Mistress of the Empire

by Raymond E. Feist

  'I will need to give them a reason,' Mara responded. 'They are honorable warriors, and would take it ill if they were told they must sneak about like thieves, particularly where there is not so much as a dwelling, even a fisherman's shack.'

  The guide licked the gap where two of his front teeth were missing. He shifted from foot to foot, obviously uncomfortable, then bobbed in a quick bow. 'Lady, the peace between the Empire and Thuril is uneasy. Only formal envoys and licensed traders cross the border, and only at designated checkpoints. Were your people to be seen within two days' walk of these shores, or anywhere near the imperial border, you would be taken as spies.' Whatever the Thuril did to punish spies, by his tautness of expression it was not pleasant.

  Knowing that her own people took captured Thuril for the games in the Imperial Arena, Mara no longer argued the need for secrecy. She beckoned Lujan over to her and murmured in his ear, 'Force Commander, we will sorely need the knowledge you gained as a grey warrior to keep our presence here secret until we have made our way far inland.'

  Beneath the straggle of hair that escaped the brim of his helm, Lujan gave her a wild smile. 'Ah, Lady, the last of my guileful ways will be known to you! When you learn how well honorable warriors can be made to skulk, will you ever trust them again to guard your valuables?'

  'They may have my valuables with all my blessing, if the purpose of our mission is successfully accomplished,' Mara replied, too grim for humor, and recognising the first taste of the hardships to come on these strange shores.

  There followed several days that put Mara in mind of her race cross-country before her first marriage, to win the alliance of the cho-ja Queen. Then as now, she had slept with minimal shelter on hard ground, amid a small retinue of warriors. Parts of that trip she had travelled on foot, the trail being too rough for her litter. Then, too, there had been urgency, as her party crossed the estates of enemy Lords in the deeps of the night.

  But in Kelewan there had been dense forest, almost jungle, to hide in. Low-lying mists had concealed her party at dawn and dusk, and provisions had been carried by her bearers.

  In Thuril the stony soil grew only sparse bushes and grass, providing scant cover. At times she had to hike in gullies, chilled by the winds of these higher altitudes, her thin sandals soaked from standing amid peaty clumps of moss. Her ankles became scratched from the sharp-stemmed sedges, and her hands calloused fom using a walking stick to keep her balance. Once they passed a village, skulking through pastures on their bellies under the moon. Dogs barked at them, but sleeping herd boys did not rouse.

  Mara grew accustomed to the taste of tough game brought down by the bows of her warriors. She developed aches in muscles she never knew she possessed, from long hours and miles on her feet. In a strange way, she reveled in the freedom, and in the deep, cloud-scattered bowl of the sky. But her warmest pleasure was watching Kamlio.

  The girl let her long hair twist and tangle, uncared for by maids for the first time in her life. She stopped tightening her lips and looking white when the warriors spoke to her; the few who approached her had been rebuffed, and unlike other men she had known until Arakasi, they left her alone as she asked. She went by herself to wash in the icy streams, and shyly began to offer to help at the fireside, where it became plain that she had a knack for cooking. She also asked Lujan to teach her self-defense with a knife. These lessons commenced in the half-dark, each night, where Kamlio's dulcet tones sharpened in a fish-wife's cursing as she missed her throw and tried again.

  Lujan took her shrewish mood in stride. 'Really,' he said, one evening when she seemed to be having a particularly difficult time, 'you should ask Arakasi to show you knife work. He is a master, and knows the best way to use the wrist.'

  Kamlio spun in such fury that the Force Commander grabbed her hand just behind the bare blade of her weapon, unsure she would not sink her knife in him.

  'Gods!' Kamlio cried, venomously offended. 'It was that one I sought to defend myself from!'

  She tore away and flounced off into the dark. Lujan watched her go, clicking his tongue in reproof. 'Woman, against our Spy Master, nobody wins at knives.' As she vanished, he added softly, 'You need nothing of defense against him. If you chose to carve out Arakasi's heart, I believe he would stand still and let you.'

  Much later, in the depths of that moonless night, Mara awoke to hear the girl sobbing. Softly she said, 'You need never see Arakasi again, Kamlio, and that is the problem, is it not?'

  The former courtesan said nothing, but her sobs eventually wore themselves out in sleep.

