Empire - 03 - Mistress Of The Empire

by Raymond E. Feist

  'Come now!' cracked Shimone. He had an authoritative voice, when he chose to raise it, and now his stillness held pent-up ire. "How do you know it was Mara who instigated the attack, Motecha? I heard of no battle, but only a skirmish that ended with a drawing of lines. Do we whimper civil war when there has been little but a calling of names and an exchange of insults and some sporadic bowfire?'

  Teloro expounded a second point. 'I would have you note: the banner at the fore of the lines near Sulan-Qu was not Acoma, but that of Lord Jidu of the Tuscalora. He may be Mara's vassal, but his estate lies directly in the path of Jiro's march. The Lord of the Tuscalora could legitimately be defending his lands from invasion.'

  Motecha narrowed his gaze. 'Our colleague Tapek went to the field and observed, Teloro. I may not be the student of history that your friend Hochopepa is, but I can certainly hear the difference between a defensive position and an army launching an assault!'

  'And Jiro's collection of siege engines in the forests outside Kentosani are for defense?' Shimone cried back, but his point was drowned by the hubbub of other voices.

  The Spokesman shouted for order. 'Colleagues! The business at hand requires order.'

  Motecha shrugged his robe straight like a jigacock puffing its feathers. He stabbed a finger at the galleries. 'Arrows have been fired between a vassal of Mara's and Anasati warriors masquerading under the banner of Clan Ionani. Are we going to sit about arguing until our edict is defied a second time? Tapek reports that troops have felled trees for buttresses to give their archers better cover.'

  Clearing his throat, Hochopepa croaked hoarsely, 'Well then, Tapek could have ordered a stop to the shooting.' This brought laughter and an upwelling of derogatory comments. 'Or was it the fact that stray arrows show little regard for the majesty of a Black Robe that gave our friend Tapek pause?'

  At this, Tapek sprang to his feet, his red hair brilliant against the black robes behind. He shouted, 'We already told Mara to stop once! Has she so swiftly forgotten the troop of warriors we destroyed as an example upon the field?'

  'Motecha has the floor,' objected the Spokesman. 'You will stay seated unless you are formally given leave to lead the discussion, friend Tapek.'

  The red-haired magician subsided to his seat, muttering to the contingent of young friends who sat with him.

  Motecha resumed his point, 'I submit that Jiro of the Anasati has made no move in aggression. His siege engines may surround the walls of Kentosani, but they do not fire! And they may never do so, if Mara is prevented from linking up with her support inside the Imperial Precinct.'

  'What support? Do you imply that Mara has been party to treachery?' called Shimone. 'That she had no hand in the Omechan plot to kill Ichindar has been documented!'

  Again the Assembly erupted into disorder. For several minutes Spokesman Hodiku had to hold up his hands to restore quiet. The muttering subsided reluctantly, with Sevean caught still gesticulating as he expounded some point to a colleague. He lowered his voice, looking sheepish.

  Hochopepa mopped sweat from his brow. 'It begins to look as if I did not need to spend my voice in speech making.' He chuckled under his breath. 'Our opponents are doing a fair job of tangling the issue by themselves.'

  'Not for much longer, I fear,' Shimone said ominously.

  Motecha added further accusations, more outspoken than any of his predecessors'. 'I say Mara of the Acoma is the culprit! Her disregard, no, her contempt of tradition is well documented. How she came to wear the honored title of Servant of the Empire is for others to conjecture. But I suggest that she and the late Emperor had an . . . understanding. It is Mara's son, Justin, she would raise as pretender to the golden throne, and I endorse Jiro's right to defend against this unconscionable show of Acoma ambition!'

  'That ends it,' Fumita said gloomily. 'Sooner or later, the adoptive privilege of Mara's children had to be raised. Someone had to drag the boy into the quarrel.'

  There was true sadness in his tone, perhaps in his personal remembrance of the son he had renounced upon his call to join the Assembly. Yet whatever else he might have added became drowned in a wave of shouting. Magicians sprang to their feet, and several seemed to glow with the light of inner anger. Through the tumult, Spokesman Hodiku waved his staff, and when he was ignored, gave over the floor to a young mage named Akani.

  That many a seasoned elder had been passed over in favor of a Black Robe barely out of his apprenticeship effected an immediate and resounding silence.

