Mistress of the Empire (86 page)

Green light exploded in a blinding coruscation, and a report slammed the air that threw many notables at the forefront headlong onto the floor. Mara and the priest were lost in the raging heart of the mage fire that caused solid stone to turn red and run molten. A column collapsed like an overheated candle, and the stone paving puckered and puddled into lava.

‘Behold the price of defying those who are outside the law!’ Motecha cried. He clapped his hands together, and the spell died out with a snap.

The light vanished. Through stinging, tearful eyes, the onlookers beheld a circle of charred flooring, and waves of heat from stress-heated rock that caused the air to buckle and shimmer. Inside that expanse where the very forces of nature had been skewed into violence, the Lady stood untouched. Her robes were unmarked; not a hair on her head was out of place. The pair of Chakaha mages were both bowing in homage to the priest, who now raised his quavery voice in a paean of thanks to his god.

‘What is this?’ shouted Motecha. He was shaken, white to the roots of his hair. ‘She lives! How is this?’

The priest of Turakamu ceased his hymn. He stepped
forward, patiently smiling. ‘Great One, you may claim to be outside the laws of mortal men. But you are yet answerable to the higher order of heaven.’

‘How?’ Mara began weakly, and the cho-ja mages steadied her as she swayed.

The priest of the Red God turned his back on the baffled magicians and addressed her. ‘Lady Mara, you once visited the high father superior of Turakamu’s temple in Sulan-Qu. He showed you his powers and explained that my god does not act out of turn. Your policies revitalise our people. You have never spurned the temples in your manipulation of politics – you have always been a respectful daughter of our faith, unlike those who mouth loyalty for tradition and spurn spiritual righteousness.’

‘But how?’ Mara began, a little stronger, as her stunned mind accepted the impossibility that she still lived.

The High Priest grew solemn. ‘The temples support you. Our pledge was not merely political. It was agreed among us that my god, who holds all men’s deaths, should determine whether this moment was your time. Had you lacked heaven’s support, you would have died.’ He spun with a rattle of corcara skulls to face the ranks of the Great Ones. ‘Which she did not!’

The chilling voice of the senior Sister of Sibi said, ‘And should our Dark Lady’s little brother not summon Lady Mara, our goddess refuses to send her to the Red Halls.’ The featureless opening of her robe moved, as she gave a rapacious survey of every soul in the room. ‘There are others here my divine mistress would gladly dispatch.’

Even some of the magicians made signs of protection from evil. Unfazed, even amused by their posturing, the priest of Turakamu pronounced, ‘My God has awarded the Good Servant his divine protection. Her life is sacrosanct, by the will of heaven, and let any man, magician or otherwise, act against her at his peril!’

Motecha of the Assembly stiffly accepted his defeat, but his expression remained implacable. ‘The Lady’s life is not ours to take; this has been unequivocally proven. Yet her right to act as regent is contestable still. Lord Jiro of the Anasati also held forth a claim to the golden throne. He acted, as Mara has, to seize power whatever the cost. Are not the Lady’s ambitions the same, if she rules as Justin’s regent until his twenty-fifth year? Why not have an Omechan take the post, or a Xacatecas, or one of a lesser house with no claim upon the Warlordship, perhaps the Netoha or Corandaro?’

Recovered now from her close brush with death, and stern in her resolve, Mara cut off the chance for traditionalist supporters to seize the opening. ‘No. I give you a choice.’

Stillness rippled through the crowd of priests and courtiers, from the high dais and its new-made Light of Heaven, across the band of magicians packed in the broad central floor, to the double doors by the entry, still presided over by the requisite pair of heralds, and the stiff rows of Imperial Whites. All waited upon Lady Mara to hear her unprecedented intent. Mara ascended one stair of the dais. Over the sea of watching faces, she raised her voice. ‘I could stay within these halls, acting as my son’s regent. His rule would be held stable by an alliance of Lords who understand, as all eventually must, that change must come to the Empire. The cho-ja would mediate willingly as allies to enforce a new order that will end the wrong done them centuries ago. Their warriors will stop internal bickering between noble houses and avert this civil war. For Justin’s first action as ninety-second Emperor will be to free them from all constraints imposed by humans.’

