The Acoma First Adviser sighed and shook her head. The Acoma ministers could meet and talk all they liked; plans might be made and acted upon, but truly, what could be done to ensure Acoma security and prosperity that had not been tried already? Feeling her age, and the ache in every joint that suffered from arthritis, the old woman shuffled slowly down the corridor. Every day since the Lord Sezu had died and left his holdings to his daughter, Nacoya had known fear that her beloved Mara might become a casualty of the Great Game. Yet the Lady had proven herself a capable, cunning player. Why, then, should the fear be worse today, or was it just an aged woman’s bones protesting a life of long service? Nacoya shivered, though the afternoon was warm. At every step she took, she seemed to feel the earth of her own grave beneath the soles of her feet.
Word returned from Ontoset. Mara read the message twice, a stormy frown on her face. Restraining a vicious urge to tear something, she hurled the parchment onto her writing desk. The move was entirely unexpected. But Netoha had refused her very generous fees for the use of the rift on his lands.
‘It makes no sense!’ Mara exploded aloud, and in the corner of her study, Arakasi raised one eyebrow.
Dressed as a gardener, the Spy Master contemplated the edge on the small sickle he had been using to prune kekali bushes. He still insisted on keeping his return to the estate a secret, for his suspicions concerning Tasaio’s penetration of Mara’s security were far from laid to rest. The mistress might not wish to talk the matter through, her mind being diverted by other things, but Arakasi had his own worries. He currently spent as much time investigating servants and slaves upon the Acoma estates as he did conducting the business his mistress required of him. Only Nacoya knew of his concerns, as the old woman was above suspicion.
Arakasi tested the edge on the laminated tool with his finger, and assumed a posture that would appear to an onlooker as if the Lady berated a servant for carelessness. ‘Mistress, I have discovered little about this man, Netoha. His motives are not public. He must have cogent reasons for refusing your offer; obviously, he cannot do business across the rift himself, because of your trading rights. Yet I cannot tell you what his reasons may be.’
Mara tugged at a tight hairpin in frustration. Her message to Fumita of the Assembly had been returned unopened, so her last recourse to gain her trade concessions was this Netoha. Although Arakasi did not care to be pressured, she said, ‘Can you get someone close to the Chichimechas to discover what these reasons may be?’
‘I can but attempt to, Lady.’ Trying hard not to look harried, Arakasi added, ‘It is unlikely we shall learn anything new, but I can have someone exchange gossip with the house and field servants. Netoha’s workers are largely barbarians –’
Mara broke in, ‘Midkemians?’
Arakasi nodded. ‘The renegade magician, Milamber, freed all his countrymen before leaving, and this Netoha employs them as workers. I would say from reports out of Ontoset that they do well enough as farmers. In any event, these are likely to be more garrulous than our own slaves, so getting information shouldn’t prove difficult. If, that is, they know anything worth hearing.’
Aware of Nacoya’s taut stillness at her elbow, Mara turned to the next issue at hand. ‘What of Minwanabi?’
Arakasi’s hands stilled on the sickle. ‘I worry, mistress, precisely because I have nothing to report. Tasaio conducts the business of his household much as you do your own, but with nothing that I would account extraordinarily significant.’ The Spy Master exchanged glances with Mara’s First Adviser. ‘This goes against expectations. Upon hearing of your rise to the primacy of the clan, Tasaio should have been moved to act at once. But instead …’ Arakasi glanced about, then said, ‘One other thing: the Minwanabi have begun a primitive spy network and are attempting to insinuate agents into several locations throughout the Empire. They are not hard to spot, since Incomo, the Minwanabi First Adviser, proceeds in a heavy-handed manner. I have men watching his men and am reasonably certain we can infiltrate his ring soon. That will give us a secondary access to his household and affairs, and when this is accomplished I shall feel reassured. Yet I dare not proceed too quickly. The whole operation may be an elaborate ploy to draw us out.’
And yet, Mara sensed, that would not be Tasaio’s style. The subtleties in his nature tended toward cruelty, and his tactics to military violence. Involved in deep thoughts once again, she absently waved dismissal to her Spy Master. She did not notice him leaving, and had forgotten Nacoya was in the room until the old woman spoke.
