The Complete Empire Trilogy

by Raymond E. Feist

Jiro stiffened. He recovered his bearing with admirable control and looked up; Mara had struck hard and to the heart. She had turned the memory of the brother who had died to further Acoma standing in the game back upon him, and also implied that Jiro wished to ‘console’ his brother’s widow in a manner more intimate than Tsurani custom found acceptable – and further, that he was nothing more than his father’s errand boy. It was the verbal equivalent of a slap to the face. The look the Anasati son turned upon her was icy and possessed a fathomless hatred.

  Mara hid a shiver. By Nacoya’s white-lipped stillness, she was aware that she had made a mistake; she had also underestimated Jiro’s enmity. This boy despised her with a passion beyond his years. In his cold silence, Mara realized he would lurk like the poisonous relli of the swamps, biding his time until he saw his opening. He would not move against her until his trap was perfected and he was absolutely certain of his victory.

  ‘I will not repeat the rumours concerning my Lady’s preference in lovers since the loss of her noble husband,’ Jiro said with a diction so clear that, while not overloud, could be understood by even the door servants. To emphasize how demeaning the matter was, he raised his drink and sipped with a steady hand. ‘And, yes, I did leave off an important trade transaction in Sulan-Qu to stop here, by my father’s suggestion. He has heard of secret meetings between certain council members that he believes might indicate plots that pose danger to his grandson, Ayaki. As regent to the Acoma heir, you are being sent a warning.’

  ‘Your words are vague,’ Nacoya pointed out with the acerbity of an elder who has lived long enough to see many a youth succumb to folly. Using a tone well practised from her days as a servant in the nursery, she added, ‘Since neither the Anasati nor the Acoma stand to gain if Ayaki fails to inherit his Lordship, I suggest you be more specific’

  Jiro inclined his head with the barest suggestion of malice. ‘My father is not privy to these plots, First Adviser, dearest Lady. His allies have not spoken directly to him, which he believes might be due to heavy bribes. But he has eyes and ears in strategic places that see and hear for him, and he wished you to know that factions who are partial to the Minwanabi have met more than once in secret. The Omechan were heard to compliment Lord Desio’s restraint in the face of Acoma affront, and while they are powerful, their dependence upon Minwanabi goodwill in the Alliance for War makes them chary of losing supporters at this time. More than the Omechan applaud Desio’s cold-blooded planning, and that approval works against your heir’s interests. In short, you have few allies voicing support in the High Council.’

  Mara waved for a servant to carry away the refreshment tray, which Jiro had not touched. Although she regretted provoking Jican’s disappointment that the finest fruits in the kitchens should be spurned, she was too tense to indulge herself. She did not like the way Jiro’s eyes darted about, taking in every detail of the Acoma hall, servants, and guardsmen. His interest held the hunger of an officer in an enemy camp who gathered information in preparation for an assault. Never as straightforward as his elder brother, Halesco, Jiro thought in subtleties that were rooted in ambition. Mara strove to sort out how much of what he spoke was truth, and how much was exaggeration designed to scare her. ‘What you say is not exactly unknown to me, Jiro, at least in general. Surely your father need not have sent you from your important transaction to tell me these things,’ she ventured, testing. ‘A bonded messenger might have sufficed.’

  Jiro returned a detached poise. ‘This is a family matter,’ he replied. ‘My father wished you to understand that the plot within the council is deeply disguised, and clever. He would not compromise his sources by trusting a hired runner. The sending of a bonded guildsman would remain on public record, and watching enemies would know. Desio has paid to have every guildbook in Sulan-Qu open for his inspection. A message from Anasati sources would be too obvious. ‘Jiro inclined his head with the barest suggestion of irony. ‘But none would question an uncle who stops to visit a fatherless nephew.’

  ‘Not even one who interrupts an important transaction to pay social calls on a three-year-old?’ Nacoya interceded politely.

  Jiro did not even blush, which required commendable control. ‘We are none of us in a position to trade accusations, as the First Adviser to my brother’s widow should remember. Besides, what harm if Desio thinks we share secrets? He can only imagine what they may be.’ His look at Mara was a disturbing mix of covetousness and hatred.

