She thought swiftly, and before the Minwanabi heir could escape public regard, called after him. ‘My Lord Desio. Violence has been visited upon me by Minwanabi servants. I require an escort of your soldiers when I depart for home tomorrow. It would be a shame to blot the cleansing of your family if the wronged guest was attacked by those in your service … or by nameless bandits or water pirates upon the river.’
Thrust painfully into the responsibilities of rulership, Desio lacked the wits to excuse the request with grace. Aware only of the anguish of his father, and hatred of the Lady who had caused it, he still observed the forms he had been raised to follow. Feud would continue between the Minwanabi and the Acoma, but in public the insult to Mara and the blight on his family name required at least a gesture of reparation. Desio nodded curt agreement and departed, to attend upon the sorrows of Jingu’s ritual suicide.
Movement returned slowly to those who remained in the chamber. Guests stirred and exchanged comments, while a battered Arakasi helped the Lady Mara to her feet. Almecho and others looked upon the Lady of the Acoma with respect. No guest present believed the Lord of the Minwanabi would have sent servants to murder the Lady of the Acoma out of hand. None doubted that the Great One’s magic had revealed the last act of some complex plot of Mara’s, the Great Game of the Council at its subtle and deadly finest. The Lady of the Acoma had surmounted all but impossible odds to avenge a blow that had come close to ruining her house. Now all silently congratulated her for her skill in defeating her enemy in his own home.
Yet Mara had learned nothing if not to guard herself doubly against treachery where the Minwanabi were concerned. After a murmured conference with Arakasi, she stepped forward. Offering a deferential bow to the Warlord, she smiled in a manner that truly made her beautiful. ‘My Lord, I am sorry that my inadvertent part in these bloody acts has cast a shadow over your birthday celebration.’
More amused than irritated, Almecho regarded her keenly. ‘I place no responsibility on your shoulders, Lady Mara. Jingu is about to erase any debt that remains. Still, I suspect the affair is not ended. Even though our young Lord will provide escort for your return home – I salute that touch, by the way – you yet may face difficulties.’
Mara made light of her own danger. With all the charm at her disposal, she instead offered sympathy to the one who was the Emperor’s voice within Tsuranuanni. ‘My Lord, too much sorrow has passed here for your celebration to continue with grace. As much as Desio might wish otherwise, grief will leave him little heart to resume the festivities in your honour. While there are other estates closer, mine lie in the fastest direct route by river. In reparation, let me offer my home as a humble substitute for the final celebration of your birthday. Should you accept my hospitality, my staff and my artisans shall do their utmost to entertain you.’ Filled with secretive plans, Mara thought of the gifted but unrecognized performers she had observed at her wedding. In return for her past courtesy they would be willing to perform on short notice, and as one who had discovered new talents for the Warlord’s pleasure, her social stock would grow. And many a worthy musician and artist might gain needed patronage, putting them even deeper in her debt.
Almecho laughed. ‘You’re a sharp-witted one, aren’t you, little bird?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘I had best keep an eye on you myself. No woman has ever worn the white and gold, but you …’ He lost his serious expression. ‘No, I like your bold offer.’ He raised his voice to the guests who had lingered to watch the final turn of events. ‘We depart at sunrise, to journey to the lands of the Acoma.’
He bowed slightly and, flanked by the dark forms of his magicians, stepped briskly through the doorway. The moment he had disappeared, Mara found herself the centre of a storm of attention. In the very chamber in which she had escaped murder by narrow margins, she suddenly had ceased to be a social outcast, a girl marked for death at a moment’s notice. From the greatest families in the Empire she received congratulations, honour, and the accolades of a victor who could play the Game of the Council.
Mara’s retinue of warriors was recalled from the Minwanabi barracks well ahead of daybreak; they rejoined their mistress on board the Acoma barge. While land and water still lay in darkness, the craft poled away from the docks. Too excited by the events of the night to attempt to rest, Mara stood by the rail with her First Adviser and her Spy Master. Feeling the absence of Papewaio with keen sorrow, they watched the lighted windows in the Minwanabi estate house fall astern. The aftermath of terror and unexpected triumph had left Mara both shaky and exhilarated. Yet her thoughts, as always, ranged ahead. The usual preparations would be lacking, since the Warlord and all the guests would arrive at the Acoma estates unannounced. In spite of herself, Mara smiled. Jican was surely going to tear his hair when he discovered his staff had the responsibility of conducting Almecho’s birthday celebration.
