Servant of the Empire (88 page)

He bowed. ‘My Lady, there is a bonded messenger awaiting you in the antechamber.’

‘Send him in.’ Mara had enjoyed two hours of quiet contemplation since dawn and, now that the inevitable interruption had occurred, she was anxious to know the news.

The courier brought before her was dusty from the road and clad in a tunic of bleached cloth, tagged on the sleeves with the badge of a guild from Pesh. Since Mara had no dealings with any family from that city, this piqued her interest.

‘You may sit,’ she allowed as the courier completed his bow. He carried no documents; the message he brought would be oral, guaranteed by his life oath of silence. Mara waved for a servant to bring jomach juice, in case the man’s throat was dry from travel.

He inclined his head when the refreshment arrived and gratefully took a long swallow. ‘I bring greeting to the Acoma from the Lord Xaltepo of the Hanqu.’ The messenger paused for another sip, politely allowing the Lady an interval to call to mind what she knew of this Lord’s house, clan, and political affiliations.

Mara needed the time, since the Hanqu were a minor house that had never previously dealt with the Acoma; they were of the Nimboni, a clan so tiny that it regularly associated with other, larger clans; which other clans it was allied with at present Mara didn’t recall. Arakasi would know. He might also confirm whether Xaltepo had renewed
his participation in the Yellow Flower Party since the demise of the Alliance for War. The Yellow Flower Party had no ties with the Minwanabi, but had occasionally supported common interests with them before Almecho wore the white and gold, and the changes effected by his successor, Axantucar, had disrupted the old alliances. The Yellow Flower Party currently fended for itself, and the Nimboni quite likely inclined to favour the Kanazawai Clan. Perhaps this was an overture in that direction.

Mara sighed over this season’s unrecognizable snarl of politics. Without Arakasi’s network, she would be floundering, relying upon guesswork, and not leading her clan decisively through the moil.

The messenger finished his drink and politely awaited her attention. At a wave from Mara, he resumed.

‘The Lord of the Hanqu formally requests that you consider an alliance with his house. If you judge the matter to be in Acoma interests, Lord Xaltepo asks for a meeting to discuss his proposal.’

A house slave unobtrusively removed the emptied juice cup. Mara used the interval to formulate a swift decision. ‘I am flattered by the offer from the Lord of the Hanqu, and will reply through one of my own couriers.’

This was politely noncommittal, and not unusual, since a ruler near Sulan-Qu would be unfamiliar with the guild of another city. Conscious of security, Mara intended to hire from a known guild. But to dismiss this courier without thanks was to insinuate mistrust, if not to imply dishonour. The Lady sent her runner to summon Saric. By now familiar with the duties of a second adviser, he would accompany the guild messenger to a distant chamber and see him occupied with banalities until the heat passed, and the man could politely be dismissed.

Financial reports no longer gripped Mara’s attention. Throughout the morning she pondered the Hanqu’s
unexpected overture without assuming what their motive might be. Lord Xaltepo might earnestly desire an alliance, and this must not be treated lightly. Since Mara’s public rise to the office of Clan Warchief, it could be but the first of many such approaches. To ignore this would be folly.

Far more dangerous, he might be puppet for some other, better-known enemy, who used him to disguise another plot against her. She waited until the courier’s departure before dispatching Arakasi to make inquiries.

After supper, she called council. Weary of the stifling stillness of her study with screens and drapes drawn closed, she decided that a meeting in the garden courtyard adjacent to her quarters, under the light of lanterns, would be more comfortable. The garden had a single entrance, securely guarded.

Settled on cushions under the tree beside the fountain, Mara regretted her preoccupation with security. For an envious moment she once again recalled Tasaio’s estate, a beautiful building on spacious grounds, fortified by steep hills and the naturally defensible valley with its lake and narrow tributary. Unlike other nobles situated in the low country, the Minwanabi Lord need not vigilantly keep guard over broad acres of borders. He required only sentries in watchtowers on his hilltops, and patrols stationed at key points along the perimeter of his estates. Where the Acoma required five full companies of a hundred warriors each dedicated to the main estate to optimally maintain its defences – a goal still unrealized after over a decade of carefully building her resources – the Minwanabi could do better with as few as two hundred soldiers guarding twice the land. That lower cost of security for the home estate provided Tasaio with resources for political mischief that Mara lacked, despite her rapidly expanding financial empire.

