'Oh, our young men play at battle,' Gittania allowed, leaning during a rest break upon the tall herder's staff she used to steady her walking. Lujan also guessed she knew how to use it as a weapon, if it did not also serve as a staff for magic. But that assumption was shattered when Gittania accidentally broke the wood and, without ceremony, bought another stick from a man who trained herd dogs. Now her fingers ran up and down, stripping off the rough bark that might give blisters. 'But raids, fighting, these are things young men do to gain the skills to steal their wives. A few boastful ones venture into imperial lands. Most do not return. If they are caught, and fight, they have broken the treaty and are outlaws.' Her face darkened as she said the last.
Mara recalled the captives condemned to die as sport for Tsurani nobles in the arena, and was shamed. Did any of the games masters who staged such atrocities have a clue that the men they sent out to duel were just boys who might have first committed no worse a mistake than a prank? Had any imperial warrior or official ever troubled to question the ones who strayed across the border, naked and painted as if for war? Sadly, she thought not.
Gittania seemed not to notice the Lady's melancholy contemplation. She gestured with her staff over the scrub-covered valley, dotted, here and there, with the querdidra herds bred for cheese and wool. 'Mostly we are a nation of traders and herdsmen. Our soil is largely too poor to farm, and our strongest industry is weaving. The dyes, of course, are very costly, imported as they are from your warmer lowlands, and from Tsubar.'
Gittania chided herself for her rambling talk, and urged Mara and Lujan to set off once again. The pace she set was brisk. Days were shorter in the uplands, where the high crowns of the hills pushed the sunsets earlier. The place where at last they made camp was in a hollow between two rock-crowned knolls. A stream gushed from a spring there, and short, wind-stunted trees offered shelter.
'Wrap well in your blankets,' Gittania urged as she and Mara scoured the dinner utensils clean in the icy water.
'Nights get cold in these highlands. Even in summer, there can be an occasional frost.'
Morning saw leaves and grass etched in a silvery patina of ice crystals. Mara marveled at their intricate patterns, and admired the fragile beauty as a chance ray of sun fired the edges like gilt. Barren this land might be, but it had a wild grace all its own.
The trail steepened. More and more, Lujan had to assist Mara in the climb, as his studded battle sandals gained better purchase than hers, which were soled in plain leather. The roof of the clouds seemed close enough to touch, and the querdidra herds thinned, forage being too sparse to sustain them. Here the splash and tumble of spring-fed streams formed the sole sound, beyond the whip and moan of the wind.
The pass itself was a winding ledge that snaked between steep, slate faces that glistened black where water seeped from the earth. Mara gulped deep breaths of the thin air, and commented on the strange, sharp smell that seemed to ride the gusts.
'Snow,' Gittania explained, her cheeks nipped red by the chill, and her smile the warmer by contrast. She tugged her scarlet-and-white sleeves down over her hands for comfort, and added, 'Were the clouds thinner, you might see ice on the peaks. Not a sight you Tsurani are accustomed to, I'll warrant.'
Mara shook her head, too breathless to speak. Hardier than she, Lujan said, 'There are glaciers in the great range we call the High Wall. Wealthy lords in the northern provinces are said to post runners into the hills to gather rare ice for their drinks. But for myself, I have never seen water harden from the cold.'
'It is a magic of nature,' Gittania allowed and, seeing Mara's distress, called for another short rest.
The passes fell behind, and the trail descended. On this side of the mountains, the lands were less arid, and the plantlife thorny and leaved in silver grey. By Gittania's explanation, more rain fell here. 'The clouds will thin before long, and then we will be able to see the cho-ja city of Chakaha in the distance.'
No querdidra herds grazed these slopes, the vegetation being too thorny to be edible, but a few families eked out a living by harvesting plant fibers to twist into rope. 'A hard living,' Gittania allowed. 'The cordage is among the best available for strength and longevity, but this valley is a long, difficult distance from the seaside markets. Carts cannot cross the pass, so all of the haulage must be done by packbeast, or on the backs of strong men.'
