The Complete Empire Trilogy

by Raymond E. Feist

  Lujan looked up, a hardness to him that his mistress had seen only once, and that in the moment before he had entered the challenge circle in Chakaha. ‘Not at first light,’ Lujan corrected. ‘Today, immediately after nightfall.’

  Irrilandi grinned voraciously. ‘Darkness will offer no cover. You won’t deceive any Black Robes.’

  ‘No,’ Lujan agreed. ‘But we might have the satisfaction of spilling as much Anasati blood as we can before dawn comes. Let the Great Ones find out what’s happened after they stir from their sleep and view the result of our night’s activities.’

  Irrilandi studied the sand table. ‘Plain of Nashika? A good choice.’

  ‘Tactics?’ Lujan queried back tersely. ‘I would have your opinion before we meet with our officers and commit to engagement.’

  Now Irrilandi gave back a chuckle. ‘Fight a wide, sprawling battle, one with many small forces and multiple vectors of attack. We have enough numbers, and gods know, we can field dozens upon dozens of messengers to ferry orders and information back and forth. No single arrow point of attack this time, with feints and false deployment; a swarm of arrow points striking at scores of places along the line!’

  Lujan paused in puzzled assessment, then caught his Force Leader’s drift. He threw back his head and laughed in admiration. ‘You crafty old son of a harulth! That’s the best advice I’ve heard in all my years of service. Create as much confusion as possible, so maybe we can steal time and inflict as much damage as possible!’

  ‘If we’re going to force the Assembly to incinerate us, let us take enough of the enemy into the halls of Turakamu to cause a great song of honor.’ Irrilandi looked up with a deadpan expression that could make Keyoke at his most unresponsive seem animated. ‘Let’s hope it works. Gods pity us, it’s a flimsy enough countermeasure to stack against the aroused might of the magicians.’

  The afternoon passed in flurried activity, mostly overseen by Force Leader Irrilandi as Lujan stole his last chance to catch up on sleep. Although the orders that were given amounted to a virtual death sentence, no man among Mara’s thousands shirked his part. To die was Tsurani, and to meet the Red God in battle, the finest accolade of the warrior. If the Acoma name continued, and rose in prestige and power, the better were a man’s chances of earning higher station on the next turn of the Wheel of Life.

  It was ironic, Lujan thought as he rose and ate a hasty meal at sundown, that the very traditions and beliefs that lent these warriors incentive were the ones that Mara would change, should Justin survive to be the Nations’ next Light of Heaven. Some of the officers knew of this twist of fate; if anything, they worked the harder. If a warrior had one recurrent nightmare, it was to waken one day and find himself still alive and taken captive by an enemy. Officers were traditionally killed, but an unusually cruel victor might keep them alive to toil as slaves with no possibility of reprieve. If Mara would discontinue the glory of bloody death in battle, she would equally eradicate the degradation of slavery that ground a man down regardless of his talents or his merit.

  Sunset washed the sky gold and copper, then deepened into starlit night. Mara’s warriors assumed their final formation at the edge of the Plain of Nashika under cover of darkness. The command to engage the enemy, when the moment came, was silent.

  No horns sounded, drums beat no tattoos, and warriors did not shout their mistress’s name or any other Acoma battle cry. The start of the greatest conflict of succession to be fought in Tsuranuanni began without the fanfares that traditionally accompanied a war.

  The only warning that the massed army of the Anasati had was the thunderous pounding of thousands of feet as the Acoma forces charged. For once the Anasati were not served by Chumaka’s superior intelligence; he had made the obvious conclusion: the Acoma war host must be positioning themselves for a dawn attack.

  Then the night resounded with the crash of swords, and the cries of the fatally wounded. The fighting was vicious and without quarter. Within the first hour, the ground became churned to muck, watered red by the blood of the fallen. Lujan and Irrilandi took turns overseeing the action on a raised hillock, moving counters across the sand table under a pool of lantern light as messengers came and went with reports. Orders were dispatched and formations advanced, or retreated and drew the enemy into pockets. Ground was won and lost, and won back again at crippling cost in lives. The dusty floor beneath the table became littered with counters as Force Leader and Force Commander cast away colored pins to account for losses, which were ruinous, as though every man fought with berserk energy, the better to court the known death by the sword, rather than risk perishing in magic-born flames.