The barge rocked gently as the slaves switched their poles for oars and began a steady stroke. Here and there soldiers spoke in whispers to each other; then all conversations stilled as the sky brightened over the lake. Astern, a colourful flotilla of guests’ barges departed the hospitality of the Minwanabi. With the watercourses jammed with noble witnesses, Mara need not fear attack by enemy warriors disguised as bandits; and Desio in any event could hardly mastermind an attempt around the grief and the ceremony attendant upon his father’s ritual suicide.
When the golden disc of the sun lifted above the valley, Mara and every other noble passenger abroad in their barges noted the small knot of soldiers upon the hillock near the Minwanabi contemplation glade. These men stood honour to Lord Jingu as he mustered the courage to fall upon his own sword. When at length men in orange armour formed up into ranks and marched in formal step to the mansion, Mara breathed a prayer of thanks to the gods. The enemy who had arranged her father and brother’s murder, and nearly her own, at last was dead.
With Jingu’s passing, the Minwanabi ceased their role as supreme power after the Warlord, for Desio was a young man of poor social gifts. Few considered him a worthy successor to his father; those travelling south to the Acoma lands commonly judged that the old Lord’s successor would be hard pressed to preserve the alliances his father had forged, let alone increase Minwanabi power. Now Desio could expect to be closely watched. As he shepherded his family’s decline, all who were once fearful of Minwanabi power would now add strength to his enemies. Unless one of Desio’s more gifted cousins came to power, the Minwanabi fate was sealed. The stock of a great house had fallen far in the Game of the Council.
Mara considered this throughout the voyage by river, and beyond, as her litter wove through the crowded streets of Sulan-Qu and into the quieter countryside surrounding Acoma lands. With the Minwanabi dominance ended in the High Council, Almecho stood unchallenged, save for the alliance of those in the Blue Wheel Party and the Alliance for Progress. Mara regarded the decorated litters of the nobles who trailed after her retinue, her mind absorbed by the likely readjustments of politics. With the beginnings of a smile, she realized the wisdom of having Nacoya place Hokanu of the Shinzawai near her at least once during the feasting. Then she inwardly laughed. Just as she must once again consider marriage, the Empire would begin another round of multi-player bickering as the game entered a new phase; but it would always be the Game of the Council.
Mara turned to mention her thought to Nacoya and found the old woman napping. At last, with their return to familiar roads, the First Adviser had begun to relax the tension that had driven her throughout their stay in the Minwanabi house.
Just then Arakasi said, ‘Mistress, something odd ahead.’
Nacoya roused, but her complaints died unuttered as she saw her mistress staring raptly forward. At the crest of the next hill, at the boundary of the Acoma lands, stood two warriors, one on each side of the road. To the left, upon Acoma soil, waited a soldier in the familiar green of her own garrison. On the right, on lands belonging to the Empire, the second soldier wore the red and yellow armour of the Anasati. As Mara
’s retinue and litter came fully into view, both men spun around and shouted almost in unison, ‘Acoma! Acoma!’
Startled as her litter swerved to the left, Mara glanced back and saw her bearers pull aside to make room for the Warlord’s litter to draw even with hers. Almecho shouted over the noise of tramping feet. ‘Lady, you’ve arranged an exceedingly odd welcome.’
Caught at a loss, Mara said, ‘My Lord, I do not know what this means.’
The Warlord gestured to his Imperial Whites, and side by side the two retinues crested the hill. Another pair of warriors waited beyond, some distance along, and an even more distant pair farther yet. On the crest of the last hill before the prayer gate a fourth pair could be seen. And from the waving back and forth, the cry ‘Acoma’ had been clearly carried ahead of the returning litters.
Mara bowed her head to Almecho. ‘With my Lord’s permission …?’
