The Complete Empire Trilogy

by Raymond E. Feist

  ‘Much of what you propose rests upon speculation, Lady,’ the Emperor said on a note of unquestioned authority.

  Her eyes still locked upon the elaborately patterned floor, Mara said, ‘Majesty, it is our only hope.’

  ‘What you suggest … is unprecedented.’

  That Ichindar considered tradition ahead of his own personal safety suggested much. This slender, solemn-faced young ruler was not greedy for absolute power; neither was he too timid to embrace bold concepts in the light of pending crisis. Admiring the maturity and courage apparent in one so physically slight, Mara said, ‘Much of what you have done, Majesty, is also unprecedented.’

  Ichindar inclined his head, the long, golden plumes of his headdress swaying as he nodded a stately acquiescence. Enveloped in elaborate layers of robes, he sat with painful formality, his face already marked by the ruler’s burdens. Green eyes in dark hollows and cheeks gaunt from sleepless nights marred what should have been a carefree visage. Beneath the jewels, and pomp, Mara perceived a spirit beaten down with worry. Young he might be, but the Light of Heaven was aware that he stood upon ground more perilous than quicksand. He held no delusions. His strength stemmed from the incalculable reverence the Tsurani people held for his office, but although deep-seated, such sentiment was far from limitless. Although uncommon among Ichindar’s ninety predecessors, regicide was not unheard of. The Emperor’s death was considered proof unto itself that the gods had already withdrawn their blessing from the Empire. Circumstances must already be disastrous for any but the most ambitious of Lords to attempt such a deed. Yet Mara knew Tasaio harboured just such ambition. And there were those, this day, who considered abolishment of the Warlord’s office a dire enough offence against tradition to justify such an act.

  Aware of the perils she invited by encouraging a course that departed further from the familiar, Mara raised her eyes to the enthroned figure on the dais. ‘Majesty, I offer only hope. I can stem Minwanabi’s ambition alone, but only at great cost. Tasaio would have to be granted the Warlord’s title. A peaceful succession to the white and gold might send these armies outside Kentosani home in peace. I submit to you this is an easy choice. Take it, and you may retire from the Great Game, return to the High Council its licence to act, and retire to your divine contemplations. But all personal feuds and differences aside, I submit that this course would only buy time. A Minwanabi on the Warlord’s throne would lead to a future of strife.

  ‘I believe the chance exists, here and now, for permanent change – an end, perhaps, to the needless bloodshed that riddles our concept of politics. I believe that honour need not be rooted in killing for supremacy. Our moment to instil a more compassionate governance may never come again in our lifetimes. Humbly, I implore you: think what that could mean.’

  The Emperor’s green eyes regarded her piercingly, even from his place high upon his dais. When he did not offer opinion, the priest of Juran the Just arose from his seat; a flick of one thin hand from the enthroned figure allowed him permission to speak.

  ‘Mara of the Acoma, does it occur to you that your words might not be pleasing to heaven? Yours is an old and esteemed name, and yet you appear to have laid aside your family honour. You pledge one thing to Tasaio of the Minwanabi, but even now you seek to forswear a most sacred vow.’

  Mara knew a terrible, invasive shadow of fear. The perils of inciting accusation of heresy were not far from her mind, so she directed her reply solely to the Light of Heaven. ‘If I have laid aside the blessing of my ancestors, I say this is my own affair. I have transgressed no laws, nor offended heaven. In all that I have done, through all that I implore you to consider, I act for the Good of the Empire.’ She shifted her regard to the priest as she added, ‘Even if I should dishonour my family’s name, this I would willingly do to serve the Empire.’

  A stillness greeted this statement, and then a stir of murmurs from the handful of advisers and priests. The representative from Juran’s temple sat down with a look distinctly shaken.

  The Light of Heaven turned wide, intelligent eyes upon the lady who stood in erect defiance at the foot of his throne. After an interval of unhurried thought, he gestured to his priests. ‘Let none present impute disgrace to the Lady. She does no shame to her house and name, but honours the Empire with her courage and service. For who else among our thousands of Ruling Lords has dared to approach us with this truth?’