  Mara regarded Jiro with a searching stare until he could not but feel uncomfortable. His family had treated Buntokapi as an awkward afterthought; it had been their own neglect of his education that had permitted her an opening to exploit. Although the fact that she had taken advantage of a man’s frustrated desires and clumsiness did not make her proud, Mara had reviewed the situation through eyes tempered by regret; she knew she did bear all the guilt by herself.

  Tired of Jiro’s intensity, and more stung than she dared to admit at his implied slander of Kevin, Mara prompted an end to the visit. ‘I thank you for the news of Desio’s compromising the commercial guilds – that is valuable to know. And of the Omechan willingness to pander to the Minwanabi. You have done your duty by your father, none could say different. I would not delay you from completing your important transactions in Sulan-Qu.’

  Jiro returned the driest smile, and anticipated her closing line. ‘Unless I should wish to stay for a meal, which your servants would take elaborate and lengthy pains to prepare?’ He inclined his head in the negative. ‘Your company has no compare. But I am forced by circumstances to decline. I shall be on my way.’

  ‘Without so much as setting eyes on the fatherless nephew you came to visit,’ Nacoya interjected. More pointedly dry than usual, she turned shrewd eyes on her mistress. ‘Your guest sets great store by your security, my Lady, that he feels confident no rumours of this will reach the wrong ears.’

  Now Jiro did change colour, but his pallor was more due to annoyance than embarrassment. He rose and bowed shortly to Mara. ‘I see that the regent for the Acoma heir learns much by keeping the company of sour old women.’

  ‘They keep impertinent young men in their places far more readily than their younger, prettier sisters.’ Mara rose also. ‘Return my regards to your father, Jiro.’

  The fact that the young noble bore no title before his name plainly vexed him no end. Given this insight into what might have motivated his bitterness, Mara saw her guest to the door. He climbed into his litter without once looking back at her, and snapped his curtains closed the instant she completed the obligatory words wishing a departing guest safe journey. As the bearers bore up their haughty burden, and the Anasati soldiers formed into columns and began their departure down the lane, Nacoya sighed with relief. ‘Thank the gods you did not marry that one, daughter of my heart. He is much too clever for his own good.’

  ‘He bears me no friendship, that much is certain.’ Mara turned back into the cooler shadow of the house, her brows tightened into a frown.

  Nacoya regarded her mistress keenly. ‘What did you expect, after you chose his younger brother over him? From the first instant you and Tecuma agreed to your handfast with Buntokapi, that boy began to hate. He considered himself the better candidate for your title, and he will carry that grudge to his dying day. More, he hates doubly because at the root he desires you. He would take you still, should you but allow him your bed.’ Then the old woman sighed. ‘Yet after, he would still kill you, daughter, for I think this one has been permanently twisted by envy.’

  Mara captured a strayed wisp of hair, then lowered her hand, the rare metal bracelet on her wrist jangling. ‘Lashima’s folly, but men’s pride is easily bruised!’ Her eyes betrayed pain that had nothing to do with Jiro’s anger over her past rejection of him.

  Nacoya shook a finger at her. ‘You’re thinking of that no-good barbarian again.’

  Mara ignored the accusation. ‘Kevin has nothing to do with this. Why should Jiro come all this way, and take
such elaborate lengths to provoke me, all on the excuse of some not so very well documented clandestine meetings within the council?’

  Now Nacoya looked shocked. ‘My Lady, you would do well to heed Lord Tecuma’s warning – his spies may not be as widespread as yours, but they are no less gifted. Never mind that Jiro’s passions clouded the delivery. You stand in very grave danger.’

  Mara dismissed her First Adviser’s concern with irritation. ‘Nacoya, surely I have enough of real import on my mind without burdening myself with trivia. If there was plotting afoot in the council, surely Arakasi’s network would keep me informed of the fact.’

  Sunlight fell through a half-opened screen, catching the First Adviser’s face like some wizened caricature of a cameo. ‘Lady,’ she said gravely, ‘you rely far more on Arakasi’s spies than you should. They are only men. They cannot see into Desio’s mind, and they cannot hear every whisper that is exchanged in dark corners behind closed doors. They can be in only so many places at one time. And as mortal men, they may be corrupted or misled.’

