Daughter of the Empire (49 page)

The aged Lord nodded, aware as they all were that the warrior’s dedication was not misplaced. ‘Be wary, daughter of Sezu,’ Pataki said. ‘Almecho has little love for Jingu. He would enjoy seeing Minwanabi ambition blunted, but he needs their support in his little war on the barbarian world. So should Jingu manage to kill you without shame, Almecho would do nothing against him.’ For a moment the Lord of the Sida regarded the dais where the guests of honour sat dining. Almost reflectively he added, ‘Still, should Jingu be caught breaking his oath of surety for guests, Almecho would happily observe the ritual suicide.’ As if they had been speaking pleasantries, Pataki smiled. ‘Many here have a stake in what befalls the Acoma, my Lady. But none will act against you save the Minwanabi. At least you know your enemy.’

With sudden warmth, Mara returned a nod of respect. ‘I think I also know my friend as well, Lord Pataki.’

The old man laughed, feigning reaction to a witty remark. ‘The Sida and the Acoma have dealt honourably with each other for many generations.’ He glanced to his own table where two grandsons sat waiting. ‘Your father and I had even spoken of a possible alliance from time to time.’ His old eyes turned shrewd. ‘I would like to think you and I may someday speak of such things. Now I must return to my family. May the gods protect you, my Lady.’

‘And may the gods protect the Sida,’ Mara returned.

Nacoya leaned closer to Mara and whispered, ‘At least one here is a man like your father.’

Mara nodded. ‘Yet even he will not lend a hand when Jingu acts.’ The weak had been known to die in public with no outcry from observers, so long as the forms were observed. Minwanabi would strike. The only question was when.

Beyond the opened screens, dusk shadowed the shoreline, and the lake gleamed like a sheet of hammered silver in the afterglow. Stars pricked the zenith one by one, while slaves with wicks and oil jars made their rounds to light the lamps. Soon full darkness would fall, and then the danger would increase. Mara followed the other guests to the banquet hall, doing her best to match their mood of gaity and enjoyment. But with all her heart she wished for a warrior’s role, to fight with armour and sword until death found herself or her enemies; to walk in fear through a crowd who smiled and laughed was to be undone one strand at a time, until dignity became a mask to conceal madness.

The repast served by Jingu of the Minwanabi to honour the Warlord was prepared by some of the finest cooks in the Empire; yet Mara ate without tasting what she took from dishes ornamented with rare metal rims. She strove throughout the meal to ease Nacoya’s strained nerves, all the while aware that Papewaio struggled not to fall asleep in his tracks. Without asking, she knew that he had stood guard the past night without rest, and though he was a strong man, keen of mind and determined of will, he could not be expected to maintain his façade of vigilance much longer. Mara excused her party from the festivities at the earliest opportunity.

Black shadows thrown by deep hoods made the expressions of the Great Ones unreadable, but their eyes followed Mara as she rose. To their right, Almecho smiled broadly, his elbow digging the Lord of the Minwanabi in the ribs. And from every part of the hall eyes watched with contempt as the Lady of the Acoma helped her aged First Adviser to her feet.

‘I wish you pleasant dreams,’ murmured Desio of the Minwanabi as the small party moved off towards the hallway.

Mara was too weary to respond. A moment later, when the Lord of the Ekamchi detained her in the doorway for one last jab at her expense, Papewaio saw her shoulders stiffen. The idea that his mistress should suffer even one more slight from this fat little man ignited the tall warrior’s temper. Before Mara could speak, and before the other guests could become aware of the situation, Papewaio grasped the Lord of the Ekamchi by the shoulders and moved him forcibly through the doorway, out of view of the diners.

The Lord of the Ekamchi gasped in astonishment. Then his plump cheeks quivered from outrage. ‘Wrath of the gods!’ he swore as the tall warrior towered over him. ‘You ignorant oaf, do you think you can handle me without penalty?’

Behind him, his own bodyguard rattled weapons, but they could not strike past their master’s fat bulk to reach Papewaio.

To all this bluster the Strike Leader of the Acoma returned a bland indifference. ‘If you trouble my Lady any more, I will do more than handle you,’ he warned. ‘I will handle you with
violence!
’

Ekamchi spluttered. His guards half drew their swords, restrained only by the fact that Papewaio could harm their master long before they could move.

