The Complete Empire Trilogy

by Raymond E. Feist

  Tapek wasted no time in convincing oratory. ‘It is fact, companions, that the Assembly acted as a body once before and ordered Mara not to attack Jiro. For the Good of the Empire, I demand her life be forfeit!’

  Hochopepa shot to his feet, astonishingly fast for one of his girth. ‘I dissent.’

  Tapek spun on his heel to face the stout magician. ‘What mortal in all our long history has ever been allowed to live after defying our edict?’

  ‘I can count several,’ Hochopepa shot back, ‘but I doubt that would settle the issue.’ The stout magician’s voice was stripped down to gravel. Now he abandoned flowery, long-winded phrases. ‘Let us not act impulsively. We can kill Mara at our leisure, should we so decide. But this moment we have more pressing problems to consider.’

  ‘He’s going to force a vote,’ Fumita murmured worriedly to Shimone. ‘That could precipitate disaster.’

  Shimone’s brows seemed frozen into a glower as he replied, ‘Let him. Disaster is inevitable anyway.’

  Hochopepa moved down the aisle. Clown-like in his bulk, red-faced and smiling with good nature, he did not seem at all contentious, and such jovial posture in the face of tense proceedings lent him liberty, if only for comic relief. Spokesman Hodiku did not reprimand him as he wandered out onto the floor and began to pace in step with Tapek. His naturally short stride was forced to extend to ridiculous length to match the taller magician. Hochopepa’s fat jiggled under his robe, and his cheeks puffed with exertion. He capped his ridiculous appearance by waving a pudgy hand just under Tapek’s nose in vehement gesticulation.

  As Tapek sucked back his chin to avoid being stabbed by a fingernail, Hochopepa said, ‘I suggest we try other expedients before we obliterate the Servant of the Empire.’ Several members of the Assembly winced at such bald reiteration, and Hochopepa boldly seized the advantage to drive home his point. ‘Before we commit an act never before done in the history of our Nations – to destroy a holder of the most honorable title a citizen may obtain – let us consider.’

  ‘We have considered –’ Tapek interjected, stopping dead.

  Hochopepa kept walking and with apparent clumsiness seemed to slam into his younger colleague, knocking him off balance. Tapek was compelled to stumble ahead, or fall flat. Flustered and caught at a loss for words, he was swept on as Hochopepa continued his monologue.

  ‘We should stop the bloodshed first, then order Mara and Jiro to the Holy City. There they can be held while we judge this issue in a less muddled fashion. Shall we vote?’

  The Spokesman called, ‘A question is on the floor.’

  ‘I hold the floor!’ Tapek objected.

  Hochopepa at that moment trod heavily upon the redhead’s slippered toe. Tapek’s mouth opened. His cheeks turned white, then burned bright red. He rounded angrily upon Hochopepa, who stood with his full weight bearing down as if oblivious. And while Tapek was distracted by discomfort, Hodiku pressed on with the proceedings.

  ‘Now, it’s been a long and boring session,’ Hochopepa whispered to Tapek. ‘Why don’t we both sit down and regain our composure before the very serious matter of casting our vote?’

  Tapek growled between clenched teeth. He knew it was now too late to disrupt protocol and countermand the call for a formal vote. As Hochopepa raised his bulk off Tapek’s toe, the offended magician had little choice but to limp off, grumbling, to rejoin his cadre of young bloods. The Spokesman raised his hand. ‘Hear the options, yea or nay. Shall we order the fighting halted and Mara and Jiro to the Holy City for accounting before our body?’

  Each magician in that vast chamber held up one hand. Light sprang from their upraised palms, blue indicating agreement, white abstention, and red disagreement. The blue glow clearly dominated, and the Spokesman said, ‘The issue is settled. Let the Assembly adjourn for food and rest and gather again at a later date to decide who should be sent to deliver word of our summons to the parties, Mara of the Acoma and Jiro of the Anasati.’

  ‘Brilliant!’ exclaimed Shimone, seemingly oblivious to the black looks shot in his direction by Tapek and Motecha. All around them, magicians were rising stiffly to their feet, sighing in anticipation of a meal and a long rest. The session had stretched out to the point where it might take days to recapture the enthusiasm to gather another quorum and see an official spokesman appointed. And when a matter had been formally voted to resolution by the full Assembly, individuals like Tapek were denied their option of independent action. Shimone’s ascetically thin lips stretched in a way that suggested a smile. ‘Personally, I think I could sleep for at least a week.’

