The Complete Empire Trilogy

by Raymond E. Feist

  The litter bearers turned a corner and swerved to avoid a stray dog being chased by street urchins. They were after the bone it had stolen, and were moving too fast and chaotically for her soldiers to change their course. As always, Kevin noticed their poor clothes and evidence of sores and sickness upon them, and felt sad. He only half heard Mara’s explanation: Lord Kuganchalt was an important if minor ally of the Lord of the Ekamchi and the Lord of the Inrodaka. Those two held sway in a small faction allied firmly against her since her winning of the cho-ja Queen from a hive near Inrodaka lands. She allowed that a contact with the Ginecho would at least give her an opportunity to explain her side of the dispute, perhaps even to drive a wedge between the Ginecho and the two disaffected Lords.

  ‘House Ginecho took heavy losses with Almecho’s fall,’ Mara qualified. ‘They were heavily indebted to the Omechan, and the Warlord’s two disgraces caused the debts all to come due much earlier than the old Lord of the Ginecho could have expected. He died, it is said, of the strain, though others whisper suicide. Still others claim poison was set in his dish by an enemy. Whatever the reason, his young son, Kuganchalt, has inherited his mantle, along with a heavy financial burden. I judge this an auspicious time for an overture.’

  Kevin’s lips thinned in annoyance. She said this though she knew he had been present when Arakasi allowed that Kuganchalt’s court was riddled through with cousins who were Ekamchi and Inrodaka loyalists, a few of whom probably had orders to commit murder should the inexperienced boy act in any way to the detriment of his two allies. Kevin had commented that a few might be motivated to speed the young Lord along to the halls of the Red God without any urging from Mara’s two enemies. Nacoya warned Mara that entering Kuganchalt’s town house would be stepping into a nest of swamp relli; Mara, she berated, was deaf to good advice when larger issues were on her mind.

  As litter and bearers rounded another corner, and sunlight fell through the curtains, Kevin became aware that the Lady was looking at him. Too often he had the feeling she could read his thoughts from his face, and this was one such time. ‘The Ginecho would expect us to try to rearrange their alliance,’ she pointed out with mischievous gentleness. ‘Ekamchi went to such trouble to buy the loyalty of so many members of Kuganchalt’s family, and Inrodaka underwrote most of the expense. They would all be terribly disappointed if the Acoma failed to put in an appearance. We will go, and give them what they want, which is belief in their own self-importance. Inrodaka and Ekamchi must always be led to believe that their enmity is of some consequence. It keeps them from allying with my other enemies.

  ‘Gods help us if they discover the truth: that the Acoma have gained enough standing that their minor plotting has no impact; then they might brew worse mischief than they do already, just to attract attention, or do something really destructive, such as throwing their support to Tasaio.’

  Kevin snorted out a laugh. ‘You mean you’re going to pat the little guy with a grudge on the head, just to keep him from getting really irate, in case he thinks you’ve forgotten he’s got bones to pick, so he doesn’t get nasty and go out and find a bigger bone to pick?’

  ‘Inelegantly spoken,’ Mara said. ‘But yes.’

  Kevin swore in Midkemian.

  Somewhat nettled, Mara twitched the curtains back. ‘That’s rude. Now what do you mean?’

  Her barbarian lover gave her a long look and shrugged. ‘In polite language, your Great Game of the Council ingests water from an infested swamp. One could say it quite often borders on the absurd.’

  ‘I was afraid you were going to say that.’ Mara leaned an elbow on her cushions and gazed at one of the huge stone temples that bordered both sides of the avenue.

  Kevin followed her glance, by now well enough versed in the Tsurani pantheon to recognize the temple of Lashima, Goddess of Wisdom. Here, he recalled, Mara had spent months in study, in the hope of taking vows of service. The deaths of her father and brother had drastically changed that fate.

  As though her own reminiscence followed his into the past, Mara said, ‘You know, I miss the quiet.’ Then she smiled. ‘But nothing else, really. The temple priestesses are even more bound to tradition and ritual than the great houses are. Now I cannot imagine being happy with such a life.’ She tipped a wicked glance at Kevin. ‘And certainly I would have missed out on some very enjoyable bed sport.’