‘Step aside,’ said Mara clearly to the Lord who blocked the passage. ‘Even you would not dare to mar the Warlord’s birthday celebration with bloodshed, Techachi of the Ekamchi.’

The fat Lord reddened further. ‘For a servant to lay hands on a man of my rank carries a death sentence,’ he carped.

‘I see,’ said Mara, nodding sagely.

Papewaio raised his helmet, revealing the black rag of shame already tied to his brow. He smiled.

The Lord of the Ekamchi paled and stepped aside, mumbling a hasty excuse. He could not demand the execution of a man already condemned; and if he ordered his guards to attack, he only granted the wretch an honourable death by the blade. Caught in his quandary, and hating Mara the more for it, he stalked back into the banquet.

‘Hurry along, old mother,’ Mara whispered to Nacoya. ‘The corridors are not safe for us.’

‘Do you think our suite is any less of a trap?’ the old woman returned, but she hastened her steps according to her mistress’s wishes.

Yet as Mara had guessed, privacy and quiet did much to restore Nacoya’s wits. Changed into more comfortable lounging robes, and seated upon cushions, the old woman began dryly to instruct her mistress in the ways of survival in a hostile court.

‘You must set lamps outside, opposite each of the screens,’ she insisted. ‘This way, an assassin trying to enter will throw a shadow against the paper, and you will see him coming. Also, lights inside should be placed between you and the windows, so that your own form will not show up as a silhouette to anyone lurking outside.’

Mara nodded, wisely allowing Nacoya to ramble on. The tricks with the lamps she had learned from Lano, and upon entering her suite she had detailed one of her maids to arrange things accordingly. Soon she and the old woman sat bathed in light, the stolid bulk of Papewaio on guard at the entrance.

With nothing else to distract her, Mara felt the pressure of her own concerns. She confided those worries to her First Adviser. ‘Nacoya, what of the fifty warriors stationed at the barracks? The Minwanabi oath of surety does not include our retinue and I fear their lives may be threatened.’

‘I think not.’ The old woman’s confidence was unexpected after her day-long siege of insecurity.

Mara restrained the urge to be angry. ‘But to kill them would be so easy to arrange. A false claim that a plague of summer fever had broken out in the barracks – on even a suspicion of disease, the bodies would be burned. No man could prove how our soldiers had died …’

Nacoya touched Mara’s wrists. ‘You fret for the wrong causes, Mara-anni. Minwanabi will not trouble himself with the lives of your warriors. Mistress, all he has to do is strike you and Ayaki down, and every man who wears Acoma green will become a grey warrior, masterless and cursed by the gods. That fate would suit Jingu’s tastes better, I am thinking.’

Here the First Adviser paused. She sought her mistress’s eyes but found them closed. ‘Mara, listen to me. Other dangers await, like relli coiled in the darkness. You must be aware of Teani.’ Nacoya sat straighter, as yet showing no inclination to retire. ‘I observed her all day, and she watched you tirelessly while your back was turned.’

But Mara was too weary to remain alert. Propped on one elbow in the cushions, she let her mind drift without discipline. Nacoya regarded her with ancient eyes and knew the girl had reached the limits of her endurance. She must not be permitted to sleep, for if an assassin struck she must be ready to snuff out the lamp and retire quickly to the corner Papewaio had designated for emergencies, so that he would not inadvertently strike the wrong mark with his sword.

‘Did you heed?’ Nacoya asked sharply.

‘Yes, mother of my heart.’ But with the Warlord himself finding amusement in the Acoma predicament, Teani was the least of Mara’s worries. Or so she thought, as the light threw shadows like death over the carry boxes
that held her gowns and jewellery. How would Lano or her father, Lord Sezu, have handled the Acoma honour in this situation? Mara frowned, trying to guess how those who had died at the hand of Minwanabi treachery might have advised her to act. But no voices answered. In the end she had only her wits.

That conclusion haunted her into a fitful sleep. Though instinct warned against rest, she looked too much like a thin, tired child. Nacoya, who had raised her from infancy, could no longer bear to badger her. Instead, she arose from the cushions and delved into the clothing in the carry boxes.

