The Complete Empire Trilogy (152 page)

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.’

The other Lords present exchanged glances. Since to challenge this outright statement would involve a point of honour, no one rushed to speak in contradiction. After an awkward minute, the Lords of Clan Hadama began to rise and bid their Warchief good day. All knew that before the close of the week, Tasaio would march into the city to confront the Emperor and demand a restoration of the High Council’s power. Just how Mara intended to prevent him was beyond anyone’s guess; certainly she lacked the military might to challenge the Minwanabi Lord’s in the field. Yet
she had wits, and enough presence that even Benshai of the Chekowara dared not speak against her under her own roof.

The last Lord departed, and, returned from seeing the clan rulers to the door, Saric entered the courtyard garden and was surprised to find his mistress still seated by the fountain. Unofficially filling Nacoya’s role as First Adviser, he inquired gently if there was anything his Lady might require.

Mara took a long moment to answer. Turning a face that seemed shockingly pale, she murmured, ‘Have my maid attend me, please.’

The phrasing was most unlike her. Aware that in some things he could never fill Nacoya’s sandals, and also by canny intuition sensing that somehow his mistress needed more understanding than he had the background to offer, Saric floundered at a loss. ‘Are you ill, Lady?’

Mara seemed to struggle for speech. ‘Simply a disagreeable stomach. It will pass.’

But Saric knew naked fear. She looked suddenly very frail. Afraid she might be taken with the summer fever, or, worse, that an enemy might have found means to poison her food, the Acoma adviser took another quick step forward.

His worry was sharp enough for Mara to take notice. ‘I will be recovered within the hour,’ she reassured him and followed with a weak wave of her hand. ‘My maid will know how to make me comfortable.’

Saric’s alarm transformed to a look of piercing inquiry, which the Lady shied away from without comment. She had not lied. At last she realized her tiredness of the past few days was not simple fatigue; the difficult stomach in the morning was a familiar sign of pregnancy. With Ayaki, she could not keep breakfast down for the first nine weeks she had carried him. Abruptly recalled to the fact that Saric had been a soldier long enough to have observed the condition in the army’s camp followers, she peremptorily ordered him to
leave before he had time to make his suspicions a certainty. Left alone until her maid’s arrival, Mara felt sadness well up inside. She permitted the tears that gathered in her eyes, aware that her feelings were amplified by the changes within her body. She would indulge herself now, when contemplating bitter choices, for the time would arrive soon when she must act with … what had Kevin called it? Nerves of steel! Yes, she must have only hardness in her soul. And thinking of her beloved, sitting quietly in her quarters awaiting her summons, or her return to his side, the tears flowed freely down her face.

Above anyone else, Kevin must never find out she carried a child by him. That single fact would bind him to her in a way that would be cruelty to sunder. His devotion to Ayaki had established how much regard he held for children. Though he had never spoken on the subject, Mara had read the longing in his eyes. She knew he yearned for a son or a daughter of his own, and that by his homeworld’s code of honour, such things were not ever taken lightly. On Kelewan the bastard child of a slave would not be an issue. The illegitimate children of nobles often rose to high office within their own houses. But to Kevin, the matter would lie closer to his heart than his own life. No, the man she loved must never know, and that meant her days with him were numbered.

The maid arrived and, seeing her mistress in distress, came at once to her side. ‘Lady, what may I do?’

Mara held out her hand. ‘Just help me so I may rise without becoming ill.’ The request was voiced in a strained whisper.