The Complete Empire Trilogy (103 page)

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.

The vast hall was silent. Desio reached out and took a glass of fruit juice from the tray; that he eschewed stronger spirits showed his inner anger. He sipped, pointedly withholding permission to eat from his guest. No fascination with dogs could ease the Anasati’s current danger. Desio was a powerful Lord, seated within his own hall; the silence would stretch to eternity before he stooped to ask what this upstart second son might wish.

Jiro let the stillness extend enough to show he was not cowed. With sudden brightness, he said, ‘Splendid news from Dustari. Now the desert men and their allies are routed, the Empire shall enjoy peace on the southern border for many years to come.’

Desio flicked a glance to his First Adviser, who signalled a discreet warning. By his reference to allies, Jiro either guessed the desert men had acted under Minwanabi
influence, or else the Anasati had spies as cleverly concealed as Mara’s.

A dog whined; its attendant whispered frantic reprimand.

The Minwanabi Lord said nothing.

‘Except for the fabled Acoma luck, this triumph would never have come to pass,’Jiro finished, then proved also that he could wait.

In leisurely fashion, Desio drained his glass. He listened to a few whispered words from his Adviser, then answered in faultless form. ‘Any action undertaken in defence of the Empire is to be applauded. Or do you think otherwise?’

Jiro smiled without warmth. ‘The duty of every ruler is to serve the Empire. Naturally.’

Conversation faltered to a halt; Incomo’s shrewdness rescued the issue from stalemate. ‘I wonder how Tecuma views Lady Mara’s brilliant victory.’

Given the cue he had sought for, Jiro gave the skinny old Adviser a polite nod. ‘We Anasati find ourselves bound to a difficult course, since blood relation to Mara’s heir forces adherence to goals that occasionally align with Acoma interests.’

‘Go on,’ Incomo encouraged, with a sidewise glower at his master to recall courtesy and offer refreshments. Desio complied with a sulky wave.

Jiro accepted a fruit drink, the same variety the Minwanabi Lord had chosen. He took a sip, shook back burnished brown hair, and stared off into the distance. ‘That such condition should endure is unnatural, of course.’ His manner turned disarmingly offhand. ‘I share concern for my nephew, well enough, but let me speak forthrightly.’ He delayed for another drink until Desio once again leaned raptly forward on his cushions. Jiro resumed. ‘Ayaki’s mother has too few friends to warrant such a dangerous course for the Anasati.’ He allowed a suggestive pause. ‘So if harm comes to my nephew, I would understand. My father
is less given to bending with the whims of fate, but my brother and I see things differently.’

Here Incomo had to touch his master’s arm to remind the young Lord not to show his interest; but where Mara’s name was at issue, tact was lost on Desio. ‘If fate should remove a nephew from this life –’

Fine crystal clanged and raised echoes as Jiro set down his glass. The dogs whined in unison, as if they sensed tension in the air. ‘I must correct you,’ the Anasati son said coldly. ‘My brother and I honour our father as dutiful and loving sons. As long as Tecuma lives, his wishes are to be obeyed-instantly!’ His emphasis word made clear beyond doubt: Jiro was not dissembling. If his father so ordered, he would fight and even die in Mara’s defence. ‘But,’ Jiro qualified delicately, ‘should the woman come to misfortune, and the boy survive, my Lord father need not be bound to reprisal.’

Desio’s eyebrows rose. He looked at his guest, and saw in Jiro an abiding, bitter anger. A thought struck him, and he leaned toward Incomo. ‘He really hates the bitch, do you see?’

The Minwanabi First Adviser gave a fractional nod. ‘A personal feud, it would appear. Go softly. I would hazard the boy is here without his father’s knowledge.’

Trying to sound disinterested, Desio spoke around a mouthful of sweet roll. ‘Your ideas are intriguing, but not feasible. My house has sworn oath to the Red God, that the Acoma bloodline must perish.’

Jiro took a slice of cold meat. He did not eat, but fingered the morsel thoughtfully. ‘I had heard of your vow of sacrifice. Of course, if Mara were dead, and her natami were broken and buried, the little heir would be a Lord with no resources.’ He tore his titbit in two with his nails. ‘Lacking a house and loyal warriors, Ayaki would have only his father’s family to shelter him. Perhaps he would be called to swear loyalty to the name of Anasati.’

So this was the ploy that had brought Jiro into the house of an enemy! Desio considered, searching for duplicity in his guest. ‘The boy would swear?’

Jiro twisted on his cushions and tossed the meat toward the dogs. Obedient to command, they did not arise, but snapped the snack out of the air with a clash of strong jaws. ‘Ayaki is a boy. He must do as his grandfather and uncles instruct. As Lord of the Acoma, he can release anyone from house loyalty, including himself. Should he bow to the Anasati natami, Acoma blood would cease to exist. The Red God must be satisfied.’

‘That is a bold presumption,’ Incomo interjected. He looked askance at his Lord. ‘Perhaps too bold.’

‘But enjoyable conjecture, none the less.’ Desio arose from his cushions. ‘This discussion has its merits. Well, Jiro, should the gods look favourably upon the demise of Mara and her house … we will hope for the sake of goodwill that events transpire as you suggest.’

‘For friendship’s sake,’ agreed Jiro, rising also, and taking his cue to depart. ‘For it would be poor judgment for any house, no matter how mighty, to think they could bloody themselves upon the Acoma and emerge with strength enough to withstand my father’s rage.’

Desio’s face darkened so swiftly that Incomo almost could not rise fast enough to touch his master’s sleeve. In a whisper he said, ‘The point to remember, my Lord, is that without the backing of Tecuma, the Acoma are just another small house. Consider this also: the Lord of the Anasati is aging, and Jiro has taken risks to let you know that his brother, the heir, may not share the father’s sentiment for a nephew born to Mara.’

Desio turned toward Jiro, his face composed and smiling. ‘I will take up your offer to see your dogs hunt, now.’ He stepped down from the dais.

The Anasati son repeated his courtier’s bow as Desio
passed. ‘As you wish, Lord Desio. For the display, we will need your practice field, and a dummy dressed in man’s clothing.’

Desio’s interest sharpened. ‘Your beasts course after humans?’

‘You shall see.’ Jiro snapped his fingers, and the servant with the leashed dogs nervously commanded them to heel as Desio led them back out of the hall. ‘They are bred from herd dogs in Yankora. But these I call Mankillers.’

At the first scent of fresh air, the dogs growled and barked. They strained at their leashes, yellow eyes quick to follow the movement of any passing human. Slaves and servants backed away in fright, and the Minwanabi honour guard marched close on the heels of their master, lest some trickery be in play.