The Complete Empire Trilogy

by Raymond E. Feist

  Mara would have been amused, if not for Arakasi’s agitation over how word of the incident had got through to the Kehotara lord without his agent’s knowledge. The Spy Master had touchy pride, and he regarded any failure, however slight, as a personal betrayal of his duty. Also, his discovery of the Minwanabi agent in Bruli’s train had him concerned. If two agents, why not three?

  But events progressed too swiftly to investigate the matter. Bruli of the Kehotara returned to the Acoma estate house, and Mara again attired herself in lounging robes and makeup to further confuse her importunate suitor as he bowed and entered her presence. The musicians were conspicuously absent, as were the fine clothes, the jewellery, and the crimped hair. Red-faced and ill at ease, the young man rushed through the formalities of greeting. With no apology for his rudeness, Bruli blurted, ‘Lady Mara, I thank the gods you granted me an audience.’

  Mara forestalled him, seemingly unaware that his ardour was no longer entirely motivated by passion. ‘I think I may have misjudged you, dear one.’ She stared shyly at the floor. ‘Perhaps you were sincere …’ Then, glowing with appeal, she added, ‘If you would stay to supper we might speak again.’

  Bruli responded wth an expression of transparent relief. A difficult conversation lay ahead of him, and the affair would be easier if Mara’s sympathies were restored to him. Also, if he could come away with a promise of engagement, his father’s rage would be less. The Acoma wealth was well established, and a few debts surely could be paid off with a minimum of fuss. Confident all would end well, Bruli waited while Mara instructed Jican to assign quarters for Bruli’s retinue. When the son of the Lord of the Kehotara had been led away, Mara returned to her study, where Arakasi waited, once more in the guise of a vegetable seller.

  When she was certain of privacy, Mara said, ‘When were you planning to leave?’

  Arakasi halted his pacing, a shadow against shadow in the corner made dim by the piles of Bruli’s gifts. The songbird sang incongruously pretty notes through his words. ‘Tonight, mistress.’

  Mara threw a cloth over the cage, reducing the melody to a series of sleepy chirps. ‘Can you wait another day or two?’

  He shook his head. ‘No longer than first light tomorrow. If I do not appear at a certain inn in Sulan-Qu by noon, and several other places over the next week, my replacement will become active. It would prove awkward if you ended up with two Spy Masters.’ He smiled. ‘And I would lose the services of a man very difficult to replace. If the matter is that vital, I can find other tasks for him and remain.’

  Mara sighed. ‘No. We should see an end to this nonsense with the Kehotara boy by then. I want you to identify the Minwanabi agent in his retinue to Keyoke. And tell him I will sleep in Nacoya’s quarters tonight.’ The songbird stopped its peeping as she finished. ‘What would you think if I have Pape and Lujan keep watch in my quarters tonight?’

  Arakasi paused. ‘You think young Bruli plans to pay a late visit to your bed?’

  ‘More likely an assassin from his retinue might try.’ Mara shrugged. ‘I have Bruli where I want him, but a little more discomfort on his part would serve us well. If someone roams the corridors tonight, I think we shall make it easy for him to reach my quarters.’

  ‘As always, you amaze me, mistress.’ Arakasi bowed with irony and admiration. ‘I will see your instructions reach Keyoke.’

  In one smooth movement the Spy Master melted into the shadows. His departure made no sound; he passed from the corridor unseen even by the maid who came to tell Mara that her robes and her bath awaited, should she care to refresh herself before dinner. But one more item remained. Mara sent her runner for Nacoya and informed the old woman that Bruli should now receive his father’s overdue messages. In the gathering gloom of twilight she added, ‘Be sure to tell him they have just arrived.’

  An evil gleam lit Nacoya’s eyes. ‘May I carry them myself, mistress? I want to see his face when he reads them.’

  Mara laughed. ‘You old terror! Give him the messages, with all my blessing. And don’t lie too extravagantly. The letters were delayed from town, which is more or less the truth.’ She paused, hiding a moment of fear behind humour. ‘Do you think this will spare me his simpering during dinner?’

  But Nacoya had already departed on her errand, and the only answer Mara received was a sleepy twitter from the songbird. She shivered, suddenly, needing a hot tub between herself and thoughts of the play she was about to complete against the Lord of the Kehotara.

