The Complete Empire Trilogy (67 page)

‘How could a girl child, as you call her, have managed to place such a masterful network of spies?’ Desio spluttered. ‘Damn her to Turakamu’s pleasures – and may he take her to his bed of pain for ten thousand years – she was in Lashima’s convent until the day she came into her inheritance! And her father had no such penchant for implanting agents. He was too straightforward in his thinking to have much use for spies.’

‘Well then, cousin, those are things we must find out.’ Tasaio made a gesture, symbolic of the sword’s thrust. ‘You speak as if the girl leads a charmed life. She does not. I arranged to have the outworld barbarians kill her father and brother on our behalf – rather neatly if I may say so. Sezu and Lanokota bled and died as other men do, clutching their opened guts and squirming in the mud.’ Passion lent fire to Tasaio’s words. ‘If the Acoma claim the Mad God’s luck, it certainly didn’t serve Mara’s father and brother very well!’

Desio almost smiled, before he recalled that his father had ended the same way, in agony on his own sword. Petulantly he poked at the pillows that crumpled under his weight. ‘If there are spies, then, how shall we flush them out?’

Incomo drew breath to answer, then deferred to a glance from Tasaio. ‘If my Lord permits, I would offer a suggestion.’

Desio waved his assent. Interested enough to forget his various aches, Incomo leaned forward to hear the young warrior’s advice.

Instinctively, Tasaio made use of the wind that rattled the screens. Timing the gusts to mask his voice against the chance he might be overheard, he said, ‘A spy is of little use if
his information is not employed. So we turn that fact to our advantage.

‘I recommend that you formulate some activities that would be detrimental to Acoma interests. Order your Force Commander to mount a raid against a caravan or outlying holding. Next day you let slip to your grain factor that you intend to undercut the Acoma thyza prices in the markets in the City of the Plains.’ Tasaio paused, lending the appearance that he sat at ease, sharing confidences. And yet Incomo noted with approval that he did not entirely relax; the glitter in his eyes betrayed that he watched, always, for trouble. ‘If Mara defends her caravans, we know we have a spy in the barracks. If she withholds her thyza crop from market, we establish that we have an Acoma disguised as a clerk. After that, it becomes a matter of digging out the informer.’

‘Very clever, Tasaio,’ Incomo said. ‘I had thought of a similar tactic, but there remains one telling flaw. We cannot afford to sell our thyza at a loss; and won’t we reveal our machinations to the Acoma when no attack befalls the caravan?’

‘We would if we failed to attack.’ Tasaio’s eyelids hooded slightly. ‘But we will attack, and be defeated.’

Angered, Desio punched his pillows. ‘Defeated? And lose more position in the council?’

Tasaio raised his hand, thumb and forefinger poised a scant inch apart. ‘Only a little defeat, cousin. Enough to provide proof that we are compromised. I have plans for that spy, when we find him … with your permission, of course, my Lord.’

The moment was smoothly handled, Incomo observed with hidden admiration. Without coming to grips with Desio directly, Tasaio had let slip the assumption that the young Lord would receive his due credit; the other side of the issue being that permission, of course, would be granted.

Desio swallowed the bait, but missed the larger implications. ‘When we catch this traitor, I will see him tortured in the name of the Red God until his flesh is twitching pulp!’ His plump fist pummelled cushions for emphasis, and his nose deepened from pink to purple.

But as if he handled irate nobility on a daily basis, Tasaio showed no alarm. ‘That would be gratifying, cousin,’ he agreed. ‘Yet, to kill that spy, however horribly, would offer the Acoma a victory.’

‘What!’ Desio stopped thumping and shot erect. ‘Cousin, you make my head ache. What could the Minwanabi gain but insult by keeping a miserable spy alive?’

Tasaio settled back on one elbow and casually plucked a fruit from a bowl on a side table. As though its ripe skin were flesh, he stroked his nail down the curve in what seemed almost a caress. ‘We need this spy’s contacts, honoured Lord. It serves our cause to ensure that our Acoma enemies learn only what we wish them to know.’ The warrior’s hands gripped the fruit and gave a vicious twist. The jomach split in half, with barely a splash of red juice. ‘Let the spy set up our next trap.’