  He paused, reached up with his own finely drawn hands, and removed his ceremonial headdress. A servant rushed in from the sidelines, knelt, and relieved him of its burden. With the high, feathered crown gone from his head, Ichindar seemed to shed his formality. He ran a hand through tousled brown hair and turned reflective. ‘When I first embarked upon my course within the Great Game, it was because I saw my uncle, Almecho, manipulate the Empire for the sole purpose of keeping himself in power as Warlord. The results brought suffering to many. His ambition was a threat to the nation … and myself,’ he added ruefully. ‘In working with Lord Kamatsu and others to end the bloodshed, I came to question the manner in which we live our lives, and I believe I understand something of the necessity that moves you.’

  Ichindar stood. He waved away the guards who would close at his shoulders, and descended the steps from his dais. ‘Let me share something with you, Mara of the Acoma, something only a handful of men know.’ The Emperor’s manner was sure, but behind the mask of a ruler born, Mara saw a boy who was still vulnerably young and as human as she under the enveloping weight of his state finery. He crossed the floor in measured steps. The priests watched, the one from Juran’s temple rapt as a carrion bird, and the High Father Superior of Lashima’s order faintly smiling as the Light of Heaven reached across the rail and took her hand from its position of salute.

  Since such unexpected familiarity appeared to disconcert Lady Mara, he looked directly into her eyes. ‘Originally, I tried to force peace upon the nations, for I saw great danger to us as a people if conquest were our only goal. But after Milamber returned, my reasons changed. You may have heard rumours of a great conflict upon the world of Midkemia. I confide to you now that the foe confronted there was the being our legends name the Enemy.’

  Mindful of a past discussion with Arakasi, Mara was unsurprised to hear this confirmed. She had reread the ancient tales of some unknown horror called the Enemy, which had destroyed her ancestors’ homeworld, sending them across a mystic Golden Bridge into refuge on Kelewan. Although most of her peers had no cause to believe the old tales were anything other than myth, her quiet, earnest manner held no hint of scorn or disbelief. This was not lost on the Emperor.

  Warming still more, Ichindar said, The menace from before the dawn of our history existed, and was more terrible in fact than in story. The Assembly of Magicians stood with me in my desire that should such an evil conquer our former enemies in the Kingdom and turn their wrath upon us, we as a nation must stand united to face them. For this I suspended the High Council, that the machinations of the Great Game not be allowed to weaken us against such awesome threat. At my command, ten Great Ones and three thousand soldiers of the Kanazawai clan, led by Hokanu of the Shinzawai –’

  ‘Hokanu has been upon the other world?’ Mara blurted. Then realizing her rudeness before the Emperor, she added, ‘I beg my Sovereign’s forgiveness.’

  Ichindar smiled. ‘You hold the young man in some regard, I see. Yes, Hokanu spent some weeks at war on Midkemia, and more time with his brother, Kasumi.’ The Emperor smiled. ‘We do not understand our former enemies in the Kingdom. Kasumi’s bravery in serving his new master in the conflict won him appointment to a lordship among the nobles of the Kingdom. I am unfamiliar with their titles, but the one granted Kasumi is no mean thing, I’m told.’

  The Great Freedom that Kevin had recalled with such fondness was true, then! Mara blinked back sudden tears, this certain proof setting final seal upon her changed beliefs. Forever after, she could not live comfortably with her own people’s rigid concept of caste. Men a
nd women were only human beings – gods did not appoint them slaves, or nobles, or craftsmen with irrevocable finality. That in her culture a son might be born and live in exemplary honour, and yet never be awarded the rank deserving of his deeds, was injustice and waste of the first order.

  ‘It is to our shame,’ she murmured unthinkingly loud, ‘that a captive might gain freedom and begin a noble house that might someday rise to greatness among his former enemies – those we call barbarians – and yet many equally worthy sons taken prisoner into our Empire could become no more than slaves. I fear we are the barbarians, and not the Midkemians.’

  Taken aback by this concept, which previously had only been aired with Kamatsu of the Shinzawai, the Emperor of Tsuranuanni regarded the woman across the rail. ‘So I thought, also. Perhaps you will appreciate the fine point, that all slaves returned across the rift will be free men on their home soil. Their King Lyam swore such to me, and though the first peacemaking was a disastrous mishap, I now know him for an honourable ruler.’

  Torn by memories of Kevin, Mara could only nod.

