The rain beat on the rooftree, and darkness fell, and though the air remained every bit as humid and close as before, Kevin found he had lost all inclination to sleep.
* * *
The storm passed, and while clouds on the horizon proclaimed the approach of showers later, the day blazed brilliantly. Mara stood in the hot sun, her bearing erect and her expression unreadable. Lined up before her on the expanse of the practice field stood her entire garrison, every fighting man wearing Acoma colours. The only absent warriors were those assigned to far holdings in distant cities and the current patrol on duty along the perimeter of the estate itself.
At her right stood Nacoya, looking tiny under the weight of a formal robe. Her diminutive height was emphasized by the wand tipped with a fan of shatra tail feathers, official token of her office as First Adviser. Behind her and to the left stood Keyoke, Saric, and Lujan, also wearing formal garb. The lacquered dress armour, the jewels, and the shell inlay on the officers' staves glittered blindingly in the morning light.
Squinting against the sunlight scintillating on polished armour, Kevin regarded the scene from inside the house, his vantage point a window seat in the large hall where Mara held court. Ayaki stood with his elbows propped on the cushion by the Midkemian's knees. Behind the young master, with a pot of wax and a polishing cloth dangling forgotten from his hands, stood the elderly house slave, Mintai, who was assigned this chamber's upkeep. The old man enjoyed the free moment that such ceremony brought, this being one of the rare times he could lapse into idleness without fear of reprimand.
Mara had started off giving awards and promotions, then had gone on to accept the oath of loyalty of an even dozen young warriors called to Acoma service. Once the new recruits completed their final bows and stepped back to take places in the ranks, she addressed her army as a whole.
'Now have the Acoma grown in strength to match their honour. Kenji, Sujanra!' As the officers who were named stepped forward, Mara accepted two tall, green-dyed plumes from Keyoke. 'These men are elevated to the rank of Force Leader!' she announced to her companies, and as the two men bowed before her, she affixed the badges of their new rank to their helms.
Kevin dug Ayaki in the ribs. 'What's a Force Leader? I thought I knew all your ranks.'
'Tasaio of the Minwanabi has four of them,' the boy said unhelpfully.
The Midkemian's blue eyes fixed in turn upon the house slave, and, flattered to be consulted as an authority, Mintai flourished his polishing rag toward the expanse of Mara's army, it is an assignment made sometimes when a force is too large for one commander. These will now be subofficers to Force Commander Lujan, and each will command a company.' A puzzled look crossed his face. 'This must mean she's dividing the army.'
Kevin waited for Mintai to qualify, then belatedly realized when no explanation followed that the old man must be a bit simple. 'What's that mean?' he prompted.
He received a Tsurani shrug. 'Perhaps the mistress wishes to call more soldiers to her service.'
'So we can beat Tasaio,' Ayaki broke in. He made a noise in his throat that was his idea of the sound a man might make while dying, then grinned brightly.
Kevin poked the boy in the ribs again, and the sound effects dissolved into laughter. 'How many men exactly are in a company?' he demanded of Mintai.
The old slave repeated his shrug. 'Many. It is all to a Lord's liking. There is no fixed rule of quantity.'
But Kevin's curiosity was only whetted by vagueness. 'Then how many men answer to the Patrol Leader?'
'A patrol, obviously, barbarian.' Mintai showed signs of wanting to return to his polishing. The outworlder might be his Lady's lover, but he was due no respect for asking silly questions.
Predictably, the barbarian missed the cues that his interest had become a bother. 'Let me ask in a different way. How many men usually in a patrol?'
Mintai pursed his lips and refused answer, but now Ayaki was eager to show off. 'Usually a dozen, sometimes twenty, never less than eight.'
That a nine-year-old could keep such a nonsensical system straight was just another anomaly on this crazy world. Kevin scratched his head and tried to make order out of chaos. 'About ten, say. Now, how many Patrol Leaders does a Strike Leader command?'
'Sometimes five, other times as many as ten to each company,' Ayaki declared.