  The next morning dawned cloudy and chill. Kamlio returned red-cheeked from gathering wood, her eyes red-rimmed as well. 'He killed my sister!' she spat at the Lady of the Acoma, as if in continuation of the words shared in the night.

  'He killed the Obajan of the Hamoi Tong, on my orders,' Mara corrected. 'The Obajan's own darts killed your sister.'

  Kamlio threw down her armload of wood onto Lujan's fledgling fire, sending up a cloud of sparks and smoke.

  The herder who was their guide cursed in Thuril. 'Foolish girl! Your pique could cost us our lives!'

  Lujan reacted first, ripping off the cloak he wore over his armor. He cast it over the tiny fire, then leaped and grabbed the water bucket nearby, dousing the cloth before it could flare up. Dull wisps of steam seeped from the folds, amid the stink of burned querdidra wool. 'Up,' he snapped to his subofficer. 'Break camp. No breakfast, and we march at once. That smoke could have been seen, and for our Lady's sake we must take no chances.'

  The little herdsman threw the Acoma Force Commander a grateful glance for his good sense, and within minutes, Mara's party was back on the trail, hugging gullies and what cover the meager landscape could offer.

  Four days later, the guide deemed it safe to travel more openly. He accepted coin from Mara, and dared descend into a narrow, smoke-filled vale to buy supplies from a village market. The imperial centis were suspect, but they had value, and the country folk in their simple needs did not care to question the origin of the currency or those who spent it. Mara suspected she was not the first Tsurani the guide had brought this way. Smuggling between the Empire and Thuril was risky, but highly profitable. It seemed a reasonable vocation for a man of mixed heritage who could pass in both cultures.

  The herdsman returned with two hide bags of provisions, jerked meat, and a cloak of hill weave to replace the one Lujan had damaged in the campfire. The burdens came back into camp lashed to the back of a small grey beast, horselike in shape, but with long ears, and a tail like a paintbrush.

  'Donkey,' the herdsman guide replied, in answer to Mara's curious question. His burred accent accepted the word awkwardly, but Mara recognised its origin as Midkemian. The presence of an animal that could only have come from the other side of the rift, through the Empire, made it clear smuggling was a major trade of this region. 'Less ornery than querdidra, Lady, and sturdy enough for you to ride.'

  At this Mara raised her eyebrows. 'Me? Ride that? But it's barely as big as a newborn needra calf!'

  'Walk, then,' the herdsman said, in less than respectful tones. 'But the shale in the heights could twist your ankles, and your warriors would quickly tire if they had to carry you.' For Kamlio he had bought boots with stout soles, laced up the front, and topped with fur. Mara eyed the ugly footwear with distaste, and the donkey with trepidation. Then, with a sigh, she surrendered. 'I'll ride,' she said. 'Show Lujan how to help me mount.'

  The herdsman bobbed another of his fast bows that Mara swore were his way of hiding amusement.

  'Don't feel apprehensive.' Lujan teased as he arrived at her elbow to help her astride. 'Think how I felt on that day in the desert when I had to mount a cho-ja. They're slipperier, for one thing, and I was panicked I would fall off and land on my own sword.'

  'That was Kevin's idea, not mine,' Mara said in her own defense, then steeled herself as her Force Commander lifted her strongly and set her down like a feather in the dyed leather hill saddle
strapped to the beast's back.

  The animal was small, Mara tried to reassure herself, and the ground no more than a cloth yard away. If she fell, the worst she could get would be bruises, small price to pay if she could find protection from the Black Robes in these strange, barren hills. And in fact, the gait of the donkey was not so hard, it being short of stride and its feet marvelously sure as it plodded along.

  Mara found her perch upon the creature's back less than comfortable, but she hid her soreness with Tsurani implacability as her party wound ever higher into the forbidding hills. In the afternoon, when she dismounted and the beast was led off to water, she confided to Lujan that had she known what sort of creatures donkeys were, she would never have permitted their importation. 'Small horse indeed,' she had snorted as she settled stiffly on the ground to share a meal of hard bread and sour cheese.

  Lujan only grinned. 'They are most reliable, I am told. Already the man who sells them across the borders in Honshoni is seeking another herd, for they far outshine the querdidra as beasts of burden.'