  Each of Mara’s two senior commanders rode out in turns on the cho-ja worker to bolster the morale of the troops, or to draw sword and lend an arm in the fighting to stiffen a line where needed.

  The moon rose, bathing the struggle in copper-gold light. The fighting broke up into knots, where the lines were thin, with men shouting the names of Mara or Jiro to make their loyalties known. Armor colors became one in the dark, and friend was near impossible to distinguish from foe. Swords grew dark with blood, and a warrior had to rely upon his training to keep his stroke true; the eye could not track the speed of swordplay with every blade dulled by gore.

  Dawn came, dulled by a pall of fog and dust. The wide plain was littered with bodies, trampled by the contention of the living. Swords cracked under the stress of thrust and parry, and dead men’s blades saw fresh action.

  Lujan stood braced against the sand table, knuckling grit from his eyes. ‘They have lost more than we, but I’d guess that our dead number scarcely three hundred fewer than the Anasati.’ Aware of a stinging wrist, but not remembering the swordcut that had parted the skin, Lujan focused with an effort on the sand table. If the troops were pared down by losses, the fighting patterns had, if anything, grown more complex through the last hours.

  To Irrilandi he concluded, ‘If the cho-ja is willing to undertake another errand, have it bear you to our western line. Pull off half a company and use it to relieve the pressure on companies under Strike Leader Kanaziro.’ He pointed to the center of the line, where the bloodiest fighting had taken place.

  Irrilandi snapped off a salute and departed to speak with the cho-ja; after a few words, the creature scuttled away with the Force Leader on its back.

  Lujan leaned tiredly against the sand table. He wondered where Mara was: whether she had reached the cho-ja tunnels in safety, or if not, whether the Black Robes would overtake her without his knowing. Justin could have inherited the Acoma mantle already, with none of the Acoma senior staff aware of a change in succession. The end might already have come, while on the Plain of Nashika men fought and died in futility.

  Such thinking was poisonous, the product of stress and fatigue; Lujan forced himself to attend to the markers on the chart table, and to listen to yet another scout reporting in with word of still another change in the lines. Jiro’s army had lost ground this time. Five minutes later, the hillock in question would be lost again, as it had been in turns through a seemingly endless night. Lujan realised by the shadow that pooled under his hand that the sun was now fully risen and climbing higher in the sky.

  He felt a breeze against his neck, and almost as afterthought, realised that the buzzing noise in his ears was no natural effect of exertion on too little sleep. Turning, he saw three men in black robes materialise a few feet away.

  The youngest stepped briskly forward, his thin, high-cheekboned face solemn. ‘Force Commander,’ he announced, ‘I seek your mistress.’

  Lujan sank into a bow, awe mixed with fear on his face. Clearing his throat of dust, he spoke the simple truth. ‘My mistress is absent.’

  The magician advanced. His feet were clad in slippers, Lujan noticed, laced in front, and soled in soft hide unsuited for outdoor wear. That stray fact caused him an inward shudder. This magician expected complete and immediate obedience, without any need to exert himself beyond walking a few st
eps.

  Aware of his frantic heartbeat and his face dripping nervous sweat, Lujan forced himself to reason. These are powerful men, but only men, he reminded himself. He licked dry lips, recalling a judgment he had been forced to carry out as a grey warrior: he had needed to put a man to death for a crime against the camp company. His own sword arm had performed the execution, and he remembered clearly how difficult it had been to strike down the condemned. Lujan could only hope that even a Great One might hesitate before taking a life.

  The Acoma Force Commander held still, though his muscles betrayed him and trembled; the urge to rise up and face threat or to give in to weakness and flee was torment.

  The magician tapped one pointed, curled-back slipper toe. ‘Not here?’ he said in acerbic reference to Mara. ‘At the moment of her triumph?’

  Lujan held his chin to the earth and awkwardly offered a shrug. Knowing that each second stolen here might gain his mistress an infinitesimal improvement in her chance to survive, he spoke slowly. ‘The victory is not yet won, Great One.’ He paused, coughing slightly. The raspy sound lent credence to his need to stop and clear his throat once more. ‘And it is not my place to question my mistress, Great One. She alone would know what matters demand her presence elsewhere, and so she gave over command of this battle into my poor hands.’

