‘Some of them.’ Mara touched Kamlio’s hand, and urged her to leave, or sit down. ‘Let the maid take care of mopping up,’ she murmured kindly. Kamlio had never looked more like a gazen caught vulnerable under thin cover; and yet Thuril had changed her. She did not turn sullen and stiff, but gathered her courage and sat.
Arakasi took a quick breath, and his eyebrows twitched quizzically. Then, all business, he knelt by the table and laced his hands in plain view on top, as if, with other eyes watching, he dared himself to fidget or shake. He did not look tired, Mara judged, but simply harried, and he wore no disguise beyond a plain black robe edged with white. Although communications had passed between them since her return from the South, this was the first chance he had to make a personal appearance since the Emperor’s assassination. ‘Lady, it is as we feared. The Inrodaka and their two vassals were in league with Jiro; their declarations of neutrality were feigned. The siege engines were hidden in the forests, and are now moving toward Kentosani.’
‘Where?’ Lujan asked crisply.
Arakasi caught the drift of the Force Commander’s concern. ‘Southwest of the Holy City.’ He summed up the worst. ‘There are traditionalists from Neshka Province involved as allies, and to the north, the Inrodaka have sent out flanking troops that will certainly harry Hokanu’s march south. He has better numbers; he will not be stopped, but will suffer losses and be delayed.’
‘Allies from Neshka?’ Mara said. ‘These we can fight.’ To Lujan, she asked, ‘Could the garrison from my estate by Sulan-Qu march to the west and intercept?’
Arakasi interrupted, uncharacteristically blunt. ‘The troops are too close to Kentosani already. You could only harry the rear guard, and maybe force them to turn a few companies to engage us. That would thin out the forces left for the siege, but not stop them.’
‘And the lands of your birthright would be left stripped too thin to be defended effectively,’ Lujan added. He frowned in furious thought. ‘Your original bargain with the cho-ja Queen gives you two companies of warriors. They would be adequate to repulse any independent force who tried looting or raiding, but not Jiro’s army if he chooses to concentrate Anasati effort in that direction.’
‘The magicians forbid such a move,’ Mara countered, leaning to one side to allow the maid to pass with towels to soak up the puddles on the tactical map. ‘My estates by Sulan-Qu should be sacrosanct.’ She tapped her fingers together in painful decision. ‘Kentosani must be our first concern. If Jiro wins the golden throne, all of our causes are lost. We have only the toy maker’s plans to foil him. And if our plot there is successful, many of the enemy will die when the siege engines are set into play. That will make numbers of troops critical. Pare them down, and Jiro might not have enough men left to scale the walls before Hokanu can win through. No, the estates by Sulan-Qu must be risked. The unknown to be feared is the Assembly. What will the magicians do if we strip the Acoma lands by Sulan-Qu and engage these tradionalists from Neshka Province?’
‘No man can know,’ Arakasi allowed. As if he were not aware of Kamlio watching his every move, he helped himself from the tray of refreshments brought in when Mara’s maid finished with the cleanup. ‘But it is my guess that there the Lord of the Anasati may have outsmarted himself. He has taken best care that his supporters from Neshka appear to be acting on their own. If Jiro wins the throne, and the Assembly accuses him afterward of overly ambitious action, he has left himself a convenient appearance of noninvolvement. He can demur, and say that the alliance was formed out of popular opinion, and his bid for the imperial crown was not his doing at all, but one launched by traditionalists in his behalf as the most worthy candidate.’ Between bites of bread, the Spy Master added, ‘Mistress, your opposition to such a move might be encouraged by the Assembly as a natural balance of power.’
‘The Sulan-Qu property might be sacrificed on such a supposition,’ Lujan warned. He stirred through sopped counters with his sword, to bare that section of the map.
Mara’s exasperation showed as she said, ‘We are like two duelists who have been told that certain moves will cause the judge to strike the offender down, yet not told which moves they are.’
Arakasi set aside his crust to manipulate the pieces into fresh positions, and under his hands, an ominous clot of assorted colors fanned out toward Kentosani. ‘Jiro may command the more critical position for assault on the Imperial Precinct, but we are a larger force with more resources.’
