The Complete Empire Trilogy

by Raymond E. Feist

  Mara regarded each of her officers, from Keyoke, whom she had known since her girlhood, to Saric, promoted as a young man to his post of First Adviser, to Incomo, reprieved from an enemy prisoner’s fate of death or slavery. All had given her miracles, in their time of service. Now she found herself forced to ask more, to demand, in fact, that some of them lay down their lives. There was no time for recriminations, no moment even to dwell upon sentiment. Expediency was paramount, and so she gave out what she expected might be her last commands to them in this life, her voice tersely emotionless. To allow her feelings to show was to invite emotional breakdown.

  First she addressed the cho-ja, who was to her imperfectly educated eye an elderly worker. ‘First, and most important, your Queen has my thanks for the loan of your services.’

  The cho-ja worker inclined its head. ‘My services were purchased, Lady Mara.’

  ‘Your Queen has my gratitude in addition to monetary payment. Let her know if you have means.’ Mara paused, and heard the thin, high-pitched buzzing that signaled cho-ja communication. When the sound ceased, she asked, ‘Is it meet that I ask questions of you, good worker? And may I request of you another labor, without compromising your body’s need of rest?’

  Again the cho-ja inclined its head. ‘The night air is mild, Lady Mara. I have no need of rest unless it turns cold. State your needs.’

  Mara sighed in barely perceptible relief. One small obstruction less lay before her. ‘I require my Force Commander, Lujan, carried south at speed to rejoin my army near the city of Sulan-Qu. He must travel in utmost haste; my line’s survival depends upon it.’

  ‘My service is yours,’ the cho-ja intoned. ‘I will bear your officer willingly.’

  ‘Should I survive, the Queen of your hive may demand debt of me,’ Mara said in sincere appreciation. ‘I would also ask that you give my adviser Saric clear instructions on the location of the cho-ja hive entrance nearest our present position.’ As the cho-ja worker inclined its head in acquiescence, Mara added, ‘Saric, go with him. Learn where the hive is; select ten soldiers from my retinue who can move quickly; and also borrow for me a partial suit of armor that will let me pass as a warrior in the dark.’

  Saric gave a hasty bow and left the circle. One face fewer, Mara thought; she swallowed hard. The next order she had to deliver became the more difficult. ‘Lujan?’

  Her Force Commander leaned forward, his hair raked in wet streaks at his temples, and his hand resting upon his sword. ‘Pretty Lady, what is your desire?’

  His tone was rakish. Mara suppressed a half-laugh, half-sob. ‘I require the impossible, soldier.’ She forced a smile. ‘Though, gods know, you already gave me as much in the challenge circle in Chakaha.’

  Lujan gave a deprecating wave. His eyes also seemed too bright for the dimness of the lantern light. ‘Say on, Lady. There is no need for hesitation between us – particularly after Chakaha.’

  Mara suppressed a tremor of nerves. ‘Force Commander, I require you to rejoin my army in the south. Should the Anasati forces attempt to break their lines and move anywhere, north, east or west, you will commit all of our companies and engage Lord Jiro’s. Fight them to a standstill; keep them from joining their master in the Holy City. When the Black Robes arrive to chastise you, forestall their wrath in any manner that you can.’ Now she paused to gather the force of will to keep control. ‘Lujan, I ask that you dedicate the lives of the Acoma warriors to the last man before you allow Lord Jiro’s army to travel one step closer to Kentosani.’

  Lujan slapped a hand over his heart in salute. ‘Lady Mara, you have my solemn word. Either your army shall prevail, or I will wage such close war that the Black Robes must annihilate us all, Anasati and Acoma both.’ He bent his head in a swift bow and straightened. ‘For your honor, my Lady.’

  And then he, too, was swallowed up by the night. The Lady of the Acoma scrubbed her fingers over her face. She felt clammy, whether from mist or sweat she did not know. If Lujan survives this, and we should meet again, Mara vowed, I will give him a reward such as his dreams cannot encompass. But only if Justin sat on the golden throne could any of them have a prayer of survival. Even should the Acoma prevail, Lujan might be beyond reward, for no one who defied the Assembly survived; no one. Mara raised her chin and phrased the question that had to be asked. ‘Keyoke, ever faithful grandfather of my heart, do you see any other option?’