At Almecho’s brusque nod, the Lady of the Acoma instructed her bearers to quicken pace. She grabbed at the beaded handrail as, running, her slaves forged ahead. Her guard of warriors jogged with her, past the familiar, outlying fields, the needra pastures with their tawny cows and calves. Mara felt tension tighten her chest. As far as the eyes could see, the fields were empty of field hands or herders, porters or cart drivers. Even the slaves were absent. Where Acoma workers should have been hard at their labours, crops and livestock stood abandoned in the sun.
Wishing she had Keyoke’s staunch presence at her side, Mara shouted to the first Acoma soldier they passed, ‘What’s going on? Have we been raided?’
The warrior fell in beside the trotting slaves and reported on the run. ‘Anasati soldiers came yesterday, mistress. They made camp beyond the prayer gate. Force Commander Keyoke has ordered every soldier to stand ready. The lookouts he posted on the road were to call out when you returned, or report the appearance of Minwanabi soldiers.’
‘You must be cautious, daughter.’ Jounced breathless by the movement of the litter, Nacoya made as if to elaborate; but Mara needed no warning to spark her concern. She waved Keyoke’s sentinel back to join her honour company, and called out to the Anasati warrior who had stood opposite her own man, and who now kept pace with her litter on the opposite side of the road.
Any reply would be a courtesy, since no Anasati warrior was answerable to the Lady of the Acoma. This one must have been instructed to keep his own counsel, for he ran on in silence, his face turned resolutely forward. When the litter crested the last hill, the valley beyond lay carpeted in coloured armour. Mara’s breath caught in her throat.
Over a thousand Anasati warriors stood before her gate, in battle-ready formation. Confronting them, from the other side of the low boundary wall, Keyoke commanded a like number of Acoma soldiers. Here and there the green ranks were divided by wedges of gleaming black, cho-ja warriors ready to honour the treaty with their Queen, that called-for alliance should any threaten the peace of Acoma lands.
Shouts echoed down the valley the instant the litter came into view. The sight caused the Acoma forces to erupt with an uninhibited cheer; to Mara’s astonishment, the Anasati war host answered them. Then a thing happened that even old Nacoya had never heard of, not in tales, or ballads, or any of the remembered historical events in the great Game of the Council: the two armies broke ranks. Throwing down weapons and unbuckling their helms, they approached her litter in a single joyous crowd.
Mara stared in wonderment. Dust blew in the grip of a freshening breeze, hazing the plain like smoke as two thousand shouting soldiers surrounded her litter and honour guard. With difficulty, Keyoke pushed a path through his Acoma soldiers. A clear space widened in the Anasati side, and a confounded Mara found herself eye to eye with Tecuma. The Lord of the Anasati wore the armour of his ancestors, bright red with yellow trim, and at his side marched the plumed presence of his Force Commander.
The multitude of warriors stilled, even as the litter bearers jolted to a stop. The hoarse gasps of their breathing sounded loud in the silence as Keyoke bowed to his mistress. ‘My Lady.’
Tecuma stepped forward with the first polite bow observed by a Ruling Acoma in many generations.
‘My Lord,’ acknowledged Mara, a bit stiffly from her seat in the litter. With a frown of genuine confusion, she commanded her Force Commander to report.
Keyoke drew himself up and spoke loudly that all might hear. ‘Sentries warned of the approach of an army at dawn yesterday, my Lady. I mustered the garrison and went myself to challenge the trespassers –’
Tecuma interrupted. ‘We have not yet entered Acoma lands, Force Commander.’
Keyoke conceded this point with a stony glance. ‘True, my Lord.’ He again faced Mara and resumed. ‘I was approached by my Lord of the Anasati, who demanded to see his grandson. In your absence, I declined to allow him his “honour guard”.’
Mara regarded Ayaki’s grandfather with no expression visible on her face. ‘Lord Tecuma, you brought half your garrison as an “honour guard”?’
‘A third, Lady Mara.’ Tecuma returned a humourless sigh. ‘Halesko and Jiro are in command of the other two thirds.’ Here the old man seemed to falter, though he filled the moment with his usual finesse by unstrapping and removing his helm. ‘Sources of mine indicated you would not survive the Warlord’s celebration and’ – he sighed as if he hated to make this admission – ‘I feared it would be so. To prevent harm to my grandson, I decided to come visit, in case Jingu sought to end the Acoma-Minwanabi blood feud for good and all.’
