Servant of the Empire (47 page)

Incomo hurried into his Lord’s chamber. Desio sprawled before an open screen, his robe flapped open to allow the lakeshore breeze to cool him. Stacks of reports from his various holdings lay scattered at his feet, but he had taken a break from reading to hear a trio of poets recite ballads from the Empire’s history. Incomo heard enough to identify a stanza from the Deeds of the Twenty, a tale of ancient heroes revered for extraordinary service. Titled Servants of the Empire by some long past Light of Heaven, they were fondly recalled, although the scholars of present generations insisted they were legends.

Since Tasaio’s influence had bent Desio toward the martial tradition, the Lord’s tastes had shifted from pursuit of lascivious adventure to the glorified exploits of champions; his choice of activity may have changed, but his resentment of interruptions remained in force. The Minwanabi Lord glanced aside at his First Adviser’s abrupt entry and as if his scowl were a signal, the chorus trailed raggedly into silence. ‘What is it?’

Incomo bowed. ‘We have an unexpected visitor.’ Since the poets were travelling players, and not given patronage by the household, the First Adviser leaned close and whispered. ‘Jiro of the Anasati awaits at the far dock, asking permission to cross the lake.’

Desio blinked in surprise. ‘Jiro of the Anasati?’ At Incomo’s near reprimand, he prudently lowered his voice. ‘What possible reason could bring Tecuma’s brat here unannounced?’ Then, aware he inconvenienced himself by whispering for the sake of the hired entertainers, Desio waved the poets away. A servant would pay them; they had not been gifted enough to retain.

The First Adviser watched the doorway until the chamber
was private. ‘I have little to add. Jiro sends you greeting. He regrets the informality of his call and begs a few moments of your time. The messenger in from the river gate adds that the boy travels with a minimal honour guard, only twelve men.’

‘Twelve men!’ Desio’s annoyance evaporated. ‘I could take him at the docks. With Jiro to ransom, Lord Tecuma would …’ He broke off at his First Adviser’s stillness, then sighed. ‘No, the old man would not trade a younger son for his only grandson. Jiro isn’t quite stupid.’

‘Certainly so, my master.’ Incomo backed clear as Desio shoved to his feet, flung open the screen to the side hallway and shouted, ‘Send guards to escort our guest to the main house docks.’ The Lord clapped briskly for servants, and demanded dressers and formal robes, then a large tray of refreshments to be brought to the great hall.

Incomo heard the list of preparations through without comment. Early on, Desio had decided that even trivial entertaining must take place in the grand hall. The vast stone amphitheatre with its high, vaulted roof was resplendent enough to unsettle most guests. No other estate house in the Empire could match its construction; imitators had tried, but their efforts had lacked the natural site, ringed by stone crested hills, and situated on a lake shore that even in spring was not marshy. Easily the most splendid court this side of the Emperor’s palace, Desio believed that confronting anyone there lent the Minwanabi the advantage. Puffed by his own self-importance he said, ‘What would lure Jiro here?’

‘Honestly, my Lord, I suspect nothing and everything.’ Incomo ticked points on dry fingers. ‘Perhaps the Lord of the Anasati grows feeble. As heir, Halesko might send his younger brother as emissary to propose something.’

Servants knocked and entered, bearing folded silk and ropes of tasselled sashes, slippers, jewels, and pins. They bowed, shed their burdens, and helped their master strip off
his crumpled day robe. As the fabric was whisked aside, Incomo was struck that Desio’s sleekness now overlay heavy slabs of muscle. The boyhood fat of five years before had nearly vanished, along with the vacuous attitude. Slipping his arms into his knot-worked orange and black robe, Desio said. ‘I don’t know. Old Tecuma keeps his household on a short leash, especially his two sons. The last time I met Halesko at the games, he seemed just like his father. But Jiro is an unknown.’

The conversation lapsed as body servants applied combs to the master’s hair, and hung his pink ears with ornaments. As attention shifted to slippers, and the servants washed and towelled Desio’s feet, Incomo stole the moment to draw upon the detailed information that any good adviser kept current, concerning every important figure in the Empire.

‘Jiro is something of an enigma. Very bright, so don’t let anything he says mislead you into thinking him witless.’