  The oil lamps burned softly, shedding golden light over the table settings. Carefully prepared dishes steamed around a centrepiece of flowers, and chilled fish glistened against beds of fresh fruit and greenery. Clearly, the Acoma kitchen staff had laboured to prepare a romantic dinner for lovers, yet Bruli sat ill at ease on his cushions. He pushed the exquisite food here and there on his plate, his thoughts obviously elsewhere. Even the deep neckline of Mara’s robe failed to brighten his spirits.

  At last, pretending confusion, the Lady of the Acoma laid aside her napkin. ‘Why, Bruli, you seem all astir. Is something amiss?’

  ‘My Lady?’ The young man looked up, his blue eyes shadowed with distress. ‘I hesitate to … trouble you with my own difficulties, but …’ He coloured and looked down in embarrassment. ‘Quite frankly, in my passion to win you, I have placed too large a debt upon my house.’ A painful pause followed. ‘You will doubtless think less of me and I risk losing stature in your eyes, but duty to my father requires that I beg a favour of you.’

  Suddenly finding little to relish in Bruli’s discomfort, Mara responded more curtly than she intended. ‘What favour?’ She softened the effect by setting down her fork and trying to seem concerned. ‘Of course I will help if I can.’

  Bruli sighed, his unhappiness far from alleviated. ‘If you could find it within your heart to be so gracious, I need some of those gifts … the ones I sent … could you possibly return them?’ His voice dropped, and he swallowed. ‘Not all, but perhaps the more expensive ones.’

  Mara’s eyes were pools of sympathy as she said, ‘I think I might find it in my heart to help a friend, Bruli. But the night is young, and the cooks worked hard to please us. Why don’t we forget these bothersome troubles and enjoy our banquet? At the first meal tomorrow we can resolve your difficulties.’

  Though he had hoped for another answer, Bruli gathered his tattered pride and weathered the rest of the dinner. His conversation was unenthusiastic, and his humour conspicuously absent, but Mara pretended not to notice. She called in a poet to read while servants brought sweet dishes and brandies; and in the end the drink helped, for the unfortunate son of the Kehotara eventually took his leave for bed. Plainly he left without romantic advances so he could pass the night painlessly in sleep.

  Mist rolled over the needra meadows, clinging in the hollows like silken scarves in the moonlight. Night birds called, counterpointed by the tread of an occasional sentry; but in the Lady’s chamber in the estate house another sound intruded. Papewaio pushed one foot against Lujan’s ribs.

  ‘What?’ came the sleepy reply.

  ‘Our Lady doesn’t snore,’ Papewaio whispered.

  Yawning, and scowling with offended dignity, Lujan said, ‘I don’t snore.’

  ‘Then you do a wonderful imitation.’ The First Strike Leader leaned on his spear, a silhouette against the moonlit screen. He hid his amusement, for he had come to like the former grey warrior. He appreciated Lujan for being a fine officer, far better than could have been hoped for, and because Lujan’s nature was so different from Papewaio’s own taciturnity.

  Suddenly Papewaio stiffened, alerted by a soft scuff in the corridor. Lujan heard it also, for he left the rest of his protest unspoken. The two Acoma officers exchanged silent hand signals and immediately came to an agreement. Someone who did not wish his movements to be overheard was approaching from the hallway outside. The stranger walked now not six paces from the screen; earlier Papewaio had placed a new mat at each intersection of th
e corridor beyond Mara’s chamber; anyone who approached her door would cause a rustle as he trod across the weave.

  That sound became their cue. Without speaking, Lujan drew his sword and took up position by the door. Papewaio leaned his spear against the garden lintel and unsheathed both a sword and dagger. Moonlight flashed upon lacquer as he lay down upon Mara’s mat, his weapons held close beneath the sheets.

  Long minutes went by. Then the screen to the hall by the garden slid soundlessly open. The intruder showed no hesitation but leaped through the gap with his dagger drawn to stab. He bent swiftly over what he thought was the sleeping form of the Lady of the Acoma.

  Papewaio rolled to his right, coming up in a fighter’s crouch, his sword and dagger lifted to parry. Blade sang on blade, while Lujan closed in behind the assassin, his intent to prevent him from bolting.

