Servant of the Empire (96 page)

Trumpets sounded.

A dozen liveried bearers carried a platform, upon which Mara firmly held the wooden railing before her. She strove to appear assured, despite the inward conviction that she looked silly wearing the newly fashioned armour of a Hadama Warchief. Unaccustomed to the stiffness of laminated-hide greaves and bracers, and decidedly ill at ease with fittings and buckles and breastplate, she reminded herself to stand erect. Keyoke and Saric had insisted that while she could continue wearing formal robes during meetings, for her first public appearance as Clan Warchief she must dress the part.

How a man could fight and swing a sword under such a weight of constricting gear, Mara could not guess. Newly appreciative of the warriors who marched in ranks behind, she led the army of Clan Hadama, nearly ten thousand strong, toward the gates of the Holy City.

Seated at her feet as befitted her rank, Kevin tried to look like a meek body slave. But with the grassy verge on either side of the road jammed with cheering, waving commoners, he could hardly repress his excitement. Speaking with his face turned up toward his mistress, so that few could hear him over the crowd’s noise, he laughed. ‘They seem quite taken with you, my Lady.’

Mara unbent enough to return a surreptitious reply. ‘I certainly hope so. Women warriors are rare in the Empire’s history, but the few who are remembered were legendary, almost as unique as the Servants of the Empire.’ She attempted to shrug off her newfound notoriety. ‘Any mob
loves a spectacle. They’d cheer no matter who stood upon this platform.’

‘Maybe,’ Kevin allowed. ‘But I think they sense the Empire is in danger and see you as someone they can look to with hope.’

Mara regarded the people who crowded the way to the outer gate of the Holy City. All castes and trades were represented, from sunburned field workers to cart drivers, merchants, and guild masters. All seemed earnest in their approval of the Lady of the Acoma. Many shouted her name, while others waved or tossed tokens made of folded paper for luck.

Mara still looked sceptical in the face of such admiration. Kevin added, ‘They know who your enemy is and they are as surely aware of Tasaio’s dark nature as you are. You nobles may not speak ill of one another out of courtesy, but I assure you that commoners don’t share that constraint. Given the choice, they endorse the one whose policy is likely to be the more merciful. Is it yours or the Minwanabi Lord’s?’

Mara forced herself to exhibit a calmness she did not feel; Kevin’s logic seemed reassuring. It might even be true. But the support of the common folk would have no bearing on the outcome of the pending struggle. Aware that the next few days would find her either triumphant or dead, Mara tried not to dwell upon consequences. There could be no other choices. The attack upon her and her son had forced the issue. She must move, or maintain a defensive strategy until the day that her warriors, her guard, or her spy network failed her again, and Tasaio’s blade found her heart.

On the day her father, Sezu, had fallen victim to a Minwanabi trap, he had chosen to fight to the death rather than shame his ancestry by choosing flight, and a coward’s life. Mara could do no less; she had tried to precipitate events by her demand to meet with Tasaio. If he refused her,
she must confront him. And yet, with no plan in mind to spare either her house or her honour, her posture was no more than bravado. As she rode in triumph on the platform at the head of Clan Hadama’s war strength, her mind held a morass of fears.

‘Look at that!’ exclaimed Kevin.

Jerked out of morbid introspection, Mara glanced where he pointed and felt her throat tighten. An army camped to the west of the Holy City. The hills were a patchwork of coloured tents and banners, which Kevin swiftly counted. After rough calculation, he said, ‘I guess that encampment holds fifteen thousand warriors.’

Mara’s initial jolt of nerves eased as she identified the banners. ‘That is a part of Clan Xacala. Lord Hoppara has brought the Xacatecas in strength. Others follow him.’ But not only her allies were present in force. Mara nodded across the river. ‘Look over there.’

The road followed the Gagajin, and on the far bank Kevin saw another army, its tents so thickly clustered, the land bristled with banner poles. ‘Gods! There must be fifty, sixty thousand warriors in those hills. It looks like half the Lords of the Empire brought every man capable of wearing armour and carrying a sword.’

