Empire - 01 - Daughter Of The Empire

by Raymond E. Feist

  The Great One positioned himself by the door. His robes blended like ink into shadow, leaving his face and hands visible as a pale blur. When he spoke, his words rang like a voice beyond the bounds of human understanding. The innocent, the guilty, and onlookers alike shrank from the sound. 'We stand upon the site of violent acts,' Elgahar said to those gathered to witness his magic. 'Resonance of intense passion creates echoes in the other-world, that state, of energy which parallels reality. My spell shall call forth these echoes in visible form, and all eyes will see what occurred between the servants of the Minwanabi and his guest, Mara of the Acoma.'

  He fell silent. The hood eclipsed his features as he stood for a moment in total stillness, then tipped his head towards the ceiling. He gestured in the air with one hand and began an incantation so low that even those standing closest could not decipher the words. Mara sat like a temple statue, barely aware of the vague rise and fall of the magician's voice. The spell he shaped affected her strangely, as if a force touched her inner self and separated a piece of her spirit. At her side, Arakasi stirred sharply, as if he, too, felt the pull of the magic.

  A soft glow arose in the centre of the room, over the torn expanse of the cushions. Mara watched with wondering eyes as a vague, transparent image of herself appeared, seated as she had been in the hour of Teani's arrival. An ice-pale spectre attended her, and all recognized the wizened form of Nacoya.

  The guests murmured in amazement. Nacoya, seeing herself, turned her face away and gestured a sign against evil. The Great One gave no notice. His incantation ended abruptly, and he lifted his hands; framed in the spill of the moonlight, the glowing figures began to move.

  The scene unfolded in ghostly clarity, soundless, and fragile as light reflected in water. Mara saw herself speak, and a flicker of movement appeared within the doorway. The Great One stood motionless, even as the outline of Teani entered, passing clean through his body as if he had been made of air.

  The nearest guests gave way in alarm, and more than one exclaimed aloud. But the spectre of the concubine remained oblivious. Ghostly in her beauty, she retraced her steps of the hour before and advanced to the cushions before Mara. The images of both women sat and spoke; Mara regarded her own form, amazed to realize how calm she had seemed before Teani. Even now, the recreation of the scene caused her heart to beat quickly, and her palms to sweat. The recollection of her terrible doubt nearly overwhelmed her still. But none of this had showed to Teani's eyes; and the guests who observed the fruits of the Great One's magic themselves gained the impression of a supremely confident young woman confronting one of inferior rank. To Mara it was now easy to understand why the concubine had fallen for the bluff and believed evidence existed that proved she was a spy of the Anasati.

  Next all in the room saw Teani call out to Shimizu beyond the door. Though her image made no sound, the lips could easily be read, and a moment later the Strike Leader appeared. The words of the exchange could not be guessed, but Teani's expression shifted, becoming so animal and basic that several guests gasped in surprise. Shimizu abruptly left the frame of the spell, and all in the room saw Teani draw a knife from her sleeve. With no visible provocation, she launched herself from the cushions, striking out at the figure of Mara. Whatever claim Jingu might offer in defence, now no doubt remained that a servant of the Minwanabi had attacked the Lady of the Acoma. The Lord of the Minwanabi's surety of safety was broken.

  For the first time any Lord of the Empire could recall, Jingu showed pallor in public. Perspiration appeared upon his upper lip, while before him the drama of the hour before continued to unfold. The Strike Leader Shimizu re-entered the room, and after a brief and bitter struggle received a wound from her knife. All stared in fascination as he hurled the concubine through the doorway. Wooden railings shattered in soundless impact; and Teani fell to her death, leaving only a spectral impression of a face contorted with hatred, horror, and desperate fear imprinted in the memories of the guests. For an instant the crowded room seemed suspended and motionless. Then, assuming the drama was concluded, a few guests murmured appalled remarks. Mara stole the moment to glance at the Lord of the Minwanabi.