'You don't need to shout like you're on a battle field,' Kevin reprimanded, and tried, despite several retaliatory pokes in his own ribs, to figure in his head. 'So each Strike Leader can command as few as forty men and as many as two hundred.' He blinked as he looked back into the hot sun, where the newly promoted officers arose and resumed their places. 'Then how many Strike Leaders do you need before you split your forces like this?'
Ayaki was laughing too hard to answer; Mintai tired of the window and scooped a dollop of wax onto his polishing cloth. As if the floorboards might vanish from under his feet for lack of attention, he knelt and began vigorously to rub. 'I don't know. How many men does our Lady command now? I think from the extra help in the kitchen this last two years it must be close to two thousand — we have twenty or twenty-two Strike Leaders, or so I heard Kenji boasting. Now let me do my work, before my back gets whipped.'
The threat was pretence; Mintai was a household fixture, and too well liked by the overseer to receive much more than a scolding. Kevin fended off Ayaki's boisterous play and calculated. Most of the garrison rotated, spending part of the month in barracks near the house, so they could be with wives and children. The rest were housed in small huts near various points along the perimeter of the estate, or were out protecting caravans or river barges bearing Acoma goods to distant markets. It would be hard to judge, precisely, but the slave's estimate could be accurate. Mara might well command as many as two thousand warriors. Kevin whistled low in appreciation. From gossip he knew how small a garrison she had inherited when she first assumed her ruler's mantle, something like thirty-five men. Now her forces were growing to rival those of the very strongest of families in the Empire.
A pity, he thought, that the location of her estate was so poorly suited for defence.
But the disquieting thought followed naturally, that perhaps the Lady did not amass her military might for protection only.
A cloud crossed the sun, harbinger of the first afternoon shower. The ceremony on the practice field was ending, square after square of green-armoured warriors facing about and marching at Lujan's command. Mara and her advisers made their way toward the estate house. Suddenly anxious to meet her, Kevin suggested that Ayaki go to the kitchen and bother the cooks, who were making fresh thyza bread, by the smell riding the breeze. The perpetually hungry boy needed little persuasion, and by taking shortcuts through the courtyards, Kevin managed to be waiting for the Lady as she entered her private quarters. He, preempted one of the maids and helped her out of her heavy robe. She allowed him, still and silent, and less responsive than usual to his touch.
Keeping his tone light, Kevin said, 'Do we marshal for war, my Lady?'
Mara smiled without humour. 'Perhaps. If my clansmen show sense, we do not, but if they prove recalcitrant, I need this show of force. It will not take long for word to travel the river that the Acoma garrison has grown to the point of needing two Force Leaders.' She shed a heavy collection of jade bangles and dropped them into an open coffer. Her set of matching hairpins followed with a chiming cascade of sound as each was tossed in with the rest. 'No one need know our companies are fewer than before.'
The empty robe was surrendered to the maids to freshen and hang; Kevin regarded his Lady's naked back and sighed as she covered herself with a light, indoor lounging robe. 'The game continues?'
'Always.' Mara knotted her sash, ending any hopes of an interlude on her sleeping mat. Unaware that her lover entertained the idea of intimacy, she added, 'The Emperor may have suspended the council, but the game always goes on.'
Except that it was no game at all, Kevin concluded inwardly. Not when armies entered the picture. Despit
e his recent decision not to become entangled in politics, he could not help but wonder what course his Lady considered this time.
* * *
Shadows painted the Imperial Palace in shades of rose, orange, and deep charcoal blue as the first sun of morning breasted the horizon. The city along the riverfront and in the poorer sections was already awake and busy, but the halls of the powerful rang only with the footfalls of servants and one patrol of warriors armoured in Acoma green.
On this, the day Mara had appointed for the meeting of Clan Hadama, she wished to be first into the Council Hall. The proceedings she had in mind must not go amiss, or her demands upon the clan would do nothing but gain her more enemies.
Lujan and a hand-picked escort of twenty men escorted Mara to the inner circle of the council, but at the point where they would normally be asked to stand and wait, the Lady of the Acoma continued to walk. After a brief hesitation, Lujan signalled to his warriors to maintain ranks. They followed their mistress down to the lower level of the chamber, and if they were startled that the Lady passed by her usual chair, they showed no sign.
