‘You may have whatever you wish, mother of my heart. We’re home.’
And like a weight of stone lifted from her shoulders, the Lady of the Acoma knew this was so, for the first time since she had left for the Holy City of Kentosani.
Still tying strings from changing back to his house livery, Jican ran furiously from the estate house to the lawns, where huge pavilions were erected to house several hundred Lords, Ladies, noble children, First Advisers, honour guards, and their innumerable servants. There would hardly be room to move in the main house, jammed as the guest rooms would be with Almecho’s immediate relations and Imperial Whites. Selected servants would be housed in the barracks with the soldiers, with the overflow assigned to the slave buildings. The slaves, and the unlucky freemen to draw the short lots, would sleep under the stars for three days. Mara felt her heart warm at the loyalty of her servants and soldiers; for through the chaos and upheaval of her return, no one complained. Even the house servants had stood ready to defend Ayaki, though their farm implements and kitchen knives would have proved no match for the weapons of trained soldiers. Yet their bravery was none the less for that fact; and their loyalty was beyond the bounds of duty.
Touched by their devotion, and having hastily changed into fresh robes, Mara returned to the dooryard as the Warlord’s cortege heaved into sight in full splendour. The Imperial Whites were a machine of precision as they escorted their master from his litter. Trumpets blew and drums beat and Almecho, second only to the Emperor Ichindar in power, made his formal arrival before the Lady of the Acoma.
Mara bowed gracefully. ‘My Lord, I welcome you to our house. May your visit here bring rest, and peace, and refreshment.’
The Warlord of all Tsuranuanni bowed slightly. ‘Thank you. Now, would you keep things somewhat less formal than … our previous host did? Day-long celebration can be tiresome, and I would like an opportunity to speak with you in private.’
Mara nodded politely and looked to her First Adviser to welcome the two black-robed magicians and show them to their quarters. Pride had straightened the old woman’s shoulders, and in her indomitable mothering manner she took the two envoys of the Assembly of Magicians under her wing as if she had dealt with their kind all her life. Mara shook her head, marvelling at Nacoya’s resilience. Then she let the Warlord take her arm, and the two of them walked alone into the peaceful stillness of the garden she preferred for meditation.
Four warriors stood guard at the entrance, two wearing green and two the white of the Imperial Guard. Pausing by the rim of the fountain, the Warlord removed his helm. He sprinkled water over damp greying hair, then faced the Lady of the Acoma. Beyond the hearing of guests and servants he said, ‘I must salute you, girl. You have proven your mettle in the game over the last two years.’
Mara blinked, not at all certain she grasped his intent. ‘Lord, I did only what was necessary to avenge my father and brother and preserve the existence of my house.’
Almecho laughed, and his bitter humour sent small birds winging from the treetops. ‘Lady, what do you think the game is, if not to remain while you dispose of enemies? While others have been flitting around the High Council nattering at one another over this alliance and that, you have neutralized your second most powerful rival – turning him into a reluctant ally, almost – and destroyed your most powerful enemy. If that isn’t a masterful victory in the game, I’ve never seen anyone play.’ He hesitated a moment. ‘That dog Jingu was growing a little too ambitious. I believe he plotted to dispose of three opponents: you, the Lord of the Anasati, and then me. Tecuma and I are somewhat in your debt, I think, though you certainly didn’t act on our behalf.’ He trailed his fingers thoughtfully through the water; small currents rose up and roiled the surface, just as the currents of intrigue ran always beneath the affairs of the Empire. The Warlord regarded her keenly. ‘Before I leave you, I want you to know this: I would have let Jingu kill you, if that was your fate. But now I am pleased you lived and not he. Still, my favour is scant. Just because no woman has ever worn the white and gold before, don’t think I count your ambition any less dangerous, Mara of the Acoma.’
Somewhat overwhelmed by this endorsement of her prowess, Mara said, ‘You flatter me too much, Lord. I have no ambition beyond the desire to see my son grow in peace.’
Almecho placed his helm upon his head and motioned for his guards to return. ‘I don’t know, then,’ he reflected, half to himself. ‘Who is to be more feared, one who acts from ambition or one who acts for the needs of survival? I like to think we can be friendly, Lady of the Acoma, but my instincts warn me you are dangerous. So let us just say that for now we have no reason to be at odds.’
Mara bowed. ‘For that I am very grateful, my Lord.’
Almecho returned the bow, then departed to call servants to attend his bath. As Mara followed him from the garden, Keyoke saw his Lady and came at once to her side. Tape …’ he said.
Mara nodded in shared sympathy. ‘He died a warrior, Keyoke.’
The Force Commander’s face showed nothing. ‘No man can ask for more.’