  His expression showed calculation, and his small eyes, faint hope. If Teani had acted the renegade, then Shimizu had preserved his honour in killing her; should the image stop here, he was safe. But the face of the Great One showed neither sternness nor sympathy beneath the dark shadow of his hood. His spell continued to unreel, and in the midst of the chamber the Minwanabi Strike Leader spun into a battle crouch and advanced upon the Lady of the Acoma.

  Jingu stiffened as if touched by an executioner's sword point. Shimizu's broad back prevented any in the room from seeing what Lady Mara might have said, but after a short exchange of words, the warrior's blade rose and swiftly fell. Mara could be seen rolling in the corner. And cautiously, surreptitiously, those guests beside their host began to edge away, as if his shame were a contaminant that might spread on contact. Arakasi's courageous intervention became aftermath, as around the room guest after guest turned eyes of judgment and contempt upon the Lord of the Minwanabi.

  Clearly the image had said enough. Into a strangling stillness Elgahar mumbled a few phrases, and the alien blue-white light was extinguished. Mara let air back into cramped lungs, shaking still with suspense. Her danger was not over yet.

  Beside the Lord of the Minwanabi stood Almecho, an evil delight in his expression. Costly embroidery flashed as he raised his shoulders in an elaborate shrug. 'Well, Jingu. That seems a clear enough assault upon your guests. First the girl, then the warrior. You have enthusiastic servants, don't you?'

  Jingu showed no sign of turmoil. Racked by emotions only he could know, he glared first at Mara, then at the muscled and bleeding form of his Strike Leader. Those closest heard him whisper, 'Why? Shimizu, you were my most trusted warrior. What drove you to this act?'

  Shimizu's lips curled in agony. Whatever excuse he gave regarding the machinations of Teani, his actions had already condemned his master to die to expiate the shame to his honour. 'The witch betrayed us,' he said simply, and whether he referred to Mara or Teani was unclear.

  'You madman!' screamed Jingu, and his vehemence rocked all in the room. 'Stupid get of a diseased bitch, you've killed me!' Without thought, he drew a dagger from beneath his robe and lunged forward. Before any could react to his rage, he slashed backhanded across Shimizu's exposed neck. Severed arteries shot a fountain of blood, spattering fine robes and bringing a scream from a weak-nerved Lady. Shimizu tottered in uncomprehending confusion. His hands fumbled futilely as the life spurted between his fingers, and his great shoulders sagged as he realized his own death was upon him.

  Matters of betrayal and lies, twisted desires and misplaced love, all now became meaningless. He sank back. Almost peaceful as he welcomed the hand of Turakamu, he whispered last words to his master. 'I thank my Lord for granting me death by the blade.'

  Shimizu nodded finally to Mara, a silent salute for her victory. Then his eyes went vacant, and the hands that had sought her life fell slack. Sprawled in death at the feet of the elaborately clothed guests, he seemed a fitting symbol of Jingu's defeat. In the Game of the Council, the Lord of the Minwanabi was ruined.

  Almecho broke the silence. 'That was impulsive, Jingu. The warrior might have had something more to say. A pity.'

  The Lord of the Minwanabi whirled. For an instant he seemed capable of striking out at the Warlord, but his fury left him and he let the dagger fall. Almecho sighed. The cowled figures of the Great Ones returned to stand at his side as he focused his regard on Desio, son and heir of the Minwanabi. 'As sunrise is considered the best time for such matters, I expect you'll busy yourself for the next few hours with preparation for your father's ritual expiation of his guilt. I'm returning to my bed. When I arise, I trust you'll somehow restore the gaiety to this shambles of a celebration . . . Lord Desio.'

  Desio nodded. Unable to speak, he began to lead his father away. Jingu seeme
d in a trance. Deflated, his bold, brash voice utterly stilled, he turned his mind inward to the task before him. Never a brave man, he must still act the part of a Tsurani Lord. Fate had decreed his death, and somehow he must find the strength to accomplish what was expected. But as his father crossed the threshold, Desio cast a last glance backward at the Lady Mara. His look offered clear warning. Others might applaud her playing of the Game of the Council, but she had not won; she had simply passed the blood feud along to another generation. Mara read his hatred and hid a shudder of dread. She needed no reminder of the fact that she was still deep within the heart of Minwanabi strength.

