Empire - 03 - Mistress Of The Empire

by Raymond E. Feist

  Aware that she had been mildly baited, Mara said, 'You will always be a rogue! Find an understanding woman, else she will take you to task for your flirting ways, Lujan.'

  'She would scold me anyway,' the Force Commander admitted. 'I have this terrible habit, you see, of wearing my weapons while in bed.'

  He was only halfway joking; events through the years since she had come to power as Ruling Lady had caused all her warriors to take on a battle-ready alertness. There had simply been too many attacks, from too many unseen sources. Now, worst of all, no sword in the Nations could save her. Mara lost her inclination toward humor. She stared ahead, toward the horizon, and wondered if she would find what she desperately needed to ensure Acoma survival on that distant, unseen shore.

  * * *

  The lookout cried from the crosstree, 'Land ahead!'

  Mara rushed to the rail, her cheeks flushed in the morning breeze. Even Kamlio, who moved nowhere with enthusiasm, followed. Off Coalteca's eastern forequarter lay the faintest hump of indigo, the first shoreline anyone on board had glimpsed through the days of a brisk but uneventful passage.

  'Honshoni,' said Lujan. 'They say the red-bee honey from those hills is sweeter than any in the Empire.'

  Lepala also was famous for silks and exotic dyes, and the beautifully patterned weaving such luxuries encouraged.

  Mara sighed, longing with girlish curiosity to pause and explore the wharf markets of the south. Xula, Lepala, and Rujije were places of enchanting tales of spired buildings and scarlet-railed galleries. Lords of Lepala were said to keep rare fish in pools, and harems numbering in the hundreds. Homes there had pierced shutters to shade from the sun and break the force of the sea winds, and gardens with huge, hot-climate flowers which bloomed only at dusk, but which filled the evening air with exotic fragrances until night's chill caused them to close up again. The streets were paved in a stone that shone like gold when damp. The sailors' gossip made the vendors' stalls and bordellos seem exotic. They spoke of drinks of prodigious potency, inns filled with colorful caged birds, and eating establishments where customers were cooled by pretty girls and boys with large feather fans. But Coalteca would not make port in any of these busy cities of commerce until Mara's party had been safely seen ashore in a secluded, uninhabited cove far inside the bay between Honshoni and Sweto. Only a few fishing villages dotted the north and south shorelines.

  The Thuril Confederacy claimed the eastern edge of the bay, its only access to deep water; and since the magicians of the Assembly were apt to appear and disappear at whim anywhere within imperial borders, Mara had agreed with her advisers that she must not risk any unnecessary landfall. Coalteca's legitimate cargo would be offloaded on her return trip north, and if the Black Robes or any lurking Anasati spy should come to suspect the deviation in her normal sailing course, the Lady would already be away, deep into foreign territory and, if the gods were kind, beyond reach.

  The landing, when it happened a few days later, was in as bleak a site as anything Mara might have dreamed in nightmare. The beachhead where the longboat delivered her was deserted, a grey-blue crescent of flinty, sea-smoothed shale alive with the scything forms of birds. As Lujan lifted her over the thwart and carried her ashore, white and indigo shorebirds circled overhead. Their cries echoed mournfully above the wind and the crash of breakers. Dust blew across the rugged hills beyond, scrub-covered and forlorn, and high above these, turning grey-blue with distance, rose the tables of the highlands, bordered at the horizon by mountains whose peaks were lost in brooding masses of cloud. The slate-backed spine of the range had proven a fortress impregnable for the Tsurani who had attempted to make war upon Thuril. Time and again the Empire forces had invaded these inhospitable lands, only to be harried back through the foothills by the fierce, naked swordsmen with their dyed Skins and their barbarous war cries.

  Short, soft-spoken, and wrinkled like the skin of a dried fruit, the guide paused before her and said in his stilted accent, 'Lady, it were best you command your people to stand out of plain sight.'

  'I will need to give them a reason,' Mara responded. 'They are honorable warriors, and would take it ill if they were told they must sneak about like thieves, particularly where there is not so much as a dwelling, even a fisherman's shack.'