Mara took up his unfinished thought. ‘We have deep support from Lord Hoppara of the Xacatecas, but he is mewed up in Kentosani. His office gives him no leave to act without an Emperor, save to defend, and Isashani in Ontoset can only send Xacatecas forces to him to catch up with events.’ Mara sighed. ‘Politically, we are disadvantaged. There are more who favor a return to the old Council than who stand with us. No, this will not be a drawn-out war. Either we win decisively, and early, or Jiro will gain a broader base of supporters.’
Lujan fingered his sword edge, as if annoyed by the nicks that had yet to be sharpened out following the morning’s minor action. ‘You fear desertion and betrayal?’
‘I do not fear them,’ answered Mara, ‘but should we falter, I expect them.’ As order was restored to the map, she chewed her lip, and decided. ‘We must threaten the siege, at any cost. The estates by Sulan-Qu must be risked. Lujan, how should we proceed?’
The Acoma Force Commander gathered up his sweat-damp helm. ‘We can ask our friend Lord Benshai of the Chekowara to begin moving northward toward your old estates, but keep him on the western bank of the river. Let Jiro wonder if he goes to reinforce our garrison there, or if he will continue on to the Holy City.’
Mara gave back a smile of fierce satisfaction. ‘Tempt him to commit even a fraction of his Anasati troops to hamper House Chekowara, and his hand will be tipped for the Assembly to read.’
‘Should Jiro move across the river to intercept him, Benshai will run like a frightened calley-bird,’ Arakasi said drily. ‘His house servants say behind his back that Benshai mumbles words of cowardice in his sleep.’
Mara sighed. ‘If we’re lucky, Jiro doesn’t know that.’
Now Arakasi spoke, an edge of frustration to his tone. ‘Jiro certainly knows. His adviser Chumaka might as well have his ear by the Lord of the Chekowara’s fat mouth, listening to his every breath. My agents have proof that he kept Clan Hadama in disarray through the years he served as Clan Warchief. Despite his rich robes and stern-looking soldiers, he is all appearance and no substance. No, he might march resolutely up the river, but the first suggestion of an Anasati attack will send Benshai of the Chekowara running south. Jiro will know the moment your estates near Sulan-Qu are unguarded since half of Benshai’s courtesans are Chumaka’s spies.’
An underlying vehemence in Arakasi’s tone caused Kamlio to straighten. Almost, she drew breath to address him, before a flush swept her cheeks. She glanced down in painful embarrassment.
Mara noticed, slightly ahead of Lujan. She touched her Force Commander’s wrist beneath the table to still the discussion of weighty matters, and force the cross-current of tension between Spy Master and ex-courtesan to develop into reaction.
Arakasi spoke first, a ring like barbarian iron beneath his soft-spoken manner. ‘I don’t like the Lord of the Chekowara’s habits.’ His distaste was plain as he added, ‘Young girls who are spies are a specialty of Chumaka’s. Mara was once nearly killed by such a one. Her name was Teani.’ He paused, his eyebrows tipped upward in inquiry. ‘If you want to know anything of my thoughts, on this or any other subject, you have only to ask. Only, please leave off staring at me as if I were a book scroll, or a puzzle, or some sort of talking pet.’
Kamlio started to her feet, confusion on her face. ‘I don’t think of you that way.’ She seemed breathless, as if she had been running. She started to bow, her mouth parted to ask Mara’s leave to depart; but the bland expression on her mistress’s face gave her no promise of quarter. She blinked, r
aised her chin, and looked at the Spy Master in wide-eyed vulnerability. ‘I don’t know what to ask you. I don’t know what to think of you. But you frighten me to the depths of my heart, there is truth.’ Her soft almond eyes filled with tears. ‘I am scared and I don’t know why.’
For an instant the Spy Master and the girl confronted each other in tortured confusion. Lujan stayed riveted, his hand too tight on his sword.
After an unbearable second, Mara realised she must be the one to break the tension. ‘Kamlio, you fear because at last you know what it is to have something to lose. Go now, and find cold water, and wash your face.’ As if the girl had been bound by invisible strings that had been cut, she bowed in grateful relief and hurried off around the curtain into privacy.
At the wounded look on Arakasi’s face, Mara gave a youthful grin. ‘You’re winning,’ she whispered. ‘The girl has let you see into her feelings.’