Mara was deeply asleep by the time the old woman returned, her hands draped with a gauzy collection of silk scarves. These she arranged near the lamp by the sleeping mats, one last-ditch preparation before she herself succumbed to exhaustion. What would be would be. Two women, two maids, and one overburdened warrior were no match for the entire household of the Minwanabi. Nacoya hoped only the attack would come soon, that Papewaio might retain awareness enough to fight back.

But the night wore on without incident. The old nurse nodded and slept while the warrior on guard beyond the screen struggled against a numbing haze of exhaustion. Overtired nerves caused him to see movement in the garden, odd shapes suggesting lurking dangers. He blinked, and over and over again the shapes resolved into a bush or tree, or simply a shadow moving as the copper face of the moon dimmed and brightened behind a cloud. Sometimes Papewaio dozed, only to snap erect at the slightest suggestion of a sound. Yet the attack, when it came, caught him napping.

Mara jerked awake, sweating, confused, and uncertain of her surroundings. ‘Cala?’ she murmured, naming the maid who normally attended her at home.

Then a terrible tearing of paper and the sound of snapping wood jabbed her fully alert. Bodies struck the tiles not far from her cushions, followed by a man’s grunt of pain.

Mara rolled out of her cushions, banging against Nacoya in the process. The old woman woke with a shrill scream of terror, and while Mara fumbled in the darkness to seek the safe corner Papewaio had prepared, Nacoya delayed. Her hands raked up the scarves and tossed them in panic over the lamp. Fire bloomed like a flower, blazing and banishing the dark. Mara blundered to a halt, her shins bruised against an unfamiliar side table. Horrible, coarse gasps sounded in the darkness beyond the torn screen.

Crying now, and praying for Lashima’s guidance, Mara squinted through the conflagration around the lamp. She saw Nacoya lift a cushion and sweep the whole into the damaged screen, igniting the torn paper.

Flames leaped up, shedding golden light over the twisted features of a stranger, flung full length across the threshold with his arms locked in struggle with Papewaio. The Acoma First Strike Leader sat astride the man, hands clutching his throat. The combatants seemed a match in size and strength, but few could equal Papewaio’s fury in battle. Each man sought to choke the other. Papewaio’s face was a red mask of agony, matching his opponent’s. Then Mara gasped. Horrified, she noticed the dagger stuck through the armhole of Papewaio’s armour.

But even though he was wounded. Papewaio’s strength was great. The fingers gripping his throat weakened and slipped. With a final jerk he brought the assassin’s head up, then pulled with both hands, snapping bones with an audible crack. Limp arms fell from Papewaio’s throat and the body convulsed. Papewaio released his grip, and the corpse fell to the floor, the neck twisted at a terrible
angle. Dim shadows moved in the courtyard beyond. Nacoya did not wait to identify them but raised her voice in the loudest scream she could muster.

‘Fire! Awake! Awake! There is fire in the house!’

Mara caught her idea and repeated the cry. In the droughts of summer, a Tsurani estate house might burn to the ground as a result of a mishandled lamp. And the flames Nacoya had started already chewed hungrily at the framing that supported the roof tiles. Minwanabi, his servants, and his guests must all respect the threat of fire. They would come, but all too likely too late to matter.

As the light brightened, Mara saw Papewaio cast around for his sword. He glanced over his shoulder and moved out of sight, reaching for something. Sounds followed that froze Mara to the heart: the smack of a blade cutting flesh and a grunt of pain. She rushed forward, calling for Papewaio. Guided by a glint of green armour, she saw her honour guard twist and fall heavily. Beyond him the plumes of a Minwanabi officer flared orange in the glow. Strike Leader Shimizu straightened with a bloodied sword, and in his eyes Mara read murder.

Yet she did not flee. Beyond, lights bloomed in the windows. Screens slid back, and robed figures ran forth, wakened by Nacoya’s cry of fire.

Saved by the presence of witnesses, Mara confronted Papewaio’s killer. ‘Would you murder me before the eyes of all the guests and condemn your lawful Lord to death?’

Shimizu glanced quickly to either side and saw the running figures who converged across the courtyard. Flames ripped rapidly up the roof line, and Nacoya’s cries were joined by a chorus of others. The alarm was spreading rapidly through the estate house, and soon every able man would appear upon the scene with buckets.