Certain that Nacoya was acting in all her glory with the guests, Mara said, ‘Walk with me to the glade of my ancestors, Keyoke.’
The Force Leader of the Acoma shortened stride to match that of his slight mistress and silently opened a side door. As they left the main house, and birdsong replaced the talk of guests and servants, Mara sighed. ‘We shall need a new First Strike Leader.’
Keyoke said, ‘Your will, mistress.’
But Mara kept her opinion to herself. ‘Who is the best for the position?’
Keyoke seemed unusually expressive as he said, ‘It galls me to say it, but despite his less than seemly attitude at times, no man is better able than Lujan. Tasido has been with us longer and is a better swordsman … but Lujan is among the best I’ve seen in tactics, strategy, and leading men since’ – he hesitated – ‘well, since your father.’
Mara raised her eyebrows. ‘That good?’
Keyoke smiled, and his humour was so unexpected that Mara stopped in her tracks. She listened as her Force Commander qualified. ‘Yes, that good. He’s a natural leader. That’s the reason Papewaio came to like the rascal so quickly. And if your First Strike Leader had survived he’d be telling you the same. Had the Lord of the Kotai lived, Lujan would probably already be a Force Commander now.’ By the hint of pain beneath Keyoke’s tone, Mara understood how much like a son Papewaio had been to this old campaigner. Then his Tsurani self-discipline fell back into place and the old warrior was as she had always known him.
Glad of his choice, Mara said, ‘Then name Lujan First Strike Leader, and promote a Patrol Leader to take his place.’ They passed beneath the trees, where once Papewaio had knelt and begged to take his life with his sword. With a pang of sorrow for his passing, Mara considered what might have happened had she not reinterpreted tradition concerning the black scarf of the condemned. A shiver touched her spine. How delicate was the thread of progression that had preserved her life.
Strangely abrupt, Keyoke stopped. Ahead lay the guarding hedges at the entrance to the glade, and the Force Commander traditionally might accompany her that far. Then Mara saw that a lone figure awaited her, before the contemplation glade of her ancestors. The red and yellow helm in his hands was familiar, gleaming in the copper light of latest afternoon; and the scabbard at his side held no weapon.
Mara gently dismissed her Force Commander and stepped forward to meet the Lord of the Anasati.
Tecuma had brought no honour guard. The scarlet and yellow armour of his family creaked in the stillness as he offered greeting. ‘My Lady.’
‘My Lord.’ Mara returned his slight bow, aware that the birds in the trees had fallen silent at the coming of sundown.
‘I hoped to find you here. Since the last time we exchanged words in this place, I thought it appropriate to make a new beginning on the same soil.’ He glanced to the chattering throng of guests crowding the dooryard, an
d the bustle of the servants who attended them. ‘I expected the next time I trod this grass, I’d see orange-clad warriors swarming over it, not revellers come to honour you.’
‘They come to honour the Warlord,’ corrected Mara.
Tecuma studied the face of his daughter-in-law, as if truly seeing her for the first time. ‘No, Lady. They celebrate Almecho’s birthday, but they truly honour you. There will never be love between us, Mara, but we have Ayaki in common. And I dare to think we share a respect for one another.’
Mara bowed, lower than ever before. In all sincerity she said, ‘We have that, Tecuma. I have no regrets, save that good men have been made to suffer …’ Her mind turned to her father, brother, Papewaio, and even Buntokapi, and she added, ‘And to die. What I have done was for the Acoma, and all that shall be Ayaki’s someday. I hope you understand.’
‘I do.’ Tecuma gathered himself to leave, then shook his grey head, unwilling humour showing through his poise. ‘I truly do. Perhaps when Ayaki comes to his majority and rules, I may find it in my heart to forgive what you have done.’
Mara wondered at the strange way that events could turn in the Game of the Council. ‘I am glad at least that for now we have no reason to be at odds,’ she said.
‘For now.’ Tecuma sighed with something very close to regret. ‘Had you been my daughter, and Bunto Lord Sezu’s son … who knows what could have been possible?’ Then, as if the matter were forever put aside, he placed his helm on his head. The hair stuck out at odd angles over his ears, and the ornamented strap swung against his neck, but he did not look the least bit foolish. Rather he looked a ruler, with years of life behind and more yet to come, with age and wisdom, experience and knowledge, a master of his office. ‘You are a true daughter of the Empire, Mara of the Acoma.’
Left no precedent upon which to model a response, Mara could only bow deeply and accept the accolade. Overwhelmed by emotion, she watched Tecuma walk back to rejoin his retinue. All alone, she entered the contemplation glade of her ancestors.