It occurred to Mara that the sure-legged cho-ja might handle such a burden over the rugged trails with an ease unmatched by any human, but she was too unsure of what relationship the Thuril hives might share with humans to offer any such suggestion. And then the thought left her mind, for the trail crooked and dipped down, and the clouds thinned and parted to reveal the valley below, spread out like a tapestry beneath a high, pale green Tsurani sky.
'Oh!' Mara exclaimed, utterly forgetful of protocol. For the sight that greeted her and Lujan was a wonder more overwhelming than even the intricate beauty she had witnessed in Dorales.
The mountains fell away, thorny growth and stony washes descending into a lush, tropical valley. The breezes carried the scent of jungle vines, exotic flowers, and rich earth. Frond trees raised fanlike crowns skyward, and beyond them, more delicate than the gold filigree wrought by the most skilled of the Emperor's jewelers, arose the cho-ja hives.
'Chakaha,' said Gittania. 'This is the cho-ja's crystal city.'
As if spun from glass, fingerlike spirals rose from pastel domes that sparkled in all colors, like gems in a crown. Rose, aquamarine, and amethyst arches of impossible delicacy spanned the gaps between. Shiny black cho-ja workers, looking like strings of obsidian beads in the distance, scampered across these narrow catwalks. Mara feasted her eyes upon the gossamer, sparkling architecture, and was further astounded. In the air above, winged cho-ja flew. They were not the jet black she was accustomed to, but bronze and blue, with accenting stripes of maroon. 'They are so beautiful!' she breathed. 'Our Queens in Tsuranuanni birth only black cho-ja. The only color I ever saw was the shade of an immature Queen, and she darkened like the rest with her maturity.'
Gittania sighed. 'Cho-ja magicians are always brilliantly marked. You have none in the Empire because they are forbidden there. To our sorrow, Good Servant, and your everlasting loss. They are wise in their power.'
Mara did not immediately answer, entranced as she was with Chakaha. The glass spires were backed by a blue range of mountains whose tops sparkled white against the sky.
'Ice!' Lujan surmised. 'There is ice on those peaks. Ah, but I wish Papewaio were here to see this wonder! And Keyoke. The old man will never believe what we saw when we return home to tell him.'
'If you return home,' Gittania said in uncharacteristic acerbity. She made a shrug of apology to Mara. 'Lady, I may go no farther. You must follow the trail into the valley from here, and seek your way to Chakaha on your own. There will be sentries. They will intercept you long before you reach the crystal gates. Gods go with you, and may they allow you audience with their Queen.' The acolyte fell awkwardly silent as she reached into her mantle and pulled out a small object, oblong in shape, and heavily dark as obsidian. 'This is a reading stone,' she explained, it carries a record of the memories the Kaliane's council called from you within the golden truth circle. It shows why we granted you passage through our lands, and gives our advice to the hives of Chakaha. The cho-ja magicians can interpret its contents, if they choose.' She pressed the object into Mara's hands with fingers that were cold with nerves. 'Lady, I hope the memories recorded in the stone will help. The Kaliane spoke of some of them. They form an eloquent testimony on behalf of your cause. Your danger will be in establishing contact, for these cho-ja can kill swiftly.'
'Thank you.' Mara turned the stone over in her grasp, then tucked it into her robe. Glad that her Force Commander's weapons had been returned, for she disliked the notion of walking unarmed into a potentially hostile camp, Mara took her leave of Gittania. 'Please give your Kaliane my thanks also. With the grace of the gods, and goo
d luck, we will meet again.'
So saying, she nodded to Lujan, and stepped off toward the lush lowland valley where the city of Chakaha awaited. Neither she nor her handsome Force Commander looked back, Gittania saw. That saddened her, because over their three-day march, she had come to like the Good Servant, whose curiosity held so much compassion for others, and whose hope was to change the course of Tsuranuanni's future.
* * *
The trail descended sharply, over stones that were loose underfoot. Lujan steadied his Lady's elbow, and though his touch was sure, Mara still felt the precariousness of their position. Each step forward carried her farther into the unknown.
