Several of the Lords glanced at one another, for they had been among those inclined to back Tasaio’s predicted bid for the white and gold. With the Omechan Clan crushed by Axantucar’s shame, the Minwanabi were left unrivalled as first claimants to the office. Lord Xacatecas was too young, and Lord Keda too closely allied with the Blue Wheel Party to gainsay the Emperor. The only possible rival bid would be Lord Tonmargu, if the Anasati lent full support; yet Jiro was not deemed reliable – his own agenda was not yet clear, and he had plainly indicated he would not be following in his father’s footsteps. More than street gossips and rumour-mongers were convinced that Tasaio would be the next Warlord. The more pertinent question seemed to be whether he would gain the white and gold peacefully, or by means of bloody war.
Of all present, Lord Chekowara was the only one relaxed enough to avail himself of the cakes upon the refreshment trays. Dusting crumbs from his chin, he offered his own opinion. ‘Mara, in all you have done since becoming Ruling Lady, you have consistently shown a brilliant ability to extemporize. May we assume that you have some unexpected twist of the rope in store for Tasaio?’
Unsure how much this question might be rooted in bitterness over her assumption of his former office, and how much an honest plea for reassurance, Mara sought some hint of expression to give her clue. But Lord Benshai’s corpulent face remained impassive. Mara dared not answer carelessly. By forcing her clan to unquestioned obedience to her will, she had also taken on responsibility for ensuring their survival. Although she still had no idea what she would do, rather than let her doubts shake the foundation of her newly forged alliance, she chose to be evasive. ‘Tasaio shall not command more than worms in the soil before long, my Lord.’
The other Lords present exchanged glances. Since to challenge this outright statement would involve a point of honour, no one rushed to speak in contradiction. After an awkward minute, the Lords of Clan Hadama began to rise and bid their Warchief good day. All knew that before the close of the week, Tasaio would march into the city to confront the Emperor and demand a restoration of the High Council’s power. Just how Mara intended to prevent him was beyond anyone’s guess; certainly she lacked the military might to challenge the Minwanabi Lord’s in the field. Yet she had wits, and enough presence that even Benshai of the Chekowara dared not speak against her under her own roof.
The last Lord departed, and, returned from seeing the clan rulers to the door, Saric entered the courtyard garden and was surprised to find his mistress still seated by the fountain. Unofficially filling Nacoya’s role as First Adviser, he inquired gently if there was anything his Lady might require.
Mara took a long moment to answer. Turning a face that seemed shockingly pale, she murmured, ‘Have my maid attend me, please.’
The phrasing was most unlike her. Aware that in some things he could never fill Nacoya’s sandals, and also by canny intuition sensing that somehow his mistress needed more understanding than he had the background to offer, Saric floundered at a loss. ‘Are you ill, Lady?’
Mara seemed to struggle for speech. ‘Simply a disagreeable stomach. It will pass.’
But Saric knew naked fear. She looked suddenly very frail. Afraid she might be taken with the summer fever, or, worse, that an enemy might have found means to poison her food, the Acoma adviser took another quick step forward.
His worry was sharp enough for Mara to take notice. ‘I will be recovered within the hour,’ she reassured him and followed with a weak wave of her hand. ‘My maid will know how to make me comfortable.’
Saric’s alarm transformed to a look of piercing inquiry, which the Lady shied away from without comment. She had not lied. At last she realized her tiredness of the past few days was not simple fatigue; the difficult stomach in the morning was a familiar sign of pregnancy. With Ayaki, she could not keep breakfast down for the first nine weeks she had carried him. Abruptly recalled to the fact that Saric had been a soldier long enough to have observed the condition in the army’s camp followers, she peremptorily ordered him to leave before he had time to make his suspicions a certainty. Left alone until her maid’s arrival, Mara felt sadness well up inside. She permitted the tears that gathered in her eyes, aware that her feelings were amplified by the changes within her body. She would indulge herself now, when contemplating bitter choices, for the time would arrive soon when she must act with … what had Kevin called it? Nerves of steel! Yes, she must have only hardness in her soul. And thinking of her beloved, sitting quietly in her quarters awaiting her summons, or her return to his side, the tears flowed freely down her face.
