The Complete Empire Trilogy (135 page)

The barge docked.

Seated on cushions beneath the canopy with a cup of fruit juice in her hand, Mara squinted against the morning sunlight reflected off the water. Rocked by the rhythm of the polemen as they expertly manoeuvred her craft through the press of commercial boats at the wharf, the Lady recalled Nacoya’s disapproval of her trip to Kentosani. Yet, looking over the traffic that jammed the dockside, and counting the merchant barges at anchor waiting to unload, Mara judged Arakasi’s assessment was the correct one. At least on the streets and public squares, the city had recovered from the chaos let loose upon it at the Imperial Games six months before.

To Mara, this seemed an opportune time to return to the Holy City. Nacoya was right to suspect that Mara’s motive – visiting a minor political opponent to change his alliance – was deeper, but Mara revealed her thoughts to no one.

Once her barge tied up to the wharf, she surrendered her abandoned fruit juice to a servant, called for her litter, and assembled her honour guard. She had brought only twenty-five warriors in her retinue; her stop was intended to be brief, and she was not worried about assassins. Both the Assembly and the Emperor were likely to look disfavourably on public disorder; any killing by a tong in the Emperor’s city would bring a much deeper investigation than any family would risk at this time. Except for a minimum of servants, and her boat crew, Mara had only Kevin and Arakasi in attendance.

The heat was already stifling. As the Acoma guards began
the chore of clearing traffic from the Lady’s intended path, Kevin pushed back damp hair from his brow. ‘So why did you really make this trip?’

Dressed in a finer robe than she usually chose for street travel, Mara looked between the curtains of her litter, which were cracked open to admit the relief of the passing breeze. ‘You asked Arakasi that scarcely an hour ago.’

‘And he told me the same lie, that we’re going to pay a social call on Lord Kuganchalt of the Ginecho. I don’t believe it.’

Mara extended her fan through the curtains and tapped his wrist in reproof. ‘Were you a free man, I would be obliged to challenge that statement. To accuse me of lying is to insult Acoma honour.’

Kevin caught the fan, playfully disarmed her, and returned the item with an exaggerated flourish, in imitation of a Tsurani suitor of a lesser house paying court to a Lady of higher station. ‘You didn’t lie exactly,’ he admitted, and grinned as Mara smothered a laugh at his clowning behind her now opened fan. He paused a step, reminded of how dear she was to him; then he doggedly pursued the subject. ‘You just didn’t tell what’s on your mind.’

The litter bearers turned a corner and swerved to avoid a stray dog being chased by street urchins. They were after the bone it had stolen, and were moving too fast and chaotically for her soldiers to change their course. As always, Kevin noticed their poor clothes and evidence of sores and sickness upon them, and felt sad. He only half heard Mara’s explanation: Lord Kuganchalt was an important if minor ally of the Lord of the Ekamchi and the Lord of the Inrodaka. Those two held sway in a small faction allied firmly against her since her winning of the cho-ja Queen from a hive near Inrodaka lands. She allowed that a contact with the Ginecho would at least give her an opportunity to explain her side of the dispute, perhaps
even to drive a wedge between the Ginecho and the two disaffected Lords.

‘House Ginecho took heavy losses with Almecho’s fall,’ Mara qualified. ‘They were heavily indebted to the Omechan, and the Warlord’s two disgraces caused the debts all to come due much earlier than the old Lord of the Ginecho could have expected. He died, it is said, of the strain, though others whisper suicide. Still others claim poison was set in his dish by an enemy. Whatever the reason, his young son, Kuganchalt, has inherited his mantle, along with a heavy financial burden. I judge this an auspicious time for an overture.’

Kevin’s lips thinned in annoyance. She said this though she knew he had been present when Arakasi allowed that Kuganchalt’s court was riddled through with cousins who were Ekamchi and Inrodaka loyalists, a few of whom probably had orders to commit murder should the inexperienced boy act in any way to the detriment of his two allies. Kevin had commented that a few might be motivated to speed the young Lord along to the halls of the Red God without any urging from Mara’s two enemies. Nacoya warned Mara that entering Kuganchalt’s town house would be stepping into a nest of swamp relli; Mara, she berated, was deaf to good advice when larger issues were on her mind.

