The Complete Empire Trilogy

by Raymond E. Feist

  Lord Xacatecas spoke from Mara’s side. ‘I act for the Good of the Empire!’ He joined his two predecessors on the dais stair and handed up his staff of Xacala Warchief to the Emperor.

  Gold armour flashed as Ichindar held up his hands, and all present took note that he held, not three staves, but four. Into the rising uproar, the Light of Heaven called out, ‘I received the staff of the Omechan Clan this morning, Tasaio. Take note and beware: in my province are four claims to the throne of white and gold.’

  Jiro of the Anasati turned a look of naked anger upon Mara before he bowed to necessity. ‘Tasaio, fate has decreed this. I am sorry.’ So saying, the second most bitter enemy of the Acoma abandoned his position at the Lord of the Minwanabi’s side. His desertion precipitated the withdrawal of the remaining Ionani nobles, leaving Tasaio alone with a handful of vassals and cowed followers.

  One of these abruptly turned away. As he stepped down the stair toward the gathering around the dais, Tasaio gave way to rage. ‘Bruli of the Kehotara! You disgrace the memory of your father! He gave a generation of honourable service to the Minwanabi, and in your cowardice his steadfastness is shamed!’

  Handsome as few men could be in cumbersome formal trappings, Bruli spun lightly on his heel. ‘Shamed, you say! That is an insult from one whose family once sought to use me as an instrument to destroy the Lady Mara. Neither you nor Desio condescended to treat me, your vaunted vassal, as generously as this Lady at the time she defeated me.’ Bruli spat in contempt toward the stair where Tasaio stood. ‘I am done with the Minwanabi.’

  ‘I will see the lands of your ancestors sown with salt, and your natami shattered!’ screamed Tasaio in a surfeit of rage.

  The threat left Lord Bruli unfazed. He moved off without a look back until he reached the floor beside Mara. There, in public, he bowed. ‘Some may say you have deserted family honour this day, Lady Mara.’ Then he smiled. ‘I think not. Despite our past differences, I believe in my heart that you truly do serve the Empire, Lady. May peace hold between us from this day forward.’

  Mara smiled in return. ‘Before the High Council, I acknowledge friendship between the Kehotara and the Acoma.’

  Tasaio’s eyes blazed with frustration. ‘You may have played into Ichindar’s hands, Mara, but this is not the end. I’ve given my word that you may return safely to your home, but the moment my scouts bring news that you’ve set foot upon Acoma soil, then shall I unleash the might of the Minwanabi upon you. More.’ He spun in command upon those still behind him and cried, ‘I call upon Clan Honour! The Acoma have disgraced the Empire and Clan Shonshoni! Let war come to Clan Hadama!’

  Ichindar said, ‘I forbid this!’

  Tasaio’s smile twisted with overweening malice. ‘I have fifty thousand soldiers ready to march at my command.’ Although the baring of blades was deplored within the great hall, he flouted custom and drew his sword for emphasis. The rare metal blade caught the light like fire, while an uproar swept across the hall. Over the clamour, in his commander’s shout, Tasaio cried, ‘If you seek to make an end to this, Ichindar, let us do so on the field of war! Will your supporters stand with you then?’ demanded Tasaio, his face flushed in challenge.

  Mara felt a chill pierce her being. Before her stood a madman who would see his civilization reduced to ashes rather than suffer a rival to claim victory. Numbed by the sight of her worst nightmare made real, and stabbed through by recognition that her hope had been ground down by the caprice of the gods, she closed her eyes to hide her anguish. Because of her pride, and her ill-founded attempt to wrest the course of the future into a new mould, more than the Acoma would fall. With her she dragged down the best among the mighty, and in that most terrible recognition came the personal grief that Ayaki would die before manhood, and Kevin’s unborn child might never know the chance to draw breath.

  Mara felt withered by responsibility, for in cold truth, this impasse had happened because of her. Her acts had brought her nation to civil war.

  Numbly she heard Ichindar murmur words of apologetic consternation. Too devastated to speak, she turned to bow to his better grace. Seeing the young man standing without sign of fear, Mara forced herself to speak. ‘The Acoma are yours to command, my Emperor.’ At once many Lords pledged support, or made a display of putting distance between themselves and their neighbours; bloody chaos was too close at hand not to make it clear where one stood. Those who wished no part in the coming clash sought to escape being swept along.