  With this Mara was forced to agree, despite her aching posterior. She had endured the company of the foul-smelling, evil-tempered querdidra as she had traversed the mountains of Tsubar on campaign against the raiders of the desert. But as the donkey raised its stringy tail to dump manure, she kept her opinion silent. If it was a superior creature to the temperamental, six-legged native pack beast, it certainly was no cleaner in its habits.

  Suddenly the herdsman who was their guide spun around, his crust of bread forgotten in his hand. Facing the wind, his eyes narrowed, he scanned the bleak, scrub-covered hills as if he could read their rock and vegetation like a scroll page. 'We are being watched,' he said in a low voice to Lujan. 'I suspected as much since we left that village.'

  The Force Commander pointedly kept chewing his food. As if there were no immediate peril, he asked, 'Should we arm ourselves?'

  The herdsman faced around in shock. 'Not if you wish to live. No. Keep on. Act as if nothing were wrong. And if anyone approaches, make no threatening move, no matter what is said or done to provoke you. Ensure no hothead among your men speaks or draws his sword.'

  Lujan gave back an even smile that only Mara could read as a false show of humor. 'Have some cheese,' he invited the herdsman.

  But no one had any stomach for eating, and within a short time the company regrouped and started to move on. They had gone barely a dozen paces when a shout rent the air. A man with black braids and a great, billowing cloak of the same dull green-grey as the soil leaped directly above the lead guard onto a large rock that overlooked the narrow trail.

  Lujan held up his hand as Mara's guards tensed. But none of his warriors forgot their orders not to draw weapons, despite their surprise. The Thuril highlander had appeared as if from nowhere. Dressed in his native kilt and double cross-belts hung with two swords and several knives, he called out, 'Why do you invade the land of Thuril, Tsurani?' His thick accent made his demand nearly unintelligible, and his tone was unmistakably belligerent.

  Mara kicked the little donkey, to overcome its reluctance to move forward again. Before it could stride out, the little herdsman sprang to its bridle to restrain it. He replied to the challenge, prompted by the custom of the land. 'I am Iayapa, warrior,' he said in the Thuril tongue. 'I speak for the Lady of the Acoma, who has come on a mission of peace.'

  The man leaped down from the rock, his cloak billowing and his kilt flipping up to bare an expanse of muscled thigh. The cross-garters of his sandals were tasseled below the knee, and his weapon harness chinked with stone talismans. Up close, it could be seen that his head was shaved, save for a round patch at the crown, where his braids had been allowed to grow since childhood. They tumbled as long as his waist as he landed, their ends also tied with talismans.

  Into his mistress's ear, Lujan said softly, 'He is not dressed for war, Lady.'

  Mara nodded. She had read that the Thuril shed their clothing when fighting, going nude but for their battle harness, feathered helms, shields, and weapons, for they took pride that their manhood was not shriveled by fear and ensured their enemies knew this.

  The man swaggered toward Mara, who was now slightly ahead of the others, as the donkey sidled nervously. Mara sawed at the reins, frantically and silently reminding herself to act as if nothing were wrong.

  The highlander said something in his coarse dialect and grabbed the donkey's bridle. He breathed into its nose, and for some strange reason the creature quieted. The man then rattled his knuckles through his talismans, and stepped around the donkey's head. Coming face to face with Mara, he leaned forward until his nose missed touching hers by a hair's width.

  Iayapa called, 'Good Servant, make no move. He tests your mettle.'

  Mara held her breath and forced herself not to close her eyes. Peripherally, she was aware of her uneasy men, their hands itching to draw weapons; and of Kamlio, who had forgotten her distaste for men and had crowded close to the nearest warrior in fear. But the Acoma discipline held. Her warriors kept still, and when Mara refused to lower her gaze or pull away, the highlander released a great, garlic-scented breath and withdrew. He grunted, allowing that her courage was sufficient. 'Who speaks for you, woman?'

  Before Iayapa could stop her, Mara spoke. 'I lead here.'

  The man bared white, even teeth in an expression that was no smile. Browned by strong sun, his face wrinkled in contempt. 'You have sand, woman! I'll allow you that, but lead these men? You are female.' To Lujan, who was nearest, the highlander rephrased his question. 'You! I do not answer a woman's tongue, and I would know: what brings you to come with warriors into our lands? Do you seek war?' This last seemed to be a joke, for he burst out in raucous laughter.