  He looked at her, hard-bitten from his years on fields of battle. ‘I see none, daughter of my heart. To yield up to your enemy the life of your innocent son would save nothing. If Jiro ascends the golden throne, our lives and Acoma honor are as dust. What matter if the Assembly burns us to ashes first?’ He smiled with the humor only soldiers facing death can muster. ‘Should we die with honor, we shall be known to history as the only house willing to challenge the Assembly. That is no mean accomplishment.’

  Mara fixed her gaze straight ahead. Alternatives did not exist. Now she must forge ahead, with the last order; the hardest of all to deliver. ‘Keyoke, Incomo.’ Her voice faltered. She jammed taut hands into her lap and willed herself to believe in a strength that was all false bravado. ‘From here our ways must part. You must go on with the palanquin and the honor guard. Keep on the road to Kentosani, and behave as if nothing untoward has occurred. This may seem a small service compared to the deed I have assigned to Lujan. But I say in deepest truth, your task may prove the most important. The Black Robes must not guess that my path has diverged until the latest possible instant. Your lives are precious to me, and to the continuance of House Acoma. But no Lady of my rank would journey to a meeting with magicians in the Holy City without her most valued senior staff. Your presence is essential to keep up proper appearances. On this the chance of saving Kasuma and Justin must depend.’

  ‘Mara-anni.’ Keyoke used the gentle diminutive of her childhood. ‘Set aside your fear. For myself, I am an old man. The friends who might remember my youth are mostly in Turakamu’s halls, and if the gods are kind and grant my dearest wish, I would ask to meet the Red God many years ahead of you.’ Keyoke paused, then, almost as afterthought, he broke into a fond smile. ‘My Lady, I would have you know this. You have taught me the true meaning of a warrior’s creed. Any man can die fighting enemies. But the real test of honor for a man is to live and learn to love himself. In my long life, I have accomplished many deeds. But it took your gift of an adviser’s post to show me the meaning of my accomplishments.’ A suspect shining adorned Keyoke’s eyes as he gave his Lady his final request. ‘Mistress, by your leave, I request permission to help Saric select the ten warriors who will accompany you in your flight to Kentosani.’

  Beyond words, Mara inclined her head, concealing her sudden tears as Keyoke delved among the cushions for his crutch, and arose. He swung himself off into the dark, erect as he had been in youth, and with the same dedication that had seen him through a lifetime of wars. When Mara at last found the courage to raise her head, he was gone from sight; but she heard his voice demanding the loan of a sword and helm from the spare supplies.

  ‘Dammit,’ he said, borrowing a swearword from Midkemia when someone suggested he should ride in the palanquin in dignified comfort. ‘I shall go armed, and on my feet, and any man who dares to suggest otherwise can cross swords with me and earn himself a beating!’

  Mara sniffed. Only two faces remained of her inner circle: Arakasi’s messenger, who was a virtual stranger, and Incomo, whom she had scarcely come to know as well as the others who had worn Acoma colors longer. The fine-boned, stooped old adviser had seen service with two houses, and the obliteration of one master at Mara’s hand. And yet he did not seem awkward as he faced the mistress he had sworn to serve. Though he was a tentative man, his voice was now unusually strong. ‘Lady Mara, know that I have come to love and respect you. I leave you with all that I can give: my counsel, poor though it is. I charge you, for the good of the Empire we both revere, to hold to your goals. Seize the golden throne ahead of Jiro, and know absolu
tely that you do right by this land and its people.’ He smiled shyly. ‘I, who once faithfully served your most bitter enemy, was given more honor and joy in your service than I could have imagined any man might know. When I served the Minwanabi, I did so for duty, and the honor of my house. Had Tasaio been defeated by any other ruler, I would have died a slave, so I know first hand the value of your principles. The changes you labor for are just. Make Justin Emperor, and rule well and wisely. You have my devotion and my everlasting gratitude.’

  Awkward of body as he was with emotions, Incomo arose. He gave a deep bow, and another shy smile, then hastened away to fill Saric’s ears with last-minute advice, whether or not it was wanted.

  Mara swallowed past a tightness in her throat. She regarded Arakasi’s messenger, who seemed weary enough to fall asleep on the cushions without the bother of lying down first. ‘Can you tell me whether the news you brought has also been sent to my husband?’ she asked gently, hating to disrupt his peace.

