The Complete Empire Trilogy

by Raymond E. Feist

  The nurse’s sternness softened. ‘My Lady, your little ones will both be well and happy. You must not worry.’

  ‘Don’t let the Emperor spoil them.’ Mara warned, hugging Kasuma so tightly the baby wailed in protest. ‘He’s terrible with children, always giving them sweets, or jewels that the babies only end up putting in their mouths. He’ll cause one of the poor things to choke one day, unless one of his silly wives finds nerve enough to teach him what’s safe for an infant.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ the nurse admonished once again. Personally, she thought it was greed that kept the imperial mothers from restraining their consort’s generosity. She held out huge, warm hands and accepted Kasuma from her mother. The child cried harder, reaching chubby fingers toward the retreating clink of the bracelets.

  ‘Shhh. There, little blossom,’ crooned the nurse. ‘Give your mother a smile to take with her on the road.’

  That moment, while Mara fought a sadness that pressed her near to tears, a single chime cut the air. In the courtyard, the clack of Justin’s practice stopped abruptly. By his howl of annoyance, Mara presumed Lujan had reached out and caught the stick in mid-swing. Her eyes locked with those of the nurse, sick with hidden fear. ‘Go,’ she said. ‘Quickly. Buy what you need on the road, if you must, but head straight for the litter. Lujan will bring Justin, and assemble an escort and bearers, if it is not already too late.’

  The nurse gave a quick, scared bow, Kasuma’s cries muffled against her shoulder. Then she bolted for the door. As well as her mistress, she knew: the chime that had sounded heralded the coming of a Great One.

  Mara shook off paralysis. Heart pounding in apprehension, she shoved away the wrenching grief that she had not been able to say farewell to her son. Although logic insisted that if the Great Ones chose to act against her, the boy would be no better off on the road, a mother’s instinct would not be denied: to send the children away from pending trouble as fast and as far as possible. She wrenched her eyes from the empty doorway where the nurse had disappeared with her daughter, and clapped for her runner slave. ‘Summon my adviser. Quickly.’ She started to ask also for her maid, to bring a fresh robe and a comb to repair the tangles left by Kasuma, but stopped herself.

  The rare metal she wore on her wrist was sufficient to impress, and she doubted her nerves could withstand even the minute of stillness required to have a maid tidy her hair.

  Barely able to master her dread, Mara left the comfort of the garden outside her quarters. She hastened down dim hallways, the waxed wooden floors sounding strangely hollow under her tread, after the stone she had grown accustomed to in the lakeside manor to the north.

  Every estate house had a room with a pattern inset into the floor, which provided a place for the magicians of the Assembly to arrive by arcane means. While the decor of such chambers varied from plain to ostentatious, the summoning symbol was unique to each. Mara stepped through the low doorway into the five-sided room. She took her place just outside the mosaic in green-and-white tile that depicted the shatra bird that was her family symbol. A stiff nod was the best she could manage to acknowledge the presence of Saric and Chubariz, the hadonra appointed by Jican to manage her ancestral estates. At the sound of the chime, both had presented themselves, as was appropriate to a Great One’s appearance. A moment later, Lujan arrived, breathing hard, his gaze fixed, and his grip taut on his sword.

  A second chime sounded, signaling the moment of arrival. A crack of displaced air ruffled Mara’s loose hair and twisted the plumes of Lujan’s formal helm. Mara clenched her jaw and forced her eyes straight ahead.

  In the center of the pattern stood a bearded man in brown robes. He wore no ornaments. His garments were not of silk but of woven wool, clasped at the waist with a leather belt and a brass buckle of barbarian design. He wore boots, not sandals, and in the close heat of the windowless chamber, a flush touched his pale skin.

  Saric and Lujan both hesitated, halfway into their bows. They had expected a man in black, a Great One of the Assembly. No magician they had heard of wore other than the traditional jet robe, and certainly none sported a beard.

  Mara bent in obeisance, prolonging the motion to allow for furious thought. The City of the Magicians might lie to the north of Ontoset, but the climate was not cold enough to freeze. Only one reason could account for the dress of her caller: he was not Tsurani-born. Her impulsive note sent across the rift the month before must have attracted an answer. Before her stood the barbarian magician Milamber, whose powers unleashed in wrath had once freed slaves and devastated the Imperial Games.