As litter and bearers rounded another corner, and sunlight fell through the curtains, Kevin became aware that the Lady was looking at him. Too often he had the feeling she could read his thoughts from his face, and this was one such time. ‘The Ginecho would expect us to try to rearrange their alliance,’ she pointed out with mischievous gentleness. ‘Ekamchi went to such trouble to buy the loyalty of so many members of Kuganchalt’s family, and Inrodaka underwrote most of the expense. They would all be terribly disappointed if the Acoma failed to put in an appearance. We will go, and
give them what they want, which is belief in their own self-importance. Inrodaka and Ekamchi must always be led to believe that their enmity is of some consequence. It keeps them from allying with my other enemies.

‘Gods help us if they discover the truth: that the Acoma have gained enough standing that their minor plotting has no impact; then they might brew worse mischief than they do already, just to attract attention, or do something really destructive, such as throwing their support to Tasaio.’

Kevin snorted out a laugh. ‘You mean you’re going to pat the little guy with a grudge on the head, just to keep him from getting really irate, in case he thinks you’ve forgotten he’s got bones to pick, so he doesn’t get nasty and go out and find a bigger bone to pick?’

‘Inelegantly spoken,’ Mara said. ‘But yes.’

Kevin swore in Midkemian.

Somewhat nettled, Mara twitched the curtains back. ‘That’s rude. Now what do you mean?’

Her barbarian lover gave her a long look and shrugged. ‘In polite language, your Great Game of the Council ingests water from an infested swamp. One could say it quite often borders on the absurd.’

‘I was afraid you were going to say that.’ Mara leaned an elbow on her cushions and gazed at one of the huge stone temples that bordered both sides of the avenue.

Kevin followed her glance, by now well enough versed in the Tsurani pantheon to recognize the temple of Lashima, Goddess of Wisdom. Here, he recalled, Mara had spent months in study, in the hope of taking vows of service. The deaths of her father and brother had drastically changed that fate.

As though her own reminiscence followed his into the past, Mara said, ‘You know, I miss the quiet.’ Then she smiled. ‘But nothing else, really. The temple priestesses are even more bound to tradition and ritual than the great
houses are. Now I cannot imagine being happy with such a life.’ She tipped a wicked glance at Kevin. ‘And certainly I would have missed out on some very enjoyable bed sport.’

‘Well,’ said Kevin, running irreverent eyes over the walls that surrounded the temple grounds, ‘maybe not – given luck, a length of stout rope, and a determined man.’ He bent over, cupped her chin, and kissed her as they walked along. ‘I’m a very determined man.’

From the other side of the litter, Arakasi shot the couple a black look.

‘You never will act the proper slave,’ Mara murmured. ‘I suppose we shall have to look over the precedent set in the arena by the Great One who was your countryman, and seek a legal way to set you free.’

Kevin missed a step. ‘That’s why we’re back in Kentosani! You’re going to look up the fine points of the law and see what’s changed since the games?’ He strode out, reestablished position at Mara’s side, and grinned. ‘Patrick might forget himself and kiss you.’

Mara made a face. ‘That would certainly earn him a beating! The man never bathes.’ Shaking her head, she added, ‘No, that’s not my reason for being here. If we can find the time, we’ll visit the Imperial Archives. But the Lord of the Ginecho comes first.’

‘Life would be so dull without enemies,’ Kevin quipped, but this time his Lady did not rise to the bait. Beyond the precinct of the temples, the avenue narrowed, and traffic became too thick to allow for conversation. Kevin fought against the press of the heavy crowds, using his greater height to prevent his Lady’s litter from being jostled. He realized that his years of captivity had not been entirely unhappy ones; he might not love all aspects of Tsurani society – the misery of the poor would never cease to bother him. But given the chance to become a free man, and stay at Mara’s side, he would choose this alien world as home. His
horizons had widened since he had fought in the Riftwar. For him, a younger son, return to his father’s estate at Zun would offer poor prospects, no substitute for the excitement he had found in foreign and exotic Tsuranuanni.

