Tasaio broke his silence. ‘There could well be something else at play here: a garrison as undermanned as Mara’s should not have responded so forcefully to so minor a threat. This overreaction is meaningful.’ Tasaio paused, his brow furrowed. ‘Suppose our action has in some way disrupted a plan the Acoma have under way? Suppose we just blundered into their next move against our interest? They were desperate for us not to capture that wagon, willing to pay a price far above the worth of the grain or the minor loss in honour of abandoning a small caravan.’
‘Now, there is a point to pursue,’ Incomo broke in. ‘Our factor in Sulan-Qu reports that since our raid the Acoma have doubled the guards on all their trade caravans. Rumours circulate that secret goods lie hidden under every bushel of grain. By the flurry of covert activity, we could conclude that one real treasure exists, a treasure our enemies have determined at all costs to keep secret.’ Incomo’s excitement dissolved in a frustrated sigh. ‘How I wish we had an informant in Mara’s inner household! Something important is under way, something we nearly discovered accidentally in our raid near Sulan-Qu. Why else should a minor sortie provoke such elaborate countermeasures?’
Desio reached for his ice glass and swirled the last, fast-melting chips in the dregs. ‘She’s sent messengers to Dustari, too. No doubt to invite Chipino of the Xacatecas to parley on his return from the borders. If he accepts, the Acoma will almost certainly gain an alliance.’
Only Tasaio remained unmoved before the evidence of setbacks. Gently he said, ‘Let that bide, cousin. I have a long-range plan for Mara that might take two years to bring to fruition.’
‘Two years!’ Desio slammed his mug on a side table. ‘If that cho-ja hive is breeding warriors, each spring Mara’s estates become that much more unassailable.’
Tasaio waved this aside. ‘Let Mara grow strong at home. For we will not deal with her on her own ground. Gone are the days we could dream of overwhelming her estate by main force.’ His voice turned reflective. ‘We would win, of course, but be so depleted we would not survive the certain onslaught from other enemies. Were I Chipino of the Xacatecas or Andero of the Keda, I would welcome an open confrontation between the Acoma and the Minwanabi.’
Desio became sulky when anyone else tried to tell him what to do. Incomo watched as his master sucked his last ice cube between his teeth. Finally the Lord of the Minwanabi said, ‘I may come to regret my rashness in vowing Minwanabi blood should we fail to crush the Acoma. I had hoped to spur our people to end the matter quickly. But the Red God gave us no time limit –’ he glanced heavenward and made a luck sign, just in case he was wrong – ‘so we might do well to proceed cautiously. We cannot spare fifty seasoned warriors for each grain wagon Mara sends out.’ With a nod, Desio said, ‘Cousin, let’s hear your plan.’
Tasaio responded obliquely. ‘Do smugglers still operate between the Empire and the desert lands in Tsubar?’ he asked the First Adviser.
Incomo shrugged. ‘Almost certainly. The nomads still covet luxuries, especially jades and silk. And they have to import swords from somewhere, since resin-producing trees do not flourish in the desert.’
Tasaio nodded almost imperceptibly. ‘Then I suggest we send an envoy to the ruins at Banganok, to offer the nomads weapons and jades and rich bribes to step up their raids on the borders.’
‘Xacatecas’ forces would stay preoccupied.’ Desio jumped ahead. ‘His return to the mainland would be delayed, along with any possible alliance with Mara.’
‘That is the least advantage, my Lord.’ Tasaio slipped his fingers out of his archer’s glove. He flexed his hands as though warming up his grip for the sword, and outlined the steps of a bold plot.
The Minwanabi would cultivate relations with the desert raiders, beginning with bribes to keep the Xacatecas forces pinned down in defence. Over a period of two years, the bribes would be escalated, forming the pretence of alliance. Minwanabi soldiers would add to the raiders’ ranks, disguised as tribesmen allies. At a moment judged most propitious, a grand offensive would be mounted on the Empire’s borders. In emergency meeting, the High Council would order the Lady of the Acoma to go to the aid of the Lord of the Xacatecas.
At mention of this, Incomo brightened. ‘Mara must lead her relief troops in person or spoil her overtures toward alliance. And if she sends less than her full support in the field, she proves lack of sincerity in her promises.’
‘She would be drawn far from her estates, along with most of her cho-ja,’ Desio cut in. ‘We could mount raids.’