  She thought swiftly, and before the Minwanabi heir could escape public regard, called after him. 'My Lord Desio. Violence has been visited upon me by Minwanabi servants. I require an escort of your soldiers when I depart for home tomorrow. It would be a shame to blot the cleansing of your family if the wronged guest was attacked by those in your service . . . or by nameless bandits or water pirates upon the river.'

  Thrust painfully into the responsibilities of rulership, Desio lacked the wits to excuse the request with grace. Aware only of the anguish of his father, and hatred of the Lady who had caused it, he still observed the forms he had been raised to follow. Feud would continue between the Minwanabi and the Acoma, but in public the insult to Mara and the blight on his family name required at least a gesture of reparation. Desio nodded curt agreement and departed, to attend upon the sorrows of Jingu's ritual suicide.

  Movement returned slowly to those who remained in the chamber. Guests stirred and exchanged comments, while a battered Arakasi helped the Lady Mara to her feet. Almecho and others looked upon the Lady of the Acoma with respect. No guest present believed the Lord of the Minwanabi would have sent servants to murder the Lady of the Acoma out of hand. None doubted that the Great One's magic had revealed the last act of some complex plot of Mara's, the Great Game of the Council at its subtle and deadly finest. The Lady of the Acoma had surmounted all but impossible odds to avenge a blow that had come close to ruining her house. Now all silently congratulated her for her skill in defeating her enemy in his own home.

  Yet Mara had learned nothing if not to guard herself doubly against treachery where the Minwanabi were concerned. After a murmured conference with Arakasi, she stepped forward. Offering a deferential bow to the Warlord, she smiled in a manner that truly made her beautiful. 'My Lord, I am sorry that my inadvertent part in these bloody acts has cast a shadow over your birthday celebration.'

  More amused than irritated, Almecho regarded her keenly. 'I place no responsibility on your shoulders, Lady Mara. Jingu is about to erase any debt that remains. Still, I suspect the affair is not ended. Even though our young Lord will provide escort for your return home - I salute that touch, by the way - you yet may face difficulties.'

  Mara made light of her own danger. With all the charm at her disposal, she instead offered sympathy to the one who was the Emperor's voice within Tsuranuanni. 'My Lord, too much sorrow has passed here for your celebration to continue with grace. As much as Desio might wish otherwise, grief will leave him little heart to resume the festivities in your honour. While there are other estates closer, mine lie in the fastest direct route by river. In reparation, let me offer my home as a humble substitute for the final celebration of your birthday. Should you accept my hospitality, my staff and my artisans shall do their utmost to entertain you.' Filled with secretive plans, Mara thought of the gifted but unrecognized performers she had observed at her wedding. In return for her past courtesy they would be willing to perform on short notice, and as one who had discovered new talents for the Warlord's pleasure, her social stock would grow. And many a worthy musician and artist might gain needed patronage, putting them even deeper in her debt.

  Almecho laughed. 'You're a sharp-witted one, aren't you, little bird?' His eyes narrowed. 'I had best keep an eye on you myself. No woman has ever worn the white and gold, but you . . .' He lost his serious expression. 'No, I like your bold offer.' He raised his voice to the guests who had lingered to watch the final turn of events. 'We depart at sunrise, to journey to the lands of the Acoma.'

  He bowed slightly and, flanked by the dark forms of his magicians, stepped briskly through the doorway. The moment he had disappeared, Mara found herself the centre of a storm of attention. In the very chamber in which she had escaped murder by narrow margins, she suddenly had ceased to be a social outcast, a girl marked for death at a moment's notice. From the greatest families in the Empire she received congratulations, honour, and the accolades of a victor who could play the Game of the Council.

  * * *

  Mara's retinue of warriors was recalled from the Minwanabi barracks well ahead of daybreak; they rejoined their mistress on board the Acoma barge. While land and water still lay in darkness, the craft poled away from the docks. Too excited by the events of the night to attempt to rest, Mara stood by the rail with her First Adviser and her Spy Master. Feeling the absence of Papewaio with keen sorrow, they watched the lighted windows in the Minwanabi estate house fall astern. The aftermath of terror and unexpected triumph had left Mara both shaky and exhilarated. Yet her thoughts, as always, ranged ahead. The usual preparations would be lacking, since the Warlord and all the guests would arrive at the Acoma estates unannounced. In spite of herself, Mara smiled. Jican was surely going to tear his hair when he discovered his staff had the responsibility of conducting Almecho's birthday celebration.