Arakasi let his wrists fall limp across his knees. Strained and transparent with hope, he said, ‘You think so?’
Lujan burst into a broad laugh and gave the Spy Master a comradely clap on the shoulder. ‘Man, take my word for it. Most of us endure this nonsense when we are still in boyhood, but your youth seems to have arrived later than most. Lady Mara’s right. You’ll have the lass in the blankets if only you’re willing to show her a bit of you that needs her help.’
Arakasi sat with his brows peaked in comic puzzlement. ‘What?’
‘She has to see that you need her,’ Mara offered.
When the Spy Master’s mystified expression failed to clear, Lujan said, ‘Gods, she’s never seen you make a mistake. You killed tong assassins, and lived; you made love in her master’s bed, and if you sweated, it was in passion rather than fear. You touched her in ways few men could, I would wager, which means you were the first person alive who saw into her feelings. That frightened her because it meant that her beauty or her training failed, or that you were too smart to succumb to her allure. A man in her arms is not supposed to be left with the wits to think beyond his stiff organ. So she’s scared. None of her skills will avail her where you are concerned. She can wear no mask for protection. She is offered a man who can understand her, but whose feelings she can’t read in return. Bedroom pleasures she’s bored with, because caring for a man is outside her experience. She’ll have to be led and shown. But for that, she must lose her awe of you. Try tripping on a stone and falling at her feet one day, and see if she doesn’t jump down beside you and start doctoring your skinned knees.’
Mara said, ‘For a lout who takes advantage of women, you can be surprisingly insightful, Lujan.’
While the Force Commander grinned, Arakasi said, ‘I’ll think on it.’
‘If you think even once with a woman, you’re lost.’ Lujan grinned. ‘At least, no one I know has ever fallen in love for logic.’
‘Lujan’s right,’ Mara encouraged, innately aware of the truth. Hokanu and she shared perfect understanding, a harmony of body and intellect. But with the headstrong, outspoken Kevin, who had argued with her, and sometimes made her scream in frustration, she had known passion that the years had not dimmed. For a moment her heart quickened at his memory – until a gust of smoky air swirled through the tent, reminding her of battle and the weight of today’s problems that demanded immediate attention. ‘Send for our Adviser for War,’ she said. ‘We must make plans for every contingency and do one thing until matters come to a head: stay alive.’
The tent fell silent for a moment before anyone moved; wind carried the noise of an armed camp in the throes of what could all too soon become a great war, or else a circle of cinders at a stroke from the Great Ones of the Assembly.
The squall passed, and the drip of wet trees mingled with the shouts of officers directing their troops to set up camp. The armor worn by the warriors was without marking; and the tents they labored to set, drab brown. To casual observation, there was nothing to distinguish this company’s encampment from thousands of others in key locations throughout the Empire; except that this one appeared to guard no crossroads, bridge or ford, or holding of significance. Miles removed from the possibility of a fight, this troop prepared to bed down in the trackless forests at four days’ march to the northwest of Kentosani.
The discipline was no drill and far from slack as servants and rank-and-file warriors labored to drive tent pegs and set ridgepoles. On a slight rise, beneath a stand of sodden evergreens, one man paced in agitation, while a shorter, leaner figure swathed in an oiled wool cape hopped at his heels to keep up.
‘How much longer must I wait?’ Jiro snapped in exasperation.
A servant crossed his path and bowed. Jiro stepped around; well accustomed to the master’s dicey moods since the armies had marched, the servant pressed his face to wet leaf mold. ‘Your command tent shall be ready shortly, my Lord.’
Jiro whirled, eyes narrowed in displeasure. ‘I wasn’t speaking to you!’ While the wretch so addressed abased himself headlong in the mud to atone for his master’s displeasure, the Lord of the Anasati switched his glare to the First Adviser, who just then caught up to him. ‘I said, how much longer?’
Chumaka brushed a water drop off the end of his nose. He looked smug, despite wet clothes and the day’s march through pathless wilderness. ‘Patience, master. A wrong move now will spoil the planning we have labored for years to bring about.’