  ‘Nacoya, you worry beyond duty’s call. You have my permission to retire and pursue some recreation.’ While Nacoya completed a stiff-backed bow, Mara pulled at her heavy robes. She wanted a bath and a change, and maybe some players to make her laugh. Her morning with the cho-ja seemed very far away. Jiro’s icily schooled antagonism bothered her far more than Tecuma’s concerns with the council; and she missed Kevin, unbearably. Starved for his friendly company in a way that made her ache, she impulsively sent her runner to fetch a scribe. When the man she had summoned made his bow, burdened down with chalks and slates, she cut his courtesy short with a gesture. ‘Go out to the new needra fields and observe the workers. Make a transcription of everything that happens there, with particular regard for the redheaded man who is slave master. I wish to know all that he does and says, so that I may evaluate the efficiency of his work team.’

  The scribe bowed low over his satchel. It was not his place to question his mistress’s will; but he left with a puzzled look, for the Lady concerned herself with a detail that was normally her hadonra’s responsibility. In the days he had served since apprenticeship, the scribe had never received so unusual a request.

  • Chapter Eight •

  Reconciliation

  Tasaio smiled.

  Startled by his unusual expression, the Lord of the Minwanabi watched suspiciously as his cousin crossed the grand hall upon his return from his trip downriver. Then, recalling that Sulan-Qu was the city nearest the Acoma estates, Desio recovered his wits. ‘What has passed?’ he inquired as his cousin paused and bowed before the dais, not the large one with its throne, but a cushioned level off to one side reserved for less formal occasions where Desio was not forced to loom over his councillors.

  To one side, Force Commander Irrilandi waited without resentment to listen to the man who had supplanted him in everything but title. Tasaio was both nobly born and a brilliant field commander; as the Warlord’s second-in-command in the campaign on the barbarian world, he was surrogate for Desio as Clan Warchief. By Tsurani tradition, service to such greatness could bring only honour to the Minwanabi.

  ‘My Lord,’ said Tasaio, rising in full and flawless courtesy before his cousin, ‘it has begun.’

  Desio tensed with anticipation. Inspired by his cousin’s example, he had undertaken to practise the martial traditions. As he sat in his finery on a brocaded mat, his waistline sagged less, and his florid face had lost its puppyish appearance. Diligent work on his swordsmanship had improved his skills to the point where his sparring partners need not offer a blatant opening to allow their Lord the victory. Desio no longer cut a comic figure when he wore armour for ceremonies; the older servants whispered among themselves that the boy carried himself at least as well as his father, Jingu, had in his youth and perhaps was even more manly.

  Physical prowess was not the least of Desio’s gains. In Tasaio’s absence, he had successfully pressed his claim as Warchief of Clan Shonshoni, the first public step toward recovering the prestige surrendered upon his father’s death. More assured than ever before, Desio drew himself up to full height. Afternoon sun from the skylight slashed down upon his shoulders, raising sparkles from his precious ornaments. ‘Tell me the details!’

  Tasaio handed his helm to a waiting servant. He ruffled sweat-slicked hair from his temples, then began unbuckling his gauntlets while he spoke. ‘We have again received word from Mara’s clansmen.’ Two servants rushed forward; one poured water from a ewer into the bowl held by the other. Without break, Tasaio rinsed hands and face, then allowed himself to be dried by a third servant. ‘They would consider the utter obliteration of Mara’s house a difficult proposition, but they are also disinclined to incur our wrath should they discover it an accomplished fact.’

  The servant folded the soiled linen and departed, while from the shadowed alcove beside Desio’s cushions Incomo thrust forth a withered hand. ‘My Lord, it is as Bruli of the Kehotara claimed.’

  With novel lack of petulance, Desio allowed his First Adviser to continue. ‘Clan Hadama is politically factioned. They squabble among themselves enough that they never keep common war council. They will seek no quarrel with Clan Shonshoni, yet we must be cautious. We must not grant them incentive to unite. In the heat of crisis, I suggest they would put aside differences and come to Mara’s aid should she call upon clan honour with any justification. We must ensure we give them no such cause lest we face an entire clan. We would be forced to marshal Clan Shonshoni in turn.’

