The old Lord of the Jinguai had not moved from his seat throughout the entire proceedings, but now he stood. His back might be stooped with age, but his tones were firm as he called, ‘Mara! I name Mara of the Acoma my Warchief!’
Another Lord joined his call, followed by a chorus of others from the upper galleries. Suddenly many were shouting, and in consternation, Lord Benshai of the Chekowara realized that the majority of the clan were upon their feet hailing Mara. At last, as the commotion began to subside, the Lady of the Acoma regarded the former Warchief. ‘Benshai, surrender the staff.’
The Lord of the Chekowara looked sour. He hesitated an almost imprudent interval, then held out the short wooden staff with ceremonial carvings that marked the rank of Warchief. As Mara accepted the token of office, he gave a shallow, stiff bow and backed to the first seat next to the dais, the position reserved for the second most powerful Lord in the clan. Others reorganized themselves accordingly down to the chair that had formerly been Mara’s, while those of lesser rank remained undisturbed.
With clan order readjusted, Mara waved a hand to indicate the gathering. ‘All of you shall be counted loyal and faithful friends. From this moment forward, let it be known that the Hadama is again a clan in both name and deed. For, kinsmen, trying times are coming, days to make the Night of the Bloody Swords seem a mild disturbance unless we undertake plans to prevent such a pass.
‘I call upon Clan Honour!’ With those formal words a shock ran through the room. Lords exclaimed aloud in surprise and consternation, for by her choice of phrasing, Mara proclaimed beyond recall that whatever came next impacted upon not only the honour of the Acoma, but that of the entire clan. No Lord would dare such a move in a capricious or trivial way, for the invocation bound every family within the clan to stand with the Acoma. Should any Warchief embroil clans in conflict, the stability of the Empire could be overturned. The point did not have to be reiterated, that to threaten social continuity would invite intervention by the Great Ones. More than the wrath of the Emperor, or even the vengeance of the gods, the Tsurani feared the Assembly of Magicians, those whose words were as law.
Yet Mara allayed the worst fear, that she might use a Call to Clan Honour for her own ends. ‘The first duty of Clan Hadama is to serve the Empire!’
In a flurry of relief, all in the room cried out, ‘Yes! To serve the Empire!’
‘I tell you this: all that I undertake from this day forward is not for the glory of the Acoma, but to serve the Empire. You, my brave and loyal kinsmen, have cast your lot with mine. Know by my word that no matter what may come, I act for the good of all.’
Like a change in tide, the undercurrent of conversation faltered. Mara placed Clan Hadama under a dreadful burden, for with those ritual words, ‘good of the Empire’, she committed her clan to a course that could end only in victory or in utter destruction.
Yet before the mutters could swell into cohesive protest, Mara swept on. ‘From this day, all party affiliations outside the clan are ended, save those with the Blue Wheel and Jade Eye.’ Several Lords nodded in approval, while others, whose political interests lay elsewhere, scowled their displeasure. Yet no one spoke out. ‘All ties with factions outside the clan must be made known to me,’ Mara demanded. ‘I shall not force any of you to act dishonourably or forget vows, but in the days to come, some of us will find that former friends become the most bitter of foes.’ She took a deep breath, as if waiting for a challenge.
‘Look around this room, my Lords. These are your family, upon whom you may depend. The ancient ties of blood have today been renewed. Any man, no matter how highly placed, who raises a hand against even the least of my kinsmen raises his hand against me. Our clan heritage has fallen to disunity for generations. No more. For whosoever strikes at my kinsman strikes at me. My army has been divided, my Lords, and fully one half of my warriors under a newly promoted Force Leader stand ready to answer should you call.’ She let that sink in, then added, ‘And when the coming dark days have passed, it is my intention to meet again in this room, and to see no absent faces among us. For as a mother shatra bird brings food to her young and spreads her wings to shelter them, so shall I be to you, one who feeds her family and protects them.’
Most of the Lords in the hall stood at this, and the ones least in rank and strength cheered in appreciation of Mara’s vow. Even the most powerful who had been displaced were forced to look upon their new Warchief with respect. And if the Lord of the Chekowara’s dark face held other than admiration for the woman who had replaced his primacy in the clan, he hid his sour feelings as he stood and applauded her brave words.