Raising his other foot to be washed, Desio frowned; he would never be taken in by so transparent a ploy. Though he hated to be made to feel stupid, the Lord listened carefully as Incomo went on and described Mara’s past proposal to take an Anasati son in marriage. All present presumed she sued for Jiro, but the younger brother, Buntokapi, had become her husband instead.

Desio grinned. ‘Ah, she slighted Jiro and gained an enemy.’

Incomo sniffed. ‘One could safely assume that much.’

A slave proffered a jewelled slipper. Desio shoved in his foot, then peered at his reflection in a precious metal mirror. ‘Now, what sort of man is he?’

‘He’s quiet,’ Incomo recited. ‘Jiro keeps to himself and has few friends. His vices are moderate, a little gambling, but never to excess like his deceased brother, nor does he drink like Halesko. An occasional woman, but never a favourite. He’s inclined to say little, but implies a lot.’

‘Cryptic but each word has meaning,’ Desio defined.

Impressed that he need not spell out subtleties, the First Adviser listed the rest. Jiro lacked his elder brother’s military experience, but was an avid student of history. He preferred scroll books to poets and ballads, and spent hours with scribes in the libraries.

‘Well.’ Desio pouted at his reflection. ‘I hate to read, so he would hardly be coming here for scholarly conversation. I shall meet our uninvited guest at the dockside, and if I don’t care to hear out the younger son of the Anasati, I can send him packing without wasting any more bother.’

‘Does my Lord wish an honour guard?’

Desio straightened one of his jewels and laid the mirror in the hands of a servant, who reverently returned it to a velvet slip case. ‘How many men did you say Jiro brought?’

‘Twelve.’

‘Then order twenty soldiers to the docks. It’s too hot for a crowd, and I feel no need to put on a display.’

Noon sunlight beat down on the grey boards of the dock, and flashed reflections off the trappings of the honour guard. Sensitive to the light, Desio squinted across the water toward the approaching Anasati barge. The craft was not imposing enough to indicate a state visit; it was smaller, adorned only with paint, and its primary service was running messages along the river Gagajin; except this journey was not made for dispatches. Between the ranks of Jiro’s honour guard, Desio made out the bulk of a heavy slatted cargo crate.

His curiosity became piqued. As the polemen manoeuvred the barge to the dockside, Desio had Force Commander Irrilandi call his warriors to attention.

The Anasati craft bumped against the landing. Slaves at bow and stern leaped ashore to secure lines; and a strange and unsettling growl issued from the depths of the crate;
apparently the container confined a vicious animal. An avid enthusiast of the Imperial Games, which held spectacles of beastfights and warriors, Desio craned his neck until a nudge from Incomo recalled decorum.

Soldiers in Anasati red and yellow were already stepping onto the wharf. In their midst, robed in velvet stitched with river pearls, Jiro greeted his host with a graceful bow. He was slightly older than Desio, decisively more poised, and strictly observant of the forms. Without hesitation, he said, ‘Are you well, Lord Desio?’

‘I am well, Jiro of the Anasati.’ Eyes narrowed, Desio returned the proper response. ‘Is your father well?’

‘Well, indeed, my Lord.’ A louder, more savage growl issued from the depths of the cargo crate; Jiro gave the haughty suggestion of a smile. Careful of his timing, he drew breath to continue the tiresome, formal ritual of greeting.

But Desio’s patience deserted him. Afire to ask after the beast in the crate, he blurted, ‘I am happy to say all of my family is well.’

Released from protocols, Jiro glanced smugly at Incomo, who radiated intense annoyance, but who at this moment was powerless to intervene. ‘Thank you,’ murmured the Anasati son. ‘My Lord Desio is kind to welcome an unexpected visitor. I apologize for my rudeness, but I chanced to be in your area and I felt it would be useful for us to speak.’

Something clawed at the crate slats, and the slaves on the barge shifted nervously. Desio twitched from foot to foot: the moment had come to invite his guest inside for refreshments, or turn him away at once. The irritation of honouring an enemy’s son was balanced by fascination.

While Desio dithered, Jiro seized the initiative. ‘Please, Lord, I had not intended to presume upon your hospitality. I have live creatures on board that dislike the motion of the
barge. It is well for me, and best for them, if we may speak here.’