  ‘Any conflict of that magnitude would bring intervention from the Assembly of Magicians,’ Tasaio pointed out. ‘Which would be disastrous.’ He flicked a fingernail that harboured an invisible fleck of dirt. ‘So we act with circumspection, and after Mara and her son are dead, Clan Hadama will cluck their collective tongues, mouth regrets, and go about their usual business, yes?’

  Desio held up his hand for silence and considered.

  Incomo withheld his urge to press counsel, pleased by his Lord’s newfound maturity. Tasaio’s influence had proved a gift of the gods, for the young Lord seemed on his way to becoming the confident, decisive leader not seen in the Minwanabi great hall since his grandfather’s reign.

  Now sensitive to nuance, the Lord surmised, ‘So you have determined the moment to spring the first part of our trap?’

  Tasaio smiled again, broadly and slowly as a sarcat’s yawn. ‘Less time than I had anticipated. But not as swiftly as we would like. Word must be passed through the Acoma spies that we are moving to attack their cursed silk shipments.’

  Desio nodded. ‘Logical choice. We were punished enough by the chaos caused by their surprise entry into the silk auction. Mara’s advisers will readily believe that we raid to regain some lost wealth and damage her ill-gotten profits.’

  Tasaio fingered the marks left by his gauntlet straps, yet if this was a sign of eagerness, the rest of his demeanour stayed cool. ‘On your word, should we let it be known that “bandits” will raid the caravan heading down the river road to Jamar?’

  Once Desio would have nodded in transparent eagerness. Now he frowned in concentration. ‘Foot troops will not be enough. Be sure to send the impression that we hold boats in readiness as well. Should Mara’s hadonra reroute the caravan by barge, have her understand that river “pirates” will fall upon them.’

  ‘But of course, my Lord!’ Tasaio no longer needed to act as if the suggestion were novel. ‘Such tactics will force Keyoke to send a strongly guarded decoy caravan by the main highway, while he personally escorts a small, fast-moving band of wagons across Tuscalora lands.’

  ‘Where will you take him?’ Desio asked, intense concentration on his face.

  Tasaio signalled the runner slave, who in turn summoned the aide who waited outside the main hall. The warrior entered, bearing a heavy roll of parchment. He made proper obeisance before his Lord, then threw his burden to the floor, where two servants rushed to unroll it.

&nbs
p; Tasaio drew his sword. In a short, neat movement, he indicated the meandering blue line that represented the river Gagajin. ‘Once through Sulan-Qu, Mara will send her wagons southward on the Great River Road, or else she will put them aboard barges and take the water route. She will draw much attention upon this false caravan, so she will not risk her real wares to follow through the woodlands to the east of her holdings. It is too close to the false cargo.’ His sword scratched across the river that offered the main avenue of trade through the heart of the Empire; east and west, major roads were inked in red lines. ‘Here,’ said Tasaio, stabbing his sword at a minor line twining south from the Acoma border. ‘Keyoke is certain to cross south through Tuscalora lands and pass through the foothills of the Kyamaka Mountains. He will make for the delta north of the Great Swamp, and continue directly for Jamar, gateway to the southern markets.’

  Leaning forward over the chart, Desio anticipated him. ‘You’ll attack in the foothills?’

  Tasaio tapped his weapon at a serpentine bend in the road. ‘At this narrow pass. Once into it, Keyoke’s forces can be bottled up at both ends, and with the Red God’s blessing, no Acoma warrior will survive.’

  Desio tapped his full lips with a finger, silent. ‘But Mara might keep her Force Commander with her. Suppose her Strike Leader, Lujan, is sent in Keyoke’s place?’

  Tasaio shrugged. ‘Mara has shown cleverness in trade, but in battle she must delegate command. Her options besides Keyoke and Lujan are a half-blind old strike leader soon to retire and two others newly promoted. She’ll do the only intelligent thing: send her proven officers with her two caravans and trust her cho-ja allies’ raw power to protect her home estates.’

  Yet Desio was not satisfied. ‘Can we arrange an accident for Lujan, also?’

  Tasaio considered this with abstracted interest. ‘Difficult. Mara’s soldiers will be expecting trouble, and even a gifted assassin would be unlikely to get near their commander.’