The Complete Empire Trilogy (113 page)

Kevin pulled himself to his feet. His cheek burned with blisters, and his eyes stung from grit. As the soldiers around him also recovered their footing, he helped Mara to rise.

Looking at her soiled face, with cobwebs of charred silk dangling from her tangled headdress, and wet robes plastered to her body, Kevin repressed an urge to kiss her lingeringly on the lips. Instead he dusted a fallen strand of hair from her earlobe and wakened the sparkle of an emerald ornament. He breathed a shaky sigh. ‘We were lucky. Can you imagine what it must have been like within the arena?’

Mara’s eyes were still wide with shock. She was past all attempt to hide her trembling, but her voice held a grim hint of iron as she said, ‘We can only hope that our Lord of the Minwanabi remained too long at the games.’

Then as if the wrecked beauty that surrounded her suddenly wounded her, she gestured curtly to Lujan. ‘Back to our town house, at once.’

Lujan formed up his company and began the long trek back through the devastated avenues of Kentosani.

Arakasi appeared later, his servant’s garb dusty and singed. Far from the arena and the site of Milamber’s wrath, the Acoma house had taken only mild damage. But now a dozen warriors held the outer door, and more stood guard in the courtyard; the Spy Master advanced with cat-footed caution. Not until he sighted Lujan in the hallway did he finally relax his stance.

‘Gods preserve us, you made it,’ the Force Commander greeted in a hoarse-voiced rush of feeling.

In an instant, Arakasi was directed upstairs, where he bowed before his mistress.

Mara was seated on cushions, freshly bathed, but still pale from the day’s excitement. A scraped knee showed beneath her lounging robe, and her eyes were shadowed by an anxiety that lifted at the sight of her Spy Master. ‘Arakasi! Well met. What news do you bring?’

The Spy Master arose from his bow. ‘With my Lady’s forgiveness,’ he murmured, and he raised a stained cloth and dabbed at a bleeding cheek.

Mara motioned to a maid, who hurried off for healer’s salves and a basin. The Spy Master tried to brush her solicitude away. ‘The cut is of no consequence. A man sought to take advantage of the confusion and rob me. He is dead.’

‘Rob a servant?’ Mara questioned. The excuse was transparent; more likely her Spy Master had risked grave danger on her behalf, but she abided by his wishes and refrained from embarrassing him with questions.

When Mara’s party had arrived at the door to her town house, they had found the Spy Master absent, along with the bulk of her soldiers. Leaving a small garrison with Jican, Arakasi had made his way back toward the arena, but the madness caused by Milamber had disrupted his passage through the streets. The two parties had passed and missed each other in the pandemonium.

The maid arrived back with a basket of remedies. Mara nodded toward Arakasi, who looked irritated but submitted to having his cheek doctored at his mistress’s insistence.

While the maid dabbed at the Spy Master’s wound, Mara asked, ‘The rest of our soldiers?’

‘Back with me,’ Arakasi answered, unwarrantably peevish. He flicked a dark look at the maid, then finished his
report. ‘Though one warrior took a blow to his head from falling pottery, if you can believe, and is probably going to die.’

Mara watched the filth and old blood that came away on the cloth. ‘That’s more than a scratch. The bone shows.’ She added the question that burned to be asked. ‘What of the city?’

Arakasi ducked the maid’s hand. In a movement quick as a predator’s, he caught up a clean rag and held it pressed to his injury. ‘My Lady should not bother herself with a servant’s aches and pains.’

In the softening gloom of twilight, Mara’s eyebrows rose. ‘And servants should not bother to aid their mistresses by risking imperial charges for handing a blade to a slave? No’ – she raised her hand as Arakasi drew breath – ‘don’t answer. Lujan swears he didn’t see. There was a knife that turned up bloody in the pantry, but the cooks insist it was used to slaughter jigabirds.’

Arakasi loosed a sharp chuckle. ‘Jigabirds! How apt.’

‘Very. Now answer my question,’ Mara demanded.