  Akani kept command of it with the voice of a powerful orator. 'Assumption of facts not in evidence,' he summed up crisply. 'We know nothing of any plotting by Mara of the Acoma. We cannot deny she has lost her firstborn son. Justin is her sole heir. If she were party to a plot to raise him to the Emperor's station, she would hardly have set such intrigue in motion while she was absent from the court. Only a fool would leave the boy to fend for himself through a change in succession without Acoma or Shinzawai defenders. Justin is housed with Ichindar's children, in the imperial nursery, which I remind you was quarantined upon his death for twenty days of mourning! A child's life could be lost to a thousand mishaps in such a span of time. If Acoma troops march, they do so to spare their future Lord. Companions, I suggest,' Akani finished tartly, 'that we not be swayed by speculation and street gossip in the making of our decisions.'

  Shimone raised his grey furred eyebrows as the young magician continued a reasoned, dispassionate argument. 'Good choice of argument. The boy thinks like an imperial court litigator.'

  Hochopepa chuckled. 'Akani studied for that post before his magical powers forced him to be recognised as a Black Robe. Why do you think I called in a favor to ask Hodiku to choose him when the discussion swung toward violence? Jiro's supporters, like our outspoken Tapek, must not be permitted to stampede us into acting rashly.'

  And yet even Akani's skills as litigator could not keep the floor tied up for long. Feelings ran hot, and by now even those Black Robes who had been neutral to the contention were clamoring for decision, if only to bring the long, tiresome session to an end.

  Pressure from all sides erupted to draw the proceedings to a close. Akani had exhausted his eloquence, and in fairness to his earlier ruling, the Spokesman Hodiku had to yield the floor to allow Tapek his say.

  'Trouble now,' Shimone said flatly.

  Hochopepa's brow wrinkled, and Fumita became statue-still.

  Tapek wasted no time in convincing oratory. 'It is fact, companions, that the Assembly acted as a body once before and ordered Mara not to attack Jiro. For the Good of the Empire, I demand her life be forfeit!'

  Hochopepa shot to his feet, astonishingly fast for one of his girth. 'I dissent.'

  Tapek spun on his heel to face the stout magician. 'What mortal in all our long history has ever been allowed to live after defying our edict?'

  'I can count several,' Hochopepa shot back, 'but I doubt that would settle the issue.' The stout magician's voice was stripped down to gravel. Now he abandoned flowery, long-winded phrases. 'Let us not act impulsively. We can kill Mara at our leisure, should we so decide. But this moment we have more pressing problems to consider.'

  'He's going to force a vote,' Fumita murmured worriedly to Shimone. 'That could precipitate disaster.'

  Shimone's brows seemed frozen into a glower as he replied, 'Let him. Disaster is inevitable anyway.'

  Hochopepa moved down the aisle. Clown-like in his bulk, red-faced and smiling with good nature, he did not seem at all contentious, and such jovial posture in the face of tense proceedings lent him liberty, if only for comic relief. Spokesman Hodiku did not reprimand him as he wandered out onto the floor and began to pace in step with Tapek. His naturally short stride was forced to extend to ridiculous length to match the taller magician. Hochopepa's fat jiggled under his robe, and his cheeks puffed with exertion. He capped his ridiculous appearance by waving a pudgy hand just under Tapek's nose in vehement gesticulation.

  As Tapek sucked back his chin to a
void being stabbed by a fingernail, Hochopepa said, 'I suggest we try other expedients before we obliterate the Servant of the Empire.' Several members of the Assembly winced at such bald reiteration, and Hochopepa boldly seized the advantage to drive home his point. 'Before we commit an act never before done in the history of our Nations — to destroy a holder of the most honorable title a citizen may obtain — let us consider.'

  'We have considered — ' Tapek interjected, stopping dead.

  Hochopepa kept walking and with apparent clumsiness seemed to slam into his younger colleague, knocking him off balance. Tapek was compelled to stumble ahead, or fall flat. Flustered and caught at a loss for words, he was swept on as Hochopepa continued his monologue.

  'We should stop the bloodshed first, then order Mara and Jiro to the Holy City. There they can be held while we judge this issue in a less muddled fashion. Shall we vote?'

  The Spokesman called, 'A question is on the floor.'

  'I hold the floor!' Tapek objected.

