Servant of the Empire

by Raymond E. Feist

  The slave looked discomforted. 'Do what?' he whispered, as if speaking were sure to bring instant destruction.

  'Touch that picture of a man.' Kevin pointed.

  'That's an ancient Lord. He was Servant of the Empire. It's good luck to touch him.' The slave withdrew into himself as if that cryptic reference explained everything. Kevin was about to ask for explanation when a warning glance from Lujan silenced him, and turned him back to watching the proceedings.

  No serious political discussion ever took place that he could see. Once the family announcements were finished, slaves thronged in with refreshments, and this Lord or that would arise from his chair and speak with Chekowara or other clansmen. Many flocked around Mara's chair, and all of them seemed civil, if not friendly. Kevin waited for a second call to order, or some sort of announcement of business, but no such thing ever happened. When the afternoon light faded above the domed chamber, Lord Chekowara lifted his staff of office and thumped a ringing blow on the dais. 'The meeting of Clan Hadama is concluded,' he called out, and one by one, according to rank, the lesser Lords bowed to him in parting.

  'Seems like nothing but an absurd party to me,' Kevin commented.

  A soldier in Mara's honour guard caught his eye, then, in urgent warning to keep silent. Kevin returned his usual insolent grin, and then started: the warrior was Arakasi, clad in full armour and looking every inch the proper warrior. He had perfected military bearing so flawlessly that his presence was overlooked until now. More curious than ever to know why the Spy Master's attendance had been called for, Kevin shifted from foot to foot until Mara waved him over to replace her wrap.

  Kevin walked behind Mara's litter as her retinue reentered the twilit streets. Lamplighters had just made their rounds, and the imperial quarter of Kentosani glowed softly gold against the darkened sky. As the honour guard formed up to escort Mara to her town house, Arakasi fell in step beside Kevin. Wise enough not to call the Spy Master by name, the Midkemian simply said, 'Was anything of importance achieved in there?'

  Arakasi marched with his hand on his sword, deadly and capable in appearance though it was no secret he was not gifted with a blade. 'Much.'

  Exasperated by his brevity, Kevin probed: 'Such as?'

  The honour guard marched down a wide entrance ramp, with torches blazing in bowls on either side. Below the rise a larger contingent of warriors met them, affording their mistress the added security she would need in the darkening streets. Arakasi said nothing until they had rounded several corners and passed the gates from the imperial precinct.

  As they marched into the boulevard beyond, Arakasi murmured, 'Lady Mara's clansmen have made plain that she can expect a reasonable degree of support. . . assuming her alliances do not place other houses at risk. If she encounters trouble from her enemies, she'll need to invoke clan honour to gain assistance, and the outcome of such a call for aid could not in any way be assured.'

  The Midkemian's puzzlement stayed obvious.

  'Clan honour,' Arakasi repeated, in his manner of piercing perception. 'You barbarians.' The statement held no condemnation; the Spy Master thoughtfully qualified. 'To draw her clansmen into war, Lady Mara must convince every Lord, from highest to least, that an affront to her house was an insult not only to the Acoma, but to the Hadama Clan as well.'

  Kevin inhaled the incense-laden air; they were passing the temple quarter and suffered a momentary interruption as their retinue was forced aside to allow a tribute caravan to pass. The huge, leather-strapped carry cases borne on heavy poles by slaves contained metals, originally brought as plunder from the barbarian world and since dispensed by the Emperor's High Secretary, who portioned out allotments for the temples. Kevin waited until the guarding ranks of white-armoured imperial warriors passed on before he said, 'So?'

  Arakasi tapped his sword. 'Calls to Clan are difficult when the families who belong are as politically divided as ours are. For any attacking house is careful to make clear that it is moving against an enemy, not its clansmen. Gifts are often sent as reassurances.' After a pause, Arakasi added, 'Lord Desio has been lavish.'

  Kevin grinned in appreciation. 'What you're telling me is they're saying, "Don't invite us unless you're going to win, because the Minwanabi might stop sending us bribes. But if you're sure you can destroy them, then we'll be happy to join in, so we can take our share of the plunder."'