  ‘You won’t,’ Fumita accused. ‘You’ll be snuggled up with a bottle of wine and hunched over your scrying crystal, just like the rest of us.’

  Hochopepa sighed deeply and said, ‘We have narrowly averted what would have been perhaps the most destructive action in all of our long history.’ He glanced around to ascertain that no bystanders were paying undue attention, then whispered, ‘And we have won a few days’ grace. I pray that Mara has some clever plan in play that I don’t see, or that her voyage into Thuril won her some protection that she can deploy quickly. If not, and we lose her, we fall back into the atrocities of the Game of the Council for another span of ages …’

  Fumita was blunter. ‘Chaos.’

  Hochopepa stiffened his spine. ‘I feel the need for something wet and soothing for my throat.’

  Shimone’s deep eyes sparkled. ‘I have some of that Keshian wine you love so much stashed away in my quarters.’

  Hochopepa’s brow puckered in abject surprise. ‘I didn’t know you had dealings with Midkemian traders!’

  ‘I don’t.’ Shimone sniffed in reproof. ‘There’s a shop near the docks in the Holy City that always seems to stock a supply. My servant doesn’t ask how the proprietor came by such without imperial tax stamps on each bottle, and who would argue with what seems a reasonable price …?’

  As the three magicians made their way out of the vast assembly hall, their conversation turned toward the commonplace, as if light words and camaraderie might somehow stave off the immensity of the crisis about to overwhelm their land and culture.

  • Chapter Twenty-Six •

  Battle

  The camp burned.

  Smoke swirled across the battlefield, acrid with the stench of burned hide and the fine-woven wool of cushions and hangings that customarily adorned the field tents of Tsurani Lords and officers. War dogs yapped and snarled, and a boy runner raced to find a healer to attend to a wounded officer. Mara blinked watering eyes and turned her back on the soldiers who picked through the ashes to gather up corpses and weapons. The raid at dawn had been a success. Another of Jiro’s traditionalist allies had died in his command tent, while his officers and warriors had rolled out of their blankets in disarray. Lujan was unsurpassed at ambush and surprise raids; better than his counterparts who had never known the hardships of a grey warrior’s existence, he knew how to take advantage of subterfuge and guile. Most of the fighting had involved minor allies and vassals of the Acoma and the Anasati; other clashes had happened between houses that had old blood debts to settle. And while the magicians would be swift to condemn a massed attack on a formal plain of war, smaller struggles such as these had so far passed unpunished.

  Such forbearance could not long continue, Mara knew, as she turned wearily toward the small, unadorned shelter hastily thrown up on a space of ground unhacked by fighting. Lujan knew it, too; he threw himself into each skirmish with near-to-fanatical energy, as if he could not rest until one more enemy was dead.

  Hot, tired, and rubbed raw by the unaccustomed weight of full armor, Mara passed through the flap into the shade of her personal quarters. Swirls of dust entered with her. She waved, and a maid scurried out of the dimness to unlace the straps of her battle sandals. The sumptuous comforts of the pavilion-sized Acoma command tent had stayed packed away at the estate, its substitute a simple tent borrowed from stores that had previously served as shelter
for needra herders. Since her trip to Thuril, Mara’s view of certain Tsurani customs had soured and anyway, the green-dyed command tent with its silken banners and trappings and tassels would only serve as announcement to the magicians of her whereabouts.

  The herder’s tent was dry hot. It filtered out the direct sun, and some of the noise, as officers called orders, and wounded men moaned in the throes of their pain. ‘Water,’ Mara requested. She raised a grimy hand and unfastened the chin strap of her helm.

  ‘Great Lady, let me help.’ Kamlio hastened around the rude flap that divided the structure in half. Better schooled than the maid to answer the needs of men, the buckles of armor were familiar to her. Expertly she applied herself, and as the encumbering layers of lacquered platework were lifted from her mistress, Mara sighed in relief. ‘Bless you,’ she murmured, and nodded her thanks to the maid who handed her a cup of cool water. Never again would she take such service for granted.