  ‘Curse this rhetoric, Akani,’ snapped another voice. Lujan was aware of a second set of feet before his face, this pair wearing Midkemian-style boots studded with wooden nails. The redheaded magician, he identified, who was tallest of the three delegates, and obviously the one most inclined to inflamed thinking. ‘We waste time, I say. We know that Mara is bound north toward Kentosani in her litter, and a fool can see from this hilltop that a war is in progress, between Acoma and Anasati forces. We have been defied! Immediate punishment must follow.’

  The Black Robe addressed as Akani replied in more modulated tones. ‘Now, Tapek, calm down. We must not draw hasty conclusions. These forces are fighting, all too true, but since none of us saw the battle start, we do not know which side was the aggressor.’

  ‘That point is moot!’ Tapek said through clenched teeth. ‘They fight, and our edict forbade armed conflict between the Acoma and the Anasati!’

  After a short silence, through which glares were exchanged between the magicians, Akani once again addressed Lujan. ‘Tell me what passed here.’

  Lujan raised his head from the dirt just enough to squint through the dust that drifted in curtains upon the air. ‘The battle is close, Great One. The enemy holds a stronger position perhaps, but the Acoma have superior numbers. At times I think we shall prevail, while at other times I despair and compose prayers for the Red God.’

  ‘This warrior treats us like fools,’ Tapek objected to Akani. ‘He speaks in circles like a merchant trying to sell shoddy goods.’ One studded boot lifted and prodded Lujan in the shoulder. ‘How did this battle begin, warrior? That’s what we asked to determine.’

  ‘For that, you must inquire of my mistress,’ Lujan insisted, casting himself prone with his forehead pressed to the earth. Although he skirted open defiance of the most powerful men in the Empire, he interpreted Tapek’s question in the broadest way possible; Mara had never discussed the ancient roots of the rivalry between House Acoma and House Anasati after all; that sort of history was more in Saric’s province. Keeping up his posture of loyal servant Lujan prayed no magician would reformulate the question to ask who ordered the first attack.

  Risking a peek upward, Lujan studied the Black Robes with the same eye he would apply to any new recruit: he dared to assess them as men, and determined that while Akani was intelligent, and certainly no fool, he was not predisposed to wish Mara or the Acoma forces harm. The redhead Tapek would take extreme action at little thought; he was the dangerous one. The third in the party seemed a bystander, watching the exchange as a factor might, who had little ambition and no stake in the outcome. He did not seem distressed.

  Tapek nudged again with his boot. ‘Force Commander?’

  Aware he would be instantly dead if he replied directly to Tapek’s query, Lujan tossed caution to the winds. He acted as if strain had upset his wits and disrupted his train of thought. In a tone of awed reverence, he said, ‘Great One?’

  Tapek’s fair skin flushed. On the point of an explosion of temper, he was checked by a touch from Akani, who smoothly intervened. ‘Force Commander Lujan, withdraw the Acoma forces and end this battle.’

  Lujan’s eyes widened. ‘Great One?’ he repeated, as if the order astonished him.

  Tapek shook off Akani’s restraint and bellowed, ‘You heard me! Order the Acoma forces to retreat, and end this battle!’

  Lujan threw himself prone on the earth in a show of abject prostration. He prolonged his obeisance until just shy of the ridiculous, then said unctuously, ‘Your will, Great One. Of course I will order a retreat.’ He paused, allowed his brow to furrow, then added, ‘Would you permit me to arrange the retreat in a manner that will minimise harm to my warriors? If the object is to spare further bloodshed …’

  Akani waved his hand. ‘I would not see needless death. Arrange the withdrawal in any manner that pleases you.’

  Lujan willed himself not to sigh in relief as he straightened as far as his knees. He beckoned to a nearby runner and said swiftly, ‘Orders to the Lord of the Tuscalora. Have him withdraw his soldiers to the south, then hold and support for those who shall be following him’ – he flashed a glance at the Black Robes, and received a tiny nod from Akani, a fuming glare from Tapek, and vague intentness from the third in the magician’s party – ‘to protect their retreat, you see,’ he ended in a rush.

  The messenger was half petrified with fright. He took a moment to notice dismissal. As he hastened off, Lujan waved over another runner, and gave a long-winded set of instructions that involved two flanking maneuvers and what to an outside ear was impenetrable military jargon. As this messenger hastened off, he bowed again to the party of magicians. ‘May I offer you refreshment, Great Ones?’