  For the first time since Kevin could remember, the Spy Master smiled outright. Then he loosed a chuckle that swelled into quiet laughter. 'I would never have thought to put it that way,' Arakasi allowed. 'But that's precisely what they told her.'

  'Damn.' Kevin shook his head in amazement. 'And I saw nothing going on except a gala.'

  From the litter, Mara interjected, 'Now you understand why I keep him around. His perspective is . . . fresh.'

  Arakasi resumed his soldier's appearance, but a gleam lingered in his eyes. 'I agree, mistress.'

  'I don't know that I'll ever understand you people,' Kevin said. He dodged to avoid a jigabird that had escaped some scullion's cleaver. They had entered the residential quarter now, and the lamps were more widely spaced. 'I stood and watched that entire meeting, and the only discussion that got heated enough to seem important sounded like a debate on land reform.'

  'In council,' Arakasi said patiently, 'what is not said is far more important: who does not approach a Lord's chair, and who hangs back, and who is seen with whom count for more than words. The fact that Lord Chekowara did not leave his dais to personally congratulate Mara on her border treaty was revealingly significant. The clan will not follow her lead. And all of that shuffling of bodies around Lord Mamogota's chair was proof that two factions within the clan support him, against our Lady. No one would seriously consider that nonsense about giving land to peasant farmers. The Party for Progress is without influence outside the Hunzan Clan, and Lord Tuclamekla of that clan is a close friend of Mamogota's. This was a dead issue before the meeting began.'

  'So you presume that the intercepted message was arranged by Lord Mamo-whoever?' Kevin surmised.

  'We hope so,' Arakasi answered. 'Mamogota's at least not affiliated with the Alliance War. He might take Desio's "gifts", but he isn't a Minwanabi supporter.'

  Kevin shook his head in amazement. 'You people have minds that twist like knitting. Never mind,' he interjected as Arakasi asked after the concept of knitting. 'Just take it that I'll be an old codger long before I understand this culture.'

  The silence between slave and Spy Master lasted until the return to the town house. Kevin entered the lovely inner garden and helped his Lady from her litter. He continued to doubt if he would ever truly know the people whose lives and fates he shared. As Mara retained his hand and smiled up at him, he looked into her dark eyes and found himself utterly lost. Tsurani life might be a puzzle to him, but this woman was a mystery and a wonder.

  15

  Chaos

  The spectacle began.

  Banners flew from every tall building along the avenues leading to the arena. Citizens tossed flowers into the street, to assure the gods they held no envy for those of loftier station. For reasons only the God of Trickery might name, city dwellers invested favour in this house or that, cheering more or less vigorously depending upon who passed. Mara's litter and escort were greeted with loud applause. Again dressed as a common servant, and placed behind the litter alongside Kevin in the cortege, Arakasi commented, 'It seems the mob favours the Acoma this month, my Lady,The victory in Tsubar has made you a heroine among the commoners.'

  Noise defeated Mara's attempted reply.

  The long, stately boulevard that crossed the imperial precinct was thronged with folk from every walk of Tsurani life. Their clothing ranged from the costliest cloths and jewels worn by high-ranking nobles to the craftsman's unadorned broadcloth and the meanest beggar's rags. The games offered by the Warlord in celebration of the Light of Heaven brought the finest ornaments out of jewel chests — the more daring of the wealthy merchant
s dressing their daughters for display in the hope of attracting a noble suitor.

  Surrounded by the flash of rare metal ornaments as well as lacquer combs, jades, and gemstones, Mara's escort jostled and vied for road space along with dozens of other house guards and their litter-borne Lords and Ladies. Some were carried in palanquins painted in carnival colours or sequinned with flecks of iridescent shell; others held whole families, shouldered by as many as twenty slaves. For as far as the eye could see, the festival crowd made a vast, brilliant swirl of a thousand colours; only the slaves stood out, in commonplace robes of dull grey.

  Kevin stared like a blind man just given sight. Past a retinue of warriors in red and purple, between the canopy poles of an uncountable crush of litters, he saw a wall hung with ribbons and banners that he took to be the end of the boulevard. But as the Acoma party drew closer, his eyes widened in amazement. The barrier was no wall but a segment of the Grand Imperial Stadium.