Above anyone else, Kevin must never find out she carried a child by him. That single fact would bind him to her in a way that would be cruelty to sunder. His devotion to Ayaki had established how much regard he held for children. Though he had never spoken on the subject, Mara had read the longing in his eyes. She knew he yearned for a son or a daughter of his own, and that by his homeworld’s code of honour, such things were not ever taken lightly. On Kelewan the bastard child of a slave would not be an issue. The illegitimate children of nobles often rose to high office within their own houses. But to Kevin, the matter would lie closer to his heart than his own life. No, the man she loved must never know, and that meant her days with him were numbered.
The maid arrived and, seeing her mistress in distress, came at once to her side. ‘Lady, what may I do?’
Mara held out her hand. ‘Just help me so I may rise without becoming ill.’ The request was voiced in a strained whisper.
As the Lady of the Acoma stood on shaky feet, she understood that pregnancy was but a small part of the reason she was ill. The tension within her was like a bowstring, drawn until it threatened to snap.
Someday, she hoped the child within her womb would be counted Hokanu’s son and rise to be Lord of the Shinzawai … That he – already she hoped for a boy – would be Kevin’s was simply her way of discharging the debt of honour due the barbarian who had won her heart and repeatedly saved her life. His line would continue in distinction upon the soil of Kelewan, and so his shade would be revered and remembered.
But Mara knew she must first survive the next three days. Even as powerful a Lord as Kamatsu would not bind his heir to a house with an enemy as threatening as Tasaio. White now from more than stomach cramps, Mara leaned heavily on her maid’s supporting arm. She must formulate a plan to snatch the victory that seemed assured from the grasp of the Minwanabi. She simply must; the alternative was utter obliteration for her son, and for Kevin’s unborn child.
Sunset threw red light through the wide screens of the chamber. Tasaio of the Minwanabi perched like a monarch upon a pile of cushions in the largest, most opulent suite of his residence in the Holy City. Unlike most other Ruling Lords, who owned town houses, the Minwanabi possessed a sizeable mansion on a hilltop above the city, overlooking the heart of the imperial precinct. Gazing through slitted eyes at the changing of the white-armoured guards at the Emperor’s inner gate, the Lord hardly glanced at the message handed to him by his First Adviser.
With utmost patience, Incomo prompted, ‘Master, Mara is but a short distance from the city gate, with her honour guard. She is also accompanied by an imperial messenger bearing a staff of office, and an Imperial Peace is upon the city. At your word, she will travel to the appointed meeting place.’
‘Her choice of timing will not save her.’ Tasaio ran his thumb along his jaw as he followed the movement of the guards in their sparkling white armour. ‘That silly boy who calls himself Emperor can delude himself for a few more days, but no call of Imperial Peace will prevent me from destroying an enemy.’ After an interval, Tasaio added, ‘However, it might be useful to wait to strike until we have a time and place of our choosing. And it might be entertaining to hear what the Acoma bitch desires, simply to learn what I may do to frustrate her.’
Incomo grew tense with apprehension. ‘Master, I would be remiss in my duty if I did not advise against this meeting. The woman is more
dangerous than any other ruler in the Empire, as she has demonstrated on numerous occasions.’
Drawn at last from contemplation, Tasaio silenced his First Adviser with a glare. ‘I have an army with me, Income’
‘But do you stand to gain?’ the First Adviser asked urgently, more than mindful that his Lord’s uncle had died under his own roof with his army about him, as a result of Mara’s plotting. ‘If the Lady of the Acoma desires talk, anything she will say must be to aid her own cause against you. I see nothing to benefit the Minwanabi in this, my Lord.’
Tasaio drummed his fingers upon the cushion at his knee. ‘Send this message to the bitch. I will honour the truce and speak with her.’ Seeing Incomo’s features cloud over, he narrowed yellow eyes. ‘I see no point in all this needless worry. Mara and her brat might have escaped death by a narrow margin, but when I win the white and gold, she shall be the first of my enemies to be removed.’ Graceful, fast, and intent upon his beliefs, he stood. ‘I may be magnanimous. Those silly fools in Clan Hadama will perhaps be allowed to live, but only if they become my vassals after they see me end the Acoma name forever.’ With a rare smile, he added, ‘You worry too much, Incomo. I can always say no to whatever offer Mara makes.’