Still delighted, Arakasi obeyed. ‘All is in chaos. There are fires everywhere, and many wounded. Kentosani looks as if it has been overrun by an invading army in the quarters around the arena. The Warlord has retired in shame, humiliated by the Great One, Milamber. The spectacle was too public and caused too many innocent deaths. I wager Almecho will end his sorry life within the day.’

‘The Emperor?’ Through her excitement at this momentous news, Mara kept track of the prosaic. She dismissed the maid with orders to fetch a tray of supper.

Arakasi said, ‘The Light of Heaven is safe. But the Imperial Whites are withdrawn from all parts of the palace save the family suite, where they protect the Emperor and his children. The Council Guards remain on duty, but with no orders from the Warlord to direct them, they will not act.
By nightfall, it should be presumed that house loyalty will prevail, and each company will return to its own master. What rules we know are temporarily suspended, with the council weakened and the Warlord shamed.’ Arakasi shrugged. ‘There is no law, except as strength demands.’

Mara felt chilled in a room that seemed suddenly darker. She clapped for servants to light lamps, then said, ‘Lujan should hear this. Do you think we could be attacked?’

Arakasi sighed. ‘Who can know? All is madness out there. Yet if I were to hazard a guess, we are probably safe for the night. If the Lord of the Minwanabi survived the destruction of the games, then he is most likely hiding in his quarters, as we are, taking stock of personal losses and awaiting word that sanity has returned in the streets.’

The tray arrived, brought in by a servant with Lujan striding hard on his heels. Mara motioned for her Force Commander to be seated, then had a round of chocha poured. She sat back and sipped the hot, reassuring liquid, while Lujan bullied Arakasi into treating his wound with salve. The warrior’s graphic descriptions of suppurating sword cuts were enough to intimidate the bravest, and Arakasi’s courage mostly stemmed from stubbornness. Roused to pity by her Spy Master’s harried frown, but not enough to let him escape being bandaged by the capable hands of her Force Commander, Mara judged her moment and intervened. ‘If Almecho takes his own life, there will be a call to council.’

Eager for the diversion, Arakasi scooped up a cold meat pie. ‘A new Warlord.’

Lujan tossed the unused bandage back in the basket of remedies. ‘Any who attend the election will be taking grave risks. There is no clear successor to the title.’

Yet that danger, while apparent enough, was not the worst imaginable. Mara raised steady eyes in the brightening light of the lamps. ‘If ever the Acoma presence must be in
force in the council, it’s to elect Almecho’s successor. Only five Lords command enough following to strive for the title, and one of those is Desio of the Minwanabi. His claim must never be permitted to succeed.’

‘You have made bargains,’ Arakasi allowed, ‘compiled enough promised votes that you could carry an influence. But with all normal order overturned, do you dare rely on who will be present to be counted?’

Now Mara’s fatigue showed plainly. ‘No greater risk could exist than Desio wearing the white and gold.’

Lujan fingered his weapon hilt. ‘Could that happen?’

‘In the normal course of events, no. Now …?’ The Spy Master shrugged. ‘This morning, would any one of us have guessed the reign of Almecho could end in disgrace before sundown?’

The night beyond the window seemed suddenly more than dark. Menaced by gathering fears, Mara longed for the comfort of Kevin’s arms; but he was outside with the warriors, helping to repair gaps the earthquake had opened in the wall. Milamber had broken more than stones and heads in his contest against the Warlord. His deed had undermined all hierarchy within the Empire, and the dust would be long days settling.

‘It would seem we must be ready for any eventuality,’ Mara announced with firmness. ‘Arakasi, when you are able, you will be needed back in the city. Keep abreast of every rumour. For soon the powers of this Empire will change their course, and if we do not lay our path carefully, we may be crushed in the byplay.’

There followed a tense, sleepless night, while Lujan’s warriors rearranged furnishings and pulled old battle shutters out of storage. The ancient dwelling in Kentosani had not taken assault in many centuries, but the old walls were solid. The warriors fortified the gates and the doorways as best they could, their work lit by slaves bearing lanterns.

Sounds of strife drifted in from the direction of the inner city, and running footsteps chased up and down the street. Whether these were men fleeing thieves, or assassins sent out to knife enemies, no one within the safety of walls dared open their gates to know.