Mara regarded her circle of advisers, larger than before,
with younger faces added and older ones the more aged by contrast. Nacoya became more wrinkled and hunched with each passing month. Keyoke could not sit quite so erect, yet he remained a stickler for appearances. He kept his good leg crossed over his stump, and his crutch painstakingly out of view. For all his care, Mara could never quite accustom herself to the sight of him in house robes instead of armour.

For formal meetings of her council, no servants were present; but in the role of body slave, Kevin sat beside and behind her, surreptitiously playing with her hair, which she had let down from its pins. Then there were Jican, with his hands dusty from chalk, and Saric, young, eager, and shrewd around the eyes where Lujan was deceptively carefree. Her Spy Master had not yet returned from the docks of Sulan-Qu, where he had gone to meet the contact who carried intelligence from Pesh. Since Arakasi’s word would bear heaviest influence, Mara began before his arrival to lend time to hear her other advisers.

Nacoya opened. ‘Lady Mara, you know nothing of these upstart Hanqu. They are not an old family. They share none of your interests politically, and I worry they may be the glove for an enemy’s hand.’

The First Adviser’s views had grown increasingly cautious of late. The Lady of the Acoma was unsure if this resulted from Mara’s rise to the Clan Warchief’s office or from a fear of Tasaio that was deepening with age. Increasingly, Mara looked to Saric for a more balanced weighing of risk and gain.

Though barely out of his twenties, the soldier turned counsellor was quick-witted, sly, and often sarcastic in his advice; his overt playfulness seemed at odds with a deeper barbed cynicism, but his observations were consistently astute. ‘Nacoya’s reasoning is sound,’ he opened, his eyes boldly on Mara, and his hands running over and over a lacquered bracelet on his wrist as though he tested the edge
on a blade. He gave a soldier’s shrug. ‘But I would add that we know too little about the Lord of the Hanqu. If he acts in good faith, we would offend if we refuse to hear his case. Even if we could afford to affront this little house, we do not wish the Acoma to gain a reputation for being unapproachable. We might politely reject his alliance after hearing his cause, and no offence will be given.’ Sarik tipped his head slightly and ended with his customary question. ‘But, can we afford to refuse him without inquiring what his motives may be?’

‘A telling point,’ Mara conceded. ‘Keyoke?’

Her Adviser for War reached to straighten a helmet no longer there, and ended by scratching thinning hair. ‘I should look closely at the arrangements proposed for your conference. The Lord could have an assassin waiting, or an ambush. Where he wishes to meet with you, and under what conditions, will tell us much.’

That the former Force Commander did not question the necessity for a parley was not lost on Mara.

Lujan, from his days as a grey warrior, gave a new perspective. ‘The Hanqu are regarded as mavericks by the powerful houses of Pesh. I was acquainted with the cousin of one of my subofficers’ wives, who served Xaltepo as Patrol Leader. The Hanqu Lord was said to be a man who seldom shared his confidences, and did so only upon occasions of mutual advantage. That they are a new house has been said, but the rise of the family is due to their powerful business interests in the south.’

Jican followed Lujan’s lead and widened the picture. ‘The Hanqu have an interest in chocha-la. Being weak, at one time they were mercilessly exploited by the guilds. Lord Xaltepo’s father tired of losing his profits. When he came to power, he hired in his own bean grinders, and reinvested his chocha-la profits back into that enterprise. His son has continued to broaden the business, and now they are, if not
dominant, a major factor in the southern markets. He boasts a thriving trade and processes crops from other growers. It is possible he desires an arrangement that will bring the beans of our Tuscalora vassal into his drying sheds.’

‘In
Pesh?
’ Mara straightened, interrupting Kevin’s attentions. ‘Why should Lord Jidu risk the mould and damp of shipping his crops by sea, or the expense of an overland caravan?’