  The amphitheatre, was vast, far larger than anything he might have imagined. The litters, soldiers, and commoners on foot poured up a broad flight of steps, then across a concourse to a second flight. At the top lay yet another concourse, and beyond that the entrance to the stadium. As Mara's litter began the ascent, Kevin looked to either side and judged there must be at least another dozen entrances from the palace quarter alone.

  Even here the guards had to shove and jostle to clear the way for their Lady's passage. All of Tsurani society had turned out to attend the games in the Emperor's honour, or to line up and gawk at the spectacle presented by their betters. Only great occasions such as this brought them so close to the might of the Empire, and country folk flocked in droves to the city to point, jabber, and stare.

  Despite the festive atmosphere, the warriors maintained vigilance. Men of unclear rank and position moved through the crowd. Many wore guild badges; others were messengers, vendors, or rumourmongers; a few might be agents, or spies, or thieves; assassins might wear any disguise. Any state festival that intermingled clans and political parties became an extension of the Game of the Council.

  Beyond the highest stair arose a stone arch two hundred feet across. Kevin tried to calculate the size of the arena beyond, and failed. The tiers of open-air seats must hold a hundred thousand spectators, and no amphitheatre in the Kingdom could compare.

  At the first terrace, Lujan shouted, 'Acoma!'

  Individuals of lesser rank hurried clear of Mara's retinue. As the warriors ascended the second flight of steps, Kevin noticed bystanders exclaiming in surprise and pointing. When he realized the stares were for him, his ears reddened. Commoners unaccustomed to his height and barbarian aspect made him an object of gossip and speculation.

  At the top of the second terrace, Lujan marched his guard through the crowd and cleared a space beside other noble retinues. The litter bearers lowered their burden, and Kevin assisted Mara from the cushions. The Force Commander, a Strike Leader named Kenji and three guards, and Arakasi fell in at either side of the Lady and her body slave. The balance of the Acoma guard departed with the litter bearers, to wait upon them in the street at the bottom of the stairs.

  Lujan led the way into a corridor to the left of the archway. A hundred or more rows of seats rose above the level upon which Mara's party moved, while another fifty rows descended toward the arena floor. To the left, two areas stood cordoned off, one of them dominated by a box adorned in lacquerworked gold and imperial white. The other section was bare of any decoration but was immediately noticeable by contrast. The occupants all wore black robes.

  Arakasi noticed Kevin's interest. 'Great Ones,' he murmured in explanation.

  'You mean the magicians?' Kevin looked more carefully, but the men in their dark robes sat silently or engaged in hushed conversation. A few watched the sandy expanse below, awaiting the first contest. 'They look entirely ordinary.'

  'Looks may deceive,' Arakasi said. At Lujan's command, he helped the other warriors shoulder through a knot of bystanders.

  'Why are all these people hanging about?' Mara wondered. 'Usually there are no commoners on this level.'

  Taking care not to be overheard, Arakasi answered, 'They hope to catch a glimpse of the barbarian Great One. The gossipmongers claim he will be in attendance.'

  'How can there be a barbarian Great One?' Kevin interjected.

  Arakasi waved aside a matron with a flower basket who tried to sell Mara a bloom. 'Great Ones are outside the law; none may question them. Once a man is taken and trained to wear the black robe, he is of the Assembly of Magicians. What rank he held before is of no consequence. He is only a Great One, pledged to act in preservation of the Empire, and his word becomes as law.

  Kevin stilled further questions as Arakasi shot him a warning glance. They were too close to strangers for chance remarks or improper behaviour to be risked.

  The arena was not yet one-third full when Mara reached the box set aside for her. Like her seat in the Council Hall, the position indicated her relative rank in the hierarchy of the Empire. By Kevin's estimation, some hundred families were closer to the imperial box, but thousands were farther removed.

  Mara sat with Lujan, the young Strike Leader, and the soldiers on either side; Kevin and Arakasi took up positions behind her chair, ready to answer her needs. Kevin studied the surrounding array of house colours and tried to puzzle out the pecking order of Tsurani politics.

