour. Bored with being cooped up, and with the endless, dragging hours that passed between Arakasi’s reports, Kevin bowed to the warrior he had challenged at dice, and crossed the chamber to sit with his Lady. ‘What’s to do?’ he murmured.

Mara regarded the inkwell and parchment on her lap desk. The pen in her hands was dry, and the letter unmarked, except for the name of Hokanu of the Shinzawai in careful characters at the top. ‘Nothing,’ she replied. ‘There is nothing to do, except wait.’

She set down her quill and, to keep her hands busy, picked up the Acoma chop. She did not say, and Kevin did not remind her, that Arakasi was late. He had promised to stop by in the morning, and by the white slash of sunlight that glared through the barricaded screens, noon had come and gone.

Long minutes passed, filled by the patter of more runners, and the muffled, excited tones of someone speaking urgently from an apartment several doors down. The thin plaster and lath partitions between domiciles were not impervious to sound. While Mara made a pretence of trying to concentrate on the wording of her message, Kevin touched her shoulder, then slipped away into the kitchen to make hot chocha.

When he returned, the Lady had done little but dip her quill. The ink had set in the nib. Arakasi had not returned. When Kevin set the tray on top of the parchment, Mara did not protest. She accepted the filled cup he handed her, but
the drink cooled untasted. By then her nerves were showing, and she started up at the slightest sound. More steps passed by, all running.

‘You don’t suppose somebody’s holding footraces, and making odds to pass the time?’ Kevin suggested in an attempt at humour.

Lujan appeared in the doorway, soaked with sweat from his exercises, and still gripping his unsheathed sword. ‘Footracers don’t wear battle sandals with studs,’ he commented dryly. Then he looked at Mara, who sat as still as a figure in a china shop, with too little colour in her face. ‘My Lady, at your word, I could go out and find a rumourmonger.’

Mara turned paler. ‘No,’ she said sharply. ‘You are too valuable to risk.’ Then she frowned, as she weighed whether she should deplete her garrison by two and send a pair of warriors on the errand instead. Arakasi was three hours late, and to hold uselessly to false hope was to invite yet greater risk.

A scratch came at the outer screen. Lujan spun, his sword pointed at the barricade, and every other Acoma guard in the room whipped around ready for attack.

But the scrape was followed by a whisper that caused Mara to cry, ‘Thank the gods!’

Quickly, cautiously, the warriors let down the wooden tabletop, wedged up by three heavy coffers, and cracked the screen. Arakasi entered, a black silhouette against daylight. For an instant fresh air filled with the sweet scent of flowers swirled through the close apartment. Then Kenji fastened the screen and slotted the wooden pegs that secured it, and coffers and tabletop were replaced with swift dispatch.

In the falling gloom, Arakasi found his way to Mara’s cushions in five unerring strides. He threw himself prostrate before her. ‘Mistress, forgive my delay.’

At his tone, a mixture of disbelief and masked anger, Mara’s brief joy at his return vanished. ‘What’s amiss?’

‘All,’ said the Spy Master without preamble. ‘Wild rumours sweep the palace. There has been trouble upon the barbarian world.’

Mara relinquished her quill pen before tension caused her to snap it. Somehow her voice remained firm. ‘The Emperor?’

‘He is safe, but little more is known.’ Arakasi’s voice became gritty with rage. ‘The barbarians acted with dishonour. They sang a song of peace while they plotted murder. At the conference, despite their bond of truth, they attacked suddenly and almost killed the Emperor.’

Mara sat speechless in shock, and Kevin cursed in astonishment. ‘What?’

Arakasi sat back on his heels, his manner bleak. ‘At the conference, a large company of those you call dwarves and elves massed nearby, and when the Light of Heaven was most vulnerable, they attacked.’

Kevin shook his head in denial. ‘I can’t believe this.’

Arakasi’s eyes narrowed. ‘It is true. Only through the bravery of his officers and the Warchiefs of the Five Families did the Light of Heaven survive this treachery on your world. Two soldiers carried him back through the rift, unconscious, and there followed a terrible thing. The rift closed and could not be reopened, trapping four thousand Tsurani soldiers upon the Midkemian world.’