‘I feel a chill in my bones, daughter.’
Mara started slightly. ‘What worries you, Nacoya?’
‘Minwanabi plots. You rely too much on Arakasi’s informants. They may be well placed, but they are not everywhere. They are not at Tasaio’s side when he squats or when he lies atop his wife, and you must believe that this is a man who plots murder even while relieving himself or taking a woman to his bed.’
Mara found nothing humorous in the images, for Nacoya spoke truth. Arakasi’s agents might have ferreted out nothing overtly threatening toward her house, but the reports were disturbing nonetheless. Tasaio ruled his household with a wayward, cunning viciousness. His abuses were those that tormented the mind and heart, and yet, where a sworn enemy was concerned, Mara knew there was no blood in the Empire he would rather spill than her own, and her young son Ayaki’s.
• Chapter Twenty-Three •
Sortie
The year passed.
Distracted with worry over continuing trade difficulties and Tasaio’s apparent lack of activity, Mara waited as the rainy season came and went. Needra calves were weaned from their mothers, and the little bulls charged around the meadow; when they were sufficiently grown, the herdsmen picked out those that were gelded and those that were to be used for breeding. Crops were planted and harvested and an uncertain peace held sway. Days slipped by without any resolution to Mara’s uncertainty. A thousand responses to a thousand possible assaults were discussed and discarded, and no Minwanabi threat materialized. A thousand moves in the Game of the Council were planned, but the Emperor did not relent in his edict against the High Council.
Seated in her study in the cooler hours of early morning, and clad in a loose, short robe, Mara studied the slates and parchments Jican had left for her. Since her frustrating setback in Kentosani, Acoma fortunes were improving. Her assumption of the position of Clan Warchief had precipitated no disasters. Gradually, the herds were recovering from the outlays made necessary from the Dustari campaign; the silk trade at last was flourishing. Although Nacoya seized every opportunity to nag that her mistress was neglecting the matter of marriage, Mara refused to be moved. With Tasaio consolidating his power as Lord of the Minwanabi, even someone from a family as favourably placed these days as was Hokanu’s would be foolish to agree to a union until the issue between Minwanabi and Acoma had been decided. Except for Xacatecas and, less dependably, Anasati, alliances with the Acoma had become tentative. Mara sighed and pushed back a fallen lock of hair. Not yet strong enough to initiate the first overture, she had grown practised at waiting.
A soft tap at the screen disturbed her.
Mara gestured for the servant hovering beyond the door to enter.
He bowed. ‘My Lady, there is a bonded messenger awaiting you in the antechamber.’
‘Send him in.’ Mara had enjoyed two hours of quiet contemplation since dawn and, now that the inevitable interruption had occurred, she was anxious to know the news.
The courier brought before her was dusty from the road and clad in a tunic of bleached cloth, tagged on the sleeves with the badge of a guild from Pesh. Since Mara had no dealings with any family from that city, this piqued her interest.
‘You may sit,’ she allowed as the courier completed his bow. He carried no documents; the message he brought would be oral, guaranteed by his life oath of silence. Mara waved for a servant to bring jomach juice, in case the man’s throat was dry from travel.
He inclined his head when the refreshment arrived and gratefully took a long swallow. ‘I bring greeting to the Acoma from the Lord Xaltepo of the Hanqu.’ The messenger paused for another sip, politely allowing the Lady an interval to call to mind what she knew of this Lord’s house, clan, and political affiliations.
Mara needed the time, since the Hanqu were a minor house that had never previously dealt with the Acoma; they were of the Nimboni, a clan so tiny that it regularly associated with other, larger clans; which other clans it was allied with at present Mara didn’t recall. Arakasi would know. He might also confirm whether Xaltepo had renewed his participation in the Yellow Flower Party since the demise of the Alliance for War. The Yellow Flower Party had no ties with the Minwanabi, but had occasionally supported common interests with them before Almecho wore the white and gold, and the changes effected by his successor, Axantucar, had disrupted the old alliances. The Yellow Flower Party currently fended for itself, and the Nimboni quite likely inclined to favour the Kanazawai Clan. Perhaps this was an overture in that direction.