  That instant, a voice from the edge of the chamber rang out in absolute command. ‘There shall be no conflict!’

  The uproar died. Mara snapped her eyes open to find silence as the nobles surrounding her looked upward in disbelief. Dozens of black-robed figures descended into the hall in a ring through every entrance and side door. Eerily silent, and contested by none, the Great Ones of the Assembly advanced down the steps to the lowest floor of the High Council.

  The whim of the magicians was as law, even above the might of armies. Mindful of the havoc unleashed by just one man trained to the black in the arena, no Lord present was fool enough to stand against the will of the Assembly. Tasaio stood frozen in abject fury, fully aware that he had lost. The last colour drained from his features as he resheathed his sword in disgrace.

  Fifty magicians closed in a ring around the Lords who surrounded the Emperor. Their spokesman gave a formal nod to the Lady of the Acoma. With a faint start, Mara recognized Fumita. In a giddy rush of fear, she recalled that he had been present throughout her entire discussion with Kamatsu. At his side were two others she did not know, a short, very stout magician and a thin one with angular features. Confronted by their stern, impassive gazes, unknowingly steeped in power, Mara knew an instant of terror. Surely they came to take her, to punish her unpardonable boldness.

  For if Tasaio was greedy with ambition, she was as much at fault, for her presumptuous attempt to shatter tradition. Yet the Great One did not speak to berate her. Taking a stance between her and the sworn enemy of her family, Fumita addressed the gathering at large. ‘We speak for the Assembly. Our Council has met and determined that Mara of the Acoma has acted for the Good of the Empire. She has jeopardized herself in selfless honour to prevent strife, and her life in this moment is sacrosanct.’

  The stout magician took up where Fumita ended. ‘We are divided on many issues, but one thing must be made clear. We shall not permit a civil war.’

  The thin magician spoke last. ‘Tasaio of the Minwanabi: you are forbidden to conduct any conflict with Mara of the Acoma, from this day forward. This is the will of the Assembly.’

  Tasaio’s eyes widened as if he had been slapped. His hand tightened again on his sword hilt, and a disturbed light glittered in his eyes. In a hoarse whisper he said, ‘Great One, my family has sworn blood oath to Turakamu!’

  ‘Forbidden!’ repeated the slender magician.

  White to the lips, Tasaio bowed. ‘Your will, Great One.’ He unbuckled his sword, an heirloom of steel with an elaborately carved bone handle. Reluctance stiffened every line of his bearing as he descended the stair and surrendered the weapon to Mara. ‘To the victor.’ His hands shook from closely contained rage.

  Mara accepted the trophy with hands that openly trembled. ‘It was a close thing.’

  Tasaio loosed a bitter laugh. ‘I think not. You have been touched by the gods, Mara.’ He glanced around the room. ‘Had you never been born, or had your family not died to make your inheritance possible, I have no doubt that change might have come. But this!’ He gestured in white rage at the assemblage of Lords, Magicians, and Emperor. ‘Nothing so momentously conclusive would ever have come to pass. I think I prefer facing the Red God to seeing the Great Game of our ancestors reduced to a paltry charade, and our Lords cast away pride and honour for subservience to the Light of Heaven.’ His hard topaz eyes roved one last time over the council he had dreamed he might rule. ‘Gods pity you all, and the Empire you surrender into disgrace.’

  ‘Be sile
nt!’ Fumita snapped. ‘Shimone of the Assembly will conduct you back to your estates, my Lord Minwanabi.’

  ‘Wait, I beg you!’ Mara cried out. ‘Desio vowed to the Red God, on the blood of the Minwanabi line. By the terms of his oath, none who claim kinship with Tasaio may survive if the Acoma are not sacrificed.’

  Hard as stone, Fumita faced the Lady of the Acoma. Foolish is the Lord who presumes that the gods take such a particular interest in his enemies. Desio transgressed prudent limits to make such a pledge. The gods do not suffer recanting such vows. His kin must suffer the consequences.’

  But Mara felt as if Kevin stood at her shoulder, and his irrepressibly foreign beliefs left a clamour in her mind that not even the Great Ones might still. ‘What of Tasaio’s innocent wife and two children?’ she appealed. ‘Should their lives be wasted for honour?’