‘For profit,’ Jican speculated in his inimitably neat fashion. ‘The soil and the climate are wrong for chocha-la that far down the peninsula. Even the Hanqu’s inferior beans yield high revenues there. Most growers grind their crops close to home, to save the weight of shipping the husks. But the bean keeps better in its unshelled form, and the Hanqu spice grinders could get luxury prices for any chocha-la they could process in what now is idle time between seasons. And they effectively remove a potential rival from the local market. Eventually, such a relationship might provide an entrance for their goods into the heartland of the Empire.’

‘Then why not approach Lord Jidu?’ Mara argued.

Jican spread placating hands. ‘Lady, you may have allowed the Lord of the Tuscalora his rights to negotiate his finances, but among the merchants and factors in the cities you are spoken of as his overlord. They cannot conceive any ruler being as openhanded in policy as you have been; therefore, word in the markets says you are in control.’

‘Jidu would protest,’ Mara objected.

Now Nacoya leaned forward. ‘My Lady, he does not dare. He has his man’s pride; it rankles him to have been bested by a woman. Lord Jidu would rather avoid being the object of more street gossip than turn to you with complaint.’

The discussion of this point continued in depth, with
Kevin listening raptly. The Midkemian was silent not so much out of deference as fascination with the intricacy of Tsurani politics. Lately, if he contributed an opinion, it was less from ignorant impulse and more out of insight lent by an alien viewpoint.

Mara weighed the counsel of her advisers and tried to avoid the looming distraction of how much she was going to miss her barbarian when she finally faced her neglected responsibility and chose a suitable husband. Unsettled as the current politics became, she cherished this moment, surrounded by people who cared for her, and the soft, familiar warmth of the summer night.

Lantern light fell kindly over the faces of Keyoke and Nacoya, softening the lines of adversity; it caught Saric’s eyes in a moment of fired enthusiasm; and it hid the weariness in Jican’s posture.

Not a day passed that the hadonra failed to visit the remotest field on the estate; since Dustari, he visited the city every morning, leaving before sunrise and returning before midmorning, enduring two hours of travel to gain earliest word of trade fluctuations from his factors. Few opportunities escaped his diligence, but Mara wished adversities would ease, that she need not lean so heavily on his resources. Jican had taught her much in the intricate world of finance. And her other advisers had rescued the Acoma from disasters invited by her inexperience in her first days of leadership. Silently she thanked Lashima for the guidance of good people. With her pledge to Clan Hadama binding her, and the Minwanabi blood feud against her, she dared not contemplate the loss of any one of those present.

The talk at last wound down. Mara reviewed the major points, a pensive frown on her face. ‘It looks as though I should send a message to Lord Xaltepo, setting a meeting that will most favour my safety. Jican, could you arrange to rent one of the guild halls in Sulan-Qu?’

But a dry voice interrupted before the hadonra could answer. ‘My Lady, with all due respect, a public place might not be the best of choices.’

Unnoticed, quiet as shadow, Arakasi had slipped into the garden; as he bowed, Keyoke’s lips stiffened. Annoyed with himself for missing the moment when the guards at the entry granted a newcomer entrance, the old warrior would never admit his hearing was growing less acute.

Arakasi bowed, his face veiled by the loose cloth of a priest’s cowl. He waited in his distinctively quiet manner for Mara’s leave, then added, ‘I should warn at once that this request by Lord Xaltepo is known to the Minwanabi. My sources indicate that Tasaio is personally intent upon finding out where a meeting between my Lady and the Hanqu might take place. If a guild hall is rented, I fear there may be spies in the walls. And if there are presently no niches for unfriendly parties to eavesdrop, you can presume such would be constructed in time for our mistress’s conference. Tasaio is that persistent when he wants a thing.’

The Spy Master hesitated, as if his own words were distasteful to him. ‘My source was emphatic, much more so than usual. Tasaio wants knowledge of this meeting quite badly.’

Mara’s fingers tightened on her cuffs. ‘By this, I conclude that the Hanqu’s interests go against those of our enemies.’