Mara nodded, her mouth drawn grimly taut. ‘The issue will be decided here. Those across the river answer to Tasaio. That is the might of Clan Shonshoni, other families in vassalage, and the Minwanabi allies. I can see the banners of the Tondora and Gineisa near the river’s edge. And, of course, the Ekamchi and Inrodaka have at last sided with Tasaio.’ She made a sweeping gesture with her hand. ‘I will wager Lords Keda and Tonmargu are encamped to the north of the city, with their allies, close to forty thousand swords. And I am certain that beyond sight of the city another hundred thousand warriors are within a day’s march. Scores of lesser families stay out of harm’s way, but
close enough to pick over the corpses if we come to conflict.’ She lowered her voice as if fearful the wrong ears might overhear her. ‘With so many soldiers ready to do battle, can we avoid a civil war even if we wish?’

The crowd’s cheers and its festive mood of gaiety suddenly rang hollow. Aware that his Lady was trembling beneath her armour, Kevin returned a reassuring shrug. ‘Few soldiers are keen to kill. Give them an excuse, and they’d just as soon get drunk with one another – or indulge in a little friendly brawling. At least, that’s how it is on my world.’

Yet the contrast between the animated expressions he remembered from Midkemia and the masklike bearing of even the meanest beggar on Kelewan could not be ignored. Kevin kept the thought to himself, that he had never known a bunch so willing to die as these Tsurani. As long as people kept calm and didn’t start insulting one another’s mothers, all these factions might be able to avoid bloodshed. But if only one loud-mouthed sod got rude …

The thought did not bear finishing. Even with the point left unsaid, Mara a would not be blind to risk. One sword drawn for honour’s sake and all the Empire would shake. Could it be avoided? After witnessing the massacres that occurred on the Night of the Bloody Swords, Kevin did not care to examine the odds.

As her vanguard neared the arching city gate, the crowds of admiring gawkers fell away. Into stillness and a suddenly emptied road, a patrol of imperial warriors stepped forth to meet the Hadama entourage. Mara ordered a halt before the gate as the Strike Leader approached, his white armour with gold accents brilliant in the morning sun. ‘Mara of the Acoma!’ he called.

Unaccustomed to the weight of the plumed helm that shaded her brow, Mara nodded careful acknowledgment.

‘For what cause do you marshal Clan Hadama and bring them to the Holy City?’ demanded the Emperor’s officer.

From the height of her platform, Mara stared down at the arrogant young man, supremely confident of his imperial rank. At last she said, ‘You shame the Light of Heaven with your lack of manners.’

The officer ignored the reprimand. ‘Lady, I will answer for my actions when Turakamu judges where I will next mount the Wheel of Life.’ The young man glanced first at the armies encamped upon the riverbanks, and then with pointed reproof at the warriors following after Mara’s platform. ‘Manners are the least of our difficulties. As the gods will, many of us could encounter our fate soon enough. I have my orders.’ Obviously strained that he had only twenty soldiers at his back, and many thousands stood ready to answer Mara’s call, he finished in blunt command. ‘The Imperial Force Commander insists that I hear your reason for bringing the might of Clan Hadama to the Holy City.’

Making an issue of this demand could prove just the flame to ignite the conflict, Mara realized. She decided it wise to ignore the slight. ‘We come for council with others of our rank and station, in the interest of the Empire’s well-being.’

‘Then proceed to your quarters, Lady of the Acoma, and know Imperial Peace is upon you. One honour guard of Acoma soldiers may accompany you, with a like number of clan soldiers for each Lord of the Hadama who joins you. But know that the Light of Heaven has ordered the Council Hall closed until he commands otherwise. Anyone who seeks entry to the palace without imperial consent will be counted traitor to the Empire. Now, if you would proceed?’

The young officer stood aside to permit passage of the Warchief’s platform and her honour guard. Before resuming her march, Mara bent to Lujan and gave swift orders. ‘Carry word to Lord Chekowara and the others: we meet at my town house at sundown.’

Her Force Commander snapped a bow. ‘And the warriors, mistress?’

One last time, Mara scanned the surrounding hillsides with their blanket of tents and banners, soldiers and weapons racks. ‘Seek out the Minwanabi standard and encamp the men as close to his lines as possible. I wish Tasaio to know that whatever he does, an Acoma dagger is poised at his throat.’