The path to the natami seemed changeless as time. Sinking down on the cool earth where many an ancestor had knelt ahead of her, Mara ran her fingers over the shatra bird carved into the stone. Quietly, but in a voice that trembled with joy, she said, ‘Rest you well, my father, and you, my brother. He who took your lives is now but ashes, and your blood is avenged. The honour of the Acoma is intact, and your line preserved.’
Then tears came unbidden. Years of fear and pain lifted from Mara’s spirit.
Overhead, the fluting call of a shatra bird called the flock to take wing in celebration of sundown. Mara wept without restraint, until lantern light glowed through the hedges and the distant sounds of festivities filled the glade. All her struggles had borne fruit. She knew peace for the first time since Keyoke had fetched her from the temple; and somewhere upon the Great Wheel the shades of her father and brother rested peacefully, their pride and honour restored.
Filled with the deep satisfaction of victory, Mara arose. She had a household full of guests to attend to … and the Game of the Council would continue.
Acknowledgements
We find ourselves deeply indebted to many people for much of what appears in this book. We would like to publicly offer our heartfelt thanks for their contributions, intentional or otherwise:
To the Friday Nighters, whose affection for games introduced REF to many wonderful ideas that were used in two worlds, and the many writers of those games, most especially those at Midkemia Press.
To Kyung and Jon Conning, who gave JW a red-carpet tour of their home in Korea which added immeasurably to the colour in this book.
To Virginia Kidd, for making it easy for JW to say yes, and for years of wise counsel and friendship.
To our editors, Adrian Zackheim, who started with us, and Jim Moser, who was there at the finish.
To Richard C. Freese, for caring above and beyond duty’s call.
To Elaine Chubb, for making us look good.
To Daniel P. Mannix IV for both being an example of what a writer is, and for giving us a terrific place to work (the ducks notwithstanding).
And to Barbara A. Feist for putting up with one of us.
Raymond E. Feist
Janny Wurts
Frazer, PA, June, 1986
About the Author
RAYMOND E. FEIST was born and raised in southern California. He was educated at the University of California, San Diego, where he graduated with honours in Communication Arts. He is the author of nine bestselling and critically acclaimed series: The Riftwar Saga, The Empire Trilogy (with Janny Wurts), Krondor’s Sons, The Serpentwar Saga, The Riftwar Legacy, Legends of the Riftwar, Conclave of the Shadows, Darkwar Saga, Demonwar Saga and Chaoswar Saga.
JANNY WURTS is the author of numerous successful fantasy novels, including the acclaimed Cycle of Fire trilogy. She is also co-author, with Raymond E. Feist, of the worldwide bestselling Empire series. Her skill as a horsewoman, offshore sailor and musician is reflected in her novels. She is also a talented artist and illustrates her own covers. Janny lives in Florida, USA.
Her website can be found at: www.paravia.com/JannyWurts
Also by the Author
BY RAYMOND E. FEIST AND JANNY WURTS
Daughter of the Empire
Servant of the Empire
Mistress of the Empire
BY RAYMOND E. FEIST
Magician
Silverthorn
A Darkness at Sethanon
Faerie Tale
Prince of the Blood
The King’s Buccaneer
Shadow of a Dark Queen
Rise of a Merchant Prince
Rage of a Demon King
Shards of a Broken Crown
Krondor: The Betrayal
Krondor: The Assassins
Krondor: Tear of the Gods
Talon of the Silver Hawk
King of Foxes
Exile’s Return
Flight of the Nighthawks
Into a Dark Realm
Wrath of a Mad God
Rides a Dread Legion
At the Gates of Darkness
A Kingdom Besieged
A Crown Imperilled
With William R. Fortschen:
Honoured Enemy
With Joel Rosenburg:
Murder in LaMut
With Steve Stirling:
Jimmy the Hand
BY JANNY WURTS
The Cycle of Fire Trilogy:
Stormwarden
Keeper of the Keys
Shadowfane
Sorcerer’s Legacy
Master of Whitestorm
That Way Lies Camelot
To Ride Hell’s Chasm
The Wars of Light and Shadow:
The Curse of the Mistwraith
The Ships of Merior
Warhost of Vastmark
Fugitive Prince
Grand Conspiracy
Peril’s Gate
Traitor’s Knot
Copyright
Voyager
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
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First published in Great Britain by
Grafton Books 1987
Copyright © Raymond E. Feist and Janny Wurts 1987
The Authors assert the moral right to be identified as the authors of this work
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EPub Edition © AUGUST 2012 ISBN 9780007375646
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RAYMOND E. FEIST
and
JANNY WURTS
Servant of the Empire
Book Two of the Empire Trilogy
The Complete Empire Trilogy Page 49