Only Kevin observed with a man’s perception, and he did not miss the flash of bitterness in Lord Benshai’s eyes. Although the Midkemian himself felt warmed that his Lady had dared to turn his influence upon her thinking into public policy, he wondered with concern whether she had yet again won many new allies at the price of creating another mortal foe.
The Keeper of the Imperial Seal paused with a keljir candy halfway raised to his mouth. Caught at a loss, he visibly sagged when he saw who called upon him. He shoved his bulk from his cushions with a suppressed grunt of effort and adjusted his robes around his girth. ‘My Lady of the Acoma. What a … surprise.’
Glancing at the apologetic servant who stood behind Mara, the Keeper understood that Mara and her not inconsiderable entourage had simply swept past the usual maze of servants, depriving the Keeper of the news an important visitor was approaching.
The candy was suddenly an embarrassment. The Keeper of the Imperial Seal dropped it hastily back into the bowl, though it was unwrapped already and beginning to melt in the heat. He wiped his sticky palm on his sash, since the robe he was wearing had inconveniently short sleeves. Then he extended his palm to his visitor.
Mara took the proffered hand and let the man lead her to a seat before his writing desk. As the official stowed his bulk on his cushions, he wheezed, ‘Are you well?’
‘I am well, my Lord Keeper,’ she replied with the faintest hint of deference.
‘Word holds that you’ve risen to primacy in your clan.’ The Keeper of the Imperial Seal wasted no time retrieving his sweet. ‘Much honour to you, I think.’
Mara inclined her head as if accepting a compliment.
Around a softening mouthful of candy, the official said, ‘To what do I owe the honour of this visit?’
‘I think you know, Webara.’ By the shift to first-name usage, Mara indicated her demand that she be treated with all honour due her rise in station. She removed a roll of parchment from her sleeve. ‘I hold a warrant under Imperial Seal for trading concessions and now I require my claim to be made public.’
Webara forced a friendly smile and shrugged. ‘Mara, you may do anything you wish.’ His reciprocal use of her first name showed that he claimed still to hold position in power equal to hers. ‘You may employ runners of the Commercial Guild of Messengers to carry word of your exclusive trading rights to the far corners of the Empire, for all it matters.’
Taken aback, Mara fought not to show surprise. ‘I assumed that when the time was appropriate, the imperial messengers would undertake the duty of posting such notices.’
‘They would do so if I directed them.’ Webara inspected his robe over his navel and removed a flake of keljir leaf that had stuck itself to the fabric. ‘However, as the rifts are not under imperial control, I am not concerned with who uses them.’
Mara bit back outrage. ‘What is this? I hold exclusive trading rights!’
Webara gave a long-suffering sigh. ‘Mara, let me be blunt. You hold trading rights with the barbarian world. While it can be argued that no one else is entitled to import the commodities you have licensed, still, you hold no monopoly on the use of a rift on another’s lands. Neither of the two rifts is under imperial jurisdiction.’
‘Who controls them?’ Despite her best efforts, Mara’s query came out acerbic. She blotted sweating hands, worried now, for yesterday’s bo
ld advancement had been based upon her use of her licence to control certain Midkemian imports.
Like many officials whose post held hollow forms that brought pomp but poor prestige, Webara sensed at once that he had the upper hand. He sucked on his sweet and twined his fingers across his ample stomach. ‘The first rift is upon the lands of a man named Netoha of the Chichimechas, near the city of Ontoset.’ His self-satisfied manner informed more plainly than words that this man might be difficult to convince when it came to granting access for trade purposes.
‘Where is the second rift?’ Mara asked through a stab of annoyance.
Webara returned an unctuous smile. ‘The other rift is located to the north, somewhere within the City of the Magicians.’ He smacked his lips as the last of his candy dissolved. In sugary tones, he added the unnecessary: ‘It is controlled by the Assembly, of course.’
The man’s patronizing scorn galled as deeply as insult. Mara arose without the grace of any courtesies. Certain the Keeper of the Imperial Seal was gloating at her frustration, she swept from the chamber without a word or a single glance back.