  The guide licked the gap where two of his front teeth were missing. He shifted from foot to foot, obviously uncomfortable, then bobbed in a quick bow. 'Lady, the peace between the Empire and Thuril is uneasy. Only formal envoys and licensed traders cross the border, and only at designated checkpoints. Were your people to be seen within two days' walk of these shores, or anywhere near the imperial border, you would be taken as spies.' Whatever the Thuril did to punish spies, by his tautness of expression it was not pleasant.

  Knowing that her own people took captured Thuril for the games in the Imperial Arena, Mara no longer argued the need for secrecy. She beckoned Lujan over to her and murmured in his ear, 'Force Commander, we will sorely need the knowledge you gained as a grey warrior to keep our presence here secret until we have made our way far inland.'

  Beneath the straggle of hair that escaped the brim of his helm, Lujan gave her a wild smile. 'Ah, Lady, the last of my guileful ways will be known to you! When you learn how well honorable warriors can be made to skulk, will you ever trust them again to guard your valuables?'

  'They may have my valuables with all my blessing, if the purpose of our mission is successfully accomplished,' Mara replied, too grim for humor, and recognising the first taste of the hardships to come on these strange shores.

  There followed several days that put Mara in mind of her race cross-country before her first marriage, to win the alliance of the cho-ja Queen. Then as now, she had slept with minimal shelter on hard ground, amid a small retinue of warriors. Parts of that trip she had travelled on foot, the trail being too rough for her litter. Then, too, there had been urgency, as her party crossed the estates of enemy Lords in the deeps of the night.

  But in Kelewan there had been dense forest, almost jungle, to hide in. Low-lying mists had concealed her party at dawn and dusk, and provisions had been carried by her bearers.

  In Thuril the stony soil grew only sparse bushes and grass, providing scant cover. At times she had to hike in gullies, chilled by the winds of these higher altitudes, her thin sandals soaked from standing amid peaty clumps of moss. Her ankles became scratched from the sharp-stemmed sedges, and her hands calloused fom using a walking stick to keep her balance. Once they passed a village, skulking through pastures on their bellies under the moon. Dogs barked at them, but sleeping herd boys did not rouse.

  Mara grew accustomed to the taste of tough game brought down by the bows of her warriors. She developed aches in muscles she never knew she possessed, from long hours and miles on her feet. In a strange way, she reveled in the freedom, and in the deep, cloud-scattered bowl of the sky. But her warmest pleasure was watching Kamlio.

  The girl let her long hair twist and tangle, uncared for by maids for the first time in her life. She stopped tightening her lips and looking white when the warriors spoke to her; the few who approached her had been rebuffed, and unlike other men she had known until Arakasi, they left her alone as she asked. She went by herself to wash in the icy streams, and shyly began to offer to help at the fireside, where it became plain that she had a knack for cooking. She also asked Lujan to teach her self-defense with a knife. These lessons commenced in the half-dark, each night, where Kamlio's dulcet tones sharpened in a fish-wife's cursing as she missed her throw and tried again.

  Lujan took her shrewish mood in stride. 'Really,' he said, one evening when she seemed to be having a particularly difficult time, 'you should ask Arakasi to show you knife work. He is a master, and knows the best way to use the wrist.'

  Kamlio spun in such fury that the Force Commander grabbed her hand just behind the bare blade of her weapon, unsure she would not sink her knife in him.

  'Gods!' Kamlio cried, venomously offended. 'It was tha
t one I sought to defend myself from!'

  She tore away and flounced off into the dark. Lujan watched her go, clicking his tongue in reproof. 'Woman, against our Spy Master, nobody wins at knives.' As she vanished, he added softly, 'You need nothing of defense against him. If you chose to carve out Arakasi's heart, I believe he would stand still and let you.'

  Much later, in the depths of that moonless night, Mara awoke to hear the girl sobbing. Softly she said, 'You need never see Arakasi again, Kamlio, and that is the problem, is it not?'

  The former courtesan said nothing, but her sobs eventually wore themselves out in sleep.

  The next morning dawned cloudy and chill. Kamlio returned red-cheeked from gathering wood, her eyes red-rimmed as well. 'He killed my sister!' she spat at the Lady of the Acoma, as if in continuation of the words shared in the night.

  'He killed the Obajan of the Hamoi Tong, on my orders,' Mara corrected. 'The Obajan's own darts killed your sister.'