  ‘Well,’ said Kevin, running irreverent eyes over the walls that surrounded the temple grounds, ‘maybe not – given luck, a length of stout rope, and a determined man.’ He bent over, cupped her chin, and kissed her as they walked along. ‘I’m a very determined man.’

  From the other side of the litter, Arakasi shot the couple a black look.

  ‘You never will act the proper slave,’ Mara murmured. ‘I suppose we shall have to look over the precedent set in the arena by the Great One who was your countryman, and seek a legal way to set you free.’

  Kevin missed a step. ‘That’s why we’re back in Kentosani! You’re going to look up the fine points of the law and see what’s changed since the games?’ He strode out, reestablished position at Mara’s side, and grinned. ‘Patrick might forget himself and kiss you.’

  Mara made a face. ‘That would certainly earn him a beating! The man never bathes.’ Shaking her head, she added, ‘No, that’s not my reason for being here. If we can find the time, we’ll visit the Imperial Archives. But the Lord of the Ginecho comes first.’

  ‘Life would be so dull without enemies,’ Kevin quipped, but this time his Lady did not rise to the bait. Beyond the precinct of the temples, the avenue narrowed, and traffic became too thick to allow for conversation. Kevin fought against the press of the heavy crowds, using his greater height to prevent his Lady’s litter from being jostled. He realized that his years of captivity had not been entirely unhappy ones; he might not love all aspects of Tsurani society – the misery of the poor would never cease to bother him. But given the chance to become a free man, and stay at Mara’s side, he would choose this alien world as home. His horizons had widened since he had fought in the Riftwar. For him, a younger son, return to his father’s estate at Zun would offer poor prospects, no substitute for the excitement he had found in foreign and exotic Tsuranuanni.

  So caught up in his thoughts was he that when Mara’s small retinue arrived at the Acoma town house, he did not raise his customary protest when the head servant there commanded him forthwith to unload the Lady’s carry boxes and heft them up to her chambers.

  Midday passed, and the heat lessened. Bathed and refreshed since her journey, Mara prepared for her visit to the Lord of the Ginecho. Kevin declined the chance to attend her, insisting he would be unable to keep a straight face through the proceedings. In fact, Mara knew him to be fascinated with the markets of the Holy City, and in wistful reflection she agreed that an afternoon of shopping with the head servant of the house was bound to be more interesting than exchanging stilted small talk and veiled insults with a seventeen-year-old boy whose eyes were still puffed from weeping over his father. She indulged Kevin’s excuse and let him stay, and instead took Arakasi, unobtrusively clad as a servant. The Ginecho were too minor a house to warrant close observation by Arakasi’s agents, and the Spy Master himself desired the opportunity to pursue gossip with the house servants.

  The litter departed from the town house courtyard in the late afternoon, accompanied by twenty warriors, a suitable number to impress Lord Ginecho that his enmity was taken seriously. For quickness, the entourage held to back streets, less packed with traffic.

  They passed through cool tree-lined avenues lined by the garden courtyards of wealthy guild officials and merchants. Few folk noted their passage, and their only impediment was the occasional hand-pushed cart filled with vegetables that the servants of the very rich wheeled home. The soldiers stayed alert, though Arakasi held belief that no great house in the Empire would feel confident enough to attempt an assassination in public.

  Mara had always loved the side s
treets of the Holy City, with their long glades of flowering trees, and their neatly swept stone cobbles. She enjoyed the wooden gates, with their patterned lattices, and their posts netted over with akasi and hibis vines. Although Kentosani was a river city, like Sulan-Qu, by imperial edict no dyers, tanneries, or other crafts requiring unpleasant procedures had been permitted within the city walls. Unless one was downwind of the holding pens for the arena or the crowded markets in the central waterfront area, this was a city that smelled of flowers, spiced with the scents of temple incense as day closed and priests and priestesses of all the Tsurani deities began their night’s devotions.

  The Acoma bearers conveyed their burden from the side lanes and entered one of the many wide squares. Half-lost in reflection brought on by the quiet of the hour, Mara almost missed Arakasi’s hesitation.