  Kamlio freed another buckle and noticed Mara’s slight flinch. ‘Blisters, Lady?’

  Mara gave a rueful nod. ‘Everywhere. I can’t seem to grow calluses fast enough.’ The trappings of the Warchief of Clan Hadama were items she seldom wore, but now, more than ever, every badge of office and sign of rank must be displayed. She was on a field of war, commanding troops, and an alliance of forces not seen in modern history. They might march under the banners of a hundred minor houses, or be her own forces masked under the standard of her clan; but they numbered seventy thousand, fully half the might of the Empire. Their lives, if not their ultimate survival, were her responsibility.

  This war has come too fast! she raged inwardly while Kamlio removed greaves and breastplate and finished with the straps of the braces. War hosts had gathered before she had been able to settle a single plan of action, nor even to arrange a consultation between Keyoke and the cho-ja mages from Chakaha. Ichindar’s assassination had happened while she had all the necessary pieces for victory within her grasp, but before she had any chance to assess how best to use them.

  Kamlio had just unfastened Mara’s breastplate when footsteps sounded outside the tent. As the heavy, ornate helm with its bosses and plumes and cheek plates was lifted off, Mara closed her eyes in weariness. She pushed back the hair plastered in wet streaks to her forehead and neck. ‘Open the tent flap,’ she commanded her maid. ‘If that’s Lujan, back already, I fear bad news.’

  The maid flipped back the needra hide that curtained the door, while Kamlio rummaged for refreshments and cups for water. The warriors had been on the field since daybreak, and whichever officer approached to report, he would be hungry and thirsty.

  A shadow crossed the light, limned in a drift of smoke. Mara blinked stinging eyes and made out the plumes of her Force Commander as he saluted, fist over heart. Her expression must have shown apprehension, for his mouth split at once in a smile of reassurance, made the more vivid by the soot that darkened his face.

  ‘Lady, the Zanwai and Sajaio are in full flight. The day is ours; if one can rejoice over winning a pitiful strip of ngaggi swamp, the ashes of some tents, and six mongrel war dogs that are inclined to tear the throat out of anything that moves – one of the casualties was their handler – then rejoice. The strike force that attempted to organise a retreat was quickly routed, mostly because the officer in charge had little more brains than House Sajaio’s dogs.’

  Mara regarded a sky fouled grey with smoke, then spoke with bitterness. ‘How much longer are we going to have to remain here in defensive line to keep the Anasati forces pinned to the southeast of Sulan-Qu?’ It irked her to know that Jiro had other forces hidden to the north. Any day she expected word that the Holy City was under siege. With the Shinzawai army under Hokanu in forced march, but still several days away from Silmani and the Gagajin, she had no choice but to rely on the toy maker’s plans and the engineers she had sent to infiltrate Jiro’s operation. She could only lie awake each night and pray that her carefully planned sabotage would work, and that when Jiro ordered his great engines to breach the walls, the mechanisms would misfire and create havoc.

  The cho-ja mages could not help in this war. Their magic must be kept secret until the most desperate moment when the Assembly at last acted, for with rival factions massing to descend on Kentosani, full-scale conflict was only a matter of time. The rival armies could only face off for so long, abiding skirmishes and small encounters. Neither would be deterred by the dozen or so smaller armies that jockeyed for the most advantageous positions from which to pick over what bones the great houses might leave in their wake of destruction.

  Mara motioned for the Force Commander to enter her quarter. ‘How long? Jiro must make a move soon, either to break our lines or to order his allies from the west in siege of the Holy City. How much longer can we hang back without jeopardising support to Hokanu? If something goes wrong …’ Her voice trailed off; she felt beaten down by the forced agony of waiting, fully armed and at the ready, yet unable to advance. If she ordered her main army to march on Kentosani, she left open a way for the Anasati forces to reach the river or the trade roads, or to attack her from the rear. As long as the Acoma forces held their lines, Jiro’s Force Commander could not attack and break through to Sulan-Qu without inciting retribution from the Assembly.