  Desperate to see her point through, she spun and faced her enemy, only pity in her eyes. ‘Release your children from fealty to the Minwanabi natami and I will adopt them into House Acoma. I beg you, spare them their lives.’

  Tasaio looked at her, aware that her concern sprang very near to the heart. Only to deny her, expressly to hurt, he cruelly shook his head. ‘Let their blood be on your conscience, Mara.’ So saying, he tugged the Warchief’s staff of Clan Shonshoni from his belt. ‘My Lord of the Sejaio,’ he called to a thick-necked man on the sidelines, ‘this is now your trust.’

  As the staff of office was removed from his hand, he gave one last glance around the halls of power. Then, with a flat look of mockery at Mara and the Emperor, he turned with all his grace and arrogance to the slender magician beside Fumita. ‘I am ready, Great One.’

  The magician took a metal device out of his robe, and a faint buzzing sounded through the hall. As he placed his hand upon Tasaio’s shoulder, both of them vanished without warning, the only sign of their passing a faint inrush of air into the space that they had occupied.

  The Lord of the Sejaio regarded the Warchief’s staff he now held, and reluctantly came to stand before the Emperor. ‘Majesty! I do not know if I act for the Good of the Empire or not.’ He glanced at the other Lords who clustered unanimously around Mara and Fumita. ‘But it is said that in the Great Game the gods favour the winners. I surrender to you the office of Warchief of the Shonshoni.’

  Ichindar accepted the last of the five staves of office. Clearly, in words of newly unquestioned authority, he pronounced, ‘The office of Warlord is no more!’ Without further ceremony he snapped each staff in two halves and cast the fragments on the floor. Then, over the echoes as the broken rods tumbled down the stair of the dais, he called upon Kamatsu of the Shinzawai.

  Hokanu’s father returned a bow of deep courtesy. ‘Majesty?’

  ‘The Empire has need of you,’ decreed the Light of Heaven. ‘I appoint you to a new office, Imperial Chancellor.’

  Again Kamatsu bowed. ‘To serve the Empire, Majesty, I will gladly accept.’

  To the assembly of nobles, Ichindar proclaimed, ‘Kamatsu of the Shinzawai is my voice and my ear. He shall hear your requests, your needs, and your suggestions as we undertake to reshape our nations.’ When the new Imperial Chancellor was dismissed, the Light of Heaven called another name.

  ‘Frasai of the Tonmargu!’

  The old soldier made his way forward. ‘Majesty!’

  ‘We shall have need of one to oversee military matters. If Kamatsu is my eyes and ears, will you act as my good arm?’

  ‘To serve the Empire!’ Lord Frasai returned in his basso voice.

  Clearly, Ichindar outlined new duties. ‘Frasai of the Tonmargu shall bear the title of Imperial Overlord. He shall conduct the business of the Empire as did the Warlord in days past, but only at my bidding.’ Then Ichindar inclined his gleaming helm toward a figure nearest to Mara. ‘Further, I instruct Hoppara of the Xacatecas to act as his second-in-command.’

  The youthful Lord grinned at Mara. ‘To serve the Empire!’ he cried exuberantly.

  Mara gave him Tasaio’s sword. ‘Send this to the desert-men, to honour your father’s vow.’

  Hoppara of the Xacatecas received the ancient sword from her hands and bowed respectfully.

  And then the Light of Heaven turned his visage to the Lady who stood patiently in robes of shimmering green silk. ‘Mara of the Acoma!’

  The woman who had given him a throne, and the burdens of absolute power, looked up, her eyes unreadably deep and her emotions locked behind impeccable Tsurani bearing.

  ‘You have prevented chaos from overtaking the nations,’ Ichindar stated to those at large. And then his tone turned personal. ‘What reward can we offer?’

  Mara found herself blushing. ‘Majesty, in truth, I wished for nothing beyond the chance to conduct the affairs of my family in peace and prosperity. I fear I have sacrificed too much of my honour to deserve any reward.’

  ‘And yet you set aside those very needs, and honour, to serve the greater good,’ Ichindar pointed out. ‘You have reminded us of forgotten truths and true greatness.’ He paused to sweep the air with one golden-armoured hand. ‘You have recalled to our times a concept neglected for centuries. By your sacrifice, by setting aside family for the good of the nation at large, you have defined the highest of all honours. Is there no reward we might grant?’