  She looked over to see what had captured his attention. Across the square rose two gilded columns framed by an arch and a span of smoothed slate. This was one of many message boards reserved for the word of the Light of Heaven. Although the messages were usually scribed in chalk, and of a religious context, today a crew of Imperial Whites stood guard over the site. The event was unusual enough to draw notice. Closer inspection showed two plain-garbed craftsmen repairing the gilding on the frame, which had been damaged in last year’s riots. Even the minute amounts of gold they used were too costly to risk thieves; this seemed to explain the presence of the Emperor’s guards. But what drew Arakasi’s closer inspection were three dark-robed figures who stood at the board in process of affixing a scroll heavy with imperial ribbons and seals. Mara frowned, puzzled. Great Ones from the Assembly of Magicians did not usually perform the errands of clerks.

  ‘It’s a proclamation,’ Arakasi mused, sharing his thoughts with his mistress. ‘With permission, Lady, I should like to see what it contains.’

  Mara nodded her permission, diverted from her enjoyment of Kentosani’s loveliness to considering the Light of Heaven; imperial proclamations were a rarity, and the fact that one was being posted by Great Ones augured a momentous matter. It was no longer a topic of idle speculation that the current Emperor was not acting the exaltedly remote figure his forebears had been. This Light of Heaven, Ichindar, had not only put his hand into the game, he had overturned it.

  Arakasi returned, slipping neatly between two bread sellers with shoulder yokes and laden baskets. As he arrived beside his mistress’s litter, he said softly, ‘My Lady, the Great Ones announce to the Empire that the magician Milamber has been cast out of the Assembly. The document goes on to say that those slaves in the arena who were freed by his action are lawfully released from their masters, but no precedent may be seen in this. By imperial decree, and by the will of heaven, Ichindar pronounces that no other who wears the slave’s grey may change his status. For the good of the Empire, for the sake of the order of society, and by divine will, all who are slaves must remain so until death.’

  Mara showed no change in expression, but the delight went out of the day. Suddenly heavy hearted, she motioned her bearers forward, then closed her curtains, as she did when she wanted privacy. Her hands laced tightly over a cushion. She did not know how she was going to tell Kevin, whose hopes had risen so dizzyingly after her careless reference that morning.

  Until recently, she had not considered his slavery to be an issue of importance. As Acoma property, he was guaranteed food, and housing, and a measure of public standing by right of the honour of her house. As a freeman, he would have no position, even in the eyes of a beggar. Any Tsurani in the street might spit on him without fear of retribution. Much as Mara might love him, she had not always understood his pride, so different from Tsurani pride, for he was safer as a slave in her house than as a clanless barbarian freeman. Anyone who spent time at the docks in Jamar would see the occasional renegade Thuril or dwarf from Dustari and their misery and know this was true.

  But this much she had come to grudgingly understand: if he remained a slave, in some manner, at some time, she must lose him. The Night of the Bloody Swords had shown her beyond doubt that he was a warrior; he deserved freedom to further his honour. Since then she had felt uncomfortable with the concept that he should finish his days as her property. Her views had changed: she understood that his Midkemian code of conduct, alien as it was, had its own intrinsic honour.

  No longer could she regard him as disgraced for failing to take his life rather than be captured by an enemy, as a Tsurani warrior would have done, or for hiding his rank to avoid summary execution.

  Troubled to discover that her plans to give him happiness were permanently dashed, Mara stayed withdrawn throughout her visit to the Ginecho. She performed the proper social display expected of her, but afterwards she would have been hard put to recall a word of the conversation, or recite a detail of young Lord Kuganchalt’s appearance. If Arakasi noted that she seemed distracted as the litter wended its way homeward through Kentosani’s torch-lit streets, he said nothing. He provided his hand with the skill of a man assigned such duties lifelong as she got out of the litter in her courtyard, and disappeared unobtrusively at her dismissal.