Mara’s confusion sharpened into rapt attention. She drew a quick breath. ‘Minwanabi?’

‘Dead,’ snapped Arakasi. ‘He was among the very first to fall. His cousin Jeshurado died at his side.’

‘The other Warchiefs?’

‘Gone. Dead or not, none can say, but the rift exists no more. All of the Warlord’s honour guard remain trapped upon the barbarian world.’

Mara couldn’t comprehend the enormity of this. ‘Xacatecas?’

The list continued, inexorably. ‘Gone. Lord Chipino was last seen fighting Kingdom horsemen.’

‘All of them?’ Mara whispered.

‘Scarcely a handful returned,’ Arakasi said, anguished. ‘The two soldiers who carried the Light of Heaven and a half dozen who served to marshal soldiers waiting on our side of the rift. The Imperial Force Commander was killed. Lord Keda lay bleeding upon the ground. Lord Tonmargu was nowhere to be seen. Pimaca of the Oaxatucan also was unaccounted for. Kasumi of the Shinzawai was the one who forced the Emperor to leave, but he did not himself pass the rift.’ Arakasi forced himself to take a breath. ‘The runner who arrived in the city knew nothing more than this, my Lady. I doubt at this time that even those involved could hazard much beyond guesses as to who is gone. The losses are too widespread, and the shock of the event far too sudden. After the Emperor assumes command, we may have a clearer idea of what occurred.’

Silent a long minute, Mara leaped to her feet. ‘Arakasi, you must go out and ascertain an accurate list of losses and survivors. Quickly.’

Her urgency must not be denied. At a stroke the Empire had lost its most powerful older Lords and the heirs to many important houses. The effects would be too widespread to anticipate – houses in mourning, troops lost, and young, untried second sons and daughters thrown headlong into rulership. The aftereffects of such turmoil left only stunned shock. But Mara knew that the ambitious would very quickly transform turmoil to a devastating, bloody grab for power. She understood what it was to have authority and responsibility newly thrust upon one unprepared for them. Knowing who was in that frightening predicament and who
was still alive to rule with experience could prove a significant advantage in days to come.

As Arakasi bowed and hurried out, Mara stripped off her lounging robe and called for her maid to bring formal garments. Kevin hurried to help her undress, while she delivered rapid instructions. ‘Lujan, ready an honour guard. We leave for the Council Hall at once.’

Caught with both hands full of pins as the maid began arranging Mara’s hair, Kevin said, ‘Shall I go with you?’

Mara shook her head, then spoiled the maid’s efforts by leaning forward and giving him a fast kiss. ‘There will be no welcome for one of your nation in this council today, Kevin. For your safety, please stay out of sight.’

Shamed by his countrymen’s broken faith, Kevin did not argue. But a short time later, when thirty Acoma guards marched in lockstep and vanished beyond the far concourse, he wondered how he was going to survive the wait. For the Lady of the Acoma did not go to a council but to frightening, unmitigated chaos in which the strongest would move fastest to seize power.

Desio dead did not leave one enemy less on her heels, but rather elevated a more competent foe to primacy. Tasaio now ruled the Minwanabi.

The hall filled.

Although there had been no sanctioned call to council, when Mara and her warriors arrived at the great chamber many Lords were there ahead of her. Perhaps a quarter of the seats were occupied, with more arrivals by the minute. The lack of council guards kept no ruler away; each Lord had from a dozen to fifty armed men close at hand. No imperial herald announced Mara’s name as she entered the wide portals and descended the stair. This unofficial gathering had no pomp or ceremony; house rulers entered in the order that they came, all concerns of rank set aside.

Neither did any particular house act as spokesman. Several Lords conferred near the platform dais that customarily seated the Warlord or, in his absence, an appointed First Speaker of the Council. With Almecho dead, and all of the Clan Warchiefs either killed or lost, no single house held clear-cut supremacy. But sooner or later, some Lord might try to seize power or at least intervene to hinder the advancement of a rival. Those Lords already present stood in tight-knit, whispering groups, divided roughly by faction. They eyed all newcomers with suspicion, and kept their warriors close at hand – no one wished to be the first to draw sword in the council, but everyone was more than prepared to be the second. Mara swiftly scanned the gathering for familiar or friendly house colours. The red and yellow of the Anasati stood out boldly amid a cluster of older nobles who conferred in the aisle between the lower-level seats and the dais. Mara recognized her former father-in-law. She hastened down to meet him, taking Lujan and two warriors for protection.