The chuckle that followed her departure into the corridor went unheard. Plunged into furious thought, Mara frowned. Her escort of warriors fell into step behind her without the benefit of any signal. Their mistress was too preoccupied with her own mistake to attend to such details. She had made an assumption, and paid. Acting on power she did not entirely have, she had presumed that the reopened rift would be under imperial control, as the last had been; then her warrant would have given her undisputed access.
But the magicians were far too capricious and powerful a body to approach, and this Netoha might certainly prove intractable. Mara uttered one of Kevin’s favourite curses under her breath. Whoever Lord Netoha was, or whomever he held as allies, she was going to set Arakasi to the task of sounding his strengths and weaknesses. She had to gain access to a rift. Her newly won position as Clan Warchief depended upon this; and if she was thwarted in her needs, her house was set on perilous ground, both militarily and financially.
If she was frustrated – Mara forced herself to keep breathing evenly, to walk as though nothing were troubling her – Tasaio must not find out, or she begged swift ruin, not only for herself, but for all of Clan Hadama as well.
Arakasi reported back within the hour of Mara’s return to her town house. Agitated still over her dilemma concerning trade concessions, the Lady of the Acoma immediately summoned the Spy Master into her presence in the garden courtyard. There, surrounded by perfectly groomed flower beds and the songs of fountains that did not soothe, Mara asked point blank for information concerning the man Netoha, upon whose estate the secondary rift to the barbarian world was reputed to lie.
As if her need had been anticipated, perhaps because of her desire to free Kevin, Arakasi had an astonishing supply of ready facts. He completed his bow, his secretive features more than usually impassive. ‘The magic gate is not located upon Netoha’s lands by chance. He was the hadonra of the renegade magician, Milamber, who resided there before his expulsion from the Assembly. My inquiries established that the man had been a servant or hadonra of the previous owner of that luckless property.’
Arakasi paused at this, for Tsurani superstition held against occupying residences or employing the servants of those fallen from power; when a lord or a family lost favour with the gods, his goods, his lands, and his staff were believed to be accursed along with him. Yet Milamber had been a barbarian, no doubt ignorant of such points. And ill luck had dogged him also. Arakasi shrugged Tsurani fashion. ‘But while both Netoha’s masters have fallen upon ill fortune, his cause seems on the rise. Through some distant relation, he was able to claim kinship with the Chichimechas, who needed capital at the time. An arrangement was made. Now Netoha of the Chichimechas is fourth in line for succession to the Ruling Lordship of a tiny house, and he’s in good standing with the Hunzan Clan.’
Mara resisted an urge to rise and pace the flagstone walkway. ‘Clan Hunzan is radical in its thinking. Nothing they do would come as a surprise.’
Arakasi rounded off his report. ‘Little else is common knowledge, save that Netoha’s wife is a former slave.’
Mara raised her eyebrows, diverted from her troubles by interest.
But her Spy Master’s explanation dashed any hope she might hold for Kevin’s benefit. ‘Milamber freed all the slaves upon his estate before leaving Kelewan,’ Arakasi said. ‘As his status had yet to be called into doubt at the time, the act became as law. Even without slaves, Netoha has turned his small holdings to profit. Given his industry, he is a man who will likely continue to rise. He might someday become a powerful Lord.’
Mara seized upon the one point that mattered. ‘Then he could be open to a commercial transaction concerning this rift?’
‘Perhaps.’ Arakasi’s mood stayed guarded. ‘There is something else, mistress. A great deal is not clear to me, beyond the certainty that something vastly beyond the ordinary is in play. The renegade magician’s return has sparked much activity, all of it clandestine. There are disturbed patterns running through imperial circles – high officials in long conferences with scholars sworn to secrecy, and a lot of close-mouthed, nervous correspondence carried back and forth by the Light of Heaven’s personal messengers, none of it written, and all of it bonded by suicide oath, according to court gossip. I shall endeavour to penetrate and discover the heart of this, but as the Assembly is involved …’ He shrugged again, to indicate the effort might not bear fruit.