Tasaio silenced him with a slightly raised eyebrow. ‘Better than that, cousin. Much better.’ He went on, ticking off points on his fingers in the manner of a tactician. Mara had no military training, and her only officer with command experience in the field was Keyoke. If her call to arms in Dustari could be timed as a surprise, she would be handed a crisis. She must strip her outer holdings, hire mercenary guards to flesh out those garrisons of least strategic importance, and then leave the heart of her estates under the care of an officer only recently promoted. Or she must assign Keyoke to protect her family natami, and expose herself to risk. Tasaio elaborated. ‘Isolated in Dustari, far from help from her clan or allies, there would be no miracles for Mara. She would be alone on a field of our choosing, and forced to rely on the guidance of an inexperienced officer.’ Tasaio paused, licked his lips, and smiled. ‘At best, Mara’s lack of preparaton will do our work for us. She may be killed, or captured by desert raiders, or, at the least, blunder in the assignment and earn the Xacatecas’ wrath, while losing the heart of her army.’
‘Interesting,’ said Incomo. ‘But the weak link is evident. The assignment left to Keyoke will almost certainly not be bungled.’
Tasaio slapped his empty glove against his palm, and his smile widened. ‘That is why Keyoke must be removed. A raid that will deliver him to Turakamu must be carefully planned. Let us say the Lady will receive summons from the High Council on the day of her Force Commander’s death.’ Tasaio folded his hands, the model of a Tsurani warrior in repose. ‘With Keyoke dead, Mara must leave Acoma welfare in the hands of lesser servants, a Strike Leader named Lujan, most likely, a flutterbug of a hadonra, and an old nurse who calls herself First Adviser. Among these may be one we can subvert.’
‘Brilliant!’ muttered Desio.
Tasaio summed up. ‘As I read the situation, without experienced officers, Mara could never gain from assignment to Dustari. Whichever Strike Leader she promotes to oversee the attempt at relieving Xacatecas will quickly learn the difference between commanding a strike force and planning a battle.’
‘Brilliant,’ Desio said, loudly and with shining enthusiasm.
Incomo considered more practical ramifications. ‘Lord Desio would need to call favours from a great number of allies in the council – even become indebted – to contrive for Mara to be assigned to a post in Dustari. Getting Xacatecas there was quite costly, and keeping him on the frontier another two years will be difficult. The nobles who supported us will demand even more concessions to be bought a second time, particularly since the setback of Jingu’s death. We are not as strong or as influential as we once were, I regret to remind you, and the debt incurred will be great.’
‘What price the death of Mara of the Acoma?’ Tasaio said softly. ‘Desio swore blood oath to the Red God. The alternative is for us to slaughter every woman and child wearing Minwanabi black and orange, then march to Turakamu’s temple and fall upon our swords.’
Incomo nodded and turned shrewd eyes on his Lord.
Hot as Desio was to see Mara compromised, he still recognized the gravity of his decision. He did not commit himself or the resources of his house thoughtlessly, but pondered with knitted brows. ‘I think my cousin advises me well,’ he said at last. ‘But can we be sure of the desert men?’
Tasaio looked out of the window, as if something in the distance shaped his answer. ‘It’s immaterial. For among those “allies” attacking will be a field commander ready to t
ake the necessary steps to ensure Mara’s failure. I will supervise the battle personally.’
The suggestion filled Desio with delight. ‘Wonderful, cousin. Your reputation credits you too little. You are more crafty than I had been told.’ He nodded enthusiastically. ‘Let preparation for these plans begin. We shall put aside haste in favour of completeness.’
Tasaio nodded. ‘I have much to arrange, my Lord. Our plan must proceed with perfection, or we risk enmity from two great houses rising in power. The army we gather two years hence must be smuggled in small numbers by boat to Ilama, then westward along the coast trail to Banganok. No one must suspect the movement of troops. And when Xacatecas is hard-pressed, we must be ready to kill Keyoke the first moment he’s vulnerable.’ He blinked, as if recalling his focus to Desio. ‘Yes, I have much to see to. I ask my Lord’s permission to depart.’
Desio waved him on his way. Though matters of protocol were furthest from his mind, Tasaio arose and made his bow, correct to the last. Incomo watched and wondered again if undue ambition lay behind such perfect poise. As the Minwanabi cousin departed from the study, he leaned close to his Lord and murmured a soft-spoken question.