Brought up in the crowded sprawl of the Acoma estates, accustomed to the throngs of Tsurani cities, and to the presence of servants, slaves, and the numerous officers that made up the households of the noble-born, she could not recall a time in her life when she had been so alone. Her meditation cell in the Temple of Lashima had been isolated from others only by the thickness of a wall, and during the most solitary of her evening contemplations at home, a single word would bring servants or warriors instantly to attend upon her needs.
Here there was only the wild sweep of fog-shrouded stone slopes behind, and the jungle ahead, with its indigenous population of cho-ja, whose culture was other than the safe, treaty-bound commerce she knew with the insectoids upon her estates.
Never in her life had she felt herself so small and the world she trod so large. It took all of her will not to turn back, to call after Gittania, and ask to be guided back to Thuril territories, which now did not seem strange or threatening, but simply and understandably human. But back in the Thuril village awaited the rest of her honor guard, and Kamlio, dependent upon her efforts; and linked to them, her family and children and all of the lives upon three sprawling estates answerable to Shinzawai and Acoma. She must not let them down, must secure them haven against the wrath of the magicians to come. Mara faced resolutely forward, and resorted to conversation.
'Lujan, tell me: when you were left the life of a grey warrior, and had no hope for a life of honor, how did you cope?'
Lujan's helm tipped, as he looked askance at her. In his eyes she saw that he, too, sensed the immensity and emptiness of the landscape surrounding them, and that he was Tsurani enough to be uneasy as well with the solitude. How much we have grown to understand each other, Mara thought; how the difficulties of this life have woven our efforts together into a relationship that is special, and cherished. Then his reply stopped her introspection.
'Lady, when a man has lost everything that his peers and fellows consider to be important, when he lives a life that is meaningless by the tenets of his upbringing, then all that is left is his dreams. I was very stubborn. I held to my dreams. And one day I awoke to find that my existence was not all misery. I realised that I could still laugh. I could still feel. Feasting on wild game could still ease my belly, and a tumble with a kind woman could still make my blood race and my spirits soar. An honorless man might suffer in the future when Turakamu took his spirit, and the Wheel of Life ground his fate into dust. But day to day? Honor does not add to joy.' Here the man who had led the Acoma armies for close to two decades gave an uncomfortable shrug. 'Lady, I was a leader of thieves, brigands, and unfortunates. We as a band might not have had the great honor that house colors may give a man. But we did not live without creed.'
Here Mara could see that her Force Commander was embarrassed to silence. Aware that his discomfort stemmed from an issue that was central to the man himself, and aware, too, that more than curiosity prompted her, she urged gently, 'Tell me. Certainly you realise that I do not hold to traditions for their own sake.'
Lujan gave a small laugh. 'We are alike in that more than you know, my Lady. All right. The men that I led swore a covenant with me. Outcasts though we were, and cast off by the gods, that did not make us less than men. We formed what might be called our own house, swore loyalty to ourselves, and added that what befell one would be shared by all. And so you see, Mara, when you came and were willing to embrace us all in honorable service, we could not have accepted save as a whole. When Pape devised his clever ruse to find distant kinship so that we might be called to Acoma service, had one man been refused, we all would have turned away.'
Mara looked at her Force Commander in surprise, and by the sheepish look in his weathered face, deduced further.
'This covenant you speak of, it still exists.' She did not ask, but stated.
Lujan cleared his throat. 'It does. But when we swore you our loyalty by the Acoma natami, we added a coda, that our wishes, needs, and honor came second after yours. But within your loyal army there is still a band of us who feel a special kinship to one another, one we cannot share with your other soldiers, no matter how honorable they may be. It is a badge of honor unique to us, as was Papewaio's black band of condemnation his own peculiar accolade.'