Mara paused for a steadying breath. But before insurrection could stir Ruling Lords to shout her down, she hurried on.

‘I offer peaceful change! As senior adviser to the late Emperor, I know the workings of imperial government. As Servant of the Empire, I submit that I alone hold the power and the prestige among both Ruling Lords and the populace to quell the riots. The alternatives are plain. The Omechan have already taken the field against me, laying siege to Kentosani. They will soon be joined by allies of the late Lord Jiro, and other Lords who support the traditionalist party. If this trend is not stopped, we shall have civil war unmatched, to the very ruination of the Nations we profess to serve.’

Hochopepa coughed drily. ‘That justification has been offered in the past, my Lady. The bloodshed in most instances was none the less for the argument.’

Mara gestured in repressed anger, that she should, even by implication, be apportioned the motives of her power-hungry past enemies. ‘Bloodshed, you say, magician? For what end? There is no Warlord’s mantle left to be won. The High Council is abolished!’

Many Lords stirred in unsettled protest at this, but again Mara overrode them. ‘Our taste for murderous political infighting must be stopped. The Game of the Council shall no longer be a justification for war and assassination. Our concept of honor must be revitalised, and our traditions that endorse cruelty rejected. We shall be a nation of laws! Whatever the crime, from lowest to highest,
every
man and woman must be equally answerable to imperial justice. From this new code of decency not even our Light of Heaven’s actions shall be exempt.’

Motecha waved a fist. ‘But we are outside the law!’

Mara descended the stair and advanced until only the rail that separated the high dais from the Emperor’s petitioners stood between her and the packed ranks of Great Ones. Her gaze met Motecha’s squarely, then swept over his black-robed fellows who crowded on either side. ‘Every
man and woman,’ she insisted firmly. ‘No Ruling Lord who does murder shall be applauded, even should the traditional forms be observed. No beggar, no slave, and no child of noble birth shall fail to be lawfully punished for criminal acts; you of the Assembly most of all. Your kind will no longer be free to keep hideous secrets: to kill baby girls and women who manifest the power.’

Muttering arose as this time her accusation was loud enough to be fully public and not only Black Robes were inflamed to a shifting of feet. ‘Yes!’ Mara cried over the rising tumult that swept through the Lords and courtiers. ‘I speak the truth! The Assembly has done murder for years beyond counting, and for reasons our gods would never sanction.’

The priest of Lashima brandished his staff of office, streamers and corcara shell tokens waving to garner attention. ‘Listen to the Lady. She does not lie to make her case. Last season a young woman who was to be tested as an acolyte was taken from the very temple courtyard. She has not been seen by our priest or her family since the day the Great One came for her.’

Hokanu looked faintly sick; among the Black Robes, Fumita stared at the floor. He did not glance toward his son. More than a few noblemen of the court showed shock that daughters called to serve by the Great Ones were not still alive in the City of Magicians. Angry eyes swung toward the Black Robes, while Mara continued her oratory quickly to redirect a mounting wave of ill feeling. ‘As a community, you should continue to govern yourselves – as must the Lords of each family …’ Relief visited the nobles at this assurance of their rulers’ prerogatives. ‘Within the law!’ Mara snapped. ‘But the Assembly will no longer be proprietors of privilege. The study of arcane arts will not be theirs to dictate. Any who practice magic must have license to freely pursue their art. Those lesser magicians,
and women who develop arcane talent, may study under the Assembly or not,
as it pleases them!
Those that prefer to seek knowledge elsewhere may do so.’

The Chakaha mage nearest to the Great Ones raised a forelimb. In gentle tones it offered, ‘We will be glad to teach any who seek wise use of their gifts.’

Though the offer may have mollified some magicians, others looked vexed as Mara added, ‘I have walked in the shoes of a captive, in Thuril, and I have shared imperial decisions, under Ichindar. I alone in this company can assert the validity of the claim that every man, woman, and child deserves protection. Only when this’ – she frowned as she sought the term that her beloved Kevin had mentioned with such passion – ‘Great Freedom is bestowed upon us all will any one of us be safe. The Game of the Council has become both perilous and bloody beyond endurance, and I would see that end. True honor does not condone murder. True power must equally shield the weak that we, for centuries, have thoughtlessly trampled under our feet.’