Incomo considered, then smiled. Desio looked from his cousin to his First Adviser, and managed not to fumble the catch as his cousin tossed him one piece of the fruit. He bit into the morsel, and then began to laugh, for the first time restored to the arrogant certainty of his family’s greatness. ‘Good,’ he said, chewing with relish. ‘I like your plan, cousin. We shall dispatch a company of men on some useless raid and let the Acoma bitch think she has routed us.’

Tasaio tapped the remaining bit of fruit with his forefinger. ‘But where? Where shall we attack?’

Incomo pondered, then offered, ‘My Lord, I suggest that the raid should be close to her home.’

‘Why?’ Desio wiped juice off his chin with his
embroidered cuff. ‘She will be guarding her estate rigorously, as usual.’

‘Not the estate, itself, Lord, for the Lady needs no spy’s report to maintain vigilance against attack from your army. But she will not expect a raid against a caravan bound for the river port at Sulan-Qu. If we attack between the Acoma lands and the city, and she is prepared for our raid, we can pinpoint the flow of information and find the agent among your household.’

Tasaio inclined his head in an unconscious gesture of command. ‘First Adviser, your counsel is excellent. My Lord, if you will permit, I will oversee preparations for such a raid. A routine trade shipment would warrant little protection, unless the Acoma bitch knows she deals with blood enemies.’ He smiled, and white teeth gleamed against skin tanned dark on the Warlord’s campaign. ‘We should know when such a caravan is due, simply by contacting shipping brokers in Sulan-Qu. A few discreet questions, and maybe a bribe or two to hide our inquiries, and we should know within the hour when Mara’s next caravan is expected.’

Desio met Tasaio’s offer with a lordly air of industry. ‘Cousin, your advice is brilliant.’ He clapped his hands, bringing the errand runner in from his position outside the door. ‘Fetch my scribe,’ he commanded.

As the slave departed, Tasaio’s composure became that of a man sorely tried. ‘Cousin,’ he assayed, ‘you must not write down the orders that we have discussed this hour!’

‘Hah!’ Desio released a second snicker, then a full-throated laugh. He leaned from his dais and fetched his cousin a resounding blow on the shoulder. ‘Hah!’ he snorted again. ‘You must not mock my intelligence, Tasaio. Of course I know better than to include even servants and slaves in our plot! No, I simply thought to pen a notice to the Warlord, begging his forbearance for your absence from his
campaign upon the barbarian world. He will acquiesce, as the Minwanabi are still his most valued ally. And, cousin, you have just shown me how much more you are needed here.’

Incomo watched Tasaio’s reaction to his Lord’s praise. He had not missed the battle-trained reflex that had seen the friendly blow coming, nor had he failed to note the calculated and split-second decision that allowed the stroke to connect. Tasaio had grown skilled at politics as well as at killing.

With cold curiosity, the Minwanabi First Adviser wondered how long his master would be amenable to the counsel of one so obviously gifted with the qualities Desio lacked, but who could not be spared in restoring the Minwanabi to their former greatness. Desio would know that his cousin’s cleverness showed him up for a fool; eventually he would become jealous, would wish more than the puppet title of Lord. Incomo noticed that his headache was back in force. He could only hope that Desio would wait to turn upon his cousin until after the Acoma bitch and her heir were pulp under the post of the Red God’s grand prayer gate. Best not to underestimate how long that feat might take. Such vanity on a lesser scale had cost Jingu of the Minwanabi his life; and through that misfortune, Mara had received enough recognition to gain powerful allies.

Apparently Tasaio’s mind turned to similar concerns, for after the message to the Warlord was penned, and while Desio occupied himself with ordering servants to bring him refreshments, the warrior cousin turned to Incomo with a seemingly casual question. ‘Does anyone know whether Mara has had a chance to make overtures to the Xacatecas? When I received my recall orders from the barbarian world, a friend among his officers mentioned that their Lord considered approaching her.’

Here Tasaio revealed his cunning. No friendship might
exist between officers who were enemies; by this, Incomo understood that the information had been gained by intrigue. With a grunt that passed for laughter, Incomo shared out his own latest gleanings.