Mara raised her brows in comprehension. ‘Then when my Force Commander declined your attentions to my grandson, you decided to stay and see who arrived first, myself or Jingu’s army.’
‘True.’ Tecuma’s hands tightened on his helm. ‘Had Minwanabi soldiers come over the hill, I would have marched in to protect my grandson.’
In even tones, Keyoke said, ‘And I would have stopped him.’
Mara shared a pointed stare between her Force Commander and her father-in-law. ‘Then you’d have done Jingu’s work for him.’ She shook her head in irritation. ‘This is my fault. I should have considered an Anasati grandfather’s concern might turn to war. Well then, there’s nothing to worry about, Tecuma. Your grandson is safe.’
Here the Lady of the Acoma paused, as she relived the miracle of relief all over again. ‘Jingu is dead, by his own hand.’
Taken aback, Tecuma jammed his helm over iron-grey hair. ‘But –’
Mara interrupted. ‘I know, you received no word. Regretfully for the Anasati, your “source” is dead also.’ At this news Tecuma’s eyes narrowed. Plainly he ached to know how Mara had found out about Teani, but he said nothing. Very still, he waited as Mara told him her last item of news. ‘We’ve moved the Warlord’s birthday celebration here, Tecuma. Since you were the only Lord who was absent, perhaps you’d care to amend that slight and join us for the next two days? But please understand: I must insist that you restrict your honour guard to fifty men, as everyone else has.’
The old Lord nodded, at last giving way to relief and amusement. As Mara briskly ordered her own honour guard to resume their march to the estate, he stared at her slight form with something akin to admiration. ‘It is well we did not see Minwanabi soldiers breasting the hill, Mara.’ He considered the resolute warrior at Mara’s side and added, ‘Your Force Commander would have been forced to yield quickly, while most of my forces held Jingu’s army at bay. I would not have wished that.’
Keyoke said nothing, only turning and signalling to where Lujan stood, at the rear of the first line of Acoma soldiers. He in turn waved to another soldier further away. When Mara looked at Keyoke with a curious expression, he said, ‘I indicated that the one hundred cho-ja warriors waiting in ambush should feel free to return to their hive, mistress. Now, if you feel it appropriate, I’ll order the men to stand down.’
Mara smiled, though she would not laugh at Tecuma’s obvious shock at hearing of a hundred cho-ja warriors that would have met his advance guard
should they have won their way past Acoma lines. ‘Maintain an honour guard to meet our guests, Keyoke.’ The Force Commander saluted and turned to do as he was bid. To Tecuma, Mara said, ‘Grandfather of my son, when you have dealt with the disposition of your forces, please come and be my guest.’ So saying, she ordered her bearers to carry her to her house.
Tecuma watched her depart. Even his smouldering hatred over Bunto’s death was replaced by wonder for the moment. He looked down the road at the advancing column of guests, and was glad that the problem of food, housing, and entertainment were not his own to bear. The little hadonra – was it Jican? – was surely going to fall apart.
But Jican did not fall apart. He had heard about Mara’s return before the soldiers on lookout, since the gossip had been brought by a guild runner with rush dispatches from a merchant. The man passed on rumours of vast quantities of noble barges all tied up in Sulan-Qu, the Warlord’s white and gold prominent among them. In his subsequent panic, the hadonra forgot to pass the information along to Keyoke and the warriors. Instead he had requisitioned every freeman, slave, and all the craftsmen who were already gathered at the estate house to defend Ayaki if the Anasati war host broke through; these had been reassigned to work freshening linens and peeling fruits in the kitchens, and into this furious hive of activity came Mara and her honour retinue.
‘So that’s where all my fields hands are,’ exclaimed the Lady of the Acoma, even as her bearers set her litter down in the dooryard. By now she could not contain her amusement, for her little hadonra had delivered his breathless report while still wearing cast-off bits of armour from the store sheds, his helm a pot borrowed from the cooks. The servants who bustled from the slaughtering pens to the kitchens were similarly equipped, and everywhere the hoes, rakes, and scythes they would have employed as weapons were leaning against the furniture. Mara’s laughter was cut short by a carping complaint from Nacoya, who was weary of litters and barges and wished for a real hot bath.
The Complete Empire Trilogy Page 48