  Mara’s fear did not lessen at her deduction. This Midkemian’s beliefs were unknown to her. She had witnessed the violence of his acts, which had culminated in exile from the Assembly that had given him his early training. His loyalties and his volatile temperament might still be theirs; his swift and direct arrival after her vague overture was disconcerting, when Mara had anticipated no reply more elaborate than a letter.

  Although Milamber would not be here on direct business of the Assembly, there was no guarantee he would not react in the interest of his Tsurani counterparts. Events between the worlds since his disgrace had caused him to work in league with them. Mara arose from her bow. ‘Great One,’ she opened in the steadiest voice she could manage, ‘you honor my house.’

  The dark eyes that met Mara’s seemed to hold veiled amusement. ‘I am no Great One, Lady Mara. Just call me Pug.’

  Mara’s brow creased. ‘Did I mistake? Is your name not Milamber?’

  Busily studying the unfurnished, wood-paneled room, Pug answered with an informality that typified most Midkemians. ‘It was. But I prefer to be known by the name given me in my homeland.’

  ‘Very well, Pug.’ Mara introduced her First Adviser and her Force Commander. Then, left at a loss as to how she should behave, and unwilling to be first to broach deeper matters, she said, ‘May I offer you refreshments?’

  Pug’s attention swung back, disconcertingly intense. But the hands that had raised such fearful powers of destruction in Kentosani remained still at his sides. He did nothing more than nod his head.

  Mara led the way down the wooden stair, through the dim inner corridors, to the great hall. Saric, Lujan, and her hadonra followed at a respectful distance, their eyes alive with curiosity and awe. The Acoma First Adviser had heard his cousin’s account of the destruction at the Imperial Games many times over hwaet beer. Lujan moved on his toes with alertness, aware that he dared not so much as think of handling his weapons before a man of such power; Saric sized up the barbarian magician, wrinkling his nose at the strange musty odors of birch smoke and tallow that clung to the man’s clothing. Pug was a man of normal height for a Tsurani, which made him short by the standards of his homeland. He looked unassuming, except for his eyes, which were deep in mystery and terrifying for their pent power.

  As the party entered through the wide doors leading to the great hall, Pug said, ‘A pity you are not at your usual abode, my Lady Mara. I had heard of the Great Hall of the Minwanabi when I lived within the Empire. The descriptions of the architecture fascinated me.’ In an almost amiable tone, he elaborated, ‘You know I also built my estate upon the property of a fallen family. Near Ontoset, the former home of the Tuscai.’ Mara glanced at her guest. There was nothing friendly about his eyes, which looked deeply into hers. If he was indicating he knew something of her household, her Force Commander, First Adviser, and Spy Master all having served the Tuscai, he showed only a pleasant façade. Always moving, Pug’s glance roved over the room where Mara’s Acoma ancestors had held court. Typical of most Tsurani halls, it was open on two sides, screens leading to a shaded portico. The ceiling was vaulted beam, roofed over with wood and tile, and the floors, waxed parquet that showed the wear of generations.

  ‘Impressive,’ he added, in reference to the war standards strung in rows from the rafters. ‘Your family is among the oldest in the Empire, I understand.’ He smiled, and years dropped away from hi
s face. ‘I assume you’ve changed the decor since taking possession of your other abode? The late Lord Tasaio’s tastes were said to be execrable.’

  His bantering tone set Mara at ease. Though she suspected that was his purpose, and was loath to put down her guard, she was grateful to let taut nerves loosen. ‘Indeed. My late enemy liked his cushions in leather and fur, and his tables inlaid with bone. There were more swords and shields decorating the walls than Jican inventoried in the Minwanabi armory, and the only silk we found was in the battle streamers and war trappings. The guest rooms looked like an officers’ barracks. But how do you know so much of my dead enemies?’

  Pug laughed with such openness that it was impossible not to share in his mirth. ‘Hochopepa. The old gossip officiated at Tasaio’s ritual suicide, and if you recall, he is quite portly. His letters to me held complaint that there was no seat in Tasaio’s household that was not hard, upholstered with wooden tacks, and narrow across the cushions as if made for a man in battle trim.’