  Past the magicians' area, and to the right of the Warlord's dais, lay a box dressed out in black and orange, the colours of House Minwanabi. On levels above sat other families of lesser importance, but all clan-related or in vassalage to Lord Desio.

  Adjacent came the yellow and purple colours of Xacatecas; the victory treaty with Tsubar had advanced Lord Chipino, and now he was second in power in the High Council. The Lord of the Chekowara took up his position in a box beneath Mara's, on the same level as the Warlord's, but as removed from the white and gold as she was.

  A trumpet blast sounded from the arena floor. Wooden doors around the arena boomed open and scores of young men in various colours of armour marched out in formation. As they moved, they sorted themselves out into pairs and saluted the empty imperial box. At a second signal from the games director, who sat in a special niche by the gates, they drew swords and began to fight.

  Kevin quickly determined that the matches were to first blood only; the bested man would raise his helm as a sign of submission. The winner would then take on another victorious partner and initiate sparring again.

  Lujan answered Kevin's query. 'These are young officers of various houses. Most are cousins and younger sons of nobility, eager to show their prowess and gain a sliver of honour.' He glanced around the stadium. 'This is of little consequence, save for those down there and their families. Still, a man may advance himself in the eyes of his master by winning a contest such as this.'

  There were no colours on the floor from Minwanabi, Xacatecas, or the other three Great Houses, nor from the Acoma, as houses recently covered in glory needed not bother with trivial displays. Kevin followed the combat with the trained eye of a soldier, but quickly lost interest. He had seen Tsurani warriors much closer and with much more serious intentions than those boys who sparred upon the sand.

  Beyond the sunlit sands, lesser relations and servants were drifting into the boxes that would shortly hold the dominant Lords of the Empire. From the small size of their honour guards, none closer than a distant cousin had yet put in an appearance.

  The contest among the young nobles ended, and the last-remaining pair departed, the loser with his sword lowered in defeat, and the winner nodding to the scattered cheers of those few interested spectators.

  The air off the sand was hot, and the amphitheatre's high walls cut off any breeze. Bored with the proceedings, and still rinding the social reasons for Mara's attendance incomprehensible, Kevin bent to ask her if she wished for a cool drink. She had ignored him since they had entered public scrutiny, for reasons of appearance, but as she shook
her head in curt refusal of his solicitude, Kevin noticed that his lover seemed uneasy. Protocol forbade him to make inquiry after her well-being. When Mara chose to assume Tsurani impassivity, a part of her became unreachable, though in most things he had come to know her moods as well as his own.

  As if his unspoken thoughts brought her worry to a head, the Lady of the Acoma beckoned to Arakasi. 'I would enjoy a chilled fruit drink.'

  The Spy Master bowed and departed; Kevin suppressed a reflexive flash of hurt, and only belatedly realized that his mistress would hardly send Arakasi off just to fetch refreshments. On his way to seek a vendor, the Spy Master would doubtless be contacting informants and gauging the activities of enemies. As Mara turned back to face the events below, she paused the briefest moment to catch Kevin's eye. That one glance let him know she was glad of his presence.

  Mara inclined her head casually to Lujan. 'Have you noticed? Most of the nobles are hanging back this afternoon.'

  Caught off guard by this unexpected public conversation, the Acoma Force Commander replied without banter. 'Yes, my Lady. There seems an unusual quality to this festival.'

  Kevin peered at their surroundings and determined there was something odd in the crowd rhythm. But he, with his alien viewpoint, had been slow to sense such strangeness.

  Distracting peals of laughter drifted up from lower courses of seats as other doors opened and short figures scurried out into the arena. Kevin's eyebrows arose in surprise as a cluster of diminutive insectoids raced back and forth across the sand, waving their forearms in agitation and clicking small mandibles this way and that. From the opposite end of the sand, a group of warriors hurried to meet them, dwarves by all appearances.

  Most wore mock body armour and makeup that ranged from the comic to the grotesque. They waved brightly painted wooden swords, formed up for a loose-ranked charge, and sounded war calls in surprisingly deep voices.