Mara sighed over this season’s unrecognizable snarl of politics. Without Arakasi’s network, she would be floundering, relying upon guesswork, and not leading her clan decisively through the moil.
The messenger finished his drink and politely awaited her attention. At a wave from Mara, he resumed.
‘The Lord of the Hanqu formally requests that you consider an alliance with his house. If you judge the matter to be in Acoma interests, Lord Xaltepo asks for a meeting to discuss his proposal.’
A house slave unobtrusively removed the emptied juice cup. Mara used the interval to formulate a swift decision. ‘I am flattered by the offer from the Lord of the Hanqu, and will reply through one of my own couriers.’
This was politely noncommittal, and not unusual, since a ruler near Sulan-Qu would be unfamiliar with the guild of another city. Conscious of security, Mara intended to hire from a known guild. But to dismiss this courier without thanks was to insinuate mistrust, if not to imply dishonour. The Lady sent her runner to summon Saric. By now familiar with the duties of a second adviser, he would accompany the guild messenger to a distant chamber and see him occupied with banalities until the heat passed, and the man could politely be dismissed.
Financial reports no longer gripped Mara’s attention. Throughout the morning she pondered the Hanqu’s unexpected overture without assuming what their motive might be. Lord Xaltepo might earnestly desire an alliance, and this must not be treated lightly. Since Mara’s public rise to the office of Clan Warchief, it could be but the first of many such approaches. To ignore this would be folly.
Far more dangerous, he might be puppet for some other, better-known enemy, who used him to disguise another plot against her. She waited until the courier’s departure before dispatching Arakasi to make inquiries.
After supper, she called council. Weary of the stifling stillness of her study with screens and drapes drawn closed, she decided that a meeting in the garden courtyard adjacent to her quarters, under the light of lanterns, would be more comfortable. The garden had a single entrance, securely guarded.
Settled on cushions under the tree beside the fountain, Mara regretted her preoccupation with security. For an envious moment she once again recalled Tasaio’s estate, a beautiful building on spacious grounds, fortified by steep hills and the naturally defensible valley with its lake and narrow tributary. Unlike other nobles situated in the low country, the Minwanabi Lord need not vigilantly keep guard over broad acres of borders. He required only sentries in watchtowers on his hilltops, and patrols stationed at key points along the perimeter of his estates. Where the Acoma required five full companies of a hundred warriors each dedicated to the main estate to optimally maintain its defences – a goal still unrealized after over a decade of carefully building her resources – the Minwanabi could do better with as few as two hundred soldiers guarding twice the land. That lower cost of security for the home estate provided Tasaio with resources for political mischief that Mara lacked, despite her rapidly expanding financial empire.
Mara regarded her circle of advisers, larger than before, with younger faces added and older ones the more aged by contrast. Nacoya became more wrinkled and hunched with each passing month. Keyoke could not sit quite so erect, yet he remained a stickler for appearances. He kept his good leg crossed over his stump, and his crutch painstakingly out of view. For all his care, Mara could never quite accustom herself to the sight of him in house robes instead of armour.
For formal meetings of her council, no servants were present; but in the role of body slave, Kevin sat beside and behind her, surreptitiously playing with her hair, which she had let down from its pins. Then there were Jican, with his hands dusty from chalk, and Saric, young, eager, and shrewd around the eyes where Lujan was deceptively carefree. Her Spy Master had not yet returned from the docks of Sulan-Qu, where he had gone to meet the contact who carried intelligence from Pesh. Since Arakasi’s word would bear heaviest influence, Mara began before his arrival to lend time to hear her other advisers.
Nacoya opened. ‘Lady Mara, you know nothing of these upstart Hanqu. They are not an old family. They share none of your interests politically, and I worry they may be the glove for an enemy’s hand.’
The First Adviser’s views had grown increasingly cautious of late. The Lady of the Acoma was unsure if this resulted from Mara’s rise to the Clan Warchief’s office or from a fear of Tasaio that was deepening with age. Increasingly, Mara looked to Saric for a more balanced weighing of risk and gain.