  Mara called for a light supper, and for once did not ask for Kevin’s company. She sat in solitude in the study overlooking the courtyard, picking at her meal and staring at the shadow patterns the flowering shrubs threw onto the screen. From the kitchen she could hear laughter, and Kevin’s boisterous voice describing some escapade concerning a jigabird seller in the markets. He was in high humour, and the other servants were enjoying his performance with the enthusiasm of bystanders at a street entertainment.

  But for Mara, tonight, Kevin’s laughter only cut. She pushed aside her barely tasted plate with a sigh, and asked a servant to bring wine. She sipped, and let the night deepen without calling for lamps. Her mind and her memory circled endlessly, reviewing the leading questions she had asked of the Great One, Fumita. His reticence stung her even yet. Over and over, she pondered his chilly reception, and she wondered, now that it was absolutely beyond hope to change, whether the edict against freeing slaves had been prompted by her inquiries.

  She could never know for certain. That was the painful part. If she had more wisely kept her own counsel, Kevin’s chance of freedom might not have been destroyed.

  Mara sighed and waved for removal of her supper tray. She retired early, though her mind churned, and when Kevin came she feigned sleep. His touches and his tenderness could not break through her dark thoughts, and she feared to risk bringing him into her confidence. When at last he fell into contented slumber by her side, she felt no better. All night she tossed and sorted words. Hours passed, and she still did not know what to say.

  She gazed at his profile, lit softly golden by the screen-filtered light of the courtyard lanterns. The scar he had gained from the overseer at the slave market had nearly faded away over the years. All that remained was a fine crease over his cheekbone, such as a warrior might gain from a sword cut. The blue eyes with their laughing depths were closed, and in sleep his face showed abiding peace. Mara ached to touch him, and instead wound up blinking back tears. Angered by her shameful softness, she rolled over and stared at the wall, only to find herself turning back, studying his profile and biting her lip not to weep.

  Dawn came, and she was exhausted. She arose before Kevin, tense and miserable in a cold sweat. She called for maids to bathe and dress her, and when her beloved roused with his sleepy questions, she covered her reticence by seeming brusque.

  ‘I have a most important errand to do this morning.’ She tilted her head away, ostensibly to help the maid who was arranging her hair, but in fact to hide her puffy eyes before cosmetics could disguise the evidence of her unhappiness. ‘You may come or not, as you wish.’

  Stung by her coldness, Kevin paused in the act of stretching. He looked at her; she could feel his gaze on her back and did not have to see to be sure of his reproach. ‘I’ll come, of course,’ he said slowly. Then, chagrined that his tone held an edge that re
flected her own, he added, ‘At least, the antics of jigabird sellers will need to improve a great deal before I’ll be drawn from your charms.’ The conciliatory tone of the comment was not lost on her; she cursed the fact he held such power over her and that even such a small remark could feel like a rebuke.

  He stood up. Never quite as silent as a Tsurani warrior, but as strongly confident, he stepped over to her and slipped his arms around her shoulders. ‘You are my favourite little bird in the Empire,’ he murmured. ‘Beautifully soft, and your singing is the joy of my heart.’

  He moved away, with a sly quip that caused one of her maids an unseemly fit of giggles. If he had noticed the Lady was stiff in his arms, he attributed it to the pins that the maid was using to fasten the long, looping twists of her hair.

  The elaborate coiffure should have warned him. Built to a height that indicated a Tsurani intention to impress, and fastened with dozens of fine jade and diamond pins, Mara’s headdress was crowned and glorified by a feathered tiara set with abalone.

  ‘We’re going to the Imperial Palace?’ Kevin demanded when he tore his eyes away long enough to notice that Arakasi was among the honour guard, dressed as a clerk. The Senior Strike Leader was wearing his ceremonial armour and his most imposing plumes. His spear and helm were streamered, and since the ribbons would not hold up to prolonged street wear, not to mention a fight, somebody important had to be the reason behind all the pomp.

  ‘We’re going to pay a visit to an official of the Emperor,’ Mara explained, her tone brittle. She let Arakasi hand her into the litter. He was better at the task than the Strike Leader, who was fine enough with a sword but clumsy when it came to managing a Lady in high-soled sandals, eight layers of overrobes, and a headdress that would have outmatched any King of the Isles’ coronation crown by a factor of ten.