  Kamlio threw down her armload of wood onto Lujan's fledgling fire, sending up a cloud of sparks and smoke.

  The herder who was their guide cursed in Thuril. 'Foolish girl! Your pique could cost us our lives!'

  Lujan reacted first, ripping off the cloak he wore over his armor. He cast it over the tiny fire, then leaped and grabbed the water bucket nearby, dousing the cloth before it could flare up. Dull wisps of steam seeped from the folds, amid the stink of burned querdidra wool. 'Up,' he snapped to his subofficer. 'Break camp. No breakfast, and we march at once. That smoke could have been seen, and for our Lady's sake we must take no chances.'

  The little herdsman threw the Acoma Force Commander a grateful glance for his good sense, and within minutes, Mara's party was back on the trail, hugging gullies and what cover the meager landscape could offer.

  * * *

  Four days later, the guide deemed it safe to travel more openly. He accepted coin from Mara, and dared descend into a narrow, smoke-filled vale to buy supplies from a village market. The imperial centis were suspect, but they had value, and the country folk in their simple needs did not care to question the origin of the currency or those who spent it. Mara suspected she was not the first Tsurani the guide had brought this way. Smuggling between the Empire and Thuril was risky, but highly profitable. It seemed a reasonable vocation for a man of mixed heritage who could pass in both cultures.

  The herdsman returned with two hide bags of provisions, jerked meat, and a cloak of hill weave to replace the one Lujan had damaged in the campfire. The burdens came back into camp lashed to the back of a small grey beast, horselike in shape, but with long ears, and a tail like a paintbrush.

  'Donkey,' the herdsman guide replied, in answer to Mara's curious question. His burred accent accepted the word awkwardly, but Mara recognised its origin as Midkemian. The presence of an animal that could only have come from the other side of the rift, through the Empire, made it clear smuggling was a major trade of this region. 'Less ornery than querdidra, Lady, and sturdy enough for you to ride.'

  At this Mara raised her eyebrows. 'Me? Ride that? But it's barely as big as a newborn needra calf!'

  'Walk, then,' the herdsman said, in less than respectful tones. 'But the shale in the heights could twist your ankles, and your warriors would quickly tire if they had to carry you.' For Kamlio he had bought boots with stout soles, laced up the front, and topped with fur. Mara eyed the ugly footwear with distaste, and the donkey with trepidation. Then, with a sigh, she surrendered. 'I'll ride,' she said. 'Show Lujan how to help me mount.'

  The herdsman bobbed another of his fast bows that Mara swore were his way of hiding amusement.

  'Don't feel apprehensive.' Lujan teased as he arrived at her elbow to help her astride. 'Think how I felt on that day in the desert when I had to mount a cho-ja. They're slipperier, for one thing, and I was panicked I would fall off and land on my own sword.'

  'That was Kevin's idea, not mine,' Mara said in her own defense, then steeled herself as her Force Commander lifted her strongly and set her down like a feather in the dyed leather hill saddle strapped to the beast's back.

  The animal was small, Mara tried to reassure herself, and the ground no more than a cloth yard away. If she fell, the worst she could get would be bruises, small price to pay if she could find protection from the Black Robes in these strange, barren hills. And in fact, the gait of the donkey was not so hard, it being short of stride and its feet marvelously sure as it plodded along.

  Mara found her perch upon the creature's back less than comfortable, but she hid her soreness with Tsurani implacability as her party wound ever higher into the forbidding hills. In the afternoon, when she dismounted and the beast was led off to water, she confided to Lujan that had she known what sort of creatures donkeys were, she would never have permitted their importation. 'Small horse indeed,' she had snorted as she settled stiffly on the ground to share a meal of hard bread and sour cheese.

  Lujan only grinned. 'They are most reliable, I am told. Already the man who sells them across the borders in Honshoni is seeking another herd, for they far outshine the querdidra as beasts of burden.'

  With this Mara was forced to agree, despite her aching posterior. She had endured the company of the foul-smelling, evil-tempered querdidra as she had traversed the mountains of Tsubar on campaign against the raiders of the desert. But as the donkey raised its stringy tail to dump manure, she kept her opinion silent. If it was a superior creature to the temperamental, six-legged native pack beast, it certainly was no cleaner in its habits.