  Hochopepa at that moment trod heavily upon the redhead's slippered toe. Tapek's mouth opened. His cheeks turned white, then burned bright red. He rounded angrily upon Hochopepa, who stood with his full weight bearing down as if oblivious. And while Tapek was distracted by discomfort, Hodiku pressed on with the proceedings.

  'Now, it's been a long and boring session,' Hochopepa whispered to Tapek. 'Why don't we both sit down and regain our composure before the very serious matter of casting our vote?'

  Tapek growled between clenched teeth. He knew it was now too late to disrupt protocol and countermand the call for a formal vote. As Hochopepa raised his bulk off Tapek's toe, the offended magician had little choice but to limp off, grumbling, to rejoin his cadre of young bloods. The Spokesman raised his hand. 'Hear the options, yea or nay. Shall we order the fighting halted and Mara and Jiro to the Holy City for accounting before our body?'

  Each magician in that vast chamber held up one hand. Light sprang from their upraised palms, blue indicating agreement, white abstention, and red disagreement. The blue glow clearly dominated, and the Spokesman said, 'The issue is settled. Let the Assembly adjourn for food and rest and gather again at a later date to decide who should be sent to deliver word of our summons to the parties, Mara of the Acoma and Jiro of the Anasati.'

  'Brilliant!' exclaimed Shimone, seemingly oblivious to the black looks shot in his direction by Tapek and Motecha. All around them, magicians were rising stiffly to their feet, sighing in anticipation of a meal and a long rest. The session had stretched out to the point where it might take days to recapture the enthusiasm to gather another quorum and see an official spokesman appointed. And when a matter had been formally voted to resolution by the full Assembly, individuals like Tapek were denied their option of independent action. Shimone's ascetically thin lips stretched in a way that suggested a smile. 'Personally, I think I could sleep for at least a week.'

  'You won't,' Fumita accused. 'You'll be snuggled up with a bottle of wine and hunched over your scrying crystal, just like the rest of us.'

  Hochopepa sighed deeply and said, 'We have narrowly averted what would have been perhaps the most destructive action in all of our long history.' He glanced around to ascertain that no bystanders were paying undue attention, then whispered, 'And we have won a few days' grace. I pray that Mara has some clever plan in play that I don't see, or that her voyage into Thuril won her some protection that she can deploy quickly. If not, and we lose her, we fall back into the atrocities of the Game of the Council for another span of ages . . ."

  Fumita was blunter. 'Chaos.'

  Hochopepa stiffened his spine, 'I feel the need for something wet and soothing for my throat.'

  Shimone's deep eyes sparkled. 'I have some of that Keshian wine you love so much stashed away in my quarters.'

  Hochopepa's brow puckered in abject surprise. 'I didn't know you had dealings with Midkemian traders!'

  'I don't.' Shimone sniffed in reproof. 'There's a shop near the docks in the Holy City that always seems to stock a supply. My servant doesn't ask how the proprietor came by such without imperial tax stamps on each bottle, and who would argue with what seems a reasonable price . . .?'

  As the three magicians made their way out of the vast assembly hall, their conversation turned toward the commonplace, as if light words and camaraderie might somehow stave off the immensity of the crisis about to overwhelm their land and culture.

  26 — Battle

  The camp burned.

  Smoke swirled across the battlefield, acrid with the stench of burned hide and the fine-woven wool of cushions and hangings that customarily adorned the field tents of Tsurani Lords and officers. War dogs yapped and snarled, and a boy runner raced to find a healer to attend to a wounded officer. Mara blinked watering eyes and turned her back on the soldiers who picked through the ashes to gather up corpses and weapons. The raid at dawn had been a success. Another of Jiro's traditionalist allies had died in his command tent, while his officers and warriors had rolled out of their blankets in disarray. Lujan was unsurpassed at ambush and surprise raids; better than his counterparts who had never known the hardships of a grey warrior's existence, he knew how to take advantage of subterfuge and guile. Most of the fighting had involved minor allies and vassals of the Acoma and the Anasati; other clashes had happened between houses that had old blood debts to settle. And while the magicians would be swift to condemn a massed attack on a formal plain of war, smaller struggles such as these had so far passed unpunished.