So caught up in his thoughts was he that when Mara’s small retinue arrived at the Acoma town house, he did not raise his customary protest when the head servant there commanded him forthwith to unload the Lady’s carry boxes and heft them up to her chambers.

Midday passed, and the heat lessened. Bathed and refreshed since her journey, Mara prepared for her visit to the Lord of the Ginecho. Kevin declined the chance to attend her, insisting he would be unable to keep a straight face through the proceedings. In fact, Mara knew him to be fascinated with the markets of the Holy City, and in wistful reflection she agreed that an afternoon of shopping with the head servant of the house was bound to be more interesting than exchanging stilted small talk and veiled insults with a seventeen-year-old boy whose eyes were still puffed from weeping over his father. She indulged Kevin’s excuse and let him stay, and instead took Arakasi, unobtrusively clad as a servant. The Ginecho were too minor a house to warrant close observation by Arakasi’s agents, and the Spy Master himself desired the opportunity to pursue gossip with the house servants.

The litter departed from the town house courtyard in the late afternoon, accompanied by twenty warriors, a suitable number to impress Lord Ginecho that his enmity was taken seriously. For quickness, the entourage held to back streets, less packed with traffic.

They passed through cool tree-lined avenues lined by the garden courtyards of wealthy guild officials and merchants. Few folk noted their passage, and their only impediment was the occasional hand-pushed cart filled with vegetables
that the servants of the very rich wheeled home. The soldiers stayed alert, though Arakasi held belief that no great house in the Empire would feel confident enough to attempt an assassination in public.

Mara had always loved the side streets of the Holy City, with their long glades of flowering trees, and their neatly swept stone cobbles. She enjoyed the wooden gates, with their patterned lattices, and their posts netted over with akasi and hibis vines. Although Kentosani was a river city, like Sulan-Qu, by imperial edict no dyers, tanneries, or other crafts requiring unpleasant procedures had been permitted within the city walls. Unless one was downwind of the holding pens for the arena or the crowded markets in the central waterfront area, this was a city that smelled of flowers, spiced with the scents of temple incense as day closed and priests and priestesses of all the Tsurani deities began their night’s devotions.

The Acoma bearers conveyed their burden from the side lanes and entered one of the many wide squares. Half-lost in reflection brought on by the quiet of the hour, Mara almost missed Arakasi’s hesitation.

She looked over to see what had captured his attention. Across the square rose two gilded columns framed by an arch and a span of smoothed slate. This was one of many message boards reserved for the word of the Light of Heaven. Although the messages were usually scribed in chalk, and of a religious context, today a crew of Imperial Whites stood guard over the site. The event was unusual enough to draw notice. Closer inspection showed two plain-garbed craftsmen repairing the gilding on the frame, which had been damaged in last year’s riots. Even the minute amounts of gold they used were too costly to risk thieves; this seemed to explain the presence of the Emperor’s guards. But what drew Arakasi’s closer inspection were three dark-robed figures who stood at the board in process
of affixing a scroll heavy with imperial ribbons and seals. Mara frowned, puzzled. Great Ones from the Assembly of Magicians did not usually perform the errands of clerks.

‘It’s a proclamation,’ Arakasi mused, sharing his thoughts with his mistress. ‘With permission, Lady, I should like to see what it contains.’

Mara nodded her permission, diverted from her enjoyment of Kentosani’s loveliness to considering the Light of Heaven; imperial proclamations were a rarity, and the fact that one was being posted by Great Ones augured a momentous matter. It was no longer a topic of idle speculation that the current Emperor was not acting the exaltedly remote figure his forebears had been. This Light of Heaven, Ichindar, had not only put his hand into the game, he had overturned it.

Arakasi returned, slipping neatly between two bread sellers with shoulder yokes and laden baskets. As he arrived beside his mistress’s litter, he said softly, ‘My Lady, the Great Ones announce to the Empire that the magician Milamber has been cast out of the Assembly. The document goes on to say that those slaves in the arena who were freed by his action are lawfully released from their masters, but no precedent may be seen in this. By imperial decree, and by the will of heaven, Ichindar pronounces that no other who wears the slave’s grey may change his status. For the good of the Empire, for the sake of the order of society, and by divine will, all who are slaves must remain so until death.’