  Faint moonlight gave him away, as his shadow darted ahead of him across the floor. The assassin’s blade cut into pillows, and jigabird feathers sailed upon the air like seed down. He rolled away and spun to his feet to discover himself trapped. Though he wore the garb of a porter, he responded with professional quickness and threw his dagger at Papewaio. The Strike Leader dodged aside. Without sound, the intruder launched himself past, twisting to avoid the sword that sliced at his back. He crashed through the paper screen and hit the pathway beyond at a full run.

  Hard on his heels, Lujan shouted, ‘He’s in the garden!’

  Instantly Acoma guards hurried through the corridors. Screens screeched open on all sides, and Keyoke strode into the turmoil, calling orders that were instantly obeyed. The warriors fanned out, beating the shrubs with their spears.

  Papewaio regained his feet and moved to join the search, but Keyoke lightly touched his shoulder. ‘He got away?’

  The First Strike Leader muttered a curse and answered what he knew from long experience would be the Force Leader’s next question. ‘He’s hiding somewhere on the grounds, but you must ask Lujan to describe him. The moonlight was in his favour, where I saw nothing but a shadow.’ He paused while Keyoke sent for the former bandit; and after a moment Papewaio added thoughtfully, ‘He’s of average size, and left-handed. And his breath smelled strongly of jomach pickles.’

  Lujan concluded the description. ‘He wears the tunic and rope belt of a porter, but his sandals are soled with soft leather, not hardened needra hide.’

  Keyoke motioned to the two nearest soldiers and gave curt orders. ‘Search the quarters given to the Kehotara porters. Find out which one is missing. He’s our man.’

  A minute later, two other warriors arrived with a body slung limply between them. Both Papewaio and Lujan identified the assassin, and both regretted that he had found time to sink his second, smaller dagger into his vitals.

  Keyoke spat on the corpse. ‘A pity he died in honour by the blade. No doubt he received permission from his master before undertaking this mission.’ The Force Commander sent a man to call in the searchers, then added, ‘At least the Minwanabi dog admitted the possibility of failure.’

  Mara must receive word of this event without more delay. Brusquely Keyoke waved at the corpse. ‘Dispose of this carrion, but save a piece by which he may be identified.’ He ended with a nod to his Strike Leaders. ‘Well done. Take the rest of the night for sleep.’

  Both men exchanged glances as the supreme commander of the Acoma forces stepped away into the night. Keyoke was seldom free with his praise. Then Lujan grinned, and Papewaio nodded. In complete and silent understanding the two men turned in the direction of the soldiers’ commons to share a drink before well-earned rest.

  Bruli of the Kehotara arrived at breakfast looking wretchedly out of sorts. His handsome face was puffy, and his eyes red, as if his sleep had been ridden with nightmares. Yet almost certainly he had been agonizing over his predicament with the gifts rather than knowledge of the assassin his retinue had admitted to the Acoma household; after his loss of self-control at dinner, Mara doubted he had skill enough to pretend that no attempt had been made upon her life.

  She smiled, half in pity. ‘My friend, you seem ill disposed. Didn’t you care for your accommodations last night?’

  Bruli dredged up his most engaging smile. ‘No, my Lady. The quarters you gave me were most satisfactory, but …’ He sighed, and his smiled wilted. ‘I am simply under stress. Regarding that matter I mentioned last night, could I ask your indulgence and forebearance … if you could see your way clear …’

  Mara’s air of cordiality vanished. ‘I don’t think that would be prudent, Bruli.’

  The air smelled, incongruously, of fresh thyza bread. Numbly conscious that breakfast foods cooled on the table, Bruli locked eyes with his hostess. His cheeks coloured in a most un-Tsurani fashion. ‘My Lady,’ he began, ‘you seem unaware of the distress you cause me by denying this petition.’

  Mara said nothing but signalled to someone waiting behind the screen to her left. Armour creaked in response, and Keyoke stepped into view bearing the bloody head of the assassin. He laid the trophy without ceremony on the platter before the young suitor.

  ‘You know this man, Bruli.’ The words were no question.