  Mara smiled. ‘Kevin of Zun often told me that the most subdued art here would be counted “garish” in your land. One might argue that tastes are a function of perspective.’ The Lady of the Acoma waved her guest toward the circle of cushions that lined the dais where the ruler in residence held court. ‘So I have learned over the years, yet so often it is easy to forget.’

  Pug deferred to her, allowing Lujan to see her seated first. As a Great One, he would have been entitled to be shown that honor. But up close, he was unassuming as a commoner. Mara found it difficult to equate this affable man with the figure of towering pride and power that had single-handedly ruined a former Warlord. But it took more than appearances to settle her adviser and her Force Commander. Saric and Lujan waited until the magician had made himself comfortable before they sat themselves. Her more retiring hadonra looked as if he were on trial for a capital crime.

  Servants hurried in with trays, offering meat and cheeses and fresh fruits. Others brought hot water and an assortment of beverages. Pug helped himself to a plate with sliced jomach, and before Mara’s trained staff could offer, poured himself what he must have presumed would be chocha. He sipped, and the half-moons of his eyes visible over his cup widened in surprise. ‘Tea!’

  Mara fussed in worry. ‘Did you wish something else? My cook can have chocha brewed shortly, if that is your wish, Great One.’

  Pug held up his hand. ‘No, tea is fine. I’m startled to find it here.’ Then his eyes narrowed as he added, ‘Though by all reports, little to do with the Lady of the Acoma should be surprising.’

  Infused with sudden uneasiness, particularly that he should be acquainted with her affairs across the rift, Mara drew breath to demur. ‘Great One –’

  Pug interrupted. ‘Please. I renounced that title when it was offered, at the time the Assembly asked to reinstate me.’ At Saric’s startled lift of brows, the Midkemian magician nodded. ‘Yes. They retracted my order of exile, after the conflict with the Enemy that came to threaten both our worlds. I am now also a Prince, by adoption into the royal family. But I prefer Pug, magician of Stardock, to any other title.’ He helped himself to more tea, then loosened his wool collar to ease himself in Kelewan’s warmer climate. ‘How is Hokanu? I have not seen him since’ – a frown knitted his brows – ‘since just after the battle of Sethanon.’

  Mara sighed, hiding sadness as she nibbled a bit of fruit from the tray. ‘He is well, but contending with some unpleasant rivalries among his cousins since he inherited his father’s title.’

  Regret played across Pug’s expression as he set down his cup. The jomach lay untasted beneath his hands, which were fine-skinned, the nails impeccably manicured. ‘Kamatsu was one of the finest men this land has known. He will be missed. In many ways, I owe him for what I am today.’ Then, as if uncomfortable with dark thoughts, Pug grinned. ‘Has Hokanu developed the same passion for horses that consumes his brother?’

  Mara shook her head. ‘He enjoys them, but not nearly so much as Kasumi did.’ Quietly, sadly, she added, ‘Or Ayaki.’

  Pug focused on the reference with the open, barbarian sympathy that in Kevin had so often been disconcerting. ‘The death of your son was a tragedy, Mara. I have a boy close to his age. He is so bursting with life –’ He broke off, fingering his sleeves in discomfort. ‘You have been very brave, to endure such a loss without becoming callous or uncaring.’

  It was uncanny, how much this barbarian magician knew of her affairs and her heart. Mara flashed a glance at Saric, who looked on the verge of comment. She signaled her wish to speak first, before courage forsook her entirely.

  ‘Pug,’ she opened, the familiar address coming awkwardly, ‘I sent you that message out of desperation.’

  Pug folded his hands in his cuffs and regarded her, utterly still. ‘Perhaps it would be wise to start from the beginning.’

  His eyes were old, as if he had beheld vistas wider than the human mind should encompass, and griefs more terrible than the loss of a single child. For an instant, Mara glimpsed past his mystery, to the powers that coiled within this man whose manner seemed easy as a chatty cousin’s. She recalled the black-robed figure that had single-handedly destroyed the Imperial Arena, a gigantic stone edifice that had taken decades to build. Hundreds had died, and thousands had been injured in a fearful explosion of power, all because Milamber, this magician, had objected to the brutality of human combat as a display. Despite his everyday appearance and warm manner, he was a mage of unknowable dimension. Mara shivered sharply, feeling like a girl before the awareness of leashed might that this man seemed to hide so adroitly.