  Suddenly the herdsman who was their guide spun around, his crust of bread forgotten in his hand. Facing the wind, his eyes narrowed, he scanned the bleak, scrub-covered hills as if he could read their rock and vegetation like a scroll page. 'We are being watched,' he said in a low voice to Lujan. 'I suspected as much since we left that village.'

  The Force Commander pointedly kept chewing his food. As if there were no immediate peril, he asked, 'Should we arm ourselves?'

  The herdsman faced around in shock. 'Not if you wish to live. No. Keep on. Act as if nothing were wrong. And if anyone approaches, make no threatening move, no matter what is said or done to provoke you. Ensure no hothead among your men speaks or draws his sword.'

  Lujan gave back an even smile that only Mara could read as a false show of humor. 'Have some cheese,' he invited the herdsman.

  But no one had any stomach for eating, and within a short time the company regrouped and started to move on. They had gone barely a dozen paces when a shout rent the air. A man with black braids and a great, billowing cloak of the same dull green-grey as the soil leaped directly above the lead guard onto a large rock that overlooked the narrow trail.

  Lujan held up his hand as Mara's guards tensed. But none of his warriors forgot their orders not to draw weapons, despite their surprise. The Thuril highlander had appeared as if from nowhere. Dressed in his native kilt and double cross-belts hung with two swords and several knives, he called out, 'Why do you invade the land of Thuril, Tsurani?' His thick accent made his demand nearly unintelligible, and his tone was unmistakably belligerent.

  Mara kicked the little donkey, to overcome its reluctance to move forward again. Before it could stride out, the little herdsman sprang to its bridle to restrain it. He replied to the challenge, prompted by the custom of the land. 'I am Iayapa, warrior,' he said in the Thuril tongue. 'I speak for the Lady of the Acoma, who has come on a mission of peace.'

  The man leaped down from the rock, his cloak billowing and his kilt flipping up to bare an expanse of muscled thigh. The cross-garters of his sandals were tasseled below the knee, and his weapon harness chinked with stone talismans. Up close, it could be seen that his head was shaved, save for a round patch at the crown, where his braids had been allowed to grow since childhood. They tumbled as long as his waist as he landed, their ends also tied with talismans.

  Into his mistress's ear, Lujan said softly, 'He is not dressed for war, Lady.'

  Mara nodded. She had
read that the Thuril shed their clothing when fighting, going nude but for their battle harness, feathered helms, shields, and weapons, for they took pride that their manhood was not shriveled by fear and ensured their enemies knew this.

  The man swaggered toward Mara, who was now slightly ahead of the others, as the donkey sidled nervously. Mara sawed at the reins, frantically and silently reminding herself to act as if nothing were wrong.

  The highlander said something in his coarse dialect and grabbed the donkey's bridle. He breathed into its nose, and for some strange reason the creature quieted. The man then rattled his knuckles through his talismans, and stepped around the donkey's head. Coming face to face with Mara, he leaned forward until his nose missed touching hers by a hair's width.

  Iayapa called, 'Good Servant, make no move. He tests your mettle.'

  Mara held her breath and forced herself not to close her eyes. Peripherally, she was aware of her uneasy men, their hands itching to draw weapons; and of Kamlio, who had forgotten her distaste for men and had crowded close to the nearest warrior in fear. But the Acoma discipline held. Her warriors kept still, and when Mara refused to lower her gaze or pull away, the highlander released a great, garlic-scented breath and withdrew. He grunted, allowing that her courage was sufficient. 'Who speaks for you, woman?'

  Before Iayapa could stop her, Mara spoke. 'I lead here.'

  The man bared white, even teeth in an expression that was no smile. Browned by strong sun, his face wrinkled in contempt. 'You have sand, woman! I'll allow you that, but lead these men? You are female.' To Lujan, who was nearest, the highlander rephrased his question. 'You! I do not answer a woman's tongue, and I would know: what brings you to come with warriors into our lands? Do you seek war?' This last seemed to be a joke, for he burst out in raucous laughter.

  Mara waved Lujan to silence, and as though the brawny man did not stand at her donkey's shoulder, addressed her herdsman guide. 'This highlander seems amused. Does he think our presence funny, or does he intend slight to our honor?'