'Remarkable.' Mara fell silent, her eyes downcast as if she negotiated a particularly hazardous step, but the footing was less rocky now, the trail of beaten soil bordered by the first fronds and greenery that edged the jungle. The glass towers of Chakaha had disappeared with the loss of altitude, eclipsed by the dense, high crowns of tropical trees. Their danger was not lessened but increased, and yet Mara spared a moment from worry to ponder what her Force Commander had revealed: that he was a leader born, and that his loyalty was rare and deep; that even after advancement to a high post, he had kept his word with the ruffians turned soldiers that he had once commanded. It was noteworthy, Mara thought, that the man at her side had an inborn sense of himself and his personal responsibilities that ran deeper than in most Lords who ruled in the Nations. All this, Lujan had done, without fanfare, without recognition, without even the knowledge of his Lady, until now.
Mara glanced aside at him, and saw his face had resumed the mask of Tsurani inscrutability appropriate to a warrior in house service. She was glad the opportunity had arisen to learn what had passed between them. All that remained to be asked of the gods was the opportunity to ensure that such special qualities and talents that Lujan had revealed might be brought to full flower. If they survived, Mara decided, this was a man who deserved rewards above and beyond the ordinary recognition for exemplary service.
Then her thought was interrupted by a rustle in the undergrowth. The first of the high trees lay ahead, their trunks ancient and wide enough that five men with linked hands would have difficulty girdling their circumference. As their deep shade fell chillingly over Mara and Lujan, a ring of cho-ja sentinels arose seemingly out of nowhere, silent, shiny-black, and naked but for their natal armor of polished chitin. Bladed forearms were turned outward at an aggressive angle.
Lujan jerked Mara to a stop. His second, instinctive movement to thrust her behind him and away from the danger and then to draw his sword was checked, as he saw that they were surrounded. These cho-ja wore none of the humanlike accoutrements of rank that their counterparts in the Nations affected, and they moved in uncanny silence. For a moment, the two human invaders and the insectoid sentinels stood motionless.
Mara was first to break the tableau, giving the full bow an envoy might use to greet a foreign delegation. 'We come in peace.'
Her words were punctuated by a snap as in unison the sentinels raised forearms to guard position. One among them advanced a half-step, its face plates unreadable. These cho-ja of Chakaha made no effort to mimic human expressions, and the result left Mara uneasy. These foreign insectoids might attack and butcher them both where they stood, and not even Lujan's fast eye might detect the signal that started the slaughter.
'We come in peace,' she repeated, this time unable to keep the tremble from her voice.
For a drawn-out moment, nothing moved. Over the drone of insects in the jungle, Mara thought she detected the high-pitched buzzing she had earlier experienced in the chamber of the Queen who inhabited her home estate. But the sound ended before she could be certain.
Then the one w
ho had stepped ahead, and who might be classified as their Strike Leader, spoke out. 'You are from the Empire, human. Peace to your kind is but a prelude to treachery. You are trespassers. Turn and go, and live.'
Mara sucked in a shaky breath. 'Lujan,' she said in a tone she hoped sounded convincing, 'disarm yourself. Show that we mean no harm by surrendering your blade to these whom we would call friends.'
Her Force Commander raised his arm to follow her order, although she could see by his tension that he disliked the idea of giving up what small defense he might offer her.
But before he could set hand to sword grip, he heard the snap, snap as the cho-ja left guard position and angled their weight forward to charge. Their spokesman said, 'Touch your sword, man, and you both die.'
To this, Lujan jerked up his chin in a flushed blaze of anger. 'Kill us, then!' he half shouted. 'But I say that if you do so, when my intent is to surrender, you are cowards all. With my sword, or without it, at your first charge we are dead.' Here he glanced at Mara, asking unspoken permission.
His mistress returned a stiff nod. 'Disarm,' she repeated. 'Show that we are friends. If attack follows, then our mission is wasted effort anyway, for the Lady of the Acoma and the Servant of the Empire does not treat with a race of murderers.'
Slowly, deliberately, Lujan reached for his sword. Mara watched, running with sweat, as his hand touched, then closed over the weapon hilt.
The cho-ja did not move. Perhaps above the drone of the insects, their buzzing communication gave them discourse with their Queen, but Mara could not tell. Her ears were numbed by nerves and the fast, loud pound of her heart.
Empire - 03 - Mistress Of The Empire Page 53