Motecha pressed forward, leaning across the railing in ferocious contention. Mara looked back at him in contempt. She addressed him alone, but her words carried to the farthest reaches of the crowded hall. ‘You Black Robes have no right to destroy that which is not pleasing to you. The gods did not gift you with magical talent so that you could take lives at whim.’

The High Priest of Juran banged his white-striped staff on the floor. ‘The Good Servant speaks truth.’

Another Black Robe, lately arrived with the last contingent from the City of Magicians pushed through the ranks of his brethren to join Motecha. Tapek shed the inhibition instilled by his recent disgrace. His hair was pushed back, and his cheeks inflamed in passionate repudiation. ‘You seek to strip us of ancient rights!’

‘Power is used at the discretion of those who hold it,’ the Lady returned, unafraid, although she stood but an arm’s reach away. ‘You should understand that above all others, magician. Your colleagues have been poor stewards, setting themselves up in arrogance, usurping the judgment that is the rightful province of heaven. With your attempt at my execution stayed – no, canceled! – by the power of the gods, today it is
I
who have the power.’

The other magicians exchanged unsettled glances, but none had words to add. Their magic had been negated, rendered powerless over this woman who had handed them a failure they were ill prepared to reverse. They had no precept to fall back on; no point around which to rally.

Only Hochopepa’s gaze remained upon Mara. ‘You mentioned a choice?’

Had the circumstances been of less import, and the chamber of audience’s occupants been one whit less tense, Mara might have smiled at the stout magician’s sharpness. ‘Yes, Great One, a choice,’ she announced loudly. ‘For centuries your Assembly has enjoyed authority without responsibilities. You Black Robes have done as you pleased for “the Good of the Empire,” no matter how whimsical, perverse, or destructive the act may have been.’ Unmentioned behind her words were the memory of two young children, slaughtered by their Minwanabi father as a consequence of the disgrace forced upon him by Great Ones. Although Tasaio had been an enemy, Mara yet found the murder of his heirs abhorrent, a tragedy the more unforgivable because it might have been prevented by the very Assembly that had condemned the father. Sharply she concluded, ‘Since our community of magicians has shown little inclination to self-discipline, now comes an accounting. You may do as I have bid,
and be about your own affairs in your city of fearful, inward-looking men – the gods have mercy upon you – or you may take the only other course that will avert unbridled war.’

Hochopepa’s round face furrowed in distaste, and he tapped one foot uncomfortably. ‘I suspect what that may be.’

‘Do you?’ Mara withdrew an ornate dagger from her robe sash and reversed it, pointing it toward her breast. ‘The gods may have declared it is not my time to die. But I can still exercise my free will as Lady of the Acoma. If you choose, I can take my own life, now, in expiation for breaking your stated edict. If I do this, Justin shall abdicate, and return home as Lord of the Acoma. Jehilia, his wife, will reign, and her husband will be consort only, taking vows never to raise his hand against you, or any other Black Robe.’ Mara’s eyes narrowed as she delivered her final line, and the blade in her hand never quivered. ‘But then
you
must rule.’

Hochopepa actually grinned. Shimone and Akani nodded, while Tapek appeared only befuddled. ‘Lady, what are you saying?’ the redheaded magician asked.

‘You only have the power to destroy, to wage war, or oppose,’ declared Mara. ‘My allies shall not resist. Before sundown, if you so command, I can honorably end my life by the blade.’ Her glance swept the hall, pausing only briefly to review the assorted nobles who strained to catch every word, who even yet hoped of catching some mis-step by which they could advance themselves over their neighbors. Her blade might be plunged home, and the Game of the Council resume as if she had never lived; as if the dreams of a murdered Emperor and a barbarian slave had never started to precipitate change. The moment was at hand to decide the future. The priests waited upon
their gods, and prayed for fate to favor them. Focusing on Motecha and Tapek in particular, Mara delivered her summary. ‘Oh, you may find another willing to play Emperor or Warlord for a time. The Omechan would fall over themselves for the honor, never doubt – until an ambitious neighbor or rival decides it is time to upset the succession.