  ‘I am loath to relinquish control of the Empire back to the High Council,’ Ichindar resumed, returned to the subject that had brought her. He lowered his voice so the priests and the scribe would not hear. ‘I also have come to understand that the chance arises to begin afresh.’ He released Mara’s hand with a half-smile of chagrin that oddly reminded her of Hoppara. Then, gesturing for his servant to return his formal headdress to his brow, he swept back up the stair to his lofty throne.

  Once again seated in state, he framed his official answer. ‘Whatever will occur on the morrow, the Empire will be forever changed. The magicians have held council on this issue, but they are reluctant to intervene further in politics, since the risk of the Enemy is past. Many of my allies against that threat have withdrawn’ – he indicated the empty chairs upon the pyramid steps – ‘some as a result of my condemnation of Axantucar.’ Ichindar studied Mara a long and final time. ‘I think your plan has merit, but the risks you court are equal to, if not greater than, others you wish to avoid.’ The point did not have to be stated that more than Lords might fall if Mara’s proposal went awry. The Empire itself might be plunged into bloody ruin. ‘I shall send word in the morning of my decision,’ Ichindar allowed. ‘Tasaio has already requested a meeting, with all Ruling Lords in attendance – it’s just this side of a demand I appear before the High Council to answer charges, I think.’

  Now seeming only a boy wearing a costly weight of jewels, sparkling metals, and silk, Ichindar sighed. ‘I expect I have no choice. I shall confront Tasaio.’ He ended the audience with a tired smile. ‘Whatever befalls, Lady Mara, you have my regard. Await my word tomorrow, and may the gods protect you and the name of your ancestors.’

  Mara bowed low, feeling admiration for this young man, trained since childhood to revere tradition, and yet gifted with imagination and intelligence enough to see beyond false glory to the higher good of his people. Aware that he was special, and that his office might never be blessed with another of such unbiased perceptions, Mara left the great hall.

  In the imperial anteroom her own party awaited, including Saric and Lujan, and Arakasi as attending servant, along with a picked honour guard of warriors. As one of Ichindar’s ministers escorted the Acoma contingent out of the imperial quarters, Mara remained deep in thought. Outside, as she was helped by Arakasi into her litter, she said, ‘Home, quickly. We have much to do and dangerously little time.’

  Mara held council throughout the night. Lords of many parties and clans made their way to her town house to seek her wisdom. Two hours before dawn, the Lady gathered an escort, and departed in her litter to appear before the one ruler who had failed to call. To the sleepy guard who answered Lujan’s knock upon that man’s town house gate, she demanded, ‘Tell Lord Iliando that Mara of the Acoma waits without for his welcome.’

  The disgruntled Lord of the Bontura arrived a short time later, his hair still in spikes from his pillow, and his robe mismatched with his slippers. Through an expression still surly from being wakened, he spoke the words to welcome Lady Mara into his home. When she was comfortably installed in his sitting room, and servants were called from their beds to attend to the courtesy of refreshments and chocha, he spoke bluntly. ‘Mara, why do you arrive unbidden at this hour of the night?’

  Mara signalled for Lujan and her honour guard to withdraw. ‘I come to ask your help.’

  Iliando held up a hand. ‘You have my sympathy in your time of difficulty, but as for opposing Tasaio –’

  Mara snapped erect. ‘What?’ Had the Lord of the Bontura spies among the Minwanabi retinue, or had one of Incomo’s staff been too free with his tongue? None but her inner circle should have known the contents of her discussion with her enemy on the hill.

  ‘Come, girl, your meeting with Tasaio atop the hill with two armies at your backs could hardly be kept secret, could it?’ Mara’s expression showed that she had hoped it could. ‘I will save you time. I have already given my support to Jiro of the Anasati,’ the Lord of the Bontura confessed.

  A slave arrived with the chocha tray and unobtrusively began to fill cups. While the older Lord blew on his cup to cool the scalding drink, Mara’s eyes narrowed. ‘Jiro? What is he seeking in this?’

  ‘You’ll have to ask him.’ The Lord of the Bontura unwisely tried a sip, burned his tongue, and set down his cup in distaste. ‘Mind the chocha,’ he warned unnecessarily. Out of patience, but tactful enough to keep still, Mara waited for the elderly Lord to qualify his statement.