  The man blinked and roused. ‘Mistress, Lord Hokanu will have heard ahead of you, since he was closer to Kentosani. Arakasi dispatched other couriers to carry word to the Shinzawai when the first in our relay was sent to you.’

  Mara longed to know what Hokanu had done when the ugly news reached his ears. She might never learn; or she might live to regret the final knowledge. For whether or not she had made her husband’s life forfeit by her orders to Lujan, which were in blatant disregard of the Assembly’s edict, in her heart she suspected that her husband would never allow Jiro to reach the sanctuary of Kentosani. Revenge for his murdered father would not permit, and in addition, the life of his heir was at stake. Hokanu would serve his honor and attack, Mara thought, whether or not he had a prayer of success.

  She regarded the exhausted messenger and delivered her last instruction, which she hoped would give him his best chance at life. ‘You will leave this company,’ she commanded in an iron tone. Instantly the messenger was alert and listening closely to her commands. ‘You will go at once, and you will swear to me that you will not stop until you have reached the next courier in your relay. You must send the following instructions to Arakasi: tell him to seek out his happiness. He will know where to find it, and if he demurs, tell him that is my injunction as his mistress, and his honor requires he obey.’

  Fully awake now, the messenger bowed. If he found the message odd, he simply assumed it was but another clever code. ‘Your will, my Lady.’ He arose and stepped off into the dark.

  Alone in the palanquin, Mara released the curtain ties. The fine silk fell with a sigh of sound, affording her a rare moment of privacy as she buried her face in her hands. The reprieve she had won in Chakaha now seemed futile. Had she died there, the outcome would still be the same: her son’s life sacrificed for Jiro’s ambition. She wondered in self-pity whether fate might have treated her differently if, so many years past, she had not slighted Jiro by choosing Buntokapi for her husband.

  Was this snarled, vicious political mess the gods’ vengeance for her vanity? Was she being punished for her selfish, all-consuming drive to keep her family’s name and honor, begun with the sacrifice of a man’s life? She had wed Buntokapi only to see him die as a result of her scheming. Had he silently cursed the Acoma name, in the moment he had fallen on his sword? Mara felt a chill course through her flesh. Perhaps things were all foreordained, and her remaining children would die as Ayaki had, as pieces sacrificed in the Game of the Council.

  Mara’s shoulders spasmed as she choked back a sob. Over the years, each move of the Great Game drove the stakes higher. Now nothing less than an Emperor’s throne would ensure the safety of her family. To protect her children, she must change the course of the Empire’s history, and discard long centuries of tradition. She felt frail and vulnerable, and the feeling of beaten desperation would not leave her. Then her moment of soul searching ended; she had no further chance to ponder if she would survive to greet her children on this side of the Wheel of Life as Saric returned to the palanquin with an armload of borrowed armor.

  ‘My Lady?’ he queried softly. ‘We will need to make haste. The nearest cho-ja hive is a day and a half distant. If we are to have a prayer of reaching Kentosani in time enough to matter, we dare not delay for a second.’

  Her Adviser wore armor himself, Mara realised. Observant almost to a fault, he caught her glance of surprise as he knelt to help her arm. ‘I was a soldier once,’ he reminded. ‘I can be so again – I’ve not let my swordwork become entirely lax. That is all to our advantage. A small company of fast-marching warriors must perchance draw less notice when they are not accompanied by a man clad in robes of high office, don’t you think?’

  Saric’s habit of speaking in questions did have the effect of drawing the mind away from insoluble problems. Forced to respond despite her worry, Mara conceded the wisdom of the disguise.

  ‘Gods preserve us, we may need an extra sword before all is said and done.’ Saric expertly applied himself to the buckles of Mara’s breastplate, while, with false appearance of normality, the company’s water boy made his rounds with his bucket and dipper, as he would through a natural pause for rest.

  Lujan slid off the cho-ja, his body leaving streaks in the dust that caked its carapace. He staggered slightly from stiff muscles, and was caught and steadied by the fast reactions of the sentry standing guard outside the command tent. ‘Where is Force Leader Irrilandi?’ the Acoma Force Commander croaked through his parched throat. ‘I bring orders from Lady Mara.’