Desio stiffened in surprise. ‘Tasaio? Turn traitor to his Lord?’ he exclaimed, entirely too loudly. ‘Never.’ His conviction rang with blind faith. ‘All my life, cousin Tasaio has been an example to us all. Until the moment of my ascension to the rank of Lord, he would have happily slit my throat to gain the mantle of the Minwanabi, but the moment I took my father’s place, Tasaio became mine to command. He is the soul of honour, and a devil for cleverness. Of all the men in my service, that one will bring me the Acoma natami.’
Satisfied with his own judgment on the matter, Desio ended his clandestine council. He clapped for servants, and asked for pretty serving girls to bathe with him in the cool waters of the lake.
Incomo bowed, content that while Desio fathered bastard children, Tasaio would need his help to begin plotting the vast design to destroy Mara. If the Minwanabi First Adviser felt any resentment at Tasaio’s usurpation of his role, he hid it even from himself; he was loyal to his master. As long as Tasaio served Minwanabi interests, Incomo had no jealousy within his breast. Besides, the wry thought intruded, Lords of great houses quite commonly came to youthful deaths; until Desio married and fathered an heir, Tasaio remained next in line for the ruler’s mantle. Should Desio perish untimely, it would never do to have one unexpectedly inheriting the title be displeased with the resident First Adviser.
Incomo motioned for a servant to attend his desires. ‘Send word to Tasaio that I am at his disposal in any fashion for which he deems me worthy and that I will happily lend my feeble efforts to his great work.’
As the servant hurried off, Incomo considered ordering a cool tub and a pretty woman to wash his sweaty, tired body. Shrugging off the wistful image, he arose from his cushions. Too much work remained undone. Besides, if he read young Tasaio correctly, he would be sent for within the hour.
Mara moved between nodding rows of kekali blossoms, a basket on her arm. She pointed to a bloom and said, ‘That one,’ and the servant who trailed her obligingly cut the stem with a sharp knife. Another held up a lantern so the first might clearly see in the shadows of early evening. The servant lifted the indigo flower, inspected it briefly to see that the petals were unharmed, then bowed and handed the blossom to the Lady. She pressed it to her nose to enjoy the fragrance before she added it to others already piled in her basket.
The hadonra, Jican, trailed her as she turned down a bend in the path. ‘The ravine between your southernmost needra meadows has been flooded, my Lady.’
Mara pointed out another flower she wished cut, and a smile curved her lips. ‘Good. The bridge across our new river will be completed before market season, I trust?’
Now Jican chuckled. ‘Planking is being added to the framework even as we speak. Jidu of the Tuscalora sweats as he writes daily, begging permission to transport his chocha-la crops down the ravine by boat. However, as I politely pointed out on your behalf, my Lady, the right-of-way you granted when you purchased the land permitted only wagons.’
‘Very good.’ Mara accepted the indicated blossom from her servant, and carelessly stabbed her finger on a thorn. The pain she accepted with Tsurani impassivity, but the blood was another matter. Kelewanese superstition held that chance-spilled blood might whet the Red God’s appetite, making the deity greedy for additional death. Jican hastily offered his handkerchief, and Mara bound up her stinging finger before any droplets could fall to the soil.
Her plan to beggar Lord Jidu of the Tuscalora and force him to become her vassal had been delayed by a season because of the attentions received by her house following the death of Jingu of the Minwanabi. Now, as events resumed their proper course, she found her planned victory over her neighbour to the south had partially lost its savour. Hokanu’s visit had offered a welcome interlude, but his stay had been brief, owing to his need to return home.
Nacoya blamed her restlessness on the lack of male company. Mara smiled at the thought and shifted her basket of flowers. The First Adviser insisted that no young woman’s life could be complete without a healthy male diversion now and again. But Mara viewed romance with scepticism. As greatly as she enjoyed Hokanu’s company, the thought of taking another husband to her bed made her hands turn clammy with apprehension. To her, marriage and sex were simply a woman’s bargaining chips in the Game of the Council. Love and pleasure had no place in such decisions.
‘Where’s Kevin?’ said Jican unexpectedly, making his Lady start.
Mara settled on a stone bench and motioned for her hadonra to join her. ‘He’s being fitted for new clothes.’