In his pose as her body slave, Kevin raised one eyebrow, then chuckled to himself as he guessed his Lady's intention. Mara crossed the open floor on the lowest level, then mounted the raised dais reserved for the Warlord during council sessions, or for the Clan Warchief during gatherings.
By now the upper dome was golden with new sunlight. Mara sat upon the elaborate ivory-inlaid throne and composed herself. Kevin stood close behind, ready to answer her needs, and as if her action had required neither courage nor audacity, her warriors arrayed themselves in a semicircle behind her position.
Kevin regarded the ranks of vacant seats from his place on the central dais, As the hall was empty but for Acoma soldiers, he spoke freely. 'Some folks are going to have their bowels in an uproar before this day is done, Lady.'
But Mara had already assumed the air of superiority that accompanied the throne where she sat; she said nothing. She waited in her formal pose for close to three hours, until the arrival of the least-ranked members of Clan Hadama.
The Lord of the Jinguai was first to step into the Council Hall, his guard in yellow and red armour trimmed black at his back. By then the sun had risen high enough that slanting shafts lapped over the central dais. Anyone who entered could not miss the Lady on the throne, in her sparkling jewels and flowing ceremonial robes. The old man gave one surprised glance and precipitately halted. He hesitated, then smiled in genuine amusement and proceeded to his place near the back of the hall.
Kevin whispered, 'Well, there's one who's ready to watch the show.'
Mara moved her decorative fan in a manner that meant he should keep his thoughts to himself. Her face remained impassive as alabaster beneath layers of thyza-powder makeup; all her nerves and excitement were invisibly pent inside.
Within the hour, another five Lords arrived. Most simply moved to their allotted place after one look in Mara's direction. Two others conferred briefly, exchanged subdued gestures, then went on to their chairs. Noon brought in a delegation of a half-dozen Lords, with them one who numbered among the most powerful of families in Clan Hadama. Upon crossing the upper threshold, this Lord signalled to the rest, and as one body, the group came to the centre of the hall. By now the sun shone down upon the gold and ivory throne, lighting Mara like the statue of a goddess in a temple niche. Before the Warchief's chair, the Lords paused. Rather than take seats, they clustered together, muttering among themselves.
At length one who wore deep blue moved to address the motionless woman on the throne. 'My Lady of the Acoma —'
Mara interrupted him. 'You have something to say to me, my Lord of the Poltapara?'
The man seemed about to bridle; like a bird in full plumage in his finery, he puffed out his chest, then measured the Lady on the dais. Her gaze did not waver, and the soldiers at her back stayed statue-still. Yet in the culture of Tsuranuanni, such brazen lack of reaction became an emphatic statement. The Lord cleared his throat. 'Are you well, Lady?'
Mara smiled at his polite capitulation. 'I am, indeed, my Lord. Are you well?'
The man in blue acquiesced, then nonchalantly returned to conversation with his fellows. Kevin spoke sotto voce, 'One down.'
'No,' Mara corrected, hiding relief behind a flutter of her fan. 'Six down. The Lord who greeted me ranks above the others, two of whom are his vassals. The other three are sworn allies, and since they are still speaking to one another, all will defer to his choice.'
The victory was telling, for as more Lords entered, they saw that one of the more powerful families had accepted Mara's position ahead of them. Plainly unwilling to challenge her popularity, they gave her greeting and assumed their places with varying degrees of enthusiasm.
Then the formerly acknowledged Warchief, Lord Benshai of the Chekowara, swept into the hall, his colourful robes billowing like sails around his voluminous body. Deep in conversation with one of his advisers, and entrenched in his own self-importance, he was halfway down the stair to the lower floor before he noticed the figure who occupied his accustomed throne.
He stopped dead for the briefest moment, his eyes widening in his dark face. Then he gestured to his garrulous adviser to be silent and moved his bulk the remaining ten steps at surprising speed to confront the Lady of the Acoma.
Kevin restrained his comment, for Mara's tactic was now plain. Despite the fact that early arrivals were for lesser-ranked rulers, anyone on the floor below who stood looking up at the person in the seat of primacy was set at a disadvantage.