  ‘Some juice would cut the day’s heat,’ the bystanding Black Robe agreed. ‘These robes are not comfortable in full sunlight.’

  While Tapek began to shift weight and tap his foot in irritation, Lujan clapped for servants and made a production of debating which wine should be sent, and what sort of camp rations were fit to be served to visitors of great rank. The wrangling threatened to go on for some time, until Tapek snapped that no delicacies were expected; plain jomach and water would serve the needs of his colleagues nicely.

  ‘Dear me,’ Akani objected in a voice of lighthearted reason, ‘I personally thought the imported Midkemian wine sounded delightful.’

  ‘You stay and sip drinks with this half-wit who calls himself a Force Commander,’ Tapek nearly shouted. ‘Some of us have more important matters to attend to, and I think that in the interests of the council that delegated us as emissaries, one of us should observe to be certain that the war hosts on the battlefield are indeed breaking off the engagement.’

  Akani gave the younger magician a look of reprimand. ‘The Force Commander obeyed without question and ordered his troops to withdraw. Do you question his word of honor?’

  ‘I need not,’ Tapek nearly snarled.

  At this point the third magician, who had been staring vaguely off in the direction of the distantly moving armies, said, ‘Actually, Tapek may have a point. From a seer’s vantage, I see no sign of any lessening of the struggle.’

  To Lujan’s astonishment, Akani gave back a bland wave. ‘As I understand it, these things take time.’ Glancing keenly at the Acoma Force Commander, he stroked his chin. ‘Something about one vassal holding in support while another company retreats … was that it, Force Commander?’

  Lujan smothered a start of revelation. Some of the awe left him as he realised: these were but men! They had factions just as did contending Ruling Lords in the Game of the Council. By all appearances, the Black Robe Akani was tactfully trying to aid Ma
ra’s cause without overt disregard of the Assembly’s edict. Lujan stifled an unjustified countersurge of confidence and said, ‘Absolutely so, Great One. The Lord of the Tuscalora –’

  ‘Oh, don’t bore us with the details!’ Tapek interjected. ‘Just tell us why Mara of the Acoma dared to believe she could order this attack and pass unscathed, when she has been expressly forbidden to do battle with Jiro of the Anasati by our order.’

  Lujan licked his lips, his nervousness unfeigned. ‘I cannot know that.’ The gritty dirt under his knees ground into his flesh, and the unaccustomed pose strained his back. Worse torture visited his mind. He could cause Mara’s death through a wrong choice of words. By the gods, he was well trained to fight, but Saric’s turn for statesmanship was no talent of his. He floundered, seeking a way around direct truth. ‘My orders from her were to prevent the army of the traditionalists from marching north toward Kentosani. As you have said, she is en route to the Holy City, also by order of the Assembly.’

  ‘Ah hah! So she is.’ Tapek folded his arms and stroked his sleeves in satisfaction. ‘Now we will hear the truth. What route has she taken to get there? No sly words! On pain of death, tell me directly.’ At this, Tapek raised one finger, and a blossom of flame flared up, searing the air with a hiss. ‘Now answer!’

  Lujan arose to full height. If he was going to be killed, or spoil Mara’s chances, he would do so as a man and a warrior, on his feet. ‘Your will, Great One. My Lady planned to travel by back roads, with her honor guard lest she encounter trouble.’

  The quietest magician of the three, Kerolo, said, ‘And if she were to encounter trouble?’

  Lujan swallowed and found his throat paper-dry. He coughed and forced himself to find his voice, which now, at the last pass, was even and strong, as he willed it to be. ‘She would seek refuge in the nearest cho-ja hive.’

  The magicians Kerolo and Tapek exchanged disturbed glances and, as one, moved to activate their transport devices. A buzzing filled the air, slicing through the lessening cries of battle and the distant clash of swords. Then a breeze parted the pall of dust, and the pair were gone, leaving Akani studying Lujan in clearly troubled silence. A moment passed. Lujan stayed stiffly correct as any recruit might while enduring the inspection of a senior officer. An understanding seemed to pass between the two men, different though their stations in life were. Akani’s regard turned shrewd.