‘Your will, mistress.’ Lujan hastened to relay her orders to the appropriate subofficers, and then to assemble her honour guard. In formal state, Mara signalled for her company to continue on through the city gates. As Lord Chekowara and the other Hadama Lords moved after, each in position according to rank, she wished she had some way to allay the dread lingering in the pit of her stomach. All would be determined here, within the next few days, and still she had no idea of how she would avert the fate Minwanabi had vowed, that she and her nine-year-old heir be delivered as sacrifice to the Red God. The armour she wore seemed to weigh on her shoulders, and the crowd’s shouts suddenly seemed uncomfortably loud. Was there anywhere left, she wondered, where she could go to find peace for thought?

The journey through the city to her town house left Mara feeling taxed. Attributing her fatigue to poor spirits, she postponed her initial meetings and ordered the afternoon for rest. In retrospect, the change in schedule allowed Arakasi time to seek out his agents in the city and glean what information he could. She, her Spy Master, and Lujan dined alone, discussing various ways they might move to blunt Minwanabi’s ambition.

No one had any brilliant insights.

Next morning, Clan Hadama met. Within the inner garden’s freshly pruned greenery, the most prominent Ruling Lords of the clan, as well as a half-dozen allies, were seated in a large circle adjacent to the central fountain.
Through the trill of falling water, the Lord of the Ontara ventured opinion. ‘Lady Mara, rulers who have no love for Tasaio will stand with him against the Emperor, simply because Ichindar defies tradition. Many in our own clan fear an Empire ruled by one man, even if that one is the Light of Heaven. A Warlord may dominate, the gods know, yet he is still but first among equals.’ Others murmured agreement.

Still feeling oddly out of sorts, Mara made an effort to concentrate. Kevin’s dry observations on Tsurani politics were right on one point: these men were more in love with their own prerogatives than haters of cruelty, murder, and waste. Freshly aware that her own thinking had changed to a degree incomprehensible to all but a handful of her ruling peers, Mara regarded her clansmen and allies, and strove for tact. ‘Those who cling to tradition blindly, or out of fear of change, are fools. To embrace Tasaio is to hold a relli to your bosom. He will take warmth and nourishment, but in the end he will kill. Allow him to blunt the Emperor’s power, and you choose a worse course than absolute imperial rule. The Minwanabi Lord is a young man. He could hold the white and gold for decades. He is clever, ruthless, and, if I may speak bluntly, captivated by the pain of others. He is a clever enough player of the game that he might make question of the succession a moot issue. Almecho and Axantucar came close to creating a family office. Is the ambition of Tasaio of the Minwanabi any less?’

Several of the Lords glanced at one another, for they had been among those inclined to back Tasaio’s predicted bid for the white and gold. With the Omechan Clan crushed by Axantucar’s shame, the Minwanabi were left unrivalled as first claimants to the office. Lord Xacatecas was too young, and Lord Keda too closely allied with the Blue Wheel Party to gainsay the Emperor. The only possible rival bid would be Lord Tonmargu, if the Anasati lent full support; yet Jiro was not deemed reliable – his own agenda was not yet clear,
and he had plainly indicated he would not be following in his father’s footsteps. More than street gossips and rumour-mongers were convinced that Tasaio would be the next Warlord. The more pertinent question seemed to be whether he would gain the white and gold peacefully, or by means of bloody war.

Of all present, Lord Chekowara was the only one relaxed enough to avail himself of the cakes upon the refreshment trays. Dusting crumbs from his chin, he offered his own opinion. ‘Mara, in all you have done since becoming Ruling Lady, you have consistently shown a brilliant ability to extemporize. May we assume that you have some unexpected twist of the rope in store for Tasaio?’

Unsure how much this question might be rooted in bitterness over her assumption of his former office, and how much an honest plea for reassurance, Mara sought some hint of expression to give her clue. But Lord Benshai’s corpulent face remained impassive. Mara dared not answer carelessly. By forcing her clan to unquestioned obedience to her will, she had also taken on responsibility for ensuring their survival. Although she still had no idea what she would do, rather than let her doubts shake the foundation of her newly forged alliance, she chose to be evasive. ‘Tasaio shall not command more than worms in the soil before long, my Lord.’