  The barge rocked gently as the slaves switched their poles for oars and began a steady stroke. Here and there soldiers spoke in whispers to each other; then all conversations stilled as the sky brightened over the lake. Astern, a colourful flotilla of guests' barges departed the hospitality of the Minwanabi. With the watercourses jammed with noble witnesses, Mara need not fear attack by enemy warriors disguised as bandits; and Desio in any event could hardly mastermind an attempt around the grief and the ceremony attendant upon his father's ritual suicide.

  When the golden disc of the sun lifted above the valley, Mara and every other noble passenger abroad in their barges noted the small knot of soldiers upon the hillock near the Minwanabi contemplation glade. These men stood honour to Lord Jingu as he mustered the courage to fall upon his own sword. When at length men in orange armour formed up into ranks and marched in formal step to the mansion, Mara breathed a prayer of thanks to the gods. The enemy who had arranged her father and brother's murder, and nearly her own, at last was dead.

  With Jingu's passing, the Minwanabi ceased their role as supreme power after the Warlord, for Desio was a young man of poor social gifts. Few considered him a worthy successor to his father; those travelling south to the Acoma lands commonly judged that the old Lord's successor would be hard pressed to preserve the alliances his father had forged, let alone increase Minwanabi power. Now Desio could expect to be closely watched. As he shepherded his family's decline, all who were once fearful of Minwanabi power would now add strength to his enemies. Unless one of Desio's more gifted cousins came to power, the Minwanabi fate was sealed. The stock of a great house had fallen far in the Game of the Council.

  Mara considered this throughout the voyage by river, and beyond, as her litter wove through the crowded streets of Sulan-Qu and into the quieter countryside surrounding Acoma lands. With the Minwanabi dominance ended in the High Council, Almecho stood unchallenged, save for the alliance of those in the Blue Wheel Party and the Alliance for Progress. Mara regarded the decorated litters of the nobles who trailed after her retinue, her mind absorbed by the likely readjustments of politics. With the beginnings of a smile, she realized the wisdom of having Nacoya place Hokanu of the Shinzawai near her at least once during the feasting. Then she inwardly laughed. Just as she must once again consider marriage, the Empire would begin another round of multi-player bickering as the game entered a new phase; but it would always be the Game of the Council.

  Mara turned to mention her thought to Nacoya and found the old woman napping. At last,
with their return to familiar roads, the First Adviser had begun to relax the tension that had driven her throughout their stay in the Minwanabi house.

  Just then Arakasi said, 'Mistress, something odd ahead.'

  Nacoya roused, but her complaints died unuttered as she saw her mistress staring raptly forward. At the crest of the next hill, at the boundary of the Acoma lands, stood two warriors, one on each side of the road. To the left, upon Acoma soil, waited a soldier in the familiar green of her own garrison. On the right, on lands belonging to the Empire, the second soldier wore the red and yellow armour of the Anasati. As Mara's retinue and litter came fully into view, both men spun around and shouted almost in unison, 'Acoma! Acoma!'

  Startled as her litter swerved to the left, Mara glanced back and saw her bearers pull aside to make room for the Warlord's litter to draw even with hers. Almecho shouted over the noise of tramping feet. 'Lady, you've arranged an exceedingly odd welcome.'

  Caught at a loss, Mara said, 'My Lord, I do not know what this means.'

  The Warlord gestured to his Imperial Whites, and side by side the two retinues crested the hill. Another pair of warriors waited beyond, some distance along, and an even more distant pair farther yet. On the crest of the last hill before the prayer gate a fourth pair could be seen. And from the waving back and forth, the cry 'Acoma' had been clearly carried ahead of the returning litters.

  Mara bowed her head to Almecho. 'With my Lord's permission . . . ?'