Too concerned for her own difficulties, Mara forwent curiosity over the affairs of Great Ones. She dismissed her Spy Master with uncharacteristic abruptness, then called for a scribe, her intent being to send messages to Lord Netoha and to Fumita of the Assembly, offering generous terms for use of the rift gate into Midkemia.
Once her missives were dispatched by the guild of messengers, Kentosani held little to retain her. Mara opted for a swift return home, as much to avoid inopportune contact with other members of her clan as to assuage a sudden longing to spend time with Ayaki. The boy was growing so fast! He was halfway to becoming a man, she realized; she must speak to Keyoke soon about selecting a warrior to teach him weaponcraft, with his tenth birthday scarcely a half year off.
The return barge trip down the Gagajin passed without incident, but upon arrival at the border of her own estates, Mara’s worry lessened as she felt something of the familiar calm that came from the knowledge of being home. And yet, for the first time in her life, she felt gnawed from within by a sense of something missing. She pondered why as her bearers took her litter up the road to the estate house.
Yet the cause eluded her until the moment she set foot in her own front dooryard and accepted greetings from Lujan, Keyoke, and Nacoya. The house seemed suddenly insignificant. Mara felt a passing sadness that she no longer looked upon the home of her father as the grand and wonderful place it had seemed throughout her childhood. As Ruling Lady and Clan Warchief, she now saw only a spread of land that was difficult to defend, and a dwelling that was comfortably appointed, but lacking the grand presence and State guest suites needful to a ruler of her status. For a moment Mara entertained the bitter thought that her most hated enemy should thrive in a place that was both the most defensible location in the Empire and the most beautiful.
As Mara crossed the threshold, Kevin in his customary place behind her, Nacoya pursued. Nettled that the mistress had returned only perfunctory salutations, the old woman nearly abandoned composure. ‘What has overcome you, Mara? Are you bereft of wits?’
The reprimand stung the Lady out of her thought. She spun to face her adviser, her frown an open warning. ‘What do you mean?’
‘This assumption of the Warchief’s staff.’ Nacoya wagged her finger, much as she had in her days as a children’s nurse. ‘Why didn’t you discuss your intentions before you acted?’
Mara stood firmly, her arms folded. ‘The idea never occurred to me, until I was halfway to Kentosa
ni. When I left, I thought I could convince the clan to do as I asked, but upon the river I had time to think –’
‘I wish you had put the time to better use!’ the Acoma First Adviser cut in.
‘Nacoya!’ Mara’s eyes flashed rage. ‘I will not be scolded like a girl. What do you object to?’
The First Adviser bowed precisely to the correct degree, which meant she was not cowed. In tones near to scorn she said, ‘I beg your pardon, Lady. But since you have compelled Clan Hadama to recognize your primacy, you have also forced public notice that you are now a power to be contended with.’
Caught off guard, Mara tried to wave the matter off. ‘Nothing has changed, save –’
Nacoya put her old hands firmly upon Mara’s shoulders and looked her mistress in the eyes. ‘Much has changed. Before, you were seen as a resourceful girl, who could escape traps and strengthen her house and defend herself. Even after Jingu’s death, the mighty of the Empire could cast your success off as luck. But now, by making others relinquish honours, you announce to the world that you are a threat! Tasaio must act. And he must do so soon. The longer he waits, the more his allies and vassals will come to doubt his resolve. Before, he might remain content to wait for a clear opportunity; now he must do something. You have made him desperate.’
Mara felt a sudden current of cold. With certainty she knew Nacoya was correct in her appraisal. Made nervous as fresh worries tangled with others arising from her trade difficulties, she closed her eyes a moment. ‘You are right.’ Smiling thinly in chagrin, she regained her poise and added, ‘I have acted precipitately and … well, the best that can be done is to hold council with my staff as soon as I have refreshed myself. We must … make plans.’
Nacoya nodded grumpy approval. As Kevin escorted Mara to her quarters, the old woman fretted, not only because Mara acted without thought, but also because she looked tired, truly bone-tired. As many years as Nacoya had served, she had never known the daughter of her heart to appear so worn.
The Complete Empire Trilogy Page 114