  Such forbearance could not long continue, Mara knew, as she turned wearily toward the small, unadorned shelter hastily thrown up on a space of ground unhacked by fighting. Lujan knew it, too; he threw himself into each skirmish with near-to-fanatical energy, as if he could not rest until one more enemy was dead.

  Hot, tired, and rubbed raw by the unaccustomed weight of full armor, Mara passed through the flap into the shade of her personal quarters. Swirls of dust entered with her. She waved, and a maid scurried out of the dimness to unlace the straps of her battle sandals. The sumptuous comforts of the pavilion-sized Acoma command tent had stayed packed away at the estate, its substitute a simple tent borrowed from stores that had previously served as shelter for needra herders. Since her trip to Thuril, Mara's view of certain Tsurani customs had soured and anyway, the green-dyed command tent with its silken banners and trappings and tassels would only serve as announcement to the magicians of her whereabouts.

  The herder's tent was dry hot. It filtered out the direct sun, and some of the noise, as officers called orders, and wounded men moaned in the throes of their pain. 'Water,' Mara requested. She raised a grimy hand and unfastened the chin strap of her helm.

  'Great Lady, let me help.' Kamlio hastened around the rude flap that divided the structure in half. Better schooled than the maid to answer the needs of men, the buckles of armor were familiar to her. Expertly she applied herself, and as the encumbering layers of lacquered platework were lifted from her mistress, Mara sighed in relief. 'Bless you,' she murmured, and nodded her thanks to the maid who handed her a cup of cool water. Never again would she take such service for granted.

  Kamlio freed another buckle and noticed Mara's slight flinch. 'Blisters, Lady?'

  Mara gave a rueful nod. 'Everywhere. I can't seem to grow calluses fast enough.' The trappings of the Warchief of Clan Hadama were items she seldom wore, but now, more than ever, every badge of office and sign of rank must be displayed. She was on a field of war, commanding troops, and an alliance of forces not seen in modern history. They might march under the banners of a hundred minor houses, or be her own forces masked under the standard of her clan; but they numbered seventy thousand, fully half the might of the Empire. Their lives, if not their ultimate survival, were her responsibility.

  This war has come too fast! she raged inwardly while Kamlio removed greaves and breastplate and finished with the straps of the braces. War hosts had gathered before she had been able to settle a single plan of action,
nor even to arrange a consultation between Keyoke and the cho-ja mages from Chakaha. Ichindar's assassination had happened while she had all the necessary pieces for victory within her grasp, but before she had any chance to assess how best to use them.

  Kamlio had just unfastened Mara's breastplate when footsteps sounded outside the tent. As the heavy, ornate helm with its bosses and plumes and cheek plates was lifted off, Mara closed her eyes in weariness. She pushed back the hair plastered in wet streaks to her forehead and neck. 'Open the tent flap,' she commanded her maid. 'If that's Lujan, back already, I fear bad news.'

  The maid flipped back the needra hide that curtained the door, while Kamlio rummaged for refreshments and cups for water. The warriors had been on the field since daybreak, and whichever officer approached to report, he would be hungry and thirsty.

  A shadow crossed the light, limned in a drift of smoke. Mara blinked stinging eyes and made out the plumes of her Force Commander as he saluted, fist over heart. Her expression must have shown apprehension, for his mouth split at once in a smile of reassurance, made the more vivid by the soot that darkened his face.

  'Lady, the Zanwai and Sajaio are in full flight. The day is ours; if one can rejoice over winning a pitiful strip of ngaggi swamp, the ashes of some tents, and six mongrel war dogs that are inclined to tear the throat out of anything that moves — one of the casualties was their handler – then rejoice. The strike force that attempted to organise a retreat was quickly routed, mostly because the officer in charge had little more brains than House Sajaio's dogs.'

  Mara regarded a sky fouled grey with smoke, then spoke with bitterness. 'How much longer are we going to have to remain here in defensive line to keep the Anasati forces pinned to the southeast of Sulan-Qu?' It irked her to know that Jiro had other forces hidden to the north. Any day she expected word that the Holy City was under siege. With the Shinzawai army under Hokanu in forced march, but still several days away from Silmani and the Gagajin, she had no choice but to rely on the toy maker's plans and the engineers she had sent to infiltrate Jiro's operation. She could only lie awake each night and pray that her carefully planned sabotage would work, and that when Jiro ordered his great engines to breach the walls, the mechanisms would misfire and create havoc.