‘Don’t talk circles around my question,’ Jiro said, in no temper to suffer his First Adviser’s rhetoric. ‘I asked you how long? We cannot leave siege engines in place around Kentosani and keep them idle indefinitely. Every day that passes brings us risk: the Omechan Lord we have left in charge could grow restless, or pursue his ambitions on his own. And delay only allows the Shinzawai forces to march that much closer to the aid of the Imperial Guard. We dare not presume that the Assembly will not be spying on our actions. They could intervene, and forbid an attack at any time! What in the name of the gods, Chumaka, are we waiting for?’
If the Anasati First Adviser was surprised by this tirade, he did no more than stop in his tracks. His leathery features stayed expressionless, while Jiro kept pacing ahead. Six energetic steps later, the Lord finally noticed that the servant he had commanded to answer no longer flanked him. He restrained himself from snarling a curse. As always, Chumaka had allowed for every contingency. Either Jiro must acknowledge his fidgeting by walking back for his answer, or he must command his First Adviser to return to his side – and the distance between them was just wide enough that the master must raise his voice, showing all within earshot that he needed to assert himself to make a petty point.
Jiro might have shouted just to vent his spleen, but since he had an Omechan contingent as guest, he was forced to capitulate and stride back to Chumaka.
Annoyed as he was for other reasons, this personal setback left no rancor. In fact, Jiro admired his First Adviser’s finesse. A Lord who displayed nerves and temper had no inherent dignity; and one who aspired to an Emperor’s crown must learn to set insignificant irritations aside. Always the instructor, Chumaka was far too masterfully subtle to issue a reproach before warriors and servants that might reveal his master’s poor self-control.
It was just such traits that would make Chumaka the ideal imperial adviser, Jiro mused with a curl to his lips that just missed being a smile. His mood now much improved, he regarded his adviser, whose habitual stoop was emphasised by the drag of his wet garments. ‘Why should we grant Mara more time to advance her interests? Your intelligence confirms that she intends to claim the golden throne for Justin.’
Chumaka tapped his cheek with one finger, as though considering; but by the calculating glint in his eyes, Jiro knew he was under close observation. ‘Master,’ Chumaka said presently, ‘your command tent is prepared. I suggest we discuss this issue inside, in comfort and privacy.’
Jiro laughed. ‘You are slipperier than a fresh-caught fish, Chumaka. Well then, we shall dry off and the servants shall heat us tea. But after t
hat, no more roundabout talk! By the gods, I will have my answer from you. And after all these delays and excuses, it had better be revealing!’
Now Chumaka smiled. He bobbed a quick, self-deprecating bow. ‘Master, have I ever failed to match my actions to your desires?’
His temper changeable as the wind-blown clouds overhead, Jiro answered through clenched teeth, ‘Mara is still alive. Bring me her head, and then I will agree that you have not failed me.’
Not the least discomfited by what another man might regard as a plain threat from the Lord of the Anasati, Chumaka said, ‘Indeed, master, that is what I am working myself to achieve.’
‘Hah!’ Jiro moved through the gloomy woods toward the largest tent. ‘Don’t try me, old man. You’d work yourself to the bone for the sheer love of intrigue.’
Chumaka wrung out the hem of his dripping cloak and followed his master into the command tent. ‘My Lord, it is a fine point, but if I should do such a thing for its own sake, that would be vanity. The gods do not love such faults in a man. Therefore, I work for the glory of your cause, my Lord, and there the matter ends. I am ever your loyal servant.’
Jiro ended the discussion with a deprecating wave. He preferred his philosophy out of books, which did not have Chumaka’s irritating tendency to belabor every issue half to death.
The interior of the command tent was still in the process of being set up. One lantern had been lit, and servants bustled about unpacking cushions and hangings. From the outside, Jiro’s quarters might appear plain, but inside, he insisted on his comforts, his fine silk tapestries, and two chests of book scrolls. Lately he had been reading up on obscure issues of law, imperial state functions, and precisely which ceremonies must be officiated by which priests of the Twenty Gods to make the crowning of an Emperor proper in the eyes of heaven.
The reading had been tedious, made worse because the lanterns attracted bugs and cast poor light. The Lord of the Anasati snapped his fingers, and a boy body servant jumped to attend him. ‘Remove my armor. See that all the leather straps are oiled, so they do not dry stiff.’ Jiro waited, statue-still, as he suffered the boy to undo the first buckles.
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