  But it pained her to hold firm, knowing that Ichindar’s assassination was but the first step in a complex, linked plot. Jiro had not spent years building siege engines or paid lavish bribes and won alliances in the estates surrounding the Inrodaka for nothing. The threat to Justin would come from the west, she was sure, and were her enemies to break through the defenses of the Imperial Precinct before she could get there, her children would lose their lives. The Imperial Whites were good warriors, but with Ichindar dead, who would command their loyalty? Ichindar’s First Wife could not even control her own daughter. The Imperial Force Commander would defend the Imperial Precinct, but without a clear authority from above, his men would be an unknown factor. They would fight, but would they defend with the same dedication and selflessness her own forces gave to her? Any warrior might be expected to falter, if the Lord ordering the assault upon the Imperial Precinct might be the next Emperor. Now, more than ever, Mara perceived the flaws in the Tsurani order of rule.

  ‘Gods,’ she exclaimed in frustration, ‘this campaign would be bloody but straightforward if we could plan without interference from the Assembly!’

  Lujan considered his mistress’s restlessness with concern, experienced as he was in the frailties of men kept too long at battle pitch with no fighting. His mistress was stretched near to breaking with tension. The padded robe she wore under her armor was wringing wet with sweat. She had been stubborn, and had overseen the action while standing directly in the sun. He kept his voice mild as he said, ‘You should take every opportunity you can to sit down and rest, my Lady.’ As example, he pointedly removed his helm and sank cross-legged on the nearest cushion. ‘Action could break out at moment’s notice, and little good you will be to your people if you are worn out or in a faint from the heat.’ He scratched his chin, unable to fully silence his own gnawing worry. ‘Though it is certainly obvious to everyone that the magicians are conspicuous by their absence.’

  ‘A bad sign,’ Mara allowed. ‘Hokanu’s guess is that they deliberate over a united ultimatum. If either Jiro or I engage our forces directly, they will act, be sure of that.’ She let the maid peel off her underrobe, and gestured for a dry replacement. ‘I’ll bathe later, when the smoke has settled and things have a chance of staying clean.’

  Lujan rubbed at a bruised elbow, but broke off the motion as Kamlio handed him water. He drank deeply, his eyes turned toward the command map unrolled on the bare earth beside the table. Stones weighted the corners, and the middle held whorls and lines of colored tiles that displayed the disposition of every faction’s forces up to the latest report. The spoiling impatience that ate at his Lady was shared by every man in the ranks. Action was needed, Lujan knew, to keep their wits sharp, a
nd to prevent rash moves born of frustration. Even a small engagement would serve, focusing attention and discipline to keep the troops whetted to keenest edge. He considered the map in depth, then pulled his sword to use as a pointer. ‘It’s clear that a group of neutrals has set up a defensive position along the eastern branch of the river Gagajin, between the fork north of the Great Swamp and the city of Jamar. They could march west and harry Jiro’s flank, but more likely they’ll be satisfied to wait and declare for the winner at the last.’

  Mara spoke around the efforts of the maid, who sponged and dried her face, then slipped on her clean robe. ‘What are you thinking? A diversion? If we could stir them up and make them move around, could we confuse things enough to hide an advance by a few of our companies?’

  ‘Keyoke suggested we might take them captive, steal their armor and banners, then slip a company of our men north under their false identity.’ Lujan’s mouth quirked in amusement. ‘Not at all honorable, Lady, but there are men of yours who are loyal enough not to care.’ His eyes held frank admiration for Mara’s slim fitness, and for the blisters she bore without complaint. ‘But the question came down to what forces we could break away to start the skirmish that would not be obvious to our enemies.’

  ‘I could arrange that, I think,’ offered a velvet-toned voice. A shadow emerged out of the blown smoke, poised in the gap of the doorway. As always, Arakasi’s appearance had been silent. Accustomed as Mara was to his unexpected arrivals, she barely masked her flinch. Kamlio, taken unawares, spilled the water crock over the map. Counters washed awry in the flood, and water pooled ominously in the hollow that represented Kentosani. Movement in the tent was arrested as Arakasi caught sight of her for the first time since she returned from Thuril; his eyes widened for an instant, showing depths that beseeched. Then he recovered cool control and his gaze flicked back to the map. Fast as reflex, he kept talking. ‘The spilled water has nicely summed up the situation we have building. Lady, did you get my reports?’