'Lady Mara —' began the Lord of the Chekowara.
Mara cut him off. 'I am well, my Lord. Are you well?'
Several lesser nobles in the clan smothered smiles. Mara's answer to a question not asked lent the impression the Warchief of the clan had conceded her position as superior to his own.
The Lord Benshai spluttered and strove to recover. 'That's not what —'
Mara interrupted again. 'That's not what, my Lord? Forgive me, I assumed you were being mannerly.'
But a man accustomed to power could not long be put off by adept verbiage. In a tone of ringing authority, Lord Benshai called, 'Lady, you sit upon my dais.'
The Lady of the Acoma returned her most penetrating gaze. In a voice of equal command, that none in the chamber could miss hearing, she pronounced, ‘I think not, my Lord!'
Lord Benshai of the Chekowara drew himself up to his full height. Ivory ornaments rattled at his wrists and neck as he bristled. 'How dare you!'
'Silence!' Mara demanded, and the rest in the room obeyed.
Their compliance was not lost on Lord Benshai. He twisted his short neck and glared at the Lords who had failed in their support of him. Pride alone kept his posture from wilting. Not just to the Lord of the Chekowara, but to all in the gathering, Mara announced, 'The time has come for plain speaking, kinsmen.'
Now profound stillness fell over the vast hall. Terms relating to blood ties were rarely used in public, for Tsurani set great store upon relationships. Any claim of kinship, however vague, was considered both important and personal. Although all in the clan shared blood ties in the far distant past, the relationships had grown tenuous with time and were never stressed lest implications of debt or honour be implied.
As if the Lord of the Chekowara did not stand nonplussed at the foot of the dais, Mara continued to address the Lords in the galleries. 'By fate's ruling, you are members of a clan long considered steeped in honour' — as many in the hall murmured agreement, Mara's tone punched through — 'but lacking power.' Voices fell silent. 'My father was considered among those most noble Lords in the Empire.' Again several rulers in the hall concurred. 'Yet when his daughter faced powerful enemies alone, not one kinsman sought to lend even token support.'
No one spoke as Mara surveyed the galleries.
'I understand as well as any of you why this is so,' she said. 'Yet I also feel that political reasons are insufficient justificati
on. After all,' she qualified in bitter inflections, 'conscience does not trouble us. Such is the Tsurani way, we tell ourselves. If a young girl is killed and an honourable family's natami is turned downward in the dirt, who can argue it is not the will of the gods?'
Mara searched each face in the room, looking for adverse reaction. In the instant before the boldest rulers could raise their voice in protest, she cried, 'I say it is not the gods' will!' Her words rang across the galleries, and the near to unseemly emotion that coloured them held every Lord in his chair.
'I, Mara of the Acoma. I who forced the Lord of the Anasati to give quarter, and I who destroyed Jingu of the Minwanabi under his ancestral roof! I who have moulded the Acoma into the mightiest house in Clan Hadama! I say that we make our own destiny and seek out our own place upon the Wheel! Who here says not?'
A stir greeted this concept, and several Lords moved, as if made uncomfortable by what sounded like blasphemy. One ruler toward the rear called out, 'Lady, you voice dangerous thoughts.'
'We live in dangerous times,' Mara shot back. 'It is time for radical thinking.'
A general if reluctant agreement followed. Low-pitched grumbles deepened to a buzz of animated discussion, cut short by the Lord of the Chekowara, who barely contained his rage at being forgotten where he stood. He shouted across the general noise, 'What do you propose, beyond usurping my office, Lady Mara?'
Jewels blazing in the sunlight that fell from the dome, Mara removed a document scroll from the depths of her sleeve. Now Kevin had to fight against his desire to express admiration at her timing. 'Show them the carrot,' he whispered to himself.
In the brightness of the light, the yellow-and-white ribbons that denoted a writ from the Keeper of the Imperial Seal could not be mistaken. Aware she had drawn every eye in the chamber, Mara regarded the gathering with imperious composure. 'I have here, under official seal, an exclusive trading option granted to the Acoma.'
'Trading option?' 'With whom?' and 'For what?' came various queries from the galleries.
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