Perspiration made Desio’s face itch. If Jiro could do without a cool drink, the Lord of the Minwanabi preferred not to. He waved magnanimously to his guest and the entire Anasati honour guard. ‘Come in and sit where we need not hasten our talk.’ As his visitor darted a concerned glance at the crate, Desio added, ‘I’ll have servants move your beasts into the shade so they will not suffer.’

Jiro hesitated. Indelicately caught between refusing the kindness of a superior, or acknowledging fear of an enemy’s hospitality, an implied shame, he fingered his shell and lacquer belt. ‘My Lord is generous, but the beasts I transport are too vicious to be left in strange hands. I would not risk an injury to any of the servants in your household.’

A strange, deep light touched Desio’s eyes. ‘Then bring the beasts along; they sound interesting.’

Jiro bowed. To the servant who lingered on the barge, he ordered, ‘Leash the hounds and bring them. And as you value your honour, make sure no hapless Minwanabi servant stands too close and takes harm.’

The servant paled at the comment, Desio saw. His own palms grew moist in excitement. As Irrilandi formed the Minwanabi honour guard into ranks for the march indoors, he could not resist a look back. On the barge, the white-faced servant donned a heavy pair of gloves. He then gathered two thick braided leashes and signalled the slaves, who hesitantly dragged the cover off the cage. A strident bark and more growls answered the unveiling and the slaves jumped back in fright. Then the servant raised a bone whistle to his lips. He blasted a single note, and two muzzles poked through the opening, followed by wide-set slanting eyes, and ears trimmed short into points. Two dogs of ferocious aspect braced long forepaws on the cage; the
slaves cowered back, and every warrior in the Anasati honour guard surreptitiously touched his weapon.

‘Magnificent,’ Desio breathed, as the servant stepped in and looped the leashes through two jewel-studded collars. The dogs flowed out of their prison with sinuous grace. Massive of shoulder and jaw, and brindled in light tan and black, the creatures sprang over to the dock, then sat as regally as if they owned it.

‘My Lord would be wise to stand back,’ murmured Jiro.

Desio did so, too rapt to notice that an enemy had told him what to do. ‘Magnificent,’ he repeated, and he stared at amber eyes that were passionless in their canine ferocity as Tasaio’s out on the archery field. Then, annoyed by the reminder of the cousin who had failed him, and made aware by Incomo’s quiet hiss that he stood gawking like a farmer, Desio motioned for his honour guard and adviser to follow, and strode off toward the entrance to the great hall.

‘What sort of hounds are those?’ he asked as he crossed the hall and mounted his cushioned dais, his First Adviser a half-step behind.

‘They are hunters without peer.’ A gesture from Jiro, and the servant led the dogs to a safe corner, out of reach of passing servants, and set back from any doors. The animals sat, too poised for relaxation, their eyes restless and hungry.

By now, Incomo’s headshakes had drawn notice. Desio understood that his eagerness set him at a disadvantage. As he sat down, he sniffed with intent to diminish. ‘We have fine tracking dogs.’

Jiro rebutted him quietly. ‘None like these, my Lord. Perhaps when our conference is over I could offer a demonstration?’

Desio brightened. ‘Indeed, perhaps you should.’ He sighed in restrained anticipation, then waved for his guest to choose a cushion. ‘Come. Let us be refreshed.’ Slaves rushed in with laden trays of food and drink. Keeping his bearing
erect and proper, Desio resisted the urge to turn to look at the dogs, who were offering low, menacing growls to everyone that passed. At Desio’s gesture, Irrilandi withdrew the Minwanabi honour guard a discreet distance away; Jiro’s Strike Leader did the same, and across the vast chamber came more slaves with bowls and towels, to assist both nobles to wash.

One of the dogs whined. Jiro paid it no mind, but dipped his fingers in the scented water and held them out to be dried. ‘You have an impressive home, my Lord. When I imagine this hall filled with grand entertainment, I deeply regret that I missed attending the Warlord’s birthday celebration.’

Incomo froze, caught in the motion of sitting down at his master’s right hand. He looked urgently at Desio, and by the hardness of the Lord’s expression, knew that he need not take action; the reference to the event when Lady Mara had trapped the former Minwanabi Lord into dishonour and ritual suicide had not escaped his master’s notice.