  And yet it must equally be recognised that, alone, Pug had flown in the face of tradition, and had earned himself exile for deeds the Assembly could not countenance. If the Acoma were to gain protection, he was a potential key to knowledge.

  Mara chose to risk all. She dismissed Lujan and her advisers, and when she was alone with the barbarian magician, she spoke freely. She began with the year the death of her father and brother forced her to assume control of her house, and recounted the triumphs and defeats that had followed. She spoke without pause, neglecting her tea and the food on the tray for a long time, finally ending with her confrontation with the Anasati that had brought intervention by the Assembly.

  Pug interrupted with a question. From that point forward, he asked often for clarification of a thought or enumeration of a detail, or probed her to learn the motive behind an action. Mara was impressed at the quality of his memory, for he often asked for more information on something mentioned more than a half hour prior. When Mara mentioned Arakasi’s latest findings concerning the lapses of continuity in ancient documents in the Imperial Archives, Pug’s questions became yet more pointed.

  ‘Why did you wish my help in these matters?’ he asked at last, his tone deceptively mild.

  Mara knew nothing would suffice but total honesty. ‘It has become apparent that the Assembly might oppose me, not to keep peace, but to arrest change within the Empire. Great Ones have been reining the nations back from growth for more than a thousand years, if my advisers and my Spy Master’s assessments are correct.’ Although she might be judged and destroyed for the boldness of her accusation, Mara shed her uncertainties. If she backed away from this chance to gain knowledge, the Acoma were lost anyway. She forced herself to frame in clear words what had become a lifetime’s dedication since Ayaki’s death. ‘Your Midkemian ways have shown the time-honored traditions we Tsurani most revere become destructive when they result in stagnation. We have become a cruel people, since the Golden Bridge. Merit has been replaced by elaborate codes of honor, and by a rigid caste system. I would see change, and an end to merciless politics for personal honor. I would see our Lords become accountable for their actions, and our slaves set free. But I suspect the Assembly would prevent even the Light of Heaven enacting such shifts in policy.’

  Mara looked up to find Pug staring into his empty teacup. Late sunlight slashed the wooden floors,
and the cheeses had half melted on the food tray. Hours had passed, all unnoticed. Ruefully Mara realised that the Midkemian magician’s questioning had not only caused her to reveal more than she had planned, but also had crystallised her thinking, ordered her mind and delineated exactly which problems lay ahead of her. More in awe of the barbarian magician than before, since she had not noticed his molding of her thoughts, Mara clenched her hands together. In a fever of anxiety, she awaited his terrible judgment, or the gift of his understanding.

  For a while nothing moved in the great hall but the war banners stirred by the breeze. At last Pug broke his silence. ‘Much in what you say puts me in mind of things I have felt … things I have done.’

  Nervously Mara said, ‘I don’t follow.’

  Pug smiled. ‘Let us simplify by saying that the Assembly is filled with disagreement. From without, the society of magicians might seem a monolithic entity, a body that occasionally intervenes in the affairs of the Empire, but habitually keeps itself separate.’ He gestured widely as folk from his culture were wont to do. ‘That is far from the case. Each Great One may act as he sees fit, upon any occasion, for his training is predicated upon serving the Empire.’

  Mara nodded.

  Pug’s gaze caught hers, dark with an irony that might have been amusement had the topic been less grave. ‘However, there are times when two magicians may have radically different views of how best to serve. On rare occasions, disagreements give rise to conflict.’

  Mara dared a supposition. ‘Then some of the Great Ones may not sanction the intervention in my war against the Anasati?’

  ‘They would be the minority,’ Pug allowed. Perhaps his own memories of exile from the Assembly came to mind, for he seemed to weigh Mara’s eagerness. ‘I am also sure that others argued that your death would solve the matter quickly.’ Deliberately careful in his wording, he neither confirmed nor denied her speculations concerning the Assembly’s hold over the Empire’s development; in bald fact, he had told her little that Fumita had not already hinted to Hokanu at Kamatsu’s death rites.