‘The Lord of the Xacatecas is a man worthy of … if not fear, then deep respect. His position in the High Council, though, is not advantageous at the moment.’ With a flash of perfect teeth, he added, ‘Our most noble Warlord was somewhat put out with the Xacatecas’ reluctance to expand his interests in the conquest of the barbarian world. Some political byplay resulted, and when the dust settled, Lord Xacatecas wound up with military responsibility for our tiny province across the sea. Chipino of the Xacatecas languishes in Dustari at the moment, commanding the garrison that holds the only noteworthy pass through the mountains to Tsubar. The desert raiders are active, at last report, so I expect he has his hands full – let us hope too full to concern himself with advances toward the Acoma.’

Finished with his servants, and left with nothing to do but anticipate his elaborate midafternoon feast, Desio picked up on the conversation. He waved one pudgy hand to restore proper attention to himself and said, ‘I advised my father on that plan, Tasaio.’

The First Adviser refrained from pointing out that all Desio had done was sit in the room while Incomo and Jingu had discussed means to get Xacatecas occupied.

‘Well then,’ said Tasaio, ‘if Xacatecas is busy guarding our frontiers across the sea, we can focus our attention upon Lady Mara.’

Desio nodded and leaned back upon his imposing pile of cushions. With his eyes half-closed, and an obvious enjoyment of his newfound authority, he said, ‘I think your plan a wise one, cousin. See to it.’

Tasaio bowed to his Lord as if his dismissal had not been that of a thankless underling; all pride and spare movement,
he left the private study. Incomo buried his regret at the young warrior’s departure. Resigned to the life the gods gave, he forced himself to attend the less glorious realities of Tsurani life; no matter what plots of blood and murder might drive the Game of the Council, other mundane matters remained to be considered. ‘My Lord, if you’re agreeable, there are some grain transactions your hadonra needs to discuss with you.’

More interested in thoughts of his lunch, Desio seemed less than anxious to deal with the prosaic side of family business. But as if his cousin’s icy competence had awakened him to responsibility, he realized that he must. He nodded and waited without complaint as Incomo sent for Murgali, the hadonra.

Breezes rustled the leaves.

The perfume of akasi flowers and trimmed greens filled Mara’s personal quarters. Only one lamp was lit against the coming night, and that had but a small flame. The flicker painted a changing picture, as, each moment, details emerged from shadow: a gemstone’s glint, highlights on polished jade fittings, fine embroidery or enamel work. Just as the eye beheld the splendid aspect, the gloom returned. Although surrounded by beauty, the Lady of the Acoma was oblivious to the richness of her furnishings; her mind was elsewhere.

Mara reclined amid a nest of cushions, while a maid worked out the tangles in her unbound hair with a scented shell comb. The Lady of the Acoma wore a green silk robe, shatra birds worked in wheat-coloured thread around the collar and shoulders. The low lighting touched her olive skin to soft gold, an effect a more self-aware woman would have noticed. But Mara had finished her girlhood as a novice of Lashima, and as Ruling Lady she had no time for feminine vanity. Whatever beauty a man might find in gazing upon her was simply another weapon in her arsenal.

With a directness any Tsurani nobleman would have found disconcerting, she questioned the barbarian who sat before her on his homeworld’s customs and cultures. Kevin seemed utterly unaffected by the lack of social protocol, plunging directly to the heart of matters. By this, Mara judged his people blunt to the point of rudeness. She watched as he struggled to describe concepts alien to her language; haltingly groping to express himself, he spoke
about his land and people. He was a quick study, and his vocabulary improved daily. Right now he attempted to amuse her by telling a joke that had been ‘making the rounds’ in Zun, whatever that meant.

Kevin wore no robe. The servants had tried in vain to outfit him, but nothing on hand had been large enough. In the end they had settled for a loincloth, and had substituted fineness for the garment’s brevity. Kevin wore russet silk with midnight-blue borders, tied at the waist by a knotwork sash and obsidian beads. Mara failed to notice the effort. She had weighed Nacoya’s advice the night before and realized something troubling: this slave in some way recalled her dead brother, Lanokota. Irritation at this discovery had given rise to resentment. While the slave’s outrageous behaviour had seemed amusing the day before, now she wanted only information.