Though barely out of his twenties, the soldier turned counsellor was quick-witted, sly, and often sarcastic in his advice; his overt playfulness seemed at odds with a deeper barbed cynicism, but his observations were consistently astute. ‘Nacoya’s reasoning is sound,’ he opened, his eyes boldly on Mara, and his hands running over and over a lacquered bracelet on his wrist as though he tested the edge on a blade. He gave a soldier’s shrug. ‘But I would add that we know too little about the Lord of the Hanqu. If he acts in good faith, we would offend if we refuse to hear his case. Even if we could afford to affront this little house, we do not wish the Acoma to gain a reputation for being unapproachable. We might politely reject his alliance after hearing his cause, and no offence will be given.’ Sarik tipped his head slightly and ended with his customary question. ‘But, can we afford to refuse him without inquiring what his motives may be?’
‘A telling point,’ Mara conceded. ‘Keyoke?’
Her Adviser for War reached to straighten a helmet no longer there, and ended by scratching thinning hair. ‘I should look closely at the arrangements proposed for your conference. The Lord could have an assassin waiting, or an ambush. Where he wishes to meet with you, and under what conditions, will tell us much.’
That the former Force Commander did not question the necessity for a parley was not lost on Mara.
Lujan, from his days as a grey warrior, gave a new perspective. ‘The Hanqu are regarded as mavericks by the powerful houses of Pesh. I was acquainted with the cousin of one of my subofficers’ wives, who served Xaltepo as Patrol Leader. The Hanqu Lord was said to be a man who seldom shared his confidences, and did so only upon occasions of mutual advantage. That they are a new house has been said, but the rise of the family is due to their powerful business interests in the south.’
Jican followed Lujan’s lead and widened the picture. ‘The Hanqu have an interest in chocha-la. Being weak, at one time they were mercilessly exploited by the guilds. Lord Xaltepo’s father tired of losing his profits. When he came to power, he hired in his own bean grinders, and reinvested his chocha-la profits back into that enterprise. His son has continued to broaden the business, and now they are, if not dominant, a major factor in the southern markets. He boasts a thriving trade and processes crops from other growers. It is possible he desires an arrangement that will bring the beans of our Tuscalora vassal into his drying sheds.’
‘In Pesh?’ Mara s
traightened, interrupting Kevin’s attentions. ‘Why should Lord Jidu risk the mould and damp of shipping his crops by sea, or the expense of an overland caravan?’
‘For profit,’ Jican speculated in his inimitably neat fashion. ‘The soil and the climate are wrong for chocha-la that far down the peninsula. Even the Hanqu’s inferior beans yield high revenues there. Most growers grind their crops close to home, to save the weight of shipping the husks. But the bean keeps better in its unshelled form, and the Hanqu spice grinders could get luxury prices for any chocha-la they could process in what now is idle time between seasons. And they effectively remove a potential rival from the local market. Eventually, such a relationship might provide an entrance for their goods into the heartland of the Empire.’
‘Then why not approach Lord Jidu?’ Mara argued.
Jican spread placating hands. ‘Lady, you may have allowed the Lord of the Tuscalora his rights to negotiate his finances, but among the merchants and factors in the cities you are spoken of as his overlord. They cannot conceive any ruler being as openhanded in policy as you have been; therefore, word in the markets says you are in control.’
‘Jidu would protest,’ Mara objected.
Now Nacoya leaned forward. ‘My Lady, he does not dare. He has his man’s pride; it rankles him to have been bested by a woman. Lord Jidu would rather avoid being the object of more street gossip than turn to you with complaint.’
The discussion of this point continued in depth, with Kevin listening raptly. The Midkemian was silent not so much out of deference as fascination with the intricacy of Tsurani politics. Lately, if he contributed an opinion, it was less from ignorant impulse and more out of insight lent by an alien viewpoint.
Mara weighed the counsel of her advisers and tried to avoid the looming distraction of how much she was going to miss her barbarian when she finally faced her neglected responsibility and chose a suitable husband. Unsettled as the current politics became, she cherished this moment, surrounded by people who cared for her, and the soft, familiar warmth of the summer night.
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