  Mara waved Lujan to silence, and as though the brawny man did not stand at her donkey's shoulder, addressed her herdsman guide. 'This highlander seems amused. Does he think our presence funny, or does he intend slight to our honor?'

  But whether he followed his own advice, or was simply cowed to silence, Iayapa said nothing.

  Mara frowned, forced to rely upon her own judgment. By Tsurani accounts, the Thuril were bloodthirsty warriors, quick to attack, savage in fighting. But the opinions of an invading army were suspect, Mara felt. The only other Thuril she had observed had been captives sent into the arena. These men had proven themselves to be assertive, independent and courageous. They had suffered beating by Tsurani overseers rather than fight as a spectacle for their captors' amusement.

  Mara addressed the man again. 'I seek your chieftain.'

  Much as if an insect had spoken aloud, the highlander looked surprised, 'You seek our chieftain?' He stroked his chin as if thinking. 'What cause have you to disturb him? He already has a woman to warm his nights!'

  Mara bridled, but held back her temper in time. She gestured to stay Lujan, who was poised to rush forward to answer the insult. Mara forced herself to calm study of this brash highlander. In truth, he appeared young, barely more than twenty-five years of age. By Tsurani custom, he was just old enough to inherit. And like those of a boy given first responsibility, perhaps his manners were all swagger, to make himself seem important in a larger world. 'I do not speak to boys. Take me to your chieftain now, or I will ask that you be punished for your rudeness when I seek him out myself.'

  The man stepped away, in a mock show of intimidation. 'My Lady! But of course.'

  He spun on his heel in a swirl of cloak and kilt, and set two fingers to his lips. His whistle pierced the air, causing Mara's warriors to start.

  'Draw no swords,' she commanded in a low voice to Lujan.

  Her Force Commander gave a hard look to his men, willing them to hold fast, even as, in a scrabble of rocks and gravel, more than a score of men sprang into view around their position. All were heavily armed, from bows, spears, and swords to bristling rows of throwing knives; not a few of the fiercest and largest carried double-headed axes. Mara's small guard was outnumbered three to one, and if it came to a
fight, the trail where they stood would become a slaughter ground.

  Prepared for death, Lujan murmured, 'They may not have been looking for trouble, but they are ready should it find them.'

  The highlander on the trail glanced to his circle of supporters. He grinned wickedly. 'You heard the female! She thinks to command our chieftain to have me beaten for rudeness!' Rough laughter greeted this statement, punctuated by the hiss of swords being drawn.

  Mara swallowed hard. Aware that she must either fight or stand down, before her men were killed out of hand and she and Kamlio were taken for gods only knew what fate, she forced her dry tongue to shape speech. 'I said we came on a mission of peace! To prove this, my men will disarm.'

  At Lujan's incredulous glance, she added, 'Do so!'

  Obedient to a man, her Tsurani guard loosened their sword belts. The clatter of weapon sheaths striking hard stone seemed pathetically swallowed by the wide expanse of sky.

  The young warrior's grin became predatory. He reached up, jerked off the hide tie that secured his braid, and snapped it taut between his hands. 'Bind them,' he rapped out. He looked at Lujan as he added, 'You are Tsurani! Enemies of my people. We shall see whom my chief shall order beaten!'

  Mara closed her eyes as the ring of the Thuril rushed in upon her defenseless party, but she did not react soon enough to miss the lecherous looks the nearer men shot toward Kamlio. Her ears still heard their comments, in a strange language, but derisive in tone. Gods protect us, she thought, what fate have I commanded for my people? For by every tenet of honor, and every belief of the religion she was born to, she should have seen all her warriors dead to a man, and herself killed, before she consented to surrender.

  'You did right, great Lady,' Iayapa said urgently. But as rough hands dragged Mara from her perch on the donkey, and greasy leather thongs creased her wrists, she was not reassured. More than Acoma shame was at stake here, she reminded herself as her warriors endured in silence as they, too, were trussed hand and foot. Honor, pride, even peace, would mean nothing if the Assembly was not challenged in its omnipotence.