Jican’s eyes brightened. He loved to gossip, but was seldom so bold as to trouble his Lady outright on matters outside of estate finance.
Mara indulged him. ‘Kevin went out with the hunters yesterday, and when he complained that his legs and backside had suffered from thorns, I allowed him to be measured for Midkemian dress. He’s off to show the leather workers and tailors what to do, as they know little about his nation’s odd fashions. I told him the colours must not be other than a slave’s grey and white, but maybe he’ll behave with more dignity once his knees are covered with – what did he call it? – ah yes, hose.’
‘More like he’ll complain he’s too hot,’ the little hadonra returned. Then, as Mara dismissed the other servants, he added, ‘I have news of your silk samples, Lady.’
Instantly he had Mara’s entire attention. ‘They were safely stowed aboard your message barge yesterday. The factors in Jamar will have them before the close of the week, in time for inspection before the price auctions.’
Mara sighed with relief. She had worried endlessly that the Minwanabi might discover her move into the silk market beforetime and give warning to their silk-producing allies in the north. Most Acoma revenues came from needra raising and weapon craft; but now she needed to strengthen her army and outfit the ever rising numbers of cho-ja warriors bred by the new Queen. Hides and armour would be needed at home, cutting back on her marketable goods. The silk trade Mara hoped to create must balance out the loss. If the timing were spoiled, the northern silk merchants would undercut her prices and offer early deliveries to starve out her fledgling enterprise. Years of established trade had given them influence over the dyers’ and weavers’ guilds. Paying costly bribes to ensure guild secrecy and goodwill was an unavoidable necessity until Acoma craftsmen could be schooled to mastery of these specialized new skills. But if Acoma silks arrived on the market at just the right moment, not only would Mara gain income, she would upset the revenues of the Minwanabi allies.
‘You have done well in this, Jican.’
The hadonra blushed. ‘Success would not have been possible without Arakasi’s planning.’
Mara stared out over the gardens, into the gathering gloom of twilight. ‘Let us not speak of success until the price auctions are dominated by demand for
Acoma goods!’
Jican returned a deep bow. ‘Let us hope the day comes without mishap.’ He made a sign for the Good God’s favour and quietly retired from her presence.
Mara lingered, alone except for a few servants. She set down her basket and surveyed the gardens that surrounded the estate house’s east wing. This had been her mother’s favourite place, or so Lord Sezu had told the daughter whose birth had caused that Lady’s premature death. From this seat the Lady Oskiro had watched her Lord select his hunting dogs as the young ones were brought out for his inspection. But the kennels’ runs were empty now, by Mara’s command; the baying of the hounds had reminded the new Ruling Lady too painfully of the past. And her husband had cared more for battle practice and wrestling with the soldiers than coursing after game with fleet dogs. Or perhaps he had not lived long enough to appreciate the sport.
Mara sighed and shook off her regrets. She excused her servants and stared over the distant meadows as the shatra birds flew at sundown. Normally their flight calmed and reassured her, but today she felt only melancholy. That no attack upon the Acoma seemed imminent did not reduce the threat. The most brilliant moves within the Game of the Council were those that came without warning. The tranquil passage of days only made her skin creep, as if assassins lurked in hiding at her back. Knowing that Tasaio stayed on as Desio’s adviser promised subtle and devious trouble. Arakasi was worried also. Mara knew by his stillness as he stood to deliver his reports. He had survived the fall of one Lord and lived to serve another; a matter that could trouble him would not be anything slight.
Mara lifted a kekali blossom from the basket at her feet. The petals were soft and fragile, susceptible to the slightest chill, and fast to wilt in extreme heat. The bushes themselves were hardy, and armed with thorns for defence; but the flowers were short-lived and vulnerable. This evening, surrounded by the perishable beauty of the kekali, Mara missed the baying of the hounds at their dinner. More, she missed the strong presence of her father as he sat in the garden, enjoying the cool of the oncoming night, sipping on a bitter ale while his son and daughter prattled on about childish things. Gold light faded from the western sky, and the shatra flocks settled to rest after their sky dance. A barefooted slave lit the last lanterns along the path; the instant he finished his task he hurried away for his meal of thyza mush. In the kitchens and common dining hall, estate workers gathered for the evening meal. Still Mara lingered.
The Complete Empire Trilogy Page 62