Three hours after nightfall, Strike Leader Kenji returned, a sword cut in his shoulder and his armour chipped from hard fighting. He found Lady Mara in the kitchen, deep in consultation with Jican concerning food stores. By the slate in her hand, and the inventory going on, she looked as if she prepared for a siege.

Kenji bowed, and the movement caught Mara’s eye. She called for a servant to bring chocha, and settled her Strike Leader on a chopping table, while the battered basket of remedies was once again fetched from the stores.

‘The Sajaio were swept away by the mob.’ Kenji fought back a grimace as he reached to unbuckle his armour.

‘Don’t,’ Mara said. ‘Let me call a slave to help.’

But Kenji was too numbly focused on completing his duty to take heed. As the first fastening loosened, he started on another, and torturously resumed his report. ‘The two men with me were lost. One died fighting; the other perished in the falling fire. The mob drove me far astray, though I fought to return to the town house. Thick crowds jammed the temple precinct, drawn there in fear of their lives. I tried to come by way of the waterfront, but the docks there collapsed in the earthquakes.’

A slave appeared at Mara’s summons and stooped to help Kenji with his armour. His wound was sullenly bleeding, the silk padding underneath lacquer armour already ringed with stains. ‘There were riots, Lady.’ Kenji gasped as the breastplate was lifted from him. Sallow and sweating in his pain, he continued, his words laboured. ‘The poor and the fisherfolk from the dockside started looting moored barges and nearby shops.’

Mara glanced anxiously at Jican, who had earlier noticed the scarlet glow of fires and rightly predicted disastrous effects upon trade.

‘Some of the warehouses were torn open and gutted. Other folk swarmed away to the imperial precinct to demand food and shelter from the Warlord.’

Mara waved Kenji to silence. ‘You have done well. Rest now, and allow your hurts to be tended.’

But the battered Strike Leader insisted on rising to make his bow. As the slave brought warm water to soak the padding away from his half-formed scabs, he sank back and endured the discomfort in a wretched lethargy of exhaustion.

Mara sat down and took the hand of her officer. She remained with him while his shoulder was tended, and listened as sounds of distant strife mingled with the scratch of Jican’s chalk. Spread on benches and tables were supplies enough to last for several days. Thirty warriors might be enough to hold the gates against a mob bent on mayhem, but never a foray of armed force.

In the end, toward dawn, when Kenji was bedded down and sleeping, Mara consulted with Lujan, and an officer was chosen to summon reinforcements from the nearest Acoma garrison.

Thuds and screams drifted in through the screens, incongruous against the liquid play of fountains. The sky lay tinged by the glow of raging fires, and the streets were safe for no man. As Lujan let his messenger out the gate, he said in worried parting, ‘Let us pray to the gods that our enemies are in as much disarray as we are.’

‘Indeed,’ Mara murmured. ‘Let us pray.’

The trumpet sounded.

After two days behind locked gates, with Acoma soldiers camped in garden and courtyard and even the downstairs hallway, the noise was a welcome intrusion. Mara pushed away a book scroll she had failed to read. Her nerves were like overwound strings, responsive to the slightest movement and sound. She was on her feet ahead of thought, even as the warriors on duty had blades half-drawn from their scabbards.

And then reason caught up with defensive instinct. An attack would not be heralded with a fanfare, nor take place in the light of midday. Trumpets could only signal a long-overdue call to council or other imperial announcement. Grateful the waiting was ended, Mara arose to go downstairs.

Arakasi had dispatched no reports in the interim. Mara had been reliant on hearsay bought by tossing coins over the walls to rumourmongers, and what news she managed to glean was far too sparse for the enormity of the events that had transpired. Word had passed like wind through the streets the night before that Almecho had taken his life in shame. Odd talk also circulated that the Assembly had named Milamber outcast and stripped him of his rank. Less reliable sources said the barbarian magician had eliminated the Assembly altogether. That version Mara doubted; when she tried to imagine power on a vast enough scale to subdue the tempest that had destroyed the arena, her mind balked at the concept.

Unasked, Kevin had dryly observed that he would not
wish to be the one sent to inform the barbarian magician of his change in status.