Incomo remained silent. He had the terrible feeling that if Tasaio rejected Mara’s offer, that would be exactly what she wished. The First Adviser bowed, turned, and went to send the message.
The wind was called butana in the ancient language of the Szetaci people of the Empire. The translation meant ‘wind from demons’, and it blew for days, even weeks at a time. The gusts were dry, whipping out of the distant mountains in fitful, howling bursts. In the hot season, such winds could desiccate a piece of uncovered meat or fruit in hours. In the cool season, the air carried a chill, and at night the temperature dropped, sending people indoors to huddle around fires and under layers of robes. When the butana blew, the common folk said dogs went mad and demons walked the land in the guise of men. Husbands were known to run screaming into the night, never to be seen again, and wives became melancholy to the point of suicide. Legends abounded of supernatural beings who appeared when the butana whined across the land. The Grey Man, an ancient myth, was said to walk the Empire on nights like this. Should a lone traveller meet him, he must answer a riddle, and be rewarded if his solution was found pleasing, or suffer loss of his head if the Grey Man proved dissatisfied. Such were the stories of the butana, the bitter dry wind that blew this night.
Under brilliant stars, atop a hill outside the city walls, two small armies waited, facing one another. Torches guttered and banners flapped in the gusts, casting a flickering transience of light and shadow over faces taut with apprehension. Plumed officers waited before the ranks in motionless formation. And at the head of each army stood a ruler, on one side a woman clothed in shimmering green silk and emeralds and upon the other a lean, predatory figure in jet armour with black and orange bosses.
Positioned equidistant between them, an imperial herald waited, his robe of office gleaming like bone under a wan quarter moon. In a voice loud enough to carry over the wind, he addressed the two forces in attendance. ‘Let it be known that the Imperial Peace is upon this city and the surrounding countryside! Let no man draw his sword in anger or retribution. So commands the Light of Heaven.’ Turning toward the band who surrounded Tasaio, the herald intoned, ‘This Lady, of noble rank and line, claims that she comes to treat with you for the Good of the Empire. My Lord, do you acknowledge?’
Tasaio inclined his head, and the messenger deemed that sufficient. Turning to where Mara waited across a narrow expanse of grass, the herald raised his voice above the wind’s rising whine. ‘My Lady, this Lord answers your call to parley and acknowledges your intent to speak for the Good of the Empire.’
Mara returned a bow, making a point of correct courtesy to contrast with her enemy’s lapse.
The herald received his due without reassurance. His stance between two enemies sworn to blood feud was precarious, and he knew it; family honour might be trustworthy when two such ancient lines were involved, but a single hothead among the ranks of common warriors could precipitate a massacre. He needed all of his training to speak steadily to those within earshot. ‘What is the highest duty?’
Every man, woman, and warrior present answered with the phrase: ‘To serve the Empire.’
By crossing his arms, the imperial herald signalled for the principal parties to approach. That moment the butana drove down in a whipping gust, its sound like the moan of a dirge. Trying not to take the incident as omen, the herald completed his office. ‘My Lady, my Lord, I shall await at a distance, so that you may discourse untroubled.’
He withdrew at a rate that was barely within the limits of propriety, leaving Mara and Tasaio faced off with but two paces between them.
Unwilling to succumb to the indignity of shouting over the wind, Mara left the opening words to Tasaio. Predictably, he did not begin with politeness or salutations. His thin lips curled slightly at the corners, and in the unpredictable flicker of the torches, his eyes seemed to shine like a sarcat’s. ‘Mara, this is a situation I had not anticipated.’ He waved his hand, indicating the odd surroundings, the poised warriors, and the snapping banners that were all in the tableau that seemed alive. ‘I could draw my sword and end this now.’