  The Patrol Leader on day duty arrived breathless, having seen the cho-ja race in. After one glance at his exhausted commanding officer, he assisted Lujan to take a seat on a cushion in the shade. ‘Irrilandi is out with the scout patrol. There has been movement reported among Lord Jiro’s troops. He went to see for himself,’ he summed up.

  ‘Send our swiftest runner to fetch him back,’ Lujan commanded. Servants rousted from the command tent by the day sentry arrived with cool water and towels. Lujan accepted a drink, then waved them off to undertake the task of seeing the cho-ja who had carried him made comfortable. His voice stronger since the dust was washed from his throat, he added, ‘Whatever the creature requires, see that its needs are promptly met.’

  The servants bowed and backed off, to crowd around the tired cho-ja. Lujan knuckled the aching muscles of his thighs, speaking fast, and like a swirl in a deep current the surrounding encampment heaved into motion in response.

  While runners dashed off to convene a meeting of officers, and begin the process of a main muster, Lujan summoned the highest-ranking warrior at hand and directed at him a rapid-fire string of questions.

  The officer’s answers were direct, and as he used his sword to trace out the deployment of the enemy troops, Lujan also perceived the emerging pattern that had concerned Irrilandi.

  ‘Jiro’s troops have gathered to march,’ he summed up.

  ‘You see that, too,’ the officer’s worried eyes followed his Force Commander’s hands, which had tightened fiercely on his sword hilt. ‘Though the gods alone know why the Anasati Lord would issue such a command. His war host can’t attack our holdings or our force without invoking the wrath of the Black Robes.’

  Lujan looked up abruptly. ‘I have news. Jiro has started his bid to take the throne in Kentosani. Though cursed if I can figure how word traveled so swiftly from his position in the north to the Anasati Force Commander in the field.’

  The scout rubbed sweat from his face. ‘That I can answer. He has birds.’

  Lujan raised his eyebrows. ‘What?’

  ‘Birds,’ the scout insisted. ‘Imported from Midkemia. They are trained to fly to a homing point, with a message scroll fastened to their leg. They are called pigeons. Our archers shot two of them down, but others got past.’

  ‘The messages were in cipher?’ Lujan asked, then answered himself. ‘None of Arakasi’s decoding patterns translated?’

  The scout leader gave a nod indicating that the Anasati codes were
still unbroken.

  Lujan forced his aching body to obey his will, and stand, and walk. ‘Accompany me,’ he ordered the scout leader; to the duty officer he added, ‘When Irrilandi arrives, have him meet me in the command tent over the sand table.’

  The dimness inside the pavilion offered no relief; the rain had ended, and the sun beating down on its hide roof heated the air to steaming closeness. Lujan unstrapped his helm. He splashed the dregs of his water cup over his already sweat-drenched hair. Then, rubbing salty droplets from his eyelashes, he leaned on the rim of the sand table. ‘These are accurate?’ he asked in reference to the rows of colored silk flags and troop markers.

  ‘Updated this morning,’ the scout replied.

  Silence fell. From outside, the commotion of warriors rushing to muster filtered through the tent walls and hangings; as fine a commander as any in the Empire, Lujan kept his ears tuned to their activities while his eyes roved the sand table in swift assessment.

  ‘There,’ he announced presently, his dusty hands reaching and rearranging whole companies of markers at a sweep. ‘The Plain of Nashika. That is where we will take him.’

  The scout gasped in fear and turned pale. ‘We attack Lord Jiro? Force Commander, what of the Black Robes?’

  Lujan never paused as he manipulated markers. ‘The Black Robes shall do as they will. But by our Lady’s order, we attack. If we hesitate, or fail her, every man in this army will be masterless, grey warriors cursed by the gods.’

  The tent flap slapped back, admitting a swirl of dust and the long-striding figure of Force Leader Irrilandi. Lean and toughened as cured bark, the older man jerked off his gauntlets and positioned himself at the sand table opposite his superior officer. He wasted no word of greeting, but swept a glance that missed nothing across the changed deployment of markers. ‘We will attack, then,’ he surmised, his typically bitten-off speech animated by a lilt of pleasure. ‘Good. At first light, I presume?’