Seeing Mara approach, Tecuma of the Anasati turned and bowed slightly. He wore armour, but the hair that showed beneath his helm was now more white than iron-grey. His face, always thin, now seemed drawn taut to the bone, and his eyes darkly shadowed.

In acknowledgment of a superior power, Mara returned his bow and said, ‘Are you well, grandfather of my son?’

Tecuma seemed almost to look through her. He said, ‘I am well, mother of my grandson.’ His lips thinned as he cast a glance around the disordered bands of speakers in the hall. ‘Would that the Empire were as fit.’

‘The Emperor?’ Mara said, hungry for information.

‘The Light of Heaven, from all reports, lies at rest in his command tent upon the plain near the rift gate.’ Tecuma’s tone stayed hard. ‘When Ichindar recovered from his incapacitation, he made known to his officers that he seeks a return to the Kingdom of the Isles to launch another invasion. Yet our desire to punish these barbarians for their treachery may be frustrated. The Great Ones may manipulate a rift, but they do not control all its aspects. Whether this one to Midkemia can be reestablished is doubtful.’

Again the Lord of the Anasati regarded the house rulers who gathered in the great hall, in defiance of the Emperor’s orders. He softened not at all as he concluded, ‘Meanwhile, the business of the game continues.’

Taking swift stock of other elders present, Mara said, ‘Who shall speak for the Ionani?’

Secure in his power, and holding a name among the oldest in the Empire, Tecuma said, ‘Until Clan Ionani retires to elect a new Warchief, I shall be its spokesman.’ Abruptly he pointed across the room. ‘There gathers Clan Hadama, my Lady. I suggest you hurry there and make your presence known.’

‘Lord Tecuma –’

The old man interrupted with his hand. ‘Mara, I am a
grieving man, so forgive my bluntness.’ His manner grew piercingly forced. ‘Halesko was one of those trapped upon the alien world – and by all reports he lay dying upon a lance. I have lost a second son this day. I have no time for the woman who took away my first.’

Mara felt her throat tighten. She bowed lower in sympathy. ‘My apologies, Tecuma. I was tactless not to realize.’

The Lord of the Anasati shook his head slightly in what might have been a gesture of suppressed disbelief, or pain. ‘Many of us mourn, Mara. Many brothers, sons, and fathers were trapped upon the alien world. The loss is a blow to our honour and to our hearts. Now, if you would excuse me?’ Without waiting for a reply, he turned his back on his former daughter-in-law and resumed the discussion she had interrupted.

Left outside his circle, and given a hostile look from the Yellow Flower Party member cut off when she addressed Tecuma, Mara moved on around the dais to the first set of stairs, where the Hadama Clan chiefs stood in caucus. Several bowed with respect as Mara approached, while others gave her a perfunctory nod. One or two, along with a palsied elder seated in a litter chair, offered the Acoma ruler no sign of greeting at all. Mara took stock and said, ‘How many losses have we suffered?’

The Lord of the Sutanta, a tall man in dark blue robe with pale blue trim, gave her a perfunctory bow. ‘Lord Chekowara and his forty warriors are on their way from the City of the Plains. The Lord of the Cozinchach and two vassals remain with the Emperor. Hadama’s losses were slight, since smaller clans were not placed in the forefront of the lines at the betrayal. Most of our rulers will be returning to Kentosani within the week.’

‘Who called this council?’ asked Mara.

Lord Sutanta’s leathery features stayed carefully blank. ‘Who called you here?’

Equally noncommittal, Mara said, ‘I just came.’

With a wave of his hand, Lord Sutanta indicated the filling chamber. ‘No one here would speak against the will of the Light of Heaven.’ He fixed bird-bright eyes upon Mara. ‘Also, no one here would see their firstborn son dead of treachery and sit idly at home.’