Defiantly matching his malice, she answered, ‘And disgrace your house’s name? I think not, Tasaio.’ Her tone turned dry. ‘That would be too much’ – she fixed him with dark eyes – ‘even for a Minwanabi.’
Tasaio laughed, the sound unexpectedly bright over the dissonant undertone of the butana. ‘You will be made to understand a truth. A man with enough stature may do as he pleases with impunity, Mara.’ He studied her from under veiling eyelids and said, ‘We waste time. Why are you here?’
‘For the Good of the Empire,’ Mara reiterated. ‘You bring your army and the bulk of Clan Shonshoni to Kentosani. I believe you come to make war upon the Emperor.’
Tasaio’s manner showed interest, but under his veneer of civility, Mara sensed an almost physical wave of hatred. She resisted an instinct to step back and barely managed to keep her composure. As with dogs who circled before a fight, she sensed that the first one to turn away would be the one to invite attack.
‘You bring the bulk of Clan Hadama behind you,’ the Minwanabi Lord replied in deceptively lazy inflections. ‘Yet I do not accuse you of preparing treasonous assault upon the Light of Heaven.’
Mara spelled out the obvious. ‘I am in no position to claim the white and gold.’
As if conceding a compliment, Tasaio inclined his head. Yet his feline, watching eyes tracked her every movement, seeking opening.
The Lady of the Acoma gathered courage and added a barb. ‘Cease your preening, Tasaio. Your position of ascendance has nothing to do with merit. The other claimants are in disarray because of their dealings with Axantucar.’
‘A fine point,’ snapped Tasaio. Then he smiled. ‘In the end, for whatever reason, I win.’
‘No.’ Mara allowed a slight pause. ‘A stalemate could go on indefinitely. That would serve the Light of Heaven, since delay would allow him to bring the Empire under his own control. The Imperial Government may be asleep, but it is not dead. Over time, more and more Lords would accede to the jurisdiction of the imperial court and governors, and less power would reside with the High Council. Should Ichindar order the smaller Lords, one at a time, to send support to his Imperial Whites, consolidating his authority, soon the roads and the river between your estates and the trade cities would be commanded by his army. Already the Kanazawai serve alongside the Whites. Who next? The Xacala? How long before you become a Lord only within the boundaries of your own lands?’
A light touched Tasaio’s eyes, hard-edged as the burn of the stars in a sky stripped of haze by the butana. ‘You speak of possibilities, Mara, and remote ones at that.’
Yet his manner had become subtly guarded. Pressing her narrow advantage, Ma
ra sought to unbalance him. ‘Not that remote, Tasaio, and well you know it.’ Before he could speak, she said, ‘There is another possibility: what if Lords Keda and Xacatecas threw their support to Tonmargu at the outset?’
Tasaio’s attention focused instantly upon Mara. Beyond that he concealed his surprise. He was aware Lord Hoppara was her ally, but mention of the Lord of the Keda was unexpected.
As Tasaio continued his flat stare in silence, Mara said, ‘I have a proposal. The other three claimants to the white and gold could form alliance only to frustrate you. Even joined, they cannot win their own choice. Given that, I control enough votes in the council to swing the outcome.’
Tasaio’s patience seemed suddenly worn. ‘Then do so, Mara. Give the white and gold to Frasai of the Tonmargu and go home.’
Mara felt the wind like a tingle of chill against her skin. She played a dangerous game for perilous stakes, and knew it. Yet she saw no other option. Too much innocent blood would be spilled if events were permitted to run their worst course. Choosing her phrases with care, she said, ‘The difficulty is that while I would rather die than see you gain the white and gold, you are the only man who could hold the throne. Lord Tonmargu is not the sort of man to face down the Light of Heaven inside his own palace. So, we are left with two choices: a Warlord who is the Emperor’s puppet … or you.’
Wary, and not so vain as to swallow all he heard without suspicion, Tasaio considered. ‘If a figurehead Warlord is a fate worse than death, but you wish my instant obliteration, what solution do you propose?’
‘I can do for you what I could also offer Frasai of the Tonmargu: should I bid, enough Lords will support you to put you firmly upon the Warlord’s throne.’
The Complete Empire Trilogy Page 122