  ‘Jiro has sent word to all members of Clan Ionani, making plain his beliefs that he considers his house in better standing than that of Lord Tonmargu.’

  ‘So he bids to be Warchief,’ Mara surmised. Suddenly she needed the chocha as an excuse to busy her hands. Nerves, and tension, and the uneasy adjustments her body was making to pregnancy were all exacting a toll.

  ‘If Frasai of the Tonmargu fears to confront Jiro, we’ll have a major shift in the ranks of the great families. It may be overdue,’ the Lord of the Bontura surmised. He did not need to belabour the fact that Frasai detested conflicts.

  Stunned, Mara absorbed the implications of this unexpected twist. Sadly, she realized that Nacoya and Kevin had been right: after long years of brooding, Jiro was still angered that she had chosen his brother over him as her husband. Jiro apparently had discerned the only course left open to her, and had taken steps to ensure that she would fail – for if she lacked the support of Clan Ionani in a coalition to block the Minwanabi majority, her years of garnering influence and debts of vote all amounted to nothing. The Anasati heir could refuse to support Minwanabi and Acoma both, deadlocking the High Council. Her prediction to Tasaio about encroaching imperial rule by slow default would come true.

  But Mara would gain little satisfaction, for a sworn enemy would then turn his full attention to the obliteration of her house in the instant that impasse became obvious. Clearly, the Lady of the Acoma would not live long enough to see her prophecy come true. Her hands instinctively touched her middle, as though to shelter the seed of Kevin’s child. Boy or girl, the babe might never know birth.

  And if Jiro was patient and clever enough to survive as the conflict raged on, he could emerge as the logical compromise candidate for the office of Warlord. Deep in thought as she sorted implications, Mara lost herself in the tangled turns of the Great Game.

  ‘Lady, are you ill?’

  Lord Iliando’s question snapped her from contemplation. ‘No, I am only … tired.’ She waved away her host’s concern and said, ‘You are in my debt.’

  The man inclined his head, acknowledging this was true. Regret coloured his tone. ‘I may not compromise my honour, Mara. You hold but my single vote in council, and only under circumstances that cause me no family or clan dishonour. Those were our conditions.’

  ‘I would demand no such breach of integrity,’ Mara assured him. ‘Instead, I request that you marshal C
lan Ionani’s support. If you can convince your kinsmen to support the Ionani Warchief against House Minwanabi, you will have satisfied your debt to me as well as your clan’s honour.’

  Iliando shrugged. ‘Even those who will back Tasaio in the end will go through the motions of supporting Lord Tonmargu’s bid through one round of voting, Mara. It is expected.’

  ‘Don’t confuse my request with a pro forma show of respect for Frasai,’ Mara interjected. Beyond the screen, the first grey pallor of dawn had begun to drive back the night. She was rapidly running out of time, and that realization vastly shortened her patience. ‘I require as many vows as possible against the chance that conflict might arise between Tasaio and your Warchief. In that event, I depend upon the assurance that Clan Ionani will stand resolute until I clearly show you it is no longer useful. Particularly since Jiro of the Anasati may replace Lord Tonmargu as Warchief by this time tomorrow.’

  Lord Iliando sighed deeply. ‘You ask a difficult bargain. I will see what I can do, starting with Lord Ukudabi. He is influential, and his cousin, Lord Jadi, was ruined by Tasaio’s uncle, so his house bears no love for the Minwanabi.’

  ‘Good.’ Mara set aside her half-emptied chocha cup and arose. ‘I will see the Lord of the Tonmargu myself.’ As her host saw her through to his outer door, she concluded, ‘This is more than a matter of feud between myself and Tasaio, my Lord Iliando. The Empire has been plunged into change, and it is up to you and me and others like us to decide whether the result is good or ill. Remember this: no matter what else you may think, I serve the Empire.’

  Once she was outside, Mara’s need for haste took over. She gave rapid instructions to Lujan, climbed into her litter, and endured a jostling ride as her bearers trotted through the city. The streets at that hour were deserted but for vegetable sellers driving laden needra wagons, and priests chanting daybreak devotions. Too fraught with nerves to feel sleepy, Mara closed stinging eyes until she arrived at her destination, an unobtrusive but beautifully appointed villa in the old city, with guards in blue armour at the gates.