  Mara considered barely a moment. ‘Majesty, I would ask for title to the estate and lands that belonged to the Lord of the Minwanabi.’

  A harsh, uneasy mutter ran the breadth of the hall. Tsurani tradition dictated that a fallen house was accursed by the gods, to be avoided by commoner and noble alike. Many fine estates were gone to ruin and weeds as a result of the deep-seated conviction that a Lord’s luck was tied to the soil.

  The Emperor made a gesture of uncertainty. ‘Why such an ill-omened gift, Lady?’

  ‘Majesty,’ she said gravely, ‘we gather today to embrace change. To my mind, it is the greater offence against heaven to allow a dwelling of such magnificence to be abandoned to waste and decay. I hold no fear of ill luck. Allow me, and I shall send to the Red God’s temple and seek clear notice that Desio’s blood vow stands fulfilled. Then may the priests of Chochocan bless the property, every foot if need be, and on the day when the restless spirits of the Minwanabi are banished in peace, I will make my home there.’

  Struggling to hide tears of relief, Mara continued. ‘Too many good men and women have died, Majesty. Others are slaves, their talents denied, their potential ignored.’ Poignantly struck by the memory of Kevin, she fought her voice level and continued. ‘I work for a future of change, and for that, I ask to be first to break a profitless tradition.’

  To her startling request, Ichindar nodded acquiescence. And into a stillness grown profound, as each Lord present examined his land and his people in a new light, Mara called out in appeal. ‘This waste must end. Now. To all who have stood against me in the past, I make this vow. Come to me with peace in your heart, and I will put an end to old conflicts.’ She glanced at Jiro of the Anasati, but he returned no flicker of feeling. His face under his red and yellow helm remained unreadably remote.

  On the dais, the Emperor watched the exchange, and the wonder in the expressions of many of the nobles who were gathered. He sensed something of Mara’s emotions, and yet he understood but a fraction of what motivated this deep and complex woman. Profoundly moved by her vision of a forgiving victory, he said, ‘Lady Mara, lands are insufficient compensation for the gift of enlightened thought you have brought into this council. You have wealth and power, influence and prestige. At this moment none stands above you in influence and greatness in this hall.’ He smiled in sudden wry humour. ‘I would offer to make you my tenth wife if I thought you would accept.’

  At Mara’s blush of confusion, a wave of gentle laughter filled the hall. Over the general mirth, the Emperor raised his final command of the day. ‘You have chosen to serve others ahead of your own self-interest. Therefore you shall be recognized, throughout life and all of history. In past ages, when
the Empire was yet young, when a citizen came forward to undertake extraordinary service at risk of life and honour, my forebears bestowed on them a title, that all in the land might recognize them with highest acclaim. Mara of the Acoma, I give to you the ancient title Servant of the Empire.’

  Stunned speechless, Mara clung to the tatters of her bearing. Servant of the Empire! No man or woman in living memory had received such a loftv accolade. Only a score of times in two thousand years had the title been awarded. Those twenty names were recited for luck, and memorized by children as they learned the history of their people. The rank also brought formal adoption into the imperial household. Reeling mentally at her unanticipated rise in status, Mara realized that she and Ayaki could choose to retire to the palace and live upon imperial largesse for the remainder of her days.

  ‘You overwhelm me, Majesty,’ she managed at last.

  And she bowed to his presence like the humblest of his servants.

  Then Lord Hoppara of the Xacatecas let out a battle cry and the High Council hall erupted in cheers. Mara stood at the centre of a circle of admirers, giddy with the recognition that she had won, and more: she had ensured that her family was forever safe from the machinations of House Minwanabi.

  • Chapter Twenty-Seven •

  Beginnings

  Hokanu stood motionless.

  Then, in the wash of golden light that fell through the western window, the son of the Shinzawai rested his hands upon the sill. His back to Mara, and his gaze directed outward into the colours of a brilliant sunset, he remained in silent contemplation.

  Seated upon the cushions in Kamatsu’s private meeting room, Mara agonized that she could not see to read his face and gauge his reaction to her presence. Her distress was further heightened by anticipation of the difficult words she had yet to utter. She caught herself in Kevin’s habit of picking at the fabric’s fine fringes, and forced back sadness and longing as she stopped. She must live out her days as Lady of the Acoma, even as her beloved must as a free son of Zun.