  Shocked by a tone of voice he had never heard from the Lady of the Acoma, but not by the barbarity upon his plate, Bruli paled. ‘He was one of my porters, Lady. What has occurred?’

  The shadow of the officer fell across him, and the sunny chamber suddenly seemed cold. Mara’s words were metal-hard. ‘Assassin, not porter, Bruli.’

  The young man blinked, for an instant blank-faced. Then he slumped, a lock of black hair veiling his eyes. The admission came grudgingly. ‘My father’s master,’ he said, naming Jingu of the Minwanabi.

  Mara granted him a moment of respite, while she bade her Force Commander to sit at her side. When Bruli summoned presence enough to meet her gaze, she nodded. ‘The man was without a doubt a Minwanabi agent. As you were for your father.’

  Bruli managed not to protest what he knew to be futile. His eyes lost their desperate look and he said, ‘I ask a warrior’s death, Mara.’

  Mara set her two hardened fists upon the tablecloth. ‘A warrior’s death, Bruli?’ She laughed with bitter anger. ‘My father and brother were warriors, Bruli. Keyoke is a warrior. I have faced death and am more of a warrior than you.’

  Sensing something he had never known in a woman, the young man pushed gracelessly to his feet. Cups rocked on the table. With Minwanabi involvement, the grisly remnant of the porter became doubly significant. Bruli pulled a dagger from his tunic. ‘You’ll not take me to hang like a criminal, Lady.’ Keyoke’s hand shot to his sword to defend his Lady, but as Bruli reversed the dagger, pointing it at his own breast, the Force Commander understood that the Kehotara son intended no attack.

  Mara shot upright, her voice a whip of command. ‘Put away that dagger, Bruli.’ He hesitated, but she said, ‘No one is going to hang you. You’re a fool, not a murderer. You will be sent home to explain to your father how his alliance with Jingu led his house into jeopardy.’

  Shamed, silent, the handsome suitor stepped back before the impact of her statement. Slowly he worked through its implications, until he reached the inevitable conclusion: he had been used, ruthlessly, even to his innermost feelings. Deadly serious, with no hint of his former affection, he bowed. ‘I salute you, Lady. You have caused me to betray my father.’

  If his impulsive nature were permitted to run its course, he would probably restore his damaged honour by falling on his sword the moment he crossed the border of Acoma land. Mara thought quickly; she must forestall him, for his suicide would only inflame the Kehotara to more strident support of the Minwanabi Lord’s wish to obliterate all things Acoma. She had plotted, but not for this boy’s death. ‘Bruli?’

  ‘My Lady?’ He delayed his departure more from resignation than from hope.

  Mara motioned for him to sit and he did so, albeit stiffly. The smell of food faintly sickened him, and shame lay like a weight upon his shoulders.
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  Mara could not sweeten the bitter taste of defeat; Buntokapi had taught her not to gloat when the game brought her victory. Gently she said, ‘Bruli, I have no regret for doing what is needed to protect what is mine to guard. But I have no wish to cause you undue difficulty. That your father serves my most hated enemy is but an accident of birth for both of us. Let us not be contentious. I will return most of your exotic gifts in exchange for two promises.’

  In his difficulty, Bruli seemed to find himself. ‘I will not betray Kehotara honour.’

  ‘I will not ask that of you.’ Mara leaned earnestly forward. ‘Should you succeed your father and brother as Lord of the Kehotara, I ask that you not embrace the tradition of Tan-jin-qu. Will you agree to keep your house free of Minwanabi vassalage?’

  Bruli gestured deprecatingly. ‘The chances of that happening are slim, Lady Mara.’ His elder brother was heir, and his father enjoyed robust health.

  Mara indicated herself, as if that answered his observation; who, among mortals, could know what fate would bring?

  Ashamed of the hope that quickened his breath, Bruli asked, ‘And the second condition?’

  ‘That if you do come to rule, you will owe me a favour.’ Mara elaborated with the care of a diplomat. ‘Should I die, or should I no longer wear the mantle as Ruling Lady, your promise shall not pass to my successor. Yet if I live and you sit as Lord of the Kehotara, then once, and only once, you must do as I bid. I may ask you to support some action of mine, in commerce or in matters of arms, or in the Game of the Council. Grant this, and you shall be free of future obligations.’